ADELA CATHCART

 Volume I. 

 BY

 GEORGE MACDONALD M. A. 

 Me list not of the chaf ne of the stre Maken so long a tale as of the corn. 

 CHAUCER. --_Man of Lawes Tale_. 

ADELA CATHCART

Originally published in 1864

With appreciation to Mrs. Morag Black for the master copies of VolumesII and III, to the Bodleian Library for the photo-copies of Volume I, and to Miss Tracy Samuel for type-copying Volumes I, II, and III forthis Edition. 

To John Rutherfurd Russell M. D. 

This book is affectionately dedicated by the author. 

Contents of the First Volume

Chapter

I CHRISTMAS EVEII CHURCHIII THE CHRISTMAS DINNERIV THE NEW DOCTORV THE LIGHT PRINCESSVI THE BELLVII THE SCHOOLMASTER'S STORY

ADELA CATHCART. 

Chapter I. 

Christmas Eve. 

It was the afternoon of Christmas Eve, sinking towards the night. Allday long the wintry light had been diluted with fog, and now thevanguard of the darkness coming to aid the mist, the dying day waswell nigh smothered between them. When I looked through the window, itwas into a vague and dim solidification of space, a mysterious regionin which awful things might be going on, and out of which anythingmight come; but out of which nothing came in the meantime, exceptsmall sparkles of snow, or rather ice, which as we swept rapidlyonwards, and the darkness deepened, struck faster and faster againstthe weather-windows. For we, that is, myself and a fellow-passenger, of whom I knew nothing yet but the waistcoat and neckcloth, havingcaught a glimpse of them as he searched for an obstinaterailway-ticket, were in a railway-carriage, darting along, at an allbut frightful rate, northwards from London. 

Being, the sole occupants of the carriage, we had made the most of it, like Englishmen, by taking seats diagonally opposite to each other, laying our heads in the corners, and trying to go to sleep. But for meit was of no use to try any longer. Not that I had anything particularon my mind or spirits; but a man cannot always go to sleep at sparemoments. If anyone can, let him consider it a great gift, and makegood use of it accordingly; that is, by going to sleep on every suchopportunity. 

As I, however, could not sleep, much as I should have enjoyed it, Iproceeded to occupy my very spare time with building, up what I maycall a conjectural mould, into which the face, dress, carriage, &c. , of my companion would fit. I had already discovered that he was aclergyman; but this added to my difficulties in constructing the saidmould. For, theoretically, I had a great dislike to clergymen; having, hitherto, always found that the _clergy_ absorbed the _man_; and thatthe _cloth_, as they called it even themselves, would be no badepithet for the individual, as well as the class. For all clergymenwhom I had yet met, regarded mankind and their interests solely fromthe clerical point of view, seeming far more desirous that a manshould be a good church man, as they called it, than that he shouldlove God. Hence, there was always an indescribable and, to me, unpleasant odour of their profession about them. If they knew moreconcerning the _life_ of the world than other men, why shouldeverything they said remind one of mustiness and mildew? In a word, why were they not men at worst, when at best they ought to be more ofmen than other men?--And here lay the difficulty: by no effort could Iget the face before me to fit into the clerical mould which I had allready in my own mind for it. That was, at all events, the face of aman, in spite of waistcoat and depilation. I was not even surprisedwhen, all at once, he sat upright in his seat, and asked me if I wouldjoin him in a cigar. I gladly consented. And here let me state a fact, which added then to my interest in my fellow-passenger, and will servenow to excuse the enormity of smoking in a railway carriage. We weregoing to the same place--we must be; and nobody would enter thatcarriage to-night, but the man who had to clean it. For, although wewere shooting along at a terrible rate, the train would not stop toset us down, but would cast us loose a mile from our station; and someminutes after it had shot by like an infernal comet of darkness, ourcarriage would trot gently up to the platform, as if it had come fromLondon all on its own hook--and thought nothing of it. 

We were a long way yet, however, from our destination. The night grewdarker and colder, and after the necessary unmuffling occasioned bythe cigar process, we drew our wraps closer about us, leaned back inour corners, and smoked away in silence; the red glow of our cigarsserving to light the carriage nearly as well as the red nose of theneglected and half-extinguished lamp. For we were in a second-classcarriage, a fact for which I leave the clergyman to apologize: it isnothing to me, for I am nobody. 

But, after all, I fear I am unjust to the Railway Company, for therewas light enough for me to see, and in some measure scrutinize, theface of my fellow-passenger. I could discern a strong chin, and good, useful jaws; with a firm-lipped mouth, and a nose more remarkable forquantity than disposition of mass, being rather low, and verythick. It was surmounted by two brilliant, kindly, black eyes. I layin wait for his forehead, as if I had been a hunter, and he somepeculiar animal that wanted killing right in the middle of it. But itwas some time before I was gratified with a sight of it. I did see it, however, and I _was_ gratified. For when he wanted to throw away theend of his cigar, finding his window immovable (the frosty wind thatbore the snow-flakes blowing from that side), and seeing that I openedmine to accommodate him, he moved across, and, in so doing, knockedhis hat against the roof. As he displaced, to replace it, I had myopportunity. It was a splendid forehead for size every way, butchiefly for breadth. A kind of rugged calm rested upon it--asuggestion of slumbering power, which it delighted me to contemplate. I felt that that was the sort of man to make a friend of, if one hadthe good luck to be able. But I did not yet make any advance towardsfurther acquaintance. 

My reader may, however, be desirous of knowing what kind of person ismaking so much use of the pronoun _I_. He may have the same curiosityto know his fellow-traveller over the region of these pages, that Ihad to see the forehead of the clergyman. I can at least prevent anyfurther inconvenience from this possible curiosity, by telling himenough to destroy his interest in me. 

I am an----; well, I suppose I _am_ an old bachelor; not very far fromfifty, in fact; old enough, at all events, to be able to take pleasurein watching without sharing; yet ready, notwithstanding, when occasionoffers, to take any necessary part in what may be going on, I am able, as it were, to sit quietly alone, and look down upon life from asecond-floor window, delighting myself with my own speculations, andweaving the various threads I gather, into webs of varying kind andquality. Yet, as I have already said in another form, I am not thelast to rush down stairs and into the street, upon occasion of anaccident or a row in it, or a conflagration next door. I may justmention, too, that having many years ago formed the Swedenborgianresolution of never growing old, I am as yet able to flatter myselfthat I am likely to keep it. 

In proof of this, if further garrulity about myself can be pardoned, Imay state that every year, as Christmas approaches, I begin to growyoung again. At least I judge so from the fact that a strange, mysterious pleasure, well known to me by this time, though littleunderstood and very varied, begins to glow in my mind with the firsthint, come from what quarter it may, whether from the church service, or a bookseller's window, that the day of all the year is at hand--isclimbing up from the under-world. I enjoy it like a child. I buy theChristmas number of every periodical I can lay my hands on, especiallythose that have pictures in them; and although I am not very fond ofplum-pudding, I anticipate with satisfaction the roast beef and theold port that ought always to accompany it. And above all things, Idelight in listening to stories, and sometimes in telling them. 

It amuses me to find what a welcome nobody I am amongst young people;for they think I take no heed of them, and don't know what they aredoing; when, all the time, I even know what they are thinking. Theywould wonder to know how often I feel exactly as they do; only I thinkthe feeling is a more earnest and beautiful thing to me than it can beto them yet. If I see a child crowing in his mother's arms, I seem tomyself to remember making precisely the same noise in my mother'sarms. If I see a youth and a maiden looking into each other's eyes, Iknow what it means perhaps better than they do. But I say nothing. Ido not even smile; for my face is puckered, and I have a weaknessabout the eyes. But all this will be proof enough that I have notgrown very old, in any bad and to-be-avoided sense, at least. 

And now all the glow of the Christmas time was at its height in myheart. For I was going to spend the Day, and a few weeks besides, witha very old friend of mine, who lived near the town at which we wereabout to arrive like a postscript. --Where could my companion be going?I wanted to know, because I hoped to meet him again somehow or other. 

I ought to have told you, kind reader, that my name is Smith--actually_John_ Smith; but I'm none the worse for that; and as I do not want tobe distinguished much from other people, I do not feel it a hardship. 

But where was my companion going? It could not be to my friend's; elseI should have known something about him. It could hardly be to theclergyman's, because the vicarage was small, and there was a newcurate coming with his wife, whom it would probably have toaccommodate until their own house was ready. It could not be to thelawyer's on the hill, because there all were from home on a visit totheir relations. It might be to Squire Vernon's, but he was the lastman likely to ask a clergyman to visit him; nor would a clergyman belikely to find himself comfortable with the swearing old fox-hunter. The question must, then, for the present, remainunsettled. --So I left it, and, looking out of the window once more, buried myself in Christmas fancies. 

It was now dark. We were the under half of the world. The sun wasscorching and glowing on the other side, leaving us to night andfrost. But the night and the frost wake the sunshine of a higher worldin our hearts; and who cares for winter weather at Christmas?--Ibelieve in the proximate correctness of the date of our Saviour'sbirth. I believe he always comes in winter. And then let Winter reignwithout: Love is king within; and Love is lord of the Winter. 

How the happy fires were glowing everywhere! We shot past many alighted cottage, and now and then a brilliant mansion. Inside bothwere hearts like our own, and faces like ours, with the red coming outon them, the red of joy, because it was Christmas. And most of themhad some little feast _toward_. Is it vulgar, this feasting atChristmas? No. It is the Christmas feast that justifies all feasts, asthe bread and wine of the Communion are the essence of all bread andwine, of all strength and rejoicing. If the Christianity of eating islost--I will not say _forgotten_--the true type of eating is to befound at the dinner-hour in the Zoological Gardens. Certain I am, thatbut for the love which, ever revealing itself, came out brightest atthat first Christmas time, there would be no feasting--nay no smiling;no world to go careering in joy about its central fire; no men andwomen upon it, to look up and rejoice. 

"But you always look on the bright side of things. "

No one spoke aloud; I heard the objection in my mind. Could it comefrom the mind of my friend--for so I already counted him--opposite tome? There was no need for that supposition--I had heard the objectiontoo often in my ears. And now I answered it in set, though unspokenform. 

"Yes, " I said, "I do; for I keep in the light as much as I can. Letthe old heathens count Darkness the womb of all things. I count Lightthe older, from the tread of whose feet fell the first shadow--andthat was Darkness. Darkness exists but by the light, and for thelight. "

"But that is all mysticism. Look about you. The dark places of theearth are the habitations of cruelty. Men and women blaspheme God anddie. How can this then be an hour for rejoicing?"

"They are in God's hands. Take from me my rejoicing, and I ampowerless to help them. It shall not destroy the whole bright holidayto me, that my father has given my brother a beating. It will do himgood. He needed it somehow. --He is looking after them. "

Could I have spoken some of these words aloud? For the eyes of theclergyman were fixed upon me from his corner, as if he were trying toput off his curiosity with the sop of a probable conjecture about me. 

"I fear he would think me a heathen, " I said to myself. "But if everthere was humanity in a countenance, there it is. "

It grew more and more pleasant to think of the bright fire and thecheerful room that awaited me. Nor was the idea of the table, perhapsalready beginning to glitter with crystal and silver, altogetheruninteresting to me. For I was growing hungry. 

But the speed at which we were now going was quite comforting. Idropped into a reverie. I was roused from it by the sudden ceasing ofthe fierce oscillation, which had for some time been threatening tomake a jelly of us. We were loose. In three minutes more we should beat Purleybridge. 

And in three minutes more, we were at Purleybridge--the onlypassengers but one who arrived at the station that night. A servantwas waiting for me, and I followed him through the booking-office tothe carriage destined to bear me to _The Swanspond_, as my friendColonel Cathcart's house was called. 

As I stepped into the carriage, I saw the clergyman walk by, with hiscarpet-bag in his hand. 

Now I knew Colonel Cathcart intimately enough to offer the use of hiscarriage to my late companion; but at the moment I was about toaddress him, the third passenger, of whom I had taken no particularnotice, came between us, and followed me into the carriage. Thisoccasioned a certain hesitation, with which I am only too easilyaffected; the footman shut the door; I caught one glimpse of theclergyman turning the corner of the station into a field-path; thehorses made a scramble; and away I rode to the Swanspond, feeling asselfish as ten Pharisees. It is true, I had not spoken a word to himbeyond accepting his invitation to smoke with him; and yet I feltalmost sure that we should meet again, and that when we did, we shouldboth be glad of it. And now he was carrying a carpet-bag, and I wasseated in a carriage and pair!

It was far too dark for me to see what my new companion was like; butwhen the light from the colonel's hall-door flashed upon us as we drewup, I saw that he was a young man, with a certain expression in hisface which a first glance might have taken for fearlessness and powerof some sort, but which notwithstanding, I felt to be rather repellentthan otherwise. The moment the carriage-door was opened, he called theservant by his name, saying, "When the cart comes with the luggage, send mine up directly. Takethat now. "

And he handed him his dressing-bag. 

He spoke in a self-approving tone, and with a drawl which I will notattempt to imitate, because I find all such imitation tends tocaricature; and I want to be believed. Besides, I find the productionof caricature has unfailingly a bad moral reaction upon myself. Idaresay it is not so with others, but with that I have nothing to do:it is one of my weaknesses. 

My worthy old friend, the colonel, met us in the hall--straight, broad-shouldered, and tall, with a severe military expressionunderlying the genuine hospitality of his countenance, as if he couldnot get rid of a sense of duty even when doing what he liked best. The door of the dining-room was partly open, and from it came the redglow of a splendid fire, the chink of encountering glass and metal, and, best of all, the pop of a cork. 

"Would you like to go up-stairs, Smith, or will you have a glass ofwine first?--How do you do, Percy?"

"Thank you; I'll go to my room at once, " I said. 

"You'll find a fire there, I know. Having no regiment now, I lookafter my servants. Mind you make use of them. I can't find enough ofwork for them. "

He left me, and again addressed the youth, who had by this time gotout of his great-coat, and, cold as it was, stood looking at his handsby the hall-lamp. As I moved away, I heard him say, in a carelesstone, "And how's Adela, uncle?"

The reply did not reach me, but I knew now who the young fellow was. 

Hearing a kind of human grunt behind me, I turned and saw that I wasfollowed by the butler; and, by a kind of intuition, I knew that thisgrunt was a remark, an inarticulate one, true, but not the less to thepoint on that account. I knew that he had been in the dining-room bythe pop I had heard; and I knew by the grunt that he had heard hismaster's observation about his servants. 

"Come, Beeves, " I said, "I don't want your help. You've got plenty todo, you know, at dinner-time; and your master is rather hard uponyou--isn't he?"

I knew the man, of course. 

"Well, Mr. Smith, master is the best master in the country, _heis_. But he don't know what work is, _he don't_. "

"Well, go to your work, and never mind me. I know every turn in thehouse as well as yourself, Beeves. "

"No, Mr. Smith; I'll attend to you, if _you_ please. Mr. Percy willtake care of _his_-self. There's no fear of him. But you're mybusiness. You are sure to give a man a kind word who does his best toplease you. "

"Why, Beeves, I think that is the least a man can do. "

"It's the most too, sir; and some people think it's too much. "

I saw that the man was hurt, and sought to soothe him. 

"You and I are old friends, at least, Beeves. "

"Yes, Mr. Smith. Money won't do't, sir. My master gives good wages, and I'm quite independing of visitors. But when a gentleman says tome, 'Beeves, I'm obliged to you, ' why then, Mr. Smith, you feels atone _and_ the same time, that he's a gentleman, and that you aint aboot-jack or a coal-scuttle. It's the sentiman, Mr. Smith. If hedespises us, why, we despises him. And we don't like waiting on agentleman as aint a gentleman. Ring the bell, Mr. Smith, when you wantanythink, and _I'll_ attend to you. "

He had been twenty years in the colonel's service. He was not an oldsoldier, yet had a thorough _esprit de corps_, looking, upon serviceas an honourable profession. In this he was not only right, but had avast advantage over everybody whose profession is not sufficientlyhonourable for his ambition. All such must _feel_ degraded. Beeves wasfifty; and, happily for his opinion of his profession, had never beento London. 

And the colonel was the best of masters; for because he ruled well, every word of kindness told. It is with servants as with children andwith horses--it is of no use caressing them unless they know that youmean them to go. 

When the dinner-bell rang, I proceeded to the drawing-room. Thecolonel was there, and I thought for a moment that he was alone. But Isoon saw that a couch by the fire was occupied by his daughter, theAdela after whose health I had heard young Percy Cathcart inquiring. She was our hostess, for Mrs. Cathcart had been dead for many years, and Adela had been her only child. I approached to pay my respects, but as soon as I got near enough to see her face, I turnedinvoluntarily to her father, and said, "Cathcart, you never told me of this!"

He made me no reply; but I saw the long stern upper lip twitchingconvulsively. I turned again to Adela, who tried to smile--withprecisely the effect of a momentary gleam of sunshine upon a cold, leafless, and wet landscape. 

"Adela, my dear, what is the matter?"

"I don't know, uncle. "

She had called me uncle, since ever she had begun to speak, which musthave been nearly twenty years ago. 

I stood and looked at her. Her face was pale and thin, and her eyeswere large, and yet sleepy. I may say at once that she had dark eyesand a sweet face; and that is all the description I mean to give ofher. I had been accustomed to see that face, if not rosy, yet plumpand healthy; and those eyes with plenty of light for themselves, andsome to spare for other people. But it was neither her wan look norher dull eyes that distressed me: it was the expression of herface. It was very sad to look at; but it was not so much sadness asutter and careless hopelessness that it expressed. 

"Have you any pain, Adela?" I asked. 

"No, " she answered. 

"But you feel ill?"

"Yes. "

"How?"

"I don't know. "

And as she spoke, she tapped with one finger on the edge of the_couvre-pied_ which was thrown over her, and gave a sigh as if hervery heart was weary of everything. 

"Shall you come down to dinner with us?"

"Yes, uncle; I suppose I must. "

"If you would rather have your dinner sent up, my love--" began herfather. 

"Oh! no. It is all the same to me. I may as well go down. "

My young companion of the carriage now entered, got up expensively. He, too, looked shocked when he saw her. 

"Why, Addie!" he said. 

But she received him with perfect indifference, just lifting one coldhand towards his, and then letting it fall again where it had lainbefore. Percy looked a little mortified; in fact, more mortified nowthan sorry; turned away, and stared at the fire. 

Every time I open my mouth in a drawing-room before dinner, I am awareof an amount of self-denial worthy of a forlorn hope. Yet the silencewas so awkward now, that I felt I must make an effort to saysomething; and the more original the remark the better I felt it wouldbe for us all. But, with the best intentions, all I could effect wasto turn towards Mr. Percy and say, "Rather cold for travelling, is it not?"

"Those foot-warmers are capital things, though, " he answered. "Minewas jolly hot. Might have roasted a potato on it, by Jove!"

"I came in a second-class carriage, " I replied; "and they are too coldto need a foot-warmer. "

He gave a shrug with his shoulders, as if he had suddenly foundhimself in low company, and must make the best of it. But he offeredno further remark. 

Beeves announced dinner. 

"Will you take Adela, Mr. Smith?" said the colonel. 

"I think I won't go, after all, papa, if you don't mind. I don't wantany dinner. "

"Very well, my dear, " began her father, but could not help showing hisdistress; perceiving which, Adela rose instantly from her couch, puther arm in his, and led the way to the dining-room. Percy and Ifollowed. 

"What can be the matter with the girl?" thought I. "She used to bemerry enough. Some love affair, I shouldn't wonder. I've never heardof any. I know her father favours that puppy Percy; but I don't thinkshe is dying for _him_. "

It was the dreariest Christmas Eve I had ever spent. The fire wasbright; the dishes were excellent; the wine was thorough; the host washospitable; the servants were attentive; and yet the dinner was asgloomy as if we had all known it to be the last we should ever eattogether. If a ghost had been sitting in its shroud at the head of thetable, instead of Adela, it could hardly have cast a greater chillover the guests. She did her duty well enough; but she did not lookit; and the charities which occasioned her no pleasure in theadministration, could hardly occasion us much in the reception. 

As soon as she had left the room, Percy broke out, with more emphasisthan politeness:

"What the devil's the matter with Adela, uncle?"

"Indeed, I can't tell, my boy, " answered the colonel, with morekindness than the form of the question deserved. 

"Have you no conjecture on the subject?" I asked. 

"None. I have tried hard to find out; but I have altogether failed. She tells me there is nothing the matter with her, only she is sotired. What has she to tire her?"

"If she is tired inside first, everything will tire her. "

"I wish you would try to find out, Smith. "

"I will. "

"Her mother died of a decline. "

"I know. Have you had no advice?"

"Oh, yes! Dr. Wade is giving her steel-wine, and quinine, and all thatsort of thing. For my part, I don't believe in their medicines. Certainly they don't do her any good. "

"Is her chest affected--does he say?"

"He says not; but I believe he knows no more about the state of herchest than he does about the other side of the moon. He's a stupid oldfool. He comes here for his fees, and he has them. "

"Why don't you call in another, if you are not satisfied?"

"Why, my dear fellow, they're all the same in this infernal oldplace. I believe they've all embalmed themselves, and are going byclockwork. They and the clergy make sad fools of us. But we make worsefools of ourselves to have them about us. To be sure, they see thateverything is proper. The doctor makes sure that we are dead before weare buried, and the parson that we are buried after we are dead. Aboutthe resurrection I suspect he knows as much as we do. He goes bybook. "

In his perplexity and sorrow, the poor colonel was irritable andunjust. I saw that it would be better to suggest than to reason. And Ipartly took the homoeopathic system--the only one on which mentaldistress, at least, can be treated with any advantage. 

"Certainly, " I said, "the medical profession has plenty of men in itwho live on humanity, like the very diseases they attempt to cure. Andplenty of the clergy find the Church a tolerably profitableinvestment. The reading of the absolution is as productive to themnow, as it was to the pardon-sellers of old. But surely, colonel, youwon't huddle them all up together in one shapeless mass ofcondemnation?"

"You always were right, Smith, and I'm a fool, as usual. --Percy, myboy, what's going on at Somerset House?"

"The river, uncle. "

"Nothing else?"

"Well--I don't know. Nothing much. It's horribly slow!"

"I'm afraid you won't find this much better. But you must take care ofyourself. "

"I've made that a branch of special study, uncle. I flatter myself I_can_ do that. "

Colonel Cathcart laughed. Percy was the son of his only brother, whohad died young, and he had an especial affection for him. And wherethe honest old man loved, he could see no harm; for he reasonedsomething in this way: "He must be all right, or how could I like himas I do?" But Percy was a common-place, selfish fellow--of that I wasconvinced--whatever his other qualities, good or bad, might be; and Isincerely hoped that any designs he might have of marrying his cousin, might prove as vain as his late infantile passion for the moon. For Ibeg to assure my readers that the circumstances in which I haveintroduced Adela Cathcart, are no more fair to her real character, than my lady readers would consider the effect of a lamp-shade ofbottle-green true in its presentation of their complexion. 

We did not sit long over our wine. When we went up to thedrawing-room, Adela was not there, nor did she make her appearanceagain that evening. For a little while we tried to talk; but, aftermany failures, I yielded and withdrew on the score of fatigue; nodoubt relieving the mind of my old friend by doing so, for he hadsevere ideas of the duty of a host as well as of a soldier, and tothese ideas he found it at present impossible to elevate the tone ofhis behaviour. 

When I reached my own room, I threw myself into the easiest ofarm-chairs, and began to reflect. 

"John Smith, " I said, "this is likely to be as uncomfortable aChristmas-tide, as you, with your all but ubiquity, have ever had theopportunity of passing. Nevertheless, please to remember a resolutionyou came to once upon a time, that, as you were nobody, so you wouldbe nobody; and see if you can make yourself useful. --What can be thematter with Adela?"

I sat and reflected for a long time; for during my life I had had manyopportunities of observation, and amongst other cases that hadinterested me, I had seen some not unlike the present. The fact wasthat, as everybody counted me nobody, I had taken full advantage of myconceded nonentity, which, like Jack the Giant-killer's coat ofdarkness, enabled me to learn much that would otherwise have escapedme. My reflections on my observations, however, did not lead me to anyfurther or more practical conclusion just yet, than that other andbetter advice ought to be called in. 

Having administered this sedative sop to my restless practicalness, I went to bed and to sleep. 

Chapter II. 

Church. 

Adela did not make her appearance at the breakfast-table next morning, although it was the morning of Christmas Day. And no one who had seenher at dinner on Christmas Eve, would have expected to see her atbreakfast on Christmas-morn. Yet although her absence was rather arelief, such a gloom occupied her place, that our party was anythingbut cheerful. But the world about us was happy enough, not merely atits unseen heart of fire, but on its wintered countenance--evidentlyto all men. It was not "to hide her guilty front, " as Milton says, inthe first two--and the least worthy--stanzas on the Nativity, that theearth wooed the gentle air for innocent snow, but to put on the bestsmile and the loveliest dress that the cold time and her sufferingstate would allow, in welcome of the Lord of the snow and thesummer. I thought of the lines from Crashaw's _Hymn of theNativity_--Crashaw, who always suggested to me Shelley turned aCatholic Priest:

 "I saw the curled drops, soft and slow, Come hovering o'er the place's head, Offering their whitest sheets of snow, To furnish the fair infant's bed. Forbear, said I, be not too bold: Your fleece is white, but 'tis too cold. "

And as the sun shone rosy with mist, I naturally thought of the nextfollowing stanza of the same hymn:

 "I saw the obsequious seraphim Their rosy fleece of fire bestow; For well they now can spare their wings, Since Heaven itself lies here below. Well done! said I; but are you sure Your down, so warm, will pass for pure?"

Adela, pale face and all, was down in time for church; and she and thecolonel and I walked to it together by the meadow path, where, on eachside, the green grass was peeping up through the glittering frost. Forthe colonel, notwithstanding his last night's outbreak upon theclergy, had a profound respect for them, and considered church-goingone of those military duties which belonged to every honest soldierand gentleman. Percy had found employment elsewhere. 

It was a blessed little church that, standing in a little meadowchurch-yard, with a low strong ancient tower, and great buttressesthat put one in mind of the rock of ages, and a mighty still riverthat flowed past the tower end, and a picturesque, straggling, well-to-do parsonage at the chancel end. The church was nearly coveredwith ivy, and looked as if it had grown out of the churchyard, to beready for the poor folks, as soon as they got up again, to praise Godin. But it had stood a long time, and none of them came, and thepraise of the living must be a poor thing to the praise of the dead, notwithstanding all that the Psalmist says. So the church gotdisheartened, and drooped, and now looked very old and grey-headed. Itcould not get itself filled with praise enough. --And into this old, and quaint, and weary but stout-hearted church, we went that brightwinter morning, to hear about a baby. My heart was full enough beforeI left it. 

Old Mr. Venables read the service with a voice and manner far morememorial of departed dinners than of joys to come; but I sat--littleheeding the service, I confess--with my mind full of thoughts thatmade me glad. 

Now all my glad thoughts came to me through a hole in thetower-door. For the door was far in a shadowy retreat, and in theirregular lozenge-shaped hole in it, there was a piece of coarse thickglass of a deep yellow. And through this yellow glass the sunshone. And the cold shine of the winter sun was changed into the warmglory of summer by the magic of that bit of glass. 

Now when I saw the glow first, I thought without thinking, that itcame from some inner place, some shrine of old, or some ancient tombin the chancel of the church--forgetting the points of thecompass--where one might pray as in the _penetralia_ of the temple;and I gazed on it as the pilgrim might gaze upon the lamp-light oozingfrom the cavern of the Holy Sepulchre. But some one opened the door, and the clear light of the Christmas morn broke upon the pavement, andswept away the summer splendour. --The door was to the outside. --And Isaid to myself: All the doors that lead inwards to the secret place ofthe Most High, are doors outwards--out of self--out of smallness--outof wrong. And these were some of the thoughts that came to me throughthe hole in the door, and made me forget the service, whichMr. Venables mumbled like a nicely cooked sweetbread. 

But another voice broke the film that shrouded the ears of my brain, and the words became inspired and alive, and I forgot my own thoughtsin listening to the Holy Book. For is not the voice of every lovingspirit a fresh inspiration to the dead letter? With a voice other thanthis, does it not kill? And I thought I had heard the voice before, but where I sat I could not see the Communion Table. --At length thepreacher ascended the pulpit stairs, and, to my delight and therousing of an altogether unwonted expectation, who should it be but myfellow-traveller of last night!

He had a look of having something to say; and I immediately felt thatI had something to hear. Having read his text, which I forget, thebroad-browed man began with something like this:

"It is not the high summer alone that is God's. The winter also isHis. And into His winter He came to visit us. And all man's wintersare His--the winter of our poverty, the winter of our sorrow, thewinter of our unhappiness--even 'the winter of our discontent. '"

I stole a glance at Adela. Her large eyes were fixed on the preacher. 

"Winter, " he went on, "does not belong to death, although the outsideof it looks like death. Beneath the snow, the grass is growing. Belowthe frost, the roots are warm and alive. Winter is only a spring tooweak and feeble for us to see that it is living. The cold does for allthings what the gardener has sometimes to do for valuable trees: hemust half kill them before they will bear any fruit. Winter is intruth the small beginnings of the spring. "

I glanced at Adela again; and still her eyes were fastened on thespeaker. 

"The winter is the childhood of the year. Into this childhood of theyear came the child Jesus; and into this childhood of the year must weall descend. It is as if God spoke to each of us according to ourneed: My son, my daughter, you are growing old and cunning; you mustgrow a child again, with my son, this blessed birth-time. You aregrowing old and selfish; you must become a child. You are growing oldand careful; you must become a child. You are growing old anddistrustful; you must become a child. You are growing old and petty, and weak, and foolish; you must become a child--my child, like thebaby there, that strong sunrise of faith and hope and love, lying inhis mother's arms in the stable. 

"But one may say to me: 'You are talking in a dream. The Son of God isa child no longer. He is the King of Heaven. ' True, my friends. But Hewho is the Unchangeable, could never become anything that He was notalways, for that would be to change. He is as much a child now as everhe was. When he became a child, it was only to show us by itself, thatwe might understand it better, what he was always in his deepestnature. And when he was a child, he was not less the King of Heaven;for it is in virtue of his childhood, of his sonship, that he is Lordof Heaven and of Earth--'for of such'--namely, of children--'is thekingdom of heaven. ' And, therefore, when we think of the baby now, itis still of the Son of man, of the King of men, that we think. And allthe feelings that the thought of that babe can wake in us, are as truenow as they were on that first Christmas day, when Mary covered fromthe cold his little naked feet, ere long to be washed with the tearsof repentant women, and nailed by the hands of thoughtless men, whoknew not what they did, to the cross of fainting, and desolation, anddeath. "

Adela was hiding her face now. 

"So, my friends, let us be children this Christmas. Of course, when Isay to anyone, 'You must be like a child, ' I mean a good child. Anaughty child is not a child as long as his naughtiness lasts. He isnot what God meant when He said, 'I will make a child. ' Think of thebest child you know--the one who has filled you with mostadmiration. It is his child-likeness that has so delighted you. It isbecause he is so true to the child-nature that you admire him. Jesusis like that child. You must be like that child. But you cannot helpknowing some faults in him--some things that are like ill-grown menand women. Jesus is not like him, there. Think of the best child youcan imagine; nay, think of a better than you can imagine--of the onethat God thinks of when he invents a child in the depth of hisfatherhood: such child-like men and women must you one day become; andwhat day better to begin, than this blessed Christmas Morn? Let such achild be born in your hearts this day. Take the child Jesus to yourbosoms, into your very souls, and let him grow there till he is onewith your every thought, and purpose, and hope. As a good child bornin a family will make the family good; so Jesus, born into the world, will make the world good at last. And this perfect child, born in yourhearts, will make your hearts good; and that is God's best gift toyou. 

"Then be happy this Christmas Day; for to you a child is born. Childless women, this infant is yours--wives or maidens. Fathers andmothers, he is your first-born, and he will save his brethren. Eat anddrink, and be merry and kind, for the love of God is the source of alljoy and all good things, and this love is present in the childJesus. --Now, to God the Father, &c. "

"O my baby Lord!" I said in my heart; for the clergyman had forgottenme, and said nothing about us old bachelors. 

Of course this is but the substance of the sermon; and as, although Icame to know him well before many days were over, he never lent me hismanuscript--indeed, I doubt if he had any--my report must have lostsomething of his nervous strength, and be diluted with the weakness ofmy style. 

Although I had been attending so well to the sermon, however, my eyeshad now and then wandered, not only to Adela's face, but all over thechurch as well; and I could not help observing, a few pillars off, andpartly round a corner, the face of a young man--well, he was aboutthirty, I should guess--out of which looked a pair of well-openedhazel eyes, with rather notable eyelashes. Not that I, with my ownweak pair of washed-out grey, could see the eyelashes at thatdistance, but I judged it must be their length that gave a kind offeminine cast to the outline of the eyes. Nor should I have noticedthe face itself much, had it not seemed to me that those eyes werepursuing a very thievish course; for, by the fact that, as often as Ilooked their way, I saw the motion of their withdrawal, I concludedthat they were stealing glances at, certainly not from, my adoptedniece, Adela. This made me look at the face more attentively. I foundit a fine, frank, brown, country-looking face. --Could it have anythingto do with Adela's condition? Absurd! How could such health and ruddylife have anything to do with the worn pallor of her countenance? Nordid a single glance on the part of Adela reveal that she was aware ofthe existence of the neighbouring observatory. I dismissed theidea. And I was right, as time showed. 

We remained to the Communion. When that was over, we walked out of theold dark-roofed church, Adela looking as sad as ever, into the brightcold sunshine, which wrought no change on her demeanour. How could it, if the sun of righteousness, even, had failed for the time? And there, in the churchyard, we found Percy, standing astride of an infant'sgrave, with his hands in his trowser-pockets, and an air ofcondescending satisfaction on his countenance, which seemed to say tothe dead beneath him:

"Pray, don't apologize. I know you are disagreeable; but you can'thelp it, you know;"

--and to the living coming out of church:

"Well, have you had your little whim out?"

But what he did say, was to Adela:

"A merry Christmas to you, Addie! Won't you lean on me? You don't lookvery stunning. "

But her sole answer was to take my arm; and so we walked towards theSwanspond. 

"I suppose that's what they call _Broad Church, _" said the colonel. 

"Generally speaking, I prefer breadth, " I answered, vaguely. "Do youthink that's _Broad Church?_"

"Oh! I don't know. I suppose it's all right. He ran me through, anyhow. "

"I hope it _is_ all right, " I answered. "It suits me. "

"Well, I'm sure you know ten times better than I do. He seems a rightsort of man, whatever sort of clergyman he may be. "

"Who is he--can you tell me?"

"Why, don't you know? That's our new curate, Mr. Armstrong. "

"Curate!" I exclaimed. "A man like that! And at his years too! He mustbe forty. You astonish me!"

"Well, I don't know. He may be forty. He is our curate; that is all Ican answer for. "

"He was my companion in the train last night. "

"Ah! that accounts for it. You had some talk with him, and found himout? I believe he is a superior sort of man, too. Old Mr. Venablesseems to like him. "

"All the talk I have had with him passed between pulpit and pew thismorning, " I replied; "for the only words that we exchanged last nightwere, 'Will you join me in a cigar?' from him, and 'With muchpleasure, ' from me. "

"Then, upon my life, I can't see what you think remarkable in hisbeing a curate. Though I confess, as I said before, he ran me throughthe body. I'm rather soft-hearted, I believe, since Addie's illness. "

He gave her a hasty glance. But she took no notice of what he hadsaid; and, indeed, seemed to have taken no notice of theconversation--to which Percy had shown an equal amount ofindifference. A very different indifference seemed the only bondbetween them. 

When we reached home, we found lunch ready for us, and after waiting afew minutes for Adela, but in vain, we seated ourselves at the table. 

"Awfully like Sunday, and a cold dinner, uncle!" remarked Percy. 

"We'll make up for that, my boy, when dinner-time comes. "

"You don't like Sunday, then, Mr. Percy?" I said. 

"A horrid bore, " he answered. "My old mother made me hate it. We hadto go to church twice; and that was even worse than her veal-broth. But the worst of it is, I can't get it out of my head that I ought tobe there, even when I'm driving tandem to Richmond. "

"Ah! your mother will be with us on Sunday, I hope, Percy. "

"Good heavens, uncle! Do you know what you are about? My mother here!I'll just ring the bell, and tell James to pack my traps. I won'tstand it. I can't. Indeed I can't. "

He rose as he spoke. His uncle caught him by the arm, laughing, andmade him sit down again; which he did with real or pretendedreluctance. 

"We'll take care of you, Percy. Never mind. --Don't be a fool, " headded, seeing the evident annoyance of the young fellow. 

"Well, uncle, you ought to have known better, " said Percy, sulkily, as, yielding, he resumed his seat, and poured himself out a bumper ofclaret, by way of consolation. 

He had not been much of a companion before: now he made himself almostas unpleasant as a young man could be, and that is saying a greatdeal. One, certainly, had need to have found something beautiful atchurch, for here was the prospect of as wretched a Christmas dinner asone could ever wish to avoid. 

When Percy had drunk another bumper of claret, he rose and left theroom; and my host, turning to me, said:

"I fear, Smith, you will have anything but a merry Christmas, thisyear. I hoped the sight of you would cheer up poor Adela, and set usall right. And now Percy's out of humour at the thought of his mothercoming, and I'm sure I don't know what's to be done. We shall sit overour dinner to-day like four crows over a carcass. It's very good ofyou to stop. "

"Oh! never mind me, " I said. "I, too, can take care of myself. But hasAdela no companions of her own age?"

"None but Percy. And I am afraid she has got tired of him. He's a goodfellow, though a bit of a puppy. That'll wear off. I wish he wouldtake a fancy to the army, now. "

I made no reply, but I thought the more. It seemed to me that to gettired of Percy was the most natural proceeding that could be adoptedwith regard to him and all about him. 

But men judge men--and women, women--hardly. 

"I'll tell you what I will do, " said the colonel. "I will ask Mr. Bloomfield, the schoolmaster, and his wife, to dine with us. It's nouse asking anybody else that I can think of. But they have no family, and I dare say they can put off their own Christmas dinner tillto-morrow. They have but one maid, and she can dine with ourservants. They are very respectable people, I assure you. "

The colonel always considered his plans thoroughly, and then acted onthem at once. He rose. 

"A capital idea!" I said, as he disappeared. I went up to look forAdela. She was not in the drawing-room. I went up again, and tapped atthe door of her room. 

"Come in, " she said, in a listless voice. 

I entered. 

"How are you now, Adela?" I asked. 

"Thank you, uncle, " was all her reply. 

"What is the matter with you, my child?" I said, and drew a chair nearhers. She was half reclining, with a book lying upside down on herknee. 

"I would tell you at once, uncle, if I knew, " she answered verysweetly, but as sadly. I believe I am dying; but of what I have notthe smallest idea. "

"Nonsense!" I said. "You're not dying. "

"You need not think to comfort me that way, uncle; for I think I wouldrather die than not. "

"Is there anything you would like?"

"Nothing. There is nothing worth liking, but sleep. "

"Don't you sleep at night?"

"Not well. --I will tell you all I know about it. --Some six weeks ago, I woke suddenly one morning, very early--I think about threeo'clock--with an overpowering sense of blackness and misery. Everything I thought of seemed to have a core of wretchedness in it. Ifought with the feeling as well as I could, and got to sleep again. But the effect of it did not leave me next day. I said to myself:'They say "morning thoughts are true. " What if this should be the trueway of looking at things?' And everything became grey and dismal aboutme. Next morning it was just the same. It was as if I had waked in themiddle of some chaos over which God had never said: 'Let there belight. ' And the next day was worse. I began to see the bad ineverything--wrong motives--and self-love--and pretence, and everythingmean and low. And so it has gone on ever since. I wake wretched everymorning. I am crowded with wretched, if not wicked thoughts, all day. Nothing seems worth anything. I don't care for anything. "

"But you love somebody?"

"I hope I love my father. I don't know. I don't feel as if I did. "

"And there's your cousin Percy. " I confess this was a feeler I putout. 

"Percy's a fool!" she said, with some show of indignation, which Ihailed, for more reasons than one. 

"But you enjoyed the sermon this morning, did you not?"

"I don't know. I thought it very poetical and very pretty; but whetherit was true--how could I tell? I didn't care. The baby he spoke aboutwas nothing to me. I didn't love him, or want to hear about him. Don'tyou think me a brute, uncle?"

"No, I don't. I think you are ill. And I think we shall find somethingthat will do you good; but I can't tell yet what. You will dine withus, won't you?"

"Oh! yes, if you and papa wish it. "

"Of course we do. He is just gone to ask Mr. And Mrs. Bloomfield todine with us. "

"Oh!"

"You don't mind, do you?"

"Oh! no. They are nice people. I like them both. "

"Well, I will leave you, my child. Sleep if you can. I will go andwalk in the garden, and think what can be done for my little girl. "

"Thank you, uncle. But you can't do me any good. What if this shouldbe the true way of things? It is better to know it, if it is. "

"Disease couldn't make a sun in the heavens. But it could make a manblind, that he could not see it. "

"I don't understand you. "

"Never mind. It's of no consequence whether you do or not. When yousee light again, you will believe in it. For light compels faith. "

"I believe in you, uncle; I do. "

"Thank you, my dear. Good-bye. "

I went round by the stables, and there found the colonel, talking tohis groom. He had returned already from his call, and the Bloomfieldswere coming. I met Percy next, sauntering about, with a huge cigar inhis mouth. 

"The Bloomfields are coming to dinner, Mr. Percy, " I said. 

"Who are they?"

"The schoolmaster and his wife. "

"Just like that precious old uncle of mine! Why the deuce did he ask_me_ this Christmas? I tell you what, Mr. Smith--I can't standit. There's nothing, not even cards, to amuse a fellow. And when mymother comes, it will be ten times worse. I'll cut and run for it. "

"Oh! no, you won't, " I said. But I heartily wished he would. I confessthe insincerity, and am sorry for it. 

"But what the devil does my mother want, coming here?"

"I haven't the pleasure of knowing your mother, so I cannot tell whatthe devil she can want, coming here. "

"Humph!"

He walked away. 

Chapter III. 

The Christmas dinner. 

Mr. And Mrs. Bloomfield arrived; the former a benevolent, grey-hairedman, with a large nose and small mouth, yet with nothing of thefoolish look which often accompanies such a malconformation; and thelatter a nice-looking little body, middle-aged, rather more; withhalf-grey curls, and a cap with black ribbons. Indeed, they were bothin mourning. Mr. Bloomfield bore himself with a kind of unworldlygrace, and Mrs. Bloomfield with a kind of sweet primness. Theschoolmaster was inclined to be talkative; nor was his wife behindhim; and that was just what we wanted. 

"I am sorry to see you in mourning, " said the colonel to Mr. Bloomfield, during dessert. "I trust it is for no near relative. "

"No relative at all, sir. But a boy of mine, to whom, through God'sgrace, I did a good turn once, and whom, as a consequence, I lovedever after. "

"Tell Colonel Cathcart the story, James, " said his wife. "It can do noharm to anybody now; and you needn't mention names, you know. Youwould like to hear it, wouldn't you, sir?"

"Very much indeed, " answered the colonel. 

"Well, sir, " began the schoolmaster, "there's not much in it to you, Ifear; though there was a good deal to him and me. I was usher in aschool at Peckham once. I was but a lad, but I tried to do my duty;and the first part of my duty seemed to me, to take care of thecharacters of the boys. So I tried to understand them all, and theirways of looking at things, and thinking about them. 

"One day, to the horror of the masters, it was discovered that a watchbelonging to one of the boys had been stolen. The boy who had lost itwas making a dreadful fuss about it, and declaring he would tell thepolice, and set them to find it. The moment I heard of it, mysuspicion fell, half by knowledge, half by instinct, upon a certainboy. He was one of the most gentlemanly boys in the school; but therewas a look of cunning in the corner of his eye, and a look of greed inthe corner of his mouth, which now and then came out clear enough tome. Well, sir, I pondered for a few moments what I should do. I wantedto avoid calling any attention to him; so I contrived to make theworst of him in the Latin class--he was not a bad scholar--and so keephim in when the rest went to play. As soon as they were gone, I tookhim into my own room, and said to him, 'Fred, my boy, you knew yourlesson well enough; but I wanted you here. You stole Simmons'swatch. '"

"You had better mention no names, Mr. Bloomfield, " interrupted hiswife. 

"I beg your pardon, my dear. But it doesn't matter. Simmons was eatenby a tiger, ten years ago. And I hope he agreed with him, for he neverdid with anybody else I ever heard of. He was the worst boy I everknew. --'You stole Simmons's watch. Where is it?' He fell on his knees, as white as a sheet. 'I sold it, ' he said, in a voice choked withterror. 'God help you, my boy!' I exclaimed. He burst out crying. 'Where did you sell it?' He told me. 'Where's the money you got forit?' 'That's all I have left, ' he answered, pulling out a smallhandful of shillings and halfcrowns. 'Give it me, ' I said. He gave itme at once. 'Now you go to your lesson, and hold your tongue. ' I got asovereign of my own to make up the sum--I could ill spare it, sir, butthe boy could worse spare his character--and I hurried off to theplace where he had sold the watch. To avoid scandal, I was forced topay the man the whole price, though I daresay an older man would havemanaged better. At all events, I brought it home. I contrived to putit in the boy's own box, so that the whole affair should appear tohave been only a trick, and then I gave the culprit a very serioustalking-to. He never did anything of the sort again, and died anhonourable man and a good officer, only three months ago, in India. Athousand times over did he repay me the money I had spent for him, andhe left me this gold watch in his will--a memorial, not so much of hisfault, as of his deliverance from some of its natural consequences. "

The schoolmaster pulled out the watch as he spoke, and we all lookedat it with respect. 

It was a simple story and simply told. But I was pleased to see thatAdela took some interest in it. I remembered that, as a child, she hadalways liked better to be told a story than to have any otheramusement whatever. And many a story I had had to coin on the spur ofthe moment for the satisfaction of her childish avidity for that kindof mental bull's-eye. 

When we gentlemen were left alone, and the servants had withdrawn, Mr. Bloomfield said to our host:

"I am sorry to see Miss Cathcart looking so far from well, colonel. Ihope you have good advice for her. "

"Dr. Wade has been attending her for some time, but I don't think he'sdoing her any good. "

"Don't you think it might be well to get the new doctor to see her?He's quite a remarkable man, I assure you. "

"What! The young fellow that goes flying about the country in bootsand breeches?"

"Well, I suppose that is the man I mean. He's not so very youngthough--he's thirty at least. And for the boots and breeches--I askedhim once, in a joking way, whether he did not think them ratherunprofessional. But he told me he saved ever so much time in openweather by going across the country. 'And, ' said he, 'if I can seepatients sooner, and more of them, in that way, I think it is quiteprofessional. The other day, ' he said, 'I was sent for, and I wentstraight as the crow flies, and I beat a little baby only by fiveminutes after all. ' Of course after that there was nothing more tosay. "

"He has very queer notions, hasn't he?"

"Yes, he has, for a medical man. He goes to church, for instance. "

"I don't count that a fault. "

"Well, neither do I. Rather the contrary. But one of the professionhere says it is for the sake of being called out in the middle of theservice. "

"Oh! that is stale. I don't think he would find that answer. But it isa pity he is not married. "

"So it is. I wish he were. But that is a fault that may be remediedsome day. One thing I know about him is, that when I called him in tosee one of my boarders, he sat by his bedside half an hour, watchinghim, and then went away without giving him any medicine. "

"I don't see the good of that. What do you make of that? I call itvery odd. "

"He said to me: 'I am not sure what is the matter with him. A wrongmedicine would do him more harm than the right one would do himgood. Meantime he is in no danger. I will come and see him to-morrowmorning. ' Now I liked that, because it showed me that he was thinkingover the case. The boy was well in two days. Not that that indicatesmuch. All I say is, he is not a common man. "

"I don't like to dismiss Dr. Wade. "

"No; but you must not stand on ceremony, if he is doing her no good. You are judge enough of that. "

I thought it best to say nothing; but I heartily approved of all thehonest gentleman said; and I meant to use my persuasion afterwards, ifnecessary, to the same end; for I liked all he told about the newdoctor. I asked his name. 

"Mr. Armstrong, " answered the schoolmaster. 

"Armstrong--" I repeated. "Is not that the name of the new curate?"

"To be sure. They are brothers. Henry, the doctor, is considerablyyounger than the curate. "

"Did the curate seek the appointment because the doctor was herebefore him?"

"I suppose so. They are much attached to each other. "

"If he is at all equal as a doctor to what I think his brother is as apreacher, Purleybridge is a happy place to possess two such healers, "I said. 

"Well, time will show, " returned Mr. Bloomfield. 

All this time Percy sat yawning, and drinking claret. When we joinedthe ladies, we found them engaged in a little gentle chat. There wassomething about Mrs. Bloomfield that was very pleasing. The chiefingredient in it was a certain quaint repose. She looked as if herheart were at rest; as if for her everything, was right; as if she hada little room of her own, just to her mind, and there her soul sat, looking out through the muslin curtains of modest charity, upon theworld that went hurrying and seething past her windows. When weentered--

"I was just beginning to tell Miss Cathcart, " she said, "a curioushistory that came under my notice once. I don't know if I oughtthough, for it is rather sad. "

"Oh! I like sad stories, " said Adela. 

"Well, there isn't much of romance in it either, but I will cut itshort now the gentlemen are come. I knew the lady. She had beenmarried some years. And report said her husband was not overkind toher. All at once she disappeared, and her husband thought the worst ofher. Knowing her as well as I did, I did not believe a word of it. Yetit was strange that she had left her baby, her only child, of a fewmonths, as well as her husband. I went to see her mother directly Iheard of it, and together we went to the police; and such a search aswe had! We traced her to a wretched lodging, where she had been fortwo nights, but they did not know what had become of her. In fact, they had turned her out because she had no money. Some informationthat we had, made us go to a house near Hyde Park. We rang thebell. Who should open the door, in a neat cap and print-gown, but thepoor lady herself! She fainted when she saw her mother. And then thewhole story came out. Her husband was stingy, and only allowed hervery small sum for housekeeping; and perhaps she was not a very goodmanager, for good management is a gift, and everybody has not gotit. So she found that she could not clear off the butcher's bills onthe sum allowed her; and she had let the debt gather and gather, tillthe thought of it, I believe, actually drove her out of her mind forthe time. She dared not tell her husband; but she knew it must comeout some day, and so at last, quite frantic with the thought of it, she ran away, and left her baby behind her. "

"And what became of her?" asked Adela. 

"Her husband would never hear a word in her favour. He laughed at herstory in the most scornful way, and said he was too old a bird forthat. In fact, I believe he never saw her again. She went to hermother's. She will have her child now, I suppose; for I hear that thewretch of a husband, who would not let her have him, is dead. Idaresay she is happy at last. Poor thing! Some people would need stouthearts, and have not got them. "

Adela sighed. This story, too, seemed to interest her. 

"What a miserable life!" she said. 

"Well, Miss Cathcart, " said the schoolmaster, "no doubt it was. Butevery life that has to be lived, can be lived; and however impossibleit may seem to the onlookers, it has its own consolations, or, atleast, interests. And I always fancy the most indispensable thing to alife is, that it should be interesting to those who have it tolive. My wife and I have come through a good deal, but the time whenthe life looked hardest to others, was not, probably, the leastinteresting to us. It is just like reading a book: anything will do ifyou are taken up with it. "

"Very good philosophy! Isn't it, Adela?" said the colonel. 

Adela cast her eyes down, as if with a despairing sense of rebuke, anddid not reply. 

"I wish you would tell Miss Cathcart, " resumed the schoolmaster to hiswife, "that little story about the foolish lad you met once. And youneed not keep back the little of your own history that belongs toit. I am sure the colonel will excuse you. "

"I insist on hearing the whole of it, " said the colonel, with a smile. 

And Mrs. Bloomfield began. 

Let me say here once for all, that I cannot keep the tales I tell inthis volume from partaking of my own peculiarities of style, any morethan I could keep the sermon free of such; for of course I give themall at second hand; and sometimes, where a joint was missing, I havehad to supply facts as well as words. But I have kept as near to theoriginals as these necessities and a certain preparation for the presswould permit me. 

Mrs. Bloomfield, I say, began:

"A good many years ago, now, on a warm summer evening, a friend, whomI was visiting, asked me to take a drive with her through one of theLondon parks. I agreed to go, though I did not care much about it. Ihad not breathed the fresh air for some weeks; yet I felt it a greattrouble to go. I had been ill, and my husband was ill, and we hadnothing to do, and we did not know what would become of us. So I wasanything but cheerful. I _knew_ that all was for the best, as my goodhusband was always telling me, but my eyes were dim and my heart wastroubled, and I could not feel sure that God cared quite so much forus as he did for the lilies. 

"My friend was very cheerful, and seemed to enjoy everything; but akind of dreariness came over me, and I began comparing the lovelinessof the summer evening with the cold misty blank that seemed to make upmy future. My wretchedness grew greater and greater. The very coloursof the flowers, the blue of the sky, the sleep of the water, seemed topush us out of the happy world that God had made. And yet the childrenseemed as happy as if God were busy making, the things before theireyes, and holding out each thing, as he made it, for them to look at. 

"I should have told you that we had two children then. "

"I did not know you had any family, " interposed the colonel. 

"Yes, we had two then. One of them is now in India, and the other wasnot long out of heaven. --Well, I was glad when my friend stopped thecarriage, and got out with the children, to take them close to thewater's edge, and let them feed the swans. I liked better to sit inthe carriage alone--an ungrateful creature, in the midst of causes forthankfulness. I did not care for the beautiful things about me; and Iwas not even pleased that other people should enjoy them. I listlesslywatched the well-dressed ladies that passed, and hearkenedcontemptuously to the drawling way in which they spoke. So bad andproud was I, that I said in my heart, 'Thank God! I am not like themyet!' Then came nursemaids and children; and I did envy the servants, because they had work to do, and health to do it, and wages for itwhen it was done. The carriage was standing still all this time, youknow. Then sickly-looking men passed, with still more sickly-lookingwives, some of them leading a child between them. But even their facestold of wages, and the pleasure of an evenings walk in the park. Andnow I was able to thank God that they had the parks to walk in. Thencame tottering by, an old man, apparently of eighty years, leaning onthe arm of his grand-daughter, I supposed--a tidy, gentle-lookingmaiden. As they passed, I heard the old man say: 'He maketh me to liedown in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. ' Andhis quiet face looked as if the fields were yet green to his eyes, andthe still waters as pleasant as when he was a little child. 

"At last I caught sight of a poor lad, who was walking along veryslowly, looking at a gay-coloured handkerchief which he had spread outbefore him. His clothes were rather ragged, but not so ragged asold. On his head was what we now call a wide-awake. It was very limpand shapeless; but some one that loved him had trimmed it with a bitof blue ribbon, the ends of which hung down on his shoulder. This gavehim an odd appearance even at a distance. When he came up and I couldsee his face, it explained everything. There was a constant smileabout his mouth, which in itself was very sweet; but as it had nothingto do with the rest of the countenance, the chief impression itconveyed was of idiotcy. He came near the carriage, and stood there, watching some men who were repairing the fence which divided the roadfrom the footpath. His hair was almost golden, and went waving aboutin the wind. His eye was very large and clear, and of a brightblue. But it had no meaning in it. He would have been very handsome, had there been mind in his face; but as it was, the very regularity ofhis unlighted features made the sight a sadder one. His figure wasyoung; but his face might have belonged to a man of sixty. 

"He opened his mouth, stuck out his under jaw, and stood staring andgrinning at the men. At last one of them stopped to take breath, and, catching sight of the lad, called out:

"'Why, Davy! is that you?'

"'Ya-as, it be, ' replied Davy, nodding his head. 

"'Why, Davy, it's ever so long since I clapped eyes on ye!' said theman. 'Where ha' ye been?'

"'I 'aint been nowheres, as I knows on. '

"'Well, if ye 'aint been nowheres, what have ye been doing? Flyingyour kite?'

"Davy shook his head sorrowfully, and at the same time kept ongrinning foolishly. 

"'I 'aint got no kite; so I can't fly it. '

"'But you likes flyin' kites, don't ye?' said his friend, kindly. 

"'Ya-as, ' answered Davy, nodding his head, and rubbing his hands, andlaughing out. 'Kites is such fun! I wish I'd got un. '

"Then he looked thoughtfully, almost moodily, at the man, and said:

"'Where's _your_ kite? I likes kites. Kites is friends to me. '

"But by this time the man had turned again to his work, and was busydriving a post into the ground; so he paid no attention to the lad'squestion. "

"Why, Mrs. Bloomfield, " interrupted the colonel, "I should just likeyou to send out with a reconnoitring party, for you seem to seeeverything and forget nothing. "

"You see best and remember best what most interests you, colonel; andbesides that, I got a good rebuke to my ingratitude from that poorfellow. So you see I had reason to remember him. I hope I don't tireyou, Miss Cathcart. "

"Quite the contrary, " answered our hostess. 

"By this time, " resumed Mrs. Bloomfield, "another man had come up. Hehad a coarse, hard-featured face; and he tried, or pretended to try, to wheel his barrow, which was full of gravel, over Davy's toes. Thesaid toes were sticking quite bare through great holes in an old pairof woman's boots. Then he began to tease him rather roughly. But Davytook all his banter with just the same complacency and mirth withwhich he had received the kindliness of the other man. 

"'How's yer sweetheart, Davy?' he said. 

"'Quite well, thank ye, ' answered Davy. 

"'What's her name?'

"'Ha! ha! ha! I won't tell ye that. '

"'Come now, Davy, tell us her name. '

"'Noa. '

"'Don't be a fool. '

"'I aint a fool. But I won't tell you her name. '

"'I don't believe ye've got e'er a sweetheart. Come now. '

"'I have though. '

"'I don't believe ye. '

"'I have though. I was at church with her last Sunday. '

"Suddenly the man, looking hard at Davy, changed his tone to one ofsurprise, and exclaimed:

"'Why, boy, ye've got whiskers! Ye hadn't them the last time I see'dye. Why, ye _are_ set up now! When are ye going to begin to shave?Where's your razors?'

"''Aint begun yet, ' replied Davy. 'Shall shave some day, but I 'aintgot too much yet. '

"As he said this, he fondled away at his whiskers. They were few innumber, but evidently of great value in his eyes. Then he began tostroke his chin, on which there was a little down visible--more likemould in its association with his curious face than anything of morehealthy significance. After a few moments' pause, his tormentor beganagain:

"'Well, I can't think where ye got them whiskers as ye're so fondof. Do ye know where ye got them?'

"Davy took out his pocket-handkerchief, spread it out before him, andstopped grinning. 

"'Yaas; to be sure I do, ' he said at last. 

"'Ye do?' growled the man, half humorously, half scornfully. 

"'Yaas, ' said Davy, nodding his head again and again. 

"'Did ye buy 'em?'

"'Noa, ' answered Davy; and the sweetness of the smile which he nowsmiled was not confined to his mouth, but broke like light, the lightof intelligence, over his whole face. 

"'Were they gave to ye?' pursued the man, now really curious to hearwhat he would say. 

"'Yaas, ' said the poor fellow; and he clapped his hands in a kind ofsuppressed glee. 

"'Why, who gave 'em to ye?'

"Davy looked up in a way I shall never forget, and, pointing up withhis finger too, said nothing. 

"'What do ye mean?' said the man. 'Who gave ye yer whiskers?'

"Davy pointed up to the sky again; and then, looking up with anearnest expression, which, before you saw it, you would not havethought possible to his face, said, "'Blessed Father. '

"'Who?' shouted the man. 

"'Blessed Father, ' Davy repeated, once more pointing upwards. 

"'Blessed Father!' returned the man, in a contemptuous tone; 'BlessedFather!--I don't know who _that_ is. Where does he live? I never heerdon _him_. '

"Davy looked at him as if he were sorry for him. Then going closer upto him, he said:

"'Didn't you though? He lives up there'--again pointing to thesky. 'And he is so kind! He gives me lots o' things. '

"'Well!' said the man, 'I wish he'd give me thing's. But you don'tlook so very rich nayther. '

"'Oh! but he gives me lots o' things; and he's up there, and he giveseverybody lots o' things as likes to have 'em. '

"'Well, what's he gave you?'

"'Why, he's gave me some bread this mornin', and a tart last night--hedid. '

"And the boy nodded his head, as was his custom, to make his assertionstill stronger. 

"'But you was sayin' just now, you hadn't got a kite. Why don't hegive you one?'

"'_He'll_ give me one fast 'nuff, ' said Davy, grinning again, andrubbing his hands. 

"Miss Cathcart, I assure you I could have kissed the boy. And I hope Ifelt some gratitude to God for giving the poor lad such trust in Him, which, it seemed to me, was better than trusting in thethree-per-cents, colonel; for you can draw upon him to no end o' goodthings. So Davy thought anyhow; and he had got the very thing for thewant of which my life was cold and sad, and discontented. Those words, _Blessed Father_, and that look that turned his vacant face, likeStephen's, into the face of an angel, because he was looking up to thesame glory, were in my ears and eyes for days. And they taught me, andcomforted me. He was the minister of God's best gifts to me. And tohow many more, who can tell? For Davy believed that God did care forhis own children. 

"Davy sauntered away, and before my friend came back with thechildren, I had lost sight of him; but at my request we moved onslowly till we should find him again. Nor had we gone far, before Isaw him sitting in the middle of a group of little children. He wasshowing them the pictures on his pocket-handkerchief. I had onesixpence in my purse--it was the last I had, Mr. Smith. "

Here, from some impulse or other, Mrs. Bloomfield addressed me. 

"But I wasn't so poor but I could borrow, and it was a small price togive for what I had got; and so, as I was not able to leave thecarriage, I asked my friend to take it to him, and tell him thatBlessed Father had sent him that to buy a kite. The expression ofchildish glee upon his face, and the devout God bless you, Lady, uponhis tongue, were strangely but not incongruously mingled. 

"Well, it was my last sixpence then, but here I and my husband are, owing no man anything, and spending a happy Christmas Day, with manythanks to Colonel and Miss Cathcart. "

"No, my good Madam, " said the colonel; "it is we who owe you thehappiest part of our Christmas Day. Is it not, Adela?"

"Yes, papa, it is indeed, " answered Adela. 

Then, with some hesitation, she added, "But do you think it was quite fair? It was _you_, Mrs. Bloomfield, who gave the boy the sixpence. "

"I only said God sent it, " said Mrs. Bloomfield. 

"Besides, " I interposed, "the boy never doubted it; and I think, afterall, with due submission to my niece, he was the best judge. "

"I should be only too happy to grant it, " she answered, with asigh. "Things might be all right if one could believe that--thoroughly, I mean. "

"At least you will allow, " I said, "that this boy was not by any meansso miserable as he looked. "

"Certainly, " she answered, with hearty emphasis. "I think he was muchto be envied. "

Here I discovered that Percy was asleep on a sofa. 

Other talk followed, and the colonel was looking very thoughtful. Teawas brought in, and soon after, our visitors rose to take their leave. 

"You are not going already?" said the colonel. 

"If you will excuse us, " answered the schoolmaster. "We are earlybirds. "

"Well, will you dine with us this day week?"

"With much pleasure, " answered both in a breath. 

It was clear both that the colonel liked their simple honest company, and that he saw they might do his daughter good; for her face lookedvery earnest and sweet; and the clearness that precedes rain wasevident in the atmosphere of her eyes. 

After their departure we soon separated; and I retired to my room fullof a new idea, which I thought, if well carried out, might be of stillfurther benefit to the invalid. 

But before I went to bed, I had made a rough translation of thefollowing hymn of Luther's, which I have since completed--so far atleast as the following is complete. I often find that it helps to keepgood thoughts before the mind, to turn them into another shape ofwords. 

 From heaven above I come to you, To bring a story good and new: Of goodly news so much I bring-- I cannot help it, I must sing. 

 To you a child is come this morn, A child of holy maiden born; A little babe, so sweet and mild-- It is a joy to see the child!

 'Tis little Jesus, whom we need Us out of sadness all to lead: He will himself our Saviour be, And from all sinning set us free. 

 Here come the shepherds, whom we know; Let all of us right gladsome go, To see what God to us hath given-- A gift that makes a stable heaven. 

 Take heed, my heart. Be lowly. So Thou seest him lie in manger low: That is the baby sweet and mild; That is the little Jesus-child. 

 Ah, Lord! the maker of us all! How hast thou grown so poor and small, That there thou liest on withered grass-- The supper of the ox and ass?

 Were the world wider many-fold, And decked with gems and cloth of gold, 'Twere far too mean and narrow all, To make for Thee a cradle small. 

 Rough hay, and linen not too fine, The silk and velvet that are thine; Yet, as they were thy kingdom great, Thou liest in them in royal state. 

 And this, all this, hath pleased Thee, That Thou mightst bring this truth to me: That all earth's good, in one combined, Is nothing to Thy mighty mind. 

 Ah, little Jesus! lay thy head Down in a soft, white, little bed, That waits Thee in this heart of mine, And then this heart is always Thine. 

 Such gladness in my heart would make Me dance and sing for Thy sweet sake. Glory to God in highest heaven, For He his son to us hath given!

Chapter IV. 

The new doctor. 

Next forenoon, wishing to have a little private talk with my friend, Iwent to his room, and found him busy writing to Dr. Wade. He consultedme on the contents of the letter, and I was heartily pleased with thekind way in which he communicated to the old gentleman the resolutionhe had come to, of trying whether another medical man might not bemore fortunate in his attempt to treat the illness of his daughter. 

"I fear Dr. Wade will be offended, say what I like, " said he. 

"It is quite possible to be too much afraid of giving offence, " Isaid; "But nothing can be more gentle and friendly than the way inwhich you have communicated the necessity. "

"Well, it is a great comfort you think so. Will you go with me to callon Mr. Armstrong?"

"With much pleasure, " I answered; and we set out at once. 

Shown into the doctor's dining-room, I took a glance at the bookslying about. I always take advantage of such an opportunity of gainingimmediate insight into character. Let me see a man's book-shelves, especially if they are not extensive, and I fancy I know at once, insome measure, what sort of a man the owner is. One small bookcase in arecess of the room seemed to contain all the non-professional libraryof Mr. Armstrong. I am not going to say here what books they were, orwhat books I like to see; but I was greatly encouraged by theconsultation of the auguries afforded by the backs of these. I wasstill busy with them, when the door opened, and the doctor entered. Hewas the same man whom I had seen in church looking at Adela. Headvanced in a frank manly way to the colonel, and welcomed him byname, though I believe no introduction had ever passed betweenthem. Then the colonel introduced me, and we were soon chatting verycomfortably. In his manner, I was glad to find that there was nothingof the professional. I hate the professional. I was delighted toobserve, too, that what showed at a distance as a broad honest countryface, revealed, on a nearer view, lines of remarkable strength andpurity. 

"My daughter is very far from well, " said the colonel, in answer to ageneral inquiry. 

"So I have been sorry to understand, " the doctor rejoined. "Indeed, itis only too clear from her countenance. "

"I want you to come and see if you can do her any good. "

"Is not Dr. Wade attending her?"

"I have already informed him that I meant to request your advice. "

"I shall be most happy to be of any service; but--might I suggest themost likely means of enabling me to judge whether I can be useful ornot?"

"Most certainly. "

"Then will you give me the opportunity of seeing her in a non-professional way first? I presume, from the fact that she is able togo to church, that she can be seen at home without the formality of anexpress visit?"

"Certainly, " replied the colonel, heartily. "Do me the favour to dinewith us this evening, and, as far as that can go you will see her--toconsiderable disadvantage, I fear, " he concluded, smiling sadly. 

"Thank you; thank you. If in my power, I shall not fail you. But youmust leave a margin for professional contingencies. "

"Of course. That is understood. "

I had been watching Mr. Armstrong during this brief conversation, andthe favourable impressions I had already received of him weredeepened. His fine manly vigour, and the simple honesty of hiscountenance, were such as became a healer of men. It seemed altogethermore likely that health might flow from such a source, than from the_pudgey_, flabby figure of snuff-taking Dr. Wade, whose face had noexpression except a professional one. Mr. Armstrong's eyes looked youfull in the face, as if he was determined to understand you if hecould; and there seemed to me, with my foolish way of seeing signseverywhere, something of tenderness about the droop of those longeyelashes, so that his interpretation was not likely to fail from lackof sympathy. Then there was the firm-set mouth of his brother thecurate, and a forehead as broad as his, if not so high or so full ofmodelling. When we had taken our leave, I said to the colonel, "If that man's opportunity has been equal to his qualification, Ithink we may have great hopes of his success in encountering thisunknown disease of poor Adela. "

"God grant it!" was all my friend's reply. 

When he informed Adela that he expected Mr. Henry Armstrong to dinner, she looked at him with a surprised expression, as much as tosay--"Surely you do not mean to give me into his hands!" but she onlysaid:

"Very well, papa. "

So Mr. Armstrong came, and made himself very agreeable at dinner, talking upon all sorts of subjects, and never letting drop a singleword to remind Adela that she was in the presence of a medicalman. Nor did he seem to take any notice of her more than was requiredby ordinary politeness; but behavior without speciality of any sort, he drew his judgments from her general manner, and such glances asfell naturally to his share, of those that must pass between all thepersons making up a small dinner-company. This enabled him to see heras she really was, for she remained quite at such ease as herindisposition would permit. He drank no wine at dinner, and only oneglass after; and then asked the host if he might go to the drawing-room. 

"And will you oblige me by coming with me, Mr. Smith? I can see thatyou are at home here. "

Of course the colonel consented, and I was at his service. Adela rosefrom her couch when we entered the room. Mr. Armstrong went up to hergently, and said:

"Are you able to sing something, Miss Cathcart? I have heard of yoursinging. "

"I fear not, " she answered; "I have not sung for months. "

"That is a pity. You must lose something by letting yourself get outof practice. May I play something to you, then?"

She gave him a quick glance that indicated some surprise, and said:

"If you please. It will give me pleasure. "

"May I look at your music first?"

"Certainly. "

He turned over all her loose music from beginning to end. Then withouta word seated himself at the grand piano. 

Whether he extemporized or played from memory, I, as ignorant of musicas of all other accomplishments, could not tell, but even to stupidme, what he did play spoke. I assure my readers that I hardly know aterm in the whole musical vocabulary; and yet I am tempted to try todescribe what this music was like. 

In the beginning, I heard nothing but a slow sameness, of which I wassoon weary. There was nothing like an air of any kind in it. It seemedas if only his fingers were playing, and his mind had nothing to dowith it. It oppressed me with a sense of the common-place, which, ofall things, I hate. At length, into the midst of it, came a few notes, like the first chirp of a sleepy bird trying to sing; only the attemptwas half a wail, which died away, and came again. Over and over againcame these few sad notes, increasing in number, fainting, despairing, and reviving again; till at last, with a fluttering of agonized wings, as of a soul struggling up out of the purgatorial smoke, the music-bird sprang aloft, and broke into a wild but unsure jubilation. Then, as if in the exuberance of its rejoicing it had broken some law of thekingdom of harmony, it sank, plumb-down, into the purifying firesagain; where the old wailing, and the old struggle began, but withincreased vehemence and aspiration. By degrees, the surroundingconfusion and distress melted away into forms of harmony, whichsustained the mounting cry of longing and prayer. Then all the cryvanished in a jubilant praise. Stronger and broader grew thefundamental harmony, and bore aloft the thanksgiving; which, atlength, exhausted by its own utterance, sank peacefully, like a summersunset, into a grey twilight of calm, with the songs of the summerbirds dropping asleep one by one; till, at last, only one was left tosing the sweetest prayer for all, before he, too, tucked his headunder his wing, and yielded to the restoring silence. 

Then followed a pause. I glanced at Adela. She was quietly weeping. 

But he did not leave the instrument yet. A few notes, as of the firstdistress, awoke; and then a fine manly voice arose, singing thefollowing song, accompanied by something like the same music he hadalready played. It was the same feelings put into words; or, at least, something like the same feelings, for I am a poor interpreter ofmusic:

 Rejoice, said the sun, I will make thee gay With glory, and gladness, and holiday; I am dumb, O man, and I need thy voice. But man would not rejoice. 

 Rejoice in thyself said he, O sun; For thou thy daily course dost run. In thy lofty place, rejoice if thou can: For me, I am only a man. 

 Rejoice, said the wind, I am free and strong; I will wake in thy heart an ancient song. In the bowing woods--hark! hear my voice! But man would not rejoice. 

 Rejoice, O wind, in thy strength, said he, For thou fulfillest thy destiny. Shake the trees, and the faint flowers fan: For me, I am only a man. 

 I am here, said the night, with moon and star; The sun and the wind are gone afar; I am here with rest and dreams of choice. But man would not rejoice. 

 For he said--What is rest to me, I pray, Who have done no labour all the day? He only should dream who has truth behind. Alas! for me and my kind!

 Then a voice, that came not from moon nor star, From the sun, nor the roving wind afar, Said, Man, I am with thee--rejoice, rejoice! And man said, I will rejoice!

"A wonderful physician this!" thought I to myself. "He must be afollower of some of the old mystics of the profession, countingharmony and health all one. "

He sat still, for a few moments, before the instrument, perhaps tocompose his countenance, and then rose and turned to the company. 

The colonel and Percy had entered by this time. The traces of tearswere evident on Adela's face, and Percy was eyeing first her and thenArmstrong, with some signs of disquietude. Even during dinner it hadbeen clear to me that Percy did not like the doctor, and now he was asevidently jealous of him. 

A little general conversation ensued, and the doctor took hisleave. The colonel followed him to the door. I would gladly have doneso too, but I remained in the drawing-room. All that passed betweenthem was:

"Will you oblige me by calling on Sunday morning, half an hour beforechurch-time, colonel?"

"With pleasure. "

"Will you come with me, Smith?" asked my friend, after informing me ofthe arrangement. 

"Don't you think I might be in the way?"

"Not at all. I am getting old and stupid. I should like you to comeand take care of me. He won't do Adela any good, I fear. "

"Why do you think so?"

"He has a depressing effect on her already. She is sure not to likehim. She was crying when I came into the room after dinner. "

"Tears are not grief, " I answered; "nor only the signs of grief, whenthey do indicate its presence. They are a relief to it as well. But Icannot help thinking there was some pleasure mingled with those tears, for he had been playing very delightfully. He must be a very giftedman. "

"I don't know anything about that. You know I have no ear formusic. --That won't cure my child anyhow. "

"I don't know, " I answered. "It may help. "

"Do you mean to say he thinks to cure her by playing the piano to her?If he thinks to come here and do that, he is mistaken. "

"You forget, Cathcart, that I have had no more conversation with himthan yourself. But surely you have seen no reason to quarrel with himalready. "

"No, no, my dear fellow. I do believe I am getting a crusty oldcurmudgeon. I can't bear to see Adela like this. "

"Well, I confess, I have hopes from the new doctor; but we will seewhat he says on Sunday. "

"Why should we not have called to-morrow?"

"I can't answer that. I presume he wants time to think about thecase. "

"And meantime he may break his neck over some gate that he can't orwon't open. "

"Well, I should be sorry. "

"But what's to become of us then?"

"Ah! you allow that? Then you do expect something of him?"

"To be sure I do, only I am afraid of making a fool of myself, andthat sets me grumbling at him, I suppose. "

Next day was Saturday; and Mrs. Cathcart, Percy's mother, was expectedin the evening. I had a long walk in the morning, and after thatremained in my own room till dinner time. I confess I was prejudicedagainst her; and just because I was prejudiced, I resolved to do all Icould to like her, especially as it was Christmas-tide. Not that onetime is not as good as another for loving your neighbour, but if everone is reminded of the duty, it is then. I schooled myself all Icould, and went into the drawing-room like a boy trying to be good; asa means to which end, I put on as pleasant a face as would come. Butmy good resolutions were sorely tried. 

 * * * * *

These asterisks indicate the obliteration of the personal descriptionwhich I had given of her. Though true, it was ill-natured. Andbesides, so indefinite is all description of this kind, that it isquite possible it might be exactly like some woman to whom I amutterly unworthy to hold a candle. So I won't tell what her featureswere like. I will only say, that I am certain her late husband musthave considered her a very fine woman; and that I had an indescribablesensation in the calves of my legs when I came near her. But then, although I believe I am considered a good-natured man, I confess toprejudices (which I commonly refuse to act upon), and to profounddislikes, especially to certain sorts of women, which I can no morehelp feeling, than I can help feeling the misery that permeates thejoints of my jaws when I chance to bite into a sour apple. So myopinions about such women go for little or nothing. 

When I entered the drawing-room, I saw at once that she hadestablished herself as protectress of Adela, and possibly as mistressof the house. She leaned back in her chair at a considerable angle, but without bending her spine, and her hands lay folded in herlap. She made me a bow with her neck, without in the least alteringthe angle of her position, while I made her one of my most profoundobeisances. A few common-places passed between us, and then herbrother-in-law leading her down to dinner, the evening passed by withpoliteness on both sides. Adela did not appear to heed her presenceone way or the other. But then of late she had been very inexpressive. 

Percy seemed to keep out of his mother's way as much as possible. Howhe amused himself, I cannot imagine. 

Next morning we went to call on the doctor, on our way to church. 

"Well, Mr. Armstrong, what do you think of my daughter?" asked thecolonel. 

"I do not think she is in a very bad way. Has she had anydisappointment that you know of?"

"None whatever. "

"Ah--I have seen such a case before. There are a good many of themamongst girls at her age. It is as if, without any disease, life weregradually withdrawn itself--ebbing back as it were to its source. Whether this has a physical or a psychological cause, it is impossibleto tell. In her case, I think the later, if indeed it have not adeeper cause; that is, if I'm right in my hypothesis. A few days willshow me this; and if I am wrong, I will then make a closer examinationof her case. At present it is desirable that I should not annoy her inany such way. Now for the practical: my conviction is that the bestthing that can be done for her is, to interest her in something, ifpossible--no matter what it is. Does she take pleasure in anything?"

"She used to be very fond of music. But of late I have not heard hertouch the piano. "

"May I be allowed to speak?" I asked. 

"Most certainly, " said both at once. 

"I have had a little talk with Miss Cathcart, and I am entirely ofMr. Armstrong's opinion, " I said. "And with his permission--I ampretty sure of my old friend's concurrence--I will tell you a plan Ihave been thinking of. You remember, colonel, how she was moreinterested in the anecdotes our friend the Bloomfields told the otherevening, than she has been in anything else, since I came. It seems tome that the interest she cannot find for herself, we might be able toprovide for her, by telling her stories; the course of which everyoneshould be at liberty to interrupt, for the introduction of any remarkwhatever. If we once got her interested in anything, it seems to me, as Mr. Armstrong has already hinted, that the tide of life would beginto flow again. She would eat better, and sleep better, and speculateless, and think less about herself--not _of_ herself--I don't meanthat, colonel; for no one could well think less of herself than shedoes. And if we could amuse her in that way for a week or two, I thinkit would give a fair chance to any physical remedies Mr. Armstrongmight think proper to try, for they act most rapidly on a system inmovement. It would be beginning from the inside, would it not?"

"A capital plan, " said the doctor, who had been listening with markedapprobation; "and I know one who I am sure would help. For my part, Inever told a story in my life, but I am willing to try--after awhile, that is. My brother, however, would, I know, be delighted to lend hisaid to such a scheme, if colonel Cathcart would be so good as toinclude him in the conspiracy. It is his duty as well as mine; for sheis one of his flock. And he can tell a tale, real or fictitious, better than any one I know. "

"There can be no harm in trying it, gentlemen--with kindest thanks toyou for your interest in my poor child, " said the colonel. "I confessI have not much hope from such a plan, but--"

"You must not let her know that the thing is got up for her, "interrupted the doctor. 

"Certainly not. You must all come and dine with us, any day youlike. I will call on your brother to-morrow. "

"This Christmas-tide gives good opportunity for such a scheme, " Isaid. "It will fall in well with all the festivities; and I am quitewilling to open the entertainment with a funny kind of fairy-tale, which has been growing in my brain for some time. "

"Capital!" said Mr. Armstrong. "We must have all sorts. "

"Then shall it be Monday at six--that is, to-morrow?" asked thecolonel. "Your brother won't mind a short invitation?"

"Certainly not. Ask him to-day. But I would suggest five, if I might, to give us more time afterwards. "

"Very well. Let it be five. And now we will go to church. "

The ends of the old oak pews next the chancel were curiouslycarved. One had a ladder and a hammer and nails on it. Another anumber of round flat things, and when you counted them you found thatthere were thirty. Another had a curious thing--I could not tell what, till one day I met an old woman carrying just such a bag. On anotherwas a sponge on the point of a spear. There were more of suchcarvings; but these I could see from where I sat. And all the sermonwas a persuading of the people that God really loved them, without any_if_ or _but_. 

Adela was very attentive to the clergy man; but I could see her glancewander now and then from his face to that of his brother, who was inthe same place he had occupied on Christmas-day. The expression of heraunt's face was judicial. 

When we came out of church, the doctor shook hands with me and said:

"Can I have a word with you, Mr. Smith?"

"Most gladly, " I answered. "Your time is precious: I will walk yourway. "

"Thank you. --I like your plan heartily. But to tell the truth, I fancyit is more a case for my brother than for me. But that may come aboutall in good time, especially as she will now have an opportunity ofknowing him. He is the best fellow in the world. And his wife is asgood as he is. But--I feel I may say to you what I could not well sayto the colonel--I suspect the cause of her illness is rather aspiritual one. She has evidently a strong mental constitution; andthis strong frame, so to speak, has been fed upon slops; and anatrophy is the consequence. My hope in your plan is, partly, that itmay furnish a better mental table for her, for the time, and set herforaging in new direction for the future. "

"But how could you tell that from the very little conversation you hadwith her?"

"It was not the conversation only--I watched everything about her; andinterpreted it by what I know about women. I believe that many of themgo into a consumption just from discontent--the righteous discontentof a soul which is meant to sit at the Father's table, and so cannotcontent itself with the husks which the swine eat. The theologicalnourishment which is offered them is generally no better than husks. They cannot live upon it, and so die and go home to their Father. Andwithout good spiritual food to keep the spiritual senses healthy andtrue, they cannot see the thing's about them as they really are. Theycannot find interest in them, because they cannot find their _own_place amoungst them. There was one thing though that confirmed me inthis idea about Miss Cathcart. I looked over her music on purpose, andI did not find one song that rose above the level of the drawing-room, or one piece of music that had any deep feeling or any thought init. Of course I judged by the composers. "

"You astonish me by the truth and rapidity of your judgements. But howdid you, who like myself are a bachelor, come to know so much aboutthe minds of women?"

"I believe in part by reading Milton, and learning from him a certainhigh notion about myself and my own duty. None but a pure man canunderstand women--I mean the true womanhood that is in them. But morethan to Milton am I indebted to that brother of mine you heard preachto-day. If ever God made a good man, he is one. He will tell youhimself that he knows what evil is. He drank of the cup, found it fullof thirst and bitterness; cast it from him, and turning to thefountain of life, kneeled and drank, and rose up a gracious giant. Isay the last--not he. But this brother kept me out of the mire inwhich he soiled his own garments, though, thank God! they are cleanenough now. Forgive my enthusiasm, Mr. Smith, about my brother. He isworthy of it. "

I felt the wind cold to my weak eyes, and did not answer for sometime, lest he should draw unfair conclusions. 

"You should get him to tell you his story. It is well worth hearing;and as I see we shall be friends all, I would rather you heard it fromhis own mouth. "

"I sincerely hope I may call that man my friend, some day. "

"You may do so already. He was greatly taken with you on the journeydown. "

"A mutual attraction then, I am happy to think. Good-bye, I am gladyou like my plan. "

"I think it excellent. Anything hearty will do her good. Isn't thereany young man to fall in love with her?"

"I don't know of any at present. "

"Only the _best_ thing will make her well; but all true things tend tohealing. "

"But how is it that you have such notions--so different from those ofthe mass of your professional brethren?"

"Oh!" said he, laughing, "if you really want an answer, be it known toall men that I am a student of Van Helmont. "

He turned away, laughing; and I, knowing nothing of Van Helmont, couldnot tell whether he was in jest or in earnest. 

At dinner some remark was made about the sermon, I think by our host. 

"You don't call that the gospel!" said Mrs. Cathcart, with a smile. 

"Why, what do you call it, Jane?"

"I don't know that I am bound to put a name upon it. I should, however, call it pantheism. "

"Might I ask you, madam, what you understand by _pantheism_?"

"Oh! neology, and all that sort of thing. "

"And neology is--?"

"Really, Mr. Smith, a dinner-table is not the most suitable place inthe world for theological discussion. "

"I quite agree with you, madam, " I responded, astonished at my ownboldness. --I was not quite so much afraid of her after this, althoughI had an instinctive sense that she did not at all like me. But Percywas delighted to see his mother discomfited, and laughed into hisplate. She regarded him with lurid eyes for a moment, and then tookrefuge in her plate in turn. The colonel was too polite to make anyremark at the time, but when he and I were alone, he said:

"Smith, I didn't expect it of you. Bravo, my boy!"

And I, John Smith, felt myself a hero. 

Chapter V. 

The light princess. 

Five o'clock, anxiously expected by me, came, and with it theannouncement of dinner. I think those of us who were in the secretwould have hurried over it, but with Beeves hanging upon our wheels, we could not. However, at length we were all in the drawing-room, theladies of the house evidently surprised that we had come up stairs sosoon. Besides the curate, with his wife and brother, our partycomprised our old friends, Mr. And Mrs. Bloomfield, whose previousengagement had been advanced by a few days. 

When we were all seated, I began, as if it were quite a privatesuggestion of my own:

"Adela, if you and our friends have no objection, I will read you astory I have just scribbled off. "

"I shall be delighted, uncle. "

This was a stronger expression of content than I had yet heard heruse, and I felt flattered accordingly. 

"This is Christmas-time, you know, and that is just the time forstory-telling, " I added. 

"I trust it is a story suitable to the season, " said Mrs. Cathcart, smiling. 

"Yes, very, " I said; "for it is a child's story--a fairy tale, namely;though I confess I think it fitter for grown than for young children. I hope it is funny, though. I think it is. "

"So you approve of fairy-tales for children, Mr. Smith?"

"Not for children alone, madam; for everybody that can relish them. "

"But not at a sacred time like this?"

And again she smiled an insinuating smile. 

"If I thought God did not approve of fairy-tales, I would never read, not to say write one, Sunday or Saturday. Would you, madam?"

"I never do. "

"I feared not. But I must begin, notwithstanding. "

The story, as I now give it, is not exactly as I read it then, because, of course, I was more anxious that it should be correct whenI prepared it for the press, than when I merely read it before a fewfriends. 

"Once upon a time, " I began; but I was unexpectedly interrupted by theclergyman, who said, addressing our host:

"Will you allow me, Colonel Cathcart, to be Master of the Ceremoniesfor the evening?"

"Certainly, Mr. Armstrong. "

"Then I will alter the arrangement of the party. Here, Henry--don'tget up, Miss Cathcart--we'll just lift Miss Cathcart's couch to thiscorner by the fire. --Lie still, please. Now, Mr. Smith, you sit herein the middle. Now, Mrs. Cathcart, here is an easy chair for you. Withmy commanding officer I will not interfere. But having such a jollyfire it was a pity not to get the good of it. Mr. Bloomfield, here isroom for you and Mrs. Bloomfield. "

"Excellently arranged, " said our host. "I will sit by you, Mr. Armstrong. Percy, won't you come and join the circle?"

"No, thank you, uncle, " answered Percy from a couch, "I am morecomfortable here. "

"Now, Lizzie, " said the curate to his wife, "you sit on this stool byme. --Too near the fire? No?--Very well. --Harry, put the bottle ofwater near Mr. Smith. A fellow-feeling for another fellow--you see, Mr. Smith. Now we're all right, I think; that is, if Mrs. Cathcart iscomfortable. "

"Thanks. Quite. "

"Then we may begin. Now, Mr. Smith. --One word more: anybody may speakthat likes. Now, then. "

So I did begin--

"Title: THE LIGHT PRINCESS. 

"Second Title: A FAIRY-TALE WITHOUT FAIRIES. "

"Author: JOHN SMITH, Gentleman. 

"Motto:--'_Your Servant, Goody Gravity_. '

"From--SIR CHARLES GRANDISON. "

"I must be very stupid, I fear, Mr. Smith; but to tell the truth, _I_can't make head or tail of it, " said Mrs. Cathcart. 

"Give me leave, madam, " said I; "that is my office. Allow me, and Ihope to make both head and tail of it for you. But let me give youfirst a mere general, and indeed a more applicable motto for mystory. It is this--from no worse authority than John Milton:

 'Great bards beside In sage and solemn times have sung Of turneys and of trophies hung; Of forests and enchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the ear. '

"Milton here refers to Spencer in particular, most likely. But whatdistinguishes the true bard in such work is, that _more is meant thanmeets the ear_; and although I am no bard, I should scorn to writeanything that only spoke to the _ear_, which signifies the surfaceunderstanding. "

General silence followed, and I went on. 

"THE LIGHT PRINCESS. 

"CHAPTER I. --WHAT! NO CHILDREN?

"Once upon a time, so long ago, that I have quite forgotten the date, there lived a king and queen who had no children. 

"And the king said to himself: 'All the queens of my acquaintance havechildren, some three, some seven, an some as many as twelve; and myqueen has not one. I feel ill-used. ' So he made up his mind to becross with his wife about it. But she bore it all like a good patientqueen as she was. Then the king grew very cross indeed. But the queenpretended to take it all as a joke, and a very good one, too. 

"'Why don't you have any daughters, at least?' said he, 'I don't saysons; that might be too much to expect. '

"'I am sure, dear king, I am very sorry, ' said the queen. 

"'So you ought to be, ' retorted the king; 'you are not going to make avirtue of _that_, surely. '

"But he was not an ill-tempered king; and, in any matter of lessmoment, he would have let the queen have her own way, with all hisheart. This, however, was an affair of state. 

"The queen smiled. 

"'You must have patience with a lady, you know, dear king, ' said she. 

"She was, indeed, a very nice queen, and heartily sorry that she couldnot oblige the king immediately. 

"The king tried to have patience, but he succeeded very badly. It wasmore than he deserved, therefore, when, at last, the queen gave him adaughter--as lovely a little princess as ever cried. 

 * * * * *

"CHAPTER II. --WON'T I, JUST?

"The day drew near when the infant must be christened. The king wroteall the invitations with his own hand. Of course somebody wasforgotten. 

"Now, it does not generally matter if somebody is forgotten, but youmust mind who. Unfortunately, the king forgot without intending it;and the chance fell upon the Princess Makemnoit, which was awkward. For the Princess was the king's own sister; and he ought not to haveforgotten her. But she had made herself so disagreeable to the oldking, their father, that he had forgot her in making his will; and soit was no wonder that her brother forgot her in writing hisinvitations. But poor relations don't do anything to keep you in mindof them. Why don't they? The king could not see into the garret shelived in, could he? She was a sour, spiteful creature. The wrinkles ofcontempt crossed the wrinkles of peevishness, and made her face asfull of wrinkles as a pat of butter. If ever a king could be justifiedin forgetting anybody, this king was justified in forgetting hissister, even at a christening. And then she was so disgracefully poor!She looked very odd, too. Her forehead was as large as all the rest ofher face, and projected over it like a precipice. When she was angry, her little eyes flashed blue. When she hated anybody, they shoneyellow and green. What they looked like when she loved anybody, I donot know; for I never heard of her loving anybody but herself, and Ido not think she could have managed that, if she had not somehow gotused to herself. But what made it highly imprudent in the king toforget her, was--that she was awfully clever. In fact, she was awitch; and when she bewitched anybody, he very soon had enough of it;for she beat all the wicked fairies in wickedness, and all the cleverones in cleverness. She despised all the modes we read of in history, in which offended fairies and witches have taken their revenges; andtherefore, after waiting and waiting in vain for an invitation, shemade up her mind at last to go without one, and make the whole familymiserable, like a princess and a philosopher. 

"She put on her best gown, went to the palace, was kindly received bythe happy monarch, who forgot that he had forgotten her, and took herplace in the procession to the royal chapel. When they were allgathered about the font, she contrived to get next to it, and throwsomething into the water. She maintained then a very respectfuldemeanour till the water was applied to the child's face. But at thatmoment she turned round in her place three times, and muttered thefollowing words, loud enough for those beside her to hear:

 'Light of spirit, by my charms, Light of body, every part, Never weary human arms-- Only crush thy parents' heart!'

"They all thought she had lost her wits, and was repeating somefoolish nursery rhyme; but a shudder went through the whole of them. The baby, on the contrary, began to laugh and crow; while the nursegave a start and a smothered cry, for she thought she was struck withparalysis: she could not feel the baby in her arms. But she clasped ittight, and said nothing. 

"The mischief was done. "

Here I came to a pause, for I found the reading somewhat nervous work, and had to make application to the water-bottle. 

"Bravo! Mr. Smith, " cried the clergyman. "A good beginning, I am sure;for I cannot see what you are driving at. "

"I think I do, " said Henry. "Don't you, Lizzie?"

"No, I don't, " answered Mrs. Armstrong. 

"One thing, " said Mrs. Cathcart with a smile, not a very sweet one, but still a smile, "one thing, I must object to. That is, introducingchurch ceremonies into a fairy-tale. "

"Why, Mrs. Cathcart, " answered the clergyman, taking up the cudgelsfor me, "do you suppose the church to be such a cross-grained oldlady, that she will not allow her children to take a few gentleliberties with their mother? She's able to stand that surely. Theywon't love her the less for that. "

"Besides, " I ventured to say, "if both church and fairy-tale belong tohumanity, they may occasionally cross circles, without injury toeither. They must have something in common. There is the _FairyQueen_, and the _Pilgrim's Progress_, you know, Mrs. Cathcart. I canfancy the pope even telling his nephews a fairy-tale. "

"Ah, the pope! I daresay. "

"And not the archbishop?"

"I don't think your reasoning quite correct, Mr. Smith, " said theclergyman; "and I think moreover there is a real objection to thatscene. It is, that no such charm could have had any effect where holywater was employed as the medium. In fact I doubt if the wickednesscould have been wrought in a chapel at all. "

"I submit, " I said. "You are right. I hold up the four paws of mymind, and crave indulgence. "

"In the name of the church, having vindicated her power over evilincantations, I permit you to proceed, " said Mr. Armstrong, his blackeyes twinkling with fun. 

Mrs. Cathcart smiled, and shook her head. 

 * * * * *

"CHAPTER III. --SHE CAN'T BE OURS. 

"Her atrocious aunt had deprived the child of all her gravity. If youask me how this was effected, I answer: In the easiest way in theworld. She had only to destroy gravitation. And the princess was aphilosopher, and knew all the _ins_ and _outs_ of the laws ofgravitation as well as the _ins_ and _outs_ of her boot-lace. Andbeing a witch as well, she could abrogate those laws in a moment; orat least so clog their wheels and rust their bearings, that they wouldnot work at all. But we have more to do with what followed, than withhow it was done. 

"The first awkwardness that resulted from this unhappy privation was, that the moment the nurse began to float the baby up and down, sheflew from her arms towards the ceiling. Happily, the resistance of theair brought her ascending career to a close within a foot of it. Thereshe remained, horizontal as when she left her nurse's arms, kickingand laughing amazingly. The nurse in terror flew to the bell, andbegged the footman who answered it, to bring up the house-stepsdirectly. Trembling in every limb, she climbed upon the steps, and hadto stand upon the very top, and reach up, before she could catch thefloating tail of the baby's long clothes. 

"When the strange fact came to be known, there was a terriblecommotion in the palace. The occasion of its discovery by the king wasnaturally a repetition of the nurse's experience. Astonished that hefelt no weight when the child was laid in his arms, he began to waveher up and--not down; for she slowly ascended to the ceiling asbefore, and there remained floating in perfect comfort andsatisfaction, as was testified by her peals of tiny laughter. The kingstood staring up in speechless amazement, and trembled so that hisbeard shook like grass in the wind. At last, turning to the queen, whowas just as horror-struck as himself, he said, gasping, staring, andstammering:

"'She _can't_ be ours, queen!'

"Now the queen was much cleverer than the king, and had begun alreadyto suspect that 'this effect defective came by cause. '

"'I am sure she is ours, ' answered she. 'But we ought to have takenbetter care of her at the christening. People who were never invitedought not to have been present. '

"'Oh, ho!' said the king, tapping his forehead with his forefinger, 'Ihave it all. I've found her out. Don't you see it, queen? PrincessMakemnoit has bewitched her. '

"'That's just what I say, ' answered the queen. 

"'I beg your pardon, my love; I did not hear you. John! bring thesteps I get on my throne with. '

"For he was a little king with a great throne, like many other kings. 

"The throne-steps were brought, and set upon the dining-table, andJohn got upon the top of them. But he could not reach the littleprincess, who lay like a baby-laughter-cloud in the air, explodingcontinuously. 

"'Take the tongs, John, ' said his majesty; and getting up on thetable, he handed them to him. 

"John could reach the baby now, and the little princess was handeddown by the tongs. 

 * * * * *

"CHAPTER IV. --WHERE IS SHE?

"One fine summer day, a month after these her first adventures, duringwhich time she had been very carefully watched, the princess was lyingon the bed in the queen's own chamber, fast asleep. One of the windowswas open, for it was noon, and the day so sultry that the little girlwas wrapped in nothing less etherial than slumber itself. The queencame into the room, and not observing that the baby was on the bed, opened another window. A frolicsome fairy wind which had been watchingfor a chance of mischief, rushed in at the one window, and taking itsway over the bed where the child was lying, caught her up, and rollingand floating her along like a piece of flue, or a dandelion-seed, carried her with it through the opposite window, and away. The queenwent down stairs, quite ignorant of the loss she had herselfoccasioned. When the nurse returned, she supposed that her majestyhad carried her off, and, dreading a scolding, delayed making inquiryabout her. But hearing nothing, she grew uneasy, and went at length tothe queen's boudoir, where she found her majesty. 

"'Please your majesty, shall I take the baby?' said she. 

"'Where is she?' asked the queen. 

"'Please forgive me. I know it was wrong. '

"'What do you mean?' said the queen, looking grave. 

"'Oh! don't frighten me, your majesty!' exclaimed the nurse, clappingher hands. 

"The queen saw that something was amiss, and fell down in a faint. Thenurse rushed about the palace, screaming, 'My baby! my baby!'

"Every one ran to the queen's room. But the queen could give noorders. They soon found out, however, that the princess was missing, and in a moment the palace was like a bee-hive in a garden. But in aminute more the queen was brought to herself by a great shout and aclapping of hands. They had found the princess fast asleep under arose-bush, to which the elvish little wind-puff had carried her, finishing its mischief by shaking a shower of red rose-leaves all overthe little white sleeper. Startled by the noise the servants made, shewoke; and furious with glee, scattered the rose-leaves in alldirections, like a shower of spray in the sunset. 

"She was watched more carefully after this, no doubt; yet it would beendless to relate all the odd incidents resulting from thispeculiarity of the young princess. But there never was a baby in ahouse, not to say a palace, that kept a household in such constantgood humour, at least below stairs. If it was not easy for her nursesto hold her, certainly she did not make their arms ache. And she wasso nice to play at ball with! There was positively no danger ofletting her fall. You might throw her down, or knock her down, or pushher down, but you couldn't _let_ her down. It is true, you might lether fly into the fire or the coal-hole, or through the window; butnone of these accidents had happened as yet. If you heard peals oflaughter resounding from some unknown region, you might be sure enoughof the cause. Going down into the kitchen, or _the room_, you wouldfind Jane and Thomas, and Robert and Susan, all and sum, playing atball with the little princess. She was the ball herself, and did notenjoy it the less for that. Away she went, flying from one to another, screeching with laughter. And the servants loved the ball itselfbetter even than the game. But they had to take care how they threwher, for if she received an upward direction, she would never comedown without being fetched. 

 * * * * *

"CHAPTER V. --WHAT IS TO BE DONE?

"But above stairs it was different. One day, for instance, afterbreakfast, the king went into his counting-house, and counted out hismoney. The operation gave him no pleasure. 

"'To think, ' said he to himself, 'that every one of these goldsovereigns weighs a quarter of an ounce, and my real, live, flesh-and-blood princess weighs nothing at all!'

"And he hated his gold sovereigns, as they lay with a broad smile ofself-satisfaction all over their yellow faces. 

"The queen was in the parlour, eating bread and honey. But at thesecond mouthful, she burst out crying, and could not swallow it. Theking heard her sobbing. Glad of anybody, but especially of his queen, to quarrel with, he clashed his gold sovereigns into his money-box, clapped his crown on his head, and rushed into the parlour. 

"'What is all this about?' exclaimed he. 'What are you crying for, queen?'

"'I can't eat it, ' said the queen, looking ruefully at the honey-pot. 

"'No wonder!' retorted the king. 'You've just eaten yourbreakfast--two turkey eggs, and three anchovies. '

"'Oh! that's not it!' sobbed her majesty. 'It's my child, my child!'

"'Well, what's the matter with your child? She's neither up thechimney nor down the draw-well. Just hear her laughing. ' Yet the kingcould not help a sigh, which he tried to turn into a cough, saying, "'It is a good thing to be light-hearted, I am sure, whether she beours or not. '

"'It is a bad thing to be light-headed, ' answered the queen, lookingwith prophetic soul, far into the future. 

"''Tis a good thing to be light-handed, ' said the king. 

"''Tis a bad thing to be light-fingered, ' answered the queen. 

"''Tis a good thing to be light-footed, ' said the king. 

"''Tis a bad thing, ' began the queen; but the king interrupted her. 

"'In fact, ' said he, with the tone of one who concludes an argument inwhich he has had only imaginary opponents, and in which, therefore, hehas come off triumphant--'in fact, it is a good thing altogether to belight-bodied. '

"'But it is a bad thing altogether to be light-minded, ' retorted thequeen, who was beginning to lose her temper. 

"This last answer quite discomfited his majesty, who turned on hisheel, and betook himself to his counting-house again. But he was nothalfway towards it, when the voice of his queen overtook him:

"'And it's a bad thing to be light-haired, ' screamed she, determinedto have more last words, now that her spirit was roused. 

"The queen's hair was black as night; and the king's had been, and hisdaughter's was, golden as morning. But it was not this reflection onhis hair that troubled him; it was the double use of the word _light_. For the king hated all witticisms, and punning especially. Andbesides he could not tell whether the queen meant light-_haired_ orlight-_heired_; for why might she not aspirate her vowels when she wasex-asperated herself?"

"Now, really, " interrupted the clergyman, "I must protest. Mr. Smith, you bury us under an avalanche of puns, and, I must say, not very goodones. Now, the story, though humorous, is not of the kind to admit ofsuch fanciful embellishment. It reminds one rather of a burlesque at atheatre--the lowest thing, from a literary point of view, to befound. "

"I submit, " was all I could answer; for I feared that he was right. The passage, as it now stands, is not nearly so bad as it was then, though, I confess, it is still bad enough. 

"I think, " said Mrs. Armstrong, "since criticism is the order of theevening, and Mr. Smith is so kind as not to mind it, that he makes theking and queen too silly. It takes away from the reality. "

"Right too, my dear madam, " I answered. 

"The reality of a fairy-tale?" said Mrs. Cathcart, as if asking aquestion of herself. 

"But will you grant me the justice, " said I, "to temper your judgmentsof me, if not of my story, by remembering that this is the first thingof the sort I ever attempted?"

"I tell you what, " said the doctor, "it's very easy to criticise, butnone of you could have written it yourselves. "

"Of course not, for my part, " said the clergyman. 

Silence followed; and I resumed. 

"He turned upon his other heel, and rejoined her. She looked angrystill, because she knew that she was guilty, or, what was much thesame, knew that he thought so. 

"'My dear queen, ' said he, 'duplicity of any sort is exceedinglyobjectionable between married people, of any rank, not to say kingsand queens; and the most objectionable form it can assume is that ofpunning. '

"'There!' said the queen, 'I never made a jest, but I broke it in themaking. I am the most unfortunate woman in the world!'

"She looked so rueful, that the king took her in his arms; and theysat down to consult. 

"'Can you bear this?' said the king. 

"'No, I can't, ' said the queen. 

"'Well, what's to be done?' said the king. 

"'I'm sure I don't know, ' said the queen. 'But might you not try anapology?'

"'To my old sister, I suppose you mean?' said the king. 

"'Yes, ' said the queen. 

"'Well, I don't mind, ' said the king. 

"So he went the next morning to the garret of the princess, and, making a very humble apology, begged her to undo the spell. But theprincess declared, with a very grave face, that she knew nothing atall about it. Her eyes, however, shone pink, which was a sign that shewas happy. She advised the king and queen to have patience, and tomend their ways. The king returned disconsolate. 

The queen tried to comfort him. 

"'We will wait till she is older. She may then be able to suggestsomething herself. She will know at least how she feels, and explainthings to us. '

"'But what if she should marry!' exclaimed the king, in suddenconsternation at the idea. 

"'Well, what of that?' rejoined the queen. 

"'Just think! If she were to have any children! In the course of ahundred years, the air might be as full of floating children as ofgossamers in autumn. '

"'That is no business of ours, ' replied the queen. 'Besides, by thattime, they will have learned to take care of themselves. '

"A sigh was the king's only answer. 

"He would have consulted the court physicians; but he was afraid theywould try experiments upon her. 

 * * * * *

"CHAPTER VI--SHE LAUGHS TOO MUCH. 

"Meantime, notwithstanding awkward occurrences, and griefs that shebrought her parents to, the little princess laughed and grew--not fat, but plump and tall. She reached the age of seventeen, without havingfallen into, any worse scrape than a chimney; by rescuing her fromwhich, a little bird-nesting urchin got fame and a black face. Nor, thoughtless as she was, had she committed anything worse than laughterat everybody and everything, that came in her way. When she heard thatGeneral Clanrunfort was cut to pieces with all his forces, shelaughed; when she heard that the enemy was on his way to besiege herpapa's capital, she laughed hugely; but when she heard that the citywould most likely be abandoned to the mercy of the enemy'ssoldiery--why, then, she laughed immoderately. These were merelyreports invented for the sake of experiment. But she never could bebrought to see the serious side of anything. When her mother cried, she said:

"'What queer faces mamma makes! And she squeezes water out of hercheeks! Funny mama!'

"And when her papa stormed at her, she laughed, and danced round andround him, clapping her hands, and crying:

"'Do it again, papa. Do it again! It's such fun! Dear, funny papa!'

"And if he tried to catch her, she glided from him in an instant, notin the least afraid of him, but thinking, it part of the game not tobe caught. With one push of her foot, she would be floating in the airabove his head; or she would go dancing backwards and forwards andsideways, like a great butterfly. It happened several times, when herfather and mother were holding a consultation about her in private, that they were interrupted by vainly repressed outbursts of laughterover their heads; and looking up with indignation, saw her floating atfull length in the air above them, whence she regarded them with themost comical appreciation of the position. 

"One day an awkward accident happened. The princess had come out uponthe lawn with one of her attendants, who held her by the hand. Spyingher father at the other side of the lawn, she snatched her hand fromthe maid's, and sped across to him. Now, when she wanted to run alone, her custom was to catch up a stone in each hand, so that she mightcome down again after a bound. Whatever she wore as part of her attirehad no effect in this way: even gold, when it thus became as it were apart of herself, lost all its weight for the time. But whatever sheonly held in her hands, retained its downward tendency. On thisoccasion she could see nothing to catch up, but a huge toad, that waswalking across the lawn as if he had a hundred years to do it in. Notknowing what disgust meant, for this was one of her peculiarities, shesnatched up the toad, and bounded away. She had almost reached herfather, and he was holding out his arms to receive her, and take fromher lips the kiss which hovered on them like a butterfly on a rosebud, when a puff of wind blew her aside into the arms of a young page, whohad just been receiving a message from his majesty. Now it was nogreat peculiarity in the princess that, once she was set a-going, italways cost her time and trouble to check herself. On this occasionthere was no time. She _must_ kiss--and she kissed the page. She didnot mind it much; for she had no shyness in her composition; and sheknew, besides, that she could not help it. So she only laughed, like amusical-box. The poor page fared the worst. For the princess, tryingto correct the unfortunate tendency of the kiss, put out her hands tokeep her off the page; so that, along with the kiss, he received, onthe other cheek, a slap with the huge black toad, which she pokedright into his eye. He tried to laugh, too, but it resulted in a veryodd contortion of countenance, which showed that there was no dangerof his pluming himself on the kiss. Indeed it is not safe to be kissedby princesses. As for the king, his dignity was greatly hurt, and hedid not speak to the page for a whole month. 

"I may here remark that it was very amusing to see her run, if hermode of progression could properly be called running. For first shewould make a bound; then, having alighted, she would run a few steps, and make another bound. Sometimes she would fancy she had reached theground before she actually had, and her feet would go backwards andforwards, running upon nothing at all, like those of a chicken on itsback. Then she would laugh like the very spirit of fun; only in herlaugh there was something missing. What it was, I find myself unableto describe. I think it was a certain tone, depending upon thepossibility of sorrow--_morbidezza_, perhaps. She never smiled. "

"I am not sure about your physics, Mr. Smith, " said the doctor. "Ifshe had no gravity, no amount of muscular propulsion could have givenher any momentum. And again, if she had no gravity, she mustinevitably have ascended beyond the regions of the atmosphere. "

"Bottle your philosophy, Harry, with the rest of your physics, " saidthe clergyman, laughing. "Don't you see that she must have had someweight, only it wasn't worth mentioning, being no greater than theordinary weight of the atmosphere. Besides, you know very well that alaw of nature could not be destroyed. Therefore, it was onlywitchcraft, you know; and the laws of that remain to be discovered--atleast so far as my knowledge goes. --Mr. Smith, you have gone in for afairy-tale; and if I were you, I would claim the immunities ofFairyland. "

"So I do, " I responded fiercely, and went on. 

 * * * * *

"CHAPTER VII. --TRY METAPHYSICS. 

"After a long avoidance of the painful subject, the king and queenresolved to hold a counsel of three upon it; and so they sent for theprincess. In she came, sliding and flitting and gliding from one pieceof furniture to another, and put herself at last in an armchair, in asitting posture. Whether she could be said _to sit_, seeing shereceived no support from the seat of the chair, I do not pretend todetermine. 

"'My dear child, ' said the king, 'you must be aware that you are notexactly like other people. '

"'Oh, you dear funny papa! I have got a nose and two eyes and all therest. So have you. So has mamma. '

"'Now be serious, my dear, for once, ' said the queen. 

"'No, thank you, mamma; I had rather not. '

"'Would you not like to be able to walk like other people?' said theking. 

"'No indeed, I should think not. You only crawl. You are such slowcoaches!'

"'How do you feel, my child?' he resumed, after a pause ofdiscomfiture. 

"'Quite well, thank you. '

"'I mean, what do you feel like?'

"'Like nothing at all, that I know of. '

"'You must feel like something. '

"'I feel like a princess with such a funny papa, and such a dear petof a queen-mamma!'

"'Now really!' began the queen; but the princess interrupted her. 

"'Oh! yes, ' she added, 'I remember. I have a curious feelingsometimes, as if I were the only person that had any sense in thewhole world. '

"She had been trying to behave herself with dignity; but now she burstinto a violent fit of laughter, threw herself backwards over thechair, and went rolling about the floor in an ecstasy of enjoyment. The king picked her up easier than one does a down quilt, and replacedher in her former relation to the chair. The exact prepositionexpressing the relation I do not happen to know. 

"'Is there nothing you wish for?' resumed the king, who had learned bythis time that it was quite useless to be angry with her. 

"'O you dear papa!--yes, ' answered she. 

"'What is it, my darling?'

"'I have been longing for it--oh, such a time! Ever since last night. '

"'Tell me what it is. '

"'Will you promise to let me have it?'

"The king was on the point of saying _yes_; but the wiser queenchecked him with a single motion of her head. 

"'Tell me what it is first, ' said he. 

"'No, no. Promise first. '

"'I dare not. What is it?'

"'Mind I hold you to your promise. --It is--to be tied to the end of astring--a very long string indeed, and be flown like a kite. Oh, suchfun! I would rain rose-water, and hail sugar-plums, and snowwhipt-cream, and, and, and--'

"A fit of laughing checked her; and she would have been off again, over the floor, had not the king started up and caught her just intime. Seeing that nothing but talk could be got out of her, he rangthe bell, and sent her away with two of her ladies-in-waiting. 

"'Now, queen, ' he said, turning to her majesty, 'what _is_ to bedone?'

"'There is but one thing left, ' answered she. 'Let us consult thecollege of Metaphysicians. '

"'Bravo!' cried the king; 'we will. '

"Now at the head of this college were two very wise Chinesephilosophers--by name, Hum-Drum, and Kopy-Keck. For them the kingsent; and straightway they came. In a long speech, he communicated tothem what they knew very well already--as who did not?--namely, thepeculiar condition of his daughter in relation to the globe on whichshe dwelt; and requested them to consult together as to what might bethe cause and probable cure of her _infirmity_. The king laid stressupon the word, but failed to discover his own pun. The queen laughed;but Hum-Drum and Kopy-Keck heard with humility and retired in silence. Their consultation consisted chiefly in propounding and supporting, for the thousandth time, each his favourite theories. For thecondition of the princess afforded delightful scope for the discussionof every question arising from the division of thought--in fact of allthe Metaphysics of the Chinese Empire. But it is only justice to saythat they did not altogether neglect the discussion of the practicalquestion, _what was to be done_. 

"Hum-Drum was a Materialist, and Kopy-Keck was a Spiritualist. Theformer was slow and sententious; the latter was quick and flighty; thelatter had generally the first word; the former the last. 

"'I assert my former assertion, ' began Kopy-Keck, with a plunge. 'There is not a fault in the princess, body or soul; only they arewrong put together. Listen to me now, Hum-Drum, and I will tell you inbrief what I think. Don't speak. Don't answer me. I won't hear youtill I have done. --At that decisive moment, when souls seek theirappointed habitations, two eager souls met, struck, rebounded, losttheir way, and arrived each at the wrong place. The soul of theprincess was one of those, and she went far astray. She does notbelong by rights to this world at all, but to some other planet, probably Mercury. Her proclivity to her true sphere destroys all thenatural influence which this orb would otherwise possess over hercorporeal frame. She cares for nothing here. There is no relationbetween her and this world. 

"'She must therefore be taught, by the sternest compulsion, totake an interest in the earth as the earth. She must study everydepartment of its history--its animal history; its vegetable history;its mineral history; its social history; its moral history; itspolitical history; its scientific history; its literary history; itsmusical history; its artistical history; above all, its metaphysicalhistory. She must begin with the Chinese Dynasty, and end withJapan. But first of all she must study Geology, and especially thehistory of the extinct races of animals--their natures, their habits, their loves, their hates, their revenges. She must----'

"'Hold, h-o-o-old!' roared Hum-Drum. 'It is certainly my turn now. Myrooted and insubvertible conviction is that the causes of theanomalies evident in the princess's condition are strictly and solelyphysical. But that is only tantamount to acknowledging that theyexist. Hear my opinion. --From some cause or other, of no importance toour inquiry, the motion of her heart has been reversed. Thatremarkable combination of the suction and the force pump, works thewrong way--I mean in the case of the unfortunate princess: it draws inwhere it should force out, and forces out where it should draw in. Theoffices of the auricles and the ventricles are subverted. The blood issent forth by the veins, and returns by the arteries. Consequently itis running the wrong way through all her corporeal organism--lungs andall. Is it then all mysterious, seeing that such is the case, that onthe other particular of gravitation as well, she should differ fromnormal humanity? My proposal for the cure is this:

"Phlebotomize until she is reduced to the last point of safety. Let itbe effected, if necessary, in a warm bath. When she is reduced to astate of perfect asphyxy, apply a ligature to the left ancle, drawingit as tight as the bone will bear. Apply, at the same moment, anotherof equal tension around the right wrist. By means of platesconstructed for the purpose, place the other foot and hand under thereceivers of two air-pumps. Exhaust the receivers. Exhibit a pint ofFrench brandy, and await the result. '

"'Which would presently arrive in the form of grim Death, ' saidKopy-Keck. 

"'If it should, she would yet die in doing our duty, ' retortedHum-Drum. 

"But their Majesties had too much tenderness for their volatileoffspring to subject her to either of the schemes of the equallyunscrupulous philosophers. Indeed the most complete knowledge of thelaws of nature would have been unserviceable in her case; for it wasimpossible to classify her. She was a fifth imponderable body, sharingall the other properties of the ponderable. 

 * * * * *

"CHAPTER VIII. --TRY A DROP OF WATER. 

"Perhaps the best thing for the princess would have been falling inlove. But how a princess who had no gravity at all, could fall intoanything, is a difficulty--perhaps _the_ difficulty. As for her ownfeelings on the subject, she did not even know that there was such abee-hive of honey and stings to be fallen into. And now I come tomention another curious fact about her. 

"The palace was built on the shore of the loveliest lake in the world;and the princess loved this lake more than father or mother. The rootof this preference no doubt, although the princess did not recognizeit as such--was, that, the moment she got into it, she recovered thenatural right of which she had been so wickedly deprived--namely, gravity. Whether this was owing to the fact that water had beenemployed as the means of conveying the injury, I do not know. But itis certain that she could swim and dive like the duck that her oldnurse said she was. The way that this alleviation of her misfortunewas discovered, was as follows. One summer evening, during thecarnival of the country, she had been taken upon the lake, by the kingand queen, in the royal barge. They were accompanied by many of thecourtiers in a fleet of little boats. In the middle of the lake shewanted to get into the lord chancellor's barge, for his daughter, whowas a great favourite with her, was in it with her father. The oldking rarely condescended to make light of his misfortune; but on thisoccasion he happened to be in a particularly good humour; and, as thebarges approached each other, he caught up the princess to throw herinto the chancellor's barge. He lost his balance, however, and, dropping into the bottom of the barge, lost his hold of his daughter;not however before imparting to her the downward tendency of his ownperson, though in a somewhat different direction; for, as the kingfell into the boat, she fell into the water. With a burst of delightedlaughter, she disappeared in the lake. A cry of horror ascended fromthe boats. They had never seen the princess go down before. Half themen were under water in a moment; but they had all, one after another, come up to the surface again for breath, when--tinkle, tinkle, babbleand gush! came the princess's laugh over the water from faraway. There she was, swimming like a swan. Nor would she come out forking or queen, chancellor or daughter. But though she was obstinate, she seemed more sedate than usual. Perhaps that was because a greatpleasure spoils laughing. After this, the passion of her life was toget into the water, and she was always the better behaved and the morebeautiful the more she had of it. Summer and winter it was all thesame; only she could not stay quite so long in the water, when theyhad to break the ice to let her in. Any day, from morning tillevening, she might be descried--a streak of white in the bluewater--lying as still as the shadow of a cloud, or shooting along likea dolphin; disappearing, and coming up again far off, just where onedid not expect her. She would have been in the lake of a night too, ifshe could have had her way; for the balcony of her window overhung adeep pool in it; and through a shallow reedy passage she could haveswum out into the wide wet water, and no one would have been any thewiser. Indeed when she happened to wake in the moonlight, she couldhardly resist the temptation. But there was the sad difficulty ofgetting into it. She had as great a dread of the air as some childrenhave of the water. For the slightest gust of wind would blow her away;and a gust might arise in the stillest moment. And if she gave herselfa push towards the water and just failed of reaching it, her situationwould be dreadfully awkward, irrespective of the wind; for at bestthere she would have to remain, suspended in her nightgown, till shewas seen and angled for by somebody from the window. 

"'Oh! if I had my gravity, ' thought she contemplating the water, 'Iwould flash off this balcony like a long white sea-bird, head-longinto the darling wetness. Heigh-ho!'

"This was the only consideration that made her wish to be like otherpeople. 

"Another reason for being fond of the water was that in it alone sheenjoyed any freedom. For she could not walk out without a cortege, consisting in part of a troop of light horse, for fear of theliberties which the wind might take with her. And the king grew moreapprehensive with increasing years, till at last he would not allowher to walk abroad without some twenty silken cords fastened to asmany parts of her dress, and held by twenty noble-men. Of coursehorseback was out of the question. But she bade good-bye to all thisceremony when she got into the water. So remarkable were its effectsupon her, especially in restoring her for the time to the ordinaryhuman gravity, that, strange to say, Hum-Drum and Kopy-Keck agreed inrecommending the king to bury her alive for three years; in the hopethat, as the water did her so much good, the earth would do her yetmore. But the king had some vulgar prejudices against the experiment, and would not give his consent. Foiled in this, they yet agreed inanother recommendation; which, seeing that the one imported hisopinions from China and the other from Thibet, was very remarkableindeed. They said that, if water of external origin and applicationcould be so efficacious, water from a deeper source might work aperfect cure; in short, that, if the poor afflicted princess could byany means be made to cry, she might recover her lost gravity. 

"But how was this to be brought about? Therein lay all the difficulty. The philosophers were not wise enough for this. To make the princesscry was as impossible as to make her weigh. They sent for aprofessional beggar; commanded him to prepare his most touching oracleof woe; helped him, out of the court charade-box, to whatever hewanted for dressing up, and promised great rewards in the event of hissuccess. But it was all in vain. She listened to the mendicantartist's story, and gazed at his marvellous make-up, till she couldcontain herself no longer, and went into the most undignifiedcontortions for relief, shrieking, positively screeching withlaughter. 

"When she had a little recovered herself, she ordered her attendantsto drive him away, and not give him a single copper; whereupon hislook of mortified discomfiture wrought her punishment and his revenge, for it sent her into violent hysterics, from which she was withdifficulty recovered. 

"But so anxious was the king that the suggestion should have a fairtrial, that he put himself in a rage one day, and, rushing up to herroom, gave her an awful whipping. But not a tear would flow. Shelooked grave, and her laughing sounded uncommonly like screaming--thatwas all. The good old tyrant, though he put on his best goldspectacles to look, could not discover the smallest cloud in theserene blue of her eyes. 

 * * * * *

"CHAPTER IX. --PUT ME IN AGAIN. 

"It must have been about this time that the son of a king, who lived athousand miles from Lagobel, set out to look for the daughter of aqueen. He travelled far and wide, but as sure as he found a princess, he found some fault with her. Of course he could not marry a merewoman, however beautiful, and there was no princess to be found worthyof him. Whether the prince was so near perfection that he had a rightto demand perfection itself, I cannot pretend to say. All I know isthat he was a fine, handsome, brave, generous, well-bred and well-behaved youth, as all princes are. 

"In his wanderings he had come across some reports about our princess;but as everybody said she was bewitched, he never dreamed that shecould bewitch him. For what indeed could a prince do with a princessthat had lost her gravity? Who could tell what she might not losenext? She might lose her visibility; or her tangibility; or, in short, the power of making impressions upon the radical sensorium; so that heshould never be able to tell whether she was dead or alive. Of coursehe made no further inquiries about her. 

"One day he lost sight of his retinue in a great forest. These forestsare very useful in delivering princes from their courtiers, like asieve that keeps back the bran. Then the princes get away to followtheir fortunes. In this they have the advantage of the princesses, whoare forced to marry before they have had a bit of fun. I wish ourprincesses got lost in a forest sometimes. 

"One lovely evening, after wandering about for many days, he foundthat he was approaching the outskirts of this forest; for the treeshad got so thin that he could see the sunset through them; and he sooncame upon a kind of heath. Next he came upon signs of humanneighbourhood; but by this time it was getting late, and there wasnobody in the fields to direct him. 

"After travelling for another hour, his horse, quite worn out withlong labour and lack of food, fell, and was unable to rise again. Sohe continued his journey on foot. At length he entered anotherwood--not a wild forest, but a civilized wood, through which afootpath led him to the side of a lake. Along this path the princepursued his way through the gathering darkness. Suddenly he paused, and listened. Strange sounds came across the water. It was, in fact, the princess laughing. Now, there was something odd in her laugh, as Ihave already hinted; for the hatching of a real hearty laugh, requiresthe incubation of gravity; and, perhaps, this was how the princemistook the laughter for screaming. Looking over the lake, he sawsomething white in the water; and, in an instant, he had torn off histunic, kicked off his sandals, and plunged in. He soon reached thewhite object, and found that it was a woman. There was not lightenough to show that she was a princess, but quite enough to show thatshe was a lady, for it does not want much light to see that. 

"Now, I cannot tell how it came about;--whether she pretended to bedrowning, or whether he frightened her, or caught her so as toembarrass her; but certainly he brought her to shore in a fashionignominious to a swimmer, and more nearly drowned than she had everexpected to be; for the water had got into her throat as often as shehad tried to speak. 

"At the place to which he bore her, the bank was only a foot or twoabove the water; so he gave her a strong lift out of the water, to layher on the bank. But, her gravitation ceasing the moment she left thewater, away she went, up into the air, scolding and screaming:

"'You naughty, _naughty_, NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY man!'

"No one had ever succeeded in putting her into a passion before. --Whenthe prince saw her ascend, he thought he must have been bewitched, andhave mistaken a great swan for a lady. But the princess caught hold ofthe topmost cone upon a lofty fir. This came off; but she caught atanother; and, in fact, stopped herself by gathering cones, droppingthem as the stalks gave way. The prince, meantime, stood in the water, forgetting to get out. But the princess disappearing, he scrambled onshore, and went in the direction of the tree. He found her climbingdown one of the branches, towards the stem. But in the darkness of thewood, the prince continued in some bewilderment as to what thephenomenon could be; until, reaching the ground, and seeing himstanding there, she caught hold of him, and said:

"I'll tell papa. '

"'Oh, no, you won't!' rejoined the prince. 

"'Yes, I will, ' she persisted. 'What business had you to pull me downout of the water, and throw me to the bottom of the air? I never didyou any harm. '

"'I am sure I did not mean to hurt you. '

"'I don't believe you have any brains; and that is a worse loss thanyour wretched gravity. I pity you. '

"The prince now saw that he had come upon the bewitched princess, andhad already offended her. Before he could think what to say next, theprincess, giving a stamp with her foot that would have sent her aloftagain, but for the hold she had of his arm, said angrily:

"'Put me up directly. '

"'Put you up where, you beauty?' asked the prince. "He had fallen inlove with her, almost, already; for her anger made her more charmingthan anyone else had ever beheld her; and, as far as he could see, which certainly was not far, she had not a single fault about her, except, of course, that she had no gravity. A prince, however, must beincapable of judging of a princess by weight. The loveliness of afoot, for instance, is hardly to be estimated by the depth of theimpression it can make in mud!

"'Put you up where, you beauty?' said the prince. 

"'In the water, you stupid!' answered the princess. 

"'Come, then, ' said the prince. 

"The condition of her dress, increasing her usual difficulty inwalking, compelled her to cling to him; and he could hardly persuadehimself that he was not in a delightful dream, notwithstanding thetorrent of musical abuse with which she overwhelmed him. The princebeing in no hurry, they reached the lake at quite another part, wherethe bank was twenty-five feet high at least. When they stood at theedge, the prince, turning towards the princess, said:

"'How am I to put you in?'

"'That is your business, ' she answered, quite snappishly. 'You took meout--put me in again. '

"'Very well, ' said the prince; and, catching her up in his arms, hesprang with her from the rock. The princess had just time to give onedelighted shriek of laughter before the water closed over them. Whenthey came to the surface, the princess, for a moment or two, could noteven laugh, for she had gone down with such a rush, that it was withdifficulty that she recovered her breath. The moment they reached thesurface--

"'How do you like falling in?' said the prince. 

"After a few efforts, the princess panted out:

"'Is that what you call _falling in_?'

"'Yes, ' answered the prince, 'I should think it a very tolerablespecimen. '

"'It seemed to me like going up, ' rejoined she. 

"'My feeling was certainly one of elevation, too, ' the princeconceded. 

"The princess did not appear to understand him, for she retorted hisfirst question:

'"How do _you_ like falling in?'

"'Beyond everything, ' answered he; 'for I have fallen in with the onlyperfect creature I ever saw. '

"'No more of that: I am tired of it, ' said the princess. 

"Perhaps she shared her father's aversion to punning. 

"'Don't you like falling in, then?' said the prince. 

"'It is the most delightful fun I ever had in my life, ' answeredshe. 'I never fell before. I wish I could learn. To think I am theonly person in my father's kingdom that can't fall!'

"Here the poor princess looked almost sad. 

"'I shall be most happy to fall in with you any time you like. ' saidthe prince, devotedly. 

"'Thank you. I don't know. Perhaps it would not be proper. But I don'tcare. At all events, as we have fallen in, let us have a swimtogether. '

"'With all my heart, ' said the prince. 

"And away they went, swimming, and diving, and floating, until at lastthey heard cries along the shore, and saw lights glancing in alldirections. It was now quite late, and there was no moon. 

"'I must go home, ' said the princess. 'I am very sorry, for this isdelightful. '

"'So am I, ' responded the prince. 'But I am glad I haven't a home togo to--at least, I don't exactly know where it is. '

"'I wish I hadn't one either, ' rejoined the princess; 'it is sostupid! I have a great mind, ' she continued, 'to play them all atrick. Why couldn't they leave me alone? They won't trust me in thelake for a single night! You see where that green light is burning?That is the window of my room. Now if you would just swim there withme very quietly, and when we are all but under the balcony, give mesuch a push--_up_ you call it--as you did a little while ago, I shouldbe able to catch hold of the balcony, and get in at the window; andthen they may look for me till to-morrow morning!'

"'With more obedience than pleasure, ' said the prince, gallantly; andaway they swam, very gently. 

"'Will you be in the lake to-morrow-night?' the prince ventured toask. 

"'To be sure I will. I don't think so. Perhaps, '--was the princess'ssomewhat strange answer. 

"But the prince was intelligent enough not to press her further; andmerely whispered, as he gave her the parting lift: 'Don't tell. ' Theonly answer the princess returned was a roguish look. She was alreadya yard above his head. The look seemed to say: 'Never fear. It is toogood fun to spoil that way. '

"So perfectly like other people had she been in the water, that evenyet the prince could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw her ascendslowly, grasp the balcony, and disappear through the window. Heturned, almost expecting to see her still by his side. But he wasalone in the water. So he swam away quietly, and watched the lightsroving about the shore for hours after the princess was safe in herchamber. As soon as they disappeared, he landed in search of his tunicand sword, and, after some trouble, found them again. Then he made thebest of his way round the lake to the other side. There the wood waswilder, and the shore steeper--rising more immediately towards themountains which surrounded the lake on all sides, and kept sending itmessages of silvery streams from morning to night, and all nightlong. He soon found a spot whence he could see the green light in theprincess's room, and where, even in the broad daylight, he would be inno danger of being discovered from the opposite shore. It was a sortof cave in the rock, where he provided himself a bed of witheredleaves, and lay down too tired for hunger to keep him awake. All nightlong he dreamed that he was swimming with the princess. "

"All that is very improper--to my mind, " said Mrs. Cathcart. And sheglanced towards the place where Percy had deposited himself, as if shewere afraid of her boy's morals. 

But if she was anxious on that score, her fears must have beendispersed the same moment by an indubitable snore from the youth, whowas in his favourite position--lying at full length on a couch. 

"You must remember all this is in Fairyland, aunt, " said Adela, with asmile. "Nobody does what papa and mamma would not like here. We mustnot judge the people in fairy tales by precisely the sameconventionalities we have. They must be good after their own fashion. "

"Conventionalities! Humph!" said Mrs. Cathcart. 

"Besides, I don't think the princess was quite accountable, " said I. 

"You should have made her so, then, " rejoined my critic. 

"Oh! wait a little, madam, " I replied. 

"I think, " said the clergyman, "that Miss Cathcart's defence is verytolerably sufficient; and, in my character of Master of theCeremonies, I order Mr. Smith to proceed. "

I made haste to do so, before Mrs. Cathcart should open a new battery. 

 * * * * *

"CHAPTER X. --LOOK AT THE MOON. 

"Early the next morning, the prince set out to look for something toeat, which he soon found at a forester's hut, where for many followingdays he was supplied with all that a brave prince could considernecessary. And having plenty to keep him alive for the present, hewould not think of wants not yet in existence. Whenever Care intruded, this prince always bowed him out in the most princely manner. 

"When he returned from his breakfast to his watch-cave, he saw theprincess already floating about in the lake, attended by the king andqueen--whom he knew by their crowns--and a great company in lovelylittle boats, with canopies of all the colours of the rainbow, andflags and streamers of a great many more. It was a very bright day, and soon the prince, burned up with the heat, began to long for thewater and the cool princess. But he had to endure till the twilight;for the boats had provisions on board, and it was not till the sunwent down, that the gay party began to vanish. Boat after boat drewaway to the shore, following that of the king and queen, till onlyone, apparently the princess's own boat, remained. But she did notwant to go home even yet, and the prince thought he saw her order theboat to the shore without her. At all events, it rowed away; and now, of all the radiant company, only one white speck remained. Then theprince began to sing. 

"And this was what he sang:

 "'Lady fair, Swan-white, Lift thine eyes, Banish night By the might Of thine eyes. 

 Snowy arms, Oars of snow, Oar her hither, Plashing low Soft and slow, Oar her hither. 

 Stream behind her O'er the lake, Radiant whiteness! In her wake Following, following for her sake, Radiant whiteness!

 Cling about her, Waters blue; Part not from her, But renew Cold and true Kisses round her. 

 Lap me round, Waters sad That have left her; Make me glad, For ye had Kissed her ere ye left her. '

"Before he had finished his song, the princess was just under theplace where he sat, and looking up to find him. Her ears had led hertruly. 

"'Would you like a fall, princess?' said the prince, looking down. 

"'Ah! there you are! Yes, if you please, prince, ' said the princess, looking up. 

"'How do you know I am a prince, princess?' said the prince. 

"'Because you are a very nice young man, prince, ' said the princess. 

"'Come up then, princess. '

"'Fetch me, prince. '

"The prince took off his scarf, then his sword-belt, then his tunic, and tied them all together, and let them down. But the line was fartoo short. He unwound his turban, and added it to the rest, when itwas all but long enough; and his purse completed it. The princess justmanaged to lay hold of the knot of money, and was beside him in amoment. This rock was much higher than the other, and the splash andthe dive were tremendous. The princess was in ecstasies of delight, and their swim was delicious. 

"Night after night they met, and swam about in the dark clear lake;where such was the prince's delight, that (whether the princess's wayof looking at things infected him, or he was actually gettinglight-headed, ) he often fancied that he was swimming in the skyinstead of the lake. But when he talked about being in heaven, theprincess laughed at him dreadfully. 

"When the moon came, she brought them fresh pleasure. Everythinglooked strange and new in her light, with an old, withered, yetunfading newness. When the moon was nearly full, one of their greatdelights was, to dive deep in the water, and then, turning round, lookup through it at the great blot of light close above them, shimmeringand trembling and wavering, spreading and contracting, seeming to meltaway, and again grow solid. Then they would shoot up through it; andlo! there was the moon, far off, clear and steady and cold, and verylovely, at the bottom of a deeper and bluer lake than theirs, as theprincess said. 

"The prince soon found out that while in the water the princess wasvery like other people. And besides this, she was not so forward inher questions, or pert in her replies at sea as on shore. Neither didshe laugh so much; and when she did laugh, it was more gently. Sheseemed altogether more modest and maidenly in the water than out ofit. But when the prince, who had really fallen in love when he fell inthe lake, began to talk to her about love, she always turned her headtowards him and laughed. After a while she began to look puzzled, asif she were trying to understand what he meant, but couldnot--revealing a notion that he meant something. But as soon as evershe left the lake, she was so altered, that the prince said tohimself: 'If I marry her, I see no help for it; we must turn mermanand mermaid, and go out to sea at once. '

 * * * * *

"CHAPTER XI. --HISS!

"The princess's pleasure in the lake had grown to a passion, and shecould scarcely bear to be out of it for an hour. Imagine then herconsternation, when, diving with the prince one night, a suddensuspicion seized her, that the lake was not so deep as it used tobe. The prince could not imagine what had happened. She shot to thesurface, and, without a word, swam at full speed towards the higherside of the lake. He followed, begging to know if she was ill, or whatwas the matter. She never turned her head, or took the smallest noticeof his question. Arrived at the shore, she coasted the rocks, withminute inspection. But she was not able to come to a conclusion, forthe moon was very small, and so she could not see well. She turnedtherefore and swam home, without saying a word to explain her conductto the prince, of whose presence she seemed no longer conscious. Hewithdrew to his cave, in great perplexity and distress. 

"Next day she made many observations, which, alas! strengthened herfears. She saw that the banks were too dry; and that the grass on theshore, and the trailing plants on the rocks, were withering away. Shecaused marks to be made along the borders, and examined them, dayafter day, in all directions of the wind; till at last the horribleidea became a certain fact--that the surface of the lake was slowlysinking. 

"The poor princess nearly went out of the little mind she had. It wasawful to her, to see the lake which she loved more than any livingthing, lie dying before her eyes. It sank away, slowly vanishing. Thetops of rocks that had never been seen before, began to appear fardown in the clear water. Before long, they were dry in the sun. It wasfearful to think of the mud that would lie baking and festering, fullof lovely creatures dying, and ugly creatures coming to life, like theunmaking of a world. And how hot the sun would be without any lake!She could not bear to swim in it, and began to pine away. Her lifeseemed bound up with it; and ever as the lake sank, she pined. Peoplesaid she would not live an hour after the lake was gone. --But shenever cried. 

"Proclamation was made to all the kingdom, that whosoever shoulddiscover the cause of the lake's decrease, would be rewarded after aprincely fashion. Hum-Drum and Kopy-Keck applied themselves to theirphysics and metaphysics; but in vain. No one came forward to suggest acause. 

"Now the fact was, that the old princess was at the root of themischief. When she heard that her niece found more pleasure in thewater, than any one else had out of it, she went into a rage, andcursed herself for her want of foresight. 

"'But, ' said she, 'I will soon set all right. The king and the peopleshall die of thirst; their brains shall boil and frizzle in theirskulls, before I shall lose my revenge. '

"And she laughed a ferocious laugh, that made the hairs on the back ofher black cat stand erect with terror. 

"Then she went to an old chest in the room, and opening it, took outwhat looked like a piece of dried sea-weed. This she threw into a tubof water. Then she threw some powder into the water, and stirred itwith her bare arm, muttering over it words of hideous sound, and yetmore hideous import. Then she set the tub aside, and took from thechest a huge bunch of a hundred rusty keys, that clattered in hershaking hands. Then she sat down and proceeded to oil them all. Beforeshe had finished, out from the tub, the water of which had kept on aslow motion ever since she had ceased stirring it, came the head andhalf the body of a huge grey snake. But the witch did not lookround. It grew out of the tub, waving itself backwards and forwardswith a slow horizontal motion, till it reached the princess, when itlaid its head upon her shoulder, and gave a low hiss in her ear. Shestarted--but with joy; and seeing the head resting on her shoulder, drew it towards her and kissed it. Then she drew it all out of thetub, and wound it round her body. It was one of those dreadfulcreatures which few have ever beheld--the White Snakes of Darkness. 

"Then she took the keys and went down into her cellar; and as sheunlocked the door, she said to herself, "'This _is_ worth living for!'

"Locking the door behind her, she descended a few steps into thecellar, and crossing it, unlocked another door into a dark, narrowpassage. This also she locked behind her, and descended a few moresteps. If any one had followed the witch-princess, he would have heardher unlock exactly one hundred doors, and descend a few steps afterunlocking each. When she had unlocked the last, she entered a vastcave, the roof of which was supported by huge natural pillars ofrock. Now this roof was the underside of the bottom of the lake. 

"She then untwined the snake from her body, and held it by the tail, high above her. The hideous creature stretched up its head towards theroof of the cavern, which it was just able to reach. It then began tomove its head backwards and forwards, with a slow oscillating motion, as if looking for something. At the same moment, the witch began towalk round and round the cavern, coming nearer to the centre everycircuit; while the head of the snake described the same path over theroof that she did over the floor, for she held it up still. And stillit kept slowly oscillating. Round and round the cavern they went thus, ever lessening the circuit, till, at last, the snake made a suddendart, and clung fast to the roof with its mouth. 'That's right, mybeauty!' cried the princess; 'drain it dry. '

"She let it go, left it hanging, and sat down on a great stone, withher black cat, who had followed her all round the cave, by herside. Then she began to knit, and mutter awful words. The snake hunglike a huge leech, sucking at the stone; the cat stood with his backarched, and his tail like a piece of cable, looking up at the snake;and the old woman sat and knitted and muttered. Seven days and sevennights they sat thus; when suddenly the serpent dropped from the roof, as if exhausted, and shrivelled up like a piece of dried sea-weed onthe floor. The witch started to her feet, picked it up, put it in herpocket, and looked up at the roof. One drop of water was trembling onthe spot where the snake had been sucking. As soon as she saw that, she turned and fled, followed by her cat. She shut the door in aterrible hurry, locked it, and having muttered some frightful words, sped to the next, which also she locked and muttered over; and so withall the hundred doors, till she arrived in her own cellar. There shesat down on the floor ready to faint, but listening with maliciousdelight to the rushing of the water, which she could hear distinctlythrough all the hundred doors. 

"But this was not enough. Now that she had tasted revenge, she losther patience. Without further measures, the lake would be too long indisappearing. So the next night, with the last shred of the dying oldmoon rising, she took some of the water in which she had revived thesnake, put it in a bottle, and set out, accompanied by her cat. Ereshe returned, she had made the entire circuit of the lake, mutteringfearful words as she crossed every stream, and casting into it some ofthe water out of her bottle. When she had finished the circuit, shemuttered yet again, and flung a handful of the water towards themoon. Every spring in the country ceased to throb and bubble, dyingaway like the pulse of a dying man. The next day there was no sound offalling water to be heard along the borders of the lake. The verycourses were dry; and the mountains showed no silvery streaks downtheir dark sides. And not alone had the fountains of mother Earthceased to flow; for all the babies throughout the country were cryingdreadfully--only without tears. 

 * * * * *

"CHAPTER XII. --WHERE IS THE PRINCE?

"Never since the night when the princess left him so abruptly, had theprince had a single interview with her. He had seen her once or twicein the lake; but as far as he could discover, she had not been in itany more at night. He had sat and sung, and looked in vain for hisNereid; while she, like a true Nereid, was wasting away with her lake, sinking as it sank, withering as it dried. When at length hediscovered the change that was taking place in the level of the water, he was in great alarm and perplexity. He could not tell whether thelake was dying because the lady had forsaken it; or whether the ladywould not come because the lake had begun to sink. But he resolved toknow so much at least. 

"He disguised himself, and, going to the palace, requested to see thelord chamberlain. His appearance at once gained his request; and thelord chamberlain being a man of some insight, perceived that there wasmore in the prince's solicitation than met the ear. He felt likewisethat no one could tell whence a solution of the present difficultiesmight arise. So he granted the prince's prayer to be made shoe-blackto the princess. It was rather knowing in the prince to request suchan easy post; for the princess could not possibly soil as many shoesas other princesses. 

"He soon learned all that could be told about the princess. He wentnearly distracted; but, after roaming about the lake for days, anddiving in every depth that remained, all that he could do was to putan extra-polish on the dainty pair of boots that was never called for. 

"For the princess kept her room, with the curtains drawn to shut outthe dying lake. But she could not shut it out of her mind for amoment. It haunted her imagination so that she felt as if her lakewere her soul, drying up within her, first to become mud, and thenmadness and death. She brooded over the change, with all its dreadfulaccompaniments, till she was nearly out of her mind. As for theprince, she had forgotten him. However much she had enjoyed hiscompany in the water, she did not care for him without it. But sheseemed to have forgotten her father and mother too. 

"The lake went on sinking. Small slimy spots began to appear, whichglittered steadily amidst the changeful shine of the water. These grewto broad patches of mud, which widened and spread, with rocks here andthere, and floundering fishes and crawling eels swarming about. Thepeople went everywhere catching these, and looking for anything thatmight have been dropped into the water. 

"At length the lake was all but gone; only a few of the deepest poolsremaining unexhausted. 

"It happened one day that a party of youngsters found themselves onthe brink of one of these pools, in the very centre of the lake. Itwas a rocky basin of considerable depth. Looking in, they saw at thebottom something that shone yellow in the sun. A little boy jumped inand dived for it. It was a plate of gold, covered with writing. Theycarried it to the king. 

"On one side of it stood these words:

 'Death alone from death can save. Love is death, and so is brave. Love can fill the deepest grave. Love loves on beneath the wave. '

"Now this was enigmatical enough to the king and courtiers. But thereverse of the plate explained it a little. Its contents amounted tothis:

"_If the lake should disappear, they must find the hole through whichthe water ran. But it would be useless to try to stop it by anyordinary means. There was but one effectual mode. --The body of aliving man could alone stanch the flow. The man must give himself ofhis own will; and the lake must take his life as it filled. Otherwisethe offering would be of no avail. If the nation could not provide onehero, it was time it should perish. _

 * * * * *

"CHAPTER XIII. --HERE I AM. 

"This was a very disheartening revelation to the king. Not that he wasunwilling to sacrifice a subject, but that he was hopeless of findinga man willing to sacrifice himself. No time could be lost, however;for the princess was lying motionless on her bed, and taking nonourishment but lake-water, which was now none of the best. Thereforethe king caused the contents of the wonderful plate of gold to bepublished throughout the country. 

"No one, however, came forward. 

"The prince, having gone several days' journey into the forest, toconsult a hermit whom he had met there on his way to Lagobel, knewnothing of the oracle till his return. 

"When he had acquainted himself with all the particulars, he sat downand thought. 

"'She would die, if I didn't do it; and life would be nothing to mewithout her: so I shall lose nothing by doing it. And life will be aspleasant to her as ever, for she will soon forget me, and there willbe so much more beauty and happiness in the world. To be sure I shallnot see it. '--Here the poor prince gave a sigh. --'How lovely the lakewill be in the moonlight, with that glorious creature sporting in itlike a wild goddess! It is rather hard to be drowned by inches, though. Let me see--that will be seventy inches of me to drown. '--Herehe tried to laugh, but could not. --'The longer the better, however, 'he resumed; 'for can I not bargain that the princess shall be besideme all the time? So I shall see her once more, kiss her perhaps, whoknows?--and die looking in her eyes. It will be no death. At least Ishall not feel it. And to see the lake filling for the beautyagain!--All right! I am ready. '

"He kissed the princess's boot, laid it down, and hurried to theking's apartment. But feeling, as he went, that anything sentimentalwould be disagreeable, he resolved to carry off the whole affair withburlesque. So he knocked at the door of the king's counting-house, where it was all but a capital crime to disturb him. When the kingheard the knock, he started up, and opened the door in a rage. Seeingonly the shoe-black, he drew his sword. This, I am sorry to say, washis usual mode of asserting his regality, when he thought his dignitywas in danger. But the prince was not in the least alarmed. 

"'Please your majesty, I'm your butler, ' said he. 

"'My butler! you lying rascal? What do you mean?'

"'I mean, I will cork your big bottle. '

"'Is the fellow mad?' bawled the king, raising the point of his sword. 

"'I will put a stopper--plug--what you call it, in your leaky lake, grand monarch, ' said the prince. 

"The king was in such a rage, that before he could speak he had timeto cool, and to reflect that it would be great waste to kill the onlyman who was willing to be useful in the present emergency, seeing thatin the end the insolent fellow would be as dead as if he had died byhis majesty's own hand. 

"'Oh!' said he at last, putting up his sword with difficulty--it wasso long; 'I am obliged to you, you young fool! Take a glass of wine?'

"'No, thank you, ' replied the prince. 

"'Very well, ' said the king. 'Would you like to run and see yourparents before you make your experiment?'

"'No, thank you, ' said the prince. 

"'Then we will go and look for the hole at once, ' said his majesty, and proceeded to call some attendants. 

"'Stop, please your majesty; I have a condition to make, ' interposedthe prince. 

"'What!' exclaimed the king; 'a condition! and with me! How dare you?'

"'As you please, ' said the prince coolly. 'I wish your majesty goodmorning. '

"'You wretch! I will have you put in a sack, and stuck in the hole. '

"'Very well, your majesty, ' replied the prince, becoming a little morerespectful, lest the wrath of the king should deprive him of thepleasure of dying for the princess. 'But what good will that do yourmajesty? Please to remember that the oracle says the victim must offerhimself. '

"'Well, you _have_ offered yourself, ' retorted the king. 

"'Yes, upon one condition. '

"'Condition again!' roared the king, once more drawing his sword. 'Begone! Somebody else will be glad enough to take the honour off yourshoulders. '

"'Your majesty knows it will not be easy to get one to take my place. '

"'Well, what is your condition?' growled the king, feeling that theprince was right. 

"'Only this, ' replied the prince: 'that, as I must on no account diebefore I am fairly drowned, and the waiting will be rather wearisome, the princess, your daughter, shall go with me, feed me with her ownhands, and look at me now and then, to comfort me; for you mustconfess it is rather hard. As soon as the water is up to my eyes, shemay go and be happy, and forget her poor shoe-black. '

"Here the prince's voice faltered, and he very nearly grewsentimental, in spite of his resolutions. 

"'Why didn't you tell me before what your condition was? Such a fussabout nothing!' exclaimed the king. 

"'Do you grant it?' persisted the prince. 

"'I do, ' replied the king. 

"'Very well. I am ready. '

"'Go and have some dinner, then, while I set my people to find theplace. '

"The king ordered out his guards, and gave directions to the officersto find the hole in the lake at once. So the bed of the lake wasmarked out in divisions, and thoroughly examined; and in an hour orso, the hole was discovered. It was in the middle of a stone, near thecentre of the lake, in the very pool where the golden plate had beenfound. It was a three-cornered hole, of no great size. There was waterall round the stone, but none was flowing through the hole. 

 * * * * *

"CHAPTER XIV. --THIS IS VERY KIND OF YOU. 

"The prince went to dress for the occasion, for he was resolved to dielike a prince. 

"When the princess heard that a man had offered to die for her, shewas so transported that she jumped off the bed, feeble as she was, anddanced about the room for joy. She did not care who the man was; thatwas nothing to her. The hole wanted stopping; and if only a man woulddo, why, take one. In an hour or two more, everything was ready. Hermaid dressed her in haste, and they carried her to the side of thelake. When she saw it, she shrieked, and covered her face with herhands. They bore her across to the stone, where they had alreadyplaced a little boat for her. The water was not deep enough to floatit, but they hoped it would be, before long. They laid her oncushions, placed in the boat wines and fruits and other nice things, and stretched a canopy over all. 

"In a few minutes, the prince appeared. The princess recognized him atonce; but did not think it worth while to acknowledge him. 

"'Here I am, ' said the prince. 'Put me in. '

"'They told me it was a shoe-black, ' said the princess. 

"'So I am, ' said the prince. 'I blacked your little boots three timesa day, because they were all I could get of you. Put me in. '

"The courtiers did not resent his bluntness, except by saying to eachother, that he was taking it out in impudence. 

"But how was he to be put in? The golden plate contained noinstructions on this point. The prince looked at the hole, and saw butone way. He put both his legs into it, sitting on the stone, and, stooping forward, covered the two corners that remained open, with histwo hands. In this uncomfortable position he resolved to abide hisfate, and, turning to the people, said:

"'Now you can go. '

"The king had already gone home to dinner. 

"'Now you can go, ' repeated the princess after him, like a parrot. 

"The people obeyed her, and went. 

"Presently a little wave flowed over the stone, and wetted one of theprince's knees. But he did not mind it much. He began to sing, and thesong he sang was this:

 "'As a world that has no well, Darkly bright in forest-dell; As a world without the gleam Of the downward-going stream; As a world without the glance Of the ocean's fair expanse; As a world where never rain Glittered on the sunny plain; Such, my heart, thy world would be, If no love did flow in thee. 

 "'As a world without the sound Of the rivulets under ground; Or the bubbling of the spring Out of darkness wandering; Or the mighty rush and flowing Of the river's downward going; Or the music-showers that drop On the outspread beech's top; Or the ocean's mighty voice, When his lifted waves rejoice; Such, my soul, thy world would be, If no love did sing in thee. 

 "'Lady, keep thy world's delight; Keep the waters in thy sight. Love hath made me strong to go, For thy sake, to realms below, Where the water's shine and hum Through the darkness never come: Let, I pray, one thought of me Spring, a little well, in thee; Lest thy loveless soul be found Like a dry and thirsty ground. '

"'Sing again, prince. It makes it less tedious, ' said the princess. 

"But the prince was too much overcome to sing any more. And a longpause followed. 

"'This is very kind of you, prince, ' said the princess at last, quitecoolly, as she lay in the boat with her eyes shut. 

"'I am sorry I can't return the compliment, ' thought the prince; 'butyou are worth dying for after all. '

"Again a wavelet, and another, and another, flowed over the stone, andwetted both the prince's knees thoroughly; but he did not speak ormove. Two--three--four hours passed in this way, the princessapparently fast asleep, and the prince very patient. But he was muchdisappointed in his position, for he had none of the consolation hehad hoped for. 

"At last he could bear it no longer. 

"'Princess!' said he. 

"But at the moment, up started the princess, crying, "'I'm afloat! I'm afloat!'

"And the little boat bumped against the stone. 

"'Princess!' repeated the prince, encouraged by seeing her wide awake, and looking eagerly at the water. 

"'Well?' said she, without once looking round. 

"'Your papa promised that you should look at me; and you haven'tlooked at me once. '

"'Did he? Then I suppose I must. But I am so sleepy!'

"'Sleep then, darling, and don't mind me, ' said the poor prince. 

"'Really, you are very good, ' replied the princess. 'I think I will goto sleep again. '

"'Just give me a glass of wine and a biscuit, first, ' said the princevery humbly. 

"'With all my heart, ' said the princess, and gaped as she said it. 

"She got the wine and the biscuit, however; and, coming nearer withthem, "'Why, prince, ' she said, 'you don't look well! Are you sure you don'tmind it?'

"'Not a bit, ' answered he, feeling very faint indeed. 'Only, I shalldie before it is of any use to you, unless I have something to eat. '

"'There, then!' said she, holding out the wine to him. 

"'Ah! you must feed me. I dare not move my hands. The water would runaway directly. '

"'Good gracious!' said the princess; and she began at once to feed himwith bits of biscuit, and sips of wine. 

"As she fed him, he contrived to kiss the tips of her fingers now andthen. She did not seem to mind it, one way or the other. But theprince felt better. 

"'Now, for your own sake, princess, ' said he, 'I cannot let you go tosleep. You must sit and look at me, else I shall not be able to keepup. '

"'Well, I will do anything I can to oblige you, ' answered she, withcondescension; and, sitting down, she did look at him, and keptlooking at him with wonderful steadiness, considering all things. 

"The sun went down, and the moon came up; and, gush after gush, thewaters were flowing over the rock. They were up to the prince's waistnow. 

"'Why can't we go and have a swim?' said the princess. 'There seems tobe water enough just about here. '

"'I shall never swim more, ' said the prince. 

"'Oh! I forgot, ' said the princess, and was silent. 

"So the water grew and grew, and rose up and up on the prince. And theprincess sat and looked at him. She fed him now and then. The nightwore on. The waters rose and rose. The moon rose likewise, higher andhigher, and shone full on the face of the dying prince. The water wasup to his neck. 

"'Will you kiss me, princess?' said he feebly at last; for the fun wasall out of him now. 

"'Yes, I will, ' answered the princess; and kissed him with a long, sweet, cold kiss. 

"'Now, ' said he, with a sigh of content, 'I die happy. '

"He did not speak again. The princess gave him some wine for the lasttime: he was past eating. Then she sat down again, and looked athim. The water rose and rose. It touched his chin. It touched hislower lip. It touched between his lips. He shut them hard to keep itout. The princess began to feel strange. It touched his upper lip. Hebreathed through his nostrils. The princess looked wild. It coveredhis nostrils. Her eyes looked scared, and shone strange in themoonlight. His head fell back; the water closed over it; and thebubbles of his last breath bubbled up through the water. The princessgave a shriek, and sprang into the lake. 

"She laid hold first of one leg, then of the other, and pulled andtugged, but she could not move either. She stopped to take breath, andthat made her think that he could not get any breath. She was frantic. She got hold of him, and held his head above the water, which waspossible now his hands were no longer on the hole. But it was of nouse, for he was past breathing. 

"Love and water brought back all her strength. She got under thewater, and pulled and pulled with her whole might, till, at last, shegot one leg out. The other easily followed. How she got him into theboat she never could tell; but when she did, she fainted away. Comingto herself, she seized the oars, kept herself steady as best shecould; and rowed and rowed, though she had never rowed before. Roundrocks, and over shallows, and through mud, she rowed, till she got tothe landing-stairs of the palace. By this time her people were on theshore, for they had heard her shriek. She made them carry the princeto her own room, and lay him in her bed, and light a fire, and sendfor the doctors. 

"'But the lake, your Highness!' said the Chamberlain, who, roused bythe noise, came in, in his night-cap. 

"'Go and drown yourself in it!' said she. 

"This was the last rudeness of which the princess was ever guilty; andone must allow that she had good cause to feel provoked with the lordchamberlain. 

"Had it been the king himself, he would have fared no better. But bothhe and the queen were fast asleep. And the chamberlain went back tohis bed. So the princess and her old nurse were left with the prince. Somehow, the doctors never came. But the old nurse was a wise woman, and knew what to do. 

"They tried everything for a long time without success. The princesswas nearly distracted between hope and fear, but she tried on and on, one thing after another, and everything over and over again. 

"At last, when they had all but given it up, just as the sun rose, theprince opened his eyes. 

 * * * * *

"CHAPTER XV. --LOOK AT THE RAIN!

"The princess burst into a passion of tears, and _fell_ on the floor. There she lay for an hour, and her tears never ceased. All the pent-upcrying of her life was spent now. And a rain came on, such as hadnever been seen in that country. The sun shone all the time, and thegreat drops, which fell straight to the earth, shone likewise. Thepalace was in the heart of a rainbow. It was a rain of rubies, andsapphires, and emeralds, and topazes. The torrents poured from themountains like molten gold; and if it had not been for itssubterraneous outlet, the lake would have overflowed and inundated thecountry. It was full from shore to shore. 

"But the princess did not heed the lake. She lay on the floor andwept. And this rain within doors was far more wonderful than the rainout of doors. For when it abated a little, and she proceeded to rise, she found, to her astonishment, that she could not. At length, aftermany efforts, she succeeded in getting upon her feet. But she tumbleddown again directly. Hearing her fall, her old nurse uttered a yell ofdelight, and ran to her, screaming:

"'My darling child! She's found her gravity!'

"'Oh! that's it, is it?' said the princess, rubbing her shoulder andher knee alternately. 'I consider it very unpleasant. I feel as if Ishould be crushed to pieces. '

"'Hurrah!' cried the prince, from the bed. 'If you're all right, princess, so am I. How's the lake?'

"'Brimful, ' answered the nurse. 

"'Then we're all jolly. '

"'That we are, indeed!' answered the princess, sobbing. 

"And there was rejoicing all over the country that rainy day. Even thebabies forgot their past troubles, and danced and crowed amazingly. And the king told stories, and the queen listened to them. And hedivided the money in his box, and she the honey in her pot, to all thechildren. And there was such jubilation as was never heard of before. 

"Of course the prince and princess were betrothed at once. But theprincess had to learn to walk, before they could be married with anypropriety. And this was not so easy, at her time of life, for shecould walk no more than a baby. She was always falling down andhurting herself. 

"'Is this the gravity you used to make so much of?' said she, one day, to the prince. 'For my part, I was a great deal more comfortablewithout it. '

"'No, no; that's not it. This is it, ' replied the prince, as he tookher up, and carried her about like a baby, kissing her all the time. 'This is gravity. '

"'That's better, ' said she. 'I don't mind that so much. '

"And she smiled the sweetest, loveliest smile in the prince's face. And she gave him one little kiss, in return for all his; and hethought them overpaid, for he was beside himself with delight. I fearshe complained of her gravity more than once after this, notwithstanding. 

"It was a long time before she got reconciled to walking. But the painof learning it, was quite counterbalanced by two things, either ofwhich would have been sufficient consolation. The first was, that theprince himself was her teacher; and the second, that she could tumbleinto the lake as often as she pleased. Still, she preferred to havethe prince jump in with her; and the splash they made before, wasnothing to the splash they made now. 

"The lake never sank again. In process of time, it wore the roof ofthe cavern quite through, and was twice as deep as before. 

"The only revenge the princess took upon her aunt, was to tread prettyhard on her gouty toe, the next time she saw her. But she was sorryfor it the very next day, when she heard that the water had underminedher house, and that it had fallen in the night, burying her in itsruins; whence no one ever ventured to dig up her body. There she liesto this day. 

"So the prince and princess lived and were happy; and had crowns ofgold, and clothes of cloth, and shoes of leather, and children of boysand girls, not one of whom was ever known, on the most criticaloccasion, to lose the smallest atom of his or her due proportion ofgravity. "

 * * * * *

"Bravo!"

"Capital!"

"Very good indeed!"

"Quite a success!"

cried my complimentary friends. 

"I don't think the princess could have rowed, though--without gravity, you know, " said the schoolmaster. 

"But she did, " said Adela. "I won't have my uncle found fault with. Itis a very funny, and a very pretty story. "

"What is the moral of it?" drawled Mrs. Cathcart, with the firstsyllable of _moral_ very long and very gentle. 

"That you need not be afraid of ill-natured aunts, though they arewitches, " said Adela. 

"No, my dear; that's not it, " I said. "It is, that you need not mindforgetting your poor relations. No harm will come of it in the end. "

"I think the moral is, " said the doctor, "that no girl is worthanything till she has cried a little. "

Adela gave him a quick glance, and then cast her eyes down. Whether hehad looked at her I don't know. But I should think not. --Neither theclergyman nor his wife had made any remark. I turned to them. 

"I am afraid you do not approve of my poor story, " I said. 

"On the contrary, " replied Mr. Armstrong, "I think there is a greatdeal of meaning in it, to those who can see through its fairy-gates. What do you think of it, my dear?"

"I was so pleased with the earnest parts of it, that the fun jarredupon me a little, I confess, " said Mrs. Armstrong. "But I daresay thatwas silly. "

"I think it was, my dear. But you can afford to be silly sometimes, ina good cause. "

"You might have given us the wedding. " said Mrs. Bloomfield. 

"I am an old bachelor, you see. I fear I don't give weddings theirdue, " I answered. "I don't care for them--in stories, I mean. "

"When will you dine with us again?" asked the colonel. 

"When you please, " answered the curate. 

"To-morrow, then?"

"Rather too soon that, is it not? Who is to read the next story?"

"Why, you, of course, " answered his brother. 

"I am at your service, " rejoined Mr. Armstrong. "But to-morrow!"

"Don't you think, Ralph, " said his wife, "you could read better if youfollowed your usual custom of dining early?"

"I am sure I should, Lizzie. Don't you think, Colonel Cathcart, itwould be better to come in the evening, just after your dinner? I liketo dine early, and I am a great tea-drinker. If we might have a hugetea-kettle on the fire, and tea-pot to correspond on the table, and I, as I read my story, and the rest of the company, as they listen, mighthelp ourselves, I think it would be very jolly, and very homely. "

To this the colonel readily agreed. I heard the ladies whispering alittle, and the words--"Very considerate indeed!" from Mrs. Bloomfield, reached my ears. Indeed I had thought that the colonel'shospitality was making him forget his servants. And I could not helplaughing to think what Beeves's face would have been like, if he hadheard us all invited to dinner again, the next day. 

Whether Adela suspected us now, I do not know. She said nothing toshow it. 

Just before the doctor left, with his brother and sister, he went upto her, and said, in a by-the-bye sort of way:

"I am sorry to hear that you have not been quite well of late, MissCathcart. You have been catching cold, I am afraid. Let me feel yourpulse. "

She gave him her wrist directly, saying:

"I feel much better to-night, thank you. "

He stood--listening to the pulse, you would have said--his wholeattitude was so entirely that of one listening, with his eyes doingnothing at all. He stood thus for a while, without consulting hiswatch, looking as if the pulse had brought him into immediatecommunication with the troubled heart itself, and he could feel everyflutter and effort which it made. Then he took out his watch andcounted. 

Now that his eyes were quite safe, I saw Adela's eyes steal up to hisface, and rest there for a half a minute with a reposeful expression. I felt that there was something healing in the very presence and touchof the man--so full was he of health and humanity; and I thought Adelafelt that he was a good man, and one to be trusted in. 

He gave her back her hand, as it were, so gently did he let it go, andsaid:

"I will send you something as soon as I get home, to take at once. Ipresume you will go to bed soon?"

"I will, if you think it best. "

And so Mr. Henry Armstrong was, without more ado, tacitly installed asphysician to Miss Adela Cathcart; and she seemed quite content withthe new arrangement. 

Chapter VI. 

The bell. 

Before the next meeting took place, namely, after breakfast on thefollowing morning, Percy having gone to visit the dogs, Mrs. Cathcartaddressed me:

"I had something to say to my brother, Mr. Smith, but--"

"And you wish to be alone with him? With all my heart, " I said. 

"Not at all, Mr. Smith, " she answered, with one of her smiles, whichwere quite incomprehensible to me, until I hit upon the theory thatshe kept a stock of them for general use, as stingy old ladies keep uptheir half worn ribbons to make presents of to servant-maids; "I onlywanted to know, before I made a remark to the colonel, whetherDr. Armstrong--"

"Mr. Armstrong lays no claim to the rank of a physician. "

"So much the better for my argument. But is he a friend of yours, Mr. Smith?"

"Yes--of nearly a week's standing. "

"Oh, then, I am in no danger of hurting your feelings. "

"I don't know that, " thought I, but I did not say it. 

"Well, Colonel Cathcart--excuse the liberty I am taking--but surelyyou do not mean to dismiss Dr. Wade, and give a young man like thatthe charge of your daughter's health at such a crisis. "

"Dr. Wade is dismissed already, Jane. He did her no more good than anyold woman might have done. "

"But such a young man!"

"Not so very young, " I ventured to say. "He is thirty at least. "

But the colonel was angry with her interference; for, an impetuous manalways, he had become irritable of late. 

"Jane, " he said, "is a man less likely to be delicate because he isyoung? Or does a man always become more refined as he grows older? Formy part--" and here his opposition to his unpleasant sister-in-lawpossibly made him say more than he would otherwise have conceded--"Ihave never seen a young man whose manners and behaviour I likedbetter. "

"Much good that will do her! It will only hasten the mischief. You menare so slow to take a hint, brother; and it is really too hard to beforced to explain one's self always. Don't you see that, whether hecures her or not, he will make her fall in love with him? And youwon't relish that, I fancy. "

"You won't relish it, at all events. But mayn't he fall in love withher as well?" thought I; which thought, a certain expression in thecolonel's face kept me from uttering. I saw at once that his sister'swords had set a discord in the good man's music. He made no reply; andMrs. Cathcart saw that her arrow had gone to the feather. I saw whatshe tried to conceal--the flash of success on her face. But shepresently extinguished it, and rose and left the room. I thought withmyself that such an arrangement would be the very best thing forAdela; and that, if the blessedness of woman lies in any way in thepossession of true manhood, she, let her position in society be whatit might compared with his, and let her have all the earls in thekingdom for uncles, would be a fortunate woman indeed, to marry such aman as Harry Armstrong;--for so much was I attracted to the man, thatI already called him Harry, when I and Myself talked about him. But Iwas concerned to see my old friend so much disturbed. I hoped howeverthat his good generous heart would right its own jarring chords beforelong, and that he would not spoil a chance of Adela's recovery, however slight, by any hasty measures founded on nothing better thanpaternal jealousy. I thought, indeed, he had gone too far to make thatpossible for some time; but I did not know how far his internaldiscomfort might act upon his behaviour as host, and so interfere withthe homeliness of our story-club, upon which I depended not a littlefor a portion of the desired result. 

The motive of Mrs. Cathcart's opposition was evident. She was apartizan of Percy; for Adela was a very tolerable fortune, as peoplesay. 

These thoughts went through my mind, as thoughts do, in no time atall; and when the lady had closed the door behind her with protractedgentleness, I was ready to show my game; in which I really consideredmy friend and myself partners. 

"Those women, " I said, (women forgive me!), with a laugh which I trustthe colonel did not discover to be a forced one--"Those women arealways thinking about falling in love and that sort of foolery. Iwonder she isn't jealous of me now! Well, I do love Adela better thanany man will, for some weeks to come. I've been a sweetheart of hersever since she was in long clothes. " Here I tried to laugh again, and, to judge from the colonel, I verily believe I succeeded. The cloudlightened on his face, as I made light of its cause, till at last helaughed too. If I thought it all nonsense, why should he think itearnest? So I turned the conversation to the club, about which I wasmore concerned than about the love-making at present, seeing thelatter had positively no existence as yet. 

"Adela seemed quite to enjoy the reading last night, " I said. 

"I thought she looked very grave, " he answered. 

The good man had been watching her face all the time, I saw, andevidently paying no heed to the story. I doubted if he was the betterjudge for this--observing only _ab extra_, and without being insympathy with her feelings as moved by the tale. 

"Now that is just what I should have wished to see, " I answered. "We don't want her merry all at once. What we want is, that sheshould take an interest in something. A grave face is a sign ofinterest. It is all the world better than a listless face. "

"But what good can stories do in sickness?"

"That depends on the origin of the sickness. My conviction is, that, near or far off, in ourselves, or in our ancestors--say Adam and Eve, for comprehension's sake--all our ailments have a moral cause. I thinkthat if we were all good, disease would, in the course of generations, disappear utterly from the face of the earth. "

"That's just like one of your notions, old friend! Rather peculiar. Mystical, is it not?"

"But I meant to go on to say that, in Adela's case, I believe, fromconversation I have had with her, that the operation of mind on bodyis far more immediate than that I have hinted at. "

"You cannot mean to imply, " said my friend, in some alarm, that Adelahas anything upon her conscience?"

"Certainly not. But there may be moral diseases that do not in theleast imply personal wrong or fault. They may themselves betransmitted, for instance. Or even if such sprung wholly from presentphysical causes, any help given to the mind would react on thosecauses. Still more would the physical ill be influenced through themental, if the mind be the source of both. 

"Now from whatever cause, Adela is in a kind of moral atrophy, for shecannot digest the food provided for her, so as to get any good ofit. Suppose a patient in a corresponding physical condition, shouldshow a relish for anything proposed to him, would you not take it fora sign that that was just the thing to do him good? And we may acceptthe interest Adela shows in any kind of mental pabulum provided forher, as an analogous sign. It corresponds to relish, and is a groundfor expecting some benefit to follow--in a word, some nourishment ofthe spiritual life. Relish may be called the digestion of the palate;interest, the digestion of the inner ears; both significant of furtherdigestion to follow. The food thus relished may not be the best food;and yet it may be the best for the patient, because she feels norepugnance to it, and can digest and assimilate, as well as swallowit. For my part, I believe in no cramming, bodily or mental. I thinknothing learned without interest, can be of the slightest afterbenefit; and although the effort may comprise a moral good, itinvolves considerable intellectual injury. All I have said applieswith still greater force to religious teaching, though that is notdefinitely the question now. "

"Well, Smith, I can't talk philosophy like you; but what you saysounds to me like sense. At all events, if Adela enjoys it, that isenough for me. Will the young doctor tell stories too?"

"I don't know. I fancy he _could_. But to-night we have his brother. "

"I shall make them welcome, anyhow. "

This was all I wanted of him; and now I was impatient for the evening, and the clergyman's tale. The more I saw of him the better I likedhim, and felt the more interest in him. I went to church that sameday, and heard him read prayers, and liked him better still; so that Iwas quite hungry for the story he was going to read to us. 

The evening came, and with it the company. Arrangements, similar tothose of the evening before, having been made, with some littleimprovements, the colonel now occupying the middle place in thehalf-circle, and the doctor seated, whether by chance or design, atthe corner farthest from the invalid's couch, the clergyman said, ashe rolled and unrolled the manuscript in his hand:

"To explain how I came to write a story, the scene of which is inScotland, I may be allowed to inform the company that I spent a goodpart of my boyhood in a town in Aberdeenshire, with my grandfather, who was a thorough Scotchman. He had removed thither from the south, where the name is indigenous; being indeed a descendant of thatChristy, whom his father, Johnie Armstrong, standing with the ropeabout his neck, ready to be hanged--or murdered, as the ballad callsit--apostrophizes in these words:

 'And God be with thee, Christy, my son, Where thou sits on thy nurse's knee! But an' thou live this hundred year, Thy father's better thou'lt never be. '

But I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen all, for this haspositively nothing to do with the story. Only please to remember thatin those days it was quite respectable to be hanged. "

We all agreed to this with a profusion of corroboration, except thecolonel; who, I thought, winced a little. But presently our attentionwas occupied with the story, thus announced:

"_The Bell. A Sketch in Pen and Ink_. "

He read in a great, deep, musical voice, with a wealth of pathos init--always suppressed, yet almost too much for me in the more touchingportions of the story. 

"One interruption more, " he said, before he began. "I fear you willfind it a sad story. "

And he looked at Adela. 

I believe that he had chosen the story on the homoeopathic principle. 

"I like sad stories, " she answered; and he went on at once. 

 "THE BELL. 

 "A SKETCH IN PEN AND INK. 

"Elsie Scott had let her work fall on her knees, and her hands on herwork, and was looking out of the wide, low window of her room, whichwas on one of the ground floors of the village street. Through a gapin the household shrubbery of fuchsias and myrtles filling the window-sill, one passing on the foot-pavement might get a momentary glimpseof her pale face, lighted up with two blue eyes, over which someinward trouble had spread a faint, gauze-like haziness. But almostbefore her thoughts had had time to wander back to this trouble, ashout of children's voices, at the other end of the street, reachedher ear. She listened a moment. A shadow of displeasure and paincrossed her countenance; and rising hastily, she betook herself to aninner apartment, and closed the door behind her. 

"Meantime the sounds drew nearer; and by and by, an old man, whosestrange appearance and dress showed that he had little capacity eitherfor good or evil, passed the window. His clothes were comfortableenough in quality and condition, for they were the annual gift of abenevolent lady in the neighbourhood; but, being made to accommodatehis taste, both known and traditional, they were somewhat peculiar incut and adornment. Both coat and trousers were of a dark grey cloth;but the former, which, in its shape, partook of the military, had astraight collar of yellow, and narrow cuffs of the same; while uponboth sleeves, about the place where a corporal wears his stripes, wasexpressed, in the same yellow cloth, a somewhat singular device. Itwas as close an imitation of a bell, with its tongue hanging out ofits mouth, as the tailor's skill could produce from a single piece ofcloth. The origin of the military cut of his coat was well known. Hispreference for it arose in the time of the wars of the first Napoleon, when the threatened invasion of the country caused the organization ofmany volunteer regiments. The martial show and exercises captivatedthe poor man's fancy; and from that time forward nothing pleased hisvanity, and consequently conciliated his good will more, than to stylehim by his favourite title--the _Colonel_. But the badge on his armhad a deeper origin, which will be partially manifest in the course ofthe story--if story it can be called. It was, indeed, the baptism ofthe fool, the outward and visible sign of his relation to the infiniteand unseen. His countenance, however, although the features were notof any peculiarly low or animal type, showed no corresponding sign ofthe consciousness of such a relation, being as vacant as humancountenance could well be. 

"The cause of Elsie's annoyance was that the fool was annoyed; for, hewas turned his rank into scorn, and assailed him with epithets hatefulto him. Although the most harmless of creatures when let alone, he wasdangerous when roused; and now he stooped repeatedly to pick up stonesand hurl them at his tormentors, who took care, while abusing him, tokeep at a considerable distance, lest he should get hold of them. Amidst the sounds of derision that followed him, might be heard thewords frequently repeated--'_Come hame, come hame. _' But in a fewminutes the noise ceased, either from the interference of somefriendly inhabitant, or that the boys grew weary, and departed insearch of other amusement. By and by, Elsie might be seen again at herwork in the window; but the cloud over her eyes was deeper, and herwhole face more sad. 

"Indeed, so much did the persecution of the poor man affect her, thatan onlooker would have been compelled to seek the cause in some yetdeeper sympathy than that commonly felt for the oppressed, even bywomen. And such a sympathy existed, strange as it may seem, betweenthe beautiful girl (for many called her a _bonnie lassie_) and this'tatter of humanity. ' Nothing would have been farther from thethoughts of those that knew them, than the supposition of anycorrespondence or connection between them; yet this sympathy sprung inpart from a real similarity in their history and present condition. 

"All the facts that were known about _Feel Jock's_ origin were these:that seventy years ago, a man who had gone with his horse and cartsome miles from the village, to fetch home a load of peat from adesolate _moss_, had heard, while toiling along as rough a road on aslonely a hill-side as any in Scotland, the cry of a child; and, searching about, had found the infant, hardly wrapt in rags, anduntended, as if the earth herself had just given him birth, --thatdesert moor, wide and dismal, broken and watery, the only bosom forhim to lie upon, and the cold, clear night-heaven his only covering. The man had brought him home, and the parish had taken parish-care ofhim. He had grown up, and proved what he now was--almost an idiot. Many of the townspeople were kind to him, and employed him in fetchingwater for them from the river and wells in the neighbourhood, payinghim for his trouble in victuals, or whisky, of which he was veryfond. He seldom spoke; and the sentences he could utter were few; yetthe tone, and even the words of his limited vocabulary, weresufficient to express gratitude and some measure of love towards thosewho were kind to him, and hatred of those who teased and insulted him. He lived a life without aim, and apparently to no purpose; in thisresembling most of his more gifted fellow-men, who, with all the toolsand materials needful for the building of a noble mansion, are yetcontent with a clay hut. 

"Elsie, on the contrary, had been born in a comfortable farmhouse, amidst homeliness and abundance. But at a very early age, she had lostboth father and mother; not so early, however, but that she had faintmemories of warm soft times on her mother's bosom, and of refuge inher mother's arms from the attacks of geese, and the pursuit of pigs. Therefore, in after-times, when she looked forward to heaven, it wasas much a reverting to the old heavenly times of childhood andmother's love, as an anticipation of something yet to be revealed. Indeed, without some such memory, how should we ever picture toourselves a perfect rest? But sometimes it would seem as if the more aheart was made capable of loving, the less it had to love; and poorElsie, in passing from a mother's to a brother's guardianship, felt achange of spiritual temperature, too keen. He was not a bad man, orincapable of benevolence when touched by the sight of want in anythingof which he would himself have felt the privation; but he was socoarsely made, that only the purest animal necessities affected him;and a hard word, or unfeeling speech, could never have reached thequick of his nature through the hide that enclosed it. Elsie, on thecontrary, was excessively and painfully sensitive, as if her natureconstantly protended an invisible multitude of half-spiritual, half-nervous antennae, which shrunk and trembled in every current of air atall below their own temperature. The effect of this upon her behaviourwas such, that she was called odd; and the poor girl felt that she wasnot like other people, yet could not help it. Her brother, too, laughed at her without the slightest idea of the pain he occasioned, or the remotest feeling of curiosity as to what the inward andconsistent causes of the outward abnormal condition might be. Tenderness was the divine comforting she needed; and it was altogetherabsent from her brother's character and behaviour. 

"Her neighbours looked on her with some interest, but they rathershunned than courted her acquaintance; especially after the return ofcertain nervous attacks, to which she had been subject in childhood, and which were again brought on by the events I must relate. It iscurious how certain diseases repel, by a kind of awe, the sympathiesof the neighbours: as if, by the fact of being subject to them, thepatient were removed into another realm of existence, from which, likethe dead with the living, she can hold communion with those around heronly partially, and with a mixture of dread pervading the intercourse. Thus some of the deepest, purest wells of spiritual life, are, likethose in old castles, choked up by the decay of the outer walls. Butwhat tended more than anything, perhaps, to keep up the painful unrestof her soul (for the beauty of her character was evident in the fact, that the irritation seldom reached her _mind_), was a circumstance atwhich, in its present connection, some of my readers will smile, andothers feel a shudder corresponding in kind to that of Elsie. 

"Her brother was very fond of a rather small, but ferocious-lookingbull-dog, which followed close at his heels, wherever he went, withhanging head and slouching gait, never leaping or racing about likeother dogs. When in the house, he always lay under his master'schair. He seemed to dislike Elsie, and she felt an unspeakablerepugnance to him. Though she never mentioned her aversion, herbrother easily saw it by the way in which she avoided the animal; andattributing it entirely to fear--which indeed had a great share in thematter--he would cruelly aggravate it, by telling her stories of thefierce hardihood and relentless persistency of this kind of animal. Hedared not yet further increase her terror by offering to set thecreature upon her, because it was doubtful whether he might be able torestrain him; but the mental suffering which he occasioned by thisheartless conduct, and for which he had no sympathy, was as severe asmany bodily sufferings to which he would have been sorry to subjecther. Whenever the poor girl happened inadvertently to pass near thedog, which was seldom, a low growl made her aware of his proximity, and drove her to a quick retreat. He was, in fact, the animalimpersonation of the animal opposition which she had continually toendure. Like chooses like; and the bull-dog _in_ her brother madechoice of the bull-dog _out of_ him for his companion. So her day wasone of shrinking fear and multiform discomfort. 

"But a nature capable of so much distress, must of necessity be_capable_ of a corresponding amount of pleasure; and in her case thiswas manifest in the fact, that sleep and the quiet of her own roomrestored her wonderfully. If she was only let alone, a calm mood, filled with images of pleasure, soon took possession of her mind. 

"Her acquaintance with the fool had commenced some ten years previousto the time I write of, when she was quite a little girl, and had comefrom the country with her brother, who, having taken a small farmclose to the town, preferred residing in the town to occupying thefarm-house, which was not comfortable. She looked at first with someterror on his uncouth appearance, and with much wonderment on hisstrange dress. This wonder was heightened by a conversation sheoverheard one day in the street, between the fool and a little pale-faced boy, who, approaching him respectfully, said, 'Weel, cornel!''Weel, laddie!' was the reply. 'Fat dis the wow say, cornel?' 'Comehame, come hame!' answered the _colonel_, with both accent andquantity heaped on the word _hame_. She heard no more, and knew notwhat the little she had heard, meant. What the _wow_ could be, she hadno idea; only, as the years passed on, the strange word became in hermind indescribably associated with the strange shape in yellow clothon his sleeves. Had she been a native of the town, she could not havefailed to know its import, so familiar was every one with it, althoughthe word did not belong to the local vocabulary; but, as it was, yearspassed away before she discovered its meaning. And when, again andagain, the fool, attempting to convey his gratitude for some kindnessshe had shown him, mumbled over the words--_'The wow o' Rivven--thewow o' Rivven, '_ the wonder would return as to what could be the ideaassociated with them in his mind, but she made no advance towardstheir explanation. 

"That, however, which most attracted her to the old man, was hispersecution by the children. They were to him what the bull-dog was toher--the constant source of irritation and annoyance. They couldhardly hurt him, nor did he appear to dread other injury from themthan insult, to which, fool though he was, he was keenly alive. Humangad-flies that they were! they sometimes stung him beyond endurance, and he would curse them in the impotence of his anger. Once or twiceElsie had been so far carried beyond her constitutional timidity, bysympathy for the distress of her friend, that she had gone out andtalked to the boys, --even scolded them, so that they slunk awayashamed, and began to stand as much in dread of her as of the clutchesof their prey. So she, gentle and timid to excess, acquired among themthe reputation of a termagant. Popular opinion among children, asamong men, is often just, but as often very unjust; for the samemanifestations may proceed from opposite principles; and, therefore, as indices to character, any mislead as often as enlighten. 

"Next door to the house in which Elsie resided, dwelt a tradesman andhis wife, who kept an indefinite sort of shop, in which various kindsof goods were exposed to sale. Their youngest son was about the sameage as Elsie; and while they were rather more than children, and lessthan young people, he spent many of his evenings with her, somewhat tothe loss of position in his classes at the parish school. They were, indeed, much attached to each other; and, peculiarly constituted asElsie was, one may imagine what kind of heavenly messenger a companionstronger than herself must have been to her. In fact, if she couldhave framed the undefinable need of her child-like nature into anarticulate prayer, it would have been--'Give me some one to love mestronger than I. ' Any love was helpful, yes, in its degree, saving toher poor troubled soul; but the hope, as they grew older together, that the powerful, yet tender-hearted youth, really loved her, andwould one day make her his wife, was like the opening of heavenly eyesof life and love in the hitherto blank and death-like face of herexistence. But nothing had been said of love, although they met andparted like lovers. 

"Doubtless if the circles of their thought and feeling had continuedas now to intersect each other, there would have been no interruptionto their affection; but the time at length arrived when the old coupleseeing the rest of their family comfortably settled in life, resolvedto make a gentleman of the youngest; and so sent him from school tocollege. The facilities existing in Scotland for providing aprofessional training, enabled them to educate him as a surgeon. Heparted from Elsie with some regret; but, far less dependent on herthan she was on him, and full of the prospects of the future, he feltnone of that sinking at the heart which seemed to lay her whole natureopen to a fresh inroad of all the terrors and sorrows of her peculiarexistence. No correspondence took place between them. New pursuits andrelations, and the development of his tastes and judgments, entirelyaltered the position of poor Elsie in his memory. Having been, duringtheir intercourse, far less of a man than she of a woman, he had nodefinite idea of the place he had occupied in her regard; and in hismind she receded into the background of the past, without his havingany idea that she would suffer thereby, or that he was unjust towardsher; while, in her thoughts, his image stood in the highest andclearest relief. It was the centre-point from which and towards whichall lines radiated and converged; and although she could not but bedoubtful about the future, yet there was much hope mingled with herdoubts. 

"But when, at the close of two years, he visited his native village, and she saw before her, instead of the homely youth who had left herthat winter evening, one who, to her inexperienced eyes, appeared afinished gentleman, her heart sank within her, as if she had foundNature herself false in her ripening processes, destroying thebeautiful promise of a former year by changing instead of developingher creations. He spoke kindly to her, but not cordially. To her earthe voice seemed to come from a great distance out of the past; andwhile she looked upon him, that optical change passed over her vision, which all have experienced after gazing abstractedly on any object fora time: his form grew very small, and receded to an immeasurabledistance; till, her imagination mingling with the twilight haze of hersenses, she seemed to see him standing far off on a hill, with thebright horizon of sunset for a back-ground to his clearly definedfigure. 

"She knew no more till she found herself in bed in the dark; and thefirst message that reached her from the outer world, was the infernalgrowl of the bull-dog from the room below. Next day she saw her loverwalking with two ladies, who would have thought it some degree ofcondescension to speak to her; and he passed the house without oncelooking towards it. 

"One who is sufficiently possessed by the demon of nervousness to beglad of the magnetic influences of a friend's company in a publicpromenade, or of a horse beneath him in passing through a churchyard, will have some faint idea of how utterly exposed and defenceless poorElsie now felt on the crowded thoroughfare of life. And theinsensibility which had overtaken her, was not the ordinary swoon withwhich Nature relieves the over-strained nerves, but the return of theepileptic fits of her early childhood; and if the condition of thepoor girl had been pitiable before, it was tenfold more so now. Yetshe did not complain, but bore all in silence, though it was evidentthat her health was giving way. But now, help came to her from astrange quarter; though many might not be willing to accord the nameof help to that which rather hastened than retarded the progress ofher decline. 

"She had gone to spend a few of the summer days with a relative in thecountry, some miles from her home, if home it could be called. Oneevening, towards sunset, she went out for a solitary walk. Passingfrom the little garden gate, she went along a bare country road forsome distance, and then, turning aside by a footpath through a thicketof low trees, she came out in a lonely little churchyard on thehill-side. Hardly knowing whether or not she had intended to go there, she seated herself on a mound covered with long grass, one ofmany. Before her stood the ruins of an old church which was takingcenturies to crumble. Little remained but the gable-wall, immenselythick, and covered with ancient ivy. The rays of the setting sun fellon a mound at its foot, not green like the rest, but of a rich, red-brown in the rosy sunset, and evidently but newly heaped up. Hereyes, too, rested upon it. Slowly the sun sank below the near horizon. 

"As the last brilliant point disappeared, the ivy darkened, and a windarose and shook all its leaves, making them look cold and troubled;and to Elsie's ear came a low faint sound, as from a far-off bell. Butclose beside her--and she started and shivered at the sound--rose adeep, monotonous, almost sepulchral voice: '_Come hame, come hame! Thewow, the wow!_'

"At once she understood the whole. She sat in the churchyard of theancient parish church of Ruthven; and when she lifted up her eyes, there she saw, in the half-ruined belfry, the old bell, all but hiddenwith ivy, which the passing wind had roused to utter one sleepy tone;and there, beside her, stood the fool with the bell on his arm; and tohim and to her the _wow o' Rivven_ said, '_Come hame, come hame!_' Ah, what did she want in the whole universe of God but a home? And thoughthe ground beneath was hard, and the sky overhead far and boundless, and the hill-side lonely and companionless, yet somewhere within thevisible, and beyond these the outer surfaces of creation, there mightbe a home for her; as round the wintry house the snows lie heaped upcold and white and dreary all the long _forenight_, while within, beyond the closed shutters, and giving no glimmer through the thickstone walls, the fires are blazing joyously, and the voices andlaughter of young unfrozen children are heard, and nothing belongs towinter but the grey hairs on the heads of the parents, within whosewarm hearts child-like voices are heard, and child-like thoughts moveto and fro. The kernel of winter itself is spring, or a sleepingsummer. 

"It was no wonder that the fool, cast out of the earth on a far moredesolate spot than this, should seek to return within her bosom atthis place of open doors, and should call it _home_. For surely thesurface of the earth had no home for him. The mound at the foot of thegable contained the body of one who had shown him kindness. He hadfollowed the funeral that afternoon from the town, and had remainedbehind with the bell. Indeed, it was his custom, though Elsie had notknown it, to follow every funeral going to this, his favouritechurchyard of Ruthven; and, possibly in imitation of its booming, forit was still tolled at the funerals, he had given the old bell thename of the _wow_, and had translated its monotonous clangour into thearticulate sounds--_come home, come home_. What precise meaning heattached to the words, it is impossible to say; but it was evidentthat the place possessed a strange attraction for him, drawing himtowards it by the cords of some spiritual magnetism. It is possiblethat in the mind of the idiot there may have been some feeling aboutthis churchyard and bell, which, in the mind of another, would havebecome a grand poetic thought; a feeling as if the ghostly old bellhung at the church-door of the invisible world, and ever and anon rungout joyous notes (though they sounded sad in the ears of the living), calling to the children of the unseen to _come home, come home_. --Shesat for some time in silence; for the bell did not ring again, and thefool spoke no more; till the dews began to fall, when she rose andwent home, followed by her companion, who passed the night in thebarn. 

"From that hour Elsie was furnished with a visual image of the restshe sought; an image which, mingling with deeper and holier thoughts, became, like the bow set in the cloud, the earthly pledge and sign ofthe fulfilment of heavenly hopes. Often when the wintry fog of colddiscomfort and homelessness filled her soul, all at once the pictureof the little churchyard--with the old gable and belfry, and theslanting sunlight steeping down to the very roots the long grass onthe graves--arose in the darkened chamber (_camera obscura_) of hersoul; and again she heard the faint Ĉolian sound of the bell, and thevoice of the prophet-fool who interpreted the oracle; and the inwardweariness was soothed by the promise of a long sleep. Who can tell howmany have been counted fools simply because they were prophets; or howmuch of the madness in the world may be the utterance of thoughts trueand just, but belonging to a region differing from ours in its natureand scenery!

"But to Elsie looking out of her window came the mocking tones of theidle boys who had chosen as the vehicle of their scorn the very wordswhich showed the relation of the fool to the eternal, and revealed inhim an element higher far than any yet developed in them. They turnedhis glory into shame, like the enemies of David when they mocked thewould-be king. And the best in a man is often that which is mostcondemned by those who have not attained to his goodness. The words, however, even as repeated by the boys, had not solely awakenedindignation at the persecution of the old man: they had likewisecomforted her with the thought of the refuge that awaited both him andher. 

"But the same evening a worse trial befell her. Again she sat near thewindow, oppressed by the consciousness that her brother had comein. He had gone up-stairs, and his dog had remained at the door, exchanging surly compliments with some of his own kind; when the foolcame strolling past, and, I do not know from what cause, the dog flewat him. Elsie heard his cry and looked up. Her fear of the brutevanished in a moment before her sympathy for her friend. She dartedfrom the house, and rushed towards the dog to drag him off thedefenceless idiot, calling him by his name in a tone of anger anddislike. He left the fool, and, springing at Elsie, seized her by thearm above the elbow with such a gripe that, in the midst of her agony, she fancied she heard the bone crack. But she uttered no cry, for themost apprehensive are sometimes the most courageous. Just then, however, her former lover was coming along the street, and, catching aglimpse of what had happened, was on the spot in an instant, took thedog by the throat with a gripe not inferior to his own, and havingthus compelled him to give up his hold, dashed him on the ground witha force that almost stunned him, and then with a superadded kick senthim away limping and howling; whereupon the fool, attacking himfuriously with a stick, would certainly have finished him, had not hismaster descried his plight and come to his rescue. 

"Meantime the young surgeon had carried Elsie into the house; for, assoon as she was rescued from the dog, she had fallen down in one ofher fits, which were becoming more and more frequent of themselves, and little needed such a shock as this to increase their violence. Hewas dressing her arm when she began to recover; and when she openedher eyes, in a state of half-consciousness, the first object shebeheld, was his face bending over her. Re-calling nothing of what hadoccurred, it seemed to her, in the dreamy condition in which the fithad left her, the same face, unchanged, which had once shone in uponher tardy spring-time, and promised to ripen it into summer. Sheforgot that it had departed and left her in the wintry cold. And soshe uttered wild words of love and trust; and the youth, while stungwith remorse at his own neglect, was astonished to perceive the poeticforms of beauty in which the soul of the uneducated maiden burst intoflower. But as her senses recovered themselves, the face graduallychanged to her, as if the slow alteration of two years had beenphantasmagorically compressed into a few moments; and the glowdeparted from the maiden's thoughts and words, and her soul founditself at the narrow window of the present, from which she couldbehold but a dreary country. --From the street came the iambic cry ofthe fool, 'Come hame, come hame. "

"Tycho Brahe, I think, is said to have kept a fool, who frequently satat his feet in his study, and to whose mutterings he used to listen inthe pauses of his own thought. The shining soul of the astronomer drewforth the rainbow of harmony from the misty spray of words ascendingever from the dark gulf into which the thoughts of the idiot were everfalling. He beheld curious concurrences of words therein, and couldread strange meanings from them--sometimes even received wondroushints for the direction of celestial inquiry, from what, to any other, and it may be to the fool himself, was but a ceaseless and aimlessbabble. Such power lieth in words. It is not then to be wondered at, that the sounds I have mentioned should fall on the ears of Elsie, atsuch a moment, as a message from God himself. This then--all thisdreariness--was but a passing show like the rest, and there laysomewhere for her a reality--a home. The tears burst up from heroppressed heart. She received the message, and prepared to go home. From that time her strength gradually sank, but her spirits assteadily rose. 

"The strength of the fool, too, began to fail, for he was old. He boreall the signs of age, even to the grey hairs, which betokened nowisdom. But one cannot say what wisdom might be in him, or how far hehad not fought his own battle, and been victorious. Whether any notionof a continuance of life and thought dwelt in his brain, it isimpossible to tell; but he seemed to have the idea that this was nothis home; and those who saw him gradually approaching his end, mightwell anticipate for him a higher life in the world to come. He hadpassed through this world without ever awakening to such aconsciousness of being, as is common to mankind. He had spent hisyears like a weary dream through a long night--a strange, dismal, unkindly dream; and now the morning was at hand. Often in his dreamhad he listened with sleepy senses to the ringing of the bell, butthat bell would awake him at last. He was like a seed buried too deepin the soil, to which, therefore, has never forced its way upwards tothe open air, never experienced the resurrection of the dead. Butseeds will grow ages after they have fallen into the earth; and, indeed, with many kinds, and within some limits, the older the seedbefore it germinates, the more plentiful is the fruit. And may it notbe believed of many human beings, that, the great Husbandman havingsown them like seeds in the soil of human affairs, there they lieburied a life long; and only after the upturning of the soil by death, reach a position in which the awakening of their aspiration and theconsequent growth become possible. Surely he has made nothing in vain. 

"A violent cold and cough brought him at last near to his end, and, hearing that he was ill, Elsie ventured one bright spring day to go tosee him. When she entered the miserable room where he lay, he held outhis hand to her with something like a smile, and muttered feebly andpainfully, 'I'm gaein' to the wow, nae to come back again. ' Elsiecould not restrain her tears; while the old man, looking fixedly ather, though with meaningless eyes, muttered, for the last time, '_Comehame! come hame!_' and sank into a lethargy, from which nothing couldrouse him, till, next morning, he was waked by friendly death from thelong sleep of this world's night. They bore him to his favouritechurch-yard, and buried him within the site of the old church, belowhis loved bell, which had ever been to him as the cuckoo-note of acoming spring. Thus he at length obeyed its summons, and went home. 

"Elsie lingered till the first summer days lay warm on the land. Several kind hearts in the village, hearing of her illness, visitedher and ministered to her. Wondering at her sweetness and patience, they regretted they had not known her before. How much consolationmight not their kindness have imparted, and how much might not theirsympathy have strengthened her on her painful road! But they could notlong have delayed her going home. Nor, mentally constituted as shewas, would this have been at all to be desired. Indeed it was chieflythe expectation of departure that quieted and soothed her tremulousnature. It is true that a deep spring of hope and faith kept singingon in her heart, but this alone, without the anticipation of speedyrelease, could only have kept her mind at peace. It could not havereached, at least for a long time, the border land between body andmind, in which her disease lay. 

"One still night of summer, the nurse who watched by her bedside heardher murmur through her sleep, 'I hear it: _come hame--come hame_. I'mcomin', I'm comin'--I'm gaein' hame to the wow, nae to come back. ' Sheawoke at the sound of her own words, and begged the nurse to convey toher brother her last request, that she might be buried by the side ofthe fool, within the old church of Ruthven. Then she turned her faceto the wall, and in the morning was found quiet and cold. She musthave died within a few minutes after her last words. She was buriedaccording to her request; and thus she, too, went home. 

"Side by side rest the aged fool and the young maiden; for the bellcalled them, and they obeyed; and surely they found the fire burningbright, and heard friendly voices, and felt sweet lips on theirs, inthe home to which they went. Surely both intellect and love werewaiting them there. 

"Still the old bell hangs in the old gable; and whenever another isborne to the old churchyard, it keeps calling to those who are leftbehind, with the same sad, but friendly and unchanging voice--_'Comehame! come hame! come hame!'_"

For a full minute, there was silence in the little company. I myselfdared not look up, but the movement of indistinct and cloudy whiteover my undirected eyes, let me know that two or three, amongst themAdela, were lifting their handkerchiefs to their faces. At length avoice broke the silence. 

"How much of your affecting tale is true, Mr. Armstrong?"

The voice belonged to Mrs. Cathcart. 

"I object to the question, " said I. "I don't want to know. Suppose, Mrs. Cathcart, I were to put this story-club, members, stories, andall, into a book, how would any one like to have her real existencequestioned? It would at least imply that I had made a very badportrait of that one. "

The lady cast rather a frightened look at me, which I confess I wasnot sorry to see. But the curate interposed. 

"What frightful sophistry, Mr. Smith!" Then turning to Mrs. Cathcart, he continued:

"I have not the slightest objection to answer your question, Mrs. Cathcart; and if our friend Mr. Smith does not want to hear theanswer, I will wait till he stops his ears. "

He glanced to me, his black eyes twinkling with fun. I saw that it wasall he could do to keep from winking; but he did. 

"Oh no, " I answered; "I will share what is going. "

"Well, then, the fool is a real character, in every point. But Ilearned after I had written the sketch, that I had made one mistake. He was in reality about seventeen, when he was found on the hill. Thebell is a real character too. Elsie is a creature of my own. So ofcourse are the brother and the dog. "

"I don't know whether to be glad or sorry that there was no Elsie, "said his wife. "But did you know the fool yourself?"

"Perfectly well, and had a great respect for him. When a little boy, Iwas quite proud of the way he behaved to me. He occasionally visitedthe general persecution of the boys, upon any boy he chanced to meeton the road; but as often as I met him, he walked quietly past me, muttering '_Auntie's folk_!' or returning my greeting of _'A fine day, Colonel!'_ with a grunted _'Ay!'_"

"What did he mean by 'Auntie's folk?'" asked Mrs. Armstrong. 

"My grandmother was kind to him, and he always called her _Auntie_. Icannot tell how the fancy originated; but certainly he knew all herdescendants somehow--a degree of intelligence not to have beenexpected of him--and invariably murmured 'Auntie's folk, ' as often ashe passed any of them on the road, as if to remind himself that thesewere friends, or relations. Possibly he had lived with an aunt beforehe was exposed on the moor. "

"Is _wow_ a word at all?" I asked. 

"If you look into Jamieson's Dictionary, " said Armstrong, "as I havedone for the express purpose, you will find that the word is useddifferently in different quarters of the country--chiefly, however, asa verb. It means _to bark, to howl;_ likewise _to wave or beckon;_also _to woo, or make love to_. Any of these might be given as anexplanation of his word. But I do not think it had anything to do withthese meanings; nor was the word used, in that district, in either ofthe last two senses, in my time at least. It was used, however, in themeaning of _alas_--a form of _woe_ in fact; as _wow's me!_ But Ibelieve it was, in the fool's use, an attempt to reproduce the soundwhich the bell made. If you repeat the word several times, resting onthe final _w_, and pausing between each repetition--_wow! wow!wow!_--you will find that the sound is not at all unlike the tollingof a funeral bell; and therefore the word is most probably anonomatopoetic invention of the fool's own. "

Adela offered no remark upon the story, and I knew from hercountenance that she was too much affected to be inclined to speak. Her eyes had that fixed, forward look, which, combined with haziness, indicates deep emotion, while the curves of her mouth were nearlystraightened out by the compression of her lips. I had thought, whilethe reader went on, that she could hardly fail to find in the story ofElsie, some correspondence to her own condition and necessities: I nowbelieve that she had found that correspondence. More talk was notdesirable; and I was glad when, after a few attempts at ordinaryconversation, Mr. And Mrs. Bloomfield rose to take their leave, whichwas accepted by the whole company as a signal for departure. 

"But stay, " I interposed; "who is to read or tell next?"

"Why, I will be revenged on Harry, " said the clergyman. 

"That you can't, " said the doctor; "for I have nothing to give you. "

"You don't mean to say you are going to jib?"

"No. I don't say I won't read. In fact I have a story in my head, anda bit of it on paper; but I positively can't read next time. "

"Will you oblige us with a story, Colonel?" said I. 

"My dear fellow, you know I never put pen to paper in my life, exceptwhen I could not help it. I may tell you a story before it is allover, but write one I cannot. "

"A tale that is told is the best tale of all, " I said. "Shall we bookyou for next time?"

"No, no! not next time; positively not. My story must come of itself, else I cannot tell it at all. "

"Well, there's nobody left but you, Mr. Bloomfield. So you can't getrid of it. "

"I don't think I ever wrote what was worth calling a story; but Idon't mind reading you something of the sort which I have at home, onone condition. "

"What is that?"

"That nobody ask any questions about it. "

"Oh! certainly. "

"But my only reason is, that somehow I feel it would all come topieces if you did. It is nothing, as a story; but there are feelingsexpressed in it, which were very strong in me when I wrote it, andwhich I do not feel willing to talk about, although I have noobjection to having them thought about. "

"Well, that is settled. When shall we meet again?"

"To-morrow, or the day after, " said the colonel; "which you please. "

"Oh! the day after, if I may have a word in it, " said the doctor. "Ishall be very busy to-morrow--and we mustn't crowd remedies either, you know. "

The close of the sentence was addressed to me only. The rest of thecompany had taken leave, and were already at the door, when he madethe last remark. He now came up to his patient, felt her pulse, andput the question, "How have you slept the last two nights?"

"Better, thank you. "

"And do you feel refreshed when you wake?"

"More so than for some time. "

"I won't give you anything to-night. --Good night. "

"Good night. Thank you. "

This was all that passed between them. Jealousy, with the six eyes ofColonel, Mrs. , and Percy Cathcart, was intent upon the pair during thebrief conversation. And I thought Adela perceived the fact. 

Chapter VII. 

The schoolmaster's story. 

I was walking up the street the next day, when, finding I was passingthe Grammar-school, and knowing there was nothing going on there now, I thought I should not be intruding if I dropped in upon theschoolmaster and his wife, and had a little chat with them. I alreadycounted them friends; for I felt that however different our trainingand lives might have been, we all meant the same thing now, and thatis the true bond of fellowship. I found Mr. Bloomfield reading to hiswife--a novel, too. Evidently he intended to make the most of thisindividual holiday, by making it as unlike a work-day as possible. 

"I see you are enjoying yourselves, " I said. "It's a shame to break inupon you. "

"We are delighted to see you. Your interruption will only postpone agood thing to a better, " said the kind-hearted schoolmaster, layingdown his book. "Will you take a pipe?"

"With pleasure--but not here, surely?"

"Oh! we smoke everywhere in holiday-time. "

"You enjoy your holiday, I can see. "

"I should think so. I don't believe one of the boys delights in aholiday quite as heartily as I do. You must not imagine I don't enjoymy work, though. "

"Not in the least. Earnest work breeds earnest play. But you must findthe labour wearisome at times. "

"I confess I have felt it such. I have said to myself sometimes: 'Am Ito go on for ever teaching boys Latin grammar, till I wish there hadnever been a Latin nation to leave such an incubus upon the bosom ofafter ages?' Then I would remind myself, that, under cover of grammarand geography, and all the other _farce_-meat (as the word ought to bewritten and pronounced), I put something better into my pupils;something that I loved myself, and cared to give to them. But I oftenask myself to what it all goes. --I learn to love my boys. I kill inthem all the bad I can. I nourish in them all the good I can. I sendthem across the borders of manhood--and they leave me, and most likelyI hear nothing more of them. And I say to myself: 'My life is like awind. It blows and will cease. ' But something says in reply: 'Wouldstthou not be one of God's winds, content to blow, and scatter the rainand dew, and shake the plants into fresh life, and then pass away andknow nothing of what thou hast done?' And I answer: 'Yes, Lord. "'

"You are not a wind; you are a poet, Mr. Bloomfield, " I said, withemotion. 

"One of the speechless ones, then, " he returned, with a smile thatshowed plainly enough that the speechless longed for utterance. It wassuch a smile as would, upon the face of a child, wile anything out ofyou. Surely God, who needs no wiles to make him give what one is readyto receive, will let him sing some day, to his heart's content! Andme, too, O Lord, I pray. 

"What a pleasure it must be to you now, to have such a man asMr. Armstrong for your curate! He will be a brother to you, " I said, as soon as I could speak. 

"Mr, Smith, I cannot tell you what he is to me already. He is doingwhat I would fain have done--what was denied to me. "

"How do you mean?"

"I studied for the church. But I aimed too high. My heart burnedwithin me, but my powers were small. I wanted to relight the ancientlamp, but my rush-light would not kindle it. My friends saw no light;they only smelt burning: I was heterodox. I hesitated, I feared, Iyielded, I withdrew. To this day, I do not know whether I did right orwrong. But I am honoured yet in being allowed to teach. And if at thelast I have the faintest 'Well done' from the Master, I shall besatisfied. "

Mrs. Bloomfield was gently weeping; partly from regret, as I judged, that her husband was not in the position she would have given him, partly from delight in his manly goodness. A watery film stood in theschoolmaster's eyes, and his wise gentle face was irradiated with thelight of a far-off morning, whose dawn was visible to his hope. 

"The world is the better for you at least, Mr. Bloomfield, " I said. "Iwish some more of us were as sure as you of helping on the dailyCreation, which is quite as certain a fact as that of old; and is evenmore important to us, than that recorded in the book of Genesis. It isnot great battles alone that build up the world's history, nor greatpoems alone that make the generations grow. There is a still smallrain from heaven that has more to do with the blessedness of natureand of human nature, than the mightiest earthquake, or the loveliestrainbow. "

"I do comfort myself, " he answered, "at this Christmas-time, and forthe whole year, with the thought that, after all, the world was savedby a child. --But that brings me to think of a little trouble I am in, Mr. Smith. The only paper I have, at all fit for reading to-morrownight, is much too short to occupy the evening. What is to be done?"

"Oh! we can talk about it. "

"That is just what I could not bear. It is rather an odd composition, I fear; but whether it be worth anything or not, I cannot help havinga great affection for it. "

"Then it is true, I presume?"

"There again! That is just one of the questions I don't want toanswer. I quite sympathized with you last night in not wishing to knowhow much of Mr. Armstrong's story was true. Even if wholly fictitious, a good story is always true. But there are things which one would haveno right to invent, which would be worth nothing if they wereinvented, from the very circumstance of their origin in the brain, andnot in the world. The very beauty of them demands that they should befact; or, if not, that they should not be told--sent out poorunclothed spirits into the world before a body of fact has beenprepared for them. But I have always found it impossible to define thekinds of stories I mean. The nearest I can come to it is this: If theforce of the lesson depends on the story being a fact, it must not betold except it is a fact. Then again, there are true things that onewould be shy of telling, if he thought they would be attributed tohimself. Now this story of mine is made up of fiction and fact both. And I fear that if I were called upon to take it to pieces, it wouldlose the force of any little truth it possesses, besides exposing meto what I would gladly avoid. Indeed I fear I ought not to read it atall. "

"You are amongst friends, you know, Mr. Bloomfield. "

"Entirely?" he asked, with a half comic expression. 

"Well, " I answered, laughing, "any exception that may exist, is hardlyworth considering, and indeed ought to be thankfully accepted, astending to wholesomeness. Neither vinegar nor mustard would bedesirable as food, you know; yet--"

"I understand you. I am ashamed of having made such a fuss aboutnothing. I will do my best, I assure you. "

I fear that the fastidiousness of the good man will not be excuseenough for the introduction of such a long preamble to a story forwhich only a few will in the least care. But the said preamblehappening to touch on some interesting subjects, I thought it well torecord it. As to the story itself, there are some remarks of Balzac inthe introduction to one of his, that would well apply to theschoolmaster's. They are to the effect that some stories which havenothing in them as stories, yet fill one with an interest both gentleand profound, if they are read in the mood that is exactly fitted fortheir just reception. 

Mr. Bloomfield conducted me to the door. 

"I hope you will not think me a grumbler, " he said; "I should not likeyour disapprobation, Mr. Smith. "

"You do me great honour, " I said, honestly. "Believe me there is nodanger of that. I understand and sympathize with you entirely. "

"My love of approbation is large, " he said, tapping the bump referredto with his forefinger. "Excuse it and me too. "

"There is no need, my dear friend, " I said, "if I may call you such. "

His answer was a warm squeeze of the hand, with which we parted. 

As I returned home, I met Henry Armstrong, mounted on a bay mare of afar different sort from what a sportsman would consider a doctorjustified in using for his purposes. In fact she was a thoroughhunter; no beauty certainly, with her ewe-neck, drooping tail, andwhite face and stocking; but she had an eye at once gentle and wild asthat of a savage angel, if my reader will condescend to dream for amoment of such an anomaly; while her hind quarters were power itself, and her foreleg was flung right out from the shoulder with a gesturenot of work but of delight; the step itself being entirely one ofwork, --long in proportion to its height. The lines of her fore andhind-quarters converged so much, that there was hardly more than roomfor the saddle between them. I had never seen such action. Altogether, although not much of a hunting man, the motion of the creature gave mesuch a sense of power and joy, that I longed to be scouring the fieldswith her under me. It was a sunshiny day, with a keen cold air, and athin sprinkling of snow; and Harry looked so radiant with health, thatone could easily believe he had health to convey, if not to bestow. Hestopped and inquired after his patient. 

"Could you not get her to go out with you, Mr. Smith?" he said. 

"Would that be safe, Mr. Henry?"

"Perfectly safe, if she is willing to go; not otherwise. Get her to gowillingly for ten minutes, and see if she is not the better for it. What I want is to make the blood go quicker and more plentifullythrough her brain. She has not fever enough. She does not live fastenough. "

"I will try, " I said. "Have you been far to-day?"

"Just come out. You might tell that by the mare. You should see herthree hours after this. "

And he patted her neck as if he loved her--as I am sure he did--andtrotted gently away. 

When I came up to the gate, Beeves was standing at it. 

"A nice gentleman that, sir!" said he. 

"He is, Beeves. I quite agree with you. "

"And rides a good mare, sir; and rides as well as any man in thecountry. I never see him leave home in a hurry. Always goes gentlyout, and comes gently in. What has gone between, you may see by herskin when she comes home. "

"Does he hunt, Beeves?"

"I believe not, sir; except the fox crosses him in one of hisrounds. Then if he is heading anywhere in his direction, they saydoctor and mare go at it like mad. He's got two more in his stable, better horses to look at; but that's the one to go. "

"I wonder how he affords such animals. "

"They say he has a way of buying them lame, and a wonderful knack ofsetting them up again. They all go, anyhow. "

"Will you say to your mistress, that I should like very much if shewould come to me here. "

Beeves stared, but said, "Yes, sir, " and went in. I was now standingin front of the house, doubtful of the reception Adela would give mymessage, but judging that curiosity would aid my desire. I was right. Beeves came back with the message that his mistress would join me in afew minutes. In a quarter of an hour she came, wrapt in furs. She wasvery pale, but her eye was brighter than usual, and it did not shrinkfrom the cold glitter of the snow. She put her arm in mine, and wewalked for ten minutes along the dry gravel walks, chattingcheerfully, about anything and nothing. 

"Now you must go in, " I said. 

"Not yet, surely, uncle. By the bye, do you think it was right of meto come out?"

"Mr. Henry Armstrong said you might. "

She did not reply, but I thought a slight rose-colour tinged hercheek. 

"But he said you must not be out more than ten minutes. "

"Well, I suppose I must do as I am told. "

And she turned at once, and went up the stair to the door, almost aslightly as any other girl of her age. 

There was some progress, plainly enough. But was that a rose-tinge Ihad seen on her cheek or not?

The next evening, after tea, we arranged ourselves much as on the lastoccasion; and Mr. Bloomfield, taking a neat manuscript from hispocket, and evidently restraining himself from apology andexplanation, although as evidently nervous about the whole proceeding, and jealous of his own presumption, began to read as follows. 

His voice trembled as he read, and his wife's face was a shade or twopaler than usual. 

 "BIRTH, DREAMING, AND DEATH. 

"In a little room, scantily furnished, lighted, not from the window, for it was dark without, and the shutters were closed, but from thepeaked flame of a small, clear-burning lamp, sat a young man, with hisback to the lamp and his face to the fire. No book or paper on thetable indicated labour just forsaken; nor could one tell from hiseyes, in which the light had all retreated inwards, whether hisconsciousness was absorbed in thought, or reverie only. The windowcurtains, which scarcely concealed the shutters, were of coarsetexture, but of brilliant scarlet--for he loved bright colours; andthe faint reflection they threw on his pale, thin face, made it lookmore delicate than it would have seemed in pure daylight. Two or threebookshelves, suspended by cords from a nail in the wall, contained acollection of books, poverty-stricken as to numbers, with but few tofill up the chronological gap between the Greek New Testament andstray volumes of the poets of the present century. But his love forthe souls of his individual books was the stronger that there was nopossibility of its degenerating into avarice for the bodies oroutsides whose aggregate constitutes the piece of house-furniturecalled a library. 

"Some years before, the young man (my story is so short, and calls inso few personages, that I need not give him a name) had aspired, underthe influence of religious and sympathetic feeling, to be a clergyman;but Providence, either in the form of poverty, or of theologicaldifficulty, had prevented his prosecuting his studies to that end. Andnow he was only a village schoolmaster, nor likely to advancefurther. I have said _only_ a village schoolmaster; but is it notbetter to be a teacher _of_ babes than a preacher _to_ men, at anytime; not to speak of those troublous times of transition, wherein adifference of degree must so often assume the appearance of adifference of kind? That man is more happy--I will not say moreblessed--who, loving boys and girls, is loved and revered by them, than he who, ministering unto men and women, is compelled to pour hiswords into the filter of religious suspicion, whence the water isallowed to pass away unheeded, and only the residuum is retained forthe analysis of ignorant party-spirit. 

"He had married a simple village girl, in whose eyes he was noblerthan the noblest--to whom he was the mirror, in which the real formsof all things around were reflected. Who dares pity my poor villageschoolmaster? I fling his pity away. Had he not found in her love theverdict of God, that he was worth loving? Did he not in her possessthe eternal and unchangeable? Were not her eyes openings through whichhe looked into the great depths that could not be measured orrepresented? She was his public, his society, his critic. He found inher the heaven of his rest. God gave unto him immortality, and he wasglad. For his ambition, it had died of its own mortality. He read thewords of Jesus, and the words of great prophets whom he has sent; andlearned that the wind-tossed anemone is a word of God as real and trueas the unbending oak beneath which it grows--that reality is anabsolute existence precluding degrees. If his mind was, as his room, scantily furnished, it was yet lofty; if his light was small, it wasbrilliant. God lived, and he lived. Perhaps the highest moral heightwhich a man can reach, and at the same time the most difficult ofattainment, is the willingness to be _nothing_ relatively, so that heattain that positive excellence which the original conditions of hisbeing render not merely possible, but imperative. It is nothing to aman to be greater or less than another--to be esteemed or otherwise bythe public or private world in which he moves. Does he, or does henot, behold and love and live the unchangeable, the essential, thedivine? This he can only do according as God has made him. He canbehold and understand God in the least degree, as well as in thegreatest, only by the godlike within him; and he that loves thus thegood and great has no room, no thought, no necessity for comparisonand difference. The truth satisfies him. He lives in itsabsoluteness. God makes the glow-worm as well as the star; the lightin both is divine. If mine be an earth-star to gladden the wayside, Imust cultivate humbly and rejoicingly its green earth-glow, and notseek to blanch it to the whiteness of the stars that lie in the fieldsof blue. For to deny God in my own being is to cease to behold him inany. God and man can meet only by the man's becoming that which Godmeant him to be. Then he enters into the house of life, which isgreater than the house of fame. It is better to be a child in a greenfield, than a knight of many orders in a state ceremonial. 

"All night long he had sat there, and morning was drawing nigh. He hasnot heard the busy wind all night, heaping up snow against the house, which will make him start at the ghostly face of the world when atlength he opens the shutters, and it stares upon him so white. For upin a little room above, white-curtained, like the great earth without, there has been a storm, too, half the night--moanings and prayers--andsome forbidden tears; but now, at length, it is over; and through theportals of two mouths instead of one, flows and ebbs the tide of thegreat air-sea which feeds the life of man. With the sorrow of themother, the new life is purchased for the child; our very being isredeemed from nothingness with the pains of a death of which we knownothing. 

"An hour has gone by since the watcher below has been delivered fromthe fear and doubt that held him. He has seen the mother and thechild--the first she has given to life and him--and has returned tohis lonely room, quiet and glad. 

"But not long did he sit thus before thoughts of doubt awoke in hismind. He remembered his scanty income, and the somewhat feeble healthof his wife. One or two small debts he had contracted, seemedabsolutely to press on his bosom; and the newborn child--'oh! howdoubly welcome, ' he thought, 'if I were but half as rich again as Iam!'--brought with it, as its own love, so its own care. The dogs ofneed, that so often hunt us up to heaven, seemed hard upon his heels;and he prayed to God with fervour; and as he prayed he fell asleep inhis chair, and as he slept he dreamed. The fire and the lamp burned onas before, but threw no rays into his soul; yet now, for the firsttime, he seemed to become aware of the storm without; for his dreamwas as follows:--

"He lay in his bed, and listened to the howling of the wintry wind. Hetrembled at the thought of the pitiless cold, and turned to sleepagain, when he thought he heard a feeble knocking at the door. He rosein haste, and went down with a light. As he opened the door, the wind, entering with a gust of frosty particles, blew out his candle; but hefound it unnecessary, for the grey dawn had come. Looking out, he sawnothing at first; but a second look, turned downwards, showed him alittle half-frozen child, who looked quietly, but beseechingly, in hisface. His hair was filled with drifted snow, and his little hands andcheeks were blue with cold. The heart of the schoolmaster swelled tobursting with the spring-flood of love and pity that rose up withinit. He lifted the child to his bosom, and carried him into the house;where, in the dream's incongruity, he found a fire blazing in the roomin which he now slept. The child said never a word. He set him by thefire, and made haste to get hot water, and put him in a warm bath. Henever doubted that this was a stray orphan who had wandered to him forprotection, and he felt that he could not part with him again; eventhough the train of his previous troubles and doubts once more passedthrough the mind of the dreamer, and there seemed no answer to hisperplexities for the lack of that cheap thing, gold--yea, silver. Butwhen he had undressed and bathed the little orphan, and having driedhim on his knees, set him down to reach something warm to wrap him in, the boy suddenly looked up in his face, as if revived, and said with aheavenly smile, 'I am the child Jesus. ' 'The child Jesus!' said thedreamer, astonished. 'Thou art like any other child. ' 'No, do not sayso, ' returned the boy; 'but say, _Any other child is like me_. ' Andthe child and the dream slowly faded away; and he awoke with thesewords sounding in his heart--'Whosoever shall receiveth one of suchchildren in my name, receiveth me; and whosoever shall receive me, receiveth not me, but him that sent me. ' It was the voice of Godsaying to him: 'Thou wouldst receive the child whom I sent thee out ofthe cold, stormy night; receive the new child out of the cold wasteinto the warm human house, as the door by which it can enter God'shouse, its home. If better could be done for it, or for thee, would Ihave sent it hither? Through thy love, my little one must learn mylove and be blessed. And thou shall not keep it without thy reward. For thy necessities--in thy little house, is there not yet room? inthy barrel, is there not yet meal? and thy purse is not empty quite. Thou canst not eat more than a mouthful at once. I have made theeso. Is it any trouble to me to take care of thee? Only I prefer tofeed thee from my own hand, and not from thy store. 'And theschoolmaster sprang up in joy, ran upstairs, kissed his wife, andclasped the baby in his arms in the name of the child Jesus. And inthat embrace, he knew that he received God to his heart. Soon, with atender, beaming face, he was wading through the snow to theschool-house, where he spent a happy day amidst the rosy faces andbright eyes of his boys and girls. These, likewise, he loved the moredearly and joyfully for that dream, and those words in his heart; sothat, amidst their true child-faces, (all going well with them, as notunfrequently happened in his schoolroom), he felt as if all theelements of Paradise were gathered around him, and knew that he wasGod's child, doing God's work. 

"But while that dream was passing through the soul of the husband, another visited the wife, as she lay in the faintness and tremblingjoy of the new motherhood. For although she that has been motherbefore, is not the less a new mother to the new child, her formerrelation not covering with its wings the fresh bird in the nest of herbosom, yet there must be a peculiar delight in the thoughts andfeelings that come with the first-born. --As she lay half in a sleep, half in a faint, with the vapours of a gentle delirium floatingthrough her brain, without losing the sense of existence she lost theconsciousness of its form, and thought she lay, not a young mother inher bed, but a nosegay of wild flowers in a basket, crushed, flattenedand half-withered. With her in the basket lay other bunches offlowers, whose odours, some rare as well as rich, revealed to her thesad contrast in which she was placed. Beside her lay a cluster ofdelicately curved, faintly tinged, tea-scented roses; while she wasonly blue hyacinth bells, pale primroses, amethyst anemones, closedblood-coloured daisies, purple violets, and one sweet-scented, purewhite orchis. The basket lay on the counter of a well-known littleshop in the village, waiting for purchasers. By and by her own husbandentered the shop, and approached the basket to choose a nosegay. 'Ah!'thought she, 'will he choose me? How dreadful if he should not, and Ishould be left lying here, while he takes another! But how should hechoose me? They are all so beautiful; and even my scent is nearlygone. And he cannot know that it is I lying here. Alas! alas!' But asshe thought thus, she felt his hand clasp her, heard the ransom-moneyfall, and felt that she was pressed to his face and lips, as he passedfrom the shop. He _had_ chosen her; he _had_ known her. She opened hereyes: her husband's kiss had awakened her. She did not speak, butlooked up thankfully in his eyes, as if he had, in fact, like one ofthe old knights, delivered her from the transformation of some evilmagic, by the counter-enchantment of a kiss, and restored her from ahalf-withered nosegay to be a woman, a wife, a mother. The dreamcomforted her much, for she had often feared that she, the simple, so-called uneducated girl, could not be enough for the greatschoolmaster. But soon her thoughts flowed into another channel; thetears rose in her dark eyes, shining clear from beneath a stream thatwas not of sorrow; and it was only weakness that kept her fromuttering audible words like these:--'Father in heaven, shall I trustmy husband's love, and doubt thine? Wilt thou meet less richly thefearing hope of thy child's heart, than he in my dream met the longingof his wife's? He was perfected in my eyes by the love he boreme--shall I find thee less complete? Here I lie on thy world, faint, and crushed, and withered; and my soul often seems as if it had lostall the odours that should float up in the sweet-smelling savour ofthankfulness and love to thee. But thou hast only to take me, only tochoose me, only to clasp me to thy bosom, and I shall be a beautifulsinging angel, singing to God, and comforting my husband while Ising. Father, take me, possess me, fill me!'

"So she lay patiently waiting for the summer-time of restored strengththat drew slowly nigh. With her husband and her child near her, in hersoul, and God everywhere, there was for her no death, and nohurt. When she said to herself, 'How rich I am!' it was with theriches that pass not away--the riches of the Son of man; for in hertreasures, the human and the divine were blended--were one. 

"But there was a hard trial in store for them. They had learned toreceive what the Father sent: they had now to learn that what he gavehe gave eternally, after his own being--his own glory. For ere themother awoke from her first sleep, the baby, like a frolicsome child-angel, that but tapped at his mother's window and fled--the baby died;died while the mother slept away the pangs of its birth, died whilethe father was teaching other babes out of the joy of his newfatherhood. 

"When the mother woke, she lay still in her joy--the joy of a doubledlife; and knew not that death had been there, and had left behind onlythe little human coffin. 

"'Nurse, bring me the baby, ' she said at last. 'I want to see it. '

"But the nurse pretended not to hear. 

"'I want to nurse it. Bring it. '

"She had not yet learned to say _him_; for it was her first baby. 

"But the nurse went out of the room, and remained some minutesaway. When she returned, the mother spoke more absolutely, and thenurse was compelled to reply--at last. 

"'Nurse, do bring me the baby; I am quite able to nurse it now. '

"'Not yet, if you please, ma'am. Really you must rest a whilefirst. Do try to go to sleep. '

"The nurse spoke steadily, and looked her too straight in the face;and there was a constraint in her voice, a determination to be calm, that at once roused the suspicion of the mother; for though herfirst-born was dead, and she had given birth to what was now, as faras the eye could reach, the waxen image of a son, a child had comefrom God, and had departed to him again; and she was his mother. 

"And the fear fell upon her heart that it might be as it was; and, looking at her attendant with a face blanched yet more with fear thanwith suffering, she said, "'Nurse, is the baby--?'

"She could not say _dead_; for to utter the word would be at once tomake it possible that the only fruit of her labour had been pain andsorrow. 

"But the nurse saw that further concealment was impossible; and, without another word, went and fetched the husband, who, with facepale as the mother's, brought the baby, dressed in its white clothes, and laid it by its mother's side, where it lay too still. 

"'Oh, ma'am, do not take on so, ' said the nurse, as she saw the faceof the mother grow like the face of the child, as if she were about torush after him into the dark. 

"But she was not 'taking on' at all. She only felt that pain at herheart, which is the farewell kiss of a long-cherished joy. Though castout of paradise into a world that looked very dull and weary, yet, used to suffering, and always claiming from God the consolation itneeded, and satisfied with that, she was able, presently, to look upin her husband's face, and try to reassure him of her well-being by adreary smile. 

"'Leave the baby, ' she said; and they left it where it was. Long andearnestly she gazed on the perfect tiny features of the littlealabaster countenance, and tried to feel that this was the child shehad been so long waiting for. As she looked, she fancied she heard itbreathe, and she thought--'What if it should be only asleep!' but, alas! the eyes would not open, and when she drew it close to her, sheshivered to feel it so cold. At length, as her eyes wandered over andover the little face, a look of her husband dawned unexpectedly uponit; and, as if the wife's heart awoke the mother's she cried out, 'Baby! baby!' and burst into tears, during which weeping she fellasleep. 

"When she awoke, she found the babe had been removed while she slept. But the unsatisfied heart of the mother longed to look again on theform of the child; and again, though with remonstrance from the nurse, it was laid beside her. All day and all night long, it remained by herside, like a little frozen thing that had wandered from its home, andnow lay dead by the door. 

"Next morning the nurse protested that she must part with it, for itmade her fret; but she knew it quieted her, and she would rather keepher little lifeless babe. At length the nurse appealed to the father;and the mother feared he would think it necessary to remove it; but toher joy and gratitude he said, 'No, no; let her keep it as long as shelikes. ' And she loved her husband the more for that; for he understoodher. 

"Then she had the cradle brought near the bed, all ready as it was fora live child that had open eyes, and therefore needed sleep--neededthe lids of the brain to close, when it was filled full of the strangecolours and forms of the new world. But this one needed no cradle, forit slept on. It needed, instead of the little curtains to darken it tosleep, a great sunlight to wake it up from the darkness, and theever-satisfied rest. Yet she laid it in the cradle, which she had setnear her, where she could see it, with the little hand and arm laidout on the white coverlet. If she could only keep it so! Could notsomething be done, if not to awake it, yet to turn it to stone, andlet it remain so for ever? No; the body must go back to its mother, the earth, and the _form_ which is immortal, being the thought of God, must go back to its Father--the Maker. And as it lay in the whitecradle, a white coffin was being made for it. And the mother thought:'I wonder which trees are growing coffins for my husband and me. '

"But ere the child, that had the prayer of Job in his grief, and haddied from its mother's womb, was carried away to be buried, the motherprayed over it this prayer:--'O God, if thou wilt not let me be amother, I have one refuge: I will go back and be a child: I will bethy child more than ever. My mother-heart will find relief inchildhood towards its Father. For is it not the same nature that makesthe true mother and the true child? Is it not the same thoughtblossoming upward and blossoming downward? So there is God the Fatherand God the Son. Thou wilt keep my little son for me. He has gone hometo be nursed for me. And when I grow well, I will be more simple, andtruthful, and joyful in thy sight. And now thou art taking away mychild, my plaything, from me. But I think how pleased I should be, ifI had a daughter, and she loved me so well that she only smiled when Itook her plaything from her. Oh! I will not disappoint thee--thoushall have thy joy. Here I am, do with me what thou wilt; I will onlysmile. '

"And how fared the heart of the father? At first, in the bitterness ofhis grief, he called the loss of his child a punishment for his doubtand unbelief; and the feeling of punishment made the stroke more keen, and the heart less willing to endure it. But better thoughts wokewithin him ere long. 

"The old woman who swept out his schoolroom, came in the evening toinquire after the mistress, and to offer her condolences on the lossof the baby. She came likewise to tell the news, that a certain oldman of little respectability had departed at last, unregretted by asingle soul in the village but herself, who had been his nurse throughthe last tedious illness. 

"The schoolmaster thought with himself:

"'Can that soiled and withered leaf of a man, and my little snow-flakeof a baby, have gone the same road? Will they meet by the way? Canthey talk about the same thing--anything? They must part on theboarders of the shining land, and they could hardly speak by the way. '

"'He will live four-and-twenty hours, nurse, ' the doctor had said. 

"'No, doctor; he will die to-night, ' the nurse had replied; duringwhich whispered dialogue, the patient had lain breathing quietly, forthe last of suffering was nearly over. 

He was at the close of an ill-spent life, not so much selfishlytowards others as indulgently towards himself. He had failed of truejoy by trying often and perseveringly to create a false one; and now, about to knock at the gate of the other world, he bore with him noburden of the good things of this; and one might be tempted to say ofhim, that it were better he had not been born. The great majesticmystery lay before him--but when would he see its majesty?

"He was dying thus, because he had tried to live as Nature said heshould not live; and he had taken his own wages--for the law of theMaker is the necessity of his creature. His own children had forsakenhim, for they were not perfect as their Father in heaven, who makethhis sun to shine on the evil and on the good. Instead of doublingtheir care as his need doubled, they had thought of the disgrace hebrought on them, and not of the duty they owed him; and now, left todie alone for them, he was waited on by this hired nurse, who, familiar with death-beds, knew better than the doctor--knew that hecould live only a few hours. 

"Stooping to his ear, she had told him, as gently as she could--forshe thought she ought not to conceal it--that he must die that night. He had lain silent for a few moments; then had called her, and, withbroken and failing voice, had said, 'Nurse, you are the only friend Ihave: give me one kiss before I die. ' And the woman-heart had answeredthe prayer. 

"'And, ' said the old woman, 'he put his arms round my neck, and gaveme a long kiss, such a long kiss! and then he turned his face away, and never spoke again. '

"So, with the last unction of a woman's kiss, with this baptism forthe dead, he had departed. 

"'Poor old man! he had not quite destroyed his heart yet, ' thought theschoolmaster. 'Surely it was the child-nature that woke in him at thelast, when the only thing left for his soul to desire, the only thinghe could think of as a preparation for the dread something, was akiss. Strange conjunction, yet simple and natural! Eternity--a kiss. Kiss me; for I am going to the Unknown!--Poor old man!' theschoolmaster went on in his thoughts, 'I hope my baby has met him, andput his tiny hand in the poor old shaking hand, and so led him acrossthe borders into the shining land, and up to where Jesus sits, andsaid to the Lord: "Lord, forgive this old man, for he knew not what hedid. " And I trust the Lord has forgiven him. '

"And then the bereaved father fell on his knees, and cried out:

"'Lord, thou hast not punished me. Thou wouldst not punish for apassing thought of troubled unbelief, with which I strove. Lord, takemy child and his mother and me, and do what thou wilt with us. I knowthou givest not, to take again. '

"And ere the schoolmaster could call his protestantism to his aid, hehad ended his prayer with the cry:

"'And O God! have mercy upon the poor old man, and lay not his sins tohis charge. '

"For, though a woman's kiss may comfort a man to eternity, it is notall he needs. And the thought of his lost child had made the soul ofthe father compassionate. "

 * * * * *

He ceased, and we sat silent. 

 * * * * *

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.