A HOUSEFUL OF GIRLS. BYSARAH TYTLER, AUTHOR OF

"CITOYENNE JACQUELINE, " "PAPERS FOR THOUGHTFUL GIRLS, "ETC. , ETC. 

LONDON:WALTER SMITH AND INNES, 31 & 32, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND. 1889. 

[_All rights reserved. _]

RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, LONDON & BUNGAY. 

CONTENTS. 

 CHAP. PAGE

 I. A FLUTTER IN THE DOVE-COT 1

 II. THE "COUP DE GRÂCE" 20

 III. THE HEADS OF THE HOUSE LOOK GRAVE 35

 IV. THE CRASH 54

 V. PROMOTION 72

 VI. THE CLOUD DEEPENS 81

 VII. ROSE GOES WEST AND ANNIE GOES EAST 106

 VIII. STANDING AND WAITING 122

 IX. A WILFUL DOG WILL HAVE HIS WAY 136

 X. LIFE IN AN HOSPITAL WARD 157

 XI. MRS. JENNINGS AND HER DAUGHTER HESTER 182

 XII. A YOUNG ARTIST'S EXPERIENCE 188

 XIII. MR. ST. FOY'S AND THE MISSES STONE'S 196

 XIV. THE OLD TOWN, WITH ITS AIR STAGNANT YET TROUBLED. IS MAY TO BECOME A SCHOLAR OR A SHOP-GIRL? 214

 XV. TOM ROBINSON TAKEN INTO COUNSEL 234

 XVI. ROSE'S FOLLY AND ANNIE'S WISDOM 257

 XVII. MAY HAS TO FIGHT HER OWN BATTLE 288

XVIII. DORA IS THE NEXT MESSENGER WITH BAD TIDINGS 316

 XIX. THE UNEMPLOYED--A FAMILIAR FACE 322

 XX. REDCROSS AGAIN 342

 XXI. MISS FRANKLIN'S MISTAKE 363

 XXII. A SHRED OF HOPE 382

XXIII. SECOND THOUGHTS AND LAST WORDS 392

A HOUSEFUL OF GIRLS

CHAPTER I. 

A FLUTTER IN THE DOVE-COT. 

Is there any sensation equal to that produced by the first lover andthe first proposal coming to a girl in a large family of girls? It isdelightfully sentimental, comical, complimentary, affronting, rousing, tiresome--all in one. It is a herald of lovers, proposals, and wonderfulchanges all round. It is the first thrill of real life in its strongpassions, grave vicissitudes, and big joys and sorrows as they comein contact with idle fancies, hearts that have been light, simpleexperiences which have hitherto been carefully guarded from rude shocks. 

It does not signify much whether the family of girls happen to be richor poor, unless indeed that early and sharp poverty causes a precocitywhich deepens girls' characters betimes, and by making them soonerwomen, robs them of a certain amount of the thoughtlessness, fearlessness, and impracticability of girlhood. But girlhood, like manyanother natural condition, dies hard; and its sweet, bright illusions, its wisdom and its folly, survive tolerably severe pinches of adversity. 

The younger members of such a sisterhood are politely supposed to bekept in safe ignorance of the great event which is befalling one of theseniors. It is thought at once a delicate and prudent precaution toprevent the veil which hides the future, with its casualties, from beinglifted prematurely and abruptly, where juvenile minds are concerned, lest they become unhinged and unfit for the salutary discipline ofschoolroom lessons, and the mild pleasure of schoolroom treats. Theflower in the bud ought to be kept with its petals folded, in itsinnocent absence of self-consciousness, to the last moment. 

But there is an electric sympathy in the air which defeats precautions. There is a freemasonry of dawning womanhood which starts into lifeeverywhere. How do the young people pick up with such surprisingquickness and acuteness the looks and whispers meant to pass over theirheads, the merry glances, nervous shrugs, quick blushes, and indignantpouts, which have suddenly grown strangely prevalent in the bloomingcircle? The bystanders are understood to be engrossed with theirmusic-lessons, their drawing-classes, their rudimentary Latin andGreek--if anybody is going in for the higher education of women--theirpets, their games of lawn-tennis, their girl companions with whom theseother girls are for ever making appointments to walk, to practisepart-singing, to work or read together, to get up drawing-room_tableaux_ or plays. 

The general consciousness is not, in certain lights, favourable to alover's pretensions. For human nature is perverse, and there is such athing as _esprit-de-corps_ running to excess. There may be a due amountof girlish pride in knowing that one of the sisters has inspired agrand passion. There may be a tremulous respect for the fact that shehas passed the Rubicon, that, in place of girlish trifling, she has anaffair which has to do with the happiness or misery of a fellowcreature, not to say with her own happiness or misery, on her burdenedmind. Why, if she does not take care, she may be plunged at once, firstinto the whirl of choosing her trousseau and the fascinating trial ofbeing the principal figure at a wedding, and then involved in thetremendous responsibilities of housekeeping, butchers' bills, grocers'bills, cooks' delinquencies, with the heavy obligations--not only ofordering dinners for two, but of occasionally entertaining a room fullof company, single-handed!

And this is only one side of the shield; there is a reverse side, atleast equally prominent and alarming. The second side upholds maidenlyclaims, finds nothing good enough to match with them, and is tempted toscout and flout, laugh and mock at the rival claims of the lover upontrial. This is true even in the most innocent of dove-cots, where satireis still as playful and harmless as summer lightning. 

"The idea of Tom Robinson's thinking of one of us!" cried Annie Millar. "What could possess him to imagine that we should ever get over theshop--granted that it is a Brobdingnagian shop, an imposing mart oflinen-drapery, haberdashery, silk-mercery enough to serve the wholecounty?"

"To be sure it is only Dora, not you, Annie, " burst in eighteen years'old Rose, who had just left school, and was fain to drop the pretence ofbeing too young to notice the most interesting event in the world to afamily of girls. 

"Why do you say that, Rose? Dora may not be so pretty as Annie--I don'tknow, and I don't care--it is all a matter of taste; but she is as muchone of us, father's daughter, brought up like the rest of us in the OldDoctor's House. "

The speaker was May, between sixteen and seventeen. She was the tallestof the four sisters--let them call her "Little May" as long as theyliked. She had so far forgotten herself as to follow Rose's lead. 

"Hold your tongues, you two monkeys; what should you know about it?"Annie, who had a tendency to sit upon her younger sisters, tried tosilence them. She had reached the advanced age of twenty-two, and byvirtue of being the eldest, had been considered grown up for the lastfour years, when Rose and May were chits of fourteen and a little overtwelve. Of course this gave Annie a vast advantage in womanly dignityand knowledge of the world. But at the present moment she was herself sointerested in the discussion that she could not make up her mind to dropit till Rose and May were out of the way. 

"I must say"--Annie started the subject again--"that I think it greatpresumption in Tom Robinson, though he is not so ugly as that comes to, and he's really well enough bred in spite of 'Robinson's. '"

"He is a college-bred man. " Dora ventured shyly to put in a word for thedignity of her suitor, and for her own dignity as so far involved inhis. "And so were his father and grandfather before him, father says. "

"But the Robinsons had the silk-mill and the woollen-factory then aswell as the big shop, " corrected Annie. "And Tom might have gone intothe Church or into some other profession if he had chosen, when thingsmight have been a little different. Still, if you are pleased, Dora, "with a peal of derisive laughter, "if you do not object to the--shop. "

"Of course I object, " cried Dora, tingling with mortification and shame. "That is, I should object to his having a shop, if I had ever thought ofhim for a single moment in that light. I cannot imagine what put me intohis head--in that sense. Indeed I cannot believe it yet. I am sure it isjust some nonsense on the part of the rest of you to tease me. "

"No, no, " Annie hastened to contradict her. "It is sober reality. He hassaid something to father; you know he has, mother owned it. "

"He has been meeting us and throwing himself in our way everywhere, "broke in the irrepressible Rose and May. 

"He has been coming and coming here, " resumed Annie, "where, as wedon't happen to have a brother, there is not even another young man toform an excuse for his coming. We cannot so much as pretend, whenpeople remark on his visits, that he has come ever since we remember, and is as familiar with us as we are with ourselves. No doubt, in alittle town like this, everybody who has the least claim to be agentleman or a lady, knows every other gentleman or lady--after afashion. But naturally father and mother were not intimate with thelate Mr. And Mrs. Robinson; and we--that is, Tom and we girls--are notso near each other in age as to have been brought together by ourrespective nurses. We did not pick daisies in company, or else pulleach other's hair, and slap each other's faces, according to ourvarying moods. Tom Robinson is four or five years older than I, not tospeak of Dora. "

"He stopped us this very morning, " Rose again joined in the chorus, "when May and I were going with the Hewetts to gather primroses inParson's Meadow. He asked if our sisters--that was you, Dora, with Anniethrown into the bargain--thought of going on the river this afternoon. "

"He might be an inch or two taller, I don't suppose he is above fivefeet six or seven, " suggested Annie, maliciously recalling a detail inthe description of Dora's future husband, that be he who or what hemight, he should certainly not be under six feet in height. Dora, whowas herself considerably below the middle size, would never yield herfreedom to a man who had to admit a lower scale of inches. 

"And his hair might be a little less--chestnut, shall we say, Dora?"put in Rose with exasperating sprightliness, referring to a formerwell-known prejudice of Dora's against "_Judas-tinted hair_. "

"Would you call his nose Roman or Grecian?" asked May naïvely, of avery nondescript feature. 

"And he has so little to say for himself, " recommenced Annie, "thoughwhen he does speak there is no great fault to be found with what hesays; still it would be dreadfully dull and tiresome to have to do allthe speaking for a silent partner. "

"Oh, hold your tongues, you wretched girls, " cried Dora, standing atbay, stamping one small foot in a slipper with a preposterously largerosette. "What does it signify? The man, like his words, is wellenough--better than any of us, I dare say, " speaking indignantly; "butwhat does it matter, when I could never look at him, never dream of him, as anything more than a mere acquaintance? I don't wish for a lover or ahusband--at least not yet, " with a gasp; "I don't wish to leave home, and go away from all of you, though you are so unkind and teasing--notfor a long, long time, till I am quite a middle-aged woman. I don't seewhy I should be plagued about it when Annie here, who is two years olderthan I am, and ever so much prettier, as everybody knows, has escapedsuch persecution. "

"My dear, " said Annie demurely, "it is because you have the opportunityof presenting me with a pair of green garters. If it should occur again, and you choose to avail yourself of it, I mean to accept the garterswith the best grace in the world. Isn't that good of me when you havebeen coolly telling me that I have been overlooked as the eldest, andthe belle of the family--flattering my conceit with one breath andtaking it down with another? But it is not a case of Leah and Rachel. We are not in the East, and in the West the elder sister does notnecessarily take precedence in marriage. You are quite welcome to marryfirst, Dora; you are all welcome to marry before me, girls, " with asweeping curtsey to her audience all round. "I am perfectly resigned toyour leaving your poor worthy elder sister to end her days as a solitaryspinster, a meek and useful maiden-aunt. "

The Millars were the daughters of Dr. Millar of Redcross, anold-fashioned country town in the Midlands. They were happy in having agood father and mother still spared to them. The girls were what iscalled "a fine family, " in a stronger sense than that in which JaneAusten has used the term. Their ages ranged from twenty-two to midwaybetween sixteen and seventeen. They were all good-looking girls, with afamily likeness. Annie, the eldest, was very pretty, with delicate, regular features, a soft warm brunette colour, dark eyes, and a smallbrown head and graceful throat, like the head and throat of a greyhound. 

Dora, the first wooed, was, at a hasty glance, a mere shadow of Annie. She was pale, though it was a healthy paleness. Her hair was lighter intint, her eyes, too, were considerably lighter--granted that they wereclear as crystal. It was difficult to think of Dora as preferred beforeAnnie, if one did not take into account that there are people who willturn away from June roses to gather a cluster of honeysuckle, or picka sweet pea--people to whom there is an ineffable charm in simplemaidenliness and sweetness. Dora's modest unhesitating acceptance of thesecond part in the family and social circle, and her perfect content toplay it, would be a crowning attraction in such people's eyes. So wouldher gentle girlish diffidence, which moved her rather to meet andreflect the tastes and opinions of others than to exercise her own, though she was by no means without individual capacity and character. 

Rose was the least handsome of the family at this stage of herexistence. The family features in her had taken a slightly bizarrecast, and she had a bad habit of wrinkling her smooth low forehead andcrumpling up her sharpish nose, in a manner which accentuated thepeculiarity. But Annie, who was an authority on the subject of looks, maintained, behind Rose's back, that there was something _piquante_ and_recherchée_ about Rose's face and figure. Not one of the Millars wastall--not even May, though she came nearest to it; but Rose's slightpliant figure had a natural grace and elegance which its quick, careless movements did not dispel. When she held herself up, uncreasedher forehead and nose, showed to advantage her very fine, true chestnuthair, and was full of animation--as to do Rose justice she generallywas--giving fair play to her dimples and little white teeth, Annie saidRose had a style of her own which did no discredit to the familyreputation for more than a fair share of beauty. In addition to Annie'shigh spirit and ready tongue, Rose had a decided turn for art, whichher father had taken pride in cultivating. 

"Little May" was like Annie, and promised to be as pretty; but she was arose in the bud still, with the unfilled out outlines and crudeangularities of a girl not done growing. She was very much of a child inmany things, and she had Dora's soft clinging nature, yet under it allshe was the born scholar of the family, with a simple aptitude and tastefor learning which surprised and delighted her father still more thanRose's achievements in pastilles and water-colours pleased him. It wasseeing May at her books, when she was a very different May from the girlwho ran about with Rose, and was kept in her proper place by Annie, which revived in Doctor Millar the old regret that Providence had notblessed him with a son. He could not exactly make a son of May, sincefrom her early childhood she was a little sensitive woman all over, buthe did what he could. He had her taught Latin, Greek, and mathematicsjust to afford her the chance of being a scholar. He never told himself, and nobody else did, in the meantime, what she was to do with herscholarship when she was a little older. Whether it was merely to graceher womanhood, or whether the youngest of the family, her father andmother's last pet, was to summon up courage, tear herself away fromfamiliar and dear surroundings, and carry her gifts and acquirements outinto the world, in order to win for them the best distinction ofusefulness. 

Dora's lightly held suitor was the head of "Robinson's. " "Robinson's"was a great and time-honoured institution in Redcross, while it and itsmasters were somewhat of anomalies. The first Robinson whom the towntroubled to remember was as good as anybody in it, the proprietor of asilk-mill, and latterly of a wool-factory in the neighbourhood. As amere convenient adjunct to the mill and the factory he had started ashop in the town, and kept it going by means of a manager. Even in thatlight it was a handsome old shop. The walls were lined with polishedoak, so was the low ceiling, and there was an oak staircase leadingfrom one storey to another which a connoisseur in staircases might havecoveted. "Robinson's" was a positive feature in Redcross, and if it hadbeen anything else than a good shop of its kind would have been greatlyadmired. The son of the founder of the shop was also reckoned, to beginwith, as good as his professional neighbours. He was college-bred, likehis father, as Dora in her jealousy for the dignity of her first loverhad stated. This was "all to begin with. " Whether because it wasadvisable, or from mere grovelling instincts, he dropped in turn boththe mill and the factory, neither of which did more than pay its way, and retained the shop, which was understood to be a lucrative concern. He did worse; though Redcross continued to acknowledge him--somewhatdubiously to be sure--as a gentleman, because of the fine presence whichTom had not inherited, and the perfect good breeding which had descendedto the son. In spite of the magnanimity which forgave frostily thesecond Robinson for so far forgetting himself as to take the managementof his great shop into his own hands, walk up and down and receivecustomers, and be seen working at his books in the glass office if hedid not go behind the counter, he went and married for his second wife afarmer's daughter. She was an honest, sensible, comely young woman, butshe had no pretensions to be a lady, and no more inclination to enterthe society of the Redcross upper class than the upper class had a mindto receive her as an equal. Charles Robinson's first wife had been allvery well, though she was penniless. She had been a curate's daughter, educated to fill the post of governess in high families. She had diedyoung, without children, and he had filled her place with the farmer'sdaughter, who was the mother of Tom. Thenceforth the Robinson's house, a good, old-fashioned house, though not so handsome as the shop in anadjacent street, was effaced, nominally, from the visiting-lists ofthose who had visiting-lists in Redcross. The family were ostracised, and left to their own devices, receiving their sentence, in the case ofthe farmer's daughter and her husband, with apparent equanimity. 

But there was an exception made in favour of Tom. He went to the GrammarSchool along with the other better-class boys in the town andneighbourhood, and was accepted as their companion and playfellow. Hewas sent to college according to the traditions of his family, just asCyril Carey, of Carey's Bank, and Ned Hewett, of the Rectory, were sentaccording to the traditions of theirs. Presumably the three young menwere on one footing at Cambridge, unless, indeed, Tom had the advantage. He was slightly the elder of the three, and he took his degree with afair amount of honour; while, sad to say, for the credit of Redcross, neither Cyril nor Ned made their last pass. It was confidently believedthat Tom Robinson would cut the shop, so far as any active management ofit was concerned, and enter either a gallant or a learned profession. Ifhe had ever entertained the intention, it was put a stop to in the firstplace by the death of his father, followed within three months by thatof his mother, shortly after Tom had completed his course at theuniversity. He stayed at home for a time, to put his house in order itwas supposed. Then all at once, in the most cold-blooded fashion, hetold those who asked him that "Robinson's" was a good business, which hedid not see himself justified in throwing up in these hard times. He wasnot such a conceited ass as to believe he must necessarily succeed inthe crowded ranks of the professions, for none of which had he anyparticular bent, while he had, he added, with a certain manliness anddoggedness for a pacific fellow like Robinson, a considerable interestin the great old shop. It had been in the family for three generations;he had known it from childhood; many of his father's old trustedservants still served in it. In short, he meant to keep it in his ownhands, and not to let it go to sticks and staves, possibly, in the handsof others. He did not, for his part, see any mark of gentle breedingand fine feeling in devolving his responsibilities on others, and onlyreserving that tie to the shop which had to do with pecuniary profits. As for his university training and academic degree, if they did notbenefit him in all circumstances they were not much worth. The town ofRedcross was caught in a trap. The gentle-folks of the place had alreadyreceived him as a man and a brother, and they could not refuse to knowhim any longer because he stuck to the paternal shop, though they mightexercise their discretion in looking coldly on him in future. For thatmatter, there was another opinion among the older professional men--theRector, whose tithes were only quarter paid; Dr. Millar, whose payingpatients were no longer able to call him in on all occasions; Carey, thebanker, whose private bank, it was whispered darkly, was struggling indeep waters; Colonel Russell, who had come home from India on half-payand his savings, which every year he found more inadequate for theexpenses of an increasing family. All these gray-headed men, growinghaggard and careworn, agreed that in the present depressed state of thecommercial world, young Robinson was showing himself a sensible fellowand ought to be commended for his decision. They declared that they werethe more inclined to take him up because of it. It was their wives, where they had wives, and especially their daughters, with the young menwho had not known the brunt of the battle, and felt inclined to clutchtheir professional dignities and privileges, that were of a differentmind. Girls like the Millars turned up their saucy little noses at theshop. They thought it was mean-spirited and vulgar-minded, "low" of TomRobinson to sit down with such a calling. They held it audacious of himto lift his eyes to Dora, and to follow his eyes with his voice, silentfellow though he was generally, in asking her from her father. 

Certainly it did not help to redeem Tom Robinson's drawbacks in thejudgment of a rash young world that he lacked his late father's finepresence. Though gentleman-like enough, he was insignificant in person, and he had little to say for himself. Probably it would have struck hiscritics as little short of profane to make the comparison, otherwisethere is a great example that might have stood him and all men notgiants and glib of tongue in good stead. It is written of an apostle, and he not the least of the apostles, that he might have been termed inbodily presence mean, and in speech contemptible. But boys and girls arenot wont to take up such examples and ponder their meaning in foolishyoung hearts. 

The Millars, as one of the girls had said, were brought up in the OldDoctor's House at Redcross. It would seem that professions and tradeswere hereditary in the old-fashioned, stationary town. Dr. Millar'sfather had not only been a doctor before him, he had been _the_ doctorin Redcross, with a practice extending from an aristocratic county to aparish-poor class of patients. His pretty sister Penny, whom Annie wasnot unlike, had married into the county, General Beauchamp of Wayland'syounger son. The marriage, with all its consequences, was a thing of thelong past, leaving little trace in the present. For young Beauchamp, though he was a squire's son, had not been able to get on at the bar, and had emigrated with his wife while emigration was still comparativelyuntried in Australia, where it was to be hoped his county extraction hadserved him in the Bush at least as well as Tom Robinson's universityeducation would avail him in the shop. It had all happened an age beforethe young Millars could remember, still the tradition of a marriage of amember of a former generation of the Millars into the squirearchy hadits effect on her collateral descendants. It did not signify that thereigning Beauchamps of Waylands had almost ceased to remember theancient alliance in their dealings with their doctor. That dim anddistant distinction established the superior position of the Millars intheir native town, to the girls' entire satisfaction. Dora to marryRobinson, of "Robinson's, " a farthing candle of a man, when herGrand-aunt Penny had married a Beauchamp of Waylands, by all accountsthe handsomest, most dashing member of the Hunt in his day, was adescent not to be thought of for a moment. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE "COUP DE GRÂCE. "

The crisis had come. Dr. Millar had granted a final formal interview, not without some agitation on the father's part, to the still moreagitated suitor; and after assuring him of the paternal good-will, hadturned him over to the daughter--the whole being done with a sorrowfulprescience, shared by the unfortunate young man, of what the answerwould be. 

Poor Dora was hardly less to be pitied, for she had to be brought up tothe supreme effort of dealing the _coup de grâce_. Nobody could do itfor her, even her mother told her that severely, in order to brace thegirlish nerves, when Dora gave way to the first cowardly instinct ofseeking to shirk the ordeal. If a girl was old enough to receive anoffer of marriage, she was old enough to answer it for herself inperson. It was the least return she could make for the high complimentwhich had been paid to her, to see the man and tell him with her ownlips that she would have nothing to say to the honest heart and liberalhand, for he had hinted at generous settlements, which he had been onlytoo eager to lay at her feet. 

It was little use even for mild Dora to protest that she had notwished for such a compliment, and had done nothing to provoke it, sothat the reckless compliment-payer was but receiving his deserts in anunconditional refusal. It did not make the step easier for her. It wasno joke to her, whatever it might be to her hard-hearted young sisters. 

To tell the truth, Rose and May, aye, even Annie, took much livelydiversion, as Dora guessed, in secretly watching the entire proceeding. The sisters found out the hour of the compulsory interview. Theycovertly looked out for the arrival of the commonplace wooer--anythingsave their idea of a lover and hero. They keenly took note of him froman upper window as he walked with a certain studied composure, yet witha blankness of aspect, through the shrubbery. They even deigned--Annieas well as Rose and May--surreptitiously to inspect the poor wretchbetween the bannisters of the staircase, as he ran desperately up thestairs, thrusting one hand through his foxy hair and carrying his hatin the other, and vanished into the drawing-room. 

After this brutal behaviour on the part of a trio of English girls, onemust show a little moderation in condemning the cruel conduct of theRoman dames, who contemplated with zest the deadly contests of thegladiators in the arena; at least the gladiators were strangers andbarbarians, not fellow-townsmen and near relations. 

As for the present victim, he was happily unconscious of any spectatorbeyond Bella the house-maid, but he felt relieved to be delivered fromher compassionate stare. He had an instinctive sense that she knew aswell as he did what he had come there for, and was pitying him--aninference in which he was quite correct. For Bella was older than theunseen "chorus" on the landing, who did not think of pitying him. Shehad seen more of the world, and was better acquainted with its caresand troubles. She called him in her own mind "the poor young gent!" Itoccurred to her as it did not occur to the others, that he might taketo bad ways and be a lost man, like Jem Wade the carpenter, after herpretty, flighty sister Lotty had given him the sack. Nothing less thanthat might be the end of this day's work. 

But such a way of looking on a lover and his woes was far from thethoughts of Bella's young mistresses. On the contrary, they haddifficulty in restraining merry little titters, though Annie did takeherself to task and murmur "For shame!" when Rose made a solemn, stupidface like what she considered Tom Robinson's on this occasion. 

To do the girls justice, however, they did not laugh when Dora, who hadbeen with her mother, came slowly across the lobby and followed thevisitor into the drawing-room in order to administer the _coup degrâce_. It might have been a veritable dagger-thrust to be dealt by aweak little shrinking hand, with the owner's head turned and faceaverted--such a white, grieved, frightened girl's face it was. 

Her companions' eyes were opened, for the instant a fellow-feeling smotethem. This was no light jest or piece of child's play; it might be theirturn next. Oh! who would not be sorry for Dora to have to inflict realpain and bitter disappointment, to be condemned to kill a man's faithin woman, perhaps, certainly to murder his peace and happiness for thepresent, to extinguish the sweetest, brightest dream of his earlymanhood, for he would never have another quite so tender and radiant?Would Dora ever be quite the same again after she had done so hard athing?

Annie pulled herself up and accused herself of getting absolutelymaudlin. The idea of Tom Robinson of "Robinson's, " with his middle size, matter-of-fact air, and foxy hair and moustache, entertaining such adream and relinquishing it with a pang of mortal anguish that wouldleave a long sickening heart-ache behind! It was the infection of allthe silly love stories she had ever read which had received a kind ofspurious galvanic life from the very ordinary circumstance, the featherin her cap, as so many girls would have regarded it, of Dora, having toreceive and refuse an offer of marriage. Why, she--Annie--and hersisters, including Dora herself, had been much diverted by it, as wellas interested in it, until the dramatic crisis had somehow taken theirbreath away also, and startled them by a glimpse of the other side ofthe question. But though Annie strove to recover her equanimity, andRose tried to hum a tune softly as the girls still loitered behind thebannisters, to see the end of the play, they said nothing more to eachother; a sort of shyness and shame had stolen over them. It was notenough to make them run away, especially as each did not realize thatwhat she felt was common to all. Only their lips were chainedsimultaneously, and they were disposed to turn aside their heads andavert their eyes, like Dora when she killed her man. 

The deed did not take long--not more than was necessary for him to pleadonce or twice with small variation on the words, "Will you not think ofit, Dora? Can you not give it a little consideration? Perhaps if I wereto wait, and you were to try----"

And for Dora to answer with drooping head, panting breast, and stillless variety in her phrases, "Oh, no, no, Mr. Tom. Of course, I am verymuch obliged to you for thinking a great deal more of me than I deserve. But, indeed, indeed, it cannot be--you must give it up--this foolishfancy. It is a great pity that you have wasted time on such an absurdidea. "

"Wasted time!" he repeated, with a little irony and a little pathos. "Well, I don't think it wasted even at this moment--and--and the ideadoes not seem so absurd to me; but I will not distress you by forcing mywishes upon you when you are so averse to them. You will allow me tocontinue your friend, Miss Dora?"

"Yes, oh yes, " sighed Dora, who would have said anything, short ofagreeing to marry him, to get him to go away, "if you like, after whathas happened. I know I don't deserve your friendship; but, indeed, Icould not help it, Mr. Robinson. I never guessed till lately that youthought of anything else, and then I would have stopped you, but Icould not. "

"Don't blame yourself, " he said with a faint smile, "I am not blamingyou. I shall count it a favour, an honour, if you will let me doanything for you that I can. "

"Thank you very much, " she murmured humbly. 

"Then you will accept a little mark of my friendly feelings?" He took asmall case from his waistcoat pocket, opened it, and drew from it avaluable ring, holding it out to her. 

They were the most beautiful rubies and sapphires she had ever seen. Butshe would not touch it; she even put her hands behind her back in herconfusion and dismay. "I could not; I ought not. It is far too costly athing, I can see that at a glance. You must keep it; you will find somefar fitter girl to give it to. "

He shook his head, hesitated, and then took an old-fashioned littlevinaigrette case, shaped like a tiny gold box, from the watch-chain atwhich he wore it. "Will you accept this from me, then? It was mymother's, and I should like you to have it. "

"It's so good of you, " the girl faltered. "I don't like to deprive youof what was your mother's, but if you care that I should have it----"

"I do care, " he said. 

That last little episode was entirely between themselves. When shequitted the room, not crying, but paler than before, she had thevinaigrette case clasped tightly in her hand, while nobody exceptTom Robinson knew of the gift. 

He let her go, and then he left the house. When he did so there was thatin his face which caused Rose Millar to cry under her breath, "Comeaway. It is not fair to spy upon him. I'll never want to see anybodyrefused again. " As for "little May, " she burst into tears, though theprincipals had shed no tears. 

"Hold your tongue, you little goose, " remonstrated the disturbed Annie. "He may hear you. School-girls like you and Rose should not meddle ingrown-up people's affairs. "

"I thought I had left school after the Christmas holidays, " said Rose, interrogating the world in an abstract fashion. She was herself again onthe instant, carrying her funny little crumpled nose well in the air. 

"It is dreadful, " said May, with a half-suppressed sob, "and he wasso good-natured. He promised only last week to get Rose and me afox-terrier puppy. "

"Oh, you selfish little creature! It is over the failure of theprospective puppy and not over the sorrows of the rejected man you arelamenting. Never mind, Maisie, I doubt if mother would have allowed usto keep the puppy. As for Mr. Tom Robinson, he is cut up just now, ofcourse; but he will soon get over it. How long does it take a man toforget, Annie? Anyhow, presently he will be busily directing hisattentions in another quarter, until the day may come, after he issuccessful and triumphant, well pleased with himself and his choice, when he will heartily thank Dora there for having administered to himthe cold bath of a rejection, so nipping his first raw aspirations inthe bud. "

"No, no, " insisted May; "you are so cynical, Rose, like everybody elsenow-a-days, and I hate it. He can never be glad to have lost Dora. "

"Don't you agree with me, Annie?" Rose maintained her point. 

"Really, you seem to be so well informed on the subject yourself--thoughI cannot think where you have got your experience, any more than yourslang, unless at second-hand"--said Annie sarcastically, "that myopinion is of no importance. "

"Now, don't be nasty and elder-sisterish, " was Rose's quick rejoinder. 

Though Dora shed no tears of contrition in public, Annie, who shared hersister's room, heard her in the night crying softly. 

"What ails you, Dora dear?" Annie sat up and asked sleepily. "What isthe matter? It can't be, no, " rousing herself, "it can _not_ be--youdon't mean that you repent what you've done, and would swallow the shop, foxy hair, and everything?"

"Oh, no, " denied Dora, "but I didn't think a man would care like that;such a queer, gray shade came over his face, though I durst hardly lookat him; and his hands which were--well, were holding mine for a second, you know----"

"No, I don't know, " interrupted Annie, smiling to herself; "but go on, what about the hands?"

"They were as cold as ice. "

"Very likely, it is only the month of April. "

"And it is not above a year since he lost both his father andmother--all the near relations he had. "

"Poor man!" admitted Annie. "But you could not help that, and many men, young men especially, seem to get on quite well without near relations. "

There was a strain of hardness about pretty Annie, whether bred of thatcynicism in the air of which May had complained, whether it was anintegral part of Annie, or whether, as in the case of some valuablekinds of timber, it was merely an indication of the closer grain, theslower ripening, and the greater power of endurance of the moral fibre. 

"Men are not like women. " Annie was continuing her lecture. "I dare sayTom Robinson will do very well--all the better, perhaps, because he hasno ambition, and is content to make money in the most humdrum way as atradesman. "

Dora sat up in turn, like a white ghost in her place in her little bed, seen by the dim light. She had the instinct which causes women to lookback upon the men who have made love or proposed to them, even thoughthe women have rejected the men--as in a sense their property, if nottheir prey, so as not by any means to relish the men's depreciation atthe hands of other women. Then it becomes a point of honour alike withthe proudest and the meekest of her sex to stand up in his absence indefence of the discarded swain. 

"I don't know about ambition, " began Dora hesitatingly, "but father saysTom Robinson is not at all stupid; he took his degree with credit atCambridge, and was not plucked like poor Ned Hewett, or that fop, CyrilCarey. Father says when he worked with Mr. Robinson in getting up thebill to lay before Parliament for closing the old churchyard, he couldnot have desired a more intelligent, diligent fellow-worker. All thesalesmen and women at 'Robinson's' have been well looked after, and aresuperior to the other shop-people in the town, don't you know? There isMiss Franklin at the head of both the millinery and mantua-makingdepartments; I am sure she looks and speaks, as well as dresses, like a lady?"

"Yes, and everybody is civil to her, but nobody thinks of makingher acquaintance out of the shop, and she is wise enough to keepto her proper sphere. They say she is a distant relation of TomRobinson's--you see he is not altogether destitute of kindred. Why does the man not marry her? That would be a suitable match. "

"Annie!" protested Dora, in nearly speechless indignation, and then sherecovered breath and words. "She's forty if she's a day; and she's asfat as a pin-cushion, with her cheeks a mottled red all over. "

"How can you make such unkind remarks on your neighbours' looks? _He_is not an Adonis, I may be allowed to say; and I have noticed thatshopkeepers are apt to marry women older than themselves, women whohave been in the trade--to keep the business together, I suppose. "

"At least, his father did not marry like that either in his first or inhis second marriage, " retorted Dora; "for the first Mrs. Robinson wasthe daughter of a curate, and the second of a farmer, and she was nothalf his age, though she did not survive him long. "

"As you please. What's Hecuba to me, or what am I to Hecuba?" demandedAnnie airily. 

"Besides, " Dora returned laboriously to the charge, "there areshopkeepers and shopkeepers, as you must be aware, Annie. Father saysold Mr. Robinson was a man of independent ideas and original mind, andhad his own theories of trade. "

"I have nothing to say against it, especially at this hour of the night, or morning, " said Annie, professing to strangle a yawn; "only that I donot think a linen-draper's business, however large and well-conducted, is exactly the career of a gentleman, a man of fair ability andeducation. He might leave it to any respectable well-disposed tradesman. However, if you are going to exalt Tom Robinson, with his shop, into apatriot and philanthropist cherishing a noble scheme for the publicgood, and all that kind of thing, do it if you like, nobody will hinderyou. Call him back if you care to, I dare say it is still possible ifyou are willing to make the concession. But oh, Dora!" appealed Annie, who had talked herself wide awake by this time, "don't forget the lossof position involved in really keeping a shop, however eccentric andmeritorious a man's intentions may be. Why, he had better become astonemason or a ploughman, if he is to do the thing at all; far better agamekeeper or a soldier in time of war, the plunge would be deeper butmore picturesque. Think of the entire breaking with the county withwhich we have a right to hold ourselves connected, not merely becausefather's patients are willing to take us up and make quite a fuss aboutus sometimes, but because his Aunt Penny married and was welcomed intothat set. You have not yourself alone to consider, remember, Dora; youmight not mind, but you have the rest of us to think of, some of whomwould mind very much. "

"You need have no anxiety about the matter, " said poor Dora hotly andhuffily. "I am not going to marry Tom Robinson; you know I have refusedhim this very afternoon. "

But Annie was determined to empty out her whole budget of warnings. "Even professional people like father, all our friends andacquaintances, our relations on both sides of the house would begin todrop us, and fight shy of us. What people that had any pretensions tobeing gentle-folks would care to be mixed up with our brother-in-law thelinen-draper? And it is not as if the temptation were great; I cannotsee wherein the attraction lies; but instead of letting it beset you, please don't lose sight of the three hundred and sixty-five days to bespent every year in Tom Robinson's silent company. Think of the threehundred and sixty-five breakfasts, dinners, and suppers to be eatenopposite his mute figure. "

"Stop, Annie, " Dora cried energetically: "you know as well as I do thatI could never face such a thing, that I never dreamt of it. Only lovinga man could make it possible for a girl to give up her family in orderto belong to him; and even if there had been no 'Robinson's' to shockyou, I do not care the least little bit for poor Tom Robinson; yetsurely for that very reason, " protested Dora with a sudden revulsion offeeling, "I am at liberty to pity him. "

"If you will take my advice, Dora, " said shrewd Annie, sinking back onher pillow as a sign that the untimely discussion ought to come to anend, "you will get rid of your pity as quickly as you can. It is notyour pity which he seeks--very likely he would rage like a bear, for asquiet as he can look, at the mere mention of it. But it strikes me thatit is not safe for either of you. "

CHAPTER III. 

THE HEADS OF THE HOUSE LOOK GRAVE. 

"It is a thousand pities, " said Dr. Millar, holding a consultation withhis wife, while he sipped his glass of sherry and ate his biscuit, before retiring for the night, after his last round among the patientsin greatest need of his visits. 

In spite of his daughter Dora's preference for tall men, the Doctor wasshort and rather stout. He ought to have looked comfortable, he had thephysique and air of a comfortable man, but a certain harassed, carewornexpression was beginning to settle down on the spectacled face which hadonce been round, rosy, and very comely. He was at least twenty yearsolder than his wife. The old-fashioned practice had prevailed in theold-fashioned town, of elderly men, whether bachelors or widowers, ending by marrying for the first or the second time women a score ormore years their juniors. Indeed, Dr. Millar was hard upon seventy, though he had till recent bad times carried his years so well that hehad looked ten years younger than his actual age. 

Mrs. Millar also began to look worried as a rule, though she had more ofthe woman's faculty of putting the best face on things, both in publicand in private. She was a tall woman, who had enjoyed the advantages ofwhat was called "an elegant figure" in her youth. Now she was large andheavy, with a mixture of unconscious stateliness and wistfulmotherliness in her gait and gestures. Like Dr. Millar, she ought tohave seemed at least easy-minded, but circumstances were becoming moreand more against the happy condition, of which a pervading atmosphere ofcontent and cheerfulness should have been the outward expression. 

The man and woman were not cut out, so to speak, for adversity. They hadnot been seasoned to it in their younger days. On the contrary, they hadbeen cradled for many years in the lap--if not of luxury, of fairmiddle-class prosperity. It was a few tolerably rough jolts which hadshaken them from their cradle. Still the trouble was more inapprehension than in reality. As yet it had not caused the sufferers tochange any one of the domestic habits which had grown second nature tothem. It had not induced them to darken the sunny sky over their youngdaughters' heads with a shadow of the clouds which were already loomingblack on the parents' horizon. It may be said at once, that Dr. And Mrs. Millar, though they were reckoned clever, sensible people enough bytheir contemporaries, had softer hearts than they had hard heads. Theyhad not been used to painful self-denial and stern discipline, eitherwhere they themselves or their children were concerned. 

The couple were sitting now together in the dining-room with its solidlyhandsome furniture, Russian leather and walnut wood, bits of familyplate on the sideboard, bronze chimney-piece ornaments, and goodengravings on the walls. Husband and wife had spent the last part of theevening there, for four-and-twenty years, every night they were inRedcross, when the Doctor was not kept out late, or when the couple werenot abroad in company, or seeing company at home. Dr. Millar, in hisslightly old-fashioned professional black coat and white tie, wasleaning back in his easy-chair sipping his sherry, and occasionallydrumming lightly on the table near him with these fine long sensitivefingers which were a born doctor's fingers. 

Mrs. Millar wore a demi-toilet in the shape of an expensive cashmere andsilk gown--not an evening dress, but an approach to it, as became thewife of one of the leading professional men in Redcross, connected withthe county to boot. Her lace cap was a costly trifle of its kind, butit had an awkward habit--the odder in a woman who was neat to formalityin the other details of her dress--of slipping to one side, or tiltingforwards or backwards on the brown hair, still abundant and juststreaked with gray; so that one or other of her daughters was constantlycalling Mrs. Millar's cap to order and setting it right. She was sittingin an arm-chair, opposite her husband. Mechanically she put one daintilyslippered, very neat foot, considering the weight it helped to carry, beyond her skirts, and stretched it towards the fire. There was still agood fire blazing in the steel grate, though the spring was welladvanced, the weather was not more than chilly, and the hour was late. It was as if coals were not a marketable commodity and a serious item inthe expenses of an embarrassed household. She held up a Japanese fanbetween her face and the fire, from mere custom, for she had ceased topay much heed to the exigencies of a florid complexion. 

"It's a thousand pities, " repeated the little Doctor, looking quiteportentously regretful and oppressed. "It is not only that Tom Robinsonis an excellent fellow and would have made Dora the best ofhusbands--given her a safe and happy home, and all that sort of thing;but in case of anything happening, I am convinced he would have been asgood as a brother to the other girls, and a son to you. A man like himis a stay and support to a household of helpless women. "

"But nothing is going to happen, Jonathan, " said Mrs. Millar, with aninvoluntary nervous quiver which sent her cap hovering over one eyebrow. "At least nothing worse than we know. Your practice is not so lucrativeas it used to be; how can it, in these bad times, with so many pooryoung fellows of doctors settling here and there and everywhere inRedcross and the villages around, starving themselves out, while theyimpoverish their seniors? Nothing more than that, except the littletrouble at Carey's Bank. "

"Quite enough too, Maria, quite enough, " commented the Doctor deep downin his throat, prolonging the words a little as if he were chanting therefrain of a dismal song; "and when a man is my age and has plenty ofthe young rivals you refer to, it is high time he should be looking outfor something happening. A family of girls, too. God help me! If theyhad been four boys, who might have made their own way in the world, andprovided for you among them, I could have faced it better. " He struckthe table again, with spasmodic force this time. 

"Now, Jonathan, you will wake up the house. This is not like you, "remonstrated his wife--all the more energetically that her heart sankwhile she spoke. "I should not have expected you to give way in thismanner. " She gave a quick push back to her unruly cap. "I am sure thereis no occasion for it. We are in no worse position than we were lastyear, even the year before that. "

"Save that I am growing older every year, " he said grimly, "and theaffairs of the bank are not mending, as I hoped they might. "

"Can't you sell out?" she suggested breathlessly, as she clasped herhands on her knees. 

"I have put it off too long, supposing I had the conscience to transfermy liabilities to some simpleton who might not draw half a dozen of thedividends of which I have drawn scores. Besides, the thing isimpossible, as I am telling you. Between you and me, the shares are farbelow par. "

"What is par, Jonathan?" interrupted Mrs. Millar in a praiseworthyattempt to understand her husband. 

"Oh, bother, " he cried, running his hand in mild exasperation throughhis white hair; "the standard value, or the original value, whicheveryou like best. I should not dare to propose to sell out at such a loss;it would not only be to impoverish myself at once in order to avoid therisk of greater ruin, it would draw attention. It would have a mostsuspicious look, and might bring the rotten affair down about our earsinstantly, while I should get the blame of the downfall. "

"But some of the large foreign investments might be realized anyday--you told me the last time you spoke of business--with the firstgood turn of trade, " she reminded him anxiously. 

"I trust so still, and I believe old Carey is an honest man and aperfect gentleman--that is one comfort; but I cannot help thinking hehas got into bad hands. I tell you, Maria, I don't like thatbrother-in-law of his who comes down from London to attend the Redcrossmeetings, and tries to blarney us all round. And I cannot approve of thebolstering up of Carey's cousins, the Carters, in their chemical worksat Stokeleigh, which it strikes me will never do much good. It--thebolstering up--has been going on for a long time now, to what extent Iam not prepared to show. Unfortunately I have a bad head for figures, "he shrugged his shoulders as if anticipating a reproach, "the lessreason why I should have laid out my savings on bank shares, you willsay? No doubt, no doubt, but there had been fewer troubles with banks inmy day. When I made the first investment everything appeared right, andthe dividends announced were tempting. "

"I am not finding fault with what you did, Jonathan; I never thought ofsuch a thing, " the perturbed woman found voice to reassure her husband. "I know you did it for the best; and for that matter, I am convinced itwill all come right in the end, " she ended with a little sigh. 

"It is very good and pretty of you to say so, Maria, " he said with acertain old-fashioned, stiff gallantry which, while it complimented her, treated her as a much younger and more irresponsible being than he was. As he spoke he took up the hand which lay in her lap and held it for amoment clasped in his. "And I can say you have been all that I couldhave wished as a wife and mother, you have never once failed me duringthe whole of our married life. "

"Oh! thank you, thank you, Jonathan. " She acknowledged his praise with amomentary choke in her voice, and a bend of her head which was notwithout a docile dignity. 

"We are all in the same boat, " resumed the Doctor in the deep toneswhich somehow sounded like bass recitative; "the Rector, ColonelRussell, and I--not to say Carey himself. We all wished to increase ourincomes with as little trouble and risk as possible--so it seemed then, but if the bank comes to smash, all the old Redcross gentle-folks, as wewere pleased to call ourselves, will go with it. "

"Don't mention such a thing, don't think of it, " cried Mrs. Millar inher dismay. 

He went on without noticing her. "The Bishop won't let the Rector comedown, and Russell is twenty years younger than I. He is no older thanyou are, though a foreign climate has told a good deal on him; still, heis patched up, and with care ought to have lasted as long as the rest ofus. He may exert his interest, and get a post in India again, though Ishould be afraid it would finish him in six months. "

The poor middle-aged lady who sat listening with dry lips apart, andpleasant hazel eyes distended with fright and distress, though she wasno older than the unfortunate colonel, had not been exposed to a foreignclimate, and had hardly suffered from a serious illness in her life, didnot look much like such an arduous undertaking as going out to India toredeem a wrecked fortune. She pulled herself together, however, and setherself to the good woman's business of comforting and encouraging herhusband. "I am certain it is right to go on hoping. You often say thatin your profession you have no such helpful allies as hope and courage;you must practice what you've preached, Doctor, " and the faithful soulactually contrived to impart a playful ring to her unsteady voice. "TheRector has not preached the duty more strenuously than you have; andyou are not going to be the first to break down, especially when thereis no real occasion. Depend upon it, Carey's Bank will pull through likesome of your most doubtful patients, with time and care. "

"With all my heart, " he said, absently taking off his spectacles, polishing, and replacing them. Then he resumed his former line ofthought. "Tom Robinson is out of the mess. He, and his father beforehim, found other ways of disposing of their capital where it was moreunder their own inspection and control. If that foolish girl of ours, Maria, could only have brought herself to listen to Robinson, " he workedhimself up into a fresh access of vexation, "the liking would have comein good time. I did not expect her to have a fancy for him on the spot, for quiet, steady young fellows like him are not apt to take girls'fancies--the worse for the girls. "

"But, father"--remonstrated Mrs. Millar, involuntarily bestowing on herhusband the title the girls gave him--she drew herself up as she spoke, and again destroyed the equilibrium of her cap--"you cannot surely thinkthat Tom Robinson would have been a fit match for Dora, or any of hersisters. He is well enough in himself, I say nothing against him, but hehas not gone into a profession, instead he has identified himself with'Robinson's'--that shop;" a shade of ineffable disgust stole into herordinarily good-humoured voice. 

"Showed his good sense and manliness, " said the Doctor gruffly. "I wishevery one else had been as wise. I wish all of us had big paying shopsat our backs instead of Carey's shaky bank. I for one would swallow theindignity cheerfully. Why, my father kept on his dispensary in the dayswhen the practice was at its best. The greater fool I to give it up. Itell you England will never be what it was till it gets rid of thisrubbish of despising trades and shops. Don't you help to put it intothese silly girls' heads. It makes me sick to think how they may live towish they were connected with an honest, solvent shop. "

"My dear, I think you are going a little too far. " Mrs. Millar fired upin defence of her young like a ruffled mother-pigeon. "I should be verysorry to teach the girls to look down on anybody; but that there aredifferent sorts and conditions of men, they may learn from their veryBibles and prayer-books. There are such things as education andculture--not to speak of good birth. You yourself, Dr. Millar, arefairly well born and well connected for a professional man. " Sheinstanced this with an imperceptible bridle and toss of her matronlyhead, which hinted broadly, "If it had not been so, Jonathan, I shouldnever have been Mrs. Millar. " The movement threatened to deposit her capon the carpet behind her, but she recovered it in time, and took up thethread of her discourse by quoting the much-prized familydistinction--"There was your Aunt Penny, who married into the county. "

"Oh! are you at that humbug?" he cried, with a man's disrespectfulimpatience. "I thought it had seen its day, and was long over and donewith. I could not have conceived that you--" ("were such a fool, " he wasgoing to say, when he caught himself up. ) He was quick-tempered andimpulsive, but he was also suave by nature, and his long habit ofcourteous indulgence to his wife caused him to alter the phrase. "I didnot know that you had so lively an imagination as to persist inbelieving that old myth, Maria. "

"But your Aunt Penny did marry one of the Beauchamps of Waylands, "insisted Mrs. Millar. 

"Certainly; and she made the poorest marriage of anybody that I haveever had to do with, though I have always understood that he was not abad sort, beyond being as thick-headed as his brother the squire or anofficer of dragoons. He get on at the bar! I dare say not. And he was noquicker-witted or longer-sighted in Australia. You must have heard mesay how grieved I was once when I came across a fellow from Sydney whohad been up the country, and remembered something of the Beauchamps andtheir straits. They were regularly hard up, and went through no end oftrouble. Poor Aunt Penny seldom had a woman-servant--women-servants weremore difficult to get out there in those days. She had to wash, cook, and scour for the men at the station. "

"Why didn't they come home?" inquired Mrs. Millar rather weakly. 

"Come home! They had nothing to come home with, or to. You don't supposehis brother, the squire, with a wife and family of his own, would havekept them, though the Beauchamps had received her civilly enough at thetime of the marriage! She had to milk the cows when the cow-man wasotherwise wanted. I do not say that many a better born woman than shewas has not done as much and thought little of it, only it was not inAunt Penny's line. I can just remember her when I was a small boy, apretty creature who read Italian, sang to her guitar, and made breadseals for her amusement. She had such a mortal terror where cows wereconcerned that she would run like a lapwing when she heard one comelowing up the lane behind the house. Paton, the man from Sydney whoremembered them, thought they did a little better towards the end, whenthey got a store, and Mrs. Beauchamp kept it. Do you hear that, Maria?"cried the Doctor, with a half-humorous, half-indignant emphasis. 

"Yes, I hear, " replied Mrs. Millar, with an obstinate inflection of hervoice which said, "I am of my own opinion still. " She illustrated thisby adding, in an undertone, "They were in Australia. "

"A store, " continued the Doctor, "is the rudest, most uncouth kind ofshop; and Beauchamp was not fit to keep it, he had to turn it over tohis wife, who was thankful to serve shepherds and bush-rangers for aughtI know. She lost one child in the bush, God help her! The little thingwandered away and was never heard of again; and her other child, a boy, who grew up, did not turn out well. I tell you, I never like to think orspeak of the mother. "

"Poor Aunt Penny!" said Mrs. Millar hastily. "But there is onething"--with a sudden accent of triumph in the perception that she hadthe advantage of her husband at last--"your Aunt Penny married the manshe cared for; she got her choice, and in that light she had no reasonto complain, though she had to abide by it. "

The Doctor was a little taken aback. "I do not know that shecomplained--at least her people at home heard nothing of it. And youmust do me the justice of owning that I have done nothing to forceDora's inclinations. Indeed, I am not clear that I have done my duty. Iought to have reasoned with the girl. Robinson is not only a good man, he is also a gentleman, every inch of him, so was his father beforehim. "

"In the choice of Jenny Coppock, of Coppock's Farm, for a wife!"exclaimed Mrs. Millar, still rebellious, even satirical and disdainful. 

"He was entitled to choose whom he would, I suppose, so long as she wasan honest woman, and Jenny Coppock was that quite as much as her husbandwas a gentleman. She made him happy, I believe, strange as it may soundto some people, as ladies do not always make their husbands happy--youknow I mean nothing personal, Maria. Whether she was quite happy herselfis a different question, of which I have had no means of judging. But Ihave heard you yourself say that she never presumed on her rise in rank, or sought to thrust her comely, kindly face where it was not wanted. Herson has a look of her, without her good looks. Poor Mrs. Robinson! I waswith her in her first and last illness, as you are aware, and a morecourageous, self-forgetful soul I had never the privilege to attend. "

Mrs. Millar turned back in the conversation, and took to dogmatizing. "People who are well-informed and well-bred will never descend to alower level without great discomfort and serious loss. I for one, thoughI have not profited by the advantages the girls have commanded, and Idaresay have not their brains"--she made the frank admission withwomanly, motherly humility--"though I could not to save my life make oneof Rose's beautiful water-colour sketches, or read Greek and Latin like'little May, ' or even talk to the point on every subject under the sunlike Annie, still I should not be happy if I had to keep company withWilkins the butcher's or Ord the baker's wife, and they would not behappy either. It would not matter, in one sense, though I knew they wererespectable, worthy women, and were ever so much better off as to moneythan I. That would not keep me from feeling thoroughly out of place andhaving hardly an idea in common with my neighbours in theirplush-trimmed gowns and fur-lined mantles. I could not stand suchdegradation for my girls, " she protested, with rising agitation. "I hadfar rather that they and I should be the poorest ladies in the land, should have to pinch and deny ourselves all round. "

"It is little you know of it, " muttered Dr. Millar, shaking his whitehead, and pensively contemplating his finger-nails. 

"While we still retained the position to which we were born, and theassociations among which we were reared, " ended Mrs. Millar, with agasp. 

"Bless the woman, what does she mean?" cried Dr. Millar after his livelyfashion, with an air of injured innocence. "Does she pretend that TomRobinson has not been educated--stamped, for that matter, with the lastuniversity brand, to which he does credit, I must say? Stay, there goesthe night-bell. I am wanted for somebody. "

"You'll never go out again to-night, Jonathan, " pleaded Mrs. Millar, "after all your worry, when you have not had more than a couple ofhours' rest. " She was already reproaching herself keenly for havingcontradicted and argued with him. She had never been able to comprehend, for her comfort, that to a man like him an argument is both rousing andrefreshing. In the middle of her remorse she instinctively held up herhead, and balanced her cap as a Dutchwoman of the last century balancedher milk-pail, or a girl of the Roman Campagna her sheaf of grass andwild flowers. "It is a shame, " she reflected indignantly; "it is verylikely nothing of any consequence, just one of those inconsideratepeople who think that a professional man ought to be always at theirbeck and call. "

"There, Maria, you're scoring another point for trade, " said the littledoctor, getting on his feet, and buttoning up his coat as a preliminaryto obeying the call. "I'll warrant Wilkins and Ord will be toastingtheir toes, and retiring to bed with the comfortable conviction thattheir night's rest will not be disturbed; since Wilkins's head-manattends to the slaughter-house, and the eldest journeyman baker sees tothe setting of the sponge. Why don't you say, _noblesse oblige_, Maria?But I think I know the name of the inconsiderate individual who hasinterrupted our conversation, and I assure you he would not if he could. It is little Johnny Fleming--Fleming the grocer's son--whose case iscritical, I fear. I told his mother if he got worse to send for me atonce. When I am out, at any rate, I'll just look in on old Todd, inSkinners' Buildings. He appeared in a dying state this morning; but asthe family have not sent to let me know of the death, if he has hung onso long, the chance is he will rally and come round this bout. I'll besome time; don't sit up for me, my dear. "

"It is too bad, " Mrs. Millar fretted. "They ought to send at night forNewton or Capes from Woodleigh--it is only a step for any of the youngdoctors, instead of disturbing a man of your age. "

"Good heavens! don't breathe such a thing. I could not afford it. Ithought of taking a young partner twenty years ago, but I put it offtill it was too late. Perhaps it was a mistake; we all make mistakes, "he sighed. "An active young practitioner, well up to date, might havekept the business better together. "

"Nonsense!" cried his wife energetically. "Nobody would have looked athim when they could have had your skill and experience. "

"Then be thankful I'm still fit for work--one must take the bad with thegood. It is the fortune of war, Maria, " said the gallant old doctor ashe departed. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE CRASH. 

Within a month Carey's Bank broke, not altogether unexpectedly. Thebreaking carried dismay and desolation into not a few households inRedcross, and administered a sharp shock--productive of much startledspeculation, and roused distrust, even in those quarters which had notsuffered financially by the bankruptcy. The stoppage of a bank, withlittle hope of its resuming its functions, is like the stoppage of aheart which will never beat again. It may have been dreaded as apossible calamity, and occasionally hinted at in awed whispers; but whenthe blow falls it does so with a stunning, crushing force because of itsirreparable nature and far-reaching ruin. 

There was just a little preparation to herald the catastrophe. PoorCarey, an honest, weak tool of dishonest speculators and birds of preyin the shape of needy, unscrupulous relations, when the appallingtidings reached him which could only betoken immediate wreck, did allthat there was left to him to do. He called a meeting of the Redcrossshareholders. These were the leading professional men in the town whohad invested their savings, and a small proportion of the neighbouringcountry gentlemen who had put a little capital--not often to spare inthose days--in a concern once regarded as sound and incapable ofcollapse as the Bank of England itself. With a faltering tongue and ahanging head the nominal head of the firm told to those nearly concernedwhat was coming on them. Nobody reproached him; either no man had theheart, or all felt the uselessness of reproaches. Certainly theseshareholders' silence was his heaviest punishment. 

They made a hasty examination, as far as they could, for themselves, andthen the meeting broke up. Its members did not even linger to consult, being well assured that consultation, like reproaches, would be of noavail; the failure was so much more extensive and complete than theirworst fears had led them to anticipate. The men looked blankly in eachother's whitening faces and sought the refuge of their own houses atfirst. There would be time enough for outcry, for desperate plans andschemes a little later. 

Poor Dr. Millar had not even this breathing space. It happened to be aparticularly busy day with him. Various neutral individuals, in no wayconcerned with Carey's Bank, even when its misfortunes should be madepublic, took that inconvenient time for falling ill, and their medicalman had to attend upon them with spasmodic promptitude and mechanicalattention--projected, as it were, against the dazed and confusedbackground of his brain. After all he was glad of his profession withits outward and immediate calls, taking him out of himself in the hourwhen he had heard the worst. He preferred to be about the town doingbattle with this man's attack of paralysis and that woman's symptoms oftyphoid, even though his ears were ringing with clamorous questionswhich no one else could hear or answer. How was he to pay up theliabilities of his bank shares from his dwindling practice? What aboutinexperienced young girls driven out to make their own way in the world, and the gentlewoman (in every sense of the word) whom he had loved andcherished for four-and-twenty years, soon to be left a desolate, all butunprovided for widow? But better a thousand times to be dragged indifferent directions than to be sitting like Russell, locked in hisroom, his little children and their young mother shut out, holdingbetween his hands the erect head of a soldier who had come out of many ahard battle, but none so hard as this ambuscade which had been sprungupon him after he had been invalided a dozen years before, and returnedhome to spend his declining years in peace. Better than to have to writesermons and read prayers, like the Rector, and pause between everysentence to take himself sternly to task. Was it common forethought andprudence, with the necessity of providing for the wants of a household, which even the apostle Paul had commended, or was it worldly-mindednessand greed which had brought him, a beneficed clergyman, a priest in holyorders, the vowed servant of a King whose kingdom was not of this world, to this lamentable pass? Yes; he would be dishonoured in the eyes ofmen, a debtor who could not pay his debts, and even with the support ofhis bishop would be scarcely able to weather the storm, while he mustmake up his mind, as he was an honest man, that he and his should endurethe pinch of poverty for the rest of his days. 

Annie and Dora had been out on a shopping expedition, and were coming intalking and laughing as usual, when they were startled by the apparitionof their mother standing in the doorway of her room, and motioning tothem to come in directly and speak with her. The poor lady really lookedlike a ghost, as she stood there with her fine colour gone, beckoning toher daughters with her hand, as if the power of speech had suddenlyforsaken her. 

"What is it, mother?" cried the alarmed girls in one breath, hurryingtowards her. "Has anything happened? Is anybody ill?"

"Hush! hush, my dears, " said Mrs. Millar in a low tone, carefullyshutting the door of her room behind the girls, as if she were ready toguard her secret with her life--at the same time painfully sensible thatthe bad news would be all over Redcross the next day, or the next afterthat. "I thought it would be better to tell you myself; nobody in thehouse knows anything of it yet, except your father and me. "

"But what is it, mother; you have not told us?" Annie urged; while Mrs. Millar sank down in a low wicker chair, and her daughter Dorainstinctively stooped over her, and began to set her vagrant cap right. 

"Never mind my cap, my love, " said Mrs. Millar hurriedly, and then shegrew incoherent. "What does it matter, when perhaps I may not long havea cap to wear. "

Annie and Dora stared at each other in consternation. Was their mothergoing out of her senses?

"It is the bank, Carey's Bank, " said Mrs. Millar, recovering herself, "Oh dear! I am afraid it is in a very bad way. "

"Is that it?" cried Annie vaguely but gravely, opening wide her browneyes. "Is it going to fail?" She, too, spoke of the bank as if it were aresponsible being. 

"Annie, Annie, take care what you say. Girls are so heedless. I tell youit is very dangerous to make such broad statements. You do not know whatharm you may do by a single word when you are so childishly outspoken. "Mrs. Millar felt bound even yet to give her own words the timidqualification, though she was forced to add the next moment, "Yourfather has suspected things were going wrong for some time, and spokenof his suspicions to me repeatedly. He has just come back from a privatemeeting of the Redcross shareholders. He says in consequence of someadditional losses in South America, I think, and inability to realizecapital there, the bank cannot meet two or three heavy calls at home. Idaresay I am not telling you rightly, for I don't understand business, and I don't suppose you do. "

"I understand so far, that if this is not failure, I don't know whatis, " said Annie. 

"Don't, Annie, " said Dora; "let mother tell us in her own way; it is noteasy for her, it is a dreadful misfortune. "

"You may say that, Dora, " exclaimed her mother. "Your father does notbelieve the bank can hold out for another week; it may stop paymentto-morrow, since there are rumours afloat which will destroy what creditit has left. "

"Will no other bank help it?" cried Annie shrewdly. 

"I believe not, " said Mrs. Millar dolefully. 

"Then there will be a run, like what one has read of in similarcircumstances--a rush of the people, and a riot in the town, " suggestedAnnie, getting excited over the idea. "The police may have to guard thebank and the Bank house--soldiers may have to come from Nenthorn!"

"Oh, surely not, " cried Dora; "the poor Careys--who could treat them socruelly?"

"No, no, " said Mrs. Millar; "there is one good thing, your father doesnot think there will be much ill-feeling, or anything like an angry mob, or tumult--not even when the people see the closed doors. There hasalways been such confidence in Carey's Bank, the Careys have beenrespected for generations; even now it is James Carey's misfortune andnot his fault, though he may have been misled and imposed upon; and, after all, the depositors are tolerably sure of their money in time. Butyour father is afraid, " she ended, her voice sinking, "that it will gohard with the shareholders. "

"And poor father is one of them, " said Annie quickly. 

"Poor father!" echoed Dora piteously; "and you, poor, poor mother, tohave to think of us, and break it to us, while your heart is withfather. "

"And he has not even been left in peace for a single afternoon, to makeup his mind what we shall do, " lamented his sympathetic wife. "As usual, so many tiresome people have fallen ill--as if they did it on purpose, and sent for him. "

"I daresay they could not help it, " said Annie, "and I don't think itwould quite suit father if they were never ill. "

"Don't speak so unfeelingly, child, " remonstrated her mother; "well, Isuppose I gave you a bad example, " she corrected herself immediately, "but I have been in such trouble since lunch time. "

"Poor mother!" repeated Dora in a voice that was only more soft andcaressing because of its sorrowfulness. She was very fond of her mother, who reciprocated the special fondness, while Dr. Millar was ratherinclined to favour Annie and Rose, and both father and mother pettedMay. 

"Will it ruin us, mother?" inquired Annie directly, but before hermother could answer her, Annie's practical mind took a sudden flight. Itwent straight back to the purchases which she and Rose had been makingthat afternoon. They had been at "Robinson's, " of all places. But TomRobinson was only to be seen in the glass office, or walking about theplace in the morning, at hours which these two customers had carefullyavoided. Dora's heart had quaked all the same, in dread of an eventwhich, bad enough when it was confined to a passing bow, or a limphand-shake and half a dozen words exchanged in the street, would havebeen intolerable in "Robinson's, " under the eyes of his satellites. Yetfor the Millars to have refrained altogether from going to the one greatshop in the town, where women oft did congregate, would have been toexpose an event, the participators in which devoutly hoped was buried inoblivion. They had been in Miss Franklin's department without anythinguntoward happening; but it was neither "Robinson's" nor the person whoserved them there that flashed like lightning across Annie's thoughts atthis crisis. It was the articles the girls had been buying, the Tussoresilk and Torchon lace for frocks that Annie and Dora had meant to wearat a garden-party--for which the Dyers, the new people who had come toRedcross Manor-house, had sent out invitations. If the Millars wereruined, they were not likely to go to many more garden-parties, andthough the sisters might still want frocks, yet frocks of Tussore silktrimmed with Torchon lace--granted that the materials had appeared amodest and becoming wear for a doctor's daughters an hour before--mightnot be quite an appropriate selection in the family's alteredcircumstances. 

"It depends upon what you call ruin, " Mrs. Millar was sayingfalteringly, "and of course the bank's assets may turn out better thanis thought just now, though your father is far from hopeful. He says allhis savings will go, and he may count on having to pay bank 'calls' onhis income till the business is wound up, which may not be in hislifetime. No doubt he is taking the darkest view of things at present. "Then she yielded to the relief of pouring forth some of the coming woesin detail. "Oh, my dears, your father says, though nothing can besettled in a moment, there is one thing certain--this house must begiven up. "

"Our house!" cried both of the girls in dismay. 

"Where we were all born, where father himself was born, " pleaded Dora, still hanging about her mother. 

"The Old Doctor's House--why, it seems to belong to the practice, "protested Annie, sitting down, taking off her hat and tossing it on thebed as if the better to realize the situation. 

"No, I don't think it would hurt the practice--not in a town the size ofRedcross, where everybody would know where your father was to be found, though he were to change his house again and again. Still it does seemhard, " she admitted, as she covertly wiped away a tear, "particularlywhen the fault has not been ours--we have always lived within yourfather's income, even though his practice has been falling off in thesebad times, what with his getting up in years, and what with these youngdoctors trying to get in their hands everywhere. He tells me that he hasnever had to find fault with me for extravagance, " she finishedwistfully. 

"I should think not, " said Annie emphatically. "Why you have always beenas simple as simple could be in your own tastes and habits, not a womanin your circle dresses more quietly. You have hardly even driven in thebrougham when father was not wanting it, in case you should over-workthe horse--you have always said, but I really believe that you chose towalk for the simple reason that many of your acquaintances had nochoice. Nobody can ever reflect upon you, mother, for having wastedeither father's means or other people's, " said Annie, with a brightglance which became her infinitely. 

"Thank you, my love, for saying so, " replied her mother gratefully; "andyou see it is as well that I did not accustom myself to driving, amongother indulgences, for another of the retrenchments which your fathermentioned was putting down the brougham. Yet how he is to manage hismore distant patients on foot, at his age, I cannot imagine, " she brokeoff in helpless distress, clasping her hands tightly together, accordingto a way she had. "It seems downright madness to propose it. "

"Then you may be sure it will be prevented, " said Dora with earnesttrustfulness, as she gently patted her mother's cap. "Nobody can ask asacrifice from him which he is unable to make. Mother, do you know whatI was thinking? that the only occasions on which you and father wereregardless of expense have been where the profit or pleasure of us girlswas concerned. You have given us every advantage you could get for us inthe shape of education. You sent Annie and me to London to take thesecostly music-lessons;--Annie, I wish we had made more of them. Youarranged that we should go on that foreign tour with the Ludlows. "

"We did our best for you--your father and I. I think I may say that, "admitted Mrs. Millar simply. 

Dora went on eagerly with her generous catalogue. "There was the youngartist who exhibits at the Academy and the Grosvenor, who was sketchingat Nenthorn, you had him over at a high price once a week, and hecondescended to help Rose with her drawing and painting. Then there wasMr. Blake, the university man whom father considered so far in advanceof any classical master Miss Burridge could afford, he was induced solong as he was staying at Woodleigh to bring on May with her Latin andGreek. "

"So far so good, " said Mrs. Millar, in her excitement borrowing one ofher husband's brisk, cut and dry phrases. "I hope you will reap thebenefit of any effort we made, dears, because"--she hesitated, andnearly broke down--"well, I don't think you need mind so much yourfather's giving up this house and going into a smaller one; I'm sure Idon't mind it at all when I think what other people will have to suffer;and as for you, why, you may not be here--not always, at least. We areafraid, your father and I, that you'll need to go and do something tokeep yourselves. "

"To be sure, " said Annie promptly. "Don't trouble about that, mother;we'll be only too glad to be of use!"

"We'll be too thankful to relieve you and father as much as we can, "said Dora in a voice soft and fervent, but less assured. 

"That will be the least trial, " asserted Annie fearlessly. 

"Oh, you don't know what you're saying!" cried Mrs. Millar, fairlygiving way and permitting herself to sob for a minute or two behind herhandkerchief. "You are dear, good girls! I knew you would be, and sobrave that I ought to take courage; but young people are so hopeful andinexperienced. I don't wish you to be unhopeful, of course, still youcannot tell what it is for your father and me to send our girls--our owngirls whom we have been so proud and fond of, that have been making theold house brighter and brighter ever since they were born--out into acold world, to have to struggle for a pittance, to lose their youth andits privileges, to be knocked about, and perhaps ill-treated, and lookeddown upon by people in every way their inferiors. "

"Don't, mother, " interrupted Annie with decision; "you're conjuring upbogies which have ceased to exist now-a-days. Think of the women who goout into the world by no compulsion, simply for the honour and pleasureof the thing, because they will not stay at home to lead idle, uselesslives, when there is needful work to be done abroad. I don't questionthat they have difficulties to encounter, but I have yet to learn thatstaying at home will keep away crosses. Brave women can bear whatevertrouble comes. I have often thought of such workers, if you will believeme"--the girl was in a glow of animation--"with both shame and envy. Itis true I have not proposed to join them, " she added in a lower tone, "because I knew I was young for such work and not half good enough orclever enough, and because we were all so happy at home--you and fathermade us so, " and Annie turned away her head, and forthwith came tumblingdown a few steps from the exalted position she had taken up. 

"No, don't tell me, Annie Millar, " said her mother with something likepassionate resistance, "that any good father or mother can be glad tosend their young daughters out into the wide world to fight and sufferby themselves. It is not natural and it is not true. It is an altogetherdifferent thing to give them to good men who will take care of them andmake them happy. "

"But if the good men are not forthcoming, or if they happen to be thewrong men, " protested Annie. There was an irresistible twinkle in herdark eyes, in spite of the care and trouble that had come upon thehousehold, which she was too sensible and warm-hearted a girl not toshare fully. 

Dora stood conscience-stricken and guilty-looking, until, as she strokedher mother's locked hands, she at last found words to put in her humblepetition, "We shan't all go away, mother dear. Father and you must letone of us stay to take care of you and cheer you?"

"Oh, my dear, we are not old enough, at least I am not old enough toaccept such a boon, supposing we are very poor, " said Mrs. Millarsadly, "and in that case it might be sacrificing one of you, andspoiling your prospects in life. "

"No, no, " cried Dora vehemently. 

"Dora means that one of us ought to stay at home to set your cap right, "said Annie brusquely. 

It sounded an inopportune jest, positively unfeeling. The truth wasAnnie still laboured under the common youthful necessity to hide herdeeper feelings, an obligation made up of a touch of hystericalexcitement, pride, shyness, and possibly the unsubdued buoyance oftwo-and-twenty years. The last is apt to rebound swiftly, with a mixtureof cheerfulness and defiance from any sorrow, short of the one sorrowwhich cannot be trampled down or made light of, that has its root in agrave. Annie must find something to laugh at, to get fun out of, in thetribulation which she nevertheless felt in every nerve of her body, tothe core of her heart. 

"I ought to be able to keep my cap straight, " said poor Mrs. Millar veryliterally and meekly, looking a little puzzled by Annie's ill-timednonsense, and apparent hardness. "I daresay I should pin it, but thepins drag my hair so and hurt me. "

"Never think of it, mother, " said mild Dora indignantly, looking daggersat Annie. 

"Of course I did not mean that, mother. I was not in earnest, " Anniemade the penitent amendment. 

"You are right to make the best of things, " said Mrs. Millar, giving alittle shivering sigh on her own account. "It is the will of Providence. We are in God's hands, poor Mr. Carey and all of us, as we were a yearago--twenty years ago when you two were babies. "

They were simple truisms which she uttered, but they were honest words, which meant a great deal to her. They borrowed impressiveness from thetruthfulness of the speaker, in addition to the truth of the sayings, and by force of sympathy told on the listening girls, quieting andcontrolling them. 

"Poor Mr. Carey as you say, mother, " Annie caught up the words. "Well, Isuppose the Careys will be in a far worse plight than we can be, andCyril has been such a fool, though I don't suppose he meant much harm, with his dandyisms and idleness and his college airs--all that he hasbrought back from college. "

"Hush! child, " exclaimed the elder, more tolerant woman. "He has been asilly, selfish lad, but as he will know it now, to his cost, I do notlike to hear you casting it in his teeth to-day. Perhaps it will steadyhim, and then this misfortune will be a blessing so far as he isconcerned. "

"Rather hard that we should all be sacrificed to prop up Cyril's weakmoral nature, " muttered Annie. 

"And the Russells, " suggested Dora. "I have heard Colonel Russellspeaking to father, as if he and the Rector also had to do with thebank. Oh! there is Ned Hewett, who has not passed his Cambridgeexamination any more than Cyril Carey. Not that it has been Ned's fault, or that he goes in for nothing save amusement, only he is so slow overhis books, poor fellow! He will grudge his father's having spent moneyover him to no purpose more than ever now; and Lucy and Bell will besorry for him--they are so fond of Ned. "

CHAPTER V. 

PROMOTION. 

At that moment a rush was heard on the stairs, and Rose and May burstinto their mother's room, Rose at the last moment bethinking herselfthat she had left school, accordingly she must be grown up, or on thebrink of it, if Annie would but allow it, and therefore trying tomoderate the headlong pace, which would have better become a troop ofboys than a pair of girls. 

"Little May, " who, in spite of her height, was still in frocks an inchfrom the ground, was not troubled by any such scruples. She scampered upto her mother, and hailed her breathlessly--"Mother, we want you to letus--Rose and me--go with Ella and Phyllis Carey a walk to the Beeches. Ella says she saw some periwinkles and young ferns there, and we need, oh! ever so many fresh roots for the rockery. We should have gonewithout coming home to tell you, because you wouldn't mind, but we mighthave kept tea waiting, and we'll be horribly late. Besides, we are notcoming home for tea; Ella and Phyllis say we must go up with them to theBank House. "

"No, no, my dears, you can't do that, " said Mrs. Millar, hurriedly butdecidedly. "I am sorry that you should be disappointed, but you must notthink of such a thing. Ella and Phyllis don't understand--don'tknow--that their mother is particularly engaged this afternoon. She willnot wish to have people in the house, not even in the schoolroom. "

Rose and May looked in wonder at their mother, discomposed enough in herown person, sitting leaning back in her chair doing nothing; she whosemotherly hands were wont to be busy with some little bit of sewing orknitting. 

Annie, too, was sitting idle at a short distance, with her hat thrown onthe bed, but still wearing her jacket; and Dora, in her walking dress, was standing like a lady-in-waiting, or a sentry, behind Mrs. Millar'schair. 

Annie and Dora remained silent, looking at the intruders in a peculiarmanner. At the same time the first pair did not tell the second more orless curtly, as the elder girls had been in the habit of doing not sovery long ago, to go away and leave grown-up people to finish importantdiscussions in peace. 

What other new thing could have come about? Was there a fresh wooer inthe field, a second offer of marriage to be laid at reluctant feet? Wasit Annie, their beauty, who was in request this time? Who was the lover?not Cyril Carey, with his plush waistcoat and gold chains and odioussnuff-box? He had no means of keeping a wife, unless his father took himinto partnership in the bank, and their father would not hear of Cyril;besides, Annie held him in supreme disdain. She had more patience withTom Robinson and "the shop" than with the nineteenth century dandy, whomshe pronounced a mistaken revival of one of the many curiosities ofQueen Anne's reign. 

But Rose and May had no certainty that Annie was the object of pursuit. She was pretty enough, they had all pinned their faith to her beauty, yet already Dora had been preferred before her, though it was only bythe head of "Robinson's. " Was it possible that now it might be Rose, unsuspecting, unconsulted? Could her own mother and sisters be so unfairas to arrogate to themselves the settlement of her affairs without herconsent or knowledge, without so much as admitting her into theconclave?

Annie took the initiative, she was sufficiently quick to see both behindand before her. She had a head for directing and managing which hermother did not possess. 

"Mother, don't you see they had better be told at once?" she said, withthe aplomb of a girl who, however young and irresponsible, is capable ofarriving at independent conclusions and reversing existing conditions. "They are, as Rose says, all but grown up; indeed not so very muchyounger than Dora and I. I think Rose and May are entitled to be told. "

Annie was proceeding to act upon the permission implied in her mother'snod. She was not without some small sense of personal importance inbeing the mouthpiece which was to announce the calamity to her youngersisters. She did it in a very different fashion from that in which theirmother had broken the news to her and Dora. 

"What we are going to speak to you about is not a thing that can be longconcealed. It will not be a secret for more than a few days, if for solong. But that does not mean that you are not to shut this room doorwhich you have left wide open. Thanks, May. Don't bang it! You are notto show that you know what is going to happen. And, after it hashappened, you are not to chatter about it before the servants or to yourcompanions. We are trusting you because you have almost come to theyears of discretion, and ought to have a notion how to behave under thecircumstances. "

"Well, this is too bad of you, Annie!" cried Rose, showing instantsymptoms of revolt. "What have May and I done that we should be spokento as if we were a pair of tell-tales, or babies--and geese into thebargain? Dora and you are not so much older, as you confess; neither areyou so much wiser with all your pretensions. If something of so muchconsequence to everybody is on the eve of happening, I think we mighthave been told before. Surely mother is not afraid that we should repeatanything which we ought not to mention, " and she glanced with burningreproach at her mother. 

Rose was both high-spirited and touchy. She was not disposed to play thesecond part without a murmur like Dora. She was not content, with herart as a balance to Annie's beauty and May's budding scholarship. Rosedesired everybody to acknowledge her mother-wit and trustworthiness. 

Dora and Mrs. Millar spoke together in reply. "Mother only told Annieand me this afternoon, " said the general peacemaker. 

"It was not such a pleasant piece of information for me to give, or youto receive, child, that you and May should grudge my keeping it from youas long as I could, as I dared, " was the mother's weary reply. "Besides, your father did not wish it spoken about before; it would have beenwrong, a great risk to many others as well as to ourselves, to havementioned such a thing. "

"Then don't tell us now if you don't care to, mother, and if fatherdisapproves of our hearing it, " said Rose magnanimously, for she wasdying to be at the bottom of the mystery. 

"No, don't, mother dear, please don't, if it will hurt you, " said Mayaffectionately, with something of a childish ring in her voice. Hermother took her hand at the words and clasped it tightly. 

"Mother has made up her mind and father has given her leave to speak, "said Annie with determination, "because you must hear soon anyhow. Thereis something wrong with the bank, Mr. Carey's bank. We have all, evenMay, read and heard of bank failures, and have some idea how disastrousthey are. "

"The Carey's bank!" cried Rose, with sufficient intelligence in herastonishment. "I understand now why we were not to go home with Ella andPhyllis. "

"Then somebody must run over and tell them that we are not coming, "interrupted May. "Do let Bella take the message, mother, in case Ishould look as if I knew something. Poor Mr. Carey! he was always sokind to us. I am so sorry; but the bank has not anything to do with us;father is not the banker, he is just a doctor like grandfather, " endedMay composedly. 

"O May, you are a baby, though you read the Greek Testament and havesomething to say to Tacitus in the original, " exclaimed Annieindignantly. 

"Your father has shares in the bank, my dear, " explained her mother withpatient reiteration. "He bought them with his savings, and he will getnothing for them. Nobody will buy them from him again, they will be nobetter than waste paper. But that is not the worst. The shares make himresponsible for the bank's debts--I am sure I cannot tell you how far;he told me, I daresay, but I was so grieved for him and for all of you, and so confused, I could not take it in. But he says that what he willhave to pay up will be as much as he can do, with a hard fight, for therest of his days. "

"I am so sorry for father, " murmured May in an awed tone, but with alittle of a parrot note, just as she had pitied Mr. Carey, who was onlyan old acquaintance and the father of her friends. The fact was that theyoung girl, brought away suddenly from her girlish interests and herwhole past experience, and plunged into the cares of older people, wasthoroughly staggered and bewildered, in spite of a small head which wascapable of construing Latin and conjugating Greek. 

There was a moment's pause. "Will it make a great difference to fatherand the rest of us?" asked Rose, in spite of her quickness, and in spiteof what her mother had said. 

"Certainly, " Annie took it upon her to answer, with a mixture of fireand conviction, "we'll all have to earn our living. "

"Oh, don't make such sweeping statements, Annie, frightening yoursisters, " said their mother reproachfully; and unquestionably May lookedscared, and dropped her gloves without noticing it. "You must do whatyou can to help your poor dear father, and I am sure you'll do thatwillingly, but so long as he is spared to work for all of us----" Shestopped short, unable to say any more. 

Then her daughters closed round her, from the youngest to the eldest, and told her in concert that she was not to be concerned for them. Theywere ready for the occasion and equal to it, and they would not mind inthe very least. 

"Mind!" declared Rose, with her eyes beginning to shine and her cheeksto flush like Annie's. "Why, it is the one great comfort that we'll haveto make our way in the world, and push our fortunes like boys. We'llhave plenty of adventures and rise triumphant over them all, and be sucha help to you and father. Think of that, May, you little coward, "appealing to her younger sister who, in spite of her small dabbling inmasculine acquirements, did not look as if the prospect of pushing herfortune like a boy was full of unmixed charm for her. But shebrightened up at the visionary honour and delight of being a great helpto their father and mother, and cried, "Yes, yes, Rose, " with subduedenthusiasm. 

Dora also echoed the "yes" with a quiet intensity. 

Annie, on her part, graciously approved of her juniors, and rewardedthem by patronizing them tremendously. 

"That is right. I don't very well know yet what Dora and I can do, butwe'll find something. However, you two young ones are the geniuses ofthe family, and we'll look to you. I suspect Dora and I will have tomarch under your wings. You, Rose, must be quick and paint Academypictures, get them hung on the line, and have them sold before theopening day. May must pass all her examinations in no time, gain ascholarship, and be appointed classical mistress to a Girls' Day-school, of which she will eventually become the head. Fancy 'little May' afull-blown school ma'am. "

"Dear! what creatures girls are! They are jesting and laughing alreadyover their own and other people's misfortunes. It is little they know oflife, it is little they guess what will befall them, " sighed Mrs. Millarto herself. Nevertheless, in the middle of her anxiety and sorrow, shewas in some respects a happy woman, and she had a dim but consolingperception of the truth. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE CLOUD DEEPENS. 

The storm burst, but the cloud did not disperse, it only closed in moredarkly over Redcross. At the same time, as the bank authorities hadforeseen, there was little or nothing of the wild, panic-stricken run onthe capital which heralds and intensifies many a bank's fall. The loserswent about their ordinary occupations. The Rector preached, presidedover meetings of the vestry and Christian Associations, and attended tohis sick. Doctor Millar looked after his sick. Colonel Russell even wentto the Literary Institute and read the newspapers as usual. Every one ofthem wore his customary face, however abnormal the working of his heart. The Redcross victims, and many another innocent man besides, behavedlike gentlemen, Englishmen, and Christians. There was neither outwardfuss nor fury. 

The individual who came nearest to breaking down was naturally Mr. Carey. The very forbearance with which he was treated cut to the quickthe honest man who had been the tool of fools and knaves, brazening outtheir share of the business and contriving to escape with the leastdamage of anybody. They had been impecunious, trading upon otherpeople's funds to begin with, and Carey's Bank's failure only left themwhere they were originally, under circumstances in which no reasonableperson would expect redress from them. But poor James Carey, who hadbeen credulous and weak, was made of other stuff. 

"I'm not easy about Carey, " the little doctor confided to his wife. "Hewas talking quite in a stupid, dazed way to Russell and me this morning. Do you observe his eyes? Have you noticed the veins on his forehead andhis throat? I'm far from comfortable about him. " (As if he feltcomfortable about anything at this period!) "I question much whetherhe'll ever get over it. "

The public of Redcross, who could remark the glassy look of the eyes, though they might not be qualified to speak of the condition of theveins, were still more struck by the immediate and melancholy effect thebank's failure had on Mr. Carey, when their attention was drawn to Mrs. Carey's behaviour. She was a woman who had seldom left her house savefor her daily drive, now she walked out with her husband every fineafternoon. Her arm was drawn through his; but it was evident at themerest glance that she was supporting his failing steps and not he hers. She was a little, thin, somewhat wizened woman, but she looked equal tothe task she had set herself, if a strong will would do it. There was apeculiarity to be seen in her eyes too, by those who could read thesign. It was a fixed desperate determination to keep her husband and thefather of her children by sustaining his weakness with her strength, tofight and vanquish the enemy whose icy touch was already on his heartand brain. 

But although there was little outward demonstration in Redcross, muchinner ferment and growing concern prevailed beneath the surface in whathad been considered the principal houses in Redcross--houses safe andsure as they were honourable in their ascendancy in the past. After theaffairs of the bank were in the hands of liquidators, and it becameclear that the ruin was great and complete, hope had hardly a hole orcorner left to linger in, even in the hearts of the most simple andsanguine. The impending changes which must follow became the talk of thetown, extending to circles far beyond that on which the blow had fallen. Within the narrower limits, the anxious question what was to be donebecame the one engrossing, breathless subject of the hour. 

Some of the reforms and retrenchments were marked by the spasmodic hasteand severity which are apt to defeat themselves. These formed pendantsto the spurts of grovelling distrust and quaking care for one's ownwelfare which caused Wilkins the butcher to send in his quarter's billbefore it was due to Colonel Russell, and have the debt dischargedwithin the hour. In like manner, Honeyman the grocer felt bounddelicately to intimate to the Careys that he declined to give the familymore than a week's credit. He was answered in a formally polite notefrom Mrs. Carey to the effect that she had not intended to ask for anylonger credit thenceforth, but from that date she would pay ready money. These offensively defensive acts and vulgar tokens that times werechanged got wind, and were discussed in awed, indignant whispers by themass of Wilkins's and Honeyman's fellow-townsmen. 

There was little need to remind the poor Careys of their alteredcircumstances, since it was in the Bank House that some of the spasmodicsweeping reforms referred to had at once been practised by Mrs. Carey. She had always been the ruling spirit in the house, and people now saidopenly that it would have been well for everybody if she had been theruling spirit in the bank also. She was a woman with locallyaristocratic connections, of a more tangible kind than what constitutedthe Millars' shadowy link with the county. Her brother was Sir CharlesLuxmore of Headley Grange, and her nephew had allied himself to thepeerage by marrying an Honourable Victoria Brackenridge. All the greaterthe glaring recklessness and insolence of Honeyman to take the word intohis own mouth and refuse the Careys credit. At the same time SirCharles's place was nearer the town of Nenthorn than that of Redcross, and he did not deal with Redcross tradesmen unless at election times. Asfor his daughter-in-law, the Honourable Victoria, she came so seldom tosee her aunt-in-law that her face could not be said to be known inRedcross streets, where she never entered even the "fancy shop" whichthe other county ladies patronized occasionally in search of missingshades of silks or wools. 

Mrs. Carey had stooped considerably when she became the wife of Mr. Carey of the bank, though the bank was nominally his own, and the Careyswere a highly respectable family of old standing in Redcross. When itcame to that, there had only been two generations of the Luxmores atHeadley Grange, and the original baronet's rise to the honours ofknighthood and a baronetage was due to his success and favour in highplaces as a fashionable physician. Mrs. Carey had not been very youngat the date of her marriage, and her fortune was moderate enough, forthe moneyed strength of her grandfather and father had gone to found afamily and support a baronetage. Still, she had been accustomed to carryherself, after she became Mrs. Carey, not in an obtrusive and offensivemanner, but in a quiet, well-bred way, as one who had been undeniablybetter born and bred than her neighbours. Indeed, under anycircumstances she would have been a reserved woman, who would, in homelyparlance, have kept herself to herself. 

This was the woman who, with an absence of any sense of proportion, andan equal lack of humour, sometimes to be found in women of her class andcharacter, together with an excess of mingled fiery zeal and feverishapprehension, hidden under a quiet exterior, took her measures on thevery day after the bank's failure. These measures made a thoroughexposure of the conclusion which she had arrived at, and subjectedherself and the whole family to immediate privations, for which theywere unprepared. They were injurious as well as useless and uncalledfor, and had a ludicrous side. Acting for Mr. Carey, she dismissed thecoachman and the gardener, paying them their month's wages which wereunearned. She let the valuable horses take their chance of casualgrooming and feeding, till they were sold off. She left the garden atthe most critical time of the year, as the old gardener said with tearsin his eyes, when the young vegetables were only coming into use, andthe whole fruit would be lost unless it were properly seen to. The woodpigeons would have all the later seeds springing in the beds, and theplace on which he had bestowed so much time and labour would lie waste, instead of providing a considerable part of the food of the household insummer and autumn. "But there was never no sense in them ladies likemissus, no more in their sparing than in their spending. " At one fellswoop she dismissed her own maid, the cook, and the parlour-maid, retaining only a young table-maid to "do" for the family. 

Mrs. Carey had hitherto been an indulgent mother, but all at once shetold the scandalized university dandy and failure, Cyril, that he mustbrush his own boots and help his schoolboy brothers to clean the knives, if he were not satisfied with what a maid-of-all-work could accomplishin these departments. 

As for Ella and Phyllis, looking on aghast at the wholesale destructionof what they had been accustomed to consider the ordinary comforts--notto say the luxuries and refinements of their home--the girls wereinformed that they were not to go back to Miss Burridge's, where theirquarters were paid in advance. The younger brothers might continue atthe Grammar School, because the fees were low; they would be kept out ofharm, and they could do nothing else to speak of. But Ella and Phyllishad better lose no time in learning to make beds, sweep floors, and laytables. "For myself, I have your father to see to, " said Mrs. Carey inher somewhat deep and strong voice, the measured steadiness of which hadacquired a ringing vibration. "I do not mean to conceal from you thatDr. Millar is apprehensive on your father's account, and I intend todevote myself to him. We must pull him through and save him at any cost, though his health and nerves may be shattered from this date, and he maynever be able to retrieve his losses and those of other people, which, of course, press most heavily upon him. We can try at least for thecredit as well as the life which is so dear to us, and never have itsaid for his sake, still more than for ours, that he was blind andimposed upon, and then let himself slip out of the misery which he hadhelped to bring about, while others who were not accountable werecondemned to pay the penalty. "

Mrs. Carey would fain not have touched a farthing of the income allowedthe family till the bank's affairs were wound up--that winding-up whichDr. Millar said might last throughout his life. She would willinglyhave resigned the bulk of her small fortune in favour of the bank'screditors, but marriage settlements and trustees are stubborn facts todeal with. All she could do was to stint and punish herself and herfamily in the manner described, and inasmuch as the stinting andpunishment were done in good faith, doubtless they would serve theirpurpose and have their reward. 

The Rector was a widower. Hitherto he had kept an efficient housekeeperand chaperon for his daughters, the elder of whom must now take thehousekeeper's place. He, too, put down what had served him for acarriage. It was remarkable how uniformly the first idea of retrenchmenttook this form in Redcross, but it was natural under the circumstances. It was difficult to say at once what was to be cut down from a not veryextensive list of supernumeraries, unless one was prepared to make aclean sweep like Mrs. Carey. The Rector had been simple enough in histastes and habits. He was a member of the Church of England TemperanceSociety, and so had no valuable cellar of wine to dispose of. He did notpossess more silver plate than was wanted for the Rectory table. Hislibrary contained no rare and costly books. The very carriage inquestion was no more than one of those pony-phaetons with regard towhich Bishop Pattison appealed, in one of his letters from Melanesia tohis brethren in peaceful, pleasant country rectories and vicarages athome, asking the astonished clergymen, with their clergywomen in thebackground, if they really considered the clerical equipage, with itsmodest expense, equivalent to a divine institution? The Rector provedhis freedom from the superstition by doing away with the phaeton and itspair, and falling back, as he was a spare man, on an old pony which thechildren had ridden by turns. Though he was not a book fancier, he hadentertained a fondness for art, and since he could not indulge in muchpicture buying, had dabbled in old prints, of which he had rather a finecollection. This all at once vanished along with the phaeton. 

Bell Hewett, the second daughter, who was several years younger than hersister Lucy, but had left Miss Burridge's some time before, and was asfar removed from a school-girl as Annie Millar herself, unexpectedlyappeared again on the familiar benches. She was not there as a juniorgoverness, she was not sufficiently clever or educated, since MissBurridge sought to work up to the new standards. Poor Bell was in herold place, in her old classes, as a pupil once more, only she satlooking deeply affronted, and nervously trying to make up for lost time, among a set of young girls like May Millar. 

There was not much difference made in Colonel Russell's establishment. But this was caused by one of two things. There was the probability ofthe establishment's soon being broken up, if its master succeeded ingetting a post which should enable him to return to India. On the otherhand, the second Mrs. Russell was too foolish and self-willed tocomprehend without a prolonged struggle how she and her babies could getalong unless they were fortified by every imaginable aid in the shape ofan expensive table, fine clothes, a couple of under nurses, and a boy inbuttons. Fanny Russell, the Colonel's grown-up daughter by his firstwife, looked sad enough over the prospect of her father's departure athis age, with his shattered constitution, and over what was to become ofherself, left behind with the frivolous, unreasonable young stepmotherwith whom Fanny had never been able to agree. 

The Millars were still in the old quaintly spacious house with its greatbowery garden, for the plausible reason that Dr. Millar could not, onthe spur of the moment, find a purchaser or an available tenant. He tooksome credit to himself for having more breadth of view and controllingcommon sense than poor Mrs. Carey, otherwise he might have rushed offand crammed his family into a small inconvenient house, for which, atthe same time, he would have had to pay rent, that was not called for, unless in the form of rates and taxes, where his old house wasconcerned. There might be something to say on the other side of thequestion, but as yet that had not occurred to Dr. And Mrs. Millar. However, the Doctor's brougham, like the Rector's phaeton, was a thingof the past. He trudged manfully on foot to his patients. There are fewevils which do not offer some compensations. It really seemed as if theDoctor's deprivation, which weighed heavily on his wife's mind, servedto divert it from other trials, by the degree to which it was occupiedin looking after her husband's changes of coats and boots, in order toward off evil consequences to his health. 

The four girls were so engrossed with what had happened and was going tohappen to them from the failure of Mr. Carey's bank, that they hadlargely lost sight of the first wooer in the family. This was strongevidence of the extent to which their minds were filled by the rapiddescent of what they called poverty on themselves and their neighbours. Rose and May ceased to have qualms of conscience when they caught sightof Tom Robinson fishing in the Dewes, not knowing what desperatepromptings of despair might not suddenly lay hold of a rejected andforlorn lover. They left off glancing covertly at him in his pew atchurch, for the purpose of detecting the earliest symptoms of a brokenheart and a galloping consumption. Instead they speculated on whetherBell Hewett would have had a new hat if it had not been for the bank'sfailure; and whether her brother's absence from home was owing to hishaving gone to London for the first look at the columns of theadvertising newspapers, and that he might be on the spot to apply inperson at the addresses given, and to haunt the agency offices, as youngmen are represented doing in novels. 

Inevitably Tom Robinson's recent intercourse with the family had beenconfined to a formal call or two, awkward and unpleasant to allconcerned. Only Dr. Millar brought him into the conversationoccasionally, dealing with his name in the spirit of a faithfulpartisan. "That good fellow Robinson did not draw out a farthing of hisdeposit at the bank after disquieting rumours must have reached him. Carey tells me that Robinson, in place of seeking to be reassured, didhis best to reassure him, Carey; told him never to mind him, he couldlie out of the money; he was willing to let others who had more need bepaid first. Ah! well, it is good to have it in your power to be bothjust and generous, and it is still better to have a heart to use thepower. Robinson has acted handsomely throughout, in short, like thegentleman he is. I wonder if his behaviour on this occasion will weighwith snobs against the iniquity of his having a shop. I thoughtThackeray had done something to demolish similar rubbish when hedescribed the young cads who gave the schoolboy Dobbin the nickname'Figs. '"

The speaker was guilty of glaring rather fiercely at his daughters, assembled for afternoon tea. They became eminently innocent andmeek-looking on the instant, but when the sisterhood were left tothemselves Annie delivered her opinion with admirable fairness andcandour. 

"I am sure I am glad that Tom Robinson should behave himself like agentleman, but that does not make his trade a profession fit for agentleman, neither does it render the man, with his lack of ambition andhis commonplaceness and dulness, an interesting specimen of humanity. "

"Not a man that a woman would care to die for, " said Rose, wrinkling herforehead and crumpling up her nose till her face was half its naturallength. "Oh, I say, think of any woman being so infatuated as to bewilling to die for an insignificant, foxy-headed, well-bred shopkeeper!"

"Don't be slangy, Rose, " Annie rebuked her sister. 

"Still I am very glad, " said Dora's soft voice quite distinctly, andwhile she blushed furiously she reared her little neck with anunconscious gesture. It said plainly, "Yes, I am glad that the man whosought me for his wife has shown himself liberal and merciful, so that Ican always think of him and his wishes with respect and gratitude. "

"And so am I glad, " agreed May warmly. "It is so nice that 'Robinson's'has not made its master grasping and greedy. "

"I don't know that rapacity is confined to trade, " admitted Annie. "Youought to know, May, for you have a good deal of intercourse with royaltyin your reading; but I have a notion that it has been the distinguishingcharacteristic of a good many kings and emperors. "

Annie and Rose had grown more and more eager to take up their burdensfrom the first day they were aware that there were burdens for them totake up. They were becoming positively enamoured of pushing theirfortunes and encountering adventures--not in the least understanding, inspite of their bright wits, what the burdens, fortunes, adventures mightmean. The two sisters' enthusiasm was just kept within bounds by twodrags on its quicksilver quality. These laggard spirits, Dora and May, weighed upon their more enterprising companions. Neither could Annie andRose quite shut their eyes to the increase of wrinkles on their father'sface, and to their mother's red eyes when she came down of a morning. If it had not been for these small drawbacks, it is to be feared thatAnnie and Rose would have arrived at such a height of _tête exaltée_that they would have begun to rejoice in their own and their neighbours'misfortunes. There was something so fresh and exciting in looking aboutfor openings and careers, in calculating how they were to earn theirbread--which would taste so sweet to those who earned it--and at thesame time save money. They were not quite so insane as to propose toamass fortunes and fling them into the gulf caused by the crumbling awayof the late bank in order to redeem their father's pledge as ashareholder. But surely in the course of a year or two they might helphim, and generally assist in keeping the old folks at home in state andbounty. 

Annie and Rose looked on working for themselves in a very differentlight from that in which they regarded Tom Robinson's sticking to hisfather's and grandfather's shop. To be sure, they did not start with anyintention of keeping shops. Even if they had done so, the descent mighthave been redeemed by a dash of sentiment and romance which did notapply in the least to a man with only himself to look to, a man ofindependent means to boot, who had forgotten what was expected from agentleman. 

There was no danger of Dora or May's being infected with their sisters'frame of mind. Dora and May were mortally ashamed of themselves. Theyfeared they were not of the stuff of which heroines--not to saymartyrs--were made. They looked back almost as fondly and sadly as theirmother looked on the old state of matters. They dreaded with a shrinkingterror going away from home, leaving their people, facing the cold, critical world, being left to their own slender resources. It was badenough in Dora, but it was really dreadfully disappointing in May, withher youthful learning, to have so little spirit and courage; still so itwas, and in the meantime there was no help for it. Dora might have beenglad for purely personal reasons to get away from Redcross for a time;but she was not thrown into Tom Robinson's company, and the fact of hisrefusal had been kept so quiet by the Millars that, unless he himselfbetrayed it, which was not likely, the greatest gossip in the placecould only suspect the truth. 

It was a small comfort to the unheroic pair, and perhaps to Annie andRose also, though they did not consciously take it into account, thatall the older professional men in the town, the leaders and those whowere on most intimate terms, were "in the same boat, " as Dr. Millar hadsaid. But there was a family named Dyer lately settled at Redcross, asemi-retired stockbroker, with his wife and daughters, who had come fromLondon to occupy Redcross Manor-house--naturally they had nothing to dowith Carey's Bank, and were still supposed to be rolling in wealth, asthey had been reported from the first. However, there was a notion thatthe Dyers' riches had not been acquired in any very refined fashion. Cyril Carey had always insisted, as he settled his collar and twirledhis cane, that stockbroker was simply pawnbroker writ large. Anyhow theDyers were not so distinguished in mind and manners as they werewealthy. Old conservative folks sighed at the idea of RedcrossManor-house, which had belonged to the Cliftons from time immemorial, till the last Clifton fell into the hands of the Jews before he wastwenty, and was driven to break the entail by the time he was forty, passing to a family of Dyers. The best that could be said of them was, that the old people were comparatively inoffensive and the young werepresentable. They were inclined to be friendly with the town--it mightbe till they could secure a footing with the county people, if that werepossible. They dressed well, thanks to their milliners and dressmakers, kept a good table, a good stable, and a good staff of domestics, andfurnished Redcross--especially young Redcross--with country-househospitalities and gay gatherings, which they would otherwise havelacked. Yet fanatics of young people like Annie and Rose Millar, whowere persuaded that they were now well acquainted with a reverse offortune, began to behave as if they considered it was no longer the_crême de la crême_ of human experience to amass and retain a fortune. They began to pity the rampantly prosperous family for the lack on theirpart of any knowledge of life's vicissitudes, with their trumpet call toearnest effort and supreme self-devotion--all that makes man or womanworthy of the name. As for the younger Dyers, they were content to echothe sentiments of their mouthpiece, the head of their house. He spoke inthe privacy of his family with a half-affable, half-contemptuous concernfor those unfortunate beggars of uppish Redcross townspeople who had allcome to smash by the failure of one paltry twopenny-halfpenny localbank. 

The Millars were constantly hearing of fresh examples of hardship, andcourage to meet the hardship, piquing and inciting them to enterpriseand self-sacrifice on their own account. Now it would be May, who wouldcome in from Miss Burridge's with a blanched face, crying, "Oh! yougirls, do you know Ella Carey has gone and is not coming back again?Phyllis is crying her eyes out, because she and Ella were neverseparated before. No, Ella has not gone to be a lady-help, as shethought she might do, after she had got a little more practice inwashing dishes and peeling potatoes. It is nothing bad, except that sheis gone for good and all, and it has been so sudden. And Mrs. Carey saysElla is not to come back. One of her sisters, the one without children, Mrs. Tyrrel, wrote and offered to take either of the girls. And what doyou think Mrs. Carey said? That Ella must go, because if she went therewould be a mouth less to feed. She was sorry, because she said it wasgiving up Ella, and she told her she must not expect to have much moreto do with Phyllis and the rest of them at home, for it would be out ofthe question, in the different circumstances of the Tyrrels and Careys, for them to carry on frequent or intimate intercourse. Ella would haverefused if she had dared, for she is so fond of Phyllis and all of them, even of her mother, though she has grown very hard since the bankfailed. She used to let the girls have their own way. Don't youremember, Rose, she allowed us to dress up for charades out of herwardrobe? Why, you once wore her wedding-gown pinned up round you. ButMrs. Carey would not give Ella any choice. She repeated that there wouldbe one mouth the less to feed. She said Ella was the elder, and it washer duty to her father and his creditors to go. So all poor Ella'sthings were sought out and packed up last night--the letter only cameyesterday. She has had no time to bid Rose and me, or any of her otherfriends, good-bye. She started with Cyril early this morning, and Idon't know what Phyllis will do without her. "

"She must do the best she can, " said Annie promptly, "and occupy herselfwith something better than gossiping with you when she chances to meetyou coming from school. I suppose that was the manner in which you heardall this; I don't think Mrs. Carey will approve of such a waste oftime. "

"But, Annie, " pled May, with her dark eyes ready to brim over, "poorPhyllis has only me now, and she has a great many messages to go, because their single servant has so much work to do in the house thatshe cannot get out marketing. Mrs. Carey is always walking or sittingwith Mr. Carey. If it were not so, Phyllis is sure that her mother wouldgo out and not mind taking the market-basket herself--a rough, heavymarket-basket. The Careys' servants used to complain because one of themwas expected to carry it in the mornings. Phyllis is glad to let me haveit sometimes, her arms get tired and ache so. You see Jack and Dick arenot often home from school in time, and then they have the boots andknives to clean. Cyril would carry it for her after it was dark, butMrs. Carey won't let her go out then, and sends her off to bed that shemay get up earlier for what she has to do in the morning. "

That rough market-basket over which the Careys' former servants hadgrumbled, was like a badge of honour in certain shining eyes--far moreso than Thirza Dyer's thoroughbred, or Camilla and Gussy Dyer'sexquisite hats and dainty parasols. Even Annie Millar was not too old ortoo wise to refrain from wishing that Mrs. Millar, who still would notlet her daughters soil their fingers if she could help it, had sent themout marketing in their native town, each in her turn flourishing amarket-basket. 

At another time it would be Rose who would arrive flushed and breathlesswith the great piece of news that Ned Hewett had taken the post ofstation-master at a small station somewhere on the Yorkshire moors. Hehad done it when nothing else turned up, without waiting to consult hisfather. But the Rector had not forbidden him when he heard. Steadinessand punctuality had always been Ned's strong points, so that, though hehad not taken his degree at the university, and his old masters had saidthey were not surprised to hear it, he might be trusted not to wrecktrains, slay their passengers, and find himself tried for manslaughter. The difficulty was to fancy a big, slow fellow like Ned rushing here andthere in a noisy, fussy little station. After all, it would only benoisy and fussy at long intervals, and on rare occasions, "somewhere onthe Yorkshire moors. " Ned might have time and space to walk about in. But what of the uniform? Would the poor boy--they had all known him as aboy--who had once cherished the notion of going into the army, have towear a railway company's coat and a station-master's cap? How funny itsounded! Well, not altogether funny. There were Dora and May crying atthe bare anticipation. If they were ever on the Yorkshire moors, and hadto greet Ned in this extraordinary guise, it would be awkward for allparties, to say the least. What were they thinking of? Of course theywould be proud to greet him when he was twice the man that he had everbeen. No doubt Cyril Carey would be glad to have Ned's chance; Cyril, who had renounced his delicate plush vests and Indian gold chains andcharms, his loitering and dawdling, and taken to a shabby shooting-suitand spade-husbandry. He was getting rid of his time and keeping out ofhis mother's way by digging aimlessly in the garden. He was inquiring, in a desultory fashion, all over Redcross for any opening in an officewhich he could fill. He was not likely to find such an opening unlessit were made for him out of charity. He had not been trained to officework, and he was far from having Ned Hewett's reputation for steadinessand punctuality. If Tom Robinson should be the charitable man and askCyril, a schoolfellow and college chum, to help him with his accounts, the head of "Robinson's" would have to be at the trouble of running upevery column of figures over again. Cyril might ride to hounds and rowin a boat-race with the best; he might even have some elegantacquaintance with the renaissance and old French, and be capable ofdistinguishing himself in stately Latin verse, though that sounded morethan doubtful when he had been plucked at his university--theinhabitants of Redcross did not, as a rule, pretend to be judges in suchmatters. What they did know, because it had oozed out some time before, was that Cyril Carey, though a banker's son, was lamentably weak inarithmetic, and his handwriting would have been held a disgrace to anyshop-boy. 

Money was required to start lads in the world in the humblest fashion. Ned Hewett wanted an outfit, and if possible furniture for hisstation-house, that he might not begin on credit. Even girls, thoughthey had been a good deal set aside in such consideration, could notenter on an independent career without money any more than boys could. The Millars were therefore thankful that Mrs. Millar had a little moneyof her own, not above a hundred and fifty pounds a year, settled uponher from the first, by one of those marriage contracts which are so hardto break, and she could use it to supply what was needed for the girls, who were going into the world with such dauntless spirits and lighthearts. 

CHAPTER VII. 

ROSE GOES WEST AND ANNIE GOES EAST. 

In the end it was settled, to Annie and Rose's great satisfaction, andno less to the temporary relief of Dora and May's quaking hearts, thatthe two former were to take the first plunge into unknown waters. Ifthings had been as they were formerly, and there had been leisure tospare from rougher rubs for highly delicate considerations, it might, ashas been hinted, have been held that Dora should have been the sisterselected to go away from Redcross--at least for a time. 

But a great deal had happened since Tom Robinson's unsuccessful suit andall connected with it had been in honour hushed up. People had too manyweighty matters to think of to keep in mind that small sentimentalepisode between a couple of young people. 

Rose's fate was chalked out from the first. She was to be anartist--that went without saying. She had certainly artistic talent, shemight have genius. But though she had been tolerably well trained sofar, by a good drawing-master at Miss Burridge's, and by the lessons shehad received from the wandering exhibitor at the Academy and theGrosvenor, neither she nor her family could be sufficiently infatuatedto imagine she wanted no more teaching. Their conceptions of art mightbe crude, and their faith in Rose unbounded, but they did not supposethat she had only to open her portfolio and sell its contents as oftenas it was full. Dr. And Mrs. Millar made up their minds, Rose agreeingwith them, that she should have at least a year in a London studio. 

All the three considered it very fortunate when the artist who hadgiven her lessons at Redcross, hearing of her intention, and of whathad rendered it incumbent on her to work for her living, not onlyrecommended a studio in which art classes were held, but good-naturedlygave her a testimonial and helped her to a post as assistantdrawing-mistress in a ladies' school, a situation which she could fillon two days of the week, while she attended the art classes on theremaining four. The salary thus obtained was of the smallest, but itwould supplement Mrs. Millar's allowance to Rose, and help to pay herboard in some quiet, respectable family living midway between theschool and the studio. Rose was a lucky girl, and she thought herselfso. Indeed that minimum salary raised her to such a giddy pinnacle inher own estimation that it nearly turned her head. It was only hersisters, the wise Annie among them, who regarded the assistantdrawing-mistress-ship with impatience as a waste of Rose's valuabletime and remarkable talents. 

A qualification came soon to Rose's exultation and to her pride in beingthe first of her father's daughters--and she the third in point ofage--who had just left school, and had hardly been reckoned grown-up byAnnie till quite lately--to earn real tangible money, gold guineas, however few. For something better still befell Annie. If Rose was lucky, Annie was luckier. True, she would never be a great artist, she wouldnever get hundreds and thousands for a picture. At the utmost she wouldonly be at the head of a charitable institution. She might save thegreater part of her income then, and hand it over to her father, butthat was a very different prospect from the other. Still, from thebeginning Annie would be, so to speak, self-supporting; she need notcost her mother or anybody else a penny, her very dress would beprovided for her. Above all Annie was going to do a great deal of good, to be a comfort and blessing, not only to her people, but to multitudesbesides. She was, please God, to help to lessen the great crushing massof pain and misery in the world, not by passive, sentimental sympathy, not by little fitful, desultory doles of practical aid, but by theconstant daily work of her life. Young as Rose was, and enamoured of artin her way, she was able to comprehend that if Annie could do thatworthy deed, her life would be greater in a sense, fuller in itshumanity, perhaps also sweeter than that of the most famous andsuccessful painter. 

Annie had always taken a lively interest in her father's profession, andhe had liked her to do so. He had been fond of talking to her about it, and enlightening her on some of its leading principles. He had evenpressed her into his service in little things, and been gratified by thehereditary firmness and lightness of grasp and touch, the control overher own nerves and power of holding those of others in check, the quickand correct faculty of observation she had displayed. But with all hisloyal allegiance to the calling which had been his father's before itwas his, which he would have liked to see his son fill, if a son hadbeen born to him, he was taken aback and well-nigh dismayed, as hermother was, when Annie came and told them quietly that she had made upher mind, if they would consent, to go into an hospital and be trainedfor a nurse. He laid before her as calmly and clearly as he could theconditions of the undertaking, and reminded her that it could not begone into by halves, while he thought, as he spoke, that Annie was notthe style of young woman to go into anything by halves. 

Mrs. Millar followed with a trembling recital of the painfulness, theabsolute horror to a young girl of many of the details of the office. But Annie was not shaken in the least. "I should not mind that, " sheasserted with conviction. "I know there must be strict discipline andhard trying work, with no respite or relaxation to speak of; but I amyoung and strong, fitter to stand such an ordeal than most girls of myage are qualified. I am too young, you say? Yes, I admit that; it is apity--at least I know I have always reckoned myself too young when thethought crossed my mind six months--a year ago, of leaving home andbecoming trained for a nurse. "

"You don't mean to say, Annie, that you ever thought of going out intothe world before our misfortunes in connection with the bank?" criedboth father and mother in one breath. 

Annie hung her shapely head a little, then held it up, and confessedfrankly, "Yes, I have. Oh, you must forgive me. It was not from anyfailure of kindness on your part, or, I trust, any failure on mine toappreciate your kindness, for I believe you are the best, dearest fatherand mother in the world, " she cried, carried out of herself, andbetrayed into enthusiasm. "But what were you to do with a houseful ofgirls, when one would have served to give you all the help you need, mother, in your housekeeping and the company you see? I _have_ hated theidea of being of no use in the world, unless I chanced to marry, " endedAnnie, with a quick, impatient sigh. 

"My dear, you are talking exaggerated nonsense. " Mrs. Millar reprovedher daughter with unusual severity, dislodging her cap by the energyof her remonstrance, so that Annie had to step forward promptly, arrest it on its downward path, and set it straight before theconversation went any further. "Nobody said such things when I wasyoung. I was one of a household of girls, far enough scattered now, poor dears!"--parenthetically apostrophizing herself and her youthfulcompanions with unconscious pathos--"I would have liked to hear anyone say to us, or to our father and mother, that we were no good inthe world. I call it a positive sin in the young people of thisgeneration to be so restless and dissatisfied, and so ready to takeresponsibilities upon themselves. It is a temptation of Providence tosend such calamities as the one we are suffering from. You will knowmore about life when you are forced to work for yourself, and do notset about it out of pure presumption and self-will, with a good hometo fall back upon when you are tired of your fad. "

Mrs. Millar had been hurt and mortified by Annie's avowal. She had beenfurther nettled by the slighting reflection on a houseful of girls, madeby one of themselves, while she, their mother, the author of theirbeing, poor unsophisticated woman! had always been proud of her band ofbright, fair young daughters, and felt consoled by their very number forthe lack of a son. 

"Come, come, mother, " said Dr. Millar, "you must make allowance for themarch of ideas. "

"I cannot help it, " said Annie, with another quick sigh. "I supposegirls are not so easily satisfied as they once were, or they have beentaken so far, and not far enough, out of their place. I could not haveremained content with tennis-playing and skating, or _réchauffé_ schoolmusic, French and German, or fancy work, however artistic--not even withteaching once a week in the Rector's Sunday-school--for my object inlife. But after the way in which things have turned out, there is noneed to discuss former views. Mother dear, it is surely well that I hadnot a hankering after idleness, after lying in bed half the forenoon, aspeople say the Dyers do, getting up only to read the silliest andfastest of novels, with secret aspirations after diamonds and a carriageand pair, if not a coach and six. Of course I should not have beencontented with a one-horse shay, a mere doctor's pill-box, such as youhave put down, father, which Rose and May are determined to set up foryou again before they are many year's older. "

"Good little chits!" exclaimed the little Doctor, blowing his nosesuspiciously. "Tell them, Annie, that I like walking above all things. Ifind it a great improvement on driving. I have been troubled with--letme see, oh! yes, cold feet--a deficiency in the circulation, not at alluncommon when one gets up in years, and after walking a bit I feel mytoes all tingling and as warm as a toast. "

"I should prefer nursing to any other mode of earning my living, " saidAnnie, keeping to her point. "I may be presumptuous, like the girls ofmy day, as mother says, but I really think that I have a natural turnfor nursing, derived from you father, and grandfather, no doubt, whichmight have made me also a good doctor supposing I had been a man, orsupposing I had sought from the first to be a medical woman and had beeneducated accordingly. If I am wrong, you will set me right, won't you?"

In place of contradicting her, he simply nodded in acquiescence, whilehe linked his hands across the small of his back. 

"Mother, I do not think I should shrink from dressing wounds, if I onlyknew the best thing to do to avoid danger and give relief. You rememberwhen Bella burnt her arm badly from the elbow to the wrist, I tied it upto keep out the air, before father came in, and he said it was rightlydone, and would not change the dressing. And when poor Tim, who has losthis place with the putting down of the brougham, gave his hand theterrible hack with the axe in breaking wood for cook, I was able to stopthe loss of blood, and did not get in the least faint myself. Yes, Iknow it would be very pitiful to see a human creature die whom we couldnot save, " she added, in a lower tone, "and very sad to prepare such aone for the grave. But, dear mother, somebody has to do it at some time, and I may be the somebody one day, anyhow I shall have to be indebted tomy neighbour to do the last charitable offices for me. It might be allthe easier to look forward to in my own case if I had done it for otherpeople, not merely because they were my own, just because they wereGod's creatures, and He had set me, among other women, to do thesorrowful work, and would lend me strength for the task. "

"I believe it, Annie, " said Dr. Millar firmly, as he looked at thereverently bent head, and listened to the faltering yet faithful words. 

Mrs. Millar said no more, though the poor lady still shivered, as shelooked at the girl in her brilliant youthful bloom. It was too terribleto think of her associated with disease and death, she whom her fatherand mother would have sheltered from every rough wind. Yet what waspretty Annie in the ranks of humanity, in the march of history? Thefrivolous product of a heathen world, the feminine counterpart of some

 "Idle singer of an empty day"?

or--

 "A creature breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller 'twixt life and death"--

a Christian girl who with all true Christians had the Lord Christ, whowent about doing good, for an everlasting example? And had there not allalong been something fine in Annie, under her superficial hardness andinclination to conceal her feelings, something which her family had notsuspected, brought to light by their troubles? something of whicheverybody connected with her would be prouder in all humility, withreason, in the days to come, than they had ever been proud of hersupreme prettiness and lively tongue in times past. 

"It is a pity about my age, " went on Annie ingenuously, lamenting overher deficiency in years as other people lament over their superfluity inthat respect, "but it is a fault which will mend every day. I havefound out that there are two hospitals which make twenty-three--just ayear older than I am--the age of admission for probationers, and thereis one hospital that admits them at twenty. Would not the fact of mybeing a doctor's daughter go for something? Have you not interest, father, if you care to exert it, to get the hospital authorities tostretch a point where I am concerned? You might tell them that I am theeldest of the family, " drawing up her not very tall figure, "that I havebeen treated as grown-up for years and years, and that I have severalyounger sisters whom I have tried to keep in order. " There was areturning twinkle in Annie's brown eyes and a comical curve of her rosylips. 

But she relapsed into extreme gravity the next moment; indeed, she wasmore agitated than she had yet been, and for Annie to betray an approachto tearfulness was a rare spectacle. 

"There is something worse than my age. I am afraid I am not half goodenough. I have a hasty temper; you have frequently said so, mother. Ioften speak sharply, and am not always aware when I am doing it. I hurtpeople, as I hurt myself, without being able to help it--something seemsto come over me and impel me to do it. Often I cannot resist making gameof people. I am so silly and fond of fun, like a child, a great dealworse than 'little May' ever is, when the fit is upon me. Now, if Icould think that I should lose patience with poor sick people, and woundinstead of comforting them, or that I should find them food for my loveof the ridiculous, and forget and neglect their wants in following myown amusement, I should hate myself--I would die sooner than so disgracea nurse's calling. "

"You would not do it, my dear, " said Dr. Millar, with calm conviction. 

"Why, what treason is this you are speaking against yourself?" criedMrs. Millar, bristling up in her daughter's defence, the assailant beingthat daughter. "You unkind or unfeeling when there was any call forkindness--whoever heard of such a thing? I should as soon suspect Doraof harshness or levity in the same circumstances. Don't you remember mybad eyes last winter, when I had to get that tincture dropped into themso often that your father could not always be at home to do it? Youdropped the tincture as well as your father could, and though I know Imust have made faces wry enough to frighten a cat, you never vouchsafeda remark, and I did not hear the ghost of a laugh. Poor Dora was readyto read to me by the hour, and to fetch and carry for me all day long, but when she tried to drop the tincture her hand shook so that she sentthe liquid down my cheeks; and she was so frightened for giving me painthat I could see when I opened my eyes she was as white as a sheet, andfit to faint herself. "

"Dora's hand will get steadier and her heart harder by and by, " said Dr. Millar, laughing. "Not that she has the knack of the operator, any morethan you have, Maria. I don't think one of you has it, except Anniehere. "

"That was nothing, " said Annie quickly. She added in a lower tone, "Andoh, mother, how could you imagine that I should laugh at your pain?"

"It was only for a moment, and I daresay it was not agonizing, as I wastempted to call it; very likely your father and you would not have somuch as winced at it. Then there was Miss Sill, poor old Miss Sill. Annie, I am afraid you girls laughed at her. Girls will be girls, andshe does dress outrageously. You all said her mantles were worse than mycap, " tenderly touching that untrustworthy piece of head-gear. "When shesent for your father all of a sudden, just when he had been summoned toDr. Hewett's brother, who was very ill, as we knew, while we thoughtMiss Sill had only one of her maiden-lady fancies, your father told youto go over and say he would be with her in the course of the day. Butyou found her nearly choking with bronchitis. How you were notfrightened out of your senses, I, who am a great deal more than twiceyour age, and the mother of a family, cannot tell. You propped her upin exactly the right position, saw to the temperature of the room, andcaused her cook to bring in the kitchen boiler and set it to steam onthe hob, before another doctor could be found. Miss Sill told me allabout it afterwards; she believes she owes her life to you. "

"Oh, nonsense, " protested Annie, "I was a little better than her twoservants, who stood looking at her, and beginning to sob and cry; but Imade several gross mistakes. You told me about them afterwards, father;it was a great mercy that I did not cause her death. "

"So far from that, " continued Mrs. Millar, in triumphant defiance, "shecalls you her young doctor to this day, and says she will send for youin preference to your father or any other doctor the next time she hasan attack. "

"Infatuated woman!" declared Annie. 

"I have not needed to talk to you in order to get you to go with yoursisters and see her since then. You have gone of your own accord twiceas often, and I am sure you have not laughed at her half so much. Infact, I believe you are becoming quite attached to her. "

"I suppose I am grateful to her for not dying in my unskilled hands. Iam afraid I still think her rather fantastic and foolish; but it doesmake a difference in one's judgment of a person to have really renderedhim or her a service. I ought to be fond of Miss Sill, after all, if sheis to rank as my first patient. "

Mrs. Millar sank into silence on the instant. She stood convicted in herown eyes. What had she been doing? Proving to her daughter'ssatisfaction that she had the special talents of a nurse!

"I am very glad that mother and you think me--not by any means goodenough, of course, not that, but not too impatient, sarcastic, andtrifling to be a nurse, " said Annie brightly, addressing her father, whosimply acquiesced in an absent-minded fashion. 

After that there was no serious objection made to Annie's wish, great asthe wonder was at first--a shock to her relations no less than to heracquaintances. The former reconciled themselves sooner to it than didthe latter, with an entire faith in Annie and an affectionate admirationwhich was genuine homage. It swelled Dora's heart well-nigh to burstingwith sister-worship. How good Annie was showing herself, how capable ofgreat acts of self-denial and self-consecration, while she was prettierthan ever with her graceful head, her merry brown eyes, and that soft, warm colour of hers!

Only Mrs. Millar lay awake at night and cried quietly over what laybefore her young daughter, her first-born, the flower of the flock, aspeople had called her in reference to her beauty. Annie's prettyGrand-aunt Penny had at least enjoyed her day; she had had her triumph, however short-lived, in marrying the man of her heart, who was also aBeauchamp of Waylands, and in being raised for even a brief space to thecharmed circle of the county. What she had to go through--whether shewould or not--in the end, was not worse than Annie was proposing toencounter in the beginning, to live in an hospital, to spend herblooming life amidst frightful accidents, raging fevers, the spasm ofagony replaced by the chill silence and stillness of death. Annie'sfather's time and strength had been given in much the same cause, eversince he was a young man passing his examinations and taking hisdiploma. But he was a man, which changed the whole aspect of affairs;besides he had always had a cheerful home to come back to, with thecommand of all the social advantages which Redcross, his native town, could afford. He had not lived among his patients with no life to speakof separate from theirs. 

At the same time Mrs. Millar felt herself powerless. She dared no moreinterfere to keep back Annie from her calling than a good Roman Catholicmother would forbid her daughter's "vocation. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

STANDING AND WAITING. 

It was all over in its earlier stages, that dividing and dispersing ofthe goodly young group of sisters, that bereaving and impoverishing ofthe abandoned home to which Dora and May had looked forward with suchfear and pain, for which all Dr. Millar's fortitude and all his wife'smeekness had been wanted to enable them to bear it with tolerablecalmness. It was only Annie and Rose doing what every young man, withfew exceptions, has to do. It was only their going away to work outtheir bents in London. They had often gone from home and followedvarious impulses and promptings before. But this was different. All whowere left behind had a sure intuition that this was the beginning of theend, the sifting and scattering which every large family must undergo iftheir time is to be long on earth. Annie and Rose might often come backon visits. Rose might even set up a studio in Redcross and work there, but it would not be the same. She would be an independent member ofsociety, with her own interests to think of--however faithfully andaffectionately she might still be concerned for the interests ofothers--and her individual career to follow. Her separate existencewould no longer be merged in that of a band of sisters; it would standout clearly and distinctly far apart from the old state of tutelage andsubserviency of each unit to the mass. The lament of the tender oldScotch song over the departing bride applied equally to Annie and Rose, though there were no gallant "Jamies" to accuse of taking them "awa', awa'. " In the same manner it was not so much over the cause of theirgoing that Dora and May lamented, or the father and mother's hearts weresorrowful, as

 "Just that they'd aye be awa', awa'. "

One day as May was coming back from school she met Tom Robinson, and hestopped her to ask how the family were, and to tell her something. Therehad always been less restraint in his and May's greetings than there hadbeen in those of the others since his dismissal as a suitor. There wassomething in May's mingled studiousness and simplicity, and in thestrong dash of the child in her, which dissipated his shyness andtickled his fancy. If matters had turned out otherwise than they haddone, he told himself vaguely, he and "little May" would have been apair of friends. He had no sister, and she had no brother, and he wouldhave liked to play the brother to this most artless of learned ladies. "Look here, Miss May, " he said, after the usual formulas, while heturned and walked a few paces by her side, "do you remember thefox-terrier puppy I was to have got for you and your sister Rose, in thespring? Well, he died of distemper, poor little brute; but I have heardof another of the same kind that has had the complaint. I could get himfor you if you cared to have him. "

"Oh! I am so much obliged to you, Mr. Robinson, so very much obliged, "cried May, beaming with gratitude and pleasure. "Rose and I did so wishto have that dear little puppy which you brought down to show to usonce--don't you remember? and so it is dead, poor little pet; and Rosehas gone away to London to be regularly trained as an artist, just asAnnie is in St. Ebbe's learning to be a nurse. I suppose you haveheard, " she ended a little solemnly. 

"Yes, I have heard--let me carry these books for you a bit--what isthere of Redcross news that one does not hear?" Then he paused abruptly, while there darted simultaneously across his mind and May's whether hisspeech did not sound as if he thought that Dora Millar's refusal of himmust be public property? "For that very reason, " he went on with amomentary shade of awkwardness, "I mean, because two of your sisters aregone, I fancied you might like this other little dog to keep youcompany. "

"I have Dora, " said May simply, and then she dashed on in an unhappyconsciousness that she ought not to have mentioned Dora's name to him onany account. "I should like it immensely though--thank you a hundredthousand times, it was so good of you to think of me. But Rose could nothave it now, could she? and she wished it quite as much as I did. Itdoes not seem nice to have it when she is not here to share it, "finished May, with wistful jealousy for Rose's rights in the matter. 

"I do not see the force of that objection, " said Tom Robinson, cheerfully. "Rose has something else instead. She has all London tooccupy her. I am certain she would like you to make the best of Redcrosswithout her. "

"Yes, and of course the little dog would be half hers, the same as ifRose were here. She would see it every time she came home. She mighthave her turn of it at her studio, when she gets a studio. In themeantime I could write full particulars of it, how it grew and what itlearnt. Oh, Mr. Robinson, has it white boots like the other youbrought?"

"I am afraid I did not attend to his boots, or to his stockings eitherfor that matter, " said Tom with a laugh; "but he has a coal-blackmuzzle, his teeth are in perfect order, and I believe he has the correcttan spots. "

"If mother would let us, " said May longingly. "You know Rose and I hadnot spoken to her about it; we were waiting for a good opportunity toask her, when you were so kind as to give us the chance of having theother little dog. Mother seldom refuses us anything which she can let ushave, still Rose was not sure that mother would give her consent. Yousee she is troubled about the stair-carpets and the drawing-room rugs, and the garden-beds, and we were afraid she would think we should havethe dog with us everywhere. "

"Then it rested with yourself, I should say, to show her that you couldkeep a dog in his proper place. "

"But I doubt if I could, " said May candidly, shaking her head, with thebrown hair which had till recently hung loose on her shoulders, nowcombed smoothly back, and twisted into as "grown-up" a twist as shecould accomplish the feat; while to keep the tucked-up hair in company, her skirt was let down to the regulation length for young ladies. "Indeed, I am almost certain I could not refuse anything to a dearlittle dog coming to me and sitting up and begging for what he wanted. What is more, if I could Dora couldn't. " She could have bitten out hertongue the next instant. What was she doing always speaking of Dora?What would he think? That she was wilfully dragging her sister's nameinto the conversation? And what had tempted her to say that Dora couldnot refuse anything to a dog, when she had refused her heart in exchangefor his to the man walking beside May?

He made no remark. If his mouth twitched a little in reproach orsarcasm, she could not see it under his red moustache; besides, shedared not look at him. 

"I wonder, " continued Miss Malapropos, "how I could let you know whatmother thought. " She never once suggested his bringing the dog forinspection, as he had brought the other, or calling for her answer. 

"You might drop me a note, " he said, stopping to give her back herbooks, "and I hope for your sake that it may be favourable, for this isa nice little dog, and I think you would like him. "

May went home more nearly on the wings of the wind than she had donesince Rose's departure, and presented her petition. Mrs. Millar couldnot find it in her heart to refuse it, though the stair-carpet, thedrawing-room rugs, and the garden-beds were all to be sacrificed. 

"Poor little May! she misses Rose, though Dora and May have become greatfriends of late. Dora is very good, and puts herself on an equality withMay, as Annie could not have done. Still, she does not rouse the childas Rose roused her. What do you think, Jonathan? Would a little dog bein your way? Would its barking disturb you?" Mrs. Millar appealed to herhusband. 

"Not in reason, Maria; not if it does not take to baying at the moon, or yelping beyond bounds. Dora gives in too much to May, in place oftaking the child from her books, on which naturally she is inclinedto fall back. Dora has become her audience, and listens to herperformances--even aids and abets them. I caught them at it yesterday. First May actually declaimed several paragraphs from a speech ofCicero's, and next she got Dora to repeat after her the most crabbedof the Greek verbs. I shall have a couple of blue-stockings, and whatis worse, one of them spurious, in the room of the single realproduction I reckoned upon among my daughters. By all means let Mayhave a howling monster. She is not too old for a game of romps; and Imust say, though I have never opposed the higher education of women, I don't want her cultivated into a gossamer, a woman all nerves andsensations, before she is out of her teens. "

"Do you suppose Tom Robinson can still be thinking of Dora?" suggestedMrs. Millar dubiously. 

"I wish he were, " said the little Doctor, ruefully. "I wish he were. Yes, Mrs. Millar, I am sufficiently mercenary or sordid, or whatever youlike to call it, where one of my daughters is concerned, to giveexpression to that sentiment. But I should say he is not, unfortunately. Robinson is a shy man, and, no doubt, proud after his fashion. It musthave taken a great effort--premature, therefore mistaken, according tomy judgment--for him to screw himself up to the pitch of proposing for agirl of whose answering regard he was uncertain. Having made the blunderand paid the penalty, he is not at all likely to put his fate to thetouch again, so far as Dora is concerned. He is not the style ofpertinacious, overbearing fellow who would persecute a woman with hisattentions and ask her twice. Poor Dora has lost her chance, I take it. "

"I cannot say that I think it any great loss, to this day, " answeredMrs. Millar, stubbornly. She gave a toss of her head, of such unusualspirit, that it so nearly dislodged her cap. Dr. Millar involuntarilyput out a finger and thumb to lay hold of the truant. "We have ourworldly losses, to be sure, and the other poor dear girls have gone outinto the world very cheerfully. I must say I could not have done whatthey have done with so good a grace--so heroic a grace, not to save mylife, Jonathan. But that is not to say that they are to be in haste tomarry--tradesmen. Indeed, when I come to think of it, the fact of theirbeing so independent and able to provide for themselves, ought to belike having so many fortunes. It should entitle them to be moreparticular, and free to pick and choose the husbands who exactly suitthem. Another thing, if our daughters are not worthy of being wooed andwooed, and asked--not twice, but half a dozen times, before they arepersuaded to say yes, I don't know who is. The idea of their jumping atany man!--you have drawn me into vulgar language, Jonathan, --the momenthe makes his bow is too bad or too good, I do not know which to say. Youdo not mean that I ever accustomed you to such forward behaviour?"

"No, no, Maria, " the gentleman assured her with a smile, "far from it. There was a bad epidemic raging at the time our little business cameoff, don't you remember? I forget now whether it was small-pox orscarlet fever, but I know I was not only tremendously busy, I dared notgo to your father's house. Then I heard that another swain--an officerfellow from the barracks at Craigton was hanging about either you oryour poor sister Dolly, nobody could tell which, and I dared not delaylonger. I was driven to the supreme rashness of committing my suit topaper, and what do you think you wrote back? Have you forgotten? Youthanked me very prettily for the compliment I had paid you, and youpromised to give the substance of my letter your best consideration. Literally that was all--to a man worn off his feet with work andhungering for a word of assurance. "

"Go away with you, sir, " exclaimed his wife, restored to high goodhumour, and tapping him on the shoulder. "You understood meperfectly--you had wit enough for that. You went off directly andordered new drawing-room furniture, what we have to this day, on thestrength of that letter--you know you did. "

"Showed how far gone, and what a confiding simpleton I was, " he said, and then he tried again to set her right with regard to Tom Robinson. "You don't understand Robinson, Maria. It is not that he was not inearnest, or that he is fickle or anything of the kind. It is rather acase of the better man being beaten, and fools rushing in where angelsfear to tread. Such men as he is accept a sentence without disputing it, because they do not think too much of themselves while they think agreat deal of other people. It is not a flaw in their sensitivemanliness, it is part and parcel of it, to know when they are dismissed, and take the dismissal as final. They are not the most light-hearted andsanguine of mortals, but they are constant enough, and brave enough toboot, and a brave man is not without his compensations--

 "'For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, '

"some poet has written. "

"So much the better, " said Mrs. Millar, again with a suspicion ofhauteur in her voice. "It is lucky for all parties, since I have not theslightest reason to suppose that Dora would change her mind. "

"Then why find fault with poor Tom Robinson?" Dr. Millar remonstrated invain. 

The appearance of the dog on the scene with his fine pointed nose, alerteyes, incessantly vibrating little tail, and miniver black and whitecoat picked out with tan, caused May as much excitement and delight asif she did not know one Greek letter from another, and were innocent ofLatin quantities. She was so wrapped up in her acquisition, so devotedto his tastes in food, the state of his appetite, his sleeping place, the collar he was to have, that for the first time in her life she hadto be reminded of her books. It needed her great superiority to hercompanions in any approach to scholarly intellect and attainment toenable her to retain the first place in Miss Burridge's classicaldepartment. 

"What shall we call him, Dora?" she earnestly consulted her sister, hanging breathless on the important answer. 

"Call him whatever you like, May. You know he is your dog, " said Dorawith decision. 

"Mine and Rose's, " the faithful May made the amendment. "Of course Rosemust agree to any name we think of, or it cannot stand. Perhaps shewould like to choose the name as she is away. Don't you think it oughtto be put in her power--that she ought to have the compliment?"suggested May quite seriously and anxiously. "I shall write to her thisvery minute. "

But Rose, like Dora, left the name to May. 

"It was so kind of Tom Robinson to remember and offer him to me, " saidMay meditatively. "O Dora! do you think I might call him 'Tom'?"

"Certainly not, " said Dora, with still greater decision. "What are youthinking of, May? I don't suppose Mr. Robinson would relish having adog named for him. Besides, other people might wonder. 'Tom' is not anordinary name for a dog, though it is common enough for a man. "

"Nobody, not even the person most concerned, would know if I were tocall him 'Son, ' the termination of 'Robinson, ' you know, " explained May, after a moment spent in concocting this subtle amendment, and infondling the unconscious recipient of a title which was to distinguishhim from the mass of dogs. 

"Are you out of your senses, May?" was the sole comment Dora deigned todeliver with some energy. 

"'Friend, '" speculated May; "there is nothing very distinctive about'Friend, ' and I am sure it was the act of a friend to get him for me. "

"'Foe' would be shorter and more easily said, " was Dora's provokingcomment; "or why not 'Fox, ' since he is a fox-terrier? You might alsodesire to commemorate the donor's complexion, which you all used to callfoxy, " said Dora, half reproachfully, half dryly. 

"I don't like _doubles entendres_, " said May with dignity, "and if Iever said anything unkind of Tom Robinson I don't wish to be reminded ofit now; anyhow, I could never give a sneer in return for a kindness. "

"No, I don't believe you could, May, " said Dora, penitently. 

May continued a little nettled in spite of her natural good temper. 

"What are Shakespeare's names for little dogs?" she asked. "'Blanche, ''Tray, ' and 'Sweetheart. ' You could not be 'Blanche, ' could you, pet, unless you were '_Blanche et Noir_'? and that is too long and remindsone of a gaming-table. You could not be 'Sweetheart, '" went on May, revenging herself with great coolness and deliberation in view of thered that flew into Dora's cheeks; "no, of course not, because Mr. TomRobinson is not, never has been, and never will be _my_ sweetheart. There is only 'Tray' left. Well, I think it is rather a good name, "considered May, critically. "'Old dog Tray' is an English classic. It isnot altogether appropriate, because my Tray is just a baby terrier yet, but we trust, he and I, that he will live to see a venerable age. "

CHAPTER IX. 

A WILFUL DOG WILL HAVE HIS WAY. 

Dora and May walked out together regularly, a practice enforced by theirfather as a provision for their health. To have Tray to form a thirdperson in their somewhat formal promenades certainly robbed them oftheir formality, and introduced such an element of lively excitementinto them as to bear out Dora's comparison of their progressesthenceforth to a succession of fox-hunts. For Tray was still in thelater stages of his puppyhood. He was frequently inspired by a demon ofmischief or haunted by a variety of vagabond instincts which suchtraining as he had received, without the support of prolonged disciplineand practical experience, failed to extinguish. 

May was very particular about his education in theory, but in practiceshe fell considerably short of her excellent intentions. She alwayscarried a whip with a whistle in the handle; and the sight of theinstrument of punishment ought to have been enough for Tray, sincethere was no farther application of it. In reality, the sharp-sightedlittle animal no more obeyed the veritable whistle than he winced underthe supposititious lash of the whip. He took his own way and did verymuch what he liked in spite of the animated protests of his mistress. Dora and May went out walking with Tray instead of Tray going on a walkwith them, and not infrequently the walk degenerated into an agitatedscamper at his heels. The scamper was diversified by a number ofineffectual attempts to reclaim him from forcing his way into back-yardsand returning triumphantly with a bone or a crust between his teeth, "asif we starved him, as if his dish at home was not generally half full, though we've tried so hard to find out what he likes, " said Mayplaintively. If otherwise engaged it would be in chasing cats, runningdown fowls, barking at message boys--to whom he had the greatestantipathy--or, most serious foible of all, threatening to engage insingle combat with dogs twice his size and three times his age. 

There is no accounting for tastes, seeing that these tumultuous walkswere the delight of May's days, and that even Dora, with her inveteratesympathy, enjoyed them, though they deranged somewhat her sense ofmaidenly dignity and decorum. It was to be hoped that as Tray grew inyears he would grow in discretion, and would show a little forbearanceto the friends who were so forbearing to him. 

Tray, Dora, and May had gone on their customary expedition. The humanbeings of the party were inclined to direct their steps as quickly aspossible to one of the country roads. Tray's eccentricities at thepresent stage of his development were hardly calculated for thecomfortable traversing of a succession of streets and lanes. But thecanine leader of the party decided for the main street, and Dora and Maygave up their own inclinations, and followed in his erratic track withtheir wonted cheerful submission. 

It was a fine October afternoon, when Redcross was looking its best. Itwas rather a dull town, with little trade and few manufactories, but itsworst enemy could not deny it the corresponding virtues of cleanlinessand freedom from smoke. Here and there there was a grand old tree wedgedbetween the houses. In one or two instances, where the under part of thehouse was brick, and the upper--an afterthought--was a projecting storeyof wood, the latter was built round the tree, with its branchessheltering the roof in a picturesque, half foreign fashion. Here andthere were massive old houses and shops, with some approach to the sizeand the substantial--even costly--fittings of "Robinson's. " A sidestreet led down to a little sluggish canal which joined the Dewes, ariver of considerable size on which Redcross had originally been built. This canal was crossed by a short solid stone bridge, bearing a quaintenough bridge-house, still used as a dwelling-place. 

The sun was bright and warm without any oppressive heat. The leaves, where leaves were to be seen, had yellow, russet, and red streaks andstains, suggestive of brown nuts and scarlet berries in the hedges. 

The flowers in the many window-boxes in which Redcross indulged werestill, for the most part, gay with the deeper tints of autumn, thepurple of asters and the orange of chrysanthemums setting off thegeraniums blossoming on till the frost shrivelled them, and the seededgreen and straw-coloured spikes of the still fragrant mignonette. 

It was market-day, which gave but a slight agreeable stir to the drowsytown. The ruddy faces and burly figures of farmers, whose imposing bulksomehow did not decrease in keeping with the attenuated profits oflong-continued agricultural depression, were prominent on the pavement. Little market carts, which closely shawled and bonneted elderly women, laden with their market baskets, still found themselves disengagedenough to drive, rattled over the cobble stones. An occasional farmlabourer in a well-nigh exploded smock frock, who had come in with abullock or two, or a small flock of sheep, to the slaughter-house, trudging home with a straw between his teeth, and his faithful collie athis heels, made a variety in the town population. 

The latter consisted, at this hour, of shop boys and girls, boys fromthe grammar school, a file of boarders from Miss Burridge's, who walkedas if "eyes right" and "eyes left" were the only motion permitted tothem, notwithstanding May's frantic signs to them to behold and admireTray's gambols; a professional man, or a tradesman, leisurely doing abusiness errand; one or two ladies carrying the latest fashion incard-cases, suggestive of afternoon calls. 

Tray's devious path took him in the direction of "Robinson's, " in thewindows of which the golden brown of sable furs, the silver gray of rarefoxes', and the commoner dim blue of long-haired goats', were beginningto enrich the usual display of silk and woollen goods. 

Following his own sweet will, Tray, considerably in advance of hiscompanions, darted into the shop. 

"Oh, what shall we do, May?" cried Dora in dismay; "you ought really toput that dog in a leash when he _will_ go into the town. "

"Better say a chain at once, " answered May indignantly, vexed by theimputation on her pet. "I am sure he has been as good as gold to-day. Hehas not chased a single thing, and he has only once run away from us. Couldn't I go in and fetch him out? I should not stay above a minute. "

"And I am to wait at the door while you hunt him round all the countersand through the showrooms? I had much rather go in with you; but neitherdo I care to enter the shop when I do not wish to buy anything. ReallyTray is too troublesome!"

"Oh! don't say that, " exclaimed May in distress. "Don't reflect on himin case anything should happen to him, " as if Dora's speech were likelyto bring down the vengeance of Heaven on the heads of all three. "Hesoon finds out all he wants when he goes on private expeditions, andthen he runs back and looks for us. I think if we walked _very_ slowlyhis dear bright face, with one ear cocked up, would appear in thedoorway by the time we reached it. "

"Or some shop-lad may ask him what his business is, and turn him out. Itwill be a lesson for him in future, " said Dora, severely. 

Accordingly the sisters had to slacken their steps to a snail's pace asthey approached the great shop. They had a full view of the interior, though it was a little dark, unless to the most modern taste. There wasan air of old-fashioned substantiality, comfort, and something likemodest dignity about the long-lasting, glossy brown roof and walls, inharmony with the heavy counters and shelves, not too heavy for the balesof every description, which with the contents of the innumerable boxeshad an established reputation of being "all of the best quality, " notfiguratively but literally. The famous oak staircase, with the broadshallow steps and the twisted balustrade, which would not have disgraceda manor house, ran up right in the centre and terminated in agallery--like a musician's gallery--hung with Turkey carpets, Moorishrugs, and "muslin from the Indies, " and from the gallery various workand show rooms opened. It was evident that "Robinson's" was considerablyolder than the lifetime of the first Robinson--the silk-weaver andwool-stapler who had used it as a mart for his wares. Though it was onlythe product of a country town, it bore a resemblance to old London cityplaces of business. These were wont to have a Dutch atmosphere ofindustry and sobriety, together with a fair share of the learning andrefinement of the times hanging about them, so that their mastersfigured as honoured and influential citizens of the metropolis. Belonging to the category were the linen shop of a certain AlexanderPope's father, and the law-stationer's shop, from which issued, in hisday, a beautiful youth known as "Master John Milton. "

There was the customary bustle of a market day at "Robinson's. " MissFranklin was moving about in the women's department, seeing thateverybody there was served, and giving an occasional direction to thewomen who served. She was, as Dora Millar had once described her, as"fat as a pin-cushion, " with what had been originally a fairpink-and-white complexion, degenerated into the mottled "red all over, "into which such complexions occasionally pass in middle life. But shelooked like a lady by many small traits--by her quiet, easy movements;by the clear enunciation and pleasant tones, which could be ringing whennecessary, of a cultivated voice that reached the ears of thebystanders. She did not wear the conventional black silk or cashmere ofa shop-woman. There might be a lingering protest or a lurking vanity inthe myrtle-green gown and the little lace cap, with its tiny _noeuds_of dark green riband, which she wore instead. One might guess by theirdainty decorum and becomingness that Miss Franklin had thought a gooddeal, and to purpose, about dress, in her day--had made a study of it, and taken pleasure in its finer effects. In that light she was the rightwoman in the right place--presiding over the shop-women in alinen-draper's shop. At the same time she belonged as clearly to theupper middle class as did the two girls advancing towards the shop, who, in place of being studiously well and handsomely dressed, were just alittle shabby, and careless how they looked in their last year's grayvelveteens, with hats to match, which Dora in her conscientious economyhad re-trimmed not very nicely. 

Lag as the girls might, they could not delay their progress much longer, and their bosoms were torn with conflicting emotions. What were they todo? Leave the truant Tray to his fate? Boldly halt before the next shopwindow, and trust to his seeing and joining them there? Still moreboldly, enter and request "the body of the culprit" to be delivered upto his owner? Before they could come to a decision, Tom Robinson himselfappeared in the foreground. He was speaking, or rather listening to agiant of a farmer in a light overcoat and streaming cravat, who, inplace of treating the master of "Robinson's" as "a whipper-snapper of acounter-jumper, " was behaving to him with the most unsophisticateddeference. Yet Tom's under size and pale complexion looked moreinsignificant than ever beside the mighty thews and sinews and perennialbloom of his customer. In spite of that, Tom Robinson was as undeniablya gentleman in the surroundings, as Miss Franklin was a lady, and thebig honest farmer recognized and accepted the fact. While the pair stoodthere, and the farmer made an elaborate explanation of the matter inhand--broadcloth or blankets probably--to which Tom attendedcourteously, as courteously as he would have heard the deliverances ofthe member of the county or the bishop, Tray flashed out of the mellowobscurity of the background and sniffed vigorously at the trowser anklesof the master of "Robinson's. "

"Hallo!" cried Tom, looking down at his feet. 

"A bit fine terrier-dawg, Mister Robinson, sir, " remarked the farmer;"but I'm thinking he's strayed. "

At the same instant both Tray and Tom caught sight of May's anxious facepeering in at the shop door. Tray rushed to his mistress with aboisterously gracious greeting, which did not include the slightestself-consciousness or sense of wrongdoing in its affability. Tom took acouple of steps after him. 

"I'm afraid, Miss May, you're spoiling that dog, " he said, in friendlyremonstrance, before he observed who was with May, and stopped and bowedwith some constraint. 

"Oh! Mr. Robinson, " replied May, in her volubility effacing any shyattempt at greeting on Dora's part, "I am so sorry for Tray's rudenessin going into your shop without being invited; but I do think he knewyou again, I am almost sure of it, " she said eagerly, as if theassurance were sufficient propitiation for any trifling lack of ceremonywhere a reasonable human being was concerned. 

"It might have been better if I had known a little more of him, " saidTom musingly, biting his moustache, as he took leave of the three. 

Tray meandered down the street, followed hurriedly by his mistress andDora. Tom looked after them, and speculated into how many more scrapesthe brute would get the girls, wondered too if one of them would thinkshe had him to thank for the infliction, and that it was an odd instanceof the friendship which he had pressed her to give him in lieu of awarmer feeling. That friendship was not progressing very rapidly, thoughthe world might consider the Millars more in need of friends than whenhe had begged to make one of the number. But Tom Robinson knew better. These girls were enough for themselves in any emergency. They wouldnever fall back on friends or depend upon them. Even Dora, who hadstayed at home with May, would suffer in silence and bear anything withand for her family, before she would complain or ask help. 

Tray's errant fancy finally took him down a lane leading to the Dewesand to a sheltered walk between rows of yellowing elms by the side ofthe river. The girls were at last able to enjoy themselves. Theysauntered along, talking at their ease, watching the bars of sunlight onthe water, and the crowds of flies in the golden mist which the approachof sunset was drawing down over everything, and listening to a robinsinging on a bough, when their misadventures for one day culminated andtheir worst apprehensions were fulfilled. A mongrel collie advancing inthe opposite direction, with no better qualified guardian than a youngservant girl, who had also a perambulator containing a couple of smallchildren to look after, aroused the warlike spirit of Tray. He growleddefiance and bristled in every hair, while Dora caught nervously at hiselegant morocco collar, which burst asunder in her grasp, and Mayshrieked agitated soothing endearments to no purpose. What unmagnanimouscur could resist such a challenge? In another instant the inequal combatwas raging furiously. The two dogs first stood on their hind legs, grappled together, and glared at each other for a second, like twopugilists trying a preliminary fall, or a couple of duellists pointingtheir pistols. The next moment the dogs were rolling over and over eachother on the narrow path, worrying each other with the horriblesnarling noise that accompanies such a performance. 

May danced a frantic dance round the combatants, screamed shrilly, andmade dangerous, ineffectual darts at Tray. The servant girl neitherdanced, nor screamed, nor made darts; she stood stolidly still, withsomething between a gape and a grin on her broad red face. She had notthe passion for dog-fights entertained by the _gamins_ of the streets, such fights were simply immaterial trifles to her amidst the weightierconcerns of her life; and she had seen her master's dog get too manykicks in the ribs--a discipline from which he rose up howling but notgreatly injured--to be troubled with any sensitive fears as to hissafety. Besides his enemy was a small beast, a lady's dog, whom Growlercould dispose of in a twinkling, if his temper were up. 

"Oh! can you not call off your dog?" wailed May in her agony. "He willkill Tray. Oh! my Tray, my Tray, " and she made another rush to rescueher pet. 

"Don't, May, you'll be bitten, " implored Dora. 

"He don't mind me, miss, not one bit, our Growler don't, " said thecomposed damsel, as if Growler's indifference were rather a feather inhis cap. 

Alas! for any attention that the victim paid to May's desperateremonstrances. She had in fact no right to reproach the enemy'stemporary proprietress for her lack of authority over her four-footedcompanion. But poor May in her misery was neither logical nor just. Sheturned on the other with a passionate challenge, "What business have youto bring out a horrid brute like that, which you cannot master, to killother people's dear little pets?"

"Hush, hush, May, " besought Dora, "I think they are leaving off. " Therewas a slight cessation in the hostilities. "The noise you are making mayset them on again. "

"It were your dog as begun it. " Growler's sponsor defended both herselfand Growler defiantly. 

"Oh!" screamed May, "they're at it again. Tray is down and the cruelmonster is at his throat. Will nobody help us? Will nobody save my poorlittle dog?"

The girls were carrying neither sunshades nor umbrellas. They could notreach the lower boughs of the trees to pull down a switch, but just asMay was springing forward to dare the worst herself, sooner than seeTray perish unaided before her eyes, Dora caught sight of a largehalf-loose stone in the path. "Stand back, May, " she gasped, as she toreit up. Dora's face was as white as paper; she was sick with fright anddistress; she would fain have shut her eyes if she had not known thatshe needed every advantage which sight could give her to prevent herhitting Tray, instead of his foe, as the two rolled over each other inthe struggle which was growing deadlier every second. 

"Stop, " cried a voice of command behind her, "you'll have the dog turnupon you as soon as he has finished his present job, " and a welcomedeliverer ran forward just in time. He seized the first tail he couldgrasp--luckily for him it was Tray's and not Growler's--and hung on toit like a vice. The "redder" of the combatants, regardless of "theredder's lick, " which was likely to be his portion, continued to holdthe tail of the now yelling Tray, and at the same time seized him by thescruff of the neck with the other hand, and dragged both animals, stilllocked together, with his whole force nearer and nearer to the edge ofthe bank by the river. 

A new terror beset May. "Take care, you'll have them in the water. "

No sooner said than done. With a plunge the two dogs fell heavily intothe Dewes, while the man who had brought them to this pass kept his ownfooting with difficulty. 

"They'll both be drowned, " cried May, clasping her hands in the lastdepths of anguish. 

"Not at all, " said Tom Robinson, panting a little from his exertionsand wiping his hands with his handkerchief. "I did it on purpose--don'tyou see? It was the only way to make the beggars lose their grip. Lookthere, they are swimming like brothers down the stream--that smallspitfire of yours is not badly hurt. I told you that you were spoilinghim--you ought to make him obey and come to heel, or he will become thetorment of your life. The bank shelves a little a few yards furtherdown; you will find that he will come to shore shaking himself nothingthe worse. It may be a lesson to him; if not, I should like to give hima bit of my mind. "

True enough, Tray scrambled up the bank presently, bearing no morealarming traces of the fray than were to be found in his limping onthree legs, and halting every other minute that he might ruefully attendto the fourth. 

Growler also landed, and after glancing askance at his antagonist and atthe champion who had suddenly interposed between Tray and his deserts, wisely agreed with the small maid-servant on the judiciousness ofimmediately taking themselves off, in company with the perambulator andthe babies, to avoid any chance of awkward inquiries. 

May ran to Tray, clasped him all dripping in her arms, and prepared tocarry him tenderly home. But in spite of the injuries, for which he wasexceedingly sorry, he asserted his spirit of independence, and declinedto be made a baby of. 

"I am afraid we have given you a great deal of trouble, Mr. Tom, " saidDora, while May was still devoting herself to her rescued treasure. Doraspoke shyly, and inadvertently used the old familiar name, which he hadborne when his father was alive. 

"Don't mention it, " he said gravely, as shy as she was; "I feelanswerable for inflicting that wretched dog on you--that is, on yoursister. I was sure he would lead you a pretty dance after he was in theshop this afternoon. "

"Oh! Mr. Robinson, " cried May, tearing herself away from thecontemplation of her darling in order to pour forth her sense of reliefand the depth of her gratitude, "what a good thing it was you came up tous! What should we have done without you? Oh! you don't think dearlittle Tray is lamed for life--do you? Of course that is ever so muchbetter than having him killed outright in our sight; still if he wouldonly let me pick him up and rest his poor hurt leg it might help him, "protested May wistfully. 

"Let him alone, he is all right, " he said in his short stiff way. Thenhe made a bantering amendment on his speech, because he was quick to seethat his want of sympathy vexed the young girl, perhaps rendered herburden of gratitude more difficult to bear. 

"At the worst, you know he would be as well off as Horatius Cocles, andhe is likely to escape the beating which he richly deserves. "

"Oh! Mr. Robinson, beat him! when he meant no harm, when he has been allbut drowned or worried to death by that great, coarse, rough creature, "cried May, opening large brown eyes of astonishment and indignation. 

"I wonder what _he_ would call Tray if he could speak--an insolentlittle rascal, who had no proper respect for his superiors. "

Dora did not join in the conversation. Her colour came and went, and shekept glancing at the handkerchief which Tom Robinson was flutteringabout in his hand. 

It was May who stopped short and cried in fresh dismay, "There is bloodon your handkerchief; I believe you have been bitten. What shall we do?"

"What should you do, Miss May?" he answered with a laugh. "It is only aminute impression left by the fine teeth of your friend. You would haveit that he knew me a little while ago, and it seems we were destined tobe more intimately acquainted. "

"Come home with us this minute, " cried May, so dead in earnest, thatshe grasped his arm, and made as if she would have dragged him forward. "Father will dress it and heal it. I am so sorry, so ashamed, thoughTray did not know what he was doing. "

He laughed again quite merrily, as it sounded. "If Tray did not know, hedid his small best to get rid of me. I daresay I was not treating himwith much ceremony. I am afraid I gave his tail as sharp a pinch as Icould administer before I could get at his neck. No, I am not going homewith you; thanks for the invitation. Do you wish Dr. Millar to think mecrazy? Do you apply to your father for medical assistance when you giveyourself a pin-prick?"

"But the bite of a dog is very different, though Tray is the dog, "moaned May. 

"Tray is in excellent health and spirits; I can vouch for that, " saidTom. "I have not the slightest apprehension of hydrophobia. "

"O--h!" said May, with a deeper moan. 

Dora had continued silent; indeed she could hardly speak, and her facehad grown more like ashes than paper. 

He was standing still, and raising his hat a little awkwardly with hisleft hand, in lieu of shaking hands with his right, as they came to thepoint where their roads parted. 

Dora made a great effort and uttered her remonstrance: "I wish you wouldcome home with us, and let father look at your hand. "

"You too, Miss Dora--nonsense, " he said sharply as it sounded. 

"If Annie had been here, " she persisted, "she would have been of ahundred times more use than I, but if you'll let me I'll try to tie itup for you. "

She spoke so humbly that he answered her with quick kindness, "And painyou by exposing a scratch to your notice? No, indeed, all that I'll askof you is never to fling stones at strange dogs, though they should betearing that unlucky imp of mischief limb from limb. "

"It was very unkind of him to speak so rudely of poor Tray, " sighed May, as the sisters hurried home; "although it was Tom Robinson who gave himto me, I don't think the man has ever put a proper value on the dog. ButI daresay he will call to-morrow though he has not come with us justnow, to ask for Tray, and to see how we are after our fright. "

"No, he won't come, " said Dora with conviction, and she walked onsilently thinking to herself, "How strong and resolute he was, though heis not a big man, and how little he minded being bitten. Men aredifferent from women. Of course, he is nothing to me, but I may bepermitted to admire his courage and coolness. No, he will not come, Iam sure of that, he is the last man to take advantage of an accident andof his coming to our assistance. Even if he did, and I had ever caredfor him, and there had been no 'Robinson's, ' it would be too late andtoo bad to change one's mind after we had grown poor and had to work forourselves. "

Dora was right. Tom Robinson did not come. He contented himself withintercepting Dr. Millar on his rounds, learning that Dora and May wereno worse for their misadventure, and giving their father a piece ofinformation. 

In consequence of that hint, and under the pretence of having Tray'swounded leg properly seen to, he was, to May's intense chagrin anddisgust, despatched to a veterinary surgeon's, where he remained forsome time, returning at last a sadder and a wiser dog. 

CHAPTER X. 

LIFE IN AN HOSPITAL WARD. 

St. Ebbe's was a model hospital, with every enlightened improvement inthe treatment of the sick poor, and every humane ordinance which thehighly developed skill and the strongly stimulated benevolence of thenineteenth century could enforce. 

Annie Millar was one of six lady probationers, including a bishop'sdaughter, two daughters of squires, and three doctor's daughters likeherself. The matron was the widow of a doctor, who had been eminentalike for professional talent and philanthropy. She was like-minded. Ifshe had not her late husband's knowledge and acumen as a medical man, she had much of his experience, and was full of energy and determinationto better the world, the sick, and the poor, almost whether they wouldor not. Very few people could look Mrs. Hull in the face and contradicther high motives and determined will. 

Fortunately, Annie's beauty had not worked the scathing destructionwhich Mrs. Millar had anticipated with fear and trembling. Aninflammable medical student or two might have been just singed by thefire of her charms; an older member of the fraternity might haveneglected for an instant to look up at the card above a bed in order toturn his head and cast a second admiring glance after the new recruit inthe hospital uniform; but no man forgot his duty or was false to earliervows through her allurements. 

Mrs. Hull had cast a sharp glance at the dainty figure and flower-likeface under the nurse's linen gown and close cap. Annie's sisterprobationers, four of them considerably older than herself, hadtelegraphed to each other emphatic--perhaps pardonable enough--signalsthat the last accession to their number was so very ornamental theycould hardly expect her to be useful. They must look out for defects, and prepare to atone for failures by their surpassing attainments. Butthe mistake was soon rectified, and fresh light dawned on the doubtfulquestion. Mrs. Hull was the first to recognize and testify that nothingwas to be feared from Annie Millar's youth and beauty, while somethingmight be gained by them, because she was far more than pretty--she was abright, clever girl, very obedient to orders, and exceedingly anxiousto learn her business. In her St. Ebbe's had secured an auxiliary of thehighest promise. The elder sister probationers soon found that insteadof wanting indulgence, forbearance, and pity, the newcomer was more indanger of awakening their envy as well as their respect by her quicknessin mastering details, her mental grasp of principles, her inexhaustiblespirit. 

Yet poor Annie had no light apprenticeship to serve. The programme, which extends from making poultices and making beds to receivingdoctors' instructions, understanding them, remembering them, and actingon them, is neither short nor easy, though a fairly good and trainedintellect and an unswerving devotion to duty will get through ittriumphantly in time. Annie underwent the entire ordeal, while shedoubtless brought a little additional intelligence and capacity and afew more grains of experience to the task than would have existed if shehad not been Dr. Millar's daughter. In spite of the warm woollen jacketand cuffs which she wore under her linen gown, her little hands werecovered with the chaps and chilblains which are the scourge ofmaids-of-all-work, because of their early rising, hard scrubbing, andthe frequency with which their fingers are wet and dried on chill wintermornings. Her legs ached, as they had never ached after a night'sdancing, with being on her feet all day long, and day after day, waiting on her patients and attending on the sisters who were placedover the respective wards. Her mind, too, was kept on the stretch withthe serious charge of pulses and temperatures, with the graveresponsibility of shelves on shelves of medicine bottles, with acquiringthe best modes of bandaging, fomenting, bleeding, stopping the flow ofblood, so that during the little leisure she had she could not turn to abook for relief; she fell asleep with sheer fatigue more frequently. 

Annie was too high-spirited and independent to feel the loneliness ofher position among strangers, whom she soon converted into friendlyacquaintances, if nothing more, as many a girl--as Dora, forinstance--would have done. But, accustomed as Annie had been all herlife to much closer and warmer relations, she clung to the presence ofRose in London; and it was a proof of how much the elder sister was usedup, when, even on her days and hours for getting out, it was often withdifficulty that she could bring herself to go and see Rose, or to meetand walk a portion of the way with her on Rose's progress from Mrs. Jennings's boarding-house to the Misses Stone's school, where she taughtdrawing, or to Mr. St. Foy's art classes, where she learned it. 

Annie had suffered considerably from what is known as hospital orinfirmary sore throat, because it is understood to be caused by inhalingthe fumes from the carbolic acid used in the wards. Her rich colour hadto Rose's dismay grown poor and pale for a time. She had laboured underthe still more trying and more dangerous infliction, when the sensesmorbidly excited become morbidly acute, and she seemed still to smellthe peculiar air of the wards wherever she went. Then Mrs. Hull insistedon Annie's leaving for a few days, and bundled her off, without thepower of resistance, to a sister of the matron's, who kindly consented, as her part of the work, to receive and recruit the temporarily overdoneservants of St. Ebbe's Hospital. 

In spite of the strength of Annie's nerves, and her power of controllingthem, she sickened once or twice with a deadly sickness at sights andsounds worse than her most vivid imagination could have conceivedpossible. She had to summon all her courage, together with theconviction that if she did not overcome the weakness speedily, she wouldbe compelled to own that she had mistaken her calling, in order tovanquish the insidious foe. 

Sometimes, while she was ready to thank God that it was rather theexception than the rule, she had to witness the lowest moral degradationin addition to the sharpest human suffering, and this at an age and witha nature when the feeling of extreme repulsion, amounting to positiveloathing, is in danger of prevailing. It needed all her faith to dobattle with this worst temptation, and force pity to conquer disgust, torecognize humbly the frailty of the best and wisest men and women, toacknowledge willingly, even thankfully, the propriety, if one may so usethe word, of what a preacher has called each Christian's suffering, "thejust for the unjust. "

No wonder poor Annie's bright face took frequently a worn and harassedlook in those early days of hospital work. 

Yet so great is the elasticity of youth, and so brave and cheerful wasthe girl's temperament for the most part, that within an hour of suchprostrating attacks and violent revolts, she would be on her way withher own little tea-pot to the retiring-room, where the lady probationersand sisters assembled in order to profit by the great boiler steaming onthe hob for their women's refreshment of tea. It was about the onlyservile act which they were required to do for themselves, while theywere the servants of others, and they all enjoyed doing it with truehousewifely relish. Annie, especially, was an adept at such tea-making, and would propound her theories and circulate specimens of herperformance among her companions who profited by her skill, with a gleenot far removed from the mirth of the Millar girls on many a happyfamily gathering in the old nursery or the drawing-room at Redcross. 

The whole circumstances of one of the bad days in her lot Annie couldnever quite forget. It was a raw, gray winter's day, cheerless above andbelow, and all went wrong on it, from the moment Annie opened her sleepyeyes, leapt shivering out of bed, washed in cold water by her ownchoice, in order to rouse herself, dressed by gaslight, swallowed hercoffee scalding hot, and hastened to her particular ward. The sister andthe house-surgeon were, as if affected by the day, a little sour andsurly, and every patient seemed more or less out of tune, dismal, grumbling, delirious, or in a state of collapse. 

It was one of Annie's out-days, and as a matter of duty, but by no meansof enjoyment, she braced herself to change her hospital dress for awalking dress. After she felt chilled to the bone, she started for awalk, either to be jostled and forced along in a crowded thoroughfare, where she too might have said--

 "Although so many surround me, I know not one I meet"--

or to creep the length of the cleanest side of the pavement in adepressingly empty street, where the varying arrangement of the shabbywindow curtains and the cards in the dingy windows, offering an endlesssupply of rooms to the absent lodging hunter, furnished the soleentertainment to the listless passer-by. 

Annie had been afraid that she would miss Rose on her way to herclasses, and the fear was amply fulfilled--not the most distant glimpseof Rose was forthcoming. Instead, at a crossing, Ella Carey, in her AuntTyrrel's carriage, whirled by the pedestrian and administered a slightspattering of mud to her dress. "It ought to have been the other way, "said Annie bitterly to herself, while she stood still to wipe the sleeveof her jacket. Yet she knew very well all the time that Ella's offencehad been quite involuntary, and that she had not for a moment recognizedAnnie. If it had been so, Ella's round girlish face under its smart hat, leaning back among the soft cushions not discontentedly, would havebrightened immensely. She would have stopped the carriage and been downin the street at Annie's side in a moment, for the girl was aswarm-hearted as she had been docile. There was nothing she would haveliked better than to hail a Redcross face, and hear the last news aboutPhyllis and May, and Ella's father and mother. 

When Annie re-entered the hospital colder and more unrefreshed than shehad left it, she thought that she was at last going to be compensatedfor life's rubs--beyond her deserts, she told herself a littleremorsefully. She had been longing all the morning for a letter fromRedcross, small reason as she had to complain of the negligence of hercorrespondents there, and a letter with the Redcross post-mark wasawaiting her. She saw before she opened it that it was not from any ofher family. None of them used such creamily smooth and thick note-paper, or exhibited such a cunningly contrived, elegantly designed monogram. But even a slight communication from the merest acquaintance was welcomeas a flower in spring, when the acquaintance dwelt in dear old Redcross. Annie had been thinking fondly of it all day as a place of humanwell-being and geniality, free from continual sights and sounds of painand sorrow, where everybody got up and sat down, went out and came in, worked and read, even dawdled and dreamt at will, subject to a fewsimple household rules. There was no unyielding iron discipline atRedcross. There was no hard and fast routine entering through the fleshand penetrating into the very soul. It was just, dear, deliberate, mannerly, yet comfortable and kindly Redcross. The writer was ThirzaDyer, and the reason why one of the Dyers, who had hesitated aboutshaking hands with one of the Millars after she was guilty of proposingto earn her livelihood, wrote a letter to a nurse probationer andaddressed it to a public hospital, calls for an explanation. The Dyers, in their unceasing efforts to gain by their wealth and its liberalexpenditure a footing in the county circle, had got one foot within thecoveted precincts, and there Thirza found to her own and her sisters'amazement that nursing, not the rich and great, but common poor people, was a curious fashion of the day. Lady Luxmore had a cousin who was anurse. General Wentworth's wife had a friend professionally engaged in aLondon hospital for nine months out of the twelve, who was visiting theWentworths this winter. Of course it had begun with the Crimean War, andthe _éclat_ with which lady nurses went out to attend on the woundedsoldiers in the exceptional hospital at Scutari. But whatever was itsorigin, the rule was established that nursing even day-labourers andmechanics with their wives and children, was something very differentfrom being a drudging governess or broken-down companion. It was likebeing a member of the Kyrle Society, with which one of the princes hadto do, or like singing in an East of London concert-room, quite _chic_, perfectly good form, anybody might take it up and gain rather than losecaste by the act. 

Accordingly, it became an obvious obligation on the Dyers to cultivateand not to cut the only nurse on their visiting list. With unblushing, well-nigh naïve suddenness, Thirza Dyer, to Annie Millar's bewilderedastonishment, proceeded to start and maintain a correspondence with her. Two are required for a bargain-making, and Annie was not altogetherdisinterested in scribbling the few lines occasionally which warrantedthe continuance of the correspondence on Thirza's part. For if Thirzahad lived anywhere else than where she did live, near Redcross, theanswer to her first letter might have been different. Therefore Anniedid not perhaps deserve much solace from these letters, and certainlythis one did not contribute to her exaltation of spirit. It was chieflyoccupied with an account of several _recherchée_ afternoon teas which theDyers had held lately at the Manor-house, together with a fulldescription of the tea-gowns of salmon, canary, and cherry-colouredplush, lined with _eau-de-nil_ satin, which the Miss Dyers had worn onthese occasions. 

Now poor Annie was rather above hankering unduly after tea-gowns, or forthat matter "smart" or "swell" dress of any kind. She liked prettythings, and things which became her charming person, at their propertime and season, well enough, but she was not greatly discomposed bythe lack of such adornment, and hardly at all troubled when herneighbours displayed what she did not possess. 

It was because the foolishly exultant gorgeous description, which oughtto have been set to a fashion-plate, carried Annie back with a flash toone winter's day last year, that it made her heart sore. On the day inquestion Annie and Dora, and for that matter Rose and May, acting asdeeply interested assistants, had been tremendously busy and merry inthe old nursery, travestying national and historic costumes in calico. It was all on behalf of a certain scenic entertainment given in theTown-hall for the delectation of the scholars in the Rector'sSunday-school and night classes. It had been a very simple andintentionally inexpensive affair, and the principal charm to theperformers had lain in the contriving of their costumes. Annie and Dorahad appeared in magnificent chintz sacques--which might have representedtea-gowns--and mob caps, and had been declared by Cyril Carey, who wassupposed to be no mean judge, a most satisfactory eighteenth centurypair. Cyril himself had broken the rule as to material, and had figuredin the black satin trunk hose, velvet doublet, and lace collar of aSpanish grandee. But Ned Hewett had stuck to Turkey-red cotton for aVenetian senator or a Roman cardinal, nobody had been quite certainwhich. And Tom Robinson had been a Scotch beggarman, Sir Walter Scott'simmortal Edie Ochiltree, in a blue cotton gown and a goatskin beard, which she (Annie) had wickedly pretended must have been manufactured outof tufts purloined from the stock of boas at "Robinson's. " Lucy Hewetthad been shrouded in white cotton wool, to represent the Empress Matildaescaping from Oxford, "through the lines of King Stephen's soldiers, "under shelter of a snowstorm. Fanny Russell had never looked better thanshe looked that night as a Norman peasant girl. It was all very well forCyril Carey to condescend to the deceit of praising Annie and Dora up tothe skies, when everybody knew whom he admired most, with reason. Thatwas Fanny Russell, with her splendid black eyes and hair, and the Normanstrength and fineness of her profile. 

What was Nurse Annie, in her holland gown, apron, and cap, recalling andrevelling in? The silly vanities and child's play of the past. Well, what harm was there in them? These had been blithe moments while theylasted, which had set young hearts bounding, young feet skipping, andyoung voices laughing and singing in a manner which was natural, and notto be forbidden lest worse came of it. 

Annie was roused from her pleasant reverie and plunged into another ofa totally different description. The last was made up of garbledreality, but with what truth was in it tending to a false, dolefulvision. It would represent St. Ebbe's as a gloomy, ghastly prison-houseof suffering and death, and she in her tender youth and sweet beautyimmured in it by an error of judgment, a fatal mistake incidental torash enthusiasm and total inexperience. If Annie ever arrived at thatrueful conclusion, how could she bear the penalty she must pay?

Annie had heard and read of young women on whom the world did not cryshame, who turned from the decay and death they had not gone to seek, which Providence had brought to their doors, in paroxysms of repugnanceand rebellion. They could not bear that their perfection of health andlife should come into contact with something so chillingly, gruesomelydifferent, that their glowing youth should be wasted in the dim shadowsof sick-rooms or amidst the dank vapours hovering over the dark riverwhich all must ford when their time comes. Those standing round whoheard or read the outcry called it natural, piteous, well-nighpraiseworthy, it was so sincere. How could Annie realize for herself ina moment that such heroines(!) are the daughters in spirit of the womenwho, in outbreaks of mediæval pestilence and latter-day cholera, haveliterally abandoned their nearest and dearest, fleeing from spectaclesof anguish and risks of infection? How could she guess that such womenare the spiritual sisters of poor heathen and savage Hottentot and Malaymothers and daughters, who, sooner than be burdened with the wailinghelplessness of infancy and the mumbling fatuity of age, will expose thechildren dependent on these murderesses, and the hoary heads that onceplanned and prayed for the welfare of their slayers, to perish of coldand hunger?

It was Annie's hour for resuming work, and it was well for her, thoughshe went but languidly into the spotlessly white and clean ward, amongits rows of beds with the flower-stand, illuminated texts andoleographs, which generous supporters of the hospital sent to brightenits cold bareness and soften and cheer what was harsh and subdued in itsatmosphere. Annie was not even greatly affected by the greeting of oneof her patients, an elderly man recovering from an operation, and stillslightly off his head when the fever rose on him. She went to him with acooling, soothing application, and he told her incoherently to comeagain and give him his dinner and his tea. He liked a young lass orlady, be she which she liked, with red cheeks and shining eyes to waitupon him. It minded him of a bit wench of a daughter of his he had lostwhen she was twelve years--the age of the little wench in the Bible, forparson had preached about her the Sunday after his lass's funeral. Itbroke her mother's heart for all that, and he buried her too withinthree months. Then the place got lonesome, and he took what was not goodfor him, till he had come to this; though whether it were the House orjust an hospital he was lying in he could not clearly say. 

Then there happened what Annie was wont to describe as a miracle ofmercy to bring her to a better mind. A young boy whose leg had beencrushed by a waggon was carried into the operating theatre for animmediate operation. It was the lecture hour, and a great professor ofsurgery with his class of students, together with several of the otherdoctors connected with St. Ebbe's, was in attendance. But it was alsocustomary, especially where a female patient or a patient so young asthe boy in question was concerned, for a nurse, generally the sister ofthe ward, to be present to hold the sufferer's hand if it were wished, or when it was possible to support the poor head against her breast. Itso chanced that the sister was out, and other available nurses wereengaged, so in circumstances which would admit of no delay Annie was forthe first time called to the front and summoned to undertake theresponsibility of the situation. Already she had lost sight of herself, and was standing looking so calm, firm, and prepared for everyemergency, that the operating surgeon, with a glance at her, put heryouth and position as a probationer aside, and accepted what help shecould give. 

It was a critical case, and for some medical reason no anæsthetic couldbe administered. The boy was past the unconsciousness of childhood, andthough nearly fainting with fright, pain, and weakness, remained quitesensible of the further ordeal he had to undergo. He was keenly alive tothe humane motive which induced the surgeon to turn his back upon him inselecting his instruments. He even heard, with ears morbidly acute, thelow words addressed to the interested spectators, "Now, gentlemen, I amabout to begin. "

With a stifled sob the poor little fellow suddenly managed to raisehimself from the table on which he was stretched. He looked round wildlyon the circle of men's faces, controlled and expectant, with a certainevery-day expression in anticipation of what, in its blind terror andlife and death importance to him, was a familiar occurrence to them, andon the one woman's face, controlled too, but with an indescribablewistfulness under the control. Then he made his childish appeal, shrillwith misery, "Oh, gentlemen, will you not stop till I say my prayers?"

There was an instant pause of surprise, commiseration, constraint--thepeculiar awkwardness which in Englishmen waits on any provocation tobetray feeling. Nobody liked to look at his neighbour to see how helooked, lest there should be the most distant sign of emotion in his ownface. Some strong men there had ceased to pray or to believe in prayer, yet all were more or less touched by the lad's implicit faith. 

As for Annie she had been praying at that very moment, praying ferventlyin the silence of her heart, that she might be saved from breaking downand allowed to be of some service to the boy. 

"Certainly, certainly, my little chap; but you must be quick about it, "said the great surgeon a little hoarsely. 

"Our-Father-which-art-in-Heaven, " began the boy, running the wordstogether and speaking with a parrot-like monotony in an unnaturallyhigh-pitched key. Then his voice began to quaver a little till hestopped short with a cry of despair--"I cannot mind the words, I cannotsay my prayers. Oh! will nobody say them for me? If mother, as is not inLon'on, were here, she would do it fast, " he ended, flinging out onethin arm and clutching convulsively at the air in a kind ofpanic-stricken terror. 

There was another second's dead silence. It was broken by a woman'svoice. Annie had taken a step forward close to the boy's elbow, so thather voice was in his ear. She could not kneel, but instinctively sheclasped her hands and bent her head reverently as she said in low butclear tones which were carried throughout the length and breadth of theroom, and thrilled in every ear, the Lord's Prayer. At its close shewent on without hesitation in the same wonderfully audible voice: "Godbless this little boy. Forgive him every wrong he has ever done. Keephim safe, and raise him up again, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen. "

Another voice--a deeper one--responded to the "Amen. " It was said by thefamous operator's enemies that he was lax in his religious opinions, andthat he rarely found time to go to church. Nevertheless it was he whowith grave heartiness repeated the Amen. 

The little lad had sunk back when she began to speak, and there he laywithout giving her a word or sign of thanks--his best acknowledgment ofher compliance with what might be his last wish being his quakingsubmission. He could not keep still his quivering flesh, or hold backaltogether his piercing cries and piteous moans, but he bit his tonguein seeking to stifle them. For he was not fighting with his Maker andhis fate; he was trying in his boyish way, with his small fortitude andresignation, to endure, in the might of the support which had been askedfor him. 

Annie too clenched her teeth, while she opened her eyes to take ineverything that passed before them, as a mirror may be turned to receivethe minutest impression from the scene it reflects. But she did not heara single shriek or wail, because her ears were filled with the higherharmonies which she had called forth. She clasped one of the boy'strembling hands in her own warm one, which did not grow cold in thecontact. She was on the alert to meet his only half-seeing gaze, and togive back a glance of tender sympathy and protection--the true mother'slook that is to be found when occasion calls for it in every goodwoman's face, --ay, it may even be seen in the precociously earnest, kindly eyes of many a loving woman-child. 

There were plenty of other helpers to render the surgeon all theassistance he needed in his work, with far more celerity and abilitythan Annie could have supplied. But while sense lingered in the littlepatient's eyes, it was to the woman he turned for the pity and aid whichdid not fail him; it was through her that he drew from One mightier thanall, the spiritual strength for his terrible bodily conflict. In a senseAnnie and he were both on their trial, they served their novitiatetogether, and helped each other to bear and overcome. When the operationwas over he lay, with the sweat drops of agony which Annie was gentlywiping off, not gone from his forehead, but also with the reflectionstill lingering on his white face of the courage and patience with whichhe had been ready to meet death. 

"You have behaved remarkably well, and shown no want of pluck, my lad, "said the surgeon as a parting word of encouragement and cheer. "Liestill and you'll be able to see your friends by and by. I believe you'lldo famously, and we'll see whether a substitute cannot be found for thelimb you have lost. "

He turned to Annie who had done all, and more than all, that wasrequired of her, probably because she had entirely forgotten herself. She was not even then sensible of a swift reaction, an overwhelmingtide of embarrassment. She continued more than half unconscious of thenumber of eyes which, now that the operation was over, were fixed uponher, marvelling, admiring, condemning, or ridiculing. For what act isthere, let it be ever so disinterested or self-sacrificing, againstwhich no voice will rise in condemnation or in mockery?

But it was not the operating surgeon who either condemned or scoffed atAnnie's conduct. He drew her aside, not speaking to her on the religiousside of the episode, which he did not conceive that he had the smallestright or title to do, but addressing her on the purely medical aspect ofthe incident, on which he considered that he was entitled, nay, evenbound to speak. His manner was a little blunt and brusque rather thansuave, like that of a man who had no time to waste in paying complimentsor making soft speeches, but it was thoroughly approving. 

"You did quite right, nurse; I'm much obliged to you. That poor boywanted all the comfort he could get. If he had gone on and workedhimself into a frenzy before I had taken up the knife, I do not knowthat I could have done my work, and certainly the probability of hisrecovery would have been greatly lessened. "

"I am glad, " said Annie simply, with a little gasp of returningconsciousness. "It is good of you to say so, doctor, " but it wasdoubtful whether she knew what she was saying. She was penetratedthrough and through with thankfulness, yet thanks to herself seemed soirrelevant that she did not care to hear them. 

There was more than Annie who thought that thanks to her were out ofplace and superfluous. This was specially so with one among the group ofyounger men, who at the moment of entering the ward had been fully aliveto the circumstance that "the pretty nurse, " as she was known to them, was on active duty. They had speculated on whether she would stand anoperation, and what a disturbance and nice mess there would be if shefell flat on the small of her back on the floor, or went off in a fit ofhysterics in the middle of it; and how their "boss" would endure such adisconcerting interruption to the proceedings. As it happened, thespeculators were in their turn startled, abashed, or irritated, according to their respective temperaments and frames of mind, by whatfollowed. 

But there was a young giant, with a blonde beard, who let his blue eyesfall on the floor, drew back till he leant against the wall, andthrusting his hands into his pockets, asked himself in a dazed, humbledway, if an angel had come down among them, and where was the good ofpresuming to thank an angel? It was a thousand times more officious andaudacious than to disregard the hackneyed quotation about the folly ofpainting a lily and perfuming a rose. 

Annie, the moment she could be spared, went to her own room, fell downon her knees, and cried as if her heart would break. Yet they were notunhappy, but blissful tears, though they were as much for her ownunworthiness as for God's unmerited goodness. 

Then she snatched up a sheet of paper and wrote home. "I was sodiscontented--such a peevish wretch, this morning, but I have had atonic, and now I am so unspeakably satisfied with my lot in life that Ibelieve I am the happiest girl in England to-night. I would not changeplaces with a hundred old Aunt Pennys, only I know, alas! that I am nothalf good enough to be a nurse. Yet I would rather be a nurse than anyother character in the world, and I would not go back for a permanencyto dear old Redcross, after which I was hankering this very morning, andlive at home with you all again, leading the aimless, self-seeking lifeI led, not though Mr. Carey's bank were to rise out of its ashes andflourish to an extent that its greatest upholders never dreamt of--notthough I were to get a pension or an earl's ransom, or whatever elsepeople count magnificent compensations and rewards. But you must notthink that it is because I do not love you all as well and a thousandtimes better than I ever loved you, for that would be a great mistake, since I am just beginning to know your true value. But don't youunderstand it would break my heart to think that I should no longer be anurse and never have such another experience as I have had thisafternoon. " And then she told them in a very few words what had happenedand what the surgeon had said to her. How the sister of the ward, andthe matron, and everybody she knew in St. Ebbe's had congratulated her. They had all united in promising that the poor little fellow should beher patient in future; they had begun already to call him "Miss Millar'sboy. "

The little Doctor not only wiped his spectacles, he held his headhigher. Mrs. Millar read the letter again and again, appropriating itand carrying it in her pocket till it was worn to fragments. These werestill religiously preserved and portions read to select and sympatheticaudiences. And every time she read the lines herself with a full heart, she called on God to bless her good Annie, and thought she was honouredamong mothers in having such a daughter. 

As for Dora and May they were long of ceasing to talk with bated breathand the height of loving enthusiasm of how Annie had mastered herself, and what a stay she had been in the hour of need to the lad. Theyplanned and carried out their plans at every spare moment, in themanufacture of knitted socks and cravats for his benefit. But theirgreat achievement was a quilted dressing-gown which Dora contrived tocut out, and May, in spite of her bad sewing, to help to sew together, that in his convalescence he might sit up in bed like a little sickprince. 

CHAPTER XI. 

MRS. JENNINGS AND HER DAUGHTER HESTER. 

Rose Millar had made up her mind to like everything, if possible, in hernew surroundings, and when she came up to town it was not only by apiece of good fortune, it was to the girl's credit, that she found somuch she could appreciate, and so little, comparatively, that it wasdifficult to put up with. 

In the first place, and as of primary consequence to Rose's well-being, Mrs. Jennings, the lady with whom Rose was boarded, turned out anexcellently-disposed gentlewoman. She had a well-ordered house, pervadedwith the spirit of a gentlewoman. The whole establishment was full ofthe self-respect which showed itself in a scrupulous consideration forthe rights and claims, the doings and feelings, of others. 

Rose did not complain because Mrs. Jennings and her house alike werealso antiquated and formal. But the lady was not merely formal; it was apoint of honour and an inveterate weakness with her to refuse to ownthat she had anything to do with such small but welcome boons to her asboarders. There she sat, serenely disclaiming the slightest knowledge ofwhat had taken place, and attributing every attention to her old servantSusan, who had been with Mrs. Jennings since her marriagefive-and-thirty years before. Or, if it was not Susan, it was hercoadjutor, Marianne, in her housemaid's neat dress, whom Susan, in herworking housekeeper's black cap and gold-rimmed spectacles, had trainedto all fit and proper service in a gentlewoman's house. 

In person Mrs. Jennings was tall and thin, sallow, and slightlyhook-nosed, but still handsome. Her upright, broad-shouldered, and, bycomparison, slender waisted figure was conventionally good; but it washard to say how far it was her own, or how much it was made up. For shewas one of those women who consider that it is a duty which they owe tothe world not only to show themselves to the best advantage in bodilypresence to the last, but so to conceal and atone for the ravages oftime as to preserve a semblance of their maturity after it is long past. The performance is not altogether successful. For one thing, it is aptto call forth a spirit of contemptuous pity in the youthful spectatorwho is still a long way from needing to employ such laborious, self-denying arts. 

Mrs. Jennings added to her natural air of dignity by a filmy shawl ofblack lace in summer, and of white Shetland wool in winter, draped roundher without so much as a fold out of order, and by a somewhat elaboratemodification of a widow's cap which added half an inch to her height. AsRose wrote in an early letter home, Mrs. Jennings's cap looked as if shehad been born with it on her coal black hair, or as if it were glued andgummed there beyond any possibility of being displaced. Mother ought tosee it, take an example, and abandon her flighty, waggling head-gear. No, on second thoughts, Rose would not like to see mother with a capfitted on her head like the bowl of a helmet, and giving the idea ofsuch stony stability that it might have been fastened with invisiblenails hammered into her skull. 

Hester Jennings, Mrs. Jennings's daughter, was the young art studentlike Rose's self, to whom she and her friends had naturally looked forcongenial companionship where the girl was concerned; and if she did notfind it with Hester, she was not likely to discover it in any of theother residents at No. 12 Welby Square. Naturally Rose did not greatlyaffect the remaining members of that elderly society, on which Mrs. Jennings professed to set store. She could not help liking Mrs. Jennings, though, alas! Rose scarcely believed in her so much as shewould have been justified in doing. 

In Mrs. Jennings's daughter, who had been from the first thought of asa friend for Rose, she believed entirely. Yet Rose had been in thebeginning both startled by Hester Jennings and disappointed in her. 

Hester Jennings looked considerably older than she was, which was aboutAnnie Millar's age; in fact, she was prematurely worn with study andwork. She was like her mother on a larger scale, with advantages of afair paleness and remarkable violet-blue eyes, which Mrs. Jennings hadnever possessed. Hester might have passed for a lovely young woman ifshe had cared in the least to do it. But never was girl more indifferentto such claims or more capable of doing her worst to qualify them andrender them the next thing to null and void. When Annie Millar madeHester Jennings's acquaintance, Annie maintained that there wassomething left out in Hester's composition, the part which makes a womandesire to look well in the eyes of her neighbours, and win admiration, though the admiration be as skin deep as the beauty which creates it. 

To think that a daughter of Mrs. Jennings, an artist in her own right, could dress so badly, with such a careless contempt for patterns andcolours, in such ill-fitting frocks and dowdy or grotesque hats! Herpreference for strident aniline dyes and gigantic stripes and checks inthe different articles of her costume looked very like perversity;especially when it was shown that with reference to other persons, inarranging to paint a portrait, for instance, no one, not Mrs. Jennings, displayed such a fine sense of fitness and harmony as Hester exhibited. Dress was to her, in her private character, mere necessary clothing, warm or cool as the season required. It was not worth the waste ofthought implied by turning it over in her mind. Her mother dressed forthe family; or, if she did not, Hester understood that her marriedsisters and sisters-in-law devoted, with success, a great deal of timewhich they did not value in other respects, to the subject in question. 

Speak of Rose Millar's professional notions as to the human figure beingleft easy and untrammelled! Rose was a pattern of decorous neatness andtrimness compared to Hester; indeed, Rose was appalled by the totalabsence of order and ceremony, not to say of embellishment, in herfriend's toilet. Hester abandoned herself permanently to deshabilles. She appeared in a jacket indoors as well as out. She dispensed withcollars in morning and lace in evening wear. She did her hair once whenshe got up, and regarded passing her hand over her head when she tookoff her hat as all that was incumbent upon her afterwards. Withoutintending it, and without dreaming of copying the bushes of hair inRossetti's pictures, Hester Jennings's sandy-coloured locks, not a goodpoint in her personal appearance, were, as her great-grandmother wouldhave cried in horror, more like a dish-mop than anything else. Shestopped short of dirt in her slovenliness because of her purity of soul, her deep respect for the laws of health, and because of the traditionsof her class, from which she could not altogether escape. But betweenher bondage to work, and her scornful neglect of other claims which shehad known over-exalted and exaggerated, she had accomplished marvels. 

Hester Jennings had attained such eminence in her recklessness ofconsequences, that, in place of being a nearly lovely woman, inaccordance with her profile, complexion, and glorious eyes, she wasbarely good-looking because of them, in a style which repulsed many morepeople than it attracted others. The sight of Hester was one of thenumerous lessons which she was destined to give to Rose Millar. Itfrightened Rose into becoming tamely conventional and elaborately tidyin dress, to the surprise and edification of her sister Annie, for itwas just at the time when Annie was most spent by her new life andlabours, and least inclined to put off her hospital gown and cap. 

CHAPTER XII. 

A YOUNG ARTIST'S EXPERIENCE. 

Rose respected Hester Jennings. She could not help respecting her--acreature so much in earnest, so indefatigably industrious, soindifferent to all the distractions of the outer world which might havetaken her out of herself and away from her work, while she was not abovethree or four years Rose's senior. If Hester would have let her, therespect would have deepened to reverence, when Rose discovered what theelder girl neither hid nor boasted of, that she was not only paying forher art lessons at the art school, and in other respects freeing hermother from the burden of her maintenance, --she was steadily earning asmall independent income by working incessantly at every spare momentsnatched from her studies. She worked at all sorts of designs for themost insignificant and obscure cheaply illustrated books and periodicalswhich cannot exist entirely on old plates excavated from forgottenstores, bought by the thousand at trade sales, procured by transferfrom America, or even--now that national costumes are dying out--fromFrance and Germany. These attempts at art were intended to pass into thehands of children--not the favoured children reared on the charmingfancies of Caldecott and Kate Greenaway; but homelier, more stolid, andeasily satisfied children. Such art was also for the masses of thepeople who cannot pay for original art, save in its first uncertaindevelopments, when the stagier it is, the blacker, the bolder, the moremeretriciously pretty or fantastically horrible, the better it isrelished by its public. Even the stereotyped representations of thecoarser fashion-plates, and the eccentric symbols and arbitrary groupsemployed in the humbler trade advertisements which the magnates in suchadvertising have left far behind, were food for Hester's unrestingpencil. She might have injured herself irreparably by such illegitimatepractice had she not studied as faithfully as she designed, withsomething of a stern, merciless severity, hunting out and correcting inher studies the errors of her crude work. 

Stress of circumstances had lent what the French would have called abrutal side to Hester's natural candour and sincerity. It was onecomfort that she was still more brutal to herself than to the rest ofthe world. 

When Rose Millar showed her sister-artist some of Rose's sketches, Hester gave them a glance and a toss aside one after the other. 

"There is nothing in that, " she said coolly, "though I can see you havetaken some trouble with it. This is not so bad. No, don't show thatthing to anybody else--it will do you harm. " Her highest praise was the"not bad" of mildest negative approval. "When you go to the classto-morrow morning, " predicted the slashing critic, "you may depend uponit you will be turned back to a course of free-hand, or to copying fromthe round again. I don't mean that Mr. St. Foy will be as plain-spokenas I have been; he is a great deal too much afraid of hurting yourfeelings and his own, and of losing a pupil, though he is not what Ishould call either a bad man or a bad teacher. He is just like the rest;but wait and see if he does not politely turn you back to very nearlythe beginning. "

"I have had good teachers before, " said Rose, crumpling up her nose andher forehead tightly, and swelling a little with wounded self-respect aswell as wounded vanity. "It is queer, to say the least, if all myteachers were in a conspiracy to push me on to what I was not fit for, and to give me work altogether beyond my powers. "

"You asked my opinion, " said Hester Jennings, with inflexible calmness, "and I am not surprised that you do not like it when you have gotit--few people do. The truth is not generally palatable. Not that I goin for infallibility of judgment. Wait and see what Mr. St. Foydoes--not says--to-morrow. "

"But why were the others--one of them an exhibitor at the Academy andthe Grosvenor--so much mistaken?" inquired Rose, with naturalindignation. 

"How can I tell? But I hope you do not imagine that exhibitors arenecessarily geniuses, or not as other men, or that they must be able todo a little bit of tolerable teaching when it pays them to condescend toit? Mr. St. Foy never exhibits--very likely for the good reason that hispictures are not accepted; but it does not follow on that account thathe cannot paint a fairly good picture--better even than some which arehung on the line--and teach very tolerably to boot. "

This was a new, bewildering doctrine, and a thoroughly dishearteningstate of matters, to which Rose, extinguished as she was on her ownmerits, did not make any reply. 

"What I think, if you care to hear further what I think, " said Hester, with a dry smile, "is that in not taking time and in being wild to painta complete picture--something which everybody could recognize as apicture, and your friends admire--as if such a thing can be done to anygood purpose for years and years--you have fallen into the disastroushabit of forgetting, or of only half remembering, what you learntbefore, as you went on learning more. At least, that is the only way inwhich I can account for the wretchedness of some of your drawing, andthe badness of your perspective, when you have got so far as to have afeeling for a scale of colour and the tone of a picture. "

"Well, I suppose I can learn it all over again, " said Rose, with amixture of spirit and doggedness, forcing herself not to betray furtherresentment, and to swallow a little girlish weakness at theuncompromising treatment she was receiving. What would May and Dora say?But she durst not trust herself to think of them. 

"Of course, " answered Hester, opening widely a pair of singularly clearkeen eyes. "Do you think I should have taken the trouble to say as muchif I had thought otherwise?"

It was the one dubious compliment which Rose extracted, without meaningit, from the fault-finder. 

Hester's openly expressed desire was to be an artist out and out, tolive like an artist, not to be troubled with the hindrances and pettyrestrictions of an ordinary woman's life, which she was tempted todespise, to which, if she yielded at all in her mother's house, it waswith scarcely concealed reluctance and aversion. Very likely she hadonly the most one-sided conception of the life she would have chosen. Certainly her notions of Bohemianism were about as ingenuous as "littleMay's" might have been; to go where art called her, to do what artdemanded of her, to be art's humble, diligent, faithful servant all herdays, without being held back and fettered on every hand by set meals, obtrusive servants, changes of dress, the obligation to pay and receivevisits. The dream of her life was to get to Paris and have lessons inone of the French studios, where she was led to believe women have asgood a chance of being well taught as men possess. She would prefer tolive with some young women students like herself _en fille_--amodified--much modified version of _en garçon_. They would hire an_étage_ in some cheap, convenient quarter, get the wife or daughter ofthe _conciergerie_ to prepare breakfast and supper for them, dine at oneof Duval's restaurants work all day, and sleep the sleep of thelabouring woman at night. She said she knew quite well how such artistswere considered in Paris, that they were regarded as _vauriennes_, towhom there was no occasion to pay the respect and consideration whichwere reserved for the potent _mesdames_ and the _jeunes filles ingénues_of society. But what had she to do with society? She belonged to thegreat republic of art, and had infinitely more to occupy her than tolisten for what society would say. As to not being able to take care ofherself and behave so that the slightest indignity to her would never beventured upon, the bare mention of such a possibility was received byHester with a wrath which bordered on fierceness, and for the most partsilenced her opponents effectually. Any displeasure which Annie Millarhad displayed on a similar supposition was mild by comparison. 

Hester was not an only child. Mrs. Jennings had sons, all in the army ornavy, the mother was proud to say; but none of them in those days ofcompetitive examinations and expensive living was high enough up in theservice to be able to help his mother. On the contrary, grown men, withmen's callings, as they were, they found themselves under the necessityof taking help from her. There were also other daughters besides Hestermarried to men in professions as unexceptionable as those of theirbrothers-in-law, but neither were they in circumstances which could makethem feel justified in granting the smallest subsidy to Mrs. Jennings. Only Hester toiled for her mother at every moment which she could takefrom her studies and her natural rest. Yet the two women, who had dweltunder the same roof since Hester's babyhood, who were united by thestrongest and most sacred tie, were without one taste in common, wereirreconcilably different in every mode of thought and impulse offeeling, were only alike in each being well-intentioned and desirous offulfilling her intuitions and justifying her beliefs. Being wise, thepair agreed to differ. But oh! the pity of it where aims, ideals andstandards, hopes and fears, were all equally wide apart. 

Mrs. Jennings did not interfere with Hester's freedom farther than shecould help. Hester had her own engagements, her own circle of friends. 

It may not surprise those who are acquainted with the various versionsof Hester Jennings to be met with in this generation, that she was ared-hot radical in contrast to her mother's conservatism--well-nigh a_communiste_, to whom woman's rights and wrongs meant a burning questionof the day, which, next to her love of art, came very near to her heart. She was almost powerless to assist her sister women, so overworked wasshe on her own account, but whenever she could snatch a moment half adozen clubs and societies claimed her for their own. She had really awide personal knowledge of the working-women of London, employed andunemployed. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

MR. ST. FOY'S AND THE MISSES STONE'S. 

There was a second and large portion of Rose's life which belonged toher art classes, and to the classes in which she was one of the teachersand not one of the taught. In the art classes Hester Jennings'sinfluence still dominated over Rose. In spite of Mr. St. Foy'sprofessional qualifications, for which Hester had vouched, he had not sopotent a personality as that possessed by one of his favourite pupils. He was tall, thin, gentleman-like, and delicate-looking, with a habit oflanguidly winking his eyes every second or two, as if they were weary ofthe trying sights of this world. He was kind to Rose in his courteousway, but she would not have been certain either of his ability to judgeher work or of his honest opinion of it, if it had not been for whatHester told her. 

There were fifty pupils among whom she and Hester ranked. These occupiedthe desks, worked at the easels, copied from copies, from the roundor--height of promotion--from well-known models attached to theinstitution. There was the old market woman who obligingly sat alike forwicked old hags and doting grandmothers. There was the athletic youngporter, off duty, who was a brigand or a pilot as occasion served. 

The pupils were of various styles, idle and chattering, picturesque andsentimental, industrious, commonplace, but the most of them werevariations on that last accepted version of the lady artist--theindividual girl who aims at being independent and natural to the vergeof harmless lawlessness and Philistinism--strange reaction fromæstheticism. There were many Hester Jennings's though none so pronouncedas Hester. 

The Misses Stone's select boarding-school carried Rose twice a week intoanother region, where the wind did not blow so freely and the air was atrifle stifling. Sometimes she wondered if the Misses Stone knew thetone of a large proportion of the young lady artists at Mr. St. Foy'sclasses--not that Rose herself could see anything absolutely wrong init--whether they would care to have an assistant drawing-mistress fromthose half-emancipated, more than half insubordinate ranks. However, Rose's appointment was not in any great danger of being cancelled. Shehad involuntarily become doubly careful in her dress and demeanourlately, and she discovered that the Misses Stone were old and intimatefriends of Mrs. Jennings, whom they pitied sincerely for having sotroublesome a daughter. 

At first Rose did not dislike the office of teacher, which brought herin a little income before she was out of her teens. The whole placereminded her pleasantly of Miss Burridge's school which she had quittedbut recently, only instead of having a metropolitan superiority inenlightenment and progress, strange to say, the Misses Stone'sestablishment, as if drawing within itself and shrinking back from theconstantly moving, restlessly advancing world around, was reallyolder-fashioned, less in the van of public opinion than the school atRedcross. The Misses Stone, their teachers and pupils, were well-bred, and what might have been called in past days "prettily behaved, " thoughthe behaviour was a little formal. Women and girls were elegantlyaccomplished, in place of being solidly informed or scientificallycrammed, in accordance with the fashion of the nineteenth century. Aboveall, they declined with a gentle unconquerable doggedness to be turnedfrom the even tenor of their ways. Italian was still largely taught inthe school, while only a fraction of the pupils learnt German. Latin hadno standing ground save in the derivation of words, Greek was unknown. The word mathematics was not mentioned. The voice of the drill-sergeantwas not heard, but the dancing-master with his kit attended twice aweek, like Rose, all the year round. The harp was played by the pupilsinstead of the violin. Withal there was much careful learning andrepeating of Sunday Collects and the Church Catechism. 

The school found ample support. What it attempted to do was in the mainwell done. Undoubtedly there was an attraction, half-graceful, half-quaint, in all connected with it, from the gentle manners of theelderly Misses Stone, who were only bitter against what was bold, impertinent, and eccentric, to the most dainty of their small pupils. Strictly conservative people felt that their daughters were safe in suchan atmosphere, and patronized it accordingly. Undoubtedly they learnt agood deal which was worth learning. 

Rose began by receiving nothing save the most considerate kindness andapproval in that house. It was a libel on its forms and ceremonies toimagine that they contained anything tyrannical and harsh in theiressence. The very law of their being was amiability, combined with mildsteadfastness in withstanding the subversive attitude of the time. Themost highly-born, richly-endowed girl within the precincts--and theschool was rather aristocratic--would no more have ventured on beingrude to Miss Rose Millar, the junior drawing-mistress, than the girlwould have presumed to stamp her foot at one of the Misses Stone. IfRose had dropped her pencil in the course of her work, the highly-bornpupil, by force of example, if for no other reason, would immediatelyhave risen and picked it up, though she might not have made the speechabout a Titian being worthy to be served by a Cæsar. In fact Rose was indanger of being killed with kindness. Soon she was conscious ofsomething choking, crushing, dwarfing in this artificial system. Thiswas made more conspicuous to her by the choice of art subjects for thegirls' study. There was no end of flower and fruit pieces. There werethe stereotyped noble ruins, and cottages, either embowered in roses orhalf-buried in snow. There were the Dutch and Venetian boats which hadnever sailed on familiar waters. Stags abounded, and Rose ceased to askwhy so many of them stood at bay. The sleeping baby, which might havebeen a dead baby or a stone baby, was there; so was the long-nosed, wooden-legged collie, watching the shepherd's plaid. With what a livelyhatred Rose grew to hate that collie!

Rose felt herself "cribbed, cabined, and confined" when she came fromthe comparative open air and robust life of Mr. St. Foy's classes. Yeteven these were not the world of art. She got nervous in the fear ofunworthily committing solecisms against the silken softness and steelyrigidity of the Misses Stone's shrine. She thought if she caught up andreproduced any of Hester's vagabond notes--the Misses Stone werenecessarily slightly acquainted with Hester, of whom, however, theynever spoke--it would be like throwing a bombshell among these quiet, unalterable proprieties. She came to have a morbid, feverish craving todo it, or to see some other person do it. For instance, if young LadyMaud Devereux would but bid Rose tie her shoe, or even if she wouldcontradict Miss Stone, or Miss Lucilla, or Miss Charlotte, withoutprefacing the contradiction by "I beg your pardon!"

At last these two days a week of giving lessons at the Misses Stone's, from being merely the agreeable lucrative variety in her life which theyhad promised to be, became gray days of penance to Rose Millar, when shefelt she was under a spell, and did her duty badly. She ceased to referto them in her letters home. 

Rose arrived one morning at the Misses Stone's in a peculiarly excitableand yet depressed frame of mind. She had not been to Mr. St. Foy'sclasses that day; but Hester Jennings had known, the afternoon before, apiece of unwelcome news which she thought fit to communicate to Rose inthe course of their morning walk, that ran so far in the samedirection. A group of peasants, with which Rose Millar had been taking agreat deal of pains, had been summarily condemned and dismissed by themaster. Rose waxed hot and restive under the sentence, and began todispute it vehemently, Hester defending it with equal vehemence, in whatshe considered justice to Mr. St. Foy, on the ground of a lack ofdignity and repose in the central peasant. Hester was at that momenttearing along a thoroughfare, and showing so little dignity and reposenot only in her gait, but in her "loud, " ill-assorted garments, that, asfrequently happened, to Rose's vexation, several people among thepassers-by turned and looked after them. Hester to talk of a want ofdignity and repose! It was like Satan reproving sin. 

At the same time, while it is hard to admit the justness of a criticismunaffected by the inconsistency of the person who utters it and of thecircumstances under which it is uttered, Rose was perfectly well awarethat Hester Jennings was as excellent a judge of dignity and repose, apart from her personal proceedings, as any artist could be. 

Rose did not retaliate, save in self-defence. Hester was her senior inart-knowledge still more than in years. She was not her sister to betreated without ceremony, and pretty deep down in Rose's girlish heartthere was a respectful tolerance, an approach to tender reverence, forthe turbulent-minded, chaotic, gifted creature beside her. Still Rose'sequanimity was considerably disturbed. 

The unruffled serenity of the Misses Stone's domain, far from restoringRose's composure, seemed to smite her by contrast with an intolerablesense of personal reproach, and to goad her into rebellion. Rose wasconscious of her variable spirits--the heritage of her years--gettingmore and more uncertain, and of being wrought up to a perilouslyhigh-strung pitch. She felt as if she were panting for liberty tobreathe, to express her discordant mood in some unconventional manner. 

As it happened, the principal drawing-mistress, a highly decorous, self-controlled young woman, ten years Rose's senior, was absent, andher assistant was alone at her post, with the whole class in and on herhands. Rose had already taken off her hat and gloves, and she tried tocompose her ruffled feelings before she began her round of thedrawing-boards, as Mr. St. Foy inspected his easels. The analogy withits disproportion struck her, and moved her to silent, unsteadylaughter, which she could not restrain, so that it broke out into aringing peal at the first enormity in drawing which she came across. 

Nobody laughed like that at the Misses Stone's --certainly nolow-voiced, quietly conducted teacher. Rose was further aggrieved andtormented by the astonished heads privily raised, and the wondering eyescovertly looking at her. She laughed no more. She went on examining, commending, correcting, till she was tired out. Surely the morning hourswere endless that day. She was exhausted, not merely by the "smart walk"from Welby Square, which, taken at Hester Jennings's pace, was alwaystiring, as Rose knew to her cost, but also by the turmoil of spirit shehad been in. All the toils, disappointments, and drudgery of the lifewhich lay before her seemed suddenly to press upon her and overwhelmher, and before she knew what she was doing she was sobbing behind herhandkerchief. She had one grain of sense left, she turned her back; buther heaving shoulders and the muffled sound of a "good cry" were nothidden from the electrified class. 

Nobody cried like that at the Misses Stone's, unless it might be tosomebody's pillow in the darkness of the night. For any teacher to cryin her class was unheard of. Rose conquered herself in less time than ithas taken to recount her weakness, and resumed the lesson with moisteyes, a reddened nose, and her whole girlish body tingling and smartingwith girlish mortification. All the rest of the morning she seemed tohear two startling statements repeated alternately and without pause. 

"Miss Rose Millar laughed loudly in the middle of her teaching;" and oh!shame of shames, for the womanly dignity of the last year of Rose'steens--"Miss Rose Millar cried before the whole class. "

Rose had once joined in a girls' play, full of girlish cleverness andgirlish points and hits. No less a personage than Queen Elizabeth wasintroduced into it. In the course of the plot great stress was laid onthe fact that the Queen had laughed at Lord Essex's expense, behind hisback. This was done in order to pique the proud, spoilt young courtierto resent the laughter, and, in homely parlance, to give Her Majestymore to laugh at. The phrase "_and the Queen laughed_, " had beenemphatically repeated again and again in Lord Essex's hearing, with muchmalicious meaning and effect. 

That mocking quotation was resounding in Rose's ears with acharacteristic variation. It was no longer "_and the Queen laughed_, " itwas "and Miss Rose Millar laughed, " then alas! alas! as a fit pendant, "and Miss Rose Millar cried. "

What a big baby she had shown herself, without the decent reticence of agentlewoman's good breeding, or the proper pride of a girl whorespected herself. How these school-girls must despise her! What was sheto do? Wait for the girls to whisper and chatter as all girls will, however trained? Or go at once to the Miss Stone with whom she had mostto do, tell her the solecism of which she, Rose, had been guilty in thebest behaved of schools, and abide by Miss Stone's decision, though itshould be that she and her sisters would in future dispense with theservices of Miss Rose Millar as assistant drawing-mistress. 

Rose had the courage and honesty to adopt the latter course, and shetried to think that the fresh affront it brought her, was part of thepenalty which she was bound to pay for her disgraceful childishness. 

Miss Lucilla Stone listened with a little personal discomfiture, for shewas, like Mrs. Jennings, so thoroughly mistress of herself and thesituation, that any _gaucherie_ or boisterous indiscretion was positivepain to her. Besides, the bad example to the girls for whom Miss Lucillaand her sisters were responsible, made a matter which people who did notunderstand might wrongly consider a trifle, really a serious affair. "Nodoubt, " acquiesced Miss Lucilla, "something had put you out, as you tellme, " in low-voiced rebuke, which yet sunk Rose in the dust, deeper thanshe had been, when she was making her impulsive confession. "You weretired with your walk, of course, but, my dear Miss Rose Millar, it isnecessary to learn to practise self-control, especially in the presenceof young people. They are so quick to notice and to encroach on theirelders and those placed in authority over them, when the necessarydistance of perfect self-control on the one side--if possible on bothsides--is not preserved between them. Perhaps, " added Miss Lucillameditatively, and beginning to brighten a little, for she hated to givethe lecture well-nigh as much as Rose hated to receive it, "if you hadswallowed just a teaspoonful of _sel-volatile_ or something of thatkind, when you came in, the little scene would have been avoided. Ishall speak to my sister Charlotte, who has the key of our medicinechest, and get her to administer a tiny dose to you every drawing day;you will step into the study the first thing, and it will be ready foryou. "

"Oh, no, thank you, Miss Lucilla, " exclaimed Rose hastily, "I never took_sel-volatile_ in my life. Father says not one of us is hysterical, oris likely to faint on an emergency, not even Dora or May. He is quiteproud of Annie--my sister Annie--for her nerve, and she needs it all, since she is in training for a nurse. "

Miss Lucilla shook her head dubiously, whether at the moderninstitution of lady nurses, or at the superiority in nerve of any familyto which Miss Rose Millar belonged. 

"You may not have been hysterical before, " said Miss Lucilla with mildobstinacy; "but that is no reason why you should not be so now. If youdislike _sel-volatile_, you ought to try red lavender drops. I know theyhave gone out of fashion, but my dear mother still used them and foundmuch benefit from them till she was seventy-seven years of age. "

Rose longed to say that there was a great gulf between seventy-seven andnineteen and two months. She was stopped by the quiet determination andself-satisfaction visible in Miss Lucilla's face and manner, as she roseand graciously but summarily dismissed the trespasser on her valuabletime. 

"Yes, I hope this will meet the case. You have been overdoingyourself--that explains itself to everybody. Dear Mrs. Jennings mustforbid you tea and coffee and limit you to cocoa in the meantime;indeed, my sisters and I take that precaution before any mischiefappears. Don't forget Miss Stone's study the first thing on drawingmornings. I trust a little sedative and stimulant in one will prepareyou nicely for the drawing lessons. "

To Rose's disgust she was compelled to make wry faces and choke over somany doses of _sel-volatile_ and red lavender to the end of the term. She made secret unfulfilled threats to write to her father and get himto say that he would not permit her constitution to be tampered with, hewould himself order her what she required, if she needed to be quietedlike an incipient mad woman or a weak emotional fool. 

Rose was not sure that Annie ought not to have come to her help. Theyounger sister did not see what advantage there was to the family in theelder sister's being a nurse if she was not to interfere on occasions ofthis kind. But Annie had the bad taste to take the story as a good jokeagainst Rose; and as for Hester Jennings, it was an instance of "_theQueen laughed_" with a vengeance. However, Hester stepped in so far. Shewould not let the soothing regimen, on which Rose was put, go the lengthof depriving her of her tea and coffee in Welby Square. 

Within the next few weeks Hester did Rose a still better turn. She(Hester) came to her friend with an order for decorative designs inscroll-work, which had reached the elder girl from a decorator of somerepute. 

"I think you could do it, Rose, " said Hester. "It would not take muchtime, and if your work satisfied the great tradesman who has given suchan impetus to this kind of art, it might be a perfect windfall to artstudents wishing to keep themselves. You need not despise it in thelight of house-painting. If you read your Ruskin, you will find him asgood as calling Titian and Veronese house-painters, though to be surefrescoes are rather an extension of scroll-work. "

"Indeed, I should never dream of despising it. I should be only toothankful for any kind of copying or pattern-drawing, or designing forChristmas-cards--like poor Fanny Russell--if it were the beginning ofthe least little bit of an order, " said Rose meekly, with a stifled sighgiven to her and May's old magnificent ideas of commissions. "But whydon't you keep the work for yourself, Hester?" the young girl inquired. "You could do it so well and so easily, and it would be no pain to you;it would be a pleasure, for it is graceful and true work so far as itgoes--not like these cruel illustrations. "

But Hester waived aside the undertaking. "You have been more accustomedto this kind of thing than I have. No, I mean to stick to myillustrations, cruel or kind. There is a new man in the publisher'soffice who is giving me more of my own way, and I feel it would not befair to leave him in the lurch. Who knows that we may not, between us, lead the way to a revolution in the style of the cheapest originalEnglish wood-cut. Besides, I do not want any more diversions from mymain business. I am already on four different committees for women'strade unions, the female franchise, and all the rest of it. I must criba little more time for my hand and foot. Don't you know?--Drawing my ownhand and foot from their reflection in a looking-glass till I can putthem in any position, and foreshorten them to my mind. "

Rose competed for the scroll-work order, and did it so well that she gotthe order, and along with it a note of commendation, a tolerably largeextension of the commission, and the first instalment of a liberalpayment for the kind of work. Her elation knew no bounds--

"Oh! Hester, I should never, never even have heard of this delightfuljob but for you. What can I ever do for you?"

"Don't hug me, " said Hester, retreating in veritable terror, for she hada peculiar genuine aversion to caresses, still more than to thanks. "Don't knock off my hat, for I cannot spare another minute to put itstraight again. "

The next thing Hester heard was a half-impetuous, half-shamefacedadmission from Rose that she had resigned her post as assistantdrawing-mistress at the Misses Stone's school. 

Hester looked grave on the instant. "What did you do that for?" shedemanded gruffly. "Did you mention it to your sister? Have you told themat home?"

"No, " Rose was forced to own--at least not till the deed was done. Shehad acted on her own responsibility. "But indeed, Hester, it is the bestplan, " she argued volubly. "Annie and all of them will say so when theyknow how I mean to cultivate this scroll-work, which is paying me twiceas well already. I put it to you if I could do two things at once, andif it would be wise to sacrifice the more profitable for the lessremunerative. Why it would be quite shortsighted and cowardly. "

"Humph, " said Hester, without the smallest disguise, "much experienceyou have had of it! Do you know, Rose Millar, these decorators' fads areconstantly changing? Perhaps in three months they will all be formosaic, or tiles, or peacocks' feathers again. If I had thought you weresuch a rash idiotic little goose, I should never have breathed a word toyou of this man and his scroll-work. "

"Oh! but, Hester, " pled Rose, determined not to be offended, "I was onlyrelieving the poor Misses Stone of a painful necessity. I am sure theyhave never put any dependence on me since the day I broke down--I grantyou idiotically. I cannot stand the repression--suppression--whateveryou like to call it. Now that there is a way out of it, I have feltlike a wild beast in the school--the girls are so very tame--so muchtamer than we were at Miss Burridge's--where I was not a blacksheep--May will tell you if you care to ask her, " protested Rose withwounded feeling. "But I am so tired of the rosy and snowy cottages andthe ruins, and of that long-nosed collie. Sometimes I feel as if I wouldgive the world for him to wag his tail one day, just to give me anexcuse for crying out and flinging my india-rubber at him. I wish Maysaw him; it might stop her ecstasies over her new acquisition--the bruteat home. I feel that this other brute, and the rest of the MissesStone's copies and models, are injuring my drawing--I know they aremaking it cramped; while the scrolls help my freedom of touch likeHogarth's line of beauty or Giotto's O. And it is such humbug, and sohorrid to have to swallow these doses of _sel-volatile_--a great healthygirl like me!"

"Humph!" said Hester again, "I hope you may not repent what you havedone--if so, you need not blame me. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE OLD TOWN, WITH ITS AIR STAGNANT YET TROUBLED. IS MAY TO BECOME ASCHOLAR OR A SHOP-GIRL?

The spring found Redcross still staggering under the failure of Carey'sBank. Hardly a week passed yet without some painful result of thedisaster coming to light. These results had ceased to startle, there hadbeen so many of them; but they still held plenty of interest for thefellow-sufferers, and Dora and May's letters were full of the details. 

Bell Hewett had left Miss Burridge's; she had got a situation, orrather, she had been appointed to a junior form in the Girls' Day Schoolat Deweshurst, going in the morning and returning in the afternoon bytrain. It was a good thing for Bell on the whole. She was moreindependent, had a recognized position as a public school-mistress, which she would not have had as a private governess; and if shecontinued to study, and passed various examinations, she might rise tohigher and higher forms until she blossomed into a head-mistress--fancyBell a head-mistress! She had quite a handsome salary, more than poorNed's according to the chroniclers, Dora and May. That was the brightside of it. Unluckily for Bell, as most people thought, there wasanother. The daily journeys, together with the school-work, constituteda heavy task for a girl. Bell, toiling up from the railway station on arainy day, with her umbrella ready to turn inside out, and herwaterproof flying open, because her left hand, cramped and numb, wasladen with a great bundle of exercises to correct at home, presented adejected figure, tired out and three-fourths beaten. So the Miss Dyersthought as they rolled past her in their carriage, and debated whetherthey should not stop to pick her up and save her walking the rest of theroad. But she was such a fright, positively bedraggled with mud enoughto soil the cushions, and she could speak of nothing now save theDeweshurst Girls' Day School and her duties there. It was too tiresometo be borne with. Poor Bell was not clever, she was one-idea'd and slowat work like Ned, and she had also his conscientiousness. Probablypromotion was not for her; she must drudge on as best she might. Hergreat encouragement at this time, next to her father's and sister'sapprobation and sympathy, was, as she told Dora, the prospect ofspending her Easter holidays with Ned at his station-house. What did shecare for its being only a station-house? after the fagging school-workit would be great fun to put Ned's small house in order, and play athousekeeping with him for a fortnight. She was bent on making himcomfortable, and cheering him as well as herself. If the weather wouldbut be fine they might have glorious rambles on the Yorkshire moors whenno trains were due. 

Colonel Russell was sailing once more for India, to lay his bones therewithout fail, the little Doctor prophesied sadly. In the meantime he hadgot, and been glad to get, a subordinate post in his old field. At thelast moment, after he had established Mrs. Russell and her children in acheerful house in Bath, he made up his mind to take his grown-updaughter out with him. But she was not to stay in his bungalow, for hewas going to a small out-of-the-way station where there would be noaccommodation or society in the barrack circle for a solitary younglady. Fanny was to be left with a cousin of her father's, in the BombayPresidency. The lady had offered to take charge of her, and have her fora long visit. 

Did Annie and Rose know what that meant? Could they form an indignant, affronted guess? "Father said, " Dora quoted, "that if Colonel Russell, an honourable gentleman and gallant officer, had not lived in the olddays and had his feelings blunted to the situation, he would never haveconsented to such an arrangement for his daughter. But he had seen hissisters come out to India for the well-understood purpose of gettingmarried to any eligible man in want of a wife, so why should not Fannydo the same thing, when his pecuniary losses rendered it particularlydesirable and the opportunity offered itself? It was not in ColonelRussell's eyes an unworthy resource. Of course Fanny was going out to bemarried and creditably disposed of within a given time, else her fatherwould not have felt justified in paying her outfit and passage-money. Certainly he had no intention of paying her passage-money home as asingle woman. "

What would the Millars have done in Fanny's case? For was it notdreadful--particularly when all the young people interested in thesubject remembered quite well that there had been "something" betweenCyril Carey and Fanny Russell for more than a year back? Annie hadalways wondered what Fanny could see in a silly, trifling fop likeCyril. Rose had not been without a corresponding sense of wonder as towhat Cyril could find in Fanny, who, in spite of her grand Normanpeasant's carriage and profile, was dawdling and discontented withthings in general, and though she pretended to a little knowledge ofart, did not in the least understand what she was talking about. However, Annie's and Rose's opinions were of very little consequencewhen the matter concerned--not them--but Cyril and Fanny. There had been"something" between them which had changed the whole world to them lastsummer. They would never entirely outlive and forget it--not thoughFanny went to far Cathay and married, not one, but half a dozen ofNabobs. For she was going to obey her father, and give herself to thefirst eligible bidder for her hand. No doubt she would do it with setlips, blanched face, and great black eyes looking not only twice aslarge as their natural size, but hollow and worn in the young face, because of the dark rings round them. These were produced by thesleepless nights which she pretended were occasioned by the hurry of herpreparations, and of her having to say good-bye to all her old friends. But she would do it all the same. 

Dora had only once caught Fanny Russell alone, and ventured on a timid, heart-felt expostulation. 

"Must you go to India, Fanny? We shall all miss you so much, and it isnot as if you were to be with your father, but just to stay with adistant relative whom you have never seen; it does appear such asacrifice. "

"And what should I do if I stayed behind papa, Dora?" asked Fanny, turning upon her with those great burning eyes and parched lips. "Thehouse here is to be given up and the furniture sold immediately--ofcourse you know that. It will take all that he can spare afterdischarging his share of the bank debts to keep Mrs. Russell and thechildren. I am a useless sort of person--a blank in the world. I couldnot nurse like Annie, or paint like Rose. I could not even be aschool-mistress like Bell Hewett. Supposing I were qualified I shouldbreak down in a month. I was born in India, and spent the first fiveyears of my life there, so that I am idle and languid, without staminaor moral courage; I am like the poor Bengalees, whom I can justremember. There is nobody who will undertake to keep me in England, "ended Fanny, with a short, hard laugh. 

And Dora, thinking of Cyril Carey--still one of the unemployed, with hisold supercilious airs lost in the gait that was getting slouching, inkeeping with the clothes becoming shabbier and shabbier, and thedowncast, moody looks--could not find words with which to contradicther. 

Indeed, when Dora was betrayed into giving her mother a hint of that"something, " unsuspected by the seniors of the circle, which had beenbetween Cyril Carey and Fanny Russell, and rendered Fanny's destinationstill more heartless and hateful, Mrs. Millar took an entirelydifferent view of the circumstances from that taken by her daughters, and was both indignant and intolerant. "What presumption in CyrilCarey!" broke out the gentle mother of marriageable daughters, full ofrighteous wrath. "To dream of making up to a girl and perhaps engagingher simple affections, with the danger of breaking her heart andspoiling her prospects, when he had just failed to pass at college, andhad not so much as a calling--not to say an income, with which to keep awife! I shall think worse of him than I did before, after hearing this. "

"But you forget, mother, " remonstrated Dora, "that the bank was inexistence then. His father might have been able to do something forCyril. "

"He was not going to live on the bank's capital and credit. There wastoo much of that going on already with poor James Carey's encroaching, dishonest relations and their friends. And I beg to tell you, Dora, thata man who cannot help himself, but has to wait for his father to dosomething for him, is a very poor match for any girl. Fanny Russell iswell rid of him. I have no doubt she will think so before she is manyyears older--that is, if this is not all a piece of foolish nonsensesuch as girls are apt to take into their heads about their companions. If there was anything in it, and she had not been going away, herfather ought to have been warned, and Cyril Carey spoken to in the wayhe deserved--selfish scapegrace! As it is, the bare suspicion is enoughto reconcile one to Fanny Russell's going out to India, though thatcustom for girls has fallen into disrepute, and I never had any likingfor it. Still I hope that Fanny will soon make an excellent marriage, and will learn to laugh at Cyril Carey and his unwarrantablepresumption, together with any girlish folly of which she may have beenguilty. "

Mrs. Millar spoke in another fashion to the little Doctor. She hadhappened to be at the railway station on the raw, chill morning whenFanny Russell, in her smart new gray travelling suit--part of heroutfit--was put into a railway carriage by her father and left therealone, while he went to look after the luggage and find asmoking-carriage for himself. 

Fanny sat like a statue. She did not even raise her veil when she wasbidding farewell to Lucy Hewett and Dora, who were seeing her off--notto take a last look at Redcross, where she had spent her youth. 

Mrs. Millar understood it better when she stumbled against Cyril Careyhalf hidden by a lamp-post, watching the vanishing train. She might havetaken the opportunity to rebuke him for his unprincipled recklessness;instead of doing so--after one glance at the young fellow's haggardface--the ordinary words of greeting died away on the kind woman's lips. She turned aside in another direction, making as if she had not seenhim, without breathing a word of the encounter until she had herhusband's ear all to herself in the privacy of the dining-room. 

"O Jonathan!" she said, "I am so glad, so thankful that you did notinterfere and use any influence, any pressure on Dora about TomRobinson. I think it would have broken my heart to see any daughter ofmine going off as Fanny Russell went to-day, leaving the look I declareI beheld on that poor lad's face. I should not wonder though she hasgiven him the last push on the road to destruction. "

"Oh, come now; it is not so bad as that, " protested Dr. Millar, and thenhe was guilty of a most audacious paraphrase of a piece of schoolboyslang, for which he had some excuse in the habits of his wife--"Keepyour cap on, Maria. In the first place, I see no analogy between thecases. Dora had not a private love affair--at least I was never told ofit. "

"Father, what are you thinking of? A private love affair in this house!It was very different with poor Fanny Russell, who had only her silly, selfish young stepmother between her and her father. I dare say shewould never have looked at an empty coxcomb like Cyril Carey if she hadbeen happy at home. "

"And did I not hear you say, " asked the gentleman, who had before nowbeen made the recipient of the disastrous complication of the story, "that the girl was well quit of the jackanapes, for she could not have aworse bargain made for her than she had nearly blundered into on her ownaccount?"

"Yes, I did say so, " the lady admitted, when thus brought to book; "andI'd say it again, if I had not seen that miserable, desperate expressionon his face, and he so young, and such a light-hearted, foolish dandyonly the other day. I may be sorry for him, I suppose, though I have noson of my own. And I am grieved for poor James Carey, who is breaking upso fast, and for poor, poor Mrs. Carey. "

It was a positive relief when Dr. Millar came in one day and announcedthat he had a piece of good news for the family, by far the best wherethe Careys were concerned that he had heard for many a day. Cyril hadgot an appointment at last; he had been offered the command of themounted police at Deweshurst. 

"A policeman. Oh! what a downfall, " cried Mrs. Millar and Dora. But whenthe Doctor reminded them that there were policemen and policemen, insisted on the fact that the practice of placing gentlemen at the headof the constabulary was gaining ground, and asked them what they hadbeen in the habit of calling Colonel Shaw and Sir Edmund Henderson whenthey were the chiefs of the London police, his womankind gave in. 

Mrs. Carey did not say there would be another mouth less for her tofeed, but she remarked, with the same sardonic calmness, that Cyril'sclothes would be provided for him, which would be one good thing. Cyrilhimself was only too glad to get away. He would have something to do, however unpalatable in itself, instead of digging in the garden, andgoing through the form of helping Robinson, his clerks, and cashier, with their books. He would have a good horse under him once more, if hewere only to ride it to police drill. 

Dora could not be sure whether he experienced a throb of thankfulness atthe thought that this had not happened till Fanny Russell was gone. Where was constancy to draw the line? A man was not less a man becausehe was also a mounted policeman. He might even be grandiloquentlystyled, by those who were particular about the names of things, thesoldier of peace. Still Dora had an irresistible conception of thepained disdain, the latent superciliousness, which would have sprunginto full force in Fanny's dark eyes, if she had ever seen the oncemagnificent Cyril in the most careful modification of a _bobby's_braided tunic and helmet. 

Bell Hewett would not look so, if she, in her school-mistress character, met Cyril at Deweshurst. Bell, like Dora, would feel her heart softenand warm to Cyril in his misfortunes. She would think of Ned, and hurryup to Ned's old playfellow and chum, to tell him the last news fromYorkshire, and ask what message from him she should send to Ned in hernext letter. Dora was tempted to go on and wonder whether Cyril's heartwould not be touched in turn by the cordial recognition of his Rector'sdaughter, who had, on the whole, kept her position better than he, withhis advantages, had kept his, whose frank greeting had become a kind ofcredential of gentle birth and breeding afforded to him in full sight ofthe natives of Deweshurst. If he felt all that, he must recognize howwomanly and sweet Bell was, though she was not pretty and not one bitclever, and be full of gratitude to her. And gratitude combined withconsiderable isolation on the one hand, and on the other the constantlypresent possibility of agreeable encounters with a loyal old friend, might lead to anything--to a good deal more than Dora cared to say evento herself, feeling frightened at the length to which she had gone onthe spur of the moment in this most recklessly unworldly match-making. Yet was it reckless, when Bell would be such a good poor man's wife, andwhen marriage with a woman like Bell might make another man of CyrilCarey?

However, the Careys' adversity, with its reaction on their oldassociates, approached a climax shortly after Cyril left. His fathergrew so much more helpless an invalid that it was found absolutelynecessary to have a resident nurse for him. Then Mrs. Carey, though shecontinued the nurse-in-chief, stated clearly and dispassionately thatshe was now sufficiently disengaged to look after her house and give hersingle servant what assistance she required. Therefore, as it was hightime that Phyllis should be doing something for herself, Mrs. Careyproposed to put her at once into "Robinson's, " under Miss Franklin, ifMr. Robinson would receive Phyllis for an apprentice. 

It was in vain that Phyllis cried and implored her mother to take backher resolution, and that all her friends apprised of the proposed stepremonstrated; Dr. Millar even called expressly to enter his protest. 

Mrs. Carey would hear of no objections. Phyllis must do something forherself, and she was not clever or qualified in any way to be agoverness. Mrs. Carey had every confidence in "Robinson's" as anexcellent shop, conducted on the best principles. She had a greatrespect for both Mr. Robinson and Miss Franklin--she would never find amore desirable place for Phyllis. As to cutting her off from all herconnections and the circumstances of her birth and education, that hadbeen done already pretty effectually. The sooner everybody found his orher level the better for the world in general. If Mrs. Carey was notmuch mistaken, more girls than Phyllis would have to learn that lessonbefore these hard times were over. No, it was not Phyllis who was to becut off from her connections--from those who ought to be nearest anddearest to her. It was poor Ella who was separated from the rest of thefamily, and condemned to gilded exile. Mrs. Carey was doing her best tokeep Phyllis, not only for her mother and her poor father, but for herbrothers, who must all start in life in a humble way, by putting thegirl into "Robinson's, " since Mr. Robinson had reluctantly consented tohave her. 

Dr. Millar retired from the field beaten. 

The unheard-of destination of her friend Phyllis played the mostextraordinary pranks with May Millar's mind. The fact was, there weretwo Mays dwelling side by side in one goodly young tabernacle of flesh. There was the May with the exceptional scholarly proclivities. She hada life of her own into which none of the family except her fatherpossessed so much as the tools to penetrate. She cherished dreams ofGreece and Rome, with the mighty music of the undying voices of theirsages and poets, and the rich treasures of learning, among which a poorlittle English girl, far far down in the centuries, could only walk withreverend foot and bated breath. 

And there was the other May, hanging about her mother, running to bringher father's slippers, sitting on his knee to this day, takingpossession of Dora, ordering her about like a young tyrant, adoringTray--the most guileless, helpless, petted simpleton of a child-womanthat ever existed. The second May was at the present date the moreprominent and prevailing of the two, so much so that all thesharp-tongued, practical-minded ladies in Redcross made a unanimousremark. Dr. And Mrs. Millar's youngest daughter was the mostdisgracefully spoilt, badly brought-up, childish creature for her yearswhom the critics knew. It was a poor preparation in view of her havingto work to maintain herself. They could not tell what was to become ofher. 

At first May lamented, day and night, over the fate of Phyllis Carey, tohave to stand behind counters, sort drawers full of ribands, tape, andreels of cotton, and wait on her townswomen! May could think of nofitting parallel unless the pathetic one of that miserable youngprincess apprenticed to the button-maker, dying with her cheek on anopen Bible, at the text, "Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavyladen, and I will give you rest. "

Then, as Phyllis accommodated herself to the new yoke, and found it notso galling as she had expected it to be, her friend May altered her tonewith sympathetic quickness, and reflected Phyllis's change of moodalmost before the mood was established. Phyllis was in mentalconstitution like her father, single-hearted and submissive--not brightany more than Bell Hewett was bright, but contented and trustful as longas she was suffered to be so. She had been enduring harder and harderlines at home. She found existence actually brightening instead ofdarkening round her when she was transferred to "Robinson's. " Foreverybody, knowing all about her and her father and mother, with theiraltered circumstances, began, at least, by treating her with kindlyrespect and forbearance, in spite of Mrs. Carey's austere request thatshe should be dealt with exactly like the other shop-girls. 

Shop-work, in which Phyllis was to be gradually trained, feltcomparatively easy to a girl who had been taken from school andlaunched into the coarsest drudgery of house-work under aninexperienced, flurried, over-burdened maid-of-all-work. Mrs. Carey wassufficiently just to exact no more home-work from Phyllis, and toarrange that she should have her time to herself, like other shop-girls, after "Robinson's" was closed, while the master of "Robinson's" wasinflexible in setting his face against late hours, except for the elderhands on one evening in the week. Everybody was good to Phyllis, who, intruth, just because she was enough of a little lady to be free fromarrogance and assumption, while she was willing to do her best to obligeher neighbours, provoked no harsh treatment. Above all Tom Robinson forone person could not be too considerate to her. 

Miss Franklin looked on Phyllis Carey as a godsend, a harbinger of otherbetter-class girls going into trade. The woman not only took the girlunder her wing, she fell back instinctively and inevitably on Phyllisfor companionship, with a selection flattering in a woman to a girl. 

Then a complete revolution was wrought in May's opinions and wishes. Nothing would serve her but that she too must go as a shop-girl to"Robinson's, " and share the fortunes of her friend. 

May did not yet confide her purpose to her father and mother, but shepoured it in daily and nightly outbursts into the startled ears ofDora, to whom the hallucination sounded like a mocking retribution onthe young Millars' old scornful estimate of shopkeepers and shops. Maystuck to her point with a tenacity which, touching as it did a tender, trembling chord in Dora's heart, threatened also to subvert herjudgment, that was at once sounder and more matured than May's. 

The vibrating chord lay in the knowledge that May too was destined toquit Redcross at no distant day, with the aching reluctance of Dora togive her up, and to find herself in the position that domineering, selfish girls sometimes covet--that of being the only girl at home, having none to share with her in the rights and privileges of thedaughter of the house. 

A sort of feverish anxiety, which was in itself ominous, had taken holdof Dr. Millar to see all he had projected accomplished in so far as itwas still possible. That is, he would fain set in motion, at least, thewheels which would carry out his purpose. Perhaps he had reason todistrust his health and life; perhaps it was simply that he was notinsensible to the fact, that money had a trick of running through hisfingers and those of Mrs. Millar like water, though they did their bestto catch it up and arrest it in its rapid course. Mrs. Millar's littleprivate income was still in part free, and not engulfed in the needs ofthe household at Redcross, as it might not long continue. Rose had onlysixty pounds of it, and Annie fifteen for pocket-money till she shouldhave passed her probation and be in a position to receive her nurse'ssalary, which would be as soon as she had completed her first year inthe hospital. There were seventy-five pounds remaining, which mightserve to keep May at Thirlwall Hall in St. Ambrose's with the chance ofher gaining a scholarship and partly maintaining herself for the rest ofher stay in college. "Little May's" maintaining herself in any degreewas a notion half to laugh at, half to cry over, while it tookpossession of Dr. Millar's imagination just as serving in "Robinson's"along with Phyllis Carey had hold of May's. 

Another year (who knew?) it might not be in the Millars' power to affordMay the opportunity of growing up a scholar, on which her father had sethis heart. That consciousness, and the sense of the value which herhusband put on May's abilities and their culture, brought round Mrs. Millar. She began to contemplate with something like composure what shewould otherwise have strongly objected to, the sending forth of heryoungest darling--the child who so clung to her and to home--into anindifferent or hostile world. 

Truth to tell, it was May herself who was the great obstacle. She wasnot cast in the heroic mould of Annie and Rose. It was like tearing upher heart-strings to drag her away from her father and mother, Dora, Tray, the Old Doctor's House, Redcross itself. She had enough perceptionof what was due to everybody concerned--herself included--and justsufficient self-control not to disgrace herself and vex her father byopenly opposing and actively fighting against his plans for her welfare. But she threw all the discouraging weight of a passive resistance anddumb protest into the scale. 

CHAPTER XV. 

TOM ROBINSON TAKEN INTO COUNSEL. 

At last May, in the innocence of her heart, took a rash step. She heardher father say it was good, showery, fishing weather, and she was awareTom Robinson often fished in the Dewes; what was to hinder her frommaking a detour by the river on her way home from school, and if she sawTom near the old bridge--the pools below were specially patronized byfishers--she might go up to him and ask him frankly if he had an openingfor her services, along with those of Phyllis Carey, in his shop? If hehad, would he do her the great favour to speak to her father and mother, and ask them not to send her away to be a scholar at St. Ambrose, but tolet her stay and be a shop-woman in Redcross?

Tom Robinson, at the first word of her appeal, put up his fishing-rod, slung his basket, in which there were only a couple of fish, on hisback, shouldered her books, and turned and walked back with her, as ifit was he who was seeking her company and not she his. How else was heto make the little girl who might have been his pet sister see thatthere was any harm in the irregular course she had pursued? How, otherwise, was she to understand that she was big enough--nearly a headtaller than her sister Dora--and old enough with her seventeen years, though she was still the child of the family, to render it indecorousfor her to come, out of her own head, without the knowledge of anybody, to have a private interview with him on the banks of the Dewes?

"'Robinson's' is highly honoured, " he told her, in a tone partlybantering, partly serious, and wholly friendly, "and I too should, anddo, thank you for the trust in me which your proposal implies, but I amafraid it would not do, Miss May. "

May's fair young face fell. 

"Oh! I am so sorry, " she said simply; "but, please, may I know why youhave Phyllis and will not have me?"

"The case is altogether different. Mrs. Carey made up her mind that MissPhyllis should go into a shop--mine or another's. Phyllis was not happyat home; she is not a clever, studious girl, though she is your friendand is very nice--of course all young ladies are nice. There is nocomparison between you and her. "

"But why shouldn't clever people go and work in shops?" persisted May, in her half-childish way--"not that I mean I am clever; that would betoo conceited. But I am sure it would be a great deal better for shopsif they had the very cleverest people to work in them. "

"It depends on the kind of cleverness, " he told her. "With regard to onesort you are right, of course; with respect to another it would notanswer, and it would be horrible waste. "

She opened her brown eyes wide. "Why do you waste your abilities andcollege education?" she asked him naïvely--"not that everybody calls ita waste; some people say 'Robinson's' is the high-class shop it is, because its masters have not only been respectable people, they havealways been educated men and gentlemen. "

"I ought to say for myself and my predecessors that I am much obliged to'some people' for acknowledging that, " he remarked coolly. 

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Robinson, " said May humbly. "I know I have beenvery rude--I am constantly saying stupid things. "

"Not at all; and though you did, never mind--say them to me if youlike, " he gave her _carte blanche_ to comfort her. "But look here, MissMay, I don't wish you to make mistakes. Indeed it is my duty, since I ama great deal older than you--old enough to be, well, your uncle Ishould say--to prevent it if I can. "

"I don't see how you could be my uncle, " said May bluntly, "when you arenot more than five or six years older than Annie--I have heard her sayso--you are more like my brother. "

The instant she mentioned the relationship to which he had aspired invain, she felt the blood tingling to her finger-tips, and she could seehim redden under the shade of his soft felt hat. 

May groaned inwardly. "Oh! I am a blundering goose; I wonder anybody canbe so infatuated as to think me clever. "

"I have not said what I wished to say, " he resumed, for somehow, inspite of her forgetfulness and lack of tact, he could talk well enoughto May. "I must set you right. I have not a grain of the scholar in mesuch as you have, neither do I believe that those who went before mehad; we could never have been more than fair students. We did not go outof our way to get learning. We did what our associates andcontemporaries did, that was all. I fancy I may take the small credit tous of saying that we had no objection to learn what the ancientsthought, saw, and did, after we had been lugged through the Latingrammar and caned into familiarity with Greek verbs. We were like othermen who had the same advantages. I honestly believe if we had anythingspecial and individual about us it was a turn for trade. That is theonly manner in which I can account for our sticking to the shop, unlesswe were mere money-grubbers. But all that signifies very little; whatdoes signify is that you are not quite like other girls. What, May, doyou pretend that you do not prize the roll of a sonorous passage, or thetrip of an exquisite phrase in Latin or Greek? That it does not tickleyour ears, cling to your memory, and haunt you as a theme in musichaunts a composer? Do you not care to go any deeper in Plato or in thedramatists? Is it a fact that you can bear to have heard the last ofAntigone, and Alcestis, and Electra?"

May hung her head like one accused of gross unfaithfulness, with someshow of reason. 

"No, I cannot say that, Mr. Robinson, " she owned, "I shall think anddream of them all my life. They are so grand and persecuted and sad. Butthere--if I do not turn my back on them and my books, I must go to St. Ambrose's, there is no choice, " ended May disconsolately. 

"But why not go to St. Ambrose's?"

"Oh! you do not know, Mr. Robinson, " protested May with fresh energy. "In the first place you are a man and cannot understand. In the second, I suppose it is because I am so silly and childish and cowardly, " shewent on incoherently. "Annie always said it was cowardly; she and Rosewent away quite bravely and cheerfully, keeping up their own andeverybody's spirits to the last. But Dora and I could not do it, yet Ido not know that anybody ever thought of calling our Dora cowardlyexactly, or silly, and childish. She was not a bit cowardly with thehorrid big dog and dear little Tray, you remember?--she would not let meinterfere, but she would have stoned the dog herself. "

"Which would have been very foolish of her, " said Tom Robinson withdecision. "I should say she was timid, not cowardly--there is a broaddistinction between the two conditions. "

"It is just that we cannot leave home for any length of time, Dora andI, " said May piteously. 

"So you and your sister Dora cannot leave home--that is the objection, is it?" he repeated, slowly pulling his red moustache. "What do you callhome? The Old Doctor's House or Redcross?"

"Both, " cried May quickly; "where father and mother and the rest of usare, of course. "

"But the rest of you are gone, and what if your father and mother wereto go too?"

"They won't, they never will, " insisted May--"not until they come todie. You were not meaning that? Oh! you could not be so cruel, sobarbarous, " cried May, passionately, "when death is such a long way off, I trust. I know that God is good whether we live or die, and that weshall meet again in a better world. But we are not parted yet, and it isnot wrong to pray that we may be a long time together here on this veryearth, which we know so well, where we have been so happy. Why, fatherand mother are not more than middle-aged--mother is not, and if fatheris older, he is as strong and hale as anybody. Think how he was able togive up his carriage and attend his patients on foot last autumn withoutfeeling it, " urged the girl defiantly, in her passion of love and rouseddread, which she would not admit. 

"Certainly, " he strove to reassure her, feeling himself a savage forfrightening her by his inadvertence, "I never saw anybody wear so wellas Dr. Millar. He might be sixty or fifty--he may live to be ahundred--I hope with all my heart he will; and I shall not be astonishedif I live to see it. As for Mrs. Millar, it is an insult to call hermiddle-aged. It is something quite out of keeping to come across herwith such a tall daughter as you are. "

"Yes, I am the tallest of the four, " exclaimed May complacently, diverted from the main topic, as he had intended her to be. "And I havenot done growing yet; my last summer's frock had to be let down half aninch. "

"Is it possible? What are we all coming to? You will soon have to stoopto take my arm--if you ever condescend to take my arm. "

"No, " she denied encouragingly, "I am not so far above your shouldernow, " measuring the distance with a critical eye. "I shall not grow somuch as that comes to. You are bigger than father, and you would notcall him a little man; you are hardly even short. "

"Thanks, you are too kind, " said Tom Robinson, with the utmost gravity. "But I say, Miss May, if I were you, I don't think I should do anythingto vex and thwart Dr. Millar, though he is so strong and active--longmay he continue so. You know how disappointed he would be if you were toclose your books. "

"I am afraid he would, " said May reluctantly. "I had almost forgottenall about it for the last minute or two. But don't you think if youspoke to him as I came to ask if you would, " she continued unblushinglyand coaxingly, "if you were to try and show him--it would be so kind ofyou--how comfortable and happy I should be with Phyllis Carey in yourshop--doing my best--indeed, I should try hard to please you and MissFranklin, all day--and getting home every evening--he might change hismind?"

"No, he would not, " said Tom with conviction; "and what is more, heought not. He would never cease to regret his shattered hopes foryou--which, remember, you would have shattered--and your spoilt life. "

"But your life is not spoilt?" she said wistfully, unable to resign herlast hope. 

"How can you tell?" he said, with a slight sharpness in his accent. Thenhe added quickly, "No, for I am a born shopkeeper in another sense thanbecause I am one of a nation of shopkeepers. "

He gave himself a reassuring shake, and resumed briskly--"I crave leaveto say, Miss May, that I actually enjoy making up accounts, turning oversamples, and giving orders. Sometimes I hit on a good idea which thecommercial world acknowledges, and then I am as proud as if I hadunearthed an ancient manuscript, or found the philosopher's stone. Ipulled a fellow through a difficulty the other day, and it felt liketaking part in an exciting fight. I have speculated occasionally when Iwas fishing--paying myself a huge compliment, no doubt--whether oldIzaak Walton felt like me about trade. "

"Was he in trade?" inquired May, with some surprise. "I know he wrote_The Complete Angler_, and was a friend of Dr. Donne's and GeorgeHerbert's, and is very much thought of to this day. "

"Deservedly, " said Tom Robinson emphatically. "Yes, I am proud to say, he was a hosier to begin with, and a linen-draper to endwith--well-to-do in both lines. They say his first wife, whom he marriedwhile he was still in business, was a niece of the Archbishop ofCanterbury of the day, and his second wife, whom he married after he hadretired to live on his earnings, was a half-sister of good Bishop Ken's;but I do not pretend to vouch for the truth of these statements. Now, about your father. I cannot do what you ask--I cannot in conscience. Will you ever forgive me, 'little May'--that is what your father andmother and your sisters call you sometimes to this day, ain't it? and itis what I should have called you if I had been--your uncle say? Shall webe no longer friends?" he demanded ruefully. 

"Of course we shall, " said May, with a suspicion of petulance. "You arenot bound to do what I bid you--I never thought that; and you are fatherand mother's friend--how could I help being your friend?"

"Don't try to help it, " he charged her. 

Tom Robinson went farther than not feeling bound to do what May beggedof him, he was constrained to remonstrate in another quarter to preventtrouble and disappointment to all concerned. He screwed up his courage, and everybody knows he was a modest man, and called at the Old Doctor'sHouse for the express purpose. He had called seldom during the pastyear--just often enough to keep up the form of visiting--to show that hewas not the surly boor, without self-respect or consideration for theMillars, which he would have been if he had dropped all intercourse withthe family because one of them had refused to marry him. But though hehad begged for Dora's friendship when he could not have her love, andhad meant what he said, the wound was too recent for him to act as ifnothing had happened. In addition to the pain and self-consciousness, there was a traditional atmosphere of agitation and alarm, a kind ofconventional awkwardness, together with an anxious countenance, andprotection sedulously afforded by the initiated and interestedspectators to Tom and Dora, which, like many other instances ofcountenance and protection, went far towards doing the mischief theywere intended to prevent. 

Tom saw through the punctilious feints and solemn stratagems clearly;Dora did the same as plainly. Indeed the two would have been idiots ifthey could have escaped from the discomfiting perception of the carewhich was taken of them and their feelings, and the fact that every eyewas upon them. 

The sole result was to render the couple more wretchedly uncomfortablethan if they had been set aside and sentenced to the company of eachother and of no one else for a bad five minutes every day of theirlives. 

Another unhappy consequence of their being thus elaborately spared andshielded was, that when by some unfortunate chance the tactics failed, the couple felt as flurried and guilty as if they had contrived thefruitless accident to serve their own nefarious ends. 

Tom Robinson called on the Millars between four and five the day afterMay had made her raid upon him, expecting to find what was left of thefamily gathering together for afternoon tea. He had the ulterior designof drawing May's father and mother apart, and letting them judge forthemselves the advisability of her going up at once to St. Ambrose's, before her whole heart and mind were disastrously set against hernatural and honourable destiny. He was distinctly put out by findingDora alone. As for Dora, she told a faltering tale of her father'shaving been called away to a poor patient who was a pensioner of hermother's, and of Mrs. Millar's having walked over to Stokeleigh withhim to see what she could do for old Hannah Lightfoot; while May wasspending the afternoon with the Hewetts at the Rectory. 

He hesitated whether to go or stay under the circumstances, but he hatedto beat an ignominious retreat, as if _he_ thought that _she_ thought hecould not be beside her for a quarter of an hour without making an assof himself again and pestering her. Why should he not accept the cup oftea which she faintly offered from the hands that visibly trembled withnervousness? When he came to consider it, why should he not transact hisbusiness with Dora? She was as deeply interested as anybody, unless theculprit herself; she probably knew better what May was foolishlyplanning than either their father or mother did, and would convey tothem the necessary information. 

As for Dora, she was thinking in a restless fever, "I hope--I hope hedoes not see how much I mind being alone with him. It is just because Iam not used to it. How I wish somebody would come in, --not mother, perhaps, for she would start and look put out herself, and sit downwithout so much as getting rid of her sunshade; and, oh dear, not May, for she would stare, and I do not know what on earth she wouldthink--some wild absurdity, I dare say; anyhow, she would look exactlywhat she thought. "

"Look here, Miss Dora, " he said abruptly; "you don't think your sisterMay ought to renounce the object of her education hitherto, and yourfather's views for her, in order to do like Miss Phyllis Carey? You areaware that May has become enamoured of Phyllis Carey's example, and isbent on following in her footsteps; but it won't do, and I have told herso. I trust nobody suspects me of encouraging young ladies to becomeshop-women, " he added, with a slightly foolish laugh, "as old actorsused to be accused of decoying young men of rank and fashion into goingon the stage, and recruiting sergeants of beguiling country bumpkinsinto taking the king's shilling. "

"Has May spoken to you about it?" cried Dora, startled out of herengrossing private reflections. "What a child she is! I am sorry she hastroubled you; she ought not to have done that. I hope you will excuseher. "

"Don't speak of it, " he said a little stiffly, as he put down his cupand signified he would have no more tea. 

"And you said no, " remarked Dora, with an involuntary fall of her voicereflecting the sinking of her heart. "Of course you could not dootherwise. It was a foolish notion. I am afraid Phyllis Carey is enoughof a nuisance to Miss Franklin--and other people. It is hard that youshould be bothered by these girls. Only I suspect poor 'little May' willbe most dreadfully, unreasonably disappointed;" and there was an attemptto smile and a quiver of the soft lips which she could not hide. 

"I am not bothered, and I hate to disappoint your sister, --I trust youunderstand that, " he said quickly and earnestly. "But it would besacrificing her and overturning your father's arrangements forher--disappointing what I am sure are among his dearest wishes. "

She did not ask, like May, why he did not count himself sacrificed. Sheonly said shyly and wistfully, "I knew it was out of the question, butif it had not been so, or if there had been any other way, it would havebeen such a boon to poor May not to be torn from home. " At the harrowingpicture thus conjured up her voice fairly shook, and the tears startedinto her dovelike eyes. 

"Home, " he said impatiently, "is not everything; at least, not the homefrom which every boy must go, as a matter of course. 'Torn from home' inorder to go to school! Surely the first part of the sentence is talllanguage. "

"It is neither too tall nor too strong where May is concerned, " saidDora, rousing herself to plead May's cause. "She has not been away fromhome and from father--especially from mother, and one or other of therest of us, for longer than a week since she was born. "

"Then the sooner she begins the better for her, " he said brutally, as itsounded to himself, to the loving, shrinking girl he was addressing. 

"She has always been the little one, the pet, " urged Dora; "she will notknow what to do without some of us to take care of her and be good toher. "

"But she must go away some day, " he continued his remonstrance. "How oldis your sister?"

"She was seventeen last Christmas, " Dora answered shamefacedly. 

"Why, many a woman is married before she is May's age, " he protested. "Many a woman has left her native country, gone among strangers, and hadto maintain her independence and dignity unaided, by the time she wasseventeen. Queen Charlotte was not more than sixteen when she landed inEngland and married George the Third. "

Dora could not help laughing, as he meant her to do. "May and QueenCharlotte! they are as far removed as fire and water. But, " she answeredmeekly, "I know the Princess Royal was no older when she went to Berlin;and poor Marie Antoinette was a great deal younger, as May would havereminded me if she had been here, in the old days when she travelledfrom Vienna to Paris. But there--it is all so different. They wereprincesses from whom a great deal is expected, and the Princess Royalwas the eldest instead of the youngest of the Queen's children. "

"Does seniority make so great a difference?" he said, with an inflectionof his voice which she noticed, though he hastened to make her forget itby speaking again gravely the next minute. "Should May not learn tostand alone? Would it not be dwarfing and cramping her, all her lifeprobably, to give way to her now. Can it ever be too early to acquireself-reliance, and is it not one of the most necessary lessons for aresponsible human being to learn? Besides, '_ce n'est que le premier pasqui coute_. ' It is only the first wrench which will hurt her. She willfind plenty of fresh interests and congenial occupations at St. Ambrose's. In a week, a fortnight, she will not miss you too much. "

Dora shook her head incredulously. It was little he knew of May, withher fond family attachments, and her helplessness when left to herselfin common things. 

"Follow my advice, Miss Dora, " he said, rising to take his leave, "don'taid and abet Miss May in seeking to shirk her obligations. Unquestionably the one nearest to her at present is that she should goto St. Ambrose's. Don't prevent her from beginning to think and act forherself--not like a charming child, but in the light of her dawningwomanhood. "

He gave a swift glance round him as he spoke, and a recollection whichhad been in the background of both their thoughts during the whole ofthe interview, flashed into the foreground. It was of that day a yearago, a breezy spring day like this, when, as it seemed, there were thesame jonquils in the jar on the chimney-piece, and the samecherry-blossom seen through the window against the blue sky, and he hadasked her with his heart on his lips, and the happiness of his life atstake, to be his wife, and she had told him, with agitation and distressalmost equal to his, that he could never be anything to her. He caughther half-averted eyes, and felt the whole scene was present with her aswith him once more, and the consciousness brought back all his oldshyness and reserve, and hurried his leave-taking. The slightest touchto her hand, and he had bowed himself out and was gone. 

"How silly he must think me, " Dora reflected, walking up and down theempty room in perturbation, "both about poor 'little May, ' and aboutremembering the last time we were alone together. I dare say he isright about May, though men never do understand what girls feel. If sheshould fall ill, and break her heart, and die of home-sickness--suchthings have happened before now--I wonder what he would say then abouther learning to stand alone? Very likely he would assert that St. Ambrose's is not St. Petersburg, or even Shetland or the Scilly Isles. It is not far away, and if she were not well or happy, she could comeback in half a day, as the other girls could come down from London. Butthen he would despise her, for as quiet and good-natured as he is, andthough people have said that he himself had no proper pride inconsenting to have a shop. And I don't think May could bear contemptfrom anybody whom she had ever looked on as a friend. Men are hard--thebest of them are, and they don't understand. He is kind--I am sure hemeans it all in kindness; but he is not yielding; he is as masterful aswhen he dragged the dogs to the edge of the bank and let them drop intothe Dewes for their good. He will never be turned from what he thinksright. I wish he had not guessed what I could not help remembering--hewas quick enough in doing that; and I could not tell him that I did notimagine for a moment--I was not so foolish--that he was under the samedelusion he suffered from twelve months ago. If he had been oftenerhere in the interval, and we had met and been together naturally as weused to be, sometimes, I should have forgotten all about it, and sowould he, no doubt. But how could I help thinking of it when there hasalways been such a point made of mother or some one else being presentwhen he called? I am certain it is quite unnecessary and a greatmistake. He will not speak to me again as he spoke that day. There is nodanger of his running away with me, " Dora told herself with an unsteadylaugh. "I hope he is not under the impression that I did not think andact for myself when I was forced to do it. Because, although they allknew about it, and of course Annie and the others teased me about'Robinson's, ' and the colour of his hair, and his size, father andmother told me to decide for myself, and I did not hesitate for amoment. I could no more have borne to leave them all of my own free willthan May could. Surely it was proof positive I did not like him in thatway, " Dora represented to herself with the greatest emphasis. 

Tom Robinson was marching home with his hands in his pockets and his hatdrawn over his eyes. "How hard she must think me--little short of apragmatical, supercilious brute--not to do my best to keep 'little May'at home, where the child wants to be. I asked her to let me call myselfher friend, and this is the first specimen of my friendship! she willtake precious good care not to ask for another. She will be horriblydull left by herself without one girl companion, only the old people. These sisters were so happy together--I liked to see them, perhaps allthe more because I had neither brothers nor sisters of my own--I thoughtit was an assurance of what they might be in other relations of life. Isuppose she will tackle that little spitfire of a dog which I inflictedon them. May will lay her parting injunctions on Dora to plague herselfperpetually with the monster, and these will be like dying words toDora, she will sooner die herself than intermit a single harassingattention. And it will be impossible for her to avoid many deprivations. There are more partings to be faced in the future. Millar is an old man, even if he could hope to pay up the bank's calls and make some provisionfor his widow and daughters. It was a pity poor Dora could not care forme, when there need have been no partings where we two were concerned, save that material separation of death which is quoted in the marriageservice. She would not have believed, nor I either, that it could touchthe spiritual side of the question and the love which is worth having, that is God-like and belongs to immortality. I might have done what Icould if Dora had married me, so far as the other girls would have letme, to serve as a buffer between the family and the adversity which I amafraid not all their high spirit and gallant fight will hold entirely atbay. It was not to be, and there is an end on't. I wonder where I foundthe heart, and the cheek too for that matter, to bully Dora about May, though, Heaven knows, I spoke no more than the truth. Well, she has herrevenge, and I am punished for it. It cut me up at the time to hurt her, and the recollection of having contradicted and pained so sweet andgentle a creature is very much as if I had dealt a lamb a blow or wrunga pigeon's neck--on principle. "

Half an hour afterwards Mrs. Millar bustled into her drawing-room withan expression of mingled annoyance and excited expectation on her stillcomely face. 

"My dear Dora, I am so sorry; he gave his name to Jane, and she has toldme who has been calling in my absence. I wish I had not left you byyourself. But who was to guess that Tom Robinson would call thisafternoon? It must have been exceedingly disagreeable for you. "

"I don't know, " said Dora, vaguely and desperately; "we must meetsometimes when there is nobody by, if we continue to live in the sametown. I wish you would not mind it for me, mother, and keep on trying toavoid such accidents, for I really think it makes them worse when theydo happen. "

"Very well, my dear, you know your own feelings best, " said Mrs. Millar, a little puzzled. In her day it was reckoned no more than what was dueto maidenly delicacy and social propriety to preserve a respectfuldistance between a rejected man and his rejector. As if the gentlemanmight, as Dora had said, carry off the lady by force, or shoot her orhimself with the pistol hidden in his breast!

CHAPTER XVI. 

ROSE'S FOLLY AND ANNIE'S WISDOM. 

Annie Millar not only warmed to her work in St. Ebbe's, she recoveredher full glow of health and spirits. She not only liked her nursing, sheenjoyed her holiday hours intensely with the peculiarly keen enjoymentof busy women doing excellent service in the world. If any one wishes toknow what such enjoyment is like let him have recourse to a greatauthority. "_In the few hours of holiday that--only now and then--they(a nursing sisterhood) allow themselves, they show none of the wearinessthat sometimes follows the industry of toiling after self-amusement. Reaction, after great strain on the powers of self-sacrifice andendurance that they have to exert, may be thought to account in somepart for the happy result; but, whatever the cause, their society has init all that can best and most surely attract--grace, freshness, andnatural charm. _"[1]

[Footnote 1: Kinglake in his _History of the CrimeanWar_, vol. Vi. P. 436. ]

Rose felt as if she had never sufficiently appreciated Annie before. Shewas very proud of her sister now when she came to Welby Square, andeverybody, whether in Mrs. Jennings's set or in Hester's, was struckwith Annie's beauty and brightness. 

Even Hester Jennings saw nothing to find fault with on the ornamentalside of a girl who had gone in so heartily for the serious business oflife, nine-tenths of whose hours were occupied with grave tasks, towhich Hester owned honestly that she with all her public spirit was notequal. 

Annie's face was not only the most unclouded, her laugh the merriest ofall the faces and laughs which appeared and were heard in Welby Square. She became almost as much of a peacemaker, a smoother-down of roughinterludes, an allayer of irritating ebullitions, as Dora was wont to beat home. 

"Annie is so much improved, " Rose wrote to May, "I never saw her lookingprettier. She is just splendid when she comes out of St. Ebbe's for anafternoon and evening. Everybody is delighted to see her, and wants tohave her for his or her particular friend. She and I have such jollywalks and talks; she hardly ever calls me back or puts me down now. "

After pronouncing this high encomium it was rather a shock to Rose notonly to incur Annie's righteous displeasure, but to discover that onoccasions Annie could be as severe and relentless in her sentences asever. 

Rose, like most middle-class girls not fairly out of their teens, andcommitted to their own discretion in the huge motley world of London, had been solemnly charged to behave with the greatest wariness. She wasto treat every man or woman she encountered well-nigh as a dangerousenemy in disguise till her suspicions were proved to be misplaced, andthe stranger shown to Rose's satisfaction and that of her seniors andguardians to be a harmless friend. 

To do Rose justice, she remembered for the most part what had been toldher, and was careful not to expose herself to the slightest chance ofmisapprehension--not to say rudeness, such as would have frightened hermother and incensed her father. Rose would not be tempted by thefearless independence of Hester Jennings and her cronies. Theymaintained, in theory at least, that though there might be dens of viceand dark places of cruelty in the great city, for those whose feet trodthe downward path, yet its crowded thoroughfares, to those who honestlywent about their own business, or to the messengers of divine charityand mercy, were as safe, and safer, than any quiet country road. Womanhood in the strength and confidence of its purity and fearlessnessmight traverse them alone at any hour of the day or night. 

But Rose submitted to the ordinary if antiquated code, which implies thetimidity and defencelessness of young women whenever and whereverassailed. She had not gone far enough in her emancipation to reckon aspart of it, immunity from apprehension of every kind, including thestrife of evil tongues. 

However, one day in the beginning of May, Rose went to Covent Garden inpursuit of a pot of tulips, which she suddenly felt she must have, without delay, as an accessory in one of her sketches. She was cominghome laden with her spoil by way of Burnet's, where there was an equalnecessity for her to procure, on the instant, a yard or two of gauzystuff of a certain uncertain hue, when a thunder-storm unexpectedlybroke over the haunt of artists. Torrents of rain followed, enough towash away whole pyramids of flowers and piles of art-materials. If thedownpour did nothing else it cleared the crowded street, with thecelerity of magic only seen in such circumstances, and left Rosecowering in a doorway, alone as it seemed to her, but for a cab-driverwho took refuge in his cab, drawn up before one of the opposite houses. The rain looked as if it meant to continue, while, laden as Rose was, she could not have held up an umbrella even if she had found one readyto her hand. 

Her slender funds did not set her up in cabs, as she had told herself onmany a weary trudge in fog and drizzle between Mr. Foy's class-rooms andWelby Square. Besides she would like to see Hester Jennings's face whenshe (Rose Millar) proposed to indulge in such a luxury. But there wouldbe more lost than gained if she stood shivering in that doorway till herbest spring frock was ruined, waiting for an omnibus which was sure toarrive with every available inch of space occupied. She would catch achill or an influenza with no kind father near to save her a doctor'sbill, and cure her simply for the pleasure of doing it. She would braveHester's eagle eye, supposing it could scan Rose's misdeeds from somecoigne of vantage commanding this end of the street. She signalled tothe cab-driver opposite, who put his head out of the cab window andsignalled back that he had a fare besides himself at present ensconcedin one of the inhospitable-looking houses. 

Should she bid the thunder, lightning, and rain do their worst, and setout to walk home in defiance of them? While she still paused irresolute, peeping out disconsolately at the inky sky from which the downpour fell, a young man in the conscious superiority of a waterproof and an ampleumbrella, walked leisurely along the sloppy, deserted pavement. Helooked at her, seemed arrested by something which struck him in herappearance, hesitated a little undecidedly, stopped short, and addressedher, colouring up to his frank, honest blue eyes as he did so. 

"I am afraid you have been caught in this tremendous shower. Can I donothing to help you--call a cab, for instance?"

"Oh! thank you very much, " she said gratefully, forgetting all about thecunning enemy in disguise for whom she was to be always looking out. Indeed she had felt so lonely a minute before that she was ratherdisposed to welcome a comrade in misfortune. "The cabman in the cabopposite tells me he is engaged, and I do not remember any cab-standnear this. "

"There is one round the corner, which I passed a minute ago, but it wasvacant; all the world is wanting cabs in such weather. However, I canshelter you a little, if you will allow me, " and he held the umbrella infront of her. 

"No, please; I am keeping you here in the wet, and you are exposingyourself to the rain, " protested Rose, remorsefully. "I was justthinking of walking on, sooner than stand any longer getting graduallysoaked, " she confided to him with pleasant inconsiderateness. 

"Then will you take the use of my umbrella?" he asked promptly; "andperhaps you will let me carry your parcels for you, " he suggested in thehumblest manner possible, eyeing covetously her flower-pot, and thepaper wisp from "Burnet's. "

"Oh dear, no, " said Rose, pulling herself together when it was too late, and with an adorable frankness, which was another mistake so far as anunauthorized acquaintance's being nipped in the bud went. "I should betaking you out of your way; you must want your own umbrella, and I canmanage perfectly well. I am accustomed to go about by myself"--the lastpiece of information given with a proud inflection of the voice whichtold its own tale. 

"In storm and shine?" he took it upon him to question her, with theslightest rallying tone, and a twinkle in his blue eyes, but still withthe greatest respect in his attitude and manner--"not in storm, surely. I shall not be going out of my way. I am only taking a stroll--that is, I generally do take a stroll in some direction on my way back to mylodgings. You may not think the weather nice for strolling, but I don'tmind it. I am as strong as a horse, and I certainly don't want anumbrella. I have this waterproof affair, which, like the umbrella, israther a nuisance than otherwise. "

She could see at a glance that he was a broad-shouldered young fellow, over six feet, and that his kindly, deferential face, seen through thesteaming atmosphere, was as ruddy as youth and a vigorous constitutioncould make it. He was evidently speaking the truth, and she could notresist the temptation of the friendly aid arriving thus opportunely, andso obligingly pressed upon her. 

"Only for a little way, " she bargained cheerfully. "The rain may stop ina minute, though I must say it does not look like it, or we may come ona return cab; anyhow, it cannot be long till an omnibus overtakes us. "

She would have demurred at his ridding her of her flowers and parcel, which he disposed of easily under his arm and in his disengaged hand, asif he were well accustomed to being cumbered with such smallimpediments, had not a comical idea crossed her mind. He might thinkthat she did not trust his honesty, and was beset by a fear that hewould rush down a side street and disappear with her goods before shecould cry, "Stop, thief!" and arouse the scanty passers-by. 

Then Rose felt impelled to explain why she walked about London burdenedwith flower-pots and rolls of gauze. "I have just been to CoventGarden, " she said. "I wished to get this pot of tulips--parrottulips--yellow and scarlet, you know, to harmonize with a Chinese screenin a little picture I am painting. Then I had to go into 'Burnet's, 'for 'Liberty's' is too far away, for some blue stuff of the right shadewhich I could drape into a frock for the little girl who is my model. "

"Are you fond of painting?" he caught her up, being to the full aswilling to speak as she was. "So is my sister, and she also goes to'Liberty's' for queer rags and tags. I suppose they are part of theamateur's stock-in-trade. "

"I am going to be a professional artist, " said Rose again, with thatproud little inflection of the voice. But all the effect which hercommunication had upon him was that he took it as an invitation, or atleast as a warrant, for responsive confidences on his own part. 

"I am a doctor, " he announced. "I have been entitled to write myself onefor the last two months. I have just passed my final exams, and got mydegree--stiffish work for a fellow who does not take to sapping aseasily as to the air he breathes. "

"My father is a doctor, " said Rose, brightly, with her tongue fairlyloosened. "I forget whether he says examinations were easier or moredifficult when he was young. He is Dr. Millar of Redcross. "

"Millar!" exclaimed the tall young man so excitedly, that he stoppedshort for an instant, in the middle of the dismally lashing rain, andlooked at her with a gleam of delight in his blue eyes. "I thought so, I saw it at the first glance. You have a sister among the ladyprobationers at St. Ebbe's. "

"Yes--Annie, " cried Rose, with equal ecstasy in the acquiescence; andshe, too, stood still for a second in the rain. "Do you know St. Ebbe's?Have you seen Annie?"

"I should think I do, I should think I have, " he answered her fervently. "St. Ebbe's is my hospital. I have been 'walking it' for a year past. Iwas there to-day, and Miss Millar is well known all over the place. Sheis a great favourite with the matron, Mrs. Hull, and the house surgeon, and especially with the operating surgeon. He is always asking to haveMiss Millar in his cases since that boy had his leg cut off. "

"I know, I know, " chimed in Rose, "the little boy who begged you to waittill he had said his prayers, and when he could not do it for himself, Annie was able to do it for him. Now he is hopping about on his crutchesquite actively and happily; and she has got him an engagement, to cleanthe knives and boots at Mrs. Jennings, the boarding-house in WelbySquare where I stay. Isn't it too funny and nice that you should happento have to do with St. Ebbe's and Annie?"

"It has been a great pleasure to me--well, these are not the rightwords, " said the young fellow with sudden gravity and a shade ofagitation in his manner. "I count it the greatest piece of good fortunewhich ever befell me that I took St. Ebbe's for my hospital. But I oughtnot to presume on my acquaintance with Miss Millar, " he began againimmediately, with an infusion of cautious reserve and something likevexation creeping into his tone; "it is purely professional. We are fartoo busy people at St. Ebbe's to know each other as private persons. Very likely if you ask her, she will deny all knowledge of me as anindividual; she may not even be able to recall the fact of my existenceapart from a circle of big uncouth medical students in the train of thedoctors--all alike to her. At the same time I have drunk tea in hercompany both in the matron's room and in Dr. Moss's, and I have oftensat near her in the services at the hospital chapel, " he ended a littledefiantly. 

The speech, save for its ring of half-boyish mortification, wassuspicious, as if he were providing a loophole for escape in case Annierefused to indorse his assertion of mutual acquaintance. But Rose, inspite of her spirit and quickness, was hardly more given to suspicionthan her sister May showed herself, and saw nothing dubious in hisremark. She was carried away with the agreeable surprise of havingstumbled on somebody connected with St. Ebbe's who knew all about Annie. She chatted on in the frankest, friendliest way, plying him withgirlish questions, and supplying free comments on his answers; and hewas an auditor who was nothing loth to be so treated, and to befurnished with stores of information on points which had aroused hisardent curiosity. She forgot all about taking him out of his way, andwhen they reached Welby Square she crowned her unbounded faith in him byinviting him into the house. On his acceptance of her invitation, aftera moment's hesitation, she presented him to Mrs. Jennings as a friend ofAnnie's from St. Ebbe's. 

The young man had the grace to feel his ears tingle while Mrs. Jennings, looking a little astonished, took him on Rose's word, bowed her welcome, begged him to sit down with her usual gracious, languid good-breeding, and said she was glad to see any friend of Miss Annie Millar's. 

He did his best, with a flushed face, to remedy his and Rose's rashness. He put down his card, with Harry Ironside, M. D. , engraved on it, at Mrs. Jennings's elbow. He set himself with a strenuous and sincere effort totalk to her, and so to conduct himself as to do credit to Rose'svoucher. 

Mrs. Jennings was easily propitiated on receiving the attention whichwas due to her. She thought the young man's manners perfectly good; theyhad well-bred ease, and at the same time the modesty which ought toaccompany youth, though his introduction to her had been somewhatinformal. 

Irregularity and singularity were among the fashions of the day. Shewould have been glad if her daughter Hester, in carrying out thesefashions, had brought forward no rougher, or commoner-looking, or moreeccentric satellites and protégés--secretaries of those horrid women'sunions and clubs--than this friend of Rose and Annie Millar's. 

Mrs. Jennings never forgot a name and its social connection. "Ironside?"she repeated tentatively, but with an air of agreeable expectation. "Iam familiar with the name. One of my sons, Captain Lawrence Jennings, when his regiment was at Manchester, knew and received much kindnessfrom a family named Ironside. "

"It must have been the family of one of my uncles, " said Dr. HarryIronside, eagerly. "My Uncle John, and my Uncle Charles too, for thatmatter, stay in Manchester. Both are married men with families. My UncleJohn was mayor a few years ago. "

"The same, " cried Mrs. Jennings with bland satisfaction. "Lawrie'sIronsides were the family of the mayor, I remember perfectly when youmention it;" and she added the mental note, "They were among the richestcotton-brokers in the place--well-nigh millionaires. "

"Were you all named from Cromwell's Ironsides?" inquired Rose, lightly, inclined to laugh and colour at the absurd recollection that, though shehad seemed to know all about him from the moment he spoke of St. Ebbe'sand Annie, she had been ignorant of his very name till he put down hiscard. If he had not done so, she would have had to describe him to Annieas the big, fair-haired young doctor with the Roman nose, or by someother nonsensical item, such as the signet-ring on his left hand, or thetrick of putting his hand to his chin. 

"I am sure I cannot tell"--he met her question with an answeringlaugh--"except that, so far as I know, we have had more to do withcotton than with cannon-balls. My father was a Manchester man, like myuncles. I have struck out a new line in handling--not to say a sword, but a lancet. "

"Ah!" said Mrs. Jennings with mild superiority, "all my sons are in theservices--I have given them to their Queen and country. Two of mysons-in-law are also in the army, and I often say of the third--aclergyman in a sadly heathen part of the Black Country--that, engaged ashe is in the Church militant, he is as much a fighter as the rest ofthem. " Having thus in the mildest, most ladylike manner, established hersocial supremacy, Mrs. Jennings was doubly gracious to the visitor. They made such progress in their acquaintance by means of the ManchesterIronsides and other members of her very large circle of friends, withregard to whom the two discovered the names at least of several werealso known to Harry Ironside, that the lady made another markedconcession. When he said he was in rooms in London, and had his onlysister with him, she signified with a kind and graceful bend of thelace-enfolded shoulders and the bewigged head within the wonderfuledifice of a cap, that she meant to have the pleasure of calling on MissIronside. 

Rose could hardly believe her ears; and she did not wonder, though shewas glad that he had the sense and good feeling to thank Mrs. Jenningswith warmth, since Rose knew what a testimony it was to the genuineliking which the mistress of the house had taken to her chance guest. For Mrs. Jennings went very little out, and was exceedingly particularin adding to her visiting-list, as became the head of a selectboarding-house, and the mother of so many officers and gentlemen, not tosay gentlewomen. 

But matters did not end even there. He managed to convey the impressionthat his sister and he were rather lonely in their rooms, while healluded to the facts that he and she were orphans, and with theexception of each other had neither brother nor sister. They had lookedforward to being together, and making a home as soon as Kate leftschool, and he had taken furnished lodgings at Campden Hill till hesettled down somewhere. But somehow the lodgings were not veryhome-like. He should prize highly the friendship of Mrs. Jennings forhis sister. At this point the slightest gleam of a business interestawoke in Mrs. Jennings's steel gray eyes, though she only told himsoftly that she had known it all--the loneliness of one or two membersof a family in London, the comfortlessness of even the best of furnishedapartments. It was such considerations, in a great measure, which hadinduced her to utilize her large house, much too large for herself andthe only daughter left at home with her, to receive a few old friends assuitable boarders into her family. She had hoped to form a cheerful andrefined little society round her, and so to be of a little use to herfellow-creatures. She might say she had succeeded in her humble mission, she finished with artless benevolence. He met her half-way withbreathless alacrity. Had he and Kate but known in time Mrs. Jennings'sgenerous idea, what a boon it would have been if she had let them availthemselves of it! Even yet if there ever occurred any change, anyopening--but he was afraid, he added in disconsolate tones, there neverwould--the fortunate people would know too well when they werehappy--it would be doing him and Kate the greatest favour, the utmostkindness to let them know. This was exactly the complimentary, beseeching, deprecatory mode in which Mrs. Jennings liked business to beconducted; whereas, if Hester had been present, she would have said inthe clumsiest, coarsest manner, "Mamma, there are some rooms vacant, which any respectable person who cares to pay the rent may have. "

But that was not Mrs. Jennings's plan. She said in her blandestvoice--"Well, Dr. Ironside, we must see what we can do for you and yoursister; I cannot bear to think of your feeling forlorn after what yourcousins did for my son Lawrence. We must stretch a point with regard toaccommodating you--that is, if you are not, both of you, dreadfullyparticular. No, you are not at all difficult to put up, you and yoursister, you say? I am happy to hear it. It is such a good thing foryoung people to be easily pleased. I am not sure that something couldnot be contrived in the course of a week or two. I think I heard my oldservant speak of rooms which were to have been kept for cousins of myfriend Mr. Lyle, two charming ladies who were to have come up from thecountry for the season. But their dear old aunt died unexpectedly, andof course they are not inclined for any gaiety at present. I leave thedetails of arranging the sets of rooms and letting them to my Susan. Inever interfere with her; she knows far better than I what is wanted, and she is a sensible, practical person to deal with. If you care tospeak to Susan, I shall ring for her to see you in the dining-room, andshe will tell you at once what she can do for you, " Mrs. Jenningsfinished sweetly. 

He did care; indeed he was so intent on benefiting by what Mrs. Jennings, in her ladylike way, made so great an obligation conferred byher on her fellow-creatures, that he caught at the hope held out to him. He had an interview with the potent Susan, and came back radiant to tellthat the housekeeper had been nearly as kind to him as her mistress hadshown herself. He and Susan had settled everything. He was free to giveup the rooms which he and his sister were occupying the following week. 

"What, without consulting Miss Ironside?" protested Mrs. Jennings inpretty alarm. 

"Oh! Kate will like any arrangement I make, " he cried confidently; andRose came to the conclusion either that "Kate" was the simpleschool-girl he represented her, or that Dr. Harry Ironside was anautocrat in his domestic relations. 

He insisted on furnishing references, because business was business, even in the light of the dawning friendship which he trusted Mrs. Jennings was going to extend to him and Kate, and they would come assoon as she would let them. 

Oh! he must arrange it all with Susan. Mrs. Jennings put up her stilldainty hands, and waived him off playfully. She dared not interfere withSusan. All she would say was that she was delighted to look forward tosuch an agreeable addition to her pleasant little circle. She was fondof having young people about her, and was always ready to do what shecould (which was no more than the truth) to make them happy. 

Rose was driven to the conclusion that Dr. Harry Ironside must havefound furnished lodgings such a pandemonium, that he was induced tobelieve a select boarding-house must be a paradise by comparison. It wascomical how it had all come about. It did seem as if Rose'sheedlessness, if she had been heedless in drifting without anintroduction into an acquaintance with one of Annie's doctors, waslikely to bear good fruits to Mrs. Jennings, among other people. Hesterhad been looking worried lately, and had not scrupled to give as thereason of her pre-occupation--family affairs not prosperous. The wholeof the house was not let. Old Mr. And Mrs. Foljambe had actually beenunreasonable enough to try to exchange the best rooms, which they hadchosen for themselves in the winter for shabbier, cheaper quartersduring the summer, when the husband and wife might be occasionallyabsent paying visits. Old Susan, in her black cap and gold-rimmedspectacles, was especially triumphant in seeing the scheme balked, andconfided her mingled exultation and indignation to Rose, who had helpedto balk the schemers. The confidential family servant even forgot someof her polite mannerliness in her excitement. "Now, Miss Millar, themFoljambes has done for themselves; serve them right for seeking to get acatch from a friend like Missus, as is that kind to her boarders, whichyou can testify, Miss; they might be her own flesh and blood. Bless you!she'll never make a rap by keeping boarders. She never grudges themanythink, and would sooner deny herself than that they should go withouttheir fancies. But there, now, that fine young gentleman you brought, "went on Susan with the slightest respectful significance, "I'm surewe're greatly indebted to you, Miss--speaks as if he meant to stay onhere with his sister for the present. He has taken our largest rooms offour hands, so that we may be easy on that head, and I for one won't besorry if Mr. And Mrs. Foljambe ain't able to shift back into them attheir will and pleasure. The young gent, as is a gent, had nohargle-bargling about terms. He was satisfied to pay what we asked, because he knew that though it was not a common boarding-house, andthough it was no more than right that he and his sister should pay forthe privilege of being under the roof of a real lady like Missus, wewere not the sort to ask more than our due. "

The moment Rose got quit of Susan, she said to herself complacently, "Itis very nice to have done such a service to Mrs. Jennings and Hester andeverybody, instead of having got into a scrape and being scolded, as Ialmost feared at one moment. If only Miss Kate Ironside is not too muchof a dumb belle and a mere school-girl, " reflected Rose, with thesupercilious consciousness of maturity in a girl who had been more thana year away from all teaching except what she had herself practised, andwhat she received as a grown-up woman at Mr. St. Foy's. "I wonder if Dr. Harry Ironside will have spoken of our encounter, and what came of it, to Annie before I can tell her. I should like to see her face when shelearns that I know somebody who goes to St. Ebbe's, " ended Rose, withpersistent audacity. 

Annie's face was a study when she heard of it. Rose had been guilty of alittle wilful self-deception, still she received a shock. 

The first time the sisters were able to meet and have a walk together, after Rose's encounter with Dr. Ironside, Rose broached the great pieceof news, and witnessed the effect it produced. The girls had managed toreach the Marble Arch into Hyde Park, beyond which they found a seat fora few minutes. It was not too early in the season for them to takepossession of it, and they were still sufficiently strangers in Londonto suppose that seats were placed for the accommodation of the weary ofall ranks and both sexes, and not merely for the benefit of nurse-maidsand their charges, or of able-bodied tramps. The sisters prepared totalk over their own concerns and Redcross with the _empressement_ ofgirls, to forget all about the moving crowd around them, and thegrinding of that great mill of London in the traffic that is never foran instant still. 

"Oh! Annie, have you seen him lately?" began Rose--"Dr. Harry Ironside, I mean. Has he told you that he and his sister are coming to board atMrs. Jennings's?"

"Seen him! Dr. Harry Ironside! What do you know about Dr. HarryIronside? What are you saying, Rose?" cried Annie, sitting bolt upright, opening wide her dark eyes, and fixing them in the most amazed, displeased, discomfiting gaze on Rose. The rate at which the two hadbeen walking and talking, the suspicion of east wind, the premature heatof the May sun, had converted the soft red in Annie's cheeks to abrilliant scarlet. 

"What I am saying, " answered Rose, nodding gaily, and trying hard not toflinch under the trying reception of her precious piece of information, "is that, by the funniest chance, I made the acquaintance of a friend ofyours at St. Ebbe's. And the laughable coincidence of our meeting andhappening to speak to each other, and then of my finding out that heknew all about you, is going to be a very good thing for poor dear Mrs. Jennings, " Rose hastened to add, taking the first word in self-defence. "He is coming with his sister to board in Welby Square. "

"He is not a friend of mine, " said Annie, severely. "Is it possible thatyou are such a simpleton as to believe that all the doctors, medicalstudents, and nurses--the whole staff of St. Ebbe's, in fact, areintimately acquainted with each other, are acquainted at all, for themost part, unless as doctors and nurses? Please, Rose, tell me at oncewhat nonsense this is--what foolish thing you have been about. "

When Annie said "please" to her sisters the situation was alarming. 

On the other hand, Rose had not come up to London to be an artist, whowas already getting orders for scroll-work and executing themsuccessfully, to be put down by a sister not above four years hersenior. 

"What are you making such a fuss about, Annie?" protested Rose, "I amtelling you as fast as you will let me. I came out this morning for theexpress purpose, and I thought--I was almost sure--you would be amusedand interested, instead of 'getting into a wax'"--using one of HesterJennings's slang words, which set Annie's fine little teeth on edge. "Itis you who ought to explain and apologize to me, " proceeded Rose, boldly; "I am surely at liberty to make the acquaintance of anybody youknow without your looking annoyed, and accusing me of being foolish andnonsensical. It is very unjust and ungrateful of you besides, for hespoke very highly of you, " Rose finished innocently. 

"He spoke highly of me to my own sister!" repeated Annie, her lipscurling with unutterable disdain, and her cheeks in a wilder flame thanever. "He had nothing to do speaking of me at all. And how did he cometo speak to you? I insist upon your telling me, Rose. I am older thanyou, and we are alone in London. I am answerable for you to father andmother. "

"Well, I always thought I was answerable for myself, " said Rose, indignantly. "But I don't want to conceal anything from you; it isinsulting me to suppose so, " and Rose showed herself highly resentfulin her turn. "As to how I met and spoke with Dr. Harry Ironside, I wasjust coming to that, " she was going on deliberately, when she wasstopped by Annie's irritable protest--

"I wish you would not bring forward that man's name and dwell upon it inthe way you are doing. "

"Why, Annie, what ails you?" cried Rose in her bewilderment at Annie'sunreasonableness and excitement, forgetting any verdict that might bepassed on her own neglect of the code of conduct imposed upon her. 

"Well, if you only knew how I have been tried--and molested--and laughedat, " Annie began wrathfully, saying the last words as if to be laughedat was equivalent to being burnt alive. Then she stopped short andturned again upon Rose. "What have you been doing? tell me this instant, Rose. "

"I don't think you ought to speak to me in this manner, " said Rose, rebelliously, holding her head high in the air, and forgetting in hersoreness of spirit either to crumple her nose or wrinkle her forehead;"and I am not at all ashamed of myself. I have done nothing wrong;indeed, I believe I have conferred a real benefit on Mrs. Jennings, though she is apt to put it the other way, and indirectly on Hester. I_am_ fond of Mrs. Jennings and Hester--_they_ always treat me, evenHester does, like a rational creature. Oh! you need not fret andfume--I am not trying to avoid telling you, though you have no right, nosister has, to demand an account of my proceedings. Father and mothermay have, but they would never brandish their rights in my face orrefuse to trust me. I was coming home from Covent Garden on Saturdayafternoon, carrying a little pot of tulips for my picture, if you mustknow, and I had also got a small parcel from 'Burnet's. ' I was caught inthe thunder-storm. I was standing in a doorway not knowing what to dowhen a gentleman passed--Dr. Harry Ironside, if I am to be allowed tosay his name, though I did not know it then. He was good-natured andpolite, like any other gentleman. He saw how I was encumbered, and hemust have felt the pelting rain. He stopped and asked if he could doanything for me--call a cab or anything, and he wished to give me theuse of his umbrella till we reached a cab-stand or till an omnibus cameup. I thought I had better tell him why I was carrying things, for hemight have thought me just a shop-girl, so I merely said I required themfor a painting, and that I was learning to be an artist. He seemed tothink he ought to tell me in return what he was, and he said he was adoctor. Then I said father was a doctor too, Dr. Millar of Redcross. Hecried out at that something about a likeness which he had seen, and heasked had I a sister a nurse in St. Ebbe's, and oh! Annie, he looked sopleased, and he did say you were such a favourite with the matron andthe doctors. "

"Stop!" cried Annie, peremptorily, with an evident storm raging in hergentle breast, to which she was too proud and self-restrained to givefree expression, "you are a greater baby than May is. You are not fit tobe left to yourself--a girl who would speak to any man she might meet inthe streets of London, and tell him all about herself and her family. "

The accusation was too outrageous to be received with anything saveindignant silence. 

"And then, I suppose, the next thing was you took him to Mrs. Jenningsand arranged between you that he and his sister should board there. "

"I did not, " Rose was goaded to speak. "When he had walked so far withme in the rain I could not do less than invite him into the house. ThenI believe he gave his name, and Mrs. Jennings, who has a great deal ofknowledge of the world and a great deal of discrimination, " put in poorRose with much emphasis, "seemed to like him immensely. She found thatone of her sons knew relations of his in Manchester, and they had otherfriends in common. He spoke of his sister, who is with him, and of theirnot liking living in lodgings, and who glad he would be if there everhappened to be a vacancy in Mrs. Jennings's establishment which shewould permit them to fill. She referred him to Susan to see if therewere rooms which the Ironsides could have. It all came about quitenaturally, and was settled in less time than I have taken to tell it, and I had nothing whatever to do with it. I should not dream of takingit upon me to interfere with Mrs. Jennings's or anybody else's domesticaffairs. "

"I do not know, " said Annie, gloomily, "after the mess you have gotyourself and other people into. But there is one thing I can tell youfor your satisfaction, I shall not put my foot within Mrs. Jennings'sdoor so long as he--as Dr. Ironside and his sister are staying there. You may keep your friends to yourself and do without your sister. Youcan take them instead of me; perhaps you will not miss me or care forthe loss of an occasional hour or two of my society. "

"Oh! Annie, how can you say so?" Rose was reduced to expostulation andpleading. "What has come over you? You must not stay away; it would beso unkind to me, so rude to everybody, and such a marked slight. We areall so happy when you come to Welby Square, and I am sure the change isgood for you too. How can you be so cross?"

"No, " said Annie with unbending decision, "it shall not be said of methat I went and struck up a friendship, apart from our intercourse inthe wards, with any doctor at St. Ebbe's--one of the medical students, the other day! I am not going to make his sister's acquaintance and getup an intimacy with her, because you have chosen to introduce them toMrs. Jennings. A fine story to be circulated, and tittered over, about agirl; a fine example to the working nurses, who are always seeking toevade the rules, to become on familiar terms with their patients and togossip and philander with them, when they ought to have a great dealmore to do. I call it disgusting trifling, and it was not for that Icame up to London to be trained as a nurse. "

Annie kept her word to Rose's and other people's deep chagrin. She madeno further ferment about what had happened. She did not write home andcomplain of Rose's thoughtlessness, or take a single step to preventMrs. Jennings securing a profitable pair of boarders--as a matter offact, she dropped the subject, perhaps she felt a little ashamed of theanimus she had shown. But for nearly three months, if Rose wished to seeher sister, the only plan was for her to go to St. Ebbe's, or to make anappointment with Annie at the Academy or the British Museum, or to eattheir lunch together at some convenient restaurant. 

In whatever manner Annie disposed of her few spare moments, not one ofthem was now spent in Welby Square--just at the time, too, when theboarding-house was particularly social and cheerful (for the new-comersfound special favour with the old, and promoted much good fellowship). At least Dr. Harry Ironside did. He was a young fellow born to bepopular whether he would or not; handsome, with pleasant manners, kind-hearted, possessed of a respectable competence independent of hisprofession, to which he brought considerable abilities and greatsingleness of purpose. Everybody "took" to him, from crusty Mr. Foljambeto jaunty Mr. Lyle; from Miss Perkins, whose ear-trumpet he improvedupon, to old Susan, into whose gold-rimmed spectacles he put new glasseswhich made her see like a girl again. The one drawback to his success ineverything he aimed at was, that he was always tremendously in earnest, so that his very earnestness overweighted him, rendering him incapableof measuring obstacles, and marshalling his forces, as a moreindifferent man might have done. 

His sister Kate, apart from such importance as might be implied in herfinding herself presently in the enjoyment of a very pretty littleincome for a young lady, was a simple, good-natured school-girl, in theechoing and imitative stage of school-girl life. She looked up to herbrother in everything, and was disposed to regard whatever was by hisdecree as infallibly best. 

Yes, Annie kept her word after the fashion of most of us, till she sawgood reason to break it. She announced herself changeless till shechanged, which, to do her justice, was when the interests of others, still more than her own, cried out against her maintaining herresolution. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

MAY HAS TO FIGHT HER OWN BATTLE. 

All May's frantic efforts at resistance were useless; her destiny wastoo strong for her. She had to go away from her mother and father, Dora, and Tray, and face life all by herself as one of the girl-graduates atThirlwall Hall, St. Ambrose's. Dr. Millar had learnt that she would justbe in reasonable time for one of the earlier examinations at the closeof the term. Having passed it without difficulty, she might compete forone of the Thirlwall scholarships. If she got that--as he allowedhimself to think she had a fair chance of doing--it would greatlyincrease her status, as well as aid in defraying the expenses of herresidence at St. Ambrose's. The little Doctor was feverishly anxious tocompass both ends for his pet and scholar. In her own interest no noticemust be taken of her heart-broken looks, though it wrung a manly heart, in addition to the tender hearts of Mrs. Millar and Dora, to witnessMay's desperate unwillingness to depart. 

It will be better to throw a veil over the anguish of that leave-taking, including the final closeting with Tray and the torrents of tears shedon his irresponsive hairy coat. We shall draw up the curtain on a newscene--St. Ambrose's, in its classic glory and stately beauty, andThirlwall Hall, in its youthful strong-mindedness. 

Poor May felt horribly forlorn when her father left her behind, and sherealized that she was for the first time in her life compelled to playher part without the support of kith or kin. Nobody was in the leastunkind to her, any more than the conservative Miss Stones had been toRose, unless in calling "little May" "Miss Millar, " a promotion whichsomehow cut her to the heart. 

The lady principal, Miss Lascelles, was an excellent intellectual woman, of mingled aristocratic and _spirituelle_ antecedents. In anothercountry and nation she might have been a distinguished _dame de salon_. As it was, she was sufficiently harassed and overworked in her doubleoffice of decorous, authoritative chaperon and qualified guide, philosopher, and friend to the girls under her charge. These might bevestal virgins or nymphs of Minerva, but they were also girls, so longas the world lasted--the most of them half curious, half friendly whereMay was concerned. This was true even of the wonderful young Americanwho came and stayed with no other object in view than to say she hadkept her terms at St. Ambrose's, according to what was the sum total ofthe ambition of many a young man at the great University. She _would_call the Atlantic "the herring pond, " and speak of "fixing" her hair;still she was a girl like the rest of them. Miss Lascelles, with all theother ladies in residence at Thirlwall Hall, the American included, could not help wondering what the friends and guardians of a buddingbeauty and helpless baby like Miss Millar intended by sending her tolive among a set of self-reliant, amply-occupied young women, who, as arule, knew exactly what they wanted to do and did it. 

The whole place and system overwhelmed May. The hoary dignity of the oldcolleges, receptacles of the concentrated learning of ages, the crowdsof capped and gowned tutors and professors, potent representatives ofthe learning of the present, even the shoals of young men who were ableto care for none of these things, and to carry their responsibilitieslightly, all to be encountered in the course of a morning walk, struckMay with a sense of inadjustable disproportion, and of intolerablepresumption on her part in pretending to be a scholar. She was still oneof a household largely composed of women, as she had been at home, buthere the household was planted where it was an innovation, in the midstof a colony of men, which constantly threatened to sweep over it andsubmerge it. 

The grown-up, independent, yet disciplined routine of Thirlwall Hall, founded as closely as possible on the venerable routine of the men'scolleges, was widely, crushingly different from life in the Old Doctor'sHouse at Redcross. Morning chapel, the steady business of individualreading, the attendance on the selected courses of lectures, with thenew experience of being spoken to, and expected to take notes like men;the walks and talks, which even with the interruptions of tennis andboating were apt to be academically shoppy; the very afternoon tea afterevening chapel had an impressively scholastic flavour utterly foreign tothe desultory proceedings of an ordinary family circle. So had thefurther reading by one's self, for one's self, to get up a particularbranch of study; the "swell dinner, " as May persisted in calling it inher own mind, though it was simple and social enough--beyond certainindispensable forms and ceremonies--to the initiated; the withdrawalonce more to the dreary retirement of her own room, since a new girl hadneither the requisite familiarity nor the heart to go and tap at herneighbours' doors, where no substitute for "sporting the oak" had asyet been found, and drop in for a little purely human chatter. 

May was so "hard hit, " as people say--not with love, but withhome-sickness--that she did not believe she could live to the end of thesummer term. She felt as if she must die of strangeness, fright, andpining; and that was hard, for they would be very sorry at home, and sowould Annie and Rose in London, though both of them had been able to goand stay away quite cheerfully like the girls at Thirlwall Hall. PerhapsMay and Dora were not like other girls. There was something wanting orsomething in excess about them. Perhaps they were not fit to go throughthe world, as she had once heard somebody say of her--May. Perhaps theywere meant to die young--like their Aunt Dolly--and not destined to livelong and struggle helplessly with adverse circumstances. In that case, Dora was the happy one to be left to spend her short life at home, though, save for father and mother, she too was all alone, and poor dearDora would feel that, and was, perhaps, crying in another empty room asMay was crying in hers at this very moment; but at least, Dora wouldpass her last days with father and mother in the old familiar places. 

This isolated doom for herself and Dora fascinated May's imagination. She could not get it out of her head. She dreamt about it, and sat upin her bed crying and shivering in the silence and solitude of night, where even by day all was silent and solitary. She began to thinkthat she would never see Redcross or her mother again. With themorbid sentimentality of early youth, and its lively capacity forself-torture, in which to be sure there is that underlying luxury ofwoe, she commenced to rehearse the loving farewells she would take onpaper, and the harrowing last messages she would send to every memberof her family. 

Occasionally May's hallucination took the form of conjuring up a seriesof disasters which should suddenly descend on her absent friends. If shedid not die herself, one or all of those she loved might die while shewas separated from them. Her father might fall down in a fit; her mothermight be seized with small-pox or typhoid fever; and what more likelythan that Dora should catch the infection waiting on her mother?

This distempered frame of mind was hardly calculated for the rapidreception and assimilation of these particles, terminations, and casesof philological nicety in which May began to recognize that she wasinaccurate and deficient. 

If Tray could but have come to her, and laid his shining black nose inher lap, barked in her face, and invited her to take a turn in thegrounds of Thirlwall Hall, he would have ceased to be the doleful, shadowy phantom of a Tray she was constantly seeing now, along withother phantoms. A game of romps with her four-footed friend would havedone something to dissipate the mental sickness which was prostratingMay's powers. But Thirlwall Hall was moulded on the men's colleges, andthere were no dogs for the girl any more than for the boy graduates. 

Miss Lascelles was at once conscientious and kind, with considerablenatural sagacity; but she led a busy, rather over-burdened life, and hadlittle time to spare. Naturally she was tempted, in spite of the logicalfaculty which made her a capital principal of Thirlwall Hall, to leap atconclusions like many of her weaker-minded sisters. She had taken it forgranted that Miss Millar was simply a spoilt child, without more abilityand information than had just served her to surmount the preliminarytest of admission to Thirlwall Hall, where, nevertheless, she had nobusiness to be. Her time would be completely wasted; she would only bewretched, and serve to make other people uncomfortable. However, as shehad stood the preliminary test, and was at Thirlwall Hall for the restof the term, the most humane thing to do was to set some other girl whowas not particularly engaged on her own account, who could be safelytrusted with such a charge, who had plenty of acquaintances at St. Ambrose's to render the charge lighter, to make friends with the poorgirl, take her about, cheer and entertain her, as far as possible, tillthe end of her stay. 

Miss Lascelles, in default of better, fixed on Miss Vanhansen, theAmerican young lady, as a friend for May. Miss Vanhansen had plenty oftime on her hands, plenty of confidence, plenty of money. She hadtaken even exclusive St. Ambrose's by storm, for Athens itself wouldhave found it difficult to resist her racy indifference, her shrewdmother-wit, her superb frocks, and her sublime heaps of dollars. Atthe same time she was perfectly good-natured and quite trustworthy inher own free and easy way. She had scandalized Miss Lascelles in theearlier days of their acquaintance by her energetic determination tohave "a good time of it. " She had made the lady principal's hair standon end by calmly suggesting nice rides and rows and luncheons atvillage inns, _tête-à-tête_ with the "mooniest" young fellows whocould be laid hold of and crammed with stories about America and thedoings of American girls. 

But practically Miss Vanhansen had the good sense to do at Rome as theRomans did; she confined her independence to those sallies of thetongue, which were not without a rousing charm in a place grown partlylanguid, partly esoteric, by dint of a superabundance of culture and ofcollege statutes elaborate, involved and irreversible as the laws of theMedes and the Persians. 

Keturah Vanhansen rather liked the task imposed upon her. It appealedat once to her kindliness of nature and her love of creating asensation; she would rouse this drooping young beauty who showed sucha sinful disregard of her complexion and eyes. Miss Vanhansen washerself as sallow as a nabob, her small eyes, by an unkind perversityon the part of her fairy god-mother, were of a fishy paleness, yet shemanaged to her great satisfaction, by dint of dress and carriage, tobe a striking-looking and all but a handsome girl, so that she had nooverpowering reason to be jealous of her better-endowed neighbours. She would astonish Miss Millar's weak nerves, and give her "a wrinkleor two, " before she had done with her. 

At first May shrank back a good deal from the advances of the conqueringprincess from the Far West; but here the English girl's humility andgood feeling stood her in better stead than her judgment. May wasgrateful to Miss Vanhansen, and went so far as to be flattered by herattentions even when they gave the recipient no pleasure. That frame ofmind could not last at seventeen. May, the most unsophisticated andeasily pleased of human beings, was won from her sad dreams of Redcross. She was deeply obliged, she was faintly amused. At last she was fairlylaunched on such a mild course of St. Ambrose gaieties as two girls ina college could with grace pursue. This included tennis parties, rowingparties, water-lily and fritillary hunts, "strawberries, " concertsinstead of lectures in the afternoons as well as in the evenings, afternoon teas--not _tête-à-tête_, not confined to a party of three, but under what even Miss Lascelles would have considered sufficientsurveillance in the rooms of liberal heads of houses, hospitable youngdons, social, idle undergraduates. These had no more business on theirhands than could be summed up in cricket-matches or boat-races, and inmeeting Miss Vanhansen and listening to her queer unconventionalremarks. 

At all these gatherings, May Millar in the budding beauty of seventeenand the simplicity of her youthful dress, with her modesty and_naïveté_, was made very welcome. Soon she began to feel herself ashamedof the extent to which she was enjoying herself, as she was swept alongby the stream. 

She was able to write home now long letters full of girlish enthusiasmover the kindness of Miss Vanhansen, and the beauties and delights ofSt. Ambrose's. Dora, though greatly relieved in her ungrudging devotionto May, to find that Tom Robinson's words were fulfilled, was still alittle puzzled to understand how May could find time for so many gaydoings, and her studies into the bargain. But Dr. And Mrs. Millar couldonly be happy in the happiness of their child, and hug themselves onhaving thought more of her welfare than of her feelings at the moment ofparting. It was right she should see all the charming sights which wereto be seen, and enter a little into the special attractions of the greatUniversity town--_that_ would not prevent her from settling down anddoing her proper work presently. You might trust the lady principal anda studious young creature like May, who liked to be busy with her booksfar before any other occupation, with a great deal more license thanthat came to. 

Then a new turn was given to the dissipation in which May was dipping. The longing in which she had indulged, ever since she had first heard ofits possible fulfilment, was granted--a Greek play was to be acted bythe young women who stood for the "Grecians" of the year at ThirlwallHall, and May was there to see. From the moment the play was decidedupon to the hour of the first rehearsal, May spoke, thought, and dreamedof nothing save "Alcestis. "

Miss Vanhansen gave her up in disgust. "The ungrateful, soft-spokenwretch!" cried the forsaken fair one; "the hypocritical young blue-grassPenelope Blue! she has been bluer than the blue clouds all the time shehas been imposing on me as a pining, bread-and-butter, home-sick missamong us Titanesses and daughters of the gods. Here I am ready tocollapse with trotting her about among the few girls in St. Ambrose'swho are sensible enough not to know the Empire of the East from theEmpire of the West, and would not care which was which if they did know, and the still wiser young men who spend the long summer days lying ontheir backs in their own canoes, reading Mark Twain. Oh! she is abrazen-faced impostor. 'Molasses!' and 'Great Scott!' are not enough tosay to her. I should like to try her with the final polite remarks ofthe last chief of the Dogs' Noses. "

But contemporaneously with May's being thus dropped by her first friend, she was peremptorily claimed and appropriated by the actresses. They hadnot failed to notice her interest in their enterprise, and some of thecleverest of them had already mastered an astonishing problem. 

They had been guilty of nicknaming Miss Millar "Baby, " because she hadbeen so lachrymose and shiftless when she came to Thirlwall Hall, andhad never looked up till she was handed over to Miss Vanhansen, who hadgiven her "airings" and "outings" all very well for a baby, and much toBaby's taste as it seemed, but not exactly severe study. Yet in spite ofit all, and in spite of the halting inaccuracy of the training in aprivate ladies'-school, May Millar knew more by sheer instinct, as itsounded, of Alcestis, and felt more with her and for her, than the bestof those who professed to be her interpreters. 

It was therefore not with wisely repairing the breaches in her Latin andGreek, and laying these foundations afresh, as Rose was doing with herart under Mr. St. Foy in London, that May was engrossed. It was withbecoming a bond-slave to those ambitious players. She lent herself tothe minutest details of their attempt, coached herself in them day andnight, till she could coach everybody in turn, and figured behind backsas universal prompter, dresser, stage-manager--the girl who had been solifeless and incapable of looking after herself when she first cameamong them that they had styled her the baby of the establishment!

Miss Lascelles, who was deeply interested in the play, both in herhighly-finished scholarship, and for the credit of Thirlwall Hall, was electrified when she discovered the efficient coadjutor whomthe performers had found. "I am afraid there has been a mistakemade, and time lost, " she said to herself ruefully. "How could I beso shortsighted, when there is the making of the finest scholar inthe Hall in Miss Millar, who threatened to hang so heavily on my handsthat I was fain to send her to play with our generous 'Barbarian. 'What discrimination, what taste and feeling with regard to theselection and fit declamation of these passages which we were doubtfulwhether to retain or reject, or what to do with them! With what prettygirlish shyness and timidity she made the suggestions! Nothing but herpassionate love of the subject, and her jealousy for its honour, as itwere, with her intense craving to have it fitly expressed, would haveinduced her to come forward. I should like to hear what ProfessorHennessy, " naming a great name among classical authorities, "thinksof this young girl's interpretation of several parts of the play whenhe comes to hear them. I should like to introduce Miss Millar to himif she were not so frightened, and if she had taken the place whichshe ought to have held to begin with. It is too late to rectify themistake and set her to work this term, and she had much better not goin for the Markham scholarship which her father spoke of--that wouldbe worse than useless. But we'll turn over a new leaf next term. Afterall, she is very young; and I suppose it is of no great consequencethat she has wasted her first half. Her family are professionalpeople, and these are generally well off. " (Miss Lascelles was theportionless daughter of the impecunious younger son of a poornobleman. )

When the play was performed nearly all the classical scholars of St. Ambrose's--and what was a man doing at St. Ambrose's if he were not aclassical scholar, unless, to be sure, he happened to be a philosopherof the first water, or a profound expounder of Anglo-Saxon, or astrangely and wonderfully informed pundit?--came with their wivesand daughters, and graciously applauded the daring deed. 

As for Keturah Vanhansen, she wore her _rivière_ of diamonds, dripping, dancing, flashing like water that was perpetually flowing, and yet, bysome enchantment, arrested in its flow in glorious suspension. Set inthe middle of the enchanted water was such a breast-knot of rare, exquisite, uncannily grotesque orchids as no queen or princess had everbeen seen to wear in St. Ambrose's. Indeed, it might have suited theQueen of Sheba. 

Miss Vanhansen announced that she wore her war-paint to do honour to theThirlwall Hall play, and to May Millar, whom she had forgiven, forrancour never yet dwelt in the Yankee breast. "Alcestis" was a littlelong, and "real right down funny, " as her Aunt Sally would have said, though it was a tragedy, and she, Keturah Vanhansen, did not understanda word of it, notwithstanding this was her last year at Thirlwall Hall. One good joke was the man who was in cats' skins, and carried a kitchenpoker for a club, and was half a head shorter than she was, and she wasnot big; they should see her Aunt Abe if they wanted to know what a bigwoman was like. Another joke was the sacks for the ladies' frocks, withholes for the head and feet, and holes for the arms, so nice and simple, and so graceful; Worth ought to get a hint of the costume. Only it wasnot very distinctive, when one regarded the corresponding sacks for thegentlemen. There was really nothing to mark out the ladies except thelarge towels which they wore hanging down their backs, while thegentlemen had Inverness capes over their sacks, fastened on theshoulders with Highland brooches. How came the Greeks, in the time ofEuripides, to know about Inverness capes and Highland brooches? She, Keturah Vanhansen, had been so startled by what she feared might be afrightful anachronism that all her false hair had fallen off, and shehad been left like one of her Aunt Abe's moulting fowls. 

The truth was that, in the matter of hair, nature had favoured MissVanhansen with a peculiarly fine and luxuriant crop, so that she had noneed to apply to art for its help. 

But as for May, she saw nothing and heard nothing of the discrepancieswhich might mar the ancient story to far less ostentatiouslymatter-of-fact and mocking critics than the would-be barbarian frombeyond the herring-pond. The piteous tragedy was enacted in all itsterror and pathos to May. She forgot even to sigh for one of theoriginal great open-air amphitheatres, with the cloudless blue sky ofGreece overhead, which had been the fit setting to those old-worldplays; while she appreciated, without being conscious of theappreciation, every scenic item--the double stage, the attendant chorus, the classic dress, that had awakened Miss Vanhansen's ridicule, from thesandal on the foot to the toque on the head--all which could lendverisimilitude to the spectacle. For the benefit of happy May, Alcestislived again in modern St. Ambrose's. Once more she suffered and diedwillingly in the room of Admetus; once more the miserable husband'shalf-heroic, half-savage ally, Harakles, fought Death for his pale prey, and brought back the sacrificed wife from Hades, to restore her--afigure veiled and motionless, yet instinct with glad life, every veinthrobbing with love and thankfulness--to the arms of her husband, morejoyful, and at the same time, in the middle of his joy, more full ofyearning sorrow and self-abasement than ever was happy bridegroom. 

On the day after the play, Miss Lascelles casually mentioned to May thateven if she went in for the coming examination, she, Miss Lascelles, thought May had better not try for the Markham scholarship. 

"But I must, Miss Lascelles, " protested May, starting up as if shewere awakening from a dream, and opening great eyes of distress andapprehension--feelings which were only at that moment called intolife. "My father would be so vexed and disappointed if I did not. "

"If you will take my advice, my dear, you will wait till next year;there will be another scholarship falling in then. Very many of theThirlwall Hall girls do much better the second year than they have donethe first, " Miss Lascelles continued to warn her girl-graduate, with thedelicate consideration and tact which qualified the lady principal forher office. "It is bad policy to enter hastily into a competition withfailure staring you in the face. It will only serve to dishearten you, and to mislead people with regard to what I am now certain--I canhonestly congratulate you on my conviction--are your really exceptionalgifts. You will do Thirlwall Hall credit, and we shall all be proud ofyou, if you will have patience. You are very young; you can afford towait. It is a common occurrence for clever, studious girls, and ladstoo, to come up to St. Ambrose's from the country, from private schoolsor home-teaching, who are not sufficiently exact in their scholarship, and do nothing beyond remedying the defect in their first or even theirsecond year. You don't grudge giving what is but a fraction of yourlife, after all, to thorough as opposed to superficial learning, do you, dear? Remember, the one is worthy and the other worthless--a merepretentious waste. "

"I cannot help it, " said May, with a little gasp of despair. "To wait isjust what I cannot afford to do. I am almost certain that my coming upnext year depends on what I can do this term. We have grown quite poor. Father has lost a great deal of money lately. Even if he were contentto send me back here, I do not think it would be right in me to come, unless I could do something to lessen the expense. My sister Annie isin London learning to be a nurse, and my sister Rose is coming out asan artist. "

"I thought they were doing it from choice. Why did you not applyyourself before, Miss Millar? You knew what you could do, better thanany of us here could possibly guess your talents and attainments. From your general behaviour until the play was started, I for one, Iconfess, fell into the grave error of supposing that you could dolittle or nothing, or that any progress you had made was entirelyforced work. " Miss Lascelles spoke sharply, for she was considerablydiscomfited, and full of unavailing regret for her share in themisadventure. 

May could not tell her that she had been too miserable about comingaway from home, and leaving her mother and father, Dora and Tray, toapply herself to learning; neither would there have been much use inher applying if she had been destined to fade away presently as shehad imagined, and to die, bereft, among the lexicons, commentaries, and lecture-notes of Thirlwall Hall. She preferred to say with meekcontriteness that she knew she had been very idle, but she would doher best to atone for her idleness by working every lawful moment ofevery hour of the few weeks which were left to her, if Miss Lascelleswould but allow her to go in for the examination, preparatory totrying for the scholarship. 

Miss Lascelles could not prevent her, she told May a little dryly, forthe students of Thirlwall Hall, though some of them were no more thanseventeen--May's age--were all regarded and treated as grown-up youngwomen capable of judging and acting for themselves. What Miss Lascelleswas bound to do was to see that Miss Millar did not run into theopposite extreme, and bring on a brain fever by over-study. "And youknow, my dear, " finished the kind, experienced woman, who was easilysoftened, who had always the greatest difficulty to keep from beingsympathetic, "that would be a great deal worse than merely being turnedback in your examinations, though Dr. Millar is not rich, and there maybe obstacles--I sincerely trust they will not be insurmountable--to yourcoming back in the autumn, to work with a will and at the same time withmoderation. "

Poor May did not work herself into a brain fever, but she did inother respects exactly as Miss Lascelles--a woman who understoodthe position--had clearly foreseen. May succeeded in fretting, andworrying, and getting herself into a state of nervous agitation. Her brain, or that part of it which had to do with grammaticaldeclensions, derivations, rules, and principles, became a completemuddle, so that in place of taking in new information, it seemed tobe rapidly letting go the old which it had once held securely. 

Before the eventful day of May's examination, she had lost the lastshred of hope, and so had all who had heard her or formed a correctestimate of the contents of her papers, of her crossing the rubicon. Ofher own accord she sorrowfully refrained from making any move to enterthe lists for the scholarship. 

It is the fashion at St. Ambrose's not to issue the result of theexaminations for a considerable number of weeks, during which theunhappy candidates hang on the tenterhooks of expectation. A looker-onis inclined to consider this a refinement of cruelty till he or she hastaken into consideration that the motive of the protracted suspense isto suit the convenience and lessen the arduous labours of the toil-wornprofessors and tutors who serve as examiners. 

But in May Millar's case her failure was such a foregone conclusion, wasso remedial by reason of her youth, and so qualified by the share shehad taken in the Greek play, that a point was stretched for her, and shewas privately put out of pain at once. Latterly May had not entertainedthe slightest expectation of any other sentence, yet the blow fell soheavily upon her that it was well it was the end of the term. 

To do Thirlwall Hall no more than justice, everybody was sorry fortheir youngest, gentlest, prettiest, most inspired, and withal mostinoffensive and obliging student. Miss Lascelles took May into herprivate sitting-room and recklessly lavished the few moments the ladyprincipal had in which to rest and recruit from the fatigue ofreceiving company, and playing a becoming part in the academicalgaieties with which the summer term at St. Ambrose's closes, in orderto speak encouraging words to the poor crestfallen child. MissVanhansen implored May to cross the herring-pond at her expense, andhave a good time among the Barbarian's relations in Ol' Virginny andKentuck. The girl who had played Alcestis wanted to inaugurate areading-party in which May should be coached all round every day. Failing this, the same adventurous spirit would get up a series ofGreek plays in London drawing-rooms, with Miss Millar's assistance;and so far as she herself was concerned, she would never be contentedtill Miss Millar played Admetus to her Alcestis. A large deputation ofblue-stockinged maidens from Thirlwall Hall escorted May to therailway station, and more than one was relieved to find that she wasgoing first to join her sisters in London instead of carrying themortification of her failure straight to her country-town home. 

It might be the deferring of an ordeal, and yet it was with a whiteface, as abashed and well-nigh as scared as if she had committed acrime, that May awaited Annie in the drawing-room to which theprobationers' friends were free at St. Ebbe's. The consciousness hadcome too late of having wasted the little money her father had to spareon sentimental self-indulgence and the gratification of her own feelingsinstead of employing it as it was meant to be employed, in controllingherself and doing her duty, so as to acquire fitting arms for the battleof life. 

It was this horrible comprehension which made her wistful eyes growdistended and fixed in their sense of guilt and disgrace. She might havecommitted a forgery, and be come to tell Annie what she had done. Maywas essentially one-idea'd at this period of her life, and she had dwelton the fact of her failure and exaggerated its importance, like the mostegotistical of human beings, till it filled her imagination and blottedout every other consideration. 

Annie, in the full career of a busy professional morning, snatched amoment between two important engagements to see her sister. 

May looked with imploring, fascinated eyes at Annie in her nurse's gownand cap. The younger girl had some faint inkling of Annie's earlierexperience in the life of an hospital; yet there she was as fresh andfair and bright as ever--a thousand times cooler and happier-lookingthan her visitor. 

"Here you are, May, " Annie was saying in glad greeting, as she held hersister by the two shoulders, after she had kissed her; "and I declareyou have grown since you went to St. Ambrose's. Oh, you incorrigiblegirl, when you were so much the tallest of us before you went there. "

May could only make one answer with parched lips, faltering tongue, andeyes dry under their heavy cloud of grief, "Annie, I have failed in myexamination!"

Annie started in surprise, while her face fell for a second. "What apity!" she could not help exclaiming. "Father will be----" She broke offin the middle of the sentence. "Don't fret about it, " she added, quicklytaking another look into May's face; "that will do no good, and it isnot very much after all. I cannot stay another minute now, May, " shewent on to tell the bewildered girl in the most matter-of-fact tone, sothat May was in danger of feeling half-offended at finding hertribulation taken so cavalierly--"just like Annie!"

"You must wait for me, " Annie was saying further. "There is a poorfellow--a patient of mine--who is to have his arm amputated thismorning, and I must be with him when it is done. "

"Oh dear!" cried May, completely taken aback, "that is dreadful. Will hedie, Annie? Will he die?" forgetting all her own high-strung woes, theproduct of an advanced stage of civilization, in heart-felt, humansympathy with the most primitive of all trials--bodily suffering andloss. 

"Not if we can help it, please God, " said Annie emphatically. Then aninspiration came to her as she gazed on the girl's white quivering face. "You have been working too hard, 'little May'; you shake your head likea tragedy queen. Then you've been worrying too much, which is a greatdeal worse. I shall take you in hand, but I can't stay to talk about it. Just you think how little my poor fellow would mind not passing anexamination, in comparison with the loss of an arm--fortunately it isthe left one. He is a printer who got his arm crushed under one of thegreat rollers, and he has a wife and five little children dependent ontheir bread-winner. "

Annie was gone, leaving May suddenly transported out of herself, andplunged into the trials of her neighbours, the awfully near, commonlife-and-death trials, of which she had known so little. Her own seemedto sink into insignificance beside them. St. Ambrose's and itsintellectual lists and wordy contests, even its lofty abstrusethoughts--excellent things in their way, without which the unletteredworld would become rude, sordid and narrow--faded into the background. She forgot everything but the poor man passing through a mortal crisis, with Annie able to succour him in his need, and his wife and childrenwaiting to hear whether the end were life or death. 

May held her breath, and watched, prayed, and waited in her turn, withno thought left for the news she had brought to town, and was to carryto Redcross. What did it signify if only the poor man lived when Mayherself was well and strong, and all her dear friends were in health, and likely to be spared to her. 

When Annie came in again with a cheerful face, and said, "He has stoodit wonderfully; there is every prospect of his making a speedyrecovery, " May's face too cleared till for the moment it was almostradiant. She acquiesced, with responsive animation, in Annie'sarrangement that since she, Annie, had got leave of absence for therest of the day she would put on her walking-dress, and she and Maytoo would go and pick up Rose at Mr. St. Foy's class-rooms; and whatwas to hinder all the three from having an expedition together in thefine summer weather to Hampton Court, or Kew, or the Crystal Palace, thus celebrating May's visit to town, and making the most of Annie'sholiday? It would be like dear old times of primrose hunting, blue-bellgathering, maying, and nutting down at Redcross before the cares andtroubles of the world had taken hold of the girls. Annie had alreadysent on May's luggage to Welby Square, to which May would return withRose. Annie excluded herself carefully from this part of the programme, with a kind of unapproachable haughtiness which had three strains ofstubbornness and one strain of fiery youthful anger in its composition, while it was a complete enigma to May. But all she cared to know wasthat she was going with her own two sisters for an entire afternoon'sdelightful excursion. In the morning she had felt that she could neverhave the heart to be happy again. Even yet she would not be quite happy;she would be very much affronted when she was telling Annie and Rose theparticulars of her, May's, silliness and selfishness; how she had givenherself up to moping, and then how she had played herself--first withthe St. Ambrose gaieties, and later with the Greek play, instead ofsetting about her work methodically and diligently. Annie would, perhaps, tell her a few home-truths, and Rose would crumple up hernose, shake her head, and look superhumanly wise--Rose who in theold days had been more thoughtless than May. 

Still she deserved it all a thousand times over, and it would be arelief to have disburdened herself of the sorry tale. 

Her own sisters would defend her from every other assailant. They wouldfeel for her, seek to reassure her, even make much of her, as they weredoing by taking her away with them this afternoon. May was very sensiblethat a burden was lifted off her back. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

DORA IS THE NEXT MESSENGER WITH BAD TIDINGS. 

There is a curious feeling abroad in the world, that no two thingshappen alike on two days, or in two weeks, or months, running. If therehas been a railway accident on Monday, there will certainly not beanother of the same kind at the same place on Tuesday. Apart from thefresh precautions sure to be taken, it is not at all likely, in thechapter of accidents, that a facsimile will occur where the original haspreceded it so recently. On a similar principle, if a man has beenkilled or badly injured by a fall from a horse, it goes against publicopinion that his son or his brother should also be thus injured. If thesingular repetition does take place, people will speak of it with batedbreath, as of a fate or doom hanging over the family, and thereforebound to repeat itself again and again on the old lines. All this is inspite of the fact that there is such a word as "coincidence" in thelanguage, and that there is hardly one of us who cannot rememberseveral startling coincidences in the course of his or her history. 

Annie Millar had an experience of the kind at this time. It was on the20th of June that May arrived unannounced at St. Ebbe's to recount herlost battle. On the 21st Dora appeared, in a like unlooked-for manner, to divulge her sorrowful news. 

Annie was much more troubled by the spectacle of Dora standing alone inthe middle of the hospital drawing-room, pale and agitated, than she hadbeen by the discovery of May in that very condition the day before. Annie's own colour died away while she ran forward and caught Dora'shand. "What is it, Dora? Has anything happened to father or mother?--yetif there had, you would not have left them and come up to town byyourself. Why are you here? Tell me quickly, for it is killing me tokeep me in suspense. "

"Don't be alarmed, " entreated Dora's soft voice. "Father sent me up forthe express purpose that you might not be alarmed when you heard. I musthave managed badly to frighten you. I assure you nothing has happened, at least nothing very particular, only, --well, father is very rheumatic, and the warm weather has done him no good. He has not been out of thehouse for a month, though we did not mention it in our letters, alwayshoping that by the next time we wrote he would be better. But he has notleft his room till he contrived to go in the cab yesterday. Oh! Annie, he has sold his business to Dr. Capes. He--father--said it was no use toprotract the struggle, it was only doing more mischief; he would neverbe able, at his age, to go about again so as to act fairly by hispatients. He has given up everything to the bank's creditors, and willpass through the bankruptcy court. He bade me tell you that he could seeno other way, and he was afraid Rose or you might read his name in the_Gazette_ without being prepared for it. "

"Father ill, old, and a bankrupt!" Annie's cry was bitter. "It is hardafter his long life of honourable industry. I can never forgive Mr. Carey. "

"Hush! hush! Annie, you must not say that. Nothing would grieve fathermore. Nobody has suffered like the Careys. Besides, father always saysthat he alone was to blame for buying the bank shares. He did it of hisown free-will, just that he might grow richer in the idlest mannerpossible for him to do so. Dr. Capes has taken our house, the OldDoctor's House too, and father and mother went into apartments--thoseover Robarts the book-seller's--yesterday, till they could look aboutthem. " Dora was crying quietly all the time she was speaking, and at thesame time she was breaking off to say with pathetic resigned trust likeher mother's, "But only think, Annie dear, how much worse it might havebeen! What a great deal we have to be thankful for. Look at poor Mr. Carey sitting paralyzed, and quite childish; and do you know the sadnews arrived last night that poor poor Colonel Russell is dead? He had asun-stroke, and died within twelve hours; he has not been three monthsat his new post. Dear father has all his senses, and he says himself hemay live for years and years. "

"I hope so, " said Annie fervently; but it is doubtful whether she fullyappreciated the blessings of her lot at that moment. She busied herselffor a few minutes with Dora, her nurse's instinct as well as heraffection telling her that Dora must be seen to first. Annie took offDora's hat and jacket, seated her in the easiest chair, would hearnothing more till she--Annie--had learnt when Dora had breakfasted, andthen rung for a basin of soup and made her swallow it. "Now, Dora, " shesaid, sitting down by her sister, "tell me all there is to tell. Whathave father and mother to live upon? We must think and act for themnow. "

Dora explained as well as she was able, since, like her mother, she hadno great head for business. In addition to the sum given for thegood-will of Dr. Millar's practice, and for his house and furniture, which was to be paid over to the liquidators of the bank's debts, (inreturn for which the debtor would get a discharge from fartherobligations, ) a small percentage was to be allowed to him from hissuccessor's fees. 

"I am afraid it will be very small, " Dora made the despondent remark, "because, though all his former patients are fond of father, they got tosee he was breaking up, and did not like to send for him during thenight, or at odd hours. Mother and I did what we could, going round forhim and inquiring after his patients; but, as he said, such a make-shiftcould not last. We were always hearing of more families calling in Dr. Capes or Mr. Newton. Father declared he could not blame them; he wouldhave done the same in their place, and that every dog must have hisday. "

"That was like father, " said Annie, looking up with a fleeting sparklein her eyes. 

"Then we thought, " went on Dora, "father and mother might have part ofmother's money, since you have always said you did not need it, whileRose is getting paid for her work, and there is hardly any doubt"(brightening up, ) "but that 'little May' will take the scholarship. She was working so hard to pass her examination when she wrote last, that she was quite out of spirits about her chances, which father saysis always the way with the best men when they are going in for anexamination that they are safe to win. He supposes it will be stillmore so with women. He tells mother that he will not mind taking helpfrom her, where her money is concerned, when he can no longer stir fromhis chair--not to say to earn a fee, but to save his life. He has takenso much more help from her in other ways during all their married life, that this in addition will not count. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE UNEMPLOYED--A FAMILIAR FACE. 

A lodging was found near the Hospital for Dora, who was to stay in townand look out for a situation; and for the next week, a week of hotsummer weather, Annie, relieved from her hospital work, because it washer first holiday time, went to and fro, spending as little as possibleon omnibus fares, with Dora and May in her train, in search ofemployment for them. People were beginning to leave town, and the timedid not seem propitious. When was it ever propitious for such a pursuitwhere women are concerned? Even under Annie's able guidance, with thespirit which she could summon to her aid in all difficulties, theintentional and unintentional rebuffs which the two girl candidates, particularly Dora, got from agents and principals in connection withladies in want of useful companions and nursery-governesses wereinnumerable. The swarms of needy, greedy applicants for similarsituations whom the Millars were perpetually encountering in theirrounds, were enough to cause the stoutest heart to quail, and to sinkthe most sanguine nature into the depths of despondency. 

Dora Millar was not constitutionally sanguine, and she grew more andmore nervous and dispirited as the fruitless efforts went on. Her littlefigure drooped, her eyes had a dejected expression, her lips quiveredpathetically without any provocation. Annie was compelled to use stronglanguage. "The idiots!" she exclaimed, _apropos_ of the last persons whohad found Dora too young or too old, not strong enough looking, or notlively enough looking ("not as if she could stand a large amount ofbullying and worrying, " Annie read between the lines). "What a chancethey are letting slip through their fingers of getting the mostunexacting, contented creature in the world to minister to theirtiresome wants. They will never see her like again; serve them right fortheir blindness. "

One particularly glaring, airless afternoon, the three sisters weretoiling back to Dora's lodging, with the London pavement like heatediron under the feet of the crowds that trod it, and the cloudless sky, in which the sun blazed a ball of fire, like glowing brass over theirheads. Then as the Millars turned a corner and looked longingly at thetrees in a square with their leaves already yellowing and shrivelling, May uttered a little shriek of delight and darted forward to greet afamiliar figure and face in the stream of strangers. What did it signifythat the figure was insignificant by comparison, and the face withnothing distinguished in its pallor, under its red beard andmoustache?--"a little foxy-headed fellow, " any sharp-tongued bystandermight have called him. It was a well-known face where all the otherswere drearily unknown, a Redcross face in London, the face of a man whomight have shown himself an enemy, yet had proved a friend in need; andthough there had been presented to the girls the bearing of a Jupiterand the lineaments of an Adonis, they could not have hailed him withgreater gladness. If anybody hung back in the general acclamation it wasDora, for Annie did not say a word to rebuke May; she was too anxious tohear the last news of her father. 

More than one man among the passers-by, glancing at Tom Robinsonsurrounded by a group of pretty girls, the two prettiest evidentlymaking much of him and hanging on his words, called him in their minds"lucky dog, " and speculated on the nature of the attraction. 

"'_Prope'ty, prope'ty, prope'ty_, '" no doubt. It was disgraceful to seehow mercenary even quite young women were getting. 

Tom received the ovation, at which, by the bye, he was a little takenaback and puzzled, quietly and in a matter-of-fact way, as he receivedmost things. He had had the pleasure of seeing Dr. And Mrs. Millarlately; indeed, he had availed himself of the privileges of an oldfriend to call on them at once in their new quarters, he told Annie, andhe had found them, by their own account, fairly well and comfortable, though the Doctor was still dead lame. 

Tom did not tell either Annie, or any one else interested in theinformation, that he had spent the last few days pushing the circulationof a subscription list, which he had headed with the promise of ahandsome sum. It was to provide a testimonial not altogether inadequateto mark the esteem in which the townspeople held their old Doctor forhis many virtues, and their sympathy with him in his misfortunes. Aliberal offering on the town's part might do something to relieve theadversity which had befallen a fellow-townsman. The talk a little timeago had been of presenting Dr. Millar with a new brougham and horse, which, as they would have had to be maintained at the charge of a manwho had just put down his old brougham as beyond his diminished income, was rather an illogical method of serving him. However, his completebreakdown, with the sale of his practice, had at once knocked that ideaon the head, and had given its motive a much wider application. If thelittle Doctor were to submit to accept help, it must be commensuratewith the dignity of Redcross and the county, and with his ownprofessional status and merit. 

Tom Robinson looked at the girls as two of them looked at him. "It istiring weather, " he suggested hesitatingly; "is it wise of you to walkout in the heat?"

"Oh! Mr. Robinson, " cried May effusively, "we are so tired--just deadbeat--though Annie there does not like me to talk slang--but it is soexpressive, don't you think so? It is not to-day only, but yesterday andthe day before, we have been hunting for situations, and have not foundthem yet. Do you know, Dora and I are going to take situationsimmediately if we can get them?"

His face changed, and he knit his brow involuntarily. 

"What a magpie it is!" said Annie, impatiently. "But, of course, youhave heard all about the turn father's affairs have taken since this badrheumatic attack, which he does not believe he can shake off. It neednot be any secret that my sisters are looking out for situations. "

He did not answer; he was prevented by the painful consciousness thatDora appeared ready to sink into the ground. 

"Won't you avail yourself of my arm, Miss Dora? Won't you let me see youhome?" he proposed hurriedly. 

She could not refuse; indeed, she was only too thankful for the offeredsupport, though she murmured a protest against troubling him and takinghim out of his way. And she could not altogether conceal how put out aswell as weary she was, so that the little hand, which just touched hiscoat-sleeve, fluttered on its resting-place like a newly-caught bird. 

He hailed a cab, and wished to put them all into it. 

"I dare say it would be better, " said Annie, glancing at Dora's whiteface, with the new trick of quivering which the lips had acquired. Asthe cab was driving up, she gave Tom Robinson their address--"17, LittleSt. Ebbe's Street, " with the amount of the fare, looking at him almostfiercely while she took the money from her purse. "Will you be goodenough to direct the man and pay him for us?" she said, and he dared notdispute her will. 

But when he yielded, she seemed to think his friendliness and power ofcomprehension deserved something better than they had got. "Will youcome with us?" Annie invited him; and when she softened, it was alwaysin such a bright frank way that it was hard to resist her. "We'll bevery pleased to give you a cup of tea at Dora's lodging--at least we cando that for you, and it may be acceptable on such an oppressiveafternoon. "

He, a guest at a lodging of Dora Millar's: it sounded odd enough!

"Do come, Mr. Robinson, " his friend May was imploring, while Dora, sensible that something was due from her as the ostensible mistress ofthe lodging, echoed shyly, without raising her eyes to his face, "Yes, come, please. "

Did she remember the last time she gave him tea in the drawing-room ofthe Old Doctor's House, where they were not likely to meet again? Howawkward they found the _tête-à-tête_. How they shrank from their handstouching, while he reproached her for aiding and abetting May in tryingto shirk going to St. Ambrose's; and she had borne his reproaches andadmitted the reasonableness of his arguments, with all the meek candourof Dora, while still making a last stand for May. 

He went with the girls as if he were in a dream; but he was not left todream in Dora's very plain lodging, where Annie and not the mistress ofthe lodging poured out tea, and May insisted on helping him to breadand butter. He saw Rose, too, who had been awaiting the return of hersisters. It sent another pang to his brotherly heart to discover thatRose also was subdued and well-nigh careworn. She still wrinkled herforehead and crumpled up her nose, but it was no longer in the old saucyway; it was under her share of the heavy burden of trouble which hadfallen on these dauntless girls and might end by crushing them. 

May was not to be kept from the immense solace of making a clean breastto her former ally of her stupid dawdling and trifling, and theretribution which had at once befallen her. "Did father tell you, Mr. Robinson, that I have failed in my examination?" she began plaintively. "Yes, I have, and it was all my own fault. I was too silly; I would notpull myself together and work hard from the first. Now it will never bein my power to go back to St. Ambrose's. I'll not be able to atone formy folly by showing that everybody was not wrong when it was believedthat I might be a fair scholar, win a scholarship, and rise to beclassical mistress in a girls' school. " At the announcement of thedisastrous failure, by her own deed, of all the ambitious plans for her, May threatened to break down, springing up and turning away, hershoulders heaving in a paroxysm of mortification and grief. 

Tom Robinson used to say, afterwards, that he never witnessed aprettier sight than the manner in which the three other girls ralliedround their poor "little May, " from Annie downwards. They took off herhat, pulled off her gloves, smoothed her ruffled hair, patted hertear-stained cheeks, seated her in an arm-chair, brought her tea, andmade her drink it, bidding her not be too disheartened. They pledgedthemselves--even Dora pledged herself stoutly--that, if it rested withthem, and they were young and strong, they would find work of one kindor another--May should go back to St. Ambrose's some day and vindicateher scholarliness. Father and mother and all of them would be proud ofher. 

It rendered the man doubly indignant from that day when he heardscoffers say that there could be no true friendship between women, andthat the relation of sisters existed simply for the growth of rivalryand jealousy. 

May was still shaking her head disconsolately, and reminding him, "Ah, Mr. Robinson, it would have been better if you had let me stay at homeand go into your shop, like Phyllis Carey. I might have done some goodthere, though you may not believe it, and only feel glad that you gotrid of me. "

Then he took her in hand, and administered his consolation. "Nonsense, Miss May, " he said, with sufficient peremptoriness for a man who hadbeen rather accustomed to efface himself in these girls' presence, "youwere not to be suffered to hide your light under a bushel. I wonder tohear you--I thought you had more pluck and perseverance. How many timesdo you think the young fellows at St. Ambrose's are turned back and haveto try again? If I passed in my first exam, it was by the merest fluke, as three-fourths of the men will tell you they pass. As for my degree, I had the common sense and modesty to put off taking it to the lastmoment, and to stay up two different vacations, 'sapping' like aScotchman, before I ventured to undergo the test. You don't mean to sayyou are too proud to do at Rome as the Romans do, that your genius willbrook no rejection, and declines to grapple with an obstacle? I'll tellyou what your father proposes for you, and let me say that I believe itwould do him a world of good--now that he has been forced to give up hispatients, and is confined to his chair. He has not lost heart and faithin your powers--of course not. He is thinking quite eagerly of brushingup his classics in his enforced leisure, and himself becoming your coachfor the next six months. I need not say that any small assistance I canoffer is heartily at your service also. "

"Oh!" said May, with wistful brown eyes and a long-drawn sigh, "you area great deal too good to me, all of you. I don't deserve it. It wouldonly be too much happiness for me to have father and you to coachme--but I know we could not afford it. "

"Wait and see, " said Tom succinctly. 

"If I got that situation, " said Dora timidly, "I might do something tohelp May: I mean the one where the lady said she would take me intoconsideration, but we thought it would not do, because I should have togo out to Jamaica. On second thoughts, I am not sure that I'd mind sovery much going. The lady seemed to consider I might be able to do whatshe required, and I should only be away for a year or two, since thefamily are coming back then. The salary was very good. "

Dora go out to Jamaica to help May, or any one else! Not though he hadto fling cheques in at the windows, and squeeze Bank of England notesthrough the keyholes, to prevent it. 

"Hester Jennings says she would not be very much surprised if she heardof a buyer for my tulip picture; but I don't know, " said Rosedoubtfully, glancing at the picture, which was on an adjoining table. 

"May I look at it?" asked Tom Robinson, jumping up with alacrity, probably to make a diversion in the conversation from the obnoxioustopic of Dora's problematical voyage to Jamaica. He had seen Rose's workat Redcross, and he could give it as his honest opinion that she hadmade a great advance in her art, though he did not profess to be ajudge. He said, however, that he had a friend, an old St. Ambrose crony, who was an artist. They had happened to be together in Rome at a laterdate, had been a good deal thrown on each other's company there, and hadcontinued to keep up a friendly intercourse. He requested permission forhis friend to call and look at the little picture. He might be of use toRose in disposing of it; he was always ready to help a fellow-artist. Tom supposed the Millars had heard his friend's name, it was pretty wellknown; indeed they might have seen him, for Pemberton and Lady Mary, hiswife, had spent a few days with Tom at Redcross, and had been in churchon the Sunday during their visit, the summer before last. 

In spite of the obligations of good breeding, the Millars looked at eachother in open-mouthed astonishment. Certainly they had heard ofPemberton the distinguished landscape painter, and they had been toldthat he had married into the peerage, as Aunt Penny had married into thecounty. The girls also remembered perfectly the quiet-looking youngcouple who had been noticed walking about with Tom Robinson the Julybefore last. People had wondered languidly who the strangers couldbe--whether they were cousins far removed on Tom's father's side of thehouse, since they did not quite answer to the style of his mother'syeomen kindred. But it was an effort to the provincial mind to identifythe unobtrusive-looking pair with the Pembertons, to realize that Mr. Pemberton and his Lady Mary had actually come and stayed the better partof a week with Tom Robinson. They could hardly have been ignorant of"Robinson's, " whose master was only received into the upper-class housesof the town on a species of sufferance. 

The peerage must have unique rules by which to frame its standards. There was the Hon. Victoria, Mrs. Carey's niece by marriage, who, whenCarey's Bank was in full bloom, would hardly be seen in the streets ofRedcross, and scarcely deigned to acknowledge her own aunt-in-law. As tothe familiarity of staying a night in the Bank House, she would neverhave dreamt of it. In this respect she did little credit to the teachingof her old governess, Miss Franklin, who had shown herself a philosopherin her own person. Perhaps, when it came to stooping at all, the peeragefelt it might as soon, and with a still more gracious and gracefuleffect, bend low as bend slightly. Perhaps in the peerage, as in everyother class, there are all sorts and conditions of mind and heart. 

A little clue might have been supplied to account for the eccentricityof the Pembertons, and to lessen the shock of their conduct to theMillars, if the latter had been made acquainted with one circumstance. About the time of the stay of the artist and his wife in Rome, where hehad been only too glad to run up against a favourite old college chum, when the three had been making a long excursion in company beyond theCampagna, Pemberton had been suddenly attacked in a remote little townwith a violent illness. 

His poor young wife would have been utterly frightened and forlorn hadit not been for the moral courage and untiring good offices of the thirdperson in the company--Tom Robinson. 

Tom did not appear conscious of the sensation he had created by themention of his friend. He arranged when Mr. Pemberton should come andview Rose's picture to suit Rose's convenience, and not that of thefamous and courted artist. Then he explained in all sincerity, before hetook his leave, that he, Tom Robinson, was very sorry he could not havethe pleasure of bringing Pemberton and introducing him personally, because a business engagement called the master of "Robinson's" back toRedcross early next morning. 

The party he left were quite silent and still for a moment after he hadgone, till what she had heard of Mr. Pemberton went to Rose's head tosuch a degree that she rose, whirled round on tiptoe, and caused herspread-out frock to perform the feat which children call "making acheese. "

"Won't it be delicious to know Mr. Pemberton and get his advice--perhapsone day presume to ask him how he does his hay-fields and orchards? Whatwill Hester Jennings say! I say, we'll have Hester to meet him; she willcome for such a painter though the whole peerage would not get her tobudge an inch. I wish we could tone her down a little bit, but he mustjust swallow her whole. She is good and clever enough to be permittedthat rugged line of her own. Oh! but isn't Tom Robinson a trump? I_will_ be slangy, Annie--as May says, it is so expressive. "

"Yes, yes, " chimed in May enthusiastically, in reference to the man andnot to the slang. "I have known it ever since he came up like alion--why do you laugh, Rose?--and rescued Tray--don't you remember, Dora?--from that horrid brute of a collie. Tray bit him--Mr. Robinson, Imean--not knowing that he was his best friend, and he only laughed. Hewas so kind about my wishing to go into his shop, like Phyllis Carey, though he would not take me. I think it must be a privilege, as MissFranklin tells Phyllis, to serve him. She says all the nice people inthe shop have the greatest regard for him. "

"I am so sorry and ashamed that I ever drew caricatures of him, " saidRose, in pensive penitence. "I think, whenever I am able, I must painthis portrait, as I see him now, to make up for it. "

"And ask him to have it hung above the oak staircase in the shop, "suggested Annie, a little satirically. But she added immediately, "Though it broke no bones to dwell on his lack of height and his foxycomplexion, I am rather sorry now that I did it, because I have ceasedto think that these objectionable details deserved to be made of anyconsequence. On the contrary, I own to the infatuation of beginning tosee that there is something fine in them. I suppose I shall be callingTom Robinson's hair golden, or tawny, or chestnut soon, and his inchesthe proper height for a man. It is true, " broke off Annie, with sudden, unaccountable perversity, "I do hate great lumbering flaxen-hairedgiants. " She blushed furiously after she had indulged in the lastdigression, and hastened to resume the main thread of the conversation. "As for Tom Robinson's having little to say, I declare that my presentimpression is that he says quite enough, and very much to the purposetoo. It was so nice and like a gentleman of him not to proposeimmediately to buy Rose's picture when she talked rashly of her anxietythat it should find a purchaser. "

"I don't think Cyril Carey, with all his airs, would have shown so muchdelicacy in the old days, " said Rose. 

"Or that Ned Hewett, though Ned has such a kind heart, would have beenable to avoid blundering into some such offer, " remarked May. 

There was one person who remained absolutely silent while the otherssang Tom Robinson's praises, and it might be her silence which calledher sisters' attention to her. 

"I wonder what you would have, Dora?" said Rose, with several shades ofsuperciliousness in her voice and in her lifted-up nose. 

"I cannot understand how you could be such a cruel, hard-hearted girl, "May actually reproached her devoted slave. 

"There is such a thing as being too particular, " Annie had the coolnessto say. "I am sure I do not go in for indiscriminate marriages or forfalling in love, " she added with lofty decision. "It has always been amystery to me what poor Fanny Russell could see to care for, or to doanything save laugh at, in Cyril Carey. I hope the elderly 'competitionwallah, ' or commissioner, or whatever he is, whom she is going to marry, has more sense as well as more money. For her marriage was arranged, though the news had not reached England, mother writes, before thetidings of Colonel Russell's death came. But when a man who can act asTom Robinson has acted crosses a woman's path and pays her thecompliment of asking her to be his wife, I do think she should becareful what she answers. "

Dora stared as if she were losing her senses. Were they laughing at herstill? Could they be in earnest? If so, how was it possible for them tobe so flagrantly inconsistent and unjust? She could only utter a singleexclamation. But as the worm will turn, the exclamation was emphatic andindignant enough. "Well!" she cried, in utter amazement and incipientrebellion. "Well!" and she returned the challenging gaze of the circlewith a counter-challenge, before which all eyes except Annie's fell. 

Annie had the audacity to look Dora in the face and echo the "Well!"nay, to say further, "You never heard of anything so disgraceful as forus to turn upon you and find fault with you for refusing Tom Robinson, when all the time it was we who laughed at him, and scouted his shop, keeping you up to the point of dismissing him without delay? Quite true, Dora, dear; but then it was you, and not _us_, whom he was proposing tomarry! and a girl old enough to receive such a proposal should have thewit to judge for herself--should she not? She ought to cultivate thepenetration to look beneath the surface in so important a matter, andthen fewer lamentable mistakes would be made. However, nobody couldexpect you to put force on your inclinations, and he does not bear youmalice. "

Annie did not regard her share in the matter so cheerfully and lightlywhen she was in the privacy of a ward of St. Ebbe's, where she hadbegged to sit up with an unconscious patient, just to keep her hand inand compose her feelings. 

"What mischievous little wretches we were, " she reflected, as shedeftly changed the wet cloth on the sick woman's hot forehead. "Howhappy he might have made Dora, and how happy she might have made him!She is so single-minded and tender-hearted, that she could hardly havefailed to see his merits, if we had given him the chance, let heralone, and left the pair to themselves. Then, if the worst were tocome to the worst, " and Annie frowned with anxiety and grief, as wellas with wholesome humiliation, "if poor father and mother cannot getalong, and none of us girls can help them effectually, his house mighthave been their home, where he would never have let them feel otherthan honoured guests. He would have been a son to them. But themischief is done, and there is no help for it. If Dora and he were anordinary couple, it might be mended; but now she will not look at himwhen we none of us have a penny, because she refused him when we werein comfortable circumstances; and he will not renew his suit with thethought in his mind that it would look and feel to her as if anyfavour he has magnanimously conferred on us, were a mere bribe tocompel her to listen to him. So, Annie Millar, this is a pretty kettleof fish, of which you have been chief cook! There is the greaterreason for you to make up your mind from this moment to devoteyourself wholly to your family, and let nothing--_nothing_, " sheprotested with suspicious vehemence, "come between you and them. "

"What is it, you poor soul?" the young nurse responded quickly to amovement of the helpless ailing creature beside her. "Do you know thereis somebody here? Will it ease you to have your head raised on my arm, do you think? You cannot hear or answer, but we'll try that, and then itis just possible you may drop asleep. " And for the rest of the watchAnnie was absorbed in care for her patient. 

CHAPTER XX. 

REDCROSS AGAIN. 

Tom Robinson's subscription list attained the respectable sum-total oftwo thousand pounds. Many of the subscribers were not only patients ofDr. Millar, but creditors of the bank whose claims he had striven withsturdy honesty to satisfy, till the task proved too hard for his years. 

The little Doctor received the token of how greatly his courage andstaunchness in the fulfilment of his obligations had been respected, with half pained, half pleased gratitude, and this was very much theattitude of mind of his daughter Annie. The rest of his womankind, fromMrs. Millar to May, only felt a glad surprise, and a soft, proudthankfulness. 

The relief from present difficulties was great, but of course the giftdid not obviate the necessity for the girls seeking work and wages. EvenMay, when she ventured to hope that she might stay at home for a monthor two and be coached by her father and Tom Robinson in anticipation ofa more successful campaign at St. Ambrose's, was eagerly speculatingwhether she might not become a coach in her turn. She was fain to earn alittle money by helping the very youngest of the Grammar School boys toprepare their Latin grammar in the evenings, supposing she could getthem to sit still, and give over wishing her to play with them. 

Mr. Pemberton had not only himself called on the Miss Millar who was theartist, he had brought Lady Mary with him, and both husband and wife hadturned out the refined, thoroughly unassuming, kindly disposed couplethey had looked. They spoke warmly of Tom Robinson as their very goodfriend, and went so far as to express enthusiasm for his beautiful oldshop. Mr. Pemberton did better than merely say a few words of languid, indiscriminating praise of Rose's picture, and then bow himself out. Heexamined the picture closely, and looked at her thoughtfully andattentively out of the dark gray eyes, the only good feature in hisface. The next moment, to Hester Jennings's great edification, headdressed Rose seriously as a member of the Guild of St. Luke--not anamateur, "one of ourselves, so that you must not mind what I say to you, Miss Millar. " He first displayed a generous capacity for discoveringsomething good, whether it were to be found in the work of a tyro or ofa veteran. Next he took the trouble of pointing out the faults, andurging their remedy, telling her the picture was worth the pains ofmaking it as true as possible, until Rose hung her head in blended prideand humility. 

What was more, he offered to enter into negotiations with apicture-dealer on her behalf, and brought them to a triumphantconclusion, making Rose happy with so fair a price as materially tolighten the millstone of her resigned office at the Misses Stone'shanging round her neck. 

It was settled that May should go home and profit by the coaching whichawaited her at Redcross, taking the chance of finding some little boyswhose Latin grammar would be the better of her supervision. 

Next Mr. Pemberton wrote that Lady Mary had been so charmed with theneighbourhood of Redcross, and had spoken so highly of it to one of hercousins, who had a great liking for English landscape, and was justrefurnishing his town house, that he wished to commission a set ofwater-colour sketches of such and such spots for his morning-room. Itwas Mr. Pemberton's opinion that Miss Rose Millar could execute thecommission to Sir John Neville's satisfaction, if she cared to accept ofit. 

"It is to help me, " said Rose humbly, "for there are hundreds of goodartists who would take the work and be thankful, and do it far better, though I will do my very best. Tom Robinson is at the bottom of itdirectly or indirectly, but he is like an old friend. I don't know a manto whom I would sooner be obliged. "

In the third instance, a totally unforeseen application was made toAnnie. A fever, in certain respects unfamiliar in its type, broke out atStokeleigh, one of several suburban villages on the outskirts ofRedcross. Some authorities called the fever Russian, and declared it hadbeen imported--they did not pretend to say how--from that remote empire. Others insisted it was a slow fever, of English growth, with curiouscomplications. It appeared doubtful whether it were infectious; butthere was one thing which was unmistakable, that, whatever kind ofmalaria brooding in the summer air was at the root of the complaint, that malaria showed a disposition to spread extensively. It passed fromStokeleigh to the adjoining village of Woodleigh, whence it took a bendin the direction of the town, and proceeded to squat, as malarias cansquat, and settle indefinitely on all the low-lying districts ofRedcross. Neither did the epidemic improve in character with the changeof locality. For, whereas on the higher, less encumbered ground thefever had been rarely fatal, the mortality increased with the transferof the disease to the crowded, damp purlieus of the older part of thetown, built more or less on the Dewes, and liable to be invaded by theriver in flood. 

A combined meeting of the Town Council and Vestry, with the Mayor, whohappened to be a public-spirited man, and the Rector heading it, determined on taking prompt action to stop the mischief. The town hadlately built a Corn Exchange in one of the highest, best-ventilatedsituations in Redcross. It was to be committed to the care of a town'sofficer and his wife, who were to have the adjoining rooms rent-free fora domicile, together with certain perquisites, in return for sweeping, scrubbing, and looking after the hall. But the place was just finished, and had not yet been occupied in the manner intended. It was proposed toconvert it, in the absence of other accommodation, into a temporary wardfor the sufferers from fever. The doctors consulted, pledged themselvesthat there was every probability of the unwelcome visitor being thusstamped out, while the chances of recovery for the patients would bemultiplied. It was also agreed to bring a trained nurse from somenursing institution, to mould the raw nursing materials which Redcrosssupplied on the emergency. Dr. Millar's successor had a bright idea thatit might be a graceful act on his part to mention the old Doctor'sdaughter, who had gone in for nursing as a profession. She had alreadyserved nearly a year in a great London hospital, and was no doubtcompetent to undertake the duties required. It would be a compliment toher and her father to try and get her for the occasion, and there wouldbe a certain _éclat_ in her coming to the help of her native town in itsneed. Dr. Capes was right as to the popularity of his motion. It wasreceived with unanimous approval. Annie, the matron, and the directorsof St. Ebbe's, were immediately applied to in proper form. Annie burnedto go, if such a step were admissible at the present stage of hercareer. The favour she had won on all sides aided in the fulfilment ofher wishes. She was promoted from the ranks of the probationers to thoseof the nurses while yet her year wanted a fraction of its completeround, and was officially sent down to represent the nurses of St. Ebbe's at Redcross. 

"Of course, Dora, you cannot be left behind to go on by yourself huntingfor a situation with three-fourths of the great world out of town. I amafraid you would make a poor job of it at the best, Dora dear, and atthe worst it is not to be thought of; it would be a waste ofnerve-tissue and muscle, as well as of pounds, shillings, and pence. Youwill come too; we'll be all together, or nearly together, again, for aholiday, after all. "

Dora, who had been waiting patiently for Annie's decision, was nothingloth. 

"Rose's expenses and mine are more than paid, " calculated the practicalAnnie, "so that we shall be no drag on father and mother. I don't knowif Robarts's accommodation will extend beyond the additional bedroom forRose and May, but that can be easily managed. Oh! I have it, Dora, youwill stay with me at the hospital--the Corn Exchange I mean--and save mefrom having a housekeeper for the short time one will be wanted. I'lltake care that no infection, if there be infection, will come near you. Oh, 'won't it be jolly, ' as Rose says, for you and me to keep house byourselves at dear old Redcross, of all places in the world?"

It was arranged so, with only a little demur from Mrs. Millar, over-ruled by her husband. 

There was another person, without right or power to enter his vetoagainst the existing order of things, who nevertheless decidedlydemurred at them. Tom Robinson showed that though he might be a humaneman there were bounds to his humanity. "It is all very well for AnnieMillar to come down and nurse the fever patients, it is in the way ofher business, she does as much every day, she is well acquainted withall the precautions to take. But Dora is not a nurse, she never thinksof herself, she will forget to take the precautions if she has everheard of them. She has not strong nerves, and she is used up with thispreposterous stumping of London in July in search of a situation. Whatin the name of common sense and natural affection do they mean bylugging Dora into the risk!" he grumbled and worried. "Oh! yes, ofcourse she would follow Annie or any of the rest of them fast enough ifshe had the opportunity, though she were to die at the end of it; butshe ought never to have had the opportunity, it was preposterous to lether. The whole thing is monstrous. I never heard of such rashness. Whatcan Dr. And Mrs. Millar be thinking of?"

It felt queer, to say the least of it, as well as "jolly, " to be atRedcross and not at the Old Doctor's House, over which a bride ofyesterday was presiding, for Dr. Capes's marriage had taken placesimultaneously with his purchase of Dr. Millar's practice. 

Annie used to look over from the opposite side of the street, as she waswalking along, at the alterations which were being made in the garden, and the new arrangement of the window curtains, and try to criticizethem impartially. Then she had to call and see Dr. Capes, and wait inthe familiar consulting-room till he insisted on taking her to thedrawing-room, in order to introduce her to his wife, who had come astranger to Redcross. Annie felt as if she were a disembodied spirit, ora dreamer in a dream from which she could not awake, while she gazed onthe changed yet well-known aspect of everything around her. But she hadto think of Dr. And Mrs. Capes, in whose house she was, and talk civillyto them of their improvements(!). She had to emulate the submission ofDora, who had seen the transfer coming and taken part in it. She had tocopy the mercurial spirits of Rose and May. They were so pleased to bewith their father and mother again, and to take possession of PhyllisCarey's every free moment, that they declared the Robarts's apartmentswere the very nicest the girls had ever seen. They, the apartments, weredelightfully cosy (which meant stuffy in July). They were more cheerful(noisier) than the Old Doctor's House. It was great fun for the pair tostow themselves and their belongings within such narrow compass. 

A serious vexation to Annie at the commencement of her enterprise wasthe arrival of Dr. Harry Ironside to diagnose and make what he could ofthe fever. 

"What is he doing here? His coming at all is most impertinent, " criedAnnie indignantly, sitting down on one of the still empty beds in thebarrack-like hall, and as it were daring Rose and May, who had broughtthe news, and Dora who was listening to them, to contradict her. 

"He is come in the pursuit of knowledge, " said Rose, with full commandof her countenance. "He does not understand Russian fever, or whateverit is, and he thinks he had better make its acquaintance as a wind up totaking his degree. He is still a doctor at large; he has not fixed onwhere he is to go and what he is to do next, so his sister Kate writesto me. "

"Then he and his sister Kate had better make up their minds to go awaytogether, somewhere else, and not trouble other people, " cried Anniequite illogically. 

"Why, Annie, father thinks it is very praiseworthy of Dr. Ironside toseek to get all the information he can before settling down as adoctor, " remonstrated May in the guilelessness of her heart. "He hasjust been calling on father, who is delighted with him--so is mother;and, for _my_ part, " finished the speaker with unconscious emphasis, asif her opinion were of the utmost consequence, "I have thought him verynice since the first time I met him at Mrs. Jennings's. He is so big andhandsome, without being stuck up, or a swell, like what Cyril Carey usedto be--just frank and pleasant as a man should be. I cannot comprehendwhy you have such a dislike to him. "

"Upon my word!" exclaimed Annie, with a gasp. "But I don't care, " sheadded vehemently; "he shall not come and carry on his investigationshere. Dr. Capes and I, with father to appeal to, and Mr. Newton to callin and consult, if necessary, are more than sufficient for all thepatients we are likely to get. I tell you, if he forces his way into myhospital I'll have nothing more to do with it; I'll throw it all up andgo back to St. Ebbe's at once. "

"But it is not your hospital, Annie, " said Rose with provokingmatter-of-factness. "It is the town's, or if it is under the control ofany private person, it is under Dr. Capes's orders. For the sake of hisprofessional character, medical etiquette, and all that kind of thing, he will not refuse to allow a fellow-doctor to study the fever casesunder his care. Dr. Harry was going to stay at the 'Crown, ' but he metTom Robinson, who said he should be his guest, and carried him off tohis house. "

"Just like Tom Robinson!" declared Annie with amazing asperity. 

"Come along, May. " Rose hurried away her sister and satellite, and thenlet loose her glee. "It is too funny, May; too preposterously funny. Itis ever so much better than Dora and Tom Robinson. He was so easilyrebuffed, and she was so reluctant to rebuff him. But here is Annielike one of the furies, and Harry Ironside is silly enough to mind her, so that he can hardly open his mouth before her, and looks as if he hadlost his wits. Before Annie! What is our Annie, I should like to know, that she should daunt a clever, high-spirited young fellow such as heis? What strange glamour has she thrown over him? But he has plenty ofmettle and determination for all that, and she will no more manage byher tirades to stop him from coming after her and laying siege to herladyship, than she can keep the sun from shining or the rain fromfalling. For that matter, I believe the poor fellow cannot help himself;it is the case of the moth and the candle. "

"But what is it all about?" demanded May, in an utter confusion ofideas. "She speaks as if she hated him, and I thought he had come toRedcross to trace the course of the Russian fever. "

"To trace the course of his own fortunes. I beg your pardon, my dear, but you might have known enough of human nature to guess that there wasa private personal motive at the bottom of his philanthropy. "

"Then it is the worse for him and a great pity, " said May, with thesweet seriousness into which one phase of her childishness was passing. "I wonder you can laugh, Rose. I am always affronted when I rememberhow we laughed at Tom Robinson and poor Dora, making game of what was nojoke to them. And Dora was not half so much opposed to Tom as Annie isto this unfortunate, nice, pleasant young doctor. I could find it in myheart to be very sorry for him. "

"Oh! you are a simpleton apart from Latin and Greek. Don't you see thatAnnie's wrath is neither more nor less than fright? She is frightenedout of her senses at him, because she wants to keep her independence andshare our fortunes. As I do not remember to have seen her in such ascare before, I should say that she is paying him a high compliment. "

"I think it is rather a queer compliment, " objected May in muchperplexity. 

 "'Though you should choose to dissemble your love, Why need you kick me down-stairs?"

quoted Rose. "Oh! but the poet did not know the world, or pretended notto know it. I assure you there are many wise men who would much ratherbe kicked in this way than be civilly spoken to. Kate Ironside thoughtfit to confide to me how much interested she was in a suit which, if itever succeeded, would make us all brothers and sisters. She was so goodas to add that while she was aware Harry always knew best, and she hadentire faith in his choice, still she was not entirely of his mind--Idon't believe Annie has ever spoken to her, lest speech with the sistershould be taken for encouragement to the brother. It is only naturalperhaps that, as Kate ventured to admit, on the whole she would havepreferred _me_. "

"And what did you say to that?" asked the deeply-interested May. 

"No, thanks, though I was much obliged, or something like it. I addedwith some dignity, I flatter myself, though really such dignity isthrown away on Kate, that for the present I was wedded to my art, likeQueen Elizabeth to her kingdom, and to my sister Maisie. Besides, nothing could, would, or should ever induce me to meddle with my sisterAnnie's property, since, according to Kate's own account, it was forlove of Annie, and not of me, that Harry Ironside took up his residenceunder Mrs. Jennings's roof. "

But Annie had to give way to some extent. She was compelled to grant aninterview to the aggressor. Dr. Ironside arrived on a special errand tothe hospital, and he took up the position that Miss Millar was entitledto be consulted. Tom Robinson had been attacked with every symptom ofthe fever. He and Tom had agreed, in view of the public character of"Robinson's, " and with the idea that the step might do good, by servingas an example, that the patient should come to the hospital and be laidup there, where Dr. Harry Ironside was ready to devote himself to thecase. 

"I believe Tom Robinson has taken the fever on purpose, " said Annie tothe shocked Dora. "But he shall not have much of my attendance; he maystick to his Dr. Ironside. Dr. Capes tells me he has induced a marriedwoman, with a family, who has a brother and a nephew lodging with her, both of them down with fever, to send them here, so that I shall havethem to look after. Now that there is a beginning made, " Annie smoothedher ruffled plumes, and waxed cheerful, "if the hot weather does notchange, and the disease is not checked, we are likely to have plenty ofpatients on our hands, with the opportunity of showing what service wecan render them and the town. "

Just as Annie predicted, the rows of beds began to fill, and she had nolack of occupation; but she changed her tale with regard to Tom Robinsonwhen his case, among many which yielded readily to treatment, and provedtriumphantly the gain to be got from a better locality and fresher air, was first grave, then dangerous, and at last verged on hopeless. Now sheturned to the worst case on her list, and made it her chief care. Shebecame totally unmindful of the fact that she was thus brought intoconstant contact with Harry Ironside, that it was he and she who weretogether fighting death, inch by inch, with desperate endeavour, for theprize which the last enemy threatened to snatch from their hands. Indeed, so entirely did Annie, like the excellent nurse and kind-heartedwoman she was, lose sight of her own concerns in the interest of herpatient, that she was heard to contradict herself, and record hersincere thankfulness for the strong support of Harry Ironside's presencein the light of the valuable aid he could afford at such a time. 

"He was thought very clever at St. Ebbe's. He took his degree with highhonours. He was held in much esteem by all the older doctors, " sheexplained to all who cared to hear. "He is in possession of all thelatest light on his profession. Now, I have heard father say, and what Ihave seen confirms it, that though Dr. Capes is most painstaking, andhas had a good deal of experience as a general practitioner, he has nogreat natural ability, and he was not in circumstances to pursue hisstudies longer than was absolutely necessary to enable him to pass as amedical man. After all I take back my word. I am very glad for poor TomRobinson's sake that Dr. Harry Ironside is here. No doubt we could havesummoned a great specialist from London, but he would only have stayed ashort time, and men like him have generally many critical cases ontheir minds. Now Dr. Harry Ironside is on the spot, and he can watchevery turn of the disease which he came to master, and devote his wholeattention to this example. I consider Tom Robinson is exceedinglyfortunate in getting the chance of such scientific treatment. "

But in spite of the good fortune and the devotion spent on him; itlooked as if Tom were going to slip through the hands so bent ondetaining him, and to die as quietly as he had lived. 

When Redcross realized how even the balance was, and how heavily he wasswimming for his life, the whole town woke up to his good qualities as acitizen, to what a useful life his comparatively short one had been, tohow many benefits he had conferred without the slightest assumption ofpatronage or superiority of any kind. 

It is unnecessary to say that "Robinson's" was figuratively in thedeepest mourning, only rousing itself from its despair to proclaim hismerits and those of his father before him, as masters. Men gravelypointed out the old servants he had pensioned; those in middle agewhom he had kept on when their best days were past; the boys he hadalready taken in, fitted out, and launched on the world by judicious, unostentatious backing. Women tearfully reminded the listener howcarefully he had provided for their comfort and well-being throughouthis establishment, from the ample time allowed for their meals and theseats to which they could retire when not actually serving, to theearly closing hours, which afforded them and the men who were theirassociates, some leisure for out-of-doors exercise and indoorsrecreation. As for mental and spiritual improvement, he was alwaysready to subscribe liberally to libraries, choral unions, friendlysocieties, Christian associations, missionary boxes--every conceivablemeans of rational pleasure, culture, and true human elevation of whichhis people would avail themselves. 

Mrs. Carey called at the Corn Exchange and offered her unprofessionalservices as a nurse, if further aid were wanted. 

Mr. Pemberton, acquainted with the fact of Tom Robinson's illnessthrough communicating with Rose Millar on her commission, wrote that hecould hardly keep Lady Mary from descending on Redcross to see aftertheir friend, and if it would be the least good she would come down. Itwould be but a poor return for the aid Robinson had lent her when herhusband lay desperately sick and she had nobody to appeal to, save thefat and fatuous _padrone_ of a miserable little Italian inn. 

May, who was at last prevented from coming to her sisters, presentedherself when they went to their father's, her eyes swollen with weepingfor her "coach. "

Every time Annie left the transformed hall of the Exchange and repairedto the rooms which she and Dora occupied, she found a white face on thewatch for her, and pale lips which could hardly form the syllables, "Howis he now? Oh! Annie, must he die?" At least Dora was on the spot tohear each hour's report, as if she had been his nearest relative, andwithout asking herself the reason why, that was a little bit of comfortto her. In the same manner Tom Robinson derived a dim satisfaction fromthe fact that he was lying there under the same roof with Dora Millar, as he would have been supposing she had listened to his suit eighteenmonths ago, and he had fallen ill in the early days of their marriage. He was afraid it was pure selfishness which made him cease to resent herpresence in close proximity to the fever ward, as he had resented itwhen he did not imagine he might be one of its patients. Sometimes hehad a dim fancy that he heard her soft voice through the closed doors, and that it soothed him, though he might be only dreaming, or it waspossible that there were tones in Annie's clear voice which undercertain emotions of pity and tenderness answered to those of her sister. 

Often Annie just shook her head sorrowfully as she warned Dora off tillthe nurse's dress could be changed. Occasionally she cried outpetulantly, "If he would only be impatient, and fret and grumble likeother people; if he would not take things so quietly; if he would resistand struggle, I believe he might fight the battle and win it yet. Ithink he will get over the crisis, but what of that if there is norallying? He is letting life go because he will not grasp it hard, Isuppose for the reason that he has no strong ties to bind him to it. Hehas either such a poor opinion of his deserts, or such a trust inProvidence, that he considers whatever is is best, and does not exerthimself to alter the course of events so far as it is in his power. Itis beautiful in theory, but it does not always answer in practice. I amnot certain whether it does not proceed, after all, from constitutionalindolence, or the want of ambition, of which I used to accuse him, orwhether he is really too good to live. Anyhow, skill and nursing arewasted upon him. "

Dr. Hewett came to see Tom Robinson, and took the seat which HarryIronside vacated for him, leaving the old friends together. 

"Hallo, Rector! It is strange for me to meet you here, " said Tom'sfeeble voice, while the ghost of his old shy smile passed over hishaggard face. 

"It is equally strange for me to meet you, Robinson, " said the Rector, with an inconvenient lump in his throat. 

"What a deal of trouble I'm giving, " said Tom regretfully. 

"Tut, man, nobody grudges the trouble, if you will but pick up and getwell again, " said the clergyman, almost roughly. 

"I can see that Ironside thinks badly of me, " said Tom in his quiet way, "and as far as feelings go, it seems to me I have reason to think badlyof myself. "

"We are all in good hands, Tom, " said Dr. Hewett, seeing again the boywho used to play in the Rectory garden with Ned, and speaking to him inthe old fashion. 

"I know that, " answered Tom. "I have known it all along, which has beena blessing to me, " he added, a little as if he were speaking of a thirdperson. Then he roused himself further. "I want to tell you where mywill is. I don't like to hurt a woman's feelings by speaking of it to mykind, indefatigable nurse. Besides, the Millars will benefit by it. "

"The old man, " sighed the Rector, "always thinking of others beforeyourself. "

"'I know that my Redeemer liveth, '" was Tom's testimony; "speak to me ofHim, Rector, while I am able to hear, " said the sick man, in the tone ofone whose ears were growing dull to earthly sounds. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

MISS FRANKLIN'S MISTAKE. 

Tom Robinson went still deeper into the shadow of the valley, possiblyas far as man ever went and returned. He grew as weak and helpless as aninfant, until at last he lost consciousness, and lay prostrate andstill, with closed eyes and sealed ears--nothing alive in him save thesubtle principle which is compared to a vapour and a breath which no mancan see or handle, yet whose presence or absence makes all thedifference between an animated body still linked to both worlds and amass of soulless clay hastening to corruption. All that skill anddevotion could do--and Tom Robinson had them both--was to keep onwithout despairing, maintaining warmth against the growing chillness, and administering stimulants and nourishment by spoonfuls and drops. 

On the night which it was feared would be Tom Robinson's last, MissFranklin would no longer be denied her place among the watchers. Shehad been kept away in obedience to poor Tom's express orders, that inthe attempt to minimize the fever no communication should be kept up onhis account between the Corn Exchange where he lay and either his houseor "Robinson's, " notwithstanding the proofs that the disease did notspread by contagion or infection. 

Miss Franklin did not desire to dispossess Annie of the post which, inspite of every remonstrance, she was holding latterly almost night andday. Miss Franklin had no faculty for nursing, and small experience toguide her. She was rather a nervous woman in her impulsiveness, andafter one look at what was like the mask of Tom Robinson, utterlyincapable of recognizing her or communicating with her, she was so muchovercome that she was fain to retire to another room and submit to begently ministered to by Dora. 

Miss Franklin was only too thankful to be suffered to stay there in thebackground. It did not strike her as odd that nobody in the house exceptthe other patients should go to sleep that night when her cousin washovering between life and death--nearer death than life. Neither had theoutspoken, kind-hearted gentlewoman any particular application of herspeech in her mind when she said sorrowfully--"Dear! dear! how grievedhe would be if he knew how worn out you were, Miss Dora. He thoughtthat his coming to the hospital would not only serve as a precedent, itwould be the simplest, safest, least troublesome plan where he himselfwas concerned, though if he would have let me, I should have been onlytoo glad to have turned my back on 'Robinson's' for a time, and donewhat I could for him. There is enough difference in our ages, and I haveknown him all his life, in addition to our being connections if not nearrelations, so that nobody need have found fault. Not that I pretend fora moment that I could have done what your sister is doing--that issomething quite wonderful in every respect" (and here Miss Franklin diddraw up her bountiful figure, and fix the rather small eyes, sunk alittle in her full cheeks, pointedly on Dora). "I dare say he liked tohave her about him to the last, so long as he was sensible of herpresence. Men are extraordinary creatures--that I should say that now, oh! my poor dear cousin Tom. "

After she had recovered from her outburst of grief, and was sipping thetea which Dora had made for her, she turned again to her companion. "Youlook like a ghost yourself, Miss Dora. Will you not lie down in yourbedroom and trust me? I shall sit here and bring you word the moment Ihear that a change has come;" and at the ill-omened phrase poor MissFranklin's well-bred, distinct enunciation got all blurred andfaltering. In fact she shrank a good deal from the ordeal she wasmagnanimously proposing for herself. As it happened she had neverundergone anything like it before, though she had reached middle age. Itwas not easy for her to contemplate sitting there all alone through thedreary small hours, knowing that Tom Robinson's spirit--the spirit ofthe best friend she had ever known--was passing away without word orsign in the adjoining room. It was a relief to her when Dora Millar, looking as if she had been sitting up in turn with every patient in theward, as pale as a moonbeam and as weak as water, yet shook her headdecisively against any suggestion of her retiring to rest. 

There was a strong contrast between the couple who were to wait togetherfor death or the morning. Miss Franklin herself might be on the eve ofdying--but so long as she lived and went through the mundane process ofdressing, she must dress exceedingly well. She was a good, kind womanall the same, and this night she bore a sore heart under her carefullycontrived and nicely put on garments. 

Poor young Dora, on the contrary, looked all limp and forlorn. Thegingham morning-gown she had not changed was huddled on her, andcrumpled about her. Her neglected hair was pushed back from her littlewhite face. Annie in her nurse's spotless apron and cap looked ahundred times trimmer, and was altogether a more cheerful object. It wasas if the whole world had come to an end for Dora, and she had ceased tonotice trifles. Almost the first words Miss Franklin had said to herwhen the visitor began to recover from the shock she had undergone, were--

"Excuse me, Miss Dora, the lace at your throat is coming undone--let meput it right for you; and an end of your hair has fallen down. I mayfasten it up, may I not?"

A delicate, exhausted girl was no great support for a woman under thecircumstances, still she was better than nobody. She was company inone form, like the domestic cat, when no more available associate isto be found. Besides, in the middle of their dissimilarity, MissFranklin had a natural liking for Dora Millar, and had always exceptedher from the grudge which the elder woman was inclined to feel againstone member of the Millar family. "A nice, well-meaning, gentle girl, "Miss Franklin mentally classed Dora. "The most quiet and ladylike ofthem all. " She was a great improvement, in Miss Franklin's estimation, on that too bright and restless Annie, whom everybody cried up as abeauty. She had found, Miss Franklin was creditably informed, a finevent for her dictatorial imperious temper as a nurse. Yet she, MissFranklin, ought not to find fault with Annie Millar at this time, whenDr. Capes had said her treatment of the fever patients, with dear Tomamong them, was admirable; though, by one of the mysterious decrees ofProvidence, she might not be permitted to succeed in his case. And shewas now ministering to his last wants as she, Barbara Franklin, arrived at mature age, with all the will, had neither the skill northe courage to minister, much as she owed him, so long as he had otherservice. She was a captious, vindictive wretch to pick holes in MissMillar's armour, when she was striving so hard to atone to him for anyinjury she had ever done him by delivering him from the jaws of death, or at least smoothing his path to the grave. 

The seasons had gone on till the late summer was merging into the earlyautumn. It was the beginning of August, when the days are already not solong as they have been; but, to make up for it, the lengthening nightsare balmier than they ever were, and the soft dusk remains full ofsummer scents and sounds. 

It was on such a night that you might imagine a young man, dying longbefore his time, and yet after he has reached full manhood, and touchedthe crown of bodily and mental vigour, without ever feeling the tide onits turn. 

The night was so warm that the windows of the room in which Dora andMiss Franklin sat were wide open. There was a lamp lit within, but itdid not render the darkness without so great as to hide the outlines oftrees in the nearest garden, and even the dim shape of a bed of lateflowering, tall white lilies. Their heavy fragrance was on the air; andif ever there is a fragrance which is solemn and tender like the love ofthe dying and the memory of the dead, it is the all-pervading scent oflilies. 

Annie Millar could never have been so good a listener as Dora was whenMiss Franklin, constitutionally loquacious, relieved her distress, andgot rid of the dragging hours, by indulging in a long and affectionateoration on Tom Robinson, the man who, not so many yards from them, waslying as indifferent to praise and blame as when he first entered thiswonderful world, with all its joys and sorrows, from which he was readyto depart. 

"You know, he is not really my cousin, " the womanly confidence began;"the tie between us hardly counts--it is only that Mr. Robinson'sfirst wife was my mother's sister. But I always called Mr. CharlesRobinson and his second wife uncle and aunt. I might well do it, forthey were a good uncle and aunt to me. I should have known fewpleasures when I was growing up, and long afterwards, if it had notbeen for them. The Robinsons used to go away trips every summer toDevonshire and Derbyshire, the Yorkshire moors, the Cumberland lakes, Scotland, the Black Forest, Switzerland, and they always took me tosee the world, and spend my summer holidays with them. How generousand kind they were in their friendliness! Tom was usually of theparty--first as a child, then as a growing boy; but child or boy, sucha nice manly little fellow, so much thought of, yet not at all spoilt. He was fond of reading, yet full of quiet fun, and in either lightnever in anybody's way. He was so considerate of his mother and me, and so helpful to us. The cows he has driven away! the horses going atlarge he has kept off! the bulls he has held at bay! I confess I amnot brave in proportion to my size. I am very timid in such matters, and, strange to say, Aunt Robinson, though a country-woman born andbred, was as great a coward as I where farm animals were in question;but we always knew ourselves safe when Tom was at hand, and he neverlaughed at us more than we could stand. "

"I can understand, " said Dora faintly. "He once helped us--May andme--when a strange dog attacked Tray; and now Tray is running about withMay full of life and health, while his champion is----" She could notsay the words. 

Miss Franklin looked at her approvingly, even went so far as to strokeone of the cold trembling hands lying nerveless in Dora's lap. "You willallow me to say that you are a dear, tender-hearted girl, Miss Dora. Youcould have appreciated my cousin Tom. What a tower of strength he was tome when I felt I was getting middle-aged, and my system of teaching wasbecoming old-fashioned. I had been in so many homes belonging to otherpeople, with never a home of my own, for upwards of thirty years, sincemy poor father and mother both died before I was twenty. I do not saythat I was not for the most part well enough treated, because I hope Idid my best, and I believe I generally gave satisfaction. I had my happyhours like other people. But it was all getting so stale, flat, andunprofitable--I suppose because I was growing weary of it all, andlonging for a change. You see I had not quite come to the age when wecease to want changes, and are resigned just to go on as we are to theend. In reality I could see no end, except the poorest of poor lodgingsand the most pinching straits, with the very little money I had saved. (My dear, even finishing governesses can save so little now-a-days. ) Orperhaps there was the chance of my being taken into some charitableinstitution. You will admit it was not a cheerful prospect. "

"No, it was not, " said Dora, in dreary abstraction. 

"As I said, " resumed Miss Franklin, "I had been in so many schoolrooms;I had seen so many pupils grow up, go out into the world, and settle inlife, leaving me behind, so that when they came back on visits to theirold homes, they were prepared to pity and patronize me. I could notcontinue cudgelling my poor brains until I had not an original thoughtin my head, and all to keep up such acquirements as I had, and preservea place among younger, better equipped girls, certain to outstrip meeventually. "

"I suppose so, " acquiesced Dora mechanically. 

"Then poor dear Tom came to see me, and I told him what I wasthinking. He got me to pay a visit to Redcross, and made a new openingfor me. I may say without self-conceit that I was always considered tohave a good taste in dress. I know it was a question which had neverfailed to interest me, to which I could not help giving a great dealof attention--making a study of it, as it were. Tom insisted that Icould be of the greatest use to him, and was worth a liberal salary, which I was not likely to lose. And there was a comfortable refinednest, which I could line for myself, awaiting me in the pleasant roomshe had looked out for me. "

"I know, Miss Franklin, " said Dora, with a faint smile; "you toldPhyllis Carey, and she told May, who repeated it to me. But I thoughtit might be a relief to you to speak of it again. "

"Yes, " cried the eager woman; "and it has all answered so well--theduties not too heavy, and really agreeable to me; the young women andmen, under Tom's influence, no doubt, perfectly nice and respectful; andwithin the last six months, dear little Phyllis like a daughter or nieceto me. I thought always I should be able to do something in return forhim one day, yet with all the will in the world I have been able to donothing until it has come to this;" and poor Miss Franklin sobbedbitterly under the burden of her unrequited obligations, and beneath thedove's neck cluster of feathers in her bonnet. 

It was for Dora in her turn to seek to soothe and compose her companion. "I am sure you have been of the greatest service to him, and that he hasenjoyed the near neighbourhood of an old friend--his mother's friend. Oh! think what a comfort it will be to you to have that to look backupon, " finished Dora, in a voice trembling as much as Miss Franklin's. 

Miss Franklin sat up, instinctively put her bonnet straight, wiped hereyes with her embroidered handkerchief, and gazed pensively into theempty air. 

"God's ways are not as our ways, " she said; "and certainly we are toldthat we are not to look for our reward in this world. Still one wouldhave expected--one would have liked that it had not been so hard allthrough for Tom--not merely to have been denied the desire of his heart, but to have had to endure in his last moments to be set aside, to liestill and look on at what is going to happen. "

Dora sat mystified; but she had not the spirit left to seek anexplanation. 

Miss Franklin was not aware that an explanation was needed. "I know, "she added, "how kind and attentive your sister has been to Tom, and Iunderstand nothing can exceed the interest Dr. Ironside has taken in mycousin, while he has made the most unremitting efforts to save him;still you will grant that so long as my poor Tom was conscious, it musthave been very, very trying for him to see the terms these two were on. I don't listen much to gossip"--the speaker declared, in a parenthesis, with a little air of dignity and reserve even at that moment--"but it isthe talk of the town that he has followed her down from London, and thatthey are to be married as soon as the epidemic is past. Nobody can sayanything against it. They are well matched. They will be a fine-lookingcouple, " she struggled to acknowledge with becoming politeness andimpartiality. 

"This is the first time I have heard of it, I can say with truth, " saidDora wearily, without so much as a smile at the characteristic report. She thought the mention of it most unsuitable at such a season. The veryword marriage smote her. "And even if it were so, what could it havesignified to Mr. Tom Robinson?" she was about to add naïvely, when alight flashed upon her. She had often wondered how much Miss Franklin, "Robinson's, " the whole town, knew of what had taken place eighteenmonths ago. She saw now that however little the lady might care forgossip, a distorted version of the truth in which she was interested hadreached her. Either there had been a very natural mistake on the part ofsome of the local newsmongers, or Miss Franklin herself had fallen intothe error. The belle of the Millar family and not Dora had been believedto be the object of Tom Robinson's pursuit. The blunder had beenperpetuated in Miss Franklin's case by the good feeling and goodbreeding which would keep her from discussing Tom Robinson's affairswith her neighbours more than she could help, and would prevent herattempting such a cross-examination of the man himself as might haveelicited the truth. 

"Oh! I know now what you mean, " cried Dora, on the impulse of themoment, "and you were altogether wrong. He has been spared such misery--nobody could have been so barbarous as to inflict it on him, if it hadbeen as you suppose. "

Miss Franklin was sensitive and imaginative on dress, but she was notimaginative or even very observant with regard to anything else. Sheunderstood Dora's protest to refer to an actual engagement between Dr. Harry Ironside and Miss Millar. 

"Well, well, " she said a little dryly, "people do exaggerate. Mattersmay not have gone quite so far, and I can only trust that he, Tom, hasnot been sensible of what is in the air, though I have always understoodlove, while it is said to be blind in one sense, is very sharp-sightedin another. I believe every one else sees where the land lies. I saw itmyself so far as the gentleman was concerned--he could not keep his eyesoff her, though I was not five minutes in their company, and I was fullof my poor cousin Tom. I am sure I hope they may be happy, " gulping downthe hope. "Tom would have wished it, quite apart from her having doneher duty by him, at the cost of some pain to herself, no doubt; whileDr. Ironside has been more than kind, which nobody had any call toexpect. He must be a very fine young man, likely to win what he fancies. Every woman is entitled to her choice, and most people would applaudyour sister's choice. The thing that puzzles me--you will forgive me formentioning it just this once, for where is the good of discussionnow?--is that as, I have been told, she did not meet Dr. Ironside tillshe went to her London hospital, how, when she had got no opportunity ofcontrasting the two men, when she had not even seen one of them, shecould yet be so set against Tom's proposal, knowing him to be the man heis--was, alas! I should say. Why was she so very hard to poor Tom?"

"Oh, don't say that, " besought Dora, in much agitation. "Don't bringthat forward at this moment. "

But Miss Franklin, in the strength of her family affections, felt thatshe owed it to the manes of Tom Robinson to express to the disdainfuldamsel's sister a candid opinion that he had been summarily and severelydealt with. "I was not in his confidence, but I could tell thatsomething was going to happen, and that he was very much cut up when itall came to nothing. "

"Oh, don't say that, " repeated Dora, clasping her hands over her eyes, and weeping behind them. "What good can it do except to inflict needlesstorture?"

"I don't mean to reproach _you_, " said Miss Franklin, a littlebewildered, but still very hot and sore. "You had nothing to do with it, and I am sure you could not have been so heartless. Forgive me for thereflection on your sister, who is so much thought of, whom everybody ispraising, with reason, for what she has done in nursing the sick andpoor. But young girls ought to be more careful. I don't mean to say thatshe trifled with my cousin Tom--I have no right to say that--simply thatshe never gave him a thought. Tom was surely deserving of a thought, "cried Miss Franklin indignantly. "Dr. Ironside may be all very well--Ihave nothing to say against him--quite the reverse. Tom is not to becompared to him in personal appearance, and the one is a professionalman, while the other thought fit to continue a linen-draper like hisgood father before him; but that is by no means to infer that MissMillar has chosen the better husband of the two. Girls are sofoolish--they play with fire, and never look or take it into accountwhere and whom it may burn. Tom Robinson deserved more respectfultreatment in Redcross. He has never been like himself since. I used tohear him whistling and humming tunes to himself as he worked in theoffice--there is no more of that, or of his hearty interest ineverything. "

"Miss Franklin, it is you who are pitiless to say this to me to-night, "panted Dora, rising against the inhumanity, and totally forgetting thatthe speaker did not hold the clue which would have told her how herwords scourged her listener. 

"I am not blaming _you_, Miss Dora, " said the accuser again, morebitterly than she had yet spoken. For she was in her heart accusing DoraMillar of affectation in pretending not to be able to hear a wordagainst her sister, and in declining to listen to the pardonableutterance of a reproach directed against what Miss Franklin called inher heart Annie Millar's arrogance and callousness. Tom Robinson'scousin was provoked, not pacified. 

"I dare say Tom would never have had this wretched fever but for theblow he got then, " she was tempted to persist; "or if he had caught it, he would have thrown it off without any harm done. I can bear witness tohis sound constitution to begin with. Everybody knows how disappointmentand mortification lower the system, and he was never over careful ofhimself. I cannot quite understand why he took the cool rebuff hereceived so much to heart; but he did so, and you see the consequence. "

"Spare me! spare me!" cried Dora passionately. "Don't say I have killedhim, or I shall die myself, perhaps it is the best thing I can do. "

Before Miss Franklin could do more than stare aghast, with a horrifiedinkling of the real facts of the case, and the tremendous mess she hadgot into, there was the sound of the soft opening of a door in the neardistance, and a step rapidly approaching. 

The two women who had been upbraiding each other were mute in aninstant, first held their breaths, then sprang up and clung to eachother, partners in sorrow, with teeth beginning to chatter, and eyes togrow large and wild. What had they been doing in the name of a gentleand manly soul, in the face of the awful news on its way, the majesty ofDeath investing the house?

It was only Annie, looking perfectly collected, nay, a trifle elated. "He is the least shade better--we both think so; and the slightestimprovement means so much at this stage--the right crisis, I believe. Hehas been really sleeping. He swallows with less difficulty. He hasroused himself ever so little, but he is fearfully faint and weak. Wecannot get him to take more stimulants than we have been giving him. Iam afraid there is no toilet-vinegar in the house. I came to see ifeither of you had a smelling-bottle, which might revive him. "

All that Miss Franklin could do was to shake her head. She was sothankful, yet she felt so guilty, so ashamed of herself. 

Dora fumbled nervously in her pocket and gave Annie something, which shecarried off in triumph. Miss Franklin sat down again and cried afreshbetween trembling joy and lively vexation. "Oh, won't it be a mercy, forwhich we can never praise our Maker too much, if dear Tom gets over hisillness after all?" she managed to say; but she could do no more--eventhat lame speech was made awkwardly. To apologize for the heinousoffence she had committed would be a greater enormity than the offenceitself. 

But when Miss Franklin had time to think it over afterwards, she wasunder the impression that Dora Millar had forgotten all about theiraltercation. She sat there with hands clasped, lips parted, and brimmingeyes half raised to Heaven, as if in instinctive acknowledgment of athousand piteous prayers in the act of being answered by Him who countsthe stars and calls them by name, and heals the broken in heart. MissFranklin's account of Dora's look was that, for a moment, she waspositively frightened at the dear girl, Dora seemed so near anotherworld at that moment, and as likely as not to be holding communicationwith it. Even Tom Robinson could not have been nearer when he was morethan half way across the border-land. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

A SHRED OF HOPE. 

Tom Robinson's recovery continued a matter of fear and trembling for aweek longer before it became merely a process of time. But no sooner wasit clearly established to the initiated, and only likely to beendangered by some unforeseen accident, than Annie Millar, in herdelight, lost sight of her former tactics, and called on Dr. HarryIronside to rejoice with her on their success. 

"We have been permitted to pull him through. Oh, isn't it glorious? Iknow we ought, as we are miserable sinners, to go down on our knees andgive God the thanks, and I hope we do with all my heart; but I also wantto sing and dance--don't you, Dr. Ironside?"

Nobody could imagine that Dr. Harry Ironside was indifferent to thewonderful recovery, which was such a credit to his skill, of the manwhom he had nursed as if Tom Robinson had been his brother; but Dr. Harry forgot all about his patient at that moment when he saw hisopportunity and seized it. 

He had never had a faint heart, young as he was, but he had been dealingwith an exceedingly coy and high-spirited mistress. However, even shehad not been able to defy the effect of the last month of incessantintercourse, of being engrossed in common with one object of interest, when both had hung, as it were, on a man's failing breath, and wereindissolubly linked while it lasted. In the light of its fitful risingand falling, its feeble fluttering, the terrible moments when itappeared to stop and die away, how small and vain was every otherconsideration! But their joint work was done by God's help, as they hadhardly dared to hope for a time, and now it was Harry's innings. 

"I have something to say to you, Miss Millar. I have wished to say itfor a long time. You will not refuse to hear me?"

They were alone together in the little side-room, empty but for itshospital stores, where they had so often consulted, with and without Dr. Capes, on the condition of the ward. There was no longer any fluster ofdoubt and hesitation in his manner. He stood there in his young comelymanhood, prepared to put his fate to the test, claiming his right to doso, and challenging her to deny his claim. 

In a moment Annie saw what Rose had seen some time ago, but had nottaken it upon her to put in so many words for Annie's benefit. It wasof this moment she had, by an unerring instinct, stood in mortalterror, from the first dawn of her acquaintance with Harry Ironside, to the afternoon when he had succeeded in getting an introduction toher in the matron's room at St. Ebbe's, soon after the scene in theoperating theatre. Then he had bowed low, muttered a few words inconfused greeting, and looked at her with all his man's heart in hiseyes; and she had felt by a sure, swift intuition, that, as she valuedher dearly held personal freedom and her allegiance to her family, there must be war to the knife between her and this self-willed youngman. She must, as discretion is the better part of valour, flee fromhim, while refusing to own, even to herself, any more humiliatingreason for the flight than her duty, the honour of St. Ebbe's, and thefolly of Rose in playing into his hands. 

Now Annie was caught, and had to listen to him whether she would or not, while she and not he quaked with fright and agitation. For he stoodbefore her, like a conqueror already, in the little room with itsshelves of phials, which they had all to themselves, where burly farmersand iron-gray corn-factors would soon be thronging in the course oftransacting their every-day business. 

But presently she forgot all about herself in the interest of the talehe had to tell, and told well in his newly-found courage and coolness, in his personal modesty and professional enthusiasm. He had just takenhis degree as she knew. He and his sister Kate had inherited acompetence from their parents. He might look about him till he found alucrative and agreeable country practice in a choice neighbourhood, where he could command good society and a little hunting, shooting, andfishing in their seasons. Or he might be on the watch for a West EndLondon practice, which, while affording him all the interests andamusements of town, ought to bring him speedily into notice, and raisehim, step by step, to the height of his profession. He had begun hismedical career by thinking of both these eventualities as desirable, each in its kind, and had gone on cherishing a leaning to the first, till--he must say it--her example and influence had inspired him withgreater ardour in the cause of science and of humanity. He had madeinquiries and had heard of a post--in fact he had got the refusing ofit--in connection with a new settlement, a fresh attempt to plant acolony where the climate was favourable on one of the great Africanrivers. His income at first would be small, and he must take his shareof the hardships and labours of those who aimed at being more thangold-diggers or miners in the diamond-fields--that is, pioneers ofcivilization. The prospect, so far as it referred to scientificinvestigations, and to a large increase to accredited stores ofknowledge, was simply splendid. Farther, he was assured of the sympathyand support of the leading men among the colonists, since they hadalready, to their credit, sought his co-operation. Those of them whowere in the van--on the spot--had gone so far as to lay the foundationof an hospital, in addition to a church, to deal alike with black menand white, to labour for their spiritual and physical healing in common. He had almost made up his mind to take the post, but he wished to askher opinion and advice first. 

She was tempted to say she was no authority, but her truthfulnessforbade the subterfuge. She could not meet his grave blue eyes and puthim off with an evasive answer. She spoke bravely and wisely. 

"I think it would be most right and honourable for you to go. With yourability and training you might furnish invaluable aid to a young colony;while it would be like another college course for you, with nature foryour teacher. Any young man of spirit and philanthropy, with love forhis calling, might well covet the chance. If the colony flourish, youand your profession, and the hospital you speak of, will flourish withit, and have as fine a future before you as you can desire. If thescheme fail, you can but return to England; and you will not have lostthe time which a young man can well spare. For you will bring back allyou have gained from a far wider sphere of usefulness, and from afresher experience than you could ever hope to secure by staying athome. But if what you really want, " Annie corrected herself, with atwinkle in her eyes and a curl of her lips, in the midst of herearnestness, "is the shortest and safest road to growing well-to-dowithin the briefest space of time, you had better adopt the latteralternative. If I had been a man and a doctor, I should have tried theformer. "

"That is enough, " he said with conviction. 

"But what will your sister say?" she hastened to inquire, in order toturn the conversation from ominous personalities. 

"Oh! it will be a blow to poor little Kate, " he owned regretfully, "because she is too young to go out with me at once, and set aboutkeeping house for me as she has always proposed--a rough, primitivestyle of housekeeping it will be out there for many a day. But she isnot without pluck, and she is as true as steel, though I say it. Shemust learn some of your fearlessness and faith, and make the best ofthings. She must go to one of our aunts in the meantime, and whenmatters are smoother and easier, and the fate of the colony is decided, perhaps she may join me. I do not believe that there is any danger tospeak of from the native tribes, only it will not be drawing-room workfor some time to come. You see it is not the same with a girl like Kateas it would be with a woman like you, " he had the boldness to insinuate. "You would be a tower of strength in yourself from the beginning; youmight be the making of a newly-founded hospital. "

"Poor Kate!" said Annie, hastily apostrophizing the girl she had beensaid to ignore, and speaking in accents of far deeper pity than she hadany idea of. 

"And what do you say?" he turned upon her. 

"I?" she cried in much confusion. "I have said my say. "

"No, " he answered; "unless you mean to send me away to the ends of theearth without a shred of hope. You cannot do that. "

"I think you are taking advantage of me, " she protested, but quitemeekly and diffidently for Annie. "I have never been even civil to youtill Tom Robinson was in danger, and then I had to put all my privatefeelings aside on his account. Before that I was more than rude. "

"And you are a little sorry now? Confess it, Annie, when I am going offall alone, so far as old friends are concerned, to Central Africa, atyour bidding. "

"Not at my bidding, " she declared hastily; "it is too bad of you to sayso. "

"And you are going to be far kinder in the end than in the beginning, "he persisted. "You are going to say, 'Harry Ironside, if you ever comeback, whether it is to stay or to go out again to your colony, you willfind me waiting for you as your earthly reward. '"

"Of course you will come back, " she exclaimed vehemently, thrown off herguard; "but _you_ had much better wait and look out for some moregracious person to welcome you. "

"I don't care for gracious persons, " said the foolish fellow scornfully;"that is, for persons who are always gracious whether they like ordislike their company. But I say, " he went on, in an eager boyish way, which was not unbecoming or inharmonious where his young manhood wasconcerned, only natural and pleasant, "I should care for the best andbrightest and bonniest woman in the world being gracious to me; I wouldgive much to make her like me, though I know I am far behind her incleverness and goodness. "

"Nonsense, " cried Annie, quite testily. "I shall be used up in hospitalservice by that time, " she remonstrated, keeping to the far future. "Afaded woman with a sharp tongue would not be a great reward. "

"I ask nothing better than a woman whom I could love, and who might loveme. "

"But you deserve something better, " she said, in a softer, lower tone. 

"Never mind what I deserve, if I get what I have wished, longed, andprayed for since the first moment I saw you--think of that, Annie. "

"I can't, " she said, almost piteously, while she suffered him to takeher hand. "I meant it all to be so different. I was so proud of myindependence; and I never, never will forfeit it, remember, HarryIronside, till all my sisters are started in the world, and father andmother are made more comfortable. Oh! it would be doubly a shame in meto fail them. "

"I am content to wait for my prize, " he said, daring to kiss her lovelycheek, and he was content--for the moment. 

"And you must not breathe a word of what has happened, " she charged him. 

But here he grew restive. "I must, dearest. Why, it would be doublydishonourable not to speak at once to Dr. Millar, confined as he is tohis chair; you cannot fail to see that. "

"They will all laugh at me, " sighed the subdued Annie, with comicalruefulness. "Rose will laugh, and May. I believe even Dora and motherwill laugh. "

"Let them. " He gave the permission with cheerful insensibility to theordeal, even though Annie's feelings were so much involved in it. "Itmay be a warning to some of them. " Then he was so callous as to add, "Who cares though the whole world, including Tom Robinson, were to joinin the guffaw. "

"Oh!" she exclaimed, looking up with bright sweetness, "I think I couldbear it if I heard Tom's voice in the chorus. He used to have rather afoolish, nervous laugh, for so sensible and brave a man. But I am sure Ishould not think it foolish, or anything save delightful, if I heard itagain. "

CHAPTER XXIII. 

SECOND THOUGHTS AND LAST WORDS. 

Dr. And Mrs. Millar could make no objection to Dr. Harry Ironside as asuitor for their daughter. It was all the other way. They were highlysatisfied with the young man's antecedents and credentials, and yet Dr. Millar was a good deal taken aback. He had grown to look on nursing as acareer for Annie, and to take pride in her excellence in it, as he wouldhave done had she been his son and a young doctor. He could not helpfeeling as if marriage interfered a little with his views for her. Hehad to recall that Ironside was a very fine young fellow, with acommendable spirit of inquiry in medical matters. He would do credit tohis profession, and Annie, especially if she went with him to a newcolony, might work in his company, and be his right hand. 

Mrs. Millar had too much good sense and womanly experience to approve oflong engagements, and she did not like the chance of Annie's going toAfrica--still she would fulfil what Mrs. Millar considered the highestand happiest destiny for a woman, that of becoming the wife of a worthyman. As to Africa, the little Doctor, a fixture in his chair, told her, "My dear Maria, we shall simply be giving hostages to Providence, forman was told to occupy the earth, and carry civilization and redemptionto its utmost bounds. "

To spare Annie's feelings, her relations kept her engagement and theirlaughter well in the background, while Dr. Harry Ironside, having probedthe Russian fever to the bottom, and seen nearly the last of it, returned in triumph to London, to make arrangements for his medicalmission. 

As for Annie, in her eagerness to escape from the rallying she hadprovoked, she talked incessantly about going back to St. Ebbe's, where, however, she was not yet due. A longer leave of absence had been grantedto her, in consideration of the fact that her holiday had been mainlyspent in hard work in the impromptu hospital at Redcross. She would nothave accepted the additional grant apart from the circumstance thatHarry Ironside was in London. Annie admitted to herself, in the secretrecesses of her heart, that now it had come to this, she would fain havepassed these last precious weeks near her young lover. But she would notconsent to give occasion to Rose, or any other person--not even toHarry Ironside himself--to think or say that she, Annie Millar, wasalready not able to live without him. Annie's wings might be clipped, but she would be Annie proud and "plucky" to the last; and her lover, instinctively knowing her to be true as steel, loved her the betterbecause of her regard for what she considered his credit as well as herown. The pride was only skin deep; the pluck was part of the heroicelement in Annie. 

Rose had been delayed in her work. She had not found it in her heart towalk about taking sketches when the good friend who had so much to dowith the commission was little likely to see its completion. But whenTom Robinson could sit up, walk into the next room, and go back to hisown house, she felt at liberty to set about her delightful business, inwhich her father took so keen an interest. She lost no time in startingevery fine day in pursuit of the selected views, to put them on canvaswhile their autumnal hues were still but tinges of red, russet, andgold. 

Rose was mostly waited on by May, who took much satisfaction in helpingto carry and set up the artist's apparatus, feeling, as she said, thatshe was part of a painter when she did so. 

Dora had been with Rose, May, and Tray at a pretty reach of the Dewes. The elder sister was returning alone, along the path between the elmsby the river, near the place where Tom Robinson had come to Tray'srescue, when she met him face to face. He was taking what"constitutional" he was able for, and enjoying the light breeze whichwas rippling the river, just as it rippled the ripe corn and fanned thehot brows of the men who were working the corn machine in the fieldbeyond. 

Dora had seen and spoken to him several times since his illness, butthere had been other people present, and now the old shy dread of a_tête-à-tête_ again took possession of her. She would have contentedherself with a fluttered inquiry after his health, and a falteringremark that she ought not to detain him. She would have hurried on, as if the errand on which she was bound demanded the utmost speed, supremely wretched while she did so, to notice how pale and worn hestill looked when she saw him in the broad sunshine. She would havemourned over the circumstance that he wore no wrap, though there wasalways some damp by the river, and speculated in despondency whetherit could be right for him, while he still looked so ill, to be walkingthus by himself? What would happen if faintness overtook him, and hecould not accomplish the distance between him and the town?

Tom Robinson, delicate though he looked, quiet as he was, would not letDora have her way. He turned and walked back with her, which ought tohave set one of her fears at rest. And his appearance must have beliedhim, for he was clearly in excellent spirits, with not the most distantintention of being overcome by faintness. 

"This is very pleasant, " he said, with a smile, and his smile was apeculiarly agreeable one. 

Dora could not tell whether he meant the day, or the road, or hercompany, or even her summer dress, which was fresher and better caredfor than when he had encountered the family group "place-hunting" inLondon. Dora had owned more leisure lately, and, absurd as it mightsound, her heart had been singing with joy, so that she could notresist making her dress in keeping with the gladness of her spirit. Her little fingers had been cleverer than they had ever shownthemselves before in the manufacture of a frock and the trimming of ahat which would not have disgraced the taste and execution of MissFranklin. Yet the materials were simple and inexpensive to the lastdegree--a brown holland and a shady brown hat, and about the frock andthe hat some old Indian silk which in its mellowed gorgeousness of redand maize colours softly reflected the hues of Rose's parrot tulips. 

Dora did not dare to ask her companion what he thought so pleasant. Itseemed right to take it for granted that it was the weather, so sheanswered quickly, Yes, it was a fine day for the harvest, which shebelieved was going to be a good one this year. 

"Our present encounter is more tranquil than our last, near this veryspot, " he went on, still smiling. "Perhaps it is as well that there areno disturbing elements of collies and terriers on the scene, for thoughI am getting on famously, I am not sure that I am up to the mark ofdragging Tray and a giant assailant to the edge of the bank, andpitching them head-foremost into the water. "

"I should think not, " said Dora briefly. 

"How 'little May' screamed, and you stood, as white as a sheet, valorously aiming your stone. "

"We were great cowards, both of us, " admitted Dora, smiling too; "and Iam thankful to say Tray has been much better behaved since he was at theveterinary surgeon's. "

"There was room for improvement, " Tom Robinson said, with the gravity ofa judge. 

"I left him on in front, begging to May for a bit of chalk. "

"It is as well that it was not for a bit of beef, " he said. Then hesuddenly changed the subject. "Do you know that I have something ofyours which has come into my hands that I have been wishing to giveback to you ever since I was a responsible being again?"

As he spoke, he unfastened for the second time in their acquaintance thetiny vinaigrette case from his watch-chain, and handed it to her. 

Dora flushed scarlet, and took it without a word. 

"I got it one night in the course of that fever, when I was at theworst, and I know you will like to hear that I am sure it did me good. The first thing that I recollect after a long blank, which lasted fordays, I believe, was feebly fingering and sniffing at the little box, with a curious agreeable sense of old association. Then I was able tolook at it, and recognize it as my mother's vinaigrette. She had let meplay with it when I was a child; and when I was a boy, subject toheadache from staying too long in the hot sunshine in the cricket-field, she used to lend me her vinaigrette for a cure. But I knew that I hadasked you to have it, and that you had done me the favour to accept it. The fascinating puzzle was, how had it come back to me? At last Iquestioned Barbara Franklin. She could not tell any more than myself atfirst, and was equally puzzled, until she remembered your sister Annie'srunning into the room on the night when you were listening for news ofmy death, and asking for a smelling-bottle, and your fumbling for aninstant in your pocket, and giving her something. That made it perfectlyplain. "

Too plain, Dora reflected in horror, for what might not Miss Franklinhave suspected and communicated in addition to her cousin?

"I was glad I had it in my pocket, " said Dora, stammering. "I took it upto London with me, and--and found it often refreshing in the middle ofthe heat and fatigue. I am thankful to hear it was of use to you, whohave the best right to it. "

"No, " he said emphatically, "though it was of the greatest use. Mycousin Barbara said also that you were very sorry for me. Dora, was thatso?" Tom himself blushed a little in asking the question, as if he had aguilty consciousness of having taken rather a mean advantage of DoraMillar, first by coming so near to death without actually dying, andthen by listening to what his kinswoman had to say of Miss Dora Millar'sstate of mind at the crisis. 

On Dora's part there was no denying such a manifest truth; she couldonly utter a tremulous "yes, " and turn her head aside. 

"That was good of you, though I do not know that I am repaying thegoodness properly, " he said, with another smile, very wistful this time. "For I must add, that hearing of it tempted me to wonder once againwhether you could ever learn to think of me? If you cannot, just say no, and I'll cease from this moment to tease you" (as if he had been doingnothing else save besiege and pester her for the last year and a half!). 

Dora could not say "no" any more than she could say "yes" straight out, though she was certain that to be kept any longer than was absolutelynecessary in a state of acute suspense was very bad for him in hisweakened health. By a great effort she brought herself to say in littlebreaks and gasps, "I do not need to learn, Mr. Tom, because I havethought of you for a long time now--long before you were so good andgenerous to all of us--almost ever since you wished--you asked--what Iwas so silly and so ungrateful as to refuse. "

He drew her hand through his arm and held it tightly; he could not trusthimself to say or do more. He was almost as shy as she was in therevulsion of his great happiness. 

She struggled conscientiously to continue her confession. "I had thoughthardly at all of you before then. Girls are so full of themselves, and Idid not know that you wished me to think of you. I seem to see now thatif you had given me more time, and let me grow familiar with the idea, even though we were 'donkeys, ' as Annie and Rose say, and though wewere choke-full of youthful folly----" She stopped short withoutfinishing her sentence, or going farther into the nature of what sheseemed to see. 

"But I besought you to take time, Dora, love, " he remonstrated. "Youforget, I urged you to let me wait for the chance of your answer's beingdifferent. " He could not help, even in the hour of the attainment of thedearest wish of his heart, being just to his old modest, reasonableself. 

"Yes, " she said, with the prettiest, faintest, arch smile hovering aboutthe corners of her mouth. "But men ought to be wiser than to take simplegirls at their first word, which the girls can never, never unsay, unless the men bid them. Now I'll tell you how malicious people willview the present situation. They will say that I refused you point blankwhen I thought we were well off, then got you to propose again, andgraciously accepted the proposal, when I knew we had not a penny in theworld. I own it looks very like it, and it is partly your fault; youshould not have let me go the first time. But I don't care what peoplesay, so long as there is not a word of truth in it. "

"Nor I, " said Tom undauntedly. "They may also say that I was able tomake myself useful to your family, and like a very tradesman, traded onthe usefulness, buying a reluctant bride with it. But what do we carewhen we love each other, and God has given us to each other? 'Theysay, '--what do they say? Let them say. "

There was not the shadow of a cloud the size of a man's hand on Dr. AndMrs. Millar's pleasure in their daughter Dora's marriage to TomRobinson. For instead of going with Annie to Africa, or starting on amission of her own to bring May's college fees from Jamaica, Doraremained at Redcross to be Tom Robinson's dear wife and cherisheddarling. Mrs. Millar had long seen, in her turn, that Dora could not dobetter. The fine old shop, and the fantastic shade of poor Aunt Penny, had both become of no account. The single thing which troubled Mrs. Millar was that the instant Lady Mary Pemberton heard of the wedding inprospect, she invited herself to come down to it. 

Dora's sisters, with the charming inconsistency of young women, were notonly acquiescent in her undignified fate--they were jubilant over it. 

It did not arrest, though it subdued the general congratulations, whenit was discovered that the event made Harry Ironside all at once bothenvious and aggressive. He could not see why, if Dora Millar weremarrying a rich man, and he himself had a sufficient income not merelyto make a satisfactory settlement on his wife, but to do his part inhelping her relatives, who would also be his from the day he marriedher, that his marriage should not take place as soon as Dora and TomRobinson's. In place of an indefinite engagement, with thousands ofmiles of land and sea, and all the uncertainties of life into thebargain, between him, Harry Ironside, and Annie Millar, would it notbe much better that he should carry away with him the brightest, bravest woman who ever asked little from a new colony; who, in placeof asking, would give full measure and running over? For Annie was notlike poor dear little Kate--Annie would be a godsend, even though shehad to go the length of learning to fire a revolver as a defenceagainst lions and hostile natives. It would be nothing else thansavage pride in Dr. Millar, Harry continued to argue, to decline tolet Tom Robinson defray May's small expenses at St. Ambrose's, whethershe won a scholarship or not. He was a man with an ample fortune, aswell as the nicest fellow in the world, who was going to be not onlyMay's coach, but her brother-in-law. In like manner it would bedownright churlish and positively unkind to Dora if her parentsrefused to occupy the pleasant small house with the large gardenbelonging to Tom Robinson, and close to what would be their daughter'shouse. It was conveniently vacant, and looked as if it had been madefor a couple of elderly gentle-folks, who were not rich, but werecomfortably provided for. In fact, it had been fitted up by the lateMr. Charles Robinson for just such a pair, who had in the course ofnature left the house empty. 

With regard to Rose, she would have to submit to be more or less HarryIronside's charge till she painted and sold such 'stunning' picturesthat she could afford to look down on his paltry aid. What, not allowhim to assist his own sister-in-law, when he was so thankful to thinkthat she might be like a sister in the meantime for his poor little Kateto fall back upon? Why, the girls could go on making a home together athis good friend Mrs. Jennings's, till it was right for Kate, after shewas old enough to choose, to cast in her lot with him and Annie, supposing the colony prospered. His heart was already in that strange, far-away region, which, with all its mysteries and wonders--ay, and itsterrors--has such an attraction for the young and high-spirited, thetypical pilgrims to a later New England. 

And what did Annie think of this march stolen upon her, this attempt toextort a yard where she had only granted an inch of favour? Perhaps shewas dazzled by what would have repelled many another woman, in theprimitive, precarious, exciting details of the life of a young colony. Perhaps her heart and imagination were alike taken by storm when shethought of the untenanted hospital wards and the patients calling forher to go over and help them. Perhaps she was simply beginning so toidentify herself with Harry Ironside that what he did seemed her doing. Anyhow Annie did not say no. 

The Miss Dyers remarked oracularly, when the double marriage wasannounced in Redcross, that it was just what they had expected. Theobservation was somewhat vague, like other oracles' speeches. Thegeneral public of Redcross, including the Careys and Hewetts, were lessindefinite and more cordial in their expression of satisfaction at thesuitable settlement in life of the little Doctor's elder daughters. 

Miss Franklin could not be too thankful and pleased that, after all, shehad done no mischief to her cousin Tom by her blunder, and by what hadbeen her only too personal reproaches and revelations addressed to hisfuture wife on the night when he was believed to be lying dying. Infact, if she, Barbara Franklin, had not been conscious of a hugemistake, with all the deplorable consequences it might have carried inits train, if she had not thus been kept shamefacedly humble and silentas to her share in the business, she might have taken credit to herself, with greater reason than Mrs. Jennings could boast, of having united asupremely happy couple who were drifting apart. Even if Miss Franklin'spart in it had been played voluntarily and advisedly, she would neverhave cause to regret that night's work. For Dora Robinson had no scruplein being the fast friend and affectionate cousin of her husband'sforewoman. She had no more qualm than she would have felt if MissFranklin had never condescended to trade, but had remained within thebounds of poor gentility by laboriously keeping up her halting classicalmusic and waning foreign languages, and by continuing a finishinggoverness to the day of her death--or rather till she was superannuated, and had to retire to a too literal garret. 

"Oh! Jonathan"--Mrs. Millar could not resist a long-drawn sob on thegreat day of the double marriage--"it is all very well to say Annie hasgot a good husband--a fine disinterested young man, certain to bedistinguished in his profession, you tell me. I believe that, and amvery thankful for it. How could I bear the parting otherwise? But to letour eldest, our prettiest, and wittiest, with her warm heart anduntiring energy--'the flower of the flock, ' as people used to call herwhen the children were young--go out to Africa, it may be to meetunheard-of trials, like your poor Aunt Penny, it may be never to see ourfaces again----" Mrs. Millar could say no more. 

"Hush! hush! Maria; you must be reasonable--you must take the bad withthe good, " enjoined the little Doctor from his arm-chair. "Why, you aremaking as much commotion as you did when Annie said she would be anurse. Is an hospital ward at home so preferable to an hospital ward inthe dark continent, which is ceasing to be dark? Its sun is only tooblazingly bright, its river plains too teemingly fertile, its mountainstoo grand even in the grander monotony of its deserts. There is gold inits dust, and its rocks are glittering with diamonds. But, thank God, that is not all. It is the great country for which Livingstone wascontent to spend his life, where the Moffats made the wilderness blossomlike the rose, and Colenso won the wild heart of the Zulu to trust himas a brother. You will have Dora and Tom next door to you, and Rose and'little May' will be constantly coming and going. As for Annie andHarry, how can you tell that their special gifts would not be wastedhere, as I have often thought hers would have been if she had continuedonly a pretty, sprightly young lady, and not grown up into an hospitalnurse!"

"Perhaps you are right, Jonathan, " answered his wife meekly, cominground, as she did now more than ever, to his side of the question. 

"Do you think Sir John Richardson's daughter, Bishop Selwyn's wife, missed the highest calling she was capable of when, instead ofpresiding over a pleasant country-house or a fine London drawing-room, she consented with all her heart to be landed on an island in Melanesia, and left among the native converts to help to prepare the Malay girlsfor confirmation? Her husband was away in the meantime in his missionaryyacht on his noble enterprise, ready to take her off the island on hisreturn, and not fearing to trust her in the interval to their God whosework she was doing, " argued the old man, with a note of something likeexultation in his voice. "Annie and Harry are not going out to Africa, as my Aunt Penny and poor Beauchamp of Waylands went to Australia in thedays of the earlier squatters, entirely for their own hand, and becausethey cannot help themselves, since there is nothing left for them to dohere. Our children are going to render gallant service on which theirtalents are well bestowed, of which we shall always be proud to hear. They are, as I told you before, our hostages in the carrying out of thegreat purpose of the Almighty Ruler of the universe, by which light isto take the place of darkness, and good of evil, from the rivers even tothe ends of the earth. "

THE END.