+------------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's Note: | | | |The words "if only little Judy had stayed with me, I | |should", possible repeated instead of the first words | |of the next sentence, have been reproduced as typeset. | +------------------------------------------------------+

A YOUNG MUTINEER

[Illustration: "WAS THE PERSON FICKLE, AND DID HE BREAK HIS PROMISE?"_Frontispiece. _]

 A Young Mutineer

 BY

 MRS. L. T. MEADE

 AUTHOR OF "A GIRL IN TEN THOUSAND, " "A RING OF RUBIES, " "GIRLS NEW AND OLD, " ETC. 

 NEW YORK STITT PUBLISHING COMPANY 1905

 TO MY LITTLE GIRL HOPE THE REAL JUDY October 23, 1893

CONTENTS. 

 CHAPTER PAGE

 I. AN OLD-FASHIONED LITTLE PAIR 1

 II. THE PEOPLE WHO GET MARRIED 14

 III. A QUESTION AND AN ANSWER 26

 IV. CHANGES 36

 V. IN A GARDEN 52

 VI. THE EVE OF THE WEDDING 67

 VII. A WEDDING PRESENT 82

 VIII. HONEYMOON 91

 IX. STARVED 101

 X. WAITING 118

 XI. HUSBAND AND WIFE 129

 XII. HILDA'S ENGAGEMENT RING 149

 XIII. JUDY'S ROOM 157

 XIV. THE LITTLE RIFT 174

 XV. THREE IS TRUMPERY 186

 XVI. A LITTLE GIRL AND A LITTLE CROSS 195

 XVII. JUDY'S SECRET 208

 XVIII. GIANT-KILLER 224

 XIX. GOOD OMENS 253

A YOUNG MUTINEER. 

CHAPTER I

AN OLD-FASHIONED LITTLE PAIR. 

 Sun and shower--sun and shower-- Now rough, now smooth, is the winding way; Thorn and flower--thorn and flower-- Which will you gather? Who can say? Wayward hearts, there's a world for your winning, Sorrow and laughter, love or woe: Who can tell in the day's beginning The paths that your wandering feet shall go?

 --MARY MACLEOD. 

The village choir were practicing in the church--their voices, somewhatharsh and uncultivated, were sending forth volumes of sound into thesummer air. The church doors were thrown open, and a young man dressedin cricketing-flannels was leaning against the porch. He was tall, andsquare-shouldered, with closely-cropped dark hair, and a keen, intelligent face. 

When the music became very loud and discordant he moved impatiently, butas the human voices ceased and the sweet notes of the voluntary soundedin full melody on the little organ, a look of relief swept like asoothing hand over his forehead. 

The gates of the Rectory were within a stone's throw of the church. Upthe avenue three people might have been seen advancing. Two werechildren, one an adult. The grown member of this little group was talland slight; she wore spectacles, and although not specially gifted withwisdom, possessed a particularly wise appearance. The two little girls, who were her pupils, walked somewhat sedately by her side. As theypassed the church the governess looked neither to right nor left, butthe eldest girl fixed her keen and somewhat hungry eyes with aquestioning gaze on the young man who stood in the porch. He nodded backto her a glance full of intelligence, which he further emphasized by aquick and somewhat audacious wink from his left eye. The little girlwalked on loftily; she thought that Jasper Quentyns, who was more orless a stranger in the neighborhood, had taken a distinct liberty. 

"What's the matter, Judy?" asked the smallest of the girls. 

"Nothing, " replied Judy quickly. She turned to her governess as shespoke. "Miss Mills, I was very good at my lessons to-day, wasn't I?"

"Yes, Judy. "

"You are not going to forget what you promised me?"

"I am afraid I do forget; what was it?"

"You said if I were really good I might stop at the church on my wayback and go home with Hilda. I have been good, so I may go home withHilda, may I not?"

"Yes, child, of course, if I promised, but we are only just on our walknow. It is a fine autumnal day, and I want to get to the woods to picksome bracken and heather, for your Aunt Marjorie has asked me to fillall the vases for dinner to-night. There are not half enough flowers inthe garden, so I must go to the woods, whatever happens. Your sisterwill have left the church when we return, Judy. "

"No, she won't, " replied Judy. "The practice will be twice as long asusual to-day because of the Harvest Festival on Sunday. "

"Well, if she is there you can go in and wait for her, as you have beena good girl. Now let us talk of something else. "

"I have nothing else to talk about, " answered Judy, somewhat sulkily. 

The bright expression which gave her small eager face its charm, leftit; she fell back a pace or two, and Miss Mills walked on alone infront. 

Judy was not popular with her governess. Miss Mills was tired of herconstant remarks about Hilda. She had a good deal to think of to-day, and she was pleased to let her two pupils amuse themselves. 

Judy's hungry and unsatisfied eyes softened and grew happy when theirgaze fell upon Babs. Babs was only six, and she had a power ofinteresting everyone with whom she came in contact. Her wise, fat face, somewhat solemn in expression, was the essence of good-humor. Her blueeyes were as serene as an unruffled summer pool. She could say heaps ofold-fashioned, quaint things. She had strong likes and dislikes, but shewas never known to be cross. She adored Judy, but Judy only liked her, for all Judy's passionate love was already disposed of. It centereditself round her eldest sister, Hilda. 

The day was a late one in September. The air was still very balmy andeven warm, and Miss Mills soon found herself sufficiently tired to beglad to take advantage of a stile which led right through the field intothe woods to rest herself. She sat comfortably on the top of the stile, and looking down the road saw that her little pupils were disportingthemselves happily; they were not in the slightest danger, and she wasin no hurry to call them to her side. 

"Children are the most fagging creatures in Christendom, " she said toherself; "for my part I can't understand anyone going into raptures overthem. For one nice child there are twenty disagreeable ones. I havenothing to say against Babs, of course; but Judy, she is about the mostspoilt creature I ever came across, and of course it is all Hilda'sfault. I must speak to Mr. Merton, I really must, if this goes on. Hildaand Judy ought to be parted, but of course Hilda won't leave homeunless, unless--ah, I wonder if there is _any_ chance of that. Too goodnews to be true. Too good luck for Mr. Quentyns anyhow. I shouldn't besurprised if he is trying to get Hilda all this time, but--he isscarcely likely to succeed. Poor Judy! what a blow anything of that kindwould be to her; but of course there is not the least chance of it. "

Miss Mills took off her hat as she spoke, and allowed the summer air toplay with her somewhat thin fringe and to cool her heated cheeks. 

"I hate children, " she soliloquized. "I did hope that my time ofservitude was nearly over, but when men prove so unfaithful!" Here avery angry gleam flashed out of her eyes; she put her hand into herpocket, and taking out a letter, read it slowly and carefully. Herexpression was not pleasant while she perused the words on the closelywritten page. 

She had just returned the letter to its envelope when a gay voicesounded in her ears. A girl was seen walking across the field andapproaching the stile. She was a fair-haired, pretty girl, dressed inthe height of the fashion. She had a merry laugh, and a merry voice, andtwo very bright blue eyes. 

"How do you do, Miss Mills?" she called to her. "I am going to seeHilda. Can you tell me if she is at home?"

"How do you do, Miss Anstruther?" replied Miss Mills; "I did not knowyou had returned. "

"Yes, we all came home yesterday. I am longing to see Hilda, I have suchheaps of things to tell her. Is she at the Rectory?"

"At the present moment she is very busily employed trying to train themost unmelodious choir in Great Britain, " replied Miss Mills. "TheHarvest Festival takes place on Sunday, and in consequence she has morethan usual to do. "

"Ah, you need not tell me; I am not going to venture within sound ofthat choir. I shall go down to the Rectory and wait until her duties areended. There is not the least hurry. Good-by, Miss Mills. Are thechildren well?"

"You can see for yourself, " replied Miss Mills; "they are coming up theroad side by side. "

"Old-fashioned little pair, " replied Miss Anstruther, with a laugh. "I'll just run down the road and give them a kiss each, and then go onto the Rectory. "

Miss Mills did not say anything further. Miss Anstruther mounted thestile, called out to the children to announce her approach, kissed themwhen they met, received an earnest gaze from Judy and an indifferent onefrom Babs, and went on her way. 

"Do you like her, Judy?" asked Babs, when the pretty girl had left them. 

"Oh, yes!" replied Judy in a careless tone; "she is well enough. I don'tlove her, if that's what you mean, Babs. "

"Of course it isn't what I mean, " replied Babs. "How many rooms have yougot in your heart, Judy?"

"One big room quite full, " replied Judy with emphasis. 

"I know--it's full of Hilda. "

"It is. "

"I have got a good many rooms in my heart, " said Babs. "Mr. Love is insome of them, and Mr. Like is in others. Have you no room in your heartfor Mr. Like, Judy?"

"No. "

"Then poor Miss Mills does not live in your heart at all?"

"No. Oh, dear! what a long walk she's going to take us to-day. If I hadknown that this morning, I wouldn't have taken so much pains over myarithmetic. I shan't have a scrap of time with Hilda. It is too bad. Iam sure Miss Mills does it to worry me. She never can bear us to betogether. "

"Poor Judy!" replied Babs. "I shan't let Miss Mills live in my heart atall if she vexes you; but oh, dear; oh, dear! Just look, do look! Do yousee that monstrous spider over there, the one with the sun shining onhis web?"

"Yes. "

"Don't you love spiders?"

"Of course. I love all animals. I have a separate heart for animals. "

Babs looked intensely interested. 

"I love all animals too, " she said, "every single one, all kinds--_even_pigs. Don't you love pigs, Judy?"

"Of course I do. "

"I wonder if Miss Mills does? There she is, reading her letter. She hasread it twenty times already to-day, so she must know it by heart now. Let's run up and ask her if she loves pigs. "

Judy quickened her steps, and the two little girls presently reached thestile. 

"Miss Mills, " said Babs, in her clear voice, "we want to know somethingvery badly. Do you love pigs?"

"Do I love pigs?" asked Miss Mills with a start. "You ridiculous child, what nonsense you are talking!"

"But do you?" repeated Babs. "It is most important for Judy and me toknow; for we love them, poor things--we think they're awfully nice. "

Miss Mills laughed in the kind of manner which always irritated Judy. 

"I am sorry not to be able to join your very peculiar hero-worship, mydears, " she said. "I can't say that I am attached to the pig. "

"Then it is very wrong of you, " said Judy, her eyes flashing, "when youthink of all the poor pig does for you. "

"Of all the poor pig does for me! What next?"

"You wouldn't be the woman you are but for the pig, " said Judy. "Don'tyou eat him every day of your life for breakfast? You wouldn't be asstrong as you are but for the poor pig, and the least you can do is tolove him. I don't suppose he likes being killed to oblige you. "

Judy's great eyes were flashing, and her little sensitive mouth wasquivering. 

Miss Mills gave her a non-comprehending glance. She could not in theleast fathom the child's queer passionate nature. Injustice of all sortspreyed upon Judy; she could make herself morbid on almost any theme, anda gloomy picture now filled her little soul. The animals were giving uptheir lives for the human race, and the human race did not even givethem affection in return. 

"Is that letter very funny?" asked Babs. 

"It is not funny, but it is interesting to me. "

"Do you love the person who wrote it to you?"

Miss Mills let the sheet of closely-written paper fall upon her lap; hereyes gazed into the child's serene and wise little face. Somethingimpelled her to say words which she knew could not be understood. 

"I hate the person who wrote that letter more than anyone else in allthe world, " she exclaimed. 

There was a passionate ring in her thin voice. The emotion which filledher voice and shone out of her eyes gave pathos to her commonplaceface. Babs began to pull a flower to pieces. She had never conjugatedthe verb to hate, and did not know in the least what it meant; but Judylooked at her governess with new interest. 

"Why do you get letters from the person you hate so much?" she asked. 

"Don't ask any more questions, " replied Miss Mills. She folded up thesheet of paper, slipped it into its envelope, replaced the envelope inher pocket, and started to her feet. "Let us continue our walk, " shesaid. "We shall reach the woods in five minutes if we are quick. "

"But, " said Judy, as they went down the path across the field, "I_should_ like to know, Miss Mills, why you get letters from a person youhate. "

"When little girls ask troublesome questions they must not expect themto be answered, " responded Miss Mills. 

Judy was silent. The faint, passing interest she had experienced diedout of her face, and the rather sulky, unsatisfied expression returnedto it. 

Miss Mills, whose heart was very full of something, spoke again, more toherself than to the children. 

"If there is one bigger mistake than another, " she said, "it is themistake of being fond of any one. Oh, how silly girls are when they getengaged to be married!"

"What's that?" asked Babs. 

"I know, " said Judy, who was again all curiosity and interest. "I'lltell you another time about it, Babs. Miss Hicks in the village wasengaged, and she had a wedding in the summer. I'll tell you all aboutit, Babs, if you ask me when we are going to bed to-night. Please, MissMills, why is it dreadful to be engaged to be married?"

"Your troubles begin then, " said Miss Mills. "Oh, don't talk to me aboutit, children. May you never understand what I am suffering! Oh, thefickleness of some people! The promises that are made only to be broken!You trust a person, and you are ever so happy; and then you find thatyou have made a great, big mistake, and you are miserable. "

"Is that you, Miss Mills? Are you the miserable person?" asked Judy. 

"No, no, child! I didn't say it was me. I wasn't talking of anyone inparticular, and I shouldn't even have said what I did. Forget it, Judy--forget it, Babs. Come, let us collect the ferns. "

"Suppose we find some white heather, " said Babs eagerly. 

"And much that's worth, too, " replied Miss Mills. "I found a piece lastsummer. I gave----" She sighed, and the corners of her mouth drooped. She looked as if she were going to cry. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE PEOPLE WHO GET MARRIED. 

 Thou wert mine--all mine!... --Where has summer fled? Sun forgets to shine, Clouds are overhead; Blows a chilling blast, Tells my frightened heart That the hour at last Comes when we must part. Hurrying moments, stay, Leave us yet alone!-- All the world grows gray, Love, when thou art flown. 

Judy's soul swelled within her when she heard the music still sendingvolumes of sound out of the little church. Miss Mills had not spoken allthe way home. Babs had chattered without a moment's intermission. Herconversation had been entirely about birds and beasts and creepingthings. Judy had replied with rather less interest than usual. She wasso anxious to hurry home, so fearful of being too late. Now it was allright. Hilda was still in the church, and, delightful--more thandelightful--the discordant notes of the choir had ceased, and only thedelicious sounds of the organ were borne on the breeze. 

"Hilda is in the church, " said Judy, pulling her governess by hersleeve. "Good-by, Miss Mills; good-by, Babs. "

She rushed away, scarcely heeding her governess's voice as it calledafter her to be sure to be back at the Rectory in time for tea. 

The church doors were still open, but the young man in thecricketing-flannels, who had stood in the porch when Judy had started onher walk, was no longer to be seen. The little girl stole into the quietchurch on tip-toe, crept up to her sister Hilda's side, and lying downon the floor, laid her head on her sister's white dress. 

Judy's lips kissed the hem of the dress two or three times; then she layquiet, a sweet expression round her lips, a tranquil, satisfied light inher eyes. Here she was at rest, her eager, craving heart was full andsatisfied. 

"You dear little monkey!" said Hilda, pausing for a moment in her reallymagnificent rendering of one of Bach's most passionate fugues. Shetouched the child's head lightly with her hand as she spoke. 

"Oh, don't stop, Hilda; go on. I am so happy, " whispered Judy back. 

Hilda smiled, and immediately resumed the music which thrilled throughand through Judy's soul. 

Hilda was eighteen, and the full glory and bloom of this perfect agesurrounded her; it shone in her dark red-brown hair, and gleamed in herbrown eyes, and smiled on her lips and even echoed from her sweet voice. Hilda would always be lovely to look at, but she had the tender radianceof early spring about her now. Judy was not the only person who thoughther the fairest creature in the world. 

While she was playing, and the influence of the music was more and morefilling her face, there came a shadow across the church door. The shadowlengthened and grew longer, and the young man, whose smile Judy hadignored, came softly across the church and up to Hilda's side. 

"Go on playing, " he said, nodding to her. "I have been waiting andlistening. I can wait and listen a little longer if you will allow me tosit in the church. "

"I shall have done in a moment, " said Hilda. "I just want to choosesomething for the final voluntary. " She took up a book of lighter musicas she spoke, and selecting some of Haydn's sweet and gracious melodies, began to play. 

Judy stirred restlessly. Jasper Quentyns came closer, so close that hisshadow fell partly over the child as she lay on the ground, and quiteshut away the evening sunlight as it streamed over Hilda's figure. Jasper was a musician himself, and he made comments which were listenedto attentively. 

Hilda played the notes as he directed her. She brought added volume intocertain passages, she rendered the light staccato notes with precision. 

"Oh, you are spoiling the playing, " said Judy suddenly. She started up, knitting her black brows and glaring angrily at Jasper Quentyns. 

"You don't mean to say you are here all the time, you little puss, " heexclaimed. "I thought you and Miss Mills and Babs were miles away bynow. Why, what's the matter, child? Why do you frown at me as if I werean ogre?"

Hilda put her arm round Judy's waist. The contact of Hilda's arm waslike balm to the child; she smiled and held out her hand penitently. 

"Of course I don't think you are an ogre, " she said, "but I do wish youwould let Hilda play her music her own way. "

"Oh, don't talk nonsense, Judy, " said Hilda; "you quite forget that Mr. Quentyns knows a great deal more about music than I do. "

"He doesn't play half nor quarter as well as you, for all that, " repliedJudy, with emphasis. 

Hilda bent forward and kissed her little sister on her forehead. 

"We won't have any more music at present, " she said, "it is time for usto return to the house. You are going to dine at the Rectory thisevening, are you not, Mr. Quentyns?"

"If you will have me. "

"Of course we shall all be delighted to have you. "

"Hilda, " said Judy, "do you know that Mildred Anstruther is down at thehouse waiting to see you?"

A faint shadow of disappointment flitted across Hilda Merton's face--anadditional wave of color mounted to Jasper Quentyns' brow. He looked atHilda to see if she had noticed it; Hilda turned from him and began toarrange her music. 

"Come, " she said, "we mustn't keep Mildred waiting. "

"What has she come for?" asked Jasper, as the three walked down theshady avenue. 

"You know you are glad to see her, " replied Hilda suddenly. 

Something in her tone caused Jasper to laugh and raise his brows inmock surprise. Judy looked eagerly from one face to the other. Her heartbegan to beat with fierce dislike to Jasper. What right had he tointerfere with Hilda's music, and above all things, what right, pray, had he to bring that tone, into Hilda's beloved voice?

Judy clasped her sister's arm with a tight pressure. In a few minutesthey reached the old-fashioned and cozy Rectory. 

The Rector was pacing about in the pleasant evening sunshine, andMildred Anstruther was walking by his side and chatting to him. 

"Oh, here you are, " said Mildred, running up to her friend and greetingher with affection; "and you have come too, Mr. Quentyns?--this is adelightful surprise. "

"You had better run into the house now, Judy, " said Hilda. "Yes, darling, go at once. "

"May I come down after dinner to-night, Hilda?"

"You look rather pale, Judy, and as we are having friends to dinner itmay be best for you to go to bed early, " said another voice. Itproceeded from the comfortable, good-natured mouth of Aunt Marjorie. 

"No, no, Aunt Maggie, you won't send me to bed. Hilda, you'll plead forme, won't you?" gasped Judy. 

"I think she may come down just for half an hour, auntie, " said Hilda, smiling. 

"Well, child, it must be as you please; of course we all know who spoilsJudy. "

"Of course we all know who loves Judy, " said Hilda. "Now are yousatisfied, my sweet? Run away; be the best of good children. Eat ahearty tea; don't think of any trouble. Oh, Judy! what a frown you havebetween your brows; let me kiss it away. I'll find you in the drawingroom after dinner. "

"And you'll come and talk to me if only for one minute. Promise, promise, Hilda!"

"Of course I promise; now run off. "

Judy went slowly away. She thought the grown people very unkind todismiss her. She was interested in all people who were grown up; she hadnot a great deal of sympathy with children--she felt that she did notquite belong to them. The depths of her thoughts, the intense pathos ofher unsatisfied affections were incomprehensible to most children. Hildaunderstood her perfectly, and even Aunt Marjorie and her father weremore agreeable companions than Miss Mills and Babs. 

There was no help for it, however. Judy was a schoolroom child, andback to the schoolroom and to Miss Mills' dull society she must go. Swinging her hat on her arm she walked slowly down the long, cool stonepassage which led from the principal hall to the schoolroom regions. Amaidservant of the name of Susan hurried past her with the tray whichcontained the schoolroom tea in her hands. 

"You must be quick, Miss Judy, I am bringing in the tea, " she said. 

Judy frowned. She did not think it at all necessary for Susan to remindher of her rather disagreeable duties. Instead of hurrying to theschoolroom she stood still and looked out of one of the windows. Thewords Miss Mills had uttered as they walked across the fields to thewood kept returning to her memory. In some curious, undefined, uncomfortable way she connected them with her sister Hilda. What didthey mean? Why was it dreadful to be engaged to be married? Why weresome people so fickle, and why were promises broken? Judy had never seenMiss Mills so excited before. 

"She looked quite interesting when she spoke in that voice, " said Judyto herself. "What did she mean? what could she mean? She said it wasdreadful to be married, and dreadful to be engaged. I think I'll go andask Mrs. Sutton. I don't care if I am a bit late for tea. The worstMiss Mills will do is to give me some poetry to learn, and I likelearning poetry. Yes, I'll go and see Mrs. Sutton. She was marriedtwice, so she must have been engaged twice. She must know all--all aboutit. She's a much better judge than Miss Mills, who never was married atall. "

Judy opened a baize door, which shut behind her with a bang. She wentdown a few steps, and a moment later was standing in a comfortablyfurnished sitting room which belonged to the housekeeper, Mrs. Sutton. 

Mrs. Sutton was a stout, portly old lady. She had twinkling good-humoredeyes, a mouth which smiled whenever she looked at a child, and aconstant habit of putting her hand into her pocket and taking out alollipop. This lollipop found its way straight into the receptive mouthof any small creature of the human race who came in her way. 

"Is that you, Miss Judy?" she said now, turning round and setting downher own cup of strong tea. "Come along, my pet, and give me a kiss. Whatdo you say to this?" She held a pink sugar-stick between her finger andthumb. "I suppose you'll want another for Miss Babs, bless her!"

"Yes, thank you, Sutton, " replied Judy. "Will you lay them on thetable, please, and I'll take them when I am going away. Sutton, I wantto talk to you about a _very_ private matter. "

"Well, darling--bless your dear heart, your secrets are safe enough withme. "

"Oh, it isn't exactly a secret, Sutton--it is something I want to know. Is it a dreadful thing to be engaged to be married?"

"Bless us and save us!" said Mrs. Sutton. She flopped down again on herseat, and her red face grew purple. "Are you quite well, Miss Judy? Youhaven't been reading naughty books now, that you shouldn't open? Whatcould put such thoughts into the head of a little miss like you?"

"Please answer me, Sutton, it is most important. Is it dreadful to beengaged to be married? and are people fickle? and are promises broken?"

"But, my dear----"

"Will you answer me, dear, kind Sutton?"

"Well, Miss Judy, well--anything to please you, dearie--it all depends. "

"What does it depend on?"

"Taken from the female point of view, it depends on the sort the youngman is; but, my darling, it's many and many a long day before you needworrit yourself with such matters. "

"But I want to know, " persisted Judy. "People do get married. You weremarried twice yourself, Sutton; you told me so once. "

"So I was dear, and both my wedding gowns are in a trunk upstairs. Myfirst was a figured sateen, a buff-colored ground with red flowersthrown over it. My second was a gray poplin. I was supposed to do verywell with my second marriage, Miss Judy. "

"Then you were twice engaged, and twice married, " said Judy. "I don'twant to hear about the wedding gowns, Sutton. I am rather in a hurry. Iwant you to tell me about the other things. What were they like--thebeing engaged, and the being married? Was the person fickle, and did hebreak his promise?"

For some reason or other Mrs. Sutton's face became so deeply flushedthat she looked quite angry. 

"I'll tell you what it is, Miss Judy, " she said, "someone is puttingthoughts into your head what oughtn't to do it. You are a motherlesschild, and there's someone filling your head with arrant nonsense. Whatdo you know about engagements and--and disappointments, and dreams whatproves but early mists of the morning? what do you know of ficklenessand broken promises? There, child, you won't get any of that bad sort ofknowledge out of me. Now you run away, dearie. There's someone beentalking about what they oughtn't to, and you has no call to listen, mypet. There's some weddings happy, and there's some that aint, and that'sall I can say. Run away now, Miss Judy. "

CHAPTER III. 

A QUESTION AND AN ANSWER. 

 When some belovèd voice that was to you Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, And silence against which you dare not cry Aches round you like a strong disease and new-- What hope? what help? what music will undo That silence to your sense?

 --E. BARRETT BROWNING. 

Hilda Merton stood in a rather irresolute fashion in her bedroom. Several people were coming to dine at the Rectory to-night, and she, asthe young mistress of the establishment, ought to be in the drawing roomeven now, waiting to receive her guests. The Rector was a very wealthyman, and all those luxuries surrounded Hilda which are the portion ofthose who are gently nurtured and well-born. Her maid had left the room, the young girl's simple white dress was arranged to perfection, herlovely hair was coiled becomingly around her shapely head. She wasstanding before her looking-glass, putting the final touches to hertoilet. 

For some reason they took a long time to put. Hilda gazed into thereflection of her own pretty face as if she saw it not. Her brown eyeslooked through the mirrored eyes in the glass with an almost abstractedexpression. Suddenly a smile flitted across her face. 

"I'll do it, " she exclaimed. "I'll wear his white rose. He may thinkwhat he pleases. I--I do love him with all my heart and soul. "

She blushed as she uttered these last words, and looked in ahalf-frightened way across the room, as if by chance someone might haveoverheard her. 

The next moment the white rose was snugly peeping out from among thecoils of her rich hair. Her dress was fastened at the throat with apearl brooch. She was in simple white from top to toe. 

"How late you are, Hilda, " said Aunt Marjorie. "I was getting quitenervous. You know I hate to be alone in the drawing room when ourvisitors come; and really, my love, what a simple dress--nothing but awashing muslin. Did not you hear your father say that the Dean and Mrs. Sparks were coming to dinner to-night?"

"Of course I did, Aunt Marjorie. The cook also knows that the Dean iscoming to dine. Now don't fret, there's a dear. I look nice, don't I?that's the main thing. "

"Yes, Hilda, you look beautiful, " said Aunt Marjorie solemnly; "butafter all, when you have a new pink chiffon and--and----"

"Hush, auntie dear, I see the Dean stepping out of his brougham. "

The other guests followed the Dean and Mrs. Sparks almost immediately. Dinner was announced, and the party withdrew to the dining room. 

Hilda, in her white dress with her happy sunshiny face, was theprincipal object of attraction at this dinner. There were two or threeyoung men present, and they looked at her a good deal. Jasper Quentynsfavored her with one quick glance; he was sitting at the far end of thetable, and a very pretty girl was placed at his side. He saw the rose inHilda's hair, and his heart beat quickly; his spirits rose severaldegrees, and he became so delightful and communicative to his neighborthat she thought him quite the pleasantest and handsomest man she hadever met. 

Quentyns did not glance again at Hilda. He was satisfied, for he feltpretty sure that a certain question which he meant to ask would beanswered in the way he wished. 

The dinner came to an end, and the ladies withdrew into the drawingroom. Two little figures in white dresses were waiting to receive them. Babs trotted everywhere, and was universally admired, petted, andpraised. Judy stood in the shadow behind one of the curtains and watchedHilda. 

"Come out, Judy, and be sociable, " said her sister. 

"I don't want to talk. I am so happy here, Hilda, " she replied. 

"I do like spiders when they are very, very fat, " sounded Babs' voiceacross the room. 

"Oh, you droll little creature!" exclaimed a lady who sat near; "why, Ishould fly from a spider any distance. "

"Perhaps you like earwigs better, " said Babs. 

"Earwigs, they are horrors; oh, you quaint, quaint little soul. "

Babs did not care to be called a quaint little soul. She trotted acrossthe room and stood by Judy's side. 

"There's nobody at all funny here, " she said in a whisper. "I wish I hadmy Kitty Tiddliwinks to play with; I don't care for fine ladies. "

"It is time for you to go to bed, Babs, " said Judy. 

"No, it isn't. I am not going before you go. You always talk as if Iwere a baby, and I aren't. Judy, you might tell me now what it is to beengaged to be married. "

"No, I can't tell you now, " said Judy; "the gentlemen are coming in, andwe mustn't talk and interrupt. If you won't go to bed you must stayquiet. You know if Aunt Marjorie sees you she'll send you off at once;now they are going to sing; ah, that'll be jolly. You stay quiet, Babs, and listen. "

Four young men surrounded the piano. Jasper Quentyns was one; Hildaplayed the accompaniment. The four voices did ample justice to thebeautiful glee--"Men were deceivers ever. " The well-known words wereapplauded vigorously, the applause rose to an encore. Judy listened asif fascinated. 

 "Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever; One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never. Then sigh not so, But let them go ... "

"Yes, that's the right thing to do, " said Judy, turning round and fixingher bright eyes on Babs. 

"How funny you look, " said Babs; "_you_ ought to go to bed. "

"Come, Barbara, what is this about?" said Aunt Marjorie's voice. "Youup still--what can Miss Mills be thinking of? Now, little girls, it isnine o'clock, and you must both go away. Good-night, Babs dear;good-night, Judy. "

"Mayn't I say good-night to Hilda?" whispered Judy. 

"No, she's busy; run away this moment. Judy, if you question me I shallhave to appeal to your father. Now, my loves, go. "

The little girls left the room, Babs complacently enough, Judyunwillingly. Babs was sleepy, and was very glad to lay her little headon her white pillow; but sleep was very far away from Judy's eyes. 

The little girls' bedroom was over a portion of the drawing room. Theycould hear the waves of the music and the light conversation and the gaylaughter as they lay in their cots. The sounds soon mingled with Babs'dreams, but Judy felt more restless and less sleepy each moment. 

Miss Mills had entire care of the children. She dressed them andundressed them as well as taught them. She had left them now for thenight. Miss Mills at this moment was writing an indignant letter inreply to the one which had so excited her feelings this morning. Herschoolroom was far away. Judy knew that she was safe. If she got out ofbed, no one would hear her. In her little white night-dress she stoleacross the moonlit floor and crept up to the window. She softlyunfastened the hasp and flung the window open. She could see down intothe garden, and could almost hear the words spoken in the drawing room. Two figures had stepped out of the conservatory and side by side werewalking across the silvered lawn. 

Judy's heart beat with great thumps--one of these people was her sisterHilda, the other was Jasper Quentyns. They walked side by side, keepingclose to one another. Their movements were very slow, they were talkingalmost in whispers. Hilda's head only reached to Jasper's shoulder; hewas bending down over her. Presently he took her hand. Judy felt as ifshe should scream. 

"He's a horrid, horrid, wicked man, " she said under her breath; "he's adeceiver. 'Men were deceivers ever. ' I know what he is. Oh, what shall Ido? what shall I do? Oh, Hilda, oh, Hilda, darling, you shan't gothrough the misery of being engaged and then being married. Oh, oh, whatshall I do to save you, Hilda?"

Quentyns and Hilda were standing still. They had moved out of the lineof light which streamed from the drawing room, and were standing underthe shadow of a great beech tree. Judy felt that she could almost heartheir words. From where she leant out of the window she could certainlysee their actions. Quentyns stooped suddenly and kissed Hilda on herforehead; Hilda looked up at him and laid both her hands in his. Hefolded them in a firm pressure, and again stooping, kissed her twice. 

Upstairs in the nursery, misery was filling one little heart to thebrim. A sob caught Judy's breath--she felt as if she should choke. Shedared not look any more, but drawing down the blind, crept back into bedand covered her head with the bed-clothes. 

In the drawing room the guests stopped on, and never missed the two whohad stolen away across the moonlit lawn. One girl, it is true, mighthave been noticed to cast some anxious glances toward the open window, and the companion who talked to her could not help observing that shescarcely replied to his remarks, and was not fully alive to hiswitticisms; but the rest of the little world jogged on its way merrilyenough, unconscious of the Paradise which was so close to them in theRectory garden, and of the Purgatory which one little soul was enduringupstairs. 

"Hilda, " said Quentyns, when they had stood for some time under thebeech tree, and had said many things each to the other, and felt a greatdeal more than could ever be put into words. "Hilda, " said Quentyns, andall the poetry of the lovely summer evening seemed to have got into hiseyes and filled his voice, "I give you all, remember, all that a man cangive. I give you the love of my entire heart. My present is yours, myfuture is to be yours. I live for you, Hilda--I shall always live foryou. Think what that means. "

"I can quite understand it, " replied Hilda, "for I also live for you. Iam yours, Jasper, for now and always. "

"And I am a very jealous man, " said Quentyns. "When I give all, I liketo get all. "

Hilda laughed. 

"How solemnly you speak, " she said, stepping back a pace, and an almostimperceptible jar coming into her voice. Then she came close again. "Thefault you will have to find with me is this, Jasper, " she said, lookingfully at him with her sweet eyes; "I shall love you, if anything, toowell. No one can ever come between us, unless it is dear little Judy. "

"Judy! Don't you think you make too much fuss about that child? She issuch a morbid little piece of humanity. "

"Not a bit of it. You don't quite understand her. She and I are muchmore than ordinary sisters to each other. I feel as if I were in acertain sense Judy's mother. When mother died she left Judy to me. Little darling! No one ever had a more faithful or a nobler heart. Youmust get fond of her too, for my sake; won't you, Jasper?"

"I'll do anything for your sake, you know that, Hilda. But don't let ustalk of Judy any more just now--let us----"

"Mr. Quentyns, is that your voice I hear?" called Aunt Marjorie, fromthe drawing room. "And, Hilda, ought you to be out with the dew fallingso heavily?"

CHAPTER IV. 

CHANGES. 

 Sing on! we sing in the glorious weather Till one steps over the tiny strand, So narrow in sooth, that still together On either brink we go hand in hand. 

 The beck grows wider, the hands must sever, On either margin our songs all done; We move apart, while she singeth ever, Taking the course of the stooping sun. 

 --JEAN INGELOW. 

About a week after Hilda Merton's engagement, just when her friends werefull of the event, and congratulations began to pour in on all sides, there came a very unexpected blow to the inmates of the peaceful andpretty Rectory. 

The parish of Little Staunton was large and scattered; it stretched awayat one side down to the sea, at another it communicated with great openmoors and tracts of the outlying lands of the New Forest. It was butsparsely peopled, and those parishioners who lived in small cottages bythe sea, and who earned their living as fishermen, were most of themvery poor. Mr. Merton, however, was one of the ideal sort of rectors, who helped his flock with temporal as well as spiritual benefits. Thestipend which he received from the church was not a large one, and everypenny of it was devoted to the necessities of his poor parishioners. 

There came an awful morning, therefore, when a short announcement in thelocal paper, and a long letter from Mr. Merton's lawyer, acquainted himwith the fact that the Downshire County Bank had stopped payment. Inplain language, Mr. Merton, from being a wealthy man, became suddenly avery poor one. 

Aunt Marjorie cried when she heard the news; Hilda's face turned verypale, and Judy and Babs, who were both in the room at the time, feltthat sort of wonder and perplexity which children do experience whenthey know something is dreadfully wrong, but cannot in the leastunderstand what it is. 

In the course of the morning Hilda went to her father in his study. 

Her face was very white as she opened the door, some of the young softlines of her early youth seemed to have left it; her beautiful browneyes looked in a heavy sort of fashion out at the world from their darksurroundings. She came up to her father, and put her hand on hisshoulder. He was bending over his desk, busily writing. 

"What is the matter, Hilda?" he asked, glancing up at her with a quickstart, and an endeavor to make his voice sound as usual. 

"I--I have come, father, to say that if you like, I--I will give up myengagement to Jasper Quentyns. "

Mr. Merton rose from his seat and put his arm round her neck. 

"My dear child, " he said, "it is my comfort to-day to know that you, atleast, are provided for. Quentyns is fairly well off. If he will takeyou without any fortune, there is certainly no reason why you should notgo to him. "

"Money can't make any difference to Jasper, " said Hilda, just a littleproudly, although her lips trembled; "but I--it seems wrong that Ishould be so happy when the rest of you are so miserable. "

"Tut, tut!" said the Rector. "I shall get over this in time. I own thatjust now the blow is so severe that I can scarcely quite realize it. When I opened my eyes this morning, I was pleasantly conscious that Iwas the possessor of a private income of quite two thousand a year; Ifelt this fact in the comforts that surrounded me, and the ease whichfilled my life. Except that small stipend which is represented by myliving, and which I have always hitherto devoted to the poor of theflock, I am now reduced to nothing a year. My poor must divide my moneywith me in future, that is all; I don't intend to be miserable when Iget accustomed to the change, Hilda. I must dismiss most of theservants, and give up the carriage and horses, and live as a poor maninstead of a rich one; but I owe no man anything, my dear, and I havenot the least doubt there is a certain zest in poverty which will makethe new order of things agreeable enough when once I get used to it. "

The tears gathered slowly in Hilda's eyes. 

"I don't feel as if I could quite bear it, " she said, with a sob. 

The Rector, who was always rather absent-minded, and had a dreamy way oflooking far ahead even when he was most roused, scarcely noticed Hilda'stears. He talked on in a monotonous sort of voice:

"I have not the least doubt that poverty has its alleviations. I haveheard it more than once remarked that the hand-to-mouth existence is themost stimulating in the world. I should not be surprised, Hilda, if mysermons took a turn for the better after this visitation. I havepreached to my flock, year in, year out, that the mysterious ways ofProvidence are undoubtedly the best--I have got to act up to mypreaching now, that is all. "

The Rector sat down again and continued to write a very unbusiness-likeletter to his lawyer; Hilda stood and looked at him with a frown betweenher brows, and then went slowly out of the room. 

Aunt Marjorie, who had cried herself nearly sick, and whose eyes betweentheir swollen lids were scarcely visible, came to meet her as she walkedacross the hall. 

"Oh, my darling, " she said, with a fresh sob, "how can I bear to look atyou when I think of all your young life blighted in a moment! Oh, thosewicked Bank Directors. They deserve hanging! yes, I should hang them oneand all. And so you have been with my poor brother? I would not venturenear him. How is he taking it, Hilda? Is he quite off his head, poor, dear man?"

"How do you think my father would take a blow of this kind?" said Hilda. "Come into the drawing room, Auntie. Oh, Auntie dear, do try to stopcrying. You don't know what father is. Of course I can't pretend tounderstand him, but he is quite noble--he is splendid; he makes mebelieve in religion. A man must be very, very good to talk as fatherhas just done. "

"Poor Samuel!" said Aunt Marjorie. "I knew that he would take this bloweither as a saint or as an idiot--I don't know which is the most trying. You see, Hilda, my love, your father has never had anything to do withthe petty details of housekeeping. This parish brings in exactly threehundred and fifty pounds a year; how are we to pay the wages of nineservants, and how are the gardeners to be paid, and the little girls'governess, and--and how is this beautiful house to be kept up on apittance of that sort? Oh, dear; oh, dear! Your father will just say tome, 'I know, Marjorie, that you will do your best, ' and then he'llforget that there is such a thing as money; but I shall never be able toforget it, Hilda. Oh, dear; oh, dear! I do think saintly men are awfultrials. "

"But you said just now you thought he would be off his head. You oughtto be very thankful, Aunt Maggie, that he is taking things as he is. Ofcourse the servants must go away, and the establishment must be put onan altogether new footing. You'll have to walk instead of ride infuture, but I don't suppose Judy and Babs will much care, and I----"

"Oh, yes, " said Aunt Marjorie, "you will be in your new house inLondon, new-fangled with your position, and highly pleased and proud toput Mrs. Before your name, and you'll forget all about us. Of course Iam pleased for you, but you're just as bad as your father when you talkin that cool fashion about dismissing the servants, and when you expectan old lady like me to tramp all over the place on my feet. "

"I told father that if he wished I would break off my engagement. "

Aunt Marjorie dried her eyes when her niece made this speech, and lookedat her fixedly. 

"I do think, " she said, "that you're a greater fool even than poorSamuel. Is not your engagement to a nice, gentlemanly, clever man likeJasper Quentyns the one ray of brightness in this desolate day? You, child, at least are provided for. "

"I wonder if you think that I care about being provided for at thisjuncture?" answered Hilda, knitting her brows once again in angryperplexity. 

She went away to her own room, and sitting before her desk, wrote a longletter to her lover. 

Quentyns had been called to the Bar, and was already beginning toreceive "briefs. "

His income was by no means large, however, and although he undoubtedlyloved Hilda for her own sake, he might not have proposed an immediatemarriage had he not believed that his pretty bride would not come to himpenniless. 

Hilda sat with her pen in her hand, looking down at the blank sheet ofpaper. 

By the same post which had brought the lawyer's dreadful letter therehad come two closely-written sheets from Jasper. He wanted Hilda tomarry him in the autumn, and he had already begun house-hunting. 

"We might find it best to take a small flat for a year, " he had written, "but if you would rather have a house, darling, say so. Some peopledon't approve of flats. They say they are not so wholesome. One missesthe air of the staircase, and there is a certain monotony in livingaltogether on one floor which may not be quite conducive to health. Onthe other hand flats are compact, and one knows almost at a glance whatone's expenses are likely to be. I have been consulting Rivers--you knowhow often I have talked to you of my friend Archie Rivers--and he thinkson the whole that a flat would be advisable; we avoid rates and taxesand all those sort of worries, and if we like to shut up house for aweek, and run down to the Rectory, why there we are, you know; for thehouse-porter sees to our rooms, and we run no risk from burglars. Butwhat do you say yourself, darling, for that is the main point?"

Hilda had read this letter with a beating heart and a certain pleasantsense of exhilaration at breakfast that morning, but then this wasbefore the blow came--before Aunt Marjorie's shriek had sounded throughthe room, and before Hilda had caught a glimpse of her father's facewith the gray tint spreading all over it, before she had heard histremulous words:

"Yes, Marjorie! God help us! We are ruined. "

Hilda read the letter now with very different feelings; somehow or otherall the rose light had gone out of it. She was a very inexperienced girlas far as money matters were concerned. Until to-day money seemed tohave little part or lot in her life; it had never stirred her nature toits depths, it had kindly supplied her with necessities and luxuries; ithad gilded everything, but she had never known where the gilt came from. When she engaged herself to Jasper, he told her that, for the present atleast, he was a comparatively poor man; he had three hundred a year ofhis own. This he assured her was a mere bagatelle, but as he was almostcertain to earn as much more in his profession, and as Hilda had money, he thought they might marry if she did not mind living very prudently. Of course Hilda did not mind--she knew nothing at all of the money part. The whole thing meant love and poetry to her, and she disliked the wordmoney coming into it. 

To-day, however, things looked different. For the first time she got aglimpse of Tragedy. How mean of it, how horrible of it to come in thisguise! She pressed her hand to her forehead, and wondered what her lovercould mean when he talked of rates and taxes, and asked her to decidebetween a flat and a house. 

"I don't know what to say, " she murmured to herself. "Perhaps we shallnot be married at all at present. Perhaps Jasper will say we can'tafford it. Perhaps I ought to answer his question about the flat--but Idon't know what to say. I thought we might have had a cottage somewherein one of the suburbs--with a little garden, and that I might have keptfowls, and have had heaps and heaps of flowers. Surely fowls would beeconomical, but I am sure I can't say. I really don't know anythingwhatever about the matter. "

"Why are you talking in that funny way half-aloud to yourself, Hilda?"asked a little voice with a sad inflection in it. 

Hilda slightly turned her head and saw that Judy had softly opened thedoor of her bedroom, and was standing in the entrance. 

Judy had an uncertain manner about her which was rather new to hercharacter, and her face had a somewhat haggard look, unnatural and notpleasant to see in so young a child. 

"Oh, pet, is that you?" said Hilda. "Come and give me a kiss--I am justlonging for you--you're the person of all others to consult. Come alongand sit down by me. Now, now--you don't want to strangle me, do you?"

For Judy had rushed upon her sister like a little whirlwind, her strongchildish arms were flung with almost ferocious tightness round Hilda'sneck, the skirt of her short frock had swept Jasper's letter to thefloor, and even upset an ink-pot in its voluminous sweep. 

"Oh, oh!" said Hilda, "I must wipe up this mess. There, Judy, keep backfor a moment; it will get upon the carpet, and spoil it if we are not asquick as possible. Hand me that sheet of blotting-paper, dear. Therenow, that is better--I have stopped the stream from descending too far. Why, Judith, my dear, you have tears in your eyes. You don't suppose Icare about the ink being spilt when I get a hug like that from you. "

"I wasn't crying about the ink, " said Judy; "what's ink! The tears camebecause I am so joyful. "

"You joyful? and to-day?" said Hilda. "You know what has happened, don'tyou, Judy?"

"We are poor instead of rich, " said Judy; "what's that? Oh, I am sohappy--I am so awfully happy that I scarcely know what to do. "

"What a queer little soul you are! Now, now, am I to be swept up inanother embrace?"

"Oh, yes, let me, let me--I haven't kissed you like this since you, you--you got _engaged_. "

"In what a spiteful way you say that last word, Judy; now I come tothink of it, we _have_ scarcely kissed each other since. But whose faultwas that? Not mine, I am sure. I was quite hungry for one of yourkisses, jewel, and now that I have got it I feel ever so much better. Sit down by me, and let us talk. Judy, you are a very wise littledarling, aren't you?"

"I don't know. If you think so, you darling, I suppose I am. "

"I do think so. I have had a letter from Jasper. I want to talk oversomething he says in it with you. Judy dear, he is such a noble fellow. "

Judy shut up her firm lips until they looked like a straight line acrossher face. 

"He's such a noble fellow, " repeated Hilda. "I can't tell you how gladyou ought to be to have the prospect of calling a man like Jasper yourbrother; he'll be a great help to you, Judy, by and by. "

"No, he won't--I don't want him to be, " said Judy viciously. 

"Why, I declare, I do believe the dear is jealous; but now to go on. Jasper has written to me on a most important subject. Now, if I consultyou about it you won't ever, ever tell, will you?"

"No, of course I won't. Was it about that you were muttering to yourselfwhen I came into the room?"

"You funny puss; yes, I was talking the matter over to myself. Jasper islooking out for a house for us. "

"He isn't. It's awfully cheeky of him. "

"My dear Judy, it would be much more cheeky to ask me to go and live inthe street with him. We must have some residence after we aremarried--mustn't we? Well, darling, now you must listen veryattentively; he has asked me whether it would be best for us to live ina little house of our own----"

"Why a little house? he ought to take you to a palace. "

"Don't interrupt; we shall be poor people, quite a poor couple, Jasperand I. Now, Judy, just try and get as wise as a Solon. He wants to knowwhether I would rather live in a little house or a flat. "

"What's a flat, Hilda?"

"I don't quite know myself; but I believe a flat consists of severalrooms on one floor shut away from the rest of the house by a separatehall door. Jasper rather approves of a flat, because he says there won'tbe any rates and taxes. It's very silly, but though I am a grown-upgirl, I don't exactly know what rates and taxes are--do you?"

"No, but I can ask Miss Mills. "

"I don't expect she'd know anything about them; it seems so stupid tohave to write back and tell Jasper that I don't understand what hemeans. "

"Aunt Marjorie would know, " said Judy. 

"I shouldn't like to consult her, pet. I think I'd better leave it toJasper to decide. "

Judy looked very wise and interested now. 

"Why don't you say you'd rather go into a little house?" she said; "itsounds much more interesting. A flat is an ugly name, and I am quitesure it must be an ugly place. "

"That is true, " said Hilda, pausing and looking straight before herwith her pretty brows knit. "Oh, dear, oh, dear! I wonder what is right. And a little house might have a garden too, mightn't it, Judy?"

"Of course, and a fowl-house and a cote for your pigeons. "

"To be sure; and when you come to see me, you should have a strip ofgarden to dig in all for yourself. "

"Oh, should I really come to see you, Hilda? Miss Mills said that youwouldn't want me--that you wouldn't be bothered with me. "

"That I wouldn't be bothered with you? Why, I shall wish to have youwith me quite half the time. Now, now, am I to be strangled again?Please, Judy, abstain from embracing, and tell me whether we are to havea flat or a cottage. "

"Of course you are to have a cottage, with the garden and thefowl-house. "

"I declare I think I'll take your advice, you little dear. I'll writeand tell Jasper that I'd much rather have a cottage. Now, who is thatknocking at the door? Run, Judy, and see what's wanted. "

Judy returned in a moment with a telegram. 

Hilda tore it open with fingers that slightly trembled. 

"Oh, how joyful, how joyful!" she exclaimed. 

"What is it?" asked Judy. 

"Jasper is coming--my dear, dear Jasper. See what he says--'Have heardthe bad news--my deepest sympathy--expect me this evening. ' Then Ineedn't write after all. Judy, Judy, I agree with you; I feel quitehappy, even though it is the dreadful day when the blow has beenstruck. "

Judy did not say anything, she rose languidly to her feet. 

"Where are you going?" asked Hilda. 

"For a walk. "

"Why so?"

"Miss Mills said that even though we were poor I was to take the freshair, " replied the child in a prim little voice, out of which all thespirit had gone. 

She kissed Hilda, but no longer in a rapturous, tempestuous fashion, andwalked soberly out of the room. 

CHAPTER V. 

IN A GARDEN. 

 I go like one in a dream, unbidden my feet know the way, To that garden where love stood in blossom with the red and white hawthorn of May. 

 --MATHILDE BLIND. 

Aunt Marjorie had cried until she could cry no longer. Hers was aslighter nature than either Mr. Merton's or Hilda's. In consequence, perhaps, she was able to realize the blow which had come upon them morevividly and more quickly than either her brother or niece. 

Aunt Marjorie had taken a great pride in the pretty, well-ordered house. She was a capable, a kind, and a considerate mistress. Her servantsworked well under her guidance. She was set in authority over them; theyliked her rule, and acknowledged it with cheerful and willing service. 

No one could give such perfect little dinner-parties as Aunt Marjorie. She had a knack of finding out each of her guests' particular weaknesseswith regard to the dinner-table. She was no diplomatist, and herconversation was considered prosy; but with Mr. Merton to act theperfect host and to lead the conversation into the newest intellectualchannels, with Hilda to look sweet and gracious and beautiful, and withAunt Marjorie to provide the dinner, nothing could have been a greatersuccess than the little party which took place on an average once a weekat the sociable Rectory. 

Now all these things were at an end. The servants must go; the largehouse--which had been added to from time to time by the Rector until ithad lost all similitude to the ordinary small and cozy Rectory--thegreat house must remain either partly shut up or only half cleaned. There must be no more dinner-parties, and no nice carriage for AuntMarjorie to return calls in. The vineries and conservatories must remainunheated during the winter; the gardeners must depart. Weeds must growinstead of flowers. 

Alack, and alas! Aunt Marjorie felt like a shipwrecked mariner, as shesat now in the lovely drawing room and looked out over the summer scene. 

With her mind's eye she was gazing at something totally different--shewas seeing the beautiful place as it would look in six months' time; shesaw with disgust the rank and obnoxious weeds, the empty grate, thedust-covered ornaments. 

"It is worse for us than it would be for ordinary people, " she said halfaloud. "If we were just ordinary people, we could leave here and go intoa tiny cottage where our surroundings would be in keeping with ourmeans; but of course the Rector must live in the Rectory--at least Isuppose so. Dear, dear! how sudden this visitation has been--truly mayit be said that 'all flesh is grass. '"

Aunt Marjorie had a way of quoting sentences which did not at all applyto the occasion; these quotations always pleased her, however, and aslow smile now played round her lips. 

The drawing-room door was opened noisily, and a fat little figure rushedacross the room and sprang into her arms. 

"Is that you, Babs?" she said. She cuddled the child in a close embrace, and kissed her smooth, cool cheek many times. 

"Yes, of course it's me, " said Babs, in her matter-of-fact voice. "Youreyes are quite red, Auntie. Have you been crying?"

"We have had dreadful trouble, my darling--poor Auntie feels verymiserable--it is about father. Your dear father has lost all his money, my child. "

"Miss Mills told me that half an hour ago, " said Babs; "that's why Iwanted to see you, Auntie. I has got half a sovereign in the SavingsBank. I'll give it to father if he wants it. "

"You're a little darling, " said Aunt Marjorie, kissing her again. 

"There's Judy going across the garden, " said Babs. "Look at her, she hasher shoulders hunched up to her ears. She's not a bit of good; she won'tplay with me nor nothing. "

"That child doesn't look at all well, " said Aunt Marjorie. 

She started to her feet, putting Babs on the floor. A new anxiety and anew interest absorbed her mind. 

"Judy, Judy, " she called; "come here, child. I have noticed for the lastweek, " she said, speaking her thoughts aloud, "that Judy has black linesunder her eyes, and a dragged sort of look about her. What can it mean?"

"She cries such a lot, " said Babs in her untroubled voice. "I hear herwhen she's in bed at night. I thought she had she-cups, but it wasn't, it was sobs. "

"_She-cups_--what do you mean, child? Judy, come here, darling. "

"She-cups, " repeated Babs. "Some people call them he-cups; but I don'twhen a girl has them. "

Judy came slowly up to the window. 

"Where were you going, my pet?" asked Aunt Marjorie. 

"Only for a walk, " she answered. 

"A walk all by yourself? How pale you are, dearie. Have you a headache?"

"No, Auntie. "

Aunt Marjorie pulled Judy forward. She felt her forehead and looked ather tongue, and put her in such a position that she could gaze down intoher throat. 

Not being able to detect anything the matter, she thought it best toscold her niece a little. 

"Little girls oughtn't to walk slowly and to be dismal, " she said. "Itis very wrong and ungrateful of them. They ought to run about and skipand laugh. Work while you work, and play while you play. That was themotto when I was a little girl. Now, Judy, love, go out with Babs andhave a good romp. You had better both of you go to the hay-field, for itmight distract your poor father to hear your two merry voices. Run, mydears, run; make yourselves scarce. "

"Come, Babs, " said Judy. She held out her hand to her little sister, and the two went away together. 

"Do you know, Judy, " said Babs, the moment they were out of AuntMarjorie's hearing, "that I saw a quarter of an hour ago a great bigspider in the garden catching a wasp. He rolled the poor wasp round andround with his web until he made him into a ball. "

"And did you leave that poor wasp to die?" asked Judy, keen interest andkeen anger coming into her voice. 

"No, I didn't, " said Babs. "I took him away from the spider. I wouldn'tbe kite so cruel as to let the poor thing die; but I s'pect he'll dieall the same, for he can't get out of the ball that he's in. "

"Poor darling!" said Judy. "Let's go and find him and try to get the weboff him. Do you know where he is, Babs?"

"I put him on an ivy leaf on the ground, " said Babs, "under the yew-treedown there. I can find him in a minute. "

"Well, let's go and save him as quickly as possible. "

The two children rushed with eagerness and vigor down the slops. 

Aunt Marjorie could see them as they disappeared out of sight. 

She turned to weep and bewail herself once more, and Judy and Babsbegan industriously to look for the wasp. 

They were busily engaged on their hands and knees searching all over theground for the identical ivy leaf where Babs had placed the rescuedinsect, when a voice sounded in their ears, and Judy raised her head tosee pretty Mildred Anstruther standing by her side. 

Mildred was one of the belles of the county; her hair was as bright as asunbeam, her eyes as blue as a summer sky, her full lips were red, hercheeks had the bloom of the peach upon them. Mildred was a well-growngirl, with a largely and yet gracefully developed figure. 

In addition to her personal charms she had a considerable fortune. Itwent without saying, therefore, that she was greatly admired. 

Mildred had often been the talk of Little Staunton; her numerousflirtations had caused head-shakings and dismal croaks from many of theold maids of the neighborhood. The sterner sex had owned toheart-burnings in connection with her, for Mildred could flirt andreceive any amount of attention without giving her heart in return. Shewas wont to laugh at love affairs, and had often told Hilda that theprince to whom alone she would give her affections was scarcely likelyto appear. 

"The time when gods used to walk upon the earth is over, my dear Hilda, "she used to say. "When I find the perfect man, I will marry him, but notbefore. "

Mildred, who was twenty-six years of age, had therefore the youngest andsmoothest of faces; care had never touched her life, and wrinkles wereunlikely to visit her. 

For some reason, however, she looked careworn now, and Judy, with achild's quick perception, noticed it. 

She was fond of Mildred, and she put up her lips for a kiss. 

"What's the matter, Milly?" she asked; "have you a cold?"

"No, my love; on principle I never allow myself to have anything sosilly; but I am shocked, Judy--shocked at what I have read in themorning papers. "

"Oh, about our money, " replied Judy in an unconcerned voice. "Have youfound that wasp, Babs? Are you looking on _all_ the ivy leaves?"

"I picked an ivy leaf, and put it down just here, " replied Babs, "and Iput the wasp in it most carefully; the wind must have caught it andblown it away. "

"Oh, dear; oh, dear! the poor creature, what will become of it?"answered Judy. She was down on her hands and knees again, poking andexamining, but poking and examining in vain. 

"It's very rude of you, Judy, not to pay me the least attention, " saidMildred. "I have come over on purpose to see you, and there you aresquatting on the ground, pushing all that rubbish about. You have nomanners, and I'll tell Hilda so; and, Babs, what are you about not togive me a hug?"

[Illustration: "I HAVE COME ON PURPOSE TO SEE YOU, JUDY. " P. 60. ]

Babs raised a somewhat grimy little face. 

"We can't find the poor wasp, " she said. "He was rolled up in thespider's web, and I put him on an ivy leaf, and now he's gone. "

"You had better go on looking for him, Babs, " said Judy, "and I'll talkto Milly. " She rose as she spoke and placed her dirty little hand onMiss Anstruther's arm. "So you heard about our money, Milly?" she said. "Aunt Marjorie is in an awful state, she has cried and cried and cried;but the rest of us don't care. "

"You don't care? Oh, you queer, queer people! You don't mean to tell me, little Judy, that Hilda doesn't care?"

"Hilda cares the least of all, " replied Judy; "she has got Jasper. "

Judy's face clouded over as she spoke. 

"I wonder what _he'll_ say to this business, " remarked Miss Anstruther, half to herself; "he's not at all well off--it ought to make atremendous difference to him. "

"He certainly isn't to be pitied, " said Judy; "he's going to get Hilda. "

"And what about Hilda's money?" laughed Miss Anstruther. Her face worean expression which was almost disagreeable, her big blue eyes lookeddark as they gazed at the child. 

Judy's own little face turned pale. She didn't understand MissAnstruther, but something impelled her to say with great fierceness:

"I hate Jasper!"

Miss Anstruther stooped down and kissed her. 

"You are a queer, passionate little thing, Judy, " she said, "but it's avery good thing for Hilda to be engaged to a nice sensible fellow likeJasper Quentyns, and of course it is more important now than ever forher. He'll be disappointed, of course, but I dare say they can get alongsomehow. Ah, there's Aunt Marjorie coming out of the house. I must runand speak to her, poor dear; how troubled she looks! and no wonder. "

Mildred ran off, and Judy stood where she had left her, in the center ofthe lawn, quivering all over. 

What did Milly mean by saying that Jasper would be disappointed--Jasper, who was going to get Hilda--Hilda herself? What could anyone want morethan the sun? what could any man desire more than the queen of allqueens, the rose of all roses?

Thoughts like these flitted through little Judy's mind in confusedfashion. Hilda was to be married to Jasper, and the Rectory of LittleStaunton would know her no more. That indeed was a sorrow to makeeveryone turn sick and pale, but the loss of the money was not worth amoment's consideration. 

Judy wandered about, too restless and unhappy to settle to her play. Babs shouted in the distance that the wasp was not to be seen. Even thefate of the poor wasp scarcely interested Judy at present. She waswatching for Mildred to reappear that she might join her in the avenueand ask why she dared to say those words about Jasper. 

"Well, Judy, " said Miss Anstruther by and by, "here I am, back at last. I saw Aunt Marjorie, but I didn't see the Rector, and I didn't seeHilda. Aunt Marjorie tells me that Jasper Quentyns is coming downto-night, so I suppose he's going to take everything all right. "

"What do you mean, Milly?" asked Judy. 

"Why do you look at me in that fierce way, you small atom?" answeredMildred, stopping in her walk and looking at the child with an amusedsmile on her face. 

"Because I don't understand you, " said Judy. 

"It is scarcely likely you should, my darling. Let me see, how old areyou--nine? Well, you'll know something of what I mean when you'renineteen. Now I must go. "

"No, stop a bit, Milly. I don't understand you, but I hate hints. MissMills hints things sometimes, and oh, how I detest her when she does!and you're hinting now, and it is something against Hilda. "

"Against Hilda? Oh, good gracious, child, what an awful cram!"

"It isn't a cram, it is true. I can't explain it, but I know you'rehinting something against darling Hilda. Why should you say that Jasperwill be disappointed? Isn't she going away with him some day? and aren'tthey going to live in--in a horrid--a horrid _flat_ together, and shewon't even have a garden, nor fowls, nor flowers? And you say Jasperwill be disappointed. Everything is going when Hilda goes, and you speakas if Jasper wasn't the very luckiest person in all the wide world. _I_know what it means; yes, I know. Oh, Milly, I'm so unhappy. Oh, Milly, what _shall_ I do when Hilda goes away?"

Mildred was impulsive and kind-hearted, notwithstanding the very decidedfit of jealousy which was now over her. She put her arm round Judy andtried to comfort her. 

"You poor little thing, " she said, "you poor little jealous, miserablemite. How could you think you were going to keep your Hilda always?There, Judy, there, darling, I really am sorry for you--I really am, butyou know Hilda is pretty and sweet, and someone wants her to makeanother home beautiful. There, I'll say something to comfort you--I'lleat all the words I have already uttered, and tell you emphatically frommy heart of hearts that Hilda is too good for Jasper Quentyns. "

"Judy, Judy, Judy! I have found the wasp, " shouted Babs. 

Judy dried her eyes hastily, kissed Mildred, and ran across the lawn toher little sister. 

"What a queer child Judy Merton is, " said Mildred to herself. "Whattempestuous little creatures some children are. How passionately shespoke about Hilda, and now her whole heart and soul are devoted to therescuing of a miserable insect. Yes, of course Jasper is not good enoughfor Hilda. He has plenty of faults, he is not the prince I have beenlooking for, and yet--and yet----"

Her heart beat quickly, the color rushed into her face, she felt herfirm lips tremble, and knew that her eyes were shining with unusualbrilliance. Someone was coming along the path to meet her. A man withthe sunlight shining all over him--an athletic figure, who walked withthe swift bounding step of youth. He was Jasper Quentyns. 

"Hullo!" he called, catching sight of her. "I was fortunate in gettingan earlier train than I had hoped for, and here I am two hours before Iwas expected. How is Hilda? Have you been at the house? Are they allfearfully cut up?"

"How do you do, Mr. Quentyns?" replied Mildred. "Yes, I have been at thehouse, and I have seen Judy and Aunt Marjorie. Judy seems to me to be ina very excitable and feverish state of mind. "

"She's rather spoilt, isn't she?" said Quentyns. 

"Oh, well, she's Hilda's special darling, the first in her heart bymany degrees--after--after somebody else. "

"But how could a child like Judy know anything about money loss?"

"It isn't the money that's troubling her at the present moment, it's apoor wasp. Now pray don't look so bewildered, and do try and forgetabout Judy. Aunt Marjorie is taking her trouble in a thoroughlypractical and Aunt Marjorie style. I have not seen Hilda, nor have Iseen the Rector. "

"It will be an awful blow to them all, " said Quentyns. 

"Yes, " replied Miss Anstruther, looking him straight in the eyes, "anawful blow. And you feel it far more than Hilda, " she soliloquized, asshe walked back to her own home. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE EVE OF THE WEDDING. 

 Where shall I find a white rose blowing? Out in the garden where all sweets be. But out in my garden the snow was snowing And never a white rose opened for me, Naught but snow and a wind were blowing And snowing. 

 --CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. 

Notwithstanding Mildred Anstruther's inward prognostications, there cameno hitch to Hilda Merton's engagement. Quentyns behaved as the best andmost honorable of men. He was all that was tender and loving to Hilda, and he immediately took that position toward Mr. Merton which a sonmight have held. Quentyns was a good business man, and in thecatastrophe which overwhelmed the Rectory, he proved himself invaluable. 

On one point, however, he was very firm. His marriage with Hilda mustnot be delayed. No persuasive speeches on her part, no longing looks outof Judy's hungry eyes, no murmurs on the part of Aunt Marjorie, wouldinduce him to put off the time of the wedding by a single day. 

He used great tact in this matter, for Quentyns was the soul of tact, and it quite seemed to the family, and even to Hilda herself, that _she_had suggested the eighth of January as the most suitable day in thewhole year for a wedding--it seemed to the whole family, and even toHilda herself, that _she_ was the one who desired to go, whereas in herheart of hearts, in that innermost heart which she scarcely ventured toprobe at all just now, she would have gladly shared Aunt Marjorie'sdiscomforts and sat by her father's side while he composed those sermonswhich were to teach his flock, with a sure note of truth running throughthem, that the blessed man is the man whom the Lord God chasteneth. 

The wedding-day was fixed, and notwithstanding poverty and its attendantshadows, preparations for the great event went on merrily enough. 

A check for Hilda's trousseau was sent to her by a rich aunt in India, and the pleasant excitement which even the quietest wedding alwayscauses began to pervade the Rectory. 

When the day was finally arranged, Aunt Marjorie ceased to murmur andcry. She talked a great deal now of Hilda's coming responsibilities, andspent all her leisure moments copying out receipts which she thoughtmight be useful to her niece in her new position as wife andhousekeeper. 

"You have never yet told me where you are going to live, Hilda, " shesaid, on the New Year's Day which preceded the wedding. 

"I am not quite sure myself, " replied Hilda. "Jasper has seen a greatmany suburban houses which he does not quite like, and a great manyflats which he considers absolutely perfect. He says there is no specialhurry about choosing a house, for after we have returned from ourwedding tour we are to stay with some of his relations in town, andduring that time we can make up our minds as to what kind of home wewill have. "

"Very prudent of Jasper, " said Aunt Marjorie. "He really is an excellentfellow--so wonderfully thoughtful for such a young man. Of course he hasfar too much sense to think of selecting a house for you himself. As toa flat, you will of course not dream of going into one--a house isbetter in all respects, more airy and more interesting. "

"I should like a house best, " said Hilda, "but Jasper, of course, is theone really to decide. "

"Now, there you are wrong, my love. _You_ are undoubtedly the rightperson to make the final choice. I am old-fashioned in my ideas, Hilda, and I think the wife ought to be in subjection to her husband, for wehave Scripture for it, but I don't believe St. Paul meant that rule toextend to domestic matters. In domestic matters the wife _ought_ to havethe casting vote. Be sure, my dear Hilda, you don't yield to Jasper indomestic affairs--you will rue it if you do--and be quite sure that inselecting a house you have a wide entrance-hall, a spacious staircase, and a large drawing room. "

"But, Auntie, such a house will be beyond our means. "

"Tut, tut, my love--the rent _may_ be a few pounds more, but what ofthat? A large entrance-hall is really essential; and as it is easier tokeep large rooms and wide staircases clean than small ones, yourservants will have less to do and you will save the extra rent in thatway. Now here is your great-grandmother's receipt for plum-pudding--twodozen eggs, three pounds raisins, one pound citron. Hilda, Iparticularly want to give you a hint about the _spice_ for this pudding;ah, and I must speak also about this white soup--it is simply made, andat the same time delicious--the stock from two fowls--one pint singlecream--your father is particularly fond of it. Yes, Susan, what is thematter?"

"A parcel for Miss Hilda, ma'am, " said the neat parlor-maid. "It hascome by 'Carter Patterson'; and will you put your name here, please, Miss Hilda. "

Hilda signed her name obediently, and a square wooden box was broughtin. It was opened by Aunt Marjorie herself with great solemnity. Judyand Babs came and looked on, and there were great expressions of rapturewhen an exquisite afternoon tea-service of Crown Derby was exhibited toview. 

Wedding presents were pouring in from all quarters. Hilda put this oneaway with the others, and calmly continued her occupation of adding upsome parochial accounts for her father. She was a very carefulaccountant, and had the makings in her of a good business woman when shehad gained a little experience. 

Aunt Marjorie sat and mumbled little disjointed remarks with regard toher niece's future state and subjection. She gave her many hints as towhen she was to yield to her husband and when she was to firmly upholdher own will. 

Had Hilda followed out Aunt Marjorie's precepts, or even been greatlyinfluenced by them, she and Jasper would have had a very unhappy future, but she had a gentle and respectful way of listening to the old ladywithout taking in a great deal that she said. Her thoughts were dividednow between Jasper and Judy. Her heart felt torn at the thought ofleaving her little sister, and she had an instinctive feeling, which shehad never yet put into words, that Judy and Jasper were antagonistic toeach other, and, what is more, would always remain so. 

Judy had seen the Crown Derby service unpacked, and then, in the soberfashion which more or less characterized all her actions of late, sheleft the room. 

She went up to the bedroom which she and Babs shared together, andsitting down by the window, rested her chubby cheek against her hand. 

Babs was kneeling down in a distant corner, pulling a doll's bedstead topieces for the express purpose of putting it together again. 

"My doll Lily has been very naughty to-day, " she said, "and I am goingto put her to bed. She wouldn't half say her lessons this morning, andshe deserves to be well punished. What are you thinking of, Judy, andwhy do you pucker up your forehead? It makes you look so cross. "

"Never mind about my forehead. I have a lot of things to think of justnow. I can't be always laughing and talking like you. "

Babs paused in the act of putting a sheet on her doll's bed to gaze atJudy with great intentness. 

"You might tell me what's the matter with you, " she said, after a momentof silence; "you are not a bit interesting lately; you're alwaysthinking and always frowning, unless at night when you are sobbing. "

"Oh, don't!" said Judy. "Don't you see what it is, Babs--can't youguess?--it is only a week off now. "

"What's only a week off?"

"Hilda's wedding. Oh, dear; oh, dear! I wish I were dead; I do wish Iwere dead. "

Babs did not think this remark of poor Judy's worth replying to. Shegravely finished making her doll's bed, tucked Lily up comfortably, andcoming over to the window, knelt down, placed her elbows on the ledge, and looked out at the snowy landscape. 

"Hasn't Hilda got lots and lots of presents?" she said, after a pause. 

"Yes. I don't want to see them, though. "

"Everyone is giving her a present, " continued Babs, in her calm voice, "even Miss Mills and the servants. Susan told me that the schoolchildrenwere collecting money to buy her something, and--may I tell you a'mendous big secret, Judy?"

Judy ceased to frown, and looked at Babs with a faint dawning ofinterest in her eyes. 

"I has got a present for her too, " said Babs, beginning to dance about. "I am not going to give it till the day of the wedding. I buyed it myown self, and it's _quite_ beautiful. What are you going to give her, Judy?"

"Nothing. I haven't any money. "

"I have half a sovereign in the Savings Bank, but I can't take it outuntil after I am seven. I wish I could, for I could lend it to you togive Hilda a wedding present. "

"I wish you could, " said Judy. "I'd like awfully to give her something. You might tell me what you have got, Babs. "

"It's some darning-cotton, " said Babs in a whisper. "I buyed it lastweek with twopence-halfpenny; you remember the day I went with Mrs. Sutton to town. She said it was a very useful thing, for Hilda will wantto mend Jasper's socks, and if she hasn't darning-cotton handy maybehe'll scold her. "

"He wouldn't dare to, " said Judy, with a frown; "she _shan't_ mend hishorrid socks. Why did you get such a nasty wedding present, Babs?"

A flush of delicate color spread all over Babs' little fair face. Shewinked her blue eyes hard to keep back the tears which Judy's scathingremarks were bringing to the surface, and said, after a pause:

"It's not a horrid present, it's lovely; and anyhow"--her voice becomingenergetic as this happy mode of revenge occurred to her--"it is betterthan yours, for you has got nothing at all. "

"Oh, I'll have something when the day comes, " replied Judy, in awould-be careless tone. 

"But you hasn't any money. "

"Money isn't everything. I'll manage, you'll see. "

From this moment Judy's whole heart and soul were absorbed in one fiercedesire to give Hilda a present which should be better and sweeter andmore full of love than anybody else's. 

After two or three days of anxious thought and nights of troubleddreams, she made up her mind what her present should be. It shouldconsist of holly berries and ivy, and these holly berries and that ivyshould be picked by Judy's own fingers, and should be made into abouquet by Judy herself; and the very center of this bouquet shouldcontain a love-note--a little twisted note, into which Judy would poursome of her soul. It should be given to Hilda at the very last momentwhen she was starting for church; and though she was all in white fromtop to toe--all in pure white, with a bouquet of white flowers in herhand--yet she should carry Judy's bouquet, with its thorns and itscrimson berries, as a token of her little sister's faithful love. 

"She shall carry it to church with her, " said Judy, with inward passion. "I'll make her promise beforehand, and I know she won't break her wordto me. It will be a little bit of me she'll have with her, even when sheis giving herself to that horrid Jasper. "

The little girl quite cheered up when this idea came to her. She becamehelpful and pleasant once more, and allowed Babs to chatter to her aboutthe insect world, which had now practically gone to sleep; and about thedelights of the time when their chrysalides, which they had put away socarefully in the butterfly-case, should burst out into living andbeautiful things. 

The day before the wedding came, and the whole house was in pleasantbustle and confusion. Nearly all the presents had arrived by this time. The school children had come up to the Rectory in a body to presentHilda with a very large and gaudily decorated photographic album; theRectory servants had given the bride-elect a cuckoo-clock; Miss Millshad blushed as she presented her with a birth-day book bound in whitevellum; "Carter Patterson's" people were tired of coming up the avenuewith box after box; and Aunt Marjorie was tired of counting on herfingers the names of the different friends who were sure to remembersuch an important event as Hilda Merton's wedding. 

But for Aunt Marjorie, Hilda would have given herself to Jasper in avery quiet and unobtrusive fashion. But this idea of a wedding was suchintense grief to the old lady that Hilda and Jasper, rather againsttheir wills, abandoned it, and Hilda was content to screen her lovelyface behind a white veil, and to go to church decked as a bride should. 

"It is positively economical to get a proper wedding dress, " said AuntMarjorie; "you'll want it for the parties you'll go to during your firstseason in town, Hilda. Of course Lady Malvern, Jasper's aunt, willpresent you, and the dress with a little alteration will do very well togo to the Drawing Room in. I shall desire the dressmaker to make thetrain quite half a yard extra, on purpose. "

Aunt Marjorie had her way, and was sufficiently happy in her presentlife to forget the dull days which must follow, and to cease to thinkof the deserted house when Hilda, and wealth, and luxury, went away. 

It was the evening before the wedding-day, when Babs came solemnly intothe room where her sister was sitting, and presented her with herwedding gift. 

"It's darning-cotton, " said Babs, in her gentle, full, satisfiedfashion. "Sutton said it would be useful, and that Jasper wouldn't scoldyou if you had it handy. "

"What treason are you talking, Babs?" asked Quentyns, who was standingby Hilda's side. 

He stooped down, and mounted her on his shoulder. 

"Sutton says that husbands always scold their wives, " said Babs. 

"Nonsense, child! Sutton doesn't speak the truth. I would far ratherscold myself than Hilda. "

"Well, at any rate here's the cotton. I spent all my money on it exceptthe ten shillings in the Savings Bank; and, Hilda, you _will_ use itwhen Jasper's socks get into holes. "

"Of course I will, you dear little darling, " said Hilda. "I think it isa perfectly sweet present. Give it to me; I was just packing mywork-basket, and in it shall go this minute. I'll think of you everytime I use a thread of this cotton, Babs. "

"Babs, Miss Mills says it is quite time for you to go to bed, " saidJudy, who was standing at the back of Hilda's chair, softly touching herbright head from time to time with the tips of her little fingers. 

Quentyns laughed when Judy spoke in her solemn voice. 

"And what about Judy's time for going to bed?" he asked. 

"Oh, I am much older than Babs, and Hilda said----"

"Yes, Jasper; I said Judy should have a little talk with me all bymyself to-night, " said Hilda, putting back her hand and drawing herlittle sister forward. "Here's a tiny bit of my chair for you to situpon, Judy dearest. "

"Then I'll take Babs upstairs, " said Jasper. "Put your arms tightlyround my neck, you quaint monkey, and I'll race up to your room withyou. "

"Hilda, " said Judy, the moment the door had closed behind the two, "Ihaven't given you my present yet. "

"My darling, " said Hilda, "when we love as you and I love each other, presents mean nothing--nothing at all. I know you have no money, dearest little Judy and I think it was so sweet of you not to ask forany. Your present to me is your thoughtfulness; no gift could besweeter. "

"Hilda, may I rest my head against your shoulder?"

"Of course, darling. Now aren't we cozy?"

"We are; I feel warm now, and--and happy. I won't be able to sit likethis for a long time again. "

"Yes you will, for you're coming to stay with us; as soon as ever we getinto our house, or our flat, or wherever we shall live, you are to come. One of the very first rooms I shall furnish will be your little bedroom, my Judy. "

"And then I can sit close to you every night. But oh, Hilda, _he'll_ bethere, he won't like it. "

"Yes, he will; he'll like anything that I like. There is an old proverbthat I must repeat for your benefit--'Love me, love my dog. ' That meansthat those whom I love you ought to love. "

"Ought I? Very well, I'll try to love--Jasper. Anything that you sayI'll try to do. Hilda, why does loving a person give pain? I have anache in my heart--a big ache. There now, what a horrid girl I am! I ammaking your eyes fill with tears. You shan't be unhappy just whenyou're going to be made into a beautiful white bride. Sutton says it isunlucky for a bride to cry. You shan't cry, Hilda, you shan't--youmustn't. "

"But I can't help crying, Judy, when I think that you are unhappy, andwhen you speak of your love to me as a pain. "

"I'll never speak of it again. I'll be happy--I won't fret--no, I won'tfret at all, and I won't cry even once, " said the child, making avaliant effort to bring a smile to her face. "Hilda, will you promise mesomething very, very solemnly?"

"If it is in my power I certainly will, my pet. "

"You have not got my wedding present yet, Hilda; but it is coming. Promise me----"

"What, darling?"

"Promise to take it to church with you to-morrow--I'll give it to youjust before church--it will be full of me--my very heart will be init--take it to church with you, Hilda, and hold it in your hand whenyou're giving yourself to Jasper--promise--promise. "

"How excited you are, my dearest! If it makes you really happy to knowthat I shall hold something of yours in my hand when I am being married, I will certainly do so. "

"Oh, it does make me happy, it does!"

CHAPTER VII. 

A WEDDING PRESENT. 

 But my lover will not prize All the glory that he rides in, When he gazes in my face: He will say: "O Love, thine eyes Build the shrine my soul abides in, And I kneel here for thy grace!"

 --E. BARRETT BROWNING. 

There was a holly tree not far from the church with berries so red andleaves so green and shining that it was generally denuded of itsbeauties to decorate the most important parts of the church. 

Judy knew this holly tree well. It had been much crippled in shape andcolor for the Christmas decorations, but one perfect branch had beenleft where the berries still grew in full rich clusters--this specialbranch had not been noticed by the gardener when he was cutting theholly for Christmas, and Judy determined that from it she would pick thecrimson berries which were to constitute Hilda's wedding present. 

"Barnes, " she said to the old gardener the day before, "you mustn'tallow anyone to touch my bough of holly. "

"Well, Miss Judy, you're a queer child; what bough of holly do youmean?"

"The bough on the round tree near the church. I want it most particularbadly; you won't let anyone pick it--will you, Barnes?"

"No, that I won't, " said Barnes, good-naturedly; and Judy, quitesatisfied and happy in her mind, ran away. 

On the wedding morning, just when the day broke, she got softly, verysoftly out of bed. Babs was having happy dreams at the moment, forsmiles were flitting across her face and her lips were moving. Judy, heavy-eyed and pale, rose from her broken slumbers and proceeded todress herself. She must go out now to fetch her holly bough. She coulddress herself nicely; and putting on a warm jacket she ran downstairsand let herself out into the foggy, frosty air. She was warmly clad asto her head and throat, but she had not considered it necessary to puton her out-door boots. The boots took a long time to lace, and as shedid not expect to be absent from the house more than ten or twelveminutes, she did not think it worth while to go to this trouble. 

She ran swiftly now, her heart beating with a certain pleasurableexcitement. It was so nice to be able to make a beautiful, quaintwedding present out of the red berries and the glistening leaves and thelittle note full of love hiding away in their depths. How delightedHilda would be by and by to open that note and to read some of Judy'sinnermost thoughts. 

"Even though she has Jasper, she loves me, " thought the child. "She willknow _something_ of what I think of her, the darling, when she has readmy note. "

The little letter, written on a tiny pink sheet of paper, was put awayall ready in Judy's drawer; she had but to cut the bough of holly andher unique wedding present would be almost ready. She reached the tree, having to go to it through long grass heavy with hoar frost. Herstockings and feet were already very wet, but she thought nothing ofthis fact in her excitement. She had a small knife in her pocket whichshe proceeded to take out in order to cut the bough away--it grew lowdown and she had to pull the grass aside to look for it. 

Alack, and alas! where was it, who had taken it? Had wicked, wickedBarnes been faithless? There was a torn gash on the trunk of the tree, and no long bough red with berries was anywhere to be seen. 

Poor little Judy could not help uttering a cry of anguish. Hot angeragainst Barnes swelled up in her heart. Miss Mills was in reality theculprit. Knowing nothing of Judy's desire, she had cut the bough latethe night before for some window decoration. 

"I won't go back to the house until I get some holly, " thought thechild. She wiped away her fast-falling tears and set her sharp littlewits to work. This was the most scarce time in the whole winter forholly berries, the greater number of them having been used for churchand Christmas decorations; but Judy, whose keen eyes noticed Nature inall her aspects, suddenly remembered that on the borders of a lakenearly a mile away grew another holly tree--a small and unremarkablebush which might yet contain sufficient bright berries for her purpose. Without an instant's hesitation she determined to walk that mile andreach that tree. She must go quickly if she would be back before anyonenoticed her. She was particularly anxious that her gift should not beseen in advance. Running, racing, and scrambling she effected herpurpose, reached the tree, secured some berries and leaves, and returnedto the house wet through and very tired. 

Babs was rubbing her eyes and stretching her limbs in her snug bed inthe nursery when her sister came back. 

"Oh, Judy, what have you been doing?" she exclaimed, sitting up andstaring in round-eyed astonishment. 

"Hush, Babs, " said Judy, "don't speak for a moment--don't say a singleword until I have locked the door. "

"But you oughtn't to lock the door. Miss Mills doesn't wish it. "

"I am going to disobey her. "

"But you'll be punished. "

"I don't care. "

The key was turned in the lock, and Judy, going over to Babs' bed, exhibited her spoils. 

"See, " she said, "here's my wedding present. "

"Did you go to fetch those holly berries this morning?" asked Babs. 

"Yes, I did, and I had to go a long way for them too; that horrid, wicked old Barnes had cut away my bough, and I had to go all the way tothe lake. "

"Your feet do look so sloppy and wet. "

"So they are, they are soaking; I forgot to put on my boots. "

"Oh, won't you catch an awful cold! won't Miss Mills be angry!"

"Never mind; I'll change my stockings and shoes after I have arrangedmy present. "

"It's such a funny wedding present, " said Babs. "Do you think Hilda willlike it?"

"She'll do more than like it: she'll love it. Don't talk to me anymore--I'm too busy to answer you. "

Babs fidgeted and mumbled to herself. Judy stood with her back to her. She used her little fingers deftly--her taste as to arrangement andcolor was perfect. The sharp thorns pricked her poor little fingers, butshe was rather glad than otherwise to suffer in Hilda's cause. Thewedding present was complete, no sign of the note could be seen in themidst of the green leaves and crimson berries. Judy unlocked the doorand tumbled back into bed. Miss Mills knew nothing of her escapade, forBabs was far too stanch to betray her. 

Just as Hilda in a cloud of white was stepping into the carriage to goto church that morning, a little figure, also in cloudy white withwide-open greeny-gray eyes, under which heavy dark marks were alreadyvisible, rushed up to her and thrust something into her hand. 

"Your--your wedding present, Hilda, " gasped Judy. The strong colors ofthe red and green made almost a blot upon Hilda's fairness. Her father, who was accompanying her to church, interposed. 

"Stand back, my dear, stand back, Judy, " he said. "Hilda, you had betterleave those berries in the hall; you're surely not going to take them tochurch. "

"Your promise, Hilda, your faithful promise, " said Judy in an imploringvoice. 

Hilda looked at the child; she remembered her words of the night before, and holding the prickly little bunch firmly, said in a gentle voice:

"I particularly want to take Judy's present to church with me, father. "

"As you like, my love, of course; but it is not at all in keeping withthat lovely bouquet of hot-house white flowers sent to you by LadyDellacoeur. "

"Then, if so, Lady Dellacoeur's flowers shall stay at home, " saidHilda. She tossed the splendid bouquet on the hall table, and withJudy's holly berries in her hand, sprang into the carriage. 

"Isn't she a darling?" said Judy, turning with eyes that glowed in theirhappiness to Miss Mills. 

"A goose, I call her, " muttered Miss Mills; but Judy neither heard norheeded her words. 

The little church was nearly full of spectators, and one and all didnot fail to remark Judy's wedding present. A bride in white from top totoe--a lovely bride in the tenderest bloom of youth, to carry a bouquetof strong dark green and crimson--had anything so incongruous ever beenseen before? But Hilda held the flowers tightly, and Judy's hungry heartwas satisfied. 

"Good-by, my darling, " said Hilda to her little sister a couple of hourslater; "good-by, Judy; my first letter shall be to you, and I willcarefully keep your dear wedding present. "

"Hilda, Hilda, there's a little note inside of it, in the heart of it;you'll read it, won't you, and you won't show it to Jasper?"

"If you wish me not, I won't, dearest. How hot your lips are, Judy, andhow flushed your face. "

"I am just a wee bit shivery, " said Judy, "but it's nothing, nothing atall. I'll promise you not to fret, Hilda. Good-by, dear, dear, darlingHilda. "

"Good-by, my sweetest little treasure, good-by. "

Hilda got into the carriage; her husband took his place by her side. Mildred Anstruther tossed a great shower of rice after them, Miss Millsand Babs hurled slippers down the avenue, Judy was nowhere to be seen. 

"Hilda, " said Quentyns, as they were driving to the station, "why didyou have such a very funny bouquet in church? You showed me LadyDellacoeur's flowers last night. Why didn't you wear them, darling?Those harsh holly berries and leaves weren't in your usual taste. "

"But you're not angry with me for carrying that little bouquet, Jasper, are you?"

"My darling, could I be angry with you for anything?"

"The little bunch of holly was Judy's wedding present, " said Hilda, tears dimming her eyes; "I promised her that I would wear them. Sweetlittle darling, my heart aches at leaving her. "

Quentyns took Hilda's hand and held it firmly within his own. He saidsome sympathetic words, for Hilda's slightest grief was grief to him, but in his heart he could not help murmuring:

"That tiresome, morbid child. Poor darling Hilda, I must show her verygently and gradually how terribly she is spoiling Judy. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

HONEYMOON. 

 The night is in her hair And giveth shade for shade, And the pale moonlight on her forehead white Like a spirit's hand is laid; Her lips part with a smile Instead of speakings done: I ween, she thinketh of a voice, Albeit uttering none. 

 --MRS. BARRETT BROWNING. 

A month later Mrs. Quentyns was sitting in one of the largest hotels atRome waiting for her husband to come in. The day was so balmy and genialthat it was almost impossible for Hilda to believe that the time of yearwas early February. Dressed in dark-green velvet, with a creamy featherboa lying by her side, Hilda sat amidst all her unaccustomedsurroundings, her eyes looking straight down the lofty room and herthoughts far away. The bride was thinking of her English home--she wasan intensely happy bride--she loved her husband devotedly--she lookedforward to a good and blessed life by his side, but still (and to hercredit be it spoken) she could not forget old times. In the Rectorygardens now the crocuses and snowdrops were putting out their firstdark-green leaves, and showing their tender petals to the faint wintersunshine. Judy and Babs, wrapped in furs from top to toe, were takingtheir afternoon walk--Babs was looking in vain for insect life in thehedges, and Judy was opening her big eyes wide to see the first greenbud that ventured to put out its little tip to be greeted by the wintercold. Aunt Marjorie was learning to make use of her legs, and wasglowing with warmth of body and vexation of spirit. The Rector wastranquilly writing a sermon which, notwithstanding its polished diction, should yet show the workings of a new spirit which would move hiscongregation on Sunday. 

Hilda seemed to see the whole picture--but her mind's eye rested longeston the figure of the tall, rather overgrown child, whose eyes alwayswore too hungry an expression for perfect happiness. 

"Little darling, " murmured Hilda, "how I wish I had her with mehere--she'd appreciate things so wonderfully. It is the greatest treatin the world to take Judy to see a really good picture--how her eyesshine in her dear face when she looks at it. My sweet little Judy, Jasper does not care for me to talk much to you, but I love you with allmy heart and soul; it is the one drawback to my perfect happiness that Imust be parted from you. "

Hilda rose as she spoke, and going over to a table on which hertraveling-bag stood, opened it, pressed the spring on a certain lock, and taking out a little crumpled, stained letter, read the words writtenon it. 

 "My darling Hilda [wrote the poor little scribe], this is to say that I love you better than anyone else in the world. I'll always go on loving you best of all. Please take a thousand million kisses, and never forget Judy. 

 "P. S. --I'll pray for you every day and every night. I hope you will be very happy. I won't fret if you don't. This letter is packed with love. 

 "JUDY. "

A step was heard along the passage; Hilda folded up the letter, slippedit back into its hiding place, and ran down the long room to meet herhusband. 

"Well, my darling, " he exclaimed; "the English mail has just come in, and here's a budget for you. "

"And a budget for you too, Jasper. What a heap of letters!"

"Yes, and one of them is from Rivers. He rather wants me in London:there's a good case coming on at the Law Courts; he says I shall becounsel for it if I'm in town. What do you say to coming back to Londonon Saturday, Hilda?"

"You know I shall be only too delighted; I am just pining to be homeagain. Do you think we could go down to the Rectory? I should so like tospend Sunday there. "

"My darling, what are you thinking of? I want to be in London, not inHampshire. Now that I have got you, sweetheart, I must neglect no chanceof work. "

Hilda's face turned slightly pale. 

"Of course, darling, " she said, looking up sweetly at her tall husband;"but where are we to go on Saturday night? You spoke of going home. "

"And so we are going home, my love--or rather we are going toward home;but as we have not taken a house yet, we must spend a week with theMalverns when first we get to England. I will send a line to my aunt, and tell her to expect us on Saturday. "

Hilda said nothing more. She smothered the ghost of a sigh, and sittingdown by the wood fire, which, notwithstanding the genial weather, wasacceptable enough in their lofty room, began to open her letters. TheRectory budget was of course first attended to. It contained severalinclosures--one from her father, which was short and principallyoccupied over a review of the last new theological book he had beenreading, one from Aunt Marjorie, and one from Miss Mills. 

"None from Judy, " said Hilda, in a voice of surprise; "she has onlywritten to me once since we were married. "

She spoke aloud, and looked up at her husband for sympathy. He wasreading a letter of his own, and its contents seemed to amuse him, forhe broke into a hearty laugh. 

"What is it, Jasper?" asked Hilda. "What is amusing you?"

"Something Rivers has said, my love. I'll tell you presently. Capitalfellow he is; if I get this brief I shall be in tremendous luck. "

Hilda opened Aunt Marjorie's letter and began to read. The old lady wasa somewhat rambling correspondent. Her letters were always closelywritten and voluminous. Hilda had to strain her young eyes to decipherall the sentences. 

 "I must say I dislike poverty [wrote Aunt Marjorie]; you are well out of it, Hilda. It is my private conviction that your father has absolutely forgotten that his income has jumped down in a single day from three thousand three hundred and fifty pounds a year to the three hundred and fifty without the odd thousands; he goes on just as he has always done, and is perfectly happy. Dean Sharp sent him his last book a week ago, and he has done nothing but read it and talk of it ever since--his conversation in consequence is most tiresome. I miss you awfully, my love. I never could stand theology, even when I was surrounded by comforts, and now when I have to stint the fires and suffer from cold feet, you may imagine how unpleasant it is to me. My dear Hilda, I am afraid I shall not be able to keep Miss Mills, she seems to get sillier every day; it is my private conviction that she has a love affair on, but she's as mum as possible about it. Poor Sutton cried in a most heartrending way when she left; she said when leaving, 'I'll never get another mistress like you, ma'am, for you never interfere, even to the clearing of the jellies. ' I am glad she appreciates me, I didn't think she did while she was living with us. The new cook can't attempt anything in the way of soup, so I have given it up for dinner; but your father never appears to miss it. The garden is looking horrible, so many weeds about. The Anstruthers have all gone up to London--taken a house for the season at an enormous price. How those people do squander money; may they never know what it is for it to take to itself wings!

 "By the way, Judy has not been well; she caught cold or something the day of your wedding, and was laid up with a nasty little feverish attack and cough. We had to send for Dr. Harvey, who said she had a chill, and was a good deal run down. She's up again now, but looks like a ghost with her big eyes. She certainly is a most peculiar child--I don't pretend to understand her. She crept into the room a minute ago, and I told her I was writing to you, and asked her if she had any message. She got pink all over just as if she were going to cry, and then said:

 "'Tell Hilda that I am not fretting a bit, that I am as happy as possible. Give her my dear love and heaps of kisses' (my dear Hilda, you must take them for granted, for I am not going to put crosses all over the letter). 

 "Then she ran out of the room as if she had nothing further to say--really a most queer child. Babs is a little treasure and the comfort of my life. 

 "Your affectionate old Aunt, "MARJORIE. "

"Jasper!" said Hilda, in a choked sort of voice. "Jasper!"

"What is it, my darling? Why, how queer you look, your face is quitewhite!"

"It is about Judy; she's not well!" said Hilda. "I ought to go to her, Iought not to delay. Couldn't we catch the night mail?"

"Good gracious!" said Quentyns, alarmed by Hilda's manner. "What iswrong with the child? If it is anything infectious----"

"No, no, it is nothing of that sort; but in any case, whatever it is, Iought to go to her--I ought not to delay. May I telegraph to say we arestarting at once?"

"My darling, how excitable you are! What can be wrong with the child?"

"Oh, Jasper, you don't understand--Aunt Marjorie says----Here, readthis bit. "

"I can't read that crabbed, crossed writing, Hilda. "

"Well, I'll read it aloud to you; see where it begins--'Judy has notbeen well----'"

Hilda read the whole passage, a lump in her throat almost choking hervoice. When she had finished, Quentyns put his arms round her and drewher to his heart. 

"Why, you poor little, foolish, nervous creature, " he said, "there'snothing wrong with Judy now; she was ill, but she's much better. Mydarling Hilda--my love, you must really not disturb yourself about atrifling mishap of this sort. "

"It isn't a trifle, Jasper. Oh, I know Judy--I know how she looks andwhat she feels. Oh, do, do let me go back to her, darling. "

"You read that letter in such a perturbed sort of voice that I canscarcely follow its meanings, " said Quentyns. "Here, give it to me, andlet me see for myself what it is all about. Why will old ladies writesuch villainous hands? Where does the passage begin, Hilda? Sit down, darling, quiet yourself. Now let me see, here it is--'Judy has not beenwell----'"

Hilda's hands had shaken with nervousness while she read her aunt'sletter aloud, but Quentyns held the sheet of thin paper steadily. As thesentences fell from his lips, his full tones seemed to put new meaninginto them--the ghostly terrors died out of Hilda's heart. When herhusband laid down the sheet of paper, and turned to her with atriumphant smile, she could not help smiling back at him in return. 

"There, " he said, "did not I tell you there was nothing wrong with Judynow? What a little goose you are!"

"I suppose I am; and if you really, really think--if you are quite surethat she's all right----"

"Of course, I am absolutely certain; doesn't Aunt Marjorie say so? Thefact is, Hilda, you make too great a fuss about that little sister ofyours--I feel almost jealous of her. "

CHAPTER IX. 

STARVED. 

 If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange And be all to me? Shall I never miss Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss?

 --E. BARRETT BROWNING. 

In the first pleasant spring-time of that same year, Mrs. Anstruther, avery gay and fashionable-looking woman of between forty and fifty yearsof age, turned on a certain morning to her daughter and made a remark:

"Don't forget that we must pay some calls this afternoon, Mildred. "

Mildred was standing by the window of their beautiful drawing room. Thewindow-boxes had just been filled with lovely spring flowers; she wasbending over them and with deft fingers arranging the blossoms andmaking certain small alterations, which had the effect of grouping thedifferent masses of color more artistically than the gardener had done. 

"Yes, mother, " she said, half turning her handsome head and glancingback at her parent. "We are to make calls. I am quite agreeable. "

"I wish you would take an interest, Mildred; it is so unpleasant goingabout with people who are only just 'quite agreeable. ' Now, when I was ayoung girl----"

"Oh, please, mother, don't! The times have completely changed since youwere young; enthusiasm has gone out of fashion. I am nothing if I am notfashionable! Of course, if calls have to be made, I shall make them. I'll put on my most becoming bonnet, and my prettiest costume, and I'llsit in the carriage by your side, and enter the houses of those friendswho happen to be at home, and I'll smile and look agreeable, and peoplewill say, 'What an amiable woman Miss Anstruther is!' I'll do thecorrect thing of _course_, only I suppose it is not necessary for myheart to go pitter-patter over it. By the way, have you made out a listof the unfortunates who are to be victimized by our presence thisafternoon?"

Mrs. Anstruther sighed, and gazed in some discontent at her daughter. 

"It is so disagreeable not to understand people, " she said. "I don'tprofess to understand you, Mildred. If you will give me my visiting-bookI can soon tell you the places where we ought to go. And oh, by the way, should we not call on Hilda Quentyns? she has taken a house somewhere inWest Kensington. "

"You don't mean to tell me that the Quentyns are in town?" saidMildred, turning sharply round and gazing at her mother. 

"Of course; they have been in London for some time. I met Lady Malvernyesterday, and she gave me Hilda's address. She seems to have gone tolive in a very poky place. See, I have entered the name in myaddress-book--10, Philippa Road, West Kensington. "

"Then of course we'll go to her--that will be _really_ nice, " saidMildred with enthusiasm. "We might go to Hilda first and spend somelittle time with her. "

"But Mrs. Milward's 'at home' begins quite early. I should not like tomiss that. "

"Who cares for Mrs. Milward! Look here, mother, suppose _you_ pay thecalls and let me go and see Hilda. I have a good deal I want to talkover with her; for one thing, I want to say something about Judy. "

"Poor, queer little Judy, " said Mrs. Anstruther with a laugh. "What canyou possibly have to say about her?"

"I don't think Judy is at all well, " said Mildred. "There is such athing as dying of heart-hunger. If ever a child suffered from thatold-fashioned complaint, it is that poor mite at Little StauntonRectory. "

"My dear Mildred, you get more absurd every day. Judy lives in a mostcomfortable home, for notwithstanding their poverty, old Aunt Marjoriemanages to keep everything going in really respectable style. The childhas a loving father, a devoted aunt, a dear little sister, and anexcellent governess, and you talk of her dying of heart-hunger! It isabsurd. "

"Nevertheless, " said Mildred, --she stopped abruptly, her bright eyeslooked across the room and out through the open window, --"nevertheless, "she said, giving her foot an impatient tap, "I should like to see Hilda. I should like to have a long talk with her. I have heard nothing abouther since her wedding, so by your leave, mother, I'll drive over to WestKensington immediately after lunch and send the victoria back for you. "

Mrs. Anstruther, who was always more or less like wax in the hands ofher strong-minded daughter, was obliged somewhat unwillingly to submitto this arrangement; and Mildred, charmingly dressed and looking youngand lovely, was bowled rapidly away in the direction of Hilda Quentyns'humble home soon after two o'clock. 

"It will be pleasant to take the poor old dear by surprise, " saidMildred to herself. "There was a time when I felt jealous of her goodfortune in having secured Jasper Quentyns, but, thank goodness, I havequite got over the assaults of the green-eyed monster now. Ah, here weare. What a queer little street!--what frightfully new and yetpicturesque houses! They look like dove-cotes. I wonder if this pair ofturtle-doves coo in their nest all day long. "

The footman jumped down and rang the doorbell. In a moment aneatly-dressed but very young looking servant stood in the open doorway. 

"Yes, Mrs. Quentyns was at home, " she said, and Mildred entered Hilda'spretty house. 

She went into the drawing room, and stood somewhat impatiently waitingfor her hostess to appear. The little room was furnished with an eye toartistic effect, the walls were decorated with good taste. The furniturewas new, as well as pretty. One beautiful photogravure from Burne Jones'"Wheel of Fortune" was hung over the mantelpiece. Hilda and Quentyns, faithfully represented by an Italian photographer, stood side by side ina little frame on one of the brackets. Mildred felt herself drawing oneor two heavy sighs. 

"I don't know what there is about this little room, but I like it, " shemurmured; "nay, more, I love it. I can fancy good people inhabiting it. I am quite certain that Love has not yet flown out of the window. I amquite sure, too, of another thing, that even if Poverty does come in atthis door, Love will remain. Oh, silly Hilda, what have you to do withthe 'Wheel of Fortune'? your position is assured; you dwell safelyenthroned in the heart of a good man. Oh, happy Hilda!"

The door was opened, and Hilda Quentyns smiling, with roses on hercheeks and words of delighted welcome on her lips, rushed into the room. 

"How sweet of you to call, Mildred, " she exclaimed. "I was justwondering if you would take any notice of me. "

"You dear creature, " said Mildred, kissing Hilda and patting her on theshoulder. "Two hours ago I heard for the first time that you were inLondon. I ate my lunch and ordered the victoria, and put on my prettiestbonnet and drove over to see you as fast as ever the horses would bringme. I could not well pay my respects to Mrs. Quentyns in a shortertime. "

"I am very glad to see you, " said Hilda. 

"How childish you look, " replied Mildred, gazing at her in a ratherdissatisfied way; "you have no responsibilities at all now, your Jaspertakes the weight of everything, and you live in perpetual sunshine. Isthe state of bliss as blissful as we have always been led to imagine, Hilda, or are the fairy tales untrue, and does the prince only exist inone's imagination?"

"Oh, no, he is real, quite real, " said Hilda. "I am as happy as it ispossible for a human being to be. Jasper--but I won't talk of him--youknow what I really think of him. Now let me show you my house. Isn't ita sweet little home? Wasn't it good of Jasper to come here? He wanted aflat, but when he saw that my heart was set on a little house, he tookthis. Don't you like our taste in furniture, Milly? Oh, Milly dear, I_am_ glad to see you. It is nice to look at one of the dear home-facesagain. "

"Come and show me your house, " said Mildred; "I am going to stay a longtime--all the afternoon, if possible. "

"I am more than glad; you must remain to dinner. I will telegraph toJasper to come home early. "

"I don't mind if I do, " said Mildred. "I have no very specialengagements for this evening, and even if I had I should be disposed tobreak them. It is not often one gets the chance of spending an hour in anest with two turtle-doves. "

"Come, come, " said Hilda, "that sounds as if you were laughing at us. Now you shall see the house, and then we'll have tea together, and youmust tell me all about the old place. "

The turtle-doves' nest was a very minute abode. There was only onestory, and the bed-rooms in consequence were small and few. 

"Aren't we delightfully economical?" said Hilda, throwing open the doorof her own room. "Is not this wee chamber the perfection of snugness?and this is Jasper's dressing room, and here is such a dear littlebath-room; and this is the spare-room (we have not furnished it yet, butJasper says we can't afford to have many visitors, so I'm not making anyspecial haste). And this is our servants'-room; I did not think when welived at Little Staunton that two servants could fit into such a tinycloset, but these London girls seem quite to like it. Now, Mildred, comedownstairs. You have looked over this thimbleful of a house, and I hopeit has pleased you. Come downstairs and let us talk. I am starving fornews. "

"Well, my dear, begin catechising to your heart's content, " saidMildred. She threw herself back into the easiest of the easy-chairs asshe spoke, and toasted her feet before Hilda's cheerful fire. "What doyou want to know first, Mrs. Quentyns?"

"How long is it since you left home--when did you see them all?"

"I was at home a fortnight ago, and I spent the greater part of oneafternoon at the Rectory. "

"Oh, did you? Is it awfully changed?"

"No; the house is _in statu quo_. It looks just as handsome and statelyand unconcerned as of old. Aunt Marjorie says it is full of dust, but Idid not notice any. Aunt Marjorie has got quite a new wrinkle betweenher brows, and she complains a great deal of the young cook, but myprivate opinion is that that unfortunate cook is your aunt's salvation, for she gives her something else to think of besides the one perpetualgrievance. "

"Oh, yes, yes, " said Hilda, a little impatiently, "poor dear AuntMaggie; and what about the others? How is my father?"

"He looks thin, and his hair is decidedly silvered; but his eyes justbeamed at me with kindness. He never spoke once about the change in hiscircumstances, and on Sunday he preached a sermon which set me crying. "

"Dear Mildred, I think father's sermons were always beautiful. How Ishould like to hear him once again!"

"So you will, of course, very soon; they're all expecting you down. Whydon't you go?"

The faintest shadow of a cloud flitted across Hilda's face. 

"Jasper is so busy, " she said. 

"Well, go without him. I am quite convinced you would do them a sight ofgood. "

"Jasper does not like me to leave him, " said Hilda; "we both intend torun down to the Rectory for a flying visit soon, but he is so busy justat present that he cannot fix a day. Go on, Milly, tell me about theothers. What of Babs?"

"I saw her squatting down on the middle of the floor with a blind kittenjust three days old in her lap. The kitten squalled frightfully, andBabs kept on calling it 'poor, _pretty_ darling. ' I thought badly of thekitten's future prospects, but well of its nurse's; she lookedparticularly flourishing. "

"And Judy?" said Hilda, "she wasn't well a little time ago, but AuntMarjorie has said nothing about her health lately. Has she quite, quiterecovered? Did she look ill? Did you see much of her?"

"She was sitting in the ingle-nook, reading a book. "

"Reading a book!" said Hilda; "but Judy does not like reading. Was theday wet when you called at the Rectory?"

"No; the sun was shining all the time. "

"Why wasn't she out scampering and running all the time, and hunting forgrubs?"

"She had a cough, not much, just a little hack, and Aunt Marjoriethought she had better stay indoors. "

"Then she is _not_ quite well!"

"Aunt Marjorie says she is, and that the hack is nothing at all. By theway, Hilda, if your husband won't spare you to go down to the Rectory, why don't you have that child here on a visit? Nothing in the worldwould do her so much good as a sight of your face. "

"Oh, I know, I know; my little Judy, my treasure! But the spare-room isnot ready, and Jasper is so prudent, he won't go in debt for even ashilling's-worth. He has spent all his available money on the housefurnishing, and says the spare-room must wait for a month or so. As soonas ever it is furnished, Judy is to be the first guest. "

"Can't you hire a little bedstead of some sort?" said Mildred, "and putit up in that room, and send for the child. What does Judy care aboutfurnished rooms!"

"You think she looks really ill, do you, Mildred?"

"I will be candid with you, Hilda. I did not like her look--she suffers. It is sad to read suffering in a child's eyes. When I got a peep intoJudy's eyes I could see that her soul was drooping for want ofnourishment. She is without that particular thing which is essential toher. "

"And what is that?"

"Your love. Do send for her, Hilda. Never mind whether the spare-room isfurnished or not. "

Hilda sat and fidgeted with her gold chain. Her face, which had beenfull of smiles and dimples, was now pale with emotion, her eyes werefull of trouble. 

"Why are you so irresolute?" asked Mildred impatiently. 

"Oh, I--I don't know. I am not quite my own mistress. I--I must think. "

The servant entered the room with a letter on a little salver. Hildatook it up. 

"Why, this is from Judy, " she exclaimed. "Perhaps she's much betteralready. Do you mind my reading it, Mildred?"

"Read it, certainly. I shall like to know how the dear queer mite isgetting on. "

Hilda opened her letter, and, taking out a tiny pink sheet, read a fewwords written on it. 

 "MY DEAR HILDA:

 "I am writing you a little letter. I hope you are quite well. I don't fret, and I hope you don't. I think of you and never forget you. I give you a kiss for now and for to-night, and for every other night, and a million, thousand kisses for always. 

 "Your loving "JUDY. "

 "Here are my kisses. "

A whole lot of crosses and round o's followed. 

 "Here is my tex for us both. 'The Lord wach between me and thee. '

 "JUDY. "

Hilda's eyes filled with sudden tears. 

"There is something else in the envelope, " she exclaimed. "I think ascrawl from Aunt Marjorie. I had a volume from her yesterday. I wonderwhat she wants to write about again. "

 "MY DARLING HILDA:

 "Now don't be frightened, my dear, but I have something to tell you which I think you ought to know. Our dear little Judy fainted in a rather alarming way in church yesterday. Of course we sent for the doctor, and he says she is very weak, and must stay in bed for a day or two. He says we need not be alarmed, but that her strength is a good deal run down, and that she must have been fretting about something. It just shows how little doctors know, for I _never_ saw the child sweeter, or more gentle, or more easily amused. You know what a troublesome little creature she used to be, always flashing about and upsetting things, and bringing all kinds of obnoxious insects into the house; but she has been just like a lamb since your wedding, sitting contentedly by my side, looking over her fairy story-books, and assuring me she wasn't fretting in the least about you, and that she was perfectly happy. Babs did say that she heard her crying now and then at night, but I fancy the child must have been mistaken, for Judy certainly would not conceal any trouble from me. I will write to you again about her to-morrow. She directed this envelope to you herself yesterday morning before church, so I am slipping my letter into it. Don't be frightened, dear, we are taking all possible care of her. 

 "Your affectionate "AUNT MARJORIE. "

"There, " said Hilda, looking up with a queer, terrified expression inher eyes, "I knew how it would be. I married Jasper to please myself, and I have killed Judy. Judy's heart is broken. Oh, what shall I do, Milly, what shall I do?"

"Let me read Aunt Marjorie's letter, " said Mildred. 

Her quick, practical eyes glanced rapidly over the old lady's illegiblewriting. 

"I don't think you have killed her, Hilda, " said Miss Anstruther then, "but she is simply fading away for want of the love which was her life. Go back to her; go back at once, and she will revive. Come, there is nota moment to be lost. I'll run out and send a telegram to LittleStaunton. I'll tell them to expect you this evening. Where's an A B C?Have you got one?"

"I think there is one on the wagon in the dining room. I'll fetch it. "

Hilda ran out of the room; she brought back the time-table in a moment. Her face was white; her hands shook so that she could scarcely turn theleaves. 

"Let me find the place, " said Mildred. "There, let me see. Oh, what apity, you have lost the four o'clock train, and there isn't anotheruntil seven. Never mind, say you will take that one. You'll arrive atBickley at twenty minutes to ten, and soon after ten you'll be at theRectory. I'll run at once and send off the telegram, for the soonerJudy's heart is relieved the better. "

Mildred rushed to the davenport, filled in a telegraph-form, and broughtit to Hilda to read. 

"There, is that right?" she exclaimed. "Put your name to it if you aresatisfied. "

Hilda dashed the tears, which were still blinding her eyes, away. 

"Yes, yes, " she exclaimed, "that will do. Take it at once, this moment, before--before I have time to change my mind. "

Mildred had written, "Tell Judy to expect me at ten to-night. " Hildaadded her name, and Mildred prepared to leave the room. 

"Good-by, Hilda, " she said. "I won't come back, for you will need allyour time to pack, and to leave things in order for your Jasper. Good-by, dear. Of course, you could not _think_ of changing your mind, it would be wicked, cruel; yes, it would be terribly cruel. Good-by, Hilda, good-by. "

Mildred seated herself in the victoria and desired her coachman to driveto the nearest telegraph-office. 

"I have made a discovery, " she said, under her breath. "Jasper Quentynswas not the prince; no, _my_ prince has not yet shown his shining faceabove the horizon. Doubtless he will never come; but better that than tothink he has arrived and wake to find him common clay. Hilda isabsolutely _afraid_ of her husband. No, Hilda, I would not be in yourshoes for a good deal. "

CHAPTER X. 

WAITING. 

 The days are clear, Day after day, When April's here, That leads to May, And June Must follow soon. Stay, June, stay! If only we could stop the moon And June!

It was an April day, but the weather was still cold at Little Staunton, and Aunt Marjorie thought it well to have a nice bright fire burning inJudy's bedroom. 

Judy was sitting up in bed, her hair was combed back from her face, shewore a pink dressing-gown, the black shadows under her eyes were not somarked as yesterday, her firm little lips had an expression of extremeand touching patience. Judy's movements were somewhat languid, and hervoice when she spoke had lost its high, glad pitch. 

Aunt Marjorie kept coming in and out of the room. Miss Mills fussed withthe fire, went to the window to look out over the landscape and to makethe same remark many times. 

"How late the spring is this year, " said the governess, in her drearymonotone. 

Babs stood with her back to Judy, sorting a cabinet full of curiosities. There was no shadow of any sorrow on Babs' serene face--her fullcontented voice prattled on interminably. 

A drawing-board lay on Judy's bed, a sheet of drawing-paper, two orthree pencils, and a thick piece of india-rubber lay by her side. Forover an hour she had been drawing industriously. A pink color came intoher cheeks as she worked, and Aunt Marjorie said to herself:

"The child is all right--she just needed a little rest--she'll soon beas well as possible. I'll go downstairs now, and write to Hilda abouther. "

Miss Mills also thought that Judy looked better. Miss Mills was stillguilty of keeping up a somewhat one-sided correspondence with the personwhom she so cordially hated--she had not heard from him for nearly amonth, and thought that the present would be a good opportunity to writeanother letter to remind him of her existence. So, glancing at Judy asshe went, she also left the room. 

The door was shut carefully, and the two little sisters were alone. Whenthis happened, Judy threw down her pencils and gave utterance to afaint, quickly-smothered sigh. 

"Why do you do it so softly?" said Babs, not troubling herself to turnher face, but still keeping her stout back to her sister. 

"Do what so softly?" asked Judy. 

"Those groans to yourself. Aunt Marjorie won't believe that you evergroan, and I _know_ you do. She said you was as happy as the day islong, and I said you _wasn't_. You know you do sob at night, or you haveshe-cups or something. "

"Look here, " said Judy, "it's very, very, _very_ unkind of you, Babs, totell Aunt Marjorie what I do at night. I didn't think you'd be soawfully mean. I am ill now, and Aunt Maggie would do anything for me, and I'll ask her to put you to sleep in Miss Mills' room, if ever youtell what I do at night again. "

"I'll never tell if you don't wish me to, " said Babs, in her easy tones. "You may sob so that you may be heard down in the drawing room and Iwon't tell. Look here, Judy, I have found your old knife. "

"What old knife?"

"The one you saved that animal with last autumn, don't you remember?"

"Oh, yes, yes--the _dear_ little earwig. Do let me see the knife, Babs;I thought I had lost it. "

"No, it was in the back of your cabinet, just under all the peacock'sfeathers. Wasn't the earwig glad when you saved her?"

"Yes, " said Judy, smiling, "didn't she run home fast to her family? Shewas sticking in the wood and couldn't get out, poor darling, but my dearlittle knife cut the wood away and then she ran home. Oh, didn't she gofast!"

"Yes, didn't she?" said Babs, laughing. "I think earwigs are such_sweet_ little animals, don't you, Judy?"

"Insects, you mean, " said Judy. "Oh, yes, I love them special becausemost people hate the poor dears. "

"What are you drawing, Judy? What a queer, queer picture!"

"I'm going to call it 'Where the nasty fairies live, '" said Judy, "but Ihaven't finished it. Babs, how long is it since Hilda went away?"

"Weeks, and weeks, and weeks, " replied Babs. "I has almost forgotten howlong. "

"Years and years, you mean, " said Judy. 

The little pink flush of excitement faded out of her cheeks, her eyeslooked hollow, the shadow under them grew darker than ever. 

There came a rush along the passage, and Aunt Marjorie, puffing withthe haste she had used, but trying to walk slowly and to speak calmly, entered the room. 

"Judy, my darling, " she said, "I have very good news for you. "

"For me, " said Judy, flushing and paling almost in the same moment. 

"Yes, my dear little pet, very nice news. Your darling Hilda is coming. "

"Aunt Maggie!"

"Yes, here's a telegram from her. She says in it, '_Tell Judy to expectme at ten to-night_. ' Why, my darling, how white you are! Babs, run andfetch me those smelling-salts. Now, Judy, just one whiff. Ah, now you'rebetter. "

"Yes, auntie, much, much, _much_ better. I am only awfully happy. "

Judy smiled, and the tears rushed to her eyes; her little thin handtrembled, she tried to push her drawing materials away. 

"Please may I have the telegram?" she asked. 

"Of course you may, my darling. Oh, and here comes kind Miss Mills withyour chicken-broth. Just the thing to set you up. Drink it off, dear. Miss Mills, our sweet Hilda is coming to-night. I have just had atelegram, she'll be here about ten. "

"Who's to meet her?" asked Miss Mills. "You forget that there are nohorses in the stables now, and no carriage in the coach-house. "

"I did forget, " said Aunt Marjorie. "I must send a message to Stephensto take a fly to the station. "

"I'll go and tell him as soon as ever tea is over, " answered Miss Mills. "Ah, Judy! You'll soon be well now, Judy, won't you?"

"I am well already, " said Judy. "What delicious chicken-broth! Auntiedear, stoop down, I want to whisper something to you. "

"Yes, my dearie, what is it?"

"I needn't be asleep when Hilda comes, need I? You will let me sit up inbed, won't you? I'll promise to be so quiet, I won't make a sound todisturb Babs, but I should love to be awake and waiting for darlingHilda. Please, please, auntie, say I may. "

"My darling--until ten o'clock! so awfully late. Judy dear, you'regetting quite feverish--you must calm yourself, my pet. Well, then, well, _anything_ to soothe you. We'll see how you keep, dearie. If youdon't get at all excited, I--I'll see what I shall do. Now I must leaveyou, darling, to go and get Hilda's room ready. I wonder if Jasper iscoming with her, she doesn't say anything about him. "

Aunt Marjorie trotted out of the room, Miss Mills started on her walkto the village, and Judy began to speak eagerly to Babs. 

"I am quite well, " she said; "you'll never hear me sob again at night. Iam quite the happiest girl in the world. Oh, think of kissing Hildaagain; and I didn't fret, no, I didn't--not really. Babs, don't youthink you might make the room look pretty? You might get out all theanimals and put them on the chimney-piece. "

"I'll be very glad to do that, " replied Babs. "I often wanted to look atthe darlings, but it was no fun when you didn't wish to play with them. "She opened a little box as she spoke, and taking out china dogs, cats, cocks and hens, ducks, giraffes, elephants, monkeys, and many othervarieties of the animal world, bestowed them with what taste she couldmanage on the mantelpiece. "Don't they look sweet!" she exclaimed. "Isuppose you're not strong enough to have a game, Judy? If you could braylike the donkey, I'd be the roaring bull. "

"To-morrow, perhaps, I can, " said Judy, in a weak voice; "but the roomis not half ready yet. I want you to pin some of my drawings and some ofmy texes on the wall. You'll find them in my own box if you open it. "

"Yes, yes, " said Babs in delight. "I do like making the room pretty forHilda, and you ordering me. You may purtend if you like that I am yourlittle servant. "

"Very well; you're putting that picture upside down, Babs. "

"Oh, how funny! Is that right?"

"No, it's awfully crooked. "

For the next half-hour Babs labored hard, and Judy superintended, givingsharp criticisms and ordering the arrangements of the chamber with muchperemptoriness. 

"Now we must have flowers, " she exclaimed. "You must go out to thegarden, and pick all the violets you can get. "

"But it's very late to go out, " said Babs, "and Miss Mills will beangry. "

"As if that mattered! Who cares who is angry when Hilda is coming? Theworst Miss Mills can do is to punish you, and you won't mind that whenyou think about Hilda. I know where there are violets, white and blue, on that south bank after you pass the shrubbery; you know the bank wherethe bees burrow, and where we catch ladybirds in the summer; run, Babs, do run at once and pick all you can find. "

Judy's room was decorated to perfection. Judy herself lay in her whitebed, with pink roses on her cheeks, and eyes like two faintly shiningstars, and smiles coming and going on her lips, and eager words droppingnow and then from her impatient little tongue. 

"What is the hour now, Aunt Marjorie? Is it really only half-past nine?"

"It is five-and-twenty to ten, Judy, and Miss Mills has gone in the flyto the station, and your Hilda will be back, if the train is punctual, by ten o'clock. How wonderfully well you look, my darling. I did rightafter all to let you sit up in bed to wait for your dear sister. "

"Yes, I am quite well, only--I hope Jasper won't come too. "

"Oh, fie! my pet. You know you ought not to say that treasonable sort ofthing--Jasper is Jasper, one of the family, and we must welcome him assuch--but between ourselves, just for no one else to hear in all thewide world, I do hope also that our dear little Hilda will come here byherself. "

Judy threw her thin arms round Aunt Marjorie's neck and gave her asilent hug. 

"I'll never breathe what you said, " she whispered back in her emphaticvoice. 

Babs slept peacefully in her cot at the other end of the room. The whiteand blue violets lay in a tiny bowl on the little table by Judy's bed. The rumble of wheels was heard in the avenue. Aunt Marjorie started toher feet, and the color flew from Judy's face. 

"It cannot be Hilda yet, " exclaimed the aunt. "No, of course, it is thedoctor. He will say that you are better to-night, Judy. "

The medical man entered the room, felt the pulse of his little patient, looked into her eyes, and gave utterance to a few cheerful words. 

"The child is much better, isn't she?" asked Aunt Marjorie, followinghim out of the room. 

"Hum! I am not so sure; her pulse is weak and quick, and for some reasonshe is extremely excited. What is she sitting up in bed for? she oughtto have been in the land of dreams a long time ago. "

"Don't you know, Dr. Harvey; didn't we tell you, my niece, Mrs. Quentyns, is expected to-night? and Judy is sitting up to see her. "

"Suspense is very bad for my little patient. What time is Mrs. Quentynsexpected to arrive?"

"About ten. Judy is especially attached to her sister, and if I hadinsisted on her trying to go to sleep, she would have tossed about andworked herself into a fever. "

"She is very nearly in one now, and I don't particularly like the lookof excitement in her eyes. I hope Mrs. Quentyns will be punctual. Assoon as ever she comes, the child must settle to sleep. Give her a doseof that bromide mixture immediately after. I'll come and see her thefirst thing in the morning. "

CHAPTER XI. 

HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

 But she is far away Now; nor the hours of night, grown hoar, Bring, yet to me, long gazing, from the door, The wind-stirred robe of roseate gray, And rose-cream of the hour that leads the day, When we shall meet once more. 

 --D. G. ROSSETTI. 

Hilda Quentyns, Judy's idol, was not the strongest of characters. Shewas very sweet and amiable, intensely true and affectionate to those towhom she gave her heart, but she was somewhat timorous and somewhateasily led. 

Long ago, when Babs was a baby, Hilda's mother had died. Since then Judyhad been her special care. 

Now with trembling hands she packed her portmanteau, gave the young cookand parlor-maid directions what to do in her absence, and then sittingdown before her davenport, prepared to write an explanatory letter toher husband. 

She thought it quite probable that Jasper would be angry with her forrushing off like this, but for once she intended to brave hisdispleasure. 

In her heart of hearts she knew exactly the state Judy was in. Theardent soul was wearing out the delicate little frame. That sufferingwhich Judy would not speak of, which she was too brave to show sign orwhisper of, was making her body ill. If Hilda went to her darling, thesuffering would cease. Love would shine all round Judy's starved heart, and she would soon be well and strong again. 

"Yes, it is my manifest duty to go to her, " whispered the wife toherself. "I will go to Little Staunton and nurse her for a few days, andwhen she is better she must come to London and live with me. Jasperwon't like it--I know he won't like it, but he has really nothing tocomplain of, for I told him from the very first what Judy was to me. Yes, I must go, but I wish--I do wish that the train for Little Stauntonleft Waterloo at six instead of seven. I should be well on my journeybefore Jasper came back. Oh, Jasper, my darling, why do I say words ofthis sort, as if I were--as if I could be--afraid of you!"

Hilda dipped her pen into the ink and wrote the first words of herletter. 

 "MY DEAREST HUSBAND:

 "When you read this you will be surprised--"

A rather crooked dash of her pen finished this sentence--she wasstartled by a quick double knock at the front door. A moment laterSusan, the neat maidservant, brought in a telegram on a salver. 

"The boy is waiting to know if there is any answer, " she said. 

Hilda tore open the yellow envelope; her eyes rested on the followingwords:

 "Rivers will dine with us. Have everything nice, and expect me home at 6. 30. 

 "JASPER. "

Mrs. Quentyns' first sensation was one of relief. 

"It is all right, " she exclaimed, looking up at the servant, who wasstartled at her mistress's pale cheeks. "I thought my little sister, Miss Judy, was worse, but the telegram is from your master, Susan. Tellthe boy there is no answer, and send cook to me without a moment'sdelay. "

Susan left the room, and Hilda slipped the telegram into her pocket. Shestill felt only a sense of relief, and the first faint qualms as towhat Jasper would think of her sudden departure had not begun to visither. A knock was heard at the drawing-room door. 

"Come in, come in, " said the young mistress. "Oh, cook, " exclaimedHilda, "I have just had a telegram from your master. He is bringing agentleman home to dine. A rather particular gentleman, and we want aspecially nice dinner. I--I forget what I ordered this morning. "

The fat cook bestowed a pitying glance upon Hilda. 

"The boiled chicken was to be fricasseed, mum, " she said, "and youordered me to open one of the tins of oxtail soup; there were to beapple fritters afterward, and a cheese savory--that is all. "

"Yes, yes, " said Hilda, putting her hand to her head, "that dinner wouldhave done very well for Mr. Quentyns and me, but we must make somealterations now. You had better run round to the fishmonger's, cook, andgo to the butcher's, and order----"

Hilda rushed to her davenport, scribbled some hasty directions on apiece of paper, and handed them to the servant. 

"You must go this moment, " she said, "it is six o'clock now; and pleasecall at the green-grocer's on your way back, and get a pound of bananasand some Tangerine oranges. I will see that the wine is all right, andspeak to Susan about the table while you are out. Run, cook, run, atonce--things must look their _very_ best, and be served in the bestpossible manner for dinner to-night. "

The cook muttered something unintelligible, and by no means too wellpleased with her errand, departed. 

Hilda called Susan, and going into the dining room helped her todecorate the table; then after impressing upon the neat littleparlor-maid the necessity of doing what she could to help cook in thissudden emergency, she ran upstairs to put on her bonnet and jacket, forthe time had almost arrived when she must start on her journey. She hadjust come downstairs when the click of the latch-key was heard, andJasper, in excellent spirits, entered the house. 

"Well, my love, " he said, going up to his wife and kissing her; "oh, youhave been out!--did you get my telegram? I told Rivers we should notdine until half-past seven, in order to give you plenty of time toprepare. Perhaps you have been ordering some things for dinner, Hilda;that is right, and just what I should have expected of you. I amparticularly anxious that Rivers should see that I have got thesweetest, prettiest, and best little wife and housekeeper in theworld. "

For some reason which she could not explain, even to herself, Hilda felther tongue tied. She returned her husband's kiss, and when he enteredthe tiny dining room she followed him. 

"Very nice, very nice, " he exclaimed, looking with approval at thedinner-table, which was charmingly decorated with pink Liberty silk andwhite flowers. "But what is this?" he added suddenly, "there are onlytwo places laid. One for you and one for me. We must ring for Susan atonce--I think Rivers would rather sit at the side, away from the fire. "

"I--Jasper, I want to tell you something. "

"What is it? how pale you are, darling!"

"I want to tell you something, " repeated Hilda; "I--I am not going todine with you to-night. "

"What do you mean, my dear girl--are you ill? what can be the matter?"

"I am not ill, but Judy is--I am going down to Little Staunton. I havetelegraphed to them to expect me by the train due at 9. 40, and it istime for me to go. Is that you, Susan? Please would you order a hansomat once?"

Susan instantly left the room, closing the door behind her. 

For nearly half a minute Quentyns was silent, a great wave of color hadrushed over his face, and it was with difficulty he could keep back someannoyed and some sarcastic words. He was a man who prided himself onhaving great self-control, and before he uttered his first sentence hefelt that he had recovered it. 

"You're trembling, dear, " he said gently, "and you--you absolutely lookas if you were _afraid_ of me. Come into the drawing room, love, andtell me what is wrong with Judy. My _bête noire_, Judy! what has beenher last transgression?"

"Jasper, don't, don't, " said Hilda, in a voice of pain. "Judy is reallyill this time--she fainted in church on Sunday; she is in bed now, andthe doctor says she is very weak. "

"I suppose so, or she would not have fainted. I used constantly to faintwhen I was a child--the slightest thing sent me off. I was not kept inbed afterward, for children were not cockered up and fussed over when Iwas young. My faint was generally traced to over-eating. If you must godown to see Judy, I don't wish to prevent you, Hilda, but why goto-night?"

"Oh, Jasper, I must--I must run away this instant too, for I hear thecab--I telegraphed to say I would go. "

Jasper put on a new stubborn look which Hilda had never seen before. 

"I don't wish to coerce you, " he said, in a cold voice, "you'reperfectly free to act as you think right in the matter. I can go downwith you by an early train in the morning, or you can go by yourselfnow, and put me to extreme inconvenience. You're at liberty to choose. "

"Don't speak like that, Jasper, you pain me so dreadfully. "

"I fail to see how I am paining you, I am giving you a free choice. Youcan be with Judy before noon to-morrow, or you can go immediately. "

"I sent a telegram to her to expect me; it is so bad for sick childrento be kept waiting. "

"So it seems. Yes, Susan, tell the cab to wait. "

Susan left the room, and heavy tears gathered in Hilda's eyes. 

"Can I send another telegram?" she asked weakly. 

"I don't believe you can, the telegraph office will be closed at LittleStaunton. Never mind, Hilda, you had better go; I am disappointed, annoyed, of course, but what of that? What is a husband to a sicksister? Go, my dear, or you will miss your train!"

"No, I won't go, " said Hilda; "you have made it impossible for me togo. I'll stay and entertain your guest, and Judy will suffer. Yes; don'tkiss me just now, Jasper; I think you are cruel, but I'll stay. "

Hilda went over to the bell and rang it. 

Susan answered the summons. 

"Give the cabman this shilling, " said Mrs. Quentyns, "and tell him thathe is not required. "

"You have done quite right, my love, " said Quentyns, "and when you havegot over your first little feeling of annoyance you will see the matterin the same light that I do. I'll telegraph to Little Staunton early inthe morning to tell them to expect us by the 11. 35 train. Of course Judywould have been asleep hours before you reached her to-night, so it doesnot really matter in the least. Now come upstairs and put on your veryprettiest dress, that soft pink _chiffon_, in which you look as like arosebud as a living woman can. I have capital news for you, Hilda, mylove; Rivers certainly is a brick; he has got me to act as counselin----"

Quentyns talked on in his satisfied, joyous tones. He had won thevictory, and could afford to be very gracious and generous. Hilda feltas if a band of iron had closed round her heart. She was too gentle andsweet in her nature to be long angry with her husband. Her face was alittle paler than usual, however, and her eyes had a weary look in them. 

Rivers, who was a very keen observer of human nature, noticed the silentdepression which hung over her, but Hilda's husband failed to observeit. 

"I can easily manage her, " he muttered to himself; "it would have beenbeyond all reason to have had her absent from our first little dinnerjust because a child had fainted. Pshaw!--I can see that Hilda is goingto be painfully fanciful; it all comes from having lived so long in thewilds of the country. Well, I'll take her down to Little Stauntonto-morrow, and be specially good to her, but she must get over theseabsurdities about Judy, or life will not be worth living. "

The dinner was a success, and Hilda looked lovely. A certain dreamy andfar-away expression in her eyes added the final touch to her beauty. When the men sat together over their wine, Rivers spoke of her in tonesof rapture. 

"You're the luckiest fellow in Christendom, Jasper, " he said; and JasperQuentyns, who looked up to Tom Rivers as the first of men, felt almostunduly elated. 

"The lines had fallen unto him in pleasant places, " so he muttered, andhe forgot all about a sick and troublesome child, who at this veryinstant was counting the moments as they flew by, in her tired and wearyeagerness to clasp her arms round Hilda's neck. Hilda, too, in thedrawing room, was shedding silent tears, but what did that matter? forJasper knew nothing about them. 

Jasper and Hilda were both musical, and Tom Rivers liked nothing betterthan to listen to their voices as they sang duet after duet together. The songs they sung were full of noble sentiment. Their voices mingleduntil they almost sounded like one rich and perfect note, as they sangof love which is undying and self-sacrifice which is ennobling. Quentynsfelt a glow of elation filling his breast as his eyes rested on hislovely wife, and the tormentings of Hilda's conscience were soothed, andshe too partly forgot Judy. 

Breakfast was served at an early hour next morning at Philippa Terrace, and Quentyns and his wife started for Little Staunton in time to catchthe early train. 

They arrived at the small way-side station not more than twenty minutesbeyond the appointed time, and were met by Miss Mills, who was drivingthe village pony cart herself. 

The governess addressed Hilda in a calm voice, but her inwardexcitement was very manifest. Jasper had talked cheerfully all the waydown to Little Staunton, but Hilda had been almost silent. She feltoppressed--she dreaded she knew not what. Now, when she looked into MissMills' face, she felt her own turn pale. 

"No, don't speak, " she said, in a hoarse whisper. "I _know_ you have badnews, but don't tell me now, not until we get home. "

"Get in, " said Miss Mills, "I won't be long driving you to the Rectory. It is rather important for you to be there, and as the trap only holdstwo, perhaps Mr. Quentyns won't mind walking. "

"Not at all, " said Jasper, in his pleasant, calm voice. "Can you makeroom for our portmanteau at your feet, Miss Mills? Ah, yes, that will donicely. By the way, how are you all? has Judy quite recovered from herfaint?"

When Quentyns asked this question Miss Mills bent suddenly forward underthe pretense of trying to arrange the portmanteau. 

"We won't be any time getting to the Rectory, " she said, turning toHilda; she touched the pony with her whip as she spoke and they startedforward. 

"It was such a pity you didn't come last night, " said the governess, asthey entered the Rectory gates. 

"I--I could not help it, " murmured poor Hilda. With one hand she wastightly grasping the edge of the little basket-carriage. 

"Stop, there is father, " she exclaimed suddenly. "Let me go to him. I--Ican bear him to tell me if there is anything wrong. "

In an instant she reached the Rector's side. Her arms were round hisneck, her head on his shoulder, and she was sobbing her heart out on hisbreast. 

"My dearest Hilda, my darling!" exclaimed her father. "What is themeaning of all this? Why are you so dreadfully unhappy, my child?"

"Tell me, father, I can bear it from you. Is she--is she dead?"

"Is who dead?"

"Ju--Judy. "

"No; what has put that into your head? But your little sister is veryill, Hilda. I am not so much alarmed about her as your Aunt Marjorie is, but I confess her state puzzles me. I saw Dr. Harvey to-day, and I don'tthink he is satisfied either. It seems that for some reason the childwas over-excited last night--there was difficulty in getting her off tosleep, and she cried in a very distressing and painful way. I wasobliged to sit with her myself. I held her hand, poor little darling, and had a prayer with her, and--toward morning she dropped off into asleep. "

"And, " continued Hilda, "she was better when she awoke, wasn't she? Dosay she was, father. You showed her Jasper's telegram the very instantshe awoke, and of course she got much better immediately. "

"My dear Hilda, the strange thing about Judy has yet to be told; she hasnot awakened--she is still asleep, and this prolonged and unnaturalsleep disturbs Dr. Harvey a good deal. "

"I had better go to her at once, father. I think the doctor _must_ bemistaken in thinking sleep bad. When Judy sees me sitting by her bedsideshe will soon cheer up and get like her old self. I'll run to her now, father: I don't feel half so much alarmed since you tell me that she isonly asleep. "

The Rector gave vent to a troubled sigh; Hilda put wings to her feet, and with the lightness and grace of a bird sped toward the house. 

"Hilda, Hilda!" called her husband. He had taken a short cut across somefields, and was now entering the Rectory domain. He thought it would bequite the correct thing for his wife to wait for him. Surely she wouldlike to enter her family circle with him by her side. "Hilda, stop!" hecried, and he hurried his own footsteps. 

But if Hilda heard she did not heed. She rushed on, and soon disappearedfrom view inside the deep portico of the old house. 

Two or three moments later she was sitting without her hat and jacket, and with a pair of noiseless house-slippers on her feet, by Judy'sbedside. 

All the preparations which had been made with such care and pains byBabs the night before were still making the nursery look pretty. Thelittle china animals sat in many funny groups on the mantelpiece. Thewhite and blue violets lay in a large bowl on a table by Judy's side. One of the little sleeper's hands was thrown outside the counterpane. Hilda touched it, and found that it burned with a queer, uncomfortabledry heat. 

"But how quietly she is sleeping, " said Mrs. Quentyns, looking up withtears in her eyes at Aunt Marjorie; "why are you so solemn andsad?--surely this sleep must be good for her. "

"My dear, Dr. Harvey calls Judy's state more stupor than sleep. He saysthe most extraordinary things about the child ... That she has beenover-excited and subjected to a severe mental strain, and he fearsmischief to the brain. But surely he must be wrong, for nothing _could_exceed the quiet of our life at the Rectory since the money has gone andyou have left us, and no one could have been less excited in her waysthan Judy has been since your marriage. I can't make out what Dr. Harveymeans. "

"I think I partly understand, " said Hilda; her voice had a chokingsound. "Don't talk so loud, Aunt Marjorie, " she said impatiently; "youwill wake her--you will disturb her. "

"But that is what we wish, " interrupted the old lady. "The doctor sayswe must do everything in our power to rouse her. Ah, and here he comes;he will speak for himself. "

"I am glad to see you, Mrs. Quentyns, " said Dr. Harvey. "Your not cominglast night when the child expected you was a grave mistake, but betterlate than never. "

He stopped speaking then, and bent over the little sleeper. 

"Draw up the blind, " he said to Aunt Marjorie, "let us have all thelight we can. Now don't be frightened, Mrs. Quentyns--I am not going tohurt the child, but I must examine her eyes. "

Hilda felt as if she could scarcely restrain a stifled scream as thedoctor lifted first one lid and then the other, and looked into thedark depths of the sweet eyes. 

"The child has got a shock, " he said then. "I feared it when I calledearly this morning. I don't say for a moment that she will not getbetter, but her state is very precarious. I should like you to nurse heraltogether, Mrs. Quentyns; much depends on her seeing you by her sidewhen she wakes. "

"I shall never leave her again, " said Hilda, in a stifled tone. 

The doctor's practiced ear caught the suppressed hysteria in her voice. 

"Come, come, " he said cheerily, "you have nothing to blame yourself for. The little one has evidently felt your absence in a remarkable manner. "

"Really, doctor, you are quite mistaken, " began Aunt Marjorie. "What Iprincipally noticed about Judy was her great quietness and docilitysince Hilda left. She scarcely spoke of her sister, and seemed contentto sit by my side and read fairy stories. She used to be such a veryexcitable, troublesome sort of child. If you ask me frankly, I thinkHilda's absence did her good. "

The doctor looked from the old lady to the young. 

"I must adhere to my first opinion, " he said. "The child has missed hersister. Now that you have come, Mrs. Quentyns, we will hope for thebest. "

He went out of the room as he spoke, and Aunt Marjorie followed him. 

Hilda dropped on her knees by Judy's cot. 

"Oh, my God, forgive me, " she cried, in a broken anguished prayer. "Idid wrong to leave my little Judy. Oh, God, only spare her life, and Iwill vow to you that _whatever_ happens she shall never leave me in thetime to come. Whatever happens, " repeated Hilda, in a choking voice ofgreat agony. Then she rose and took her place beside the child's bed. 

A couple of hours passed by. The door was softly opened, and Quentynsstole into the room. He had been very much shocked by the doctor'saccount of the child, and his face and tone expressed real sympathy ashe came up to Hilda. 

"Poor little Judy!" he said, bending over her. "What a queer excitablelittle mite it is. "

Hilda beat her foot impatiently. 

"Well, my darling, " continued Quentyns, not noticing his wife'ssuppressed agitation, "she will soon be all right now you have come. Lunch is ready, Hilda, and you must be weak for want of food. Come, dearest, let me take you down to the dining room. "

"Oh, no, Jasper! I can't leave Judy; and please, please don't talk soloud. "

"The doctor does not wish her to be kept _too_ quiet, Hilda; and surely, my dear, you are not going to starve yourself!"

"Aunt Marjorie will send me something to the dressing room; I can't beaway from Judy even for one minute. There is no saying when she willawake, and I must be with her when she does. "

Quentyns smothered an impatient exclamation. After a pause he saidgently:

"As you please, dear; I will bring something up myself to the dressingroom for you, " and he stole on tip-toe out of the room. 

Nothing could be more patient than his manner, and Hilda reproachedherself for the feeling of irritation which his presence gave her. 

There came a sigh from the bed--the faintest of sounds; Mrs. Quentynsturned her head quickly, and saw to her rapture that Judy's biggreeny-gray eyes were wide open and fixed earnestly on her face. Therewas no surprise in the pretty eyes, nor any additional color in the palelittle face. 

"Hilda, " said Judy, "I _thought_ it was only a bad dream--you neverwent away, did you?"

"I am never going to leave you again, Judy, " replied her sister; "never, never, as long as we both live. I vow--I promise--nothing shall part us, nothing except death. "

Hilda flung herself on her knees by the child's bed, and burst intohysterical sobs. 

CHAPTER XII. 

HILDA'S ENGAGEMENT RING. 

 My heart is heavy for scorn, Mine eyes with impatient tears, But heaven looks blue through the cherry-blooms, And preaches away my fears. 

 --EMILY PFEIFFER. 

Contrary to the doctor's fears, and in accordance with Hilda's hopes, Judy grew better. A weight had been lifted from her heart--her starvedaffections were nourished and soothed once more. Hilda scarcely everleft her room, and Hilda's presence was perpetual sunshine to the child. 

No one could possibly have behaved better than Quentyns did during thistrying time. A certain feeling of compunction had visited him when hediscovered how real Judy's illness was. He was assailed by a momentarypricking of his conscience, but as the little girl quickly grew better, and was soon pronounced by the doctor to be quite out of danger, it wasbut natural that an active man of the world like Quentyns should wish toreturn to town, should find the quiet Rectory simply unendurable, andalso that he should wish to take his young wife with him. 

The Quentyns arrived at Staunton Rectory on a certain Wednesday, and onthe following Sunday evening Quentyns thought the time had arrived forhim to speak to Hilda about their return to town. He had not seen muchof her during the days which had intervened, and he was obliged now tosend Babs with a message to Judy's room to ask his wife to come to him. 

Hilda was reading aloud to Judy when Babs entered the room, and said inher important, calm way:

"Jasper wants you, Hilda, and you are to go to him this minute. "

Hilda could read beautifully, and Judy had lain in a dream of rapture, listening to the beloved voice as it told the old story of Christian andhis pilgrimage. Now the wistful, distressed look crept back into herface. 

"Never mind, dear, " said Hilda, bending forward and kissing the child. "I shall not be long away. "

Quentyns was waiting for his wife in the large conservatory which openedinto the drawing room. It was nearly empty of flowers and plants now, but was still a pleasant place to lounge about in. 

"Well, my love, " he said in his pleasant tone. "Why, how pale you look, Hilda. I am not going to scold you, darling--oh, no, not for the world;but I haven't got too much of your society during these last few days. Idon't blame you, and I am not jealous; but if you _could_ spare me halfan hour now, there are one or two things I want to talk over with you. "

"Of course I can spare you half an hour, Jasper, or an hour for thatmatter, if you want it, " replied Hilda cheerfully. "Judy is much, muchbetter to-night, and I am feeling quite happy about her. "

Hilda slipped her hand through her husband's arm as she spoke; he gavethe little hand an affectionate squeeze and drew his wife close to hisside. 

"I am glad Judy is better, " he said. "What I have to propose will bequite convenient then, Hilda. I want to go back to town by the firsttrain in the morning. I have heard from Rivers, and----What is it, mylove? You really do look very pale. You are overdoing yourself, and Icannot allow it. Now that Judy is better you must rest. I shall get Dr. Pettifer to look you up and give you a tonic when we get back to town. "

"Stop, Jasper, " said Hilda suddenly. "I am not tired nor worn out inany way. I look pale now because my heart beats--because----Jasper, Icannot go to town with you to-morrow. I know you must go; of course, Iquite understand that; but I am not going--not until Judy is well enoughto be moved. "

Quentyns did not reply for several seconds, then he said in a gentletone, which did not betray an atom of his true feeling:

"I half expected you to say something of this sort, Hilda; I cannotpretend that I am not sorry. The fine weather is coming on; the Londonseason will soon be at its height. I do not mean for a moment to implythat we can avail ourselves of what is termed a season in town, but fora poor and struggling man it is essential that he should leave no stoneunturned to introduce himself to those persons who can and will helphim. The influential sort of people who can materially assist me in mycareer are now in London, Hilda. You, my darling, are an excuse for manyvaluable introductions. You see, therefore, that not alone from anaffectionate point of view you ought now to be with me. But, " continuedJasper, looking straight ahead of him, and fixing his fine, intelligenteyes on the distant landscape, "I waive all that. I understand that youdo not wish to leave Judy until she is fit to be moved to the seaside. If she maintains the progress she is now making, Dr. Harvey willprobably allow Aunt Marjorie to take her away at the end of the week. Ishall have you home on Saturday at the latest, Hilda. "

"Yes, " said Hilda. "I hope so, but--but, Jasper, you still fail tounderstand me. When Judy goes away, she is not going to the seaside--sheis coming with me to London--to Philippa Terrace. It is a promise, andI--I won't--I can't go back from it. I stand or fall by my promise, Jasper--I wish to say so now once for all. "

"You stand or fall by your promise!" repeated Quentyns. "What anextraordinary remark. One would suppose, my darling, that I was an ogreor the worst sort of tyrant. I always told you that Judy should come tostay with us for a few weeks when we had a room to receive her in. Ifmatters progress as satisfactorily as I hope, we shall have a snug, prettily furnished, little spare room by the end of the present season. I promise you, Hilda, that Judy shall be its first tenant. "

Hilda laid her hand with a sort of trembling, nervous impatience, on herhusband's arm. 

"I have made a mistake--I have been a coward, " she said. "Even now, Jasper, you don't a bit understand me. Long ago, when mother died, sheleft Judy in my charge. I ought never to have married and left her. Judyis not an ordinary child, and she suffered. When I went away her heartwas starved. She could not live with a starved heart. In my absence, mylittle Judy nearly died. She is better now--she is recovering because Iam with her. I am never going to leave her again while she lives. "

"Hilda, what nonsense you talk, " said Quentyns, with temper in his tone. "If Judy lives to grow up, she will marry like other girls--and willleave you of her own accord. "

"If she does, " replied Hilda, "that alters the case, but until sheleaves me by her own wish or marries, she is in my charge. I will not beparted from her, Jasper. I shall not return to Philippa Terrace until Ican bring her with me. "

"Is that really your final decision?" said Quentyns--he turned round nowand looked at his wife; his face was very cold, its expression carefullyveiled. He was intensely anxious not to show even a trace of ill-temper. His words were guarded. "Is that your final decision, Hilda?" he said, and there was a fine withering sort of sarcasm in his voice. "Do youmean seriously to desert the husband you married not three months agofor the sake of a child's whim? Is that the way you keep your marriagevow?"

"No, no, Jasper! I want to be true to you both. I made two vows, and Iwant to keep them both. Help me, Jasper; I am not a bit a strong-mindedgirl, I am just very loving. My heart is full of love to you and toJudy. Help me to do this--help me to love you both, to serve you both. Go back to town to-morrow and furnish the spare room, and I will bringJudy back with me on Friday or Saturday. "

"I said I should not run in debt. I have no more money to spend onfurniture at present. You don't really care for me, Hilda, or you wouldnever speak as you do. But, once for all, I will not be drawn into apath which simply means ruin for the sake of any woman, and for theridiculous fancies of any child. I will buy no furniture until I can payfor it. That ends the matter, my dear. If you are determined to stay atthe Rectory for the summer, they will all, I am sure, be charmed to haveyou, and I will try and run down as often as I can. I need not say thatI think you are making a most grave mistake, but a willful woman muste'en have her way, I suppose. Ah, and here comes the Rector, he has justreturned from evening service. "

Quentyns went toward the door of the conservatory, which he flung open. Mr. Merton was just entering his drawing room. 

"One moment, Jasper--one moment, " said Hilda; she rushed after herhusband, her face was like death, her eyes were blazing with passion. 

"Your cruel words make anything possible, " she said. "I made two vowsbefore God, and I will keep them both. There, this was costly, Ipresume. You spent money on it--sell it again, and buy the furniturethat you will not go in debt for. "

She thrust her engagement ring into Quentyns' hand and rushed away. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

JUDY'S ROOM. 

 An ear that waits to catch A hand upon the latch. 

 --DORA GREENWELL. 

"Here is a letter from Jasper, Hilda darling, " said Aunt Marjorie, coming into Judy's bedroom two or three days after the events mentionedin the last chapter. "I know the hand-writing, dear. How strong andmanly it looks. I do love a manly hand, don't you?"

Hilda did not reply. She rose from her seat by Judy's side, and takingher husband's letter, walked to the window, and, standing with her backto the light, opened it eagerly. Her face was a little pale and worn, and her eyes had tired lines under them. No one had noticed any changein her, however. Judy was fast recovering--each day her spirits rose, her appetite improved, her strength grew greater. She was to be takeninto Hilda's old boudoir to-day, and Babs was importantly moving thebeloved china animals, arranging flowers, and getting the room readyfor the great event. 

Aunt Marjorie, after her usual fashion, fussed over Judy while Hildaread her letter. It was brief, but somehow it gave the young wifeunexpected hope and pleasure:

 "MY DEAREST WIFE:

 "Pray forgive me for not writing sooner, but I have been exceedingly busy since I returned to town, and have dined each night with Rivers at his club. I send a hasty line now to say that you can bring Judy back to Philippa Terrace whenever she is strong enough to be moved, as I have given Shoolbred full directions with regard to furnishing the spare room, and have just had a letter from him to say the goods will be delivered to-day. 

 "Pray don't tire yourself more than is necessary. And believe me, "Your affectionate husband, "JASPER QUENTYNS. "

"Judy, " said Hilda--she turned eagerly, the old lovely color mantlingher cheeks, and the brightness of hope filling her eyes. "Isn't Jaspergood, Judy? I have just heard from him--he says the furniture is comingin for your room to-day. We can go back to town as soon as ever Dr. Harvey thinks you strong enough to be moved, my pet. "

"Which won't be this week, " interrupted Aunt Marjorie. "It would be thesheerest madness. Has Jasper proposed such a thing, Hilda? If so, I canonly say how like a man. In about a fortnight, this dear child may bethe better for change of air.... I have no doubt too that Dr. Harveywill be pleased to have a London opinion about her. There may be aweakness of the heart's action. I never am easy about people who faintoff suddenly. Now, Judy, why do you flush up? you know you oughtn't tolisten when Auntie talks to Hilda about you. Go on reading your prettystory book, my love. Yes, Hilda, I should like the child to see afirst-class physician. You know your mother's heart was not strong. Hewill doubtless order cod-liver oil, but for my part I prefer cream. "

"I know something better than cream for Judy--don't I, my pet?" saidHilda, turning to her little sister with her bright smile. 

"And so do I, " replied Judy. "Oh, Hilda, to think of living with you inyour own little house! Oh, Hilda, I'm _too_ happy--I am so happy that myheart aches. It aches with pleasure. "

Judy's thin arms were flung round her sister's neck. Her lips pressedHilda's soft young cheek, her eyes looked into Hilda's. It seemed tothem both at that moment that soul answered to soul. 

"Now what nonsense this is, " said Aunt Marjorie in her fussy tones. "Judy, I hope Hilda is not going to encourage you in silly sentimentaltalk of that kind. You say your heart aches with pleasure. Really, mydear, I have no patience to listen to you. I should like to know what achild like you knows about heart-aches--you, who have been brought up inwhat I may call the very lap of luxury. For, Hilda, I have made it theobject of my life ever since poverty came to us, to prevent even theslightest shadow of its wings touching the children. They have had theirexcellent governess, and their warm schoolroom and snug bedroom. I cutdown one of my own fur cloaks to give them really nice winter jackets, and I took special care that the schoolroom table should be as liberalas ever. It is impossible, therefore, for me to understand Judy's sillywords about her heart aching. "

Aunt Marjorie left the room, and Judy still softly rubbed her cheekagainst Hilda's. 

"But my heart did ache, " she said after a pause--"it aches with joy now, and it did ache--oh, it kept crying, it felt starved without you, Hilda. "

"I understand--yes, I understand, " replied Hilda. 

"You don't mind what Aunt Marjorie says then?"

"Not about you, my own little love. "

"Hilda, I did really try very, very hard not to fret. "

"The effort was too much for you, my Judy; but never mind, the pain andthe parting are all over now. Isn't it kind of your new brother--isn'tit kind of dear, dear Jasper--to get the nice little room furnished andready for you, darling?"

"Yes, Hilda. Has he gone in debt for the furniture? You told me long agothat the room would have been furnished and that I should have come toyou, but there was no money left, and Jasper would not go in debt. Hashe really gone in debt now, just to please me?"

"No, my love, no--we have managed. You must not ask inquisitivequestions. All is right now, and we shall be very happy together. "

Dr. Harvey was highly pleased, when he heard that his little patient wasgoing to London with her sister. He was a man with plenty ofobservation, and he could read between the lines much better than poorobtuse old Aunt Marjorie. 

"You are the right physician for your little sister, Mrs. Quentyns, " hesaid. "I prophesy that Miss Judy will become perfectly strong and wellin a short time under your care. Yes, there will be nothing to preventher traveling to town on Saturday next, if you really wish it. Theweather is extraordinarily mild for the time of year, and a change willdo Judy more good than anything else. "

Hilda wrote a joyful letter to her husband that day. 

"You are to expect us both on Saturday, " she said. "Oh, Jasper, howhappy your letter has made me. How good--how really good you are. Pleaseforgive me if I was a little hasty with you the other evening. I knowyou will never regret, darling husband, helping me to keep both myvows--the vow I made to you, and the vow I made mother. No one ever hada more loving wife than I shall prove to you, and no one ever had adearer little sister than you will find my Judy when you really knowher. "

"Her Judy, indeed!" murmured Quentyns, when he read his wife's letter athis breakfast-table on the following morning. "Tiresome littlepiece--she'll never be _my_ Judy, however much she may be Hilda's. Well, I suppose I must make the best of a bad job, but if I had knownbeforehand that that wretched sentimental child was to be tacked on tous, I'd have thought twice.... No, I wouldn't though, I love Hilda wellenough to bear some inconvenience for her sake; but if she thinks thisstep will really add to our happiness, she'll soon find her mistake. Fancy her asking me to sell her engagement ring! I can never get overthat. Things can't be quite the same again--it's impossible. Well, well, more than one friend has told me I'd wake from my dream of bliss someday. I have, with a vengeance--it has been something of a shock too. Heigho! I am not going to _look_ like defeat, anyhow. Of course, too, I'll be just the same to Hilda outwardly. Ah, there's Susan--I'd betterspeak to her and get her to tell cook. This is Thursday--they'll be herein two days. "

"Susan, " as the neat parlor-maid entered the room, "I have had a letterfrom your mistress. She is coming home on Saturday, and will bringlittle Miss Merton with her. Have the things come from Shoolbred's yet?"

"The furniture, sir, for the spare room? Yes, it arrived yesterday, andthe man is coming to lay down the carpet and put up the curtains thismorning. "

"Well, Susan, you get the room ready, and have the bed well aired, andtell me if there's anything more wanted--the child has been ill, andshe'll require every comfort. Mrs. Quentyns will wish the room to lookas nice as possible. I know nothing about these matters--see to it, Susan, will you?"

"Yes, sir; you may depend on me and cook to do everything right----"

"And tell cook about your mistress. Let me see, they'll be home betweenfive and six on Saturday evening. I shan't dine at home to-night, and ifa telegram comes for me, I want you to wire to my city address. This isit. "

Quentyns left the house, and Susan and the cook spent a busy day industing, polishing, sweeping, and cleaning. 

The little spare room looked very sweet and bright with the simple tastyfurniture which Quentyns had chosen. The small bed was inviting in itswhite draperies. The furniture, painted in artistic greens, had a cooland young effect. The room looked like a child's room, and Susan andcook were in ecstasies over its appearance. 

"Master _'ave_ taste and no mistake, " said cook. "But why don't he comeand look for 'isself at all we have done, Susan? So natty as everythinglooks, and the furniture master's taste and all. Won't missis bepleased! But why don't he come and say what he thinks of how we has putthe things, Susan?"

"Never you mind, " said Susan. "Master knows as the arranging offurniture is woman's province--there's no fussing in him, and that'swhat I likes him for. "

Saturday arrived in due time, and the little house in Philippa Terracewas in apple-pie order. 

As Quentyns was leaving for town that morning, Susan waylaid him. 

"What hour shall I tell my missis that we may expect you home, sir?" sheasked. "Mrs. Quentyns and the little lady will be here by six, and thevery first thing my missis will ask is, when you are coming in. "

"Say, " began Quentyns--he paused. "I'll write a line, " he said; "you cangive it to your mistress. I shan't be in to dinner to-night, and cookhad better prepare tea for Mrs. Quentyns and Miss Merton, with fish orchops or something of that sort. I'll write a line--I'm glad youreminded me, Susan. "

Quentyns went into his tiny little study, and wrote a few hasty words. 

 "DEAR HILDA: I have some important work to get through to-night, and shall not be back early. I have the latch-key, so no one need sit up. I shall dine at the club with Rivers. Go to bed early if you are tired. 

 "Your Affectionate Husband. "

This letter was handed to Hilda on her arrival. She was too excited andtoo interested in getting Judy into the house, and showing her all thepleasant arrangements made for her comfort, to read it at first; butwhen her tired little sister was safe in bed, and Hilda had seen herenjoying a cup of tea, with some toast and a new-laid country egg, thenshe took Jasper's note out of her pocket. 

She was in her own room, and she hesitated for a moment before sheopened it. She had a kind of premonition that there was pain in it. Herhome-coming had made her happy, and even while she was opening theenvelope of Jasper's letter she was listening for the click of hislatch-key in the hall-door lock. 

He was always home in good time on Saturdays, and surely he would makeextra haste to-night in order to give his wife and his little sister ahearty welcome. 

Hilda's was the most forgiving nature in the world. During that scenein the conservatory at Little Staunton she had lost her temper with herhusband, but she felt quite sure now that her hasty words must beforgotten. As she forgave absolutely, so would he. Why had he written toher therefore? Why was he not here? She pulled the note out of itsenvelope, and read the few words that it contained. 

It is not too much to say that her heart sank down, down, very lowindeed in her breast. She became conscious for the first time in herlife of that heart-hunger, that absolute starved sort of ache which hadso nearly wrecked Judy's little life. This was the first pang of pain, but the ache was to go on and become worse presently. 

Hilda was a very patient sort of woman, however, and it did not occur toher to cry out or make a fuss. She read the note twice, then put it intoher pocket and went downstairs. 

"Tell cook that I don't want any dinner, " she said to Susan; "I willhave my tea upstairs with Miss Judy. Tell her not to get dinner, as Mr. Quentyns is obliged to be out this evening. "

"Hilda, " called Judy's weak little voice from out of her luxurious whitebed; "Hilda, do come here a minute. "

Hilda went immediately into the room. 

"I am so happy and so sleepy, " said Judy. "I'm like a bird in anest--oh, I am so snug. Jasper will be coming in presently, won't he, Hilda? and you'll want to be with him. I shan't need you at allto-night, Hilda darling; I'm going to sleep very soon, and I just sentfor you now to say that you mustn't come up to me after dinner--you muststay with Jasper and let him amuse you. I am sure you want lots ofamusement after all the dull nursing you have had. Go and put on yourpretty dinner dress now, Hilda, and then come and look at me and saygood-night. I am so awfully happy, and I just want one kiss from youbefore I go to sleep. "

"But you don't want to go to sleep yet, little puss, " said Hilda, in hermost cheerful tone; "at least I hope you don't until I have had my tea. I want to have my tea with you, darling, so I hope you don't mindputting up with my company for a little longer. "

"As if I could mind--you know better. But, Hilda, if you have tea nowyou won't be hungry for your dinner. "

Judy puckered her dark brows with anxiety. 

"I'm not going to have dinner. "

"You aren't--not really! then what will Jasper say?"

"I've had a little letter from Jasper, darling; he is obliged to be outlate on business, and won't dine at home to-night. Ah, here comes Susanwith another new-laid egg for me, and some fresh toast. Now I am goingto have a delightful little supper in your company, Judy, and then Ishall settle you for the night. "

Hilda talked faster than was her wont; there was an additionalrose-color in her pretty cheeks, and a brighter light than usual in hersoft brown eyes. She laughed and jested and made merry over her egg andtoast. 

"How pretty you look!" said Judy, with a heart-whole sigh of admirationand content. 

She saw nothing wrong, and Hilda kissed her and left the room a fewminutes later. 

She was still wearing her heavy traveling-dress, but after a moment'sreflection she went into her bedroom, and quickly changed it for a palesilk dress of the softest shade of rose. This dress was a specialfavorite of her husband's; he used to liken her to a rosebud in it, andsaid that no color more truly matched the soft tender bloom of her youngface. 

Hilda put on the rose silk now, arranged her dark hair picturesquely, and going downstairs to the little drawing room, occupied herself for anhour or more in giving it some of those delicate touches which make thedifference between the mistress of the house being at home and away. 

It was a very warm evening for the time of year, but Hilda had a firelit in the grate. The shaded lamp shed a softened golden glow in itsaccustomed corner of the room, and Jasper's favorite chair was placedready for his reception; then Hilda sank down into her own easy-chair, and taking up a book, tried to read. 

Susan came presently into the room. 

"Oh, Susan, " said her mistress, "I was about to ring for you. It hasstruck ten o'clock; you and cook are to go to bed, please; I will waitup for Mr. Quentyns. "

"If you please, ma'am, " said Susan. 

She stopped and hesitated. 

"Yes, Susan?" answered Mrs. Quentyns, in a gentle interrogative tone. 

"If you please, ma'am, master has been very late coming home when youwas in the country--not till past midnight most nights. "

"Thank you, Susan; but Mr. Quentyns will probably be in earlierto-night, and I wish to remain up. Go to bed, and tell cook to do thesame. Oh, and please, I should like Miss Judy to have a cup of teabrought to her room at eight to-morrow morning. Good-night, Susan. "

The parlor-maid withdrew. 

"And don't she look beautiful as a pictur, " she muttered under herbreath. "Pore young lady, I doubt if she's pleased with master though. Him staying away and all on the first night as she comes back. Iwouldn't set up for him ef I were her--no, that I wouldn't; I wouldn'tmake so little of myself; but she's proud, too, is Mrs. Quentyns, andshe don't let on; no, not a bit. Well, I respect her for that, but Imisdoubt me if all is right atween that pair. "

Susan went upstairs to confide her suspicions to cook. They talked inlow whispers together, and wondered what the mystery could be which waskeeping Quentyns from his pretty wife's side. 

In the meantime, in the silent house the moments for the one anxiouswatcher went slowly by. Her novel was not interesting--she let it fallon her knees, and looking at the little clock on the mantelpiece, counted the moments until eleven should strike. She quite expected thatJasper would be home at eleven. It did not enter for a moment into hercalculations that he could be absent on this first night of her returnbeyond that hour. When the eleven musical strokes sounded on the littleclock, and were echoed in many deeper booms from without, she got up, and opening the drawing-room door, stepped out into the little hall. 

Footsteps kept passing and passing in the street. Cabs kept rolling upto other doors and rolling away again. Jasper must surely arrive at anymoment. 

Hilda softly opened the hall door, and standing on the steps, looked upand down the gas-lit street. If Jasper were walking home he would seeher. The lamp light from within threw her slim figure into strongrelief. A man passing by stopped for an instant to look at her. 

Hilda shut the hall door hastily in fear and distress. The man hadlooked as if he might say something rude. She returned to her littledrawing room, and sitting down by the dying fire stared fixedly into itsembers until her eyes were full of tears. 

Between twelve and one Quentyns let himself softly into the house withhis latch-key. He was immediately attracted by the light in the drawingroom, the door of which was slightly ajar. He came into the room atonce, to find Hilda lying back in her easy-chair, fast asleep. She waslooking pale--all her pretty roses had fled. Quentyns' first impulse wasto fold her in his arms in an embrace of absolute love andreconciliation. 

What a pity it is that we don't oftener yield to our first impulses, for they are as a rule whispered to us by our good angels. 

Quentyns bent forward, and lightly, very lightly, touched the sleeper'ssoft hair with his big hand. That touch was a caress, but it startledHilda, who woke up with a cry. 

"Oh, Jasper, " she said, looking at him with alarm in her eyes, "you--youare home! I didn't mean to go to sleep, and--what is it, Jasper?"

"Kiss me, Hilda; I am glad you have returned, " said Quentyns. "Butanother night, if I should happen to be late, you must not sit up forme--I hate being waited for. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE LITTLE RIFT. 

 No backward path; ah! no returning; No second crossing that ripple's flow: Come to me now for the mist is burning: Come ere it darkens; Ah, no; ah, no!

 --JEAN INGELOW. 

Jasper Quentyns was quite certain that he was behaving admirably undercircumstances of a specially trying nature. 

Judy's advent in the house gave him no small annoyance. Hilda's behaviorabout Judy, her fit of sudden passion, above all the relinquishing ofher engagement ring, had cut him to the quick. He was proud, sensitive, and jealous; when, therefore, he could smile at Judy and chat in lightand pleasant tones to his wife, when he could remark on the furniture inthe spare room, and make many suggestions for the comfort of the littlesister-in-law whom he detested, he was under the impression that hisconduct was not only exemplary but Christian. 

It was true that he went out a good deal in the evenings, not takingHilda with him as had been his original intention, but leaving her athome to enjoy the society of the child who had brought the first cloudinto his home. 

"I am going to dine out to-night, Hilda, " he would say. "A man I knowparticularly well has asked me. Afterward he and I may go to the theatertogether. You won't mind of course being left, as you have Judy withyou?"

"Oh, no, dear!" she replied, on the first of these occasions; and whenJasper came to say something of this sort two or three times a week, Hilda's invariable gentle answer was always that she did not mind. 

Jasper was kind--kindness itself, and if she did feel just a trifleafraid of him, and if she could not help knowing all over her heart thatthe sun did not shine now for her, that there was a cloud between herhusband and herself, which she could neither brush away nor penetrate, she made no outward sign of being anything different from the cheery andaffectionate Hilda of old. There were subjects now, however, which sheshrank from touching on in Jasper's presence. One of them was herengagement ring, another the furniture in Judy's room. That ring she hadbeen told by more than one connoisseur was worth at least fifty pounds, and Hilda was certain that the simple furniture which made Judy'slittle room so bower-like and youthful could not have cost anythingapproaching that sum. Still Jasper said nothing about giving her changeout of the money which he had spent, and Hilda feared to broach thesubject of the ring to him. Another topic which by a sort of instinctshe refrained from was Judy herself. When Jasper was in the house Hildawas always glad when Judy retired to her own room. When the gay littlevoice, happy now, and clear and sweet as a lark's, was heard singingsnatches of gay songs all over the house, if Jasper were there, Hildawould carefully close the door of the room he was sitting in. 

"Not now, Judy darling, " she would say, when the child bounded eagerlyinto their presence. "Jasper is just going out--when he is out I willattend to you. Go on with your drawing in the dining room until I cometo you, Judy. "

Judy would go away at once obedient and happy, but Hilda's face wouldflush with anxiety, and her eyes would not meet her husband's. Sobetween each of these young people there was that wall of reserve whichis the sad beginning of love's departure; but Hilda, being the weaker ofthe two and having less to occupy her thoughts, suffered more thanJasper. 

On a certain evening when Judy had been a happy resident of No. 10Philippa Terrace for over a month, Quentyns was about to leave hisoffice and to return home, when his friend Tom Rivers entered his room. 

"Have you any engagement for to-night, Quentyns?" he asked abruptly. 

"None, " said Jasper, visible relief on his face, for he was beginning todislike the evenings which he spent with a wife who always had a senseof constraint over her, and with the knowledge that Judy's presence wasonly tolerated when he was by. "I am at your service, Tom, " said Jasper. "Do you want me to go anywhere with you?"

Rivers was a great deal older than Quentyns, he was a very clever andpractical man of the world. He looked now full at Jasper. He had notfailed to observe the eager relief on his friend's face when he asked ifhe had any engagement. To a certain extent Jasper had made Rivers hisconfidant. He had told him that Hilda's little sister, who had been soill and had given them all such a fright, was staying now at PhilippaTerrace. 

Rivers shrewdly guessed that Hilda's little sister was scarcely awelcome guest, as far as Quentyns was concerned. Rivers had taken afancy to pretty Mrs. Quentyns. With a quick mental survey he saw againthe picture of the young wife on the night when he had dined at PhilippaTerrace. 

"She did not look perfectly happy, " he thought. "I hope Quentyns is goodto her. I seldom saw a more charming face than hers, but with such eyes, so full of expression, so full of that sort of dumb, dog-likeaffectionateness, she must, she will suffer horribly if there comes acloud between her husband and herself. Quentyns is the best of fellows, but he can be dogged and obstinate--I hope to goodness there's nothingup in that pretty little home of theirs. "

Aloud Rivers said abruptly, "I had thought of asking you to dine at theclub with me, and then we might have gone to see Irving in _HenryVIII. _, --a friend has given me two stalls, --but on second thoughts I candispose of those tickets. What I should really like best is to come homewith you, Quentyns, and have the pleasure of another chat with yourwife. I want to hear you both sing too--I seldom heard two voices bettersuited to go together. May I invite myself to dinner to-night, Jasper?"

"Oh, certainly, " said Jasper, after a moment's awkward hesitation. "I'lljust wire to Hilda, if you don't mind. "

"Not at all, " said Rivers; "but remember, I am coming to takepot-luck. "

Jasper ran off to the nearest telegraph office. 

Rivers saw that his proposal was anything but welcome, but for that veryreason he was determined to carry it out. 

An hour later he found himself standing in the pretty drawing room inPhilippa Terrace, talking to the most charming little girl he had everhad the pleasure of meeting. 

Quentyns had run up at once to his room, and Hilda had not yet put in anappearance, but Judy, who was sitting on a sofa reading "Sylvie andBruno, " jumped up at once and came forward in her shy but self-possessedlittle way to meet her sister's guest. 

"How do you do?" she said. "Where would you like to sit?"

"I prefer standing, thank you, " said Rivers. He smiled at Judy and heldout his hand. "So you are the young mutineer, " he said suddenly. 

Judy's big eyes looked up at him in surprise--she was dressed in a greensilk frock, with a broad golden-brown sash round her waist. Her dresswas cut rather low in the neck, and she had several rows of golden-brownbeads round her throat. The quaint dress suited the quaint but earnestlittle face. 

"What do you mean by calling me such a queer name?" said Judy. 

"I am a great friend of your brother-in-law's, " said Rivers, nowdropping into a chair and drawing the child toward him, "and he has toldme all about you--you mutinied when Mrs. Quentyns went away--it was verywrong of you, very wrong indeed. "

"You can't judge anything about it, " said Judy, the sensitive colorcoming into her face; "you are on Jasper's side, so you can't know. "

"Of course I'm on Jasper's side, he's an excellent fellow, and a greatfriend of mine. "

"I don't like him, " said Judy; "it isn't to be expected I should. "

"Of course not, you wouldn't be a mutineer if you did. "

"I wish you wouldn't call me by that horrid name, " said Judy. "I can'tquite understand what it means, but I'm sure it's disagreeable. "

"A mutineer is always a disagreeable person, " continued Rivers, lookingwith his pleasant eyes full at the child. "He is in a state ofrebellion, you know. People aren't nice when they rebel against theinevitable. "

"What's the inevitable?" asked Judy. 

"The inevitable!" repeated Rivers. "The inevitable, " he continuedgravely, "is what has to be met because it cannot be avoided. Theinevitable stands directly in a person's path; he can't go round it, hecan't jump over it, he has just to meet it bravely and make the bestfriend he possibly can of it. "

"Oh, " said Judy, "that sounds like a fairy tale. Babs and I love fairytales, particularly the old, old ones--the Jack the Giant Killersort--you understand?"

"Jack the Giant Killer had lots of inevitables to meet, " pursued Rivers. 

"Yes, of course, " said Judy; "now I know what you mean as far as dearJack was concerned, but I don't know what you mean about me. "

"Well, you see, Miss Judy--you don't mind my calling Jasper's littlesister Miss Judy?"

"Oh, don't talk of him, " said Judy, a frown between her brows. 

"But I must if I'm to explain my meaning to you, for he's theinevitable. "

"Now what _do_ you mean?--you're the most puzzling sort of grown-upperson I ever met!"

"And you're the most intelligent sort of little person I ever met. Nowlet me explain matters to you. Your sister is very pretty, isn't she?"

"Pretty?" said Judy meditatively--"pretty is such a common sort ofword--if you call flowers pretty, Hilda is, I suppose, but she's much, much more than pretty. "

"I understand. I'm quite sure I understand you perfectly. And yoursister is good too, and sweet?"

"Oh, yes!" Judy's eyes filled with tears, she blinked her eyelashes andlooked out of the window. 

"Well, now, " said Rivers, and his voice was quite tender, for Judy'smanner and attitude touched him wonderfully. "Well, now, you see it wasinevitable that some man should love a woman like your sister, and wantto make her his wife, and wish to take her altogether to himself. It wasinevitable, also, that a woman with a gentle heart like Mrs. Quentynsshould love this man in return and want to devote her life to him. "

"Don't!" said Judy, suddenly; "I understand you now, I don't want you tosay another word. " She crossed over to the window and stood there withher back to Rivers, looking gravely out. 

Hilda came down in her rose-colored silk, and Rivers did not wonder thatJudy thought of the flowers when she looked at her. 

Hilda was unfeignedly glad to see him, and they had a pleasanter eveningthan any since Judy's advent in Philippa Terrace. Rivers paid a greatdeal of attention to the smallest and youngest member of the party, andnot only completely won Hilda's heart by so doing, but induced Quentynsto look at his little sister-in-law with new eyes, and to discover forthe first time, that under certain conditions that wistful little facecould be both lovely and charming. 

"Remember about the inevitable, " said Rivers, as he bade the childgood-night. 

"What did Mr. Rivers mean, Judy?" said Hilda. "Oh, Judy, what flushedcheeks!--I did wrong to let you sit up, but you seemed so happy--youseemed to take such a fancy to Mr. Rivers. "

"He was disagreeable to me--very disagreeable, " said Judy, "but I likedhim. "

"And what did he mean by reminding you of the inevitable?" continuedHilda. 

"It was in that way he was disagreeable, " replied Judy. "I can'texplain, Hilda darling; good-night--I am going to bed now. "

That evening, in their own room, Hilda came suddenly to her husband'sside. 

"Jasper, don't you think you might forget about it now?" she saidtimidly. 

"Forget about what, Hilda?" He had been genial and pleasant until shebegan to speak; now his face stiffened in every outline, and the lookcame over it which always took poor Hilda's courage away. 

"We were so happy to-night, " she began in a faltering voice--"we hadquite the best evening we have had since----" here she hesitated. 

"Since Judy came, " pursued Jasper. "Yes, that goes without saying, therewere four of us--even the dearest friends are dull when there are three, and of course Rivers is capital company, he's quite the best fellow allround I ever met. "

"Oh, yes!" said Hilda, a little impatiently, "but I don't want to talkof him. Jasper dear, let us forget, let us--oh, let us be as we werebefore. "

Tears choked her voice, she turned her head away. 

"I am so tired, " she said suddenly; "I am the sort of girl who wantssunshine, I am so tired of being without it. "

"When you talk in that metaphorical style I fail to understand you, "said Quentyns. "There's not the least cloud between us that I am awareof, and if you are not in the sunshine, Hilda, I am afraid it is yourown fault. I have done everything in my power to meet your wishes. Youprofess great love for me, and great love for your sister, and now youhave us both, what can you possibly want besides?"

"Only your forgiveness, your complete and full forgiveness. "

"I have nothing to forgive, my dear. You do your best--no one can dobetter than their best. "

"No, " said poor Hilda, with a sigh. She did not add any more. 

"I trust you are not going to turn into a fanciful sort of woman, " saidQuentyns, half an hour later. "If there's a person in the world whoirritates me it's a woman with whims, a woman who has a grievance. "

"Oh, no, Jasper! I won't have a grievance, " she replied humbly. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THREE IS TRUMPERY. 

 The crown must be won for Heaven, dear, In the battle-field of life: My child, though thy foes are strong and tried, He loveth the weak and small; The Angels of Heaven are on thy side, And God is over all!

 --ADELAIDE PROCTOR. 

Judy's life was sunshine, and therefore Judy got quickly well; she waslike the birds and the flowers--give her sunshine enough, and she wouldsing like the birds and bloom like the flowers. Hilda was her sun, andnow she was always basking herself in the beloved presence. Her cup ofhappiness was full, and such contentment reigned in her little heartthat no moment was dull to her, and time never hung heavy on her hands. 

Hilda was just as sweet and loving as of old, and really, now that shelived in the house with him, Jasper, her _bête noire_, the awful bigbrother-in-law who had come and stolen her treasure away, seemed to makebut little difference in her life; it was almost nicer being with Hildain London than being with Hilda at the old Rectory--she seemed to getmore undivided attention from her sister than when that sister was theRector's right hand in his busy life, and when Judy had to learn lessonswith Babs, and walk with stupid, non-comprehending Miss Mills. 

Now Judy learned rapidly, for Hilda was her teacher; and how delightfulthat lunch was which was also Judy's early dinner, when she and hersister sat _tête-à-tête_, and talked always, always of old times. 

If visitors dropped in at tea-time Judy could afford, in her generoushappiness, to give them a little of her fascinating Hilda's attention, for so often now there were heavenly evenings to follow, when that _bêtenoire_ the brother-in-law was not coming home, and the two sisters couldbe alone. 

Judy loved the cozy sort of tea-dinners which began those evenings, andthen the long talk afterward in the lengthening twilight, when she saton a stool at Hilda's feet, with her head pressed up against Hilda'sarm, and her happy heart beating close to the other heart, which was allher world. 

On those evenings too Hilda came upstairs and tucked her up in her whitebed, and said, _Now I lay me down to sleep_ to her, just as she used inthe old nursery at home, after mother died. 

It was an understood thing, although no words had passed between thetwo--it was an understood thing, that on the evenings when Jasper was athome, Hilda should not come upstairs to Judy. This seemed a perfectlyfair and just arrangement, they were both in full accord on the subject;but Judy could not help loving those days when she might have her sisterall to herself the best. 

On the morning after Rivers had dined in Philippa Terrace, as Jasper waspreparing to go out as usual, Hilda ran into the little hall to give hima last word; she left the door of the dining room ajar, which was nother invariable custom, and Judy, sitting at the breakfast table, foundherself in the position of an eavesdropper. 

"You are coming back to dinner to-night?" asked the wife. 

Jasper had been visited with some slight qualms of compunction thatmorning, as he noticed how much paler Hilda's face was than when firsthe had married her, so he put his arm round her neck now, and looking ather with something of his old tenderness, said gently:

"Do you really wish it?"

"Jasper, how can you doubt?" she replied. "All the moments you are awayfrom me are long and wearisome. "

"Long and wearisome, " repeated Judy softly to herself in the breakfastparlor. Some of the color fled out of her face now; she lost herappetite for the bread-and-butter and marmalade which she was eating. 

"You don't find three trumpery, " pursued Jasper. Then he added with alittle sigh, "I wish I didn't; but I'll come home, Hilda, if you wishit. Good-by, my dear. Stay, stop a moment; suppose I take you to theplay to-night. Judy won't mind going to bed a little earlier thanusual. "

Just at that moment Hilda started and looked round; she heard a slightnoise, and wondered if Susan were coming upstairs. The sound whichdisturbed her was made by Judy, who, awaking suddenly to the knowledgethat she was an eavesdropper, had risen from the breakfast table and hadgently closed the dining-room door. 

"Of course Judy doesn't mind being left, " said Hilda in a joyful tone. "I should love to go out somewhere with you, Jasper. I really do want alittle bit of change. "

"Very well, my love; I'll take tickets for something amusing, and behome to dinner at six. "

Quentyns went out, and Hilda danced back to the dining room. Her husbandhad been kind, with something of the old tender kindness, and her heartleaped up like a flower answering to the sun. 

Judy was standing by the window looking out. 

"Isn't it a lovely day, pet?" said Hilda, coming up to her. "Suppose wegive ourselves a holiday, and go to the Academy together. I have notbeen there yet this year, and you have never been in all your life, puss. You know how you love pictures; fancy room after room full ofpictures--all sorts, good, bad, and indifferent; all colors in them; allsorts of subjects depicted on the canvases. There's a treat for mylittle artist--shall I give it her?"

"Yes, Hilda, I'd like to go with you very much. "

"Are you tired, dear, your face is so grave?"

"No, darling, I'm not at all tired. "

"Well, we'll give ourselves a holiday. Run up and put on your prettygreen cloak, and that big black hat with the green velvet. I want you tolook as picturesque as possible. I want to be proud of you. "

Judy suddenly flew to Hilda, clasped her arms round her neck, gave hera passionate hug, and then rushed out of the room. 

"What's the matter with the child?" thought the elder sister for a briefmoment, "she was so bright yesterday, and even this morning, but nowshe's dull, although she tries to hide it. I wonder if I ought to giveher some more of her tonic. Well, well, whether Judy is grave or gay, Icannot help feeling very happy at the thought of going out with Jasperonce more. "

Hilda gave all directions with regard to the nice little dinner whichwas to precede the play. She found a story book which Judy had not yetread, and left it in the drawing room ready for her entertainment whenshe was away; then, dressed also in her best, she went out with herlittle sister, and, calling a hansom from the nearest stand, drove toBurlington House. 

As usual the great exhibition was crowded with all sorts and conditionsof men--the fashionable, the studious, the artistic, the ignorant, wereall to be found there. Judy had a passion for art. She was an artist bynature, down to the tips of her sensitive little fingers. No sooner didshe find herself in the midst of all the pictures, than whatever cloudmade her a little graver than usual took to itself wings and flew away. 

Her pertinent remarks, her eager criticism, shrewd, observant, oftenstrangely to the point, aroused the attention of some of the bystanders;they smiled as the pretty child and the beautiful girl walked slowly bytogether. Judy's intelligent face was commented on; the pathetic, eager, wistful eyes seemed to make their way to more than one heart. Hilda, thinking of her evening with Jasper, was quite her old self, and peoplethought what a happy pair the two were. 

In the third room they suddenly came face to face with Rivers. 

"What a bit of luck!" he said, going up at once to them. "Now, Mrs. Quentyns, I shall insist upon taking you to lunch somewhere. Miss Judy, how are you? what do you think of our national picture fair?"

"Some of the pictures are lovely, " she replied. 

"Some!" he retorted, raising his brows. "You don't mean to say you aresetting yourself up as a critic. "

"Judy is an artist by nature, " said Hilda for her. "Hark to her remarkswith regard to the two dogs in that picture. "

"They are meant to move, but they are perfectly still, " said Judy; "if Idrew them, I'd"--she puckered her brows--"oh, I'd see that they weregamboling about. "

A young man, who was standing not far off, turned away with a redface--he happened to be the unfortunate artist. Bitter hatred of Judyfilled his heart, for some of the people who were standing near titteredaloud, and remarked for the first time that the dogs were wooden. 

Rivers walked with Mrs. Quentyns and Judy through the different rooms:he was an art connoisseur himself, and even dabbled in paint in adilettante sort of fashion. He drew Judy on to make remarks, laughed andquizzed her for some ideas which he considered in advance of the times, for others which were altogether too antiquated for him to passunchallenged. 

"Oh, how Stanmore would like to hear you, " he remarked, naming one ofthe pet artists of the New Art school. "Why, Judy, you are a democrat;we should have no Academy if we listened to you, you little rebel; butthen, I forgot, of course you are a mutineer--you are true to yourcharacter through everything. "

Hilda scarcely listened as the young man and the child chatted andlaughed together, her heart was dwelling altogether in the future. Shefancied herself even now driving to the play by her husband's side; shesaw the pretty dress she meant to wear; in her mind was reflected as ina picture the image of her fair self, and the image also of the man whowas still in her heart lover as well as husband. No matter for thepresent cloud, he was still her lover. She wondered if he would give heranother tender glance, and if, as they sat side by side when the curtainwas up and the actors were moving about on the stage, he would touch herhand with his, and show her in that way that she was forgiven. 

"If he would only understand that I must keep both my vows, " shemurmured, "if I could only get him to really comprehend that much, muchas I love my Judy, I would rather be alone with him--that is, I wouldrather be alone with him, if it makes him unhappy to have my sweetlittle Judy in the house. But how happy she is since I brought her home;how gay her voice sounds now. "

"I said you were a mutineer, " laughed Rivers. "I know by your mannerthat you will never put up with the inevitable. "

"Don't!" said Judy; Hilda was looking at a lovely landscape, a friendshe knew came up and spoke to her. "Don't!" said Judy, turning andlooking full at the young man; her eyes were grave, her childish facegrew suddenly white and drawn. "Perhaps I am going to give up being amutineer, " she murmured. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A LITTLE GIRL AND A LITTLE CROSS. 

 Love that hath us in the net, Can he pass, and we forget? Many suns arise and set, Many a chance the years beget. Love the gift is love the debt. Even so. 

 Love is hurt with jar and fret. Love is made a vague regret. Eyes with idle tears are wet. Idle habit links us yet, What is love? for we forget: Ah, no! no!

 --TENNYSON. 

Mrs. Quentyns and Judy enjoyed their lunch with Rivers. They went intothe Park afterward for a short time, and then Hilda, remembering thatthe hours were flying, and that she must be dressed and ready to receiveher husband before six that evening, bade the young man a hasty good-by, and drove home with Judy. 

"I am so glad you are going to the play, " said the little girl. "Whydon't you often go--why don't you constantly go out in the evening?"

"If I did, Judy, what a dull time you'd have. "

"You're quite mistaken, Hilda; I shouldn't be dull at all. You don'tknow how I like story-books, and Susan is such a nice girl. She has gotbrothers and sisters at home, and she tells me about them when you areout. I am never lonely; I couldn't possibly be sad in the same housewith you. If I saw you once or twice a day it would be enough for me--itwould really. "

"My dear little pet, " laughed Hilda, "how solemnly you are talking, whata frightfully earnest tone has got into your voice, and how you arepuckering your poor little forehead. I have only one thing to say inreply to your generous wish to leave me so much by myself, namely, thatI should find it extremely inconvenient and extremely lonely to have youin the house and only see you twice a day. "

"But suppose I weren't with you at all, Hilda--suppose I were still atthe Rectory. "

"That would be different, " said Hilda, in a light tone; "you would be inyour natural home, and I----"

"But you _would_ be lonely if I were away from you, Hilda; do say you'dbe fearfully lonely!"

The passion in Judy's voice was unnoticed by Hilda. 

"I'd miss you, of course, my pet, " she said; "but I do declare thatstupid driver is taking us wrong. Oh, if he goes up that way it will besuch a round that I shall be late for Jasper's dinner. Poke your parasolthrough the little window in the roof, Judy, and stop him, do. "

Judy obeyed, the driver received his directions in due course, and amoment or two later Hilda and Judy were standing in the little hall atPhilippa Terrace. Quentyns came suddenly forward. 

"Why, Jasper, you have come back already, " said the wife. "It isn't fiveyet, but I--I can dress in no time. Have you got the tickets?--where arewe going?"

"Come into the drawing room, Hilda, I want to say a word to you, " saidQuentyns. 

"Run upstairs and take your things off, Judy, " said Hilda. She followedher husband into the little drawing room and shut the door. "Well?" shesaid. Her voice was still gay, but a little, just a little, of the oldfear was creeping back into her heart. 

"I am ever so sorry, Hilda, to disappoint you, " said Quentyns, "but whenI went to town this morning I absolutely forgot an engagement I made aweek ago. I have to go down with two or three men to Richmond. We are todine at the Star and Garter, and afterward Philip Danvers has asked meto go home with him. The Danvers are charming people--have a beautifulhouse on the river, and everything in the best possible style. I shouldrather like to cultivate them. It is never a good plan to throw overfriends who may be influential; still, if you really wish it, Hilda, I'll come home to-night and make some sort of excuse to Danvers--wire tohim that I am ill, or something of the kind. Of course it is too latefor me to get tickets for the play, but if you would like me to stay athome, I'll--I'll do it--so there!"

Hilda's face, which had been white, was now flushed. 

"Why didn't you tell me this morning?" she said. "Why did you forget? Ispent a day of hope, and now--now----" Her eyes filled with suddentears, she bit her lips and turned away. 

Her action, which seemed almost pettish, annoyed Quentyns. 

"You needn't cry, " he said. "I never supposed you could be so childish. Do you think I forgot on purpose? I was looking forward to my time atRichmond, but it slipped my memory that this was the day. You needn'tcry, however, for if you have suddenly taken such a frantic desire formy society, it is at your service. I shall go out and wire to Danvers, and be back again in half an hour. "

After all, Mrs. Quentyns had plenty of self-control. The annoyance anddistress in her voice had altogether left it when she spoke again. 

"Of course you must go, Jasper, " she said. "You don't suppose for aquarter of an instant that I should stand in your way. Let me go up withyou and help you to put the things you want into a bag, and you willwant some tea before you start. I'll ring and tell Susan to prepare it. Now come along, dear; I'm glad of course that you are having thispleasure. "

As Hilda ran upstairs her manner was once more quite cheerful. Quentyns, however, whose conscience was smiting him, although he didn't know it, could not help acting more or less like a bear with a sore head. 

"I shouldn't have accepted the invitation, " he said, "upon my word Ishouldn't, did I not know that you would have Judy to keep you company. You know I haven't that passion for children you have, and----"

The door was closed behind the two. 

"Don't say any more, " said Hilda, in a frightened sort of voice. "I toldyou I was glad that you were to have the pleasure. Now which bag willyou take? Will the small Gladstone be large enough?"

Ten minutes later Quentyns had left the house in a hansom, and Hildawent up to Judy's room. 

"Come downstairs, darling, " she said, "we are to have another longevening all to ourselves. What a good thing I've got my sweet littlesister to stay at home with me. Judy, this was to be a festive night, and I had quite a festive dinner prepared. Suppose we keep the occasion, although we are only to be by ourselves. You shall dine with meto-night, Judy, and we'll both dress for dinner. You shall wear white, for you look so sweet in white, and I'll do the same. "

"Have you got the old India muslin dress that you used to wear at theRectory before--before there was a Jasper?" said Judy, in a queer, steady kind of little voice. "If you have that old India muslin thatfather loved and Aunt Marjorie loved, and that Babs and I used always tosay you looked like an angel in, will you put it on to-night, Hilda?--will you wear that dress once again?"

"What a queer thing!" replied Hilda. "I never threw the old muslin away. I think I can poke it out of some depths somewhere; and it is so softthat, if I shake it out and hang it up for about half an hour, it willbe quite presentable. Yon funny Judy, why do you wish to see me in thatdress?"

"You were all mine when you wore that dress last, " said Judy. 

"I am always yours, my dearest. But don't let us talk sentiment; let usmake ourselves smart, and let us come downstairs and be happy. We'llimagine that we are at a very gay party; heaps and heaps of other peoplein the room, but we two, as is sometimes the case, are more or lessalone in the crowd. We are so completely one that other people scarcelyaffect us. We can talk together, and whisper old secrets about thegarden, and Babs, and the animals, and the organ in the church, and thefunny chorister-boy who would never sing in tune; we can talk of allthese things, although there are throngs and throngs around us, for in acrowd those who love each other often find the best sort of solitude. Come down, Judy, come down, and let's be happy!"

"How flushed you are, Hilda; are you well?"

"Yes; I never felt better. "

"You look awfully pretty; you look quite lovely. "

"What a dear little flatterer you are! Does it really matter whether Ilook pretty or not? Aunt Marjorie would scold you, child, for praisingmy looks to my face; she would say you were encouraging vanity. "

"And I should tell her to her face that I was not, " answered Judystoutly. "It's right to look beautiful; it's copying the flowers. Nowrun and put on your India muslin dress, Hilda. "

Hilda left the room, and half an hour later the two sisters met in thelittle drawing room. There were fresh flowers in the vases; and a greatbowl of primroses, which Aunt Marjorie had sent from the Rectory, wasplaced on the little table in the square bay-window. 

Judy in her white dress stood near the flowers. She took up one, and inan absent sort of fashion pulled it to pieces. Susan announced dinner, and the sisters dined together in great state, and with apparentenjoyment. Hilda joked about everything, and Judy, catching up herspirit, did likewise. 

"Let us imagine, just for to-night, that I am grown-up, " she said;"treat me as if I were your grown sister--not your littlesister--Hilda. "

Hilda felt in the humor to comply with any request Judy made. 

"We will have our coffee in the drawing room, " she said. "Black coffeefor me, please, Susan, but bring in a little jug of cream for MissJudy's. Now, dearest, " turning to the child, "don't forget that the playis going on; we have dined out with numbers, oh, numbers of guests, andnow we are in the large assembly-room, alone in the crowd, happy becausewe are together. "

Judy had thrown herself back into a deep arm-chair in the little drawingroom while Hilda was speaking; her eyes had a sort of starry radianceabout them, her cheeks were slightly flushed, her cloudy soft brown hairwas thrown back from her white brow. 

Hilda moved about the room; she was restless notwithstanding theenforced calm she was putting upon herself. Judy smiled when Hildaspoke, but in her heart certain words kept repeating themselves--theyhad repeated themselves like a sort of mournful echo in that poor littleheart all day. 

"All the moments you are away from me are long and wearisome, " Hilda hadsaid to her husband. "All the moments. "

And then he had said to her:

"You don't find three trumpery. I wish I didn't!"

"So I'm the trumpery, " thought Judy to herself. "I'm three. And all themoments while Hilda is away from Jasper are long and wearisome. PoorHilda! poor darling! how well she hid it all from me; how good, how verygood she has been to me; but I'm glad I know. It was a lucky, a verylucky thing that the door of the breakfast room was left slightly openthis morning, and so I was able to hear Jasper's words. "

"How silent you are, dearest, " said Hilda, looking at the child. 

"I beg your pardon, " said Judy, jumping up. "I was thinking. "

"Think aloud then, sweet. Let me share your pretty thoughts. "

"But they are not pretty, Hilda; and I think I'd rather no one sharedthem. Now let us talk about old times--about the dear old times beforethere was a Jasper. "

"Judy, " said Hilda, "there is just one thing I should like to say toyou. Even if it gives you pain, I ought to remind you, my darling, thatJasper is my husband; that I love him. Oh! Judy, Judy, my heart acheswith love to him. My heart aches because I love my husband so much. "

Judy clenched her hands; a great wave of crimson swept over her face. Hilda had hidden her own face in her hands, and did not notice thechild's agitation. Presently the little sister's hand softly touched herforehead. 

"And you're lonely to-night, poor Hilda, because your Jasper is away?"

"Yes, Judy, it's true. I'm afraid even to tell you how lonely I am. "

"And you've been trying to seem cheerful, just to please me. "

"And to please myself too, " said Hilda, starting up and wiping the tearsfrom her eyes. "There, we won't talk about it any more; we'll go onpretending that we are having an awfully jolly time. "

"You're very brave, Hilda, " said Judy; "and when people are brave, things generally come right. Now, may I sit on your knee, just as if Iwere a baby instead of a tall girl with long legs? _I_ wouldn't make youunhappy, Hilda darling. When there's an inevitable I must face it; Imust, and you will see that I will. Jack the Giant Killer shan't beat_me_ over difficulties when I've made up my mind. "

"Judy, your face is flushed, and your eyes are too bright; that strongcoffee was bad for you, you won't sleep to-night. "

"I dare say I shan't sleep; but now let us talk of old times. "

"Only for a few moments, dear; you look so excited that I shall notrest until I see you safely in bed. "

Judy laughed, and declared stoutly that she never felt better. 

Half an hour afterward she went up to her pretty little bedroom, Hildapromising to follow her in about a quarter of an hour, if she possiblycould. 

When the elder sister entered the room, she found Judy standing by herbed in her frilled night-dress. 

"You will get cold, love--do get into bed, " said Hilda. 

"I want to say my prayers to you, Hilda, if you don't mind, " said Judy, "just as I used when I was a very little girl. "

"Of course, darling, if you wish it. "

Hilda sat down, and the little sister knelt at her knee. 

The old baby prayers were said aloud; but suddenly, in the midst ofthem, Judy bent her head and murmured something which Hilda could nothear. 

She jumped up a moment later and put her arms round her sister's neck. 

"You won't be lonely long, Hilda, " she said. "It will be all right;you'll see it will be as right as possible. I am glad you are fond ofJasper. I am really, really, awfully glad. "

"Good-night, my darling, " said Hilda, kissing her. She went out of theroom with tears in her eyes. 

"Poor little Judy, how little she knows, " thought the elder sister; "howvery little she knows what a cloud there is between Jasper and me. Oh, if it goes on much longer, I think my heart will break!"

In the meantime, in her pretty white bed, Judy was murmuring an old textto herself:

"He that taketh not up his cross and followeth after Me, cannot be Mydisciple. "

Once, long ago, the Rector had explained this text, or rather given ashadow of its meaning to the child. 

"Followeth after Me, " she murmured; and a vision came to her of One who, in the great cause of Love, had taken up His cross, even to death. 

She wiped the tears from her eyes, and fell asleep. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

JUDY'S SECRET. 

 Be strong to _hope_, oh, Heart! Though day is bright, The stars can only shine In the dark night. Be strong, oh, Heart of mine, Look towards the light!

 --ADELAIDE PROCTOR. 

The next morning Judy was down specially early to breakfast. 

Her cheeks were slightly more flushed than usual, and her eyes, toanyone who watched them closely, had a determined, almost hard, expression in them. Hilda, however, was too much occupied with her ownsad thoughts to take any special notice of the child. 

"You look well, Judy, " she said, giving a quick glance at her. "Now cometo breakfast, dear, I've a good deal to do afterward. "

"Are you going out, Hilda?" asked Judy. 

"No, I'm going to be busy all the morning over my accounts; they've gotinto the most disgraceful muddle, and I want to put them straight. Ishall be in the drawing room, for I keep all my household books in thedavenport there. I mean to give you a holiday, Judy, but perhaps youwon't mind reading some of your history to yourself, and doing a fewsums this morning. "

"Of course not, " said Judy brightly. "Shall I make you some toast, Hilda? This in the toast-rack is so soft and flabby--do let me, Hilda. "

"If you like, dear, you may. It is lucky there is a fire, but I musttell cook to discontinue them, the weather is getting so warm. "

Judy was an adept at making toast, and it was an old fashion at theRectory that Hilda's toast should be made by her, on those blissfulred-letter days when the elder sister had tea with the little ones inthe nursery. 

Judy wondered as she delicately browned that toast, and scorched her ownlittle cheeks, if Hilda would remember the old days, and the toast whichshe used to make her; but Mrs. Quentyns seemed to be in a sort of brownstudy that morning, and thanked the child absently when the crisp hottoast was put on her plate. 

"Jasper will be home quite early to-day, won't he, Hilda?" inquiredJudy. 

"I don't know, Judy--yes, I suppose so. "

"I'm sure he'll be home early, " repeated Judy with confidence; "perhapshe'll take you to the play to-night, and perhaps you'll be awfullyhappy. "

"Oh, don't talk about it, Judy, " said Hilda, in a weary voice; "we mustall make up our minds to face the fact that there's a great deal _more_than mere happiness in the world. What is happiness? It's only a smallpart of life. "

"I don't think it is going to be a small part of your life, Hilda; butnow I'm not going to idle you any more, for you want to get to youraccounts. "

Judy ran out of the room. As she was going slowly upstairs, she pausedonce to say softly to herself:

"It's all happening beautifully; I ought to be glad. Of course I amglad. '_He that taketh not up his cross. _' I'm glad that text keepsrunning in my head, it makes me so nice and strong. "

Susan was doing out Judy's room when the little girl ran into it. Judywas fond of Susan, and Susan of her, and the girl stopped her work nowto listen to the child's eager words. 

"Susan, do you think Mrs. Quentyns would let you come out with me for alittle this morning, for about an hour or an hour and a half?"

"Well, miss, " said Susan, "it aint Monday, which is the day to get readyfor the laundry, nor yet Wednesday, when I turns out the drawing room, nor Friday, which is silver day--there's nothing special for Thursday; Ishould think I could go with you, Miss Judy, and it will be a treat totake you about. Is it Mme. Tussand's you has a hankerin' for, Miss?"

"No, no, Susan, I'm not going to any exhibition; it's a secret--I'lltell you when we're out. "

"The Doré Gallery, perhaps?" suggested Susan. 

"No, it's nothing of that sort; I'll tell you when we're out. "

"Very well, miss, I'm proud to be at your service whatever it is. "

"I'll run down now and ask my sister if you may come with me, Susan. "

Judy threw her arms round Hilda as she was coming up from the kitchenpremises. 

"Hilda, the day is so fine!"

"No, Judy, you mustn't tempt me to go out. I really have to get thoseaccounts straight, they quite weigh on my mind. "

"So you shall, Hilda darling; but I was wondering if after I've read myhistory and done my sums, and a little bit of writing I want to getthrough, if you'd let Susan--if you'd let Susan take me out. "

"Susan!" repeated Hilda, "but I can go with you myself this afternoon. "

"I know, only I do so want a run on this fine morning, and Susan saysit's not laundry day, nor drawing-room day, nor silver day; it'sThursday, which is nothing special; she can come, may she, Hilda?--dosay yes. "

"It's not like you, Judy, " said Hilda, "to be in this impatient state. Iwould rather you did not propose plans to the servants without firstconsulting me, darling, it rather puts them out of their place; but asyou have done it, and as you are the best of dear little girls, Isuppose I must say 'yes' on this occasion. If Susan hurries with herwork, she may take you out: but of course you won't be very long, willyou?"

To this question Judy made no reply. She gave Hilda a tight clasp and afierce kiss, and rushed away. 

"Susan, you're to hurry with your work, for you may come, " she shouted, almost boisterously, to the parlor-maid, and then she ran down to thedining room and shut the door behind her. 

"It's happening beautifully, " she murmured again; "how lucky that Inever spent godmother's sovereign. And now to write my letter to Hilda. I'm not going to waste my time crying, there'll be time enough for thatby and by--that's if I want to cry, perhaps I shan't. When I think ofhow very happy Hilda will be, perhaps my heart will sing. But now forthe letter--Hilda mustn't find it too soon; I'll put it under herpin-cushion, then perhaps she won't see it for some hours after I'vegone, but now I must write it. "

Judy took out her own little blotting-book, placed a sheet of paperbefore her, and began laboriously, with little fingers which rapidly gotink-stained, to put a few words on the paper. 

 "DARLING HILDA, "You'll be s'prised when you get this. I'm going home. I'm quite well now, and I'm not going to fret, but I'm going to be _really_ happy. Good-by, Hilda; I love you awfully. 

 "Your "JUDY. "

This little note was put into an envelope, and sealed with some preciousred wax, and before she left the house Judy found an opportunity to putit under Hilda's pin-cushion. 

"It doesn't tell her a bit what I think, nor what I feel, " murmured thepoor child. "But it's best for her just to suppose that I _want_ to gohome. She'll be happy all the sooner if she thinks that. "

Susan was rather elated at escaping housework, and at being allowed togo out so early in the morning. She was especially fond of Judy, andwould do anything in the world for her. Now, therefore, principally onJudy's account, but also in the hope that the baker might happen to seeher as she passed his shop, she put on her very smartest hat and hervery best jacket, and patiently waited in the front hall for Judy'sappearance. 

Hilda came out of the drawing room to see the two as they went off. 

"You had better take an omnibus, and get out at Kensington Gardens, " shesaid to the maid. "I shall expect you back in time to get lunch ready, Susan. Judy pet, give me a kiss before you go. "

Judy had lost her roses now, her face was pale, and there were darkshadows under her big eyes. Her little voice, however, had a very stout, determined tone about it. 

"Good-by, Hilda, " she said; "one kiss--two, three kisses, Hilda; it isgood of you to let us out, --and we are going to be so jolly. Good-by, darling Hilda. "

"Good-by, Judy, " said Hilda. 

She kissed the child, but in a pre-occupied manner--the cloud whichweighed on her heart was oppressing her, and dulling her usually keenperceptions where Judy was concerned. 

"It's all the better, " thought the little girl, "it's easier to saygood-by when she's not extra loving. "

Hilda went back to her accounts, and Judy and Susan walked down theterrace, and turning the corner were lost to view. 

They had gone on a little way, and Susan was about to hail a passingomnibus, when Judy suddenly put her hand on the servant's arm. 

"Susan, " she said, "I am going to tell you the secret now. You'll be_sure_ to keep it?"

"Well, of course, miss, I'll do my best--I hope I aint one of theblabbing sort. "

"I don't think you are, Susan--you look as if a person could trust you. I'm going to trust you with a most important thing. "

"Very well, miss--I'll be proud I'm sure; but hadn't we better stop that'bus--there's the conductor looking at us. "

"Does that 'bus go in the direction of Waterloo Station?" asked Judy. 

"Waterloo--bless you, Miss Judy--I don't know whether it do or not. Idon't s'pose so for a quarter of a minute. Waterloo is miles fromhere--that I do know. But it's nothing to us where Waterloo is, miss, it's to Kensington Gardens we're going, and the 'bus has gone on now, sothere's no good our worrying ourselves about it. Another will pass us ina minute. There are plenty half empty at this hour of the day. "

"I wish you would stop talking, Susan, and let me explain what I mean, "said Judy, almost fretfully. "It's to Waterloo I want to go, not toKensington Gardens. Do you hear me--do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I suppose you're joking me, Miss Judy. My missis said we were to go toKensington Gardens. "

"Please, Susan, stop for a minute. I want to say something veryimportant. _I am going home. _ That's the secret. I am going home to AuntMarjorie and to father, and my little sister Babs, and the way home isby Waterloo, so I must get there. Now do you understand? That's thesecret--I am going home to-day. "

Judy's face was so pale, and her words so intensely earnest, that Susansaw at last that the secret was no joking matter, but something real andhard to bear. 

"Now I wonder what the little dear is up to, " she said under her breath. 

"You know, Miss Judy, pet, " she replied aloud in as soothing a voice asshe could command, "that you don't really mean to run away likethat, --for it is running away to go back to your home, and never say aword to Mrs. Quentyns, and she so wrapped up in you, and your roomfurnished so prettily and all. "

Judy had to gulp down a sob before she answered Susan. 

"I didn't expect you to understand me, " she said with a dignity whichmade a deep impression on the maid. "I'm not running away, and I'm doingright not wrong. You don't suppose it's always very pleasant to doright, but sometimes one can't think about what's pleasant. I wouldn'thave asked you to help me at all, Susan, but I don't know how to get toWaterloo Station. Of course I came from there with my sister, but Ididn't notice the road we took, nor anything about it. I know we were along time in a cab, so I suppose the station is a good way from PhilippaTerrace. What you have got to do now, Susan, is to obey me, and not toask any questions. I really know what I'm about, and I promise that youshan't get into any trouble. "

But to Judy's surprise Susan was firm. 

"I won't have hand nor part in the matter, " she said; "I was told totake you to Kensington Gardens, miss, and it's there we've got to go, or we'll turn round and go back to Philippa Terrace. "

For a moment or two Judy felt afraid that all her plans were injeopardy. She might of course call a cab on her own account, and trustthe driver to take her safely to her destination; but brave as she was, she had scarcely courage for this extreme step; besides, the driver ofthe hansom might take it into his head to listen to Susan's strongobjections, and even if he did obey Judy, Susan would go back toPhilippa Terrace, and tell Hilda everything, and then Hilda would followJudy to Waterloo, and prevent her going home at all. 

The strongest feeling in the child's mind was a desire to be safe backin the Rectory before Hilda knew anything about her determination. 

"Then she can't do anything, " thought Judy. "She'll have nothing for itbut to make herself quite happy with Jasper again. "

Suddenly an idea came to her. 

"I won't argue with you any more, Susan, " she said. "I suppose you_think_ you are doing right, and if you do, of course I can't expect youto act in any other way. If you knew everything that is in my heart, Iam quite sure you would help me; but as you don't, I must think ofsomething else. You know Mr. Rivers, don't you--the gentleman who dinedat Philippa Terrace two nights ago?"

"Yes, miss, of course. "

"My sister and I took lunch with him yesterday, " continued Judy. "He isa very nice gentleman; he's a great friend of Mr. Quentyns. "

"Oh, yes, miss, I'm aware, " replied the maid. 

"He lives in chambers, " continued Judy. "I don't in the least know whatchambers means; but he asked me to go and see him some day and havelunch with him. He wrote his address on a piece of paper and gave it tome, and I have it in my purse. My sister said I might certainly lunchwith Mr. Rivers. Now, Susan, I intend to go to him to-day. So pleasecall a hansom, and I shall drive there at once. You can come or not asyou please. If you prefer it you can go home; but of course I'd ratheryou came with me. "

Susan deliberated. Certainly Miss Judy was in a very queer condition, and it would be as much as her place was worth to take her to Waterloo;but to drive with her to the chambers of that nice gentleman who was, she knew, one of her master's greatest friends, seemed a shifting ofresponsibility which was quite a way out of the dilemma, for not forworlds would Susan do anything really to hurt the child's feelings. 

"All right, miss, " she said after a pause; "even that seems queerenough, but Mr. Rivers can explain matters himself to my missis. Here'sa nice 'ansom with a steady horse. Stop, driver, please, stop! Draw uphere by the lamp-post. Now, miss, shall I get in first and give you ahand?"

"No, Susan; I can get into a hansom without anyone helping me. "

"Drive to No. 10 Johnson's Court, Lincoln's Inn Fields, " said Judy, in aclear voice to the man; and then she and Susan found themselves bowlingaway farther and farther from West Kensington, from Judy's prettybedroom, from Hilda and her love. 

In an incredibly short space of time they arrived at their destination;the driver pulled up his horse at No. 10 Johnson's Court, with an_esprit_ which Judy would have much admired had her thoughts been lesspre-occupied. 

She jumped out with alacrity, declining Susan's assistance, and askedthe man what his fare was. He named a sum which Susan took into her headto consider exorbitant, and which she loudly objected to Judy's paying;but the little girl gave it without a moment's hesitation, and the nextinstant was running up the stairs to Rivers' chambers. 

What might have happened had that gentleman been out no one can say;Judy's heroic impulse might after all have come to nothing, and Jaspermight still have had to complain of that three, which means trumpery, invading his house; but it so happened that Rivers was in, and, busy manthat he was, comparatively disengaged. When Judy inquired for him he wasstanding in his clerk's room, giving some directions. At the sound ofher voice he looked up, and with a start and smile of delight cameforward to welcome her. 

"I am very glad to see you, " he said; "how kind of you to remember yourpromise. "

Then, seeing by her face that Judy's poor little heart was very full, hetook her into his private room, and desired Susan to wait in the clerk'sroom. 

"Now, Jack the Giant Killer, what is it?" said Rivers; "what's thematter?"

"I told you, " said Judy; "I told you yesterday, that _perhaps_ I wasgoing to stop being a mutineer. Well, I have stopped. I thought you'dlike to know. "

"So I do, Judy, " said Rivers. "I am proud to be acquainted with alittle girl who has such immense control over herself. I should like tohear how you have contrived to get out of the state of rebellion intothe state of submission. I know of course that you have been killing agiant, but I am interested in the process. "

"I'm killing the giant by going home, " said Judy, standing very erect byRivers' table, and pushing back her shady hat from her white forehead. "I am going home, back to Little Staunton Rectory. I see what you mean, that it's better--better for Jasper and Hilda, to be without--without_me_. I pretended not to understand you the other night, but I don'tpretend any longer now; and yesterday evening, when Hilda and I were allalone, for Jasper had gone away down to Richmond, I--I made up my mind. Hilda doesn't know anything about it. "

"Sit down, Judy, " said Rivers. "I cannot tell you how I respect you. "

[Illustration: "I'D RATHER STAND, PLEASE. " P. 222. ]

"I'd rather stand, please, " said Judy. "Hilda doesn't know, " shecontinued, "and she _mustn't_ know until I am safe back at LittleStaunton Rectory. Susan--you know Susan, she's Hilda's parlor-maid;well, Susan came out with me this morning, and I coaxed her very hard totake me to Waterloo, but she refused. I don't quite know how to getthere by myself, so now I want to know if you will take me?"

"Certainly I will, " said Rivers. "What is more, I'll go with you to theRectory. I have nothing special to do to-day, and it will be quite apleasure to spend a little time in your company. Do you know anythingabout the trains, and what is the name of the station we have to go to?"

Judy named the one nearest to the Rectory. 

"You had better sit down for a moment, " pursued Rivers. "I have an 'A BC' here, so I can tell you in a moment which is the best train to take. Now, what is the matter?"

"Only, Mr. Rivers, Hilda must not know anything--anything about it untilI am safe home. Can this be managed?"

"I have very little doubt that it can. I shall go out now and speak toSusan and send her away. Thank you, Judy, for coming to me; I would doanything for you, because you are brave, and I respect and admire allbrave people. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

GIANT-KILLER. 

 And the Prince, seeing that it was of no use to remonstrate, bowed and retired. 

 --THE GOLDEN BRANCH. 

Susan came home and told her mistress that Judy was spending the daywith Mr. Rivers. 

"What an extraordinary thing for the child to do!" said Hilda. 

"She said, ma'am, that Mr. Rivers asked her to lunch, and that you knewabout it. "

"Yes; but why did she not say something to me when she was going out? Itis so unlike Miss Judy to keep a thing of that sort to herself. "

Susan made no reply. She was no longer responsible, and was only tooanxious not to betray the child. 

"Mr. Rivers says he'll take the best care of her, ma'am, " she said, after a pause. 

"Well, go and take off your hat, Susan, and lay the lunch, " said Hilda, feeling still more puzzled, but not caring to pursue her inquiries anyfurther. 

She had a sense of aggrievement and a feeling of added loneliness as shesat down to her solitary lunch. She missed Judy, and wondered at hersudden want of confidence; but soon the deeper trouble which Jasper'sconduct had caused returned to trouble her, and she forgot her littlesister in the sadness of her thoughts. 

She spent a long and very lonely afternoon indoors, for she had not theheart to go out, and besides, she expected Judy home every minute. 

She thought it likely that Rivers would take her somewhere after lunch, but surely he would bring her back to Philippa Terrace in time for tea. Hilda ordered some cakes which she knew were special favorites of Judy'sto be ready for this meal; and then she sat in her pretty little drawingroom, and tried to divert her thoughts over the pages of the latestnovel which had arrived from Mudie's. 

It was either not specially interesting, or Hilda found it difficult toconcentrate her attention. She flung the book on her knee, and satabsorbed in what Judy and Babs called a brown study. She was startledout of her meditations by Susan bringing in the tea-tray and the littlekettle and spirit-lamp. 

"Did Mr. Rivers say when he would bring Miss Judy home?" she asked ofthe maid. 

Susan colored and hesitated slightly in her reply. 

"No, ma'am; he said nothing at all about coming home, " she answered. 

Hilda noticed her hesitation, but did not wish to question her further. After the servant left the room, however, she began for the first timeto feel both impatient and uneasy with regard to her little sister. 

"If Judy is not here by six o'clock, " she said to herself, "I will go toLincoln's Inn Fields in search of her. How extraordinarily impatient shewas to go out this morning; and how very odd of her to insist on goingto Mr. Rivers', and to say nothing at all to me about it; and then howqueer--how more than queer--her not having yet returned. My sweet littleJudy, the most thoughtful child who ever breathed--it is unlike her tocause me anxiety of this sort. "

Hilda did not care for the social little meal which was generally solively when Judy was present. Immediately afterward she ran upstairs toput on her bonnet and jacket; and as she was going out, left a messagewith Susan. 

"If Miss Judy and Mr. Rivers come, " she said, "please say that I havegone to Lincoln's Inn Fields, as I felt anxious about the child beingso long away. "

"Yes, ma'am, " said the servant. 

"Whistle for a hansom for me, please, Susan. "

Susan did so; and half an hour afterward Hilda was making inquiries atRivers' chambers with regard to his whereabouts. The clerks there couldgive her no definite information. Mr. Rivers had gone out with a littlelady soon after twelve o'clock, and had told them not to expect him backthat day. 

"I shall find Judy at Philippa Terrace when I go home, " thought Mrs. Quentyns. "It was thoughtless of her not to tell me how long she wouldbe out--it was wonderfully unlike her. Still, of course, she will be athome now. "

But when Hilda returned no Judy was there to greet her; but herhusband's face was seen looking somewhat impatiently out at thedrawing-room window. He came at once to help his wife out of the cab, and entered the house with her. 

"Where were you?" he asked. "It is nearly time for dinner. "

"I won't be a moment getting dressed, Jasper; but--but--I am anxiousabout Judy. "

Quentyns had meant to be specially nice and kind to Hilda after hisevening's pleasure, but he felt it impossible now to keep the glib, sarcastic words back. 

"I might have known when I saw that fretful look on your face, that Judywas the cause. Now, what is her latest transgression?"

"Oh, there is a telegraph-boy, " said Hilda eagerly. "What--what--oh, _is_ there anything wrong?"

She rushed to the hall-door herself, before Jasper could prevent her. Susan, coming into the hall to answer the imperative double knock, wassent back to the kitchen regions, in a cross voice, by her master. 

"Really, Hilda, " began Quentyns, "your impetuosity is most undignified. I must say that these kinds of scenes are----Now, what is the matter, my love--tears again. A coming home of this sort is not the mostcheerful sort of thing, you must allow. "

"Oh, Jasper, Jasper, I'm not even listening to you, " said poor Hilda. "What can be the matter? what can be wrong? Here's a telegram from Mr. Rivers. He says--see what he says. 

"'Little Staunton Rectory. Have brought Judy home. Will call and see yousoon after ten this evening. Rivers. '"

"Rivers!" repeated Jasper. 

His voice grew thoughtful; he did not like Rivers, of all men, to bemixed up in his domestic affairs. Rivers, at least, must keep him on apedestal, and know nothing of his weaknesses--of that infirmity oftemper which he struggled against, and yet, in Judy's presence, couldnot conquer. He forgot all about Judy herself in his wonder as to howRivers had got mixed up in the matter. 

Hilda had seated herself on the sofa, and still holding the opentelegram in her hand, was trying furtively to wipe away her fast-fallingtears. 

"I wish you'd stop crying, Hilda, " said her husband. "There's nothing toalarm you in this telegram--nothing whatever. If Judy is with a man likeTom Rivers, she's as safe as child can be. "

"But she has gone home, Jasper; she has gone home to the Rectory, without even telling me. "

"Well, my dear, it's impossible for me to explain away the vagaries ofthat most eccentric child. I presume, however, that Rivers has a key tothe mystery, and as he says he will call here after ten o'clock, weshall know all about it then. No amount of discussion can explain it inadvance. So, Hilda, perhaps you will go upstairs and get ready fordinner. I'm frightfully hungry. "

Hilda rose wearily and left the room at once. 

"I think I can guess something--just something of what it means, " shesaid to herself. "My little Judy--my brave little Judy!"

Judy's letter was lying hidden all this time under the large pin-cushionon Hilda's dressing table, but as it was not seen, its contents, whichwould have explained a good deal, were of course not known. 

The dinner which followed this unhappy beginning of the evening was asdismal and constrained as if poor "trumpery" were still present. 

Quentyns, like most men who work hard all day, was particular about thismeal, and to-night of all nights cook had not sent up the soup to hissatisfaction, nor the _entrée_ seasoned to his taste. It was all one toHilda just now what she ate, but Quentyns pushed his plate impatientlyaway, and kept on referring to the excellent dinner he had had the nightbefore at the Star and Garter. He spoke of his evening as delightful, and of the house of the new friend where he had slept as altogetherirreproachable. 

Hilda felt that he was talking at her all the time, but she had not theheart to reply to him. The dismal little meal came to a mournful end, and the two went into the drawing room to wait for Rivers' arrival. 

Hilda took up a handkerchief she was embroidering for Judy, and tookspecial pleasure in putting in new and exquisite stitches as herthoughts centered themselves in dull wonder and pain round the child. Quentyns became absorbed in the contents of a novel. He read for half anhour--he was by no means in a good humor, and now and then his eyes wereraised to look over the top of the book at his wife. There was a patientsort of suffering about her which irritated him a good bit, as he couldsee no possible reason to account for it. He asked her one or twoquestions, which she answered in an abstracted manner. 

No, he certainly had not bargained for this sort of thing when hemarried. Hilda was not only pretty, but she could be, when she liked, sufficiently intellectual to satisfy his requirements. He was fastidiousand had peculiar views with regard to women. He hated the so-calledclever women, but at the same time he despised the stupid ones. Toplease him a woman must have tact--she must quickly understand his manymoods. She must sympathize when he demanded sympathy, and when he showedby his manner that he wished to be left alone, she must respect hisdesires. Hitherto, Hilda had abundantly fulfilled his expectations. IfJudy had not been in the house, all that he had ever dreamed of in hismarried life would have come to pass. But to-night, although Judy wasnot there to intermeddle, Quentyns felt that, for all the good his wifewas doing him, he might as well be a bachelor at his club. 

"My dear, " he said with some impatience, and forgetting himself not alittle, "do you know that you have made precisely the same remark nowfive times? I did not quarrel with its brilliancy the first time I heardit, but on the fifth occasion I will own that it gave me a certain senseof _ennui_. As I see that your thoughts are miles away, I'll just runround to the club for a bit and find out if there is anything going on. "

Hilda raised her eyes in some surprise. A certain expression in themseemed to expostulate with Jasper, but her lips said nothing; and justat that moment a hansom was heard to bowl up rapidly and stop with aquick jerk at the door. A moment later Rivers entered the drawing room. He came up at once to Hilda with the air of a man who has a message todeliver. 

"Judy hopes you got her note long ere this, Mrs. Quentyns. "

"Her note--no; I have not received any, " replied Hilda. 

"She wrote to you this morning, and put the note under the pin-cushionin your room. "

"How romantic and Judy-like!" said Quentyns suddenly. "Quite the correctthing, according to the old-fashioned novels. When the heroine elopesshe always leaves a note under the pin-cushion. "

"How do you do, Jasper? I did not notice you until this moment, " saidRivers. He gave the other man a sharp glance, which suddenly made himfeel queer and small. "The only thing old-fashioned that I notice aboutJudy, " he said, "is her noble unselfishness. She has gone homebecause--because--I think you can both guess why; an explanation wouldonly be disagreeable. She begged me to tell you, Mrs. Quentyns, that shemeant to be really _perfectly_ happy at home, and she hoped you andJasper would follow her example here. Poor little Giant Killer! she slewan enormous giant to-day, and there are few people I respect as I dothat dear little soul. I saw her safely to the Rectory, as, when shecame to me, I thought it best to humor what was more a noble inspirationthan a child's whim. I will say good-night now. "

Hilda scarcely said a word while Rivers was speaking. When he left theroom, however, she stood still for an instant, listening intently. Jasper had gone out to see his friend into his hansom. Would he comeback? He did for a moment. 

"Don't sit up for me, Hilda, " he said; and there was a tone in his voicewhich caused her heart to sink down low, very low indeed. 

She heard the door slam behind him, and then she knew that she wasalone. The servants had gone to bed--to all intents and purposes she wasabsolutely alone in the silent house. 

So Judy's sacrifice was in vain. Judy had thought, by absolutelysacrificing herself, that she could bring this husband and wifetogether. It was not to be. 

Hilda fell on her knees and buried her burning face in the sofacushions. 

"Oh, Judy, little Judy!" she sobbed. "Oh, Judy, what shall I do? My painis greater than I can bear. "

She knelt in this position for a long time. Her little sister's face wasdistinctly seen in her mental vision; Judy seemed surrounded by a sortof halo--but what of Jasper? Had all the love which united these twohearts vanished like a dream? Was he never coming back to her? Would healways misunderstand her? Oh, if she thought that, she would not staywith him--she would go back to the Rectory and to Judy, and forget hergolden dream and turn back again to the old life. For three months shewould have been a wife. She would forget that time. She would own toJasper that she had made a mistake. She would be Hilda Merton once more. Alas! alas! that could not be. Vows and ceremonies tied her. She hadstood beside the altar and given herself away. There was no going backon that step. Jasper was not the Jasper of her dreams. He must have asmall mind not to understand Judy, and she had married him because shethought his mind so big and his heart so great. After all, Judy was fargreater than Jasper. 

"My little Judy, " she murmured again, and then she sank down a pitiable, weak, inconsolable figure on the hearth-rug close to the expiring fire. She thought over the scenes of the last night and longed to have themback again. 

"If Judy's arms were round me, I should not feel so lonely, " shemurmured. "Oh, Jasper, how can you turn from me? How can you fail tounderstand that my heart at least is big enough to love both Judy andyou?"

The lamp burnt dimly and the fire went completely out. Hilda presentlyfell asleep in the darkness, and now a moonbeam shining into the drawingroom and falling across her tired face made it look white and unearthly, almost like the face of a dead girl. It was in this attitude thatQuentyns found her when he came back somewhere between one and twoo'clock. 

His conscience was reproaching him, for Rivers, an old friend, had notfailed to give him a little spice of his mind; but he was just in thatirritable condition where repentance is almost impossible, and whenself-abasement only leads a man into further wrong-doing. 

When he saw Hilda's tired face, he said to himself with a sort of laugh:

"If I don't encourage this sort of thing, I shall doubtless be more andmore of a tyrant in the eyes of my good wife and that preciousfastidious child and Rivers. Well, well, I cannot see the beauty ofvoluntary martyrdom. If Hilda weren't quite such a goose, she would havegone to bed two hours ago, instead of falling asleep here to the utterdisregard of her health and personal appearance. "

So Quentyns, looking cross and uninterested, shook his wife not toogently; spoke in a commonplace tone, out of which he purposely excludedevery scrap of emotion, and asked her how much longer she wanted to situp. 

Hilda stumbled to her feet without a word. She went upstairs and to bed, but although her husband quickly slept, she lay awake until the morning. 

She came down to breakfast, looking tired and fagged. There were blacklines under her eyes, and when Quentyns asked her what was the matter, she not only owned to a headache, but burst into tears. 

When a man is thoroughly cross, nothing irritates him more than tears onthe part of his wife, and Quentyns now so far forgot himself as to risehastily from the breakfast table and leave the room, slamming the doorbehind him. He put in his head a moment later to nod to his wife and saygood-by. 

"If I'm late, don't wait dinner for me, " he said, and then he left thehouse. Hilda had plenty of time to wipe her tears away in the desertedbreakfast room. The pain at her heart was almost greater than she couldbear. Her gentle nature was stirred by what she considered grossinjustice on the part of her husband. 

"He does not care for me any more, " she muttered. "I thought him greatand brave and good. I know he is clever; I suppose he is great, andperhaps even good; but I am too small and too little for him--I fail tounderstand him, and he does not love me any more. Oh, if only littleJudy had stayed with me I should not feel as broken-hearted as I do atpresent. If only little Judy had stayed with me, I should loneliness ofmy life?"

At this moment Hilda's dismal meditations were interrupted by the soundof carriage wheels, which not only came rattling down the little street, but stopped at the hall door. She started up in a fright, pushed backher disordered hair from her flushed face, and the next moment foundherself in the voluminous embrace of Jasper's aunt, Lady Malvern. 

"My dear, " exclaimed that good lady, "I must apologize for not lookingyou up sooner, but I have been particularly busy; for Cynthia, my eldestgirl, has just got engaged and we are to have a wedding in the autumnand all kinds of fuss; but I have not forgotten you, Hilda, and I havejust come to carry you off for the day. It is a lovely day, and we areall going to drive to Richmond to picnic in the park. Run upstairs, mylove, and put on your hat and gloves. I mean to carry you offimmediately. "

"But Jasper has just gone to town--he will be so sorry to have missedyou, " said Hilda. 

"Well, I suppose I can endure life even though I have missed Jasper, "said Lady Malvern with a laugh. "In any case I want you, and so doesCynthia. Cynthia has taken a great fancy to you, Hilda; so run away andget ready. I will send a wire to your husband to come down and join uslater on. There now, will that content you, you poor, devoted littlesoul?"

Hilda smiled and a faint color came into her cheeks. 

"Run up to your room, my dear, " said good-natured Lady Malvern. "Be asquick as ever you can getting into the prettiest costume you have, forwe are to be quite a gay party, I can tell you. Now run off, dear, runoff, and pray don't keep me waiting a moment longer than you can help. "

Lady Malvern was the sort of person who never could bear anyone to say"no" to her, and Hilda at first unwillingly, but presently with a sortof elation and even defiance which was altogether foreign to her gentlenature, prepared to make herself smart for her unexpected gayety. Shewent upstairs, pulled out one of her prettiest trousseau dresses, and, with hands that trembled, began to array herself in it. 

Meanwhile Lady Malvern sat perfectly still in the tiny little diningroom, with a somewhat troubled look on her good-tempered face. 

"Now, what has Jasper been doing?" she said to herself. "That sweetchild doesn't look happy. Marks of tears round her eyes, flushedcheeks--very low spirits. Dear, dear! this will never do. Not more thanthree months from the wedding-day. "

Lady Malvern had seen very little of her nephew since his marriage. Sheknew nothing, therefore, about Judy; but she was just that fussy, good-natured, hearty sort of body who could not bear anyone with whomshe came in contact to be miserable. 

"I must set this right somehow or other, " she said to herself. "Jasperdoesn't understand Hilda, and Hilda is wretched, and thinks, poor dearlittle goose, that the sun will never shine again, and that life ispractically over for her. She does not know, how could she, poordarling, how many rubs married people have to live through, and howjolly and comfortable they are notwithstanding them. Well, well, I amglad I called. I must set things right between this pair, whateverhappens. "

Lady Malvern little guessed, however, that she personally was to havevery little to do with smoothing the rumpled rose-leaves in Hilda's andJasper's lives. 

When Mrs. Quentyns returned to the little dining room the flush on hercheeks and the softened look in her sweet eyes but added to her beauty, and when she found herself bowling away through the pleasant spring airin her kind friend's company, in spite of herself, her spirits could nothelp rising. 

Lady Malvern had a house in Hans Place, and there Cynthia and twoyounger girls were waiting for them. 

The day was a perfect one, very warm and summery for the time of year, and the young people all agreed that it was by no means too early in theseason to enjoy themselves even in this _al fresco_ fashion. 

They were to end with tea at the "Star and Garter, " and they all startedoff now for this day's pleasure in the highest spirits. 

Hilda was quite young enough to enjoy such a proceeding immensely. Asspace divided her from her little home in Philippa Terrace her spiritsrose, and now, if Judy had only been by her side, she would have feltperfectly happy. 

By the time they reached Richmond Park all trace of tears and sorrow hadleft her charming face, and she was one of the brightest and gayest ofthe company. 

No one could make herself more useful than Hilda, and when her husbandappeared on the scene, he was a good deal astonished to see her flyinglightly about, ordering and directing the arrangements of the picnicdinner. Her gay laughter floated to his ears on the summer breeze, hercheeks were bright, her eyes shining. In short, she looked like thatcharming Hilda who had won his heart in the old Rectory garden not ayear ago. 

Hilda was busily helping to concoct a salmon mayonnaise, when, raisingher eyes, she met her husband's gaze. He smiled back at her a look ofapproval and love, and her heart rose considerably. 

There were other people present besides Jasper who thought Mrs. Quentynsa very beautiful young woman. There were others waiting to show her themost polite and gracious attentions, and these facts considerablyenhanced her value in her husband's eyes. In short, he began to fall inlove with his wife over again, and Judy for the time being was forgottenby this pair. 

The day passed all too quickly, and at last the moment arrived when thelittle party must turn their steps homeward. 

"You must both come home and have supper with us, " said Lady Malvern toher nephew and his wife. "Oh, yes, I shall take no denial; and now, Jasper, will you drive Cynthia and her sister back to town? I mean Hildato accompany me. "

Jasper was all smiles and good-humor. He was willing to accede to anyarrangement which could add to the pleasures of the day, and Hilda, inwhose heart a faint hope had lingered that she and her husband mighthave gone home together, followed Lady Malvern to her carriage with alittle sigh. The whole party was soon driving home. Lady Malvern andHilda had a small victoria to themselves. As soon as ever they left therest of the party, the older woman turned and gave a full glance at thegirl by her side. 

"Hilda, " she said suddenly, "you look better than you did this morning. "

"Oh, I feel better, " she replied. "You have done me lots of good, " shecontinued, raising her eyes with an affectionate light in them to LadyMalvern's kind face. 

"I am delighted to have helped you, my love, " replied the elder lady;"and now, Hilda, I want to say something. You have been married verylittle over three months. It is a very common illusion with girls toimagine that married life is a time of perpetual bliss. "

Hilda opened her lips to say something, but Lady Malvern interrupted. 

"My dear, " she said, "you must hear me out. Married life is not a bed ofroses, and the first year which a young couple spend together isgenerally the hardest of all. "

"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Quentyns. "Why the first year?"

"Because, my dear, the glamour is gradually being removed. The girl isfinding that the hero whom she married is a right good fellow, but stillthat he is human; that he has his faults and his aggravations; that heneeds to be humored and consulted and petted, and to have hissmallnesses--yes, my dear, mark the word, his smallnesses--attended to. The husband is making similar discoveries with regard to the lovelyangel whom he took to his arms. She, too, is mortal--affectionate, ofcourse, and sweet and womanly, and ten thousand times better than a realangel would be to him, but still with her faults, her tempers, and herfads. The young couple discover these things in each other during thefirst two or three months of married life. All their future happinessdepends on how they both act, under the influence of these discoveries. They have got to learn that, though they are made one by the priest, they are both of them distinct individualities. If they are to be happytogether, they must both give and take. I know a married couple who arenow the happiest, prosiest, most attached old pair in the world, whowent through no end of storms during their first eventful year. But theylearned a lesson and profited by it. The wife does not now think herhusband the greatest hero that ever set foot on this earth, and thehusband does not call his wife an angel; but I think, if their love wereanalyzed, it would be found greater, deeper, and more tender than thatearly glamour which was love, but was not equal to the love tried byfire which comes later in life. Now, my dear, you will forgive my littlelecture. If you had need of it, ponder my words; if not, forgive an oldwoman for worrying you. Hilda, what a sweet, pretty little house youhave! I always knew that my nephew Jasper had good taste. I am so trulyglad that you have the same. "

While Lady Malvern was speaking, Hilda pulled down her veil, andstruggled hard to keep the tears from her brown eyes. She could notquite manage this, however, and Lady Malvern, giving her a half-glance, saw that her eyelashes were wet. 

She did not add any more in words, but she made up her mind to help theyoung girl by every means in her power. 

They drove on rapidly. The horses were fresh, and they were getting overthe ground with great rapidity, when a quickly approaching trainstartled one of the horses. At the same time a man on a bicycle dartedround the corner, and before he could help himself, knocked against thecarriage. The double shock was enough for the affrighted horses. Theyplunged, reared, and became unmanageable, and the next moment the littlevictoria was overturned, and Lady Malvern and Mrs. Quentyns were flungwith some violence on the pavement. Lady Malvern was not severely hurt, and she sprang almost immediately to her feet, but the fright and fallhad stunned Hilda, who lay white and still on the ground without anyattempt at movement. The usual crowd of course collected, and it was onthis scene that Quentyns, in high good-humor, and forgetting for thetime being that there was a crumpled rose-leaf in the world, suddenlycame with some more of the picnic party. As a matter of course, they alldrew up. Quentyns was driving a high dog-cart. He sprang to the groundand ran into the midst of the crowd. Then for the first time he realizedwhat had happened. His young wife, looking as if she were dead, waslying in Lady Malvern's arms. Lady Malvern was seated on a doorstep. Some men were hastily coming forward with a shutter. 

"My God!" exclaimed Quentyns; "is she dead?"

"No, my dear boy, no--only stunned, " said Lady Malvern. "Here, take herinto your own arms, Jasper. You are stronger than I. Let her see yourface first when she opens her eyes. No medicine will be so reviving asthat. "

Here a woman came up and spoke to Lady Malvern. 

"I shall be only too pleased to have the young lady brought into myhouse, madam, " she said. "A very good doctor lives just round thecorner, and he can be summoned at once. "

"Yes, yes; send for him immediately, " said Quentyns. 

He strode into the house with his light burden. Hilda was laid upon asofa, and in a few moments the doctor arrived. He felt her all over andsaid that no bones were broken, and that no severe injury of any kindhad occurred, but both fall and shock had been very severe. He counseledher being left undisturbed in her present condition until the morning. 

"Then I will go home, " said Lady Malvern. "You will look after heryourself, Jasper?"

"Need you ask?" he replied. He followed his aunt to the door as hespoke. 

"Hilda had a narrow escape of her life, " said Lady Malvern, looking fullat her nephew as she spoke. "How sudden and awful it all was! There werewe chatting together, and thinking no more of danger than if such athing did not exist, when all in an instant came that awful bolt fromthe blue. I shall never forget the swinging of the carriage and the waythe horses looked when they plunged and kicked about, or the whitepiteous face of your sweet little Hilda, who would not scream nor showany outward sign of terror. I thought it was all over with both of us--Idid really, Jasper. I cannot tell you how thankful we ought to be thatthings are no worse. "

"You are sure then that Hilda is not in danger?" queried the young manin a tremulous voice. 

"No, no; what did you hear the doctor say, you silly boy? Perhaps thebest thing that could have happened to Hilda was this accident, dreadfulas it was for the moment. Perhaps--well, Jasper, I think you must knowwhat I mean. "

"Has Hilda been talking about me?" asked Jasper, a wave of red mountingto his brow. 

"Talking about you?" replied his aunt, now thoroughly angry; "only inthe way that Hilda can talk of those whom she loves best on earth. Jasper, you are the luckiest man in the world, and if you don't contriveto make that sweet child the happiest woman, I for one will have nothingto do with you again. "

"No fear, no fear, if she loves me in that way, " murmured Jasper. 

He turned abruptly on his heel and went back to the room where his wifelay. He was a very proud, reserved man, and even in moments of thedeepest agitation would scarcely reveal his real sentiments. But thatmoment, when he had looked at his wife's white face and had thought thatshe was dead, had shaken his whole nature to its very depths. He made adiscovery then that nothing in all the world was of any real value tohim compared with Hilda's love. 

"I have acted like a brute to her, " he murmured. "Rivers was right. She's too good for me--she's fifty times too good for me. My God, howwhite she looks as she lies there! Suppose the doctor is wrong. Whydoesn't she speak or move? Why do they make so little of this continuedunconsciousness? I think I'll go for some further advice. Oh, mydarling, my darling, if you are dead, if your sweet life has been taken, I shall never forgive myself--never!"

But just then there was a faint stir of the heavily fringed lids whichlay against Hilda's white cheeks. The next moment the sweet brown eyeswere opened wide, and Hilda looked into her husband's face. 

"What has happened?" she asked drowsily. "I don't remember anything. Where are we?"

"Together, Hilda, " he replied; "together. Does anything else reallymatter?"

"Oh, no, no!" she said, with a catch in her voice. 

 * * * * *

Next day Mrs. Quentyns was so far convalescent as to be able to returnto the little house in Philippa Terrace. Jasper, of course, accompaniedher. They had found a good deal to say to each other, between the momentwhen she had opened her eyes the night before and now. Both had somethings to confess--both had some words of forgiveness to crave from theother. So complete now had been the interchange of soul and of lovebetween this pair that it seemed impossible that anything could everseparate such warm hearts again. 

"And it has been all Judy's doing, " said Jasper as they sat thatevening in the little drawing room. 

"What do you mean?" asked his wife. 

"Why, " he answered, "if Judy had not brought matters to a crisis bygoing away, we might have drifted further and further apart. But now wemust have her back again, Hilda. She has fulfilled her mission, dearlittle soul, and now she must have her reward. "

"No, " said Hilda, in a firm voice. "Judy shall have her reward, but notby coming back. She did right to go. I could never, never have sent heraway, but she did right to go. "

"Do you mean to tell me, Hilda, that you could be perfectly happy tolive without her?"

"With you, " she said, laying her hand on his arm, and looking into hisface with her sweet eyes shining through tears. 

He put his arms round her and kissed her many times. 

"Jasper, " said Hilda after a few minutes, "I think the first wrong stepthat I took--the first beginning of that unhappy time--was when I lostmy temper down at Little Staunton and gave up my engagement ring. "

"No wonder you lost your temper when I was such a brute abouteverything, " said Quentyns. "It was my fault. "

"No, no; it was mine. "

"Have you missed the ring, Hilda?"

"Missed it?" she held up her slender finger. "My heart has been emptywithout it, " she said. 

"Then let me put it on again for you. "

"Can you? Is--isn't it sold?"

"Of course not. Do you think that I could sell that ring?"

"But--but the furniture in Judy's room?"

"When I saw that you must have Judy with you, Hilda, I went into debtfor the furniture. Oh, never mind all that now, my darling--the debt ispaid in full a week ago, and I have the receipt in my pocket. Now I amgoing upstairs to fetch the ring. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

GOOD OMENS. 

 And so the shadows fall apart, And so the west winds play; And all the windows of my heart I open to the day. 

 --WHITTIER. 

Mildred Anstruther was paying a visit at the Rectory on the day thatRivers and Judy walked in. Rivers was a very striking-looking man, andall the Rectory people were so devoured with curiosity about him, and sointerested in all he said and did--in his reasons for coming down toLittle Staunton, and in his remarks about the Quentyns--that Judy's ownreturn to the family circle passed into utter insignificance. She wasthere--they had none of them expected her, and as she chose to comeback, she was welcome of course. 

It was a lovely day, and the whole party were out in the garden, whenRivers and his little charge entered their midst. 

Judy wore her green cloak and pretty black shady hat. There was a newsort of picturesqueness about her, which Aunt Marjorie noticed in anabstracted way; she put it down to "the polish which even a shortresidence in the metropolis always gives;" she had not the faintest ideathat it was due to the dignity which a noble action can inspire. 

Judy greeted everyone quite in her old manner, and was rather glad thatshe was not fussed over, but taken quite as a matter-of-course. 

Aunt Marjorie was too anxious about the cream for Rivers' tea to giveserious thoughts to anyone else just then. But when the young man haddeparted to catch the return train to London, then a few questions wereasked of Judy. 

"I thought you were going to live with Hilda, " said Mildred, lookingcuriously at the child. 

Mildred was standing a little apart from the others, and Judy, whoseface was pale, for the suffering of her self-sacrifice was still causingher heart to ache horribly, looked full at her, and said in a low voice:

"That turned out to be a mistake, so I've come home. "

"You brave little darling!" said Mildred, understanding everything likea flash; she stooped and kissed Judy on her forehead. 

Babs came rushing into the midst of the group. 

"Judy, Judy, I want you, " she cried. 

"What is it?" asked Judy. 

"There's a butterfly coming out of a chrysalis in the butterfly-case;come quick--he's moving his tail backward and forward--he'll soon beout; come quick and see him. "

The dull look left Judy's eyes; they sparkled with a sudden, swift, childish joy. 

She took Babs' hand, and they rushed away, right round to the back ofthe house where the butterfly-case stood. 

"Let's take him out, poor darling, " she said; "let's put him on a leaf, and watch him as he gets out of his prison. "

Her eyes grew brighter and brighter; she bent low to watch theresurrection which was going on. 

After all the chrysalis and the butterfly were emblems. They were goodomens to Judy that love and hope were not dead. 

THE END.