A Life's Eclipse, by George Manville Fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ This is a short book by G. M. Fenn's usual standards, but you will enjoyreading it. The hero is John Grange, a young gardener on Mrs Mostyn'sestate, who finds himself to be in love with Mary Ellis, the daughter ofthe bailiff, James Ellis. But as he is no more than an under-gardenerEllis is angry with him for even thinking of Mary. There is an accident when John has ascended a large cedar tree that hadlost a bough in a gale, and a broken branch needed to be tidied up. John falls from where he was sawing, onto the ground, landing on hishead. He recovers from the concussion, but is now blind. His rival not only for Mary's hand but also for promotion to HeadGardener when Dunton, the present Head Gardener, now very old, dies, isDaniel Barnett, who of course gets the job. But he is a nasty man, notvery good at his work, while the blind John can do his work almost aswell as before, working by touch. Barnett plays a number of most unkindtricks on his rival John. Eventually John disappears without trace andrumour is rife that Daniel Barnett had made away with him, so that hemight have a clear run to Mary's hand--not that Mary is interested inhim. There is a surprise ending to the story, of course. All the characters are beautifully drawn, and this little book is quitea masterpiece. It was published by the Society for the Promotion ofChristian Knowledge, and must have been within their guidelines, withoutbeing excessively pious. Do read it--it won't take you long. NH ________________________________________________________________________ A LIFE'S ECLIPSE, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN. CHAPTER ONE. "What insolence!" John Grange's brown, good-looking face turned of a reddish-brown in thecheeks, the warm tint mounting into his forehead, as he looked straightin the speaker's eyes, and there was a good, manly English ring in hisvoice as he said sturdily-- "I didn't know, Mr Ellis, that it was insolent for a man to come in astraightforward way, and say to the father of the young lady simply--yes, and humbly--`I love your daughter, sir. '" "But it is, sir, downright insolence. Recollect what you are, sir, onlyan under-gardener living at the bothy on thirty shillings a week. " "I do recollect it, sir, but I don't mean to be an under-gardeneralways. " "Oh, indeed, " said James Ellis sarcastically, "but poor old Dunton isnot dead yet, and when he does die, Mrs Mostyn is quite as likely toappoint Daniel Barnett to his place as you, and if she takes my advice, she'll give the post to neither of you, but get some able, sensible manfrom Chiswick. " "But, Mr Ellis--" "That will do, John Grange, " said the owner of that name pompously. "Iknow what you are going to say. I am not ashamed of having been only agardener once, but I am Mrs Mostyn's bailiff and agent now, sir, and, so to speak, your master. Let me hear no more of this nonsense, sir. That will do. But one moment. Have you had the--I mean, does Mary--Imean, does Miss Ellis know that you were going to speak to me thisevening?" "No, sir, " said John Grange sternly. "I'm only an under-gardener, butI've heard that it was the proper thing to speak out openly first. " "Then Mary does not know that you--I mean, that you think about her?" "I hope and believe she does; sir, " said the young man warmly, and hiseyes flashed, and a proud, joyful look came into his countenance. "Then I beg you will not hope and believe anything of the kind, sir, again. My daughter will do precisely as I wish, and when I part withher, it will be to see her go to a substantial home. Good-evening!" James Ellis tucked his walking-stick under his arm, took off his greyfelt hat, drew a red silk handkerchief from the crown, rubbed his baldhead, and made himself look hotter as he strode away, while afterstanding and watching him go toward the bailiff's cottage just outsidethe park fence at The Hollows on the hill slope, a quarter of a mileaway, the young man uttered a sigh and turned in at an open doorway in ahigh wall, whose top was fringed with young shoots of peaches, nectarines, and apricots, suggestive of the horticultural treasureswithin. "What a slap in the face!" he muttered. "Under-gardener! Well, that'sall right. Give poor old Dunton's place to Dan Barnett! Here, I can'tgo in now, I must walk this off. " John Grange pulled the open door to, so that it fastened with a snap, and turned off to make for the woods, where he could think alone. His way was for a couple of hundred yards toward the pretty villa knownas the bailiff's cottage, and he had not gone half that distance when asudden pang shot through him. For the place stood high, and he caughtsight of two figures in the garden, one that of a man, the other that ofsome one in white muslin and a straw hat, coming toward the gate. Thenext minute the man was in the road, and half a minute later he wasstanding talking to Mrs Mostyn's agent, while the white muslin that hadbeen so plainly seen amongst the shrubs had disappeared into thecottage. John Grange's face grew dark with a look of despair, and he did not gooff into the woods. Dan Barnett, up there at the cottage talking to Mary, while he had beenspeaking to her father, and she had come down to the gate with hervisitor. Something very like a groan escaped the young man's lips as he crossedthe road to lean his arms upon the gate, and looked over into the park, feeling more miserable than ever before in his life. "I'm a poor, weak fool, " he thought. "He's good-looking, and knows theway to a girl's heart. Better keep to my nailing and pruning. One fromthe father, two from Dan Barnett. Regular knock-down blows. Better getup again, go to work and forget it all--if I can. " "Nice evening, John Grange. Drop o' rain coming?" "Eh? Yes, I think so, Tummus, " said the young man, turning to the dry, quaint old fellow who had spoken, and who now screwed up the bark on hisface--it more resembled that than skin--showed three or four ancient, yellow teeth, and jerked his right thumb over his shoulder. "I say--see that? Young Dan Barnett going courtin', and now having itout with Miss Mary's dad. You mark my words, Mr John, sir, if poor oldDunton dies, and Dan Barnett steps into his shoes, there'll be a weddingyonder. " "Think so, Tummus?" said John Grange, with a forced smile. "Aye, that's what I think, sir, " said the old man, and then showing hisgums as well as his teeth, he continued, "and I thinks this 'ere too--that if I'd been a young, good-looking chap like some one I know, Iwouldn't ha' let Dan Barnett shoulder me out, and stand in first withthe prettiest and best young lady in these parts. Evening!" "Here, hi! You!" came from behind them, and the person in questionstrode up, looking frowning and angry. "You ca' me, Mr Dan?" "Yes; did you finish wheeling up that stuff?" "Aye; I fishened it all 'fore I left work. Good-evening. " He left the two young men standing together, and there was a peculiar, malicious look in the fresh-comer's eyes as he gave John Grange a shortnod. "Mrs Mostyn say anything to you 'bout the cedar?" "Yes; she said the broken stump was to be cut off to-morrow. " "Then you'd better get the ladders and ropes ready first thing. " "You mean _we_ had better, " said John Grange quietly. "No, I don't. I'm not going to break my neck for thirty shillings aweek. Heard how Dunton is?" "Very bad. Doctor Manning was here again this evening. " "Well, he's nearly ninety--a man can't expect to live for ever. Time hedid go. " John Grange walked away toward the head-gardener's cottage to ask forthe last news, and Daniel Barnett stood watching him with a frown on hisrather handsome features. "Poor old Dunton!" said John Grange to himself; "we shall miss him whenhe's gone. " "Hang him!" muttered Barnett, "that's it. I saw him talking to the oldman, but he hasn't won yet. Insolence, eh? I like that. The Barnettsare as good as the Ellis's, anyhow. Wait a bit, my lady, and I may takea bit of the pride out of you. " Some men have a habit of thinking across the grain. CHAPTER TWO. At seven o'clock next morning John Grange felt better when he stood withDaniel Barnett, old Tummus, and Mary Ellis's father at the foot of thegreat cedar facing the house, a tree sadly shorn of its beauty by asudden squall that had swept down the valley, and snapped off the top, where an ugly stump now stood out forty feet from the lawn. Grange felt better, for in spite of his hectoring, triumphant manner, itwas plain to see that Daniel Barnett had not sped well with Mary'sfather, whatever might have been his success with the lady herself. James Ellis was no longer young, and early work before breakfast hadgrown distasteful; still, he had come to see the broken stump sawn off. The ladder had been raised, and got into position, but it was too shortby ten feet, and there was an awkward climb before the man who went upcould use the saw or attach the rope to keep the sawn-off stump fromfalling with a crash. "Well, " said Ellis, "what are we waiting for?" Old Tummus chuckled. "Why when I first come to these here gardens five-and-forty years ago, I'd ha' gone up there like a squirrel, Mr Ellis, sir; but these herefine new-fangled gardeners can't do as we did. " "Better go up now, " said Barnett. "Nay, nay, my lad, sixty-eight's a bit too ripe for climbing trees, eh, Master Ellis?" "Yes, of course, " said the bailiff. "Come, get it done. " "Do you hear, John Grange?" said Barnett. "Up with you. Better hitchthe rope under that big bough, and saw the next. Make it well fastbefore you begin to saw. " "I thought Mrs Mostyn told you to go up and cut it?" said Ellispompously; "and I heard you tell her how you should do it?" "Or have it done, sir. Here, up with you, John. " John Grange felt annoyed at the other's manner in the presence of thebailiff. There was a tone--a hectoring way--which nettled him the morethat they were precisely equal in status at the great gardens; and, besides, there were Mary and old Tummus's words. He had, he knew, letthis rather overbearing fellow-servant step in front of him again andagain, and this morning he felt ready to resent it, as the blood cameinto his cheeks. "Well, what are you waiting for?" cried Barnett. "Up with you!" "If it was your orders, why don't you go?" retorted Grange. Barnett burst into a hoarse fit of laughter, and turned to the bailiff. "Hear that, sir? He's afraid. Ha-ha-ha! Well, well! I did think hehad some pluck. " "Perhaps I have pluck enough, " said the young man, "even if it is anawkward job, but I don't see why I'm to be bullied into doing yourwork. " "I thought so, " continued Barnett, "white feather! Talk away, John, youcan't hide it now. " Old Tummus showed his yellow stumps. "He can't do it, Mr Dan, " he chuckled. "You're the chap to go up. Youshow him how to do it. " "You hold your tongue. Speak when you're spoken to, " said Barnettfiercely; and the old man chuckled the more as Barnett turned to JohnGrange. "Now then, are you afraid to go up? Because if so, say so, and I'll doit. " John Grange glanced at the bailiff, and then stooped and picked up thecoil of rope, passed it over his shoulder, and then seized the saw. Hemounted the ladder, and clinging to the tree, stood on the last round, and then climbing actively, mounted the remaining ten feet to where hecould stand upon a branch and attach the rope to the stump, pass the endover a higher bough and lower it down to the others. Then rolling hissleeves right up to the shoulder, he began to cut, the keen teeth of thesaw biting into the soft, mahogany-like wood, and sending down the dustlike sleet. It was a good half-hour's task to cut it through, but the sturdy youngfellow worked away till only a cut or two more was necessary, and thenhe stopped. "Ready below?" he said, glancing down. "All right!" cried Ellis. "Cut clean through, so that it does notsplinter. " "Yes, sir, " shouted Grange; and he was giving the final cuts, when forsome reason, possibly to get the rope a little farther along, Barnettgave it a sharp jerk, with the effect that the nearly free piece oftimber gave way with a sharp crash, just as John Grange was reaching outto give the last cut. Cedar snaps like glass. Down went the block with a crash to the extentthe rope would allow, and there swung like a pendulum. Down, too, went Grange, overbalanced. He dropped the saw, and made a desperate snatch at a bough in front, andhe caught it, and hung in a most precarious way for a few moments. "Quick!" he shouted to Barnett; "the ladder!" Ellis and old Tummus held the rope, not daring to let go and bring thepiece of timber crashing down. Barnett alone was at liberty to move theladder; and he stood staring up, as if paralysed by the danger and bythe thought that the man above him was his rival, for whose sake he hadbeen, only a few hours before, refused. But it was only a matter of seconds. John Grange's fingers were already gliding over the rough bark; andbefore Barnett could throw off the horrible mental chains which boundhim, the young man uttered a low, hoarse cry, and fell headlong throughthe air. CHAPTER THREE. "How do you say it happened?" Old Tummus was riding in the doctor's gig back to The Hollows afterrunning across to the village for help; and he now repeated all he knew, with the additions of sundry remarks about these new-fangled young"harticult'ral gardeners who know'd everything but their work. " "Come right down on his head, poor lad, " he said; "but you'll do yourbest for him, doctor: don't you let him slip through your fingers. " The doctor smiled grimly, and soon after drew up at the door in thegarden wall, and hurried through to the bothy where John Grange had beencarried and lay perfectly insensible, with Mrs Mostyn, a dignifiedelderly widow lady, who had hurried out as soon as she had heard of theaccident, bathing his head, and who now anxiously waited till thedoctor's examination was at an end. "Well, doctor, " said Mrs Mostyn eagerly, "don't keep me in suspense. " "I must, " he replied gravely. "It will be some time before I can sayanything definite. I feared fractured skull, but there are no bonesbroken. " "Thank heaven!" said Mrs Mostyn piously. "Such a frank, promisingyoung man--such an admirable florist. Then he is not going to be verybad?" "I cannot tell yet. He is perfectly insensible, and in all probabilityhe will suffer from the concussion to the brain, and spinal injury bethe result. " "Oh, doctor, I would have given anything sooner than this terribleaccident should have occurred. Pray forgive me--would you likeassistance?" "Yes: of a good nurse. If complications arise, I will suggest thesending for some eminent man. " Many hours elapsed before John Grange opened his eyes from what seemedto be a deep sleep; and then he only muttered incoherently, and oldTummus's plump, elderly wife, who was famed in the district for hernursing qualities, sat by the bedside and shed tears as she held hishand. "Such a bonny lad, " she said, "I wonder what Miss Mary'll say if heshould die. " Mary had heard the news at breakfast-time before her father hadreturned, but she made no sign, only looked very pale and grave. And asshe dwelt upon the news she wondered what she would have said if JohnGrange had come to her and spoken as Daniel Barnett did on the previousevening. This thought made the colour come back to her cheeks and a strangefluttering to her breast as she recalled the different times they hadmet, and John Grange's tenderly respectful way towards her. Then she chased away her thoughts, for her mother announced from thewindow that "father" was coming. A minute later James Ellis entered, to sit down sadly to his breakfast, his silence being respected by mother and daughter. At last he spoke. "You heard, of course, about poor Grange?" "Yes. How is he?" "Bad--very bad. Doctor don't say much, but it's a serious case, I fear. Come right down on his head, close to my feet. There--I can't eat. Only fancy, mother, talking to me as he was last night, and now lyingalmost at the point of death. " He pushed away cup and plate, and sat back in his chair. "`In the midst of life we are in death, '" he muttered. "Dear, dear, Iwish I hadn't spoken so harshly to him last night, mother. Fine, straightforward young fellow, and as good a gardener as ever stepped. " Mrs Ellis sighed and glanced at her daughter, who was looking wildlyfrom one to the other. "There; I'll get back. Ah! Who's this?" It was Daniel Barnett, who had run up from the bothy; and Ellis hurriedout to the door. "What is it?" he cried anxiously. "Old Hannah says, `Will you come on:' She don't like the looks of him. He's off his head. " Ellis caught his hat from the peg, and glanced at Daniel Barnett with apeculiar thought or two in his head as the young man looked quickly atthe door and window. Barnett caught the glance and felt uncomfortable, for though sorry forhis fellow-worker's accident, certain thoughts would intrude relating tohis own prospects if John Grange were not at The Hollows. They hurried down to the grounds, mother and daughter watching from thewindow, and in those few minutes a great change came over Mary Ellis'sface. It was as if it rapidly altered from that of the happy, carelessgirl, who went singing about the house, to the thoughtful, anxiouswoman. Even her way of speaking was different, as she turned quicklyupon her mother. "What was father so angry about last night?" she said. "Did he have aquarrel with poor Mr Grange?" "Well, hardly a quarrel, my dear. Oh, it was nothing. " "But he said he was sorry he spoke so harshly to him. Mother, you arekeeping something back. " "Well, well, well, my darling, nothing much; only young men will beyoung men; and father was put out by his vanity and conceit. Heactually got talking to father about you. " "About me?" said Mary, flushing, and beginning to tremble. "Yes, my dear; and, as father said, it was nothing short of impudencefor a young man in his position to think about you. I don't know what'scome to the young men now-a-days, I'm sure. " Mary said nothing, but she was very thoughtful all that day, and duringthe days which followed, for she had found out the truth about herself, and a little germ that had been growing in her breast, but of which shehad thought little till Daniel Barnett came up and spoke, and made herknow she had a heart--a fact of which she became perfectly sure, whenthe news reached her next morning of the sad accident in the grounds. CHAPTER FOUR. Old Hannah's fears were needless, for the delirium passed away; and asthe days glided by and poor Grange lay in his darkened bedroom, untiringly watched by old Tummus's patient wife, James Ellis used totake the tidings home till the day when in secret Mary went upafterwards to her own room to sink upon her knees by her bedside, andhide her burning face in her hands, as if guiltily, while she offered upher prayer and thanksgiving for all that she had heard. For the doctor had definitely said that John Grange would not die fromthe effects of his fall. "Thank you, Tummus, old man, " said the patient, one evening about afortnight after the accident; and he took a bunch of roses in his hand. "I can't see them, but they smell deliciously. Hah! How it makes melong to be back again among the dear old flowers. " "Aye, to be sure, my lad. You mun mak' haste and get well and get outto us again. Dan Barnett arn't half the man you are among the missus'sorchardses. And look here, I want my old woman home again. You munlook sharp and get well. " "Yes: I hope the doctor will soon let me get up. God bless you, Hannah!You've been quite like a mother to me. " "Nonsense, nonsense, boy; only a bit o' nussing. Make haste and getwell again. " "Aye, she'd be a good nuss if she warn't quite so fond o' mustard, " saidold Tummus. "It's allus mustard, mustard, stuck about you to pingle andsting if there's owt the matter. I like my mustard on my beef. Andthat's what you want, Master John--some good slices o' beef. Theywomen's never happy wi'out giving you spoon meat. " "Hold your tongue, Tummus, and don't talk so much nonsense, " said hiswife. "Nay, I arn't going to be choked. I s'pose Mrs Mostyn sends youjellies and chicken-broth, and the like?" "Yes, every one is very kind, " said Grange. "But look here, have youseen to the mushroom bed?" "Aye. " "And those cuttings in the frames?" "You mak' haste and get well, Master John, and don't you worry aboutnowt. I'm seeing to everything quite proper, for I don't trust MasterDan Barnett a bit. He's thinking too much o' finding scuses to go up tothe cottage, and I know why. There, good-night. Get well, lad. I dowant to see that bandage from over your eyes next time I come. OldDunton's mortal bad, they say. Good-night. " It was a bad night for John Grange, who was so feverish that the doctorremarked upon it, and the progress was so poor during the next week thatthe doctor determined to have his patient up, and came one morning incompany with the bailiff, talking to him seriously the while. They were very kind to him, helping him to dress, and helped him at lastinto the outer room, where it was light and cool, and old Hannah, with aface full of commiseration, had placed an easy-chair for the pale, weakman, with his eyes and head bandaged heavily. It so happened that just as John Grange lay back in the chair, while oldHannah stood with her handkerchief to her eyes, crying silently, andJames Ellis was behind the chair looking very grave and stern, DanielBarnett came up to the door of the bothy with a message, which he didnot deliver, for the words he heard arrested him, and he drew backlistening. "Now, doctor, please, " sighed Grange; "it has been so hard to bear allthis long time, and I have been very patient. Let me have the bandageoff, and, if it's only a glimpse, one look at the bright sunshineagain. " There was silence for a moment, and then the doctor took the young man'shand, his voice shaking a little, as he said gravely-- "Grange, my lad, three weeks ago I felt that I could not save your life. God has heard our prayers, and let my poor skill avail. You will in afew weeks be as strong as ever. " "Yes--yes, " said the patient, in tones of humble thankfulness, and thenhis lips moved for a few moments, but no sound was heard. Thenaloud--"Believe me, doctor, I am grateful. But the bandage. Let me seethe light. " "My poor fellow!" began the doctor, and old Hannah uttered a sob, "youmust know. " "Ah!" cried John Grange, snatching the bandage from his eyes, the broadhandkerchief kept there ever since the fall. "Don't--don't tell methat--I--I was afraid--yes--dark--all dark! Doctor--doctor--don't tellme I am blind!" Old Hannah's sobs grew piteous, and in the silence which followed, JamesEllis stole on tiptoe towards the window, unable to be a witness of theagony which convulsed the young man's face. "Then it is true!" said Grange. "Blind--blind from that awful shock. " "Ah, here you are, Master Barnett, " cried the voice of old Tummusoutside. "The doctor. Is he coming over? 'Cause he needn't now. " "What is the matter?" said Ellis, stepping out, with Daniel Barnettbacking away from the porch before him. "Poor owd Dunton's gone, sir; dropped off dead ripe at last--just goneto sleep. " James Ellis looked Daniel Barnett in the eyes, and both had the samethought in their minds. What a change in the younger man's prospects this last stroke of fatehad made! CHAPTER FIVE. "I am very deeply grieved, Mr Manning, " said Mrs Mostyn, as she sat inher drawing-room, holding a kind of consultation with the doctor andJames Ellis, her old agent, and as she spoke, the truth of her words wasvery evident, for she kept applying her handkerchief to her eyes. "Iliked John Grange. A frank, manly fellow, whose heart was in his work, and I fully intended, Ellis, that he should succeed poor old Dunton. " "Yes, ma'am; a most worthy young man, " said the bailiff. "Worthy? He was more than that. He was fond of his work and proud ofthe garden. Go in that conservatory, doctor, and look at my orchids. His skill was beyond question. " "Your flowers are the envy of the county, Mrs Mostyn, " said the doctor. "Ah, well! It is not my flowers in question, but this poor fellow'sfuture. Do you mean to tell me that you can do nothing for him?" "I regret to say that I must, " said the doctor gravely. "We try all wecan to master Nature's mechanism, but I frankly confess that we areoften very helpless. In this case the terrible shock of the fall on thehead seems to have paralysed certain optical nerves. Time may workwonders, but I fear that his sight is permanently destroyed. " "Oh, dear, dear, dear!" sighed Mrs Mostyn, down whose pleasant old facethe tears now coursed unchecked; "and all to satisfy my whims--allbecause I objected to a ragged, broken branch. But, doctor, can nothingbe done?" "I can only recommend one thing, madam--that he should go up to one ofthe specialists, who will suggest that he should stay in his privateinfirmary. " "Well, why not?" said Mrs Mostyn eagerly. "There is the expense, madam, " said the doctor hesitatingly. "Expense? Pooh! Fudge! People say I am very mean. Poor old Duntonused to say so, and James Ellis here. " "I beg your pardon, ma'am--" began the bailiff. "Oh, don't deny it, James; you know you have. I heard of it over andover again, because I would not agree to some extravagant folly proposedby you or poor old Dunton for the estate or garden. " "But--" "Silence! I remember Dunton said I could spend hundreds on new orchids, and stinted him in help; and you were quite angry because I wouldn'thave half-a-mile of new park palings, when the old mossy ones looklovely. But I'm not mean, doctor, when there is a proper need foroutlay. Now you go at once and make arrangements for that poor youngman to be taken up to town and placed in this institution. Mind, youare to spare no expense. It was my fault that poor Grange lost hissight, and I shall never love my garden again if his eyes are notrestored. " The doctor rose, shook hands, and went away, leaving the bailiff withhis mistress, who turned to him with her brow all in puckers. "Well, James Ellis, I hardly know what to say. It is a dreadful shock, and I don't like to do anything hastily. If there was a prospect ofpoor Grange recovering I would wait. " The bailiff shook his head. "Doctor Manning told me, ma'am, that he was afraid it was hopeless. " "And I'm afraid so too, " said Mrs Mostyn, with a sigh. "I can't superintend the garden myself, ma'am. " "No, Ellis, you have too much to do. " "And gardens are gardens, ma'am--ours in particular. " "Yes, " said Mrs Mostyn, who was thinking of the poor fellow lying atthe bothy in darkness. "And with all those glass-houses and their valuable contents, a day'sneglect is never recovered. " "No, James Ellis. " "The men, too, want some one over them whom they must obey. " "Of course--of course, Ellis. And you think Daniel Barnett is quiteequal to the duties?" "Oh, yes, ma'am. He is quite as good a gardener as John Grange, so Idon't think you could do better, ma'am. You see we know him, that he istrustworthy and clever. " "Well, well, I'll think about it. I will not decide this morning; but Isuppose it will have to be so. I can't go appointing another mandirectly the breath is out of poor old Dunton's body, and with that poorfellow lying there in misery. Come to me this day week, James Ellis, and I will give my decision. " The bailiff bowed and withdrew, to go straight to the gardens, where, quite by accident, of course, Daniel Barnett came along one of thepaths, and met him, looking at him inquiringly; but Ellis did not say aword about the subject nearest then to the young man's heart. He askedhow the grapes were looking, and had a peep at them and the melons. Then went on through the orchid-houses, reeking with heat and moisture, and at last stood still wiping his head in the hot sunshine. "They do you credit, Barnett, " he said. "I'm very glad to see how youhave thrown yourself into the gap, and managed now poor John Grange isdown; everything looks perfect. I see you have kept the men up to theirwork. " "Done my best, Mr Ellis, of course, " said the young man. "Of course, of course. I told Mrs Mostyn I was sure you would. There, I must be off. Good-morning. " He started off for the gate, and then turned. "Oh, by the way, Barnett, poor John Grange is to be sent up to town. Ithought you would like to hear. But don't say a word to him, and--er--I'm always at home of an evening if you care to step up and have a quietpipe with me, and a bit of music before supper. Good-morning. " "The wind's changed, " said Dan Barnett, with his face flushed up by theexultation he felt. "I'm safe two ways. Poor old Jack Grange! Well, we can't all win. " CHAPTER SIX. The week, had passed, and Daniel Barnett had been up to the cottagetwice while John Grange lay in the dark. The welcome had been warmenough from James Ellis; Mrs Ellis had been lukewarm and wary. "Ah, well, that will come, " said the young man to himself on theprevious evening, after he had received his instructions from thebailiff about the fly to the station, and his duties in taking charge ofJohn Grange, and going up with him to the little private infirmary wherehe was to stay for a few months if necessary. "Poor chap! I'm sorryfor him, but, as I said before, we can't all win. " The day for John Grange's departure had come, and he lay back upon alittle couch fighting hard to bear his misfortune like a man, and thinkhopefully of his future. Mrs Mostyn had been to see him four times, and spoke in the most motherly way as she prophesied a successful issueto the journey; but only left him more low-spirited as he thought ofMary and his and her future. The couch was close to the open window, where he could feel the warmsunshine, and old Hannah had left him for a short time alone to go andfinish packing his little bag, while Daniel Barnett in his best waswaiting to see James Ellis, when he came from the house, receive hisfinal instructions, and then have the fly brought to the garden-door forJohn Grange. He had quite half-an-hour to wait before Ellis appeared, and on joininghim held out his hand. "Good-bye, sir, " said Barnett, "but I shall see you at the bothy. I'lltake great care of the poor fellow. " "I meant to congratulate you, Dan Barnett, our new head-gardener, " saidEllis. "Mrs Mostyn confirms your appointment. Success to you! Nowcome on to the bothy, and let's get that poor fellow off. I'll let himknow of it by and by--not for a week or two yet. " But John Grange, as he lay there, was feeling sure that the appointmentwould be given to Barnett, and he only sighed in a hopeless way, andfelt that it was just. And just then he heard a step and pulled himselftogether. "Come in, " he said, trying to speak cheerily. "No mistaking your fairyfootsteps, Tummus. I thought you'd come and say good-bye. " "Aye, and come to the station too, my lad. And I mean to come up to theorspittle once a week, to bring you a bit o' fruit and a few flowers, ifI have to walk. " "Thank you, old man; thank you. " "You need a bit o' comfort, my lad, and I want you to get right. Thatold 'ooman's drying hersen up wi' crying about you. There wean't be adrop o' mysture left in her by and by. Ah! It's a strange world. " "It never felt so beautiful before, old man, " said John Grange sadly. "Thought I'd try and comfort you up a bit. S'pose you know that DanBarnett's safe to be the new head?" "Yes, I suppose so, Tummus. " "Yah! Means ruins to the grand old place. " "Nonsense! Dan is a thoroughly good gardener when he likes. " "Aye, when he likes, " said the old man; and he suddenly subsided intosilence, which lasted some minutes, during which John Grange was verythoughtful. Then, suddenly starting, the invalid said-- "There, old fellow, don't run down a good man. It was to be. " There was a deep sigh. "Don't do that, old chap, " said John. "It isn't cheering. I don't mindit so very much. But you must go now; I want to think a bit before theyfetch me. Good-bye, and thank you and your dear old wife for all shehas done. It's no use to fight against it, old man; I'm going to bealways in the dark, I know well enough, so you may as well try and trainup some dog to lead me about when I come back, for Heaven only knowswhat's to become of me. But there, say good-bye. My old mother shan'thave taught me to kneel down and say every night, `thy will be done!'for nothing. There--shake hands and go, " he said, trying to command histrembling voice--"before I break down and cry like a girl, just when Iwant to act the man. " He stretched out his hand again, and it closed, but not upon oldTummus's horny palm, but ringers that were soft and warm, and clung tohis; and as that little, soft, trembling hand seemed to nestle there, John Grange uttered a hoarse cry. "Who--who is this?" he whispered then. For answer there was a quick, rustling sound, as of some one kneelingdown by the couch, and then there was wild sobbing and panting as asoft, wet cheek was laid against his hands. "Miss Ellis--Mary!" he cried wildly; and the answer came at once. "Oh, John, John, I could not bear it--I could not let you go without oneword. " CHAPTER SEVEN. In those few joyous moments the darkness became light, dazzling light, to John Grange; misery, despair, the blank life before him, had droppedaway, and the future spread out in a vista wherein hope shone brightly, and all was illumined by the sweet love of a true-hearted woman. He would have been less than man if he had not drawn the half-shrinking, half-yielding figure to his heart, and held Mary tightly there as, amidst tears and sobs, she confessed how she had long felt that he lovedher, but doubted herself the reality of the new sensation which had madeher pleased to see him, while when she met him as they spoke somethingseemed to urge her to avoid him, and look hard, distant, and cold. Thenthe terrible misfortune had come, and she knew the truth; the bud grewand had opened, and she trembled lest any one should divine her secret, till she knew that he was to go away believing that she might care forDaniel Barnett; in suffering and mental pain, needing all that those whocared for him could do to soften his pitiable case; and at last, believing that she alone could send him away hopeful and patient to bearhis awful infirmity, she had cast off all reserve and come to saygood-bye. "And you will not think the less of me?" she whispered appealingly. "Think the less of you!" he cried proudly; "how can you ask that? Mary, you send me away happy. I shall go patient and hopeful, believing thatthe doctors can and will give me back my sight, and ready to wait till Imay come back to you, my own love--for I do love you, dear. This yearpast my every thought has been of you, and I have worked and studied tomake myself worthy, but always in despair, for I felt that you could notcare for one like me, and that--" "How could you think it?" she whispered tenderly, as she nestled to him. "I never, never could have cared for him, John, nor for any one butyou. " And for those brief minutes all was the brightest of life's sunshine inthat humble room. There were tears in Mary's sweet grey eyes, and theyclung upon the lashes and lay wet upon her cheeks; but that sunshinemade them flash irradiant with joy before the black cloud closed inagain, and John Grange's pale face grew convulsed with agony, as heshrank from her, only holding her hands in his with a painful clasp;while, as she gazed at him wildly, startled by the change, she saw thathis eyes seemed to be staring wildly at her, so bright, unchanged, andkeen that it was impossible to believe that they were blank, so plainlydid they bespeak the agony and despair in the poor fellow's breast. "John, " she cried excitedly, "what is it? Shall I go for help? You arein terrible pain?" "Yes, yes, dear, " he moaned; "pain so great that it is more than I canbear. No, no, don't go, not for a minute, dear; but go then, never tocome near me more. Don't, don't tempt me. God help me and give mestrength. " "John, dear, " he whispered piteously, as she clung to his hands, and hefelt her press towards him till the throbbings of her heart beat uponhis wrists. "No, no, " he groaned. "Mary, dear, let me tell you while I havestrength. I should be no man if I was silent now. I shouldn't beworthy of you, dear, nor of the love you have shown me you could havegiven. " "John, John!" "Don't, don't speak to me like that, " he groaned, "or you will make meforget once more, and speak to you as I did just now. I was half madwith joy, beside myself with the sweet delight. But 'tis taking acoward's, a cruel advantage of you in your innocence and love. Mary, Mary dear, " he said faintly; and could those eyes which stared soblankly towards her have seen, he would have gazed upon the calm, patient face, upon which slowly dawned a gentle tenderness, as she bentlower and lower as if longing to kiss his hands, which she caressed withher warm breath, while she listened to his words. "Listen, dear, " he said, "and let me tell you the truth before you saygood-bye, and go back to pray for me--for your own dear self--that wemay be patient and bear it. Time will make it easier, and by and by wecan look back upon all this as something that might have been. " "Yes, " she said gently, and she raised her face a little as she knelt bythe couch to gaze fondly in his eyes. "I am going away, dear, and it is best, for what we have said must belike a dream. Mary, dear, you will not forget me, but you must think ofme as a poor brother smitten with this affliction, one, dear, that Ihave to bear patiently to the end. " "Yes, John, " she said, with a strange calmness in her tones. "How could I let you tie yourself down to a poor helpless wretch whowill always be dependent upon others for help? It would be a death inlife for you, Mary. In my great joy I forgot it all; but my reason hascome back. There is no hope, dear. I am going up to town because MrsMostyn wishes it. Heaven bless her for a good, true woman! But it isof no use, I know. Doctor Manning knows it well enough. My sight hasgone, dear, and I must face the future like a man. You well know I amspeaking the truth. " She tried to reply, but there was a suffocating sensation at her throat, and it was some moments before she could wildly gasp out--"Yes!" Then the strange, sweet, patient look of calm came back, with the gentlepity and resignation in her eyes as she gazed at him with sorrow. "There, " he said, "you must go now. Bless you, Mary--bless you, dear. You have sent gladness and a spirit of hopefulness into my dark heart, and I am going away ready to bear it all manfully, for I know it will beeasier to bear--by and by--when I get well and strong. Then you shallhear how patient I am, and some day in the future I shall be pleased inhearing, dear, that you are happy with some good, honest fellow wholoves and deserves you; and perhaps too, " he continued, talking quicklyand with a smile upon his lip, as he tried to speak cheerfully in hisgreat desire to lessen her grief and send her away suffering lesskeenly--"perhaps too, some day, I may be able to come and see--" He broke down. He could, in his weak state, bear no more, and with apiteous cry he snatched away his hands and covered his convulsedfeatures, as he lay back there quivering in every nerve. And then from out of the deep, black darkness, mental and bodily, whichclosed him in, light shone out once more, as, gently and tenderly, aslight soft arm glided round his neck, and a cold, wet cheek was laidagainst his hands, while in low, measured tones, every word spokencalmly, almost in a whisper, but thrilling the suffering man to thecore, Mary murmured-- "I never knew till now how much a woman's duty in life is to help andcomfort those who suffer. John, dear, I have listened to everything yousaid, and feel it no shame now to speak out all that is in my heart. Ialways liked the frank, straightforward man who spoke to me as if herespected me; who never gave me a look that was not full of thereverence for me that I felt was in his breast. You never paid me acompliment, never talked to me but in words which I felt were wise andtrue. You made me like you, and now, once more, I tell you that whenthis trouble came I learned that I loved you. John, dear, this greataffliction has come to you--to us both, and I know you will learn tobear it in your own patient, wise way. " "Yes, yes, " he groaned; "but blind--blind! Mary--for pity's sake leaveme--in the dark--in the dark. " She rose from her knees by his side, and he uttered a sob, for he feltthat she was going; but she retained one of his hands between hers in afirm, cool clasp. "No, dear, " she said softly; "those who love are one. John Grange, Iwill never leave you, and your life shall not be dark. Heaven helpingme, it shall be my task to lighten your way. You shall see with myeyes, dear; my hand shall always be there to guide you wherever you maygo; and some day in the future, when we have grown old and grey, youshall look back, dear, with your strong, patient mind, and then tell methat I have done well, and that your path in life has not been dark. " "Mary, " he groaned, "for pity's sake don't tempt me; it is more than Ican bear. " "It is no temptation, John, " she said softly, and in utter ignorancethat there were black shadows across her and the stricken man, she bentdown and kissed his forehead. "Last Sunday only, in church, I heardthese words--`If aught but death part me and thee. '" She sank upon her knees once more, and with her hands clasped togetherand resting upon his breast, her face turned heavenwards, her eyesclosed and her lips moving as if in prayer, while the two shadows whichhad been cast on the sunlight from the door softly passed away, JamesEllis and Daniel Barnett stepping back on to the green, and standinglooking in each other's eyes, till the sound of approaching wheels washeard. Then assuming that they had that moment come up, James Ellis andthe new head-gardener strode once more up to the door. CHAPTER EIGHT. Ellis had been so thoroughly astounded upon seeing Mary kneeling by JohnGrange's side that he had made a quick sign to Barnett to come away; andas soon as they were at a short distance from the door he felt that hisaction had been ill-judged, and likely to excite the derision of hiscompanion, whom he had begun now to think of as a possible son-in-law. "Wretched--foolish girl!" he said to himself, and leading the way, theyboth entered the bothy. "Mary!" he cried angrily, "I am here. What is the meaning of this?" Daniel Barnett, who was quivering with jealous rage, expected to see thebailiff's daughter spring to her feet, flushed with shame and dread, atbeing surprised in such a position, but to his astonishment she hardlystirred, merely raising her head a little to look gently and sadly inher father's face as she said-- "I have come to bid poor John Grange good-bye. " "Without my leave!" stormed Ellis, "and like this. Mary! Shamelessgirl, have you taken leave of your senses?" She smiled at him sadly, and shook her head. "Disgraceful!" cried Ellis. "What will Mr Barnett--what will every onethink of your conduct?" He caught her hand in his rage, and drew her sharply away as he turnedto John Grange. "And you, sir, what have you to say? Your weakness and injury are noexcuse. Everything possible has been done for you. We have all workedfor you, and tried to lighten your affliction; even now I have come withMr Barnett to see you off, and I find my kindness returned by a cruel, underhanded, cowardly blow. " "Mr Ellis, " began John, with his pale face flushing and his dark eyeswandering as he tried to fix them upon the speaker's face. "Silence, sir! How dare you! How long has this disgraceful businessbeen going on?" "Oh, father, father!" cried Mary, clinging to him; "pray, pray say nomore. We are not alone. " "No, " cried Ellis, who had now worked himself into a towering passion;"we are not alone. Mr Barnett is here, a witness to the way in whichthis man has prevailed upon you to set all common decency at defiance, and come here alone. How long, I repeat, has this disgraceful businessbeen going on?" Mary was about to speak, but at that moment John Grange raised himselfupon his elbow and said firmly-- "One moment, please, Mr Ellis; this is a matter solely between you andme. If Daniel Barnett is here, surely it is his duty, as a man, to go. " "I don't take my instructions from you, sir, " cried Ellis; "and I begand desire that Mr Barnett will stay and hear what I have to say toyou--you miserable, underhanded, contemptible hound. " John Grange flushed, and noted the "Mr" applied again and again to hisfellow-worker, and a pang of disappointment shot through him as he fullygrasped what it meant. "You are angry and bitter, sir, " he said, though calmly, "and are sayingthings which you will regret. There has been nothing underhanded. ThatI have long loved Miss Ellis, I am proud to say; but until this presenttime no word has passed between us, and I have never, as you know, addressed her as a lover. " "Oh yes, you say so, " cried Ellis angrily. "You talked finely enoughthe other day, but what about now? So this is the way in which youcarry out your high principles, deluding a silly child into coming herefor this clandestine interview, and making her--a baby as she is, andnot knowing her own mind--believe that you are a perfect hero, andentangling her with your soft speeches into I don't know what promises. " "It is not true, sir, " said John Grange sadly. "How do I know it is not true, sir? Bah! It is true! I come here andfind you and this shameless girl locked in each other's arms. " "Father!" cried Mary, snatching away her hand, and before Ellis couldarrest her, going back to John Grange's side to lay that hand upon hisshoulder, "I cannot stand here and listen to your cruel, unjust words;John Grange is not to blame, it was my doing entirely. " "Shame upon you, then!" "No, it is no shame, " she cried proudly. "You force me to defend myselfbefore another, and I will speak out now before the man who has for longenough pestered me with his attentions, and whom, during these past fewdays, you have made your friend and encouraged to come home; let himhear then that I feel it no shame to say I love John Grange very dearly, and that I would not let him leave here, weak, suffering, and in thedark, without knowing that his love was returned. " Then, bending down, she took John Grange's hand, and raised it to herlips. "Good-bye!" she said softly. "Mary!" cried her father, beside himself now with rage; and he once moresnatched her away. "Yes, father, I am ready, " she said quietly; "and you, who are always sogood and just, will tell John Grange that you have cruelly misjudgedhim, before he goes. " But James Ellis did not then, for drawing his child's arm through hisown, he hurried her away from the bothy, and home in silence to thecottage, where she flung herself sobbing in her mother's arms, andcrouched there, listening, while the angry man walked up and down, relieving himself of all he had seen. Mrs Ellis's pleasant countenance grew full of puckers, and she sat insilence, softly patting Mary's shoulder with one hand, holding hertightly with the other, till her husband had ended with-- "Disgraceful--disgraceful, I say. I don't know what Mrs Mostyn wouldthink if she knew. " "Well, I don't know, my dear, " sighed Mrs Ellis, with the tears gentlytrickling down her cheeks, and dropping one by one like dew-drops onMary's beautiful hair. "Mrs Mostyn has been a dear, good mistress tous. " "Yes, and a pretty business for her to hear--our child degrading herselflike this. " "'Tis very sad, James, but Mrs Mostyn made a runaway match with CaptainMostyn. " "Eliza, are you mad too?" "No, James, dear; but I'm afraid these are mysteries that men don'tquite understand. " "Bah!" "But they do not, dear. If you remember, my poor dear dad and yourfather were very angry about your wanting me. Dad said you were only acommon gardener, but I felt--" "Woman, you are as bad as your daughter, " raged James Ellis. "Was I apoor blind man?" "No, my dear; for you always had very, very fine eyes, but--" "Bah!" raged out James Ellis; and he went out and banged the door. CHAPTER NINE. John Grange's journey to London was performed almost in silence, for ashe sat back in the corner of the carriage, weak and terribly shaken bythe scene through which he had passed, Daniel Barnett sat opposite tohim, wishing that they did not live in a civilised country, butsomewhere among savages who would think no ill of one who rid himself ofa useless, troublesome rival. But after a time rage gave way to contempt. He felt that he had nothingto fear from the helpless object in question. Mary never looked moreattractive than when she stood up there defending the poor blind fellowbefore him. "If I could only get her to be as fond of me, and ready to stick up forme like that!" he thought; and he softly rubbed his hands together. "And I will, " he muttered. "She's very young, and it was quite natural. She'll soon forget poor old blind Jack, and then--but we shall see. Head-gardener at The Hollows, and James Ellis willing. I shall win, mylad, and step into the old man's shoes as well. " He parted from John Grange at the infirmary, and somehow the darknessdid not seem so black to the sufferer for some days. For he was full ofhope, a hope which grew stronger as the time went by. Then old Tummuscame up to see him, and gladdened his heart with old-fashioned chatterabout the garden, obstinately dwelling upon the "taters, " and cabbages, and codlin and cat's-head apples, when the patient was eager to hearabout the orchids, grapes, pines, and melons, which he pictured as hehad seen them last. But Mary's name was not mentioned, for John Grange had thought thematter out. It was impossible, he said, and time would soften the agonyfor both--unless his stay here proved of avail. But the days glided by--a week--a fortnight--a month--then two months, during which specialists had seen him, consultations had been held; andthen came the day when old Tummus was up in town again, with flowers andfruit, which John Grange took round the ward from patient to patient, walking slowly, but with little to show that he was blind, as hedistributed the presents he had received, and said good-bye to his darkcompanions. For the verdict had been passed by the profession who had seen him thatthey could do nothing, and Mrs Mostyn had sent word that Grange was tobe fetched back, old Tummus and his wife gladly acceding to the proposalthat the young man should lodge with them for a few weeks, tillarrangements could be made for his entrance to some asylum, or some wayhit upon for him to get his living free from the misery of havingnothing to do. "Cheer up, my lad!" said the old man, as they were on their way back. "I do, old fellow, " said John Grange quietly. "I have been two monthsin that place, and it has taught me patience. There, I am never goingto repine. " "You're as patient as a lamb, my dear, " said old Hannah the next day;"and it's wonderful to see how you go about and don't look blind a bit. Why, you go quite natural-like into our bit of garden, and begin feelingthe plants. " "Yes, " he said, "I feel happier then. I've been thinking, Hannah, whether a blind man could get his living off an acre of ground withplants and flowers that he could not see, but would know by the smell. " "Well, you do cap me, my dear, " said the old woman. "I don't know. "And then to herself, "Look at him, handsome and bright-eyed--even if hecan't see, I don't see why he shouldn't manage to marry his own dearlove after all. There'd be an eye apiece for them, there would, and anEye above all-seeing to watch over 'em both. " And old Hannah wiped her own, as she saw John Grange stoop down andgently caress a homely tuft of southern-wood, passing his hands over it, inhaling the scent, and then talking to himself, just as Mrs Mostyncame up to the garden hedge, and stood watching him, holding up her handto old Hannah, to be silent, and not let him know that she was there. CHAPTER TEN. "Wait and see, my lad, wait and see, " said James Ellis. "There, there:we're in no hurry. You've only just got your appointment, and, as youknow well enough, women are made of tender stuff. Very soft, Dan, myboy. Bless 'em, they're very nice though. We grow in the open air;they grow under glass, as you may say. We're outdoor plants; they'reindoor, and soft, and want care. Polly took a fancy to poor JohnGrange, and his misfortune made her worse. He became a sort of hero forher school-girl imagination, and if you were to worry her, and I was tocome the stern father, and say, You must marry Dan Barnett, what wouldbe the consequences? She'd mope and think herself persecuted, and beready to do anything for his sake. " Daniel Barnett sighed. "There, don't be a fool, man, " said Ellis, clapping him on the shoulder. "Have patience. My Pol--Mary is as dear and good a girl as everstepped, and as dutiful. What we saw was all sentiment and emotion. She's very young, and every day she'll be growing wiser and more full ofcommonplace sense. Poor John Grange has gone. " "But he has come back, and is staying with old Tummus. " "Yes, yes, I know, but only for a few days, till Mrs Mostyn has settledsomething about him. She's a dear, good mistress, Dan, and I'd doanything for her. She consulted me about it only the other day. Shewants to get him into some institution; and if she can't she'll pensionhim off somewhere. I think he'll go to some relatives of his outLancashire way. But, anyhow, John Grange is as good as dead, so far asyour career is concerned. You've got the post he was certain to havehad, for the mistress was very fond of John. " "Yes; he'd got the length of her foot, and no mistake, sir. " "Well, well, you can do the same. She loves her flowers, and poor Johnwas for his age as fine a florist as ever lived. She saw that, and ofcourse it pleased her. All you have to do is to pet her orchids, andmake the glass-houses spick and span, keep the roses blooming, and--there, I needn't preach to you, Daniel, my lad; you're as good agardener as poor John Grange, and your bread is buttered on both sidesfor life. " "Not quite, sir, " cried the young man quietly. "All right; I know what you mean. " "Then you consent, sir?" "Oh, no, I don't. I only say to you, wait and see. I'm not going topromise anything, and I'm not going to have my comfortable home mademiserable by seeing wife and child glum and ready to burst out crying. I'm not going to force that tender plant, Dan. Mary's a sensible girl, and give her time and she'll see that it is impossible for her to spendher life playing stick, or little dog, to a blind man. She shall seethat her father wishes what is best for her, and in the end the prettylittle fruit, which is only green now, will become ripe, and drop intosome worthy young fellow's hands. If his name is Daniel Barnett, welland good. We shall see. All I want is to see my pet go to a good homeand be happy. " Daniel Barnett held out his hand. "No, no; I'm going to clinch no bargains, and I'm not going to bebothered about this any more. Your policy is to wait. The seed's sown. I dare say it will come up some day. Now then, business. AboutMaitland Williams?" "Well, Mr Ellis, you know him as well as I do. Admiral Morgan can'tgive him a rise because the other men are all right, and he wants to bea step higher, and be all under glass. He has spoken to me twice. Hesays he wouldn't have done so, only poor John Grange was of course outof it, and he didn't think that we had any one who could be promoted. " "That's quite right. He has been to me three times, and I don't seethat we could do better. Think you could get on with him?" "Oh, yes, he's all right, sir. " "Very well, then; I'm going up to the house to see the mistress aboutthe hay. Nixon wants to buy it again this year. " "And take all the mowing off our hands, sir?" "Yes, I suppose you would rather not spare the men to make itourselves. " "Well, sir, you know the season as well as I do. There's no end ofthings asking to be done. " "Yes, I shall advise her to let it go, and I'll ask her to sanctionWilliams being taken on. He says he can come and fill poor Grange'splace at once. " They parted, Daniel Barnett to go and begin tying up some loose strandsin the vinery, and trim out some side-growth which interfered with theripening of the figs; James Ellis to walk up to the house and ask to seeMrs Mostyn, who sent out word by the butler that she would be in thelibrary in a few minutes. CHAPTER ELEVEN. Meanwhile there had been tears and trouble at the cottage, and Mary wassobbing in her mother's arms. "But it seems so hard, dear, " she whispered; "he's there, and waitinghopefully in the dark for me to go to him and say a few kind and lovingwords. " "That you can't go and say, dear. I know--I know, but you cannot go, mydarling. Now, just think a bit: you know what father would say. He iscertain to know that you have been, and it would be like flying in hisface. Now come, come, do be patient and wait. Some day, perhaps, hissight may come back, and if it did I'm sure father loves you too well tostand in the way of your happiness. " "But you don't think as he does, mother dear, so don't say you think heis right. " "I'm afraid I must, dear, much as it goes against me to say so. Itcouldn't be, Mary--it couldn't indeed, my dear; and you know what youtold me--how sensible and wise poor John Grange spoke about it himself. It would be a kind of madness, Mary, dear: so come, come, wipe your pooreyes. God knows what is best for us all, and when the afflictions comelet's try to bear them patiently. " "Yes, mother, " cried Mary, hastily drying her eyes. "I will be patientand firm. " "And you see, dear, that it would not be right for you to go down to oldHannah's. It would be, as I said, like flying in the face of father, who, I'm sure, has been as nice as could be about all you did that day. " "Yes, mother, " said Mary, with another sigh. "Then I will be patientand wait. " "That's right, my darling. And there, now I'll tell you something Iheard from father. Poor John Grange is not forgotten; Mrs Mostyn istrying to place him in a home, and if she doesn't, he's to go to somefriends, and she's going to pension him for life. " Mary sighed once more, a deeper, more painful sigh, one which seemed totear its way through her heart, as in imagination she saw the fine manlyfellow who had won that heart pursuing his dark road through life alone, desolate, and a pensioner. Up at the house James Ellis was not kept waiting long before there was arustling sound, and Mrs Mostyn came in through the French window fromthe conservatory, which ran along one side of the house. She looked radiant and quite young, in spite of her sixty-five years andsilver hair, and there was a happy smile upon her lip that brightenedthe tears in her eyes, as she nodded to her agent cheerfully, and heldout a great bunch of newly-cut orchids, which she held in her hand. "Smell those, James Ellis. Look at them. Are they not beautiful?" "Yes, ma'am, and if you sent them to the Guildstone Show they'd take thefirst prize. " "And the plants come back half spoiled. No, I don't think I shall. Ihave them grown for their beauty and perfection, not out of pride andemulation. You never used to grow me and my dear husband such flowerswhen you were head-gardener, James. " "No, ma'am, " said Ellis, smiling at his mistress, as she sat down, drewa great shallow china bowl to her side, and began to daintily arrangethe quaint, beautifully-tinted blooms according to her taste; "no, ma'am, but there were no such orchids in those days. " "Ah, no! That's forty years ago, James Ellis. Well, what is it thismorning?" "About the big oak, ma'am. It is three parts dead, and in another yearit will be gone. Of course, it's a bad time of year, but I thought ifit was cut down now, I might--" "Don't! Never say a word to me again about cutting down a tree, JamesEllis, " cried his mistress angrily. The bailiff made a deprecating sign. "Let them stand till they die. Tell Barnett to plant some of thatbeautiful clematis to run over the dead branches. No more cutting downdead boughs while I live. " "Very good, ma'am. " "Is that all?" "No, ma'am; about the hay. Mr Nixon would be glad to have it at themarket price. " "Of course, let Mr Nixon have all you can spare. And now I'm verybusy, James Ellis--by the way, how is your wife, and how is Mary?" "Quite well, thank you, ma'am, " said the bailiff, hesitating, as heturned when half-way to the door. "I am glad of it. Mind that Mary has what flowers she likes for herlittle greenhouse. " "Thank you, ma'am, she will be very pleased, but--" "Yes! What?" "There was one other thing, ma'am. Daniel Barnett has been speaking tome about help, and there is one of Admiral Morgan's men wants to leaveto better himself. I know the young man well. An excellent gardener, who would thoroughly suit. His character is unexceptionable, and he isan excellent grower of orchids. " "Oh!" said Mrs Mostyn sharply; "and you want me to engage him to takepoor John Grange's place?" "Yes, ma'am, " said the bailiff respectfully. "The Admiral willrecommend him strongly, and I don't think you could do better. " "Then I do, " cried the lady, bringing down one hand so heavily upon thetable that the water leaped out of the bowl on to the cloth. "JamesEllis, " she said, rising, "come with me. " The bailiff stared, and followed the rustling silk dress out through theFrench window, and along the tiled floors of the conservatory, to theangle where it turned suddenly and went along by the drawing-room. There she stopped suddenly, with her eyes looking bright and tearfulonce more, as she pointed to the far end and whispered-- "Not do better, James Ellis? Man, what do you say to that?" CHAPTER TWELVE. James Ellis did not say anything to "that" for a few moments, but stoodrubbing the bridge of his nose with the hard rim of his hat, which heheld in his hand. For there, to his utter astonishment, was John Grange, bright-eyed, erect, and with his face lit up with eager pleasure, busily tying up aplant to the sticks from which its strands had strayed. A few pieces ofraffia grass were hung round his neck, his sleeves were turned up, and, evidently in utter ignorance of the fact that he was being watched, hebent over the plant upon its shelf, and with deft fingers traced thecourse of this branch and that, and following all up in turn, tied thosewhich were loose. After cutting the grass as he tied each knot, heexamined the plant all over with his fingers till he found one wanton, wild, unnecessary shoot, and passing the knife-blade down to its origin, he was in the act of cutting it off when James Ellis made a gesture tostop him, but was arrested by Mrs Mostyn, who held up her hand andfrowned. By that time the shoot was neatly taken off--cut as a gardener can cut, drawing his knife slightly and cleverly across, making one of thosewounds in the right place which heal so easily in the young skin. Then Grange's hands played about the plant for a few minutes as he feltwhether it was in perfect balance, and pressed it back a little upon theshelf, measuring by a touch whether it was exactly in its place. Directly after he walked across that end of the conservatory without amoment's hesitation, stopped before the opposite stand, and stretchedout his hand to place it upon a pot, about whose contents it began tostray, was withdrawn, extended again, and then wandered to the pots oneither side; but only to be finally withdrawn, the poor fellow lookingpuzzled, and Mrs Mostyn smiled, nodded, and placing her lips close tothe bailiff's ear, whispered-- "There used to be another of those white pelargoniums standing there. " By this time John Grange's hands were busy at a shelf above, and thelookers-on watched with keen interest for the result, for the flower hesought had been moved on to the higher range, and they were bothwondering whether he would find it. They were not long kept in suspense, for John Grange's hand touched oneof the leaves the next moment, pressed it gently, raised it to his nose, and a look of satisfaction came into the poor fellow's face as, with asmile, he bent over, lifted the pot from its place, stood it on thefloor, and went down on one knee to begin examining the plant all overwith fingers grown white, soft, and delicate during his illness. Mrs Mostyn kept on glancing brightly at James Ellis, as if she weresaying, "Do you see that? Isn't it wonderful?" And the bailiff stared, and kept on rubbing his nose with the hard brim of his felt hat, whilehe watched John Grange's fingers run up the tender young shoots, and, without injuring a blossom, busy themselves among those where the greenaphides had made a nursery, and were clustering thickly, drawing thevital juices from the succulent young stems. And then bringing all hisold knowledge to bear, he knelt down on both knees, so that he could nipthe pot between them with the plant sloping away from him, and with bothhands at liberty, he softly removed the troublesome insects, those whichhe failed to catch, and which fell from their hold, dropping on to thefloor instead of back among the leaves of the plant. Every flower, bud, and shoot was examined by touch before the pot wasonce more stood upright, the various shoots tried as to whether theywere properly tied up to their sticks, and then the young man rose, lifted a plant from the lower shelf, placed it where the pelargonium hadstood, and lastly, after raising it from the floor, and smelling itsleaves, arranged it in the place on the shelf where he had left it acouple of days before his accident. The next minute he walked to where another was standing, as if led by awonderful instinct, though it was only the result of years of care, application, and method, for he had worked in that conservatory till heknew the position of every ornamental plant as well as he knew itsrequirements, how long it would last, take to flower, and with whatother kind he would replace it from one end of the year to the other. Mrs Mostyn and her bailiff stood watching John Grange for quitehalf-an-hour, in what seemed to the latter almost a miraculousperformance, and in those hasty minutes they both plainly saw the man'sdevotion to his work, his love for the plants he cultivated, and howthoroughly he was at home in the house and interested in what had takenplace in his enforced absence. He showed them, by his actions, that heknew how much the plumbago had grown on the trellis, how long the shootswere that had been made on the layer, and his fingers ran from one mazycluster of buds and flowers to another; hard-wooded shrubby stems wereexamined for scale, which was carefully removed; and every now and thenhe paused and placed his hands on the exact place to raise up somefragrant plant--lemon verbena or heliotrope--to inhale its sweet odourand replace it with a sigh of satisfaction. James Ellis watched the young gardener, expecting moment by moment, and, in his then frame of mind, almost hoping to see him knock down some poton to the tiled floor, or stumble over some flower-stand. But hewatched in vain, and he thought the while that if John Grange, sufferingas he was from that awful infliction, could be so deft and clever thereamongst that varied collection of flowers, his work in the other housesamong melons, pines, cucumbers, tomatoes, and grapes would soon growsimplicity itself, for, educated as he was by long experience, he wouldteach himself to thin grapes by touch, train the fruit-bearing stems ofthe cucumber and melon vines, and remove the unnecessary shoots of thetomatoes with the greatest ease. There would be a hundred things hecould do, and each year he would grow more accustomed to working bytouch. And as James Ellis thought, he, an old gardener, shut his eyesfast, and, in imagination, saw before him a fresh growing tomato plant, and beginning at the bottom, felt whether it was stiff and healthy. Then ran up his fingers past the few leaves to the first great clusterof large fruit, removed the young shoots which came from the axils ofthe leaves, and ran up and up the stem feeling the clusters graduallygrowing smaller till higher up there were fully-developed blossoms, andhigher still tufts of buds and tender leaves with their surface coveredwith metallic golden down. He started from his musing to gaze open-eyed at his mistress, who hadtouched his arm, and now signed to him to follow her softly back to thelibrary window, and into the room. "Why, James Ellis!" she said petulantly, "were you asleep?" "No, ma'am, I was shutting my eyes to try how it would be amongst theplants. " "Ah, " she said, with the tears now brimming up into her eyes; "isn't itwonderful? Poor fellow, I cannot tell you how happy it has made mefeel. Why, James Ellis, I had been thinking that he had to face adesolate, blank existence, and I was nearly heart-broken about him, andall the time, as you saw, he was going about happy and light-hearted, actually smiling over his work. " "Yes, ma'am, " said the bailiff rather gruffly, "it seems very wonderful. I don't think he can be quite blind. " "What!" "His eyes look as bright as any one else's, ma'am. " "You think then that he is an impostor?" "Oh, no, ma'am, I wouldn't say that. " "No, James Ellis, you had better not, " said his mistress tartly. "Well, you saw what he can do. " "Yes, ma'am, and I was very much surprised. I did not know he washere;" and Ellis spoke as if he felt rather aggrieved. "I suppose not, " said Mrs Mostyn dryly. "I saw him in old Tummus'sgarden yesterday, and I walked across and fetched him here this morningto see what he could do in the conservatory, and really, blind as he is, he seems more clever and careful than Daniel Barnett. " James Ellis coughed a little, in a dry, nervous way. "And now I repeat my question, what do you say to that?" "Well, ma'am, I--er--that is--" "You want me to engage one of Admiral Morgan's men to take poor JohnGrange's place?" "Yes, ma'am, " said the bailiff, recovering himself; "and I don't think, you can do better. " "But I don't want another man. " The bailiff shrugged his shoulders, and looked deprecatingly at hismistress. "I know you like the garden and houses to look well, ma'am, and we'retwo hands short. " "No, we are not, James Ellis. Old Dunton has done nothing in the gardenbut look on for years. I only wished for my poor husband's old servantto end his days in peace; and do you think I am going to supersede thatpoor fellow whom we have just been watching?" "But, pardon me, ma'am, there are many things he could never do. " "Then Barnett must do them, and I shall make a change for poor JohnGrange's sake: I shall give up showy flowers and grow all kinds thatshed perfume. That will do. It is impossible for Grange to behead-gardener, but he will retain his old position, and you may tellBarnett that Grange is to do exactly what he feels is suitable to him. He is not to be interfered with in any way. " "Yes, ma'am, " said the bailiff respectfully. "If he is so wonderful now, I don't know what he will be in a fewmonths. Now, you understand: John Grange is to continue in his work asif nothing had happened, and--you here?" For at that moment two hands busy tying up some loose strands of aBougainvillea dropped to their owner's side, and poor John Grange, whohad come up to the window unheard, uttered a low cry as he stood withhis head bent forward and hands half extended toward the speaker. "Mrs Mostyn--dear mistress, " he faltered, "Heaven bless you for thosewords!" "God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, John Grange, " she said softly, as she laid her hand upon one of those extended toward her as if toreach light in darkness; "should not His servants strive to follow thatwhich they are taught?" The blank, bright eyes gazed wildly toward her, and then the head wasbowed down over the hand which was touched by two quivering lips, asreverently as if it had been that of a queen. Five minutes later James Ellis was on his way back to the gardens, thinking it was time that Mary went away from home to begin life as agoverness, or as attendant to some invalid dame. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. James Ellis went straight to the gardens, and had no difficulty infinding Daniel Barnett, whose voice he heard sounding loud, thoughsmothered, in the closely-shut orchid-house, where he was abusing one ofthe under-gardeners. "I don't care--I don't believe it, " he cried angrily, as Ellis openedthe door slowly; and then came: "Hi! What idiot's that? Don't let allthe cold wind in out of the garden. I say that glossum and thatcattleya has been moved. Hi! Are you going to shut that door? Oh, it's you, Mr Ellis. I thought it was one of the lads; they will not becareful with those doors. " "Send him away, " said the bailiff. "You can go, " said Barnett shortly, to the man, "and mind, I mean toknow who moved those orchids. It was done out of opposition. I changed'em there, and that's where they're to stand. " "Well, I didn't move 'em, " growled the man. "Didn't move them, _sir_" cried Barnett; but at that moment the door wasclosed with a bang. "I shall have to get rid of that fellow, Mr Ellis. He don't like me being promoted, and he has been moving my orchids outo' orkardness. Ha, ha! Not so very bad, that. " "He did not move them, " said Ellis grimly. "Who did, then?" "John Grange. " "John Grange?" "Yes; I dare say he has been here. He has been in the big conservatoryever so long, tying up plants and clearing off dead stuff. " "John Grange! What, has he got back his sight?" "No; the mistress fetched him over from old Tummus's cottage, and he hasbeen hard at work ever so long. " "But there wasn't no clearing up to do, " cried Barnett, flushingangrily. "Wasn't there? Well, he was at it, and you may tell that fellow hewon't be wanted, for John Grange is going to stay. " Daniel Barnett said something which, fortunately, was inaudible, andneed not be recorded; and he turned pale through the harvest brownsun-tan with mortification and jealous rage. "Why, you don't mean to say, Mr Ellis, sir, " he cried, "that you'vebeen a party to bringing that poor creature back here to make himself anuisance and get meddling with my plants?" "No, sir, I do not, " said the bailiff sharply; "it's your mistress'swork. She has a way of doing what she likes, and you'd better talk toher about that. " He turned upon his heel and left the orchid-house, and as soon as he wasgone the new head-gardener stood watching him till he was out ofhearing, and then, doubling up his fist, he struck out from the shoulderat one of the offending pots standing at a corner--a lovely mauve-tintedcattleya in full blossom--and sent it flying to shivers upon the floor. It was the kind of blow he felt in his rage that he would have liked todirect at John Grange's head, but as in his unreasonable jealous spiteit was only a good-sized earthenware pot, the result was veryunsatisfactory, for the flower was broken, the pot shattered, and acouple of red spots appeared on Daniel Barnett's knuckles, which beganto bleed freely. "That's it, is it?" he muttered. "He's to be kept here like a petmonkey, I suppose. Well, he's not going to interfere with my work, andso I tell him. Don't want no blind beggars about. A silly old fool:that's what she is--a silly old fool; and I should like to tell her so. So he's to come here and do what he likes, is he? Well, we shall seeabout that. It's indecent, that's what it is. Why can't he act like aman, and take it as he should, not come whining about here like a blindbeggar of Bethnal Green? But if he can't see, others can. Perhaps MrJohn Grange mayn't stop here very long. Who knows?" Daniel Barnett, for some reason or another, uttered a low-toned, unpleasant laugh, andthen began to pick up the pieces of the broken pot, and examine theinjured orchid, to see what portions would live; but after a fewminutes' inspection he bundled all into a wooden basket, carried it outto the rubbish heap, and called one of the men to sweep up the soil uponthe red-tiled floor. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. The days glided by and John Grange's powers developed in a wonderfulway. He busied himself about the glass-houses from morning to night, but he did not return to the bothy in the grounds, preferring to go onlodging with old Hannah and her husband. At first the men used to watch him, leaving off their work to talktogether when he passed down the garden, and first one and then anotherstood ready to lend him a helping hand; but this never seemed to beneeded, Grange making sure by touching a wall, fence, shrub, or somefamiliar object whose position he knew, and then walking steadily alongwith no other help than a stick, and finding his way anywhere about thegrounds. "It caps me, lads!" said old Tummus; "but there, I dunno: he allus wasone of the clever ones. Look at him now; who'd ever think that he wasblind as a mole? Why, he walks as upright as I do. " There was a roar of laughter at this. "Well, so he do, " cried old Tummus indignantly. "That ain't saying much, old man, " said one of the gardeners; "why, yougo crawling over the ground like a rip-hook out for a walk. " "Ah, never mind, " grumbled old Tummus, "perhaps if you'd bent down toyour work as I have, you'd be as much warped. Don't you get leavingtools and barrers and garden-rollers all over the place now. " "Why not?" "'Cause we, none on us, want to see that poor lad fall over 'em, andbreak his legs. Eh?" No one did; and from that hour a new form of tidiness was observed inMrs Mostyn's garden. Daniel Barnett said very little, but quite avoided Grange, who acceptedthe position, divining as he did the jealous feeling of his newsuperior, and devoted himself patiently to such tasks as he couldperform, but instinctively standing on his guard against him whom hefelt to be his enemy. A couple of months had gone by when, one day, Mrs Mostyn came uponGrange in the conservatory, busily watering various plants which a touchhad informed him required water. "Do you think it would hurt some of the best orchids to make a goodstand full of them here for a couple of days, Grange?" said hismistress. "I have a friend coming down who takes a great deal ofinterest in these plants. " "There is always the risk of giving them a check, ma'am, " said Grangequietly; "but if you wouldn't mind the place being kept rather close, and a little fire being started to heat the pipes, they would be quiteright. " "Oh, do what you think best, " said Mrs Mostyn, "and make me a goodhandsome show by the day after to-morrow. Just there, between these twowindows. " "If you'll excuse me, ma'am, they would be better on the other sideagainst the house. They would show off better, and be less likely toget a check if a window was opened, as might happen. " "Of course, John Grange. Then put them there. I want a good, brilliantshow, mind, to please my friend. " "They shall be there, ma'am. I'll get a stand cleared at once, ma'am, and put the orchids on to-morrow. " By that evening one of the large stands was clear, all but a few flowersto keep it from looking blank, and late on the next afternoon DanielBarnett encountered old Tummus. "Hullo, where are you going with that long barrow?" "Orchid-house, to fetch pots. " "What for?" "Muster Grange wants me to help him make up a stand in the zervyturry. " Daniel Barnett walked off muttering-- "I'm nobody, of course. It ain't my garden. Better make him head atonce. " "Beautiful! Lovely!" cried Mrs Mostyn, as she stood in front of thelovely bank of blossoms; "and capitally arranged, John Grange. Why, itis quite a flower show. " That evening the guest arrived to dinner in the person of a greatphysician, whose sole relaxation was his garden; and directly afterbreakfast the next morning, full of triumph about the perfection of herorchids, Mrs Mostyn led the way into the conservatory, just as JohnGrange hurried out at the garden entrance, as if to avoid being seen. "A minute too late, " said the doctor, smiling; "but I thought you saidthat the man who attends to this place was quite blind?" "He is! That is the man, but no one would think it. Now you shall seewhat a lovely stand of orchids he has arranged by touch. It is reallywonderful what a blind man can do. " "Yes, it is wonderful, sometimes, " replied the visitor. "I have noticedmany cases where Nature seems to supply these afflicted people withanother sense, and--" "Oh, dear me! Oh, you tiresome, stupid man! My poor flowers! Iwouldn't for a hundred pounds have had this happen, and just too when Iwanted it all as a surprise for you. That's why he hurried out. " "Ah, dear me!" said the great physician, raising his glasses to his eye. "Such lovely specimens, too. Poor fellow! He must have slipped. Asad accident due to his blindness, of course, while watering, Ipresume. " For there, on the red-tiled floor of the conservatory, lay an overturnedwatering-can, whose contents had formed a muddy puddle, in which wereabout a dozen broken pots just as they had been knocked down from thestand, the bulbs snapped, beautiful trusses of blossom shivered andcrushed, and the whole display ruined by the gap made in its midst. The tears of vexation stood in Mrs Mostyn's eyes, but she turned verycalm directly as she walked back into the drawing-room and rang, lookingwhite now with anger and annoyance. "Send John Grange to the conservatory directly, " she said to the butler, and then walked back with her guest. Five minutes later John Grange came in from the garden, and the greatphysician watched him keenly, as the young man's eye looked full oftrouble and his face twitched a little as he went towards where hebelieved his mistress to be. "What is the meaning of this horrible destruction, Grange?" she cried. "I don't know, ma'am, " he replied excitedly. "I came in and found thepots all down only a few moments ago. " "That will do, " she said sternly, and she turned away with her guest. "Even he cannot speak the truth, doctor. Oh, what cowards some men canbe!" CHAPTER FIFTEEN. Mrs Mostyn said but little more, though she thought a great deal. JohnGrange gave her his explanation. He had, he said, been into theconservatory twice that morning; and on the second visit brought the canof water to give the orchids a final freshening, when he felt somethingcrush beneath his feet, and, startled and horrified at finding what waswrong, he had dropped the pot of water and added to the mishap. Mrs Mostyn said, "That will do, " rather coldly; and the young man wentaway crushed, feeling that she did not believe him, and that themorning's business had, in her disappointment, cast him down from hishigh position. A day or two later he tried to renew the matter, but he received a short"That will do"; and, humbled and disheartened, he went away, feelingthat his position at The Hollows would never be the same again. It was talked over at the cottage, where Mary listened in agony. "Pity he did not own to having met with an accident at once, " said herfather. "Of course it is no more than one expected, it was sure to comesome time; but it was a pity he was such a coward and took, refuge in alie. Just like a child: but, poor fellow, his accident has made himweak. " Mary flushed up in her agony and indignation, for it was as if herfather had accused her of untruthfulness; but an imploring look from hermother, just as she was going to speak, silenced her, and she sufferedto herself till her father had gone, and then indignantly declared thatJohn Grange was incapable of telling a lie. The trouble was discussed too pretty largely at old Hannah's cottage, where Tummus's wife gave it as her opinion that it was "one of theydratted cats. " They was always breaking something, and if the truth wasknown it was "the missus's Prusshun Tom, as she allers called Shah. " "I don't want to accuse anybody, " said John Grange sadly, as he sat witha piteous look in his blank eyes; "but I'm afraid one of the servantsmust have stumbled up against the stand, and was then afraid to speak. " "Burr-urr!" growled old Tummus, who was devouring his late meal--a meattea, the solid part consisting of a great hunch of bread and upon it alarge piece of cold boiled, streaky, salt pork. "Don't make noises like that at the table, Tummus, " said his wife. "What will Mr Grange think of you?" "Only said `Burr-urr!'" grumbled old Tummus. "Well, you shouldn't; and I do wish you would use the proper knife andfork like a Christian, and keep your pork on your plate. " "This here's quite sharp enough, missus, " said the old man, cutting thepiece of pork with the blade of his great pruning-knife, andre-arranging the piece under his perfectly clean but dirty-looking, garden-stained thumb. "But it looks so bad, cutting like that; and how do we know what youused that knife for last. " "Well, Muster John Grange can't see, can he?" "No, no, I cannot see, man, " said Grange sadly. "Go on in your own wayas if I were not here. " "Burr-urr!" growled old Tummus again. "Why, what is the matter with the man?" cried his wife. "Have you notmeat enough?" "Aye, it's right enow. I was only thinking about them orchards. Iknow. " "Know what?" said his wife. "Who done it. I see him go there and come away. " "What?" cried John Grange excitedly, as he turned his eyes towards theold gardener. "I see Muster Dan Barnett come away from the conservatory all in a hurrylike, d're'ckly after you'd been there. " "You saw Dan Barnett?" "Aye, that's so. I see him: did it out o' spite 'cause the missusdidn't give him the job. " "Tummus, what are you a-saying of?" cried his wife, as the old man'swords made Grange start excitedly from his chair. "Why, if Dan'lBarnett heared as you said that, you'd be turned away at a moment'snotice. " "I don't keer; it's the solomon truth, " said old Tummus, cutting off acubic piece of pork and lifting it from his bread with the point of hispruning-knife. "It can't be anything of the sort, so hold your tongue. There, there, Mr Grange, my dear. Don't you take any notice of his silly clat. Haveanother cup of tea: here's quite a beauty left. " "You say you saw Daniel Barnett come from the conservatory thatmorning?" cried Grange excitedly; and there was a wild look of agony inhis eyes as he spoke. "Nay, nay, he didn't, my dear, " cried old Hannah; "it's all hisnonsense. Just see what you've done, Tummus, with your rubbishingstuff. " "Aye, but I did see him come out, and I see him go in all of a hurrylike, " said old Tummus sturdily. "Where were you?" "In the shrubbery, raking up the dead leaves as he told me to the nightafore, and forgotten as I was there so near. " "And you were busy raking the leaves?" said Grange. "Nay, I warn't; I was a-watching on him, and left off, for I didn't seewhat he wanted there. " "No, no, it's impossible; he would have been so careful, " said Grangehurriedly. "Keerful?" cried old Tummus contemptuously: "he did it o' purpose. Iknow: out o' spite. " "Tummus, you're driving us in a coach and four into the workhouse, "cried his wife passionately. "Good job too. I don't keer. I say Dan Barnett did it out o' spite, and I'll go straight to the missus and tell her. " "No, " said John Grange sternly. "Not a word. What you say isimpossible. Daniel Barnett does not like me, and he resents my beinghere, but he could not have been guilty of so cowardly, so contemptiblean act. " "Burr-urr!" growled old Tummus; "wouldn't he? I know. " "Whatever you know, " said John Grange sternly, "you must keep toyourself. " "What, and let the missus think you done it?" "The truth comes to the surface some time or another, " said John Grangevery firmly. "I cannot believe this is the truth, but even if it is Iforbid you to speak. " "Yes; he'd better, " put in old Hannah, shaking her head severely at herhusband; and the meal was finished in silence. Another month had passed, and John Grange's position remained unchanged. He worked in the houses, and tied up plants by the green walks; butMrs Mostyn never came round to stand by his side and talk to himregarding her flowers, and ask questions about the raising of freshchoice plants for the garden. In those painful minutes he had fallenvery low in her estimation, and was no longer the same in her eyes, onlythe ordinary gardener whom she kept on out of charity, and whom shewould keep on to the end of her days. John Grange felt it bitterly, and longed to get away from a place whichcaused him intense agony, for, from time to time, he could not helpknowing that Daniel Barnett went up to smoke a pipe with James Ellis, and talk about the garden. But the sufferer was helpless. He could not decide what to do if hewent away, for there was no talk now of getting him into an asylum; andin spite of all his strong endeavours and determination to be manly andfirm, he felt that it would be impossible to go away from The Hollowsand leave Mary Ellis. From time to time Barnett saw little things which convinced him that solong as John Grange was near he would have no chance of making anyheadway with the object of his pursuit, and this made him so morose andbitter that he would often walk up and down one of the shrubberies ondark nights, inveighing against his rival, who still did not accept hisposition, but hung on in a place where he was not wanted. "The girl's mad about him, " he muttered, "absolutely mad, and--" He stopped short, thoroughly startled by the thoughts which came intohis mind. It was as if a temptation had been whispered to him, and, looking sharply round in the darkness, he hurried back to the bothy. That night he lay awake tossing about till morning. That very day hehad encountered John Grange twice at the end of the long green walk, with its sloping sides and velvet turf, at the top of which slopes werelong beds filled with dahlias. These John Grange was busy tying up totheir sticks, and, as if unable to keep away, Barnett hung about thatwalk, and bullied the man at one end who was cutting the grass by handwhere the machine could not be used; and at last made the poor fellow sowroth that he threw down his scythe as soon as Barnett had gone, andsaid he might do it himself. Barnett came to the other end a couple of hundred yards away, and beganto find fault with the way in which the dahlias were being tied up. But John Grange bore it all without a word, though his lips quivered alittle. This was repeated, and Grange felt that it was the beginning of a courseof persecution to drive him away. Barnett went down the long green path till nearly at the end, when thedinner-bell began to ring, and just then he came upon the scythe lyingwhere the man had thrown it in his pet. "Humph!" ejaculated Barnett. "Well, he won't have Mrs Mostyn to takehis part. Pretty thing if I can't find fault with those under me. " At that moment he turned, and there, a hundred yards away, was JohnGrange coming along to his dinner, erect, and walking at a fair pacealong the green walk, touching the side from time to time with his stickso as to keep in the centre. The idea came like a flash, and Daniel Barnett glanced round. No oneappeared to be in sight, and quick as thought it was done. One sharpthrust at the bent handle was sufficient to raise the scythe blade andswing it round across the green path, so that the keen edge rose up andkept in position a few inches above the grass right in John Grange'spath as he came steadily on. The next moment Barnett had sprung among the bushes, and was gone. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. The late Albert Smith, in his _Christopher Tadpole_, describes a ladywhose weakness was periwinkles. Old Hannah likewise had a weakness, butit was not for that unpleasant-looking curly mollusc which has to bewriggled out with a pin, but, as she expressed it, "a big mellowWilliams pear with a maddick in it. " Old Hannah's "maddick" was, of course, a maggot in north-countrylanguage, but it was not that she had a liking for the larva of a fly, but for the fruit in which that maggot lived for as a gardener's wifeshe knew well enough that very often those were the finest pears, thefirst to ripen, that they fell off the tree and were useless for thepurpose of dessert, and were often left to rot. So that, knowing wellhis wife's weakness, old Tummus would pick up a fallen pear when he sawit under the tree in September, show it to old Dunton, who would nod hishead, and the destination of that pear would be Tummus's pocket. Now there was a fine old pyramid pear-tree not far from the green walk, and while hoeing away at the weeds that morning, where the rich soilmade them disposed to grow rampant, old Tummus came upon "the verymoral" of the pear his old woman would like. It was big, mellow, andstreaked with vermilion and patched with gold; and had evidently lainthere two nights, for its fragrant odour had attracted a slug, which hadcarved a couple of round cells in the side, close to where the roundblack hole betrayed where the maggot lived, and sundry other marksshowed that it was still at hand. Tummus picked up that pear and laid it in the green cup formed by ayoung broccoli plant, went on with his hoeing till the bell rang, andwas half-way to the gate, stick and lunch-basket in hand, when heremembered the pear, and hurried back--that is to say, he walked back--not quite so slowly as usual, for Tummus never ran. A man that camefrom "his parts" remembered that the old man had been known to run once, at some cottagers' festival, but that was ages before, and ever since hehad walked very deliberately. Anyhow, he found the pear, and was returning to cut across the greenpath, when he caught sight of Daniel Barnett, and stopped short. "I forgetted as poor old Dunton's dead, " he thought, "He'll turn nastyif I ask him about the pear; and what's he a-doing of?" Old Tummus peered through a great row of scarlet-runners and stared athis superior, and saw him bend over something on the green path, andthen dart in among the bushes and disappear. "Now what is he doing of?" old Tummus muttered. "Not a-going to--Whyhere comes poor Master Grange. Well, he couldn't have seen him. Nota-setting o' no more traps, is he?" Old Tummus watched for a moment or two, and then walked right across theborders to reach the green path, breathless, just before John Grangecame up, and shouted loudly-- "Ware well!" It was just in time, for in another instant the blind man's ankle wouldhave struck severely against the keen scythe edge, which by accident ormalignant design was so placed that its cut would have proved mostdangerous, that is to say, in a slightly diagonal position--that is, itwould have produced what is known to swordsmen as a draw-cut. But the poor fellow escaped, for, at the first warning of danger hestopped short, erect in his place, with his nostrils widening and faceturned towards the speaker. "Well?" he cried. "Impossible! I am three parts of the way along thegreen path. " "Aye, that's so, Muster Grange, " said old Tummus, carefully removing thescythe, and placing it in safety by hooking the blade high up in a denseyew-tree. "No well here, but I thought it best any way to stop you. " "To stop me? Why?" cried Grange. "'Cause some one as ought to be kicked out o' the place left his scythelying across the grass ready for you to chop your shins. It's all rightnow. " They walked on in silence till they reached a gate opening upon thegreen meadow, where John Grange stopped short with his hand resting uponthe upper bar. "What is it, my lad?" said old Tummus. "I was only thinking of how helpless I am. I thank you, Tummus, " hesaid simply, as he turned and held out his hand. "I might have cutmyself terribly. " "Aye, you might, my lad. There, go on to your dinner, and tell themissus I shall be there directly. " John Grange wrung the old man's hand, and went on in perfect ignoranceof the trap that had been laid, with the idea that if he were injuredand had to go to a hospital once again, it was not likely that he wouldreturn to the gardens; while old Tummus went off to the tool-shed, aquiet, retired nook, suitable for a good think, to cogitate as to whathe should do under the circumstances. His first thought was to go straight to Mrs Mostyn, and tell her whathe had seen, and also about the orchids, but he argued directly that hismistress would not believe him. "For I didn't see him upset the orchards, and as to this here business, "he thought, "nobody wouldn't believe as a human being would go and dosuch a thing. Dunno as I would mysen if I hadn't seen it, and I arn'tquite sure now as he meant to do it, though it looks as much like it asever it could. He's got his knife into poor John Grange, somehow, and Idon't see why, for the poor fellow arn't likely to do much harm toanybody now. " Then he considered for a bit as to whether he should tell John Grangewhat he had seen; but he concluded that he would not, for it would onlymake the poor fellow miserable if he believed him. Old Tummus was still considering as to the best course when the twoo'clock bell rang, and he jumped up to go back to his work. "Never mind, " he thought, with a grin, "I dessay there'll be a few coldtaters left, and I must have them with my tea. " That same evening, after old Tummus had finished a meal which more thanmade up for his abstemiously plain dinner, he made up his mind to tellJohn Grange out in the garden. "For, " said he to himself, "I mayn't be there next time there's a scytheacross the path, and who knows but what some day it may be the well inreal airnest; Dan Barnett may leave the lid off, or uncover thesoft-water tank, and the poor chap be drowned 'fore he knows it. " But when he went out he found his lodger looking so happy and contented, tying up the loose shoots of the monthly rose which ran over thecottage, that he held his tongue. "It arn't my business, " he argued, and he went off to meet an old cronyor two in the village. "Don't let any one run away with the house while I'm gone, Mr John, "said old Hannah, a few minutes later. "I'm going down to the shop, andI shan't be very long. " Grange nodded pleasantly, and went on with his work. That night Mary Ellis sat at her open window, sad and thoughtful, inhaling the cool, soft breeze which came through the trees, laden withwoodland scents. The south-eastern sky was faintly aglow, lit up by theheralds of the rising moon, and save the barking of a dog up at thekennels, all was still. She was thinking very deeply of her position, and of Daniel Barnett'smanner towards her the last time they met. It was plain enough that herfather favoured the head-gardener's visits, and in her misery herthoughts turned to John Grange, the tears falling softly the while. Allat once she started away from the window, for, plainly heard, a low, deep sigh came from the dark shadow of the trees across the road. Daniel Barnett? John Grange? There so late? Who could it be? Her heart said John Grange, for the wish was father to the thought. But she heard nothing more for a few minutes, and then in a whisper, hardly above the breath, the words-- "Good-bye--for ever, perhaps--good-bye!" Then came the hurrying sound of steps on the dewy grass at the side ofthe road, and the speaker was gone, leaving Mary leaning out of thewindow, excited and trembling violently, while her heart beat in thestillness of the night as if it were the echo of the hurried pacerapidly dying away. "It could not be--it could not be, " she sighed at last, as she left thewindow to prepare for bed. "And yet he loves me so dearly. But whyshould he say that?" She stopped in the middle of the room, and the words seemed to repeatthemselves-- "Good-bye--for ever, perhaps--good-bye!" The tears fell fast as she felt that it was so like John Grange in hismanly, honourable way of treating their positions. "He feels it all so terribly that it would be like tying me down--thatit would be terrible for me--because he is blind. " She wiped her eyes, and a bright smile played about her lips, for there, self-pictured, was a happy future for them both, and she saw herselflightening the great trouble of John Grange's life, and smoothing hisonward course. There was their happy home with her husband seeing withher eyes, guided always by her hand, and looking proud, manly, andstrong once more as she had known him of old. "It will only draw us closer together, " she said softly; "and fatherwill never refuse when he once feels it's for my happiness and for poorJohn's good. " But the smile died out as black clouds once more rose to blot out thepleasant picture she had formed in her mind; and as the mists gatheredthe tears fell once more, hot, briny tears which seemed to scald hereyes as she sank upon her knees by the bedside and buried her face inher hands. That night Mary Ellis's couch remained unpressed, and the rising sunshone in at the window upon her glossy hair where she crouched downbeside her bed. It was a movement in the adjoining room which roused her from the heavystupor into which she had fallen, for it could hardly be called anatural sleep, and she started up to look round as if feeling guilty ofsome lapse of duty. For a few minutes she suffered from a strange feeling of confusionaccompanied by depression. Then by degrees the incidents of the pastnight came clearly to her mind, and she recalled how she had sunk downby her bed to pray for help and patience, and that the terribleaffliction might be lightened for him she loved, and then all had becomeblank. A few minutes before Mary's face had looked wan and pale, now it wassuffused by a warm glow that was not that of the ruddy early morningsun. For the hope had risen strongly in her breast that, in spite ofall, the terrible affliction would be lightened, and by her. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. Four days elapsed, and Mrs Ellis noticed a change in her child. Maryhad been more than usually attentive to her father, and James Ellis hadnoticed and looked pleased. "'Tis going off, mother, " he said one evening. "Of course it hit veryhard at the time, poor little lass, for she felt very fond of him, Isuppose; but I always said to myself that time would heal the soreplace, and, bless her, it is doing it. You've noticed how much brightershe seems?" "Yes, I've noticed, " said Mrs Ellis, nodding her head as she preparedthe supper. "She was actually singing gently to herself this morningover her work, just as she used to, and you don't know, James dear, whata lot of good it did me. " "Oh, yes, I do--oh, yes, I do, " said the bailiff, nodding his head. "Ofcourse it would, mother. " "Yes, dear, it did, for it has been cruel work for me to see her goingabout the house in that heart-breaking way. " "Humph! Of course, and for me too. " "No, James, you're at home so little. You have your meals and sit withme of an evening, and at such times there's something going on to makethe poor dear busy. But as soon as you're out of sight it has beendreadful again. I've seen a deal more of her poor heart-breaking thanyou have, and there have been times when--" "Heart-breaking! Stuff and nonsense!" cried James Ellis petulantly. "Ah, you don't know, " said his wife, shaking her head at him sadly. "Don't know what, you silly woman? There, that sounds likeheart-breaking, doesn't it?" For at that moment, plainly heard, came the sound of Mary's voicesinging the old English song, "Robin Adair"; and as the notes reachedhis ear, James Ellis smiled, held his head on one side, swayed it to themelody, and began softly to hum over the plaintive tune. "_Rob_--_in_--_er_--_her_--_dair_, " sang James Ellis. "Well done, little lassie! Talk about a voice, mother, why it's as sweet as abird's. " "Yes, dear, but I wish she wouldn't sing such sad things--it puts me inmind of the robins in the autumn time. " "I wish you wouldn't be so melancholy, mother. You're enough to put awhole regiment of soldiers out of spirits, let alone a poor girl. Here, hold your tongue now. Here she comes. " Footsteps were heard upon the stairs, and the foot was more springy thanit had been of late, as Mary entered the room. "Ready for supper, father dear?" said Mary, going behind his chair, placing her arms about his neck, and drawing his head back so that shecould lay her cheek against his forehead. "Ready, my pet? Of course I am;" and"_Rob_--_in_--_er_--_her_--_dair_, " he sang. "That's the way. I'm gladto hear you tune up a bit. It's like the birds in spring corn: andmother wants it, for of all the melancholy old women that ever lived, she's about the worst. " _Click_! "Hallo! Who's that at the gate? Just look, dear. " Mary went to the window, but there was no need, for she knew the step;and as her mother glanced at her, she saw the girl's face harden as shesaid-- "Mr Barnett, father. " "Humph! What does he want to-night?" muttered Ellis. "Let him in, mydear; and, Mary, my girl, don't run away out of the room. " Mary was silent, and a tapping came at the door, evidently administeredby the head of a stick. "Evening, Miss Mary, " said the visitor briskly. "Nice growing weather. Father at home?" "Yes, I'm at home. Want me, Daniel Barnett?" "Well, yes, Mr Ellis, sir, there's a little bit o' business I want tosee you about. I ought to have asked you this morning and down at thegardens, but somehow I've always got such a lot of things on my mindthere that a lot of 'em slip out again. " "Come in then, come in then, " said Ellis. "Not if it's disturbing you, sir, " protested the visitor. "Say theword, and I'll go and come up another evening. I don't mind a walk, Miss Mary, " he added, in a confidential way. "Business, business, Daniel Barnett! And there's nothing like gettingit over, " said Ellis, as, after a good deal of preliminary shoe-rubbing, Barnett stepped to the door of the sitting-room, and then stopped shortin a very apologetic way. "Why, you're just going to supper. I'd best come up to-morrow night. " James Ellis felt in the best of humours, and he smiled. "Well, " he said, "if you come to-morrow evening, I suppose I shall havesome supper then. Sit down, man, and out with it. " "Oh, thank you, Mr Ellis, and with many apologies to you, Mrs Ellis, ma'am, and to you too, Miss Mary. " "Why, hallo! Daniel Barnett. Been to the bookseller's lately?" "Eh? No, sir, I haven't been to the town for a fortnight past, " saidBarnett wonderingly. "Oh, " said the bailiff, with a knowing look at his wife and daughter; "Ithought perhaps you'd bought and been studying up _Etiquette forGentlemen_. " "No, no, sir! Ha, ha, ha! That's a good one, Mr Ellis. Oh, no, sir, I'm only a rough one, and what I know of etiquetty came up naturallike--like--" "Mushrooms?" "That's a good one too!" cried Barnett, with forced gaiety. "He'shaving his little joke at me, Miss Mary. " "There, never mind them, " said the bailiff, "let's have the business andget it over. What is it?" "Of course, sir. It won't take long. " "Shall we go in the kitchen, James?" said Mrs Ellis. "Eh, ma'am?" cried the young man eagerly. "Oh, no, pray don't let medrive you away, it's only garden business. " "They're not going, " said Ellis, half jocularly. "Now then, what is it, my lad?" "Well, it's about the gravel paths, Mr Ellis, " said the young man, leaning forward, after wiping his damp forehead, and speakingconfidentially. "I'm getting a bit anxious about them. " "Glad to hear it, my lad. I was always proud o' my paths in the olddays. " "And so am I, sir. If the gravel paths in a garden's kept right thereisn't so very much the matter. " "Humph! Well, I don't go so far as that, Daniel Barnett, but paths go along way. So you're ashamed of their being so weedy, eh?" "Weedy, sir, " said the young man, flushing. "Why those paths--Oh, I see! Ha ha! He's chaffing me again, MissMary. " Mary did not even smile, and the visitor looked uncomfortable, his ownface growing serious again directly. "It's a long time since they've been regravelled, Mr Ellis, sir, and asI could spare a bit of time, I thought, if you were not much pressed upat the farm, you might let me have a hundred loads of gravel carted fromthe pit. " "Take a lot of time and very hard work for the horses, " said thebailiff, pursing up his lips. "Yes, sir, I calculated all that, but it would be a wonderfulimprovement to my paths, and they'd pay for doing. " "I don't want to spare the carts, Daniel Barnett; but I agree with youit would be a great improvement, and I want Mrs Mostyn to feel that youare doing justice to the place, so I suppose I must say yes. " "Thank you, sir, thank you, " cried Barnett, for he could feel thestrength of the encouragement, and knew how much it meant. "There, " hecontinued, rising very slowly and glancing at mother and daughter as hespoke, "I'll start two men picking up the big path, and I s'pose you'llbe sending down the gravel almost any time. " "They shall begin soon and get it over. " "Thank you, sir; then I'll say good-night now. Good-night, Mrs Ellis. Good-night, Miss Mary. " "What, won't you stop and have a bit of supper with us, Daniel?" saidthe bailiff. Wouldn't he! And "Daniel" too! He dropped down into his chairmuttering something about its being very kind, and that he thought hewouldn't mind a morsel, but he looked in vain for a welcoming smile fromMary, who, without a word, slowly left the room, and returned assilently as she went, but with fresh knives and forks, and a couple moreplates. "But she didn't put 'em next to hers, " thought Daniel Barnett, mostunreasonably, for there was the whole opposite side of the table atliberty, and she laid a place for him there. It was of course what he had been looking for. He had come expecting tobe asked to stay, and as soon as they were all seated he told himselfthat it was all right, and he stared hard at the gentle face across thetable and started various topics of conversation, directed at Mary, herfather good-humouredly helping him with a word now and then, while MrsEllis looked on and attended to the wants of her guest. "Yes, she's coming round at last, " thought Daniel Barnett; for, whenevershe was addressed, Mary replied in a quiet, gentle way, and once enteredinto the conversation with some word of animation, making the bailifflook across the table at his wife, and give her a nod, as much as tosay-- "Now then, who's broken-hearted now?" But Mrs Ellis only tightened her lips and said to herself-- "Yes, it's all very well; but fathers don't understand their girls likemothers do. Women know how to read women and men don't, and neverwill--that's my humble opinion about that--and I wish Daniel Barnettwould go--" Daniel Barnett was a clever fellow, but like many sharp men he could betoo much so sometimes. Metaphorically, he was one of those men whodisdained the use of stirrups for mounting a horse, and liked to vaultinto the saddle, which he could do with ease and grace, but sometimes hewould, in his efforts to show off, over-leap himself--vaulting ambitionfashion--and come down heavily on the other side. He performed that feat on the present occasion at supper, for, in hisblundering way, now that circumstances had occurred which made him feelpretty safe, he thought it would be good form to show Mary what a fine, magnanimous side there was in his character, and how, far from lookingupon John Grange as a possible rival, he treated him as a poor, unfortunate being, for whom he could feel nothing but pity. "Rather strange business, wasn't it, about poor Grange, Mr Ellis, eh?" Mary started. Mrs Ellis thrust her hand beneath the table-cloth togive her daughter's dress a twitch, and Ellis frowned and uttered a kindof grunt, which might have meant anything. Any one else would have known by the silence that he had toucheddangerous ground. Daniel Barnett felt that it was an opportunity forhim to speak. "I am very sorry for the poor fellow, " he said; "it seems so sad, but itis no more than I expected. " Mary turned white and cold. "You don't know where he has gone, Mr Ellis?" "No, " said the bailiff shortly. "No; I thought you said so. Poor chap! I did everything I could tomake matters easy for him, and selected little jobs that I thought hecould do; but, of course, he would not take to them happily. He felt ithard to have to take his orders from me, and very naturally, for heexpected to be head-gardener, and would have been, eh, Mr Ellis?" "Yes, " grunted the bailiff. "To be sure he would. I'm not such a donkey as to suppose I should havegot the place if he had been all right. I'm a good gardener, though Isay it as shouldn't say it, Miss Mary; but there were lots of littledodges about flowers where he could beat me hollow. Ha, ha, ha!" helaughed, "I wouldn't say that before the men, but I don't mind here. " "Is Mr Grange bad again?" asked Mrs Ellis, unable to restrain hercuriosity. "Bad, ma'am? Well, of course he's bad; but no worse than usual. Youknow, I suppose, that he's gone away?" "I? No. " "Oh, yes, quite mysterious like; never said good-bye to a soul. " "But me, " thought Mary, with a sensation as of something clutching herheart, as she recalled that night at her bedroom window. "Yes, poor fellow, he's gone, " said Ellis, who felt that it was time tospeak. "Of course I know why, " said Barnett, "it was too much for him. He wasfretting his heart out, poor chap, and he no doubt thought it was thebest he could do--get right away you know, where he wasn't known, andwhere everything he saw--I mean everything he touched--didn't remind himof the old place. It's all very sad, and it used to make me feeluncomfortable, and keep away for fear of making him think of mysuperseding him; but there, we're all like plants and flowers, MissMary, and suffer from our blights and east winds. " He looked across at Mary, whose face was stony, and her eyes fixed uponhim so strangely that he felt abashed, and turned to Mrs Ellis. "Sad business, ma'am, from the beginning, " he said; "but, as the sayingis, we don't know, and perhaps it's all for the best. " Mrs Ellis sighed, the supper was at an end; and to the great relief ofall, Barnett rose, and in a tone of voice which suggested that every onehad been pressing him very hard to stay longer, he cried-- "Well, really, I must go now. " Mrs Ellis said meekly, "Must you, Mr Barnett?" and held out her handpromptly. He shook hands with her quite affectionately, and then turned to Mary, who let him take her hand more than gave it, and he sighed as he said"Good-night. " "You'll think about the gravel, Mr Ellis?" he said to his host. "Iwant that garden to look better than any one in the county. " "Yes, you shall have it, Barnett, first time I can spare the horses atthe farm. And I'll go down to the gate with you. " They walked not onlyto the gate, but a couple of hundred yards towards the gardens beforeeither spoke, and then just as Barnett was congratulating himself uponhow well he had got on at the cottage that night, Ellis turned to himsharply. "I told Mrs Mostyn about John Grange having gone away so suddenly. " "Did you, sir? What did she say?" "That she didn't want to hear his name mentioned again, for she had beendisappointed in the man. " "Poor chap!" said Barnett sadly. "Yes, poor chap!" said Ellis hastily. "For Heaven's sake don't everhint at such a thing at home, Daniel, but I've a horrible thought ofsomething being wrong about that poor fellow. You don't think that, quite out of heart and in despair like, he has gone and done anythingrash, do you?" "Well, Mr Ellis, I didn't like to hint at such a thing to any one, butas you do think like that, and as old Tummus and his wife seem to bequite suspicious like, it did set me thinking, and I've felt sometimesthat he must have walked two miles the other night to the river, andthen gone in. " "By accident?" said Ellis quietly, "in his blindness. " "Ah!" said Barnett solemnly, "that's more than I can tell. " "Or must tell, " said Ellis excitedly. "It mustn't even be breathed, DanBarnett. If my Mary even heard it whispered, she'd go melancholy mad. " CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. "Nay, sir, I don't know any more about it, and I arn't a-going to saynowt about it, but if that there poor bairn--" "What poor bairn?" said James Ellis angrily, as he stood in thekeeping-room of old Tummus's cottage. "I was asking you about JohnGrange. " "Well, I know you were. Arn't he quite a bairn to me?" "Please don't be cross with him, Mr Ellis, sir, " said old Hannahrespectfully; "it's only his way, sir. " "Very well, let him go on, " cried James Ellis testily. "Just you keep your spoon out o' the broth, mother, " grumbled oldTummus, "I know what I'm about. " "Well, what was it you were going to say?" asked the bailiff. "I were going to say as I wouldn't say nowt about it, and I won't, butthat poor lad has either been made away wi--" "Tut, tut, nonsense!" "Well, then, he's made away wi' himself, " cried old Tummus, bringing hishand down upon the table with a heavy bang. The bailiff, who had not removed his hat before now, took it off, showing a heavy dew upon his forehead, which he wiped away as he lookeduneasily from one to the other. "What--what makes you say that, Tummus?" murmured Ellis, who did notseem to be himself at all. "Now, Tummus, do mind what you're saying, " said old Hannah, in alachrymose tone of voice. "Well, I am, arn't I? What I say is this: Warn't it likely?" "Likely?" "Aye, likely. Here's the poor lad loses his sight all at once just whenhe's getting on and going to be head-gardener and marry my prettybairn. " "Nothing of the sort, sir, " cried the bailiff warmly. "You're too fondof settling other people's business. " "Yes, Mr Ellis, sir, that's what I tell him, " said old Hannahanxiously. "Tchah!" growled old Tummus, giving his body a jerk. "Very well then, sir, he thowt he were, and it got on his mind like that he were all inthe darkness, and it's my belief as he couldn't bear it, and went andmade a hole in the water so as to be out of his misery. " "Oh, Tummus, you shouldn't!" "No, no; he was not the man to do such a thing, " said Ellis, whose voicesounded husky, and who looked limp and not himself. "I dunno, " growled Tummus; "they say when a man's in love and can't getmatters settled, he's ready to do owt. I never weer in love, so Idoan't know for sure. " "Oh, Tummus!" cried old Hannah reproachfully. "Will ta howd thee tongue?" cried the old man. "No, I won't, Tummus. Not even with Mr Ellis here, if you stand theretelling such wicked stories. " "Arn't a story, " cried the old man, with the twinkle of a grim smile atthe corners of his lips. "Who'd ever go and fall in love with an uglyowd woman like thou?" "It couldn't be that; no, no, it couldn't be that, " said the bailiffhastily. "Wheer is he then, sir?" said old Tummus firmly. "Gone away for a bit--perhaps to London. " "Nay, not he, " said old Tummus, shaking his head, "I'm sewer o' that. " "Why, how do you know?" "Would a smart young man like John Grange was ha' gone up to Londonwithout takking a clean shirt wi' him?" "What!" "Didn't take no clean shirt nor stoggins nor nowt. " "Are you sure of that?" said the bailiff. "I couldn't make out that anything was gone out of his room, sir, " saidold Hannah, clapping her apron to her eyes. "Poor dear: it's very, verysad. " "Aye, it's sad enough, " said old Tummus; "not as it matters much, what'sthe good o' going on living?" "Tummus!" cried his wife. "Well, what are yow shoutin' at? I say it again: What's the good o'livin'? You on'y get horrid owd, and your missus allus naggin' you athome, and your Dan Barnetts shoutin' at you in the garden, or elseMaster Ellis here giving it to you about something. " "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tummus, " said his wife. "To goand say such a thing to Mr Ellis's face, as has allus been a kindfriend to you. " "Aye, lass, I don't grumble much at he, but we'm do grow precious owd. " "And a great blessing too, Tummus, " cried his wife. "You don't hear MrEllis complain about getting old. " "Nay, but then he's got a pretty bairn, bless her!--as sweet and good alass as ever stepped; and I says that to Master Ellis's face, same asI've often said it behind his back. Bless her! There!" James Ellis, with the great care upon his breast--the haunting thoughtthat perhaps, after all, he had had something to do with John Grange'sdisappearance--now stood in old Tummus's cottage a different being. There was none of the rather pompous, important manner that he was inthe habit of putting on when addressing his inferiors. The faces ofJohn Grange and Mary seemed to rise before him reproachfully, and, forthe first time in his life, he stood before the old couple in thecottage a humbled man, hardly conscious of what was being said. "Then he took nothing away with him, Hannah?" he said at last. "No, sir, nothing that I can make out. " "Nowt!" said old Tummus. "Here he were, hevving his tea that night, looking that down sad, that a bad tater was nowt to him; next thing isas we hears him go out o' the door--that there door just behind wheeryou're a-standing, Mr Ellis, sir, and he didn't come back. " "Didn't come back, " said the bailiff, repeating the old man's words. "We didn't set up for him because we know'd he'd shut oop all right, andif he didn't nobody wouldn't come and steal our plate, 'cause the owdwoman allus taks it to bed wi' her. " "Tummus!" "Well, so you do; six silver teaspoons, on'y one was lost years ago, andthe sugar bows, sir, she allus wrops 'em up in an owd pocky ankychy. " "There is no water near, " said James Ellis, as if to himself, but oldTummus's ears were sharp enough. "There's the river. " "Two miles away, Tummus. " "What's two miles to a man who wants to drownd hissen! Why, if I wantedto mak' a hole in the watter I'd walk twenty. " "Tummus, I will not have you say such dreadful things. " "It's very, very sad, Hannah, " said James Ellis at last; "and I'm moreupset about it than I can say, for he was a fine, worthy young fellow, and as good a gardener as ever stepped. " "That he was, " murmured the old couple. "But we don't know that anything so terrible has happened. Some dayperhaps we shall be hearing news of him. " "Nay, you never hear news o' them as has gone before, Master Ellis, sir. If I were you, I'd have the pond dragged up at the farm, and watterdreened off at Jagley's mill. " "No, no, " cried the bailiff hastily. "There is no reason for suspectingsuch a thing. John Grange was not the man to go and do anything rash. There, I thought I'd come and have a few words with you, Hannah, and youtoo, Tummus. I want you' to hold your tongues, now, and to let this sadbusiness die a natural death. You understand?" "Oh yes, sir. " "Chatter grows into bad news sometimes. There, good-evening. I daresay you'll hear news about the poor fellow some day. " "Nay, we wean't, " said old Tummus, when the bailiff was gone. "JohnGrange is as dead as a door-nail, and owd Jemmy Ellis knows it too; buthe's scarred of his bairn hearing, and don't want the missus up at thehouse to think on it. " "But we don't know that he is dead, " said old Hannah. "Not for sewer, " growled old Tummus, beginning to take off his heavyboots; "and we arn't sewer of a many things. But then, owd Jimmy's asgood as master here, and if you go flying in his face you may just aswell fly over the garden wall same time. I've done, missus. I don'tsay who done it, but it's my belief John Grange was put out o' the way. " "Oh, don't, Tummus; you give me the creeps. " "All right, all right, I've done. It's a rum world, and everything goeswrong in it. " "Not quite everything, dear. " "Well, no, not quite everything, but nearly. I believe it's because itwas made round. Lookye here, missus: how can matters go right on athing as has got no sound bottom to stand on? If the world had beenmade square it would have stood square, and things would have comeright; but there it is all round and never keeping steady, and alluschanging. Why, if you get a fine day you never can count upon another. " "No, " sighed Hannah; "but there's a deal of good in the world, afterall. " "Eh? What?" cried old Tummus, jumping up and standing upon thepatchwork hearthrug in his stockings, "wheerabouts?--wheer is it, owdwoman? I'm a-going to look for it 'fore I gets a day owder. " "Sit down, and don't talk such stuff, Tummus, " cried the old woman, giving him a push which sent him back in his chair. "I won't have it. " "Ah! That's it, " he said, with a low, chuckling laugh; "it's becausethe world's round. If it had been square we should all have stoodsolid, and old women wouldn't ha' flown at their mesters and knocked 'emdown. " CHAPTER NINETEEN. Old Tummus and his wife both declared that they minded what the bailiffsaid, and never let a word escape from them about the old man'ssuspicions; but rumour is a sad spreader of news, and the result of somebit of tittle-tattle turns up in places least expected, doingincalculable harm. It was not likely that John Grange's disappearance would die out ofordinary conversation without being pretty well embroidered by people'simagination, and like the Three Black Crows of the old story, beingadded to until the origin looked very trifling and small. But all thesame, it was some time before people's doubts reached Mrs Mostyn's earsthrough her housekeeper, and she turned upon her old confidentialservant with a look of horror. "Oh, my good woman!" she cried, "don't tell me that: it can't be true. " The housekeeper shook her head. "I hope not, ma'am; but it has grown to be common talk. " "Why, if it really were so, I could never live happily in the old placeagain. Go away, and send some one to fetch James Ellis here, directly. " The bailiff came in due course; and as soon as he entered thedrawing-room, where his mistress's face plainly showed that somethingwas very wrong, she saluted him with-- "What's all this I hear about that poor young man?" "Well, ma'am, I--" "Ah, no hesitation, James Ellis. I want the precise facts. Is it truethat he made away with himself?" "That nobody can say, ma'am, " said James Ellis firmly. "There has beensome tattle of that kind. " "And you think that he did?" "I try not to, ma'am, " said the bailiff, "for everybody's sake. Itwould be terrible. " Mrs Mostyn was silent. "Thank you, Ellis, " shesaid, after a few minutes of awful silence; "it would indeed beterrible. But ought some search to be made? Is it my duty to haverepresentations made to the police?" "I think not now, ma'am. I did not like to give any encouragement tothe rumour, for, after all, it is only a rumour. " "But where there's smoke there's fire, James Ellis. " "Yes, ma'am, " said the bailiff sagely; "but people often see what theythink is smoke, and it turns out to be only a vapour which dies away inthe sunshine. " "Yes, yes, " said Mrs Mostyn thoughtfully. "I have gone into the matter a good deal, ma'am, I hope, as an honestman. " "I am sure of that, James Ellis, " said his mistress. "And for two reasons I have tried to think I was right in taking nosteps about what may, after all, be all a fancy at which we havejumped. " "And what were the reasons, James Ellis?" "One was, ma'am, that I knew it would be a great pain and trouble to myemployer. " Mrs Mostyn bent her head. "And the other?" "Well, ma'am, to speak plainly, there was a little bit of leaning on thepart of my Mary towards poor John Grange, and there's no doubt he wasvery fond of her. " "Ah! This is news to me. And you and Mrs Ellis?" "These things come about, ma'am, without fathers and mothers havinganything to do with them till too late. " "Yes, yes, " said Mrs Mostyn thoughtfully. "But when John Grange's bad accident happened, of course I had to putdown my foot firmly, and say it could not be. " "It seems very hard, James Ellis, " sighed his mistress; "but I supposeit was right. " Then she added quickly: "You are afraid of the poor girlhearing such a rumour?" "More than that, ma'am, " said the bailiff huskily; "I'm afraid it wouldkill her, or send her melancholy mad. " Mrs Mostyn heaved a deep sigh, and remained silent. "Do you think it was my duty to have spoken to the police, ma'am, andtold them I suspected the poor fellow made an end of himself?" "James Ellis, " said Mrs Mostyn gravely, "you are Mary's father, andlove your child. " "She is my one great comfort in life, ma'am. " "Yes; and I am a weak woman, full of sympathy for one of my sex. I willnot trust myself to judge in one way or the other. Let the matter restfor a time, and let us see what that brings forth. " "Yes, " said James Ellis, as he went back home; "let us see what timebrings forth. " Time brought the rumour sooner than James Ellis suspected, for while hewas having his interview with Mrs Mostyn, the story had floated to thecottage, where Mary heard it whispered to her mother than John Grangehad wandered away from his lodgings one night, and, either by accidentfrom his blindness, or in despair on account of his affliction, he hadwalked into the river, or some pool, and been drowned; for though plentyof inquiries had been made, he had not since been seen. "Good-bye--good-bye for ever. " Those words she had heard that night asshe sat at the window: his farewell to her; and it seemed to come hometo her like a stroke of lightning, that in his despair he had rashlysought the end. She said nothing. There was no wild cry of horror: only a sudden motionof her hands towards her bosom, where she held them pressed; and theysaw her face turn of a deathly white, even to her lips, as the bloodflew to her heart. Then she uttered a low sigh and sank down in achair, where she was still seated, gazing vacantly before her into thefuture, when her father returned and flew to her side. He looked at his wife without speaking, but his eyes said plainly, "Youhave heard?" and Mrs Ellis bowed her head. "Mary, my darling, " the old man whispered, as he caught her to hisheart. And at this she uttered a faint cry, and hid her poor white faceupon her hands. "We can do nothing, mother, " whispered Ellis. "Let her rest. Time isthe only cure for this. I tried to hide it, but I knew it must come atlast, and it has come. " "Good-bye--good-bye for ever, " murmured Mary, almost in a whisper; andher words sent a chill through both their breasts. CHAPTER TWENTY. From that hour they saw the poor girl droop and begin to fade like someflower stricken by blight. No murmur escaped her lips, and JohnGrange's name was never mentioned. But it was noted at home that sheappeared to be more gently affectionate to those about her, and anxiousto please her father, while many a time poor Mrs Ellis told her husbandthat she was sure "our Mary" was slowly sinking into the grave. "Wait a bit, wife--wait a bit, " he would reply testily. "It's quitenatural. You'll see it will pass off, and she'll forget. " "Never, James. " "Well, then, it will become softened down as time goes on; she's gentlertowards Daniel Barnett, too, now. There: it will all come right in theend. " Mrs Ellis sighed and shook her head, but all the same she thought thatafter all her husband might prove to be correct. "For James is a very wise man, " she argued, "and one can't go onmourning for ever, however much one may have loved. " Daniel Barnett placed his own interpretation on Mary's manner towardshim, and there were times when he was exulted, and felt how successfullyhe had climbed up the ladder of life. Head-gardener at Mrs Mostyn's byeight-and-twenty; James Ellis's prospective son-in-law; and in thefuture he would be bailiff and agent, when Ellis was removed byinfirmity or death; and in the latter case he and Mary, the only child, would inherit the nice little bit of money the old man had saved, andthe six cottages which he had bought from time to time. Very pleasant all this, joined to the success in the gardens, where MrsMostyn had begun to show him more favour, and had several timesexpressed great satisfaction at the state of her garden. But Daniel Barnett was not happy. He was perfectly sure that Mary wouldsome day yield to his and her mother's wishes, and become his wife; buteven that knowledge did not clear away the black cloud which overhunghis life. For, sleeping or waking, he could not get rid of the feelingthat John Grange's remains would some day be discovered, and consciencetroubled him with the idea that he was more or less to blame for thepoor fellow's untimely end. It was in vain that he indignantlyprotested to himself that it was not likely a man should risk his lifeif he could help it. That he was not bound to climb that tree, and thathe did quite right to take care of himself, and so escape what mighthave been his fate. "I might have fallen, and turned blind, or mighthave been killed, " he would often say to himself. "It was a bit of luckfor me--ill-luck for him, poor chap. He went, and there's an end ofit. " But there was not "an end of it, " for Daniel Barnett's life was made amisery to him by the thoughts of how Grange had suffered, and how he hadtreated him, till in despair-- "Yes; that's it, " Tummus would whisper to him; "he went and walked intothe river, or--" Daniel Barnett shivered and avoided the big well in the garden, andstubbornly refused to have the two great underground rain-water tankscleaned out in the dry time for fear of some revelation being made. In his own mind he grew more and more sure that John Grange had takenhis life, but he said nothing, and though affectionately amiable to hisfriends up at the cottage, he daily grew more morose to those beneathhim in the gardens, and made their lives as great a burden as his ownwas to him. Troubles of this kind go on for a long time before they reach theemployer's ears. James Ellis heard that there were complaints ofBarnett's tyrannical treatment, and threats on the part of the men toleave; but he saw that the garden was admirably kept and sided with thehead, refusing to listen to the murmurs which grew deep now instead ofloud. The months had glided by, and it was autumn once more, with the fruitripening fast in the garden, and, save to Mary Ellis, the sad episode ofJohn Grange's career had grown fainter and fainter in the memories ofthose who had known him. Barnett had long ceased to wait for invitations, and quite three times aweek used to go up to the cottage and stay late, while at the house hewas often joked and questioned as to when it was coming off, whereuponhe would smile and look knowing, while all the time there was a bittergnawing at his heart, for he knew that he was no nearer winning Marythan he was the year before when John Grange disappeared. Then came a sharp little encounter, one bright September day in thegarden, where, after his wont, old Tummus had been to what he called"torment them there weeds, " to wit, chopping and tearing them up withhis hoe, and leaving them to shrink and die. The _Bon Chretiens_ were particularly fine that year, and one which hadbecome worm-eaten, and had in consequence prematurely ripened, showingall the bright tints of its kind, had fallen and lay ready to rot, when, hoeing away, old Tummus saw it, smiled to himself as he thought how itwould please old Hannah, picked it up and laid it aside ready to take upto the bothy when he put on his coat at dinner-time. "I shall have to ask him for it, " muttered the old man, "or elsethere'll be a row. " Just at that moment, as luck had it, Mrs Mostyn came along, withscissors and basket, to cut a few dahlias, and, in obedience to a suddenthought, old Tummus raised the fruit by the stalk and stepped toward hismistress, offering her the pear. "Strange nyste pear, mum, " he said. "And ripe so soon. There, lay it in the basket. Ah! Tut, tut! It'sall worm-eaten; take it away, and give it to somebody who will notmind. " Mrs Mostyn went on, and old Tummus chuckled, and hid the pear just asDaniel Barnett caught sight of him, and having marked the spot, waitedtill the old man had gone away. He then searched for, found the pear, and leaving it untouched, quietly watched at dinner-time, saw old Tummussecure the treasure, pocket it, and he was going off when Barnettaccosted him with-- "What have you got there?" "Pear, " said the old man stubbornly, as Barnett tried to snatch it fromhis pocket. "Now I know where the fruit goes. Why, you thieving old scoundrel. I'll soon put an end to this. " "Scoundrel yourself!" cried the old man fiercely. "Smart a man as youare, Dan Barnett. I never set myself to steal another man's love andharassed him till he went and drowned hisself, if you didn't go behindand throw him into the tank you won't have cleaned. " "Why, you lying old villain!" roared Barnett. "Lying, eh?" retorted old Tummus; "it's a lie then that you shoved theyorchards off the shelf, I s'pose, and made believe it was poor JohnGrange. A lie, perhaps, as you laid the scythe for the poor blind manto walk on and cut hisself. " "Yes, a lie, " cried Barnett, turning white. "Then you tell it, for I see you do it, I did, and saved him fromcrippling hisself for life. But we've had enough o' this. I goesstraight to Missus Mostyn and tells her all I know. " "Mrs Mostyn is here, sir, " said a sharp, stern voice, "and has heardall you have said. " CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. In the scene which followed, when the two men saw their mistressstanding before them, that lady acted the part of judge. "I told the old man he might take the pear, " she said to Daniel Barnettsternly. "But you, sir, " she cried, turning upon old Tummus, "how dareyou make such horrible charges against my gardener?" "Begging your pardon, my lady, Mrs Mostyn, " said old Tummus, "I'm asmuch your gardener as Dan Barnett, mum. What I says I sticks to. Hewas allus agin' poor John Grange, and if he arn't made an end on him, what I says is this here--wheer is he?" Mrs Mostyn for answer pointed to the gate. "Go, " she said quietly, "you do not know what you are saying. When youare ready to apologise to Mr Barnett for what you have said, come tome. Till then you had better stay away from the grounds. " Old Tummus raised the mellow pear, which he still held in his pocket, dashed it with all his might upon the ground, and then stumped away withhead erect. Mrs Mostyn stood watching the old man for a few moments, and thenturned to Barnett. "You were nearly as much in fault as he, " she said sternly. "I do notapprove of my servants, even if they are in fault, being addressed insuch a tone. " Mrs Mostyn walked away, and Daniel Barnett abstained from visiting atthe cottage that night. A week later old Tummus was reinstated without apologising to thehead-gardener, after old Hannah had been up to the house and begged himon. "No, ma'am, " she said, through her tears; "he hasn't 'pologised, and hesays he can't, because it's all true. " "Then it is sheer obstinacy, Hannah, " said Mrs Mostyn. "Yes, mum, that's just what it is. Many's the time his mother's told methat he was the obstintest boy that ever lived, and well I know it. Once he's said a thing, wild horses couldn't make him alter it. And yousee he's seventy-five now, ma'am, and been sixty-three years in thesegardens. He's been growing obstin't' all this time, and I'm afraid youcan't change him now. Please, please, let him come back to work, mum;you'll kill him if you don't. " "There, go away with you, you stupid woman, and tell him I'm very veryangry with him for a careless, obstinate, wicked old man, and I don'tforgive him a bit; but he may come back to work, and you can ask thehousekeeper to give you half-a-pound of tea as you go. " Old Hannah went away, sobbing aloud, and so overcome that, in spite ofthe hot water which bedewed her cheeks, she forgot all about the tea. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. Another six months had passed, and it was spring again, with its brightpromises of renewing life and sunshine, when, one evening, Mrs Ellissat holding her child's hand, the tears stealing slowly down her cheeksas she talked in a low voice, stifling a sob from time to time, and inevery way showing how bad an ambassadress she was, and how thoroughlyher sympathies were with her child. "Did father tell you to say this, mother?" said Mary wearily. "Yes, my darling. He says he is getting older, and that it is the onewish of his heart to see you happy. " "But he would not see me happy, mother, if I said Yes, " replied Mary. "I cannot, indeed, I cannot love Daniel Barnett. I could never make hima good wife. Why will he persecute me so?" "Because he loves you, dear; and don't, pray don't be hasty! You don'tknow: the love may come, dear. " "Yes, mother; the love may come, but will it?" "See how good and patient he has been; and father says it is his solecare to see you settled, and to know that if anything happens to him youhave a strong right hand to protect you. Come, darling, let me go downand tell them both that you have thought better of it, and that youconsent. " "Mother, you do not wish it, " said Mary gently. "All this does not comefrom the heart. " "I think it does, my darling, " said Mrs Ellis. "You see, it is my dutyto do what your father wishes. Yours to love and obey him. " "No, mother dear, " said Mary gently. "Your voice contradicts it all. This does not come from your heart. You do not wish to see me DanielBarnett's wife. " Mrs Ellis's face went down on her child's breast, and she let her tearshave their course for a few minutes, but raised her head again with asigh. "I oughtn't to have done that, " she said hurriedly. "Mary, my darling, your father desires it, and it is, indeed it is, your duty to try andmeet his wishes. What am I to go down and say?" "Go and tell him that I cannot forget the past, mother, and tell MrBarnett to wait. In a few months I will try to think, as you all wishme, if--if I live. " "Oh, my darling, my darling, " sobbed the mother. "Don't cry, dear, " said Mary calmly. "I can't help feeling like thatsometimes, it is when I think that he must be dead, and then hope comes, and--mother, " she whispered, "do you believe in dreams?" "My darling, no, " said Mrs Ellis, "only that they are the result ofthinking too much during the day of some particular thing. But I mustgo down to them now, dear. Father will be so impatient. He was angrylast time Daniel came here, because you would keep up-stairs. " "Daniel!" said Mary sadly. "Mother, are you beginning to side againstme too?" Mary Ellis had hardly asked these words when the sound of voices belowmade her spring to her feet, run to the door, and stand there listening. "Mary, my child, what is it?" cried Mrs Ellis. For answer Mary ran down into the little parlour. "John!" she cried wildly, and the next moment she was clinging to JohnGrange's neck, while he stood there with one arm about her, holding hertightly to him, and proudly facing her father and Barnett, who stoodscowling and trying hard to speak. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. In the dead silence which fell upon all in the bailiff's room when MaryEllis flung herself upon John Grange's neck, a looker-on might havecounted sixty beats of the pendulum which swung to and fro in the oldoak-cased "grandfather's clock, " before another word was uttered. Mrs Ellis stood with her face working, as if premonitory to burstingout into a fit of sobbing; James Ellis felt something rising in histhroat, and looked on with a grim kind of jealous pleasure at thelovers' embrace; and Barnett broke the silence by making a strangegrinding noise with his teeth. "Do you--are you going to allow this?" he panted out at last. James Ellis made a deprecating gesture with his hands, and lookeduneasily at his wife, who had crossed to Grange, laid her hands upon hisshoulder, and said gently-- "And we thought you were dead--we thought you were dead. " "As I should have been, Mrs Ellis, to you all, " cried the young manproudly, "if I could not have come back to you like this. " By this time Barnett had fully recovered the speech of which jealousrage and disappointment had nearly deprived him, and after a savagescowl at Grange, he turned upon the bailiff. "Look here, Mr Ellis, is this your house? Are you master here?" Ellis made an angry gesture now. "My good sir, " he cried; "you see: what can I do?" "Order this fellow--this beggar--this impostor out. He has no businesshere. " Mary turned upon him fiercely, but her angry look faded out, and gaveplace to a smile of content, as she now linked her hands together aboutGrange's strong right arm and looked gently in his face, as if to say, "Don't be angry, he hardly knows what he says. " Maddened more by this, Barnett stepped forward to separate them, but, roused now in turn, James Ellis stepped between. "Yes, " he said firmly; "this is my house, and I am master here, DanielBarnett. No violence, if you please. " "As much violence as is necessary to turn this fellow out, " roared theyoung man. "I claim your promise, my rights. Mary, you are by yourfather's words my affianced wife; keep away from that man. Mrs Ellis, stand aside, or I will not be answerable for the consequences. Youcoward!" he cried to Grange; "you screen yourself between two women. Now then, out with you!" One moment John Grange had been standing there calm and happy, with thewomen clinging to him; the next, by a quick movement, strong yet gentle, he had shaken himself free; and as Barnett seized him by the throat toeject him from the room, he was perfectly transformed. For, with almostsuperhuman strength, he seized his rival in return, quickly bore himback a step or two, and then wrenched his legs from beneath him, bringing him to his knees. "It is you who are the coward, " he cried in a deep voice, "or you wouldnot have forced on this before two helpless women. Mr Ellis, I claimMary by the ties of our old and faithful love. I, John Grange, thanksto God, strong, hale, keen of sight again as once I was, a man who canand will protect her while I live. Now, sir, open that door. If thereis to be a struggle between us two, it will not take place here. " "John!" That one word in a tone of appeal from Mary, and he dropped his hands. "Yes, " he said, with the calm assurance of a man who valued hisstrength; "you are right, dear, Daniel Barnett was half mad. That willdo, sir. It is Mary's wish that you should go, and Mr Ellis will notrefuse me a hearing when his child's happiness is at stake. " Barnett rose slowly, looking from one to the other, and finally his eyesrested upon Ellis, who nodded gravely. "Yes, " he said, "you'd better go, Daniel Barnett. I should not be doingmy duty to my child if I fought against her now. " He walked slowly to the door, opened it, and without another wordBarnett followed him out. Five minutes later the latch of the gate washeard to click, and as all stood listening, James Ellis came in anduttered a sigh of relief. There was that in his face which made Mary, with her eyes bright and a flush upon her cheeks such as had not beenseen there for a year, run to him and fling her arms about his neck, asshe went into a wild fit of joyful hysterical sobbing, which it was longbefore she could control. There was not much to tell, but it was to the following effect. Itdated from the evening when he had been left busying himself in thegarden of old Tummus's cottage, left entirely to himself, trimming upthe roses, and thinking sadly that there was no future for him in theworld. This had been going on for some time, and he was busily feeling theprickly rose strands, and taking nails and shreds from his pocket totack the wild, blossoming shoots neatly in their places, in perfectignorance, after a while, that he was being watched. For, though heheard hoofs upon the hard green turf beside the road, he supposed thesounds to be made by some horse returning to its stables from itspasture on the common, and did not imagine that it was mounted, as heheard it stop, and begin cropping the young shoots upon the gardenhedge. "Good-evening, " said a decisive voice suddenly, speaking as if it was agood evening, and he who spoke would like to hear any one contradicthim. "Good-evening, sir, " replied John Grange, adding the "sir, " for thevoice seemed familiar, and he knew the speaker was riding. "You remember me, eh?" There was a slight twitching about the muscles of John Grange's foreheadas he craned his neck towards the speaker, and then he seemed to drawback, as he said sadly-- "No, sir; I seem to remember your voice, but I am blind. " "Quite blind?" "Yes, sir. " "Look in my direction--hard, and now tell me: can you not make out myface, even faintly?" "I can see that there is light, sir, where you are; but you have yourback to the west. It is the warm sunset. " "Then you are not quite blind, my lad. Well, has Mrs Mostyn forgivenyou about her orchids?" "Ah! I remember you now, sir, " cried Grange. "You are the friend--thegreat doctor--who came to see them. " "To be sure I am the doctor--I don't know about great--who stayed thenight--Doctor Renton, of the Gables, Dale-by-Lyndon. " "Yes, sir, I know. I have heard tell of your beautiful garden. " "Indeed? Well, look here, my man. Your mistress interested me in yourcase, and I thought I would ride over some evening and see you. Ishould like you to come to me, so that I could examine your eyes, andtest them a little. " John Grange turned ghastly and fell a-trembling, as he grasped at thewindow-sill to steady himself. "Come, come, that will not do, " cried the doctor quickly. "Be a man!You are weak and nervous. Try and control your feelings. " "But--then--oh, for Heaven's sake, speak, sir, " said Grange, in a huskywhisper. "You think there is hope?" "I do not say that, my man, but since Mrs Mostyn told me about yourcase, I have thought of it a great deal. Come over and see me, sayingnothing to any one, for fear of disappointment. Then, if I think it isworth while, you shall come up to London and stay. " "It is too much to bear, " groaned the sufferer. "No: and you will bear it. But you must expect nothing. I shall in allprobability fail, but if I do, you will be no worse off than you arenow. " "No, sir, I could be no worse off, " faltered Grange. "That is the way to take it. Then you will come? But I must warn you:it may mean your being away for a year--perhaps for two. " "I would do anything to get back my sight. " "Then you will come? I will not communicate with Mrs Mostyn, for fearof raising false hopes. If I succeed she will forgive your suddenleaving. She is a good mistress, my lad. Pity you did not speak outthe truth that day. " John Grange flushed up. "Indeed it was the truth, sir, " he cried angrily. "There, there! No excitement. You will have to lead now a calm, unemotional life if I am to do you good. Good-evening. I shall expectto see you to-morrow morning, then, before I leave for town. But oncemore, keep your own counsel, and hope for nothing; then all that comeswill be so much gain. " He drew up the rein, touched his horse's side, and went off at a canter, leaving Grange standing in the cottage garden, one moment with his mindillumined by hope, the next black with despair. "No, " he cried softly; "it is too late. He can do nothing. Only thatlong, dark journey before me to the end. Tell no one! Lead no one toexpect that I may be cured! No, not a word to any. Better away fromhere to be forgotten, for everything about me grows too hard to bear. " That night he stole away in the darkness, to pause on the opposite sideof the road, to whisper to the winds good-bye, and feel for a few briefminutes that he was near Mary before he said "Good-bye--for ever!" Tobe dead to all he knew unless he could return to them as he had been ofold. This was John Grange's story--condensed--as he told it to the group atthe cottage. Then in a low, deep tone, full of emotion-- "If I was to end my days sightless, Mary, I knew I could not come to youagain; but Heaven has willed it otherwise. It has been a long, longwaiting, hopeless till within the last month, and it was only within thepast few days that the doctor told me that all was safe, and I might beat rest. " "But you might have written, John, if only once, " said Mrs Ellis, witha sob in her throat. "Yes, " he said, "I might, but I believe what I did was right, MrsEllis; forgive me, all of you, if I was wrong. " What followed? Mrs Mostyn was eager to see John Grange back in his oldposition, but he gravely shook his head. "No, " he said, "Mary, I am not going to trample on a man who is down. Let Dan Barnett keep the place; the doctor offers me one that will makeus a happy home; and it will be, will it not?" Mary glanced at her mother before replying, and James Ellis clasped theyoung man's hand, while Mrs Ellis rushed out to have what she called agood hearty cry. "Lor', missus, " said old Tummus, "I never worried much about it. There's a deal of trouble in this here life, but a lot o' joy as well:things generally comes right in the end. " "Not always, dear. " "Eh? Well, never mind, this one has; and I only wish I was a bityounger, so that I could go and be under Muster John Grange. --No, Icouldn't. I can go and see 'em once in a way, but I must stop here, inthis old garden, with the missus, until we die. " "Yes, Tummus, yes, " said old Hannah. "It wouldn't do at our time o'life to make a change. " "Only that last big one, old lady, to go and work in the Master'svineyard, if He sees as we've done right. But there, dear, on'y tothink o' all this here trouble coming from sawing off a bit o' raggedwood. " THE END.