 A TRUE FRIEND. 

 A NOVEL. 

 BY ADELINE SERGEANT

 _Author of "The Luck of the House, " "A Life Sentence, " etc. , etc. _

MONTREAL:JOHN LOVELL & SON, 23 ST. NICHOLAS STREET. 

CONTENTS

 I. AN UNSUITABLE FRIENDSHIP

 II. LADY CAROLINE'S TACTICS

 III. AT HELMSLEY COURT

 IV. ON THE ROAD. 

 V. WYVIS BRAND

 VI. JANETTA AT HOME

 VII. NORA'S NEW ACQUAINTANCE

 VIII. FATHER AND CHILD

 IX. CONSULTATION

 X. MARGARET

 XI. JANETTA'S PROMISES

 XII. JANETTA REMONSTRATES

 XIII. SHADOWS

 XIV. JANETTA'S FAILURE

 XV. A BONE OF CONTENTION

 XVI. SIR PHILIP'S OPINION

 XVII. MARGARET'S FRIENDSHIP

 XVIII. A NEW FRIEND

 XIX. NORA'S PROCEEDINGS

 XX. AN ELDER BROTHER

 XXI. CUTHBERT'S ROMANCE

 XXII. WYVIS BRAND'S IDEAL

 XXIII. FORGET-ME-NOTS

 XXIV. LADY ASHLEY'S GARDEN PARTY

 XXV. SIR PHILIP'S DECISION

 XXVI. "FREE!"

 XXVII. A BIG BRIBE

 XXVIII. "CHANGES MUST COME. "

 XXIX. MARGARET'S CONFESSION

 XXX. IN REBELLION

 XXXI. THE PLOUGHMAN'S SON

 XXXII. THE FAILURE OF MARGARET

 XXXIII. RETROSPECT

 XXXIV. FROM DISTANT LANDS

 XXXV. JULIET

 XXXVI. THE FRUITS OF A LIE

 XXXVII. NIGHT

 XXXVIII. THE LAST SCENE

 XXXIX. MAKING AMENDS

 XL. MY FAITHFUL JANET

A TRUE FRIEND

CHAPTER I. 

AN UNSUITABLE FRIENDSHIP. 

Janetta was the music governess--a brown little thing of no particularimportance, and Margaret Adair was a beauty and an heiress, and the onlydaughter of people who thought themselves very distinguished indeed; sothat the two had not, you might think, very much in common, and were notlikely to be attracted one to the other. Yet, in spite of differingcircumstances, they were close friends and allies; and had been suchever since they were together at the same fashionable school where MissAdair was the petted favorite of all, and Janetta Colwyn was thepupil-teacher in the shabbiest of frocks, who got all the snubbing anddid most of the hard work. And great offence was given in severaldirections by Miss Adair's attachment to poor little Janetta. 

"It is an unsuitable friendship, " Miss Polehampton, the principal of theschool, observed on more than one occasion, "and I am sure I do not knowhow Lady Caroline will like it. "

Lady Caroline was, of course, Margaret Adair's mamma. 

Miss Polehampton felt her responsibility so keenly in the matter that atlast she resolved to speak "very seriously" to her dear Margaret. Shealways talked of "her dear Margaret, " Janetta used to say, when she wasgoing to make herself particularly disagreeable. For "her dear Margaret"was the pet pupil, the show pupil of the establishment: her air ofperfect breeding gave distinction, Miss Polehampton thought, to thewhole school; and her refinement, her exemplary behavior, her industry, and her talent formed the theme of many a lecture to less accomplishedand less decorous pupils. For, contrary to all conventionalexpectations, Margaret Adair was not stupid, although she was beautifuland well-behaved. She was an exceedingly intelligent girl; she had anaptitude for several arts and accomplishments, and she was remarkablefor the delicacy of her taste and the exquisite discrimination of whichshe sometimes showed herself capable. At the same time she was not asclever--("not as _glaringly_ clever, " a friend of hers once expressedit)--as little Janetta Colwyn, whose nimble wits gathered knowledge as abee collects honey under the most unfavorable circumstances. Janetta hadto learn her lessons when the other girls had gone to bed, in a littleroom under the roof; a room which was like an ice-house in winter and anoven in summer; she was never able to be in time for her classes, andshe often missed them altogether; but, in spite of these disadvantages, she generally proved herself the most advanced pupil in her division, and if pupil-teachers had been allowed to take prizes, would havecarried off every first prize in the school. This, to be sure, was notallowed. It would not have been "the thing" for the littlegoverness-pupil to take away the prizes from the girls whose parentspaid between two and three hundred a year for their tuition (the feeswere high, because Miss Polehampton's school was so exceedinglyfashionable); therefore, Janetta's marks were not counted, and herexercises were put aside and did not come into competition with those ofthe other girls, and it was generally understood amongst the teachersthat, if you wished to stand well with Miss Polehampton, it would bebetter not to praise Miss Colwyn, but rather to put forward the meritsof some charming Lady Mary or Honorable Adeliza, and leave Janetta inthe obscurity from which (according to Miss Polehampton) she was fatednever to emerge. 

Unfortunately for the purposes of the mistress of the school, Janettawas rather a favorite with the girls. She was not adored, like Margaret;she was not looked up to and respected, as was the Honorable Edith Gore;she was nobody's pet, as the little Ladies Blanche and Rose Amberley hadbeen ever since they set foot in the school; but she was everybody'sfriend and comrade, the recipient of everybody's confidences, the sharerin everybody's joys or woes. The fact was that Janetta had theinestimable gift of sympathy; she understood the difficulties of peoplearound her better than many women of twice her age would have done; andshe was so bright and sunny-tempered and quick-witted that her verypresence in a room was enough to dispel gloom and ill-temper. She was, therefore, deservedly popular, and did more to keep up the character ofMiss Polehampton's school for comfort and cheerfulness than MissPolehampton herself was ever likely to be aware. And the girl mostdevoted to Janetta was Margaret Adair. 

"Remain for a few moments, Margaret; I wish to speak to you, " said MissPolehampton, majestically, when one evening, directly after prayers, theshow pupil advanced to bid her teachers good-night. 

The girls all sat round the room on wooden chairs, and Miss Polehamptonoccupied a high-backed, cushioned seat at a centre table while she readthe portion of Scripture with which the day's work concluded. Near hersat the governesses, English, French and German, with little Janettabringing up the rear in the draughtiest place and the most uncomfortablechair. After prayers, Miss Polehampton and the teachers rose, and theirpupils came to bid them good-night, offering hand and cheek to each inturn. There was always a great deal of kissing to be got through onthese occasions. Miss Polehampton blandly insisted on kissing all herthirty pupils every evening; it made them feel more as if they were athome, she used to say; and her example was, of course, followed by theteachers and the girls. 

Margaret Adair, as one of the oldest and tallest girls in the school, generally came forward first for that evening salute. When MissPolehampton made the observation just recorded, she stepped back to aposition beside her teacher's chair in the demure attitude of awell-behaved schoolgirl--hands crossed over the wrists, feet inposition, head and shoulders carefully erect, and eyes gently loweredtowards the carpet. Thus standing, she was yet perfectly well aware thatJanetta Colwyn gave her an odd, impish little look of mingled fun andanxiety behind Miss Polehampton's back; for it was generally known thata lecture was impending when one of the girls was detained afterprayers, and it was very unusual for Margaret to be lectured! Miss Adairdid not, however, look discomposed. A momentary smile flitted across herface at Janetta's tiny grimace, but it was instantly succeeded by thelook of simple gravity becoming to the occasion. 

When the last of the pupils and the last also of the teachers had filedout of the room, Miss Polehampton turned and surveyed the waiting girlwith some uncertainty. She was really fond of Margaret Adair. Not onlydid she bring credit to the school, but she was a good, nice, lady-likegirl (such were Miss Polehampton's epithets), and very fair to lookupon. Margaret was tall, slender, and exceedingly graceful in hermovements; she was delicately fair, and had hair of the silkiest textureand palest gold; her eyes, however, were not blue, as one would haveexpected them to be; they were hazel brown, and veiled by long brownlashes--eyes of melting softness and dreaminess, peculiarly sweet inexpression. Her features were a very little too long and thin forperfect beauty; but they gave her a Madonna-like look of peace and calmwhich many were ready enthusiastically to admire. And there was no wantof expression in her face; its faint rose bloom varied almost at a word, and the thin curved lips were as sensitive to feeling as could bedesired. What was wanting in the face was what gave it its peculiarmaidenly charm--a lack of passion, a little lack, perhaps, of strength. But at seventeen we look less for these characteristics than for thesweetness and docility which Margaret certainly possessed. Her dress ofsoft, white muslin was quite simple--the ideal dress for a younggirl--and yet it was so beautifully made, so perfectly finished in everydetail, that Miss Polehampton never looked at it without an uneasyfeeling that she was _too_ well-dressed for a schoolgirl. Others woremuslin dresses of apparently the same cut and texture; but what thecasual eye might fail to observe, the schoolmistress was perfectly wellaware of, namely, that the tiny frills at neck and wrists were of thecostliest Mechlin lace, that the hem of the dress was bordered with thesame material, as if it had been the commonest of things; that theembroidered white ribbons with which it was trimmed had been woven inFrance especially for Miss Adair, and that the little silver buckles ather waist and on her shoes were so ancient and beautiful as to be ofalmost historic importance. The effect was that of simplicity; but itwas the costly simplicity of absolute perfection. Margaret's mother wasnever content unless her child was clothed from head to foot inmaterials of the softest, finest and best. It was a sort of outwardsymbol of what she desired for the girl in all relations of life. 

This it was that disturbed Miss Polehampton's mind as she stood andlooked uneasily for a moment at Margaret Adair. Then she took the girlby the hand. 

"Sit down, my dear, " she said, in a kind voice, "and let me talk to youfor a few moments. I hope you are not tired with standing so long. "

"Oh, no, thank you; not at all, " Margaret answered, blushing slightly asshe took a seat at Miss Polehampton's left hand. She was moreintimidated by this unwonted kindness of address than by any imaginableseverity. The schoolmistress was tall and imposing in appearance: hermanner was usually a little pompous, and it did not seem quite naturalto Margaret that she should speak so gently. 

"My dear, " said Miss Polehampton, "when your dear mamma gave you into mycharge, I am sure she considered me responsible for the influences underwhich you were brought, and the friendships that you made under myroof. "

"Mamma knew that I could not be hurt by any friendship that I made_here_, " said Margaret, with the softest flattery. She was quitesincere: it was natural to her to say "pretty things" to people. 

"Quite so, " the schoolmistress admitted. "Quite so, dear Margaret, ifyou keep within your own grade in society. There is no pupil in thisestablishment, I am thankful to say, who is not of suitable family andprospects to become your friend. You are young yet, and do notunderstand the complications in which people sometimes involvethemselves by making friendships out of their own sphere. But _I_understand, and I wish to caution you. "

"I am not aware that I have made any unsuitable friendships, " saidMargaret, with a rather proud look in her hazel eyes. 

"Well--no, I hope not, " said Miss Polehampton with a hesitating littlecough. "You understand, my dear, that in an establishment like mine, persons must be employed to do certain work who are not quite equal inposition to--to--ourselves. Persons of inferior birth and station, Imean, to whom the care of the younger girls, and certain menial duties, must be committed. These persons, my dear, with whom you mustnecessarily be brought in contact, and whom I hope you will always treatwith perfect courtesy and consideration, need not, at the same time, bemade your intimate friends. "

"I have never made friends with any of the servants, " said Margaret, quietly. Miss Polehampton was somewhat irritated by this remark. 

"I do not allude to the servants, " she said with momentary sharpness. "Ido not consider Miss Colwyn a servant, or I should not, of course, allowher to sit at the same table with you. But there is a sort offamiliarity of which I do not altogether approve----"

She paused, and Margaret drew up her head and spoke with unusualdecision. 

"Miss Colwyn is my greatest friend. "

"Yes, my dear, that is what I complain of. Could you not find a friendin your own rank of life without making one of Miss Colwyn?"

"She is quite as good as I am, " cried Margaret, indignantly. "Quite asgood, far more so, and a great deal cleverer!"

"She has capabilities, " said the schoolmistress, with the air of onemaking a concession; "and I hope that they will be useful to her in hercalling. She will probably become a nursery governess, or companion tosome lady of superior position. But I cannot believe, my dear that dearLady Caroline would approve of your singling her out as your especialand particular friend. "

"I am sure mamma always likes people who are good and clever, " saidMargaret. She did not fly into a rage as some girls would have done, buther face flushed, and her breath came more quickly than usual--signs ofgreat excitement on her part, which Miss Polehampton was not slow toobserve. 

"She likes them in their proper station, my dear. This friendship is notimproving for you, nor for Miss Colwyn. Your positions in life are sodifferent that your notice of her can but cause discontent andill-feeling in her mind. It is exceedingly injudicious, and I cannotthink that your dear mamma would approve of it if she knew thecircumstances. "

"But Janetta's family is not at all badly connected, " said Margaret, with some eagerness. "There are cousins of hers living close to us--thenext property belongs to them----"

"Do you know them, my dear?"

"I know _about_ them, " answered Margaret, suddenly coloring very deeply, and looking uncomfortable, "but I don't think I have ever seen them, they are so much away from home----"

"I know _about_ them, too, " said Miss Polehampton, grimly; "and I do notthink that you will ever advance Miss Colwyn's interests by mentioningher connection with that family. I have heard Lady Caroline speak ofMrs. Brand and her children. They are not people, my dear Margaret, whomit is desirable for you to know. "

"But Janetta's own people live quite near us, " said Margaret, reduced toa very pleading tone. "I know them at home; they live at Beaminster--notthree miles off. "

"And may I ask if Lady Caroline visits them, my dear?" asked MissPolehampton, with mild sarcasm, which brought the color again toMargaret's fair face. The girl could not answer; she knew well enoughthat Janetta's stepmother was not at all the sort of person whom LadyCaroline Adair would willingly speak to, and yet she did not like to saythat her acquaintance with Janetta had only been made at a Beaminsterdancing class. Probably Miss Polehampton divined the fact. "Under thecircumstances, " she said, "I think I should be justified in writing toLady Caroline and asking her to remonstrate a little with you, my dearMargaret. Probably she would be better able to make you understand theimpropriety of your behavior than I can do. "

The tears rose to Margaret's eyes. She was not used to being rebuked inthis manner. 

"But--I don't know, Miss Polehampton, what you want me to do, " she said, more nervously than usual. "I can't give up Janetta; I can't possiblyavoid speaking to her, you know, even if I wanted to----"

"I desire nothing of the sort, Margaret. Be kind and polite to her, asusual. But let me suggest that you do not make a companion of her in thegarden so constantly--that you do not try to sit beside her in class orlook over the same book. I will speak to Miss Colwyn herself about it. Ithink I can make _her_ understand. "

"Oh, please do not speak to Janetta! I quite understand already, " saidMargaret, growing pale with distress. "You do not know how kind and goodshe has always been to me----"

Sobs choked her utterance, rather to Miss Polehampton's alarm. She didnot like to see her girls cry--least of all, Margaret Adair. 

"My dear, you have no need to excite yourself. Janetta Colwyn has alwaysbeen treated, I hope, with justice and kindness in this house. If youwill endeavor only to make her position in life less instead of moredifficult, you will be doing her the greatest favor in your power. I donot at all mean that I wish you to be unkind to her. A little morereserve, a little more caution, in your demeanor, and you will be allthat I have ever wished you to be--a credit to your parents and to theschool which has educated you!"

This sentiment was so effusive that it stopped Margaret's tears out ofsheer amazement; and when she had said good-night and gone to bed, MissPolehampton stood for a moment or two quite still, as if to recover fromthe unwonted exertion of expressing an affectionate emotion. It wasperhaps a reaction against it that caused her almost immediately to ringthe bell a trifle sharply, and to say--still sharply--to the maid whoappeared in answer. 

"Send Miss Colwyn to me. "

Five minutes elapsed before Miss Colwyn came, however, and theschoolmistress had had time to grow impatient. 

"Why did you not come at once when I sent for you?" she said, severely, as soon as Janetta presented herself. 

"I was going to bed, " said the girl, quickly; "and I had to dress myselfagain. "

The short, decided accents grated on Miss Polehampton's ear. Miss Colwyndid not speak half so "nicely, " she said to herself, as did dearMargaret Adair. 

"I have been talking to Miss Adair about you, " said the schoolmistress, coldly. "I have been telling her, as I now tell you, that the differencein your positions makes your present intimacy very undesirable. I wishyou to understand, henceforward, that Miss Adair is not to walk with youin the garden, not to sit beside you in class, not to associate withyou, as she has hitherto done, on equal terms. "

"Why should we not associate on equal terms?" said Janetta. She was ablack-browed girl, with a clear olive skin, and her eyes flashed and hercheeks glowed with indignation as she spoke. 

"You are not equals, " said Miss Polehampton, with icy displeasure in hertone--she had spoken very differently to Margaret. "You have to work foryour bread: there is no disgrace in that, but it puts you on a differentlevel from that of Miss Margaret Adair, an earl's grand-daughter, andthe only child of one of the richest commoners in England. I have neverbefore reminded you of the difference in position between yourself andthe young ladies with whom you have hitherto been allowed to associate;and I really think I shall have to adopt another method--unless youconduct yourself, Miss Colwyn, with a little more modesty andpropriety. "

"May I ask what your other method would be?" asked Miss Colwyn, withperfect self-possession. 

Miss Polehampton looked at her for a moment in silence. 

"To begin with, " she said, "I could order the meals differently, andrequest you to take yours with the younger children, and in other wayscut you off from the society of the young ladies. And if this failed, Icould signify to your father that our arrangement was not satisfactory, and that it had better end at the close of this term. "

Janetta's eyes fell and her color faded as she heard this threat. Itmeant a good deal to her. She answered quickly, but with somenervousness of tone. 

"Of course, that must be as you please, Miss Polehampton. If I do notsatisfy you, I must go. "

"You satisfy me very well except in that one respect. However, I do notask for any promise from you now. I shall observe your conduct duringthe next few days, and be guided by what I see. I have already spoken toMiss Adair. "

Janetta bit her lips. After a pause, she said--

"Is that all? May I go now?"

"You may go, " said Miss Polehampton, with majesty; and Janetta softlyand slowly retired. 

But as soon as she was outside the door her demeanor changed. She burstinto tears as she sped swiftly up the broad staircase, and her eyes wereso blinded that she did not even see a white figure hovering on thelanding until she found herself suddenly in Margaret's arms. In defianceof all rules--disobedient for nearly the first time in herlife--Margaret had waited and watched for Janetta's coming; and now, clasped as closely together as sisters, the two friends held a whisperedcolloquy on the stairs. 

"Darling, " said Margaret, "was she very unkind?"

"She was very horrid, but I suppose she couldn't help it, " said Janetta, with a little laugh mixing itself with her sobs. "We mustn't be friendsany more, Margaret. "

"But we will be friends--always, Janetta. "

"We must not sit together or walk together----"

"Janetta, I shall behave to you exactly as I have always done. " Thegentle Margaret was in revolt. 

"She will write to your mother, Margaret, and to my father. "

"I shall write to mine, too, and explain, " said Margaret with dignity. And Janetta had not the heart to whisper to her friend that the tone inwhich Miss Polehampton would write to Lady Caroline would differ verywidely from the one that she would adopt to Mr. Colwyn. 

CHAPTER II. 

LADY CAROLINE'S TACTICS. 

Helmsley Court was generally considered one of the prettiest housesabout Beaminster; a place which was rich in pretty houses, being aCathedral town situated in one of the most beautiful southern countiesof England. The village of Helmsley was a picturesque little group ofblack and white cottages, with gardens full of old-fashioned flowersbefore them and meadows and woods behind. Helmsley Court was on slightlyhigher ground than the village, and its windows commanded an extensiveview of lovely country bounded in the distance by a long low range ofblue hills, beyond which, in clear days, it was said, keen eyes couldcatch a glimpse of the shining sea. The house itself was a very fine oldbuilding, with a long terrace stretching before its lower windows, andflower gardens which were the admiration of half the county. It had apicture gallery and a magnificent hall with polished floor and stainedwindows, and all the accessories of an antique and celebrated mansion;and it had also all the comfort and luxury that modern civilizationcould procure. 

It was this latter characteristic that made "the Court, " as it wascommonly called, so popular. Picturesque old houses are sometimesdraughty and inconvenient, but no such defects were ever allowed toexist at the Court. Every thing went smoothly: the servants wereperfectly trained: the latest improvements possible were alwaysintroduced: the house was ideally luxurious. There never seemed to beany jar or discord: no domestic worry was ever allowed to reach the earsof the mistress of the household, no cares or troubles seemed able toexist in that serene atmosphere. You could not even say of it that itwas dull. For the master of the Court was a hospitable man, with manytastes and whims which he liked to indulge by having down from Londonthe numerous friends whose fancies matched his own, and his wife was alittle bit of a fine lady who had London friends too, as well asneighbors, whom she liked to entertain. The house was seldom free fromvisitors; and it was partly for that very reason that Lady CarolineAdair, being in her own way a wise woman, had arranged that two or threeyears of her daughter's life should be spent at Miss Polehampton's veryselect boarding-school at Brighton. It would be a great drawback toMargaret, she reflected, if her beauty were familiar to all the worldbefore she came out; and really, when Mr. Adair would insist on invitinghis friends constantly to the house, it was impossible to keep the girlso mewed up in the schoolroom that she would not be seen and talked of;and therefore it was better that she should go away for a time. Mr. Adair did not like the arrangement; he was very fond of Margaret, andobjected to her leaving home; but Lady Caroline was gently inexorableand got her own way--as she generally did. 

She does not look much like the mother of the tall girl whom we saw atBrighton, as she sits at the head of her breakfast-table in thedaintiest of morning gowns--a marvelous combination of silk, muslin andlace and pale pink ribbons--with a tiny white dog reposing in her lap. She is a much smaller woman than Margaret, and darker in complexion: itis from her, however, that Margaret inherits the large, appealing hazeleyes, which look at you with an infinite sweetness, while their owner isperhaps thinking of the _menu_ or her milliner's bill. Lady Caroline'sface is thin and pointed, but her complexion is still clear, and hersoft brown hair is very prettily arranged. As she sits with her back tothe light, with a rose-colored curtain behind her, just tinting herdelicate cheek (for Lady Caroline is always careful of appearance), shelooks quite a young woman still. 

It is Mr. Adair whom Margaret most resembles. He is a tall andexceedingly handsome man, whose hair and moustache and pointed beardwere as golden once as Margaret's soft tresses, but are now toned downby a little grey. He has the alert blue eyes that generally go with hisfair complexion, and his long limbs are never still for many minutestogether. His daughter's tranquillity seems to have come from hermother; certainly it cannot be inherited from the restless ReginaldAdair. 

The third person present at the breakfast-table--and, for the timebeing, the only visitor in the house--is a young man of seven oreight-and-twenty, tall, dark, and very spare, with a coal-black beardtrimmed to a point, earnest dark eyes, and a remarkably pleasant andintelligent expression. He is not exactly handsome, but he has a facethat attracts one; it is the face of a man who has quick perceptions, great kindliness of heart, and a refined and cultured mind. Nobody ismore popular in that county than young Sir Philip Ashley, although hisneighbors grumble sometimes at his absorption in scientific andphilanthropic objects, and think that it would be more creditable tothem if he went out with the hounds a little oftener or were a ratherbetter shot. For, being shortsighted, he was never particularly fondeither of sport or of games of skill, and his interest had alwayscentred on intellectual pursuits to a degree that amazed the morecountrified squires of the neighborhood. 

The post-bag was brought in while breakfast was proceeding, and two orthree letters were laid before Lady Caroline, who, with a careless wordof apology, opened and read them in turn. She smiled as she put themdown and looked at her husband. 

"This is a novel experience, " she said. "For the first time in ourlives, Reginald, here is a formal complaint of our Margaret. "

Sir Philip looked up somewhat eagerly, and Mr. Adair elevated hiseyebrows, stirred his coffee, and laughed aloud. 

"Wonders will never cease, " he said. "It is rather refreshing to hearthat our immaculate Margaret has done something naughty. What is it, Caroline? Is she habitually late for breakfast? A touch of unpunctualityis the only fault I ever heard of, and that, I believe, she inheritsfrom me. "

"I should be sorry to think that she was immaculate, " said LadyCaroline, calmly, "it has such an uncomfortable sound. But Margaret isgenerally, I must say, a very tractable child. "

"Do you mean that her schoolmistress does not find her tractable?" saidMr. Adair, with amusement. "What has she been doing?"

"Nothing very bad. Making friends with a governess-pupil, or somethingof, that sort----"

"Just what a generous-hearted girl would be likely to do!" exclaimed SirPhilip, with a sudden warm lighting of his dark eyes. 

Lady Caroline smiled at him. "The schoolmistress thinks this girl anunsuitable friend for Margaret, and wants me to interfere, " she said. 

"Pray do nothing of the sort, " said Mr. Adair. "I would trust my Pearl'sinstinct anywhere. She would never make an unsuitable friend!"

"Margaret has written to me herself, " said Lady Caroline. "She seemsunusually excited about the matter. 'Dear mother, ' she writes, 'prayinterpose to prevent Miss Polehampton from doing an unjust andungenerous thing. She disapproves of my friendship with dear JanettaColwyn, simply because Janetta is poor; and she threatens to punishJanetta--not me--by sending her home in disgrace. Janetta is agoverness-pupil here, and it would be a great trouble to her if she weresent away. I hope that you would rather take _me_ away than let such aninjustice be done. '"

"My Pearl hits the nail on the head exactly, " said Mr. Adair, withcomplacency. He rose as he spoke, and began to walk about the room. "Sheis quite old enough to come home, Caroline. It is June now, and the termends in July. Fetch her home, and invite the little governess too, andyou will soon see whether or no she is the right sort of friend forMargaret. " He laughed in his mellow, genial way, and leaned against themantel-piece, stroking his yellow moustache and glancing at his wife. 

"I am not sure that that would be advisable, " said Lady Caroline, withher pretty smile. "Janetta Colwyn: Colwyn? Did not Margaret know herbefore she went to school? Are there not some Colwyns at Beaminster? Thedoctor--yes, I remember him; don't you, Reginald?"

Mr. Adair shook his head, but Sir Philip looked up hastily. 

"I know him--a struggling man with a large family. His first wife wasrather well-connected, I believe: at any rate she was related to theBrands of Brand Hall. He married a second time after her death. "

"Do you call that being well-connected, Philip?" said Lady Caroline, with gentle reproach; while Mr. Adair laughed and whistled, but caughthimself up immediately and apologized. 

"I beg pardon--I forgot where I was: the less any of us have to do withthe Brands of Brand Hall the better, Phil. "

"I know nothing of them, " said Sir Philip, rather gravely. 

"Nor anybody else"--hastily--"they never live at home, you know. So thisgirl is a connection of theirs?"

"Perhaps not a very suitable friend: Miss Polehampton may be right, "said Lady Caroline. "I suppose I must go over to Brighton and seeMargaret. "

"Bring her back with you, " said Mr. Adair, recklessly. "She has hadquite enough of school by this time: she is nearly eighteen, isn't she?"

But Lady Caroline smilingly refused to decide anything until she hadherself interviewed Miss Polehampton. She asked her husband to order thecarriage for her at once, and retired to summon her maid and arrayherself for the journey. 

"You won't go to-day, will you, Philip?" said Mr. Adair, almostappealingly. "I shall be all alone, and my wife will not perhaps returnuntil to-morrow--there's no saying. "

"Thank you, I shall be most pleased to stay, " answered Sir Philip, cordially. After a moment's pause, he added, with something very like atouch of shyness--"I have not seen--your daughter since she was twelveyears old. "

"Haven't you?" said Mr. Adair, with ready interest. "You don't say so!Pretty little girl she was then! Didn't you think so?"

"I thought her the loveliest child I had ever seen in all my life, " saidSir Philip, with curious devoutness of manner. 

He saw Lady Caroline just as she was starting for the train, with manand maid in attendance, and Mr. Adair handing her into the carriage andgallantly offering to accompany her if she liked. "Not at allnecessary, " said Lady Caroline, with an indulgent smile. "I shall behome to dinner. Take care of my husband, Philip, and don't let him bedull. "

"If they are making Margaret unhappy, be sure you bring her back withyou, " were Mr. Adair's last words. Lady Caroline gave him a kind butinscrutable little smile and nod as she was whirled away. Sir Philipthought to himself that she looked like a woman who would take her owncourse in spite of advice or recommendation from her husband or anybodyelse. 

He smiled once or twice as the day passed on at her parting injunctionto him not to let her husband be dull. He had known the Adairs for manyyears, and had never known Reginald Adair dull under any circumstances. He was too full of interests, of "fads, " some people called them, everto be dull. He took Sir Philip round the picture-gallery, round thestables, to the kennels, to the flower-garden, to his own studio (wherehe painted in oils when he had nothing else to do) with never-flaggingenergy and animation. Sir Philip's interests lay in different grooves, but he was quite capable of sympathizing with Mr. Adair's interests, too. The day passed pleasantly, and seemed rather short for all that thetwo men wanted to pack into it; although from time to time Mr. Adairwould say, half-impatiently, "I wonder how Caroline is getting on!" or"I hope she'll bring Margaret back with her! But I don't expect it, youknow. Carry was always a great one for education and that sort ofthing. "

"Is Miss Adair intellectual--too?" asked Sir Philip, with respect. 

Mr. Adair broke into a sudden laugh. "Intellectual? Our Daisy?--ourPearl?" he said. "Wait until you see her, then ask the question if youlike. "

"I am afraid I don't quite understand. "

"Of course you don't. It is the partiality of a fond father that speaks, my dear fellow. I only meant that these young, fresh, pretty girls putsuch questions out of one's head. "

"She must be very pretty then, " said Sir Philip, with a smile. 

He had seen a great many beautiful women, and told himself that he didnot care for beauty. Fashionable, talkative women were his abomination. He had no sisters, but he loved his mother very dearly; and upon her hehad founded a very high ideal of womanhood. He had begun to thinkvaguely, of late, that he ought to marry: duty demanded it of him, andSir Philip was always attentive, if not obedient, to the voice of duty. But he was not inclined to marry a girl out of the schoolroom, or a girlwho was accustomed to the enervating luxury (as he considered it) ofHelmsley Court: he wanted an energetic, sensible, large-hearted, andlarge-minded woman who would be his right hand, his first minister ofstate. Sir Philip was fairly wealthy, but by no means enormously so; andhe had other uses for his wealth than the buying of pictures and keepingup stables and kennels at an alarming expense. If Miss Adair were sopretty, he mused, it was just as well that she was not at home, for, ofcourse, it was possible that he might find a lovely face an attraction:and much as he liked Lady Caroline, he did not want particularly tomarry Lady Caroline's daughter. That she treated him with greatconsideration, and that he had once overheard her speak of him as "themost eligible _parti_ of the neighborhood, " had already put him a littleon his guard. Lady Caroline was no vulgar, match-making mother, he knewthat well enough; but she was in some respects a thoroughly worldlywoman, and Philip Ashley was an essentially unworldly man. 

As he went upstairs to dress for dinner that evening, he was struck bythe fact that a door stood open that he had never seen opened before: adoor into a pretty, well-lighted, pink and white room, the idealapartment for a young girl. The evening was chilly, and rain had begunto fall, so a bright little fire was burning in the steel grate, andcasting a cheerful glow over white sheepskin rugs and rose-coloredcurtains. A maid seemed to be busying herself with some whitematerial--all gauze and lace it looked--and another servant was, as SirPhilip passed, entering with a great white vase filled with red roses. 

"Do they expect visitors to-night?" thought the young man, who knewenough of the house to be aware that the room was not one in generaluse. "Adair said nothing about it, but perhaps some people are comingfrom town. "

A budget of letters was brought to him at that moment, and in readingand answering them he did not note the sound of carriage-wheels on thedrive, nor the bustle of an arrival in the house. Indeed, he lefthimself so little time that he had to dress in extraordinary haste, andwent downstairs at last in the conviction that he was unpardonably late. 

But apparently he was wrong. 

For the drawing-room was tenanted by one figure only--that of a younglady in evening dress. Neither Lady Caroline nor Mr. Adair had appearedupon the scene; but on the hearthrug, by the small cracklingfire--which, in deference to the chilliness of an English June evening, had been lighted--stood a tall, fair, slender girl, with palecomplexion, and soft, loosely-coiled masses of golden hair. She wasdressed in pure white, a soft loose gown of Indian silk, trimmed withthe most delicate lace: it was high to the milk-white throat, but showedthe rounded curves of the finely-moulded arm to the elbow. She wore noornaments, but a white rose was fastened into the lace frill of herdress at her neck. As she turned her face towards the new comer, SirPhilip suddenly felt himself abashed. It was not that she was sobeautiful--in those first few moments he scarcely thought her beautifulat all--but that she produced on him an impression of serious, virginalgrace and innocence which was almost disconcerting. Her pure complexion, her grave, serene eyes, her graceful way of moving as she advanced alittle to receive him stirred him to more than admiration--to somethingnot unlike awe. She looked young; but it was youth in perfection: therewas some marvelous finish, delicacy, polish, which one does not usuallyassociate with extreme youth. 

"You are Sir Philip Ashley, I think?" she said, offering him her slimcool hand without embarrassment. 

"You do not remember me, perhaps, but I remember you perfectly well, Iam Margaret Adair. "

CHAPTER III. 

AT HELMSLEY COURT. 

"Lady Caroline has brought you back, then?" said Sir Philip, after hisfirst pause of astonishment. 

"Yes, " said Margaret, serenely. "I have been expelled. "

"Expelled! _You?_"

"Yes, indeed, I have, " said the girl, with a faintly amused littlesmile. "And so has my great friend, Janetta Colwyn. Here she is:Janetta, I am telling Sir Philip Ashley that we have been expelled, andhe will not believe me. "

Sir Philip turned in some curiosity to see the girl of whom he had heardfor the first time that morning. He had not noticed before that she waspresent. He saw a brown little creature, with eyes that had been swollenwith crying until they were well-nigh invisible, small, unremarkablefeatures, and a mouth that was inclined to quiver. Margaret might affordto be serene, but to this girl expulsion from school had evidently beena sad trouble. He threw all the more kindness and gentleness into hisvoice and look as he spoke to her. 

Janetta might have felt a little awkward if she had not been so entirelyabsorbed by her own woes. She had never set foot before in half so granda house as this of Helmsley Court, nor had she ever dined late or spokento a gentleman in an evening coat in all her previous life. The size andthe magnificence of the room would perhaps have oppressed her if she hadbeen fully aware of them. But she was for the moment very much wrappedup in her own affairs, and scarcely stopped to think of the novelsituation in which she found herself. The only thing that had startledher was the attention paid to her dress by Margaret and Margaret's maid. Janetta would have put on her afternoon black cashmere and little silverbrooch, and would have felt herself perfectly well dressed; butMargaret, after a little consultation with the very grand young personwho condescended to brush Miss Colwyn's hair, had herself brought toJanetta's room a dress of black lace over cherry-colored silk, and hadbegged her to put it on. 

"You will feel so hot downstairs if you don't put on something cool, "Margaret had said. "There is a fire in the drawing-room: papa likes therooms warm. My dresses would not have fitted you, I am so much tallerthan you; but mamma is just your height, and although you are thinnerperhaps----But I don't know: the dress fits you perfectly. Look in theglass, Janet; you are quite splendid. "

Janetta looked and blushed a little--not because she thought herself atall splendid, but because the dress showed her neck and arms in a way nodress had ever done before. "Ought it to be--open--like this?" she said, vaguely. "Do you wear your dresses like this when you are at home?"

"Mine are high, " said Margaret. "I am not 'out, ' you know. But you areolder than I, and you used to teach----I think we may consider that you_are_ 'out, '" she added, with a little laugh. "You look very nice, Janetta: you have such pretty arms! Now I must go and dress, and I willcall for you when I am ready to go down. "

Janetta felt decidedly doubtful as to whether she were not a great dealtoo grand for the occasion; but she altered her mind when she sawMargaret's dainty silk and lace, and Lady Caroline's exquisite brocade;and she felt herself quite unworthy to take Mr. Adair's offered arm whendinner was announced and her host politely convoyed her to thedining-room. She wondered whether he knew that she was only a littlegoverness-pupil, and whether he was not angry with her for being thecause of his daughter's abrupt departure from school. As a matter offact, Mr. Adair knew her position exactly, and was very much amused bythe whole affair; also, as it had procured him the pleasure of hisdaughter's return home, he had an illogical inclination to be pleasedalso with Janetta. "As Margaret is so fond of her, there must besomething in her, " he said to himself, with a critical glance at thegirl's delicate features and big dark eyes. "I'll draw her out atdinner. "

He tried his best, and made himself so agreeable and amusing thatJanetta lost a good deal of her shyness, and forgot her troubles. Shehad a quick tongue of her own, as everybody at Miss Polehampton's wasaware; and she soon found that she had not lost it. She was a good dealsurprised to find that not a word was said at the dinner table about thecause of Margaret's return: in her own home it would have been thesubject of the evening; it would have been discussed from every point ofview, and she would probably have been reduced to tears before the firsthour was over. But here it was evident that the matter was notconsidered of great importance. Margaret looked serene as ever, andjoined quietly in talk which was alarmingly unlike Miss Polehampton'simproving conversation: talk about county gaieties and county magnates:gossip about neighbors--gossip of a harmless although frivolous type, for Lady Caroline never allowed any talk at her table that was anythingbut harmless, about fashions, about old china, about music and art. Mr. Adair was passionately fond of music, and when he found that Miss Colwynreally knew something of it he was in his element. They discoursed offugues, sonatas, concertos, quartettes, and trios, until even LadyCaroline raised her eyebrows a little at the very technical nature ofthe conversation; and Sir Philip exchanged a congratulatory smile withMargaret over her friend's success. For the delight of finding acongenial spirit had brought the crimson into Janetta's olive cheeks andthe brilliance to her dark eyes: she had looked insignificant when shewent in to dinner; she was splendidly handsome at dessert. Mr. Adairnoticed her flashing, transitory beauty, and said to himself thatMargaret's taste was unimpeachable; it was just like his own; he hadcomplete confidence in Margaret. 

When the ladies went back to the drawing-room, Sir Philip turned with alook of only half-disguised curiosity to his host. "Lady Carolinebrought her back then?" he said, longing to ask questions, yet hardlyknowing how to frame them aright. 

Mr. Adair gave a great laugh. "It's been the oddest thing I ever heardof, " he said, in a tone of enjoyment. "Margaret takes a fancy to thatlittle black-eyed girl--a nice little thing, too, don't you think?--andnothing must serve but that her favorite must walk with her, sit byher, and so on--you know the romantic way girls have? The schoolmistressinterfered, said it was not proper, and so on; forbade it. Miss Colwynwould have obeyed, it seems, but Margaret took the bit in a quiet waybetween her teeth. Miss Colwyn was ordered to take her meals at a sidetable: Margaret insisted on taking her meals there too. The school wasthrown into confusion. At last Miss Polehampton decided that the bestway out of the difficulty was first to complain to us, and then to sendMiss Colwyn home, straight away. She would not send _Margaret_ home, youknow!"

"That was very hard on Miss Colwyn, " said Sir Philip, gravely. 

"Yes, horribly hard. So Margaret, as you heard, appealed to her mother, and when Lady Caroline arrived, she found that not only were MissColwyn's boxes packed, but Margaret's as well; and that Margaret haddeclared that if her friend was sent away for what was after all _her_fault, she would not stay an hour in the house. Miss Polehampton wasweeping: the girls were in revolt, the teachers in despair, so my wifethought the best way out of the difficulty was to bring both girls awayat once, and settle it with Miss Colwyn's relations afterwards. The jokeis that Margaret insists on it that she has been 'expelled. '"

"So she told me. "

"The schoolmistress said something of that kind, you know. Caroline saysthe woman entirely lost her temper and made an exhibition of herself. Caroline was glad to get our girl away. But, of course, it's allnonsense about being 'expelled' as a punishment; she was leaving of herown accord. "

"One could hardly imagine punishment in connection with her, " said SirPhilip, warmly. 

"No, she's a nice-looking girl, isn't she? and her little friend is agood foil, poor little thing. "

"This affair may prove of some serious inconvenience to Miss Colwyn, Isuppose?"

"Oh, you may depend upon it, she won't be the loser, " said Mr. Adair, hastily. "We'll see about that. Of course she will not suffer any injurythrough my daughter's friendship for her. "

Sir Philip was not so sure about it. In spite of his intense admirationfor Margaret's beauty, it occurred to him that the romantic partisanshipof the girl with beauty, position, and wealth for her less fortunatesister had not been attended with very brilliant results. No doubt MissAdair, reared in luxury and indulgence, did not in the least realize theharm done to the poor governess-pupil's future by her summary dismissalfrom Miss Polehampton's boarding-school. To Margaret, anything that theschoolmistress chose to say or do mattered little; to Janetta Colwyn, itmight some day mean prosperity or adversity of a very serious kind. SirPhilip did not quite believe in the compensation so easily promised byMr. Adair. He made a mental note of Miss Colwyn's condition andprospects, and said to himself that he would not forget her. And thismeant a good deal from a busy man like Sir Philip Ashley. 

Meanwhile there had been another conversation going on in thedrawing-room between the three ladies. Margaret put her armaffectionately round Janetta's waist as they stood by the hearthrug, andlooked at her mother with a smile. Lady Caroline sank into an easy-chairon the other side of the fireplace, and contemplated the two girls. 

"This is better than Claremont House, is it not, Janet?" said Margaret. 

"Indeed it is, " Janetta answered, gratefully. 

"You found the way to papa's heart by your talk about music--did shenot, mamma? And does not this dress suit her beautifully?"

"It wants a little alteration in the sleeve, " said Lady Caroline, withthe placidity which Janetta had always attributed to Margaret as aspecial virtue, but which she now found was merely characteristic of thehouse and family in general, "but Markham can do that to-morrow. Thereare some people coming in the evening, and the sleeve will look bettershortened. "

The remark sounded a little inconsequent in Janetta's ear, but Margaretunderstood and assented. It meant that Lady Caroline was on the wholepleased with Janetta, and did not object to introducing her to herfriends. Margaret gave her mother a little smile over Janetta's head, while that young person was gathering up her courage in two hands, so tospeak, before addressing Lady Caroline. 

"I am very much obliged to you, " she said at last, with a thrill ofgratitude in her sweet voice which was very pleasant to the ear. "But--Iwas thinking--what time would be the most convenient for me to go hometo-morrow?"

"Home? To Beaminster?" said Margaret. "But you need not go, dear; youcan write a note and tell them that you are staying here. "

"Yes, my dear; I am sure Margaret cannot part with you yet, " said LadyCaroline, amiably. 

"Thank you; it is most kind of you, " Janetta answered, her voiceshaking. "But I must ask my father whether I can stay--and hear what hesays; Miss Polehampton will have written to him, and----"

"And he will be very glad that we have rescued you from her clutches, "said Margaret, with a soft triumphant little laugh. "My poor Janetta!What we suffered at her hands!"

Lady Caroline lying back in her easy chair, with the candle lightgleaming upon her silvery grey and white brocade with its touches ofsoft pink, and the diamonds flashing on her white hands, so calmlycrossed upon the handle of her ivory fan, did not feel quite so tranquilas she looked. It crossed her mind that Margaret was actinginconsiderately. This little Miss Colwyn had her living to earn; itwould be no kindness to unfit her for her profession. So, when she spokeit was with a shade more decision than usual in her tones. 

"We will drive you over to Beaminster to-morrow, my dear Miss Colwyn, and you can then see your family, and ask your father if you may spend afew days with Margaret. I do not think that Mr. Colwyn will refuse us, "she said, graciously. "I wonder when those men are coming, Margaret. Suppose you open the piano and let us have a little music. You sing, doyou not?"

"Yes, a little, " said Janetta. 

"A little!" exclaimed Margaret, with contempt. "She has a delightfulvoice, mamma. Come and sing at once, Janetta, darling, and astonishmamma. "

Lady Caroline smiled. She had heard a great many singers in her day, anddid not expect to be astonished. A little governess-pupil, anunder-teacher in a boarding-school! Dear Margaret's enthusiasm certainlycarried her away. 

But when Janetta sang, Lady Caroline was, after all, rather surprised. The girl had a remarkably sweet and rich contralto voice, and it hadbeen well trained; and, moreover, she sang with feeling and passionwhich were somewhat unusual in one so young. It seemed as if some hiddenpower, some latent characteristic came out in her singing because itfound no other way of expressing itself. Neither Lady Caroline norMargaret understood why Janetta's voice moved them so much; Sir Philip, who came in with his host while the music was going on, heard and wascharmed also without quite knowing why; it was Mr. Adair alone whosemusical knowledge and experience of the world enabled him, feather-headed as in some respects he was, to lay his finger directly onthe salient features of Janetta's singing. 

"It's not her voice altogether, you know, " he said afterwards to PhilipAshley, in a moment of confidence; "it's soul. She's got more of thatcommodity than is good for a woman. It makes her singing lovely, youknow--brings tears into one's eyes, and all that sort of thing--but uponmy honor I'm thankful that Margaret hasn't got a voice like that! It'swomen of that kind that are either heroines of virtue--or go to thedevil. They are always in extremes. "

"Then we may promise ourselves some excitement in watching Miss Colwyn'scareer, " said Sir Philip, dryly. 

After Janetta, Margaret sang; she had a sweet mezzo-soprano voice, of nogreat strength or compass, but perfectly trained and very pleasing tothe ear. The sort of voice, Sir Philip thought, that would be soothingto the nerves of a tired man in his own house. Whereas, Janetta'ssinging had something impassioned in it which disturbed and excitedinstead of soothing. But he was quite ready to admire when Margaretcalled on him for admiration. They were sitting together on a sofa, andJanetta, who had just finished one of her songs, was talking to, orbeing talked to, by Mr. Adair. Lady Caroline had taken up a review. 

"Is not Miss Colwyn's voice perfectly lovely?" Margaret asked, withshining eyes. 

"It is very sweet. "

"Don't you think she looks very nice?"--Margaret was hungering foradmiration of her friend. 

"She is a very pretty girl. You are very fond of each other?"

"Oh, yes, devoted. I am so glad I succeeded!" said the girl, with agreat sigh. 

"In getting her away from the school?"

"Yes. "

"You think it was for her good?"

Margaret opened her lovely eyes. 

"For her good?--to come here instead of staying in that closeuncomfortable house to give music lessons, and bear Miss Polehampton'ssnubs?----" It had evidently never occurred to her that the change couldbe anything but beneficial to Janetta. 

"It is very pleasant for her, no doubt, " said Sir Philip, smiling inspite of his disapproval. "I only wondered whether it was a goodpreparation for the life of hard work which probably lies before her. "

He saw that Margaret colored, and wondered whether she would be offendedby his suggestion. After a moment's pause, she answered, gravely, butquite gently--

"I never thought of it in that way before, exactly. I want to keep herhere, so that she should never have to work hard at all. "

"Would she consent to that?"

"Why not?" said Margaret. 

Sir Philip smiled and said no more. It was curious, he said to himself, to see how little conception Margaret had of lives unlike and outsideher own. And Janetta's brave but sensitive little face, with itsresolute brows and lips and brilliant eyes, gave promise of adetermination and an originality which, he felt convinced, would neverallow her to become a mere plaything or appendage of a wealthyhousehold, as Margaret Adair seemed to expect. But his words had made animpression. At night, when Lady Caroline and her daughter were standingin the charming little room which had always been appropriated toMargaret's use, she spoke, with the unconscious habit of saying franklyanything that had occurred to her, of Sir Philip's remarks. 

"It was so odd, " she said; "Sir Philip seemed to think that it would bebad for Janetta to stay here, mamma. Why should it be bad for her, mamma, dear?"

"I don't think it will be at all bad for her to spend a day or two withus, darling, " said Lady Caroline, keeping somewhat careful watch onMargaret's face as she spoke. "But perhaps it had better be by-and-bye. You know she wants to go home to-morrow, and we must not keep her awayfrom her duties or her own sphere of life. "

"No, " Margaret answered, "but her duties will not always keep her athome, you know, mamma, dear. "

"I suppose not, my dearest, " said Lady Caroline, vaguely, but in thecaressing tone to which Margaret was accustomed. "Go to bed, my sweetestone, and we will talk of all these things to-morrow. "

Meanwhile Janetta was wondering at the luxury of the room which had beenallotted to her, and thinking over the events of the past day. When atap at the door announced Margaret's appearance to say good-night, Janetta was standing before the long looking-glass, apparentlyinspecting herself by the light of the rose-tinted wax candles in silversconces which were fixed on either side of the mirror. She was in herdressing-gown, and her long and abundant hair fell over her shoulder ina great curly mass. 

"Oh, Miss Vanity!" cried Margaret, with more gaiety of tone than wasusual with her, "are you admiring your pretty hair?"

"I was thinking, " said Janetta, with the intensity which oftencharacterized her speech, "that _now_ I understood you--now I know whyyou were so different from other girls, so sweet, so calm and beautiful!You have lived in this lovely place all your life! It is like a fairypalace--a dream-house--to me; and you are the queen of it, Margaret--aprincess of dreams!"

"I hope I shall have something more than dreams to reign over some day, "said Margaret, putting her arms round her friend's neck. "And whatever Iam queen over, you must share my queendom, Janet. You know how fond I amof you--how I want you to stay with me always and be my friend. "

"I shall always be your friend--always, to the last day of my life!"said Janetta, with fervor. The two made a pretty picture, reflected inthe long mirror; the tall, fair Margaret, still in her soft white silkfrock, with her arm round the smaller figure of the dark girl whosecurly masses of hair half covered her pink cotton dressing-gown, andwhose brown face was upturned so lovingly to her friend's. 

"And I am sure it will be good for you to stay with me, " said Margaret, answering an unspoken objection in her mind. 

"Good for me? It is delicious--it is lovely!" cried Janetta, rapturously. "I have never had anything so nice in my whole life. DearMargaret, you are so good and so kind--if there were only anything thatI could do for you in return! Perhaps some day I shall have the chance, and if ever I have--_then_ you shall see whether I am true to my friendor not!"

Margaret kissed her, with a little smile at Janetta's enthusiasm, whichwas so far different from the modes of expression customary at HelmsleyCourt, as to be almost amusing. 

CHAPTER IV. 

ON THE ROAD. 

Miss Polehampton had, of course, written to Mr. And Mrs. Colwyn when shemade up her mind that Janetta was to be removed from school; and two orthree letters had been interchanged before that eventful day on whichMargaret declared that if Janetta went she should go too. Margaret hadbeen purposely kept in the dark until almost the last moment, for MissPolehampton did not in the least wish to make a scandal, and annoyed asshe was by Miss Adair's avowed preference for Janetta, she had arrangeda neat little plan by which Miss Colwyn was to go away "for change ofair, " and be transferred to a school at Worthing kept by a relation ofher own at the beginning of the following term. These plans had beenupset by a foolish and ill-judged letter from Mrs. Colwyn to herstepdaughter, which Janetta had not been able to keep from Margaret'seyes. This letter was full of reproaches to Janetta for giving so muchtrouble to her friends; "for, of course, " Mrs. Colwyn wrote, "MissPolehampton's concern for your health is all a blind in order to get youaway: and if it hadn't been for Miss Adair taking you up, she would havebeen only too glad to keep you. But knowing Miss Adair's position, shesees very clearly that it isn't fit for you to be friends with her, andso she wants to send you away. "

This was in the main true, but Janetta, in the blithe confidence ofyouth, would never have discovered it but for that letter. Together sheand Margaret consulted over it, for when Margaret saw Janetta crying, she almost forced the letter from her hand; and then it was that MissAdair vindicated her claim to social superiority. She went straight toMiss Polehampton and demanded that Janetta should remain; and when theschoolmistress refused to alter her decision, she calmly replied that inthat case _she_ should go home too. Miss Polehampton was an obstinatewoman, and would not concede the point; and Lady Caroline, on learningthe state of affairs, at once perceived that it was impossible to leaveMargaret at the school where open warfare had been declared. Sheaccordingly brought both girls away with her, arranging to send Janettato her own home next morning. 

"You will stay to luncheon, dear, and I will drive you over toBeaminster at three o'clock, " she said to Janetta at breakfast. "Nodoubt you are anxious to see your own people. "

Janetta looked as if she might find it difficult to reply, but Margaretinterposed a remark--as usual at the right moment. 

"We will practice our duets this morning--if Janetta likes, that is; andwe can have a walk in the garden too. Shall we have the landau, mamma?"

"The victoria, I think, dear, " said Lady Caroline, placidly. "Yourfather wants you to ride with him this afternoon, so I shall have thepleasure of Miss Colwyn's society in my drive. "

Margaret assented; but Janetta became suddenly aware, by a flash of keenfeminine intuition, that Lady Caroline had some reason for wishing to gowith her alone, and that she had purposely made the arrangement that shespoke of. However, there was nothing to displease her in this, for LadyCaroline had been most kind and considerate to her, so far, and she wasinnocently disposed to believe in the cordiality and sincerity of everyone who behaved with common civility. 

So she spent a pleasant morning, singing with Margaret, loitering aboutthe garden with Mr. Adair, while Margaret and Sir Philip gatheredroses, and enjoying to the full all the sweet influences of peace, refinement, and prosperity by which she was surrounded. 

Margaret left her in the afternoon with rather a hasty kiss, and anassurance that she would see her again at dinner. Janetta tried toremind her that by that time she would have left the Court, but Margaretdid not or would not hear. The tears came into the girl's eyes as herfriend disappeared. 

"Never mind, dear, " said Lady Caroline, who was observing her closely, "Margaret has forgotten at what hour you were going and I would notremind her--it would spoil her pleasure in her ride. We will arrange foryou to come to us another day when you have seen your friends at home. "

"Thank you, " said Janetta. "It was only that she did not seem toremember that I was going--I had meant to say good-bye. "

"Exactly. She thinks that I am going to bring you back this afternoon. We will talk about it as we go, dear. Suppose you were to put on yourhat now. The carriage will be here in ten minutes. "

Janetta prepared for her departure in a somewhat bewildered spirit. Shedid not know precisely what Lady Caroline meant. She even felt a littlenervous as she took her place in the victoria and cast a last look atthe stately house in which she had spent some nineteen or twentypleasant hours. It was Lady Caroline who spoke first. 

"We shall miss your singing to-night, " she said, amiably. "Mr. Adair waslooking forward to some more duets. Another time, perhaps----"

"I am always pleased to sing, " said Janetta, brightening at thisaddress. 

"Yes--ye--es, " said Lady Caroline, with a doubtful little drawl. "Nodoubt: one always likes to do what one can do so well; but--I confess Iam not so musical as my husband or my daughter. I must explain why dearMargaret did not say good bye to you, Miss Colwyn. I allowed her toremain in the belief that she was to see you again to-night, in orderthat she might not be depressed during her ride by the thought ofparting with you. It is always my principle to make the lives of thosedear to me as happy as possible, " said Margaret's mother, piously. 

"And if Margaret had been depressed during her ride, Mr. Adair and SirPhilip might have suffered some depression also, and that would be agreat pity. "

"Oh, yes, " said Janetta. But she felt chilled, without knowing why. 

"I must take you into my confidence, " said Lady Caroline, in her softestvoice. "Mr. Adair has plans for our dear Margaret. Sir Philip Ashley'sproperty adjoins our own: he is of good principles, kind-hearted, andintellectual: he is well off, nice-looking, and of a suitable age--headmires Margaret very much. I need say no more, I am sure. "

Again she looked keenly at Janetta's face, but she read there nothingbut interest and surprise. 

"Oh--does Margaret know?" she asked. 

"She feels more than she knows, " said Lady Caroline, discreetly. "She isin the first stage of--of--emotion. I did not want the afternoon'sarrangements to be interfered with. "

"Oh, no! especially on _my_ account, " said Janetta, sincerely. 

"When I go home I shall talk quietly to Margaret, " pursued LadyCaroline, "and tell her that you will come back another day, that yourduties called you home--they do, I am sure, dear Miss Colwyn--and thatyou could not return with me when you were so much wanted. "

"I'm afraid I am not much wanted, " said Janetta, with a sigh; "but Idaresay it is my duty to go home----"

"I am sure it is, " Lady Caroline declared; "and duty is so high and holya thing, dear, that you will never regret the performance of it. "

It occurred dimly to Janetta at that point that Lady Caroline's views ofduty might possibly differ from her own; but she did not venture to sayso. 

"And, of course, you will never repeat to Margaret----"

Lady Caroline did not complete her sentence. The coachman suddenlychecked the horses' speed: for some unknown reason he actually stoppedshort in the very middle of the country road between Helmsley Court andBeaminster. His mistress uttered a little cry of alarm. 

"What is the matter, Steel?"

The footman dismounted and touched his hat. 

"I'm afraid there has been an accident, my lady, " he said, asapologetically, as if he were responsible for the accident. 

"Oh! Nothing horrible, I hope!" said Lady Caroline, drawing out hersmelling-bottle. 

"It's a carriage accident, my lady. Leastways, a cab. The 'orse is lyingright across the road, my lady. "

"Speak to the people, Steel, " said her ladyship, with great dignity. "They must not be allowed to block up the road in this way. "

"May I get out?" said Janetta, eagerly. "There is a lady lying on thepath, and some people bathing her face. Now they are lifting her up--Iam sure they ought not to lift her up in that way--oh, please, I must gojust for one minute!" And, without waiting for a reply, she stepped, outof the victoria and sped to the side of the woman who had been hurt. 

"Very impulsive and undisciplined, " said Lady Caroline to herself, asshe leaned back and held the smelling-bottle to her own delicate nose. "I am glad I have got her out of the house so soon. Those men were wildabout her singing. Sir Philip disapproved of her presence, but he wascharmed by her voice, I could see that; and poor, dear Reginald waspositively absurd about her voice. And dear Margaret does _not_ sing sowell--it is no use pretending that she does--and Sir Philip is tremblingon the verge--oh, yes, I am sure that I have been very wise. What isthat girl doing now?"

The victoria moved forward a little, so that Lady Caroline could obtaina clearer view of what was going on. The vehicle which caused theobstruction--evidently a hired fly from an inn--was uninjured, but thehorse had fallen between the shafts and would never rise again. Theoccupants of the fly--a lady, and a much younger man, perhaps herson--had got out, and the lady had then turned faint, Lady Carolineheard, but was not in any way hurt. Janetta was kneeling by the side ofthe lady--kneeling in the dust, without any regard to the freshness ofher cotton frock, by the way--and had already placed her in the rightposition, and was ordering the half-dozen people who had collected tostand back and give her air. Lady Caroline watched her movements andgestures with placid amusement, and went so far as to send Steel withthe offer of her smelling salts; but as this offer was rejected shefelt that nothing else could be done. So she sat and looked oncritically. 

The woman--Lady Caroline was hardly inclined to call her a lady, although she did not exactly know why--was at present of a ghastlypaleness, but her features were finely cut, and showed traces of formerbeauty. Her hair was grey, with rebellious waves in it, but her eyebrowswere still dark. She was dressed in black, with a good deal of laceabout her; and on her ungloved hand Lady Caroline's keen sight enabledher to distinguish some very handsome diamond rings. The effect of thecostume was a little spoiled by a large gaudy fan, of violent rainbowhues, which hung at her side; and perhaps it was this article ofadornment which decided Lady Caroline in her opinion of the woman'ssocial status. But about the man she was equally positive in a differentway. He _was_ a gentleman: there could be no doubt of that. She put upher eye-glass and gazed at him with interest. She almost thought thatshe had seen him somewhere before. 

A handsome man, indeed, and a gentleman; but, oh, what an ill-temperedone, apparently! He was dark, with fine features, and black hair with aslight inclination to wave or curl (as far at least as could be judgedwhen the extremely well-cropped state of his head was taken intoconsideration); and from these indications Lady Caroline judged him tobe "the woman's" son. He was tall, muscular, and active looking: it wasthe way in which his black eyebrows were bent above his eyes which madethe observer think him ill-tempered, for his manner and his wordsexpressed anxiety, not anger. But that frown, which must have beenhabitual, gave him a distinctly ill-humored look. 

At last the lady opened her eyes, and drank a little water, and sat up. Janetta rose from her knees, and turned to the young man with a smile. "She will soon be better now, " she said. "I am afraid there is nothingelse that I can do--and I think I must go on. "

"I am very much obliged to you for your kind assistance, " said thegentleman, but without any abatement of the gloom of his expression. Hegave Janetta a keen look--almost a bold look--Lady Caroline thought, andthen smiled a little, not very pleasantly. "Allow me to take you to yourcarriage. "

Janetta blushed, as if she were minded to say that it was not hercarriage; but returned to the victoria, and was handed to her seat bythe young man, who then raised his hat with an elaborate flourish whichwas not exactly English. Indeed, it occurred to Lady Caroline at oncethat there was something French about both the travelers. The lady withthe frizzled grey hair, the black lace dress and mantel, the gaudy blueand scarlet fan, was quite foreign in appearance; the young man with theperfectly fitting frock-coat, the tall hat, the flower in hisbutton-hole, was--in spite of his perfectly English accent--foreign too. Lady Caroline was cosmopolitan enough to feel an access of greaterinterest in the pair in consequence. 

"They have sent to the nearest inn for a horse, " said Janetta, as thecarriage moved on; "and I dare say they will not have long to wait. "

"Was the lady hurt?"

"No, only shaken. She is subject to fainting fits, and the accidentquite upset her nerves, her son said. "

"Her son?"

"The gentleman called her mother. "

"Oh! You did not hear their name, I suppose?"

"No. There was a big B on their traveling bag. "

"B--B--?" said Lady Caroline, thoughtfully. "I don't know any one inthis neighborhood whose name begins with B, except the Bevans. They musthave been merely passing through; and yet the young man's face seemedfamiliar to me. "

Janetta shook her head. "I never saw them before, " she said. 

"He has a very bold and unpleasant expression, " Lady Caroline remarked, decidedly. "It spoils him entirely: otherwise he is a handsome man. "

The girl made no answer. She knew, as well as Lady Caroline, that shehad been stared at in a manner that was not quite agreeable to her, andyet she did not like to endorse that lady's condemnation of thestranger. For he was certainly very nice-looking--and he had been sokind to his mother that he could not be entirely bad--and to her alsohis face was vaguely familiar. Could he belong to Beaminster?

As she sat and meditated, the tall spires of Beaminster Cathedral cameinto sight, and a few minutes brought the carriage across the greystone bridge and down the principal street of the quaint old place whichcalled itself a city, but was really neither more nor less than a quietcountry town. Here Lady Caroline turned to her young guest with aquestion--"You live in Gwynne Street, I believe, my dear?"

"Yes, at number ten, Gwynne Street, " said Janetta, suddenly starting andfeeling a little uncomfortable. The coachman evidently knew the addressalready, for at that moment he turned the horse's heads to the left, andthe carriage rolled down a narrow side-street, where the tall red brickhouses had a mean and shabby aspect, and seemed as if constructed tokeep out sun and air as much as possible. 

Janetta always felt the closeness and the shabbiness a little when shefirst came home, even from school, but when she came from Helmsley Courtthey struck her with redoubled force. She had never thought before howdull the street was, nor noticed that the railings were broken down infront of the door with the brass-plate that bore her father's name, northat the window-curtains were torn and the windows sadly in need ofwashing. The little flight of stone steps that led from the iron gate tothe door was also very dirty; and the servant girl, whose head appearedagainst the area railings as the carriage drove up, was more untidy, more unkempt, in appearance than ever Janetta could have expected. "Wecan't be rich, but we might be _clean_!" she said to herself in asubdued frenzy of impatience, as she fancied (quite unjustly) that shesaw a faint smile pass over Lady Caroline's delicate, impassive face. "Nowonder she thinks me an unfit friend for dear Margaret. But--oh, thereis my dear, darling father! Well, nobody can say anything against him atany rate!" And Janetta's face beamed with sudden joy as she saw Mr. Colwyn coming down the dirty steps to the ricketty little iron gate, andLady Caroline, who knew the surgeon by sight, nodded to him withfriendly condescension. 

"How are you, Mr. Colwyn?" she said, graciously. "I have brought yourdaughter home, you see, and I hope you will not scold her for what hasbeen _my_ daughter's fault--not your's. "

"I am very glad to see Janetta, under any circumstances, " said Mr. Colwyn, gravely, as he raised his hat. He was a tall spare man, in ashabby coat, with a careworn aspect, and kindly, melancholy eyes. Janetta noticed with a pang that his hair was greyer than it had beenwhen last she went back to school. 

"We shall be glad to see her again at Helmsley Court, " said LadyCaroline. "No, I won't get out, thank you. I have to get back to tea. Your daughter's box is in front. I was to tell you from MissPolehampton, Mr. Colwyn, that her friend at Worthing would be glad ofMiss Colwyn's services after the holidays. "

"I am much obliged to your ladyship, " said Mr. Colwyn, with graveformality. "I am not sure that I shall let my daughter go. "

"Won't you? Oh, but she ought to have all possible advantages! And canyou tell me, Mr. Colwyn, by any chance, _who_ are the people whom wepassed on the road to Beaminster--an oldish lady in black and a youngman with very dark hair and eyes? They had B on their luggage, Ibelieve. "

Mr. Colwyn looked surprised. 

"I think I can tell you, " he said, quietly. "They were on their way fromBeaminster to Brand Hall. The young man was a cousin of my wife's: hisname is Wyvis Brand, and the lady in black was his mother. They havecome home after an absence of nearly four-and-twenty years. "

Lady Caroline was too polite to say what she really felt--that she wassorry to hear it. 

CHAPTER V. 

WYVIS BRAND. 

On the evening of the day on which Lady Caroline drove with JanettaColwyn to Beaminster, the lady who had fainted by the wayside wassitting in a rather gloomy-looking room at Brand Hall--a room known inthe household as the Blue Drawing-room. It had not the look of adrawing-room exactly: it was paneled in oak, which had grown black withage, as had also the great oak beams that crossed the ceiling and thepolished floor. The furniture also was of oak, and the hangings of darkbut faded blue, while the blue velvet of the chairs and the square ofOriental carpet, in which blue tints also preponderated, did not addcheerfulness to the scene. One or two great blue vases set on the carvedoak mantel-piece, and some smaller blue ornaments on a sideboard, matched the furniture in tint; but it was remarkable that on a day whencountry gardens were overflowing with blossom, there was not a singleflower or green leaf in any of the vases. No smaller and lighterornaments, no scrap of woman's handiwork--lace or embroidery--enlivenedthe place: no books were set upon the table. A fire would not have beenout of season, for the evenings were chilly, and it would have had acheery look; but there was no attempt at cheeriness. The woman who satin one of the high-backed chairs was pale and sad: her folded hands laylistlessly clasped together on her lap, and the sombre garb that shewore was as unrelieved by any gleam of brightness as the room itself. Inthe gathering gloom of a chilly summer evening, even the rings upon herfingers could not flash. Her white face, in its setting of rough, wavygrey hair, over which she wore a covering of black lace, looked almoststatuesque in its profound tranquillity. But it was not the tranquillityof comfort and prosperity that had settled on that pale, worn, high-featured face--it was rather the tranquillity that comes ofaccepted sorrow and inextinguishable despair. 

She had sat thus for fully half an hour when the door was roughlyopened, and the young man whom Mr. Colwyn had named as Wyvis Brand camelounging into the room. He had been dining, but he was not in eveningdress, and there was something unrestful and reckless in his way ofmoving round the room and throwing himself in the chair nearest hismother's, which roused Mrs. Brand's attention. She turned slightlytowards him, and became conscious at once of the fumes of wine andstrong tobacco with which her son had made her only too familiar. Shelooked at him for a moment, then clasped her hands tightly together andresumed her former position, with her sad face turned to the window. Shemay have breathed a sigh as she did so, but Wyvis Brand did not hear it, and if he had heard it, would not perhaps have very greatly cared. 

"Why do you sit in the dark?" he said at last, in a vexed tone. 

"I will ring for lights, " Mrs. Brand answered quietly. 

"Do as you like: I am not going to stay: I am going out, " said the youngman. 

The hand that his mother had stretched out towards the bell fell to herside: she was a submissive woman, used to taking her son at his word. 

"You are lonely here, " she ventured to remark, after a short silence:"you will be glad when Cuthbert comes down. "

"It's a beastly hole, " said her son, gloomily. "I would advise Cuthbertto stay in Paris. What he will do with himself here, I can't imagine. "

"He is happy anywhere, " said the mother, with a stifled sigh. 

Wyvis uttered a short, harsh laugh. 

"That can't be said of us, can it?" he exclaimed, putting his hand onhis mother's knee in a rough sort of caress. "We are generally in theshadow while Cuthbert is in the sunshine, eh? The influence of this oldplace makes me poetical, you see. "

"_You_ need not be in the shadow, " said Mrs. Brand. But she said it withan effort. 

"Needn't I?" said Wyvis. He thrust his hands into his pockets and leanedback in his chair with another laugh. "I have such a lot to make mecheerful, haven't I?"

His mother turned her eyes upon him with a look of yearning tendernesswhich, even if the room had been less dimly lighted, he would not haveseen. He was not much in the habit of looking for sympathy in otherpeople's faces. 

"Is the place worse than you expected?" she asked, with a tremor in hervoice. 

"It is mouldier--and smaller, " he replied, curtly. "One's childishimpressions don't go for much. And it is in a miserable state--roof outof repair--fences falling down--drainage imperfect. It has been allowedto go to rack and ruin while we were away. "

"Wyvis, Wyvis, " said his mother, in a tone of pain, "I kept you away foryour own sake. I thought you would be happier abroad. "

"Oh--happier!" said the young man, rather scornfully. "Happiness isn'tmeant for me: it isn't in my line. It makes no difference to me whetherI am here or in Paris. I should have been here long ago if I had hadany idea that things were going wrong in this way. "

"I suppose, " said Mrs. Brand, carefully controlling her voice, "that youwill not have the visitors you spoke of if the house is in so bad astate. "

"Not have visitors? Of course I shall have visitors. What else is therefor me to do with myself? We shall get the house put pretty straight bythe 12th. Not that there will be any shooting worth speaking of on _my_place. "

"If nobody comes before the 12th, I think we can make the househabitable. I will do my best, Wyvis. "

Wyvis laughed again, but in a softer key. "You!" he said. "You can't domuch, mother. It isn't the sort of thing you care about. You stay inyour own rooms and do your needle-work; I'll see to the house. Some menare coming long before the 12th--the day after to-morrow, I believe. "

"Who?"

"Oh, Dering and St. John and Ponsonby, I expect. I don't know whetherthey will bring any one else. "

"The worst men of the worst set you know!" sighed his mother, under herbreath. "Could not you have left them behind?"

She felt rather than saw how he frowned--how his hand twitched withimpatience. 

"What sort of friends am I likely to have?" he said. "Why not those thatamuse me most?"

Then he rose and went over to the window, where he stood for some timelooking out. Turning round at last, he perceived from a slight familiarmovement of his mother's hand over her eyes that she was weeping, and itseemed as if his heart smote him at the sight. 

"Come, mother, " he said, kindly, "don't take what I say and do so muchto heart. You know I'm no good, and never shall do anything in theworld. You have Cuthbert to comfort you--"

"Cuthbert is nothing to me--_nothing_--compared with you, Wyvis. "

The young man came to her side and put his hand on her shoulder. Thepassionate tone had touched him. 

"Poor mother!" he said, softly. "You've suffered a good deal through me, haven't you? I wish I could make you forget all the past--but perhapsyou wouldn't thank me if I could. "

"No, " she said, leaning forward so as to rest her forehead against hisarm. "No. For there has been brightness in the past, but I see littlebrightness in the future either for you or for me. "

"Well, that is my own fault, " said Wyvis, lightly but bitterly. "If ithad not been for my own youthful folly I shouldn't be burdened as I amnow. I have no one but myself to thank. "

"Yes, yes, it was my fault. I pressed you to do it--to tie yourself forlife to the woman who has made you miserable!" said Mrs. Brand, in atone of despairing self-accusation. "I fancied--then--that we were doingright. "

"I suppose we were doing right, " said Wyvis Brand sternly, but not as ifthe thought gave him any consolation. "It was better perhaps that Ishould marry the woman whom I thought I loved--instead of leaving her orwronging her--but I wish to God that I had never seen her face!"

"And to think that I persuaded you into marrying her, " moaned themother, rocking herself backward and forward in the extremity of herregretful anguish; "I--who ought to have been wiser--who might haveinterfered----"

"You couldn't have interfered to much purpose. I was mad about her atthe time, " said her son, beginning to walk about the room in a restless, aimless manner. "I wish, mother, that you would cease to talk about thepast. It seems to me sometimes like a dream; if you would but let it liestill, I think that I could fancy it was a dream. Remember that I do notblame you. When I rage against the bond, I am perfectly well aware thatit was one of my own making. No remonstrance, no command would haveavailed with me for a moment. I was determined to go my own way, and Iwent. "

It was curious to remark that the roughness and harshness of his firstmanner had dropped away from him as it did drop now and then. He spokewith the polished utterance of an educated man. It was almost as thoughhe at times put on a certain boorishness of demeanor, feeling it in someway demanded of him by circumstances--but not natural to him after all. 

"I will try not to vex you, Wyvis, " said his mother, wistfully. 

"You do not vex me exactly, " he answered, "but you stir my old memoriestoo often. I want to forget the past. Why else did I come down here, where I have never been since I was a child? where Juliet never setfoot, and where I have no association with that miserable passage in mylife?"

"Then why do you bring those men down, Wyvis? For _they_ know the past:_they_ will recall old associations----"

"They amuse me. I cannot be without companions. I do not pretend to cutmyself off from the whole world. "

As he spoke thus briefly and coldly, he stopped to strike a match, andthen lighted the wax candles that stood on the black sideboard. By thisact he meant perhaps to put a stop to the conversation of which he washeartily tired. But Mrs. Brand, in the half-bewildered condition of mindto which long anxiety and sorrow had reduced her, did not know thevirtue of silence, and did not possess the magic quality of tact. 

"You might find companions down here, " she said, pertinaciously, "peoplesuited to your position--old friends of your father's, perhaps----"

"Will they be so willing to make friends with my father's son?" Wyvisburst out bitterly. Then, seeing from her white and stricken face thathe had hurt her, he came to her side and kissed her penitently. "Forgiveme, mother, " he said, "if I say what you don't like. I've been hearingabout my father ever since I came to Beaminster two days ago. I haveheard nothing but what confirmed my previous idea about his character. Even poor old Colwyn couldn't say any good of him. He went to the devilas fast as ever he could go, and his son seems likely to follow in hisfootsteps. That's the general opinion, and, by George, I think I shallsoon do something to justify it. "

"You need not live as your father did, Wyvis, " said his mother, whosetears were flowing fast. 

"If I don't, nobody will believe it, " said the young man, moodily. "There is no fighting against fate. The Brands are doomed, mother: weshall die out and be forgotten--all the better for the world, too. It istime we were done with: we are a bad lot. "

"Cuthbert is not bad. And you--Wyvis, you have your child. "

"Have I? A child that I have not seen since it was six months old!Brought up by its mother--a woman without heart or principle or anythingthat is good! Much comfort the child is likely to be to me when I gethold of it. "

"When will that be?" said Mrs. Brand, as if speaking to herself ratherthan to him. But Wyvis replied:

"When she is tired of it--not before. I do not know where she is. "

"Does she not draw her allowance?"

"Not regularly. And she refused her address when she last appeared atKirby's. I suppose she wants to keep the child away from me. She neednot trouble. The last thing I want is her brat to bring up. "

"Wyvis!"

But to his mother's remonstrating exclamation Wyvis paid no attention inthe least: his mood was fitful, and he was glad to step out of theill-lighted room into the hall, and thence to the silence and solitudeof the grounds about the house. 

Brand Hall had been practically deserted for the last few years. Atenant or two had occupied it for a little time soon after its latemaster's withdrawal from the country; but the house was inconvenient andremote from towns, and it was said, moreover, to be damp and unhealthy. A caretaker and his wife had, therefore, been its only inhabitants oflate, and a great deal of preparation had been required to make it fitfor its owner when he at last wrote to his agents in Beaminster tointimate his intention of settling at the Hall. 

The Brands had for many a long year been renowned as the most unluckyfamily in the neighborhood. They had once possessed a great property inthe county; but gambling losses and speculation had greatly reducedtheir wealth, and even in the time of Wyvis Brand's grandfather theprestige of the family had sunk very low. In the days of Mark Brand, thefather of Wyvis, it sank lower still. Mark Brand was not only "wild, "but weak: not only weak, but wicked. His career was one of riotousdissipation, culminating in what was generally spoken of as "a lowmarriage"--with the barmaid of a Beaminster public-house. Mary Wyvis hadnever been at all like the typical barmaid of fiction or real life: shewas always pale, quiet, and refined-looking, and it was not difficult tosee how she had developed into the sorrowful, careworn woman whom WyvisBrand called mother; but she came of a thoroughly bad stock, and was notuntouched in reputation. The county people cut Mark Brand after hismarriage, and never took any notice of his wife; and they were horrifiedwhen he insisted on naming his eldest son after his wife's family, as ifhe gloried in the lowliness of her origin. But when Wyvis was a smallboy, his father resolved that neither he nor his children should beflouted and jeered at by county magnates any longer. He went abroad, andremained abroad until his death, when Wyvis was twenty years of age andCuthbert, the younger son, was barely twelve. Some people said that thediscovery of some particularly disgraceful deed was imminent when heleft his native shores, and that it was for this reason that he hadnever returned to England; but Mark Brand himself always spoke as if hishealth were too weak, his nerves too delicate, to bear the rough breezesof his own country and the brusque manners of his compatriots. He hadbrought up his son according to his own ideas; and the result did notseem entirely satisfactory. Vague rumors occasionally reached Beaminsterof scrapes and scandals in which the young Brands figured; it was saidthat Wyvis was a particularly black sheep, and that he did his best tocorrupt his younger brother Cuthbert. The news that he was coming backto Brand Hall was not received with enthusiasm by those who heard it. 

Wyvis' own story had been a sad one--perhaps more sad than scandalous;but it was a story that the Beaminster people were never to hear aright. Few knew it, and most of those who knew it had agreed to keep it secret. That his wife and child were living, many persons in Paris were aware;that they had separated was also known, but the reason of thatseparation was to most persons a secret. And Wyvis, who had a greatdislike to chatterers, made up his mind when he came to Beaminster thathe would tell to nobody the history of the past few years. Had it notbeen for his mother's sad face, he fancied that he could have put it outof his mind altogether. He half resented the pertinacity with which sheseemed to brood upon it. The fact that she had forwarded--had almostinsisted upon--the unfortunate marriage, weighed heavily upon her mind. There had been a point at which Wyvis would have given it up. But hismother had espoused the side of the girl, persuaded the young man tofulfill his promises to her--and repented it ever since. Mrs. WyvisBrand had developed an uncontrollable love for strong drink, as well asa temper that made her at times more like a mad woman than an ordinaryhuman being; and when she one day disappeared from her husband's home, carrying his child with her, and announcing in a subsequent letter thatshe did not mean to return, it could hardly be wondered at if Wyvis drewa long breath of relief, and hoped that she never would. 

CHAPTER VI. 

JANETTA AT HOME. 

When Lady Caroline drove away from Gwynne Street, Janetta was left bythe tumble-down iron gate with her father, in whose hand she had laidboth her own. He looked at her interrogatively, smiled a little andsaid--"Well, my dear?" with a softening of his whole face which made himpositively beautiful in Janetta's eyes. 

"Dear, dearest father!" said the girl, with an irrepressible little sob. "I am so glad to see you again!"

"Come in, my dear, " said Mr. Colwyn, who was not an emotional man, although a sympathetic one. "We have been expecting you all day. We didnot think that they would keep you so long at the Court. "

"I'll tell you all about it when I get in, " said Janetta, trying tospeak cheerily, with an instinctive remembrance of the demands usuallymade upon her fortitude in her own home. "Is mamma in?" She always spokeof the present Mrs. Colwyn, as "mamma, " to distinguish her from her ownmother. "I don't see any of the children. "

"Frightened away by the grand carriage, I expect, " said Mr. Colwyn, witha grim smile. "I see a head or two at the window. Here, Joey, Georgie, Tiny--where are you all? Come and help to carry your sister's thingsupstairs. " He went to the front door and called again; whereupon a sidedoor opened, and from it issued a slip-shod, untidy-looking woman in ashawl, while over her shoulder and under her arm appeared a littletroop of children in various stages of growth and untidiness. Mrs. Colwyn had the peculiarity of never being ready for any engagement, muchless for any emergency: she had been expecting Janetta all day, and withJanetta some of the Court party; but she was nevertheless in a state ofsemi-undress, which she tried to conceal underneath her shawl; and onthe first intimation of the approach of Lady Caroline's carriage she hadshut herself and the children into a back room, and declared herintention of fainting on the spot if Lady Caroline entered the frontdoor. 

"Well, Janetta, " she said, as she advanced towards her stepdaughter andpresented one faded cheek to be kissed, "so your grand friends havebrought you home! Of course they wouldn't come in; I did not expectthem, I am sure. Come into the front room--and children, don't crowd so;your sister will speak to you by-and-bye. "

"Oh, no, let me kiss them now, " said Janetta, who was receiving a seriesof affectionate hugs that went far to blind her eyes to the generaldeficiency of orderliness and beauty in the house to which she had come. "Oh, darlings, I am so glad to see you again! Joey, how you have grown!And Tiny isn't Tiny any longer! Georgie, you have been plaiting yourhair! And here are Curly and Jinks! But where is Nora?"

"Upstairs, curling her hair, " shouted the child who was known by thename of Jinks. While Georgie, a well-grown girl of thirteen, added in alower tone, "She would not come down until the Court people had gone. She said _she_didn't want to be patronized. "

Janetta colored, and turned away. Meanwhile Mrs. Colwyn had dropped intothe nearest arm-chair, and Mr. Colwyn strayed in and out of the roomwith the expression of a dog that has lost its master. Georgie hung uponJanetta's arm, and the younger children either clung to their eldersister, or stared at her with round eyes and their fingers in theirmouths. Janetta felt uncomfortably conscious of being more than usuallyinteresting to them all. Joe, the eldest boy, a dusty lad of fourteen, all legs and arms, favored her with a broad grin expressive of delight, which his sister did not understand. It was Tiny, the most gentle anddelicate of the tribe, who let in a little light on the subject. 

"Did they send you away from school for being naughty?" she asked, witha grave look into Janetta's face. 

A chuckle from Joey, and a giggle from Georgie, were instantly repressedby Mr. Colwyn's frown and Mrs. Colwyn's acid remonstrance. 

"What are you thinking of, children? Sister is never naughty. We do notyet quite understand why she has left Miss Polehampton's so suddenly, but of course she has some good reason. She'll explain it, no doubt, toher papa and me. Miss Polehampton has been a great deal put out about itall, and has written a long letter to your papa, Janetta; and, indeed, it seems to _me_ as if it would have been more becoming if you had keptto your own place and not tried to make friends with those aboveyou----"

"Who are those above her, I should like to know?" broke in thegrey-haired surgeon with some heat. "My Janet's as good as the best ofthem any day. The Adairs are not such grand people as Miss Polehamptonmakes out--I never heard of such insulting distinctions!"

"Fancy Janetta being sent away--regularly expelled!" muttered Joey, withanother chuckle. 

"You are very unkind to talk in that way!" said Janetta, addressing him, because at that moment she could not bear to look at Mr. Colwyn. "It wasnot _that_ that made Miss Polehampton angry. It was what she calledinsubordination. Miss Adair did not like to see me having meals at aside-table--though I didn't mind one single bit!--and she left her ownplace and sat by me--and then Miss Polehampton was vexed--and everythingfollowed naturally. It was not just my being friends with Miss Adairthat made her send me away. "

"It seems to me, " said Mr. Colwyn, "that Miss Adair was veryinconsiderate. "

"It was all her love and friendship, father, " pleaded Janetta. "And shehad always had her own way; and of course she did not think that MissPolehampton really meant----"

Her weak little excuses were cut short by a scornful laugh from herstepmother. 

"It's easy to see that you have been made a cat's-paw of, Janetta, " shesaid. "Miss Adair was tired of school, and took the opportunity ofmaking a to-do about you, so as to provoke the schoolmistress and getsent away. It does not matter to her, of course: _she_ hasn't got herliving to earn. And if you lose your teaching, and Miss Polehampton'srecommendations by it, it doesn't affect her. Oh, I understand thesefine ladies and their ways. "

"Indeed, " said Janetta, in distress, "you quite misunderstand MissAdair, mamma. Besides, it has not deprived me of my teaching: MissPolehampton had told me that I might go to her sister's school atWorthing if I liked; and she only let me go yesterday because she becameirritated at--at--some of the things that were said----"

"Yes, but I shall not let you go to Worthing, " said Mr. Colwyn, withsudden decisiveness. "You shall not be exposed to insolence of this kindany longer. Miss Polehampton had no right to treat you as she did, and Ishall write and tell her so. "

"And if Janetta stays at home, " said his wife complainingly, "what is tobecome of her career as a music-teacher? She can't get lessons here, andthere's the expense----"

"I hope I can afford to keep my daughter as long as I am alive, " saidMr. Colwyn with some vehemence. "There, don't be vexed, my dear child, "and he laid his hand tenderly on Janetta's shoulder, "nobody blames you;and your friend erred perhaps from over-affection; but MissPolehampton"--with energy--"is a vulgar, self-seeking, foolish oldwoman, and I won't have you enter into relations with her again. "

And then he left the room, and Janetta, forcing back the tears in hereyes, did her best to smile when Georgie and Tiny hugged hersimultaneously and Jinks beat a tattoo upon her knee. 

"Well, " said Mrs. Colwyn, lugubriously, "I hope everything will turn outfor the best; but it is not at all nice, Janetta, to think that MissAdair has been expelled for your sake, or that you are thrown out ofwork without a character, so to speak. I should think the Adairs wouldsee that, and would make some compensation. If they don't offer to doso, your papa might suggest it----"

"I'm sure father would never suggest anything of the kind, " Janettaflashed out; but before Mrs. Colwyn could protest, a diversion waseffected by the entrance of the missing Nora, and all discussion waspostponed to a more fitting moment. 

For to look at Nora was to forget discussion. She was the eldest of thesecond Mrs. Colwyn's children--a girl just seventeen, taller thanJanetta and thinner, with the thinness of immature girlhood, but with afair skin and a mop of golden-brown hair, which curled so naturally thather younger brother's statement concerning those fair locks must surelyhave been a libel. She had a vivacious, narrow, little face, with largeeyes like a child's--that is to say, they had the transparent look thatone sees in some children's eyes, as if the color had been laid on in asingle wash without any shadows. They were very pretty eyes, and gavelight and expression to a set of rather small features, which might havebeen insignificant if they had belonged to an insignificant person. ButNora Colwyn was anything but insignificant. 

"Have your fine friends gone?" she said, peeping into the room inpretended alarm. "Then I may come in. How are you, Janetta, after yoursojourn in the halls of dazzling light?"

"Don't be absurd, Nora, " said her sister, with a sudden backward dart ofremembrance to the tranquil beauty of the rooms at Helmsley Court andthe silver accents of Lady Caroline. "Why didn't you come down before?"

"My dear, I thought the nobility and gentry were blocking the door, "said Nora, kissing her. "But since they are gone, you might as well comeupstairs with me and take off your things. Then we can have tea. "

Obediently Janetta followed her sister to the little room which theyalways shared when Janetta was at home. It might have looked very bareand desolate to ordinary eyes, but the girl felt the thrill of pleasurethat all young creatures feel to anything that bears the name of home, and became aware of a satisfaction such as she had not experienced inher luxurious bedroom at Helmsley Court. Nora helped her to take off herhat and cloak, and to unpack her box, insisting meanwhile on a detailedrelation of all the events that had led to Janetta's return three weeksbefore the end of the term, and shrieking with laughter over what shecalled "Miss Poley's defeat. "

"But, seriously, Nora, what shall I do with myself, if father will notlet me go to Worthing?"

"Teach the children at home, " said Nora, briskly; "and save me thetrouble of looking after them. I should like that. Or get some pupils inthe town. Surely the Adairs will recommend you!"

This constant reference to possible aid from the Adairs troubled Janettanot a little, and it was with some notion of combatting the idea thatshe repaired to the surgery after tea, in order to get a few words onthe subject with her father. But his first remark was on quite adifferent matter. 

"Here's a pretty kettle of fish, Janet! The Brands are back again!"

"So I heard you say to Lady Caroline. "

"Mark Brand was a cousin of your mother's, " said Mr. Colwyn, abruptly;"and a bad lot. As for these sons of his, I know nothing aboutthem--absolutely nothing. But their mother----" he shook his headsignificantly. 

"We saw them to day, " said Janetta. 

"Ah, an accident of that kind would be a shock to her: she does not lookstrong. They wrote to me from the 'Clown, ' where they had stayed for thelast two days; some question relative to the drainage of Brand Hall. Iwent to the 'Crown' and saw them. He's a fine-looking man. "

"He has not altogether a pleasant expression, " remarked Janetta, thinking of Lady Caroline's strictures; "but I--liked--his face. "

"He looks ill-tempered, " said her father. "And I can't say that heshowed me much civility. He did not even know that your poor mother wasdead. Never asked whether she had left any family or anything. "

"Did you tell him?" asked Janetta, after a pause. 

"No. I did not think it worth while. I am not anxious to cultivate hisacquaintance. "

"After all, what does it matter?" said the girl coaxingly, for shethought she saw a shadow of disappointment upon his face. 

"No, what does it matter?" said her father, brightening up at once. "Aslong as we are happy with each other, these outside people need notdisturb us, need they?"

"Not a bit, " said Janetta. "And--you are not angry with me, are you, father, dear?"

"Why should I be, my Janet? You have done nothing wrong that I know of. If there is any blame it attaches to Miss Adair, not to you. "

"But I do not want you to think so, father. Miss Adair is the greatestfriend that I have in all the world. "

And she found a good many opportunities of repeating; this conviction ofhers during the next few days, for Mrs. Colwyn and Nora were not slow torepeat the sentiment with which they had greeted her--that the Adairswere "stuck-up" fine people, and that they did not mean to take anyfurther notice of her now that they had got what they desired. 

Janetta stood up gallantly for her friend, but she did feel it a littlehard that Margaret had not written or come to see her since her returnhome. She conjectured--and in the conjecture she was nearly right--thatLady Caroline had sacrificed her a little in order to smooth over thingswith her daughter: that she had represented Janetta as resolved upongoing, resolved upon neglecting Margaret and not complying with herrequests; and that Margaret was a little offended with her inconsequence. She wrote an affectionate note of excuse to her friend, butMargaret made no reply. 

In the first ardor of a youthful friendship, Janetta's heart ached overthis silence, and she meditated much as she lay nights upon her littlewhite bed in Nora's attic (for she had not time to meditate during theday) upon the smoothness of life which seemed necessary to the Adairsand the means they took for securing it. On the whole, their life seemedto her too artificial, too much like the life of delicate hot-houseflowers under glass; and she came to the conclusion that she preferredher own mode of existence--troublous and hurried and common as it mightseem in the eyes of the world to be. After all, was it not pleasant toknow that while she was at home, there was a little more comfort thanusual for her over-worked, hardly-driven, careworn father; she could seethat his meals were properly cooked and served when he came in from longand weary expeditions into the country or amongst the poor ofBeaminster; she could help Joey and Georgie in the evenings with theirrespective lessons; she could teach and care for the younger childrenall day long. To her stepmother she did not feel that she was veryuseful; but she could at any rate make new caps for her, new lacefichus and bows, which caused Mrs. Colwyn occasionally to remark withsome complacency that Janetta had been quite _wasted_ at MissPolehampton's school: her proper destiny was evidently to be a milliner. 

Nora was the one person of the family who did not seem to want Janetta'shelp. Indirectly, however, the elder sister was more useful to her thanshe knew; for the two went out together and were companions. HithertoNora had walked alone, and had made one or two undesirable girlacquaintances. But these were dropped when she had Janetta to talk to, dropped quietly, without a word, much to their indignation, and withoutJanetta's knowing of their existence. 

It became a common thing for the two girls to go out together in thelong summer evenings, when the work of the day was over, and strollalong the country roads, or venture into the cool shadow of theBeaminster woods. Sometimes the children went with them: sometimesJanetta and Nora went alone. And it was when they were alone one eveningthat a somewhat unexpected incident came to pass. 

The Beaminster woods ran for some distance in a northerly directionbeyond Beaminster, and there was a point where only a wire fence dividedthem from the grounds of Brand Hall. Near this fence Janetta and hersister found themselves one evening--not that they had purposed to reachthe boundary, but that they had strayed a little from the beaten path. As they neared the fence they looked at each other and laughed. 

"I did not know that we were so near the lordly dwelling of yourrelations!" said Nora, who loved to tease, and knew that she couldalways rouse Janetta's indignation by a reference to her "fine friends. "

"I did not know either, " returned Janetta, good-humoredly. "We can seethe house a little. Look at the great red chimneys. "

"I have been over it, " said Nora, contemptuously. "It's a poor littleplace, after all--saving your presence, Netta! I wonder if the Brandsmean to acknowledge your existence? They----"

She stopped short, for her foot had caught on something, and she nearlystumbled. Janetta stopped also, and the two sisters uttered a suddencry of surprise. For what Nora had stumbled over was a wooden horse--achild's broken toy--and deep in the bracken before them, with one handbeneath his flushed and dimpled cheek, there lay the loveliest of allobjects--a sleeping child. 

CHAPTER VII. 

NORA'S NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 

"He must have lost his way, " said Janetta, bending over him. "Poorlittle fellow!"

"He's a pretty little boy, " said Nora, carelessly. "His nurse or hismother or somebody will be near, I dare say--perhaps gone up to thehouse. Shall I look about?"

"Wait a minute--he is awake--he will tell us who he is. "

The child, roused by the sound of voices, turned a little, stretchedhimself, then opened his great dark eyes, and fixed them full onJanetta's face. What he saw there must have reassured him, for a dreamysmile came to his lips, and he stretched out his little hands to her. 

"You darling!" cried Janetta. "Where did you come from, dear? What isyour name?"

The boy raised himself and looked about him. He looked about five yearsold, and was a remarkably fine and handsome child. It was in perfectlyclear and distinct English--almost free from any trace of babydialect--that he replied--

"Mammy brought me. She said I should find my father here. I don't wantmy father, " he remarked, decidedly. 

"Who is your father? What is your name?" Nora asked. 

"My name is Julian Wyvis Brand, " said the little fellow, sturdily; "andI want to know where my father lives, if you please, 'cause it'll soonbe my bed-time, and I'm getting very hungry. "

Janetta and her sister exchanged glances. 

"Is your father's name Wyvis Brand, too?" asked Janetta. 

"Yes, same as mine, " said the boy, nodding. He stood erect now, and shenoticed that his clothes, originally of fashionable cut and costlymaterial, were torn and stained and shabby. He had a little bundlebeside him, tied up in a gaudy shawl; and the broken toy-horse seemed tohave fallen out of it. 

"But where is your mother?"

"Mammy's gone away. She told me to go and find my father at the big redhouse there. I did go once; but they thought I was a beggar, and theysent me away. I don't know what to do, I don't. I wish mammy wouldcome. "

"Will she come soon?"

"She said no. Never, never, never. She's gone over the sea again, " saidthe boy, with the abstracted, meditative look which children sometimesassume when they are concocting a romance, and which Janetta was quickto remark. "I think she's gone right off to America or London. But shesaid that I was to tell my father that she would never come back. "

"What are we to do?" said Nora, in an under tone. 

"We must take him to Brand Hall, " Janetta answered, "and ask to seeeither Mrs. Brand or Mr. Wyvis Brand. "

"Won't it be rather dreadful?"

Janetta turned hastily on her sister. "Yes, " she said, with decision, "it is very awkward, indeed, and it may be much better that you shouldnot be mixed up in the matter at all. You must stay here while I go upto the house. "

"But, Janetta, wouldn't you rather have some one with you?"

"I think it will be easier alone, " Janetta answered. "You see, I haveseen Mrs. Brand and her son already, and I feel as if I knew what theywould be like. Wait for me here: I daresay I shall not be ten minutes. Come, dear, will you go with me to see if we can find your father?"

"Yes, " said the boy, promptly putting his hand in hers. 

"Are these your things in the bundle?"

"Yes; mammy put them there. There's my Sunday suit, and my book of'Jack, the Giantkiller, ' you know. And my wooden horse; but it's broke. Will you carry the horse for me?--and I'll carry the bundle. "

"Isn't it too heavy for you?"

"Not a bit, " and the little fellow grasped it by both bands, and swungit about triumphantly. 

"Come along, then, " said Janetta, with a smile. "Wait for me here, Nora, dear: I shall then find you easily when I come back. "

She marched off, the boy stumping after her with his burden. Noranoticed that after a few minutes' walk her sister gently relieved him ofthe load and carried it herself. 

"Just like Janetta, " she soliloquized, as the two figures disappearedbehind a clump of tall trees; "she was afraid of spoiling the moral ifshe did not let him _try_ at least to carry the bundle. She always isafraid of spoiling the moral: I never knew such a conscientious personin my life. I am sure, as mamma says, she sets an excellent example. "

And then Nora balanced herself on the loose wire of the fence, whichmade an excellent swing, and poising herself upon it she took off herhat, and resigned herself to waiting for Janetta's return. Naturally, perhaps, her meditations turned upon Janetta's character. 

"I wish I were like her, " she said to herself. "Wherever she is sheseems to find work to do, and makes herself necessary and useful. Now, Iam of no use to anybody. I don't think I was ever meant to be of use. Iwas meant to be ornamental!" She struck the wire with the point of herlittle shoe, and looked at it regretfully. "I have no talent, mammasays. I can look nice, I believe, and that is all. If I were MargaretAdair I am sure I should be very much admired! But being only NoraColwyn, the doctor's daughter, I must mend socks and make puddings, andeat cold mutton and wear old frocks to the end of the chapter! What amercy I am taller than Janetta! My old dresses are cut down for her, butshe can't leave me _her_ cast-off ones. That little wretch, Georgie, will soon be as tall as I am, I believe. Thank goodness, she will neverbe as pretty. " And Miss Nora, who was really excessively vain, drew outof her pocket a small looking-glass, and began studying her features astherein reflected: first her eyes, when she pulled out her eyelashes andstroked her eyebrows; then her nose, which she pinched a little to makelonger; then her mouth, of which she bit the lips in order to increasethe color and judge of the effect. Then she took some geranium petalsfrom the flowers in her belt and rubbed them on her cheeks: the redstain became her mightily, she thought, and was almost as good as rouge. 

Thus engaged, she did not hear steps on the pathway by which she andJanetta had come. A man, young and slim, with a stoop and a slight haltin his walk, with bright, curling hair, worn rather longer thanEnglishmen usually wear it, with thin but expressive features, and verybrilliant blue eyes--this was the personage who now appeared upon thescene. He stopped short rather suddenly when he became aware of thepresence of a young lady upon the fence--perhaps it was to him asomewhat startling one: then, when he noted how she was engaged, a smilebroke gradually over his countenance. He once made a movement toadvance, then restrained himself and waited; but some involuntary rustleof the branches above him or twigs under his feet revealed him. Noragave a little involuntary cry, dropped her looking-glass, and coloredcrimson with vexation at finding that some one was watching her. 

"What ought I to do, I wonder?" Such was the thought that flashedthrough the young man's mind. He was remarkably quick in receivingimpressions and in drawing conclusions. "She is not a French girl, thankgoodness, fresh from a convent, and afraid to open her lips! Neither isshe the conventional young English lady, or she would not sit on a fenceand look at herself in a pocket looking-glass. At least, I suppose shewould not: how should I know what English girls would do? At any rate, here goes for addressing her. "

All these ideas passed through his mind in the course of the second ortwo which elapsed while he courteously raised his hat, and advanced topick up the fallen hand-glass. But Nora was too quick for him. She hadslipped off the fence and secured her mirror before he could reach it;and then, with a look of quite unnecessary scorn and anger, she almostturned her back upon him, and stood looking at the one angle of thehouse which she could see. 

The young man brushed his moustache to conceal a smile, and ventured onthe remark that he had been waiting to make. 

"I beg your pardon; I trust that I did not startle you. "

"Not at all, " said Nora, with dignity. But she did not turn round. 

"If you are looking for the gate into the grounds, " he resumed, withgreat considerateness of manner, "you will find it about twenty yardsfurther to your left. Can I have the pleasure of showing you the way?"

"No, thank you, " said Miss Nora, very ungraciously. "I am waiting for mysister. " She felt that some explanation was necessary to account for thefact that she did not immediately walk away. 

"Oh, I beg your pardon, " said the young man once more, but this time ina rather disappointed tone. Then, brightening--"But if your sister hasgone up to our house why won't you come in too?"

"_Your_ house?" said Nora, unceremoniously, and facing him with an airof fearless incredulity, which amused him immensely. "But _you_ are notMr. Brand?"

"My name is Brand, " said the young fellow, smiling the sunniest smile inthe world, and again raising his hat, with what Nora now noticed to be arather foreign kind of grace: "and if you know it, I feel that it ishonored already. "

Nora knitted her brows. "I don't know what you mean, " she said, impatiently, "but you are not Mr. Brand of the Hall, are you?"

"I live at the Hall, certainly, and my name is Brand--Cuthbert Brand, atyour service. "

"Oh, I see. Not Wyvis Brand?" said Nora impulsively. "Not the father ofthe dear little boy that we found here just now?"

Cuthbert Brand's fair face colored. He looked excessively surprised. 

"The father--a little boy? I am afraid, " he said, with someembarrassment of manner, "that I do not exactly know what you mean----"

"It is just this, " said Nora, losing her contemptuous manner and comingcloser to the speaker; "when my sister and I were walking this way wesaw a little boy lying here fast asleep. He woke up and told us that hisname was Julian Wyvis Brand, and that his mother had left him here, andtold him to find his father, who lived at that red house. "

"Good heavens! And the woman--what became of her?"

"The boy said she had gone away and would not come back. "

"I trust she may not, " muttered Cuthbert angrily to himself. A redflush colored his brow as he went on. "My brother's wife, " he saidformally, "is not--at present--on very friendly terms with him; we didnot know that she intended to bring the child home in this manner: wethought that she desired to keep it--where is the boy, by the way?"

"My sister has taken him up to the Hall. She said that she would see Mr. Brand. "

Cuthbert raised his eyebrows. "See my brother?" he repeated as ifinvoluntarily. "My brother!"

"She is his second cousin, you know: I suppose that gives her courage, "said Nora smiling at the tone of horror which she fancied must besimulated for the occasion. But Cuthbert was in earnest--he knew WyvisBrand's temper too well to anticipate anything but a rough reception forany one who seemed inclined to meddle with his private affairs. And ifNora's sister were like herself! For Nora did not look like a person whowould bear roughness or rudeness from any one. 

"Then are you my cousin, too?" he asked, suddenly struck by an idea thatsent a gleam of pleasure to his eye. 

"Oh, no, " said Nora, demurely. "I'm no relation. It is only Janetta--hermother was Mr. Brand's father's cousin. But that was not mymother--Janetta and I are stepsisters. "

"Surely that makes a relationship, however, " said Cuthbert, courageously. "If your stepsister is my second cousin, you must be asort of step-second-cousin to me. Will you not condescend to acknowledgethe connection?"

"Isn't the condescension all on your side?" said Nora coolly. "It may bea connection, but it certainly isn't a relationship. "

"I am only too glad to hear you call it a connection, " said Cuthbert, with gravity. And then the two laughed--Nora rather against herwill--Cuthbert out of amusement at the situation, and both out of sheerlight-heartedness. And when they had laughed the ice seemed to bebroken, and they felt as if they were old friends. 

"I did not know that any of our relations were living in Beaminster, " heresumed, after a moment's pause. 

"I suppose you never even heard our name, " said Nora, saucily. 

"I don't--know----" he began, in some confusion. 

"Of course you don't. Your father had a cousin and she married adoctor--a poor country surgeon, and so of course you forgot all abouther existence. She was not _my_ mother, so I can speak out, you know. Your father never spoke to her again after she married _my_ father. "

"More shame to him! I remember now. Your father is James Colwyn. "

Nora nodded. "I think it was a very great shame, " she said. 

"And so do I, " said Cuthbert, heartily. 

"It was all the worse, " Nora went on, quite forgetting in her eagernesswhom she was talking to, "because Mr. Brand was not himself so very muchthought of, you know--people did not think--oh, I forgot! I beg yourpardon!" she suddenly ejaculated, turning crimson as she remembered thatthe man to whom she was speaking was the son of the much-abused Mr. Brand, who had been considered the black sheep of the county. 

"Don't apologize, pray, " said Cuthbert, lightly. "I'm quite accustomedto hearing my relations spoken ill of. What was it that people did notthink?"

"Oh, " said Nora, now covered with confusion, "of course I could not tellyou. "

"It was so very bad, was it?" said the young man, laughing. "You neednot be afraid. Really and seriously, I have been told that my poorfather was not very popular about here, and I don't much wonder at it, for although he was a good father to us he was rather short in manner, and, perhaps, I may add, in temper. Wyvis is like him exactly, Ibelieve. "

"And are you?" asked Nora. 

Cuthbert raised his hat and gave it a tremendous flourish. "Mademoiselle, I have not that honor, " he replied. 

"I suppose I ought not to have asked, " said Nora to herself, but thistime she restrained herself and did not say it aloud. "I wonder whereJanetta is?" she murmured after a moment's silence. "I did not thinkthat she would be so long. "

If Cuthbert thought the remark ungracious, as he might well have done, he made no sign of discomfiture. "Can I do anything?" he asked. "Shall Igo to the house and find out whether she has seen my brother? But then Ishall have to leave you. "

"Oh, that doesn't matter, " said Nora, innocently. 

"Doesn't it? But I hardly like the idea of leaving you all alone. Theremight be tramps about. If you are like all the other young ladies I haveknown, you will have an objection to tramps. "

"I am sure, " said Nora, with confidence, "that I am not at all like theother young ladies you know; but at the same time I must confess that Idon't like tramps. "

"I knew it. And I saw a tramp--I am sure I did--a little while ago inthis very wood. He was ragged and dirty, but picturesque. I sketchedhim, but I think he would not be a pleasant companion for you. "

"Do you sketch?" said Nora quickly. 

"Oh, yes, I sketch a little, " he answered in a careless sort of way--forwhat was the use of telling this little girl that his pictures had beenhung in the Salon and the Academy, or that he had hopes of one dayrising to fame and fortune in his recently adopted profession? He wasnot given to boasting of his own success, and besides, this child--withher saucy face and guileless eyes--would not understand either hisambitions or his achievements. 

But Nora's one talent was for drawing, and although the instruction shehad received was by no means of the best, she had good taste and a greatdesire to improve her skill. So Cuthbert's admission excited herinterest at once. 

"Have you been sketching now?" she asked. "Oh, do let me see what youhave done?"

Cuthbert's portfolio was under his arm. He laughed, hesitated, thendropped on one knee beside her and began to exhibit his sketches. It wasthus--side by side, with heads very close together--that Janetta, muchto her amazement, found them on her return. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

FATHER AND CHILD. 

Janetta had set off on her expedition to Brand Hall out of an impulse ofmingled pity and indignation--pity for the little boy, indignationagainst the mother who could desert him, perhaps against the fathertoo. This feeling prevented her from realizing all at once the difficultposition in which she was now placing herself; the awkwardness in whichshe would be involved if Mr. Brand declared that he knew nothing of thechild, or would have nothing to do with it. "In that case, " she said toherself, with an admiring glance at the lovely little boy, "I shall haveto adopt him, I think! I wonder what poor mamma would say!"

She found her way without difficulty to the front-door of the long, low, rambling red house which was dignified by the name of Brand Hall. Theplace had a desolate look still, in spite of its being inhabited. Scarcely a window was open, and no white blinds or pretty curtains couldbe seen at the casements. The door was also shut; and as it was one ofthose wide oaken doors, mantled with creepers, and flanked with seats, which look as if they should always stand hospitably open, it gave thestranger a sense of coldness and aloofness to stand before it. And, also, there was neither bell nor a knocker--a fact which showed that fewvisitors ever made their appearance at Brand Hall. Janetta looked abouther in dismay, and then tapped at the door with her fingers, while thechild followed her every movement with his great wondering eyes, andfinally said, gravely--

"I think they have all gone to sleep in this house, like the people inthe 'Sleeping Beauty' story. "

"Then you must be the Fairy Prince to wake them all up, " said Janetta, laughingly. 

The boy looked at her as if he understood; then, suddenly stooping, hepicked up a fallen stick and proceeded to give the door several smartraps upon its oaken panels. 

This summons procured a response. The door was opened, after a good dealof ineffectual fumbling at bolts and rattling of chains, by an old, white-haired serving man, who looked as if he had stepped out of thestory to which Julian had alluded. He was very deaf, and it was sometime before Janetta could make him understand that she wanted to seeMrs. Brand. Evidently Mrs. Brand was not in the habit of receivingvisitors. At last he conducted her to the dark little drawing-room wherethe mistress of the house usually sat, and here Janetta was received bythe pale, grey-haired woman whom she had seen fainting on theBeaminster road. It was curious to notice the agitation of this elderlylady on Janetta's appearance. She stood up, crushed her handkerchiefbetween her trembling fingers, took a step towards her visitor, and thenstood still, looking at her with such extraordinary anxiety that Janettawas quite confused and puzzled by it. Seeing that her hostess could notin any way assist her out of her difficulty, she faced it boldly byintroducing herself. 

"My name is Janetta Colwyn, " she began. "I believe that my mother was arelation of Mr. Brand's--a cousin----"

"Yes, a first cousin, " said Mrs. Brand, nervously. "I often heard himspeak of her--I never saw her----"

She paused, looked suspiciously at Janetta, and colored all over herthin face. Janetta paused also, being taken somewhat by surprise. 

"No, I don't suppose you ever saw her, " she said, "but then you wentabroad, and my dear mother died soon after I was born. Otherwise, Idaresay you would have known her. "

Mrs. Brand gave her a strange look. "You think so?" she said. "Butno--you are wrong: she always looked down on me. She never would havebeen friendly with me if she had lived. "

"Indeed, " said Janetta, very much astonished. "I always heard that itwas the other way--that Mr. Brand was angry with _her_ for marrying apoor country surgeon, and would not speak to her again. "

"That is what they may have said to you. But you were too young to betold the truth, " said the sad-faced woman, beginning to tremble all overas she spoke. "No, your mother would not have been friends with me. Iwas not her equal--and she knew I was not. "

"Oh, indeed, you make a mistake: I am sure you do, " cried Janetta, becoming genuinely distressed as this view of her mother's character andconduct was fixed upon her. "My mother was always gentle and kind, theytell me; I am sure she would have been your friend--as I will be, if youwill let me. " She held out her hands and drew those of the tremblingwoman into her warm young clasp. "I am a cousin too, " she said, blushinga little as she asserted herself in this way, "and I hope you will letme come to see you sometimes and make you less lonely. "

"I am always lonely, and I always shall be lonely to the end of time, "said Mrs. Brand, slowly and bitterly. "However"--with an evident attemptto recover her self-possession--"I shall always be pleased to see you. Did--did--your father send you here to-night?"

"No, " said Janetta, remembering her errand. "He does not know----"

"Does not know?" The pale woman again looked distressed. "Oh, " she said, turning away with a sigh and biting her lip, "then I shall not see youagain. "

"Indeed you will, " said Janetta, warmly. "My father would never keep meaway from any one who wanted me--and one of my mother's relations too. But I came to-night because I found this dear little boy outside yourgrounds. He tells me that his name is Julian Wyvis Brand, and that he isyour son's little boy. "

For the first time Mrs. Brand turned her eyes upon the child. Hithertoshe had not noticed him much, evidently thinking that he belonged toJanetta, and was also a visitor. But when she saw the boy's sweet littleface and large dark eyes, she turned pale, and made a gesture as ofwarning or dislike. 

"Take him away! take him away, " she said. "Yes, I can see that it is_her_ child--and his child too. She must be here too, and she has beenthe ruin of my boy's life!" And then she sank into a chair and burstinto an agony of tears. 

Janetta felt, with an inexpressible pang, that she had set foot in themidst of some domestic tragedy, the like of which had never come withinher ken before. She was conscious of a little recoil from it, such as isnatural to a young girl who has not learnt by experience the meaning ofsorrow; but the recoil was followed by a rush of that sympathy for whichshe had always shown a great capacity. Her instinct led her instantly tocomfort and console. She knelt down beside the weeping woman and put onearm round her, drawing the little boy forward with her left hand as shespoke. 

"Oh, don't cry--don't cry!" she murmured. "He has come to be a joy and acomfort to you, and he wants you to love him too. "

"Won't you love me, grandmamma?" said the sweet childish voice. AndJulian laid his hand on the poor woman's shaking knee. "Don't cry, grandmamma. "

It was this scene which met the eyes of Wyvis Brand when he turned thehandle of the drawing-room door and walked into the room. His motherweeping, with a child before her, and a dark-haired girl on her kneeswith one arm round the weeping woman and one round the lovely child. Itwas a pretty picture, and Wyvis Brand was not insensible to its beauty. 

He stood, looking prom one to another of the group. 

"What does all this mean?" he asked, in somewhat harsh tones. 

His mother cried aloud and caught the child to her breast. 

"Oh, Wyvis, be kind--be merciful, " she gasped. "This is your child--yourchild. You will not drive him away. She has left him at our door. "

Wyvis walked into the room, shut the door behind him, and leaned againstit. 

"Upon my word, " he said, sarcastically, "you will give this lady--whosename I haven't the pleasure of knowing--a very fine idea of our domesticrelations. I am not such a brute, I hope, as to drive away my own childfrom my door; but I certainly should like to know first whether it is mychild; and more particularly whether it is my son and heir, as I have nodoubt that this young gentleman is endeavoring to persuade you. Did_you_ bring the child here?" he said, turning sharply to Janetta. 

"I brought him into the house, certainly, " she said, rising from herknees and facing him. "I found him outside your fence; and he told methat his name was Julian Wyvis Brand. "

"Pretty evidence, " said Mr. Brand, very rudely, as Janetta thought. "Whocan tell whether the child is not some beggar's brat that has nothing todo with me?"

"Don't you know your own little boy when you see him?" Janetta demanded, indignantly. 

"Not I. I have not set eyes on him since he was a baby. Turn round, youngster, and let me have a look at you. "

The child faced him instantly, much as Janetta herself had done. Therewas a fearless look in the baby face, an innocent, guileless courage inthe large dark eyes, which must surely, thought Janetta, touch afather's heart. But Wyvis Brand looked as if it would take a great dealto move him. 

"Where do you come from?" said Mr. Brand, sternly. 

"From over the sea. "

"That's no answer. Where from?--what place?"

The boy looked at him without answering. 

"Are you dumb?" said Wyvis Brand, harshly. "Or have you not been taughtwhat to say to that question? Where do you come from, I say?"

Mrs. Brand murmured an inarticulate remonstrance; Janetta's eyes flashedan indignant protest. Both women thought that the boy would be dismayedand frightened. But he, standing steady and erect, did not flinch. Hiscolor rose and his hands clenched themselves at his side, but he did nottake his eyes from his father's face as he replied. 

"I come with mammy from Paris. "

"And pray where is your mother?"

"Gone back again. She told me to find my father. Are you my father?"said the child, with the utmost fearlessness. 

"What is your name?" asked Wyvis, utterly disregarding the question. 

"Julian Wyvis Brand. "

"He's got the name pat enough, " said Wyvis, with a sardonic laugh. "Well, where did you live in Paris? What sort of a house had you?"

"It was near the church, " said the little boy, gravely. "The church withthe big pillars round it. There was a bonnet shop under our rooms, andthe rooms were all pink and white and gold--prettier than this, " hesaid, wistfully surveying the gloomy room in which he stood. 

"And who took care of you when your mother was out?" asked Mr. Brand. Even Janetta could see, by the swift, subtle change that had passed overhis face, that he recognized the description of the room. 

"Susan. She was my nurse and mammy's maid as well. She was English. "

The man nodded and set his lips. "He knows what to say, " he remarked. 

"Oh, Wyvis!" exclaimed his mother, as if she could repress her feelingsno longer; "don't you see how like he is to you!--don't you _feel_ thathe is your own child?"

"I confess the paternal feelings are not very strong in me, " said herson, dryly, "but I have a fancy the boy is mine for all that. Haven'tyou a letter or a remembrance of some sort to give me, young man?"

The boy shook his head. 

"There may be something amongst his things--some book or trinket thatyou would remember, " said Janetta, speaking with timidity. Mr. Brandgave her a keen look, and Mrs. Brand accepted the suggestion witheagerness. 

"Oh, yes, yes, let us look. Have you a box, my dear, or a bag?--oh, abundle, only: give it me, and let me see what is inside. "

"It is unnecessary, mother, " said Wyvis, coldly. "I am as convinced asyou can wish me to be that this is Juliet's child. "

But Mrs. Brand, with trembling fingers and parted lips, was helpingJanetta to unfasten the knots of the big handkerchief in which thechild's worldly goods were wrapped up. Wyvis Brand stood silently besidethe two women, while little Julian pressed closer and pointed out hisvarious treasures as they were one by one disclosed. 

"That's my book, " he said; "and that's my best suit. And that's--oh, Idon't know what _that_ is. I don't know why mammy put it in. "

"_I_ know, " said Wyvis Brand, half under his breath. 

The object that called forth this remark was a small morocco box, loosely wrapped in tissue-paper. Wyvis took it out of his mother's hand, opened it, and stood silently gazing at its contents. It held a ring, asJanetta could easily see--a hoop of gold in which were three opals--nota very large or costly-looking trinket, but one which seemed to havememories or associations connected with it--to judge, at least, by thelook on Wyvis Brand's dark face. The women involuntarily held theirbreath as they glanced at him. 

At last with a short laugh, he slipped the little case into his pocket, and turned upon his heel. 

"I suppose that this is evidence enough, " he said. "It is a ring I oncegave her--our engagement ring. Not one of much value, or you may be surethat she would never have sent it back. "

"Then you are convinced--you are certain----" His mother did not finishthe sentence, but her son knew what she meant. 

"That he is my son? my wife's child? Oh, yes, I am pretty sure of that. He had better be put to bed, " said Wyvis, carelessly. "You can find aroom for him somewhere, I dare say. "

"There is the old nursery, " said Mrs. Brand, in breathless eagerness. "Ilooked into it yesterday; it is a nice, cheerful room--but it has notbeen used for a long time----"

"Do as you like; don't consult me, " said her son. "I know nothing aboutthe matter. " And he turned to the door, without another look towards hisson. 

But little Julian was not minded to be treated in this way. His largeeyes had been fixed upon his father with a puzzled and rather wistfulexpression. He now suddenly started from his position at Mrs. Brand'sknee, and pursued his father to the door. 

"Say good-night, please, " he said, pulling at Mr. Brand's coat with afearlessness which amused Janetta and startled Mrs. Brand. 

Wyvis looked down at him with a curious and indescribable expression. "You're not shy, at any rate, " he said, drily. "Well, good-night, youngman. What?"--the boy had held up his face to be kissed. 

The father hesitated. Then a better and softer feeling seemed to passover his face. He stooped down and let the child put his arms round hisneck, and press a warm kiss on his cheek. A short laugh then escaped hislips, as if he were half-ashamed of his own action. He went out of theroom and shut the door behind him without looking round, and littleJulian returned to his grandmother's knee, looking well satisfied withhimself. 

Janetta felt that she ought to go, and yet that she hardly likedtrusting the child to the sole care of Mrs. Brand, who was evidently somuch unnerved as to be of little use in deciding what was to be donewith him. And at the first hint of departure grandmother and child bothclung to her as if they felt her to be their sheet-anchor in storm. Shewas not allowed to go until she had inspected the nursery and pronouncedit too damp for Julian's use, and seen a little bed made up for thechild in Mrs. Brand's own room, where a fire was lighted, and everythinglooked cosey and bright. Poor little Julian was by this time half-deadwith sleep; and Janetta could not after all make up her mind to leavehim until she had seen him tucked up and fast asleep. Then shebethought herself of Nora, and turned to go. Mrs. Brand, melted out ofher coldness and shy reserve, caught her by the hand. 

"My dear, " she said, "what should we have done without you?"

"I don't think that I have done very much, " said Janetta, smiling. 

"You have done more than I could ever do. If I had brought that child tomy son he would never have acknowledged it. "

"He does not look so hard, " said the girl involuntarily. 

"He _is_ hard, my dear--hard in his way--but he is a good son for allthat--and he has had sore trouble, which has made him seem harder andsterner than he is. I cannot thank you enough for all that you have doneto-day. "

"Oh, Mrs. Brand, I have done nothing, " said Janetta, blushing at theelder woman's praise. "But may I come to see you and little Julianagain? I should like so much to know how he gets on. "

"You may come, dear, if your father will let you, " said Mrs. Brand, withrather a troubled look. "It would be a blessing--a charity--to me: but Idon't know whether it would be right to let you--your father mustdecide. "

And then Janetta took her leave. 

She was surprised to find that Mr. Brand was lounging about the hall asshe came out, and that he not only opened the door for her butaccompanied her to the garden gate. He did not speak for a minute ortwo, and Janetta, not seeing her way clear to any remarks of her own, wondered whether they were to walk side by side to the gate in uttersilence. Presently, however, he said, abruptly. 

"I have not yet heard to whom I am indebted for the appearance of thatlittle boy in my house. "

"I am not exactly responsible, " said Janetta, "I only found him outsideand brought him in to make inquiries. My name is Janetta Colwyn. "

"Colwyn? What? the doctor's daughter?"

"Yes, the doctor's daughter, " said Janetta, smiling frankly at him, "andyour second cousin. "

Wyvis Brand's hand went up to his hat, which he lifted ceremoniously. 

"I wish I had had the introduction earlier, " he said, in a muchpleasanter tone. 

Janetta could not exactly echo the sentiment, and therefore maintained adiscreet silence. 

"You must have thought me a great brute, " said Wyvis, with somesensitiveness in his tone. 

"Oh, no: I quite saw how difficult it was for you to understand who Iwas, and how it had all come about. "

"You saw a great deal, then. "

"Oh, I know that it sounds impertinent to say so, " Janetta answered, blushing a little and walking a trifle faster, "but I did not mean itrudely, I assure you. "

He seemed to take no notice. He was looking straight before him, with asomewhat sombre expression in his fine dark eyes. 

"What you could not see, " he said, perhaps more to himself than to her, "was what no one will ever guess. Nobody knows what the last few yearshave been to me. My mother has seen more of it than any one else, buteven to her my life has been something of a mystery--a sealed book. Youshould remember this--remember all that I have passed through--beforeyou blame me for the way in which I received that child to-day. "

"I did not blame you, " said Janetta, eagerly. "I only felt that therewas a great deal which I could not understand. "

He turned his gloomy eyes upon her. "Just so, " he said. "You cannotunderstand. And it is useless for you to try. "

"I am very sorry, " Janetta faltered, scarcely knowing why she said so. 

Wyvis laughed. "Don't trouble to be sorry over my affairs, " he said. "They are not worth sorrow, I assure you. But--if I may make onerequest--will you kindly keep silence (except, of course, to yourparents) about this episode? I do not want people to begin gossipingabout that unhappy woman who has the right, unfortunately, to callherself my wife. "

Janetta promised, and with her promise the garden gate was reached, andthe interview came to an end. 

CHAPTER IX. 

CONSULTATION. 

Janetta was rather surprised that Mr. Wyvis Brand did not offer toaccompany her for at least part of her way homewards, but she set downhis remissness to absorption in his own rather complicated affairs. Inthis she was not mistaken. Wyvis was far more depressed, and far moredeeply buried in the contemplation of his difficulties, than anybodyknew, and it completely escaped his memory until afterwards that heought to have offered Miss Colwyn an escort. Janetta, however, was wellused to going about the world alone, and she proceeded briskly to thespot where she had left Nora, and was much astonished to find that youngperson deep in conversation with a strange young man. 

But the young man had such an attractive face, such pleasant eyes, socourteous a manner, that she melted towards him before he had gotthrough his first sentence. Nora, of course, ought to have introducedhim; but she was by no means well versed in the conventionalities ofsociety, and therefore left him to do what he pleased, and to introducehimself. 

"I find that I am richer than I thought, " said Cuthbert Brand, "inpossessing a relative whom I never heard of before! Miss Colwyn, are wenot cousins? My name is Brand--Cuthbert Brand. "

Janetta's face lighted up. "I have just seen Mrs. Brand and yourbrother, " she said, offering him her hand. 

"And, oh, Janetta!" cried Nora at once, "do tell us what happened. Haveyou left the little boy at Brand Hall? And is it really Mr. Brand'slittle boy?"

"Yes, it is, and I have left him with his father, " said Janetta, gravely. "As it is getting late, Nora, we had better make the best ofour way home. "

"You will let me accompany you?" said Cuthbert, eagerly, while Noralooked a little bit inclined to pout at her sister's serious tone. "Itis, as you say, rather late; and you have a long walk before you. "

"Thank you, but I could not think of troubling you. My sister and I arequite accustomed to going about by ourselves. We escort each other, "said Janetta, smiling, so that he should not set her down as utterlyungracious. 

"I am a good walker, " said Cuthbert, coloring a little. He was halfafraid that they thought his lameness a disqualification foraccompanying them. "I do my twenty miles a day quite easily. "

"Thank you, " Janetta said again. "But I could not think of troublingyou. Besides, Nora and I are so well used to these woods, and to theroad between them and Beaminster, that we really do not require anescort. "

A compromise was finally effected. Cuthbert walked with them to the endof the wood, and the girls were to be allowed to pursue their waytogether along the Beaminster road. He made himself very agreeable intheir walk through the wood, and did not leave them, without a hope thathe might be allowed one day to call upon his newly-discovered cousins. 

"He has adopted us, apparently, as well as yourself, " said Nora, as thetwo girls tramped briskly along the Beaminster road. "He seems to forgetthat _we_ are not his relations. "

"He is very pleasant and friendly, " said Janetta. 

"But why did you say he might call?" pursued Nora. "I thought that youwould say that we did not have visitors--or something of that sort. "

"My dear Nora! But we do have visitors. "

"Yes; but not of that kind. "

"Don't you want him to come?" said Janetta, in some wonderment; for ithad struck her that Nora had shown an unusual amount of friendliness toMr. Cuthbert Brand. 

"No, I don't, " said Nora, almost passionately. "I _don't_ want to seehim down in our shabby, untidy little drawing-room, to hear mamma talkabout her expenses and papa's difficulties--to see all that tribe ofchildren in their old frocks--to see the muddle in which we live! Idon't want him there at all. "

"Dear Nora, I don't think that the Brands have been accustomed to livein any very grand way. I am sure the rooms I went into this evening werequite shabby--nearly as shabby as ours, and much gloomier. What does itmatter?"

"It does not matter to you, " said Nora; "because you are their relation. It is different for us. You belong to them and we don't. "

"I think you are quite wrong to talk in that way. It is nothing so verygreat and grand to be related to the Brands. "

"They are '_County_' people, " said Nora, with a scornful little emphasison the word. "They are like your grand Adairs: they would look down on acountry doctor and his family, except just now and then when they couldmake them useful. "

"Look down on father? What are you thinking of?" cried Janetta, warmly. "Nobody looks down on father, because he does good, honest work in theworld, and everybody respects him; but I am afraid that a good manypeople look down on the Brands. You know that as well as I do, Nora; foryou have heard people talk about them. They are not at all well thoughtof in this neighborhood. I don't suppose there is much honor and gloryto be gained by relationship to them. "

In which Janetta was quite right, and showed her excellent sense. ButNora was not inclined to be influenced by her more sagacious sister. 

"You may say what you like, " she observed; "but I know very well that itis a great advantage to be related to 'the County. ' Poor papa has noconnections worth speaking of, and mamma's friends are eithershopkeepers or farmers; but your mother was the Brands' cousin, and seehow the Adairs took you up! They would never have made a fuss over_me_. "

"What nonsense you talk, Nora!" said Janetta, in a disgusted tone. 

"Nonsense or not, it is true, " said Nora, doggedly; "and as long aspeople look down upon us, I don't want any of your fine friends andrelations in Gwynne Street. "

Janetta did not condescend to argue the point; she contented herselfwith telling her sister of Wyvis Brand's desire that the story of hiswife's separation from him should not be known, and the two girls agreedthat it would be better to mention their evening's adventure only totheir father. 

It was quite dark when they reached home, and they entered the house inmuch trepidation, fearing a volley of angry words from Mrs. Colwyn. Butto their surprise and relief Mrs. Colwyn was not at home. The childrenexplained that an invitation to supper had come to her from a neighbor, and that "after a great deal of fuss, " as one of them expressed it, shehad accepted it and gone, leaving word that she should not be back untileleven o'clock, and that the children were to go to bed at their usualhour. It was past the younger children's hour already, and they ofcourse were jubilant. 

The elder sisters set to work instantly to get the young ones into theirbeds, but this was a matter of some difficulty. A general inclination touproariousness prevailed in Mrs. Colwyn's absence, and it must beconfessed that neither Janetta nor Nora tried very hard to repress thelittle ones' noise. It was a comfort to be able, for once, to enjoythemselves without fear of Mrs. Colwyn's perpetual snarl and grumble. Amost exciting pillow-fight was going on in the upstairs regions, andhere Janetta was holding her own as boldly as the boldest, when thesound of an opening door made the combatants pause in their mad career. 

"What's that? The front door? It's mamma!" cried Georgie, withconviction. 

"Get into bed, Tiny!" shouted Joey. Tiny began to cry. 

"Nonsense, children, " said Nora, with an air of authority. "You knowthat it can't be mamma. It is papa, of course, coming in for his supper. And one of us must go down. "

"I'll go, " said Janetta, hurriedly. "I want a little talk with him, youknow. "

There was a general chorus of "Oh, don't go, Janetta!" "Do stay!" "Itwill be no fun when you are gone!" which stimulated Nora to a retort. 

"Well, I must say you are all very polite, " she said. "One would thinkthat I was not here at all!"

"You are not half such good fun as Janetta, " said Joey. "You don't throwyourself into everything as she does. "

"I must throw myself into giving father his supper, I'm afraid, " saidJanetta, laughing, "so good-night, children, and do go to bed quietlynow, for I don't think father will like such a dreadful noise. "

She was nearly choked by the fervent embraces they all bestowed upon herbefore she went downstairs. Nora, who stood by, rolling up the ribbonthat she had taken from Tiny's hair, felt a little pang of jealousy. Whywas it that everyone loved Janetta and valued her so much? Not for whatshe did, because her share of household duty was not greater than thatof Nora, but for the way in which she did it. It always seemed such apleasure to her to do anything for any one--to serve another: never atoil, never a hardship, always a deep and lasting pleasure. To Nora itwas often a troublesome matter to help her sister or her schoolboybrother, to attend on her mother, or to be thoughtful of her father'srequirements; but it was never troublesome to Janetta. And as Norathought of all this, the tears came involuntarily to her eyes. It seemedso _easy_ to Janetta to be good, she thought! But perhaps it was noeasier to Janetta than to other people. 

Janetta ran down to the dining-room, where she found her fathersurveying with a rather dissatisfied air the cold and scanty repastwhich was spread out for him. Mr. Colwyn was so much out that his mealshad to be irregular, and he ate them just when he had a spare half hour. On this occasion he had been out since two o'clock in the afternoon, andhad not had time even for a cup of tea. He had been attending a hopelesscase, moreover, and one about which he had been anxious for some weeks. Fagged, chilled, and dispirited, it was no wonder that he had returnedhome in not the best of tempers, and that he was a little disposed tofind fault when Janetta made her appearance. 

"Where is mamma?" he began. "Out, I suppose, or the children would notbe making such a racket overhead. "

"They are going to be quiet now, dear father, " said his daughter, kissing him, "and mamma has gone out to supper at Mrs. Maitland's. I amgoing to have mine with you if you will let me. "

"And is this what you are going to have for your supper?" said Mr. Colwyn, half ruefully, half jestingly, as he glanced again at the table, where some crusts of bread reposed peacefully on one dish, and a scragof cold mutton on another. "After your sojourn at Miss Polehampton's andamong the Adairs, I suppose you don't know how to cook, Jenny?"

"Indeed I do, father, and I'm going to scramble some eggs, and make somecoffee this very minute. I am sorry the table is not better arranged, but I have been out, and was just having a little game with the childrenbefore they went to bed. If you will sit down by the fire, I shall beready in a very few minutes, and then I can tell you about a wonderfuladventure that Nora and I had this evening in the Beaminster wood. "

"You should not roam about those woods so much by yourselves; they aretoo lonely, " said Mr. Colwyn; but he said it very mildly, and droppedwith an air of weariness into the arm-chair that Janetta had wheeledforward for him. "Well, well! don't hurry yourself, child. I shall beglad of a few minutes' rest before I begin my supper. "

Janetta in a big white apron, Janetta flitting backwards and forwardsbetween kitchen and dining-room, with flushed cheeks and brightlyshining eyes, was a pretty sight--"a sight to make an old man young, "thought Mr. Colwyn, as he watched her furtively from beneath hishalf-closed eyelids. She looked so trim, so neat, so happy in her work, that he would be hard to satisfy who did not admire her, even though shewas not what the world calls strictly beautiful. She succeeded so wellin her cooking operations, with which she would not allow the servant tointermeddle, that in a very short time a couple of dainty dishes andsome coffee smoked upon the board; and Janetta bidding her father cometo the table, placed herself near him, and smilingly dispensed thesavory concoction. 

She would not enter upon any account of her evening's work until shefelt sure that the wants of her father's inner man were satisfied; butwhen supper was over, and his evening pipe--the one luxury in the day heallowed himself--alight, she drew up a hassock beside his chair andprepared for what she called "a good long chat. "

Opportunities for such a chat with her father were rather rare in thathousehold, and Janetta meant to make the most of this one. Nora hadgood-naturedly volunteered to stay away from the dining-room, so as togive Janetta the chance that she wished for; and as it was now barelyten o'clock, Janetta knew that she might perhaps have an hour of herfather's companionship--if, at least, he were not sent for before eleveno'clock. At eleven he would probably go to Mrs. Maitland's to fetch hiswife home. 

"Well, Janet, and what have you to tell me?" he said kindly, as hestretched out his slippered feet to the blaze, and took down his pipefrom the mantel-piece. The lines had cleared away from his face as if bymagic; there was a look of rest and peace upon his face that hisdaughter liked to see. She laid her hand on his knee and kept it therewhile she told him of her experiences that evening at Brand Hall. 

Mr. Colwyn's eyebrows went up as he listened. His face expressedastonishment, and something very like perplexity. But he heard the wholestory out before he said a word. 

"Well, you have put your head into the lion's den!" he said at last, ina half-humorous tone. 

"What I want to know is, " said Janetta, "why it is thought to be alion's den! I don't mean that I have heard the expression before, but Ihave gathered in different ways an impression that people avoid thehouse----"

"The family, not the house, Janet!"

"Of course I _mean_ the family, father, dear. What have they done thatthey should be shunned?"

"There is a good deal against them in the eyes of the world. Your poormother, Janetta, always stood up for them, and said that they were moresinned against than sinning. "

"_They?_ But these young men were not grown up then?"

"No; it was their father and----"

Mr. Colwyn stopped short and seemed as if he did not like to go on. 

"Tell me, father, " said Janetta, coaxingly. 

"Well, child, I don't know that you ought to hear old scandals. But youare too wise to let them harm you. Brand, the father of these two youngfellows, married a barmaid, the daughter of a low publican in theneighborhood. "

"What! The Mrs. Brand that I saw to-day? _She_ a barmaid--that quiet, pale, subdued-looking woman?"

"She has had trouble enough to make her look subdued, poor soul! She wasa handsome girl then; and I daresay the world would have overlooked themarriage in time if her character had been untarnished. But storieswhich I need not repeat were afloat; and from what I have lately heardthey are not yet forgotten. "

"After all these years! Oh, that does seem hard, " said Janetta, sympathetically. 

"Well--there are some things that the world does not forgive, Janet. Ihave no doubt that the poor woman is much more worthy of respect andkindness than her wild sons; and yet the fact remains that if WyvisBrand had come here with his brother alone, he would have been receivedeverywhere, and entertained and visited and honored like any other youngman of property and tolerable repute; but as he has brought his motherwith him, I am very much afraid that many of the nicest people in thecounty mean to 'cut' him. "

"It is very unfair, surely. "

"Yes, it is unfair; but it is the way of the world, Janetta. If awoman's reputation is ever so slightly blackened, she can never get itfair and white again. Hence, my dear, I am a little doubtful as towhether you must go to Brand Hall again, as long as poor Mrs. Brand isthere. "

"Oh, father, and I promised to go!"

"You must not make rash promises another time, my child. "

"But she wants me, father--she is so lonely and so sad?"

"I am sorry, my Janet, but I don't know----"

"Oh, do let me, father. I shall not be harmed; and I don't mind what theworld says. "

"But perhaps _I_ mind, " said Mr. Colwyn, quaintly. 

CHAPTER X. 

MARGARET. 

Janetta looked so rueful at this remark that her father laughed a littleand pulled her ear. 

"I am not given to taking much notice of what the world says, " he toldher, "and if I thought it right for you to go to Brand Hall I shouldtake no notice of town talk; but I think that I can't decide this matterwithout seeing Mrs. Brand for myself. "

"I thought you had seen her, father?"

"For ten minutes or so, only. They wanted to ask me a question about thehealthiness of Brand Hall, drains, and all that kind of thing. Thatyoung Brand struck me as a very sullen-looking fellow. "

"His face lightens up when he talks, " said Janetta, coloring and feelinghurt for a moment, she could not have told why. 

"He did not talk to me, " said her father, drily. "I am told that theother son has pleasanter manners. "

"Cuthbert? Oh, yes, " Janetta said, quickly. "He is much more amiable atfirst sight; he made himself very agreeable to Nora and me. " Andforthwith she related how the second son had made acquaintance with hersister and herself. 

Mr. Colwyn did not look altogether pleased. 

"H'm!--they seem very ready to cultivate us, " he said, with a slightcontraction of the brow. "Their father used not to know that I existed. Janet, I don't care for Nora to see much of them. You I can trust; butshe is a bit of a featherbrain, and one never knows what may happen. Look to it. "

"I will, father. "

"And I will call on Mrs. Brand and have a chat with her. Poor soul! Idaresay she has suffered. Still that does not make her a fit companionfor my girls. "

"If I could be of any use to her, father----"

"I know that's all you think of, Janet. You are a good child--alwayswanting to help others. But we must not let the spirit of self-sacrificerun away with you, you know. "

He pinched her cheek softly as he spoke, and his daughter carried thelong supple fingers of his hand to her lips and kissed them tenderly. 

"Which reminds me, " he went on rather inconsequently, "that I sawanother of your friends to-day. A friend whom you have not mentioned forsome time, Janetta. "

"Who was that?" asked Janetta, a little puzzled by his tone. 

"Another friend whom I don't quite approve of, " said her father, in thesame half-quizzical way, "though from a different reason. If poor Mrs. Brand is not respectable enough, this friend of yours, Janet, is morethan respectable; ultra-respectable--aristocratic even----"

"Margaret Adair!" cried Janetta, flushing to the very roots of her hair. "Did you see her, father? Has she quite forgotten me?" And the tearsstood in her eyes. 

"I did not see Miss Margaret Adair, my dear, " said her father kindly. "Isaw her mother, Lady Caroline. "

"Did you speak to her, father?"

"She stopped her ponies and spoke to me in the High Street, Janet. Shecertainly has very winning manners. "

"Oh, has she not, father!" Janetta's cheeks glowed. "She is perfectlycharming, I think. I do not believe that she could do anythingdisagreeable or unkind. "

Mr. Colwyn shook his head, with a little smile. "I am not so sure ofthat, Janetta. These fine ladies sometimes do very cold and cruel thingswith a perfectly gracious manner. "

"But Lady Caroline would not, " said Janetta, coaxingly. "She was quitekind and sweet to me all the time that I stayed at her house, although----"

"Although afterwards, " said Mr. Colwyn, shrewdly, "she could let youstay here for weeks without seeming to remember you, or coming near youfor an hour!"

Janetta's cheeks crimsoned, but she did not reply. Loyal as she was toher friend, she felt that there was not much to be said for her at thatmoment. 

"You are a good friend, " said her father, in a half-teasing, half-affectionate tone. "You don't like me to say anything bad of her, do you? Well, my dear, for your comfort I must tell you that she did herbest to-day to make up for past omissions. She spoke very pleasantlyabout you. "

"Did she say why--why----" Janetta could not complete the sentence. 

"Why they had not written or called? Well, she gave some sort of anexplanation. Miss Adair had been unwell--she had had a cold or somethingwhich looked as if it might turn to fever, and they did not like towrite until she was better. "

"I knew there was some good reason!" said Janetta fervently. 

"It is well to take a charitable view of things, " returned her father, rather drily; but, seeing her look of protest, he changed his tone. "Well, Lady Caroline spoke very kindly, my dear, I must acknowledgethat. She wants you to go over to Helmsley Court to-morrow. "

"Can I go, father?"

Mr. Colwyn made a grimace. "Between your disreputable friends and youraristocratic ones, I'm in a difficulty, Janet. "

"Don't say so, father dear!"

"Well, I consented, " said Mr. Colwyn, in rather a grudging tone. "Shesaid that she would send her carriage for you to-morrow at noon, andthat she would send you back again between six and seven. Her daughterwas most anxious to see you, she said. "

Janetta lifted up a happy face. "I knew that Margaret would be true tome. I never doubted her. "

Mr. Colwyn watched her silently for a moment, then he put his hand uponher head, and began smoothing the thick black locks. "You have a veryfaithful nature, my Janet, " he said, tenderly, "and I am afraid that itwill suffer a great many shocks in this work-a-day world of ours. Don'tlet it lead you astray, my child. Remember there is a point at whichfaithfulness may degenerate into sheer obstinacy. "

"I don't think it will ever do so with me. "

"Well, perhaps not, for you have a clear head on those young shouldersof yours. But you must be careful. "

"And I may go to Lady Caroline's, father?"

"Yes, my dear, you may. And now I must go: my time is up. I have had avery pleasant hour, my Janet. "

As she raised herself to receive her father's kiss, she felt a glow ofpleasure at his words. It was not often that he spoke so warmly. He wasa man of little speech on ordinary occasions: only when he was alonewith his best-loved daughter, Janetta, did he ever break forth intoexpressions of affection. His second marriage had been in some respectsa failure; and it did not seem as if he regarded his younger childrenwith anything approaching the tenderness which he bestowed upon Janetta. Good-humored tolerance was all that he gave to them: a deep and almostpassionate love had descended from her mother to Janetta. 

He went out to fetch his wife home from her supper-party; and Janettahastened up to her room, not being anxious to meet her stepmother on herreturn, in the state of rampant vanity and over-excitement to which anassembly of her friends usually brought her. It could not be said thatMrs. Colwyn actually drank too much wine or beer or whisky; and yetthere was often a sensation abroad that she had taken just a little morethan she could bear; and her stepdaughter was sensitively aware of thefact. From Nora's slighting tone when she had lately spoken of hermother, Janetta conjectured that the sad truth of Mrs. Colwyn's dangerhad dawned upon the girl's mind also, and it certainly accounted forsome new lines in Mr. Colwyn's face, and for some additional streaks ofwhite in his silvering hair. Not a word had been said on the subjectamongst the members of the family, but Janetta had an uneasy feelingthat there were possibly rocks ahead. 

At this moment, however, the prospect of seeing her dear Margaret againcompletely obliterated any thought of her stepmother from Janetta'smind; and when she was snugly ensconced in her own little, white bed, she could not help shedding a few tears of relief and joy. ForMargaret's apparent fickleness had weighed heavily on Janetta's mind;and she now felt proud of the friend in whom she had believed in spiteof appearances, and of whose faithfulness she had steadily refused tohear a doubt. These feelings enabled her to bear with cheerfulness somesmall unpleasantnesses next morning from her stepmother on the subjectof her visit. "Of course you'll be too grand to do a hand's turn aboutthe house when you come back again from Helmsley Court!" said Mrs. Colwyn, snappishly. 

"Dear mamma, when I am only going for half a day!"

"Oh, I know the ways of girls. Because Miss Adair, your fine friend, does nothing but sit in a drawing-room all day, you'll be sure to thinkthat you must needs follow her example!"

"I hope Margaret will do something beside sit in a drawing-room, " saidJanetta, with her cheery laugh; "because I am afraid that she might findthat a little dull. "

But in spite of her cheeriness her spirits were perceptibly lowered whenshe set foot in the victoria that was sent for her at noon. Herstepmother's way of begrudging her the friendship which school-life hadbestowed upon Janetta was as distasteful to her as Miss Polehampton'sconviction of its unsuitability had been. And for one moment the tearsof vexation gathered in her brown eyes as she was driving away from theshabby little house in Gwynne Street; and she had resolutely to driveaway unwelcome thoughts before she could resign herself to enjoyment ofher visit. 

The day was hot and close, and the narrow streets of old Beaminster werepeculiarly oppressive. It was delightful to bowl swiftly along thesmooth high road, and to enter the cool green shades of the park roundHelmsley Court. "How pleasant for Margaret to live here always!" Janettasaid to herself with generous satisfaction in her friend's good fortune. "I wonder what she would do in Gwynne Street!" And then Janetta laughed, and felt that what suited _her_ would be very inappropriate to MargaretAdair. 

Janetta's unselfish admiration for her friend was as simple as it wastrue, and it was never alloyed by envy or toadyism. She would have beenjust as pleased to see Margaret in a garret as in a palace, supposingthat Margaret were pleased with the garret. And it was with almostpassionate delight that she at length flung herself into her friend'sarms, and felt Margaret's soft lips pressed to her brown flushed cheeks. 

"Margaret! Oh, it is delightful to see you again!" she exclaimed. 

"You poor darling: did you think that we were never going to meet?" saidMargaret. "I have been so sorry, dear----"

"I knew that you would come to see me, or send for me as soon as youcould, " said Janetta quickly. "I trusted you, Margaret. "

"I have had such a bad cold, " Margaret went on, still excusing herself alittle, as it seemed to Janetta. "I have had to stay in two rooms fornearly a fortnight, and I went down to the drawing-room only lastnight. "

"I wish I could have nursed you! Don't you remember how I nursed youthrough one of your bad colds at school?"

"Yes, indeed. I wish you could have nursed me now; but mamma was afraidthat I had caught measles or scarlet fever or something, and she said itwould not be right to send for you. "

Janetta was almost pained by the accent of continued excuse. 

"Of course, dear, I understand, " she said, pressing her friend's armcaressingly. "I am so sorry you have been ill. You look quite pale, Margaret. "

The two girls were standing in Margaret's sitting-room, adjoining herbedroom. Margaret was dressed completely in white, with long whiteribbons floating amongst the dainty folds of her attire; but the whitedress, exquisitely as it was fashioned, was less becoming to her thanusual, for her face had lost a little of its shell-like bloom. Sheturned at Janetta's words and surveyed herself a little anxiously in along glass at her side. 

"I do look pale in this dress, " she said. "Shall I change it, Janetta?"

"Oh, no, dear, " Janetta answered, in some surprise. "It is a charmingdress. "

"But I do not like to look so pale, " said Margaret, gravely. "I think Iwill ring for Villars. "

"You could not look nicer--to me--in any dress!" exclaimed her ardentadmirer. 

"You dear--oh, yes; but there may be visitors at luncheon. "

"I thought you would be alone, " faltered Janetta, with a momentaryglance at her own neat and clean, but plain, little cotton frock. 

"Well, perhaps there will be only one person beside yourself, " saidMargaret, turning aside her long neck to catch a glimpse of the shiningcoils behind. "And I don't know that it matters--it is only Sir PhilipAshley. "

"Oh, I remember him. He was here when we came back from Brighton. "

"He is often here. "

"What lovely flowers!" Janetta exclaimed, rather to break a pause thatfollowed than because she had looked particularly at a bouquet thatfilled a large white vase on a table. But the flowers really werelovely, and Margaret's face expressed some satisfaction. "Did they comeout of your garden?"

"No, Sir Philip sent them. "

"Oh, how nice!" said Janetta. But she was a little surprised too. Hadnot the Adairs plenty of flowers without receiving contributions fromSir Philip's conservatories?

"And you have a dog, Margaret?"--as a pretty little white Esquimaux dogcame trotting into the room. "What a darling! with a silver collar, too!"

"Yes, I like a white dog, " said Margaret, tranquilly. "Mamma's poodlesnaps at strangers, so Sir Philip thought that it would be better for meto have a dog of my own. "

Sir Philip again! Janetta felt as if she must ask another question ortwo, especially when she saw that her friend's white eyelids had beenlowered, and that a delicate flush was mantling the whiteness of hercheek; but she paused, scarcely knowing how to begin; and in the pause, the gong for luncheon sounded, and she was (somewhat hastily, shefancied) led downstairs. 

Lady Caroline and Mr. Adair received their visitor with great civility. Sir Philip came forward to give her a very kindly greeting. Theirbehavior was so cordial that Janetta could hardly believe that she haddoubted their liking for her. She was not experienced enough as yet tosee that all this apparent friendliness did not mean anything but theworld's way of making things pleasant all round. She accepted her host'sattentions with simple pleasure, and responded to his airy talk sobrightly that he lost no time in assuring his wife after luncheon thathis daughter's friend was really "a very nice little girl. "

After luncheon, Janetta thought at first that she was again going to bedefrauded of a talk with her friend. Margaret was taken possession of bySir Philip, and walked away with him into a conservatory to gather aflower; Mr. Adair disappeared, and Janetta was left for a few moments'conversation with Lady Caroline. Needless to remark, Lady Caroline hadplanned this little interview; she had one or two things that she wantedto say to Miss Colwyn. And she really did feel kindly towards the girl, because--after all--she was Margaret's friend, and the mother was readyto allow Margaret her own way to a very great extent. 

"Dear Miss Colwyn, " she began, "I have been so sorry that we could notsee more of you while our poor Margaret was ill. _Now_ I hope thingswill be different. "

Janetta remarked that Lady Caroline was very kind. 

"I have been thinking of a method by which I hoped to bring you togethera little more--after the holidays. Of course we are going away very soonnow--to Scotland; and we shall probably not return until October; butwhen that time comes--my dear Miss Colwyn, I am sure you will not beoffended by the question I am going to ask?"

"Oh, no, " said Janetta, hastily. 

"Are you intending to give any singing or music lessons in theneighborhood?"

"If I can get any pupils, I shall be only too glad to do so. "

"Then _will_ you begin with dear Margaret?"

"Margaret?" said Janetta, in some astonishment. "But Margaret has hadthe same teaching that I have had, exactly!"

"She needs somebody to help her. She has not your talent or yourperseverance. And she would so much enjoy singing with you. I trust thatyou will not refuse us, Miss Colwyn. "

"I shall be very glad to do anything that I can for Margaret, " saidJanetta, flushing. 

"Thank you so much. Once a week then--when we come back again. And aboutterms----"

"Oh, Lady Caroline, I shall be only too glad to sing with Margaret atany time without----"

"Without any talk about terms?" said Lady Caroline, with a charmingsmile of comprehension. "But that, my dear, I could not possiblyallow. No, we must conduct the matter on strictly business-likeprinciples, or Mr. Adair would be very much displeased with me. Supposewe say----" And she went on to suggest terms which Janetta was too muchconfused to consider very attentively, and agreed to at once. It was onlyafterwards that she discovered that they were lower than any which sheshould ever have thought of suggesting for herself, and that she shouldhave to blush for Lady Caroline's meanness in mentioning them to herfather! But at present she saw nothing amiss. 

Lady Caroline went on smoothly. "I want her to make the most of hertime, because she may not be able to study up by-and-bye. She will comeout this winter, and I shall take her to town in the spring. I do notsuppose that I shall ever have another opportunity--if, at least, shemarries as early as she seems likely to do. "

"Margaret! Marry!" ejaculated Janetta. She had scarcely thought of sucha possibility. 

"It is exceedingly probable, " said Lady Caroline, rather coldly, "thatshe will marry Sir Philip Ashley. It is a perfectly suitable alliance. "

It sounded as if she spoke of a royal marriage!

CHAPTER XI. 

JANETTA'S PROMISES. 

"But please, " Lady Caroline proceeded, "do not mention what I have saidto anyone, least of all to Margaret. She is so sensitive that I shouldnot like her to know what I have said. "

"I will not say anything, " said Janetta. 

And then Lady Caroline's desire for conversation seemed to cease. Sheproposed that they should go in search of her daughter, and Janettafollowed her to the conservatory in some trouble and perplexity of mind. It struck her that Margaret was not looking very well pleased when theyarrived--perhaps, she thought, because of their appearance--and that SirPhilip had a very lover-like air. He was bending forward a little totake a white flower from Margaret's hand, and Janetta could not help amomentary smile when she saw the expression of his face. The earnestdark eyes were full of tenderness, which possibly he did not wish toconceal. Janetta could never doubt but that he loved her "rare paleMargaret" from the very bottom of his heart. 

The two moved apart as Lady Caroline and Janetta came in. Lady Carolineadvanced to Sir Philip and walked away with him, while Margaret laid herhand on Janetta's arm and led her off to her own sitting-room. Shescarcely spoke until they were safely ensconced there together and then, with a half-pouting, mutinous expression on her softly flushed face--

"Janetta, " she began, "there is something I must tell you. "

"Yes, dear?"

"You saw Sir Philip in the conservatory?"

"Yes. "

"I can't think why he is so foolish, " said Margaret; "but actually, Janetta--he wants to marry me. "

"Am I to call him foolish for that?"

"Yes, certainly. I am too young. I want to see a little more of theworld. He is not at all the sort of man that I want to marry. "

"Why not?" said Janetta, after waiting a little while. 

"Oh, " said Margaret, with an intonation that--for her--was almostpetulant; "he is so absurdly suitable!"

"_Absurdly_ suitable, dear Margaret?"

"Yes. Everything is so neatly arranged for us. He is the right age, hehas the right income, the right views, the right character--he iseven"--said Margaret, with increasing indignation--"even the right_height_! It is absurd. I am not to have any will of my own in thematter, because it is all so beautifully suitable. I am to be disposedof like a slave!"

Here was indeed a new note of rebellion. 

"Your father and mother would never make you marry a man whom you didnot like, " said Janetta, a little doubtfully. 

"I don't know. Papa would not; but mamma!----I am afraid mamma will try. And it is very hard to do what mamma does not like. "

"But you could explain to her----"

"I have nothing to explain, " said Margaret, arching her delicate brows. "I like Sir Philip very well. I respect him very much. I think his houseand his position would suit me exceedingly well; and yet I do not wantto marry him. It is so unreasonable of me, mamma says. And I feel thatit is; and yet--what can I do?"

"There is--nobody--else?" hazarded Janetta. 

Margaret opened her lovely eyes to their fullest extent. 

"Dearest Janetta, who else could there be? Who else have I seen? I havebeen kept in the schoolroom until now--when I am to be married to thismost suitable man! Now, confess, Janetta, would you like it? Do yourpeople want to marry you to anybody?"

"No, indeed, " said Janetta, smiling. "Nobody has expressed any desirethat way. But really I don't know what to say, Margaret; because SirPhilip does seem so perfectly suitable--and you say you like him?"

"Yes, but I only like him; I don't love him. " Margaret leaned back inher chair, crossed her hands behind her golden head, and looked dreamilyat the opposite wall. "You know I think one ought to love the man onemarries--don't you think so? I have always thought of loving once andonce only--like Paul and Virginia, you know, or even Romeo andJuliet--and of giving _all_ for love! That would be beautiful!"

"Yes, it would. But it would be very hard too, " said Janetta, thinkinghow lovely Margaret looked, and what a heroine of romance--what aprincess of dreams--she would surely be some day. And she, poor, plain, brown, little Janetta! There was probably no romance in store for her atall. 

But Life holds many secrets in her hand; and perhaps it was Janetta andnot Margaret for whom a romance was yet in store. 

"Hard? Do you call it hard?" Margaret asked, with a curiously exaltedexpression, like that of a saint absorbed in mystic joys. "It would bemost easy, Janetta, to give up everything for love. "

"I don't know, " said Janetta--for once unsympathetic. "Giving upeverything means a great deal. Would you like to go away from HelmsleyCourt, for instance, and live in a dingy street with no lady'smaid--only a servant of all-work--on three hundred a year?"

"I think I could do anything for a man whom I loved, " sighed Margaret;"but I cannot feel as if I should ever care enough for Sir Philip Ashleyto do it for him. "

"What sort of a man would you prefer for a husband, then?" askedJanetta. 

"Oh, a man with a history. A man about whom there hung a melancholyinterest--a man like Rochester in 'Jane Eyre'----"

"Not a very good-tempered person, I'm afraid!"

"Oh, who cares about good temper?"

"I do, for one. Really, Margaret, you draw a picture which is just likemy cousin, Wyvis Brand. "

Janetta was sorry when she had said the words. Margaret's arms came downfrom behind her head, and her eyes were turned to her friend's face withan immediate awakening of interest. 

"Mr. Brand, of Brand Hall, you mean? I remember you told me that he wasyour cousin. So you have met him? And he is like Rochester?"

"I did not say that exactly, " said Janetta, becoming provoked withherself. "I only said that you spoke of a rather melancholy sort ofman, with a bad temper, and I thought that the description applied verywell to Mr. Brand. "

"What is he like? Dark?"

"Yes. "

"Handsome?"

"I suppose so. I do not like any face, however handsome, that isdisfigured by a scowl. "

"Oh, Janetta, how charming! Tell me some more about him; I am so muchinterested. "

"Margaret, don't be silly! Wyvis Brand is a very disagreeable man--not agood man either, I believe--and I hope you will never know him. "

"On the contrary, " said Margaret, with a new wilful light in her eyes, "I intend mamma to call. "

"Lady Caroline will be too wise. "

"Why should people not call upon the Brands? I hear the same storyeverywhere--'Oh, no, we do not intend to call. ' Is there really anythingwrong about them?"

Janetta felt some embarrassment. Had not she put nearly the samequestion to her own father the night before? But she could not tellMargaret Adair what her father had said to her. 

"If there were--and I do not know that there is--you could hardly expectme to talk about it, Margaret, " she said, with some dignity. 

Margaret's good breeding came to her aid at once. "I beg your pardon, dear Janetta. I was talking carelessly. I will say no more about theBrands. But I must remark that it was _you_ who piqued my curiosity. Otherwise there is nothing extraordinary in the fact of two young mensettling down with their mother in a country house, is there?"

"Nothing at all. "

"And I am not likely to see anything of them. But, Janetta, " saidMargaret, reverting to her own affairs, "you do not sympathize with meas I thought you would. Would not you think it wrong to marry where youdid not love? Seriously, Janetta?"

"Yes, seriously, I should, " said Janetta, her face growing graver, andher eyes lighting up. "It is a profanation of marriage to take for yourhusband a man whom you don't love with your whole heart. Oh, yes, Margaret, you are quite, quite right in that--but I am sorry too, because Sir Philip seems so nice. "

"And, Janetta, dear, you will help me, will you not?"

"Whenever I can, Margaret? But what can I do for you?"

"You can help me in many ways, Janetta. You don't know how hard it issometimes"--and Margaret's face resumed a wistful, troubled look. "Mammais so kind; but she wants me sometimes to do things that I do not like, and she is so _surprised_ when I do not wish to do them. "

"You will make her understand in time, " said Janetta, almostreverentially. Her ardent soul was thrilled with the conception of thetrue state of things as she imagined it; of Margaret's pure, sweetnature being dragged down to Lady Caroline's level of artificialworldliness. For, notwithstanding all Lady Caroline's gentleness ofmanner, Janetta was beginning to find her out. She began to see thatthis extreme softness and suavity covered a very persistent will, andthat it was Lady Caroline who ruled the house and the family with aniron hand in a velvet glove. 

"I am afraid not, " said Margaret, submissively. "She is so much moredetermined than I am. Neither papa nor I could ever do anything againsther. And in most things I like her to manage for me. But not mymarriage!"

"No, indeed. "

"Will you stand by me, Janetta, dear?"

"Always, Margaret. "

"You will always be my friend?"

"Always dear. "

"You make me feel strong when you say 'always' so earnestly, Janetta. "

"Because I believe, " said Janetta, quickly, "that friendship is asstrong a tie as any in the world. I don't think it ought to be any lessbinding than the tie between sisters, between parents and child, even"--and her voice dropped a little--"even between husband and wife. Ihave heard it suggested that there should be a ceremony--a sort ofform--for the making of a friendship as there is for other relations inlife; a vow of truth and fidelity which two friends could promise toobserve. Don't you think that it would be rather a useless thing, evenif the thought is a pretty one? Because we make and keep or break ourvows in our own heart, and no promise would bind us more than our ownhearts can do. "

"I hope yours binds you to me, Janetta?" said Margaret, half playfully, half sadly. 

"It does, indeed. "

And then the two girls kissed each other after the manner of impulsiveand affectionate girls, and Margaret wiped away a tear that had gatheredin the corner of her eye. Her face soon became as tranquil as ever; butJanetta's brow remained grave, her lips firmly pressed together longafter Margaret seemed to have forgotten what had been said. 

Things went deeper with Janetta than with Margaret. Girlish andunpractical as some of their speeches may appear, they were spoken orlistened to by Janetta with the utmost seriousness. She was not of anature to take things lightly. And during the pause that followed theconversation about friendship, she was mentally registering a veryserious and earnest resolution, worthy indeed of being ranked as thepromise or the vow of which she spoke, that she would always remainMargaret's true and faithful friend, in spite of all the chances andchanges of this transitory world. A youthful foolish thing to do, perhaps; but the world is so constituted that the things done or said byvery young and even very foolish persons sometimes dominate the wholelives of much older and wiser persons. And more came out of that silentvow of Janetta's than even she anticipated. 

The rest of the day was very delightful to her. She and Margaret wereleft almost entirely to themselves, and they formed a dozen plans forthe winter when Margaret should be back again and could resume hermusical studies. Janetta tried to express her natural reluctance at thethought of giving lessons to her old school-companion, but Margaretlaughed her to scorn. "As if you could not teach me?" she said. "Why, Iknow nothing about the theory of music--nothing at all. And you were farahead of anybody at Miss Polehampton's! You will soon have dozens ofpupils, Janetta. I expect all Beaminster to be flocking to you beforelong. "

She did not say, but it crossed her mind that the fact of _her_ takinglessons from Janetta would probably serve as a very good advertisement. For Miss Adair was herself fairly proficient in the worldly wisdom whichdid not at all gratify her when exhibited by her mother. 

Janetta was sent home in the gathering twilight with a delightfullysatisfied feeling. She was sure that Margaret's friendship was asfaithful as her own. And why should there not be two women as faithfulto each other in friendship as ever Damon and Pythias, David andJonathan, had been of old? "Margaret will always be her own sweet, high-souled self, " Janetta mused. "It is I who may perhaps fall awayfrom my ideal--I hope not; oh, I hope not! I hope that I shall always befaithful and true!"

There was a very tender look upon her face as she sat in Lady Caroline'svictoria, her hands clasped together upon her lap, her mouth firmlyclosed, her eyes wistful. The expression was so lovely that itbeautified the whole of her face, which was not in itself strictlyhandsome, but capable of as many changes as an April day. She was sodeeply absorbed in thought that she did not see a gentleman lift his hatto her in passing. It was Cuthbert Brand, and when the carriage hadpassed him he stood still for a moment and looked back at it. 

"I should like to paint that girl's face, " he said to himself. "There issoul in it--character--passion. Her sister is prettier by far; but Idoubt whether she is capable of so much. "

But the exalted beauty had faded away by the time Janetta reached herhome, and when she entered the house she was again the bright, sensible, energetic, and affectionate sister and daughter that they all knew andloved: no great beauty, no genius, no saint, but a generous-heartedEnglish girl, who tried to do her duty and to love her neighbor asherself. 

Her father met her in the hall. 

"Here you are, " he said. "I hardly expected you home as yet. Everybodyis out, so you must tell _me_ your experiences and adventures if youhave any to tell. "

"I have not many, " said Janetta, brightly. "Only everybody has beenvery, very kind. "

"I'm glad to hear of it; but I should be surprised if people were notkind to my Janet. "

"Nobody is half so kind as you are, " said Janetta, fondly. "Have youbeen very busy to-day, father?"

"Very, dear. And I have been to Brand Hall. "

He drew her inside his consulting-room as he spoke. It was a little roomnear the hall-door, opposite the dining-room. Janetta did not often gothere, and felt as if some rather serious communication were to be made. 

"Did you see the little boy, father?"

"Yes--and his grandmother. "

"And may I go to see Mrs. Brand?"

Mr. Colwyn paused for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was brokenby some emotion. "If you can do anything to help and comfort that poorwoman, my Janet, " he said at length, "God forbid that I should everhinder you! I will not heed what the world says in face of sorrow suchas she has known. Do what you can for her. "

"I will, father; I promise you I will. "

"It is the second promise that I have made to-day, " said Janetta, ratherthoughtfully, as she was undressing herself that night; "and each ofthem turns on the same subject--on being a friend to some one who needsfriendship. The vocation of some women is to be a loving daughter, atrue wife, or a good mother; mine, perhaps, is to be above everythingelse a true friend. I don't think my promises will be hard to keep!"

But even Janetta, in her wisdom, could not foresee what was yet to come. 

CHAPTER XII. 

JANETTA REMONSTRATES. 

It was with a beating heart that Janetta, a few days later, crossed oncemore the threshold of her cousin's house. Her father's words about Mrs. Brand had impressed her rather painfully, and she felt some shyness andconstraint at the thought of the reason which he had given her forcoming. How she was to set about helping or comforting Mrs. Brand shehad not the least idea. 

These thoughts were, however, put to flight by an un-looked-for scene, which broke upon her sight as she entered the hall. This hall had to becrossed before any of the other rooms could be reached; it waslow-ceiled, paneled in oak, and lighted by rather small windows, withstained glass in the lower panes. Like most rooms in the house it had agloomy look, which was not relieved by the square of faded Turkeycarpet in the centre of the black polished boards of the floor, or bythe half-dozen dusky portraits in oak frames which garnished the walls. When Janetta was ushered in she found this ante-room or entrance chamberoccupied by three persons and a child. These, as she speedily found, consisted of Wyvis Brand and his little boy, and two gentlemen, one ofwhom was laughing immoderately, while the other was leaning over theback of the chair and addressing little Julian. 

Janetta halted for a moment, for the old servant who had admitted herseemed to think that his work was done when he had uttered her name, andhad already retreated; and his voice being exceedingly feeble, theannouncement had passed unnoticed by the majority of the personspresent, if not by all. Wyvis Brand had perhaps seen her, for his eyeswere keen, and the shadow in which she stood was not likely to veil herfrom his sight; but he gave no sign of being conscious of her presence. He was standing with his back to the mantel-piece, his arms crossedbehind his head; there was a curious expression on his face, half-smile, half-sneer, but it was evident that he was merely looking and listening, not interfering with what was going on. 

It needed only a glance to see that little Julian was in a state ofextraordinary excitement. His face was crimson, his eyes were sparklingand yet full of tears; his legs were planted sturdily apart, and hishands were clenched. His head was drawn back, and his whole body alsoseemed as if it wanted to recoil, but placed as he was against a strongoaken table he could evidently go back no further. The gentleman on thechair was offering him something--Janetta could not at first seewhat--and the boy was vehemently resisting. 

"I won't have it! I won't have it!" he was crying, with the whole forceof his lungs. "I won't touch it! Take the nasty stuff away!"

Janetta wondered whether it were medicine he was refusing, and why hisfather did not insist upon obedience. But Wyvis Brand, still standing bythe mantel-piece, only laughed aloud. 

"No shirking! Drink it up!" said the strange gentleman, in what Janettathought a curiously unpleasant voice. "Come, come, it will make a man ofyou----"

"I don't want to be made a man of! I won't touch it! I promised I neverwould! You can't make me!"

"You must be taught not to make rash promises, " said the man, laughing. "Come now----"

But little Julian had suddenly caught sight of Janetta's figure at thedoor, and with a great bound he escaped from his tormentor and flunghimself upon her, burying his face in her dress, and clutching its foldsas if he would never let them go. 

"It's the lady! the lady!" he gasped out. "Oh, please don't let themmake me drink it! Indeed, I promised not. "

Janetta came forward a little, and at her appearance every one lookedmore or less discomfited. The gentleman on the chair she recognized as aMr. Strangways, a man of notoriously evil life, who had a house nearBeaminster, and was generally shunned by respectable people in theneighborhood. He started up, and looked at her with what she felt to bea rather insolent gaze. Wyvis Brand stood erect, and looked sullen. Theother gentleman, who was a stranger, rose from his chair in a civillermanner than his friend had done. 

Janetta put her arms round the little fellow, and turned a ratherbewildered face towards Mr. Brand. "Was it--was it--medicine?" sheasked. 

"Of a kind, " said Wyvis, with a laugh. 

"It was brandy--_eau-de-vie_--horrid hot stuff that _maman_ used todrink, " said little Julian, with a burst of angry sobs, "and I promisednot--I promised old Susan that I never would!"

"It was only a joke, " said the master of the house, coming forward now, and anxious perhaps to avert the storm threatened by a sudden indignantflash of Janetta's great dark eyes. "We were not in earnest of course. "(A smothered laugh and ejaculation from Mr. Strangways passed withoutnotice. ) "The boy does not know how to take a joke--he's a milksop. "

"I'm not! I'm not!" said little Julian, still struggling with violentsobs. "I'm not a milksop! Oh, say that I'm not! Do tell father that I'mnot--not----"

"Certainly you are not. You are a very brave little boy, and know how tokeep your word, " said Janetta, with decision. "And now you must comewith me to your grandmother; I came to see _her_ this afternoon. "

She gathered him into her strong, young arms as if she would havecarried him from the room, but he struggled manfully to keep his feet, although he still held her dress. Without a word, Wyvis strode to thedoor and held it open for the pair. Janetta forgot to thank him, or togreet him in any way. She swept past him in a transport of silent fury, flashing upon him one look of indignation which Wyvis Brand did noteasily forget. It even deafened him for a moment to the sneering commentof Mr. Strangways, which fell on Janetta's ears just as she was leavingthe room. 

"That's a regular granny's boy. Well for him if he always gets a prettygirl to help him out of a difficulty. "

Wyvis, who had stood for a moment as if transfixed by Janetta's glance, hastily shut the door. 

Janetta paused in the corridor outside. She was flushed and panting; shefelt that she could not present herself to Mrs. Brand in that state. Sheheld the boy close to her, and listened while he poured forth his storyin sobbing indistinctness. 

"Old Susan--she was their English servant--she had been always with_maman_--she had told him that brandy made people mad and wicked--and hedid not want to be mad and wicked--and he had promised Susan never todrink brandy; and the naughty gentleman wanted him to take it, and hewould not--would not--would not!----"

"Hush, dear, " said Janetta, gently. "There is no need to cry over it. You know you kept your word as a gentleman should. "

The boy's eyes flashed through his tears. "Father thinks I'm a--I'm amilksop, " he faltered. 

"Show him that you are not, " said Janetta. She saw that it was no use totalk to Julian as to a baby. "If you are always brave and manly he won'tthink so. "

"I _will_ be always brave, " said the little fellow, choking back hissobs and regarding her with the clear, fearless gaze which she hadnoticed in him from the first. And at this moment a door opened, andMrs. Brand, who had heard voices, came out in some surprise to see whatwas the matter. 

Janetta was glad to see the loving way in which the boy ran into hisgrandmother's arms, and the tenderness with which she received him. Mrs. Brand courteously invited her guest into the drawing-room, but herattention was given far more to little Julian than to Janetta, and intwo minutes he had poured the whole story into her ear. Mrs. Brand didnot say much; she sat with him in her lap looking excessively pained andgrieved; and that frozen look of pain upon her face made Janettalong--but long in vain--to comfort her. Tea was brought in by-and-bye, and then Julian was dismissed to his nursery--whither he wentreluctantly, holding his face up to be kissed by Janetta, and asking herto "come back soon. " And when he was gone, Mrs. Brand seemed unable tocontain herself any longer, and broke forth passionately. 

"A curse is on us all--I am sure of that. The boy will be ruined, and byhis father too. "

"Oh, no, " Janetta said, earnestly. "His father would not really hurthim, I feel sure. "

"You do not know my son. He is like his own father, my husband--and thatis the way my husband began with Wyvis. "

"But--he did not succeed?"

"Not altogether, because Wyvis had a strong head, and drew back in time;but his father did him harm--untold harm. His father was a bad man. I donot scruple to say so, although he was my husband; and there is a taint, a sort of wild strain, in the blood. Even the boy inherits it; I seethat too clearly. And Wyvis--Wyvis will not hold himself in for long. Heis falling amongst those racing and betting men again--the Strangwayswere always to be feared--and before long he will tread in his father'ssteps and break my heart, and bring down my grey hairs with sorrow tothe grave. "

She burst into a passion of tears as she spoke. Janetta feltinexpressibly shocked and startled. This revelation of a dark side oflife was new and appalling to her. She could hardly understand Mrs. Brand's dark anticipations. 

She took the mother's hand and held it gently between her own, utteringsome few soothing sentences as she did so. Presently the poor woman'ssobs grew quieter, and she returned the pressure of Janetta's hand. 

"Thank you, my dear, " she said at last. "You have a very kind heart. Butit is no use telling me to be comforted. I understand my sons, as Iunderstood my husband before them. They cannot help it. What is in theblood will come out. "

"Surely, " said Janetta, in a very low tone, "there is always the mightand the mercy of God to fall back upon--to help us when we cannot helpourselves. "

"Ah, my dear, if I could believe in that I should be a happier woman, "said Mrs. Brand, sorrowfully. 

Janetta stayed a little longer, and when she went the elder womanallowed herself to be kissed affectionately, and asked in a wistfultone, as Julian had done, when she would come again. 

The girl was glad to find that the hall was empty when she crossed itagain. She had no fancy for encountering the insolent looks (as shephrased it to herself) of Wyvis Brand and his hateful friends. But shehad reckoned without her host. For when she reached the gate into thehigh-road, she found Mr. Brand leaning against it with his elbowsresting on the topmost bar, and his eyes gloomily fixed on the distantlandscape. He started when he saw her, raised his hat and opened thegate with punctilious politeness. Janetta bowed her thanks, but withoutany smile; she was not at all in charity with her cousin, Wyvis Brand. 

He allowed her to pass him, but before she had gone half a dozen yards, he strode after her and caught her up. "Will you let me have a few wordswith you?" he said, rather hoarsely. 

"Certainly, Mr. Brand. " Janetta turned and faced him, still with thedisapproving gravity upon her brow. 

"Can't we walk on for a few paces?" said Wyvis, with evidentembarrassment. "I can say what I want to say better while we arewalking. Besides, they can see us from the house if we stand here. "

Privately Janetta thought that this would be no drawback, but she didnot care to make objections, so turned once more and walked on silently. 

"I want to speak to you, " said the man, presently, with something of ashamefaced air, "about the little scene you came upon thisafternoon----"

"Yes, " said Janetta. She did not know how contemptuously her lips curledas she said the word. 

"You came at an unfortunate moment, " he went on, awkwardly enough. "Iwas about to interpose; I should not have allowed Jack Strangways to gotoo far. Of course you thought that I did not care. "

"Yes, " said Janetta, straightforwardly. Wyvis bit his lip. 

"I am not quite so thoughtless of my son's welfare, " he said, in afirmer tone. "There was enough in that glass to madden a child--almostto kill him. You don't suppose I would have let him take that?"

"I don't know. You were offering no objection to it when I came in. "

"Do you doubt my word?" said Wyvis, fiercely. 

"No. I believe you, if you mean really to say that you were not going toallow your little boy to drink what Mr. Strangways offered him. "

"I do mean to say it"--in a tone of hot anger. 

Janetta was silent. 

"Have you nothing to say, Miss Colwyn?"

"I have no right to express any opinion, Mr. Brand. "

"But I wish for it!"

"I do not see why you should wish for it, " said Janetta, coldly, "especially when it may not be very agreeable to you to hear. "

"Will you kindly tell me what you mean?" The words were civil, but thetone was imperious in the extreme. 

"I mean that whether you were going to make Julian drink that poisonousstuff or not, you were inflicting a horrible torture upon him, " saidJanetta, as hotly as Wyvis himself could have spoken. "And I cannotunderstand how you could allow your own child to be treated in thatcruel way. I call it wicked to make a child suffer. "

Had she looked at her companion, she would have seen that his face hadgrown a little whiter than usual, and that he had the pinched look abouthis nostrils which--as his mother would have known--betokened rage. Butshe did not look; and, although he paused for a moment before replying, his voice was quite calm when he spoke again. 

"Torture? Suffering? These are very strong words when applied to alittle harmless teasing. "

"I do not call it harmless teasing when you are trying to make a childbreak a promise that he holds sacred. "

"A very foolish promise!"

"I am not so sure of that. "

"Do you mean to insult me?" said Wyvis, flushing to the roots of hishair. 

"Insult you? No; certainly not. I don't know why you should say so!"

"Then I need not explain, " he answered drily, though still with thatflush of annoyance on his face. "Perhaps if you think over what you haveheard of that boy's antecedents, you will know what I mean. "

It was Janetta's turn to flush now. She remembered the stories currentrespecting old Mr. Brand's drinking habits, and the rumors about Mrs. Wyvis Brand's reasons for living away from her husband. She saw that herwords had struck home in a manner which she had not intended. 

"I beg your pardon, " she said involuntarily; "I never meant--I neverthought--anything--I ought not to have spoken as I did. "

"You had much better say what you mean, " was the answer, spoken withbitter brevity. 

"Well, then, I will. " Janetta raised her eyes and looked at him bravely. "After all, I am a kinswoman of yours, Mr. Brand, and little Julian ismy cousin too; so I _have_ some sort of a right to speak. I neverthought of his antecedents, as you call them, and I do not know muchabout them; but if they were--if they had been not altogether what youwish them to be--don't you see that this very promise which you tried tomake him break was one of his best safeguards?"

"The promise made by a child is no safeguard, " said Wyvis, doggedly. 

"Not if he is forced to break it!" exclaimed Janetta, with a touch offire. 

They walked on in silence for a minute or two, and then Wyvis said, "Do you believe in a promise made by a child of that age?"

"Little Julian has made me believe in it. He was so thoroughly inearnest. Oh, Mr. Brand, do you think that it was right to force him todo a thing against his conscience in that way?"

"You use hard words for a very simple thing, Miss Colwyn, " said Wyvis, in a rather angry tone. "The boy was not forced--I had no intention ofletting him drink the brandy. "

"No, " said Janetta, indignantly. "You only let him think that he was tobe forced to do it--you only made him lose faith in you as his naturalprotector, and believe that you wished him to do what he thought wrong!And you say there was no cruelty in that?"

Wyvis Brand kept silence for some minutes. He was impressed in spite ofhimself by Janetta's fervor. 

"I suppose, " he said, at last, "that the fact is--I don't know what todo with a child. I never had any teaching or training when I was achild, and I don't know how to give it. I know I'm a sort of heathen andsavage, and the boy must grow up like me--that is all. "

"It is often said to be a heathen virtue to keep one's word, " saidJanetta, with a half smile. 

"Therefore one that I can practice, you mean? Do you always keep yourword when you give it?"

"I try to. "

"I wish I could get you to give your word to do one thing. "

"What is that?"

Wyvis spoke slowly. "You see how unfit I am to bring up a child--Iacknowledge the unfitness--and yet to send him away from us would almostbreak my mother's heart--you see that. "

"Yes. "

"Will not you sometimes look in on us and give us a word of adviceor--or--rebuke? You are a cousin, as you reminded me, and you have theright. Will you help us a little now and then?"

"You would not like it if I did. "

"Was I so very savage? I have an awful temper, I know. But I am notquite so black as I'm painted, Miss Colwyn. I do want to do the best forthat boy--if I knew how----"

"Witness this afternoon, " said Janetta, with good-humored satire. 

"Well, that shows that I _don't_ know how. Seriously, I am sorry--Ican't say more. Won't you stand our friend, Cousin Janetta?"

It was the first time he had addressed her in that way. 

"How often am I to be asked to be somebody's friend, I wonder!" saidJanetta to herself, with a touch of humor. But she answered, quitegravely, "I should like to do what I can--but I'm afraid there isnothing that I can do, especially"--with a sudden flush--"if yourfriends--the people who come to your house--are men like Mr. Strangways. "

Wyvis looked at her sideways, with a curious look upon his face. 

"You object to Mr. Strangways?"

"He is a man whom most people object to. "

"Well--if I give up Mr. Strangways and his kind----"

"Oh, _will_ you, Cousin Wyvis?"

She turned an eager, sparkling face upon him. It occurred to him, almostfor the first time, to admire her. With that light in her eye, thatcolor in her cheek, Janetta was almost beautiful. He smiled. 

"I shall be only too glad of an excuse, " he said, with more simplicityand earnestness than she had as yet distinguished in his voice. "Andthen--you will come again?"

"I will--gladly. "

"Shake hands on it after your English fashion, " he said, stopping short, and holding out his own hand. "I have been so long abroad that I almostforget the way. But it is a sign of friendliness, is it not?"

Janetta turned and laid her hand in his with a look of bright andtrustful confidence. Somehow it made Wyvis Brand feel himself unworthy. He said almost nothing more until they parted at Mr. Colwyn's door. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

SHADOWS. 

But Janetta had not much chance of keeping her promise for some time tocome. She was alarmed to find, on her return home that evening, that herfather had come in sick and shivering, with all the symptoms of aviolent cold, followed shortly by high fever. He had caught a chillduring a long drive undertaken in order to see a motherless child whohad been suddenly taken ill, and in whose case he took a great interest. The child rapidly recovered, but Mr. Colwyn's illness had a serioustermination. Pleurisy came on, and made such rapid inroads upon hisstrength that in a very few days his recovery was pronounced impossible. Gradually growing weaker and weaker, he was not able even to givecounsel or direction to his family, and could only whisper to Janetta, who was his devoted nurse, a few words about "taking care" of the rest. 

"I will always do my very best for them, father; you may be sure ofthat, " said Janetta, earnestly. The look of anxious pain in his eyesgave her the strength to speak firmly--she must set his mind at ease atany cost. 

"My faithful Janet, " she heard him whisper; and then he spoke no more. With his hand still clasped in hers he died in the early morning of achill October day, and the world of Beaminster knew him no more. 

The world seemed sadly changed for Janetta when her father had goneforth from it; and yet it was not she who made the greatestdemonstration of mourning. Mrs. Colwyn passed from one hysterical fitinto another, and Nora sobbed herself ill; but Janetta went about herduties with a calm and settled gravity, a sober tearlessness, whichcaused her stepmother to dub her cold and heartless half a dozen times aday. As a matter of fact the girl felt as if her heart were breaking, but there was no one but herself to bear any of the commonplace littleburdens of daily life which are so hard to carry in the time of trouble;and but for her thoughtful presence of mind the whole house would havedegenerated into a state of chaos. She wrote necessary letters, madearrangements for the sad offices which were all that could be renderedto her father now, interviewed the dressmaker, and ordered meals for thechildren. It was to her that the servants and tradespeople came fororders; it was she who kept her mother's room quiet, and nursed Nora, and provided necessary occupation for the awed and bewildered children. 

"You don't seem to feel it a bit, Janetta, " Mrs. Colwyn said to her onthe day before the funeral. "And I'm sure you were always your father'sfavorite. He never cared half so much for any of the children as he didfor you, and now you can't even give him a tributary tear. "

Mrs. Colwyn was fond of stilted expressions, and the thought of "atributary tear" seemed so incongruous to Janetta when compared with herown deep grief, that--much to Mrs. Colwyn's horror--she burst into anagitated little laugh, as nervous people sometimes do on the most solemnoccasions. 

"To laugh when your father is lying dead in the house!" ejaculated Mrs. Colwyn, with awful emphasis. "And you that he thought so loving anddutiful----!"

Then poor Janetta collapsed. She was worn out with watching and working, and from nervous laughter she passed to tears so heart-broken and soexhausting that Mrs. Colwyn never again dared to accuse her openly ofinsensibility. And perhaps it was a good thing for Janetta that she didbreak down in this way. The doctor who had attended her father wasgrowing very uneasy about her. He had not been deceived by her apparentcalmness. Her white face and dark-ringed eyes had told him all thatJanetta could not say. "A good thing too!" he muttered when, on asubsequent call, Tiny told him, with rather a look of consternation, that her sister "had been crying. " "A good thing too! If she had notcried she would have had a nervous fever before long, and then whatwould become of you all?"

During these dark days Janetta was inexpressibly touched by the marks ofsympathy that reached her from all sides. Country people trudged longdistances into town that they might gaze once more on the worn face ofthe man who had often assuaged not only physical but mental pain, andhad been as ready to help and comfort as to prescribe. Townsfolk sentflowers for the dead and dainties for the living; but better than alltheir gifts was the regret that they expressed for the death of a manwhom everyone liked and respected. Mr. Colwyn's practice, though neververy lucrative, had been an exceedingly large one; and only when he hadpassed away did his townsfolk seem to appreciate him at his true worth. 

In the sad absorption of mind which followed upon his death, Janettaalmost forgot her cousins, the Brands. But when the funeral took place, and she went with her brother Joe to the grave, as she insisted upondoing in spite of her stepmother's tearful remonstrances, it was a sortof relief and satisfaction to her to see that both Wyvis and CuthbertBrand were present. They were her kinsmen, after all, and it was rightfor them to be there. It made her feel momentarily stronger to know oftheir presence in the church. 

But at the grave she forgot them utterly. The beautiful and consolingwords of the Burial Service fell almost unheeded on her ear. She couldonly think of the blank that was made in her life by the absence ofthat loving voice, that tender sympathy, which had never failed heronce. "My faithful Janet!" he had called her. There was no one to callher "my faithful Janet" now. 

She was shaken by a storm of silent sobs as these thoughts came overher. She made scarcely a sound, but her figure was swayed by the tempestas if it would have fallen. Joe, the young brother, who could as yetscarcely realize the magnitude of the loss which he had sustained, glanced at her uneasily; but it was not he, but Wyvis Brand, whosuddenly made a step forward and gave her--just in time--the support ofhis strong arm. The movement checked her and recalled her to herself. Her weeping grew less violent, and although strong shudders still shookher frame, she was able to walk quietly from the grave to thecarriage-door, and to shake hands with Wyvis Brand with some attempt atcalmness of demeanor. 

He came to the house a few days after the funeral, but Janetta happenedto be out, and Mrs. Colwyn refused to see him. Possibly he thought thatsome slight lurked within this refusal, for he did not come again, and avisit at a later date from Mrs. Brand was so entirely embarrassing andunsatisfactory that Janetta could hardly wish for its repetition. Mrs. Colwyn, in the deepest of widow's weeds, with a white handkerchief inher hand, was yet not too much overcome by grief to show that sheesteemed herself far more respectable than Mrs. Brand, and could "sether down, " if necessary; while poor Mrs. Brand, evidently comprehendingthe reason of Mrs. Colwyn's bridlings and tossings, was nervous andflurried, sat on the edge of a chair, and looked--poor, helpless, elderly woman--as if she had never entered a drawing-room before. 

The only comfort Janetta had out of the visit was a moment'sconversation in the hall when Mrs. Brand took her leave. 

"My dear--my dear, " said Mrs. Brand, taking the girl's hand in hers, "Iam so sorry, and I can't do anything to comfort you. Your father wasvery kind to me when I was in great trouble, years ago. I shall neverforget his goodness. If there is anything I can ever do for you, youmust let me do it for his sake. "

Janetta put up her face and kissed the woman to whom her father had been"very kind. " It comforted her to hear of his goodness once again. Sheloved Mrs. Brand for appreciating it. 

That little sentence or two did her more good than the long letterswhich she was receiving every few days from Margaret, her chosen friend. Margaret was sincerely grieved for Janetta's loss, and said manyconsoling things in her sweet, tranquil, rather devotional way; but shehad not known Mr. Colwyn, and she could not say the words that Janetta'sheart was aching for--the words of praise and admiration of a noblyunselfish life which alone could do Janetta any good. Yes, Margaret'sletters were distinctly unsatisfactory--not from want of feeling, butfrom want of experience of life. 

Graver necessities soon arose, however, than those of consolation ingrief. Mr. Colwyn had always been a poor man, and the sum for which hehad insured his life was only sufficient to pay his debts and funeralexpenses, and to leave a very small balance at his banker's. He hadbought the house in Gwynne Street in which he lived, and there was noneed, therefore, to seek for another home; and Mrs. Colwyn had fiftypounds a year of her own, but of course it was necessary that the twoelder girls should do something for themselves. Nora obtained almostimmediately a post as under-teacher in a school not far from Beaminster, and Georgie was taken in as a sort of governess-pupil, while Joe wasoffered--chiefly out of consideration for his father's memory--aclerkship in a mercantile house in the town, and was considered to bewell provided for. Curly, one of the younger boys, obtained a nominationto a naval school in London. Thus only Mrs. Colwyn, Tiny, and "Jinks"remained at home--with Janetta. 

With Janetta!--That was the difficulty. What was Janetta to do? Shemight probably with considerable ease have obtained a position asresident governess in a family, but then she would have to be absentfrom home altogether. And of late the Colwyns had found it best todispense with the maid-servant who had hitherto done the work of thehousehold--a fact which meant that Janetta, with the help of a charityorphan of thirteen, did it nearly all herself. 

"I might send home enough money for you to keep an efficient servant, mamma, " she said one day, "if I could go away and find a goodsituation. "

It never occurred either to her or to her stepmother that any of herearnings were to belong to Janetta, or be used for her behoof. 

"It would have to be a very good situation indeed, then, " said Mrs. Colwyn, with sharpness. "I don't suppose you could get more than fiftypounds a year--if so much. And fifty pounds would not go far if we had awoman in the house to feed and pay wages to. No, you had better stay athome and get some daily teaching in the neighborhood. With yourrecommendations it ought to be easy enough for you to do so. "

"I am afraid not, " said Janetta, with a little sigh. 

"Nonsense! You could get some if you tried--if you had any energy, anyspirit: I suppose you would like to sit with your hands before you, doing nothing, while I slaved my fingers to the bone for you, " said Mrs. Colwyn, who never got up till noon, or did anything but gossip and readnovels when she was up; "but I would be ashamed to do that if I were awell-educated girl, whose father spent I don't know how much on hervoice, and expected her to make a living for herself by the time she wasone-and-twenty! I must say, Janetta, that I think it very wrong of youto be so slack in trying to earn a little money, when Nora and Georgieand Joey are all out in the world doing for themselves, and you sittinghere at home doing nothing at all. "

"I am sorry, mamma, " said Janetta, meekly. "I will try to get somethingto do at once. "

She did not think of reminding Mrs. Colwyn that she had been up sincesix o'clock that morning helping the charity orphan to scrub and scour, cooking, making beds, sewing, teaching Tiny between whiles, and scarcelygetting five minutes' rest until dinner-time. She only began to wonderhow she could manage to get all her tasks into the day if she hadlessons to give as well. "I suppose I must sit up at night and get upearlier in the morning, " she thought to herself. "It is a pity I am sucha sleepy person. But use reconciles one to all things. "

Mrs. Colwyn meanwhile went on lecturing. 

"And above all things, Janetta, remember that you ask high terms and getthe money always in advance. You are just like your poor father in theway you have about money; I never saw anyone so unpractical as he was. I'm sure half his bills are unpaid yet, and never will be paid. I hopeyou won't be like _him_, I'm sure----"

"I hope I shall be like him in every possible respect, " said Janetta, with compressed lips. She rose as she spoke and caught up the basket ofsocks that she was mending. "I don't know how you can bear to speak ofhim in that slighting manner, " she went on, almost passionately. "He wasthe best, the kindest of men, and I cannot bear to hear it. " And thenshe hurriedly left the room and went into her father's littlesurgery--as it had once been called--to relieve her overcharged heartwith a burst of weeping. It was not often that Janetta lost patience, but a word against her father was sufficient to upset her self-commandnowadays. She rested her head against the well-worn arm-chair where heused to sit, and kissed the back of it, and bedewed it with her tears. 

"Poor father! dear father!" she murmured. "Oh, if only you were here, Icould bear anything! Or if she had loved you as you deserved, I couldbear with her and work for her willingly--cheerfully. But when shespeaks against you, father dear, how _can_ I live with her? And yet hetold me to take care of her, and I said I would. He called me 'hisfaithful Janet. ' I do not want to be unfaithful, but--oh father, father, it is hard to live without you!"

The gathering shades of the wintry day began to gather round her; butJanetta, her face buried in the depths of the arm-chair, was obliviousof time. It was almost dark before little Tiny came running in withcries of terror to summon her sister to Mrs. Colwyn's help. 

"Mamma's ill--I think she's dying. Come, Janet, come, " cried the child. And Janetta hurried back to the dining-room. 

She found Mrs. Colwyn on the sofa in a state of apparent stupor. Forthis at first Janetta saw no reason, and was on the point of sending fora doctor, when her eye fell upon a black object which had rolled fromthe sofa to the ground. Janetta looked at it and stood transfixed. 

There was no need to send for a doctor. And Janetta saw at once that shecould not be spared from home. The wretched woman had found a solacefrom her woes, real and imaginary, in the brandy bottle. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

JANETTA'S FAILURE. 

The terrible certainty that Janetta had now acquired of Mrs. Colwyn'sinability to control herself decided her in the choice of an occupation. She knew that she must, if possible, earn something; but it was equallyimpossible for her to leave home entirely, or even for many hours at astretch; she was quite convinced that constant watching, and even gentlerestraint, could alone prevail in checking the tendency which herstepmother evinced. She understood now better than she had ever done whyher father's brow had been so early wrinkled and his hair grey beforeits time. Doubtless, he had discovered his wife's unfortunate tendency, and, while carefully concealing it or keeping it within bounds, hadallowed it often to weigh heavily upon his mind. Janetta realized with agreat shock that _she_ could not hope to exert the influence or theauthority of her father, that all her efforts might possibly beunavailing unless they were seconded by Mrs. Colwyn herself, and thatpublic disgrace might yet be added to the troubles and anxieties oftheir lives. 

There is something so particularly revolting in the spectacle of thiskind of degradation in a woman, that Janetta felt as if the discoverythat she had made turned her positively ill. She had much ado to behaveto the children and the servant as if nothing were amiss; she got herstepmother to bed, and kept Tiny out of the room, but the effort wasalmost more than she knew how to bear. She passed a melancholy eveningwith the children--melancholy in spite of herself, for she did her bestto be cheerful--and spent a sleepless night, rising in the morning witha bad headache and a conviction as of the worthlessness of all thingswhich she did not very often experience. 

She shrank sensitively from going to Mrs. Colwyn's room. Surely the poorwoman would be overcome with pain and shame; surely she would understandhow terrible the exposure of her disgrace had been to Janetta. But atlast Mrs. Colwyn's bell sounded sharply, and continued to ring, and thegirl was obliged to run upstairs and enter her stepmother's room. 

Mrs. Colwyn was sitting up in bed, with the bell-rope in her hand, anaggrieved expression upon her face. 

"Well, I'm sure! Nine o'clock and no breakfast ready for me! I suppose Imay wait until everybody else in the house is served first; I must say, Janetta, that you are very thoughtless of my comfort. "

Contrary to her usual custom Janetta offered no word of excuse orapology. She was too much taken aback to speak. She stood and looked ather stepmother with slightly dilated eyes, and neither moved nor spoke. 

"What _are_ you staring at?" said Mrs. Colwyn, sinking back on herpillows with a faint--very faint--touch of uneasiness in her tones. "Ifyou are in a sulky mood, Janetta, I wish you would go away, and send mybreakfast up by Ph[oe]be and Tiny. I have a wretched headache thismorning and can't be bothered. "

"What would you like?" said Janetta, with an effort. 

"Oh, anything. Some coffee and toast, perhaps. I dare say you won'tbelieve it--you are so unsympathetic--but I was frightfully ill lastnight. I don't know how I got to bed; I was quite insensible for atime--all from a narcotic that I had taken for neuralgia----"

"I'll go and get your breakfast ready, " said Janetta abruptly. "I willsend it up as soon as I can. "

She left the room, unheeding some murmured grumbling at her selfishness, and shut the door behind her. On the landing it must be confessed thatshe struck her foot angrily on the floor and clenched her hands, whilethe color flushed into her mobile, sensitive little face. There wasnothing that Janetta hated more than a lie. And her stepmother was lyingto her now. 

She sent up the breakfast tray, and did not re-enter the room for sometime. When at last she came up, Mrs. Colwyn had had the fire lighted andwas sitting beside it in a rocking-chair, with a novel on her lap. Shelooked up indolently as Janetta entered. 

"Going out?" she said, noticing that the girl was in her out-door wraps. "You are always gadding. "

"I came to speak to you before I went out, " said Janetta, patiently. "Iam going to the stationer's, and to the Beaminster _Argus_ Office. Imean to make it well known in the town that I want to give music andsinging-lessons. And, if possible, I shall give them here--at our ownhouse. "

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" said Mrs. Colwyn, shrilly. "I'll nothave a pack of children about the house playing scales and singing theirDo, Re, Mi, till my head is fit to split. You'll remember, Miss, thatthis is _my_ house, and that you are living on _my_ money, and behaveyourself. "

"Mamma, " said Janetta, steadily, advancing a step nearer, and turning ashade paler than she had been before, "please think what you are saying. I am willing to work as hard as I can, and earn as much as I can. But Idare not go away from home--at any rate for long--unless I can feel surethat--that what happened last night--will not occur again. "

"What happened!--what happened last night?--I don't know what you mean. "

"Don't say that, mamma: you know--you know quite well. And think what agrief it would have been to dear father--what a disgrace it will be toJoe and Nora and the little ones and all of us--if it ever became known!Think of yourself, and the shame and the sin of it!"

"I've not the least notion what you are talking about, Janetta, and Ibeg that you will not address me in that way, " said Mrs. Colwyn, with anattempt at dignity. "It is very undutiful indeed, and I hope that Ishall hear no more of it. "

"I'll never speak of it again, mamma, unless you make it necessary. AllI mean is that you must understand--I cannot feel safe now--I must be athome as much as possible to see that Tiny is safe, and that everythingis going on well. You must please let me advertise for pupils in our ownhouse. "

Mrs. Colwyn burst into tears. "Oh, well, have your own way! I knew thatyou would tyrannize, you always do whenever you get the chance, and veryfoolish I have been to give you the opportunity. To speak in that way toyour father's wife--and all because she had to take a little somethingfor her nerves, and because of her neuralgia! But I am nobody now:nobody, even in my own house, where I'm sure I ought to be mistress ifanybody is!"

Janetta could do or say nothing more. She gave her stepmother a dose ofsal volatile, and went away. She had already searched every room andevery cupboard in the house, except in Mrs. Colwyn's own domain, and hadput every bottle that she could find under lock and key; but she leftthe house with a feeling of terrible insecurity upon her, as if theearth might open at any moment beneath her feet. 

She put advertisements in the local papers and left notices at some ofthe Beaminster shops, and, when these attempts produced no results, shecalled systematically on all the people she knew, and did her best--verymuch against the grain--to ask for pupils. Thanks to her perseveranceshe soon got three or four children as music pupils, although at a verylow rate of remuneration. Also, she gave two singing lessons weekly tothe daughter of the grocer with whom the Colwyns dealt. But these werenot paid for in money, but in kind. And then for a time she got no morepupils at all. 

Janetta was somewhat puzzled by her failure. She had fully expected tosucceed as a teacher in Beaminster. "When the Adairs come back it willbe better, " she said, hopefully, to herself. "They have not written fora long time, but I am sure that they will come home soon. PerhapsMargaret is going to be married and will not want any singing lessons. But I should think that they would recommend me: I should think that Imight refer to Lady Caroline, and surely people would think more of myabilities then. "

But it was not confidence in her abilities that was lacking so much asconfidence in her amiability and discretion, she soon found. She calledone day at the house of a schoolmistress, who was said to wantassistance in the musical line, and was received with a stiffness whichdid not encourage her to make much of her qualifications. 

"The fact is, Miss Colwyn, " said the preceptress at length, "I haveheard of you from Miss Polehampton. "

Janetta was on her feet in a moment. "I know very well what that means, "she said, rather defiantly. 

"Exactly. I see that Miss Polehampton's opinion of you is justifiable. You will excuse my mentioning to you, as it is all for your own good, Miss Colwyn, that Miss Polehampton found in you some little weakness oftemper, some want of the submissiveness and good sense which ought tocharacterize an under-teacher's demeanor. I have great confidence inMiss Polehampton's opinion. "

"The circumstances under which I left Miss Polehampton's could be easilyexplained if you would allow me to refer you to Lady Caroline Adair, "said Janetta, with mingled spirit and dignity. 

"Lady Caroline Adair? Oh, yes, I have heard all about that, " said theschoolmistress, in a tone of depreciation. "I do not need to hear anyother version of the story. You must excuse my remarking, Miss Colwyn, that temper and sense are qualities as valuable in music-teaching as inany other; and that your dismissal from Miss Polehampton's will, in myopinion, be very much against you, in a place where Miss Polehampton'sschool is so well known, and she herself is so much respected. "

"I am sorry to have troubled you, " said Janetta, not withoutstateliness, although her lips trembled a little as she spoke. "I willwish you good-morning. "

The schoolmistress bowed solemnly, and allowed the girl to depart. Janetta hastened out of the house--glad to get away before the tearsthat had gathered in her eyes could fall. 

At an ordinary time she would have been equally careful that they didnot fall when she was in the street; but on this occasion, dazed, wounded, and tormented by an anxiety about the future, which wasbeginning to take the spring out of her youth, she moved along theside-walk with perfect unconsciousness that her eyes were brimming over, and that two great tears were already on her cheeks. 

It was a quiet road, and there was little likelihood of encountering anyone whom she knew. Therefore Janetta was utterly abashed when agentleman, who had met her, took off his hat, glanced at her curiously, and then turned back as if by a sudden impulse, and addressed her byname. 

"Miss Colwyn, I think?"

She looked up at him through a blinding haze of tears, and recognizedthe tall, spare figure, the fine sensitive face, the kind, dark eyes andintellectual forehead. The coal-black beard and moustache nearly hidhis mouth, but Janetta felt instinctively that this tell-tale featurewould not belie the promise of the others. 

"Sir Philip Ashley, " she murmured, in her surprise. 

"I beg your pardon, " he said, with the courtesy that she so wellremembered; "I stopped you on impulse, I fear, because I felt a greatdesire to express to you my deep sympathy with you in your loss. It mayseem impertinent for me to speak, but I knew your father and respectedand trusted him. We had some correspondence about sanitary matters, andI was greatly relying on his help in certain reforms that I wish toinstitute in Beaminster. He is a great loss to us all. "

"Thank you, " Janetta said unsteadily. 

"Will you let me ask whether there is anything in which I can help youjust now. "

"Oh, no, nothing, thank you. " She had brushed away the involuntary tear, and smiled bravely as she replied. "I did not think that I should meetanybody: it was simply that I was disappointed about--about--somelessons that I hoped to get. Quite a _little_ disappointment, you see. "

"Was it a little disappointment? Do you want to give lessons--singinglessons?"

"Yes; but nobody will have me to teach them, " said Janetta, laughingnervously. 

Sir Philip looked back at the house which they had just passed. "That isMiss Morrison's school: you came out of it, did you not? Does she notneed your help?"

"I do not suit her. "

"Why? Did she try your voice?"

"Oh, no. It was for other reasons. She was prejudiced against me, " saidJanetta, with a little gulp. 

"Prejudiced? But why?--may I ask?"

"Oh, she had heard something she did not like. It does not matter: Ishall get other pupils by-and-bye. "

"Is it important to you to have pupils?" Sir Philip asked, as seriouslyand anxiously as if the fate of the empire depended on his reply. 

"Oh, most important. " Janetta's face and voice were more pathetic thanshe knew. Sir Philip was silent for a moment. 

"I have heard you sing, " he said at length, in his grave, earnest way. "I am sure that I should have no hesitation in recommending you--if myrecommendation were of any use. My mother may perhaps hear of somebodywho wants lessons, if you will allow me to mention the matter to her. "

"I shall be very much obliged to you, " said Janetta, feeling gratefuland yet a little startled--it did not seem natural to her in her sweethumility that Sir Philip and his mother should interest themselves inher welfare. "Oh, _very_ much obliged. "

Sir Philip raised his hat and smiled down kindly upon her as he saidgood-bye. He had been interested from the very first in Margaret'sfriend. And he had always been vaguely conscious that Margaret'sfriendship was not likely to produce any very desirable results. 

Janetta went on her way, feeling for the moment a little less desolatethan she had felt before. Sir Philip turned homewards to seek hismother, who was a woman of whom many people stood in awe, but whosekindness of heart was never known to fail. To her Sir Philip at oncepoured out his story with the directness and Quixotic ardor which someof his friends found incomprehensible, not to say absurd. But LadyAshley never thought so. 

She smiled very kindly as her son finished his little tale. 

"She is really a good singer, you say? Mr. Colwyn's daughter. I haveseen him once or twice. "

"He was a good fellow. "

"Yes, I believe so. Miss Morrison's school, did you mention? Why, MabelHartley is there. " Mabel Hartley was a distant cousin of the Ashleys. "Iwill call to-morrow, Philip, and find out what the objection is to MissColwyn. If it can be removed I don't see why she should not teach Mabel, who, I remember, has a voice. "

Lady Ashley carried out her intention, and announced the result to herson the following evening. 

"I have not succeeded, dear. Miss Morrison has been prejudiced by somereport from Miss Polehampton, with whom Miss Colwyn and Margaret Adairwere at school. She said that the two girls were expelled together. "

Sir Philip was silent for a minute or two. His brows contracted. "I wasafraid, " he said, "that Miss Adair's championship of her friend had notbeen conducted in the wisest possible manner. She has done Miss Colwynconsiderable harm. "

Lady Ashley glanced at him inquiringly. She was particularly anxiousthat he should marry Margaret Adair. 

"Is Lady Caroline at home?" her son asked, after another and a longerpause. 

"Yes. She came home yesterday--with dear Margaret. I am sure, Philip, that Margaret does not know it if she has done harm. "

"I don't suppose she does, mother. I am sure she would not willinglyinjure any one. But I think that she ought to know the circumstances ofthe case. "

And then he opened a book and began to read. 

Lady Ashley never remonstrated. But she raised her eyebrows a littleover this expression of Sir Philip's opinion. If he were going to try totutor Margaret Adair, whose slightest wish had never yet knowncontradiction, she thought it probable that the much-wished for marriagewould never take place at all. 

CHAPTER XV. 

A BONE OF CONTENTION. 

Poor Janetta, plodding away at her music lessons and doing the householdwork of her family, never guessed that she was about to become a bone ofcontention. But such she was fated to be, and that between persons noless distinguished than Lady Caroline Adair and Sir Philip Ashley--notto speak of Sir Philip and Margaret!

Two days after Janetta's unexpected meeting with Sir Philip, thatgentleman betook himself to Helmsley Court in a somewhat warm andindignant mood. He had seen a good deal of Margaret during the autumnmonths. They had been members of the same house-party in more than onegreat Scottish mansion: they had boated together, fished together, driven and ridden and walked together, until more than one of LadyCaroline's acquaintances had asked, with a covert smile, "how soon shemight be allowed to congratulate".... The sentence was never quitefinished, and Lady Caroline never made any very direct reply. Margaretwas too young to think of these things, she said. But other people werevery ready to think of them for her. 

The acquaintance had therefore progressed a long way since the day ofMargaret's return from school. And yet it had not gone quite so far asonlookers surmised, or as Lady Caroline wished. Sir Philip was mostfriendly, most attentive, but he was also somewhat absurdly unconsciousof remark. His character had a simplicity which occasionally set peoplewondering. He was perfectly frank and manly: he spoke without_arri�re-pens�e_, he meant what he said, and was ready to believe thatother people meant it too. He had a pleasant and courteous manner insociety, and liked to be on friendly terms with every one he met; but atthe same time he was not at all like the ordinary society man, and hadnot the slightest idea that he differed from any such person--as indeedhe did. He had very high aims and ideals, and he took it for granted, with a really charming simplicity, that other people had similar aimsand similar (if not higher) ideals. Consequently he now and then ran hishead against a wall, and was laughed at by commonplace persons; butthose who knew him well loved him all the better for his impracticableschemes and expectations. 

But to Margaret he seemed rather like a firebrand. He took interest inthings of which she had never heard, or which she regarded with a littledelicate disdain. A steam-laundry in Beaminster, for example--what had aman like Sir Philip Ashley to do with a steam-laundry? And yet he wasestablishing one in the old city, and actually assuring people that itwould "pay. " He had been exerting himself about the drainage of theplace and the dwellings of the poor. Margaret was sorry in a vague wayfor the poor, and supposed that drainage had to be "seen to" from timeto time, but she did not want to hear anything about it. She liked thepretty little cottages in the village of Helmsley, and she did not mindbegging for a holiday for the school children (who adored her) now andthen; and she had heard with pleasure of Lady Ashley's patternalm-houses and dainty orphanage, where the old women wore red cloaks, and the children were exceedingly picturesque; but as a necessaryconsequence of her life-training, she did not want to know anythingabout disease or misery or sin. And Sir Philip could not entirely keepthese subjects out of his conversation, although he tried to be verycareful not to bring a look that he knew well--a look of shockedrepulsion and dislike--to Margaret's tranquil face. 

She welcomed him with her usual sweetness that afternoon. He thoughtthat she looked lovelier than ever. The day was cold, and she wore adark-green dress with a good deal of gold embroidery about it, whichsuited her perfectly. Lady Caroline, too, was graciousness itself. Shereceived him in her own little sitting-room--a gem of a room into whichonly her intimate friends were admitted, and made him welcome with allthe charm of manner for which she was distinguished. And to add to hervirtues, she presently found that she had letters to write, and retiredinto an adjoining library, leaving the door open between the two rooms, so that Margaret might still be considered as under her chaperonage, although conversation could be conducted without any fear of heroverhearing what was said. Lady Caroline knew so exactly what to do andwhat to leave undone!

As soon as she was gone, Sir Philip put down his tea-cup and turned withan eager movement to Margaret. 

"I have been wanting to speak to you, " he said. "I have somethingspecial--something important to say. "

"Yes?" said Margaret, sweetly. She flushed a little and looked down. Shewas not quite ignorant of what every one was expecting Sir Philip Ashleyto say. 

"Can you listen to me for a minute or two?" he said, with thegentle eagerness of manner, the restrained ardor which he wascapable--unfortunately for him--of putting into his most trivialrequests. "You are sure you will not be impatient?"

Margaret smiled. Should she accept him? she was thinking. After all, hewas very nice, in spite of his little eccentricities. And really--withhis fine features, his tall stature, his dark eyes, and coal-black hairand beard--he was an exceedingly handsome man. 

"I want you to help me, " said Sir Philip, in almost a coaxing tone. "Iwant you to carry out a design that I have formed. Nobody can do it butyou. Will you help me?"

"If I can, " said Margaret, shyly. 

"You are always good and kind, " said Sir Philip, warmly. "Margaret--mayI call you Margaret? I have known you so long. "

This seemed a little irregular, from Miss Adair's point of view. 

"I don't know whether mamma----" she began, and stopped. 

"Whether she would like it? I don't think she would mind: she suggestedit the other day, in fact. She always calls me 'Philip, ' you know:perhaps you would do the same?"

Again Margaret smiled; but there was a touch of inquiry in her eyes asshe glanced at him. She did not know very much about proposals ofmarriage, but she fancied that Sir Philip's manner of making one waspeculiar. And she had had it impressed upon her so often that he wasabout to make one that it could hardly be considered strange if hismanner somewhat bewildered her. 

"I want to speak to you, " said the young man, lowering his earnest voicea little, "about your friend, Miss Colwyn. "

Now, why did the girl flush scarlet? Why did her hand tremble a littleas she put down her cup? Philip lost the thread of the conversation fora minute or two, and simply looked at her. Then Margaret quietly tookdown a screen from the mantel-piece and began to fan herself. "It israther hot here, don't you think?" she said, serenely. "The fire makesone feel quite uncomfortable. "

"It _is_ a large one, " said Sir Philip, with conviction. "Shall I takeany of the coal off for you? No? Well, as I was saying, I wished tospeak to you about your friend, Miss Colwyn. "

"She has lost her father lately, poor thing, " said Margaret, conversationally. "She has been very unhappy. "

"Yes, and for more reasons than one. You have not seen her, I conclude, since his death?"

"No, he died in August or September, did he not? It is close uponDecember now--what a long time we have been away! Poor Janetta!--howglad she will be to see me!"

"I am sure she will. But it would be just as well for you to hearbeforehand that her father's death has brought great distress upon thefamily. I have had some talk with friends of his, and I find that heleft very little money behind. "

"How sad for them! But--they have not removed?--they are still at theirold house: I thought everything was going on as usual, " said Margaret, in a slightly puzzled tone. 

"The house belongs to them, so they might as well live in it. Two orthree of the family have got situations of some kind--one child is in acharitable institution, I believe. "

"Oh, how dreadful! Like Lady Ashley's Orphanage?" said Margaret, shrinking a little. 

"No, no; nothing of that kind--an educational establishment, to which hehas got a nomination. But the mother and the two or three children arestill at home, and I believe that their income is not more than ahundred a year. "

Sir Philip was considerably above the mark. But the mention of even ahundred a year, though not a large income, produced little impressionupon Margaret. 

"That is not very much, is it?" she said, gently. 

"Much! I should think not, " said Sir Philip, driven almost todiscourtesy by the difficulty of making her understand. "Four or fivepeople to live upon it and keep up a position! It is semi-starvation andmisery. "

"But, Sir Philip, does not Janetta give lessons? I should have thoughtshe could make a perfect fortune by her music alone. Hasn't she tried toget something to do?"

"Yes, indeed, poor girl, she has. My mother has been making inquiries, and she finds that Miss Colwyn has advertised and done everything shecould think of--with very little result. I myself met her three or fourdays ago, coming away from Miss Morrison's, with tears in her eyes. Shehad failed to get the post of music-teacher there. "

"But why had she failed? She can sing and play beautifully!"

"Ah, I wanted you to ask me that! She failed--because Miss Morrison wasa friend of Miss Polehampton's, and she had heard some garbled anddistorted account of Miss Colwyn's dismissal from that school. "

Sir Philip did not look at her as he spoke: he fancied that she would beat once struck with horror and even with shame, and he preferred toavert his eyes during the moment's silence that followed upon hisaccount of Janetta's failure to get work. But, when Margaret spoke, avery slight tone of vexation was the only discoverable trace of any suchemotion. 

"Why did not Janetta explain?"

Sir Philip's lips moved, but he said nothing. 

"That affair cannot be the reason why she has obtained so little work, of course?"

"I am afraid that to some extent it is. "

"Janetta could so easily have explained it!"

"May I ask how she could explain it? Write a letter to the local paper, or pay a series of calls to declare that she had not been to blame? Doyou think that any one would have believed her? Besides--you call heryour friend: could she exculpate herself without blaming you; and do youthink that she would do that?"

"Without blaming _me_?" repeated Margaret. She rose to her full height, letting the fan fall between her hands, and stood silently confrontinghim. "But, " she said, slowly--"I--I was not to blame. "

Sir Philip bowed. 

"You think that I was to blame?"

"I think that you acted on impulse, without much consideration for MissColwyn's future. I think that you have done her an injury--which I amsure you will be only too willing to repair. "

He began rather sternly, he ended almost tenderly--moved as he could notfail to be by the soft reproach of Margaret's eyes. 

"I cannot see that I have done her any injury at all; and I really donot know how I can repair it, " said the girl, with a cold statelinesswhich ought to have warned Sir Philip that he was in danger ofoffending. But Philip was rash and warm-hearted, and he had taken upJanetta's cause. 

"Your best way of repairing it, " he said, earnestly, "would be to callon Miss Morrison yourself and explain the matter to her, as Miss Colwyncannot possibly do--unless she is a very different person from the one Itake her for. And if that did not avail, go to Miss Polehampton andpersuade her to write a letter----"

He stopped somewhat abruptly. The look of profound astonishment onMargaret's face recalled him to a sense of limitations. "Margaret!" hesaid, pleadingly, "won't you be generous? You can afford to do thisthing for your friend!"

"Go to Miss Morrison and explain! _Persuade_ Miss Polehampton!--afterthe way she treated us! But really it is too ridiculous, Sir Philip. Youdo not know my friend, Miss Colwyn. She would be the last person to wishme to humiliate myself to Miss Polehampton!"

"I do not see that what she wishes has much to do with it, " said SirPhilip, very stiffly. "Miss Colwyn is suffering under an injustice. Iask you to repair that injustice. I really do not see how you canrefuse. "

Margaret looked as if she were about to make some mutinous reply; thenshe compressed her lips and lowered her eyes for a few seconds. 

"I will ask mamma what she thinks, " she said at last, in her usual eventones. 

"Why should you ask her?" said Sir Philip, impetuously. "Whatconsultation is needed, when I simply beg you to be your own trueself--that noble, generous self that I am sure you are! Margaret, don'tdisappoint me!"

"I didn't know, " said the girl, with proud deliberateness, "that you hadany special interest in the matter, Sir Philip. "

"I have this interest--that I love you with all my heart, Margaret, andhope that you will let me call you my wife one day. It is this love, this hope, which makes me long to think of you as perfect--always nobleand self-sacrificing and just! Margaret, you will not forbid me tohope?"

He had chosen a bad time for his declaration of love. He saw this, andhis accent grew more and more supplicating, for he perceived that thelook of repulsion, which he knew and hated, was already stealing intoMargaret's lovely eyes. She stood as if turned into stone, and did notanswer a word. And it was on this scene that Lady Caroline broke at thatmoment--a scene which, at first sight, gave the mother keen pleasure, for it had all the orthodox appearance of love-making: the girl, silent, downcast, embarrassed; the man passionate and earnest, with head benttowards her fair face, and hands outstretched in entreaty. 

But poor Lady Caroline was soon to be undeceived, and her castle in theair to come tumbling down about her ears. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

SIR PHILIP'S OPINION. 

"Is anything the matter?" said Lady Caroline, suavely. 

She had been undecided for a minute as to whether she had not betterwithdraw unseen, but the distressed expression on her-daughter's facedecided her to speak. She might at least prevent Margaret from sayinganything foolish. 

Sir Philip drew back a little. Margaret went--almost hurriedly--up toher mother, and put her hand into Lady Caroline's. 

"Will you tell him? will you explain to him, please?" she said. "I donot want to hear any more: I would rather not. We could never understandeach other, and I should be very unhappy. "

Sir Philip made an eager gesture, but Lady Caroline silenced him by anentreating glance and then looked straight into her daughter's eyes. Their limpid hazel depths were troubled now: tears were evidently verynear, and Lady Caroline detested tears. 

"My darling child, " she said, "you must not agitate yourself. You shallhear nothing that you do not want to hear. Sir Philip would never sayanything that would pain you. "

"I have asked her to be my wife, " said Sir Philip, very quietly, "and Ihope that she will not refuse to hear me say that, at least. "

"But that was not all, " said Margaret, suddenly turning on him hergrieving eyes--eyes that always looked so much more grieved than theirowner felt--and her flushing, quivering face: "You told me first that Iwas wrong--selfish and unjust; and you want me to humiliate myself--tosay that it was my fault----"

"My dearest Margaret!" exclaimed Lady Caroline, in amaze, "what can youmean? Philip, are we dreaming?--Darling child, come with me to yourroom: you had better lie down for a little time while I talk to SirPhilip. Excuse me a moment, Sir Philip--I will come back. "

Margaret allowed herself to be led from the room. This outbreak ofemotion was almost unprecedented in her history; but then Sir Philip hadattacked her on her tenderest side--that of her personal dignity. Margaret Adair found it very hard to believe that she was as others are, and not made of a different clay from them. 

Some little time elapsed before Lady Caroline's return. She had madeMargaret lie down, administered sal volatile, covered her with aneiderdown quilt, and seen her maid bathing the girl's forehead with eaude Cologne and water before she came back again. And all this took time. She apologized very prettily for her delay, but Sir Philip did not seemto heed her excuses: he was standing beside the fire, meditativelytugging at his black beard, and Lady Caroline had some difficulty inthinking that she could read the expression of his face. 

"I do not quite understand all this, " she said, with her most amiableexpression of countenance, as she seated herself on the other side ofthe soft white hearthrug. "Margaret mentioned Miss Colwyn's name: I amquite at a loss to imagine how Miss Colwyn comes to be mixed up in thematter. "

"I am very sorry, " said Sir Philip, ruefully. "I never thought thatthere would be any difficulty. I seem to have offended Margaret mostthoroughly. "

Lady Caroline smiled. "Girls soon forget a man's offences, " she said, consolingly. "What did you say?"

And then Sir Philip, with some hesitation, told the story of his pleafor Janetta Colwyn. 

The smile was frozen on Lady Caroline's lips. She sat up straight, andstared at her visitor. When he had quite ended his explanation, shesaid, as icily as she knew how to speak--

"And you asked my daughter to justify Miss Colwyn at the cost of her ownfeelings--I might almost say, of her own social standing in theneighborhood!----"

"Isn't that a little too strong, Lady Caroline? Your daughter's socialstanding would not be touched in the least by an act of common justice. No one who heard of it but would honor her for exculpating her friend!"

"Exculpating! My dear Philip, you are too Quixotic! Nobody accuseseither of the girls of anything but a little thoughtlessness anddefiance of authority----"

"Exactly, " said Philip, with some heat, "and therefore while the reportof it will not injure your daughter, it may do irreparable harm to agirl who has her own way to make in the world. The gossip of Beaminstertea-tables is not to be despised. The old ladies of Beaminster are allturning their backs on Miss Colwyn, because common report declares herto have been expelled--or dismissed--in disgrace from Miss Polehampton'sschool. The fact that nobody knows exactly _why_ she was dismissed addsweight to the injury. It is so easy to say, 'They don't tell why she wassent away--something too dreadful to be talked about, ' and so on. Mymother tells me that there is a general feeling abroad that Miss Colwynis not a person to be trusted with young girls. Now that is a terribleslur upon an innocent woman who has to earn her own living, LadyCaroline; and I really must beg that you and Margaret will setyourselves to remove it. "

"Really, Philip! Quite a tirade!"

Lady Caroline laughed delicately as she spoke, and passed a lacehandkerchief across her lips as though to brush away a smile. She was alittle puzzled and rather vexed, but she did not wish to show her trueopinion of Sir Philip and his views. 

"And so, " she went on, "you said all this to my poor child; harrowed herfeelings and wounded her self-respect, and insisted on it that sheshould go round Beaminster explaining that it was her fault and notJanetta Colwyn's that Miss Polehampton acted in so absurdly arbitrary amanner!"

"You choose to put it in that way, " said Sir Philip, drawing down hisbrows, "and I cannot very well contradict you; but I venture to think, Lady Caroline, that you know quite well what I mean. "

"I should be glad if you would put it into plain words. You wishMargaret--to do--what?"

"I very much wish that she would go to Miss Morrison and explain to herwhy Miss Colwyn left school. There is no need that she should take anyblame upon herself. You must confess that it was she who took the lawinto her own hands, Lady Caroline; Miss Colwyn was perfectly ready tosubmit. And I think that as this occurrence has been made the ground forrefusing to give Miss Colwyn the work that she urgently needs, it isMiss Adair's plain duty to try at least to set the matter right. I donot see why she should refuse. "

"You have no pride yourself, I suppose? Do you suppose that Mr. Adairwould allow it?"

"Then you might do it for her, Lady Caroline, " said Sir Philip, turninground on her, with his winning, persuasive manner, of which even at thatmoment she felt the charm. "It would be so easy for you to explain itquietly to Miss Morrison, and ask her to give that poor girl a place inher school! Who else could do it better? If Margaret is not--not quitestrong enough for the task, then will you not help us out of ourdifficulty, and do it for her?"

"Certainly not, Sir Philip. Your request seems to me exceedinglyunreasonable. I do not in the least believe that Miss Morrison hasrefused to take her for that reason only. There is some other, you maydepend upon it. I shall not interfere. "

"You could at least give her a strong recommendation. "

"I know nothing about the girl except that she sings fairly well, " saidLady Caroline, in a hard, determined voice. "I do not want to knowanything about her--she has done nothing but make mischief and causecontention ever since I heard her name. I begin to agree with MissPolehampton--it was a most unsuitable friendship. "

"It has been a disastrous friendship for Miss Colwyn, I fear. You mustexcuse me if I say that it is hardly generous--after having been themeans of the loss of her first situation--to refuse to help her inobtaining another. "

"I think I am the best judge of that. If you mean to insinuate, SirPhilip, that your proposal for Margaret's hand which we have talked overbefore, hinges on her compliance with your wishes in this instance, youhad better withdraw it at once. "

"You must be aware that I have no such meaning, " said Sir Philip, in atone that showed him to be much wounded. 

"I am glad--for your own sake--to hear it. Neither Mr. Adair nor myselfcould permit Margaret to lower herself by going to explain her pastconduct to a second-rate Beaminster schoolmistress. "

Sir Philip stood silent, downcast, his eyebrows contracting over hiseyes until--as Lady Caroline afterwards expressed it--he positivelyscowled. 

"You disagree with me, I presume?" she inquired, with some irony in hertone. 

"Yes, Lady Caroline, I do disagree with you. I thought that you--andMargaret--would be more generous towards a fatherless girl. "

"You must excuse me if I say that your interest in 'a fatherless girl'is somewhat out of place, Sir Philip. You are a young man, and it is notquite seemly for you to make such a point of befriending a little musicgoverness. I am sorry to have to speak so plainly, but I must say that Ido not think such interest befits a gentleman, and especially one whohas been asking us for our daughter. "

"My love for Margaret, " said Sir Philip, gravely, "cannot blind me toother duties. "

"There are duties in the world, " rejoined Lady Caroline, "between whichwe sometimes have to choose. It seems to me that you may have to choosebetween your love for Margaret and your 'interest' in Janetta Colwyn. "

"I hardly think, " said her guest, "that I deserve this language, LadyCaroline. However, since these are your opinions, I can but say that Ideeply regret them--and take my leave. If you or Miss Adair should wishto recall me you have but to send me a word--a line: I shall be ready tocome. Your daughter knows my love for her. I am not yet disposed to giveup all hope of a recall. "

And then he took his leave with a manner of punctilious politenesswhich, oddly enough, made Lady Caroline feel herself in the wrong morethan anything that he had said. She was more ruffled than Margaret hadever seen her when at last she sought the girl's room shortly before theringing of the dressing-bell. 

She found Margaret looking pale and a little frightened, but perfectlycomposed. She came up to Lady Caroline and put her arms round hermother's neck with a caressing movement. 

"Dear mamma, " she said, "I am afraid I was not quite polite to SirPhilip. "

"I think, dear, that Sir Philip was scarcely polite to you. I am not atall satisfied with his conduct. He is quite unreasonable. "

Margaret slowly withdrew her arms from her mother's neck, looked at heruneasily, and looked down again. 

"He thinks that I ought to do something for Janetta--to make peoplethink well of her, I suppose. "

"He is utterly preposterous, " said Lady Caroline. 

"Do you think I ought to go to Miss Morrison about Janetta, mamma?"

"No, indeed, my dearest. Your father would never hear of it. "

"I should like to do all that I could for her. I am very fond of her, indeed I am, although Sir Philip thinks me so selfish. " And Margaret'ssoft hazel eyes filled with tears, which fell gently over her delicatecheeks without distorting her features in the least. 

"Don't cry, my darling; please don't cry, " said her mother, anxiously. "Your eyelids will be red all the evening, and papa will ask what is thematter. Have you any rose water?--Of course you will do all you can foryour poor little friend: you are only too fond of her--toogenerous!--Sir Philip does not understand you as I do; he hasdisappointed me very much this afternoon. "

"He was very unkind, " said Margaret, with the faintest possible touch ofresentment in her soft tones. 

"Think no more of him for the present, dear. I dare say he will be hereto-morrow, penitent and abashed. There goes the dressing-bell. Are youready for Markham now? Put on your pink dress. "

She spoke pleasantly, and even playfully, but she gave Margaret asearching glance, as though she would have read the girl's heart if shecould. But she was reassured. Margaret was smiling now; she was as calmas ever; she had brushed the tears from her eyes with a filmyhandkerchief and looked perfectly serene. "I am rather glad that youhave found Sir Philip unreasonable, mamma, " she said, placidly; "Ialways thought so, but you did not quite agree with me. "

"The child's fancy is untouched, " said Lady Caroline to herself as shewent back to her room, "and I am thankful for it. She is quite capableof a little romantic folly if nobody is near to put some common-senseinto her sometimes. And Philip Ashley has no common-sense at all. "

She was glad to see that at dinner Margaret's serenity was stillunruffled. When Mr. Adair grumbled at the absence of Sir Philip, whom hehad expected to see that evening, the girl only looked down at her platewithout a blush or a word of explanation. Lady Caroline drew herdaughter's arm through her own as they left the dining-room with afeeling that she was worthy of the race to which she belonged. 

But she was not in the least prepared for the first remark made byMargaret when they reached the drawing-room. 

"Mamma, I must go to see Janetta to-morrow. "

"Indeed, dear? And why?"

"To find out whether the things that Sir Philip has been saying aretrue. "

"No, Margaret, dear, you really must not do that, darling. It would notbe wise. What Sir Philip says does not matter to us. I cannot have youinterfering with Miss Colwyn's concerns in that way. "

Margaret was very docile. She only said, after a moment's pause--

"May I not ask her to give me the singing lessons we arranged for me totake?"

Lady Caroline considered for a minute or two and then said--

"Yes, dear, you may ask her about the singing lessons. In doing that youwill be benefiting her, and giving her a practical recommendation thatought to be very valuable to her. "

"Shall I drive over to-morrow?"

"No, write and ask her to come here to lunch. Then we can arrange abouthours. I have not the least objection to your taking lessons fromher ... Especially as they are so cheap, " said Lady Caroline to herself, "but I do not wish you to talk to her about Miss Polehampton's conduct. There is no use in such discussions. "

"No, mamma, " said the dutiful Margaret. 

"And Sir Philip will be pleased to hear that his favorite is beingbenefited, " said her mother, with a slightly sarcastic smile. 

Margaret held up her stately head. "It matters very little to me whetherSir Philip is pleased or not, " she said with a somewhat lofty accent, not often heard from the gentle lips of Margaret Adair. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

MARGARET'S FRIENDSHIP. 

Margaret wrote her note to Janetta, and put her friend into something ofa dilemma. She always felt it difficult to leave Mrs. Colwyn alone formany hours at a time. She had done her best to prevent her fromobtaining stimulants, but it was no easy thing to make it impossible;and it was always dangerous to remove a restraining influence. At lastshe induced an old friend, a Mrs. Maitland, to spend the day with herstepmother, while she went to Helmsley Court; and having thus providedagainst emergencies, she was prepared to spend some pleasant hours withMargaret. 

The day was cold and frosty, with a blue sky overhead, and the groundhard as iron underfoot. A carriage was sent for Janetta, and the girlwas almost sorry that she had to be driven to her destination, for abrisk walk would have been more to her taste on this brilliant Decemberday. But she was of course bound to make use of the carriage that camefor her, and so she drove off in state, while Tiny and Jinks dancedwildly on the doorstep and waved their hands to her in hilariousfarewells. Mrs. Colwyn was secluding herself upstairs in highindignation at Janetta's presumption--first, in going to Helmsley Courtat all, and, secondly, in having invited Mrs. Maitland to come todinner--but Janetta did her best to forget the vexations and anxietiesof the day, and to prepare herself as best she might for the sereneatmosphere of Helmsley Court. 

It was more than three months since her father's death, and she had notseen Margaret for what seemed to her like a century. In those threemonths she had had some new and sad experiences, and she almost wonderedwhether Margaret would not think her changed beyond knowledge by thetroubles of the past. But in this fancy Janetta only proved herselfyoung at heart; in later years she found, as we all find, that the outerman is little changed by the most terrible and heart-rending calamities. It was almost a surprise to Janetta that Margaret did not remark on heraltered appearance. But Margaret saw nothing very different in herfriend. Her black mourning garments certainly made her look pale, butMargaret was not a sufficiently keen observer to note the additionaldepth of expression in Janetta's dark eyes, or the slightly patheticlook given to her features by the thinning of her cheeks and the droopof her finely curved mouth. Lady Caroline, however, noticed all thesepoints, and was quite aware that these changes, slight though they were, gave force and refinement to the girl's face. Secretly, she wasembittered against Janetta, and this new charm of hers only added to herdislike. But, outwardly, Lady Caroline was sweetness and sympathypersonified. 

"You poor darling, " said Margaret, when she stood with Janetta in MissAdair's own little sitting-room, awaiting the sound of the luncheonbell; "what you must have suffered! I have felt for you, Janetta--oh, more than I can tell! You are quite pale, dear; I do hope you are betterand stronger than you were?"

"I am quite well, thank you, " said Janetta. 

"But you must have had so much to bear! If I lost my friends--my dearfather or mother--I know I should be broken-hearted. You are so braveand good, Janetta, dear. "

"I don't feel so, " said Janetta, sorrowfully. "I wish I did. It would berather a comfort sometimes. "

"You have a great deal of trouble and care, I am afraid, " said Margaret, softly. She was resolved to be staunch to her friend, although SirPhilip had been so disagreeable about Janetta. She was going to show himthat she could take her own way of showing friendship. 

"There have been a good many changes in the family, and changes alwaysbring anxieties with them, " said Janetta, firmly. She had particularlyresolved that she would not complain of her troubles to the Adairs; itwould seem like asking them to help her--"sponging upon them, " as shedisdainfully thought. Janetta had a very fair share of sturdy pride andindependence with which to make her way through the world. 

Margaret would have continued the subject, but at that moment the bellrang, and Janetta was glad to go downstairs. 

It was curious, as she remembered afterwards, to find that the splendorsof the house, the elaboration of service, now produced not the slightestimpression upon her. She had grown out of her former girlish feeling ofinsignificance in the presence of powdered footmen and fashionableladies' maids. The choice flowers, the silver plate, the daintyfurniture and hangings, which had once excited and almost awed herimagination, were perceived by her with comparative indifference. Shewas a woman, not a child, and these things were but as toys to one whohad stood so lately face to face with the larger issues of life anddeath. Mr. Adair and Lady Caroline talked pleasantly to her, utterlyignoring, of course, any change in her circumstances or recent source oftrouble, and Janetta did her best to respond. It was by way of trying tointroduce a pleasant subject of conversation that she said at length toher hostess--

"I met Sir Philip Ashley the other day. He is so kind as to say that hewill try to find me some pupils. "

"Indeed, " said Lady Caroline, drily. She did not approve of theintroduction of Sir Philip's name or of Janetta's professionalemployment. Margaret flushed a little, and turned aside to give hermother's poodle a sweet biscuit. 

"Sir Philip is a kind, good fellow, " said Mr. Adair, who had not beenadmitted behind the scenes; "and I am sure that he will do what he can. Do you know his mother yet? No? Ah, she's like an antique chatelaine:one of the stateliest, handsomest old ladies of the day. Is she not, Caroline?"

"She is very handsome, " said Lady Caroline, quietly, "but difficult toget on with. She is the proudest woman I ever knew. "

The servants were out of the room, or she would not have said so much. But it was just as well to let this presuming girl know what she mightexpect from Sir Philip's mother if she had any designs upon him. Unfortunately her intended warning fell unheeded upon Janetta's ear. 

"Is she, indeed?" said Mr. Adair, with interest. He was the greatestgossip of the neighborhood. "She is one of the Beauchamps, and of courseshe has some pride of family. But otherwise--I never noticed much prideabout her. Now, how does it manifest itself, do you think?"

"Really, Reginald, " said Lady Caroline, with her little smile; "how canI tell you? You must surely have noticed it for yourself. With herequals she is exceedingly pleasant; but I never knew anyone who couldrepress insolence or presumption with a firmer hand. "

"What a pleasant person!" said Mr. Adair, laughing and lookingmirthfully at Margaret. "We shall have to be on our good behavior whenwe see her, shall we not, my Pearl?"

This turn of conversation seemed to Lady Caroline so unfortunate thatshe rose from the table as soon as possible, and adjourned furtherdiscussion of the Ashleys to another period. And it was after luncheonthat she found occasion to say to Janetta, in her softiest, silkiesttones--

"Perhaps it would be better, dear Miss Colwyn, if you would be so verykind as not to mention Sir Philip Ashley to Margaret unless she speaksof him to you. There is some slight misunderstanding between them, andSir Philip has not been here for a day or two; but that it will be allcleared up very shortly, I have not the slightest doubt. "

"Oh, I am sure I hope so! I am very sorry. "

"There is scarcely any occasion to be sorry; it is quite a temporaryestrangement, I am sure. "

Janetta looked at Margaret with some concern when she had an opportunityof seeing her closely and alone, but she could distinguish no shade uponthe girl's fair brow, no sadness in her even tones. Margaret talkedabout Janetta's brothers and sisters, about music, about her recentvisits, as calmly as if she had not a care in the world. It was almost asurprise to Janetta when, after a little pause, she asked with somehesitation--

"You said you saw Sir Philip Ashley the other day?"

"Yes, " answered Janetta, blushing out of sympathy, and looking away, sothat she did not see the momentary glance of keen inquiry which wasleveled at her from Margaret's hazel eyes. 

"What did he say to you, dear?" asked Miss Adair. 

"He spoke of my father--he was very kind, " said Janetta, unconsciousthat her answer sounded like a subterfuge in her friend's ears. "Heasked me if I wanted pupils; and he said that he would recommend me. "

"Oh, " said Margaret. Then, after another little pause--"I daresay youhave heard that we are not friends now?"

"Yes, " Janetta replied, not liking to say more. 

For a moment Margaret raised her beautiful eyebrows. 

"So Sir Philip had told her _already_!" she said to herself, with alittle surprise. And she was not pleased with this mark of confidence onSir Philip's part. It did not occur to her that Lady Caroline had beenJanetta's informant. 

"I refused him, " she said, quietly. "Mamma is vexed about it, but shedoes not wish to force me to marry against my will, of course. "

"Oh, but surely, Margaret, dear, you will change your mind?" saidJanetta. 

"No, indeed, " Margaret answered, slightly lifting her graceful head. "Sir Philip is not a man whom I would ever marry. "

And then she changed the subject. "See what a dear little piano I havein my sitting-room. Papa gave it to me the other day, so that I need notpractice in the drawing-room. And what about our singing lessons, Janetta? Could you begin them at once, or would you rather wait untilafter the Christmas holidays?"

Janetta reflected. "I should like to begin them at once, dear, if I canmanage it. "

"Have you so many pupils, then?" Margaret asked quickly. 

"Not so very many; but I mean--I am afraid I cannot spare time to cometo Helmsley Court to give them. Do you go to Beaminster? Would you verymuch mind coming to our house in Gwynne Street?"

"Not at all, " said Margaret, ever courteous and mindful of her friend'sfeelings. "But I must speak to mamma. It may be a little difficult tohave the horses out sometimes ... That will be the only objection, Ithink. "

But it seemed as if there were other objections. For Lady Carolinereceived the proposition very coldly. It really took her aback.. It wasone thing to have little Miss Colwyn to lunch once a week, and quiteanother to send Margaret to that shabby little house in Gywnne Street. "Who knows whether the drains are all right, and whether she may not gettyphoid fever?" said Lady Caroline to herself, with a shudder. "Thereare children in the house--they may develop measles or chicken-pox atany moment--you never know when children of that class are free frominfection. And I heard an odd report about Mrs. Colwyn's habits theother day. Oh, I think it is too great a risk. "

But when she said as much after Janetta's departure, she found Margaretfor once recalcitrant. Margaret had her own views of propriety, andthese were quite as firmly grounded as those of Lady Caroline. She hadtreated Janetta, she considered, with the greatest magnanimity, and shemeant to be magnanimous to the end. She had made the gardener cut MissColwyn a basket of his best flowers and his choicest forced fruit; shehad herself directed the housekeeper to see that some game was placedunder the coachman's box when Miss Colwyn was driven home; and she hadsent a box of French sweets to Tiny, although she had never seen thatyoung lady in her life, and had a vague objection to all Janetta'srelations. She felt, therefore, perfectly sure that she had done herduty, and she was not to be turned aside from the path of right. 

"I don't think that I shall run into any danger, mamma, " she said, quietly. "The children are to be kept out of the way, and I shall seenobody but Janetta. She said so, very particularly. I daresay shethought of these things. "

"I don't see why she should not come here. "

"No, nor I. But she says that she has so much to do. "

"Then it could not be true that she had no pupils, as she told SirPhilip, " said Lady Caroline, looking at her daughter. 

Margaret was silent for a little time. Then she said, verydeliberately--

"I am almost afraid, mamma, that Janetta is not quite straightforward. "

"That was always my own idea, " said Lady Caroline, rather eagerly. "Inever quite trusted her, darling. "

"We always used to think her so truthful and courageous, " said Margaret, with regret. "But I am afraid----You know, mamma, I asked her what SirPhilip said to her, and she did not say a single word about havingtalked to him of our leaving Miss Polehampton's. She said he had spokenof her father, and of getting pupils for her, and so on. "

"Very double-faced!" commented Lady Caroline. 

"And--mamma, she must have seen Sir Philip again, because he had toldher that we--that I--that we had quarreled a little, you know. " AndMargaret really believed that she was speaking the truth. 

"I think it is quite shocking, " said Lady Caroline. "And I really do notunderstand, dearest, why you still persist in your infatuation for her. You could drop her easily now, on the excuse that you cannot go toBeaminster so often. "

"Yes, I know I could, mamma, " said Margaret, quietly. "But if you do notmind, I would rather not do so. You see, she is really in ratherdifficult circumstances. Her father has left them badly off, I suppose, and she has not many advanced pupils in Beaminster. We always promisedthat she should give me lessons; and if we draw back now, we may bedoing her real harm; but if I take--say, a dozen lessons, we shall begiving her a recommendation, which, no doubt, will do her a great dealof good. And after that, when she is 'floated, ' we can easily drop herif we wish. But it would be hardly kind to do it just now, do youthink?"

"My darling, you are quite too sweet, " said Lady Caroline, languidly. "Come and kiss me. You shall have your way--until Easter, at any rate. "

"We should be giving Sir Philip no reason to blame us for want ofgenerosity, either, " said Margaret. 

"Exactly, my pet. "

There was again a silence, which Margaret broke at last by saying, withgentle pensiveness--

"Do you think that she will ask me to be her bridesmaid, mamma, if shemarries Sir Philip? I almost fancy that I should decline. "

"I should think that you would, " said Lady Caroline. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A NEW FRIEND. 

Margaret's presents of fruit, flowers, and game conciliated Mrs. Colwyn's good-will, and she made no objection when Janetta informed hera few days later that Miss Adair's singing lessons were about to begin. There was time for two lessons only before Christmas Day, but they wereto be continued after the first week in the New Year until Margaret wentto town. Janetta was obliged, out of sheer shame, to hide from Mrs. Colwyn the fact that Lady Caroline had tried to persuade her to lowerthe already very moderate terms of payment, on the ground that herdaughter would have to visit Gwynne Street for her lessons. 

However, the first lesson passed off well enough. Margaret brought moregifts of flowers and game, and submitted gracefully to Janetta'sinstructions. There was no time for conversation, for the carriage camepunctually when an hour had elapsed, and Margaret, as she dutifullyobserved, did not like to keep the horses waiting. She embraced Janettavery affectionately at parting, and was able to assure Lady Carolineafterwards that she had not seen any other member of the family. 

Just as Miss Adair's carriage drove away from Mrs. Colwyn's door, another--a brougham this time--was driven up. "The Colwyns must behaving a party, " said a rather censorious neighbor, who was sitting witha friend in the bow-window of the next house. "Or else they are havingvery fine pupils indeed. " "That's not a pupil, " said her companion, craning forward to get a better view of the visitor; "that's LadyAshley, Sir Philip Ashley's mother. What's she come for, I wonder?"

Janetta wondered too. 

She was greatly impressed by Lady Ashley's personality. The loftyforehead, the aquiline nose, the well-marked eyebrows, the decided chin, the fine dark eyes, all recalled Sir Philip to her mind, and she said toherself that when his hair became silvery too, the likeness between himand his mother would be more striking still. The old lady's dignifiedmanner did not daunt her as Lady Caroline's caressing tones often did. There was a sincerity, a grave gentleness in Lady Ashley's way ofspeaking which Janetta thoroughly appreciated. "Lady Ashley is a true_grande dame_, while Lady Caroline is only a fine lady, " she said toherself, when analyzing her feelings afterwards. "And I know which Ilike best. "

Lady Ashley, on her side, was pleased with Janetta's demeanor. She likedthe plainness of her dress, the quiet independence of her manner, andthe subdued fire of her great dark eyes. She opened proceedings in avery friendly way. 

"My son has interested me in your career, Miss Colwyn, " she said, "and Ihave taken the liberty of calling in order to ask what sort of teachingyou are willing to undertake. I may hear of some that will suit you. "

"You are very kind, " Janetta answered. "I was music governess at MissPolehampton's, and I think that music is my strong point; but I shouldbe quite willing to teach other things--if I could get any pupils. "

"And how is it that you do not get any pupils?"

Janetta hesitated, but a look into the old lady's benevolent faceinvited confidence. She answered steadily--

"I am afraid that my sudden departure from Miss Polehampton's school hasprejudiced some people against me. "

"And could not somebody write to Miss Polehampton and get her to giveyou a testimonial?"

"I am afraid she would refuse. "

"And that is all Margaret Adair's fault, is it not?" said Lady Ashley, shrewdly but kindly. 

She was amused to see the flush of indignation in Janetta's face. "Margaret's fault? Oh no, Lady Ashley. It was not _Margaret's_ fault anymore than mine. We were both not very--not very respectful, perhaps, butI was, if anything, much worse than Margaret. And she shared my fatewith me; she left when I did. "

"You are a staunch friend, I see. And are you friendly with her still?"

"Oh yes, " said Janetta, with enthusiasm. "She is so good--so kind--sobeautiful! She has been here to-day to have a singing lesson--perhapsyou saw her drive away just as you came up? She brought me these lovelyflowers this afternoon. "

There was a kindly look in Lady Ashley's eyes. 

"I am very glad to hear it, " she said. "And now, my dear, would you mindsinging me something? I shall be better able to speak of yourqualifications when I have heard you. "

"I shall be very pleased to sing to you, " said Janetta, and she sat downto the piano with a readiness which charmed Lady Ashley as much as thesong she sang, although she sang it delightfully. 

"That is very nice--very nice indeed, " murmured Lady Ashley. Then shedeliberated for a moment, and nodded her head once or twice. "You havebeen well taught, " she said, "and you have a very sympathetic voice. Would you mind singing at an evening party for me in the course of thewinter? You will be seen and heard; and you may get pupils in that way. "

Janetta could but falter out a word of thanks. An introduction of thissort was certainly not to be despised. 

"I will let you know when it takes place, " said Lady Ashley, "and giveyou a hint or two about the songs. Will two guineas an evening satisfyyou as you are a beginner?--for two songs, I mean? Very well, then, Ishall count upon you for my next evening party. "

She was rising to go, when the door was suddenly thrown open, and atall, untidy figure made its appearance in the aperture. The daylighthad almost faded, and the fire gave a very uncertain light--perhaps itwas for that reason that Mrs. Colwyn took no notice of Lady Ashley, andbegan to speak in a thick, broken voice. 

"It's shameful, shameful!" she said. "Visitors all afternoon--neverbrought them--t'see me--once. Singing and squalling all the time--notable to get a wink--wink o' sleep----"

"Oh, please, come away, " said Janetta, going hurriedly up to the swayingfigure in the faded dressing-gown, and trying gently to force herbackwards. "I will tell you all about it afterwards; please come awayjust now. "

"I'll not come away, " said Mrs. Colwyn, thickly. "I want somemoney--money--send Ph[oe]be for a drop o' gin----"

"I'll go, my dear Miss Colwyn, " said Lady Ashley, kindly. She wastouched by the despair in Janetta's face. "I can't do any good, I amafraid. You shall hear from me again. Don't come to the door. Shall Isend my servants to you?"

"Who's that? Who's that?" screamed the half-maddened woman, beginning tofling herself wildly out of Janetta's restraining arms. "Let me get ather, you bad girl! letting people into my house----"

"Can you manage? Do you want help?" said Lady Ashley, quickly. 

"No, no, nothing; I can manage if you will only please go, " Janettacried, in her desperation. And Lady Ashley, seeing that her departurewas really wished for, hurried from the house. And Janetta, after somewrestling and coaxing and argument, at last succeeded in putting herstepmother to bed, and then sat down and wept heartily. 

What would Lady Ashley think? And how could she now recommend pupils togo to a house where a drunken woman was liable at any moment to appearupon the scene?

As a matter of fact, this was just what Lady Ashley was saying at thatmoment to her son. 

"She is a thorough little gentlewoman, Philip, and a good musician; but, with _such_ a connection, how can I send any one to the house?"

"It was unlucky, certainly, " said Sir Philip, "but you must rememberthat you came unexpectedly. Her pupils' hours will be guarded, mostprobably, from interruption. "

"One could never be sure. I have been thinking of sending Miss Bevan toher. But suppose a _contretemps_ of this kind occurred! Poor Mary Bevanwould never get over it. "

"It is her stepmother, not her own mother, " said Sir Philip, after alittle pause. "Not that that makes it much better for her, poor littlething!"

"I assure you, Philip, it went to my heart to see that fragile girlstruggling with that big woman. I would have helped her, but sheentreated me to go, and so I came away. What else could I do?"

"Nothing, I suppose. There may be murder committed in that house anyday, if this state of things goes on. "

Lady Ashley sighed. Sir Philip walked about the room, with his hands inhis pockets and his head bent on his breast. 

"Margaret Adair had been there to-day, " said his mother, watching him. 

Sir Philip looked up. 

"Why?" he said, keenly. 

"To take a singing lesson. She had brought flowers. Miss Colwyn spoke ofher very warmly, and when I touched on the subject of Miss Polehampton'streatment, would not allow that Margaret had anything to do with it. Sheis a very faithful little person, I should think. "

"Far more generous than Margaret, " muttered her son. Then, sombrely, "Inever told you what happened at Helmsley Court the other day. Margaretrefused me. "

"Refused you--entirely?"

"No appeal possible. "

"On what grounds?"

"Chiefly, I think, because I wanted her to make reparation to MissColwyn. "

"Then, Philip, she is not worthy of you. "

"She has had a bad training, " he said, slowly. "A fine nature ruined byindulgence and luxury. She has never been crossed in her life. "

"She will find out what it is to be crossed some day. My poor Phil! I amvery sorry. "

"We need not talk about it, mother, dear. You will be all in all to menow. "

He sat down beside her, and took her hand in his, then kissed it with amingling of tenderness and respect which brought the tears to LadyAshley's eyes. 

"But I do not want to be all in all to you, you foolish boy, " sheassured him. "I want to see you with a wife, with children of your own, with family ties and interests and delights. "

"Not yet, mother, " he answered in a low tone. "Some day, perhaps. "

And from the pained look in his dark eyes she saw that he suffered morethan he would have liked to own for the loss of Margaret. She said nomore, but her heart ached for her boy, and she was hardly able tocomfort herself with the recollection that Time heals all wounds--eventhose that have been made by Love. 

Sir Philip had accepted Margaret's refusal as final. He had no reason tohope that she would ever change her mind towards him. Perhaps if he hadknown how large a part of her thoughts he occupied, in spite of herdeclaration that she did not like him, he might have had some hope of amore favorable hearing in the future. But he had no conception of anyunder-current of feeling in Margaret Adair. She had always seemed to himso frank, with a sweet, maidenly frankness, so transparent--withoutshallowness, that he was thrown into despair when she dismissed him. Hewas singularly ignorant of the nature of women, and more especially ofyoung girls. His mother's proud, upright, rather inflexible character, conjoined with great warmth of affection and rare nobility of mind, hadgiven him a high standard by which to judge other women. He had neverhad a sister, and was not particularly observant of young girls. It wastherefore a greater disappointment to him than it would have been tomany men to find that Margaret could be a little bit obstinate, a littlebit selfish, and not at all disposed to sacrifice herself for others. She lowered his whole conception of womankind. 

At least, so he said to himself, as he sat that evening after dinnerover his library fire, and fell into a mood of somewhat sombre hue. Whatpoets and philosophers had said of the changeful, capricious, shallow, and selfish nature of women was then true? His mother was a grandexception to the rule, 'twas true; but there were no women like her now. These modern girls thought of nothing but luxury, comfort, self-indulgence. They had no high ideals, no thought of the seriousnessof life. 

But even as he made his hot accusation against women of the present day, his heart smote him a little for his injustice. He certainly did knowone girl who was eminently faithful and true; who worked hard, and, ashe had just found out, suffered greatly--a girl whose true nobility ofmind and life was revealed to him as if by a lightning flash ofintuition. 

What a helpmate Janetta Colwyn would be to any man! Her brightintelligence, her gift of song, her piquante, transitory beauty, herhonesty and faithfulness, made up an individuality of distinctattractiveness. And yet he was not very much attracted. He admired her, he respected her; but his pulses did not quicken at the thought of heras they quickened when he thought of Margaret. Why should they indeed?She was a country surgeon's daughter, of no particular family; she hadvery undesirable connections, and she was very poor--there was nothingin Janetta's outer circumstances to make her a fitting wife for him. Andyet the attraction of _character_ was very great. He wanted a wife whowould be above all things able to help him in his work--work of reformand of philanthropy: a selfish, luxurious, indolent woman could be nomate for him. Janetta Colwyn was the woman that he had been seekingsince first he thought of marriage; and yet--ah, there was nothing wrongwith her except that she was not Margaret. But of Margaret he must thinkno more. 

Lady Ashley would have been very much astonished if she had known howfar her idolized son had gone that night along the road of a resolutionto ask Janetta Colwyn to be his wife. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

NORA'S PROCEEDINGS. 

Janetta scarcely expected to hear from Lady Ashley again, and was notsurprised that days and weeks passed on in silence as regarded herengagement to sing at the evening party. She did not reflect thatChristmas brought its own special duties and festivities, and that shewas not likely to be wanted until these were over. In the meantime, theholidays began, and she had to prepare as best she could, though with aheavy heart, for the homecoming of her brothers and sisters. There wasvery little to "keep Christmas" upon; and she could not but be gratefulwhen her scanty store was enlarged by gifts from the Adairs, and also(to her great astonishment) from Sir Philip Ashley and from Wyvis Brand. 

"Game, of course!" said Nora, whom she told of these windfalls on thefirst night of the sisters' arrival from their school. "Well, I'm notsorry: we don't often have grouse and woodcock at the luxurious tableof Miss Peacock & Co. ; but from three people at once! it will surely bemonotonous. "

"Don't be ridiculous, Nora. Lady Caroline has sent me a turkey, and theBrands have presented us with fowls and a side of home-cured bacon--veryacceptable too, I can tell you! It is only Sir Philip who has sentgame. "

"Ah, he is the fine gentleman of them all, " said Nora, whose spiritswere high in spite of the depression that occasionally overcast thewhole family when they remembered that this Christmas would be spentwithout their father's loving presence in their home. "The others arecommonplace! Have they been here lately?"

"Wyvis Brand called when I was out, and did not come in. Mrs. Brand hasbeen. "

"Not the other one--Cuthbert?" said Nora, with great carelessness. 

"No. I think he has been in Paris. "

"And haven't you been there at all?"

"I couldn't go, Nora. I have been too busy. Besides--there is somethingthat I must tell you--I wish I could put it off, but I want you to helpme. "

The two girls were in their bedroom, and in the darkness and stillnessof the night Janetta put her arms round Nora's neck and told her of hermother's besetting weakness. She was surprised and almost alarmed at theeffect upon her stepsister. Nora shuddered two or three times and drewseveral painful breaths; but she did not cry, and Janetta had expectedan agony of tears. It was in a low, strained voice that the girl said atlast--

"You say you have tried to hide it. Even if you have succeeded, it isnot a thing that can be hidden long. Everybody will soon know. And itwill go on from bad to worse. And--oh, Janetta, she is not your ownmother, but she is mine!"

And then she burst at last into the fit of weeping for which Janetta hadbeen waiting. But it was more piteous than violent, and she seemed tolisten while Janetta tried to comfort her, and passively endured ratherthan returned the elder sister's caresses. Finally the two girls fellasleep in each other's arms. 

The effect upon Nora of this communication was very marked. She lookedpale and miserable for the next few days, and was irritable when herdepression was remarked. For the children's sakes, Janetta tried to makea few mild festivities possible: she had a tiny Christmas tree in theback dining-room, and a private entertainment of snapdragon on ChristmasEve; and on Christmas Day afternoon the younger ones roasted chestnutsin the kitchen and listened to the tales that nobody could tell half sowell as "dear old Janet. " But Mrs. Colwyn openly lamented thehard-heartedness thus displayed, and locked herself into her bedroomwith (Janetta feared) some private stores of her own; and Nora refusedto join the subdued joviality in the kitchen, and spent the afternoonover a novel in the front sitting-room. From the state of her eyes andher handkerchief at tea-time, however, Janetta conjectured that she hadbeen crying for the greater part of the time. 

It was useless to remonstrate with Mrs. Colwyn, but Janetta thought thatsomething might be done with her daughter. When Nora's depression ofspirits had lasted for some days, Janetta spoke out. 

"Nora, " she said, "I told you of our trouble, because I thought that youwould help me to bear it; but you are making things worse instead ofbetter. "

"What do you mean?" asked Nora. 

"It is no use fretting over what cannot be helped, dear. If we arecareful we can do much to lessen the danger and the misery of it all. Mamma has been much better lately: there has been nothing--nooutbreak--since Lady Ashley came. It is possible that things may bebetter. But we must keep home cheerful, dear Nora: it does nobody anygood for you and me to look miserable. "

"But I feel so miserable, " said Nora, beginning to cry again. 

"And is that the only thing we have to think of?" demanded Janetta, withseverity. 

"She is not _your_ mother, " murmured the girl. 

"I know that, darling, but I have felt the trouble of it as much as Ithink you can do. "

"That is impossible!" said Nora, sitting up, and pushing back thedisheveled blonde curls from her flushed face--she had been lying on herbed when Janetta found her and remonstrated; "quite impossible. Becauseyou are not of her blood, not of her kith and kin: and for me--for allof us--it is worse, because people can always point to us, and say, 'Thetaint is in their veins: their mother drank--they may drink, too, oneday, ' and we shall be always under a ban!"

Janetta was struck by the fact that Nora looked at the matter entirelyfrom her own point of view--that very little affection for her motherwas mingled with the shame and the disgrace that she felt. Mrs. Colwynhad never gained her children's respect; and when the days of babyhoodwere over she had not retained their love. Nora was hurt, indignant, ashamed; but she shrank from her mother more than she pitied her. 

"What do you mean by 'under a ban?'" Janetta asked, after a littlesilence. 

Nora colored hotly. 

"I mean, " she said, looking down and fingering her dress nervously; "Imean--that--if any of us wanted to get married----"

Janetta laughed a little. "Hadn't we better wait until the opportunityarises" she said, half-satirically, half affectionately. 

"Oh, you don't know!" exclaimed Nora, giving her shoulders a littleimpatient twist. "I may have had the opportunity already, for all youknow!"

Janetta's tone changed instantly. "Nora, dear, have you anything of thatsort to tell me? Won't you trust me?"

"Oh, there's nothing to tell. It's only--Cuthbert. "

"Cuthbert Brand! Nora! what do you know of him?"

"Didn't you know?" said Nora, demurely. "He teaches drawing at Mrs. Smith's school. "

"Teaches--but, Nora, why does he teach?"

"He is an artist: I suppose he likes it. "

"How long has he been teaching there?"

"Soon after I went first, " said Nora, casting down her eyes. There was alittle smile upon her face, as though she were not at all displeased atthe confession. But a cold chill crept into Janetta's heart. 

"Has it been a scheme--a plot, then? Did you suggest to him that heshould come--and pretend that he was a stranger. "

"Oh, Janetta, don't look so solemn! No, I did not suggest it. He met meone day when I was out with Georgie shopping, and he walked with us fora little way and found out where we lived, and all about us. And then Iheard from Mrs. Smith that she had arranged with him to teach drawing tothe girls. She did not know who he was, except that he had all sorts ofmedals and certificates and things, and that he had exhibited in theRoyal Academy. "

"And you did not say to her openly that he was a connection of yours?"

"He isn't, " said Nora, petulantly. "He is _your_ connection, not mine. There was no use in saying anything, only Georgie used to giggle sodreadfully when he came near her that I was always afraid we should befound out. "

"You might at least have left Georgie out of your plot, " said Janetta, who was very deeply grieved at Nora's revelations. "I always thoughtthat _she_ was straightforward. "

"You needn't be so hard on us, Janetta, " murmured Nora. "I'm sure we didnot mean to be anything but straightforward. "

"It was not straightforward to conceal your acquaintance with Mr. Cuthbert Brand from Mrs. Smith. Especially, " said Janetta, lookingsteadily at her sister, "if you had any idea he came there to see you. "

She seemed to wait for an answer, and Nora felt obliged to respond. 

"He never said so. But, of course"--with a little pout--"Georgie and Iknew quite well. He used to send me lovely flowers by post--he did notwrite to me, but I knew where they came from, for he would sometimes puthis initials inside the lid; and he always looked at my drawings a greatdeal more than the others--and he--he looked at me too, Janetta, and youneed not be so unbelieving. "

There was such a curious little touch of Mrs. Colwyn's irritability inNora's manner at that moment that Janetta stood and looked at herwithout replying, conscious only of a great sinking at the heart. Vain, affected, irresponsible, childish!--were all these qualities to appearin Nora, as they had already appeared in her mother, to lead her todestruction? Mr. Colwyn's word of warning with respect to Nora flashedinto her mind. She brought herself to say at last, with dry lips--

"This must not go on. "

Nora was up in arms in a moment. "What must not go on? There is nothingto stop. We have done nothing wrong!"

"Perhaps not, " said Janetta, slowly. "Perhaps there is nothing worsethan childish folly and deceit on _your_ part, but I think that Mr. Cuthbert Brand is not acting in an honorable manner at all. Either youmust put a stop to it, Nora, or I shall. "

"What can I do, I should like to know?"

"You had better tell Mrs. Smith, " said the elder sister, "that Mr. Brandis a second-cousin of mine. That the connection was so distant that youhad not thought of mentioning it until I pointed out to you that youought to do so, and that you hope she will pardon you for what willcertainly seem to her very underhand conduct. "

Nora shrank a little. "Oh, I can't do that, Janetta: I really can't. Shewould be so angry!"

"There is another way, then: you must tell Cuthbert Brand not to sendyou any more flowers, and ask him to give no more drawing lessons atthat school. "

"Oh, Janetta, I _can't_. He has never said that he came to see me, andit would look as if I thought----"

"What you do think in your heart, " said Janetta. Then, thinking that shehad been a little brutal, she added, more gently--"But there is perhapsno need to decide to-day or to-morrow what we are to do. We can thinkover it and see if there is a better way. All that I am determined uponis that your doings must be fair and open. "

"And you won't speak to anybody else about it, will you?" said Nora, rather relieved by this respite, and hoping to elude Janetta's vigilancestill. 

"I shall promise nothing, " Janetta answered. "I must think about it. "

She turned to leave the room, but was arrested by a burst of sobbing anda piteous appeal. 

"You are very unkind, Janetta. I thought that you would havesympathized. "

Janetta stood still and sighed. "I don't know what to say, Nora, " shesaid. 

"You are very cold--very hard. You do not care one bit what I feel. "

Perhaps, thought Janetta, the reproach had some truth in it. At any rateshe went quietly out of the room and closed the door, leaving Nora tocry as long and as heartily as she pleased. 

The elder sister went straight to Georgie. That young person, frank andboisterous by nature, was not given to deceit, and, although she wasreluctant at first to betray Nora's confidence, she soon acknowledgedthat it was a relief to her to speak the truth and the whole truth toJanetta. Her account tallied in the main with the one given by Nora. There did not seem to have been more than a little concealment, a littleflirting, a little folly; but Janetta was aghast to think of the extentto which Nora might have been compromised, and indignant at CuthbertBrand's culpable thoughtlessness--if it was nothing worse. 

"What people have said of the Brands is true, " she declared vehementlyto herself. "They work mischief wherever they go; they have no goodness, no pity, no feeling of right and wrong. I thought that Cuthbert lookedgood, but he is no better than the others, and there is nothing to behoped from any of them. And father told me to take care of hischildren--and I promised. What can I do? His 'faithful Janetta' cannotleave them to take their own way--to go to ruin if they please! Oh, mypoor Nora! You did not mean any harm, and perhaps I _was_ hard on you!"

She relieved herself by a few quiet but bitter tears; and then she wasforced to leave the consideration of the matter for the present, asthere were many household duties to attend to which nobody could managebut herself. 

When she was again able to consider the matter, however, she began tomake up her mind that she must act boldly and promptly if she meant toact at all. Nora had no father, and practically no mother: Janetta mustbe both at once, if she would fulfil her ideal of duty. And by degrees aplan of action formed itself in her mind. She would go to the Brands'house, and ask for Cuthbert himself. Certainly she had heard that he wasin Paris, but surely he would have returned by this time--for New Year'sDay if not for Christmas Day! She would see him and ask him toforbear--ask him not to send flowers to her little sister, who was tooyoung for such attentions--to herself Janetta added, "and too silly. " Hecould be only amusing himself--and he should not amuse himself at Nora'sexpense. He had a nice face, too, she could not help reflecting, he didnot look like a man who would do a wanton injury to a fatherless girl. Perhaps, after all, there was some mistake. 

And if she could not see him, she would see Mrs. Brand. The motherwould, no doubt, help her: she had been always kind. Of Wyvis Brand shescarcely thought. She hoped that she might not see him--she had neverspoken to him, she remembered, since the day when he had asked her to behis friend. 

CHAPTER XX. 

AN ELDER BROTHER. 

She did not say a word to Nora about her scheme. The next day--it wasthe third of January, as she afterwards remembered--was bright andclear, a good day for walking. She told her sisters that she hadbusiness abroad, and gave them the directions respecting the care oftheir house and their mother that she thought they needed; then setforth to walk briskly from Gwynne Street to the old Red House. 

She purposely chose the morning for her expedition. She was not making acall--she was going on business. She did not mean to ask for Mrs. Brandeven, first of all; she intended to ask for Mr. Cuthbert Brand. Wyviswould probably be out; but Cuthbert, with his sedentary habits and hisslight lameness, was more likely to be at home painting in the brilliantmorning light than out of doors. 

It was nearly twelve o'clock when she reached her destination. She wentthrough the leafless woods, for that was the shortest way and thepleasantest--although she had thought little of pleasantness when shecame out, but still it was good to hear the brittle twigs snap under herfeet, and note the slight coating of frost that made the rims of thedead leaves beautiful--and it was hardly a surprise to her to hear achild's laugh ring out on the air at the very spot where, months before, she and Nora had found little Julian Brand. A moment later the boyhimself came leaping down the narrow woodland path towards her with anoisy greeting; and then--to Janetta's vexation and dismay--instead ofnurse or grandmother, there emerged from among the trees the figure ofthe child's father, Wyvis Brand. He had a healthier and more cheerfullook than when she saw him last: he was in shooting coat andknickerbockers, and he had a gun in his hand and a couple of dogs at hisheels. He lifted his hat and smiled, as if suddenly pleased when he sawher, but his face grew grave as he held out his hand. Both thoughtinstinctively of their last meeting at her father's grave, and bothhastened into commonplace speech in order to forget it. 

"I am glad to see you again. I hope you are coming to our place, " hesaid. And she--

"I hope Mrs. Brand is well. Is she at home?"

"No, she's not, " said little Julian, with the frank fearlessness ofchildhood. "She's gone out for the whole day with Uncle Cuthbert, andfather and I are left all by ourselves; and father has let me come outwith him; haven't you, father?" He looked proudly at his father, andthen at Janetta, while he spoke. 

"So it appears, " said Wyvis, with a queer little smile. 

"Grandmother said I was to take care of father, so I'm doing it, " Julianannounced. "Father thinks I'm a brave boy now--not a milksop. He said Iwas a milksop, you know, the last time you came here. "

"Come, young man, don't you chatter so much, " said his father, with asort of rough affectionateness, which struck Janetta as something new. "You run on with the dogs, and tell the servants to get some wine ormilk or something ready for Miss Colwyn. I'm sure you are tired, " hesaid to her, in a lower tone, with a searching glance at her pale face. 

It was hardly fatigue so much as disappointment that made Janetta pale. She had not expected to find both Mrs. Brand and Cuthbert out, and thefailure of her plan daunted her a little, for she did not often find itan easy thing to absent herself from home for several hours. 

"I am not tired, " said Janetta, unsteadily, "but I thought I should findthem in--Mrs. Brand, I mean----"

"Did you want to see them--my mother, I mean--particularly?" askedWyvis, either by accident or intention seeming to parody her words. 

"I have not seen her for a long time. " Janetta evaded giving a directanswer. "I thought that I should have had a little talk with her. If sheis out, I think that I had better turn back. "

"You had better rest for a little while, " he said. "It is a long walk, and in spite of what you may say, you do look tired. If you havebusiness with my mother, perhaps I may do as well. She generally leavesall her business to me. "

"No, " said Janetta, with considerable embarrassment of manner. "It isnothing--I can come another time. "

He looked at her for a moment as if she puzzled him. 

"You have been teaching music in Beaminster, I believe?"

"Yes--and other things. "

"May I ask what other things?"

Janetta smiled. "I have a little sister, Tiny, " she said, "and I teachher everything she learns. Reading, writing, and arithmetic, you know. And a neighbor's little boy comes in and learns with her. "

"I have been wondering, " said Wyvis, "whether you would care to doanything with that boy of mine. "

"That dear little Julian? Oh, I should be glad, " said Janetta, morefreely than she had yet spoken. "He is such a sweet little fellow. "

"He has a spirit of his own, as you know, " said the father, with ratheran unwilling smile. "He is not a bad little chap; but he has latelyattached himself a good deal to me, and I have to go into the stablesand about the land a good deal, and I don't think it's altogether goodfor him. I found him"--apologetically--"using some very bad language theother day. Oh, you needn't be afraid; he won't do it again; I think Ithrashed it out of him--"

"Oh, that's worse!" said Janetta, reproachfully. 

"What do you mean?"

"To strike a little fellow like that, when he did not know that what hewas saying was wrong! And why did you take him where he would hearlanguage of that kind? Wasn't it more your fault than his?"

Wyvis bent his head and shrugged his shoulders. "If the truth wereknown, I dare say he heard me use it, " he said dryly. "I'm notmealy-mouthed myself. However, I've taught him that he must not do it. "

"Have you, indeed? And don't you think that example will prove strongerthan precept, or even than thrashing?" said Janetta. "If you want toteach him not to use bad words, you had better not use them yourself, Mr. Brand. "

"Mr. Brand?" said Wyvis; "I thought it was to be Cousin Wyvis. But I'vedisgusted you; no wonder. I told you long ago that I did not know how tobring up a child. I asked you to help us--and you have not been near theplace for months. "

"How could I help you, if you mean to train him by oaths and blows?"asked Janetta. 

"That's plain speaking, at any rate, " he said. "Well, I don't mind; infact, I might say that I like you the better for it, if you'll allow meto go so far. I don't know whether you're right or not. Of course itwon't do for him to talk as I do while he's a baby, but later on itwon't signify; and a thrashing never did a boy any harm. "

"Do you mean that you are in the habit of swearing?" said Janetta, witha direct simplicity, which made Wyvis smile and wince at the same time. 

"No, I don't, " he said. "I always disliked the habit, and I wasdetermined that Julian shouldn't contract it. But I've lived in a setthat was not over particular; and I suppose I fell into their ways nowand then. "

"Apart from the moral point of view, no _gentleman_ ever does it!" saidJanetta, hotly. 

"Perhaps not. Perhaps I'm not a gentleman. My relations, the publicansof Roxby, certainly were not. The bad strain in us will out, you see. "

"Oh, Cousin Wyvis, I did not mean that, " said Janetta, now genuinelydistressed. "It is only that--I do wish you would not talk in thatway--use those words, I mean. Julian is sure to catch them up, and yousee yourself that that would be a pity. "

"I am to govern my tongue then for Julian's sake?"

"Yes, and for your own. "

"Do you _care_ whether I govern it or not, Janetta?"

How oddly soft and tender his voice had grown!

"Yes, I do care, " she answered, not very willingly, but compelled totruthfulness by her own conscience and his constraining gaze. 

"Then I swear I will, " he exclaimed, impetuously. "It is something tofind a woman caring whether one is good or bad, and I won't prove myselfutterly unworthy of your care. "

"There is your mother: _she_ cares. "

"Oh, yes, she cares, poor soul, but she cries over my sins instead offighting them. Fighting is not her _m�tier_, you know. Now, you--youfight well. "

"That is a compliment, I suppose?" said Janetta, laughing a little andcoloring--not with displeasure--at his tone. 

"Yes, " he said; "I like the fighting spirit. "

They had been walking slowly along the path, and now they had reachedthe gate that opened into the grounds. Here, as he opened it, Janettahesitated, and then stopped short. 

"I think I had better make the best of my way back, " she said. "It isgetting late. "

"Not much after twelve. Are we not friends again?"

"Oh yes. "

"And will you think over what I said about my boy?"

"Do you really mean it?"

"Most decidedly. You couldn't come here, I suppose--you wouldn't leavehome?"

"No, I could not do that. How would he get to me every day?"

"I would bring him myself, or send him in the dog-cart. I or my brotherwould look after that. " Then, seeing a sudden look of protest inJanetta's face, he added quickly--"You don't like that?"

"It is nothing, " said Janetta, looking down. 

"Is it to me or to my brother that you object?"

He smiled as he spoke, but, a little to his surprise, Janetta keptsilence, and did not smile. Wyvis Brand was a man of very quickperceptions, and he saw at once that if she seemed troubled she had areason for it. 

"Has Cuthbert offended you?" he asked. 

"I have only spoken to him once--four months ago. "

"That is no answer. What has he been about? I have some idea, you know, "said Wyvis, coolly, "because I came across some sketches of his whichbetrayed where his thoughts were straying. Your pretty sister quitecaptivated him, I believe. Has he been getting up a flirtation?"

"I suppose it is a joke to him and to you, " said Janetta, almostpassionately, "but it is no joke to us. Yes, I came to speak to him orto your mother about it. Either she must leave the school where she isteaching, or he must let her alone. "

"You had better not speak to my mother; it will only worry her. Come in, and tell me about it, " said Wyvis, opening the gate, and laying his handgently on her arm. 

She did not resent his tone of mastery. In spite of the many faults anderrors that she discerned in him, it always seemed to her that a warmerand finer nature lay below the outside trappings of roughness andcoldness than was generally perceptible. And when this better naturecame to the front, it brought with it a remembrance of the tie ofkinship, and Janetta's heart softened to him at once. 

He took her into a room which she guessed to be his own privatesanctum--a thoroughly untidy place, littered with books, papers, tools, weapons, gardening implements, pipes and tobacco jars, in fineconfusion. He had to clear away a pile of books from a chair before shecould sit down. Then he planted himself on a corner of the solid, squareoak table in the middle of the room, and prepared to listen to herstory. Julian, who interrupted them once, was ordered out of the roomagain in such a peremptory tone that Janetta was somewhat startled. Butreally the boy did not seem to mind. 

By dint of leading questions he drew from her an outline of the facts ofthe case, but she softened them, for Nora's sake, as much as possible. She looked at him anxiously when she had done, to see whether he wasangry. 

"You know, " she said, "I don't want to sow dissension of any kindbetween you. "

Wyvis smiled. "I know you don't. But I assure you Cuthbert and I neverquarreled in our lives. That is not one of the sins you can lay to mycharge. He is a whimsical fellow, and I suspect that this has been oneof his freaks--not meaning to hurt anybody. If you leave him to me, I'llstop the drawing-lessons at any rate, and probably the flowers. "

"Don't let him think that Nora cares, " she said. "She is quite achild--if he had sent her bonbons she would have liked them even betterthan flowers. "

"I understand. I will do my best--as you are so good as to trust me, " heanswered, lowering his voice. 

A little silence fell between them. Something in the tone had madeJanetta's heart beat fast. Then there rose up before her--she hardlyknew why--the vision of a woman, an imaginary woman, one whom she hadnever seen--the woman with Julian's eyes, the woman who called herselfthe wife of Wyvis Brand. The thought had power to bring her to her feet. 

"And now I must really go. "

"Not yet, " he said, smiling down at her with a very kindly look in hisstern dark eyes. "Do you know you have given me a great deal of pleasureto-day? You have trusted me to do a commission for you--a delicate bitof work too--and that shows that you don't consider me altogetherworthless. "

"You may be sure that I do not. "

"Yes, we are friends. I have some satisfaction in that thought. Do youknow that you are the first woman who has ever made a _friend_ of me?who has ever trusted me, and taught me--for a moment or two--to respectmyself? It is the newest sensation I have had for years. "

"Not the sensation of respecting yourself, I hope?"

"Yes, indeed. You don't know--you will never know--how I've beenhandicapped in life. Can you manage to be friendly with me even when Idon't do exactly as you approve? You are at liberty to tell me withcousinly frankness what you dislike. "

"On that condition we can be friends, " said Janetta, smiling andtendering her hand. She meant to say good-bye, but he retained thelittle hand in his own and went on talking. 

"How about the boy? You'll take him for a few hours every day?"

"You really mean it?"

"I do, indeed. Name your own terms. "

She blushed a little, but was resolved to be business-like. 

"You know I can't afford to do it for nothing, " she said. "He can comefrom ten to one, if you like to give me----" and and then she mentioneda sum which Wyvis thought miserably inadequate. 

"Absurd!" he cried. "Double that, and then take him! When can he come?"

"Next week, if you like. But I mean what I say----"

"So do I, and as my will is stronger than yours I shall have my ownway. "

Janetta shook her head, and, having by this time got her hand free, shemanaged to say good-bye, and left the house much more cheerfully thanshe had entered it. Strange to say, she had a curious feeling of trustin Wyvis Brand's promise to help her; it seemed to her that he was a manwho would endeavor at all costs to keep his word. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

CUTHBERT'S ROMANCE. 

Janetta was hardly surprised when, two days later, she was asked to givea private audience to Mr. Cuthbert Brand. She had not yet told Nora ofthe course that she had pursued, for she was indeed rather unnecessarilyashamed of it. "It was just like a worldly mamma asking a young man hisintentions about her daughter, " she said to herself, with a whimsicalsmile. "Probably nothing will come of it but a cessation of these sillylittle attentions to Nora. " But she felt a little shy and constrainedwhen she entered the drawing-room, and, while shaking hands with hercousin, she did not lift her eyes to his face. 

When she had taken a seat, however, and managed to steal a glance athim, she was half-provoked, half-reassured. Cuthbert's mobile face wasfull of a merry, twinkling humor, and expressed no penitence at all. Shewas so much astonished that she forgot her shyness, and looked at himinquiringly without opening her lips. 

Cuthbert laughed--an irrepressible little laugh, as if he could not helpit. "Look here, Cousin Janetta, " he said, "I'm awfully sorry, but Ireally can't help it. The idea of you as a duenna and of Wyvis as aheavy father has been tickling me ever since yesterday, and I shall haveto have it out sooner or later. I assure you it's only a nervousaffection. If I didn't laugh, I _might_ cry or faint, and that would beworse, you know. "

"I don't quite see the joke, " said Janetta, gravely. 

"The joke, " said Cuthbert, "lies in the contrast between yourself andthe role you have taken upon you. "

"It is a role that I am obliged to take upon me, " interposed Janetta;"because my sisters have no father, and a mother whose health makes itimpossible for her to guard them as she would like to do. "

"Now you're going to be severe, " said Cuthbert; "and indeed I amguiltless of anything but a little harmless fooling. I can but tender myhumblest apologies, and assure you that I have resigned my post in Mrs. Smith's educational establishment, and that I will keep my flowers infuture to myself, unless I may send them with your consent and that ofmy authoritative elder brother. "

Janetta was not mollified. "It is easy for you to talk of it solightly, " she said, "but you forget that you might have involved both mysisters in serious trouble. "

"Don't you think I should have been able to get them out again?" saidCuthbert, with all the lightness to which she objected. "Don't you thinkthat I could have pacified the schoolmistress? There is one thing that Imust explain. My fancy for teaching was a fad, undertaken for its ownsake, which led me accidentally at first to Mrs. Smith's school. I didnot know that your sisters were there until I had made my preliminaryarrangements. "

Janetta flushed deeply, and did not reply. Nora's imagination had beenmore active than she expected. Cuthbert, who was watching her, saw theflush and the look of surprise, and easily guessed what had passedbetween the sisters. 

"Did you ever read Sheridan's 'Rivals?'" he asked, quietly. "Don't youremember the romantic heroine who insisted on her romance? She wouldhardly consent to marry a man unless he had a history, and would helpher to make one for herself?"

"I don't think that Nora is at all like Lydia Languish. "

"Possibly not, in essentials. But she loves romance and mystery andexcitement, as Lydia Languish did. It is a very harmless romance thatconsists in sending a few cut flowers by Parcel Post, Cousin Janetta. "

"I know--it sounds very little, " Janetta said, "but it may do harm forall that. "

"Has it done harm to your sister, then?" Cuthbert inquired, withapparent-innocence, but with the slight twinkle of his eye, which toldof inward mirth. Janetta was again growing indignant, and was about toanswer rather sharply, when he once more changed his tone. "There, " hesaid, "I have teased you quite enough, haven't I? I have been presumingon our relationship to be as provoking as I could, because--honestly--Ithought that you might have trusted me a little more. Now, shall I beserious?"

"If you can, " said Janetta. 

"That's awfully severe. By nature, I must tell you, I am the mostserious, not to say melancholy, person in creation. But on a fine day myspirits run away with me. Now, Janetta--I may call you Janetta, may notI?--I am going to be serious, deadly serious, as serious as if it were awet day in town. And the communication that I wish to make to you as thehead of the family, which you seem to be, is that I am head over ears inlove with your sister Nora, and that I beg for the honor of her hand. "

"You are joking, " said his hearer, reproachfully. 

"Never was joking further from my thoughts. Getting married is anexceedingly solemn business, I believe. I want to marry Nora and takeher to Paris. "

"Oh, this is ridiculous: you can't mean it, " said Janetta. 

"Why ridiculous? Did I not tell you that I admired Miss Lydia Languish?Her desire for a romance was quite praiseworthy: it is what every womancherishes in her heart of hearts: only Nora, being more naive and frankand child-like than most women, let me see the desire more clearly thanwomen mostly do. That's why I love her. She is natural and lovable andlovely. Don't tell me that I can't win her heart. I know I may havetouched her fancy, but that is not enough. Let me have the chance, and Ithink that I can go deeper still. "

"You said that you would be serious, but you don't know how serious thisis to me, " said Janetta, the tears rising to her eyes. "My father toldme to take care of her: she is very young--and not very wise; and how amI to know whether you mean what you say?"

"I do mean it, indeed!" said Cuthbert, in a much graver tone. "I havegot into the habit of talking as if I felt very little--a ridiculoushabit, I acknowledge--but, in this matter, I mean it from the bottom ofmy heart. "

"I suppose, then, " said Janetta, tremulously, "that you must speak tomamma--and to Nora. I am not at all the head of the house, although youare pleased--in fun--to call me so. I am only Nora's half-sister, fondof her and anxious about her, and ready to do all that I can do for hergood. "

Cuthbert looked at her intently. Her face was pale, and the black dressthat she wore was not altogether becoming to her dark eyes andcomplexion, but there was something pathetic to him in the weight ofcare which seemed to sit upon those young brows and bear down theslender shoulders of the girl. The new sensation thus given caused himto say, with sudden earnestness--

"Will you forgive me for having spoken and acted so thoughtlessly? Inever meant to cause you so much anxiety. You see, I am not very wellacquainted with English ways, and I may have made more mistakes than Iknew. When Nora is my wife you shall not have to fear for herhappiness. "

"You speak very confidently of making her your wife, " said Janetta, forgiving him in her heart, nevertheless. "But you have no house--noprofession, have you?"

"No income, you mean?" said Cuthbert, with his merry smile. "Oh, yes, Ihave a profession. It does not pay me quite so well as it might do, butI think I shall do better by-and-bye. Then I have a couple of hundreds ayear of my own. Is it too much of a pittance to begin upon?"

"Nora is quite too young to begin upon anything. If only you would leaveher alone for a year or two!--till she is a little more staid andsensible!"

"But that's too late, don't you see? That's where my apologies have tocome in. I have disturbed the peace already, haven't I?"

"Mr. Brand, " said Janetta, gravely, in spite of an exclamation ofprotest from her cousin, "I don't think that we are going quite deeplyenough into the matter. There are one or two things that I must say:there is no one else to say them. Nora is young and foolish, but she isaffectionate and sensitive, and if she once cares for you, you may makethe happiness or the misery of her life. Our dear father told me to takecare of her. And I am not sure that he would have sanctioned herengagement to you. "

"I'd better send Wyvis to talk to you, " said Cuthbert, starting up andnearly upsetting a chair in his eagerness. "I knew he could manageand--and explain things better than I could. He's well up in the familyaffairs. Will you see him now?"

"Now?"

"He's outside waiting. He wouldn't come in. I'll go and send him to you. No, don't object: there are ever so many things that you two elders hadbetter talk over together. I must say, " said Cuthbert, beginning tolaugh again in his light-hearted way, "that, when I think of Wyvis as afamily man, bent on seeing his younger brother _se ranger_, and you asNora's stern guardian, I am seized with an access of uncontrollablemirth. "

He caught up his hat and left the room so quickly that Janetta, taken bysurprise, could not stop him. She tried to follow, but she was too late:he had rushed off, leaving the hall-door open, and a draught of cold airwas ascending the stairs and causing her stepmother peevishly to remarkthat Janetta's visitors were really intolerable. "Who _was_ it, thistime?" she asked of her second daughter Georgie, who was standing at thewindow--the mother and her girls being assembled in Mrs. Colwyn'sbedroom, her favorite resort on cold afternoons. 

Georgie gave a little giggle--her manners were not perfect, in spite ofa term at Mrs. Smith's superior seminary for young ladies--and answered, under her breath--

"It was Mr. Cuthbert Brand. "

Nora's book fell from her knee. When she picked it up her cheeks werecrimson and her eyes were flashing fire. 

"Don't be absurd, Georgie. It was _not_. "

"Indeed it was, Nora. I suppose he came to see Janetta, and Janetta hassent him away. Oh, how he's running, although he is a little lame! Hehas caught some one--his brother, I believe it is; and now the brother'swalking back with him. "

"I shall go down, " said Mrs. Colwyn, with dignity. "It is not at allproper for a young person like Janetta to receive gentlemen alone. Ishall go and sit in the drawing-room myself. "

"Then Janetta will take her visitors into the dining-room, " said Nora, abruptly. "She has only business with these people, mamma: they don'tcome to visit us because they like us--it is only when they want us todo something for them; so I would not put myself out for them if I wereyou. And as for Janetta's being young, she is the oldest person amongstus. " And then Nora turned to her book, which she held upside downwithout being at all aware of it. 

"I do not know what you mean, Nora, " was Mrs. Colwyn's fretful response;"and if the other brother is coming here, I shall certainly not disturbmyself, for I believe him to be a wild, dissipated, immoral, young man. "

"Just the sort of man for Janet to receive alone, " murmured Georgie, maliciously. Georgie was the member of the family who "had a tongue. "

Meanwhile Wyvis had come into the house, though without Cuthbert, whohad thought it better to disappear into the gathering darkness; andJanetta received him in the hall. 

He laughed a little as he took her hand. "Cuthbert is a littleimpatient, is he not? Well, he has persuaded me into talking this matterover with you. I'm to come in here, am I?" as Janetta silently openedthe sitting-room door for him. "This looks pleasant, " he added after amoment's pause. 

In the gathering evening gloom the shabbiness of the furniture could notbe seen, and the fire-light danced playfully over the worn, comfortable-looking chairs drawn up to the hearth, on the holly andmistletoe which decorated the walls, and the great cluster of geraniumand Christmas roses which the Adairs had sent to Janetta the day before. Everything looked homelike and comfortable, and perhaps it was no wonderthat Wyvis--accustomed to the gloom of his own home, or the garishsplendor of a Paris hotel--felt that he was entering a new sphere, orundergoing some new experience. 

"Don't light the lamp, " he said, in his imperious way: "let us talk inthis half-light, if you don't mind? it's pleasanter. "

"And easier, " said Janetta, softly. 

"Easier? Does it need an effort?"

"I am afraid I have something unpleasant to say. "

"So have I. We are quits, then. You can begin. "

"Your brother has been asking if he maybe engaged to Nora----"

"If he may marry her out of hand, you mean. That's what he wants to do. "

"We know very little of him, " said Janetta, rather unsteadily, "or ofyou. Things have been said against you in Beaminster--you have yourselftold me things that I did not like--indeed, my father almost warned meagainst you----"

A murmur from Wyvis Brand sounded uncommonly like "the devil hedid!"--but Janetta did not stop to listen. 

"I never heard anything but vague generalities against _him_, but then Inever heard anything particularly good. I don't like the way in which hehas pursued his acquaintance with Nora. I have no authority withher--not much influence with her mother--and, therefore, I throw myselfon you for help, " said Janetta, her musical voice taking a patheticallyearnest cadence; "and I ask you to beg your brother to wait--to let Noragrow older and know her own mind a little better--to give us the chanceof knowing him before he asks to take her away. "

"You have not said either of the things that I was expecting to hear, "said Wyvis. 

"What were those?"

"How much money he had a year!"

"Oh, he told me about that. "

"Or--an allusion to his forbears: his father's character and hismother's relations--the two bugbears of Beaminster. "

"I think nothing of those, if Cuthbert himself is good. "

"Well, he _is_ good. He is as different from me as light is fromdarkness. He is a little thoughtless and unpractical sometimes, but heis sweet-tempered, honest, true, clean-living, and God-fearing. Willthat suit you?"

"If he is all that----"

"He is that and more. We are not effusive, Cuthbert and I, but I thinkhim one of the best fellows in the world. She'll be lucky who gets him, in my opinion. "

"All the more reason, then, why I must say a still more unpleasant thingthan ever, " she replied. "Nora is in great trouble, because she has beentold what I have known for some time. Her mother does not always controlherself; you know what I mean? She must not marry without tellingthis--we cannot deceive the man who is to be her husband--he must knowthe possible disgrace. "

"If every woman were as straightforward and honorable as you, Janetta, there would be fewer miserable marriages, " said Wyvis, slowly. "You are, no doubt, right to speak; but, on the other hand, _our_ family record ismuch worse than yours. If one of you can condescend to take one of us, Ithink we shall have the advantage. "

Janetta drew a long breath. 

"Then, will you help me in what I ask?"

"Yes, I will. I'll speak to Cuthbert and point out how reasonable youare. Then--you'll let him cultivate your sister's acquaintance, Isuppose? In spite of your disclaimers, I believe you are supreme in thehouse. I wish there were more like you to be supreme, Janetta. Iwish--to God I wish--that I had met you--a woman like you--eight yearsago. "

And before she could realize the meaning of what he had said to her, theman was gone. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

WYVIS BRAND'S IDEAL. 

Everything was satisfactorily settled. Cuthbert was put on hisprobation; Nora was instructed in the prospect that lay before her, andwas allowed to correspond with her "semi-betrothed, " as he insisted oncalling himself. Mrs. Colwyn was radiant with reflected glory, foralthough she despised and hated Mrs. Brand, she was not blind to theadvantages that would accrue to herself through connection with a Countyfamily. She was not, however, as fully informed in the details of thelittle love-affair as she imagined herself to be. Janetta's share inbringing about a _d�nouement_ and retarding its further development wasquite unknown to her. The delay, which some of Mr. Colwyn's old friendsurged with great vigor, was ascribed by her chiefly to the hostileinfluences of Wyvis Brand, and she made a point of being openly uncivilto that gentleman when, on fine mornings, he brought his boy to GwynneStreet or fetched him away on a bright afternoon. For it had beendecided that little Julian should not only come every day at ten, but ontwo days of the week should stay until four o'clock in the afternoon, inorder to enjoy the advantages of Tiny's society. He had been living sounchild-like a life of late that Janetta begged to keep him for play aswell as for lessons with other children. 

Nora went back to her school somewhat sobered by the unexpected turn ofevents, and rather ashamed of her assumption (dispelled by Janetta) thatCuthbert Brand had given drawing lessons at Mrs. Smith's in order to benear her. Mr. Cuthbert Brand discontinued these lessons, but opened aclass in Beaminster at the half-deserted Art School, and made himselfpopular wherever he went. Janetta was half inclined to doubt thegenuineness of his affection for Nora when she heard of his innocent, but quite enthusiastic, flirtations with other girls. But he alwayssolemnly assured her that Nora had his heart, and Nora only; and as longas he made Nora happy Janetta was content. And so the weeks passed on. She had more to do now that Julian came every day, but she got no newmusic pupils, and she heard nothing about the evening parties at LadyAshley's. She concluded that Sir Philip and his mother had forgottenher, but such was not the case. There had been a death in the family, and the consequent period of mourning had prevented Lady Ashley fromgiving any parties--that was all. 

For some little time, therefore, Janetta's life seemed likely to flow onin a very peaceful way. Mrs. Colwyn "broke out" only once betweenChristmas and Easter, and was more penitent and depressed after heroutbreak than Janetta had ever seen her. Matters went on more quietlythan ever after this event. Easter came, and brought Nora and Georgiehome again, and then there was a period of comparative excitement andjollity, for the Brands began to come with much regularity to the littlehouse in Gwynne Street, and there were merry-makings almost every day. 

But when the accustomed routine began again, Janetta, in herconscientious way, took herself seriously to task. She had not beengoverning herself, her thoughts, her time, her temper, as she conceivedthat it was right for her to do. On reflection, it seemed to her thatone person lately filled up the whole of her mental horizon. And thisperson she was genuinely shocked to find was Wyvis Brand. 

Why should she concern herself so much about him? He was married; he hada child; his mother and brother lived with him, and supplied his need ofsociety. He went out into the world about Beaminster more than he usedto do, and might have been fairly popular if he had exerted himself, butthis he would never do. There were fewer reports current about his badcompanions, or his unsteady way of life; and Janetta gathered fromvarious sources that he had entirely abandoned that profane andreckless method of speech for which she had rebuked him. He wasimproving, certainly. Well, was that any reason why she should thinkabout him so much, or consider his character and his probable fate soearnestly? She saw no reason in it, she told herself; and perhaps shewas right. 

There was another reason even more potent for making her think of him. He had had an unsatisfactory, troublous sort of life; he had beenunfortunate in his domestic relations, and he was most decidedly anunhappy man. Many a woman before Janetta has found reasons of this kindsuffice for love of a man. Certainly, in Janetta's case, they formed thebasis of a good deal of interest. She told herself that she could nothelp thinking of him. He came very often, on pretext of bringing or offetching Julian--especially on the days when Julian stayed until fouro'clock, for then he would stray in and sit down to chat with Janettaand her mother until it was sheer incivility not to offer him a cup oftea. Softened by the pleasures of hospitality, Mrs. Colwyn would bequite gracious to him at these times. But now and then she left him tobe entertained by Janetta, saying rather sharply that she did not careto meet the man who chose to behave "so brutally to her darling Nora. "

So that Janetta got into the way of sitting with him, talking with himon all subjects, of giving him her sage advice when he asked for it, andlistening with interest to the stories that he told her of his pastlife. It was natural that she should think about him a good deal, andabout his efforts to straighten the tangled coil of his life, and tomake himself a worthier father for his little son than his own fatherhad been to him. There was nothing in the world more likely than thissort of intercourse to bring these two kinsfolk upon terms of closestfriendship. And as Janetta indignantly told herself--there wasnothing--nothing more. 

She always remembered that his wife was living; she never forgot it fora moment. He was, of course, not a man whom she ever thought ofloving--she was angry with herself for the very suggestion--but he wascertainly a man who interested her more than any one whom she had evermet. And he was interested in her too. He liked to talk to her, to askher advice and listen to her pet theories. She was friend, comrade, sister, all in one. Nothing more. But the position was, whether theyknew it or not, a rather dangerous one, and an innocent friendship mighthave glided into something closer and more harmful had not an unexpectedturn been given to the events of both their lives. 

For some time Janetta had seen little of the Adairs. They were very muchoccupied--visiting and receiving visits--and Margaret's lessons were notpersevered in. But one afternoon, shortly after Easter, she called atMrs. Colwyn's house between three and four, and asked when she mightbegin again. Before the day was settled, however, they drifted into talkabout other things, and Margaret was soon deeply engaged in an accountof her presentation at Court. 

"I thought you were going to stay in town for the season?" Janettaasked. 

Margaret shook her head. "It was so hot and noisy, " she murmured. "Papasaid the close rooms spoiled my complexion, and I am sure they spoiledmy temper!" She smiled bewitchingly as she spoke. 

She was charmingly dressed in cream-colored muslin, with a softsilk sash of some nondescript pink hue tied round her waist, and abunch of roses at her throat to match the Paris flowers in herbroad-brimmed, slightly tilted, picturesque straw hat. A wrap for thecarriage-fawn-colored, with silk-lining of rose-pink toned by anunder-tint of grey--carried out the scheme of color suggested by herdress, and suited her fair complexion admirably. She had thrown thiswrap over the back of a chair and removed her hat, so that Janetta mightsee whether she was altered or not. 

"You are just a trifle paler, " Janetta confessed. 

As a matter of fact there were some tired lines under Margaret's eyes, and a distinct waning of the fresh faint bloom upon her cheek--changeswhich made of her less the school girl than the woman of the world. Andyet, to Janetta's thinking, she was more beautiful than ever, for shewas acquiring a little of the dignity given by experience without losingthe simple tranquillity of the exquisite child. 

"I am a little tired, " Margaret said. "One sees so much--one goes to somany places. I sighed for Helmsley Court, and dear mamma brought mehome. "

At this moment a crash, as of some falling body, resounded through thehouse, followed by a clatter of breaking crockery, and the cries ofchildren. Janetta started up, with changing color, and apologized to herguest. 

"Dear Margaret, will you excuse me for a moment? I am afraid that one ofthe children must have fallen. I will be back in a minute or two. "

"Go, dear, by all means, " said Margaret, placidly. "I know how necessaryyou are. "

Janetta ran off, being desperately afraid that Mrs. Colwyn had been thecause of this commotion. But here she was mistaken. Mrs. Colwyn was safein her room, but Ph[oe]be, the charity orphan, had been met, whileascending the kitchen stair with the tea-tray in her hands, by a raid ofnursery people--Tiny and Curly and Julian Brand, to wit--had beenaccidentally knocked down, had broken the best tea-set and dislocatedher own collar-bone; while Julian's hand was severely cut and Curly'sright eye was black and blue. Tiny had fortunately escaped withoutinjury, and it was she, therefore, who was sent to Margaret with amodified version of the disaster. 

"Please, Janetta says, will you stay for a little minute or two till shecomes back again? Curly's gone for the doctor because Ph[oe]be's donesomething to one of her bones; and Janetta's tying up Julian's thumbbecause it's bleeding so dreadfully. "

"I have never seen you before, have I?" said Margaret, smiling at theslim little girl with the delicate face and great blue eyes. "You areTiny; I have often heard of you. Do you know me?"

"Yes, " said Tiny. "You are the beautiful lady who sends us flowers andthings--Janetta's friend. "

"Yes, that is right. And how long will Janetta be?"

"Oh, not long, she said; and she hoped you would not mind waiting for alittle while?"

"Not at all. Is that the doctor?" as a knock resounded through thelittle house. 

"I dare say it is, " said Tiny, running to the door; and then after amoment's pause, she added, in a rather disappointed tone, "No, it'sJulian's father. It's Mr. Brand. "

"Mr. Brand!" said Margaret, half-astonished and half-amused. "Oh, I haveheard of him. " And even as she spoke, the door opened, and Wyvis Brandwalked straight into the room. 

He gave a very slight start as his eyes fell upon Margaret, but betrayedno other sign of surprise. Tiny flew to him at once, dragged at hishand, and effected some sort of informal introduction, mingled with anaccount of the accident which had happened to Julian. 

"Don't you want to go and ascertain the amount of the injury?" saidMargaret, with a little smile. 

"Not at all, " said Wyvis, emphatically, and took up his position by themantel-piece, whence he got the best view of her graceful figure andflower-like face. Margaret felt the gaze and was not displeased by it, admiration was no new thing to her; she smiled vaguely and slightlylowered her lovely eyes. And Wyvis stood and looked. 

In spite of his apparent roughness Wyvis Brand was an impressionableman. He had come into the room cold, tired, not quite in his usualhealth, and more than usually out of humor; and instead of the ordinarysight of Janetta--a trim, pleasant, household-fairy sort of sight, itwas true, but not of the wildly exciting kind--he found a vision, as itseemed to him, of the most ethereal beauty--a woman whose every movementwas full of grace, whose exquisitely modulated voice expressedrefinement as clearly as her delicately moulded features; whose wholebeing seemed to exhale a sort of perfume of culture, as if she were inherself the most perfect product of a whole civilization. 

Wyvis had been in many drawing-rooms and known many women, more or lessintimately, but he had never, in all his purposeless Bohemian life, comeacross exactly this type of woman--a type in which refinement counts formore than beauty, culture for more than grace. With a sudden leap ofmemory, he recalled some scenes of which he had been witness yearsbefore, when a woman, hot, red, excited with wine and with furiousjealousy, had reviled him in the coarsest terms, had struck him in theface and had spat out foul and vindictive words of abuse. Thatwoman--ah, that woman was his wife--had been for many years to him thetype of what women must always be when stripped of the veneer ofsociety's restraints. Janetta had of late shaken his conviction on thispoint; it was reserved for Margaret Adair to shatter it to the winds. 

She looked so fair, so dainty, so delicate--he would have been a marvelamongst men who believed that her body was anything but "an index to amost fair mind"--that Wyvis said to himself that he had never seen anywoman like her. He was fascinated and enthralled. The qualities whichmade her so different from his timid, underbred, melancholy mother, orhis coarse and self-indulgent wife, were those in which Margaret showedpeculiar excellence. And before these--for the first time in hislife--Wyvis Brand fell down and worshipped. 

It was unfortunate; it was wrong; but it was one of those things thatwill happen sometimes in everyday life. Wyvis was separated from hiswife, and hated as much as he despised her. Almost without knowing whathe did, he laid his whole heart and soul, suddenly and unthinkingly, atMargaret's feet. And Margaret, smiling and serene, utterly ignorant ofhis past, and not averse to a little romance that might end moreflatteringly than Sir Philip's attentions had done, was quite ready toaccept the gift. 

Before Janetta had bound up Julian's hand, and made some fresh tea, which she was obliged to carry upstairs herself, Mr. Brand had obtainedinformation from Margaret as to the day and hour on which she was likelyto come to Janetta for her singing-lesson, and also as to several of herhabits in the matter of walks and drives. Margaret gave the informationinnocently enough; Wyvis had no direct purpose in extracting it; but theattraction which the two felt towards each other was sufficient to makesuch knowledge of her movements undesirable, and even dangerous forboth. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

FORGET-ME-NOTS. 

Lady Caroline, always mindful of her daughter's moods, could not quiteunderstand Margaret's demeanor when she returned home that afternoon. She fancied that some news about Sir Philip might have reached thegirl's ear and distressed her mind. But when she skilfully led theconversation in that direction, Margaret said at once, with a completeabsence of finesse that rather disconcerted her mother--

"No, mamma, I heard nothing about the Ashleys--mother or son. "

"Dear Margaret, " thought Lady Caroline, "is surely not learning_brusquerie_ and bad manners from that tiresome Miss Colwyn. What a veryunlucky friendship that has been!"

She did not seize the clue which Margaret unconsciously held out to herin the course of the same evening. The girl was sitting in a shadycorner of the drawing-room holding a feather fan before her face, whenshe introduced what had hitherto been, at Helmsley Court, a forbiddentopic--the history of the Brands. 

"Papa, " she said, quietly, "did you never know anything of the Red Housepeople?"

Lady Caroline glanced at her husband. Mr. Adair seemed to find itdifficult to reply. 

"Yes, of course, I did--in the old days, " he answered, less suavely thanusual. "When the father was alive, I used to go to the house, but, ofcourse, I was a mere lad then. "

"You do not know the sons, then?" said Margaret. 

"My dear child, I do not hunt. Mr. Brand's only appearance in society ison the hunting field. "

"But there is another brother--one who paints, I believe. "

"He teaches drawing in some of the schools of the neighborhood, " LadyCaroline interposed, rather dryly. "I suppose you do not want drawinglessons, dear?"

"Oh, no, " said Margaret, indifferently. "I only thought it seemed oddthat we never met them anywhere. "

"Not very suitable acquaintances, " murmured Lady Caroline, almost belowher breath. Mr. Adair was looking at an illustrated magazine and did notseem to hear, but, after a moment's pause, Margaret said, "Why, mamma?"

Lady Caroline hesitated for a moment. Mr. Adair shrugged his shoulders. Then she said slowly:

"His father married beneath him, my love. Mrs. Brand is a quiteimpossible person. If the young men would pension her off and send heraway, the County would very likely take them up. But we cannot receivethe mother. "

"That is another of what Sir Philip Ashley would callclass-distinctions, is it not?" said Margaret, placidly. "The sort ofthing which made Miss Polehampton so anxious to separate me from poorJanetta. "

"Class-distinctions are generally founded on some inherent law ofcharacter or education, dear, " said Lady Caroline, softly. "They are notso arbitrary as young people imagine. I hope the day will never comewhen the distinction of class will be done away with. I"--piously--"hopethat I may be in my grave before that day comes. "

"Oh, of course they are very necessary, " said Margaret, comfortably. "And, if old Mrs. Brand were to go away, I suppose her sons would bereceived everywhere?"

"Oh, I suppose so. The property is fairly good, is it not, Reginald?"

"Not very, " said Mr. Adair. "The father squandered a good deal, and Ifancy the present owner is economizing for the sake of his boy. "

"His boy?" A faint color stole into Margaret's cheeks. "Is he married, papa?"

"Oh, the wife's dead, " said Mr. Adair, hastily. It was part of LadyCaroline's system that Margaret should not hear more than was absolutelynecessary of what she termed "disagreeable" subjects. Elopements, separation and divorce cases all came under that head. So that when Mr. Adair, who knew more of Mr. Brand's domestic history than he chose tosay, added immediately--"At least I heard so: I believe so, " he did notthink that he was actually departing from fact, but only that he wascoloring the matter suitably for Margaret's infant understanding. Hereally believed that Mrs. Wyvis Brand was divorced from her husband, andit was "the same thing as being dead, you know, " he would have repliedif interrogated on the subject. 

Margaret did not respond, and Lady Caroline never once suspected thatshe had any real interest in the matter. But the very fact that WyvisBrand was represented to her as a widower threw a halo of romance aroundhis head in Margaret's eyes. A man who has "loved and lost" is ofteninvested with a peculiar kind of sanctity in the eyes of a young girl. Wyvis Brand's handsome face and evident admiration of herself did notprepossess Margaret in his favor half so much as the fact that he hadknown loss and sorrow, and was temporarily ostracized by County societybecause his mother was "an impossible person. " This last deprivationappealed to Margaret's imagination more than the first. It seemed to hera terrible thing to remain unvisited by the "County. " What a good thingit would be, she reflected, if Mr. Brand could marry some nice girl, whowould persuade him to send his mother back to France, and for whose sakethe County magnates would extend to him the right hand of fellowship. Toreinstate him in his proper position--the position which Margaret toldherself he deserved and would adorn--seemed to her an ambition worthy ofany woman in the world. For Margaret's nature was curiously mixed. Fromher father she had inherited a great love of the beautiful and theromantic--there was a thoroughly unworldly strain in him which haddescended to her; but, then, it was counteracted by the influences whichshe had imbibed from Lady Caroline. Margaret used sometimes to rebelagainst her mother's maxims of worldly wisdom, but they graduallypermeated her mind, and the gold was so mingled with alloy that it wasdifficult to separate one from the other. She thought herself a veryunworldly person. We all have ideals of ourselves; and Margaret's idealof herself was of a rather saint-like creature, with high aspirationsand pure motives. Where her weakness really lay she had not the faintestnotion. 

It was strange even to herself to note the impression that Wyvis Brandhad produced on her. He was certainly of the type that tends to attractimpressionable girls, for he was dark and handsome, with the indefinabletouch of melancholy in his eyes which lends a subtler interest to theface than mere beauty. The little that she knew of his history hadtouched her. She constructed a great deal from the few facts or fanciesthat had been given to her, and the result was sufficiently unlike thereal man to be recognizable by nobody but Margaret herself. 

It has already been said that the Adair property and that of Wyvis Brandlay side by side. The Adair estate was a large one: that of the Brands'comparatively small; but at one point the two properties were separatedfor some little distance only by a narrow fishing stream, on one sideof which stretched an outlying portion of Mr. Adair's park; while on theother side lay a plantation, approached through the Beaminster woods, and not very far from the Red House itself. It was in thisplantation--which was divided from the woods only by a wire fence--thatJanetta had found little Julian and had afterwards encountered WyvisBrand. 

In spring the plantation was a particularly pleasant place. It wasstarred with primroses and anemones in the earlier months of the year, and blue with hyacinths at a later date. At a little distance theflowers looked like a veil of color spread between the trees. The brookbetween the park and the plantation was a merry little stream, dancinggaily over golden pebbles, and brightly responsive to the sunshine thatflickered between the lightly-clothed branches of the trees bordering iton either side. It was famous in the neighborhood for the big blueforget-me-nots that grew there; but it could hardly have been in searchof forget-me-nots that Margaret Adair wandered along its side onemorning, for they were scarcely in season, and her dreamy eyes did notseem to be looking for them on the bank. 

From amongst the trees of the plantation there appeared suddenly a man, who doffed his cap to Miss Adair with a look of mingled pleasure andsurprise. 

"Oh, good-morning, Mr. Brand. "

"Good-morning, Miss Adair. " No greeting could have been moreconventional. "May I ask if you are looking for forget-me nots? Thereare some already out lower down the stream. I will show you where theyare if you will turn to the left. "

"Thank you, " said Margaret. 

They moved down the slight slope together, but on different sides of thestream. At last they reached the spot where a gleam of blue was visibleat the water's edge. 

"It is on your side, " Margaret said, with a little smile. 

"I will get them for you, " he replied. And she stood waiting while hegathered the faintly-tinted blossoms. 

"And now, " she said, as he rose to his feet again, "how will you givethem to me? I am afraid I cannot reach across. "

"I could come over to you, " said Wyvis, his dark eyes resting upon hereagerly. "Will you ask me to come?"

She paused. "Why should I ask you?" she said, with a smile, as ifbetween jest and earnest. 

"You are standing on your ground, and I on mine. I have never in my lifebeen asked to cross the boundary. "

"I ask you then, " said Margaret coloring prettily. She washalf-frightened at the significance of her own words, when she hadspoken them. But it was too late to retract. It took Wyvis Brand amoment only to leap the brook, and to find himself at her side. Then, taking off his hat and bowing low, he presented her with the flowersthat he had gathered. She thanked him with a blush. 

"Will you give me one?" he asked, his eyes fixed upon her lovely face. "Just one!----"

"Why did you not keep one?" she said, bending over her nosegay as ifabsorbed in its arrangement. "They are so rare that I hardly know how tospare any. " Which was a bit of innocent coquetry on Margaret's part. 

"Just one, " he pleaded. "As a reward. As a memento. "

"A memento of what?" she asked, separating one or two flowers from thebunch as she spoke. 

"Of this occasion. "

"It is such an important occasion, is it not?" she said, with a sweet, mocking little laugh. 

"A very important occasion to me. Have I not met you?"

"That is a most charming compliment, " said Margaret, who was not unusedto hearing words of this kind in London drawing-rooms, and was quite inher native element. "In reward for it I will give you a flower--which ofcourse you will throw away as soon as I am out of sight. "

"No, not when you are out of sight: when you are out of mind, " he said, significantly. 

"The two are synonymous, " said Margaret. 

"Are they? Not with me. Throw it away? I will show you that it shall notbe thrown away. "

He produced a little pocket-book and put the forget-me-nots into it, carefully pressing them down against a blank page. 

"There, " he said, as he made a note in pencil at the bottom of the page, "that will be always with me now. "

"The poor forget-me-not!" said Margaret, smiling. "What a sad fate forit! To be torn from its home by the brook, taken away from the sun andthe air, to languish out its life in a pocket-book. "

"It should feel itself honored, " Said Wyvis, "because it is dying foryou. "

As we have said, this strain of half-jesting compliment was notunfamiliar to Margaret; but she could hardly remain unconscious of thefact that a deeper note had crept into his voice during the last fewwords, and that his eyes glowed with a fire more ardent than she usuallysaw. She drew back a little, and looked down: she was not exactlydispleased, but she was embarrassed. He noticed and understood theexpression of her face; and changed his tone immediately. 

"This is a pretty place, " he said, indicating the park and the distantwoods by a wave of his hand. "I always regret that I have been away fromit so long. "

"You have lived a great deal in France, I believe?"

"Yes, and in Italy, too. But I tired of foreign lands at last, andpersuaded my mother to come home with me. I am glad that I came. "

"You like the neighborhood?" said Margaret, in a tone of conventionalinterest. 

Wyvis laughed. "I don't see much of my neighbors, " he said, ratherdrily. "They don't approve of my family. But I like the scenery--and Ihave a friend or two--Miss Colwyn, for instance, who is a kinswoman ofmine, you know. "

"Oh, yes!" said Margaret, eagerly. Her momentary distrust of himvanished when she remembered Janetta. Of course, Janetta's cousin _must_be "nice!"--"I am so fond of Janetta: she is so clever and so good. "

"It is a great thing for her to have a friend like you, " said Wyvis, looking at her wistfully. In very truth, she was a wonderment to him;she seemed so ethereal, so saint-like, so innocent! And Margaret smiledpensively in return: unlimited admiration was quite to her taste. 

"Do you often walk here?" he inquired, when at last she said that shemust return home. 

And she said--"Sometimes. "

"Sometimes" is a very indefinite and convenient word. It may meananything or nothing. In a very short time, it meant that Margaret took abook out with her and walked down to the boundary stream about threetimes a week, if not oftener, and that Wyvis Brand was always there tobear her company. Before long a few stepping-stones were dropped intothe brook, so that she could cross it without wetting her dainty feet. It was shadier and cooler in the closely-grown plantation than in theopen park. And meetings in the plantation were less likely to bediscovered than in a more public place. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

LADY ASHLEY'S GARDEN PARTY. 

It may be wondered that Margaret had so much idle time upon her hands, and was not more constantly supervised in her comings and goings by LadyCaroline. But certain occurrences in the Adair family made it easy justthen for her to go her own way. Mr. Adair was obliged to stay in Londonon business, and while he was away very little was doing at HelmsleyCourt. Lady Caroline took the opportunity of his absence to "give way" alittle: she suffered occasionally from neuralgia, and the doctorrecommended her not to rise much before noon. Margaret's comfort andwelfare were not neglected. A Miss Stone, a distant relation of LadyCaroline's, came to spend a few weeks at the Court as a companion forMargaret. Miss Stone was not at all a disagreeable person. She couldplay tennis, dance, and sing; she could accompany Margaret's songs: shecould talk or be silent, as seemed good to her; and she was a model oftact and discretion. She was about thirty-five, but looked younger: shedressed well, and had pleasing manners, and without being absolutelyhandsome was sufficiently good-looking. Miss Alicia Stone was almostpenniless, and did not like to work; but she generally found herselfprovided for as "sheep-dog" or chaperon in some house of her numerousaristocratic friends. She was an amusing talker, and Margaret liked hersociety well enough, but Miss Stone was too clever not to know when shewas not wanted. It soon became evident to the companion that for somereason Margaret liked to walk in the park alone in a morning; and whatMargaret liked was law. Alicia knew how to efface herself on suchoccasions, so that when Lady Caroline asked at luncheon what the two hadbeen doing all the morning, it was easy and natural for Miss Stone toreply, "Oh, we have been out in the park, " although this meant only thatshe had been sitting at the conservatory door with a novel, whileMargaret had been wandering half a mile away. Lady Caroline used tosmile, and was satisfied. 

And Margaret's conscience was very little troubled. She had never beentold, she sometimes said to herself, that she was not to speak to Mr. Brand. And she was possessed with the fervent desire to save his soul(and social reputation), which sometimes leads young women into follieswhich they afterwards regret. He told her vaguely that he had had amiserable, unsatisfactory sort of life, and that he wished to amend. Hedid not add that his first impulses towards amendment had come fromJanetta Colwyn. Margaret thought that she was responsible for them, oneand all. And she felt it incumbent upon her to foster their growth, evenat the price of a small concealment--although it would, as she very wellknew, be a great one in her parents' eyes. 

As the days went on towards summer, it seemed to Janetta as though someinterest, some brightness perhaps, had died out of her life. Herfriends--her two chief friends, to whom her vow of friendship andservice had been sworn--were, in some inexplicable manner, alienatedfrom her. Margaret came regularly for her singing-lesson, but neverlingered to talk as she had done at first. She seemed pensive, languid, preoccupied. Wyvis Brand had left off calling for little Julian, excepton rare occasions. Perhaps his frequent loitering in the plantation lefthim but scant time for his daily work; he always pleaded business whenhis boy reproached him for his remissness, or when Janetta questionedhim somewhat mournfully with her earnest eyes. Certainly he too seemedpreoccupied, and when he was beguiled into the Colwyns' littledrawing-room he would sit almost silent in Janetta's company, never onceasking her counsel or opinion as he had done in earlier days. It waspossible that in her presence he felt a sort of compunction, a sort ofconscience-stricken shame. And his silence and apparent estrangement layupon Janetta's heart like lead. 

Poor Janetta was going through a time of depression and disappointment. Mrs. Colwyn had had two or three terrible relapses, and her conditioncould no longer be kept quite a secret from her friends. Janetta hadbeen obliged to call in the aid of the doctor who had been her father'sbest friend, and he recommended various changes of diet and habits whichgave the girl far more trouble than he knew. Where poverty is present ina home, it is sometimes hard to do the best either for the sinning orthe suffering; and so Mrs. Colwyn's weakness was one of the heaviestburdens that Janetta had to bear. The only gleams of brightness in herlot lay in the love and gentleness of the children that she taught, andin her satisfaction with Nora's engagement to Cuthbert. In almost allother respects she began to feel aware that she was heavily handicapped. 

It was nearly the end of June before she received the long-expectedinvitation from Lady Ashley. But it was not to an evening party. It wasa sort of combination entertainment--a garden-party for the young, andmusic for those elder persons who did not care to watch games at tennisall the afternoon. And Janetta was asked to sing. 

The day of the party was cloudlessly fine, but not too warm, as apleasant little summer breeze was blowing. Janetta donned a thin blackdress of some gauzy material, and thought that she looked very carewornand dowdy in her little bedroom looking-glass. But when she reached LadyAshley's house, excitement had brought a vivid color to her face; andwhen her hostess, after an appreciative glance at her dress, quietlypinned a cluster of scarlet geranium blooms at her neck, the littlesongstress presented an undeniably distinguished appearance. If she wasnot exactly pretty, she was more than pretty--she was striking andoriginal. 

Margaret Adair looked up and smiled at her from a corner, when Janettafirst came forward to sing. She was one of the very few girls who werepresent, for most of the young people were in the garden; but she hadinsisted on coming in to hear Janetta's song. She did not care aboutplaying tennis; it made her hot, and ruffled her pretty Paris gown, which was not suitable for violent exertion of any kind; she leftviolent exertion to Alicia Stone, who was always ready to join in otherpeople's amusements. Lady Caroline was not present; her neuralgia wastroublesome, and she had every confidence in Alicia's chaperonage andMargaret's discretion. Poor Lady Caroline was sometimes terriblymistaken in her reading of character. 

To the surprise of a good many people, the Brands were there. Not Mrs. Brand--only the two young men; but the fact was a good deal commentedupon, as hitherto "the County" had taken very little notice of the ownerof the Red House. It was perhaps this fact that had impelled Sir Philipto show the Brands some courtesy. He declared that he knew nothing badof these men, and that they ought not to be blamed for their father'ssins. Personally he liked them both, and he had no difficulty inpersuading his mother to call on Mrs. Brand, and then to sendinvitations for the garden party. But Mrs. Brand, as usual, declined togo out, and was represented only by her sons. 

What Sir Philip had not calculated on was the air of possession andprevious acquaintance with which Wyvis Brand greeted Miss Adair. He hadhardly expected that Margaret would come; and, indeed, Margaret had beenloath to accept Lady Ashley's invitation, especially without the escortof her mother. On the other hand, Lady Caroline was very anxious thatthe world should not know the extent of the breach between the twofamilies; and she argued that it would be very marked if Margaret stayedaway from a large garden party to which "everybody" went, and where itwould be very easy to do nothing more than exchange a mere passingsalutation with Sir Philip. So she had rather insisted on Margaret'sgoing; and the girl had had her own reasons for not protesting too much. She knew that Wyvis Brand would be there; and she had a fancy for seeinghim amongst other men, and observing how he bore himself in otherpeople's society. 

She was perfectly satisfied with the result. His appearance wasfaultless--far better than that of Sir Philip, who sometimes wore a coatuntil it was shiny at the shoulders, and was not very particular abouthis boots. Upright, handsome, well-dressed, with the air of distinctionwhich Margaret much preferred to beauty in a man, he was a distinctlynoticeable figure, and Margaret innocently thought that there was noreason why she should not show, in a well-bred and maidenly way, ofcourse, her liking for him. 

She had never had much resistant power, this "rare, pale Margaret" ofSir Philip's dreams, and it seemed quite natural to her that Wyvisshould hover at her side and attend to all her wants that afternoon. Shedid not notice that he was keeping off other men by his air ofproprietorship, and that women, old and young, were eyeing her withsurprise and disapprobation as she walked up and down the lawn with himand allowed him to provide her with tea or strawberries and cream. Shewas under a charm, and could not bear the idea of sending him away. While Wyvis--for his excuse let it be said that his air ofproprietorship was unconscious, and came simply out of his intenseadmiration for the girl and his headlong absorption in the interest ofthe moment. He did not at all know how intently and exclusively helooked at her; how reverential and yet masterful was his attitude; andthe sweet consciousness that sat on her down-dropped eyelids andtenderly flushed cheeks acted as no warning to him, but only as anincentive to persevere. 

The situation became patent to Janetta, when she stood up to sing. Margaret looked, nodded, and smiled at her with exquisite shyfriendliness. Janetta returned the greeting; and then--as peoplenoticed--suddenly flushed scarlet and as suddenly turned pale. Manypersons set this change of color down to nervousness; but Sir PhilipAshley followed the direction of her eyes and knew what she had seen. 

Miss Adair was sitting in a corner of the room, where perhaps she hopedto be unremarked; but her fair beauty and her white dress made itdifficult for her to remain obscure. Wyvis Brand stood beside her, leaning against the wall, with arms folded across his breast. He wasmore in shadow than was she, for he was touched by the folds of a heavyvelvet curtain; but his attitude was significant. He was not looking atthe singer, or at the room; his whole attention was visibly concentratedupon Margaret. He was looking at her, some one remarked quite audibly, as if he never meant to look away again. The close, keen absorption ofthat gaze was unusual enough to shock conventional observers. Therewould have been nothing insolent or overbold about it were he herhusband or her lover; but from a man who--as far as "the County"knew--was a comparative stranger in the land, and almost an outsider, it was positively shocking. And yet Miss Adair looked as if she wereonly pleasantly conscious of this rude man's stare. 

Fortunately for Margaret's reputation, it was currently believed thatWyvis Brand's wife was dead. Those who had some notion that she wasliving thought that he had divorced her. The general impression was thathe was at any rate free to marry; and that he was laying siege to theheart of the prettiest girl in the County now seemed an indisputablefact. Perhaps Janetta only, of all the persons assembled together in theroom, knew the facts of Wyvis Brand's unhappy marriage. And to Janetta, as well as to other people, it became plain that afternoon that he hadcompletely lost his heart--perhaps his head as well--to Margaret Adair. 

The chatter of the crowd would have revealed as much to Janetta, even ifher own observation had not told her a good deal. "How that man doesstare at that girl! Is he engaged to her?" "Young Brand's utterly goneon Miss Adair; that's evident. " "Is Lady Caroline not here? Do you thinkthat she _knows_?" "Margaret Adair is certainly very pretty, but Ishould not like one of _my_ girls to let herself be made soconspicuous!" Such were some of the remarks that fell on Janetta's ear, and made her face burn with shame and indignation. Not that she exactlybelieved in the reality even of the things that she had seen. That Wyvisshould admire Margaret was so natural! That Margaret should accept theoffered admiration in her usual serene manner was equally to beexpected. But that either of them should be unwise enough to give riseto idle gossip, about so natural a state of mind was what Janetta couldnot understand. It was not Margaret's fault; she was very sure of that. It must be Wyvis Brand's. He was her cousin, and she mightsurely--perhaps--ask him what he meant by putting Margaret in such afalse position! Oh, but she could not presume to do that. What would hethink of her? And yet--and yet--the look with which he had regardedMargaret seemed to be stamped indelibly upon Janetta's faithful, achingheart. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

SIR PHILIP'S DECISION. 

"Philip, " said Lady Ashley that evening, with some hesitation in herspeech; "Philip--did you--did you notice Mr. Brand--much--to-day?"

The guests had all gone; dinner was over; mother and son were sitting inwicker chairs on the terrace, resting after the fatigues of the day. SirPhilip was smoking a very mild cigarette: he was not very fond oftobacco, for, as the Adairs sometimes expressed it, he "had no smallvices. " Lady Ashley was wrapped in a white shawl, and her delicate, blue-veined hands were crossed upon her lap in unaccustomed idleness. 

"I did notice him, " said her son, quietly. "He seemed to be paying agreat deal of attention to Miss Adair. "

"Oh, Philip, dear, it distressed me so much!"

"Why should it distress you, mother?--it is nothing to us. "

"Well, if you feel in that way about it--still, I am grieved for theAdairs' sake. After all, they are old friends of ours. And I hadhoped----"

"Our hopes are not often realized, are they?" said Sir Philip, in thegentle, persuasive tones that his mother thought so winning. "Perhaps itis best. At any rate, it is best to forget the hopes that never _can_ berealized. "

"Do you think it is really so, Philip? Everyone was talking about hismanner this afternoon. "

"She was giving him every encouragement, " said her son, looking away. 

"Such an undesirable match! Poor Lady Caroline!"

"We do not know how things are being arranged, mother. Possibly LadyCaroline and Mr. Adair are favoring an engagement. Miss Adair is hardlylikely to act against their will. "

"No, she has scarcely resolution enough for that. Then you don't thinkthat they met for the first time this afternoon?"

"Gracious heavens, no!" said Sir Philip, roused a little out of hisapparent indifference. "They met quite as old acquaintances--oldfriends. I suppose the Adairs have renewed the friendship. Theproperties lie side by side. That may be a reason. "

"I am very sorry we asked him here, " said Lady Ashley, almost viciously. "I had no idea that he was paying attention to _her_. I hope there isnothing wrong about it--such a very undesirable match!"

"I don't really know why, " said her son, with a forced smile. "WyvisBrand is a fine, handsome fellow, and the property, though small, is anice one. Miss Adair might do worse. "

"I believe her mother thinks that she might marry a duke. "

"And so she might. She is a great beauty, and an heiress. " And there wasa ring of bitterness in his tone which pained his mother's heart. 

"Ah, Philip, " she said--not very, wisely--"you need not regret her. 'Afair woman without discretion, ' she would not be the wife for you. "

"I beg that you will not say that again, mother. " He did not turn hisface towards her, and his voice was studiously gentle, but it wasdecided too. "She is, as you say, 'a fair woman, ' but she has not shownherself as yet 'without discretion, ' and it is hardly kind to condemnher before she has done any wrong. "

"I do not think that she behaved well to you, Philip. But I beg yourpardon, my son: we will not discuss the matter. It seems hard to me, ofcourse, that you should have suffered for any woman's sake. "

"Ah, mother, every one does not see me with your kind eyes, " he said, bringing his face round with a smile, and laying his right hand over oneof hers. But the smile thinly disguised the pain that lingered like ashadow in his eyes. "Let us hope, at any rate, that Margaret may behappy. "

Lady Ashley sighed and pressed his hand. "If you could but meet some oneelse whom you cared for as much, Philip!" And then she paused, for hehad--involuntarily as it seemed--shaken his head, and she did not liketo proceed further. 

A pause of some minutes followed; and then she determined to change thesubject. 

"The music went very well this afternoon, I think, " she said. "MissColwyn was in very good voice. Do you not like her singing?"

"Yes, very much. "

"The Watertons were asking me about her. And the Bevans. I fancy shewill get several engagements. Poor girl, I hope she will. "

Sir Philip threw away the end of his cigarette, and got up ratherabruptly, Lady Ashley thought. Without a word he began to pace up anddown the terrace, and finally, turning his back on her, he stared at thegarden and the distant view, now faintly illumined by a rising moon, asif he had forgotten his mother's very existence. Lady Ashley wassurprised. He usually treated her with such marked distinction that toappear for a moment unconscious of her presence was almost a slight. Shewas too dignified, however, to try to recall his attention, and shewaited quietly until her son turned round again and suddenly faced herwith an air of calm determination. 

"Mother, " he said, "I have something important to say. "

"Well, Philip?"

"You have often said that you wanted me to marry. "

"Yes, dearest, I do wish it. "

"I also see the expediency of marriage. The woman whom I loved, whoseemed to us as suitable as she is lovely, will not marry me. What shallI look for in my second choice? Character rather than fortune, healthrather than beauty. This seems to me the wiser way. "

"And love rather than expediency, " said his mother quickly. 

"Ah!" he drew a long breath. "But we can't always have love. The otherrequisites are perhaps more easily found. "

"Have you found them, Philip?" The mother's voice quivered as she askedthe question. He did not answer it immediately--he stood looking at theground for some little time. 

"My mind is made up, " he said at last, slowly and quietly; "I know whatI want, and I think that I have found it. Mother, I am going to ask MissColwyn to be my wife. "

If a thunderbolt had fallen at her feet, Lady Ashley could not have beenmore amazed. She sat silent, rigid, incapable of a reply. 

"I have seen something of her, and I have heard more, " her son went on, soberly. "She is of sterling worth. She has intellect, character, affection: what can we want more? She is attractive, if not exactlybeautiful, and she is good--thoroughly good and true. "

"But her connections, Philip--her relations, " gasped Lady Ashley. 

"It will be easy enough to do something for them. Of course they willhave to be provided for--away from Beaminster, if possible. She is anorphan, remember: these are only her half sisters and brothers. "

"There is the dreadful stepmother!"

"I think we can manage her. These points do not concern the main issue, mother. Will you receive her as your daughter if I bring Janetta Colwynhere as my wife?"

Lady Ashley had put her handkerchief to her eyes. "I will do anything toplease you, Philip, " she said, almost inaudibly; "but I cannot pretendthat this is anything but a disappointment. "

"I have thought the matter well over. I am convinced that she will makea good wife, " said the young man; and from his voice and manner LadyAshley felt that his resolution was invulnerable. "There is absolutely_no_ objection except the one concerning her relations--and that may begot over. Mother, you wish for my happiness: tell me that you will notdisapprove. "

Lady Ashley got up from her basket chair, and laid her arms roundPhilip's neck. 

"My dear son, " she said, "I will do my best. I wish for nothing but yourhappiness, and I should never think of trying to thwart your intentions. But you must give me a little time in which to accustom myself to thisnew idea. "

And then she wept a little, and kissed and blessed him, and they partedon the most cordial of terms. Nevertheless, neither of them was veryhappy. Lady Ashley was, as she had said, disappointed in the choice thathe had made; and Sir Philip, in spite of his brave words, was very soreat heart. 

Janetta, all unconscious of the honor preparing for her, was meanwhilepassing some miserable hours. She could not sleep that night--she knewnot why. It was the excitement of the party, she supposed. Butsomething beside excitement was stirring in her heart. She tried togive it a name, but she would not look the thing fairly in the face, and, therefore, she was not very successful in her nomenclature. Shecalled it friendly interest in others, a desire for their happiness, adesire also for their good. What made the burning pain and unrest ofthese desires? Why should they cause her such suffering? She did notknow--or, more correctly, she refused to know. 

She rose in the morning feeling haggard and unrefreshed. The day was avery hot one; the breeze had died away, and there was not a cloud in thedeep blue sky. Julian Brand came in the dog-cart with the groom. He hadnot seen his father that morning, he said, and he thought that he hadgone away, but he did not know. Gone away? Janetta sat down to her workwith a heavy heart. It seemed to her that she must speak either to himor to Margaret. He was compromising her friend, and for Margaret's sakeshe must not hold her peace. Well, it was the day for Miss Adair'ssinging lesson. When she came that afternoon, Janetta made up her mindthat she would say a needful word. 

But Margaret did not come. She sent a note, asking to be excused. Shehad a headache, and could not sing that afternoon. 

"She is afraid to come!" said Janetta, passionately, and for almost thefirst time she felt a thrill of anger against her friend. 

Another visitor came, if Margaret did not. About four o'clock, just asJulian was beginning to wonder when he would be fetched away, athundering peal at the door knocker announced the appearance of WyvisBrand. Janetta was in the drawing-room putting away some music when hecame in. She saw that he glanced eagerly round the room, as if expectingto see someone else--perhaps Margaret Adair--and her heart hardened tohim a little as she gave him her hand. Had he come at that hour becauseMargaret generally took her lesson then?

"How cold you are!" cried Wyvis, holding the little hand for the momentin his own. "On this hot day! How _can_ you manage to keep so cool??"

If his heart had been throbbing and his head burning as Janetta's werejust then, he might have known how to answer the question. 

"You have come for Julian, I suppose?" she said, a little coldly. 

"Yes--in a minute or two. Won't you let me rest for a few minutes aftermy walk in the broiling sun?"

"Oh, certainly; you shall have some tea, if you like. I am at libertythis afternoon, " said Janetta, with a little malice, "as my pupil hasjust sent me word that she has a headache, and cannot come. "

"Who is your pupil this afternoon?" said Wyvis, stroking his blackmoustache. 

"Miss Adair. "

He gave her a quick, keen glance, then turned away. She read vexation inhis eyes. 

"Don't let me trouble you, " he said, in a different tone, as she movedtowards the door; "I really ought not to stay--I have an engagement ortwo to fulfill. No tea, thanks. Is Julian ready?"

"In a minute or two I will call him. I want to ask you a questionfirst--if you will let me?"

"All right; go on. That's the way people begin disagreeable subjects, doyou know?"

"I don't know whether you will consider this a disagreeable question. Isuppose you will, " said Janetta, with an effort. "I promised you once tosay nothing to my friends about your affairs--about Julian's mother, andI have kept my word. But I must ask you now--does Miss Adair know thatyou are married?"

There was a moment's pause. They stood opposite one another, and, lifting her eyes to his face, she saw that he was frowning heavily andgnawing his moustache. 

"What does that matter to _you_?" he said, angrily, at last. 

She shrank a little, but answered steadily--

"Margaret is my friend. "

"Well, what then?"

The color rose to Janetta's face. "I don't believe you knew what you weredoing yesterday, " she said; "but I knew--I heard people talking, and Iknew what people thought. They said that you were paying attention toMiss Adair. They supposed you were going to marry her soon. None of themseemed to know that--that--your wife was still alive. And of course Icould not tell them. "

"Of course not, " he assented, with curious eagerness; "I knew you wouldkeep your word. "

"You made Margaret conspicuous, " Janetta continued, with some warmth. "You placed her in a very false position. If _she_ thinks, as otherpeople thought, that you want to marry her, she ought to be told thetruth at once. You must tell her--yourself--that you were only amusingyourself--only playing with her, as no man has a right to play with agirl, " said Janetta, with such vehemence that the tears rose to hergreat dark eyes and the scarlet color to her cheeks--"that you wereflirting, in fact, and that Julian's mother--_your wife_, CousinWyvis--is still alive. "

CHAPTER XXVI. 

"FREE!"

"And what if I refuse to tell her this?" said Wyvis Brand. 

"Then I shall tell her myself. "

"And break your word to me?"

"And break my word. "

He stood looking at her for a minute in silence, and then an ironicalsmile curled his lip as he turned aside. 

"Women are all alike, " he said. "They cannot possibly hold theirtongues. I thought _you_ were superior to most of your sex. I rememberthat your father once spoke of you to me as 'his faithful Janet. ' Isthis your faithfulness?"

"Yes, it is, it is, " she cried; and then, sitting down, she suddenlyburst into tears. She was unnerved and agitated, and so she wept, asgirls will weep--for nothing at all sometimes, and sometimes in the verycrisis of their fate. 

Wyvis looked on, uncomprehending, a little touched, though ratheragainst his will, by Janetta's tears. He knew that she did not oftencry. He waited for the paroxysm to pass--waited grimly, but with"compunctuous visitings. " And presently he was rewarded for hispatience. She dried her eyes, lifted up her head, and spoke. 

"I don't know why I should make such a fool of myself, " she said. "Isuppose it was because you mentioned my father. Yes, he used to call mehis faithful Janet very often. I have always tried--to--to _deserve_that name. "

"Forgive me, Janetta, " said her cousin, more moved than he liked toappear. "I did not want to hurt you; but, indeed, my dear girl, you mustlet me manage my affairs for myself. You are not responsible forMargaret Adair as you were for Nora; and you can't, you know, bring meto book as you did my brother, Cuthbert. "

"You mean that I interfere too much in other people's business?" saidpoor Janetta, with quivering lips. 

"I did not say so. I only say, '_Don't_ interfere. '"

"It is very hard to do right, " said Janetta, looking at him with wistfuleyes. "One's duty seems so divided. Margaret is not my sister--that istrue, but she is my friend; and I always believed that one hadresponsibilities and duties towards friends as well as towardsrelations. "

"Possibly"--in a very dry tone. "But you need not meddle with what is noconcern of yours. "

"It is my concern, if you--my cousin--are not acting rightly to myfriend. "

"I say it is no concern of yours at all. "

They had come to a deadlock. He faced her, with the dark, haughty, imperious look which she knew so well upon his fine features; she stoodsilent, angry too, and almost as imperious. But, womanlike, she yieldedfirst. 

"You asked me once to be your friend, Cousin Wyvis. I want to be yoursand Margaret's too. Won't you let me see what you mean?"

Wyvis Brand's brow relaxed a little. 

"I don't understand your views of friendship: it seems to mean a rightto intermeddle with all the affairs of your acquaintances, " he said, cuttingly; "but since you are so good as to ask my intentions----"

"If you talk like that, I'll never speak to you again!" cried Janetta, who was not remarkable for her meekness. 

Wyvis actually smiled. 

"Come, " he said, "be friends, Janetta. I assure you I don't mean anyharm. You must not be straight-laced. Your pretty friend is no doubtwell able to take care of herself. "

But he looked down as he said this and knitted his brows. 

"She has never had occasion to do it, " said Janetta, epigrammatically. 

"Then don't you think it is time she learns?"

"You have no right to be her teacher. "

"Right! right!" cried Wyvis, impatiently "I am tired of this cuckoo-cryabout my rights! I have the right to do what I choose, to get whatpleasure out of life I can, to do my best for myself. It is everybody'sright, and he is only a hypocrite who denies it. "

"There is one limitation, " said Janetta. "Get what you can for yourself, if you like--it seems to me a somewhat selfish view--as long as youdon't injure anybody else. "

"Whom do I injure?" he asked, looking at her defiantly in the face. 

"Margaret. "

He dropped his eyes, and the defiance went suddenly out of his look andvoice. 

"Injure her?" he said, in a very low tone. "Surely, you know, I wouldn'tdo _that_--to save my life. "

Janetta looked at him mutely. The words were a revelation. There was apause, during which she heard, as in a dream, the sound of children'svoices and children's feet along the passages of the house. Julian andTiny were running riot; but she felt, for the time being, as if she hadnothing to do with them: their interests did not touch her: she dwelt ina world apart. Hitherto Wyvis had stood, hat in hand, as if he wereready to go at a moment's notice; but now he changed his attitude. Heseated himself determinedly, put down his hat, and looked back at her. 

"Well, " he said, "I see that I must explain myself if I mean to make mypeace with you, Janetta. I am, perhaps, not so bad as you think me. Ihave not mentioned to Miss Adair that Julian's mother is alive, becauseI consider myself a free man. Julian's mother, once my wife, hasdivorced me, and is, I believe, on the point of marrying again. Surelyin that case I am free to marry too. "

"Divorced you?" Janetta repeated, with dilating eyes. 

"Yes, divorced me. She has gone out to America and managed it there. Itis easy enough in some of the States to get divorced from an absent wifeor husband, as no doubt you know. Incompatibility of temper was thealleged reason. I believe she is going to marry a Chicago man--somethingin pork. "

"And you are legally free?"

"She says so. I fancy there is a legal hitch somewhere but I have notyet consulted my lawyers. We were married by the Catholic rite inFrance, and the Catholic Church will probably consider us married still. But Margaret is not a Catholic--nor am I. "

"And you think, " said Janetta, very slowly, "of marrying Margaret?"

He looked up at her and laughed, a little uneasily. 

"You think she won't have me?"

"I don't know. I think you don't know her yet, Wyvis. "

"I dare say not, " said her cousin. Then he broke out in quite adifferent tone: "No wonder I don't; she's a perpetual revelation to me. I never saw anything like her--so pure, so spotless, so exquisite. It'slike looking at a work of art--a bit of delicate china, or a picture byFrancia or Guido. Something holy and serene about her--something thatsets her apart from the ordinary world. I can't define it: but it'sthere. I feel myself made of a coarse, common clay in her presence: Iwant to go down on my knees and serve her like a queen. That's how Ifeel about Margaret. "

"Ah!" said Janetta, "my princess of dreams. That is what I used to callher. That is what I--used to feel. "

"Don't you feel it now?" said Wyvis, sitting up and staring at her. 

Janetta hesitated. "Margaret is my dear friend, and I love her. But I amolder--perhaps I can't feel exactly in that way about her now. "

"You talk as if you were a sexagenarian, " said Wyvis, exploding intogenial laughter. He looked suddenly brighter and younger, as if hisoutburst of emotion had wonderfully relieved him. "I am much older thanyou, and yet I see her in the same light. What else is there to sayabout her? She is perfect--there is not much to discuss in perfection. "

"She is most lovely--most sweet, " said Janetta, warmly. "And yet--thevery things you admire may stand in your way, Wyvis. She is veryinnocent of the world. And if you have won her--her--affection beforeyou have told her your history----"

"You think this wretched first marriage of mine will stand in the way?"

"I do. With Margaret and with her parents. "

Wyvis frowned again. "I had better make sure of her--marry her at once, and tell her afterwards, " he said. But perhaps he said it only to seewhat Janetta would reply. 

"You would not do that, Wyvis?"

"I don't know. "

"But you want to be worthy of her?"

"I shall never be that so it's no good trying. "

"She would never forgive you if you married her without telling her thetruth. "

Wyvis laughed scornfully. "You know nothing about it. A woman willforgive anything to the man she loves. "

"Not a meanness!" said the girl, sharply. 

"Yes, meanness, deceit, lies, anything--so long as it was done for hersake. "

"I don't believe that would be the case with Margaret. Once disgust her, and you lose her love. "

"Then she can't have much to give, " retorted Wyvis. 

Janetta was silent. In her secret heart she did not think that Margaret_could_ love very deeply--that, indeed, she had not much to give. 

"Well, what's the upshot?" said her cousin, at last, in a dogged tone. "Are you satisfied at last?"

"I shall be better satisfied when you make things plain to the Adairs. You have no right to win Margaret's heart in this secret way. You blamedCuthbert for making love to Nora. It is far worse for you to do it toMargaret Adair. "

"I am so much beneath her, am I not?" said Wyvis, with a sneer. And thenhe once more spoke eagerly. "I _am_ beneath her: I am as the dust underher feet. Don't you think I know that? I'll tell you what, Janetta, whenI first saw her and spoke to her--here, in this room, if you remember--Ithought that she was like a being from another world. I had never seenanyone like her. She is the fairest, sweetest of women, and I would notharm her for the world. "

"I don't know whether I ought even to listen to you, " said Janetta, in atroubled voice and with averted head. "You know, many people would saythat you were in the wrong altogether--that you were not free----"

"Then they would say a lie! I am legally free, I believe, and morallyfree, I am certain. I thank God for it. I have suffered enough. "

He looked so stern, so uncompromising, that Janetta hastened to takerefuge in concrete facts. 

"But you will tell Margaret everything?"

"In my own good time. "

"Do promise me that you will not marry her without letting her know--ifever it comes, to a talk of your marriage. "

"_If ever?_ It will come very soon, I hope. But I'll promise nothing. And you must not make mischief. "

"I am like you--I will promise nothing. "

"I shall never forgive you, if you step between Margaret and me, " saidWyvis. 

"I shall never step between you, I hope, " said Janetta, in a dispiritedtone. "But it is better for me to promise nothing more. "

Wyvis shrugged his shoulders, as if he thought it useless to argue withher. She was sorry for the apparently unfriendly terms on which theyseemed likely to part; and it was a relief to her when, as they weresaying good-bye, he looked into her face rather wistfully and said, "Wish me success, Janetta, after all. "

"I wish you every happiness, " she said. But whether that meant successor not it would have been hard to say. 

She saw him take his departure, with little Julian clinging to his hand, and then she set about her household duties in her usual self-containedand steadfast way. But her heart ached sadly--she did not quite knowwhy--and when she went to bed that night she lay awake for many wearyhours, weeping silently, but passionately, over the sorrow that, sheforesaw for her dearest friends, and, perhaps, also for herself. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

A BIG BRIBE. 

It seemed to Janetta as if she had almost expected to see Lady CarolineAdair drive up to her door about four o'clock next day, in the veryvictoria wherein the girl had once sat side by side with Margaret'smother, and from which she had first set eyes on Wyvis Brand. She hadexpected it, and yet her heart beat faster, and her color went and came, as she disposed of her pupils in the little dining-room, and met hervisitor just as she crossed the hall. 

"Can I speak to you for five minutes, Miss Colwyn?" said Lady Caroline, in so suave a voice that for a moment Janetta felt reassured. Only for amoment, however. When she had shut the drawing-room door, she saw thather visitor's face was for once both cold and hard. Janetta offered achair, and Lady Caroline took it, but without a word of thanks. She hadevidently put on the "fine lady" manner, which Janetta detested from herheart. 

"I come to speak on a very painful subject, " said Lady Caroline. Hervoice was pitched a little higher than usual, but she gave no other signof agitation. "You were at Lady Ashley's garden party the day beforeyesterday I believe?"

Janetta bowed assent. 

"May I ask if you observed anything remarkable in my daughter'sbehavior? You are supposed to be Margaret's friend: you must havenoticed what she was doing all the afternoon. "

"I do not think that Margaret _could_ behave unsuitably, " said Janetta, suddenly flushing up. 

"I am obliged to you for your good opinion of my daughter. But that isnot the point. Did you notice whether she was talking or walking a greatdeal with one person, or----"

"Excuse me, Lady Caroline, " said Janetta, "but I did not spend theafternoon in watching Margaret, and I am quite unable to give you anyinformation on the subject. "

"I really do not see the use of beating about the bush, " said LadyCaroline, blandly. "You must know perfectly well to what I refer. Mr. Wyvis Brand is a connection of yours, I believe. I hear on all sidesthat he and my daughter were inseparable all the afternoon. Greatly tomy astonishment, I confess. "

"Mr. Brand is a second cousin of mine, and his brother is engaged to myhalf-sister, " said Janetta; "but I have nothing to do with hisacquaintance with Margaret. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed Lady Caroline. She put up her eye-glass, andcarefully inspected Janetta from head to foot. "Nothing to do with theiracquaintance, you say! May I ask, then, _where_ my daughter met Mr. Brand? Not in _my_ house, I think. "

Janetta gave a slight start. She had for the moment utterly forgottenthat it was in Gwynne Street that Wyvis Brand and Margaret had firstmet. 

"I beg your pardon: I forgot, " she said. "Of course--Margaret no doubttold you--she came here one day for her singing-lesson, and Mr. Brandcalled for his little boy. It was the first time they had seen eachother. "

"And how often have they met here since, may I ask?"

"Never again, Lady Caroline. "

"I was of course to blame in letting my daughter go out without achaperon, " said Lady Caroline, disagreeably. "I never thought of dangerin _this_ quarter, certainly. I can quite appreciate your motive, MissColwyn. No doubt it would be very pleasant for _you_ if Margaret were tomarry your cousin; but we have prejudices that must be consulted. "

"I hope you did not come here meaning to insult me, " said Janetta, starting to her feet; "but I think you cannot know what you are saying, Lady Caroline. _I_ want my cousin to marry your daughter? I neverthought of such a thing--until yesterday!"

"And what made you think of it yesterday, pray? Please let us have noheroics, no hysterics: these exhibitions of temper are so unseemly. Whatmade you think so yesterday?"

"Mr. Brand came here, " said Janetta, suddenly growing very white, "andtold me that he cared for Margaret. I do not know how they had met. Hedid not tell me. He--he--cares very much for her. "

"Cares for her! What next? He came here--when? At Margaret'slesson-time, I suppose?"

She saw from Janetta's face that her guess was correct. 

"I need hardly say that Margaret will not come here again, " said LadyCaroline, rising and drawing her laces closely around her. "There is theamount due to you, Miss Colwyn. I calculated it before I came out, and Ithink you will find it all right. There is one more question I mustreally ask before I go: there seems some uncertainty concerning the fateof Mr. Brand's first wife; perhaps you can tell me whether she is aliveor dead?"

Poor Janetta scarcely knew what to say. But she told herself that truthwas always best. 

"I believe he--he--is divorced from her, " she stammered, knowing fullwell how very condemnatory her words must sound in Lady Caroline's ear. They certainly produced a considerable effect. 

"_Divorced?_ And you introduced him to Margaret? Of course I know that a_divorc�_ is often received in society, and so on, but I always set myface against the prevalent lax views of marriage, and I hoped that I hadbrought up my daughter to do the same. I suppose"--satirically--"you didnot think it worth while to tell Margaret this little fact?"

"I did not know it then, " Janetta forced herself to say. 

"Indeed?" Lady Caroline's "indeed" was very crushing. "Well, either yourinformation or your discretion must have been very much at fault. I mustsay, Miss Polehampton _now_ strikes me as a woman of greatdiscrimination of character. I will say good-morning, Miss Colwyn, and Ithink the acquaintance between my daughter and yourself had better bediscontinued. It has certainly been, from beginning to end, anunsuitable and disastrous friendship. "

"Before you go, Lady Caroline, will you kindly take the envelope awaythat you have left upon the table?" said Janetta, as haughtily as LadyCaroline herself could have spoken. "I certainly shall not take moneyfrom you if you believe such evil things of me. I have known nothing ofthe acquaintance between my cousin and Miss Adair; but after what youhave said I will not accept anything at your hands. "

"Then I am afraid it will have to remain on the table, " said LadyCaroline, as she swept out of the room, "for I cannot take it backagain. "

Janetta caught up the envelope. One glance showed her that it containeda cheque. She tore it across and across, and was in time to place thefragments on the seat beside Lady Caroline, just before the carriage wasdriven away. She went back into the house with raised head and flamingcheeks, too angry and annoyed to settle down to work, too much hurt tobe anything but restless and preoccupied. The reaction did not set infor some hours; but by six o'clock, when the children were all out ofdoors and her stepmother had gone to visit a friend, and Janetta hadthe house to herself, she lay down on a couch in the drawing-room with afeeling of intense exhaustion and fatigue. She was too tired almost tocry, but a tear welled up now and then, and was allowed to tricklequietly down her pale cheek. She was utterly wretched and depressed: theworld seemed a dark place to her, especially when she considered thatshe had already lost one friend whom she had so long and so tenderlyloved, and that she was not unlikely to lose another. For Wyvis mightblame her--_would_ blame her, probably--for what she had said to LadyCaroline. 

A knock at the front door aroused her. It was a knock that she did notknow; and she wondered at first whether one of the Adairs or one of theBrands were coming to visit her. She sat up and hastily rearranged herhair and dried her eyes. The charity orphan was within hearing and hadgone to the door: it was she who presently flung open the door andannounced, in awe-stricken tones--

"Sir Philip Hashley. "

Janetta rose in some consternation. What did this visit portend? Had_he_ also come to reproach her for her conduct to Margaret and Wyvis?For she surmised--chiefly from the way in which she had seen him followMargaret with his eyes at the garden-party--that his old love was notdead. 

He greeted her with his usual gentleness of manner, and sat down--notimmediately facing her, as she was glad to think, scarcely realizingthat he had at once seen the trouble in her face, and did not wish toembarrass her by a straightforward gaze. He gave her a little time inwhich to recover herself, too; he spoke of indifferent subjects in anindifferent tone, so that when five minutes had elapsed Janetta wasquite herself again, and had begun to speculate upon her chance of anengagement to sing at another musical party. 

"I hope Lady Ashley is well, " she said, when at last a short pause came. 

"Quite well, I thank you, and hoping to see you soon. "

"Oh, I am so grateful to you for saying that, " said Janetta, impulsively. "I felt that I did not know whether she was satisfied withmy singing or not. You know I am a beginner. "

"I am sure I may say that she was perfectly satisfied, " said Sir Philip, courteously. "But it was not in allusion to your singing that she spokeof wishing to see you again. "

"Lady Ashley is very kind, " said Janetta, feeling rather surprised. 

"She would like to see more of you, " Sir Philip went on in a somewhatblundering fashion. "She is very much alone: it would be a great comfortto her to have some one about her--some one whom she liked--some one whowould be like a daughter to her----"

A conviction as to the cause of his visit flashed across Janetta's mind. He was going to ask her to become Lady Ashley's companion! With herusual quickness she forgot to wait for the proposition, and answered itbefore it was made. 

"I wish I could be of some use to Lady Ashley, " she said, with the warmdirectness that Sir Philip had always liked. "I have never seen any onelike her--I admire her so much! You will forgive me for saying so, Ihope? But I could not be spared from home to do anything for herregularly. If she wants a girl who can read aloud and play nicely, Ithink I know of one, but perhaps I had better ask Lady Ashley moreparticularly about the qualifications required?"

"I did not say anything about a companion, did I?" said Sir Philip, witha queer little smile. "Not in your sense of the word, at any rate. "

"Oh, I beg your pardon, " said Janetta, suddenly flushing scarlet: "Ithought--I understood----"

"You could not possibly know what I meant: I was not at all clear, " saidSir Philip, decidedly. "I had something else in my mind. "

She looked at him inquiringly. He rose from his chair and moved aboutthe room a little, with an appearance of agitation which excited herdeepest wonderment. He averted his eyes from her, and there wassomething like a flush on his naturally pale cheek. He seemed reallynervous. 

"Is there anything that I can do for Lady Ashley?" said Janetta, atlast, when the silence had lasted as long as she thought desirable. 

"There is something you can do for me. "

"For you, Sir Philip?"

Sir Philip faced her resolutely. "For me, Miss Colwyn. If I tell you invery few words, will you forgive my abruptness? I don't think it is anyuse beating about the bush in these matters. Will you be my wife? Thatis what I came to say. "

Janetta sat gazing at him with wide open eyes, as if she thought that hehad taken leave of his senses. 

"Don't answer at once; take time, " said Sir Philip, quickly. "I knowthat I may perhaps have startled you: but I don't want you to answerhastily. If you would like time for reflection, pray take it. I hopethat reflection will lead you to say that you will at least try to likeme enough to become my wife. "

Janetta felt that he was very forbearing. Some men in his position wouldhave thought it sufficient to indicate their choice, and then to expectthe favored lady, especially if she were small and brown and plain, andworked for her bread, to fall at his feet in an ecstasy of joy. Janettahad never yet felt inclined to fall at anybody's feet. But Sir Philip'sforbearance seemed to call for additional care and speed in answeringhim. 

"But--I am sure Lady Ashley----" she began, and stopped. 

"My mother will welcome you as a daughter, " said Sir Philip, gently. "She sends her love to you to-day, and hopes that you will consent tomake me happy. "

Janetta sat looking at her crossed hands. "Oh, it isimpossible--impossible, " she murmured. 

"Why so? If there is no obstacle in--in your own affections, it seems tome that it would be quite possible, " said Sir Philip, standing beforeher in an attitude of some urgency. "But perhaps you have a dislike tome?"

"Oh, no. " She could not say more--she could not look up. 

"I think I could make your life a happy one. You would not find medifficult. And you need have no further anxiety about your family; wecould find some way of managing that. You think as I do about so manysubjects that I am sure we should be happy together. "

It was a big bribe. That was how Janetta looked at it in that moment. She was certain that Sir Philip did not love her: she knew that she didnot love Sir Philip; and yet--it did seem that she might have a happy, easy, honored life if she consented to marry him--a life that would makeher envied by many who had previously scorned her, and which would be, she hoped, productive of good to those whom she deeply loved. It was abribe--a temptation. She was tempted, as any girl might have been, toexchange her life of toil and anxiety for one of luxury and peace; butthere was something that she would also have to lose--the clear, uprightconscience, the love of truth, the conviction of well-doing. She couldnot keep these and become Sir Philip's wife. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

"CHANGES MUST COME. "

She raised her eyes at length, and looked Sir Philip in the face. What amanly, honest, intelligent face it was! One that a woman might well beproud of in her husband: the face of a man whom she might very safelytrust. Janetta thought all this, as she made her answer. 

"I am very sorry, Sir Philip, but I cannot be your wife. "

"You are answering me too hastily. Think again--take a day, a week--amonth if you like. Don't refuse without considering the matter, I beg ofyou. "

Janetta shook her head. "No consideration will make any difference. "

"I know that I am not attractive, " said her suitor, after a moment'spause, in a somewhat bitter tone. "I have not known how to woo--how tomake pretty speeches and protestations--but for all that, I should make, I believe, a very faithful and loving husband. I am almost certain thatI could make you happy, Janetta--if you will let me call you so--may Inot try?"

"I should not feel that I was doing right, " said Janetta, simply. 

It was the only answer that could have made Sir Philip pause. He wasquite prepared for hesitation and reluctance of a sort; but a scruple ofconscience was a thing that he respected. "Why not?" he said, in asurprised tone. 

"I have two or three reasons. I don't think I can tell them to you, SirPhilip; but they are quite impossible for me to forget. "

"Then I think you would be doing better to tell me, " said he, gently. Hepulled a chair forward, sat down close to Janetta, and quietly laid hishand upon hers. "Now, what are they--these reasons?" he asked. 

Her seat was lower than his chair, and she was obliged to lift her eyeswhen she looked at him. His face compelled truthfulness. And Janetta waswise enough to know whom she might trust. 

"If I speak frankly, will you forgive me?" she said. 

"If you will speak frankly, I shall esteem it a great honor. "

"Then, " said Janetta, bravely, "one of my reasons is this. You are mostkind, and I know that you would be always good to me. I might even, asyou say, be very happy after a time, but you do not--care for me--you donot love me, and"--here she nearly broke down--"and--I think you lovesome one else. "

Sir Philip made a movement as if to take away his hand; but herestrained himself and grasped hers still more closely. 

"And who is it that I am supposed to care for?" he asked, in a lighttone. 

"Margaret, " Janetta answered, almost in a whisper. Then there was asilence, and this time Sir Philip did slowly withdraw his hand. But hedid not look angry. 

"I see, " he said, "you are a friend of hers: you doubtless heard aboutmy proposition to her concerning the Miss Polehampton business. "

Janetta looked surprised. "No, I heard nothing of that. And indeed Iheard very little from Margaret. I heard a good deal from LadyCaroline. "

"Ah, that woman!" cried Sir Philip, getting up and making a littlegesture with his hand, expressive of contempt. "She is worldly to thecore. Did she tell you why Margaret refused me?"

"I did not know--exactly--that she had. Lady Caroline said that it was amisunderstanding, " said Janetta, the startled look growing in her eyes. 

"Just like her. She wanted to bring me back. Forgive me for speaking sohotly, but I am indignant with Lady Caroline Adair. She has doneMargaret incalculable harm. "

"But Margaret herself is so sweet and generous and womanly, " saidJanetta, watching his face carefully, "that she would recover from allthat harm if she were in other hands. "

"Yes, yes; I believe she would, " he answered, eagerly. "It only needs totake her from her mother, and she would be perfect. " He stopped, suddenly abashed by Janetta's smile. "In her way, of course, I mean, " headded, rather confusedly. 

"Ah, " said Janetta, "it is certain that I should never be perfect. Andafter Margaret!"

"I esteem you, I respect you, much more than Margaret. "

"But esteem is not enough, Sir Philip. No, you do not love me; and Ithink--if I may say so--that you do love Margaret Adair. "

Sir Philip reddened distressfully, and bit his lip. 

"I am quite sure, Miss Colwyn, that I have no thoughts of her that woulddo you an injustice. I did love Margaret--perhaps--but I found that Iwas mistaken in her. And she is certainly lost to me now. She lovesanother. "

"And you will love another one day, if you do not win her yet, " saidJanetta, with decision. "But you do not love _me_, and I certainly willnever marry any one who does not. Besides--I should have a feeling oftreachery to Margaret. "

"Which would be quite absurd and unwarrantable. Think of some betterreason if you want to convince me. I hope still to make you believe thatI do care for you. "

Janetta shook her head. "It's no use, Sir Philip. I should be doing verywrong if I consented, knowing what I do. And besides, there _is_ anotherreason. I cannot tell it to you, but indeed there is a good reason formy not marrying you. "

"Has it anything to do with position--or--or money, may I ask? Becausethese things are immaterial to me. "

"And I'm afraid I did not think about them, " said Janetta, with a frankblush, which made him like her better than ever. "I ought to haveremembered how great an honor you were doing me and been grateful!--no, it was not that. "

"Then you care for some one else? That is what it is. "

"I suppose it is, " said Janetta. 

And then a very different kind of blush began--a blush of shame, whichdyed her forehead and ears and neck with so vivid a crimson hue that SirPhilip averted his eyes in honest sympathy. 

"I'm afraid, then, " he said, ruefully, but kindly, "that there's nothingmore to be said. "

"Nothing, " said Janetta, wishing her cheeks would cool. 

Sir Philip rose from his chair, and stood for a moment as if not knowingwhether to go or stay. Janetta rose too. 

"If you were to change your mind----" he said. 

"This is a thing about which I could not possibly change my mind, SirPhilip. "

"I am sorry for it. " And then he took his leave, and Janetta went to herroom to bathe her hot face and to wonder at the way in which thewhirligig of Time brings its revenges. 

"Who would have thought it?" she said to herself, half diverted and halfannoyed. "When Miss Polehampton used to lecture me on the difference ofMargaret's position and mine, and when Lady Caroline patronized me, Icertainly never thought that I should be asked to become Lady Ashley. Totake Margaret's place! I have a feeling--and I always had--that he isthe proper husband for her, and that everything will yet come rightbetween them. If I had said 'yes'--if I only _could_ have said 'yes, 'for the children's sake--I should never have got over the impressionthat Margaret was secretly reproaching me! And as it is, she mayreproach me yet. For Wyvis will not make her happy if he marries her:and she will not make Wyvis happy. And as for me, although he is, Isuppose, legally divorced from his wife, I do not think that I couldbear to marry him under such circumstances. But Margaret is different, perhaps, from me. "

But the more she meditated upon the subject, the more was Janettasurprised at Margaret's conduct. It seemed unlike her; it wasuncharacteristic. Margaret might be for a time under the charm of WyvisBrand's strong individuality; but if she married him, a miserableawakening was almost sure to come to her at last. To exchange thesmooth life, the calm and the luxury, of Helmsley Court for the gloom, the occasional tempests, and the general crookedness of existence at theRed House would be no agreeable task for Margaret. Of the two, Janettafelt that life at the Red House would be far the more acceptable toherself: she did not mind a little roughness, and she had a greatlonging to bring mirth and sunshine into the gloomy precincts of hercousin's house. Janetta agreed with Lady Caroline as to theinadvisability of Margaret's attachment to Wyvis far more than LadyCaroline gave her credit for. 

Lady Caroline was almost angrier than she had ever been in her life. Shehad had some disagreeable experiences during the last few hours. She hadhad visitors, since Lady Ashley's garden-party, and amongst them hadbeen numbered two or three of her intimate friends who had "warned" her, as they phrased it, against "Margaret's infatuation for that wild Mr. Brand. " Lady Caroline listened with her most placid smile, but ragedinwardly. That her peerless Margaret should have been indiscreet! Shewas sure that it was only indiscretion--nothing more--but even that wasinsufferable! And what had Alicia Stone been doing? Where had her eyesbeen? Had she been bribed or coaxed into favoring the enemy?

Miss Stone had had a very unpleasant half-hour with her patroness thatmorning. It had ended in her going away weeping to pack up her boxes;for Lady Caroline literally refused to condone the injury done toMargaret by any carelessness of chaperonage on Miss Stone's part. "Youmust be quite unfit for your post, Alicia, " she said, severely. "I amsorry that I shall not be able to recommend you for Lord Benlomond'sdaughters. I never thought you particularly wise, but such grosscarelessness I certainly never did expect. " Now this was unfortunate forAlicia, who had been depending on Lady Caroline's good offices to gether a responsible position as chaperon to three motherless girls inScotland. 

Lady Caroline had as yet not said a single word to Margaret. She had noteven changed her caressing manner for one of displeasure. But she hadkept the girl with her all the morning, and had come out alone onlybecause Margaret had gone for a drive with two maiden aunts who hadjust arrived for a week, and with whom Lady Caroline felt that she wouldbe absolutely safe. She was glad that she had the afternoon to herself. It gave her an opportunity of seeing Janetta Colwyn, and of conductingsome business of her own as well. For after seeing Janetta she orderedthe coachman to drive to the office of her husband's local solicitor, and in this office she remained for more than half an hour. The lawyer, Mr. Greggs by name, accompanied her with many smiles and bows to thecarriage. 

"I am sure we shall be able to do all that your ladyship wishes, " hesaid, politely. "You shall have information in a day or two. " WhereatLady Caroline looked satisfied. 

It was nearly six o'clock when she reached home, and her absence hadcaused some astonishment in the house. Tea had been carried out as usualto the seats under the cedar-tree on the lawn, and Mr. Adair's twosisters were being waited on by Margaret, fair and innocent-looking asusual, in her pretty summer gown. Lady Caroline's white eyelids veiled aglance of sudden sharpness, as she noticed her daughter's unruffledserenity. Margaret puzzled her. For the first time in her life shewondered whether she had been mistaken in the girl, who had alwaysseemed to reproduce so accurately the impressions that her teachers andguardians wished to make. Had it been, all seeming? and was Margaretmentally and morally an ugly duckling, hatched in a hen's nest?

"Dear mamma, how tired you look, " said the girl, softly. "Some fresh teais coming for you directly. I took Alicia a cup myself, but she wouldnot let me in. She said she had a headache. "

"I dare say, " replied Lady Caroline, a little absently. "At least--Iwill go to see her presently: she may be better before dinner. I hopeyou enjoyed your drive, dear Isabel. "

Isabel was the elder of Mr. Adair's two sisters. 

"Oh, exceedingly. Margaret did the honors of her County so well: sheseems to know the place by heart. "

"She has ridden with Reginald a good deal, " said the mother. 

Margaret had seated herself beside the younger of the aunts--MissRosamond Adair--and was talking to her in a low voice. 

"How lovely she is!" Miss Adair murmured to her sister-in-law. "Sheought to marry well, Caroline. "

"I hope so, " said Lady Caroline, placidly. "But I always think thatMargaret will be difficult to satisfy. " It was not her _r�le_ to confidein her husband's sisters, of all people in the world. 

"We heard something about Sir Philip Ashley: was there anything in it?"

Lady Caroline smiled. "I should have thought him everything that wasdesirable, " she said, "but Margaret did not seem to see it in thatlight. Poor dear Sir Philip was very much upset. "

"Ah, well, she may do better!"

"Perhaps so. Of course we should never think of forcing the dear child'sinclinations, " said Lady Caroline. 

And yet she was conscious that she had laid her hand on a weapon withwhich she meant to beat down Margaret's inclinations to the ground. Butit was natural to her to talk prettily. 

Wheels were heard at that moment coming up the drive. Lady Caroline, raising her eyes, saw that Margaret started as the sound fell upon herear. 

"A bad sign!" she said to herself. "Girls do not start and change colorwhen nothing is wrong. Margaret used not to be nervous. I wonder how farthat man went with her. She may be unconscious of his intentions--he maynot have any; and then she will have been made conspicuous for nothing!I wish the Brands had stayed away for another year or two. "

The sound of wheels had proceeded from a dog-cart in which Mr. Adair, after an absence of a fortnight, was driving from the station. In a veryfew minutes he had crossed the lawn, greeted his wife, sisters anddaughter, and thrown himself lazily into a luxurious lounging-chair. 

"Ah, this is delightful!" he said. "London is terribly smoky and grimyat this time of year. And you all look charming--and so exactly the sameas ever! Nothing changes down here, does it, my Pearl?"

He was stroking Margaret's hand, which lay upon his knee, as he spoke. The girl colored and dropped her eyes. 

"Changes must come to us all, " she said, in a low voice. 

"A very trite remark, my dear, " said Lady Caroline, smiling, "but weneed not anticipate changes _before_ they come. We are just as we werewhen you went away, Reginald, and nothing at all has happened. "

She thought that Margaret looked at her oddly, but she did not care tomeet her daughter's eyes just then. Lady Caroline was not an unworldlywoman, not a very conscientious one, or apt to set a great value on finemoral distinctions; but she did regret just then that she had notimpressed on her daughter more deeply the virtue of perfecttruthfulness. 

"By-the-by, " said Mr. Adair, "I saw some letters on the hall table andbrought them out with me. Will you excuse me if I open them? Why--that'sthe Brands' crest. "

Lady Caroline wished that he had left the words unsaid. Margaret's facewent crimson and then turned very pale. Her mother saw her embarrassmentand hastened to relieve it. 

"Margaret, dear, will you take Alicia my smelling salts? I think theymay relieve her headache. Tell her not to get up--I will come and seeher soon. "

And as Margaret departed, Mr. Adair with lifted eyebrows and insignificant silence handed an envelope to his wife. She glanced at itwith perfectly unmoved composure. It was what she had been expecting: aletter from Wyvis Brand asking for the hand of their daughter, MargaretAdair. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

MARGARET'S CONFESSION. 

Margaret heard nothing of her lover's letter that night. It was notthought desirable that the tranquillity of the evening should bedisturbed. Lady Caroline would have sacrificed a good deal sooner thanthe harmonious influences of a well-appointed dinner and the passionlessrefinement of an evening spent with her musical and artistic friends. Mr. Adair's sisters were women of cultured taste, and she had asked twogentlemen to meet them, therefore it was quite impossible (from herpoint of view) to discuss any difficult point before the morning. Margaret, who knew pretty well what was coming, spent a rather feverishhalf-hour in her room before the ringing of the dinner-bell, expectingevery minute that her mother would appear, or that she would be summonedto a conference with her father in the library. But when the dinner hourapproached without any attempt at discussion of the matter, and sheperceived that it was to be left until the morrow, it must be confessedthat she drew long breath of relief. She was quite sufficiently wellversed in Lady Caroline's tactics to appreciate the force and wisdom ofthis reserve. "It is so much better, of course, " she said to herself, asher maid dressed her hair, "that we should not have any agitating scenejust before dinner. I dare say I should cry--if they were all very graveand solemn I am sure I should cry!--and it would be so awkward to comedown with red eyes. And, of course, I could not stay upstairs to-nightPerhaps mamma will come to me to-night when every one is gone. "

And armed with this anticipation, she went downstairs, looking only alittle more flushed than usual, and able to bear her part in theconversation and the amusements as easily as if no question as to herfuture fate were hanging undecided in the air. 

But Lady Caroline did not stay when she visited Margaret that night asusual in her pretty room. She caressed and kissed her with more thancustomary warmth, but she did not attempt to enter into conversationwith her in spite of the soft appeal of Margaret's inquiring eyes. "Mydear child, I cannot possibly stay with you to-night, " she said. "YourAunt Isabel has asked me to go into her room for a few minutes. Good-night, my own sweetest: you looked admirable to-night in that lacedress, and your singing was simply charming. Mr. Bevan was saying thatyou ought to have the best Italian masters. Good-night, my darling, " andMargaret was left alone. 

She was a little disturbed--a little, not very much. She was not apt tobe irritable or impatient, and she had great confidence in her parents'love for her. She had never realized that she lived under a yoke. Everything was made so smooth and easy that she imagined that she hadonly to express her will in order to have it granted. That there mightbe difficulties she foresaw: her parents might hesitate and parley agood deal, but she had not the slightest fear of overcoming theirreluctance in course of time. She had always been a young princess, andnobody had ever seriously combated her will. 

"I am sure that if I am resolute enough I shall be allowed to do as Ichoose, " she said to herself; and possibly this was true enough. ButMargaret had never yet had occasion to measure her resolution againstthat of her father and mother. 

She went to bed and to sleep, therefore, quite peacefully, and sleptlike a child until morning, while Wyvis Brand was frantically pacing upand down his old hall for the greater part of the night, and Janetta waswetting her pillow with silent tears, and Philip Ashley, sleepless likethese others, vainly tried to forget his disappointment in the perusalof certain blue-books. Margaret was the cause of all this turmoil ofmind, but she knew nothing of it, and most certainly did not partake init. 

She suspected that she was to be spoken to on the subject of Mr. Brand'sletter, when, after breakfast, next morning, she found that her fatherwas arranging to take his sisters and Miss Stone for a long drive, andthat she was to be left alone with her mother. Lady Caroline hadrelented, so far as Alicia was concerned. It would not look well, shehad reflected, to send away her own kinswoman in disgrace, and althoughshe still felt exceedingly, angry with Alicia, she had formally receivedher back into favor, cautioning her only not to speak to Margaret aboutWyvis Brand. When every one was out of the way Lady Caroline knew thatshe could more easily have a conversation with her daughter, andMargaret was well aware of her intent. The girl looked mild andunobservant as usual, but she was busily engaged in watching fordanger-signals. Her father's manner was decidedly flurried: so much wasevident to her: the very way in which he avoided her eye and glanceduneasily at her mother spoke volumes to Margaret. It did not surpriseher to see that Lady Caroline's face was as calm, her smile as sweet asever: Lady Caroline always masked her emotion well; but there was stillsomething visible in her eyes (which, in spite of herself, _would_ lookanxious and preoccupied) that made Margaret uncomfortable. Was she goingto have a fight with her parents? She hoped not: it would be quite toouncomfortable!

"Come here, darling, " said Lady Caroline, when the carriage had drivenaway; "come to my morning-room and talk to me a little. I want you. "

Margaret faintly resisted. "It is my practicing time, mamma. "

"But if I want you, dearest----"

"Oh, of course it does not matter, " said Margaret, with her usualinstinct of politeness. "I would much rather talk than practice. "

The mother laid her hand lightly within her tall daughter's arm, and ledher towards the morning-room, a place of which she was especially fondin summer, as it was cool, airy, and looked out upon a conservatory fullof blossoming plants. Lady Caroline sank down upon a low soft couch, andmotioned to the girl to seat herself beside her; then, possessingherself of one of Margaret's hands and stroking it gently, she said witha smile--

"You have another admirer, Margaret?"

This opening differed so widely from any which the girl had expectedthat she opened her eyes with a look of intense surprise. 

"Why should you be astonished, darling?" said Lady Caroline, with someamusement in her light tones. "You have had a good many already, haveyou not? And, by the by, you have had one or two very good offers, Margaret, and you have refused everything. You must really begin tothink a little more seriously of your eligible suitors! This last one, however, is not an eligible one at all. "

"Who, mamma?" said Margaret, faintly. 

"The very last man whom I should have expected to come forward, " saidher mother. "Indeed, I call it the greatest piece of presumption I everheard of. Considering that we are not on visiting terms, even. "

"Oh, mamma, do tell me who you mean!"

Lady Adair arched her pencilled eyebrows over this movement ofimpatience. "Really, Margaret, darling! But I suppose I must be lenient:a girl naturally desires to hear about her suitors; but you must notinterrupt me another time, love. It is that most impossible man, Mr. Brand of the Red House. "

Margaret's face flushed from brow to chin. "Why impossible, mamma?"

"Dear child! You are so unworldly! But there is a point at whichunworldliness becomes folly. We must stop short of that. Poor Mr. Brandis, for one thing, quite out of society. "

"Not in Paris or London, mamma. Only in this place, where people arenarrow and bigoted and censorious. "

"And where, unfortunately, he has to live, " said Lady Caroline, withgentle firmness. "It matters to _us_ very little what they say of him inParis or London: it matters a great deal what the County says. "

"But if the County could be induced to take him up!" said Margaret, rather breathlessly. "He was at Lady Ashley's the other day, and heseemed to know a great many people. And if you--we--received him, itwould make all the difference in the world. "

"Oh, no doubt we could float him if we chose, " said Lady Caroline, indifferently; "but would it really be worth the trouble? Even if hewent everywhere, dear, he would not be a man that I should care tocultivate; he has not a nice reputation at all. "

"Nobody knows of anything wrong that he has done, " Margaret averred, with burning cheeks. 

"Well, I have heard of one or two things that are not to his credit. Iam told that he drinks and plays a good deal, that his language to hisgroom is something awful, and that he makes his poor little boy drunkevery night. " In this version had Wyvis Brand's faults and weaknessesgone forth to the world near Beaminster! "Then he has very disagreeablepeople to visit him, and his mother is not in the least a lady--apublican's daughter, and not, I am afraid, quite respectable in heryouth. " Lady Caroline's voice sank to a whisper. "Some very unpleasantthings have been said about Mrs. Brand. Nobody calls on her. I am verysorry for her, poor thing, but what could one do? I would not set footin the house while she was in it--I really would not. Mr. Brand ought tosend her away. "

"But what has she done, mamma?"

"There is no necessity for you to hear, Margaret. I like your mind to bekept innocent of evil, dear. Surely it is enough if I tell you thatthere is something wrong. "

The girl was silent for a minute or two: she was beginning to feelabashed and ashamed. It was in a very low voice that she said at last--

"Mr. Brand would probably find another home for her if he married. "

"Oh, most likely. But I do not know that what he would do affects usparticularly. He is quite a poor man: even his family is not very good, although it is an old one, and it has been the proverb of thecountry-side for dissipation and extravagance for upwards of a century. "

"But if he had quite reformed, " Margaret murmured. 

"My darling, what difference would it make? I am sure I do not know whywe discuss the matter: it is a little too ridiculous to speak of itseriously. Your father will give Mr. Wyvis Brand his answer, and in sucha way that he will not care to repeat his presumptuous and insolentproposal, and there will be an end of it. I hope, dearest, you have notbeen annoyed by the man? I heard something of his pursuing you with hisattentions at Lady Ashley's party. "

"Mamma, " said Margaret, in a tragic tone, "this must not go on. You mustnot speak to me as you are doing now. You do not understand the positionof affairs at all. I----"

"I beg your pardon, darling--one moment. Will you give me that palm-leaffan from the mantel-piece? It is really rather a hot morning. Thanks, dear. What was it you were saying?"

Lady Caroline knew the value of an adroit interruption. She had checkedthe flow of Margaret's indignation for the moment, and was well awarethat the girl would not probably begin her speech in quite the same tonea second time. At the same time she saw that she had given her daughtera momentary advantage. Margaret did not reseat herself after handing hermother the fan--she remained standing, a pale, slender figure, somewhatimpressive in the shadows of the half-darkened room, with hands claspedand head slightly lifted as if in solemn protest. 

"Mamma, " she began, in a somewhat subdued voice, "I must tell you. Mr. Brand spoke to me before he wrote to papa. I told him to write. "

Lady Caroline put her eye-glass and looked curiously at her daughter. "You told him to write, my dear child? And how did that come about?Don't you know that it was equivalent to accepting him?"

"Yes, mamma. And I did accept him. "

"My dear Margaret!" The tone was that of pitying contempt. "You musthave been out of your senses! Well, we can easily rectify thematter--that is one good thing. Why, my darling, when did he find timeto speak to you? At Lady Ashley's?"

"In the park, near the forget-me-not brook, " murmured Margaret, withdowncast eyes. 

"He met you there?"

"Yes. "

"More than once? And you allowed him to meet you? Oh, Margaret!"

Lady Caroline's voice was admirably managed. The gradual surprise, shocked indignation, and reproach of her tones made the tears come toMargaret's eyes. 

"Indeed, mamma, " she said, "I am very sorry. I did not know at first--atleast I did not think--that I was doing what you would not like. He usedto meet me when I went into the park, sometimes--when Alicia wasreading. Alicia did not know. And he was very nice, he was always _nice_mamma. He told me a great deal about himself--how discontented he waswith his life, and how I might help him to make it better. And I shouldlike to help him, mamma: it seems to me it would be a good thing to do. And if you and papa would help him too, he might take quite a differentposition in the County. "

"My poor child!" said Caroline. "My poor deluded child!"

She lay silent for a few moments, thinking how to frame the argumentwhich she felt was most likely to appeal to Margaret's tendererfeelings. "Of course, " she said at last, very slowly, "of course, if hetold you so much about his past life, he told you about hismarriage--about that little boy's mother. "

"He said that he had been very unhappy. I do not think, " said Margaretwith simplicity, "that he loved his first wife as he loves me. "

"No doubt he made you think so, dear. His first wife, indeed! Did hetell you that his first wife was alive?"

"Mamma!"

"He says he is divorced from her, " said Lady Caroline, sarcastically, "and seems to think it is no drawback to have been divorced. I and yourfather think differently. I do not mean there is any legal obstacle; buthe took a very unfair advantage of your youth and inexperience by neverletting you know that fact--or, at any rate, letting us know it beforehe paid you any attention. That stamps him as not being a gentleman, Margaret. "

"Who told you, mamma?"

"His cousin and your friend, " said Lady Caroline, coldly: "Miss JanettaColwyn. "

Margaret's color had fluctuated painfully for the last few minutes; shenow sat down on a chair near the open window, and turned so pale thather mother thought her about to faint. Lady Caroline was on her feetimmediately, and began to fan her, and to hold smelling salts to hernostrils; but in a very short time the girl's color returned, and shedeclined any further remedies. 

"I did not know this, " she said at last, rather piteously, "but it istoo late to make any difference, mamma, it really is. I love WyvisBrand, and he loves me. Surely you won't refuse to let us love oneanother?"

She caught her mother's hand, and Lady Caroline put her arms around herdaughter's shoulders and kissed her as fondly as ever. 

"My poor dear, romantic Child!" she said. "Do you think we can let youthrow yourself quite away?"

"But I have given my promise!"

"Your father must tell Mr. Brand that you cannot keep your promise, mydarling. It is quite out of the question. "

And Lady Caroline thought she had settled the whole matter by thatstatement. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

IN REBELLION. 

Janetta was naturally very anxious to know something of the progress ofaffairs between Wyvis and Margaret, but she heard little for a ratherconsiderable space of time. She was now entirely severed from HelmsleyCourt, and had no correspondence with Margaret. As the summer holidayshad begun, little Julian did not come every morning to Gwynne Street, but Tiny and Curly were invited to spend a month at the Red House incharge of Nora, who was delighted to be so much with Cuthbert, and whohad the power of enlivening even the persistent gloom of Mrs. Brand. Janetta was thus obliged to live a good deal at home, and Wyvis seemedto shun her society. His relations at home had heard nothing of hisproposal for Margaret's hand, and Janetta, like them, did not know thatit had ever been actually made. Another event drove this matter into thebackground for some little time--for it was evidently fated that Janettashould never be quite at peace. 

Mrs. Colwyn summoned her rather mysteriously one afternoon to aconference in her bedroom. 

"Of course I know that you will be surprised at what I am going to say, Janetta, " began the good lady, with some tossings of the head andflourishings of a handkerchief which rather puzzled Janetta by theirdemonstrativeness; "and no doubt you will accuse me of want of respectof your father's memory and all that sort of thing; though I'm sure Idon't know why, for _he_ married a second time, and I am a young womanstill and not without admirers. "

"Do you mean, " said Janetta, "that you think----?"

She could go no further: she stood and looked helplessly at herstepmother. 

"Do I think of marrying again? Well, yes, Janetta, I do; and more forthe children's good than for my own. Poor things, they need a father:and I am tired of this miserable, scraping, cheeseparing life that youare so fond of. I have been offered a comfortable home and provision formy children, and I have decided to accept it. "

"So soon!"

"It will not be announced just yet, of course. Not until the end of thesummer. But it is really no use to wait. "

Janetta stood pale and wide-eyed: she did not dare to let herself speakjust yet. Mrs. Colwyn grew fretful under what she felt to be silentcondemnation. 

"I should like to know what harm it can do to you?" she said. "I'vewaited quite as long as many widows do, and toiled and suffered morethan most. Poor James was the last man to grudge me a little rest andsatisfaction as a reward for all that I have undergone. My own childrenwill not repine, I am sure, and I look to you, Janetta, to explain tothem how much for their good it will be, and how advantageous for themall. "

"You can hardly expect me to try to explain away an act of disrespect tomy father's memory, " said Janetta, coldly. 

"There is no disrespect to the dead in marrying a second time. "

"After a decent interval. "

Mrs. Colwyn burst into tears. "It's the first time in my life that I'veever been told that I was going to do a thing that wasn't decent, " shemoaned. "And when it's all for his dear children's good, too! Ah, well!I'll give it up, I'll say no, and we will all starve and go down intothe grave together, and then perhaps you will be satisfied. "

"Mamma, please do not talk such nonsense. Who is it that has asked youto be his wife?"

"Dr. Burroughs, " said Mrs. Colwyn, faintly. 

Janetta uttered an involuntary exclamation. Dr. Burroughs was certainlya man of sixty-five, but he was strong and active still; he had a goodposition in the town, and a large private income. His sister, who kepthis house, was a good and sensible woman, and Dr. Burroughs himself wasreputed to be a sagacious man. His fondness for children was well known, and a little thought convinced Janetta that his choice of a wife hadbeen partly determined by his liking for Tiny and Curly, to say nothingof the elder children. He had been a close friend of Mr. Colwyn, and itwas not likely that Mrs. Colwyn's infirmity had remained a secret fromhim: he must have learned it from common town-talk long ago. Angry asJanetta was, and petrified with surprise, she could not but acknowledgein her heart that such a marriage was a very good one for Mrs. Colwyn, and would probably be of immense advantage to the children. And the oldphysician and his sister would probably be able to keep Mrs. Colwyn incheck: Janetta remembered that she had heard of one or two cases ofintemperance which had been cured under his roof. As soon as she couldget over her intense feeling that a slur was thrown on her father'smemory by this very speedy second marriage of his widow, hercommon-sense told her that she might be very glad. But it was difficultto rid herself all at once of her indignation of what she termed "thisindecent haste. "

She made an effort to calm Mrs. Colwyn's fretful sobbing, and assuredher with as much grace as she had at command that the marriage would notat all displease her if it took place at a somewhat later date. And shereflected that Dr. And Miss Burroughs might be depended upon not toviolate conventionalities. Her own soreness with regard to the littleaffection displayed by Mrs. Colwyn to her late husband must be disposedof as best it might: there was no use in exhibiting it. 

And as Mrs. Colwyn had hinted, it fell to Janetta to inform the rest ofthe family of their mother's intention, and to quell symptoms ofindignation and discontent. After all, things might have been worse. Thechildren already liked Dr. Burroughs, and soon reconciled themselves tothe notion of living in a large, comfortable house, with a big garden, and unlimited treats and pleasures provided by their future stepfatherand aunt. And when Janetta had had an interview with these two goodpeople, her mind was considerably relieved. They were kind and generous;and although she could not help feeling that Dr. Burroughs was marryingfor the sake of the children rather than their mother, she saw that hewould always be thoughtful and affectionate to her, and that she wouldprobably have a fairly happy and luxurious life. One thing was alsoevident--that he would be master in his own house, as James Colwyn hadnever been. 

The marriage was to take place at Christmas, and the house in GwynneStreet was then to be let. Cuthbert and Nora began to talk of marryingat the same time, for Nora was somewhat violently angry at her mother'sproceeding, and did not wish to go to Dr. Burroughs' house. The youngermembers of the family would all, however, migrate to The Cedars, as Dr. Burroughs' house was called; and there Miss Burroughs was still tomaintain her sway. On this point Dr. Burroughs had insisted, and Janettawas thankful for it, and Miss Burroughs was quite able and willing toperform the duty of guardian not only to her brother's step-children, but to her brother's wife. 

"And of course you will come to us, too, dear?" Miss Burroughs said toJanetta. "This will be your home always: Andrew particularly wished meto say so. "

"It is very kind of Dr. Burroughs, " said Janetta, gratefully. "I have noclaim on him at all: I am not Mrs. Colwyn's daughter. "

"As if that made any difference! James Colwyn was one of Andrew's bestfriends, and for his sake, if for no other, you will be always welcome. "

"I am very much obliged to you, " Janetta replied, "and I shall bepleased to come to you now and then as a visitor; but I have made up mymind that now--now that my duty seems to be done, I had better go outinto the world and try to make a career for myself. I shall be happierat work than leading an idle, easy life. But please do not think meungrateful--only I _must_ get away. "

And Miss Burroughs, looking into the girl's worn face, and noticing thepeculiar significance of her tone, refrained from pressing the point. She was sure from both that some hidden pain existed, that there wassome secret reason why Janetta felt that she "_must_ get away. " She wasanxious to help the girl, but she saw that it would be no true kindnessto keep her in Beaminster against her will. 

These matters took some time to arrange, and it was while some of themwere still pending that Janetta was startled by a visit from MargaretAdair. 

It was a sultry day towards the end of July, and Miss Adair looked foronce hot and dusty. She was much thinner than she had been, and had aharassed expression which Janetta could not fail to remark. As shehurriedly explained, she had walked some little distance, leaving AliciaStone at the Post Office, and it afterwards transpired, giving hermother the slip at a confectioner's, in order to see Janetta once again. 

"It is very kind of you, dear, " said Janetta, touched, rather againsther will, by so unwonted a proof of affection. "But I am afraid thatLady Caroline would not be pleased. "

"I know she would not, " said Margaret, a little bitterly. "She did notwant me to see any more of you. I told her how unjust it was to blameyou, but she would not believe me. "

"It does not matter, Margaret, dear, I do not much mind. "

"I thought I should like to see you once again. " Margaret spoke withunusual haste, and almost in a breathless manner. "I want to know if youwould do something for me. You used to say you would do anything forme. "

"So I will, if I can. "

"We were going abroad in a few days. I don't know where, exactly: theywon't tell me. They are angry with me, Janetta, and I can't bear it, "cried Margaret, breaking suddenly into tears which were evidently veryheartfelt, although they did not disfigure that fair and placid face ofhers in the slightest degree; "they were never angry with me before, andit is terrible. They may take me away and keep me away for years, and Idon't know what to do. The only thing I can think of is to ask you tohelp me. I want to send a message to Wyvis--I want to write to him ifyou will give him the letter. "

"But why do you not write him through the post?"

"Oh, because I promised not to post anything to him. Mamma said she mustsupervise my correspondence unless I promised not to write to him. Andso I keep my word--but a few lines through you, Janet, darling, wouldnot be breaking my word at all, for it would not be a letter exactly. And I want to arrange when I can see him again. "

Janetta drew back a little. "It would be breaking the spirit of yourpromise, Margaret. No, I cannot help you to do that. "

"Oh, Janetta, you would never be so hard as to refuse me! I only want totell Wyvis that I am true to him, and that I don't mind what the worldsays one bit, because I know how people tell lies about him! You knowyou always promised to stand by me and to be my best friend. "

"Yes, but I never promised to do a dishonorable action for you, " saidJanetta, steadily. 

Margaret started up, her face a-flame directly. 

"How dare you say such a thing to me, Janetta?" she exclaimed. 

"I cannot help it, Margaret, you know that I am right. "

The two looked at each other for a moment, and then Margaret turned awaywith the mien of an insulted princess. 

"I was wrong to come. I thought that you would be true to the old bondof friendship between us. I shall never come to you again. "

Poor Janetta's heart was very tender, although her resolution wasimpregnable. She ran after Margaret, putting her hands on her arm, andimploring her with tears to forgive her for her refusal. "If it wereonly anything else, Margaret, dear! If only you did not want me to dowhat your father and mother do not wish! Don't you see that you aretrying to deceive them? If you were acting openly it would be adifferent thing! Don't be angry with me for wanting to do right!"

"I am not at all angry, " said Margaret, with stateliness. "I am verydisappointed, that is all. I do not see that I am deceiving anybody bysending a message to Wyvis. But I will not ask you again. "

"If only I could!" sighed Janetta, in deep distress and confusion ofmind. But her anchor of truth and straightforwardness was the thing ofall others that she relied on for safety, and she did not let go herhold. In spite of Margaret's cold and haughty displeasure, Janettakissed her affectionately, and could not refrain from saying, "Dear, Iwould do anything for you that I thought right. But don't--don't deceiveyour father and mother. "

"I will not, as you shall see, " returned Margaret, and she left thehouse without again looking at her former friend. Janetta felt verybitterly, as she watched the graceful figure down the street, that theold friendship had indeed become impossible in its older sense. Her veryfaithfulness to the lines in which it had been laid down now made it anoffence to Margaret. 

Janetta's direct and straightforward dealing had the effect of drivingMargaret, though chiefly out of perversity, to do likewise. Miss Adairwas not accustomed to be withstood, and, during the unexpectedopposition with which her wishes had been met, her mind had turned veryoften to Janetta with unswerving faith in her old friend's readiness tohelp her at an emergency. 

In this faith she considered that she had been cruelly disappointed. Andher mingled anger, shame, and sorrow so blinded her to the circumstancesin which she stood, that she walked quietly up to Lady Caroline andAlicia Stone in Beaminster High Street, and did not think of hiding herescapade at all. 

"My dearest child, where _have_ you been?" cried Lady Caroline, who wasalways caressing, if inflexible. 

"I have been to Janetta Colwyn's, mamma, " said Margaret, imperturbably, "to ask her to give a message to Mr. Brand. "

"Margaret! Have you quite forgotten yourself? Oh, that unsuitablefriendship of yours!"

"I don't think you need call it unsuitable, mamma, " Margaret rejoined, with a weary little smile. "Janetta absolutely refused to give themessage, and told me to obey my parents. I really do not see that _you_can blame her. "

Lady Caroline replied only by a look of despair which spoke unutterablethings, and then she walked onward to the spot where she had left thecarriage. The three ladies drove home in complete silence. Lady Carolinewas seriously displeased, Alicia curious, Margaret in rebellion anddisgrace. The state of things was becoming very grave, for the wholetenor of life at Helmsley Court was disturbed, and Margaret's father andmother wanted their daughter to be a credit and an ornament to them, nota cause of disturbance and irritation. Margaret had kept up a gallantfight: she had borne silence, cold looks, absence of caresses, withunwavering courage; but she began now to find the situation unendurable. And a little doubt had lately been creeping into her heart--was it allworth while? If Wyvis Brand were really as undesirable a _parti_ as hewas represented to be, Margaret was not sure that her lot would be veryhappy as his wife. Hitherto she had maintained that the stories toldabout him, his habits and his position, were falsehoods. But if--shebegan to think--if they were true, and if a marriage with him wouldexclude her from the society to which she had been accustomed, was itworth while to fight as hard as she had done? Perhaps, after all, hermother and her father were right. 

Lady Caroline, not knowing of these weaknesses in Margaret's defence, was inclined for once to be more severe than caressing. She wentstraight to her husband when she entered the Court, and had a longconversation with him. Then she proceeded to Margaret's room. 

"I have been talking to your father, Margaret, " she said coldly, "and weare both very much distressed at the course which things are taking. "

"So am I, mamma, " said Margaret. 

"Of course we cannot proceed in the medi�val fashion, and lock you up inyour own room until you are reasonable, " said Lady Caroline, with afaint smile. "I should have thought that your own instinct as a ladywould have precluded you from doing anything that would make itnecessary for us to lay any restraint upon you; but to-day's occurrencereally makes me afraid. You have promised not to write to Mr. Brand, Ithink?"

"Yes. But I meant to send him a little note to-day. "

"Indeed? Then what I have to say is all the more necessary. We do notrestrict you to any part of the house, but you must understand that whenyou come out of your own room, Margaret, you are never to be alone. Alicia will sit with you, if I am engaged. She will walk with you, ifyou wish to go out into the garden. I have no doubt it will be a littleunpleasant, " said Lady Caroline, with a slight, agreeable smile, "to beconstantly under _surveillance_, and of course it will last only untilwe leave home next week; but in the meantime, my dear, unless you willgive up your _penchant_ for Mr. Brand, you must submit to be watched. You cannot be allowed to run off with messages to this man as if youwere a milliner's girl or a servant maid: _we_ manage these mattersdifferently. "

And then Lady Caroline withdrew, though not too late to see the girlsink down into a large arm-chair and burst into a very unwonted passionof sobs and tears. 

"So tiresome of Margaret to force one to behave in this absurd manner!"reflected Lady Caroline. "So completely out of date in modern days!"

CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE PLOUGHMAN'S SON. 

Two or three days after Margaret's visit to Gwynne Street, Janettaavailed herself of Mrs. Colwyn's temporary absence in Miss Burroughs'company to pay a visit to the Red House. Her anxiety to know what wasoccurring between Wyvis and Margaret had become almost uncontrollableand, although she was not very likely to hear much about it from Wyvisor his mother, she vaguely hoped to gather indications at least of thestate of affairs from her cousin's aspect and manners. 

It was plain that Wyvis was not in a happy mood. His brow was dark, histone sarcastic; he spoke roughly once or twice to his mother and to hislittle son. He evidently repented of his roughness, however, as soon asthe words were out of his mouth, for he went over to Mrs. Brand's sideand kissed her immediately afterwards, and gave some extra indulgence toJulian by way of making up for his previous severity. Still theirritation of feeling existed, and could not be altogether repressedwhen he spoke; and when he was silent he fell into a condition of gloomwhich was even more depressing than his sharpness. Janetta did her bestto be cheerful and talkative to Mrs. Brand, and she fancied that heliked to listen; for he sat on with them in the blue room long afterNora and Cuthbert had disappeared into the garden and the children wereromping in the wood. Certainly he did not say much to her, but he seemedgreatly disinclined to move. 

After a time, Mrs. Brand and Janetta adjourned to the hall, which wasalways a favorite place of resort on summer evenings. Traces of thechildren's presence made the rooms more cheerful than they used tobe--to Janetta's thinking. Tiny's doll and Julian's ball were moreenlivening to the place than even Cuthbert's sketches and Nora's bunchesof wild flowers. And here, too, Wyvis followed them in an aimless, subdued sort of way; and, having asked and obtained permission to lighta cigarette, he threw himself into a favorite chair, and seemed tolisten dreamily, while Janetta held patient discourse with his mother onthe ailments of the locality and the difficulty of getting the houseworkdone. Janetta glanced at him from time to time; he sat so quietly thatshe would have thought him sleeping but for the faint blue spirals ofsmoke that went up from his cigarette. It was six o'clock in theevening, and the golden lights and long shadows made Janetta long to beout of doors; but Mrs. Brand had a nervous fear of rheumatism, and didnot want to move. 

"What is that?" said Wyvis, suddenly rousing himself. 

Nobody else had heard anything. He strode suddenly to the door, andflung it open. Janetta heard the quavering tones of the old man-servant, an astonished, enraptured exclamation from Wyvis himself; and sheknew--instinctively--what to expect. She turned round; it was as shehad feared. Margaret was there. Wyvis was leading her into the room withthe fixed look of adoration in his eyes which had been so much commentedupon at Lady Ashley's party. When she was present, he evidently saw nonebut her. Janetta rose quickly and withdrew a little into the background. She wished for a moment that she had not been there--and then itoccurred to her that she might be useful by and by. But it was perhapsbetter for Margaret not to see her too soon. Mrs. Brand, utterlyunprepared for this visit, not even knowing the stranger by sight, and, as usual, quite unready for an emergency, rose nervously from her seatand stood, timid, awkward, and anxious, awaiting an explanation. 

"Mother, this is Margaret Adair, " said Wyvis, as quietly as if hismother knew all that was involved in that very simple formula. He wasstill holding the girl by the hand and gazing in his former rapt mannerinto her face. It was not the look of a lover, to Janetta's eye, half somuch as the worship of a saint. Margaret embodied for Wyvis Brand thehighest aspirations, the purest dreams of his youth. 

As to Margaret, Janetta thought that she was looking exquisitely lovely. Her thinness added to the impression of ethereal beauty; there was adelicacy about her appearance which struck the imagination. Her colorfluctuated; her eyes shone like stars; and her whole frame seemed alittle tremulous, as if she were shaken by some strange and powerfulemotion to her very soul. Her broad-brimmed straw hat, white dress, andlong tan gloves belonged, as Janetta knew, only to her ordinary attirewhen no visitors were to be seen; but simplicity of dress always seemedto garnish Margaret's beauty, and to throw it into the strongestpossible relief. She was sufficiently striking in aspect to frightenpoor, timid Mrs. Brand, who was never happy when she found herself inthe company of "fashionable" people. But it was with a perfectly simpleand almost child-like manner that Margaret drew her finger away fromWyvis' clasp and went up to his mother, holding out both hands as if inappeal for help. 

"I am Margaret, " she said. "I ought not to have come; but what could Ido? They are going to take me away from the Court to-morrow, and Icould not go without seeing you and Wyvis first. "

"Wyvis?" repeated Mrs. Brand, blankly. She had not taken Margaret'shands, but now she extended her right hand in a stiff, lifeless fashion, which looked like anything but a welcome. "I do not know--I do notunderstand----"

"It is surely easy enough to understand, " said Wyvis, vehemently. "Sheloves me--she has promised to be my wife--and you must love her, too, for my sake, as well as for her own. "

"Won't you love me a little?" said Margaret, letting her eyes restpleadingly on Mrs. Brand's impassive face. She was not accustomed tobeing met in this exceedingly unresponsive manner. Wyvis made a slightjesture of impatience, which his mother perfectly understood. She tried, in her difficult, frozen way, to say something cordial. 

"I am very pleased to see you, " she faltered. "You must excuse me if Idid not understand at first. Wyvis did not tell me. "

Then she sank into her chair again, more out of physical weakness thanfrom any real intention to seat herself. Her hand stole to her side, asif to still the beating of her heart; her face had turned very pale. Only Janetta noticed these signs, which betrayed the greatness of theshock; Margaret, absorbed in her own affairs, and Wyvis absorbed inMargaret, had no eyes for the poor mother's surprise and agitation. Janetta made a step forward, but she saw that she could do nothing. Mrs. Brand was recovering her composure, and the other two were not in a moodto bear interruption. So she waited, and meanwhile Margaret spoke. 

"Dear Mrs. Brand, " she said, kneeling at the side of the tremblingwoman, and laying her clasped hands on her lap, "forgive me forstartling you like this. " Even Janetta wondered at the marveloussweetness of Margaret's tones. "Indeed, I would not have come if therehad been any other way of letting Wyvis know. They made me promise notto write to him, not to meet him in the wood where we met before youknow, and they watched me, so that I could not get out, or send amessage or anything. It has been like living in prison during the lastfew days. " And the girl sobbed a little, and laid her forehead for amoment on her clasped hands. 

"It's a shame--a shame! It must not go on, " exclaimed Wyvis, indignantly. 

"In one way it will not go on, " said Margaret, raising her head. "Theyare going to take me away, and we are not to come back for the wholewinter--perhaps not next year at all. I don't know where we are going. Ishall never be allowed to write. And I thought it would be terrible togo without letting Wyvis know that I will never, never forget him. And Iam only nineteen now, and I can't do as I like; but, when I amtwenty-one, nobody can prevent me----"

"Why should anybody prevent you now?" said Wyvis gloomily. He drewnearer and laid his hand upon her shoulder. "Why should you wait? Youare safe: you have come to my mother, and she will take care of you. Whyneed you go back again?"

"Is that right, Wyvis?" said Janetta. She could not keep silence anylonger. Wyvis turned on her almost fiercely. Margaret who had not seenher before started up and faced her, with a look of something liketerror. 

"It is no business of yours, " said the man. "This matter is betweenMargaret and myself. Margaret must decide it. I do not ask her tocompromise herself in any way. She shall be in my mother's care. All shewill have to do is to trust to me----"

"I think we need hardly trouble you, Mr. Brand, " said another voice. "Margaret will be better in the care of her own mother than in that ofMrs. Brand or yourself. "

Lady Caroline Adair stood on the threshold. Lady Caroline addressed thelittle group, on which a sudden chill and silence fell for a moment, asif her appearance heralded some portentous crash of doom. The door hadbeen left ajar when Margaret entered; it was not easy to say how much ofthe conversation Lady Caroline had heard. Mrs. Brand started up;Margaret turned very pale and drew back, while Wyvis came closer to herand put his arm round her with an air of protective defiance. Janettadrew a quick breath of relief. A disagreeable scene would follow sheknew well; and there were probably unpleasant times in store forMargaret, but these were preferable to the course of rebellion, open orsecret, to which the girl was being incited by her too ardent lover. 

Janetta never admired Lady Caroline so much as she did just then. Margaret's mother was the last person to show discomposure. She sat downcalmly, although no one had asked her to take a chair, and smilinglyadjusted the lace shawl which she had thrown round her graceful figure. There were no signs of haste or agitation in her appearance. She wore avery elegant and becoming dress, a Paris bonnet on her head, a pair ofFrench gloves on her slender hands. She became at once the centre of thegroup, the ornamental point on which all eyes were fixed. Every one elsewas distressed, frightened, or angry; but Lady Caroline's pleasing smileand little air of society was not for one moment to be disturbed. 

"It is really very late for a call, " she said, quietly, "but as I foundthat my daughter was passing this way, I thought I would follow herexample and take the opportunity of paying a visit to Mrs. Brand. It isnot, however, the first time that we have met. "

She looked graciously towards Mrs. Brand, but that poor woman wasshaking in every limb. Janetta put her arms round Mrs. Brand'sshoulders. What did Lady Caroline mean? She had some purpose to fulfil, or she would not sit so quietly, pretending not to notice that herdaughter was holding Wyvis Brand by the hand and that one of his armswas round her waist. There was something behind that fixed, agreeablesmile. 

"No, " said Lady Caroline, reflectively, "not the first time. The lasttime I saw you, Mrs. Brand----"

"Oh, my lady, my lady!" Mrs. Brand almost shrieked, "for heaven's sake, my lady, don't go on!"

She covered her face with her hands and rocked herself convulsively toand fro. Wyvis frowned and bit his lip: Margaret started andunconsciously withdrew her hand. It crossed the minds of both that Mrs. Brand's tone was that of an inferior, that of a servant to a mistress, not that of one lady to her equal. 

"Why should I not go on?" said Lady Caroline, glancing from one toanother as if in utter ignorance. "Have I said anything wrong? I onlymeant that I was present at Mrs. Brand's _first_ wedding--when shemarried your father, Mr. Wyvis--not your adopted father, of course, butJohn Wyvis, the ploughman. "

There was a moment's silence. Then Wyvis took a step forward andthundered. "_What?_" while the veins stood out upon his forehead and hiseyes seemed to be gathering sombre fire. Mrs. Brand, with her head bowedupon her hands, still rocked herself and sobbed. 

"I hope I have not been indiscreet, " said Lady Caroline, innocently. "You look a little surprised. It is surely no secret that you are theson of Mary Wyvis and her cousin, John Wyvis, and that you were broughtup by Mr. Brand as his son simply out of consideration for his wife? Iam sure I beg your pardon if I have said anything amiss. As Mrs. Brandseems disturbed, I had better go. "

"Not until my mother has contradicted this ridiculous slander, " saidWyvis, sternly. But his mother only shook her head and wailed aloud. 

"I can't, my dear--I can't. It's true every word of it. My lady knows. "

"Of course I know. Come, Mary, don't be foolish, " said Lady Caroline, inthe carelessly sharp tone in which one sometimes speaks to an erringdependant. "I took an interest in you at the time, you will remember, although I was only a child staying at Helmsley Court at the time withMr. Adair's family. I was fourteen, I think; and you were scullery-maidor something, and told me about your sweetheart, John Wyvis. There isnothing to be ashamed of: you were married very suitably, and if Wyvis, the ploughman, had not been run over when he was intoxicated, and killedbefore your baby's birth, you might even now have been living down atWych End, with half a dozen stalwart sons and daughters--of whom you, Mr. Wyvis, or Mr. Wyvis Brand, as you are generally known, would havebeen the eldest--probably by this time a potman or a pugilist, with ashare in your grandfather's public-house at Roxby. How ridiculous itseems now, does it not?"

Astonishment had kept Wyvis silent, but his gathering passion could notlonger be repressed. 

"That is enough, " he said. "If you desire to insult me you might havelet it be in other company. Or if you will send your husband to repeatit----"

"I said a pugilist, did I not?" said Lady Caroline, smiling, and puttingup her eye-glass. "Your thews and sinews justify me perfectly--and so, Imust say, does your manner of speech. " She let her eye run over hislimbs critically, and then she dropped her glass. "You are reallywonderfully like poor Wyvis; he was a very strong sort of man. "

"Will you be so good as to take your leave, Lady Caroline Adair? I wishto treat you with all due courtesy, as you are Margaret's mother, " saidWyvis, setting his teeth, "but you are saying unpardonable things to aman in his own house. "

"My dear man, there is nothing to be ashamed of!" cried Lady Caroline, as if very much surprised. "Your father and mother were very honestpeople, and I always thought it greatly to Mark Brand's credit that headopted you. The odd thing was that so few people knew that you were nothis son. You were only a month or two old when he married Mary Wyvis, however; for your father died before your birth; but there was no secretmade of it at the time, I believe. And it is nearly thirty years. Thingsget forgotten. "

"Mother, can this be true?" said Wyvis, hoarsely. He was forced intoasking the question by Lady Caroline's cool persistence. He was keenlyconscious of the fact that Margaret, looking scared and bewildered, hadshrunk away from him. 

"Yes, yes, it is true, " said Mrs. Brand, with a burst of despairingtears. "We did not mean any harm, and nobody made any inquiries. Therewas nothing wrong about it--nothing. It was better for you, Wyvis, thatwas all. "

"Is it better for anybody to be brought up to believe a lie?" said theyoung man. His lips had grown white, and his brow was set in veryominous darkness. "I shall hear more of this story by and by. I have tothank you, Lady Caroline, for letting in a little light upon my mind. Your opposition to my suit is amply explained. "

"I am glad you take it in that way, Mr. Brand, " said Lady Caroline, forthe first time giving him his adopted name, and smiling very amicably. "As I happened to be one of the very few people who knew or surmisedanything about the matter, I thought it better to take affairs into myown hands--especially when I found that my daughter had come to yourhouse. But for this freak of hers I should not, perhaps, haveinterfered. As you are no doubt prepared now to resign all hope of her, I am quite satisfied with the result of my afternoon's work. Come, Margaret. "

CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE FAILURE OF MARGARET. 

"Then I am to understand, " said Wyvis, a sudden glow breaking out overhis dark face, "that you did not make this communication carelessly, asat first I thought, but out of malice prepense?"

"If you like to call it so--certainly, " said Lady Caroline, with aslight shrug of her shoulders. 

"This was your revenge?--when you found that Margaret had come to me!"

"You use strange words, Mr. Wyvis Brand. Revenge is out of date--a quitetoo ridiculous idea. I simply mean that I never wish to intermeddle withmy neighbors' affairs, and should not have thought of bringing thismatter forward if your pretentions could have been settled in anordinary way. If Margaret"--glancing at her daughter, who stood whiteand thunderstricken at her side--"had behaved with submission and withmodesty, I should not have had to inflict what seems to be considerablepain upon you. But it is her fault and yours. Young people should submitto the judgment of their elders: we do not refuse to gratify theirwishes without good reason. "

Lady Caroline spoke with a cold dignity, which she did not usuallyassume. Margaret half covered her face with one hand, and turned aside. The sight of the slow tears trickling through her fingers almostmaddened Wyvis, as he stood before her, looking alternately at her andat Lady Caroline. Mrs. Brand and Janetta were left in the background ofthe little group. The older woman was still weeping, and Janetta wasengaged in soothing and caressing her; but neither of them lost a wordwhich passed between the man for whom they cared and the woman whom atthat moment they both sincerely hated. 

"But is it a good reason?" said Wyvis at last. His eye flashed beneathhis dark brow, his nostril began to quiver. "If I had been Mark Brand'sson, you mean, you would have given me Margaret?"

"There would then have been no disqualification of birth, " said LadyCaroline, clearly. "There might then have been disqualifications ofcharacter or of fortune, but these we need hardly consider now. Theother--the primary--fact is conclusive. "

"Mamma, mamma!" broke out Margaret; "don't say these terriblethings--please don't. It isn't Wyvis' fault. "

"God bless you, my darling!" Wyvis muttered between his teeth. 

"No, it is not his fault; it is his misfortune, " said Lady Caroline. 

"I am to understand, then, Lady Caroline, " said Wyvis, to whomMargaret's expostulation seemed to have brought sudden calmness andcourage, "that my lowly origin forms an insurmountable barrier to mymarriage with Miss Adair?"

"Quite so, Mr. Brand. "

"But that there is no other obstacle?"

"I did not say so. Your domestic relations have been unfortunate, andMr. Adair strongly objects to giving his daughter to a man in yourposition. But we need not go into that matter; I don't consider it asubject suitable for discussion in my daughter's presence. "

"Then I appeal to Margaret!" said Wyvis, in a deep, strong voice. "Icall upon _her_ to decide whether my birth is as much of an obstacle asyou say it is. "

"That is not fair, " said Lady Caroline, quickly. "She will write to you. She can say nothing now. "

"She must say something. She was on the point of giving me herself--herall--when you came in. She had promised to be my wife, and she wasprepared to keep her promise almost immediately. She shall not break herword because my father was a ploughman instead of a landowner and agentleman. "

For once Lady Caroline made a quick, resistant gesture, as if someimpulse prompted her to speak sharply and decisively. Then she recoveredherself, leaned back in her chair, and smiled faintly. 

"Is the battle to be fought out here and now?" she said. "Well, then, doyour worst, Mr. Brand. But I must have a word by and by, when you havespoken. "

Wyvis seemed scarcely to hear her. He was looking again, at Margaret. She was not crying now, but one hand still grasped a handkerchief wetwith her tears. She had rested the other on the back of her mother'schair. Janetta marveled at her irresolute attitude. In Margaret's placeshe would have flung her arms round Wyvis Brand's neck, and vowed thatnothing but death should sever her from him. But Margaret was neitherpassionately loving nor of indomitable courage. 

Wyvis stepped forward and took her by the hand. Lady Caroline's eyebrowscontracted a little, but she did not interfere. She seemed to holdherself resolutely aloof--for a time--and listened, Janetta thought, asif she were present at a very interesting comedy of modern manners. 

"Margaret, look at me!" said the man. 

His deep, vibrating voice compelled the girl to raise her eyes. Shelooked up piteously, and seemed half afraid to withdraw her gaze fromWyvis' dark earnestness of aspect. 

"Margaret--my darling--you said you loved me. "

"Yes--I do love you, " she murmured; but she looked afraid. 

"I am not altered, Margaret: I am the same Wyvis that you loved--theWyvis that you kissed down by the brook, when you promised to be mywife. Have you forgotten? Ah no--not so soon. You would not have comehere to-day if you had forgotten. "

"I have not forgotten, " she said, in a whisper. 

"Then, darling, what difference does it make? There is no stain upon mybirth. I would not ask you to share a dishonored name. But my parentswere honest if they were poor, and what they were does not affect me. Margaret, speak, tell me, dear, that you will not give me up!"

Margaret tried to withdraw her hand. "I do not know what to say, " shewhispered. 

"Say that you love me. "

"I--have said it. "

"Then, that you will not give me up?"

"Mamma!" said Margaret, entreatingly. "You hear what Wyvis says. It isnot his fault. Why--why--won't you let us be happy?"

"Don't appeal to your mother, " said Wyvis, the workings of whosefeatures showed that he was becoming frightfully agitated. "You knowthat she is against me. Listen to your own heart--what does it say? Itspeaks to you of my love for you, of your own love for me. Darling, youknow how miserable my life has been. Are you going to scatter all myhopes again and plunge me down in the depths of gloom? And all for what?To satisfy a worldly scruple. It is not even as if I had been brought upin my early years in the station to which my father belonged. I havenever known him--never known any relations but the Brands; and they arenot so very much beneath you. Don't fail me, Margaret! I shall lose allfaith in goodness if I lose faith in you!"

"I think, " said Lady Caroline, in the rather disheartening pause whichfollowed upon Wyvis' words--disheartening to him, at least, and also toJanetta, who had counted much upon Margaret's innate nobility ofsoul!--"I think that I may now be permitted to say a word to my daughterbefore she replies. What Mr. Wyvis Brand asks you to do, Margaret, is tomarry him at once. Well, the time for coercion has gone by. Of course, we cannot prevent you from marrying him if you choose to do so, but onthe other hand we shall never speak to you again. "

Wyvis uttered a short laugh, as if he were scornfully ready to meet thatcontingency, but Margaret's look of startled horror recalled him todecorum. 

"You would be no longer any child of ours, " said Lady Caroline, calmly. "Your father concurs with me in this. You have known our views so longand so well that we feel it almost necessary to explain this to you. Mr. Brand wishes you to choose, as a matter of fact, between his house andours. Make your choice--make it now, if you like; but understand--and Iam very sorry to be obliged to say a thing which may perhaps hurt thefeelings of some persons present--that if you marry the son of aploughman and a scullery-maid--I do not mean to be more offensive than Ican help--you cannot possibly expect to be received at Helmsley Court. "

"But, mamma! he ranks as one of the Brands of the Red House. Nobodyknows. "

"But everybody _will_ know, " said Lady Caroline, calmly. "I shall takecare of that. I don't know how it is that Mr. Brand has got possessionof the family estate--to which he has, of course, no right; but it hasan ugly look of fraud about it, to which public attention had better bedrawn at once. Mr. Brand may have been a party to the deception allalong, for aught I know. "

"That statement needs no refutation, " said Wyvis, calmly, though with adangerous glitter in his eyes. "I shall prove my integrity by handingover the Red House to my bro----to Cuthbert Brand, who is of course therightful owner of the place. "

"You hear. Margaret?" said Lady Caroline. "You will not even have theRed House in your portion. You have to choose between your mother andfather and friends, position, wealth, refinement, luxury--and WyvisBrand. That is your alternative. He will have no position of his own, nohouse to offer you; I am amazed at his selfishness, I must own, atmaking such a proposition. "

"No, madam, " said Mrs. Brand, breaking into the conversation for thefirst time, and seeming to forget her timidity in the defence of herbeloved son Wyvis; "we are not so selfish as you think. The estate wasleft to Wyvis by my husband's will. He preferred that Wyvis should bemaster here; and we thought that no one knew the truth. "

"But I shall not be master here any longer, " said her son. "I will handover the place to Cuthbert at once. I will take nothing on falsepretences. So, Margaret, choose between me and the advantages yourmother offers you. It is for you to decide. "

"Oh, I can't, I can't! Why need I decide now?" said Margaret, claspingher hands. "Let me have time to think!"

"No, you must decide now, Margaret, " said Lady Caroline. "You have donea very unjustifiable thing in coming here to-day, and you must take theconsequences. If you still wish to marry Mr. Wyvis Brand, you had betteraccept the offer of his mother's protection and remain here. If you comeaway with me, it must be understood that you give up any thought of sucha marriage. You must renounce Mr. Wyvis Brand from this time forth andfor ever. Pray, don't answer hastily. The question is this--do you meanto stay here or to come away with me?"

She rose as she spoke, and began to arrange the details of her dress, as though preparing to take her departure. Margaret stood pale, irresolute, miserable between her mother and her lover. Wyvis threwout his hands to her with an imploring gesture and an almost frenziedcry--"Margaret--love--come to me!" Janetta held her breath. 

But in that moment of indecision, Margaret's wavering eye fell upon Mrs. Brand. The mother was an unlovely object in her abject sorrow anddespair. Her previous coldness and awkwardness told against her at thatmoment. It suddenly darted through Margaret's mind that she would haveto accept this woman, with her common associations, her obscure origin, her doubtful antecedents, in a mother's place. The soul of the girl whohad been brought up by Lady Caroline Adair revolted at the thought. Wyvis she loved, or thought she loved; Wyvis she could accept; butWyvis' mother for her own, coupled with exclusion from the home whereshe had lived so many smooth and tranquil years, exclusion also from thesociety in which she had been taught that it was her right to take adistinguished place--this was too much. Her dreams fell from her like agarment. Plain, unvarnished reality unfolded itself instead. To be poorand obscure and unfriended, to be looked down upon and pitied, to besnubbed and passed by on the other side--this was what seemed to be thereality of things to Margaret's mind. It was too much for her to accept. She looked at it and passed by it. 

She stretched out her hand timidly and touched her mother's arm. "Mamma, " she said falteringly, "I--I will come with you. " And then sheburst into tears and fell upon her mother's neck, and over her shoulderLady Caroline turned and smiled at Wyvis Brand. She had won her game. 

"Of course you will, darling, " she said, caressingly. "I did not thinkyou could have been so wicked as to give us up. Come with me! this isnor the place for us. "

And in the heart-struck silence which fell upon the little group thatshe left behind, Lady Caroline gravely bowed and led her weepingdaughter from the room. 

"Oh, Margaret, Margaret!" Janetta suddenly cried out; but Margaret neveronce looked back. Perhaps if she had seen Wyvis Brand's face just then, she might have given way. It was a terrible face; hard, bitter, despairing; with lines of anguish about the mouth, and a lurid light inthe deep-set, haggard-looking eyes. Janetta, in the pity of her heart, went up to her cousin, and took his clenched hand between her own. 

"Wyvis, dear Wyvis, " she said, "do not look so. Do not grieve. Indeed, she could not have been worthy of you, or she would not have done likethis. All women are not like her, Wyvis. Some would have loved you foryourself. "

And there she stopped, crimson and ashamed. For surely she had almosttold him that she loved him!--that secret of which she had long been somuch ashamed, and which had given her so much of grief and pain. But sheattached too much importance to her own vague words. They did not betrayher, and Wyvis scarcely listened to what she said. He broke into ashort, harsh laugh, more hideous than a sob. 

"Are not all women like her?" he said. "Then they are worse. She wasinnocent, at any rate, if she was weak. But she has sold her soul now, if she ever had one, to the devil; and, as I would rather be with her inlife and death than anywhere else, I shall make haste to go to the deviltoo. "

He shook off her detaining hand, and strode to the door. There heturned, and looked fixedly at his mother. 

"It is almost worse to be weak than wicked, I think, " he said. "If youhad told me the truth long ago, mother, I should have kept out of thiscomplication. It's been your fault--my misery and my failure have alwaysbeen your fault. It would have been better for me if you had left me toplough the fields like my father before me. As it is, life's over for mein this part of the world, and I may as well bid it good-bye. "

Before they could stop him, he was gone. And Janetta could not follow, for Mrs. Brand sank fainting from her chair, and it was long before shecould be recovered from the deathlike swoon into which she fell. 

And throughout that evening, and for days to come, Margaret Adair, although petted and caressed and praised on every hand, and persuadedinto feeling that she had not only done the thing that was expected ofher, but a very worthy and noble thing, was haunted by an uneasyconsciousness, that the argument which had prevailed with her was notthe love of home or of her parents, which, indeed, might have been avery creditable motive for her decision, but a shrinking from trouble, adislike to effort of any kind, and an utter distaste for obscurity andhumility. Janetta's reproachful call rang in her ears for days. Sheknew that she had chosen the baser part. True, as she argued withherself, it was right to obey one's parents, to be submissive andstraightforward, to shrink from the idea of ingratitude and rebellion;and, if she had yielded on these grounds, she might have been somewhatconsoled for the loss of her lover by the conviction that she had doneher duty. But for some little time she was distressfully aware that shehad never considered her parents in the matter at all. She had thoughtof worldly disadvantage only. She had not felt any desire to stand byWyvis Brand in his trouble. She had felt only repugnance and disgust;and, having some elements of good in her, she was troubled and ashamedby her failure; for, even if she had done right in the main, she knewthat she had done it in the wrong way. 

But, of course, time changed her estimate of herself. She was so muchcaressed and flattered by her family for her "exquisite dutifulness, " asthey phrased it, that she ended by believing that she had behavedbeautifully. And this belief was a great support to her during thewinter that she subsequently spent with her parents in Italy. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

RETROSPECT. 

For my part, I am inclined to think that Margaret was more right thanshe knew. There was really no inherent fitness between her temperamentand that of Wyvis Brand; and his position in the County was one whichwould have fretted her inexpressibly. She, who had been the pettedfavorite of a brilliant circle in town and country, to take rank as thewife of a ploughman's son! It would not have suited her at all; and herdiscontent would have ended in making Wyvis miserable. 

He was, he considered, miserable enough already. He was sore allover--sore and injured and angry. He had been deceived in a manner whichseemed to him unjustifiable from beginning to end. The disclosure of hisparentage explained many little things which had been puzzling to himin his previous life, but it brought with it a baffling, passionatesense of having been fooled and duped--not a condition of things whichwas easy for him to support. Little by little the whole story becameclear to him. For, when he flung out of the Red House after Margaret'sdeparture, in a tumult of rage and shame, announcing his determinationto go to the devil, he did not immediately seek out the Prince ofDarkness: he only went to his lawyer. His lawyer told him a good deal, and Mrs. Brand, in a letter dictated to Janetta, told him more. 

Mary Wyvis, the daughter of the village inn-keeper at Roxby, was broughtup to act as his barmaid, and early became engaged to marry her cousin, John Wyvis, ploughman. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, when MarkBrand appeared upon the scene, and fell desperately in love with thehandsome barmaid. She returned his love, but was too conscientious toelope with him and forget her cousin, as he wished her to do. Her fathersupported John's claim, and threatened to horsewhip the fine gentlemanif he visited the Roxby Arms again. By way of change, Mary then wentinto domestic service for a few weeks at Helmsley Manor. It was notexpected that she would remain there, and it was thought by her friendsthat she distinctly "lowered herself" by accepting this position, forher father was a well-to-do man in his way; but Mary Wyvis made thebreak with Mark Brand by this new departure which she considered itessential for her to make; and she was thereby delivered from hisattentions for a time. At Helmsley Manor she was treated with muchconsideration, being considered a superior young person for her class;and although only a scullery maid in name, she was allowed a good dealof liberty, and promoted to attend on Lady Caroline Bertie, who, as agirl of fourteen, was then visiting Mrs. Adair, the mother of the manwhom she afterward married. Mary Wyvis was lured into confiding one ortwo of her little secrets to Lady Caroline; and when she left HelmsleyCourt to marry John Wyvis, that young lady took so much interest in theaffair that she attended the wedding and gave the bride awedding-present. And as she often visited the Adairs, she seldom failedto asked after Mary, until that consummation of Mary's fate whicheffectually destroyed Lady Caroline's interest in her. 

Wyvis the ploughman was accidentally killed, and Mary's child, namedJohn after his father, was born shortly after the ploughman's death. Itwas then that Mark Brand sought out his old love, and to better purposethan before. His passion for her had been strengthened by what he waspleased to call her desertion of him. He proposed marriage, and offeredto adopt the boy. Mary Wyvis accepted both propositions, and leftEngland with him almost immediately, in order to escape mocking andslanderous tongues. 

It was inevitable that evil should be said of her. Mark Brand's pursuitof her before her marriage to Wyvis had been well known. That she shouldmarry him so soon after her first husband's death seemed to point tosome continued understanding between the two, and caused much gossip inthe neighborhood. Such gossip was really unfounded, for Mary was a goodwoman in her way, though not a very wise one; but the charges againsther were believed in many places, and never disproved. It was evenwhispered that the little boy was Mark Brand's own son, and that JohnWyvis had met his death through some foul play. Rumors of this kind dieddown in course of time. But they were certainly sufficient to accountfor the disfavor with which the County eyed the Brands in general, andMrs. Brand in particular. Mark Brand lived very little at the Red Houseafter his marriage. He knew what a storm of indignation had been spentupon his conduct, and he was well aware of the aspersions on his wife'scharacter. He was too reckless by nature to try to set things straight:he considered that he did his best for his family when he left Englandbehind him, and trained the boys, Wyvis and Cuthbert, to love a foreignland better than their own. 

He grew very fond of Mary's boy during the first few years of hismarried life. This fondness led him to wish that the boy were his own, and the appearance of Cuthbert did not alter this odd liking for anotherman's son. He never cared very much for Cuthbert, who was delicate andlame from babyhood; but Wyvis was the apple of his eye. The boy wascalled John Wyvis: it was easy enough in a foreign country to let himslip into the position of the eldest of the family as Wyvis Brand. Ababy son was born before Cuthbert, and dying a month old, gave Mark allthe opportunity that he needed. He sent word to old Wyvis at Roxby thatJohn's boy was dead; and he then quietly substituted Wyvis in place ofhis own son. Every year, he argued, would make the real difference ofage between John's boy and the dead child less apparent: it would savetrouble to speak of Wyvis as his own, and troublesome inquiries were notlikely to be made. Time and use made him almost forget that Wyvis didnot really belong to him; and but for his wife's insistence he would noteven have made the will which secured the Red House to his adopted son. Cuthbert was of course treated with scandalous injustice by this will;but the secret had been well kept, and the story was fully known tonobody save the Brands' lawyer and Mary Brand herself. 

The way in which Lady Caroline had ferreted out the secret remained amystery to the Brands. But they never gave her half enough credit forher remarkable cleverness. When she saw Wyvis Brand, she had been struckalmost at once by his likeness to John Wyvis, the man who married herold favorite, Mary. She leaped quickly to the conviction that he was notMark Brand's son. And when Margaret's infatuation for him declareditself, she went straight to her husband's man of business, andcommissioned him to find out all that could be found out about theBrands during the period of their early married life in Italy. The taskwas surprisingly easy. Mark Brand had taken few precautions, for he haddrifted rather than deliberately steered towards the substitution ofWyvis for his own eldest son. A very few inquiries elicited all thatLady Caroline wanted to know. But she had not been quite sure of herfacts when she entered the Red House, and, if Mrs. Brand had been alittle cooler and a little braver, she might have defeated her enemy'sends, and carried her secret inviolate to her grave. 

But courage and coolness were the last things that could be expectedfrom Mrs. Brand. She had never possessed a strong mind and the variouschances and changes of her life had enfeebled instead of strengtheningit. Mark Brand had proved by no means a loving or faithful husband, anddid not scruple to taunt her with her inferiority of position, and tothreaten that he would mortify Wyvis' pride some day by a revelation ofhis true name and descent. He was too fond of Wyvis to carry his threatinto effect but he made the poor woman, his wife, suffer an infinity oftorture, the greater part of which might have been avoided if she hadchanced to be gifted with a higher spirit and a firmer will. 

Wyvis Brand went immediately to London after the interview with hislawyer in Beaminster, and from London, in a few days, he wrote toCuthbert. The letter was curt, but not unfriendly. He wished, he said, to repair the injustice that had been done, and to restore to Cuthbertthe inheritance that was his by right. He had already instructed hislawyers to take the necessary steps, and he was glad to think thatCuthbert and Nora would now be able to make the Red House what it oughtto be. He hoped that they would be very happy. For himself, he thoughtof immigrating: he was heartily sick of modern civilization, andbelieved that he would more easily find friends and fellow-workersamongst the Red Skins of the Choctaw Indians than in "County"drawing-rooms. And only by this touch did Wyvis betray the bitternessthat filled his heart. 

Cuthbert rushed up to town at once in a white heat of indignation. Hewas only just in time to find Wyvis at his hotel, for he had taken hispassage to America, and was going to start almost immediately. But therewas time at least for a very energetic discussion between the two youngmen. 

"If you think, " said Cuthbert, hotly, "that I'm going to take yourplace, you are very much mistaken. "

"It is not my place. It has been mine only by fraud. "

"Not a bit of it. It is yours by my father's will. He knew the truth, and chose to take this course. "

"Very unfair to you, Cuth, " said Wyvis, a faint smile showing itself forthe first time on his haggard face. 

Cuthbert shrugged his shoulders. "My dear fellow, do you suppose it'sany news to me that my father cared more for your little finger than formy whole body? He chose--practically--to disinherit me in your favor;and a very good thing it's been for me too. I should never have taken toArt if I had been a landed proprietor. "

"I don't understand it, " said Wyvis, meditatively. "One would haveexpected him to be jealous of his wife's family--and then you're a muchbetter fellow than I am. "

"That was the reason, " said Cuthbert, sitting down and nursing his lameleg, after a characteristic fashion of his own "I was a meek child--asickly lad who didn't get into mischief. I was afraid of horses, you mayremember, and hated manly exercises of every kind. Now you were never sohappy as when you were on a horse's back----"

"A strain inherited from my ploughman father, I suppose, " said Wyvis, rather grimly. 

"And you got into scrapes innumerable; for which he liked you all thebetter. And you--well you know, old boy, you were never a reproach tohim, as the sight of me was!"

Cuthbert's voice dropped. He had never spoken of it before, but he andWyvis knew well enough that his lameness was the result of his father'sbrutal treatment of Mary Brand shortly before the birth of her secondson. 

"He ought to have been more bent on making amends than on sacrificingyou to me, " said Wyvis, bitterly. 

"Oh, don't look at it in that way, " Cuthbert answered. The naturalsweetness of his disposition made it painful to him to hear his fatherblamed, although that father had done his best to make his lifemiserable. "He never meant to hurt me, the poor old man; and when he haddone it, the sight of my infirmity became exquisitely painful to him. Ican forgive him that; I can forgive him everything. There are otherswhom it is more difficult to forgive. "

"You mean----"

"I mean women who have not the courage to be true, " said Cuthbert, in alow voice. He did not look at his brother, but he felt certain that athrill of pain passed through him. For a minute or two Wyvis did notspeak. 

"Well, " he said at last, forcing an uneasy laugh, "I think that she wasperhaps right. She might not have been very happy. And I doubt, afterall, whether I ought to have asked her. Janetta thought not, at anyrate. "

"Janetta is generally very wise. "

"So she is very wise. I am legally quite free, but she thinksme--morally--bound. "

"Well, so do I, " said Cuthbert, frankly. "On all moral and religiousgrounds, I think you are as much bound as ever you were. And if MissAdair refused you on those grounds, she has more right on her side thanI thought. "

"Ah, but she did not, " answered Wyvis, dryly. "She refused me because Iwas not rich, not 'in society, ' and a ploughman's son. "

"That's bad, " said his brother. And then the two sat for a little timein silence, which is the way of Englishmen when one wishes to showsympathy for another. 

"But we are not approaching what I want to say at all, " said Cuthbert, presently. "We must not let our feelings run away with us. We are bothin a very awkward position, old boy, but we shan't make it better bypublishing it to the world. If you throw up the place in this absurdfashion--excuse the term--you _will_ publish it to the world at large. "

"Do you think that matters to me?" asked Wyvis, sternly. 

"Perhaps not to you. But it matters to mother, and to me. And it affectsour father's character. "

"Your father's, not mine. "

"He was the only father you ever knew, and you have no reason to findfault with him. "

Wyvis groaned impatiently. "One has duties to the living, not to thedead. "

"One has duties to the dead, too. You can't give up the Red House tome--even if I would take it, which I won't--without having the wholestory made public. My father hasn't a very good reputation in theCounty: people will think no better of him for having lamed me, disinherited me, and practiced a fraud on them. That's what they willsay about the affair, you know. We can't let the world know. "

"Then I'd better go and shoot myself. It seems to me the only thing Ican do. "

"And what about Julian? The estate would pass to him, of course, " saidCuthbert, coolly. He saw that Wyvis' face changed a little at themention of Julian's name. 

"No, I could will it to you--make it over to you, with the conditionthat it should go to the Foundling Hospital if you wouldn't accept it. "

"I think that a will of that kind could be easily set aside on theground of insanity, " said Cuthbert, with a slight smile. 

"I could find a way out of the difficulty, if I tried, I have nodoubt, " said Wyvis, frowning gloomily and pulling at his moustache. 

"_Don't_ try, " said his brother, leaning forward and speakingpersuasively. "Let things continue much as they are. I am content: Norais content. Why should you not be so, too?" Then, as Wyvis shook hishead: "Make your mind easy then if you must do something, by giving me asum down, or a slice of your income, old man. Upon my word I wouldn'tlive in the old place if you gave it to me. It is picturesque--but damp. Come let's compromise matters. "

"I love every stick and stone in the place, " said Wyvis grimly. 

"I know you do. I don't. I want to live in Paris or Vienna with Nora, and enjoy myself I don't want to paint pot-boilers. I say like the manin the parable, 'Give me the portion that belongeth to me, ' and I'll gomy way, promising, however, not to spend it in riotous living. Won'tthat arrangement suit you?"

Wyvis demurred at first, but was finally persuaded into making anarrangement of the kind that Cuthbert desired. He retained the RedHouse, but he bestowed on his brother enough to give him an ample incomefor the life that Cuthbert and Nora wished to lead. During his absencefrom England, Mrs. Brand and Julian were still to inhabit the Red House. And Wyvis announced his intention of going to South America to shoot biggame, from which Cuthbert inferred that his heart, although bruised, wasnot broken yet. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

FROM DISTANT LANDS. 

More than a year had passed away since the events recorded in the lastchapter. Early autumn was beginning to touch the leaves with gold andcrimson; the later flowers were coming into bloom, and the fruit hungpurple and russet-red upon the boughs. The woods about Beaminster hadput on a gorgeous mantle, and the gardens were gay with color, and yetover all there hung the indefinable brooding melancholy that comes ofthe first touch of decay. It was of this that Janetta Colwyn was chieflyconscious, as she walked in the Red House grounds and looked at theyellowing leaves that eddied through the still air to the gravelledwalks and unshorn lawns below. Janetta was thinner and paler than indays of yore, and yet there was a peaceful expression upon her facewhich gave it an added charm. She had discarded her black gowns and worea pretty dark red dress which suited her admirably. There was a look ofthought and feeling in her dark eyes, a sweetness in her smile, whichwould always redeem her appearance from the old charge of insignificancethat used to be brought against it. Small and slight she might be, butnever a woman to be overlooked. 

The past few months had seen several changes in her family. Mrs. Colwynwas now Mrs. Burroughs, and filled her place with more dignity than hadbeen expected. She was kept in strict order by her husband and hissister, and, like many weak persons, was all the better and happier forfeeling a strong hand over her. The children had accommodated themselvesvery well to the new life, and were very fond of their stepfather. Noraand Cuthbert had quitted the Red House almost immediately after theirmarriage, and gone to Paris, whence Nora wrote glowing accounts to hersister of the happiness of her life. And Janetta had taken up her abodeat the Red House, nominally as governess to little Julian, and companionto Mrs. Brand, but practically ruler of the household, adviser-in-chiefto every one on the estate; teacher, comforter, and confidante in turn, or all at once. She could not remain long in any place without winningtrust and affection, and there was not a servant in Wyvis Brand's employwho did not soon learn that the best way of gaining help in need orredress for any grievance was to address himself or herself to littleMiss Colwyn. To Mrs. Brand, now more weak and ailing than ever, Janettawas like a daughter. And secure in her love, little Julian never knewwhat it was to miss a mother's care. 

Janetta might have her own private cares and worries, but in public, atany rate, she was seldom anything but cheerful. It was a duty that sheowed the world, she thought, to look bright in it, and especially a dutyto Mrs. Brand and little Julian, who would sorely have missed her readyplayfulness and her tender little jokes if ever she had forgottenherself so far as to put on a gloomy countenance. And yet she sometimesfelt very much dispirited. She had no prospects of prosperity; she couldnot expect to live at the Red House for ever; and yet, when Wyvis camehome and she had to go--which, of course, must happen some time, sinceMrs. Brand was growing old and infirm, and Julian would have to go toschool--what would she do? She asked herself this question many times, and could never find a very satisfactory answer. She might advertise fora situation: she might take lodgings in London, and give lessons: shemight go to the house of her stepfather. Each of these attempts to solvethe problem of her future gave her a cold shudder and a sudden sicknessof heart. And yet, as she often severely told herself, what else wasthere for her to do?

She had heard nothing of the Adairs, save through common town gossip, for many months. The house was shut up, and they were still travellingabroad. Margaret had evidently quite given up her old friend, Janetta, and this desertion made Janetta's heart a little sore. Wyvis also was inforeign lands. He had been to many places, and killed a great many wildbeasts--so much all the world knew, and few people knew anything more. To his mother he wrote seldom, though kindly. An occasional note toJulian, or a post card to Cuthbert or his agent, would give a newaddress from time to time, but it was to Janetta only that he sometimeswrote a really long and interesting epistle, detailing some of hisadventures in the friendly and intimate way which his acquaintance withher seemed to warrant. He did not mention any of his private affairs: henever spoke of that painful last scene at the Red House, of Margaret, ofhis mother, of his wife; but he wrote of the scenes through which hepassed, and the persons whom he met, with an unreserve which Janettaknew to be the sincerest compliment. 

But on this autumnal day she had received a letter in which another notewas struck. And it was for this reason that she had brought it out intothe garden, so that she might think over it, and read it again in theshadow of the great beech trees, away from the anxious eyes of Mrs. Brand and the eager childish questions of Wyvis' boy. 

For three pages Wyvis had written in his usual strain. He was notperhaps an ideally good letter-writer, but he had a terse, forciblestyle of his own, and could describe a scene with some amount of graphicpower. In the midst of an account of certain brigands with whom he hadmet in Sicily, however, he had, in this letter, broken off quitesuddenly and struck into a new subject in a new and unexpected way. 

"I had written thus far when I was interrupted: the date of the letter, you will see, is three weeks ago. I put down my pen and went out: Ifound that fever had made its appearance, so I packed up my traps thatafternoon and started for Norway. A sudden change, you will say? Heavenknows why I went there, but I am glad I did. 

"It was early in July when I reached the hotel at V----. There was_table d'hote_ and many another sign of civilization, which bored me nota little. However, I made the best of a bad job, and went down to dinnerwith the rest, took my seat without noticing my companions until I wasseated, and then found myself next to--can you guess who, Janetta?--I amsure you never will. 

"_Lady Caroline Adair!!!_

"Her daughter was just beyond her, and Mr. Adair beyond the daughter, sothe fair Margaret was well guarded. Of course I betrayed no sign ofrecognition, but I wished myself at Jericho very heartily. For, betweenourselves, Janetta, I made such an ass of myself last summer that myears burn to think of it, and it was not a particularly honorable orgentlemanly ass, I believe, so that I deserve to be drowned in the deepsea for my folly. I can only hope that I did not show what I felt. 

"Miss Adair was blooming: fair, serene, self-possessed as ever. _She_did not show any sign of embarrassment, I can tell you. She did not evenblush. She looked at me once or twice with the faint, well-bredindifference with which the well-brought-up young lady usually eyes aperfect stranger. It was Mr. Adair who did all the embarrassment for us. He turned purple when he saw me, and wanted his daughter to come awayfrom the table. My ears are quick, and I heard what he said to her, andI heard also her reply. 'Why should I go away, dear papa! I don't mindin the least. ' Kind of her not to mind, wasn't it? And do you think Iwas going to 'mind, ' after that? I lifted up my head, which I hadhitherto bent studiously over my soup, and began to talk to my neighboron the other side, a stalwart English clergyman with a blue ribbon athis button-hole. 

"But presently, to my surprise, Lady Caroline addressed me. 'I hope youhave not forgotten me, Mr. Brand, ' she said, quite graciously. I mustconfess, Janetta, that I stared at her. The calm audacity of the womantook me by surprise. She looked as amiable as if we were close friendsmeeting after a long absence. I hope you won't be very angry with mewhen I tell you how I answered her. 'Pardon me, ' I said, 'my name isWyvis--not Brand. ' And then I went on talking to my muscular Christianon the left. 

"She looked just a little bit disconcerted. Not much, you know. It wouldtake a great deal to disconcert Lady Caroline very much. But she did nottry to talk to me again! I choked her off that time, anyhow. 

"And, now, let me make a confession. I don't admire Margaret Adair inthe very least. I did, I know: and I made a fool of myself, and worse, perhaps, about her: but she does, not move one fibre of my heart now, she does not make it beat a bit faster, and she does not give my eyemore pleasure than a wax doll would give me. She is fair and sweet andtranquil, I know: but what has she done with her heart and her brain? Isuppose her mother has them in her keeping, and will make them over toher husband when she marries?... I know a woman who is worth a dozenMargarets.... 

"But I have made up my mind to live single, so long as Julian's motheris alive. Legally, I am not bound; morally, I can scarcely feel myselffree. And I know that you feel with me, Janet. The world may call usover-scrupulous; but I set your judgment higher than that of the world. And all I can say about Margaret is that I fell into a passing fit ofmadness, and cared for nothing but what my fancy dictated; and that nowI am sane--clothed in my right mind, so to speak--I am disgusted withmyself for my folly. Lady Caroline and her daughter should have takenhigher ground. They were right to send me away--but not right to act onunworthy motives. In the long nights that I have spent camping out underthe quiet stars, far away from the dwellings of men, I have argued thething out with myself, and I say unreservedly that they were right andI was wrong--wrong from beginning to end, wrong to my mother, wrong tomy wife (as she once was), wrong to Margaret, wrong to myself. Yourinfluence has always been on the side of right and truth, Janetta, andyou more than once told me that I was wrong. 

"So I make my confession. I do not think that I shall come back toEngland just yet. I am going to America next week. You will not leavethe Red House, will you? While you are there I can feel at ease about mymother and my boy. I trust you with them entirely, Janetta; and I wantyou to trust me. Wherever I may go, and whatever I may do, I willhenceforward be worthy of your trust and of your friendship. "

This was the letter that Janetta read under the beech trees; and as sheread it tears gathered in her eyes and fell upon the pages. But theywere not tears of sadness--rather tears of joy and thankfulness. ForWyvis Brand's aberration of mind--so it had always appeared to her--hadgiven her much pain and sorrow. And he seemed now to have placed hisfoot upon the road to better things. 

She was still holding the letter in her hand when she reached the end ofthe beech-tree shaded walk along which she had been slowly walking. Thetears were wet upon her cheeks, but a smile played on her lips. She didnot notice for some time that she was watched from the gate that ledinto the pasture-land, at the end of the beech-tree walk, by a woman, who seemed uncertain whether to speak, to enter, or to go away. 

Janetta saw her at last, and wondered what she was doing there. She putthe letter into her pocket, dashed the tears from her eyes, and advancedtowards the gate. 

"Can I do anything for you?" she said. 

The woman looked about thirty-five years old, and possessed the remainsof great beauty. She was haggard and worn: her cheeks were sunken, though brilliantly red, and her large, velvety-brown eyes were strangelybright. Her dark, waving hair had probably once been curled over herbrow: it now hung almost straight, and had a rough, dishevelled look, which corresponded with the soiled and untidy appearance of her dress. Her gown and mantle were of rich stuff, but torn and stained in manyplaces; and her gloves and boots were shabby to the very last degree, while her bonnet, of cheap and tawdry materials, had at any rate theone merit of being fresh and new. Altogether she was an odd figure to beseen in a country place; and Janetta wondered greatly whence she came, and what her errand was at the Red House. 

"Can I do anything for you?" she asked. 

"This is the Red House, I suppose?" the woman asked, hoarsely. 

"Yes, it is. "

"Wyvis Brand's house?"

Janetta hesitated in surprise, and then said, "Yes, " in a rather distanttone. 

"Who are _you_?" said the woman, looking at her sharply. 

"I am governess to Mr. Brand's little boy. "

"Oh, indeed. And he's at home, I suppose?"

"No, " said Janetta, gravely, "he has been away for more than a year, andis now, I believe, on his way to America. "

"You lie!" said the woman, furiously; "and you know that you lie!"

Janetta recoiled a step. Was this person mad?

"He is at home, and you want to keep me out, " the woman went on, wildly. "You don't want me to set foot in the place, or to see my child again!He is at home, and I'll see him if I have to trample on your bodyfirst. "

"Nobody wants to keep you out, " said Janetta, forcing herself to speakand look calmly, but tingling with anger from head to foot. "But Iassure you Mr. Brand is away from home. His mother lives here; she isnot very strong, and ought not to be disturbed. If you will give me yourname----"

"My name?" repeated the other in a tone of mockery. "Oh yes, I'll giveyou my name. I don't see why I should hide it; do you? I've been away agood long time; but I mean to have my rights now. My name is Mrs. WyvisBrand: what do you think of that, young lady?"

She drew herself up as she spoke, looking gaunt and defiant. Her eyesflamed and her cheeks grew hotter and deeper in tint until they werepoppy-red. She showed her teeth--short, square, white teeth--as if shewanted to snarl like an angry dog. But Janetta, after the first momentof repulsion and astonishment, was not dismayed. 

"I did not know, " she said, gravely, "that you had any right to callyourself by that name. I thought that you were divorced from Mr. WyvisBrand. "

"Separated for incompatibility of temper; that was all, " said Mrs. Brandcoolly. "I told him I'd got a divorce, but it wasn't true. I wanted tobe free from him--that's the truth. I didn't mean him to marry again. Iheard that he was going to be married--is that so! Perhaps he was goingto marry _you_?"

"No, " Janetta answered, very coldly. 

"I'm not going to put up with it if he is, " was her visitor's sullenreply. "I've borne enough from him in my day, I can tell you. So I'vecome for the boy. I'm going to have him back; and when I've got him I'veno doubt but what I can make Wyvis do what I choose. I hear he's fond ofthe boy. "

"But what--what--do you want him to do?" said Janetta, startled out ofher reserve. "Do you want--_money_ from him?"

Mrs. Wyvis Brand laughed hoarsely. Janetta noticed that her breath wasvery short, and that she leaned against the gate-post for support. 

"No, not precisely, " she said. "I want more than that. I see that he'sgot a nice, comfortable, respectable house; and I'm tired of wandering. I'm ill, too, I believe. I want a place in which to be quiet and rest, or die, as it may turn out. I mean Wyvis to take me back. "

She opened the gate as she spoke, and tried to pass Janetta. But thegirl stood in her way. 

"Take you back after you have left him and ill-treated him and deceivedhim, you wicked woman!" she broke out, in her old impetuous way. And foranswer, Mrs. Wyvis Brand raised her hand and struck her sharply acrossthe face. 

A shrill, childish cry rang out upon the air. Janetta stood mute andtrembling, unable for the moment to move or speak, as little Juliansuddenly flung himself into her arms and tried to drag her towards thehouse. 

"Oh, come away, come away, dear Janetta!" he cried. "It's mamma, andshe'll take me back to Paris, I know she will! I won't go away from you, I won't, I won't!" His mother sprung towards him, as if to tear him fromJanetta's arm, and then her strength seemed suddenly to pass from her. She stopped, turned ghastly white, and then as suddenly very red. Thenshe flung up her arms with a gasping, gurgling cry, and, to Janetta'shorror, she saw a crimson tide break from her quivering lips. She wasjust in time to catch her in her arms before she sank senseless to theground. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

JULIET. 

There was no help for it. Into Wyvis Brand's house Wyvis Brand's wifemust go. Old Mrs. Brand came feebly into the garden, and identified thewoman as the mother of Julian, and the wife of her eldest son. She couldnot be allowed to die at their door. She could not be taken to any otherdwelling. There were laborers' cottages only in the immediate vicinity. She must be brought to the Red House and nursed by Janetta and Mrs. Brand. A woman with a broken blood-vessel, how unworthy soever she mightbe, could not be sent to the Beaminster Hospital three miles away. Common humanity forbade it. She must, for a time at least, be nursed inthe place where she was taken ill. 

So she was carried indoors and laid in the best bedroom, which was agloomy-looking place until Janetta began to make reforms in it. When shehad put fresh curtains to the windows, and set flowers on thewindow-sill, and banished some of the old black furniture, the roomlooked a trifle more agreeable, and there was nothing on which poorJuliet Brand's eye could dwell with positive dislike or dissatisfactionwhen she came to herself. But for some time she lay at the very point ofdeath, and it seemed to Janetta and to all the watchers at the bedsidethat Mrs. Wyvis Brand could not long continue in the present world. 

Mrs. Brand the elder seldom came into the room. She showed a singularhorror of her daughter-in-law: she would not even willingly speak ofher. She pleaded her ill-health as an excuse for not taking her share ofthe nursing; and when it seemed likely that Janetta would be worn out byit, she insisted that a nurse from the Beaminster Hospital should beprocured. "It will not be for long, " she said gloomily, when Janettaspoke regretfully of the expense. For Janetta was chief cashier andfinancier in the household. 

But it appeared as if she were mistaken. Mrs. Brand did not die, aseverybody expected. She lay for a time in a very weak state, and thenbegan gradually to recover strength. Before long, she was able toconverse, and then she showed a preference for Janetta's society whichpuzzled the girl not a little. For Julian she also showed some fondness, but he sometimes wearied, sometimes vexed her, and a visit of a very fewminutes sufficed for both mother and son. Julian himself exhibited notonly dislike but terror of her. He tried to run away and hide when thehour came for his daily visit to his mother's room; and when Janettaspoke to him on the subject rather anxiously, he burst into tears andavowed he was afraid. 

"Afraid of what?" said Janetta. 

But he only sobbed and would not tell. 

"She can't hurt you, Julian, dear. She is ill and weak and lonely; andshe loves you. It's not kind and loving of you to run away. "

"I don't want to be unkind. "

"Or unloving?" said Janetta. 

"I don't love her, " the boy answered, and bit his lip. His eye flashedfor a moment, and then he looked down as if he were ashamed of theconfession. 

"Julian, dear? Your mother?"

"I can't help it. She hasn't been very much like a mother to me. "

"You should not say that, dear. She loves you very much; and all peopledo not love in the same way. "

"Oh, it isn't that, " said the boy, as if in desperation. "I know sheloves me, but--but----" And there he broke down in a passion of tearsand sobs, amidst which Janetta could distinguish only a few words, suchas "Suzanne said"--"father"--"make me wicked too. "

"Do you mean, " said Janetta, more shocked than she liked to show, "thatyou think your father wicked?"

"Oh, no, no! Suzanne said mother was not good. Not father. "

"But, my dear boy, you must not say that your mother is not good. Youhave no reason to say so, and it is a terrible thing to say. "

"She was unkind to father--and to me, too, " Julian burst forth. "And shestruck you; she is wicked and unkind, and I don't love her. And Suzannesaid she would make me wicked, too, and that I was just like her; and Idon't want--to--be--wicked. "

"Nobody can make you wicked if you are certain that you want to begood, " said Janetta, gravely; "and it was very wrong of Suzanne to sayanything that could make you think evil of your mother. "

"Isn't she naughty, then?" Julian asked in a bewildered tone. 

"I do not know, " Janetta answered, very seriously. "Only God knows that. We cannot tell. It is the last thing we ought say. "

"But--but--you call me naughty sometimes?" the child said, fixing a pairof innocent, inquiring eyes upon her. 

"Ah, but, my dear, I do not love you the less, " said Janetta, out of thefullness of her heart, and she took him in her arms and kissed him. 

"You are more like what I always think a mother ought to be, " saidJulian. What stabs children inflict on us sometimes by their artlesswords! Janetta shuddered a little as he spoke. "Then ought I to loveher, whether she is good or bad?"

Janetta paused. She was very anxious to say only what was right. 

"Yes, my darling, " she said at last. "Love her always, througheverything. She is your mother, and she has a right to your love. "

And then, in simple words, she talked to him about right and wrong, about love and duty and life, until, with brimming eyes, he flung hisarms about her, and said----

"Yes, I understand now. And I will love her and take care of her always, because God sent me to her to do that. "

And he objected no more to the daily visit to his mother's room. 

The sick woman's restless eyes, sharpened by illness, soon discerned thechange in his demeanor. 

"You've been talking to that boy about me, " she said one day to Janetta, in a quick, sensitive voice. 

"Nothing that would hurt you, " Janetta replied, smiling. 

"Oh, indeed, I'm not so sure of that. He used to run away from me, andnow he sits beside me like a lamb. I know what you've been saying. "

"What?" said Janetta. 

"You've been saying that I'm going to die, and that he won't be botheredwith me long. Eh?"

"No; nothing of that kind. "

"What did you say, then?"

"I told him, " said Janetta, slowly, "that God sent him to you as alittle baby to be a help and comfort to you; and that it was a son'sduty to protect and sustain his mother, as she had once protected andsustained him. "

"And you think he understood that sort of nonsense?"

"You see for yourself whether he does or not, " said Janetta, gently. "Helikes to come and see you and sit beside you now. "

Mrs. Wyvis Brand was silent for a minute or two. A tear gathered in eachof her defiant black eyes, but she did not allow either of them to fall. 

"You're a queer one, " she said, with a hard laugh. "I never met anybodylike you before. You're religious, aren't you?"

"I don't know: I should like to be, " said Janetta, soberly. 

"That's the queerest thing you've said yet. And all you religious peoplelook down on folks like me. "

"Then I'm not religious, for I don't look down on folks like you atall, " said Janetta, calmly adopting Mrs. Brand's vocabulary. 

"Well, you ought to. I'm not a very good sort myself. "

Janetta smiled, but made no other answer: And presently Juliet Brandremarked--

"I dare say I'm not so bad as some people, but I've never been a saint, you know. And the day I came here I was in an awful temper. I struckyou, didn't I?"

"Oh, never mind that, " said Janetta, hastily. "You were tired: youhardly knew what you were doing. "

"Yes, I did, " said Mrs. Brand. "I knew perfectly well. But I hated you, because you lived here and had care of Julian. I had heard all about youat Beaminster, you see. And people said that you would probably marryWyvis when he came home again. Oh, I've made you blush, have I? It wastrue then?"

"Not at all; and you have no right to say so. "

"Don't be angry, my dear. I don't want to vex you. But it looks to merather as though----Well, we won't say any more about it since it vexesyou. I shan't trouble you long, most likely, and then Wyvis can do as hepleases. But you see it was that thought that maddened me when I camehere, and I felt as if I'd like to fall upon you and tear you limb fromlimb. So I struck you on the face when you tried to thwart me. "

"But--I don't understand, " said Janetta, tremulously. "I thought you didnot--_love_--Wyvis. "

Mrs. Brand laughed. "Not in your way, " she said in an enigmatic tone. "But a woman can hate a man and be jealous of him too. And I was jealousof you, and struck you. And in return for that you've nursed me nightand day, and waited on me, until you're nearly worn out, and the doctorsays I owe my life to you. Don't you think I'm right when I say you're aqueer one?"

"It would be very odd if I neglected you when you were ill just becauseof a moment of passion on your part, " said Janetta, rather stiffly. Itwas difficult to her to be perfectly natural just then. 

"Would it? Some people wouldn't say so. But come--you say I don't loveWyvis?"

"I thought so--certainly. "

"Well, look here, " said Wyvis' wife. "I'll tell you something. Wyvis wastired of me before ever he married me. I soon found that out. And youthink I should be caring for him then? Not I. But there _was_ a timewhen I would have kissed the very ground he walked on. But he nevercared for me like that. "

"Then--why----". 

"Why did he marry me? Chiefly because his old fool of a mother egged himon. She should have let us alone. "

"Did she want him to marry you?" said Janetta, in some amaze. 

"It doesn't seem likely, does it?" said Mrs. Brand, with a sharp, heartless little laugh. "But she sets up for having a conscience now andthen. I was a girl in a shop, I may tell you, and Wyvis made love to mewithout the slightest idea of marrying me. Then Mrs. Brand comes on thescene: 'Oh, my dear boy, you mustn't make that young woman unhappy. Iwas made unhappy by a gentleman when I was a girl, and I don't want youto behave as he did. "

"And that was very good of Mrs. Brand!" said Janetta, courageously. 

Juliet made a grimace. "After a fashion. She had better have let usalone. She put Wyvis into a fume about his honor; and so he asked me tomarry him. And I cared for him--though I cared more about hisposition--and I said yes. So we were married, and a nice cat and doglife we had of it together. "

"And then you left him?"

"Yes, I did. I got tired of it all at last. But I always livedrespectably, except for taking a little too much stimulant now and then;and I never brought any dishonor on his name. And at last I thought thebest thing for us both would be to set him free. And I wrote to him thathe _was_ free. But there was some hitch--I don't know what exactly. Anyway, we're bound to each other as fast as ever we were, so we needn'tthink to get rid of each other just yet. "

Janetta felt a throb of thankfulness, for Margaret's sake. Suppose shehad yielded to Wyvis' solicitations and become his wife, to be provedonly no wife at all? Her want of love for Wyvis had at least saved herfrom terrible misery. Mrs. Brand went on, reflectively--

"When I'm gone, he can marry whom he likes. I only hope it'll be anybodyas good as you. You'd make a capital mother to Julian. And I don'tsuppose I shall trouble anybody very long. "

"You are getting better--you will soon be perfectly well. "

"Nonsense: nothing of the kind. But if I am, I know one thing, " saidMrs. Brand, in a petulant tone; "I won't be kept out of my rights anylonger. This house seems to be nice and comfortable: I shall stay here. I am tired of wandering about the world. "

Janetta was silent and went on with some needle-work. 

"You don't like that, do you?" said Mrs. Brand, peering into her face. "You think I'd be better away. "

"No, " said Janetta. But she could not say more. 

"Do you know where he is?"

"He? Wyvis?"

"Yes, my husband. "

"I have an address. I do not know whether he is there or not, but hewould no doubt get a letter if sent to the place. Do you wish to writeto him?"

"No. But I want you to write. Write and say that I am here. Ask him tocome back. "

"You had better write yourself. "

"No. He would not read it. Write for me. "

Janetta could not refuse. But she felt it one of the hardest tasks thatshe had ever had to perform in life. She was sorry for Juliet Brand, butshe shrank with all her heart and soul from writing to Wyvis to returnto her. Yet what else could she do?

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE FRUITS OF A LIE. 

When she told old Mrs. Brand what she had done, she was amazed to markthe change which came over that sad and troubled countenance. Mrs. Brand's face flushed violently, her eyes gleamed with a look as nearakin to wrath as any which Janetta had ever seen upon it. 

"You have promised to write to Wyvis?" she cried. "Why? What is it toyou? Why should you write?"

"Why should I not?" asked Janetta, in surprise. 

"He will never come back to her--never. And it is better so. She spoiledhis life with her violence, her extravagance, her flirtations. He couldnot bear it; and why should he be brought back to suffer all again?"

"She is his wife still, " said the girl, in a low tone. 

"They are separated. She tried to get a divorce, even if she did notsucceed. I do not call her his wife. "

Janetta shook her head. "I cannot think of it as you do, then, " shesaid, quietly. "She and Wyvis are married; and as they separated onlyfor faults of temper, not for unfaithfulness, I do not believe that theyhave any right to divorce each other. Some people may thinkdifferently--I cannot see it in that way. "

"You mean, " said Mrs. Brand, with curious agitation of manner; "you meanthat even if she had divorced him in America, you would not think himfree--free to marry again?"

"No, " Janetta answered, "I would not. "

She felt a singular reluctance to answering the question, and she hopedthat Mrs. Brand would ask her nothing more. She was relieved when Wyvis'mother moved away, after standing perfectly still for a moment, with herhands clasped before her, a strange ashen shade of color disfiguring herhandsome old face. Janetta thought the face had grown wonderfully tragicof late; but she hoped that when Juliet had left the house the poormother would again recover the serenity of mind which she had gainedduring the past few months of Janetta's gentle companionship. 

She wrote her letter to Wyvis, making it as brief and business-like aspossible. She dwelt a good deal on Juliet's weakness, on her love forthe boy, and her desire to see him once again. At the same time sheadded her own conviction that Mrs. Wyvis Brand was on the high road torecovery, and would soon be fairly strong and well. She dared not giveany hint as to a possible reconciliation, but she felt, even as shepenned her letter, that it was to this end that she was working. "And itis right, " she said steadily to herself; "there is nothing to gain indisunion: everything to lose by unfaithfulness. It will be better forJulian--for all three--that father and mother should no longer bedivided. "

But although she argued thus, she had a somewhat different and entirelyinstinctive feeling in her heart. To begin with, she could not imaginepersons more utterly unsuited to one another than Wyvis and his wife. Juliet had no principles, no judgment, to guide her: she was impulsiveand passionate; she did not speak the truth, and she seemed in herwilder moments to care little what she did. Wyvis had faults--who knewthem better than Janetta, who had studied his character with great andloving care?--but they were nor of the same kind. His mood washabitually sombre; Juliet loved pleasure and variety: his nature was aloving one, strong and deep, although undisciplined; but Juliet's lightand fickle temperament made her shrink from and almost dislikecharacteristics so different from her own. And Janetta soon saw that inspite of her open defiance of her husband she was a little afraid ofhim; and she could well imagine that when Wyvis was angry he was a manof whom a woman might very easily be afraid. 

Yet, when the letter was despatched, Janetta felt a sense of relief. Shehad at least done her duty, as she conceived of it. She did not knowwhat the upshot might be; but at any rate, she had done her best to putmatters in train towards the solving of the problem of Wyvis' marriedlife. 

She was puzzled during the next few days by some curious, indefinablechange in Mrs. Brand's demeanor. The poor woman had of late seemedalmost distraught; she had lost all care, apparently, for appearances, and went along the corridors moaning Wyvis' name sadly to herself, andwringing her hands as if in bitter woe. Her dress was neglected, and herhair unbrushed: indeed, when Janetta was too busy to give her adaughter's loving care, as it was her custom and her pleasure to do, poor Mrs. Brand roamed about the house looking like a madwoman. Hermadness was, however, of a gentle kind: it took the form of melancholia, and manifested itself chiefly by continual restlessness and occasionalbursts of weeping and lament. 

In one of these outbreaks Janetta found her shortly after she had senther letter to Wyvis, and tried by all means in her power to soothe andpacify her. 

"Dear grandmother, " she began--for she had caught the word from Julian, and Mrs. Brand liked her to use it--"why should you be so sad? Wyvis iscoming home, Juliet is better, little Julian is well, and we are allhappy. "

"_You_ are not happy, " said Mrs. Brand, throwing up her hands with acuriously tragic gesture. "You are miserable--miserable; and I am themost unhappy woman living!"

"No, " I said Janetta, gently. "I am not miserable at all. And there aremany women more unhappy than you are. You have a home, sons who loveyou, a grandson, friends--see how many things you have that other peoplewant! Is it right to speak of yourself as unhappy?"

"Child, " said the older woman, impressively, "you are young, and do notknow what you say. Does happiness consist in houses and clothes, or evenin children and friends? I have been happier in a cottage than in thegrandest house. As for friends--what friends have I? None; my husbandwould never let me make friends lest I should expose my ignorance, anddisgrace him by my low birth and bringing up. I have never had a womanfriend. "

"But your children, " said Janetta, putting her arms tenderly round thedesolate woman's neck. 

"Ah, my children! When they were babies, they were a pleasure to me. Butthey have never been a pleasure since. They have been a toil and a painand a bondage. That began when Wyvis was a little child, and Mr. Brandtook a fancy to him and wanted to make every one believe that he was_his_ child, not John's. I foresaw that there would be trouble, but hewould never listen to me. It was just a whim of the moment at first, andthen, when he saw that the deceit troubled me, it became a craze withhim. And whatever he said, I had to seem to agree with. I dared notcontradict him. I hated the deceit, and the more I hated it, the more heloved it and practiced it in my hearing, until I used to be sick withmisery. Oh, my dear, it is the worst of miseries to be forced intowrong-doing against your will. "

"But why did you give way?" said Janetta, who could not fancy herself insimilar circumstances being forced into anything at all. 

"My dear, he made me, I dared not cross him. He made me suffer, and hemade the children suffer if ever I opposed him. What could I do?" saidthe poor woman, twisting and untwisting her thin hands, and lookingpiteously into Janetta's face. "I was obliged to obey him--he was myhusband, and so much above me, so much more of a gentleman than I everwas a lady. You know that I never could say him nay. He ruled me, as heused to say, with a rod of iron--for he made a boast of it, my dear--andhe was never so happy, I think, as when he was torturing me and makingme wince with pain. "

"He must have been----" when Janetta stopped short: she could not sayexactly what she thought of Mrs. Brand's second husband. 

"He was cruel, my dear: cruel, that is, to women. Not cruel amongst hisown set--among his equals, as he would have said--not cruel to boys. Butalways cruel to women. Some woman must have done him a grievous wrongone day--I never knew who she was; but I am certain that it was so; andthat soured and embittered him. He was revenging himself on that otherwoman, I used to think, when he was cruel to me. "

Janetta dared not speak. 

"I did not mind his cruelty when it meant nothing but bodily pain, youknow, my dear, " Mrs. Brand continued patiently. "But it was harder forme to bear when it came to what might be called moral things. You see Iloved him, and I could not say him nay. If he told me to lie, I had todo it. I never forgave myself for the lies I told at his bidding. And ifhe were here to tell me to do the same things I should do them still. Ifhe had turned Mohammedan, and told me to trample on the Bible or theCross, as I have read in missionary books that Christians have sometimesbeen bribed to do, I should have obeyed him. I was his body and soul, and all my misery has come out of that. "

"How?" Janetta asked. 

"I brought Wyvis up on a lie, " the mother answered, her face growingwoefully stern and rigid as she mentioned his name, "and it has been mypunishment that he has always hated lies. I have trembled to hear himspeak against falsehood--to catch his look of scorn when he began to seethat his father did not speak truth. Very early he made me understandthat he would never be likely to forgive us for the deception wepracticed on him. For his good, you will say; but ah, my dear, deceptionis never for anybody's good. I never forgave myself, and Wyvis willnever forgive me. And yet he is my child. Now you see the happiness thatlies in having children. "

Janetta tried to dissipate the morbid terror of the past, the morbiddread of Wyvis' condemnation, which hung like a shadow over the poorwoman's mind, but she was far from being successful. 

"You do not know, " was all that Mrs. Brand would say. "You do notunderstand. " And then she broke out more passionately--

"I have done him harm all his life. His misery has been my fault. Youheard him tell me so. It is true: there is no use denying it. And heknows it. "

"He spoke in a moment of anger: he did not know what he said. "

"Oh, yes, he did, and he meant it too. I have heard him say a similarthing before. You see it was I that brought about this wretched marriageof his--because I pitied this woman, and thought her case was like myown--that she loved Wyvis as I loved Mark Brand. I brought thatmarriage about, and Wyvis has cursed me ever since. "

"No, no, " said Janetta, kissing her troubled face, "Wyvis would nevercurse his mother for doing what she thought right. Wyvis loves you. Surely you know that--you believe that? Wyvis is not a bad son. "

"No, my dear, not a bad son, but a cruelly injured one, " said Mrs. Brand. "And he blames me. I cannot blame him: it was all my fault fornot opposing Mark when he wanted me to help him to carry out his wickedscheme. "

"I think, " said Janetta, tentatively, "that Cuthbert has more right tofeel himself injured than Wyvis. "

"Cuthbert?" Mrs. Brand repeated, in an indifferent tone. "Oh, Cuthbertis of no consequence: his father always said so. A lame, sickly, cowardly child! If we had had a strong, healthy lad of our own, Markwould not have put Wyvis in Cuthbert's place, but with a boy likeCuthbert, what would you expect him to do?"

It seemed to Janetta almost as if her mind were beginning to wander: thereferences to Cuthbert's boyish days appeared to be so extraordinarilyclear and defined--almost as though she were living again through thetime when Cuthbert was supplanted by her boy Wyvis. But when she spokeagain, Mrs. Brand's words were perfectly clear, and apparentlyreasonable in tone. 

"I often think that if I could do my poor boy some great service, hewould forgive me in heart as well as in deed. I would do anything in theworld for him, Janetta, if only I could give him back the happiness ofwhich I robbed him. "

Janetta could not exactly see that the poor mother's sins had been sogreat against Wyvis as against Cuthbert, but it was evident that Mrs. Brand could never be brought to look at matters in this light. Thethought that she had injured her first-born son had taken possession ofher completely, and seriously disturbed the balance of her faculties. The desire to make amends to Wyvis for her wrong-doing had alreadyreached almost a maniacal point: how much further it might be carriedJanetta never thought of guessing. 

She was anxious about Mrs. Brand, but more so for her physical than forher mental strength. For her powers were evidently failing in everydirection, and the doctor spoke warningly to Janetta of the weakness ofher heart's action, and the desirability of shielding her from everykind of agitation. It was impossible to provide against every kind ofshock, but Janetta promised to do her best. 

The winter was approaching before Janetta's letter to Wyvis received ananswer. She was beginning to feel very anxious about it, for his silencealarmed and also surprised her. She could hardly imagine a man of Wyvis'disposition remaining unmoved when he read the letter that she had senthim. His wife's health was, moreover, giving her serious concern. Shehad caught cold on one of the foggy autumnal days, and the doctorassured her that her life would be endangered if she did not at onceseek a warmer climate. But she steadily refused to leave the Red House. 

"I won't go, " she said to Janetta, with a red spot of anger on eithercheek, "until I know whether he means to do the proper thing by me ornot. "

"He is sure to do that; you need have no fear, " said Janetta, bluntly. 

An angry gleam shot from the sick woman's eyes. "You defend him throughthick and thin, don't you? Wyvis has a knack of getting women to stickup for him. They say the worst men are often the most beloved. "

Janetta left the room, feeling both sick and sorry, and wondering howmuch longer she could bear this kind of life. It was telling upon hernerves and on her strength in every possible way. And yet she could notabandon her post--unless, indeed, Wyvis himself relieved her. And fromhim for many weary days there came no word. 

But at last a telegram arrived--dated from Liverpool. "I shall be withyou to-morrow. Your letter was delayed, and reached me only byaccident, " Wyvis said. And then his silence was explained. 

Janetta carried the news of his approaching arrival to wife and motherin turn. Mrs. Wyvis took it calmly. "I told you so, " she said, with atriumphant little nod. But Mrs. Brand was terribly agitated, and even, as it seemed to Janetta, amazed. "I never thought that he would come, "she said, in a loud whisper, with a troubled face and various nervousmovements of her hands. "I never thought that he would come back to her. I must be quick. I must be quick, indeed. " And when Janetta tried tosoothe her, and said that she must now make haste to be well and strongwhen Wyvis was returning, she answered only in about the self-samewords--"never thought it, my dear, indeed, I never did. But if he iscoming back, so soon, I must be quick--I must be very quick. "

And Janetta could not persuade her to say why. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

NIGHT. 

It was the night before Wyvis' return. The whole household seemedsomewhat disorganized by the prospect. There was an air of subduedexcitement visible in the oldest and staidest of the servants, for inspite of Wyvis' many shortcomings and his equivocal position, he wasuniversally liked by his inferiors, if not by those who esteemedthemselves his superiors, in social station. Mrs. Brand had gone to bedearly, and Janetta hoped that she was asleep; Mrs. Wyvis had keptJanetta at her bedside until after eleven o'clock, regaling her with anaccount of her early experience in Paris. When at last she seemedsleepy, Janetta said good-night and went to her own room. She was tiredbut wakeful. The prospect of Wyvis' return excited her; she felt that itwould be impossible to sleep that night, and she resolved therefore toestablish herself before the fire in her own room, with a book, and tosee, by carefully abstracting her mind from actual fact, whether shecould induce the shy goddess, sleep, to visit her. 

She read for some time, but she had great difficulty in fixing her mindupon her book. She found herself conning the same words over and overagain, without understanding their meaning in the least; her thoughtsflew continually to Wyvis and his affairs, and to the mother and wifeand son with whom her fate had linked her with such curious closeness. At last she relinquished the attempt to read, and sat for some timegazing into the fire. She heard the clock strike one; the quarter andhalf-hour followed at intervals, but still she sat on. Anyone who hadseen her at that hour would hardly have recognized her for thevivacious, sparkling, ever cheerful woman who made the brightness of theRed House; the sunshine had left her face, her eyes were wistful, almostsad; the lines of her mouth drooped, and her cheeks had grown very pale. She felt very keenly that the period of happy, peaceful work and restwhich she had enjoyed for the last few months was coming to an end. Shewas trying to picture to herself what her future life would be, and itwas difficult to imagine it when her old ties had all been severed. "Itseems as if I had to give up everybody that I ever cared for, " she saidto herself, not complainingly, but as one recognizing the fact that somepersons are always more or less lonely in the world, and that shebelonged to a lonely class. "My father has gone--my brother and sistersdo not need me; Margaret abandoned me; Wyvis and his mother and Julianare lost to me from henceforth. God forgive me, " said Janetta toherself, burying her face in her hands and shedding some very heartfelttears, "if I seem to be repining at my friends' good fortune; I do notmean it; I wish them every joy. But what I fear is, lest it should notbe for their good--that Wyvis and his mother and Julian should beunhappy. "

She was roused from her reflection by a sound in the corridor. It was acreaking board, she knew that well enough; but the board never creakedunless some one trod upon it. Who could be walking about the house atthis time of night? Mrs. Brand, perhaps; she was terribly restless atnight, and often went about the house, seeking to tire herself socompletely that sleep would be inevitable on her return to bed. On acold night, such expeditions were not, however, unattended by danger, asshe was not careful to protect herself against draughts, and it was withthe desire to care for her that Janetta at last rose and took up a softwarm shawl with which she thought that she might cover Mrs. Brand'sshoulders. 

With the shawl over her arm and a candle in one hand she opened her doorand looked out into the passage. It was unlighted, and the air seemedvery chilly. Janetta stole along the corridor like a thief, and peepedinto Mrs. Brand's bedroom; as was expected, it was empty. Then shelooked into Julian's room, for she had several times found thegrandmother praying by his bed, at dead of night; but Julian slumberedpeacefully, and nobody else was there. Janetta rather wonderingly turnedher attention to the lower rooms of the house. But Mrs. Brand was not tobe found in any of the sitting rooms; and the hall door was securelylocked and bolted, so that she could not have gone out into the garden. 

"She must be upstairs, " said Janetta to herself. "But what can she bedoing in that upper storey, where there are only empty garrets andservants rooms! I did not look into the spare room, however; perhaps shehas gone to see if it is ready for Wyvis, and I did not go to Juliet. She cannot have gone to _her_, surely; she never enters the room unlessshe is obliged. "

Nevertheless, her heart began to beat faster, and she involuntarilyquickened her steps. She did not believe that Mrs. Brand would seekJuliet's room with any good intent, and as she reached the top of thestairs her eyes dilated and her face grew suddenly pale with fear. For astrange whiff of something--was it smoke?--came into her eyes, and anodd smell of burning assailed her nostrils. Fire, was it fire? Sheremembered that Wyvis had once said that the Red House would burn liketinder if it was ever set alight. The old woodwork was very combustible, and there was a great deal of it, especially in the upper rooms. 

Juliet's door was open. Janetta stood before it for the space of onehalf second, stupefied and aghast. Smoke was rapidly filling the roomand circling into the corridor; the curtains near the window were in ablaze, and Mrs. Brand, with a lighted candle in her hand, wasdeliberately setting fire to the upholstery of the bed where theunconscious Juliet lay. Janetta never forgot the moment's vision thatshe obtained of Mrs. Brand's pale, worn, wildly despairing face--theface of a madwoman as she now perceived, who was not responsible for thedeed she did. 

Janetta sprang to the window curtains, dragged them down and trampledupon them. Her thick dressing gown, and the woollen shawl that shecarried all helped in extinguishing the flame. Her appearance hadarrested Mrs. Brand in her terrible work; she paused and began totremble, as if she knew in some vague way that she was doing what waswrong. The flame had already caught the curtains, which were of a lightmaterial, and was creeping up to the woodwork of the old-fashioned bed, singeing and blackening as it went. These, also, Janetta tore down, burning her hands as she did so, and then with her shawl she pressed outthe sparks that were beginning to fly dangerously near the sleepingwoman. A heavy ewer of water over the mouldering mass of torn muslin andlace completed her task; and by that time Juliet had started from hersleep, and was asking in hysterical accents what was wrong. 

Her screams startled the whole household, and the servants came invarious stages of dress and undress to know what was the matter. Mrs. Brand had set down her candle and was standing near the door, tremblingfrom head to foot, and apparently so much overcome by the shock as to beunable to answer any question. That was thought very natural. "Poorlady! what a narrow escape! No wonder she was upset, " said one of themaids sympathetically, and tried to lead her back to her own room. ButMrs. Brand refused to stir. 

Meanwhile Juliet was screaming that she was burning, that the wholehouse was on fire, that she should die of the shock, and that Wyvis wasalone to blame--after her usual fashion of expressing herself wildlywhen she was suffering from any sort of excitement of mind. 

"You are quite safe now, " Janetta said at last, rather sharply. "Thefire is out: it was never very much. Come into my room: the bed may becold and damp now, and the smoke will make you cough. "

She was right; the lingering clouds of smoke were producing unpleasanteffects on the throat and lungs of Mrs. Wyvis Brand; and she was glad tobe half led, half carried, by two of the servants into Janetta's room. And no sooner was she laid in Janetta's bed than a little white figurerushed out of another room and flew towards her, crying out:

"Mother! Mother! You are not hurt?"

She was not hurt, but she was shaken and out of breath, and Julian'scaresses were not altogether opportune. Still she did not seem to bevexed by them. Perhaps they were too rare to be unwelcome. She let himcreep into bed beside her, and lay with her arm round him as if he werestill a baby at her breast, and then for a time they slept together, mother and child, as they had not slept since the days of Julian'sbabyhood. For both it may have been a blessed hour. Julian scarcely knewwhat it was to feel a mother's love; and with Juliet, the softer side ofher nature had long been hidden beneath a crust of coldness andselfishness. But those moments of tenderness which a common danger hadbrought to light would live for ever in Julian's memory. 

While these two were sleeping, however, others in the house were busy. As soon as Juliet was out of the room, Janetta turned anxiously to Mrs. Brand. "Come with me, dear, " she said. "Come back to your room. You willcatch cold. "

She felt no repulsion, nothing but a great pity for the hapless womanwhose nature was not strong enough to bear the strain to which it hadbeen subjected, and she wished, above all things, to keep secret theorigin of the fire. If Mrs. Brand would but be silent, she did not thinkthat Juliet could fathom the secret, but she was not sure that poor Mrs. Brand would not betray herself. At present, she showed no signs ofunderstanding what had been said to her. 

"She is quite upset by the shock, " said the maid who had previouslyspoken. "And no wonder. And oh! Miss Colwyn, don't you know how burntyour hands are! You must have them seen to, I'm sure. "

"Never mind my hands, I don't feel them, " said Janetta brusquely. "Helpme to get Mrs. Brand to her room, and then send for a doctor. Go to Dr. Burroughs, he will know what to do. I want him here as quickly aspossible. And bring me some oil and cotton wool. "

The servants looked at one another, astonished at the strangeness of hertone. But they were fond of her and always did her bidding gladly, sothey performed her behest, and helped her to lead Mrs. Brand, who wasnow perfectly passive in their hands, into her own room. 

But when she was there, the old butler returned to knock at the door andask to speak to Miss Colwyn alone. Janetta came out, with a feeling ofcurious fear. She held the handle of the door as he spoke to her. 

"I beg pardon, m'm, " he said deferentially, "but hadn't I better keepthem gossiping maids out of the room over there?"

Janetta looked into his face, and saw that he more than suspected thetruth. 

"What do you mean?" she asked. 

"The window curtains are burned, m'm, and the bed-curtains; also the bedclothes in different places, and one or two other light articles aboutthe room. It is easy to see that it was not exactly an accident, m'm. "

Then, seeing Janetta's color change, he added kindly, "But there's nocall for you to feel afraid, m'm. We've all known as the poor lady'sbeen going off her head for a good long time, and this is only perhapswhat might have been expected, seeing what her feelings are. You leaveit all to me, and just keep her quiet, m'm; I'll see to the room, andnobody else shall put their foot into it. The master will be home thismorning, I hope and trust. "

He hobbled away, and Janetta went back to Mrs. Brand. The reaction wassetting in; her own hurts had not been attended to, and were beginningto give her a good deal of pain; and she was conscious of sickness andfaintness as well as fatigue. A great dread of Mrs. Brand's next wordsand actions was also coming over her. 

But for the present, at least, she need not have been afraid! Mrs. Brandwas lying on the bed in a kind of stupor: her eyes were only half-open;her hands were very cold. 

Janetta did her best to warm and comfort her physically; and then, finding that she seemed to sleep more naturally, she got her hands boundup and sat down to await the coming of the doctor. 

But she was not destined to wait in idleness very long. She was summonedto Mrs. Wyvis Brand, who had awakened suddenly from her sleep and wascoughing violently. Little Julian had to be hastily sent back to his ownroom, for his mother's cough was dangerous as well as distressing toher, and Janetta was anxious that he should not witness what might proveto be a painful sight. 

And she was not far wrong. For the violent cough produced on thisoccasion one of its most serious results. The shock, the exposure, theexertion, had proved almost too much for Mrs. Wyvis Brand's strength. She ruptured a blood-vessel just as the doctor entered the house; andall that he could do was to check the bleeding with ice, and enjoinperfect quiet and repose. And when he had seen her, he had to hear fromJanetta the story of that terrible night. She felt that it was wise totrust Dr. Burroughs entirely, and she told him, in outline, the wholestory of Mrs. Brand's depression of spirits, and of her evident half-madnotion that she might gain Wyvis' forgiveness for her past mistakes bysome deed that would set him free from his unloved wife, and enable himto lead a happier life in the future. 

The doctor shook his head when he saw his patient. "It is just as wellfor her, perhaps, " he said afterwards, "but it is sad for her son andfor those who love her--if any one does! She will probably not recover. She is in a state of complete prostration; and she will most likely slipaway in sleep. "

"Oh, I am sorry, " said Janetta, with tears in her eyes. 

The doctor looked at her kindly. "You need not be sorry for her, mydear. She is best out of a world which she was not fitted to cope with. You should not wish her to stay. "

"It will be so sad for Wyvis, when he comes home to-day, " murmuredJanetta, her lip trembling. 

"He is coming to-day, is he? Early this morning? I will stay with you, if you like. "

Janetta was glad of the offer, although it gave her an uneasy feelingthat the end was nearer than she thought. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE LAST SCENE. 

"She does not know you, " Dr. Burroughs said, when, a few hours later, Wyvis bent over his mother's pillow and looked into her quiet, care-lined face. 

"Will she never know me?" asked the young man in a tone of deepdistress. "My poor mother! I must tell her how sorry I am for the painthat I have often given her. "

"She may be conscious for a few minutes by-and-bye, " the doctor said. "But consciousness will only show that the end is near. "

There was a silence in the room. Mrs. Brand had now lain in a stupor formany hours. Wyvis had been greeted on his arrival with sad news indeed:his mother and wife were seriously ill, and the doctor acknowledgedthat he did not think Mrs. Brand likely to live for many hours. 

Wyvis had not been allowed to enter his wife's room, Juliet had to bekept very quiet, lest the h�morrhage should return. He was almost gladof the respite; he dreaded the meeting, and he was anxious to bestow allhis time upon his mother. Janetta had told him something about what hadpassed; he had heard an outline, but only an outline, of the sad story, and it must be confessed that as yet he could not understand it. It wasperhaps difficult for a man to fathom the depths of a woman's morbidmisery, or of a doating mother's passionate and unreasonable love. Hegrieved, however, over what was somewhat incomprehensible to him, and hethought once or twice with a sudden sense of comfort that Janetta wouldexplain, Janetta would make him understand. He looked round for her whenthis idea occurred to him; but she was not in the room. She did not liketo intrude upon what might be the last interview between mother and son, for she was firmly persuaded that Mrs. Brand would recoverconsciousness, and would tell Wyvis in her own way something of what shehad thought and felt; but she was not far off, and when Wyvis sent her aperemptory message to the effect that she was wanted, she came at onceand took up her position with him as watcher beside his mother's bed. 

Janetta was right. Mrs. Brand's eyes opened at last, and rested onWyvis' face with a look of recognition. She smiled a little, and seemedpleased that he was there. It was plain that for the moment she hadquite forgotten the events of the last few hours, and the first wordsthat she spoke proved that the immediate past had completely faded fromher mind. 

"Wyvis!" she faltered. "Are you back again, dear? And is--is your fatherwith you?"

"I am here, mother, " Wyvis answered. He could say nothing more. 

"But your father----"

Then something--a gleam of reawakening memory--seemed to trouble her;she looked round the room, knitted her brows anxiously, and murmured afew words that Wyvis could not hear. 

"I remember now, " she said, in a stronger voice. "I wanted something--Ithought it was your father, but it was something quite different--Iwanted your forgiveness, Wyvis. "

"Mother, mother, don't speak in that way, " cried her son. "Have you notsuffered enough to expiate _any_ mistake?"

"Any mistake, perhaps, not any sin, " said his mother feebly. "Now that Iam old and dying, I call things by their right names. I did you a wrong, and I did Cuthbert a wrong, and I am sorry now. "

"It is all past, " said Wyvis softly. "It does not matter now. "

"You forgive me for my part in it? You do not hate me?"

"Mother! Have I been cold to you then? I have loved you all the time, and never blamed you in my heart. "

"You said that I was to blame. "

"But I did not mean it. I never thought that you would take an idle wordof mine so seriously, mother. Forgive me, and believe me that I wouldnot have given you pain for the world if I had thought, if I had onlythought that it would hurt you so much!"

His mother smiled faintly, and closed her eyes for a moment, as if theexertion of speaking had been too much for her; but, after a shortpause, she started suddenly, and opened her eyes with a look of extremeterror. 

"What is it, " she said. "What have I done? Where is she?"

"Who, mother?"

"Your wife, Juliet. What did I do? Is she dead? The fire--the fire----"

Wyvis looked helplessly round for Janetta. He could not answer: he didnot know how to calm his mother's rapidly increasing excitement. Janettacame forward and bent over the pillow. 

"No, Juliet is not dead. She is in her room; you must not troubleyourself about her, " she said. 

Mrs. Brand's eyes were fixed apprehensively on Janetta's face. 

"Tell me what I did, " she said in a loud whisper. 

It was difficult to answer. Wyvis hid his face in a sort of desperation. He wondered what Janetta was going to say, and listened in amazement toher first words. 

"You were ill, " said Janetta clearly. "You did not know what you weredoing, and you set fire to the curtains in her room. Nobody was hurt, and we all understand that you would have been very sorry to harmanybody. It is all right, dear grandmother, and you must remember thatyou were not responsible for what you were doing then. "

The boldness of her answer filed Wyvis with admiration. He knew thathe--manlike--would have temporized and tried in vain to deny the truth, it was far wiser for Janetta to acknowledge and explain the facts. Mrs. Brand pressed the girl's hand and looked fearfully in her face. 

"She--she was not burned?"

"Not at all. "

"Stoop down, " said Mrs. Brand. "Lower. Close to my face. There--listento me. I meant to kill her. Do you understand? I meant to set the placeon fire and let her burn. I thought she deserved it for making my boymiserable. "

Wyvis started up, and turned his back to the bed. It was impossible forhim to hear the confession with equanimity. But Janetta still hung overthe pillow, caressing the dying woman, and looking tenderly into herface. 

"Yes, you thought so then--I understand, " she said. "But that wasbecause of your illness. You do not think so now. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. Brand, in the same loud, hoarse whisper. "I think sonow. "

Then Janetta was silent for a minute or two. The black, ghastly look inMrs. Brand's wide-open eyes disconcerted her. She scarcely knew what tosay. 

"I have always hated her. I hate her now, " said Wyvis' mother. "She hasdone me no harm; no. But she has injured my boy; she made his lifemiserable, and I cannot forgive her for that. "

"If Wyvis forgives her, " said Janetta gently, "can you not forgive hertoo?"

"Wyvis does not forgive her for making him unhappy, " said Mrs. Brand. 

"Wyvis, "--Janetta looked round at him. She could not see his face. Hewas standing with his face to the window and his back to the bed. "Wyvis, you have come back to your wife: does not that show that you arewilling to forget the past and to make a fresh beginning. Tell yourmother so, Cousin Wyvis. "

He turned round slowly, and looked at her, not at his mother, as hereplied:

"Yes, I am willing to begin again, " he said. "I never wished her anyharm. "

"Then, you will forgive her--for Wyvis' sake? For Julian's sake?" saidJanetta. 

A strange contraction of the features altered Mrs. Brand's face for amoment: her breath came with difficulty and her lips turned white. 

"I forgive, " she said at last, in broken tones. "I cannot quite forget. But I do not want--now--to harm her. It was but for a time--when my headwas bad. "

"We know, we know, " said Janetta eagerly. "We understand. Wyvis, tellher that _you_ understand too. "

She looked at him insistently, and he returned the look. Their eyes saida good deal to each other in a second's space of time. In hers there wastenderness, expostulation, entreaty; in his some shade of mingled horrorand regret. But he yielded his will to hers, thinking it nobler than hisown; and, turning to his mother, he stooped and kissed her on theforehead. 

"I understand, mother. Janetta has made me understand. "

"Janetta--it is always Janetta we have to thank, " his mother murmuredfeebly. "It was for Janetta as well as for you that I did it. Wyvis--butit is no use now. And, God forgive me, I did not know what I did. "

She sank into silence and spoke no more for the next few hours. Her lifewas quietly ebbing away. Towards midnight, she opened her eyes and spokeagain. 

"Janetta--Wyvis, " she said softly, and then the last moment came. Hereyelids drooped, her head fell aside upon the pillow. There was no morefor her to say or do. Poor Mary Brand's long trial had come to an end atlast. 

Juliet was not told of Mrs. Brand's death until after the funeral, as itwas feared that the news might unduly excite her. As it was, she gave ahoarse little scream when she heard it, and asked, with every appearanceof horror, whether there was really "a body" in the house. On beinginformed by Janetta that "the body" had been removed, she becameimmediately tranquil, and remarked confidentially that she was "notsorry, after all, for the old lady's death: it was such a bore to haveone's husband's mother in the house. " Then she became silent andthoughtful, and Janetta wondered whether some kindlier feeling were notmixing itself with her self-gratulation. But presently Mrs. Wyvis Brandbroke forth:

"Look here, I must say this, if I die for it. You know the night when myroom was on fire. Well, now tell me true: wasn't my mother-in-law toblame for it?"

Janetta looked at her in speechless dismay. She had no trust in Juliet'sdisposition: she did not know whether she might revile Mrs. Brandbitterly, or be touched by an account of her mental suffering. Wyvis, however, had recommended her to tell his wife as much of the truth asseemed necessary; "because, if you don't, " he said, "she is quite sharpenough to find it out for herself. So if she has any suspicion, tell hersomething. Anything is better than nothing in such a case. "

And Janetta, taking her courage in both hands, so to speak, answeredcourageously:

"May I speak frankly to you, Juliet?" For Mrs. Wyvis Brand had insistedthat Janetta should always call her by her Christian name. 

"Of course you may. What is it?"

"It is about Mrs. Brand. You must have known that for some time she hadbeen very weak and feeble. Her mind was giving way. Indeed, she was farworse than we ever imagined, and she was not sufficiently watched. Onthat night, it was she whom you saw, and it was she who set fire to thecurtains; but you must remember, Juliet, that she was not in her rightmind. "

"Why, I might have been burned alive in my bed, " cried Juliet--anexclamation so thoroughly characteristic that Janetta could hardlyforbear to smile. Mrs. Wyvis Brand looked terribly shocked anddisconcerted, and it was after a pause that she collected herselfsufficiently to say in her usual rapid manner:

"You may say what you like about her being mad; but Mrs. Brand knew verywell what she was doing. She always hated me, and she wanted to get meout of the way. "

"Oh, Juliet, don't say so, " entreated Janetta. 

"But I do say so, and I will say so, and I have reason on my side. Shehated me like poison, and she loved you dearly. Don't you see what shewanted? She would have liked you to take my place. "

"If you say such things, Juliet----"

"You'll go out of the room, won't you, my dear? Why, " said Juliet, witha hard laugh in which there was very little mirth, "you don't suppose Imind? I have known long enough that she thought bad things of me. Don'tyou remember the name you called me when you thought I wanted Julian?You had learnt every one of them from her, you know you had. Oh, youneedn't apologize. I understand the matter perfectly. I bear no maliceeither against her or you, though I don't know that I am quite the blacksheep that you both took me to be. "

"I am sorry if I was unjust, " said Janetta slowly. "But all that I meantamounts to one thing--that you did not make my Cousin Wyvis very happy. "

"Ah, and that's the chief thing, isn't it?" said Juliet, with a keenlook. "Well, don't be frightened, I'm going to change my ways. I've hada warning if anybody ever had; and I'm not going to get myself turnedout of house and home. If Wyvis will stick to me, I'll stick to him; andI can't say more than that. I should like to see him now. "

"Now, Juliet?" said Janetta, rather aghast at the idea. The meetingbetween husband and wife had not yet taken place, and Janetta shranksensitively from the notion that Juliet might inflict fresh pain onWyvis on the very day of his mother's funeral. But Mrs. Wyvis Brandinsisted, and her husband was summoned to the room. 

"You needn't go away, Janetta, " said Juliet imperatively. "I want you asa witness. Well, Wyvis, here I am, and I hope you are glad to see me. "

She lifted herself a little from the couch on which she lay, and lookedat him defiantly. Janetta could see that he was shocked at the sight ofher wasted outlines, her hectic color, the unhealthy brilliance of hereyes; and it was this sight, perhaps, that caused him to say gently:

"I am sorry not to see you looking better. "

"The politest speech he has made me for years, " she said, laughing. "Well, half a loaf is better than no bread. We didn't hit it off exactlythe last time we saw each other, did we? Suppose we try again: should weget on any better, do you think?"

"We might try, " said Wyvis slowly. 

He was pale and grave, but, as she saw, not unwilling to make peace. 

"All right, " she said, holding out her hand to him with easy, audaciousgrace, "let us try then. I own I was aggravating--own in your turn thatyou were tyrannical now and then! You witness that he owns up, Janetta--why, the girl's gone! Never mind: give me a kiss now we arealone, Wyvis, and take me to the Riviera to-morrow if you want to savemy life. "

Wyvis kissed his wife and promised to do what she asked him, but he didnot look as if he expected to have an easy task. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

MAKING AMENDS. 

"It is pleasant to be home again, " said Margaret. 

For two years she had not seen the Court. For two year's she and herparents had roamed over the world, spending a winter in Egypt or Italy, a summer in Norway, a spring or autumn at Biarritz, or Pau, or someother resort of wealthy and idle Englishmen. These wanderings had beenbegun with the laudable object of weaning Margaret's heart away fromWyvis Brand, but they had been continued long after Margaret's errantfancy had been chided back to its wonted resting place. The habit ofwandering easily grows, and the two years had slipped away so pleasantlythat it was with a feeling almost of surprise that the Adairs reckonedup the time that had elapsed since they left England. Then Margaret hada touch of fever, and began to pine for her home; and, as her will wasstill law (in all minor points, at least), her parents at once turnedhomeward, and arrived at Helmsley Court in the month of May, when thewoods and gardens were at their loveliest, bright with flowers, andverdant with the exquisite green of the spring foliage, before itbecomes dusty and faded in the summer-heat. 

"It is pleasant to be at home again, " said Margaret, standing at thedoor of the conservatory one fair May morning and looking at the greatsweep of green sward before her, where elm and beech trees made acharming shade, and beds of brightly-tinted flowers dotted the grass atintervals. "I was so tired of foreign towns. "

"Were you, dear? You did not say so until lately, " said Lady Caroline. 

"I did not want to bring you and papa home until you were ready tocome, " said Margaret gently. 

"Dear child. And you have lost your roses. English country air will soonbring them back. "

"I never had much color, mama, " said Margaret gravely. It was almost asthough she were not quite well pleased by the remark. 

She moved away from the door, and Lady Caroline's eyes followed her witha solicitude which had more anxiety and less pride than they used toshow. For Margaret had altered during the last few months. She had grownmore slender, more pale than ever, and a certain languor was perceptiblein her movements and the expression of her beautiful eyes. She was notless fair, perhaps, than she had been before; and the ethereal characterof her beauty had only been increased by time. Lady Caroline had beenseriously distressed lately by the comments made by her acquaintancesupon Margaret's appearance. "Very delicate, surely, " said one. "Do youthink that your daughter is consumptive?" said another. "She would be sovery pretty if she looked stronger, " remarked a third. Now these werenot precisely the remarks that Lady Caroline liked her friends to make. 

She could not quite understand her daughter. Margaret had of late becomemore and more reticent. She was always gentle, always caressing, but shewas not expansive. Something was amiss with her spirits or her health:nobody could exactly say what it was. Even her father discovered at lastthat she did not seem well; but, although he grumbled and fidgeted aboutit, he did not know how to suggest a remedy. Lady Caroline hoped thatthe return to England would prove efficacious in restoring the girl'shealth and spirits, and she was encouraged by hearing Margaret expressher pleasure in her English home. But she felt uneasily that she was notquite sure as to what was wrong. 

"People are beginning to call very quickly, " she said, looking at somecards that lay in a little silver tray. "The Bevans have been here, Margaret. "

"Have they? When we were out yesterday, I suppose?"

"Yes. And the Accringtons, and--oh, ah, yes--two or three otherpeople. "

"Who, mamma?" said Margaret, her attention immediately attracted by hermother's hesitation. She turned away from the door and entered themorning-room as she spoke. 

"Oh, only Lady Ashley, dear, " said Lady Caroline smoothly. She had quiterecovered her self-possession by this time. 

"And Sir Philip Ashley, " said Margaret, with equal calmness, as sheglanced at the cards in the little silver dish. But the lovely colorflushed up into her cheeks, and as she stood with her eyes cast down, still fingering the cards, her face assumed the tint of the deepestrose-carnation. 

"Is that the reason?" thought Lady Caroline, with a sudden little thrillof fear and astonishment. "Surely not! After all this time--and afterdismissing him so summarily! Well, there is no accounting for girls'tastes. "

She said aloud:

"We ought to return these calls pretty soon, I think. With such oldfriends it would be nice to go within the week. Do you not agree withme, love?"

"Yes, mamma, " said, Margaret dutifully. 

"Shall we go to-morrow then? To the Bevans first, and then to theAshleys?"

Margaret hesitated. "The Accringtons live nearer the Bevans than LadyAshley, " she said. "You might call on Lady Ashley next day, mamma. "

"Yes, darling, " said Lady Caroline. She was reassured. She certainly didnot want Margaret to show any alacrity in seeking out the Ashleys, andshe hoped that that tell-tale blush had been due to mere maiden modestyand not to any warmer feeling, which would probably be completely thrownaway upon Philip Ashley, who was not the man to offer himself a secondtime to a woman who had once refused him. 

She noticed, however, that Margaret showed no other sign of interest inSir Philip and his mother; that she did not ask for any account of thecall paid, without her, by Lady Caroline a day or two later. Indeed, sheturned away and talked to Alicia Stone while Lady Caroline was tellingMr. Adair of the visits that she had made. So the mother was once morereassured. 

She was made uneasy again by an item of news that reached her ear soonafter her return home. "Mr. Brand is coming back, " said Mrs. Accringtonto her, with a meaning smile. "I hear that there are great preparationsat the Red House. His wife is dead, you know. "

"Indeed, " said Lady Caroline, stiffly. 

"Yes, died at Nice last spring or summer, I forget which; I suppose hemeans to settle at home now. They say he's quite a changed character. "

"I am glad to hear it, " said Lady Caroline. 

She felt annoyed as well as anxious. Was it possible that Margaret knewthat Wyvis Brand was coming home? In spite of the inveterate habit ofcaressing Margaret and making soft speeches, in spite also of the veryreal love that she had for her daughter, Lady Caroline did notaltogether trust her. Margaret had once or twice disappointed her toomuch. 

"His little boy, " continued Mrs. Accrington in a conversational tone, "has been spending the time with Mr. Brand's younger brother and hiswife, one of the Colwyn girls, wasn't she? And the eldest Colwyn girl, the one who sang, has been acting as his governess. She used to becompanion to old Mrs. Brand you know. "

"I remember, " said Lady Caroline, and managed to change the subject. 

She would have liked to question Margaret, but she did not dare. Shewatched her carefully for the next few days, and she was not satisfied. Margaret was nervous and uneasy, as she had been about the time whenWyvis Brand made his indiscreet proposal for her hand; it seemed to LadyCaroline that she was watching for some person to arrive--some personwho never came. Who was the person for whom she watched? so LadyCaroline asked herself. But she dared not question Margaret. 

She noticed, too, that Mr. Adair looked once or twice at his daughter ina curiously doubtful way, as if he were puzzled or distressed. And oneday he said musingly:

"It is surely time for Margaret to be getting married, is it not?"

"Somebody has been saying so to you, " said Lady Caroline, with lessurbanity than usual. 

"No, no, only Isabel; she wrote this morning expressing some surprise atnot having heard that Margaret was engaged before now. I suppose, " Mr. Adair hesitated a little, "I suppose she _will_ marry?"

"Reginald, what an idea! Of course Margaret will marry, and marrybrilliantly. "

"I am not so sure of that, " said Mr. Adair, who seemed to be in lowspirits. "Look at my two sisters, and lots of other girls. How many menhas Margaret refused? She will take up with some crooked stick at last. "

He went out without waiting for his wife's reply. Lady Caroline, harassed in mind and considerably weakened of late in body, sat stilland shed a few silent tears. She was angry with him, and yet she sharedhis apprehensions. Was it possible that their lovely Margaret wasturning out a social failure? To have Margaret at home, fading, ageing, growing into an old maid like the sisters of Reginald Adair, that wasnot to be thought of for a moment. 

Meanwhile Margaret was taking her fate in her own hands. 

She was at that very moment standing in the conservatory opposite atall, dark man, who, hat in hand, looked at her expectantly as if hewished her to open the conversation. She had never made a fairer picturethan she did just then. She was dressed in white, and the exquisitefairness of her head and face was thrown into strong relief by the darkbackground of fronded fern and thickly matted creeper with which thewall behind her was overgrown. Her face was slightly bent, and her handshung clasped before her. To her visitor, who was indeed Sir PhilipAshley, she appeared more beautiful than ever. But his eye, as it restedupon her, though attentive, was indifferent and cold. 

"You sent for me, I think?" he said politely, finding that she did notspeak. 

"Yes. " Margaret's voice was very low. "I hope you did not mind mywriting that little note?"

"Mind? Not at all. If there is anything I can do for you----?"

"It is not that I want you to do anything, " said Margaret, whoseself-possession, not easily disturbed, was now returning to her. "It wassimply that I had something to say. "

Sir Philip bowed. His role was that of a listener, it appeared. 

"When I was in England before, " Margaret went on, this time with someeffort, "you found fault with me----"

"Presumption on my part, I am sure, " said Sir Philip, smiling a little. "Such a thing will certainly not occur again. "

"Oh please hear me, " said Margaret, rather hurriedly. "Please listenseriously--I am very serious, and I want you to hear what I have tosay. "

"I will listen, " said Sir Philip, gravely; he turned aside a little, andlooked at the flowers as she spoke. 

"I want to tell you that you were right about Janetta Colwyn. The more Ihave thought of it, the more sure I have been that you were right. Iought not to have been angry when you asked me to prevent people frommisjudging her. I ought to have written to Miss Polehampton and setthings straight. "

Sir Philip made an inarticulate sound of assent. She paused for amoment, and then went on pleadingly. 

"It's such a long time ago now that I do not know what to do. I cannotask mamma. She never liked Janetta--she never was just to her. I do noteven know where Janetta is, nor whether I can do anything to help her. Do you know?"

"I know where she is. At the Red House just now, with Mr. And Mrs. Cuthbert Brand. "

"Then--what shall I do?" said Margaret, more urgently. "Would it be ofany use if I wrote to Miss Polehampton or anyone about her now? I willdo anything I can to help her--anything you advise. "

Sir Philip changed his position, as if he were slightly impatient. 

"I do not know that there is anything to be done for Miss Colwyn atpresent, " he replied. "She is in a very good position, and I do notthink she wants material help. Of course, if you were to see her andtell her that you regret the manifest injustice with which she wastreated on more than one occasion, I dare say she would be glad, andthat such an acknowledgment from you would draw out the sting from muchthat is past and gone. I think that this is all you can do. "

"I will do it, " said Margaret submissively. "I will tell her that I amsorry. "

"You will do well, " replied Sir Philip in a kinder tone. "I am onlysorry that you did not see things differently when we spoke of thematter before. "

"I am older now, I have thought more. I have reflected on what yousaid, " murmured Margaret. 

"You have done my poor words much honor, " said he, with a slight coldsmile. "And I am glad to think that the breach in your friendship ishealed. Miss Colwyn is a true and loyal friend--I could not wish you abetter. I shall feel some pleasure in the thought, when I am far fromEngland, that you have her for your friend once more. "

"Far from England"--Margaret repeated the words with paling lips. 

"Did you not know? I have accepted a post in Victoria. I shall be outfor five years at least. So great a field of usefulness seems open to methere that I did not know how to refuse it. "

Margaret was mute for a time. Then, with a tremendous effort, she putanother question. "You go--alone?" she said. 

Sir Philip did not look at her. 

"No, " he said, kicking a small pebble off the tesselated pavement withthe toe of his boot, and apparently taking the greatest interest in itsultimate fate, "no, I don't go quite alone. I am taking with me mysecretary--and--my wife. I suppose you know that next week I am going tomarry Miss Adela Smithies, daughter of Smithies the great brewer? Wesail ten days later. "

CHAPTER XL. 

MY FAITHFUL JANET. 

"Good blood, " they say, "does not lie. " Margaret was true to hertraditions. She did not faint, she did not weep, over what was completeruin to her expectations, if not of her hopes. She held her head alittle more erect than usual, and looked Sir Philip quietly in the face. 

"I am very glad to hear it, " she said--it was a very excusable lie, perhaps. "I hope you will be happy. "

Strange to say, her calmness robbed Sir Philip of his self-possession. He flushed hotly and looked away, thinking of some words that he hadspoken many months ago to Margaret's mother--a sort of promise to be"always ready" if Margaret should ever change her mind. Had she changedit now? But she was not going to leave him in doubt upon this point. 

"You have only just forestalled a similar announcement on my part, " shesaid, smiling bravely. "I dare say you will hear all about it soon--andI hope that you will wish me joy. "

He looked up with evident relief. 

"I am exceedingly glad. I may congratulate you then?"

"Thank you. Yes, we may congratulate each other. "

She still smiled--rather strangely, as he thought. He wondered who the"happy man" could be? But of that, to tell the truth, Margaret was asignorant as he. She had invented her little tale of an engagement inself-defence. 

"Ah, Margaret, " he said, with a sudden impulse of affection, "if onlyyou could have seen as I saw--two years ago!"

"But that was impossible, " she answered quietly. "And I think it wouldbe undesirable also. I wanted you to know, however, that I agree withyou about Janetta--I think that you were right. "

"And you have nothing more to tell me?"

For the moment he was willing to throw up his appointment in Australia, to fly from the wealthy and sensible Miss Adela Smithies and incur anyodium, any disappointment, and any shame, if only Margaret Adair wouldown that she loved him and consent to be his wife. For, although heliked and esteemed Miss Smithies, who was a rather plain-faced girl witha large fortune, he was perfectly conscious that Margaret had been theone love of his life. But Margaret was on her guard. 

"To tell you?" she echoed, as if in mild surprise. "Why no, I think not, Sir Philip. Except, perhaps, to ask you not to speak--for the present, at least--of my own prospects, they are not yet generally known, and Ido not want them mentioned just now. "

"Certainly. I will respect your confidence, " said Sir Philip. He feltashamed of that momentary aberration. Adela was a very suitable wife forhim, and he could not think without remorse that he had ever proposed tohimself to be untrue to her. How fortunate, he reflected, that Margaretdid not seem to care!

"Will you come in?" she said graciously. "Mamma will be so pleased tosee you, and she will be glad to congratulate you on your good fortune. "

"Thank you very much, but I fear I must be off. I am very busy, and Ireally have scarcely any time to spare. "

"I must thank you all the more for giving me some of your valuabletime, " said Margaret sweetly. "Must you go?"

"I really must. And--" as he held out his hand--"we are friends, then, from henceforth?"

"Oh, of course we are, " she answered. But her eyes were strangely cold, and the smile upon her lips was conventional and frosty. The hand thathe held in his own was cold, too, and somewhat limp and flabby. 

"I am so glad, " he said, growing warmer as she grew cold, "that you haveresolved to renew your acquaintance with Miss Colwyn. It is what Ishould have expected from your generous nature, and it shows that what Ialways--always thought of you was true. "

"Please do not say so, " said Margaret. She came very near being naturalin that moment. She had a choking sensation in her throat, and her eyessmarted with unshed tears. But her training stood her in good stead. "Itis very kind of you to be so complimentary, " she went on with a lightlittle laugh. "And I hope that I shall find Janetta as nice as she usedto be. Good-bye. _Bon voyage. _"

"I wish you every happiness, " he said with a warm clasp of her hand anda long grave look into her beautiful face; and then he went away andMargaret was left alone. 

She stole up to her room almost stealthily, and locked the door. Shehoped that no one had seen Sir Philip come and go--that her mother wouldnot question her, or remark on the length of his visit. She wasthoroughly frightened and ashamed to think of what she had done. She hadbeen as near as possible to making Sir Philip what would virtually havebeen an offer of marriage. What an awful thought! And what a narrowescape! For of course he would have had to refuse her, and she--whatcould she have done then? She would never have borne the mortification. As it was, she hoped that Sir Philip would accept the explanation of thelittle note of summons which she had despatched to him that morning, and would never inquire what her secret motive had been in writing it. 

She set herself to consider the situation. She did not love Sir Philip. She was not capable of a great deal of love, and all that she had beencapable of she had given to Wyvis Brand. But the years of girlhood inher father's house were beginning to pall upon her. She was conscious ofa slight waning of her beauty, of a perceptible diminution in theattentions which she received, and the admiration that she excited. Ithad occurred to her lately, as it had occurred to her parents, that sheought to think seriously of getting married. The notion of spinsterhoodwas odious to Margaret Adair. And Sir Philip Ashley would have been, asher mother used to say, so _suitable_ a man for her to marry! Margaretsaw it now. 

She wept a few quiet tears for her lost hopes, and then she arrayedherself becomingly, and, with a look of purpose on her face, went downto tea. 

"Do you know, mamma, " she said, "that Sir Philip Ashley is going tomarry Miss Smithies, the great brewer's daughter, and that he hasaccepted a post in Victoria?"

"Margaret!"

"It is quite true, mamma, he told me so himself. Why need you looksurprised? We could hardly expect, " said Margaret, with a pretty smile, "that Sir Philip should always remain unmarried for my sake. "

"It is rather sudden, surely!"

"Oh, I don't think so. By the bye, mamma, shall we not soon feel alittle dull if we are here all alone? It would be very nice to fill thehouse with guests and have a little gaiety. Perhaps--" with a faint butcharming blush--"Lord Southbourne would come if he were asked. "

Lord Southbourne was an exceptionable viscount with weak brains and alarge rent-roll whom Margaret had refused six months before. 

"I am sure he would, my darling; I will ask him, " said Lady Caroline, with great satisfaction. And she noticed that Margaret's watch for anunknown visitor had now come to its natural end. 

It was not more than a month later in the year when Janetta Colwyn, walking in the plantation near the Red House, came face to face with aman who was leaning against the trunk of a fir-tree, and had beenwaiting for her to approach. She looked astonished; but he was calm, though he smiled with pleasure, and held out his hands. 

"Well, Janetta!"

"Wyvis! You have come home at last!"

"At last. "

"You have not been up to the house yet?"

"No, I was standing here wishing that I could see you first of all; and, just as I wished it, you came in sight. I take it as a good omen. "

"I am glad you are back, " said Janetta earnestly. 

"Are you? Really? And why?"

"Oh, for many reasons. The estate wants you, for one thing, " saidJanetta, coloring a little, "and Julian wants you----"

"Don't you want me at all, Janetta?"

"Everybody wants you, so I do, too. "

"Tell me more about everybody and everybody's wants. How is Julian?"

"Very well, indeed, and longing to see you before he goes to school. "

"Ah yes, poor little man. How does he like the idea of school?"

"Pretty well. "

"And how do you like the idea of his going?"

Janetta's face fell. "I am sure it is good for him, " she said ratherwistfully. 

"But not so good for you. What are you going to do? Shall you live withMrs. Burroughs, Janet?"

"No, indeed; I think I shall take lodgings in London, and give lessons. I have saved money during the last few months, " said Janetta withsomething between a tear in the eye and a smile on the lip, "so that Ishall be able to live even if I get no pupils at first. "

"And shall you like that?"

She looked at him for a moment without replying, and then saidcheerfully:

"I shall not like it if I get no pupils. "

"And how are Cuthbert and Nora?"

"Absorbed in baby-worship, " said Janetta. "You will be expected to falldown and worship also. And your little niece is really very pretty. "

Wyvis shook his head. "Babies are all exactly alike to me, so you hadbetter instruct me beforehand in what I ought to say. And what aboutour neighbors, Janet? Are the Adairs at home?"

"Yes, " said Janetta, with some reserve of tone. 

"And the Ashleys?"

"Old Lady Ashley. Sir Philip has married and gone to the Antipodes. "

"Married Margaret? I always thought that would be the end of it. "

"You are quite wrong. He married a Miss Smithies, a very rich girl, Ibelieve. And Margaret is engaged to a certain Lord Southbourne--who isalso very rich, I believe. "

"Little Southbourne!" exclaimed Wyvis, with a sudden burst of laughter. "You don't say so! I used to know him at Monaco. Oh, there's no harm inlittle South; only he isn't very bright. "

"I am sorry for Margaret, " said Janetta. 

"Oh she will be perfectly happy. She will always move in her own circleof society, and that is paradise for Margaret. "

"You are very hard on her, Wyvis, " Janetta said, reprovingly. "She iscapable of higher things than you believe. "

"Capable! Oh, she may be _capable_ of anything, " said Wyvis, "but shedoes not do the things that she is capable of doing. "

"At any rate she is very kind to me now. She wrote to me a few days ago, and told me that she was sorry for our past misunderstanding. And sheasked me to go and stay with her when she was married to LordSouthbourne and had a house of her own. "

"Are you sure that she did not add that it would be such an advantage toyou?"

"Of course she did not. " But Janetta blushed guiltily, nevertheless. 

"And did you promise to accept the invitation?"

She smiled and shook her head. 

"I thought you were such a devoted friend of hers!"

"I always tried to be a true friend to her. But you know I think, Wyvis, that some people have not got it in their nature to be true friends toanyone. And perhaps it was not--quite--in Margaret's nature. "

"I agree with you, " said Wyvis, more gravely than he had spokenhitherto. "She has not your depth of affection, Janetta--your strengthof will. You have been a very true and loyal friend to those you haveloved. "

Janetta turned away her face. Something in his words touched her verykeenly. After a pause, Wyvis spoke again. 

"I have had reason since I saw you last to know the value of yourfriendship, " he said seriously. "I want to speak to you for a moment, Janetta, before we join the others, about my poor Juliet. I had not, asyou know, very many months with her after we left England. But duringthose few months I became aware that she was a different creature fromthe woman I had known in earlier days. She showed me that she had aheart--that she loved me and our boy after all--and died craving myforgiveness, poor soul (though God knows that I needed hers more thanshe needed mine), for the coldness she had often shown me. And she said, Janetta, that _you_ had taught her what love meant, and she charged meto tell you that your lessons had not been in vain. "

Janetta looked up with swimming eyes. "Poor Juliet! I am glad that shesaid that. "

"She is at peace now, " said Wyvis, in a lower voice, "and the happinessof her later days is due to you. But how much is not due to you, Janetta! Your magic power seemed to change my poor wife's very nature:it has made my child happy: it gave all possible comfort to my mother onher dying bed--and what it has done for me no words can ever tell! Noone has been to me what you have been, Janetta; the good angel of mylife, always inspiring and encouraging, always ready to give me hope andstrength and courage in my hours of despair. "

"You must not say so: I have done nothing, " she said, but she let herhand lie unresistingly between his own, as he took it and pressed ittenderly. 

"Have you not? Then I have been woefully mistaken. And it has comeacross me strangely, Janetta, of late, that of all the losses I havehad, one of the greatest is the loss of my kinship with you. No doubtyou have thought of that: John Wyvis, the ploughman's son, is not yourcousin, Wyvis Brand. "

"I never remembered it, " said Janetta. 

"Then I must remind you of it now. I cannot call you Cousin Janet anylonger. May I call you something else, dear, so that I may not lose youout of my life? I want you to be something infinitely closer and dearerand sweeter than a cousin, Janetta; will you forgive me all my errorsand be my wife?"

And when she had whispered her reply, he took her in his arms and calledher, as her father used to call her--

"My faithful Janet!"

And she thought that she had never borne a sweeter name. 

THE END.