AUNT RACHEL

By David Christie Murray

Author Of "First Person Singular" "Rainbow Gold" Etc. 

1880

PREFACE. 

A critic, otherwise almost altogether friendly, protests, in reviewing arecent book of mine, that no rustics ever would, could, or will talk inreal life as the rustics in that work are made to talk by me. Since thiscriticism might apply still more pointedly, if it were true, to "AuntRachel" than to "Rainbow Gold, " I desire to say a word or two inself-defence. A little, a very little, of the average rustic would goa long way in fiction. But I do not profess to deal with the averagerustic. I deal, and love to deal, with the rustic exceptional, thevillage notable and wiseacre. Observant readers will have noticedthat the date of one story is 1853, and that the epoch of the otheris remoter by a dozen years. In my boyhood, in the Staffordshire BlackCountry, the rustic people were saturated with the speech of the Bible, the Church Service, and the "Pilgrim's Progress. " It is otherwiseto-day, and their English, when it pretends at all to a literaryflavor, is the English of the local weekly paper. The gravity, the slowsententiousness, and purposed wisdom of the utterances of more than oneor two knots of habitual companions whom I can recall, were outside thechances of exaggeration. Often these people were really wise and witty. They were the makers of the local proverbial philosophy, and many oftheir phrases are alive today. I recall and could set down here a scoreof the quaintest bits of humor and good-sense, and one or two thingsgenuinely poetical, which were spoken in my childish hearing. But Irefrain myself easily from this temptation, because I have not writtenmy last Black Country story, and prefer to put these things in a form asnear their own as I can achieve. I only desire to say that I have _not_exaggerated, but have fallen short of the characteristics I have had todeal with. 

D. Christie Murray. 

Rochefort, Belgium, December, 1885. 

AUNT RACHEL. 

A Rustic Sentimental Comedy. 

CHAPTER I. 

A quartette party--three violins and a 'cello--sat in summer eveningweather in a garden. This garden was full of bloom and odor, and wasshut in by high walls of ripe old brick. Here and there were large-sizedplaster casts--Venus, Minerva, Mercury, a goat-hoofed Pan with hispipes, a Silence with a finger at her lips. They were all sylvangreen and crumbled with exposure to the weather, so that, in spite ofcheapness, they gave the place a certain Old-world and stately aspectto an observer who was disposed to think so and did not care to look atthem too curiously. A square deal table with bare top and painted legswas set on the grass-plot beneath a gnarled apple-tree whose brancheswere thick with green fruit, and the quartette party sat about thistable, each player with his music spread out before him on a portablelittle folding stand. 

Three of the players were old, stout, gray, and spectacled. The fourthwas young and handsome, with dreamy gray-blue eyes and a mass ofchestnut-colored hair. There was an audience of two--an old man and agirl. The old man stood at the back of the chair of the youngest player, turning his music for him, and beating time with one foot upon thegrass. The girl, with twined fingers, leaned both palms on the trunk ofthe apple-tree, and reposed a clear-colored cheek on her rounded arm, looking downward with a listening air. The youngest player never glancedat the sheets which the old man so assiduously turned for him, butlooked straight forward at the girl, his eyes brightening or dreamingat the music. The three seniors ploughed away business-like, with intentfrownings, and the man who played the 'cello counted beneath his breath, "One, two, three, four--one, two, three, four, " inhaling his breath onone set of figures and blowing on the next. 

The movement closed, and the three seniors looked at each other like menwho were satisfied with themselves and their companions. 

"Lads, " said the man with the 'cello, in a fat and comfortable voice, "that was proper! He's a pretty writer, this here Bee-thoven. Rewben, the hallygro's a twister, I can tell thee. Thee hadst better grease thyelbow afore we start on it. Ruth, fetch a jug o' beer, theer's a goodwench. I'm as dry as Bill Duke. Thee canst do a drop, 'Saiah, _I_ know. "

"Why, yes, " returned the second-fiddle. "Theer's a warmish bit afore us, and it's well to have summat to work on. "

The girl moved away slowly, her fingers still knitted and her palmsturned to the ground. An inward-looking smile, called up by the music, lingered in her eyes, which were of a warm, soft brown. 

"Reuben, " said the second-fiddle, "thee hast thy uncle's method allover. I could shut my eyes an' think as I was five-and-twenty 'earyounger, and as he was a-playin'. Dost note the tone, Sennacherib?"

"Note it?" said the third senior. "It's theer to be noted. Our 'Saiah'sgot it drove into him somehow, as he's the one in Heydon Hay as GodA'mighty's gi'en a pair of ears to. "

"An' our Sennacherib, " retorted Isaiah, "is the one as carries Natur'slicense t' offer the rough side of his tongue to everybody. "

"I know it's a compliment, " said the younger man, "to say I have myuncle's hand, though I never heard my uncle play. "

"No, lad, " said the old man who stood behind his chair. "Thee'rt a finerplayer than ever I was. If I'd played as well as thee I might have heldon at it, though even then it ud ha' gone a bit agen the grain. "

"Agen the grain?" asked the 'cello-player, in his cheery voice. "With atone like that? Why, I mek bold to tell you, Mr. Gold, as theer is not ahammer-chewer on the fiddle, not for thirty or may be forty mile around, as has a tone to name in the same day with Rewben. "

"There's a deal in what you say, Mr. Fuller, " said the old man, whohad a bearing of sad and gentle dignity, and gave, in a curious andnot easily explainable way, the idea that he spoke but seldom and wassomething of a recluse. "There's a deal in what you say, Mr. Fuller, butthe fiddle is not a thing as can be played like any ordinary instryment. A fiddle's like a wife, in a way of speaking. You must offer her allyou've got. If she catches you going about after other women--"

"It's woe betide you!" Sennacherib interrupted. 

"You drive her heart away, " the old man pursued. "The fiddle's jealouserthan a woman. It wants the whole of a man. If Reuben was to settle downto it twelve hours a day, I make no doubt he'd be a player in a fewyears' time. "

"Twelve hours a day!" cried Sennacherib. "D'ye think as life was gi'ento us to pass it all away a scrapin' catgut?"

"Why, no, Mr. Eld, " the old man answered, smilingly. "But to my mindthere's only two or three men in the world at any particular space o'given time as has the power gi'en 'em by Nature to be fiddlers; that isto say, as has all the qualities to be masters of the instryment. It isso ordered as the best of qualities must be practised to be perfect, and howsoever a man may be qualified to begin with, he must work hour byhour and day by day for years afore he plays the fiddle. "

"I look upon any such doctrine as a sinful crime, " said Sennacherib. "The fiddle is a recrehation, and was gi'en us for that end. So, in away, for them as likes it, is skittles. So is marvils, or kite-flyin', or kiss-i'-the-ring. But to talk of a man sittin' on his hinder end, anddraggin' rosined hosshair across catgut hour by hour and day by day for'ears, is a doctrine as I should like to hear Parson Hales's opinion on, if ever it was to get broached afore him. "

"Ruth, " called the 'cello-player, as the girl reappeared, bearing a traywith a huge jug and glasses, "come along with the beer. And whenwe've had a drink, lads, well have a cut at the hallygro. It's marked'vivaysy, ' Reuben, an' it'll tek thee all thy time to get the twirls andtwiddles i' the right placen. "

Ruth poured out a glass of beer for each of the players, and, having setthe tray and jug upon the grass, took up her former place and positionby the apple-tree. 

"Wheer's your rosin, 'Saiah?" asked Sennacherib. 

"I forgot to bring it wi' me, " said Isaiah. "I took it out of the caselast night, and was that neglectful as I forgot to put it back again. "

"My blessid!" cried Sennacherib, "I niver see such a man!"

"Well, well!" said the 'cello-player, "here's a bit. You seem to ha'forgot your own. "

"What's that got to do wi' it?" Sennacherib demanded. "I shall live tolearn as two blacks mek a white by-an'-by, I reckon. There niver wasa party o' four but there was three wooden heads among 'em. " The girlglanced over her arm, and looked with dancing eyes at the youngest ofthe party. He, feeling Sennacherib's eye upon him, contrived to keepa grave face. The host gave the word and the four set to work, Reubenplaying with genuine fire, and his companions sawing away with a doggedprecision which made them agreeable enough to listen to, but droll tolook at. Ruth, with her chin upon her dimpled arm, watched Reuben as heplayed. He had tossed back his chestnut mane of hair rather proudly ashe tucked his violin beneath his chin, and had looked round on his threeseniors with the air of a master as he held his bow poised in readinessto descend upon the strings. His short upper lip and full lower lip cametogether firmly, his brows straightened, and his nostrils contracted alittle. Ruth admired him demurely, and he gave her ample opportunity, for this time he kept his eyes upon the text. She watched him to thelast stroke of the bow, and then, shifting her glance, met the grave, fixed look of the old man who stood behind his chair. At this, consciousof the fashion in which her last five minutes had been passed, sheblushed, and to carry this off with as good a grace as might be, shebegan to applaud with both hands. 

"Bravo, father! bravo! Capital, Mr. Eld! capital!"

"Theer, " said Sennacherib, ignoring the compliment, and scowling ina sort of dogged triumph at the placid old man behind Reuben's chair, "d'ye think as _that_ could be beat if we spent forty 'ear at it? Theerwa'n't a fause note from start to finish, and time was kep' like aclock. "

"It's a warmish bit o' work, that hallygro, " said old Fuller, in milderself-gratulation, as he disposed his 'cello between his knees, andmopped his bald forehead. "A warmish bit o' work it is. "

"Come, now, " said Sennacherib, "d'ye think as it could be beat? A civilanswer to a civil question is no more than a beggar's rights, and noless than a king's obligingness. "

"It was wonderful well played, Mr. Eld, " the old man answered. 

"Beat!" said Isaiah. "Why it stands to natur' as it could be beat. D'yethink Paganyni couldn't play a better second fiddle than I can?"

"Ought to play second fiddle pretty well thyself, " returned Sennacherib. "Hast been at it all thy life. Ever since thee was married, annyway. "

"Come, come, come, " said the fat 'cello-player. "Harmony, lads, harmony!How was it, Mr. Gold, as you come to give up the music. Theer's them asis entitled to speak, and has lived i' the parish longer than I have, asholds you up to have been a real noble player. "

"There's them, " the old man answered, "as would think the parish churchthe finest buildin' i' the king-dom. But they wouldn't be them as hadseen the glories of Lichfield cathedral. "

"I'm speakin' after them as thinks they have a right to talk, " said theother. 

"I might at my best day have come pretty nigh to Reuben, " the oldman allowed, "though I never was his equal. But as for a real nobleplayer--"

"Well, well, " said Fuller, "it ain't a hammer-chewer in a county asplays like Reuben. Give Mr. Gold a chair, Ruth. I should like to hearwhat might ha' made a man throw it over as had iver got as far. "

"I heard Paganini, " the old man answered. "I was up in London ratherbetter than six-and-twenty year ago, and I heard Paganini. "

"Well?" asked Fuller. 

"That's all the story, " said the old man, seating himself in the chairthe girl had brought him. "I never cared to touch a bow again. "

"I don't seem to follow you, Mr. Gold. "

"I have never been a wine-drinker, " said Gold, "but I may speak of wineto make clear my mean-in'. If you had been drinkin' a wonderful fineglass of port or sherry wine, you wouldn't try to take the taste out ofyour mouth with varjuice. "

"I've tasted both, " said the 'cello-player, "but they niver sp'iled mymouth for a glass of honest beer. "

"I can listen to middlin'-class music now, " said Gold, "and find apleasure in it. But for a time I could not bring myself to take any sortof joy in music. You think it foolish? Well, perhaps it was. I am notcareful to defend it, gentlemen, and it may happen that I might not if Itried. But that was how I came to give up the fiddle. He was a wonderof the world, was Paganini. He was no more like a common man than hisfiddlin' was like common fiddlin'. There was things he played that madethe blood run cold all down the back, and laid a sort of terror on you. "

"I felt like that at the 'Hallelujah' first time I heerd it, " saidIsaiah. "Band an' chorus of a hundred. It was when they opened the bigWesley Chapel at Barfield twenty 'ear ago. "

"We'll tek a turn at Haydn now, lads, " said the host, genially. 

"I'm sorry to break the party up so soon, " Reuben answered, "but Imust go. There are people come to tea at father's, and I was blamed forcoming away at all. I promised to get back early and give them a tuneor two. " He arose, and, taking his violin-case from the grass, wiped itcarefully all over with his pocket-handkerchief. "I was bade to ask you, sir, if Miss Ruth might come and pass an hour or two. My mother would beparticularly pleased to see her, I was to say. "

The young fellow was blushing fierily as he spoke, but no one noticedthis except the girl. 

"Go up, my gell, and spend an hour or two, " said her father. "Reuben 'llsquire thee home again. "

"Wait while I put on my bonnet, " she said, as she ran past Reubeninto the house. Reuben blushed a little deeper yet, and knelt over hisviolin-case on the grass, where he swaddled the instrument as if ithad been a baby, and bestowed it in its place with unusual care andsolicitude. 

"Reuben, " said his uncle, as the young man arose, "that's a thing asnever should be done. " The young man looked inquiry. "The poor thing'sscrewed up to pitch, " the old man explained, almost sternly. "Ease herdown, lad, ease her down. The strain upon a fiddle is a thing too littlethought upon. You get a couple o' strong men one o' these days, and make'em pull at a set of strings, and see if they'll get them up to concertpitch! I doubt if they'd do it, lad, or anything like. And there's allthat strain on a frail shell like that. I've ached to think of it, manya time. A man who carries a weight about all day puts it off to go tobed. " "Wondrous delicate an' powerful thing, " said old Fuller. "Remindsyou o' some o' them delicate-lookin' women as'll goo through wi' a lotmore in the way o' pain-bearin' than iver a man wool. "

"Rubbidge!" said Sennacherib. "You'd think the women bear a lot. Theymek a outcry, to be sure, but theer's a lot more chatter than work abouta woman's sufferin', just as theer is about everythin' else her does. Dost remember what the vicar said last Sunday was a wick? It 'ud be acrime, he said, to think as the Lord made the things as is lower in thescale o' natur' than we be to feel like us. The lower the scale the lessthe feelin'. Stands to rayson, that does. I mek no manner of a doubt ashe's got Scripter for it. "

"Lower in the scale of natur', Mr. Eld?" said Gold, turning his asceticface and mournful eyes upon Sennacherib. 

"Theer's two things, " returned Sennacherib, "as a man o' sense has noparticular liking to. He'll niver ask to have his cabbage twice b'iled, nor plain words twice spoke. I said 'Lower in the scale o' na-tur'. ' Mekthe most on it. "

Sennacherib was short but burly, and between him and Gold there wasvery much the sort of contrast which exists between a mastiff and adeer-hound. 

"I will not make the most of it, Mr. Eld, " the old man said, with atransient smile. "I might think poorlier of you than I've a right to ifI did. When a rose is held lower in the scale of natur' than a turnip, or the mastership in music is gi'en in again the fiddle in favor o' thehurdy-gurdy, I'll begin to think as you and me is better specimens ofnatur's handiwork than this here gracious bit o' sweetness as is comingtowards us at this minute. Good-evenin', Mr. Eld. Good-evenin', Isaiah. Good-evenin', Mr. Fuller. Good-evenin', Reuben. No, I'm not goin' thyway, lad. Call o' me to-morrow; I've a thing to speak of. Good-evenin', Miss Ruth. "

When he had spoken his last good-by he folded his gaunt hands behind himand walked away slowly, his shoulders rounded with an habitual stoopand his eyes upon the ground. Ruth and Reuben followed, and the threeseniors reseated themselves, and each with one consent reached out hishand to his tumbler. 

"Theer's a kind of a mildness o' natur' in Ezra Gold, " said Isaiah, passing the back of his hand across his lips, "as gives me a curioussort o' likin' for him. "

"Theer's a kind of a mildness o' natur' in a crab-apple, " saidSennacherib, "as sets my teeth on edge. "

"Come, come, lads, harmony!" said Fuller. He laid hold of his greatwaistcoat with the palms of both hands and agitated it gently. "It beatsme, " he said, "to think of his layin' by the music in that way, and forsich a cause. "

"Well, " said Sennacherib, "I'll tell thee why he laid by the music. I wonder at Gold settlin' up to git over men like me with a stoory soonlikely. "

"What was it, then?" asked Isaiah, bestowing a wink on Fuller. 

"It was a wench as did it, " said Sennacherib. "He was allays a man astook his time to think about a thing. If he'd been a farmer he'd ha'turned the odds about and about wi' regards to gettin' his seed intothe ground till somebody 'ud ha' told him it 'ud be Christmas-day nextMonday. He behaved i' that way wi' regards to matrimony. He put offthinkin' on it till he was nigh on forty--six-an'-thirty he was at thelowest. Even when he seemed to ha' made up what mind he'd got he'd gooand fiddle to the wench instead o' courtin' her like a Christian, orsometimes the wench 'ud mek a visit to his mother, and then he'd fiddleto her at hum. He made eyes at her for all the parish to see, and theyoung woman waited most tynacious. But when her had been fiddled at forthree or four 'ear, her begun to see as her was under no sort o' perilo' losin' her maiden name with Ezra. So her walked theer an' then--madeup her mind an' walked at once--went into some foreign part of thecountry to see if her couldn't find somebody theer as'd fancy anice-lookin' wench, and tek less time to find out what he'd took alikin' for. "

"Was that it?" asked Isaiah, with the manner of a man who finds anexplanation for an old puzzle. "That 'ud be Rachel Blythe. "

"A quick eye our 'Saiah's got, " said Sennacherib. "He can see a holethrough a ladder when somebody's polished his glasses. Rachel Blythe wasthe wench's name. Her was a little slip of a creator', no higher than awell-grown gell o' twelve, but pretty in a sort o' way. "

"Why, Jabez, lad, " cried Isaiah, "thee lookest like a stuck pig. What'sthe matter?"

The host's eyes were rounded with astonishment, and he was staring fromone of his guests to the other with an air of fatuous wonder. 

"Why, " said he, with an emphasis of astonishment which seemed notaltogether in keeping with so simple a discovery, "this here RachelBlythe was my first wife's second cousin. Our Fanny Jane used to betalkin' about her constant. Her had offers by the baker's dozen, so itseemed, but her could never be brought to marry. Fanny Jane was a womanas was gi'en a good deal up to sentiment, and her was used to say thegell's heart was fixed on somebody at Heydon Hay. It 'ud seem to comein wi' the probability of things as they might have had a sort of ashortness betwixt 'em, and parted. "

"Theer was nobody after her here but Ezra Gold, " said Sennacherib. "Nobody. I niver heard, howsever, as they got to be hintimate enough toquarrel. But as for Paganyni, that's rubbidge. The man played regulartill Rachel Blythe left the parish, and then he stopped. "

"Well, well, " said the host, contemplatively, "it's too late in lifefor both on 'em. Her's back again. Made us a visit yesterday. Her's tookthat little cottage o' Mother Duke's on the Barfield Road. "

"Bless my soul!" said Isaiah. "I seen her yesterday as I was takin'my walks abroad. But, Jabez, lad, her's as withered as a chip! Thelittlest, wizen-edest, tiniest little old woman as ever I set eyes on. Dear me! dear me! To think as six-an'-twenty 'ear should mek such adifference. Her gi'en me a nod and a smile as I went by, but I niverguessed as it was Rachel Blythe. "

"Rachel Blythe it was, though, " returned old Fuller. "Well, well! Tothink as her and Mr. Gold should ha' kep' single one for another. Here's a bit of a treeho, lads, as I bought in Brummagem the day aforeyesterday. It's by that new chap as wrote 'Elijah' for the festival. Let's see. What's his name again? Mendelssohn. Shall us have a try atit?"

CHAPTER II. 

The Earl of Barfield stood at the lodge gate on a summer afternoonattired in a wondrously old-fashioned suit of white kerseymere and apeaked cap. He was a withered old gentleman, with red-rimmed eyes, broadcheek-bones, and a projecting chin. He had a very sharp nose, andhis close-cropped hair was of a harsh, sandy tone and texture. He wasaltogether a rather ferret-like old man, but he had, nevertheless, acertain air of dignity and breeding which forbade the least observant totake him for anything but a gentleman. His clothes, otherwise spotless, were disfigured by a trail of snuff which ran lightly along allprojecting wrinkles from his right knee to his right shoulder. Thistrail was accentuated in the region of his right-hand waistcoat pocket, where his lordship kept his snuff loose for convenience' sake. He wasover eighty, and his head nodded and shook involuntarily with the palsyof old age, but his figure was still fairly upright, and seemed topromise an activity unusual for his years. He rested one hand on therung of a ladder which leaned against the wall beside him, and glancedup and down the road with an air of impatience. On the ground at hisfeet lay a billhook and a hand-saw, and once or twice he stirred thesewith his foot, or made a movement with his disengaged right hand as ifhe were using one of them. 

When he had stood there some ten minutes in growing impatience, a younggentleman came sauntering down the drive smoking a cigar. Times change, and nowadays a young man attired after his fashion would be laughable, but for his day he looked all over like a lady-killer, from histasselled French cap to his pointed patent leathers. Behind him walkeda valet, carrying a brass-bound mahogany box, a clumsy easel, and acamp-stool. 

"Going painting again, Ferdinand?" said his lordship, in a tone of somelittle scorn and irritation. 

"Yes, " said Ferdinand, rather idly, "I am going painting. Your manhasn't arrived yet?" He cast a glance of lazy amusement at the ladderand at the tools that lay at its feet. 

"No, " returned his lordship, irritably. "Worthless scoundrel. Ah! herehe comes. Go away. Go away. Go and paint. Go and paint. "

The young gentleman lifted his cap and sauntered on, turning once ortwice to look at his lordship and a queer lop-sided figure shamblingrapidly towards him. 

"Joseph Beaker, " said the Earl of Barfield, shaking his hand at thelop-sided man, "you are late again. I have been waiting ten minutes. "

"What did I say yesterday?" asked Joseph Beaker. His face was lop-sided, like his figure, and his speech came in a hollow mumble which wasdifficult to follow. Joseph was content to pass as the harmless lunaticof the parish, but there was a shrewdly humorous twinkle in his eyewhich damaged his pretensions with the more discerning sort of people. 

"I do not want to know what you said yesterday, " his lordship answered, tartly. "Take up the billhook and the saw. Now bring the ladder. "

"What I said yesterday, " mumbled Joseph, shambling by the nobleman'sside, a little in the rear. 

"Joseph Beaker, " said the earl, "hold your tongue. "

"Niver could do it, " replied Joseph; "it slips from betwixt the thumband finger like a eel. What I said yesterday was, 'Why doesn't thee setthy watch by the parish church?' Thee'st got Barfield time, I reckon, and Barfield's allays a wick and ten minutes afore other placen. "

The aged nobleman twinkled and took snuff. 

"Joseph, " said his lordship, "I am going to make a new arrangement withyou. "

"Time you did, " returned Joseph, pausing, ostensibly to shift the ladderfrom one shoulder to the other, but really to feign indifference. 

"I find ninepence a day too much. "

"I've allays said so, " Joseph answered, shambling a little nearer. "Asinful sight too much. And half on it wasted o' them white garmints. "

"I find myself a little in want of exercise, " said his lordship. "Ishall carry the ladder from the first tree to the second, and you willcarry it from the second to the third; then I shall carry it again, andthen _you_ will carry it again. We shall go on in that way the wholeafternoon, and shall continue in that way so long as I stay here. "

Joseph laughed. It was in his laugh that he chiefly betrayed theshortcomings of character. His smile was dry and full of cunning, buthis laugh was fatuous. 

"Naturally, " pursued the earl, "I shall not pay you full wages fora half-day's work. " Joseph's face fell into a look of ludicrousconsternation. "I shall be generous, however--I shall be generous. Ishall give you sixpence. Sixpence a day, Joseph, and I shall do half thework myself. "

"It ar'n't to be done, gaffer, " said Joseph, resolutely stopping short, and setting up the ladder in the roadway. 

The old nobleman turned to face him with pretended anger. 

"You are impertinent, Joseph. "

"It caw't be done, my lord, " his assistant mumbled, thrusting his headthrough a space in the ladder. 

"Times are hard, Joseph, " returned his lordship. 

There had been a discernible touch of banter in his voice and mannerwhen he had rebuked Joseph a second or two before, but he was veryserious now indeed. 

"Times are hard; expenses must be cut down. I can't afford more. Sixpence a day is three shillings a week, and three shillings a week isone hundred and fifty-six shillings a year--seven pounds sixteen. Thatis interest at three per cent, on a sum of two hundred and fifty-ninepounds ten shillings. That is a great amount to lie waste. While I payyou sixpence a day I am practically two hundred and fifty-nine poundsten shillings poorer than I should be if I kept the sixpence a day tomyself. I might just as well not have the money--it is of no use to me. "

"Gi'e it to me, then, " suggested Joseph, with a feeble gleam. 

"Sixpence a day, " said his lordship, "is really a great waste of money. "

"It's cruel hard o' me, " returned Joseph, betraying a sudden inclinationto whimper. "If I was a lord I'd be a lord, I would. "

"Joseph! Joseph! Joseph!" cried his lordship, sharply. 

"It's cruel hard, " said Joseph, whimpering outright. "I'd be a man _or_a mouse, if I was thee. "

"I shall be generous, " said the aged nobleman, relenting. "I shallgive you a suit of clothes. I shall give you a pair of trousers and awaistcoat--a laced waistcoat--and a coat. "

Joseph laughed again, but clouded a moment later. 

"Theer's them as pets the back to humble the belly, and theer's them aspets the belly to humble the back, " he said, rubbing his bristly chin ona rung of the ladder as he spoke. "What soort o' comfort is theer in alaced wescut, if a man's got nothing to stretch it out with?"

"Well, well, Joseph, " returned the earl, "sixpence a day is a great dealof money. In these hard times I can't afford more. "

"What I look at, " said Joseph, "is, it robs me of my bit o' bacon. IfI was t'ask annybody in Heydon Hay, 'Is Lord Barfield the man to roba poor chap of his bit o' bacon?' they'd say, 'No. ' That's what they'dsay. 'No, ' they'd say; 'niver dream of a such-like thing as happeningJoseph. '"

His lordship fidgeted and took snuff. 

"What his lordship 'ud be a deal likelier to do, " pursued Joseph, declaiming, in imitation of his supposed interlocutor, with his headthrough the ladder, and waving the billhook and the saw gently in eitherhand, "'ud be to say as a poor chap as wanted it might goo up to theHall kitchen and have a bite--that's what annybody 'ud say in Hey donHay as happened to be inquired of. "

Joseph's glance dwelt lingeringly and wistfully on his lordship's faceas he watched for the effect of his speech. The old earl took snuff withextreme deliberateness. 

"Very well, Joseph, " he said, after a pause, "we will arrange it in thatway. Sixpence a day. And now and then--now and then, Joseph, you may goand ask Dewson for a little cold meat. There is a great deal of waste inthe kitchen. It will make little difference--little difference. "

Things being thus happily arranged, his lordship drew a slip of paperfrom his pocket and began to study it with much interest as he walked. He began to chuckle, and the fire of strategic triumph lit his agedeyes. The day's itinerary was planned upon that slip of paper, and LordBarfield had so arranged it that Joseph should carry the ladder all thelong distances, while he himself should carry it all the short ones. Joseph on his side was equally satisfied with the arrangement, so far ashe knew it, and gave himself up to the sweet influences of fancy. He sawa glorified edition of himself, attired in my lord's cast-off garments, and engaged in the act of stretching out the laced waistcoat in thekitchen at the Hall. The prospect grew so glorious that he could nothold his own joy and gratulation. It welled over in a series of hollowchuckles, and his lordship twinkled dryly as he walked in front, andtook snuff with a double gusto. 

"We shall begin, " said his lordship, "at Mother Duke's. That laburnumhas been an eyesore this many a day. We must be resolute, Joseph. Ishall expect you to guard the ladder, and not to let it go, even if sheshould venture to strike you. "

"Her took me very sharp over the knuckles with the rollin'-pin lasttime, governor, " said Joseph. "But her'll be no more trouble to theenow; her's gone away. "

"Gone away! Mother Duke gone away?"

"Yes, " mumbled Joseph, "her's gone away. There's a little old maid aslives theer now--has been theer a wick to-day. "

"That's a pity--that's a pity, " said his lordship. "I should have likedanother skirmish with Mother Duke. At least, Joseph, " he added, with theair of a man who finds consolation in disappointment, "we'll trimthe laburnum this time. At all events, we'll make a fight for it, Joseph--we'll make a fight for it. " Here he took the billhook and thesaw from his assistant, and strode on, swinging one of the tools in eachhand. 

"Theer'll be no need for a fight, " returned Joseph. "Her's no higherthan sixpenn'orth o' soap after a hard day's washing. "

"That's wrong reckoning, Joseph, " said the earl; "wrong reckoning. Thesmaller they are the more terrible they may be. "

"I niver fled afore a little un, " said Joseph. "I could allays face alittle un. " He spoke with a retrospective tone. His lordship eyed himaskance with a twinkle of rich enjoyment, and took snuff with infiniterelish, as if he took Joseph's mental flavor with it and found itdelightful. "Mother Duke could strike a sort of a fear into a man, "pursued Joseph. 

"What did you say was the new tenant's name, Joseph?" his lordshipdemanded, presently. 

"Dunno, " said Joseph. "Her's a little un--very straight up. Goes abouton her heels like, to mek the most of herself. "

A minute's further walk brought them to a bend in the lane, and, passingthis, they paused before a cottage. The front of this cottage wasovergrown with climbing roses, just then in full bloom, and a disorderlypatch of overgrown blossom and shrub lay on each side the thread ofgravel-walk which led from the gate to the door. A little personage, attired in a tight-fitting bodice and a girlish-looking skirt, was busily reducing the redundant growth to order with a pair ofquick-snapping shears. It gave his lordship an odd kind of shock whenthis little personage arose and turned. The face was old. There wasyouth in the eyes and the delicate dark-brown arch of the eyebrows, butthe old-fashioned ringlet which hung at either cheek beneath the cottagebonnet she wore was almost white. The cheeks were sunken from what hadonce been a charming contour, the delicate aquiline nose was pinchedever so little, the lips were dry, and there were fine wrinkleseverywhere. There was something almost eerie in the youthfulness of theeyes, which shone in the midst of all her faded souvenirs of beauty. Had the eyes been old the face would have been beautiful still, but thecontrast they presented to their setting was too striking for beauty. They gave the old face a curiously exalted look, an expression hardlyindicative of complete sanity, though every feature was expressive initself of keen good-sense, quick apprehension, and strong self-reliance. 

The figure in its tight-fitting bodice looked like that of a girl ofseventeen, but the stature was no more than that of a well-grown girl oftwelve. The movement with which she had arisen and the attitude she tookwere full of life and vivacity. His lordship was so taken aback bythe extraordinary mixture of age and girlishness she presented that hestared for a second or two unlike a man of the world, and only recoveredhimself by an effort. 

"Set up the ladder here, Joseph, " he said, pointing with the billhookto indicate the place. Joseph set down the ladder on the pathway, andleaning it across the close-clipped privet hedge where numberless smallstaring eyes of white wood betrayed the recent presence of the shears, he propped it against the stout limb of a well-pruned apple-tree. Hislordship, somewhat ostentatiously avoiding the eye of the inmate of thecottage, tucked his saw and his billhook under his left arm and mountedslowly, while Joseph made a great show of steadying the ladder. Thelittle old woman opened the garden gate with a click and slipped intothe roadway. His lordship hung his saw upon a rung of the ladder, andleaning a little over took a grasp of the bough of a sweeping laburnumwhich overhung the road. 

"My lord, " said a quick, thin voice, which in its blending of thecharacteristics of youth and age matched strangely with the speaker'saspect, "this tenement and its surrounding grounds are my freehold. Icannot permit your lordship to lay a mutilating hand upon them. "

"God bless my soul!" said his lordship. "That's Rachel Blythe! That mustbe Rachel Blythe. "

"Rachel Blythe at your lordship's service, " said the little old lady. She dropped a curt little courtesy, at once as young and as old aseverything about her, and stood looking up at him, with drooping handscrossed upon the garden shears. 

"God bless my soul! Dear me!" said his lordship. "Dear me! God bless mysoul!" He came slowly down the ladder and, surrendering his billhookto Joseph, advanced and proffered a tremulous white hand. Miss Blytheaccepted it with a second curt little courtesy, shook it once up anddown and dropped it. "Welcome back to Heydon Hay, Miss Blythe, " saidthe old nobleman, with something of an air of gallantry. "You have longdeprived us of your presence. "

Perhaps Miss Blythe discerned a touch of badinage in his tone, andconstrued it as a mockery. She drew up her small figure in exaggerateddignity, and made much such a motion with her head and neck as a henmakes in walking. 

"I have long been absent from Heydon Hay, my lord, " she answered. "My good man, " turning upon Joseph, "you may remove that ladder. Hislordship can have no use for it here. "

"Oh, come, come, Miss Blythe, " said his lordship. "Manorial rights, manorial rights. This laburnum overhangs the road and prevents people ofan average height from passing. "

"If your lordship is aggrieved I must ask your lordship to secure aremedy in a legal manner. "

"But really now. Observe, Miss Blythe, I can't walk under these boughswithout knocking my hat off. " He illustrated this statement by walkingunder the boughs. His cap fell on the dusty road, and Joseph, havingpicked it up, returned it to him. 

"Your lordship is above the average height, " said Miss Blythe--"considerably. "

"No, no, " the earl protested. "Not at all, not at all. "

"I beg your lordship's pardon, " said the little old lady, with statelypoliteness. "Nobody, " she added, "who was not profoundly disloyal wouldventure to describe the Queen's Most Excellent Majesty as undersized. Iam but a barleycorn less in stature than her Most Excellent Majesty, andyour lordship is yards taller than myself. "

"My dear Miss Blythe--" his lordship began, with hands raised in protestagainst this statement. 

"Your lordship will pardon me, " Miss Blythe interposed, swiftly, "ifI say that at my age--forgive me if I say at your lordship's also--thelanguage of conventional gallantry is unbecoming. "

The little old lady said this with so starched and prim an air, andthrough this there peeped so obvious a satisfaction in rebuking him uponsuch a theme, that his lordship had to flourish his handkerchief fromhis pocket to hide his laughter. 

"I have passed the last quarter of a century of my life, " pursued MissBlythe, "in an intimate if humble capacity in the service of a family ofthe loftiest nobility. I am not unacquainted with the airs and gracesof the higher powers, but between your lordship and myself, at ourrespective ages, I cannot permit them to be introduced. "

His lordship had a fit of coughing which lasted him two or threeminutes, and brought the tears to his eyes. Most people might havethought that the cough bore a suspicious resemblance to laughter, but nosuch idea occurred to Miss Blythe. 

"You are quite right, Miss Blythe, " said the old nobleman, when he couldtrust himself to speak. He was twitching and twinkling with suppressedmirth, but he contained himself heroically. "I beg your pardon, and Ipromise that I will not again transgress in that manner. But really, that--that--fit of coughing has quite exhausted me for the moment. May Ibeg your permission to sit down?"

"Certainly, my lord, " replied the little old lady, and in a bird-likefashion fluttered to the gate. It was not until she had reached theporch of the cottage that she became aware of the fact that the earl wasfollowing her. "Your lordship's pardon, " she said then; "I will bringyour lordship a chair into the garden. I am alone, " she added, more primand starched than ever, "and I have my reputation to consider. "

Miss Blythe entered the cottage and returned with a chair, which sheplanted on the gravelled pathway. The old nobleman sat down and tooksnuff, twitching and twinkling in humorous enjoyment. 

"How long is it since you left us?" he asked. "It looks as if it wereonly yesterday. "

"I have been absent from Heydon Hay for more than a quarter of acentury, " the little old lady answered. 

"Ah!" said he, and for a full minute sat staring before him ratherforlornly. He recovered himself with a slight shake and resumed thetalk. "You maintain your reputation for cruelty, Miss Blythe?"

"For cruelty, my lord?" returned Miss Blythe, with a transparentpretence of not understanding him. 

"Breaking hearts, " said his lordship, "eh? I was elderly before you wentaway, you know, but I remember a disturbance--a disturbance. " He rappedwith the knuckles of his left hand on his white kerseymere waistcoat. Miss Blythe tightened her lips and regarded him with an uncompromisingair. 

"Differences of sex, alone, my lord, " she said, with decision, "shouldpreclude a continuance of this conversation. "

"Should they?" asked the old nobleman. "Do you really think so? Iforget. I am a monument of old age, and I forget, but I fancy I used tothink otherwise. You were the beauty of the place, you know. Is that aforbidden topic also?"

Miss Blythe blushed ever so little, but her curiously youthful eyessmiled, and it was plain she was not greatly displeased. The Earl ofBarfield went quiet again, and again stared straight before him witha somewhat forlorn expression. The little old lady reminded him of hermother, and the remembrance of her mother reminded him of his own youth. He woke up suddenly. "So you've come back?" he said, abruptly. "You'vebought the cottage?"

"The freehold of the cottage was purchased for me by my dear mistress, "said the little old lady. "I desired to end my days where I began them. "

"H'm!" said my lord. "We're going to be neighbors? We _are_ neighbors. We must dwell together in unity. Miss Blythe--we must dwell together inunity. I have my hands pretty full this afternoon, and I must go. I'lljust trim these laburnums, and alter--"

"I beg your lordship's pardon, " said Miss Blythe, with decision, "yourlordship will do nothing of the sort. "

"Eh? Oh, nonsense, nonsense! Must clear the footway. Must have thefootway clear--really must. Besides, it improves the aspect of thegarden. Always does. Decidedly improves it. Joseph Beaker, hold theladder. "

Talking thus, the old gentleman had arisen from his chair and hadre-entered the roadway, but the little old lady skimmed past him andfaced him at the foot of the ladder. 

"If your lordship wants to cut trees, " she said, "your lordship may cutyour lordship's own. "

"Up thee goest, gaffer, " said Joseph, handing over the little old lady'shead the billhook and the saw. 

Miss Blythe turned upon him with terrible majesty. 

"Joseph Beaker?" she said, regarding him inquiringly. "Ah! The passageof six-and-twenty years has not improved your intellectual condition. Take up that ladder, Joseph Beaker. If you should ever dare again toplace it against a tree upon my freehold property I shall call thepoliceman. I will set man-traps, " pursued the little old lady, shakingher curls vigorously at Joseph. "I will have spring-guns placed in thetrees. "

"Her's wuss than t'other un, " mumbled the routed Joseph, as he shambledin his lop-sided fashion down the road. "I should ha' thought you couldha' done what you liked wi' a little un like that. I niver counted onbeing forced to flee afore a little un. "

The earl said nothing, and Miss Blythe, satisfied that the retreat wasreal, had already gone back to her gardening. 

CHAPTER III. 

In the mean time the young man in the tasselled cap and thepatent-leathers had strolled leisurely in the opposite direction to thatthe earl had taken, and in a little while--still followed by the valet, who bore his painting tools--had climbed into a field knee-deep ingrass which was ready for the scythe. At the bottom of this meadow ran alittle purling stream, with a slant willow growing over it. In obedienceto the young gentleman's instructions, the valet set down his burdenhere, and having received orders to return in an hour's time, departed. The young gentleman sketched the willow and the brook in no verymasterly fashion, but at a sort of hasty random, and tiring of hisself-imposed task before half an hour was over, threw himself at lengthbeside the brook, and there, lulled by the ripple of the water andthe slumberous noise of insects, fell asleep. The valet's returningfootsteps awoke him. He rolled over idly and lit a new cigar. 

"Shall I take back the things to the Hall, sir?" asked the servant. 

"Yes, take them back to the Hall, " said the young gentleman, lazily. Rising to his feet, he produced a small pocket-mirror, and havingsurveyed the reflection of his features, arranged his scarf, cockedhis cap, and sauntered from the field. His way led him past a hightime-crumbled wall, over which a half score of trees pushed luxuriantbranches. The wall was some ten feet in height, and in the middle ofit was a green-painted door which opened inward. It was not quiteclosed, and a mere streak of sunlit grass could be seen within. 

As the idle young gentleman sauntered along with his hands folded behindhim, his eyes half closed, and his nose in the air, a sudden burst ofmusic reached his ears and brought him to a stand-still. It surprisedhim a little, partly because it was extremely well played, and partlybecause the theme was classic and but little known. He moved his headfrom side to side to make out, if possible, the inmates of the garden, but he could see nothing but the figure of a girl, who leaned her handsupon a tree and her cheek upon her hands. This, however, was enough topique curiosity, for the figure was singularly graceful, and had falleninto an attitude of unstudied elegance. He pushed the door aninch wider, and so far enlarged his view that he could see themusicians--three old men and a young one--who sat in the middle of agrassy space and ploughed away at the music with a will. Not caringto be observed in his clandestine espial he drew back a little, stillkeeping the figure of the girl in sight, and listened to the music. 

He was so absorbed that the sudden spectacle of the Earl of Barfield, who came round the corner with a ladder on his shoulder, startled him alittle. His lordship was followed by Joseph Beaker, who bore the saw andthe billhook, and the old nobleman was evidently somewhat fatigued, andcarried the ladder with difficulty. Seeing his young friend, he proppedhis burden against the wall and mopped his forehead, casting an upwardglance at the boughs which stretched their pleasant shadow overhead. 

"Well, Ferdinand, " he said, in a discontented voice, "what are you doinghere?"

"I am listening to the music, " said Ferdinand, in answer. 

"The music?" said his lordship. "That caterwauling?" He waved a handtowards the wall. "Old Fuller and his friends. "

"They play capitally, " said Ferdinand; "for country people they playcapitally. They are amateurs, of course?"

"Do they?" asked the earl, somewhat eagerly; "do they, really? Tell'em so, tell 'em so. Nothing so likely"--he dropped his voice to awhisper--"nothing so likely to catch old Fuller's vote as that. He'smad on music. I haven't ventured to call on him for a long time. We hadquite a little fracas years ago about these overhanging boughs. They'requite an eyesore--quite an eyesore; but he won't have 'em touched;won't endure it. Joseph, you can carry the ladder home. We'll go in, Ferdinand--it's an admirable opportunity. I've been wondering how toapproach old Fuller, and this is the very thing--the very thing. "

"Wait until they have finished, " said the younger man; and Joseph havingshouldered the ladder and gone off with it in his own crab-like way, thetwo stood together until the musicians in the garden had finished thetheme upon which they were engaged. 

The earl pushed open the garden door and entered, Ferdinand following inthe rear. The girl turned at the noise made by the shrieking hinges, andstood somewhat irresolutely, as if uncertain. Finally, she bowed ina manner sufficiently distant and ceremonious. Ferdinand put up aneye-glass and surveyed her with an air of criticism, while the oldnobleman advanced briskly towards the table around which the musicianswere seated. 

"Good-day, Fuller, good-day, " he said, in a hearty voice; "don't let medisturb you, I beg. We heard your beautiful music as we passed by, andstopped to listen to it. This is my young friend, Mr. De Blacquaire, who's going to stand, you know, for this division of the county. Mr. De Blacquaire is a great amateur of music, and was delighted with yourplaying--delighted. "

"I was charmed, indeed, " said Ferdinand. "There are lovers of musiceverywhere, of course, but I had not expected to find so advanced acompany of amateurs in Heydon Hay. That final passage was exquisitelyrendered. "

The earl stood with a smile distorted in the sunlight, lookingalternately from the candidate to the voters. 

"Exquisitely rendered, I am sure, " he said--"exquisitely rendered. Praise from Mr. De Blacquaire is worth having, let me tell you, Fuller. Mr. De Blacquaire is himself a distinguished musician. Ah! my old friendEld! How do you do? how do you do?"

This greeting was addressed to Sennacherib, who had arisen on theearl's arrival, had deliberately turned his back, and was now engaged inturning over the leaves of music which lay on the table before him. 

"Sennacherib, " said Isaiah, mildly, "his lordship's a-talking to thee. "

"I can hear, " responded Sennacherib, "as he's a-talking to one on us. Asfor me, I'm none the better for being axed. "

"And none the worse, I hope, " said his lordship, as cheerily as hecould. 

"Nayther wuss nor better, so far as I can see, " replied Sennacherib. 

"Come, come, Mr. Eld, " said Fuller. "Harmony! harmony!"

"I was a-tekin' my walks abroad this mornin', " said Sennacherib, stillbending over his music, "when I see that petted hound of the vicar's meka fly at a mongrel dog as had a bone. The mongrel run for it and tookthe bone along with him. It comes into my mind now as if the hound hadknown a month or two aforehand as he'd want that bone, he'd ha' madefriends wi' the mongrel. "

This parable was so obviously directed at his lordship and his young_protégé_ that Sennacherib's companions looked and felt ill at ease. Fuller was heard to murmur "Harmony!" but a disconcerted silence fellon all, and his lordship took snuff while he searched for a speech whichshould turn the current of conversation into a pleasanter channel. The Earl of Barfield was particularly keen in his desire to run Mr. Ferdinand de Blacquaire for the county, and to run him into Parliament. Ferdinand himself was much less keen about the business, and regardedit all as a mingled joke and bore. This being the case, he felt free toavoid the ordinary allures of the parliamentary candidate, and, apartfrom that, he had, with himself at least, a reputation to sustain as aman of wit. 

"Has this mongrel a bone?" he asked, in a silky tone. "Let him keep it. "

His lordship shot a glance of surprised wrath at him, almost of horror, but Sennacherib began to chuckle. 

"Pup's got a bite in him, " said Sennacherib--"got a bite in him. "

His lordship felt a little easier, and looking about him discovered thateverybody was smiling more or less, though on one or two faces the smilesat uneasily. 

"Come, come, Mr. Eld, " said Fuller, "harmony!"

"Ah!" cried the earl, seizing gladly on the word. "Let us have a littleharmony. Don't let our presence disturb your music. Mr. Eld is a localnotability, Ferdinand. Mr. Eld speaks his mind to everybody. I'm afraidhe's on the other side, and in that case you'll have many a tussle withhim before you come to the hustings. Eh? That's so, isn't it, Eld? Eh?That's so?"

"Oh, " said Sennacherib, with the slow local drawl, "we'll tek a bit of awrastle now and again, I mek no manner of a doubt. "

"And in the mean time, " said his lordship, "let us start harmoniously. Give us a little music, Fuller. Go on just as if we were not here. "

"Ruth, my wench, " said Fuller, "fetch his lordship a chair, and bringanother for Mr. -----" He hung upon the Mr. , searching to recall thename. 

"Devil-a-care, " suggested Sennacherib. 

"De Blacquaire, " said the earl, correcting him. "Mr. Ferdinand deBlacquaire. "

The girl had already moved away, and Ferdinand, with an air inwhich criticism melted slowly into approval, watched her through hiseye-glass. The only young man in the quartette party, Reuben Gold, eyedFerdinand with a look in which criticism hardened into disapproval, and, turning away, fluttered the edges of the music sheets before him withthe tip of his bow. 

"Look here, lads, " said Fuller, "we'll have a slap at that there sonataof B. Thoven's, eh?"

"Beethoven?" asked Ferdinand, with a little unnecessary stress uponthe name to mark his pronunciation of it. "You play Beethoven? This isextremely interesting. " He spoke to the earl, who rubbed his hands andnodded. The young first-violin tossed his chestnut-colored mane on oneside with a gesture of irritation. Ruth reappeared with a chair in eachhand. They were old-fashioned and rather heavy, being built of solidoak, but she carried them lightly and gracefully. Ferdinand startedforward and attempted to relieve her of her burden. At first sheresisted, but he insisting upon the point she yielded. The youngFerdinand was less graceful than he had meant to be in the carriage ofthe chairs, and Ruth looked at Reuben with a smile so faint as scarcelyto be perceptible. Reuben with knitted brows pored over his music, and the girl returned to her old place and her old attitude by theapple-tree. 

Ferdinand, having the placing of the chairs in his own hands, took up aposition in which, without being obtrusively near, he was close enoughto address Ruth if occasion should arise, as he was already fairlyresolved it should. The three elders were most drolly provincial, to hismind, and their accent was positively barbarous to his ears. Reuben wasless provincial to look at, but to Mr. De Blacquaire's critical eye theyoung man was evidently not a gentleman. He had not heard him speak asyet, but could well afford to make up his mind without that. Nobody buta boof could have employed Reuben's tailor or his shoemaker. As for thegirl, she looked like a lily in a kitchen-garden, a flower among thecoarse and commonplace things of every-day consumption. It would be adeadly pity, he thought, if she should have an accent like the rest. Her dress was perfectly refined and simple, and Ferdinand guessed prettyshrewdly that this was likely to be due to her own handiwork and fancy. 

"What a delightful, quaint old garden you have here, to be sure, " hesaid. 

With a perfect naturalness she raised a warning palm against him, andat that instant the quartette party began their performance. She hadnot even turned an eye in his direction, and he was a little piqued. Thehand which had motioned him to silence was laid now on the gnarled oldapple-tree, and she rested her ripe cheek against it. Her eyes beganto dream at the music, and it was evident that her forgetfulness of thepicturesque young gentleman beside her was complete and unaffected. Thepicturesque young gentleman felt this rather keenly. The snub was smallenough, in all conscience, but it _was_ a snub, and he was sensitive, even curiously sensitive, to that kind of thing. And he was not in thehabit of being snubbed. He was accustomed to look for the signs of hisown power to please among young women who moved in another sphere. 

It was a very, very small affair, but then it is precisely thesevery small affairs which rankle in a certain sort of mind. Ferdinanddismissed it, but it spoiled his music for the first five minutes. 

The Earl of Barfield was one of those people to whom music is neithermore nor less than noise. He loved quiet and hated noise, and the fourinterpreters of the melody and harmony of Beethoven afforded him as muchdelight as so many crying children would have done. It had been a jokeagainst him in his youth that he had once failed to distinguish between"God save the King" and the "Old Hundredth. " Harmony and melodyhere were alike divine in themselves, and were more than respectablyrendered, and he sat and suffered under them in his young friend'sbehoof like a hero. They bored him unspeakably, and the performancelasted half an hour. When it was all over he beat his withered whitehands together once or twice, and smiled in self-gratulation that histime of suffering was over. 

"Admirably rendered!" cried Ferdinand; "admirably--admirably rendered. Will you forgive me just a hint, sir?" He addressed Sennacherib. "Aleetle more light and shade! A performance less level in tone. "

"P'raps the young man'll show us how to do it, " said Sennacherib, in adry, mock humility, handing his fiddle and bow towards the critic. 

The critic accepted them with a manner charmingly unconscious of theintended satire, and walked round the table until he came behind Reuben, when he turned back the music for a leaf or two. 

"Here, for example, " he said, and tucking the instrument beneath hischin, played through a score of bars with a certain exaggerated _chic_which awakened Sennacherib's derision. 

"What dost want to writhe i' that fashion for?" he demanded. "Dost findthine inwards twisted? It's a pretty tone, though, " he allowed. "Theyoung man can fiddle. Strikes me, young master, as thee'dst do better atthe Hopera than the House o' Commons. Tek a fool's advice and try. "

Ferdinand smiled with genuine good-humor. This insolent old personagebegan to amuse him. 

"Really I don't know, sir, " he answered. "Perhaps I may do pretty wellin the House of Commons, if you will be good enough to try me. One can'tplease everybody, but I promise to do my best. "

"The best can do no more, " said Fuller, in a mellow, peace-making kindof murmur; "the best can do no more. "

"I've no mind for that theer whisperin' and shout-in' in the course ofa piece of music, " said Sennacherib. "Pianner is pianner, and forte isforte, but theer's no call to strain a man's ears to listen to the one, nor to drive him deaf with t'other. Same time, if the young gentleman'ud like to come an' gi'e us a lesson now and then we'd tek it. "

"I'm not able to give you lessons, sir, " returned Mr. De Blacquaire, with unshaken good-humor; "but if you'll allow me to take one now andthen by listening, I shall be delighted. "

"Nothin' agen that, is theer, Mr. Fuller?" demanded Sennacherib. 

"Allays pleased to see the young gentleman, " responded Fuller. 

"When may I come to listen to you again, gentlemen?" asked Ferdinand. His manner was full of _bonhomie_ now, and had no trace of affectation. It pleased everybody but Reuben, who had conceived a distaste for himfrom the first. Perhaps, if he had not placed his chair so near to Ruth, and had regarded her less often and with a less evident admiration, theyoung man might have liked him better. 

"Well, " said Fuller, "we are here pretty nigh every evenin' while thefine weather lasts. We happen to be here this afternoon because youngMr. Gold is goin' away for to-night to Castle Barfield. You'll find wehere almost of any evenin'--to-morrow, to begin with. "

"We had better be going now, Ferdinand, " said his lordship, who dreadedthe new beginning of the music. "Good-afternoon, Fuller. Good-afternoon, Eld. Good-afternoon, Gold. "

"Good-day, my lord, " said Reuben, rather gloomily. He had not spokenuntil now, and Ferdinand had wished to note the accent. There was noneto note in the few words he uttered. 

"Your little girl is growing into a woman, Fuller, " said his lordship. 

"That's the way wi' most gells, my lord, " said Fuller. 

"Good-afternoon, Miss Ruth, " said the old nobleman, nodding and smiling. 

"Good-afternoon, my lord, " said Ruth. Ferdinand's attentive ear notedagain the absence of the district accent. He removed his cap and bowedto her. 

"Good-afternoon. I may come to-morrow evening, then?" The query wasaddressed to her, but she did not answer it, either by glance or word. She had answered his bow and turned away before he had spoken. 

"Ay, " said Fuller; "come and welcome. "

He bowed and smiled all round, and walked away with his lordship. Heturned at the garden door for a final glance at the pretty girl, but shehad her back turned upon him, and was leaning both hands on her father'sshoulder. 

CHAPTER IV. 

The rustic little church at Heydon Hay made a nucleus for the village, which, close at hand, clustered about it pretty thickly, but soonbegan to fray off into scattered edges, as if the force of attractiondecreased with distance, after the established rule. Beside thechurch-yard, and separated from it by a high brick wall, was a garden, fronted by half a dozen slim and lofty poplars. Within the churchyardthe wall was only on a level with the topmost tufts of grass, but on thegarden side it stood six feet high, and was bulged out somewhat by theweight of earth which pressed against it. Facing the tall poplars wasa house of two stories. It looked like a short row of houses, forit boasted three front doors. Over each of these was hung a littlecontrivance which resembled a section of that extinguisher apparatuswhich is still to be found suspended above the pulpit in someold-fashioned country churches. All the windows of the old house were ofdiamond panes, and those of the upper story projected from the roof ofsolid and venerable thatch. A pair of doves had their home in a wickercage which hung from the wall, and their cooing was like the voice ofthe house, so peaceful, homely, and Old-world was its aspect. 

Despite the three front doors, the real entrance to the house was at therear, to which access was had by a side gate. A path, moss-grown at theedges, led between shrubs and flowers to a small circle of brickwork, in the midst of which was a well with rope and windlass above it, and thence continued to the door, which led to an antique, low-browedkitchen. A small dark passage led from the kitchen to a front room witha great fireplace, which rose so high that there was but just enoughroom between the mantle-board and the whitewashed ceiling for the squatbrass candlesticks and the big foreign sea-shells which stood there forornament. 

The diamonded window admitted so little light that on entering here fromthe outer sunshine the visitor could only make out the details one byone. When his eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness he was sure tonotice a dozen or more green baize bags which hung upon the walls, eachhalf defining, in the same vague way as all the others, the outline ofthe object it contained. Each green baize bag was closely tied at theneck, and suspended at an equal height with the rest upon a nail. Therewas something of a vault-like odor in the room, traceable probably tothe two facts that the carpet was laid upon a brick floor, and that thechamber was rarely opened to the air. 

Ezra Gold, seated upright in an oaken arm-chair, with a hand lightlygrasping the end of either arm, was at home in the close, cool shadowof the place. The cloistered air, the quiet and the dim shade seemedto suit him, and he to be in harmony with them. His eyes were open, and alighted now and again with an air of recognition on some familiarobject, but otherwise he might have seemed asleep. On the centraltable was a great pile of music-books, old-fashioned alike in shape andbinding. They exhaled a special cloistral odor of their own, as if theyhad been long imprisoned. Ezra's eye dwelt oftener on these musty oldbooks than elsewhere. 

He had sat still and silent for a long time, when the bells of thechurch, with a startling nearness and distinctness, broke into a peal. He made a slight movement when the sound first fell upon his ear, butwent back to his quiet and his dreams again at once. 

Ten minutes went by and the bells were still pealing, when he hearda sound which would have been inaudible in the midst of the metallicclamor to ears less accustomed than his own. He had lived there all hislife, and scarcely noticed the noise which would almost have deafened astranger. The sound he had heard was the clicking of the gate, and aftera pause it was followed by the appearance of his nephew Reuben, wholooked about him with a dazzled and uncertain gaze. 

"Well, Reuben, lad?" said the old man; but his voice was lost for hisnephew in the noise which shook the air. "Dost not see me?" he cried, speaking loudly this time. 

"I'm fresh from the sunlight, " Reuben shouted, with unnecessary force. "You spoke before. I couldn't hear you for the bells. "

The old man with a half-humorous gesture put his hands to his ears. 

"No need to shout a man's head off, " he answered. "Come outside. "

Rueben understood the gesture, though he could not hear the words, andthe two left the room together, and came out upon the back garden. The sound of the bells was still clear and loud, but by no means sooverwhelming as it had been within-doors. 

"That's better, " said Reuben. "They're making noise enough for youngSennacherib's wedding. "

"Young Sennacherib?" asked his uncle. "Young Eld? Is young Eld to bemarried?"

"Didn't you Know that? The procession is coming along the road thisminute. Old Sennacherib disapproves of the match, and we've had a scenethe like of which was never known in Heydon Hay before. "

"Ay?" said Ezra, with grave interest, slowly, and with a look of a manlong imprisoned, to whom outside things are strange, but interestingstill. "As how?"

"Why thus, " returned Reuben, with a laugh in his eyes. "Old Sennacheribcomes to his gate and awaits the wedding-party. Young Snac, with hisbride upon his arm, waves a braggart handkerchief at the oldster, andout walks papa, plants himself straight in front of the company, andbrings all to a halt. 'I should like to tell thee, ' says the old fellowbefore them all, rolling that bull-dog head of his, 'as I've made mywill an' cut thee off with a shillin'!'"

"Dear me!" said Ezra, seriously; "dear me! And what answer made youngSnac to this?"

"Young Snac, " said Reuben, "was equal to his day. 'All right, ' says he;'gi'e me the shillin' now, an' we'll drop in at the "Goat" and splita quart together. ' 'All right, ' says the old bull-dog; 'it's th' on'ychance I shall ever light upon of mekin' a profit out o' thee. ' He lugsout a leather bag, finds a shilling, bites it to make sure of its value, hands it to the young bull-dog, and at the 'Goat' they actually pull uptogether, and young Snac spends the money then and there. 'Bring out sixpints, ' cries Snac the younger. 'Fo'penny ale's as much as a father canexpect when his loving son is a-spendin' the whole of his inheritanceupon him. ' Everybody sipped, the bride included, and the two bull-dogsclinked their mugs together. I sipped myself, being invited as abystander, and toasted father and son together. "

"But, mind thee, lad, " said Ezra, "it's scarcely to be touched upon as alaughing matter. Drollery of a sort theer is in it, to be sure; but whatSennacherib Eld says he sticks to. When he bites he holds. He was everof that nature. "

"I know, " said Reuben; "but young Nip-and-Fasten has the breed of oldBite-and-Hold-Fast in him, and if the old man keeps his money the youngone will manage to get along without it. "

At this moment the bells ceased their clangor. 

"They've gone into the church, Reuben, " said the old man. "I'll do noless than wish 'em happiness, though there's fewer that finds it thanseeks it by that gate. "

"It's like other gates in that respect, I suppose, " Reuben answered. 

"Well, yes, " returned the elder man, lingeringly. "But it's the gatethat most of 'em fancy, and thereby it grows the saddest to look at, lad. Come indoors again. There'll be no more bells this yet-awhile. "

Reuben followed him into the cloistral odors and shadows of thesitting-room. Ezra took his old seat, and kept silence for the space oftwo or three minutes. 

"You said you wanted to speak to me, uncle, " said the younger man, atlength. 

"Yes, yes, " said Ezra, rising as if from a dream. "You're getting tohave a very pretty hand on the fiddle, Reuben, and--well, it's a shameto bury anything that has a value. This"--he arose and laid a hand onthe topmost book of the great pile of music--"this has never seenthe light for a good five-and-twenty year. Theer's some of it forgot, notwithstanding that it's all main good music. But theer's no room i'the world for th' old-fangled an' the newfangled. One nail drives outanother. But I've been thinking thee mightst find a thing or two hereinas would prove of value, and it's yours if you see fit to take it away. "

"Why, it's a library, " said Reuben. "You are very good, uncle, but--"

"Tek it, lad, tek it, if you'd like it, and make no words. And if itshouldn't turn out to have been worth the carrying you can let th' oldchap think it was--eh?"

"Worth the carrying?" said Reuben, with a half-embarrassed little laugh. "I'm pretty sure you had no rubbish on your shelves, uncle. " He began toturn over the leaves of the topmost book. "'_Études?_" he read, "'_pourdeux violins, par_ Joseph Manzini. ' This looks good. Who was JosephManzini? I never heard of him. "

"Manzini?" asked the old man, with a curious eagerness--"Manzini. " Hisvoice changed altogether, and fell into a dreamy and retrospective tone. He laid a hand upon the open pages, and smoothed them with a touch whichlooked like a caress. 

"Who was he?" asked Reuben. "Did you know him?"

"No, lad, " returned the old man, coming out of his dream, and smilingas he spoke, "I never knew him. What should bring me to know a Germanmusician as was great in his own day?"

"I thought you spoke as if you knew him, " said Reuben. 

"Hast a quick ear, " said Ezra, "and a searching fancy. No, lad, no; Inever knew him. But that was the last man I ever handled bow and fiddlefor. I left that open" (he tapped the book with his fingers and thenclosed it as he spoke)--"I left that open on my table when I was calledaway on business to London. I found it open when I came home again, andI closed it, for I never touched a bow again. I'd heard Paganini in themean time. Me and 'Saiah Eld tried that through together, and since thenI've never drawn a note out o' catgut. "

"I could never altogether understand it, uncle, " said Reuben. "Whatcould the man's playing have been like?"

"What was it like?" returned the older man. "What is theer as it wa'n'tlike? I couldn't tell thee, lad--I couldn't tell thee. It was like alost soul a-wailing i' the pit. It was like an angel a-sing-ing aforethe Lord. It was like that passage i' the Book o' Job, where 'tis saidas 'twas the dead o' night when deep sleep falleth upon men, and avision passed afore his face, and the hair of his flesh stood up. Itwas like the winter tempest i' the trees, and a little brook in summerweather. It was like as if theer was a livin' soul within the thing, andsometimes he'd trick it and soothe it, and it'd laugh and sing to do theheart good, an' another time he'd tear it by the roots till it chilledyour blood. "

"You heard him often?" asked Reuben. 

"Never but once, " said Ezra, shaking his head with great decision. "Never but once. He wa'n't a man to hear too often. 'Twas a thing toknow and to carry away. A glory to have looked at once, but not to livein the midst on. Too bright for common eyes, lad--too bright for commoneyes. "

"I've heard many speak of his playing, " said Reuben. "But there are justas many opinions as there are people. "

"There's no disputing in these matters, " the older man answered. "I'veheard him talked of as a Charley Tann, which I tek to be a kind ofhumbugging pretender, but 'twas plain to see for a man with a soulbehind his wescut as the man was wore to a shadow with his feeling forhis music. 'Twas partly the man's own sufferin' and triumphin' as hadsuch a power over me. It is with music as th' other passions. % Theer'slove, for example. A lad picks out a wench, and spends his heart andnatur' in her behalf as free as if there'd niver been a wench i' theworld afore, and niver again would be. And after all a wench is acommonish sort of a object, and even the wench the lad's in love with isa commonish sort o' creature among wenches. But what's that to him, ifher chances to be just the sort his soul and body cries after?"

"Ah!" said Reuben, "_if_ his soul cries after her. But if he valuesgoodness his soul will cry after it, and if he values beauty his soulwill cry after that. I never heard Paganini, but he was a great player, or a real lover of music like you would never have found what he wantedin him. "

"Yes, lad, " his uncle answered, falling suddenly into his habitualmanner, "the man was a player. Thee canst have the music any time theelikst to send for it. "

Reuben knew the old man and his ways. The talkative fit was evidentlyover, and he might sit and talk, if he would, from then till evening, and get no more than a monosyllable here and there in return for hispains. 

"It will take a hand-cart to carry the books, " he said; "but I will takeManzini now if you will let me. " The old man, contenting himself with amere nod in answer, he took up the old-fashioned oblong folio, tucked itunder his arm, and shook hands with the donor. "This is a princely gift, uncle, " he said, with the natural exaggeration of a grateful youngster. "I don't know how to say thank you for it. "

Ezra smiled, but said nothing. Reuben, repeating his leave-taking, went away, and coming suddenly upon the bright sunlight and the renewedclangor of the bells, was half stunned by the noise and dazzled by theglare. With all this clash and brilliance, as if they existed because ofher, and were a part of her presence, appeared Ruth Fuller in the actof passing Ezra's house. Ruth had brightness, but it was rather of thetwilight sort than this; and the music which seemed fittest to saluteher apparition might have been better supplied by these same bells ata distance of a mile or two. Reuben was perturbed, as any mere mortalmight expect to be on encountering a goddess. 

Let us see the goddess as well as may be. 

She was country-bred to begin with, and though to Heydon Hay herappearance smacked somewhat of the town, a dweller in towns would havecalled her rustic. She wore a straw hat which was in the fashion of thetime, and to the eyes of the time looked charming, though twenty yearslater we call it ugly, and speak no more than truth. Beneath this strawhat very beautiful and plenteous brown hair escaped in defiance ofauthority, and frolicked into curls and wavelets, disporting itself on aforehead of creamy tone and smoothness, and just touching the eyebrows, which were of a slightly darker brown, faintly arched on the loweroutline, and more prominently arched on the upper. Below the brows browneyes, as honest as the day, and with a frank smile always ready to breakthrough the dream which pretty often filled them. A short upper lip, delicately curved and curiously mobile, a full lower lip, a chinexpressive of great firmness, but softened by a dimpled hollow in thevery middle of its roundness, a nose neither Grecian nor tilted, butbetwixt the two, and delightful, and a complexion familiar with sun andair, wholesome, robust, and fine. In stature she was no more than on alevel with Reuben's chin; but Reuben was taller than common, standingsix feet in his stockings. This fact of superior height was not initself sufficient to account for the graceful inclination of the bodywhich always characterized Reuben when he talked with Ruth. There was atender and unconscious deference in his attitude which told more to theleast observant observer than Reuben would willingly have had known. 

Ezra Gold saw the chance encounter through the window, and watched thepair as they shook hands. They walked away together, for they were boundin the same direction, and the old man rose from his seat and walked tothe window to look after them. 

"Well, well, lad, " he said, speaking half aloud, after the fashion ofmen who spend much of their time alone, "theert beauty and goodnesstheer, I fancy. Go thy ways, lad, and be happy. "

They were out of sight already, and Ezra, with his hands folded behindhim, paced twice or thrice along the room. Pausing before one of thegreen baize bags, he lifted it from its nail, and having untied thestring that fastened it, he drew forth with great tenderness an unstrungviolin, and, carrying it to the light, sat down and turned it overand over in his hands. Then he took the neck with his left hand, and, placing the instrument upright upon his knee, caressed it with hisright. 

"Poor lass, " he said, "a' might think as thee was grieved to have hadne'er a soul to sing to all these years. I've a half mind to let theehave a song now, but I doubt thee couldst do naught but screech atme. I've forgotten how to ask a lady of thy make to sing. Shalt go toReuben, lass; he'll mek thee find thy voice again. Rare and sweet itused to be--rare and sweet. "

He fell into a fit of coughing which shook him from head to foot, buteven in the midst of the paroxysm he made shift to lay down the violinwith perfect tenderness. When the fit was over he lay back in his chairwith his arms depending feebly at his sides, panting a little, butsmiling like a man at peace. 

CHAPTER V. 

These had been a long spell of fair weather, and the Earl of Barfieldhad carried on his warfare against all and sundry who permitted theboughs of their garden trees to overhang the public highway, for aspace of little less than a month. The campaign had been conductedwith varying success, but the old nobleman counted as many victories asfights, and was disposed, on the whole, to be content with himself. Hewas an old and experienced warrior in this cause, and had learned tolook with a philosophic eye upon reverses. 

But on the day following that which saw the introduction of hislordship's parliamentary nominee to the quartette party, his lordshipencountered a check which called for all the resources of philosophy. Hewas routed by his own henchman, Joseph Beaker. 

The defeat arrived in this wise: his lordship having carefully arrangedhis rounds so that Joseph should carry the ladder all the long distanceswhile he himself bore it all the short ones, had found himself soflurried by the defeat he had encountered at the hands of Miss Blythe, that he had permitted Joseph to take up the ladder and carry it awayfrom where it had leaned against the apple-tree in the little old lady'sgarden. This unforeseen incident had utterly disarranged his plans, and since he had been unadvised enough to post his servitor in theparticulars of the campaign, Joseph had been quick to discover his ownadvantage. 

"We will go straight on to Willis's, Joseph, " said his lordship, whenthey began their rounds that afternoon. The stroke was simple, but, ifit should only succeed, was effective. 

"We bain't a-goin' to pass Widder Hotchkiss, be we, governor?" demandedJoseph, who saw through the device. His lordship decided not to hear thequestion, and walked on a little ahead, swinging the billhook and thesaw. 

Joseph Beaker revolved in his mind his own plan of action. In front ofWidow Hotchkiss's cottage the trees were unusually luxuriant, and theboughs hung unusually low. When they were reached, Joseph contrived toentangle his ladder and to bring himself to a stand-still, with everyappearance of naturalness. 

"My blessed!" he mumbled, "this here's a disgrace to the parish, gaffer. Theer's nothin' in all Heydon Hay as can put a patch on it. Thee bissentagoin' past this, beest? Her's as small-sperited as a rabbit--the widderis. "

"We'll take it another time, Joseph, " said his lordship, strivingto cover his confusion by taking a bigger pinch of snuff thancommon--"another time, Joseph, another time. "

"Well, " said Joseph, tossing his lop-sided head, as if he had at lastfathomed the folly and weakness of human nature, and resigned himself tohis own mournful discoveries, "I should niver ha' thought it. " He madea show of shouldering the ladder disgustedly, but dropped it again. "Wefled afore a little un yesterday, " he said. "I did look for a show o'courage here, governor. " His lordship hesitated. "Why, look at it, "pursued Joseph, waving a hand towards the overhanging verdure; "it 'udbe a sinful crime to go by it. "

"Put up the ladder, Joseph, " replied his lordship, in a voice of suddenresolve. The Hotchkiss case was a foregone victory for him, and hisown desires chimed with Joseph's arguments, even while he felt himselfoutgeneralled. 

The widow sweetened the business by a feeble protest, and the Earl ofBarfield was lordly with ner. 

"Must come down, my good woman, " said his lordship, firmly, "must comedown. Obstruct the highway. Disgrace to the parish. "

"That's what I said, " mumbled Joseph, as he steadied the ladder frombelow. The widow watched the process wistfully, and my lord chopped andsawed with unwonted gusto. Branch after branch fell into the lane, andthe aged nobleman puffed and sweated with his grateful labor. He had nothad such a joyful turn for many a day. The widow moaned like a winterwind in a key-hole, and when his lordship at last descended from hisperch she was wiping her eyes with her apron. 

"I know full well what poor folks has got to put up with at the hands o'them as the Lord has set in authority, " said the widow, "but it's cruelhard to have a body's bits o' trees chopped and lopped i' that way. Whenourn was alive his lordship niver laid a hand upon 'em. Ourn 'udniver ha' bent himself to put up wi' it, that he niver would, and LordBarfield knows it; for though he was no better nor a market-gardener, hewas one o' them as knowed what was becomin' between man and man, behe niver so lowly, and his lordship the lord o' the manor for milesaround. "

"Tut, tut, my good woman, " returned his lordship. "Pooh, pooh! Dofor firewood. Nice and dry against the winter. Much better there thanobstructing the high-road--much better. Joseph Beaker, take the ladder. "

"My turn next time, " replied Joseph. "Carried it here. "

His lordship, a little abashed, feigned to consider, and took snuff. 

"Quite right, Joseph, " he answered, "quite right. Quite fair to remindme. Perfectly fair. " But he was a good deal blown and wearied with hisexertions, and though anxious to escape the moanings of the widow he hadno taste for the exercise which awaited him. He braced himself forthe task, however, and handing the tools to his henchman, manfullyshouldered the ladder and started away with it. The lane was circuitous, and when once he had rounded the first corner he paused and set down hisburden. "It's unusually warm to-day, Joseph, " he said, mopping at hiswrinkled forehead. 

"Theer's a coolish breeze, " replied Joseph, "and a-plenty o' shadder. "

"Do you know, Joseph, " said the earl, in a casual tone, "I think I shallhave to get you to take this turn. I am a little tired. "

"Carried it last turn, " said Joseph, decidedly. "A bargain's a bargain. "

"Certainly, certainly, " returned his lordship, "a bargain _is_ abargain, Joseph. " He sat down upon one of the lower rungs of the ladderand fanned himself with a pocket-handkerchief. "But you know, Joseph, "he began again after a pause, "nobody pushes a bargain too hard. If youcarry the ladder this time I will carry it next. Come now--what do yousay to that?"

"It's a quarter of a mile from here to Willis's, " said Joseph, "and itain't five score yards from theer to the Tan-yard. Theer's some, " headded, with an almost philosophic air, "as knows when they are welloff. "

"I'll give you an extra penny, " said his lordship, condescending tobargain. 

"I'll do it for a extry sixpince, " replied Joseph. 

"I'll make it twopence, " said his lordship--"twopence and a screw ofsnuff. "

"I'll do it for a extry sixpince, " Joseph repeated, doggedly. 

_Noblesse oblige_. There was a point beyond which the Earl of Barfieldcould not haggle. He surrendered, but it galled him, and the agreeablesense of humor with which he commonly regarded Joseph Beaker failed himfor the rest of that afternoon. It happened, also, that the peoplewho remained to be encountered one and all opposed him, and with theexception of his triumph over the Widow Hotchkiss the day was a day offailure. 

When, therefore, his lordship turned his steps homeward he was in amood to be tart with anybody, and it befell that Ferdinand was the firstperson on whom he found an opportunity of venting his gathered sours. The young gentleman heaved in sight near the lodge gates, smoking acigar and gazing about him with an air of lazy nonchalance which hadvery much the look of being practised in hours of private leisure. Behind him came the valet, bearing the big square color-box, thecamp-stool, and the clumsy field easel. 

"Daubing again, I presume?" said his lordship, snappishly. 

"Yes, " said Ferdinand, holding his cigar at arm's-length and flicking atthe ash with his little finger, "daubing again. "

His lordship felt the tone and gesture to be irritating and offensive. 

"Joseph Beaker, " he said, "take the ladder to the stables. I have donewith you for to-day. Upon my word, Ferdinand, " he continued, when Josephhad shambled through the gateway with the ladder, "I think you answerme with very little consideration, for--in short, I think your manner alittle wanting in--I don't care to be addressed in that way, Ferdinand. "

"I am sorry, sir, " said Ferdinand. "I did not mean to be disrespectful. You spoke of my daubing. I desired to admit the justice of the term. Nothing more, I assure you. "

His lordship, in his irritated mood, felt the tone to-be more irritatingand offensive than before. 

"I tell you candidly, Ferdinand, that I do not approve of the manner inwhich you spend your time here. If you imagine that you can walk overthe course here without an effort you are very much mistaken. I takethis idleness and indifference very ill, sir, very ill indeed, and if weare beaten I shall know on whom the blame will rest. The times are notwhat they were, Ferdinand, and constitutional principles are in danger. "

"Really, sir, " returned Ferdinand, "one can't be electioneering all theyear round. There can't be a dissolution before the autumn. When thetime comes I will work as hard as you can ask me to do. "

"Pooh, pooh!" said his lordship, irritably. "I don't ask you to spoutpolitics. I ask you to show yourself to these people as a serious andthoughtful fellow, and not as a mere dauber of canvas and scraper offiddles. You come here, " he went on, irritated as much by his own speechas by the actual circumstances of the case, "as if you were courting aconstituency of _dilettanti_, and expected to walk in by virtue of yourlittle artistic graces. They don't want a man like that. They won't havea man like that. They're hard-headed fellows, let me tell you. TheseSouth Stafford fellows are the very deuce, let me tell you, for knowingall about Free-trade, and the Cheap Loaf, and the National Debt. "

"Very well, sir, " said Ferdinand, laughing, "I reform. Instead ofcarrying easel and _porte-couleur, _ Harvey shall go about with a copy of'The Wealth of Nations, ' and when a voter passes I'll stop and consultthe volume and make a note. But _l'homme sérieux_ is not the only manfor election times. I'll wager all I am ever likely to make out ofpolitics that I have secured a vote this afternoon, though I have donenothing more than offer a farmer's wife a little artistic adviceabout the choice of a bonnet. I told her that yellow was fatal to thatcharming complexion, and advised blue. Old Holland is proud of his youngwife, and I hooked him to a certainty. "

"Holland!" cried his lordship, more pettishly than ever--"Holland isconservative to the backbone. We were always sure of Holland. "

"Well, well, " said Ferdinand, in a voice of toleration, "we are at leastas sure of him as ever. "

The allowance in the young man's manner exasperated the old nobleman. But he liked his young friend in spite of his insolence and tranquilswagger, and he dreaded to say something which might be too strong forthe occasion. 

"We will talk this question over at another time, " he said, controllinghimself; "we will talk it over after dinner. "

"I must go vote-catching after dinner, " returned Ferdinand. "I promisedto go and listen to the quartette party this evening. "

"Very well, " returned his lordship, with a sudden frostiness of manner. "I shall dine alone. Good-evening. "

He marched away, the senile nodding of his head accentuated intopettishness; and Ferdinand stood looking after him for a second or twowith a smile, but presently thinking better of it, he hastened after theangry old man and overtook him. 

"I am sorry, sir, if I disappoint you, " he said. "I don't want to dothat, and I won't do it if I can help it. " The earl said nothing, butwalked on with an injured air which was almost feminine. "Are you angryat my proposing to go to see old Fuller? I understood you to sayyesterday that his vote was undecided, and that nothing was so likelyto catch him as a little interest in his musical pursuits. "

"I have no objections to offer to your proposal, " replied his lordship, frostily--"none whatever. "

"I am glad to hear that, sir, " said Ferdinand, with rather more drynessthan was needed. His lordship walked on again, and the young manlingered behind. 

The household ways at the Hall were simple, and the hours kept therewere early. It was not yet seven o'clock when Ferdinand, having alreadyeaten his lonely dinner, strolled down the drive, cigar in month, boundfor old Fuller's garden. He thought less of electioneering and lessof music than of the pretty girl he had discovered yesterday. Sheinterested him a little, and piqued him a little. Without beingaltogether a puppy, he was well aware of his own advantages of person, and was accustomed to attribute to them a fair amount of his own socialsuccesses. He was heir to a baronetcy and to the estates that went withit. It was impossible in the course of nature that he should be longkept out of these desirable possessions, for the present baronet was hisgrandfather, and had long passed the ordinary limits of old age. The oldman had outlived his own immediate natural heir, Ferdinand's father, andnow, in spite of an extraordinary toughness of constitution, was showingsigns of frailty which increased almost day by day. And apart fromhis own personal advantages, and the future baronetcy and the estatesthereto appertaining, the young man felt that, as the chosen candidateof the constitutional party for that division of the county at theapproaching election, he was something of a figure in the place. It wasrather abnormal that any pretty little half-rustic girl should treat himwith anything but reverence. If the girl had been shy, and had blushedand trembled before him a little, he could have understood it. Had shebeen pert he could have understood it. Young women of the rustic order, if only they were a trifle good-looking, had an old-established licenseto be pert to their male social superiors. But this young woman was notat all disposed to tremble before him, and was just as far removed frompertness as from humility. 

As he strolled along he bethought him, vaguely enough--for he was nota young gentleman who was accustomed to put too much powder behind hispurposes--that it would be rather an agreeable thing than otherwiseto charm this young woman, if only just to show her that she could becharmed, and that he could be charming. He had been a little slighted, and it would be nice to be a little revenged. He was not a puppy, in spite of the fact that his head gave house-room to this kind ofnonsense. The design is commoner among girls than boys, but there areplenty of young men who let their wits stray after this manner at times, and some of them live to laugh at themselves. 

But while Ferdinand was thinking, an idea occurred to him which causedhim to smile languidly. It would be amusing to awaken Barfield's wrathby starting a pronounced flirtation with this village beauty. It wasscarcely consistent to have an inward understanding with himself, thatif the flirtation _should_ take place it should be kept secret from hisnoble patron of all men in the world. It would certainly be great fun totake the little hussy from her pedestal. She was evidently disposed tothink of herself a good deal more highly than she ought to think, andperhaps it might afford a useful lesson to her to be made a little morepliant, a little less self-opinionated, a little less disposed to snubyoung gentlemen of unimpeachable attractions. Thinking thus, Ferdinandmade up quite a contented mind to be rustic beauty's school-master. 

The green door in the garden wall was still a little open when hereached it, but he could hear neither music nor voices. 

The evening concert had not yet begun, and he was fain to stroll ona little farther. This of itself was something of an offence to hismajesty, though he hardly saw on whom to fix it. He did not know his wayround to the front of the house, and did not care to present himself atthe rear unless there were somebody there to receive him. He lit a newcigar to pass away the time, and re-enacted his first and only interviewwith the girl he had made up his mind to subjugate. In the course ofthis mental exercise he experienced anew the sense of slight he had feltat her hands, but in a more piercing manner. He had spoken to her, and she had waved her hand against him as if he had been a child to besilenced. He had spoken to her again, and she had not even responded. In point of fact she had ignored him. The more he looked at it the moreremarkable this fact appeared, and the more uncomfortable and the moreresolved he felt about it. 

When his cigar was smoked half through he sighted the upright andstalwart figure of Reuben Gold, who was striding at a great pace towardshim, swinging his violin-case in one hand. Ferdinand paused to awaithim. . 

"Good-evening, Mr. Gold, " he said, as Reuben drew near. 

"Good-evening, " said Reuben, raising his eyes for a moment, and noddingwith a preoccupied air. His rapid steps carried him past Ferdinand in aninstant, and before the young gentleman could propose to join him he wasso far in advance that it was necessary either to shout or run to bringhim to a more moderate pace. Ferdinand raised his eye-glass and surveyedthe retreating figure with some indignation, and dropped it with alittle click against one of his waistcoat-buttons. Then he smiledsomewhat wry-facedly. 

"A cool set, upon my word, " he murmured. "Boors, pure and simple. "

He was half inclined to change his mind and stay away from the al frescoconcert, but then the idea of the duty he owed himself in respect tothat contumelious young beauty occurred to him, and he decided to go, after all. He followed, therefore, in Reuben's hasty footsteps, but ata milder pace, and, regaining the green door, looked into the garden andsaw the quartette party already assembled. Old Fuller, who was the firstto perceive him, came forward with rough heartiness, and shook handswith a burly bow. 

"Good-evenin', Mr. De Blacquaire, " said Fuller. "We're pleased to seeyou. If you'd care to tek a hand i'stead of settin' idle by to listen, we shall be glad to mek room. Eh, lads?"

"No, no, thank you, Mr. Fuller, " said Ferdinand, "I would rather be alistener. " Ruth was standing near the table, and he raised his cap toher. She answered his salute with a smile of welcome, and brought him achair. "Good-evening, Miss Fuller, " he said, standing cap in hand beforeher. "What unusually beautiful weather we are having. Do you know, Iam quite charmed with this old garden? There is something delightfullyrustic and homely and old-fashioned about it. "

"You are looking at the statues?" she said, with half a laugh. "They arean idea of father's. He wants to have them painted, but I always standout against that--they look so much better as they are. "

"Painted?" answered Ferdinand, with a little grimace, and a littlelifting of the hands and shrinking of the body as if the idea hurt himphysically. "Oh no. Pray don't have them painted. "

"Well, well. Theer!" cried Fuller. "Here's another as is in favor o'grime an' slime! It's three to three now. Ruth and Reuben have allaysbeen for leavin' 'em i' this way. "

"Really, Mr. Fuller, " said Ferdinand, "you must be persuaded to leavethem as they are. As they are they are charming. It would be quite acrime to paint them. It would be horribly bad taste to paint them!"

After this partisan espousal of her cause, he was a little surprised tonotice an indefinable but evident change in the rustic beauty's manner. Perhaps she disliked to hear a stranger accuse her father--howevertruly--of horribly bad taste, but this did not occur to Ferdinand, whohad intended to show her that a gentleman was certain to sympathize withwhatever trace of refinement he might discover in her. 

"Would it?" said Fuller, simply. "Well, theer's three of a mind, andthey'm likely enough to be right. Anny ways theer's no danger of a brushcoming anigh 'em while the young missis says 'No. ' Her word's law i'this house, and has been ever since her was no higher than the table. "

"Wasn't that a ring at the front door?" asked Sennacherib, holding uphis hand. 

"Run and see, wench, " said Fuller. 

Ruth ran down the grass-plot and into the house. She neither shufflednor ambled, but skimmed over the smooth turf as if she moved by volitionand her feet had had nothing to do with the motion. She had scarcedisappeared, when Isaiah, who faced the green door, sung out, "Here's Ezra Gold, and bringin' a fiddle, too. Good-evenin', Mr. Gold. Beest gooin' to tek another turn at the music?"

"No, " said Ezra, advancing. "I expected to find Reuben here. I've got iton my mind as the poor old lady here "--he touched the green baize baghe carried beneath his arm--"is in a bit o' danger o' losin' her voicethrough keeping silence all these length o' years, and I want him to seewhat sort of a tone her's got left in her. "

Reuben rose from his seat with sparkling eyes and approached his uncle. 

"Is that _the_ old lady I've heard so much about?" he asked. 

"Yes, " replied Ezra, "it's the old lady herself. I don't know, " he wenton, looking mildly about him, "as theer's another amateur player as I'dtrust her to. Wait a bit, lad, while I show her into daylight. "

Reuben stood with waiting hands while the old man unknotted the stringsat the mouth of the green baize bag, and all eyes watched Ezra's leanfingers. At the instant when the knot was conquered and the mouth of thebag slid open, Ruth's clear voice was heard calling, "Father, here's Aunt Rachel! Come this way, Aunt Rachel. We're going tohave a little music. "

CHAPTER VI. 

Ezra Gold, seizing the violin gently by the neck, suffered the greenbaize bag to fall to the ground at his feet, and then tenderly raisingthe instrument in both hands, looked up and dropped it to the ground. Alittle cry of dismay escaped from Reuben's lips, and he was on his kneesin an instant. 

"She's not hurt, " he said, examining the violin with delicate care--"not hurt at all. "

Then he looked up, and at the sight of his uncle's face rose swiftlyto his feet. The old man's eyes were ghastly, and his cheeks, which hadusually a hectic flush of color too clear and bright for health, were ofa leaden gray. Ezra's hand was on his heart. 

"Not hurt?" he said, in a strange voice. "Art sure she's not hurt, lad?That's fortunate. "

The color came back to his face as suddenly as it had disappeared. 

"No, " said Reuben, tapping the back of the fiddle lightly with hisfinger-tips, and listening to the tone, though he kept his eyes fixedupon his uncle's--"she's as sound as a bell. "

"That's well, lad, that's well, " said Ezra, in the same strange voice. The hands he reached out towards his nephew trembled, and Reuben handedback the precious instrument in some solicitude. It was natural that anold player should prize his favorite instrument, but surely, he thought, a little chance danger to it should scarcely shake a man in this way. Ezra's trembling hands began to tune the strings, and at the sound ofRuth's voice Reuben turned away. His uncle's agitation shocked him. Hehad known for years, as everybody had known, that Ezra had but a weaklyconstitution, but he had never seen so striking a sign of it before, andthe old man's agitation awoke the young man's fears. There was a veryclose and tender affection between them. 

"Reuben, " Ruth was saying, "this is my aunt Rachel. Aunt, this is Mr. Reuben Gold. I don't suppose you remember him. "

"I do not remember Mr. Reuben Gold, " said the little old lady, mincingly. "Is Mr. Gold a native of Heydon Hay? I do not think, from Mr. Gold's appearance, that he was born when I quitted the village. I thinkI recognize my old friends, the Elds, " she went on, with an air almostof patronage. "This will be Mr. Isaiah? Yes! I thought so. Mr. Isaiahwas always mild in manner. And this will be Mr. Sennacherib? Yes! Mr. Sennacherib was unruly. I recognize them by their expressions. "

"You remember me, Rachel?" said Mr. De Blacquaire, who had beenwatching the old lady since her arrival. She turned her head in a swift, bird-like way, and fixed her curiously youthful eyes upon him for aninstant. The withered old face lit up with a smile which so transfiguredit that for the moment it matched the youth of her eyes. 

"Is it possible!" she cried. "Mr. Ferdinand! The dear, dear child!" Sheseized one of his hands and kissed it, but he drew it away, and puttingan arm about her shoulders, stooped to kiss her wrinkled cheek. "Thegrandson, " she cried, turning on the others with an air of pride andtender triumph, "of my dear mistress, Lady De Blacquaire. I nursed Mr. Ferdinand in his infancy. I bore him to the font, and in my arms hereceived his baptismal appellation. "

If she had laid claim to the loftiest of worldly distinctions she couldscarcely have done it with a greater air of pride. 

Ezra's tremulous fingers were still at work at the violin keys when Ruthaddressed him. 

"I dare say you know my aunt Rachel, Mr. Gold, " she said. "Heydon Haywas such a little place five-and-twenty years ago that everybody musthave known everybody. "

"It was my privilege to know Miss Blythe when she lived here, " saidEzra, looking up and speaking in a veiled murmur. 

The little old lady started, turned pale, drew herself to her fullheight, and turned away. Sennacherib, who was watching the pair, droveout his clinched fist sideways with intent to nudge his brother Isaiahin the ribs, to call his attention to this incident as a confirmation ofthe history he had told the night before. He miscalculated his distance, and landed on Isaiah's portly waistcoat with such force that the milderbrother grunted aloud, and, arising, demanded with indignation toknow why he was thus assaulted. For a mere second Sennacherib wasdisconcerted, but recovering himself, he drew Isaiah on one side andwhispered in his ear, "I on'y meant to gi'e thee a nudge, lad. Dost mind what I tode theeabout 'em? Didst tek note how they met?"

"Thinkest thou'rt th' only man with a pair of eyes in his head?"demanded Isaiah, angrily and aloud. Sennacherib, by winks and nodsand gestures, entreated him to silence, but for a minute or two Isaiahrefused to be pacified, and sat rubbing at his waistcoat and dartinglooks of vengeance at his brother. "Punchin' a man at my time o' life i'that way!" he mumbled wrathfully; "it's enough t' upset the systim fora month or more. "

Nobody noticed the brethren, however, for the other members of thelittle party had each his or her preoccupation. 

"Mr. Ferdinand, " said Miss Blythe, turning suddenly upon the younggentleman, "I must seize this opportunity to ask what news there isof my dear mistress. I know that she is frail, and that correspondencewould tax her energies too severely, but I make a point of writing toher once a week and presenting to her my respectful service. "

She took his hand again as she addressed him, and Ferdinand noticed thatit was icy cold. She was trembling all over and her eyes were troubled. He was just about to answer when a sharp twang caught his ear, andturning his head he saw Ezra in the act of handing the violin to Reuben. 

"Have you got a fourth string, lad?" asked Ezra, speaking unevenlyand with apparent effort; "this has gi'en way. I'm no hand at a fiddlenowadays, " he added, with a pitiable smile, "or else there's less virtuein catgut than there used to be. "

"They make nothing as they used to do, " said Reuben. He had drawn a flattin box from his pocket and had selected a string from it, when Racheldrew Ferdinand on one side. 

"Let me bring you a chair, Mr. Ferdinand, " she said. "We will sit hereand you must tell me of my dear mistress. "

"Stay here, " said Ferdinand, "I will bring you a chair. " He was notsorry to be seen in this amiable light. It was agreeable to bendcondescendingly to his grandmother's attached and faithful servitor, andto be observed. There was a genuine kindliness in him, too, towards thelittle withered old woman who had nursed him in his babyhood, and hadtaught him his first lessons. He brought the chairs and sat down withhis old nurse at the edge of the grass-plot at some little distance fromthe others. 

"We will talk for a little time about my dear mistress, " said Rachel, "and then I will ask you to take me away. " She leaned forward in herchair, looking up at her companion and laying both hands upon his arm. "I cannot stay here, " she went on, in a whisper. "There are reasons. There is a person here I have not seen for more than a quarter of acentury. You have observed that I am sometimes a little flighty. " Shewithdrew one of her hands and tapped her forehead. 

"My dear Rachel!" said Ferdinand, in smiling protestation. 

"Yes, yes, " she insisted, in a mincing whisper, as if she were layingclaim to a distinction. "A little flighty. You do no credit to yourown penetration, dear Mr. Ferdinand, if you deny it. That person is thecause. I suffered a great wrong at that person's hands. Let us say nomore. Tell me about my dear mistress. "

The varnish of unconscious affectation was transparent enough forFerdinand to see through. The little old woman minced and bridled, andtook quaintly sentimental airs, but she was moved a great deal, though in what way he could not guess. He sat and talked to her with amagnificent unbending, and she took his airs as no more than his right, and was well contented with them. 

"And now, Reuben, " cried Fuller, who, like everybody else, had noticedMiss Blythe's curious behavior to Ezra and was disturbed by it--"andnow, Reuben, if thee hast got the old lady into fettle, let's have ataste of her quality. It's maney an' maney a year now since I had achance of listenin' to her. Let's have a solo, lad. Gi'e us summat oldand flavorsome. Let's have 'The Last Rose o' Summer. '"

Reuben sat down, threw one leg over the other, and began to play. Theevening was wonderfully still and quiet, but from far off, the mereghost of a sound, came the voice of church-bells. Their tone was sofaint and far away that at the first stroke of the bow they seemed todie, and the lovely strain rose upon the air pure and unmingled withanother sound. Rachel ceased her emphatic noddings and her mincingwhisper, and sat with her hands folded in her lap to listen. Ezra, withhis gaunt hands folded behind him, stood with his habitual stoop moremarked than common, and stared at the grass at his feet. Ruth, from herold station by the apple-tree, looked from one to the other. She hadheard Sennacherib's story from her father, and her heart was predisposedto read a romance here, little as either of the actors in that obscuredrama of so many years ago looked like the figures of a romance now. They had been lovers before she was born, and had quarrelled somehow, and had each lived single. And now, when they had met after this greatlapse of years, the gray old man trembled, and the wrinkled old womanturned her back upon him. The music was not without its share inthe girl's emotion. And there was Reuben, with manly head and greatshoulders, with strength and masculine grace in every line of him, toher fancy, drawing the loveliest music from the long-silent violin, andstaring up at the evening sky as he played. Ah! if Reuben and she shouldquarrel and part!

But Reuben had never spoken a word, and the girl, catching herself atthis romantic exercise, blushed for shame, and for one swift secondhid her face in her hands. Then with a sudden pretence of perfectself-possession, such as only a woman could achieve on such shortnotice, she glanced with an admirably casual air about her to see thatthe gesture had not been observed. Nobody looked at her. Her father andthe two brothers were watching Reuben, Ezra preserved his old attitude, Ferdinand was fiddling with his eye-glass, and moving his hand and onefoot in time to the music, and Rachel's strangely youthful eyes werebright with tears. As the girl looked at her a shining drop brimmed overfrom each eye and dropped upon the neat mantle of black silk she wore. The little old maid did not discover that she had been crying untilReuben's solo was over, and then she wiped her eyes composedly andturned to renew her conversation with Ferdinand. 

"Ah!" said Fuller, expelling a great sigh when Reuben laid down his bowupon the table, "theer's a tone! That's a noble instrument, Mr. Gold. "

"She'll be the better for being played upon a little, " said Ezra, mildly. 

"Well, thee seest, " said Isaiah, with a look of contemplation, "her's been a leadin' what you might call a hideal sort o' life thisfive-and-twenty 'ear for a fiddle. Niver a chance of ketchin' cold orgettin' squawky. Allays wrapped up nice and warm and dry. Theer ain't, Idare venture to say it, a atom o' sap in the whole of her body. Her's asdry as--"

"As I be, " interposed Sennacherib. "It 'ud be hard for anything to bedrier. Let's have a drop o' beer, Fuller, and then we'll get to work. "

Ruth ran into the house laughing, and the four musicians gatheredround the table. Ferdinand arose, strolled towards them, and took up aposition behind Sennacherib's chair. Ezra made an uncertain movement ortwo, and finally, with grave resolve, crossed the grass-plot and tookthe chair the young gentleman had vacated. 

"I am informed, Miss Blythe, " he said, with a slow, polite formality, "as you have come once more to reside among us. " She inclined her head, but vouchsafed no other answer. The movement was prim to the vergeof comedy, but it was plain that she meant to be chilly with him. Hecoughed behind his shaky white hand, and hesitated. "I do not know, MissBlythe, " he began again, with a new resolve, "in what manner I chancedto 'arn your grave displeasure. That is a thing I never knew. " Sheturned upon him with a swift and vivid scorn. "A thing I never knew, " herepeated. "If it is your desire to visit it upon me at this late hour, I have borne it for so many 'ears that I can bear it still. But I shouldlike to ask, if I might be allowed to put the question, how it come topass. I have allays felt as there was a misunderstandin' i' the case. It is a wise bidding in Holy Writ as says, 'Let not the sun go down uponthy wrath. ' And when the sun is the sun of life the thing is the moreimportant. "

"My good sir, " said Rachel, rising from her seat and asserting everyinch of her small stature, "I desire to hold no communication with younow or henceforth. "

"That should be enough for a man, Miss Blythe, " said Ezra, mildly. "Butwhy? if I may make so bold. "

"I thought, " said the little old lady, more starched and prim than ever, "I believed myself to have intimated that our conversation was at anend. "

"You was not wont to be cruel nor unjust in your earlier days, " Ezraanswered. "But it shall be as you wish. "

He left the seat, gave her a quaint old-fashioned bow, and returned tohis former standing-place. Ruth was back again by this time, and Rachelcrossed over to where she stood. 

"Niece Ruth, " she said, speaking after a fashion which was frequent withher, with an exaggerated motion of the lips, "I shall be obliged to youif you will accompany me to the house. "

"Certainly, aunt, " the girl answered, and placing an arm around hershoulders, walked away with her. "There is something the matter, dear. What is it?"

"There is nothing the matter, " said the old lady, coldly. 

"There is something serious the matter, " said Ruth. They were in thehouse by this time, and sheltered from observation. "You are tremblingand your hands are cold. Let me get you a glass of wine. "

Aunt Rachel stood erect before her, and answered with frozen rebuke, "In my young days girls were not encouraged to contradict their seniors. I have said there is nothing the matter. "

Ruth bent forward and took the two cold, dry little hands in her ownwarm grasp, and looked into her aunt's eyes with tender solicitude. Thehands were suddenly snatched away, and Aunt Rachel dropped into a seat, and without preface began to cry. Ruth knelt beside her, twining a firmarm and supple hand about her waist, and drawing down her head softlyuntil its gray curls were pressed against her own ripe cheek. Not a wordwas spoken, and in five minutes the old maid's tears were over. 

"Say nothing of this, my dear, " she said, as she kissed Ruth, and beganto smooth her ruffled ribbons and curls. Her manner was less artificialthan common, but the veneer of affectation was too firmly fixed to bepeeled off at a moment's notice. "We are all foolish at times. Youwill find that out for yourself, child, as you grow older. I have beengreatly disturbed, my dear, but I shall not again permit my equilibriumto be shaken by the same causes. Tell me, child, is Mr. Ezra Gold oftento be found here?"

"Not often, " said Ruth; "he seems scarcely ever to move from home. "

"I am glad to know it, " said Aunt Rachel. "I cannot permit myself tomove in the same society with Mr. Ezra Gold. "

"We all like him very much, " Ruth answered, tentatively. 

"Ah!" said Aunt Rachel, pinching her lips and nodding. "You do not knowhim. _I_ know him. A most despicable person. They will tell you that Iam a little flighty. "

"My dear aunt! What nonsense!"

"It is not nonsense, and you know it. I _am_ a little flighty--at times. And I owe that to Mr. Ezra Gold. I owe a great deal to Mr. Ezra Gold, and that among it. Now, dear, not a word of this to anybody. Will youtell dear Mr. Ferdinand that I shall be honored if he will grace myhumble cottage with his presence? Thank you. Good-night, child. Andremember, not a word to anybody. "

She dropped her veil and walked to the front door with her usual crispand bird-like carriage. At the door she turned. 

"Shun Mr. Ezra Gold, my dear. Shun all people who bear his name. I knowthem. I have cause to know them. They are cheats! deceivers! villains!"

She closed her lips tightly after this, and nodded many times. Thenturning abruptly she hopped down the steps which led towards the gardengate, and disappeared. Ruth stood looking into the quiet street amoment, then closed the door and returned to the garden. 

"Not all, " she said to herself, as she paused in sight and hearingof the quartette party, who were by this time deep in an andante ofHaydn's--"not all. "

CHAPTER VII. 

When Aunt Rachel had spent a fortnight or thereabouts in Heydon Hay, andhad got her own small dwelling-place into precise order, she began tomake a round of visits among the people she had known in her youth. Shehad met most of the survivors of that earlier day at the parish churchon Sundays, and had had no occasion to find fault with the manner ofher reception at their hands. If there was not precisely that warmth ofgreeting which she felt in her own heart, she found at least a kindlyinterest in her return and a friendly curiosity as to her past. Toher, her return to her birthplace was naturally an event of absorbinginterest. To the other inhabitants of the village it was no more thanan episode, but nobody being distinctly cold or careless, Rachel was notallowed to see the difference between their stand-point and her own. 

In her round of calls she left the house of Sennacherib Eld till thelast, though she and Mrs. Sennacherib had been school-fellows and closefriends. Perhaps she had not found Sennacherib's manner inviting, orperhaps the fact that Ezra Gold's house lay between her own and his hadheld her back a little. Everybody had supposed that she and Ezra Goldwere going to be married six-and-twenty years ago, Rachel herself beingamong the believers, and having, it must be confessed, admirable groundfor the belief. Nobody knew how the match had come to be broken off. Itwas so Old-world a bit of history that even in Heydon Hay, where historydies hard, it had died and been buried long ago. Even Rachel's returncould not resuscitate it for more than one or two. But the story thatwas dead for other people was still alive to her, and as fresh andyoung--now that it was back in its native air again--as if it had beenan affair of yesterday. It was something of a task to her to passthe house in which the faithless lover lived. It would be the firstachievement of that feat since Ezra had treated her so shamelessly, andit was almost as difficult after six-and-twenty years as it might havebeen after as many days. 

She clinched her lips tightly as she came in sight of the tall poplarswhich stood beyond the spire of the church, and rose to an equalheight with it, and at the lich-gate of the church she paused a little, feigning to take interest in one or two tombstones which recorded thedeath of people she had known. Her troubled eyes took no note of theinscriptions, but in a while she found resolution Jo go on again. Withher little figure drawn uncompromisingly to its fullest height, sherounded the corner of the church-yard and saw the familiar walls. Ezra, contrary to his habit, was standing at the side door and looking outupon the street. She was aware of his presence, but walked stiffly past, disregarding him, and he coughed behind his wasted hand. She thought thecough had a sound of embarrassed appeal or deprecation, as perhaps ithad, but she refused to take notice of it, except by an added rigidityof demeanor. 

Sennacherib's house stood back from the highway a hundred yards orso beyond Ezra's. It was fenced all round by an ill-trimmed hedge ofhawthorn, and the only break in the hedge was made by the un-paintedwooden gate which led by a brick-paved walk to the three brick stepsbefore the door. The door stood open when Rachel reached it, andthe knocker being set high up and out of reach, she tapped upon thewood-work with the handle of her sunshade. This summons eliciting noresponse, she repeated it; but by-and-by the opening of a door withinthe house let out upon her the sound of Sennacherib's voice, hithertoaudible only as an undefined and surly buzz. 

"Who's master i' this house?" Sennacherib was asking--"thee or me?"

"If brag and swagger could ha' made a man the master, " said a femininevoice, in tones of feeble resignation, "theer's no doubt it's you, Sennacherib. "

"Brag and swagger?" said Sennacherib. 

"Lord o' mercy!" replied the feminine voice, "what do you want to shouta body deaf for? Brag and swagger was what I said, Sennacherib. But ifyou think as a mother's heart is agoing to be overcome by that sort o'talk, and as I shall turn my back upon my very own born child, you'vefell into the biggest error of your lifetime. "

Rachel rapped again somewhat louder than before. 

"Canst choose betwixt that young rip and me, " replied Sennacherib. 

"That's right; let the parish know your hard-heartedness! Theer'ssomebody knockin' at the door. Go and tell 'em what you've made up yourwicked mind to--do!"

Sennacherib thrust his head into the hall and stared frowningly at thevisitor through his spectacles. 

"Good-morning, sir, " said Rachel, with frigid politeness. "I calledfor the purpose of paying my respects to Mrs. Eld. If the moment isinauspicious I will call again. "

At the sound of her voice Mrs. Sennacherib appeared--a large woman ofmatronly figure but dejected aspect. She had been comely, but thirtyyears of protest and resignation had lifted the inner ends of hereyebrows and depressed the corners of her mouth until, even in hermost cheerful moments, she had a look of meek submission to unmeasuredwrongs. 

"Dear me!" said Mrs. Sennacherib, sailing round her husband and down thehall, "it's Miss Blythe! Come in, my dear, and tek off your cloak andbonnet. I'm glad to see you. I wondered if you was never comin' to seeme. And how be you?" She bent over the little figure of her guest andburied it in an embrace like that of a feather-bed. "It's beautifulweather for the time o' year, " she continued, almost tearfully, "and Ihave been a-thinking of makin' a call upon you; but I'm short of breath, and Eld is such a creetur he'd rather see a body stop in the house as ifit was a prison, than harness the pony and drive me half a mile, to savehis life. "

"Short o' breath!" said Sennacherib. "Thee talkest like one as is shorto' breath! Her talks enough, " he added, addressing the visitor, "tobreak the wind of a Derby race-hoss. "

"Ah, " said his wife, shaking her head in a kind of doleful triumph, "Miss Blythe won't ha' been long i' the village afore her'll know whatmanner o' man you be, Sennacherib. "

"I'll leave thee to tell her, " said Sennacherib, with a grunt of scorn. "If I'd ha' been the manner o' man you'd ha' liked for a husband, I _should_ ha' been despisable. My missis"--he addressed his wife'svisitor again--"ought to ha' married a door-mat, then her could ha'wiped her feet upon him wheniver the fancy took her. "

With this he took his hat from a peg, stuck it at the back of his head, and marched out at the open front door. 

"Ah, my dear, " said Mrs. Sennacherib, "you did a wise thing when youmade up your mind to be a single woman. The men's little more than aworrit--the best of 'em--and even the childern, as is counted upon for ablessin', brings trouble oftener nor j'y. "

The visitor pinched her lips together and nodded, as if to say therewas no disputing this glaring statement. The hostess, stooping overher, untied her bonnet-strings as if she had been a child, helped her toremove her mantle, and then ushered her into a sitting-room which lookedupon a well-cultivated garden. 

"I wouldn't say, " pursued the hostess, "as I'd got a bad husband--notfor the world. But he's that hard and unbendin' both i' little thingsan' big uns. I've suffered under him now for thirty 'ear, but I nivercounted as he'd put the lad to the door and forbid his mother to speakto him. Though as for that, my dear, he may forbid and go on forbiddin'as long as theer's a breath in his body, but a mother's heart is amother's heart, my dear, though the whole world should stand up againher. "

"Precisely, " said Rachel. 

"The lad's just as unbendin' as his father, " pursued Mrs. Sennacherib, "though in a lighter-hearted sort of a way. He's as gay as the lark, ourSnac is, even i' the face o' trouble, but there's no more hope o' movin'him than theer'd be o' liftin' the parish church and carryin' it tomarket. He's gone and married again his father's will, and now hisfather's gone an' made his last dyin' testyment an' cut him off wi' ashilling. He'll get my money, as is tied on me hard an' fast, and that'smy only comfort. "

"They may be reconciled, " said Rachel. "We must try to reconcile them. "

"Reconcile Sennacherib Eld!" cried the wife, dolefully. "Ah, my dear, you don't know the man. Why, who's that? There's somebody a-walkin' inas if the house belonged to 'em. "

A young man in a stand-up collar, and trousers supernaturally tight, appeared at the open door and nodded in a casual manner. 

"Mornin', mother, " said the young man, cheerfully. "Wheer's thegovernor?"

Mrs. Sennacherib screamed, and running at the new-comer began to embracehim and to kiss him and cry over him. 

"Theer, theer!" he said, after kissing her off-hand. "Tek it easy. "

"Oh, Snac!" cried his mother, "if father should come in what should wedo?"

"Do?" said the younger Sennacherib, "why, set me down afore the kitchenfire, an' mek me happetizin' afore he sets to work to eat me. How beyou, mum?"

The younger Sennacherib's face was gay and impudent, with that peculiarmingling of gayety and impudence which seems inseparable from freckles. His face was mottled with freckles, and the backs of his hands were of adark yellowish brown with them. 

"This is Miss Rachel Blythe, " said his mother, "as was at school with mewhen I was a gell. This is my poor persecuted child, Miss Blythe. "

"Me, mum!" said the persecuted child, standing with his feet wide apart, and bending first one knee and then the other, and then bending bothtogether. "The governor's out, is he?"

"He's only just gone, " returned his mother. "But, Snac, you'll onlyanger him, comin' in i' this way. You'd better wait a bit and let thingsblow over. "

"Well, " said Snac, "I shouldn't ha' come for any-thin' but business. ButI've got a chance o' doin' a bit o' trade with him. He's had his mindset on Bunch's pony this two 'ear, an' Bunch an' him bein' at daggersdrawn theer was niver a chance to buy it. But me an' him bein' split, old Bunch sells me the pony, and I called thinkin' he might like to haveit. "

He laughed with great glee, and flicked one tightly clad leg with thewhip he carried. 

"Wait a bit, Snac, " his mother besought him. "Let it blow over a bitafore approachin' him. "

"Wait for the Beacon Hill to blow over!" said Snac, in answer. "I've nomore expectations as the one 'll blow over than th' other. He'll dowhat he says he'll do. That's the pattern he's made in. I've got no morehopes of turnin' the governor than I should have if I was to go and tella hox to be a donkey. It's again his natur' to change, and nothingshort of a merracle 'll alter him. But as for livin' at enmity withhim--wheer's the use o' that? He's all the feythers I've got, or am liketo find at my time o' life, and I must just mek the best on him. "

"A most commendable and Christian resolution, " said Rachel, decisively. 

"Very nice and kind of you to say so, mum, " Snac answered, setting hishat a little more on one side, and bending both knees with a rakishswagger. "You can tell the governor as I called, mother. The pony's asgenuine a bit of blood as is to be found in Heydon Hay. The p'ints ofa hoss and a dog is a thing as every child thinks he knows about, butbless your heart theer's nothing i' the world as is half so difficultt' understand, unless it is the ladies. " There was such an air ofcompliment about the saving clause that Rachel involuntarily inclinedher head to it. "You'll tell the governor as I was here, mother, " Snacconcluded, stooping down to kiss her. 

"You mustn't ask me to do that, Snac, " she answered. "I dar' not nameyour name. "

"Rubbidge!" said Snac, genially. "Does he bite?"

"It's for your sake, Snac, " said his mother, "not for mine. But I dar'not do it. "

"Well, well, mayhap I shall light upon him i' the village. If Ishouldn't, I'll look in again. Good-mornin', mother, and good-day toyou, mum. I'm just goin' to drop in on Mr. Ezra Gold, seein' as I'm thisway. I'm told he wants to part with that shorthorn cow of hisn, and I'mallays game for a bit o' trade. "

"Ah!" said Mrs. Sennacherib, shaking her doleful head. "He'll part witheverythin' earthly, poor man, afore he's much older. "

"Why, " cried Snac, "what's the matter with the man?"

"The young uns see nothin', Miss Blythe, " said Mrs. Sennacherib, shaking her head again, but this time with a sort of relish. "Butold experienced folks can tell when any poor feller-creetur's time isdrawing nigh. His father went just at his time o' life by the same roadas he's a-takin'. "

"Well, what road is he takin'?" her son demanded. 

"Look at his poor hands, " said Mrs. Sennacherib, with a pitying gusto. "As thin as egg-shells, and with no more color in 'em than there isin that cha-ney saucer. Hark to that dry cough as keeps on ahack-hack-hackin' at him. "

"Pooh!" cried young Sennacherib. "He's been like that as long as I canremember him. "

"Mark my words, " his mother answered, with a stronger air of dolefulrelish than before, "he'll niver be like that much longer. "

"Theer's them as looks at the dark side, " returned Snac, "and them aslooks at the bright. Niver say die till your time comes. I'll go andwake him up a bit, though he's no great hand at a bargain, and seems tofind less contentment in gettin' on the blind side of a man than most on'em. Good-mornin', mother; good-mornin', mum. "

Snac took his way with a flourish, and his mother looked after thetight-clad legs, the broad shoulders, the tall collar, and the rakishhat with mournful admiration. 

"Do you think, " asked the little old maid, coughing behind her hand, and looking out of window as she spoke, as if the theme had but littleinterest for her, "that Mr. Ezra Gold is really unwell?"

"Yes, my dear, " said Mrs. Sennacherib; "he's got enough to last histime, unless it should please the Lord to send him a new and suddeneraffliction. I've seen a many go the same road. It's mostly the young asbears his particular kind of sufferin', but it's on his face in as plainreadin' as the family Bible. He's a lonish sort of a man, save for hisnephew Reuben, but he'll ha' the parish for his mourners when his timedoes come. The gentlest, harmlessest creetur as ever was a neighbor isEzra Gold. "

"Hem!" said Aunt Rachel. The monosyllable was at once curt and frozen. It implied as complete a denial as could have been expressed in avolume. 

"Why, what have you got again him?" asked Mrs. Sennacherib. 

"I?" said Rachel. "Against whom, my dear creature?"

Mrs. Sennacherib had spoken in the absolute certainty of impulse, andfound herself a little confused. 

"Mr. Gold, " she answered, somewhat feebly. 

"What should I have against Mr. Gold?" asked the old maid, with a chillair of dignity and a pretence of surprise. She was not going to takeeverybody into her confidence. 

"What, to be sure?" said Mrs. Sennacherib, retiring from instinct. "Inold days there used to be a sort of kindness between you; at least itwas said so. "

"It is a great pity that people cannot be taught to mind their ownbusiness, " said Rachel. 

"So it is, Miss Blythe--so it is, " Mrs. Sennacherib assented, hastily. "I hate them folks as has got nothing better to do than to talk abouttheir neighbors. But, as I was a-sayin', he's a-breakin' up fast, poorman, and that's a thing as is only too clear to a old experienced eyelike mine. A beautiful sperrit the man's got, to be sure, but allaysa mild and sorrowful look with him. When me and Sennacherib was firstmarried, he'd a habit of coming over here with 'Saiah Eld and Mr. Fullerfor the music. It was pretty to hear 'em, for they'm all fine players, though mostly theer music was above my mark; but sometimes they'd gethim to play somethin' by himself, and then 'twas sweet. But he give upplayin' all of a sudden--I could niver mek out why or wheer-for, an' Isuppose it's over five-an'-twenty 'ear since he touched the fiddle. "

Now Mrs. Sennacherib, though not an untruthful woman as a general thing, had an idea as to the why and wherefore of Ezra Gold's withdrawal fromthe amateur ranks of Heydon Hay. She took most of her ideas from herhusband, though she was not accustomed to think so, and it was he whohad inoculated her with this one. She laid her small trap for her oldfriend and school-fellow with an admirable nonchalance and indifferenceof aspect, and looked at Rachel with an eye from which all appearance ofspeculation was carefully abstracted. 

"He gave up playing?" Rachel asked, with a tone of surprise. 

"Yes, " said Mrs. Sennacherib, with a stolid-seeming nod. "He give it upclean. Why, now I come to think on it, I don't believe he iver touchedthe music--" She paused in some confusion, and to cover this feigned toconsider. "Let me see. He give up the music just about the time as youwent away to Barfield. "

The old maid's lips twitched, her cheeks went pale, and a look ofabsolute terror rose to her eyes. 

"I was always under the impression that nothing could have induced himto give up his music. As I remember him he was peculiarly devoted toit. "

She did her best to speak indifferently, but her voice shook in spite ofher. 

"He give it up just about the time as you went away, " repeated Mrs. Sennacherib. "I've heard our Sennacherib and his brother 'Saiah say overand over again as since that time he niver so much as opened a piece ofmusic. "

The little old maid arose with both hands on her heart, tight-claspedthere. Her eyes were wild and she panted as if for breath. 

"Miss Blythe!" cried the other, alarmed by her aspect--"Rachel! What'sthe matter? Why, my dear, you're ill! A glass o' wine; me own mekin', my dear. Theer's no better elderberry i' the parish. Tek a drop, now do;it'll do you good, I'm sure. "

"No, thank you, " said Rachel, waving the proffered glass aside andsinking back into her chair. "It passes very soon. It is quite gone. Ithank you. Pray take no notice of my ailments, Mrs. Eld. I am sorry, tohave discommoded you, even for a moment. "

She was her prim and mincing self again, though there was still a tremorin her voice, and the exalted look in her young eyes was more markedthan common. After a little time she recovered herself completely, andMrs. Sennacherib entertained her for an hour with mournful histories ofdeath and burial. The good woman had a rare nose for an invalid and apassion for nursing. Such of her old school-fellows as had died sinceRachel's departure had mostly been nursed out of life under the care ofMrs. Sennacherib, and she was intimate with the symptoms of all of them, from the earliest to the latest. There was but little need for Rachel totalk at all when once her hostess had entered upon this absorbing topic, and when the old maid arose to go she had altogether recovered from theeffect of whatever emotion had assailed her. 

She walked homeward so prim, so old, so withered, that ninety-nine in ahundred would have laughed to know that she was living in the heart ofa love-story, and that story her own. But we rarely grow old enough toforget our own griefs, howsoever cold the frost of age may make us tothe griefs of others. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The young Sennacherib, swaggering gayly from his unnatural parent'sdoor, was aware of something as nearly approaching a flutter as notoften disturbed the picturesque dulness of the village main street. Bysome unusual chance there were half a dozen people in the road, and notonly did these turn to stare at him, but at least half a dozen otherspeered at him from behind the curtains of cottage interiors, or boldlyflattened their noses against the bulbous little panes of glass in thediamonded windows. 

"Theer's a look of summat stirrin' i' the place, gaffer, " said Snac toone ancient of the village. 

"Why, yis, Mr. Eld, theer is that sort of a air about the pläas to-day, "the old fellow answered, with a fine unconsciousness. "But then theermostly _is_ a bit of a crowd round our town pump. "

The crowd about the town pump consisted of one slatternly small girl anda puppy. 

"Can't a chap call on his feyther 'ithout the Midland counties turnin'out to look at him?" Snac asked, smilingly. 

"Yis, " returned the ancient, who was conveniently deaf on a sudden. "Theer's been no such fine ripenin' weather for the wheat sence I wur alad. "

Snac gave the riding-whip he carried a burlesque threatening flourish, and the old boy grinned humorously. 

"Sin Joseph Beaker this mornin', Mr. Eld?" he asked. 

"No, " said Snac. "What about him?"

"His lordship's gi'en him a set o' togs, " said the old rustic, "an'he's drunker wi' the joy on 'em than iver I was with ode ale atharvest-time. "

"Aha!" cried Snac, scenting a jest. "Wheer is he?"

"Why, theer he is!" said the rustic, and turning, Snac beheld JosephBeaker at that moment shambling round the corner of the graveyard wall, followed closely by the youth of the village. The Earl of Barfield hadkept his promise, and had bestowed upon Joseph a laced waistcoat--awaistcoat which had not been worn since the first decade of the century, and was old-fashioned even then. It was of a fine crimson cloth, andhad a tarnished line of lace about the edge and around the flaps of thepockets. Over this glorious garment Joseph wore a sky-bine swallow-tailcoat of forgotten fashion, and below it a pair of knee-breeches which, being much too long for him, were adjusted midway about his shrunkencalves. A pair of hob-nailed bluchers and a battered straw hat gave asomewhat feeble finish to these magnificences. As the poor Joseph airedthe splendors of his attire there was a faint and far-away imitation ofthe Earl of Barfield in his gait, and he paused at times after a fashionhis lordship had, and perked his head from side to side as if in casualobservation of the general well-being. 

"Good-morning, Lord Barfield, " cried Snac, as Joseph drew near. "It's asight for sore eyes to see your lordship a-lookin' so young and lusty. "Joseph beamed at this public crowning of his loftiest hopes, and wouldhave gone by with a mere nod of lordly recognition but the triumph wastoo much for him and he laughed aloud for joy. "Well, bless my soul!"said Snac, in feigned astonishment, "it's Mister Beaker. Send I maylive if I didn't tek him for the Right Honorable th' Earl o' Barfield!Thee'st shake hands with an old friend, Mr. Beaker? That's right. Theer's nothin' I admire so much as to see a man as refuses to becarried away with pride. " Joseph shook hands almost with enthusiasm. 

"Theer's nothin' o' that sort about me, Mr. Eld, " he replied. 

"That I'm sure on, " said Snac, with conviction. "But how gay we beto-day, Mr. Beaker. "

"It was my lord as gi'en me these, " said Joseph, retiring a pace or twoto display his raiment, and gravely turning round in the presence of thelittle crowd that surrounded him so that each might see the fulness ofits beauty. 

At this moment Reuben Gold came swinging along the road with a greenbaize bag under his arm. He was on his way to his uncle's house, and, unobserved of Snac, took a place on the causeway to see what might bethe reason of this unusual gathering. 

"Now, " said Snac, "I never thought as Lord Barfield 'ud be so mean asto do things in that half-an'-half manner. I should ha' fancied, ifLord Barfield had took it into his head to set up an extra gentleman inlivery, he'd ha' done it thorough. "

Joseph's countenance fell, and he surveyed his own arms and legs withan air of criticism. Then he took hold of the gold-laced flaps of thecrimson waistcoat and laughed with a swift and intense approval. 

"Ain't this been done thorough?" he demanded. 

"As far as it goes, Joseph, " replied the jocular Snac, "it's noble, tobe sure. " Joseph became critical again, but again at the sight of thegold-laced waistcoat his doubts vanished. "But surely, surely, Joseph, he should ha' gi'en you a pair o' them high collars as he wears, and acravat, to go along with a get out like that. "

"He might ha' done that, to be sure, " said Joseph, tentatively. 

"Might ha' done it!" cried Snac, with a voice of honest scorn. "Ah!and would ha' done it if he'd been half a man, let alone a peer of therealm. For that's what he is, Joseph--a peer of the realm. "

"So he is, " said the poor Joseph, who was rapidly sliding into the trapwhich was set for him. "You would have expected a peer of the realm todo it thorough, wouldn't you?"

"Look here, Joseph, " continued Snac, opening his trap wide, "you goand tell him. 'My lord, ' says you--a-speakin' like a man, Joseph, anda-lookin' his lordship i' the face as a man in a suit of clothes likethem has got a right to do--'my lord, ' you says, 'you're as mean asyou're high, ' says you. 'What for?' says he. 'Why, ' says you, 'forsettin' a man out i' this half-an'-half mode for the folks to laugh at. Give me a collar and a cravat this minute, you says, ' or else be ashamedo' thyself. Be ayther a man or a mouse. ' That's the way to talk to 'em, Joseph. "

"Think so?" asked Joseph, with an air half martial and half doubtful. 

"To be sure, " cried Snac; and with one exception everybody in the littlecrowd echoed "To be sure!"

"I'll goo an' do it, " said Joseph, thus fortified, "this instantminute. "

"Wait a bit Joseph, " said Reuben Gold, "I'm going that way. We'll go alittle of the road together. "

"Now, Mr. Gold, " cried Snac, in a whisper, recognizing Reuben's voicebefore he turned, "don't you go an' spoil sport. "

"Snac, my lad, " responded Reuben, smiling, "it's poor sport. "

"He'd go an' tell him, " said Snac, with a delighted grin. "You can mekhim say annythin'. "

"That's why it's such poor sport, " said Reuben. "It's too easy. It'ssport to stand up for a bout with the sticks when the other man's a bitbetter than you are, but it's no fun to beat a baby. "

"I like it better, " Snac replied, with candor, "when th' odds is ont'other side. I like to be a bit better than t'other chap. "

"You like to win? That's natural. But you like to deserve a bit ofpraise for winning; eh?"

Reuben walked away with the rescued Joseph at his side. Joseph was asyet unconscious of his rescue, and was fully bent upon his message tothe earl. 

"Theer's no denyin' that chap nothin, " said Snac, looking after Reuben'sretiring figure. "He's got that form an' smilin' manner as'll tekno such thing as a no. An' lettin' that alone, " he continued, againrelapsing into candor, "he could punch my head if he wanted to, thoughI'm a match for ere another man i' the parish--and he'd do it too, atanny given minute, for all so mild as he is. "

"He's the spit of what his uncle was, " said the aged rustic. "When hewas a lad he was the best cudgel-player, the best man of his hands, andthe prettiest man of his feet from here to Castle Barfield. "

"He's fell off of late 'ears, then, " said Snac. 

"Ah!" quavered the old fellow, "it's time as is too many for the beston us, Mr. Eld. Who'd think as I'd iver stood again all comers for milesand miles around for the ten-score yards? I did though!"

"Didst?" cried Snac. "Then tek a shillin' and get a drop o' good stuffwi' it, an' warm up that old gizzard o' thine wi' thinkin' o' thyyounger days. "

And away he swaggered, carrying his shilling's worth with him in thecommendations of the rustic circle. He was a young man who liked to bewell thought of, and to that end did most of his benefactions in theopen air. 

In the mean time Reuben had disappeared with Joseph, and was alreadyengaged in spoiling the village sport. Joseph was so resolved upon thecollars and the cravat, and his imagination was so fired by the prospectof those splendid additions to his toilet, that Reuben was compelledto promise them from his own stores. Joseph became at once amenable toreason, and promised to overlook his lordship's meanness. 

"Are you going to do anything for his lordship to-day, Joseph?" hisprotector asked him. 

"No, " said Joseph. "He's gi'en me a holiday. I tode him as 'twarn'tnatural to think as a man 'ud want to go to work i' togs like thesen. The fust day's wear, and all!"

"Well, if you _should_ care to earn a shilling--"

"I couldn't undertek a grimy job, " said Joseph. "Not to-day. A messagenow. "

"A message? Could you take the message in a wheelbarrow, Joseph?"

"A barrer?" Joseph surveyed his arms and legs, and then took a grip ofthe laced waistcoat with both hands. 

"A message in a wheelbarrow for a shilling, and a pair of collars and ablack satin cravat to come I home in, Joseph. "

"Gaffer, " said Joseph, "it's a bargain. "

Reuben's message was Ezra Gold's musical library, and the volumes havingbeen carefully built up in a roomy wheelbarrow, Joseph set out with themat a leisurely pace towards his patron's home. Reuben on first enteringhis uncle's house had laid the green baize bag upon the table. When thebooks were all arranged, and Joseph had started away with them, Reubenre-entered. 

"I've brought the old lady back again, uncle, " he said. 

"You've eased her down, I hope, lad, " said the old man, untying the bagand drawing forth the violin. "That's right. As for bringing her backagain, you remember what used to be the sayin' when you was a child, 'Give a thing and take a thing, that's the devil's plaything. ' I meantthee to keep her, lad. It's a sin an' a shame as such a voice should besilent. "

"Uncle, " said Reuben, stammering somewhat, "I scarcely like to take her. It seems like--like trespassing on your goodness. "

"I won't demean th' old lady, " returned Ezra. "Her comes o' the rightbreed to have all the virtues of her kind. Her's a Stradivarius, Reuben, and my grandfather gi'en fifty guineas for her in the year seventeenhundred an' sixty-one. A king might mek a present of her to a king. Andthat's why in the natural selfishness of a man's heart I kep' her allthese 'ears hangin' dumb and idle on the wall here. I take some shame tomyself as I acted so, for you might ha' had her half a dozen years ago, and ha' done her no less than as much justice as I could iver ha' doneher myself at the best days of my life. Her's yourn, my lad, and I onlymek one bargain. If you should marry and have children of your own, andone of 'em should be a player, he can have her, but if not, I ask youto will her to somebody as'll know her value, and handle her as herdeserves. "

Reuben was embarrassed by the gift. 

"To tell the truth, uncle, " he said, "I should take her the more readilyif I'd coveted her less. "

"Bring her out into the gardin, lad, " returned his uncle. "Let's hearthe 'Last Rose' again. "

Reuben followed the old man's lead. His uncle's house-keeper carriedchairs to the grass-plot, and there the old man and the young one satdown together in the summer air, and Reuben, drawing a little pitch-pipefrom his pocket, sounded its note, adjusted the violin, and played. Ezraset his elbows upon his knees and chin in his hands, and sat to listen. 

"Lend her to me, lad, " he said, when his nephew laid the instrumentacross his knees. "I don't know--I wonder--Let's see if there is any ofthe old skill left. " His face was gray and his hands shook as he heldthem out. "Theer's almost a fear upon me, " he said, as he took thefiddle and tucked it beneath his chin. "No, no, I dar' not. I doubt thepoor thing 'ud shriek at me. "

"Nonsense, uncle, " answered Reuben, with a swift and subtle movementof the fingers of the left hand, such as only a violin-player couldaccomplish. "I doubt if there is such a thing as forgetting when onceyou have played. Try. "

"No, " said the old man, handing back the fiddle. "I dar' not. I haven'tthe courage for it. It's a poor folly, maybe, for a man o' my years totalk o' breakin' his heart over a toy like that, and yet, if the tonewasn't to come after all! That 'nd be a bitter pill, Reuben. No, no. It's a thousand to one the power's left me, but theer's just a chance ithasn't. I feel it theer. " The gaunt left-hand fingers made just such astrenuous swift and subtle motion as Reuben's had made a minute earlier. "And yet it mightn't be. " Reuben reached out the violin towards him, buthe recoiled from it and arose. "No, no. I dar'n't fail, " he said, with agray smile. "I darn't risk it. Take her away, lad. No, lend her here. Aman as hasn't pluck enow in his inwards for a thing o' that kind--Lendher here!"

He seized the instrument, tucked it once more beneath his chin, andwith closed eyes laid the bow upon the strings. His left foot, stretchedfirmly out in advance of the right, beat noiselessly upon the turf, asif it marked the movement of a prelude inaudible except to him. Thenthe bow gripped the strings, and sounded one soft, long-drawn, melancholynote. A little movement of the brows, a scarcely discernible nod of thehead marked his approval of the tone, and after marking anew the cadenceof that airy prelude he began to play. For a minute or more his resolveand excitement carried him along, but suddenly a note sounded false andhe stopped. 

"Ah-h-h!" he cried, shaking his head as if to banish the sound from hisears, "take her, Reuben, take her. Give her a sweet note or two totake the taste o' that out of her mouth. Poor thing! Strike up, lad--anything. Strike up!"

Reuben dashed into "The Wind that Shakes the Barley!" and Ezra, with hisgaunt hands folded behind him, walked twice or thrice the length of thegrass-plot. 

"Theer's no fool like an old fool, " he said, when he paused at hisnephew's side. "Theer's nothing as is longed for like that as can niverbe got at. Good-day, lad. Tek her away and niver let anybody maul her i'that fashion again, poor thing. I'll rest a while. Good-day, Reuben. "

Reuben thus dismissed shook hands and went his way, bearing his uncle'sgift with him. His way took him to Fuller's house, and finding Ruthalone there he displayed his treasure and spent an hour in talk. If hehad said then and there what he wanted to say, the historic Muse mustneeds have rested with him. But since, in spite of the promptings of hisown desire, the favorableness of the time, and the delightful confusionsof silence which overcame both Ruth and himself in the course of hisvisit, he said no more than any enthusiast in music might have said toany pretty girl who was disposed to listen to him, the historic Muse isfree to follow Joseph Beaker, with whom she has present business. 

In the ordinary course of things Joseph would have taken the shortestcut to his patron's house, but to-day neither the weight of thebarrow-load, which was considerable, nor Joseph's objection to labor, which was strongly rooted, could prevent him from taking the lengthierroute, which lay along the village main street, and therefore took himwhere he had most chance of being observed. He made but slow progress, being constantly stopped by his admirers, and making a practice ofsitting down outside any house the doors of which happened to be closed, and there waiting to be observed. Despite the lingering character ofhis journey he had already passed the last house but one--Miss Blythe'scottage--and was forecasting in the dim twilight of his mind theimpression he would make upon its inmate, when the little old maidherself went by without a glance. 

"Arternoon, mum, " said Joseph, setting down the wheelbarrow, andspitting upon his hands to show how little he was conscious of the gloryof his own appearance. 

"Good-afternoon, " said the old maid. "Ah! Joseph Beaker?" To Joseph'sgreat disappointment she took no notice of his attire, but her eyehappening to alight upon the books, she approached and turned one ofthem over. Poor Joseph was not accustomed to read the signs of emotion, or he might have noticed that the hand that turned the leaves trembledcuriously. "What are these?" she asked. "Where are you taking them?"

"These be Mr. Ezra Gold's music-books, " he answered. "He's gi'en 'em tohis nevew, and I'm a-wheelin' of 'em home for him. Look here--see whathis lordship's gi'en to me. "

But Miss Blythe was busily taking book after book, and was turning overthe leaves as if she sought for something. Her hands were tremblingmore and more, and even Joseph thought it odd that so precise and neata personage should have let her parasol tumble and lie unregarded in thedust. 

"Wheel them to my house, Joseph Beaker, " she said at last, with a coverteagerness. "I want to look at them; I should like to look at them. "

"My orders was to wheel 'em straight home, " returned Joseph. "I worn'ttold to let nobody handle 'em, but it stands to rayson as they hadn'tought to be handled. "

"Wheel them to my door, " said the little old maid, stooping for herfallen sunshade. "I will give you sixpence. "

"That's another matter, " said Joseph, sagely. "If a lady wants to lookat 'em theer can't be nothin' again that, I _should_ think. "

The barrow was wheeled to Miss Blythe's door, and Miss Blythe in theopen air, without waiting to remove bonnet, gloves, or mantle, began toturn over the leaves of the books, taking one systematically after theother, and racing through them as if her life depended on the task. Rapidly as she went to work at this singular task, it occupied an hour, and when it was all over the prim, starched old lady actually sat downupon her own door-step with lax hands, and crushed her best new bonnetagainst the door-post in a very abandonment of lassitude and fatigue. 

"Done?" said Joseph, who had been sitting on the handle of thewheelbarrow, occasionally nodding and dozing in the pleasant sunlight. Miss Blythe arose languidly and gave him the promised sixpence. "You'm awonner to read, you be, mum, " he said, as he pocketed the coin. "I niverseed none on 'em goo at sich a pace as that. Sometimes my lord 'll lookat one side of a noospaper for a hour together. I've sin him do it. "

Receiving no reply, he spat upon his hands again, and started on thefinal course of his journey. Rachel closed the gate behind him, andwalked automatically into her own sitting-room. 

"There is no fool like an old fool, " she said, mournfully. Then, withsudden fire, "I have known the man to be a villain these six-and-twentyyears. Why should I doubt it now?"

And then, her starched dignity and her anger alike deserting her, shefell into a chair and cried so long and so heartily that at last, wornout with her grief, she fell asleep. 

CHAPTER IX. 

The church-bells made a pleasant music in Hey-don Hay on Sundaymornings, and were naturally at their best upon a summer Sunday, whenthe sunshine had thrown itself broadly down to sleep about thetranquil fields. Heydon Hay was undisturbed by the presence of a singleconventicle in opposition to the parish church, and the leisurelyfigures in the fields and lanes and in the village street were all bentone way. In fine weather the worshippers were for the most part a littlein advance of time, and thereby found opportunity to gather in knotsabout the lich-gate, or between it and the porch, where they exchangedobservations on secular affairs with a tone and manner dimly tempered bythe presence of the church. 

Half a dozen people in voluminous broadcloth were already gathered aboutthe lich-gate when Fuller appeared, carrying his portly waistcoat witha waddle of good-humored dignity, and mopping at his forehead. He wasfollowed by a small boy, who with some difficulty carried the 'cello ina big green baize bag. One or two of the loungers at the gate carriedsmaller green bags, and while they and Fuller exchanged greetings, Sennacherib and Isaiah appeared in different directions, each with abaize-clothed fiddle tucked beneath his arm. The church of Heydon Hayboasted a string band of such excellence that on special occasionspeople flocked from all the surrounding parishes to listen to itsperformances. The members of the band and choir held themselves ratherapart from other church-goers, like men who had special dignities andspecial interests. They had their fringe of lay admirers, who listenedto their discussions on "that theer hef sharp, " which ought to havesounded, or ought not to have sounded, in last Sunday's anthem. 

Whether his lordship made a point of it or not, the Barfield carriagewas always a little late, and Ferdinand certainly approved of the habit;but on this particular morning the young gentleman was earlier thancommon and arrived on foot. The male villagers took off their hats as hewalked leisurely along, the female villagers bobbed courtesies at him, and the children raced before him to do him a sort of processionalreverence. This simple incense was pleasant enough, for he had spentmost of his time in larger places than Heydon Hay, and had experiencedbut little of the sweets of the territorial sentiment. He walked alongin high good-humor, and enjoyed his triumphal progress, though he madehimself believe that it was only the quaint, rural, and Old-world smackof it which pleased him. 

Here and there he paused, and was affable with a county elector, butwhen he reached the lich-gate he was altogether friendly with Fuller andSennacherib, and shook hands with Isaiah with actual warmth. 

"Mr. Hales was dining at the Hall last night, " he said. "He told us thatsome of the local people were in favor of an organ for the church, andhad talked about getting up a subscription, but he wouldn't listen tothe idea. "

"Should think not, " said Sennacherib. "Parson knows when he's well off. "

"Indeed he does, " returned Ferdinand; "he looks on the band as beingquite a part of the church, and says that he would hardly know the placewithout it. "

"A horgin!" grunted Sennacherib, scornfully. "An' when they'd got it, theer's some on 'em as 'ud niver be content till they'd got a monkey ina scarlit coat to sit atop on it. "

"I hardly think they want _that_ kind of organ, Mr. Eld, " saidFerdinand, smoothly. 

"I do' know why they shouldn't, " returned Sennacherib. "It's nothin' buttheir Christian humbleness as could mek 'em want it at all. The Lord'smade 'em a bit better off than their neighbors, an' they feel itundeserved. It's castin' pearls afore swine to play for half on 'emabout here. "

Fuller, with both hands posed on the baize-clad head of the 'cello, which the small boy had surrendered to him some moments before, shookhis fat ribs at this so heartily that Sennacherib himself re laxed intoa surly grin, and then Ferdinand felt him self at liberty to laugh also. 

"You are rather severe upon your audience, Mr. Eld, " he said. 

"A tongue like a file, our Sennacherib's got, " said the mild Isaiah. "Touches nothin' but what he rasps clean through it. "

Ferdinand raised his hat at this moment and made a forward step, withhis delicately gloved right hand extended. 

"Good-morning, Miss Fuller. "

Mr. De Blacquaire prided himself, and not without reason, on his own_aplomb_ and self-possession, but he felt now a curious flutteringsensation to which he had hitherto been an entire stranger. 

Ruth accepted his proffered hand and responded to his salute, and thenshook hands with the two brethren. Ferdinand, with a jealousy at whichhe shortly found time to be surprised, noticed that her manner inshaking hands with these two stout and spectacled old vulgariansdiffered in no way from her manner in shaking hands with him. This initself was a renewal of that calm, inexplicable disdain with which thegirl had treated him from the first. If rustic beauty had been flutteredat his magnificent pressure, he could have gone his way and thought nomore about it; but when rustic beauty was just as cool and unmoved byhis appearance as if their social positions had been reversed, thething became naturally moving, and had in it a lasting astonishment forleisure moments. 

And there was no denying that the girl was surprisingly pretty. Prettierthan ever this Sunday morning, in a remarkably neat dress of dove color, a demurely coquettish hat, and a bit of cherry-colored ribbon. Rusticbeauty was not altogether disdainful of town-grown aids, it would seem, for Ferdinand's eye, trained to be critical in such matters, noted thatthe girl was finely gloved and booted. 

Her dress was like a part of her, but that, though the young gentlemancould not be supposed to know it, was a charm she owed to her own goodtaste and her own supple fingers. The young gentleman might have beensupposed to know, perhaps, that her greatest charm of all was herunconsciousness of charming, and it was certainly this which touched himmore than anything else about her. 

There was no outer sign of the young Ferdinand's inward disturbance. 

"I am afraid, " he said, resolute to draw her into talk with himself ifhe could, though it were only for a moment, "I am afraid that I havemade Mr. Eld very angry. "

Ruth's brown eyes took a half-smiling charge of Sennacherib's surlyfigure. 

"Seems, " said Sennacherib, "the young gentleman was a-dinin' last nightalong with the vicar, and it appears as some o' the fools he knows wantto rob the parish church o' the band, and build a horgin. "

"The vicar won't listen to the idea, " said Ferdinand. "There was onlyone opinion about it. "

"It would be a great shame to break up the band, " Ruth answered, speaking with vivacity, and addressing Ferdinand. "Everybody wouldmiss it so. We would rather have the band than the finest organ in theworld. "

It happened, as such things will happen for the disturbance of lovers, that just as Ruth turned to address Ferdinand, Reuben Gold marched underthe lich-gate and caught sight of the group. The girl, her father, thetwo Elds, and the young gentleman were standing by this time oppositethe church porch, but as far away from it as the width of the pathwaywould allow. Various knots of villagers, observing that his lordship'sguest had stayed to talk, stood respectfully apart to look on, and, if it might be, to listen. Now Reuben, for reasons already hinted at, disliked Mr. De Blacquaire. He was not, perhaps, quite so consciousas Mr. De Blacquaire himself that all the advantage of the differencesbetween them rested on the young gentleman's side. Reuben was not thesort of youngster who says to himself, "I am a handsome fellow, " or "Iam a clever fellow, " or "I am a fellow of a good heart, " but in face ofFerdinand's obvious admiration of Ruth and his evident desire to standwell in her graces he had sprung up at once to self-measurement, andhad set himself shoulder to shoulder with the intruder for purposes ofcomparison. With all the good the love for a good woman does us, withall the wheat and oil and wine it brings for the nourishment of theloftier half of us, it must needs bring a foolish bitter weed or two, which being eaten disturb the stomach and summon singular apparitions. And when Reuben saw the girl of his heart in vivacious public talk witha young man of another social sphere he was quite naturally a great dealmore perturbed than he need have been. The gentleman admired her, andit was not outside the nature of things that she might admire thegentleman. He came up, therefore, mighty serious, and shook hands withFuller and the brethren, and then with Ruth, with an air of severitywhich was by no means usual with him. He carried his violin case tuckedbeneath his arm--a fact which of itself gave him an unworthy aspect inFerdinand's eyes--and he had shaken hands with Ruth without raising hishat. A denizen of Heydon Hay who had taken off his hat in the open airto a woman would have been scoffed by his neighbors, and would probablyhave startled the woman herself as much as his own sense of propriety. But all the same Reuben's salute seemed mutilated and boorish to the manof more finished breeding, and helped to mark him as unworthy to be thesuitor of so charming a creature as the rustic beauty. 

"Mr. De Blacquaire's a-tellin' us, Reuben, " said old Fuller, "as theer'sbeen some talk o' breaking up the church band and starting a horgin i'the place on it. "

"That will end in talk, " said Reuben, with a half-defiant, half-scrutinizing look at Ferdinand, as if he charged him in his ownmind with having suggested the barbarism. 

"There is no danger that it will go further in the vicar'stime, " returned Ferdinand. "Besides, his lordship is as strongly opposedto the change as anybody. "

"It's time we was movin' inside, lads, " said Fuller, glancing up atthe church clock. Ruth inclined her head to Ferdinand, gave a nod anda smile to Reuben (who nodded back rather gloomily), and passed like asunbeam into the shadow of the porch. Fuller took up his 'cello in a bigarmful, and followed, with the brethren in his rear. Ferdinand, feelingReuben's company to be distasteful, lingered in it with a perverse hopethat the young man might address him, and Reuben stood rather sullenlyby to mark his own sense of social contrast by allowing the gentleman toenter first. 

Each being disappointed by the other's immobility and quiet, a gradualsense of awkwardness grew up between them, and this was becoming acutewhen Ezra appeared, and afforded a diversion. Under cover of his uncle'sarrival Reuben escaped into the church. 

In the course of centuries the church-yard had grown so high aboutthe building that grass waved on a level with the sills of the lowerwindows, and the church was entered by a small flight of downward steps. The band and choir had a little bare back gallery to themselves, andapproached it by a narrow spiral stone staircase. There were no sidegalleries, and band and choir had therefore an uninterrupted survey ofthe building. Reuben valued his place because it gave him a constantsight of Ruth, and perhaps, though the fancy is certain of condemnationat the hands of some of the severer sort, the visible presence of themaiden, for whose sake he hoped for all possible excellences in himself, was no bad aid to devotion. She sat in a broad band of tinted sunlightwith her profile towards her lover, looking to his natural fancy as ifshe caused the sunlight, and were its heart and centre. Opposite to herand with _his_ profile towards the music gallery also, sat Ferdinand, and Reuben saw the young gentleman cast many glances across the churchin Ruth's direction. This spectacle afforded no aid to devotion, and noteven his music could draw the mind or eyes of the lover from Ferdinand, whom he began to regard as being an open rival. 

There was enough in this reflection to spur the most laggard of admirersinto definite action, and before the service was over Reuben had made uphis mind. He would speak to Ruth after church, and at least decidehis own chances. The vicar's sermon was brief, for the good man had norival, and could afford to please himself; but its duration, short as itwas, gave Reuben ample time to be rejected and accepted a score of timesover, and to gild the future with the rosiest or cloud it with the mosttempestuous of colors. The Earl of Barfield, according to his custom, had arrived late, and it comforted Reuben a little to think that in hispresence, at all events, the young gentleman could make no progresswith his love affairs. It comforted him further to see that Ruth took nonotice of the glances of her admirer, and that she was to all appearanceunconscious of them and of him. 

But when once he had made up his mind to instant action, the vicar'sbrief discourse began to drag itself into supernatural length. Facingthe preacher, and immediately beneath Reuben's feet, was a clock ofold-fashioned and clumsy structure, and the measured tick, tick of itsmachinery communicated a faintly perceptible jar to a square foot or soof the gallery flooring. The mechanical rhythm got into Reuben's brainand nerves until every second seemed to hang fire for a phenomenal time, and the twenty minutes' discourse dragged into an age. Even when thevicar at last lifted his eyes from the neatly ranged papers which lay onthe pulpit cushion before him, laid down his glasses, and without pauseor change of voice passed on to the benediction, and even when after thecustomary decent pause the outward movement of the congregation began, Reuben's impatience had still to be controlled, for it was the duty ofthe band to play a solemn selection from the works of some old masterwhile the people filed away. Reuben led, and since the others must needsfollow at the pace he set, the old master was led to a giddier step thanhe had ever danced to in a church before. Sennacherib was scandalized, and even the mild Fuller was conscious of an inward rebellion. The tastein Heydon Hay was rather in favor of drawl than chatter, and theold masters in their serious moods were accustomed to be taken withsomething more than leisure. 

"Why, Reuben, lad, " began Sennacherib, "how didst come to let your handrun away with your elber i' that way?"

But Reuben, sticking his hat on anyhow, was gone before the old man hadfinished his question, thrusting his violin into its case as he made hisway down the corkscrew stairs. A single glance assured him that Ruth wasno longer in the churchyard. The Earl of Barfield's carriage blockedthe way at the lich-gate, and the young fellow waited in high impatienceuntil the obstacle should disappear. His lordship, in view of theapproaching election, was much more amiable and talkative than common, and he and his protégé stood exchanging talk upon indifferent topicswith a little crowd of church-goers, but in a while the earl climbedslowly into the carriage. Ferdinand skipped nimbly after him and the twowere driven away. Reuben, with hasty nods and good-mornings at one ortwo who would have detained him, strode into the highway just in time tosee the dove-colored dress turn at a distant corner. He hurried afterit at his swiftest walk, and reaching the corner in the most evidentviolent hurry, narrowly escaped walking over the object of the chase, who had halted in talk with Aunt Rachel at the place where theirhomeward ways divided. 

He had expected to find her still far ahead, and this sudden encounterwas amazingly disconcerting to him. To begin with, apart from his realpurpose he had no business whatsoever round that particular corner. Thento pause suddenly in the midst of so violent a hurry was in itself aplain proclamation of his intent, and his hot courage had so rapidlygone cold that the change of inward temperature carried a shock with it. Nevertheless, he stopped and stammered a disjointed greeting to Rachel, who returned for sole answer an icy little nod, pinching her lipstogether somewhat superciliously as she gave it. 

Ruth, who would have been burdened by a shyness equalling Reuben's ownhad he succeeded in catching her by herself, was bold enough in thepresence of one of her own sex, and observed the situation with adelighted mischief. But this was changed, as swiftly as Reuben'semotions themselves, to a state of freezing discomfort when Aunt Rachelbolt upright, and with a mincing precision in her speech, demanded toknow if this young--ahem!--this person had any communication to make. 

"My dear aunt, " said the poor girl, blushing scarlet, and casting anappealing glance at Reuben. 

"You appeared to be in a hurry, Mr. Gold, " said the terrible old lady. "My niece and I will not detain you. "

"Thank you, " responded Reuben, shaken back into self-possession. "I amnot in a hurry any longer. "

Aunt Rachel turned right about face with an almost military precision, and passing her arm through Ruth's led the girl away, leaving Reubenshaken back into internal chaos. Ruth's blushing face and humid browneyes were turned towards him in momentary but keen apology, and he wasleft standing alone on the cobbled pavement with a feeling of perfectwreck. 

"Aunt Rachel!" said the girl, as she suffered herself thus ignominiouslyto be towed away. "How could you make me behave so rudely?"

"Have nothing to do with those people, " replied Aunt Rachel, frigidly. "They are bad, root and branch. I know them, my dear. That young man hasthe audacity to admire you. You must not encourage him. "

"I am sure, " said Ruth, guiltily, only half knowing what she said, "hehas never spoken a word--"

"It is not necessary to wait for words, " returned the old lady. "Ican see quite clearly. I am experienced. I know the Golds. I have beenfamiliar with the method of their villany for many years. "

"How can you speak so?" the girl asked, recovering something of hernative spirit. "I am sure that there is no better man in the world thanMr. Ezra Gold. Everybody speaks well of him. "

"It is not quite accurate, my dear, " said Aunt Rachel, "to say thateverybody speaks well of him, when a person even so inconsiderableas myself is in the act of speaking ill of him. " The quaint veneer offashion with which for many years she had overlaid her speech and mannerwas more apparent in this address than common, but suddenly she brokethrough it and spoke with an approach to passion. "I know them; they arevillains. Have nothing to do with any member of that family, my dear, as you value your happiness. " She pinched her niece's arm tightly as shespoke, and for a little time they walked on in silence, Ruth not knowingwhat to say in answer to this outburst, but by no means convinced asyet of the villany either of Ezra or Reuben. "Now, my dear, " Aunt Rachelbegan again, with a return to her customary mincing tones, "you are notfar from your own residence. I observe, " with a swift glance over hershoulder, "that the person still lingers at the corner. But if he shouldattempt to follow you may rely upon me to intercept him. My niece mustact like my niece. You must show your detestation of his odious advancesin a proper manner. "

"But, Aunt Rachel!" protested Ruth, "he has never made any advances, andI--I haven't any detestation. "

"All in good time, my dear, " responded the old lady. "In the mean time, rely upon my protection. " With this she stood up birdlike, and peckedaffectionately at Ruth's rosy cheek. The girl was well-nighcrying, but restrained herself, and answered Rachel's "God bless you"with some self-possession. 

"Good-morning, dear aunt. But you are quite, oh, quite mistaken. "

"Indeed, my dear, " said Aunt Rachel, with a glitter in her youthfuleyes, and a compression of her mobile lips, "I am nothing of thekind. " Ruth's eyes sank, and she blushed before the old lady's keen andtriumphant smile. She moved away downcast, while Aunt Rachel took theopposite direction. The old lady wore a determined air which changed toa sparkling triumph as she saw Reuben cross the road with an inelasticstep, and continue his homeward way with a head bent either in thoughtor dejection. 

CHAPTER X. 

When Reuben found time to gather himself together and to face his ownemotions he discovered himself to be more amazed than disconcerted. Hecast about in his mind for an explanation of the old lady's displeasure, and found none. Why should she desire to insult him? In what possibleway could he have offended her? Even a lover (ingenious as lovers alwaysare in the art of self-torment) could not persuade himself that Ruth wasa willing party to her aunt's singular treatment of him. The apology inher glance had been unmistakable. 

He was altogether at a loss to understand in what way he could haveexcited Miss Blythe's anger, but it was unpleasant to know that therewas an enemy in the camp which he had always thought entirely friendly. With the exception of Ruth herself he had been sure of the approval ofeverybody concerned. 

His performance at the homely one o'clock dinner spread at his mother'stable was so poor as to be noticeable, and he had to endure and answermany tender but unnecessary inquiries as to the state of his health, andto pretend to listen while his mother related the melancholy historyof a young man who fell into a decline and died through mere neglect ofmeal-times. When this narrative was over and done with he escaped to hisown room, carrying writing materials with him, and sat down to expresson paper the hopes he had fully meant to express vocally an hourearlier. The golden rule for writing is to know precisely what you wantto say, but though Reuben seemed to know, he found it hard to get uponpaper. Half a score of torn sheets went into the fire-grate, and werethere carefully fired and reduced to ashes. It was only the discoverythat he was reduced to his final sheet of paper which really screwed hiscourage to the sticking-point. Being once there it held until the needfor it was over; but when the letter was written it would have followedits forerunners if there had but been another sheet of paper in thehouse or the day had been anything but Sunday. As it was, he let itstand perforce, enveloped and addressed it in a sort of desperation, andput it in his pocket ready for personal delivery. The quartette partyalways met on Sunday afternoons and played sacred music. Not so long agothey had been used to meet in church; but since the introduction of gasto the venerable building the afternoon service had been abandoned andan evening service instituted in its stead. The music-parties were heldat Fuller's in the summer-time, and Reuben's chance of a declarationby letter looked simple and easy enough. It was but to slip theall-important note into Ruth's hand with a petition to her to read it, and the thing was done. He had time enough to do this over and over andover again in fancy as he walked down the sunlit street with hisviolin case tucked under his arm. He had time enough to be acceptedand rejected just as often--to picture and enjoy the rapture of the oneevent and the misery and life-long loneliness entailed by the other. Every time his eager fancy slipped the note into Ruth's fingers hisheart leaped and his hands went hot and moist, but if ever the screw ofcourage gave a backward turn the thought of Ferdinand twisted it backto the sticking-point again, and he was all resolve once more. Theexperience of ages has declared that there is no better spur forthe halting paces of a laggard lover than that which is supplied byjealousy. The simplest coquette that ever tortured hearts in a hay-fieldis aware of the fact, and needs no appeal to the experience of ages tosupport her. 

Reuben pushed the green gate aside, and entering upon the lawn, foundFuller in the act of carrying the table to its customary place. He hadbeen so free of the house, and had been for years so accustomed to enterit and leave it at his will, that there was nothing in the world but hisown restraining sense of shyness to prevent him from walking past hishost with the merest salutation and fulfilling his own purpose thenand there. But the trouble was that to his own disturbed feeling Fullerwould infallibly have guessed his purpose, and either of the othermembers of the quartette arriving, or any chance visitor strolling in, would have known in a moment that he could have no other reason forentering the house than to ask Ruth's hand in marriage. So he stoodsomewhat awkwardly by the table, while Fuller re-entered the house and, after a little pause, returned with a pile of music. 

"This here's one of Ezra's books, I reckon, " said the elder, singlingone volume from the pile. "It's the one you browt here the day he gi'enyou his libery. "

"Ah!" said Reuben, "Manzini? That was the last music he opened for hisown playing, so he told me. " He fluttered the leaves, glancing towardsthe house meanwhile, but seeing nothing of his goddess. Fuller contentedhimself with a mere grunt in answer to Reuben's statement, and rolledoff into the house once more, returning this time with his 'cello. Hepropped the instrument tenderly against the table, and, seating himselfnear it, began to arrange the music. Reuben still stood awkwardlyfingering the leaves of Manzini's duets, when Ruth appeared at the housedoor. He had made but a step towards her, and had not even made a stepin his mind towards reading the half-shy, half-appealing aspect shewore, when the prim figure of Aunt Rachel appeared from behind her, andthe old woman, with defiance expressed in every line and gesture, laidher mit-tened hand on the girl's arm and advanced by her side. Reubenstood arrested, and made a bow which he felt to be altogether awkward. Ruth's brown eyes drooped, and she blushed, but she found courage asecond or two later for a glance of appeal which Reuben did not see. Heoffered chairs to the old woman and the young one as they came near him, but Rachel, with a stony little nod, walked by, taking her niece withher. 

The young man took instant counsel with himself. He sat down near thetable with Manzini's oblong folio in his lap, and, turning the pageshere and there, selected a moment when he was unobserved, and slippedhis missive between the front board of the binding and the first blankleaf. It would be strange if he could not find time to whisper, "Look inManzini" before the day was over; and even if that course should fail hecould at least forward his letter by the penny-post, though that wouldimply a delay of twelve hours, and was hardly tolerable to think of. Ifhe missed the opportunity for that hasty whisper he would carry Manziniaway, and so re-secure possession of his letter. 

While he was planning thus, Rachel and her niece were walking up anddown the grass-plot, and the old lady was talking away at a great rate, describing the glories of the house of Lady De Blacquaire, and affectingto be absorbed in her theme. She was not so much absorbed, however, that her manner did not clearly indicate her misliking sense of Reuben'snearness every time she passed him, though she did not so much as casta glance in his direction. By-and-by the two Elds appeared, and thecustomary business of the afternoon began. Reuben had much ado to pinhimself down to the music, but he succeeded fairly well, and gave nobodyreason to suppose that his mind wandered far and often from his task. Itwas well for his repute for sanity, especially after the wild leadershipat morning service, that he was familiar with the theme. Even when histhoughts wandered farthest he was mechanically accurate. All the timethe book with the all-important missive in it lay on the table beforehim, and in his fancy disasters were constantly happening which revealedhis secret. He repeated the terms of the note again and again, and addedto it and altered it and resolved to rewrite it, and again resolved toleave it as it was. 

The afternoon party received an unusual addition in the persons ofMrs. Sennacherib and Mrs. Isaiah, who arrived when the performers werehalf-way through their programme. 

"I forgot to tell thee, Reuben, lad, " said Fuller, "Ruth's got a bitof a tay-party this afternoon, and thee beest to stop with the rest on'em. "

"Thank you, " said Reuben; "I shall stay with pleasure. " He felt Rachel'sdisapproving glance upon him, and looking up met it for a moment, andreturned it with a puzzled gravity. She was standing alone at a littledistance from the table, and Ruth and the two new arrivals were in theact of entering the house. Reuben obeyed the impulse which moved him, and rising from his place crossed over to where the little old ladystood. "May I ask, " he said, "how I came to fall under your displeasure, Miss Blythe?" He glanced over his shoulder to assure himself that nobodytook especial note of him, and spoke in a low and guarded voice. 

Miss Blythe made the most of her small figure, glanced with extremedeliberation from his eyes to his boots and back again, and, turningaway, followed her niece and the two new arrivals, walking with an airof exaggerated dignity. Reuben, returning to his seat, had to make greatplay with his pocket-handkerchief to cover the signs of confusionwhich arose at this rebuff. Miss Blythe could scarcely have expressed alivelier contempt for him if he had been a convicted pick-pocket. 

His share of the music went so ill after this that he excited somethinglike consternation in the minds of his friends. 

"What's come to the lad, 'Saiah, " asked Sennacherib. 

"Bist a bit out o' sorts, Reuben, bisent?" said Isaiah, mildly anxious. 

"I can't play to-day, " Reuben answered, almost fretfully. "Let us tryagain. No. There's nothing the matter. Nothing in the world. Let us tryagain. "

They tried again, and by dint of great effort Reuben kept controlover himself and escaped further disgrace, although at one time Ruth'ssympathetic, shy look almost broke him down, and at another, Rachel'sstony gaze so filled him with wonderment and anger that he had much adoto save himself from falling. 

Ruth retired to superintend the preparation of the tea-tablewithin-doors, and Rachel followed her. In their absence he got onbetter, but it was almost as great a relief as he had ever known to findthat the concert at last was over, and that he could give unrestrainedattention to the thoughts which pressed upon him. 

"Tea is ready, " said Ruth, standing in the doorway, and shading her eyesfrom the afternoon sunlight with one hand. Rachel surveyed the quartetteparty from the window, but Reuben could see that she was held in talk byMrs. Sennacherib. 

"This may be my only chance to-day, " said the lover to himself, withone great heart-beat and a series of flutterings after it. He controlledhimself as well as he might, and with a single glance towards Ruth stooda little behind the rest and feigned to arrange the music on the table. 

Isaiah and Sennacherib went first, and Fuller waddled in their rear. Reuben, after as long a pause as he dared to make, followed them, andraising his eyes saw that Ruth stood just without the door-way makingroom for her guests to pass. "Would she give him a chance for a word?The girl saw the unconscious pleading in his eyes, and blushing, lookedon the ground. But she kept her place, and Reuben coming up to her justas Fuller's burly figure rolled out of sight through the door of thesitting-room, took both her hands in his, not knowing in his eagernessthat he dared to advance so far, and murmured, "Ruth, look in the Manzini. The duets. The book my uncle gave me. "

"Niece Ruth, " said Rachel's voice from the sitting-room door-way. Reubendropped the hands he held, becoming conscious in that action only ofthe fact that he had taken them, and stepped into the dusky passage, thankful for the gloom, for he felt that he was blushing like a boy. Ruth had made a guilty start forward into the garden, and did not pauseuntil she had reached the table. "I beg your pardon, sir, " said Rachel, frostily, as she moved aside to make room for Reuben to pass her, butwhen she had once seen the young people wide apart she was satisfied, and forbore to call the girl again. 

"Look in the Manzini, " Reuben had said, and the girl, almost withoutknowing it, had paused with her hands resting on the glazed brownmill-board which bound it. He would think, if she opened the book atonce, that she was curiously eager to obey him, and her heart told herpretty truly what she would find when she looked there. The fear almostmade her turn away; but then, since she was there, if she did not careto look he would think her cruelly disdainful. Was anybody watchingher? In every nerve she felt the eyes of all the party in thesitting-room as if they actually pierced and burned her. But standingwith bent head, with an attitude of reverie which she felt to beunspeakably guilty, she raised the board with an air of chance, asemblance of no interest touching her features--as though that couldinfluence anybody, since her face was hidden--and saw a letter with hername upon it. To lay one hand upon this, and to slip it into the pocketof her dress while actually turning with a look of nonchalance towardsthe sitting-room window, was felt by the criminal herself to be the mostbarefaced and wickedest of pretences. To make the tour of the gardenafterwards with the letter in her pocket, and to gather flowers for abouquet for the tea-table, while tea was actually ready and everybodywas awaiting her, was at once a necessity, an hypocrisy, and a dreadfulbreach of good-manners. 

She took her place at the tea-table with perfect innocence andunconsciousness of aspect; but Reuben looked guilty enough for two, until the genuine gravity of the situation recalled him to himself, whenhe began to look as solemn as a graven image, and returned wryanswers to the talk of those about him. There was no calling back hisdeclaration now, and he felt it to be clumsy beyond expression, andinadequate alike to his sense of Ruth's perfections and his own poordeserts. No man can quite know, until he has tried it, how severe anordeal it is to sit at table with the lady of his heart, while that ladyhas his declaration, as yet unread, in her pocket. 

Ruth was so self-possessed and tranquil that it was evident to herlover's masculine understanding that she was ignorant of the natureof his missive, and probably indifferent to it. Reuben's anxiety andpreoccupation were in themselves a gladness to the girl, for they boreout the delightful prophecy of her own heart. She had always thoughtReuben, even when she was a school-girl, the handsomest and manliest andcleverest of men. If it were unmaidenly to have thought so, and to allowher heart to be captured by a man who had never spoken a word of openlove to her, she must be called unmaidenly. But there was never a purerheart in the world, and the sophistications of experience, vicariousor otherwise, had not touched her. It came natural to love Reuben, andperhaps the young man's eyes had made more of an excuse for her thanwould readily be fancied by those who have never experimented. 

It may be, if the truth were known, that the maiden found the situationalmost as trying as her lover, for there was a most tantalizing elementof uncertainty in it, and uncertainty is especially grievous to thefeminine heart. But at last her duty as hostess no longer severelyholding her, she left the room, ostensibly to assist in clearing awaythe tea-things, and was no sooner out of sight than she skimmed like aswallow to her own chamber and there read Reuben's letter. When she cameback again Reuben knew that she had read it, and knew, too, that shehad read it with favor and acceptance. There was a subtle, shy, inwardhappiness in Ruth's heart which diffused itself for her lover's delightas if it had been a perfume. Not another creature but himself and herknew of it, and yet to him it was real, and as evident as anything hesaw or touched. 

Once or twice she looked at him so sweetly, so shyly, so tenderly, andyet withal so frankly, that his heart ached with the desire he felt torise and clasp her in his arms and claim her for his own before themall. Aunt Rachel looked at him once or twice also, as if she stabbed himwith an icicle, but he glanced back with a smile sunny enough to havethawed the weapon if only the bearer of it had been within measurabledistance. 

Rachel did not read her niece, for the simple reason that she was tooresolved on reading what she supposed herself to have written to be ableto trace the characters of mere nature. But she partly read the youngman's triumph, and adjudged it as a piece of insolence, determining thathe should be punished for it richly, as he deserved. She had exposedthe character of the Golds to her niece, and had told her that they werewicked and bad and shameless--male jilts, whose one delight it was tobreak feminine hearts. Ruth would certainly believe what she hadbeen told on such unimpeachable authority, and would never dreamof permitting herself to be duped by a man of whom she knew so muchbeforehand. Any airs of triumph the young man might display weretherefore ridiculous and insolent, deserving both of chastisement andcontempt. 

Ruth's household occupations took her away a second time, and if shechose to fill a mere two or three minutes by writing a note to a youngman who sat within six yards of her, nobody suspected her of being soengaged. When she came back to her visitors, Reuben would fain havemade opportunity to be near her, but Rachel was unwinking in herwatchfulness, and he was compelled to surrender his design. The bellsbegan to ring for evening church, and Ruth and the womenfolk wentup-stairs to make ready for out-of-doors. The quartette party satdownstairs with open windows, each of the three seniors pulling gravelyat a long church-warden, and the junior pretending to look at anold-fashioned book of beauty, in which a number of impossible ladiessimpered on the observer from bowers of painted foliage. 

Sitting near the window with his back to the garden, and deeply absorbedin his own fancies, he found himself on a sudden impelled to turn hishead, not because of any sound that reached him, but because of somecurious intuition of Ruth's neighborhood to him. She was walking towardshim at that moment, her footsteps falling soundlessly on the greensward, her face blushing and her eyes downcast. As she passed him and enteredthe house she raised her eyes for a moment, and Reuben read in them asweet, enigmatical intelligence, and a charmed shyness so delicious thathe thrilled at it from head to feet. 

He longed, as any lover may imagine of him, to exchange a word withher. He was certain, but he desired to be more than certain. To know wasnothing--his heart demanded to hear the good news and to be surfeitedwith hearing. But the small dragon still guarded his Hesperides, andon the way to church he escorted Mrs. Isaiah, a matron gaunt and stern, whose cheerful doctrine it was that any spoken word not made actuallynecessary by the business of life was a sin. Mrs. Isaiah's grimreticence was less of a trouble to him than it would have been underordinary circumstances, for he had his own thoughts to think, and didnot care to be drawn away from them. 

At the lich-gate Aunt Rachel paused to shake hands with everybody butRuth and Reuben. 

"You had better take Manzini home to-night, Reuben, " said Ruth. Shetried hard to make her voice commonplace; but to Reuben's ears there wasa meaning in it, and his eyes answered to the meaning with such a flashof tenderness and assured joy that, in spite of all she could do, Ruthmust needs lower her head and blush again. 

Rachel's youthful eyes flashed from one to the other. 

"I do not propose to attend the service this evening, Niece Ruth, " shesaid, a minute later, when Reuben and his _confrere_ had entered onthe cavernous darkness of the winding stairway. "I will call for you, however, " she added. "I shall be in the porch at the close of theservice. "

At the first clause of this speech Ruth rejoiced, but at the second hersense of relief was spoiled. 

"Very well, dear, " she answered. Aunt Rachel could not stand much longerbetween her and Reuben, and if a fight should have to be made it wouldbe early enough to begin it when she had her father definitely on herside, as she would have to-morrow. So she went into church and madestrenuous efforts to attend to the service and the sermon, and faileddismally, and thought herself terribly profane. 

Aunt Rachel, being left alone at the church porch, turned away andwalked straight back to the house she had left. The green door in thehigh wall needed no more than a push to open it, and Rachel entered thegarden, and, walking straight to the table at which the quartette partyhad sat playing an hour or two earlier, laid hands upon Manzini's volumeof duets for the violin. She took it by the back of the cover and gaveit a shake, and out from its pages fell a neatly folded little note, addressed in her niece's hand to Mr. Reuben Gold, and sealed in bronzewax with the impress of a rose. The little old lady pounced upon it, andheld it at arm's-length in both hands. 

"Infatuated child!" she said, in her primmest and most fashionableaccent. "My premonitions have not deceived me. "

She placed the note in the bosom of her dress, set the book in itsformer position upon the table, and left the garden. Nobody looking ather could have supposed that she had been guilty of such an act; forif ever conscious rectitude and high resolve for good shone in a humanface, they lighted hers. Once she stopped short in the lonely lane, andstamped one small foot with lofty emphasis. 

"The very method!" she said aloud, in a voice of scorn. "For aught Iknow, the very book! You shall not suffer as I have suffered, my poordear child. I thank Heaven that I am at hand to preserve you. "

Thus animated by her own self-approval, Aunt Rachel, sometimes in scorn, sometimes in tenderness, but of tener in triumph, walked homeward, waited the due time, and walked back to church again. She succeeded ingetting Ruth away without a sight of Reuben, but the young man passedthem on their way with a step still quicker than he had used thatmorning. He threw a gay "good-night, Ruth, " over his shoulder as hewalked, and Ruth felt the old lady's hand tighten on her arm, though shewas far from guessing the nature of the emotion which moved her. 

Once out of sight in the summer dusk, Reuben ran. He reached the greendoor, and with no surprise found it wide open. He approached the table, seized the old folio? and turning it back downward so that nothing couldfall from it, sped home, hugging it by the way. When he reached his ownroom he was breathless, but he struck a light, drew down the blinds, andturned over the leaves of the music-book one by one. In the centreof the book he paused, for there he seemed to find the object of hissearch. A note, bearing for sole superscription "Mr. Gold, " was pinnedto the edge of the page. But was that quaint, old-fashioned handwritingRuth's? Why should she write to him on paper so old and yellow andfaded? Why should the very pin that held it to the page be rusted as ifit had been there for years?

The note was sealed with two wafers, and the paper cracked across as heopened it. It began "Dear Mr. Gold, " and was signed "R. " It ran thus--

"I have not ansrd your estmd note until now, though in receipt of itsince Thursday, for I dare not seem precipitate in such a matter. But Ihave consulted my own heart, and have laid it before the Throne, knowingno earthly adviser. Dear Mr. Gold, it shall be as you wish, and I trustGod may help me to be a worthy helpmeet. So no more till I hear againfrom you. "

It was impossible that this should be meant for him, or that Ruth shouldhave written it; but though he searched the book from cover to cover, there was no other missive to be found within it. 

CHAPTER X. 

"That is a very insolent young man, " said Aunt Rachel, as Reuben threwhis hurried greeting over his shoulder in the dusk. 

"Indeed, aunt, " the girl answered, a little more boldly than she wouldhave dared to speak had the light been clearer--"indeed, aunt, you arequite mistaken about him, and I don't understand why you should speak ofMr. Gold and his uncle as you do. "

She cared less what Rachel thought or said of Reuben's uncle, though shehad always had a friendly and admiring friendship for the old solitary, than she cared what was thought and said of Reuben. But it was easier tochampion the two together than to defend her lover alone. 

"You are a child, " said Aunt Rachel, composedly. "What do you know ofthe opposite sex?"

The question was obviously outside the range of discussion, but itsilenced Ruth for the moment. The elder woman presumed upon her triumph, and continued:

"Confidence is natural to youth. That is an axiom I have frequentlyheard fall from the lips of my dear mistress. As you grow older you willgrow less positive in your opinions, and will be careful to have a solidfoundation for them. Now I know these people, and you do not. "

"My dear aunt, " said Ruth, in protest, "I have known Mr. Gold ever sinceI could walk. "

"Of which Mr. Gold are we speaking?" demanded Rachel. 

"It is true of both of them, " Ruth answered. "Neither of them would harma fly, or go a hair's-breadth from the truth for all the world. They arethe best men I have ever known. "

"Niece Ruth!" said Rachel, stopping short in her walk, and bringing Ruthto a halt also, "upon the only occasion, since my return to Heydon Hay, on which I have found myself in the society of Mr. Ezra Gold, I took youinto my confidence with respect to him. That is to say, I took you intomy confidence as much as I have ever taken anybody. Mr. Ezra Gold is amean and hypocritical person. Mr. Ezra Gold is a person who would notstop at any act of baseness or cruelty. Mr. Ezra Gold is a villain. "

All this came from the old maid's lips with a chill and prim precision, which troubled her hearer more than any heat or violence could havedone. But the old man's face and figure were before her with a wonderfulvivid clearness. The stoop was that of fatigue, and yet it had amerciful mild courtesy in it too, and the gray face was eloquent ofgoodness. 

"I can't believe it!" cried the girl, warmly. "Dear aunt, there musthave been some terrible mistake. I am sure he is a good man. You haveonly to look at him to know that he is a good man. "

"A whited sepulchre, " said Aunt Rachel, walking on again. She had kepther mittened hand upon the girl's arm throughout the pause in theirwalk, and her very touch told her that Ruth was wounded and indignant. "What I say, I say of my own knowledge. He is a deliberate and a cruelvillain. "

The girl contained herself and was silent. In a little while she beganto think with an almost tragic sense of pity of the withered and lonelyold maid who walked beside her. She could pity thus profoundly becauseshe could image herself in the like case; and though the figure she sawwas far from being clear, her own terror of it and revolt from it toldher how terrible it was. If she and Reuben should part as her aunt andEzra had parted--if she should ever come to think of Reuben as AuntRachel thought of Ezra! The thought touched her with an arctic sense ofcold and desolation. She drew away from it with an inward shudder, andin that instant of realization she saw the little old maid's personalityreally and truly standing in the middle of that bleak and frost-boundbarrenness which she had dreamed as a possibility for herself. For thefirst time she saw and understood, and anger and bewilderment were alikeswept away in the warm rush of sympathetic pity. 

The road was lonely, and Ruth, with both eyes brimming over, placed herarm about her aunt's neck, and, stooping, kissed her on the cheek. Twoor three of the girl's tears fell warm on Rachel's face, and theold maid started away from her with a sudden anger, which was lessunreasonable than it seemed. She had of late years had an inclination tolinger in talk about the theme of woman's trust and man's perfidy. ForRuth, and for Ruth only, she had identified this theory of hers with aliving man who was known to both, but she had never intended herself tobe pitied. She had never asked for pity in insisting that a righteousjudgment should be dealt out to Ezra Gold. She had cried in Ruth'spresence after her meeting with Ezra, but she had persuaded herself thather tears resulted from nothing more than the shock she felt at meetingan old repulsion. And since she had got to believe this, it followed asa thing of course that Ruth ought also to have believed it. The girl'spity wounded her and shamed her. 

"Thank you, " she said, in her chillest and primmest fashion, as shewithdrew from Ruth's embrace. "I am not in want of pity. " It was in hermind to tell Ruth to beware lest she herself should be in need of pityshortly; but she suppressed herself at considerable cost, and walked onstiffly and uncomfortably upright. 

"I am very sorry, dear, " said Ruth. "I did not mean to hurt you. "

But Rachel was very indignant, and it was only as she remembered thepurloined letter that she consented to be appeased. After all, she hadtaken the girl's welfare in hand, and had interested herself so kindlyin her niece's behalf that she could not bear to be angry with her. So she permitted a truce to be called, and on Ruth's renewed apologiesasked graciously that no more should be said about the matter. Theyparted at the green door of the garden, and Rachel, walking homeward, pondered on one important question. Ought she or ought she not to knowthe contents of the letter? Without knowing them, how could she knowexactly the length to which her niece and the intending worker of herruin had already gone together? It was necessary to know that, and sheslid her hand into the bosom of her dress, and held the letter there, half resolving to read it on her arrival at home. But although, as hertheft of the letter itself would prove, her ideas of honor were quaint, they were strong. She had constituted herself Niece Ruth's guardian, andshe meant to fulfil all her self-imposed duties to the letter, but therewas one whose rights came before her own. The letter should be openedin the presence of Ruth's father, and the two authorities should consulttogether as to what might be done. 

She cast about for a safe and unsuspicious resting-place for the letter, and at last decided upon the tea-caddy. 

She placed it there, locked it up, and by the aid of a chair and a tablestowed it securely away in the topmost corner of a tall cupboard. Then, having hidden the key in the parlor chimney, she went to bed and tosleep, profoundly convinced that she had adopted the wisest of possiblecourses, and that Niece Ruth would be saved in the morning. 

Meantime Aunt Rachel's antique griefs being out of sight for Ruth, wereout of mind. She had her own affairs to think of, and found them at oncepressing and delightful. By this time Reuben would have read her note, and would know all it had to tell him. When she thought how much it toldhim it seemed daring and strange, and almost terrible that she shouldhave written it. For it admitted that his letter had made her veryhappy; she was not quite sure that she had not written "very, veryhappy, " and wished it were to write again. But here in the solitudeof her own chamber she could kiss Reuben's letter, and could rest itagainst her hot cheek in an ecstasy of fluttering congratulations. Howhe looked, how he walked, how he talked, how he smiled, how he played!How brave, how handsome, how altogether noble and good and gifted hewas! There was nobody to compare with him in Heydon Hay, and the youngmen of Castle Barfield were contemptible by comparison with him. Ahuman sun before whose rays other young women's luminaries paled likerush-lights! She seemed to have loved him always, and always to havebeen sure that he loved her; and yet it was wonderful to know it, andstrange beyond strangeness to have told. She fancied him in the act ofreading her letter, and she kissed his as she did so. Did he kiss hers?Was he as glad as she was? At these audacious fancies she hid herselfand blushed. 

Reuben all this while, and until a much later hour, was bewilderinghimself about the curious and old-fashioned missive he had discoveredbetween the melodious pages of Manzini. Over and over again he searchedthrough the volume, though he had already turned it leaf by leaf andknew that there was no chance of his having overlooked anything. Almostas often as he turned over the leaves of the music-book he reread thenote he had taken from it. He questioned himself as to the possibilityof his having allowed Ruth's note to fall, and mentally retraced his ownfashion of taking up the book, and step by step the way in which he hadcarried it home. He was sure that nothing could have escaped from itspages since he had laid hands upon it, and was confronted with a doublemystery. How had this time-stained epistle found its way into the pages, and how had the more modern missive be had fully expected to find therefound its way out of it?

Suddenly an idea occurred to him which, though sufficiently far-fetched, seemed as if it might by chance explain the mystery. Long and long ago ason of the house of Gold had married a daughter of the house of Fuller. It was not outside the reasonable that Ruth should have had possessionof this old document, in which a Ruth of that far-distant day hadaccepted a member of his own household. She might have chosen to answerhim by this clear enigma, but a sense of solemnity in the phrasingof the letter made him hope his guess untrue. Desperate mysteries asknaturally for desperate guesses, and Reuben guessed right and left, butthe mystery remained as desperate as ever. His thoughts so harried himthat at last, though it was late for Heydon Hay, he determined to go atonce to Fuller's house and ask for Ruth. 

He slipped quietly down-stairs, and, leaving the door ajar, walkedquickly along the darkened road, bearing poor Rachel's long-lost letterwith him; but his journey, as he might have expected, ended in blankdisappointment. Fuller's house was dark. He paced slowly home again, refastened the door, and went to bed, where he lay and tossed tillbroad dawn; and then reflecting that he would catch Ruth at her earliesthousehold duties, fell asleep, and lay an hour or two beyond his usualtime. 

But if Reuben were laggard the innocent guardian dragon was earlyastir. Fuller, in his shirt-sleeves and a broad-brimmed straw hat, waspottering about his garden with a wheelbarrow and a pair of shears. Hesaw her at the open door of the garden, and sang out cheerily, "Halloo, Miss Blythe! Beest early afoot this mornin'. I'm a lover o'the mornin' air myself. Theer's no time to my mind when the gardin-stufflooks half as well. The smell o' them roses is real lovely. "

He gave a loud-sounding and hearty sniff, and smacked his lips after it. Rachel seemed to linger a little at the door. 

"Come in, " said Fuller, "come in. There's nobody here as bites. Beestcome to see Ruth? I doubt if her's about as yet. We ode uns bin twice asearly risin' as the young uns, nowadaysen. Wait a bit and I'll gi'e hera bit of a chi-hike. Her'll be down in a minute. "

"No, " said Rachel, "don't call her. I do not wish to see her yet. Itwill be necessary to see her later on; but first of all I desire tospeak to you alone. " Fuller looked a little scared at this exordium, butRachel did not notice him. He had never known her so precise and pickedin air and speech as she seemed to be that morning, and through all thisa furtive air of embarrassment peeped out plainly enough for even himto become aware of it. "May we sit down at this table?" she asked. "I presume the chairs are aired already by the warm atmosphere of themorning? There is no danger of rheumatism?"

"What's up?" inquired Fuller, sitting down at once, and setting hisshirt-sleeved arms upon the table. "Theer's nothin' the matter, istheer?"

"You shall judge for yourself, " replied Rachel. She drew a letterfrom her pocket, and covering it with her hand laid it on the table. Adistinct odor of tea greeted Fuller's nostrils, and he noticed it eventhen. "I presume that you are not unacquainted with the character of theMessrs. Gold?"

"It 'ud be odd if I warn't acquynted with 'em, " said Fuller. "I've livedi' the same parish with 'em all my days. "

"That being so, " said Rachel, "you will be able to appreciate myfeelings when I tell you that almost upon my first arrival here Idiscovered that the younger Gold was making advances to my niece Ruth. "

"Ah?" said Fuller, interrogatively. "I don't count on bein' able to seeno furder through a millstone than my neighbors, but I've been aweer o'that for a day or two. "

"Ruth is motherless, " pursued Rachel, a little too intent uponsaying things in a predetermined way to take close note of Fuller. "Amotherless girl in a situation of that kind is always in need of theguidance of an experienced hand. "

"Yis, yis, " assented Fuller, heartily. "Many thanks to you, Miss Blythe, for it's kindly meant, I know. "

"Last night, " said Rachel, "I made a discovery. " There was nothingin the world of which she was more certain than she was of Fuller'sapproving sanction. Only a few minutes before she had had her doubtsabout it, and they had made her nervous. She was so very seriousthat Fuller began to look grave. But he was built of loyalty andunsuspicion; and though for a mere second a fear assailed him that theold lady was about to charge Reuben with playing his daughter false, hescouted the fancy hotly. In the warmth thus gained he spoke more brisklythan common. 

"Drive along, ma'am. Come to the root o' the matter. "

"This letter, " said Rachel, taking Ruth's answer to Reuben in bothhands, "was written last night. It is addressed in your daughter'shandwriting to Mr. Reuben Gold. "

"Tis, yis, yis, " said Fuller, impatiently, not knowing what to make ofRachel's funereal gravity. 

"It appeared to me, after long consideration, that the best and wisestcourse I could adopt would be to bring it to you. I regard myself asbeing in a sense, and subject always to your authority, one of thechild's natural guardians. If I did not view things in that light, "the old lady explained, making elaborate motions with her lips for thedistinct enunciation of every word, "I should consider that I was guiltyof a sinful neglect of duty. "

"Well, " said Fuller, "as to sinful. But drive on, Miss Blythe. "

"It appeared to me, then, " continued Rachel, "that our plain duty wouldbe to read this together, and to consult upon it. "

"Wheer does the letter come from?" Fuller demanded, with a look ofbewilderment. 

"I discovered it in the--"

"What!" cried the old fellow, jumping from his chair and staring at heracross the table with red face and wrathful eyes. 

"I discovered it, " replied Rachel, rising also and facing him with herhead thrown back and her youthful eyes flashing, "I discovered it in themusic-book which was left last night upon this table. I saw it placedthere clandestinely by my niece Ruth. "

"Be you mad, Miss Blythe?" asked Fuller, with a slow solemnity ofinquiry which would have made the question richly mirthful to anauditor. "Do you mean to tell me as you go about spyin' after wheer mylittle wench puts her letters to her sweetheart? Why, fie, fie, ma'am!That's a child's trick, not a bit like a growd-up woman. "

Fuller was astonished, but Rachel's amazement transcended his own. 

"And you tell me, John Fuller, that you know the character of this man?"

"Know his character!" cried Fuller. "Who should know it better nor me?The lad's well-nigh lived i' my house ever sence he was no higher 'n myelber. Know his character? Ah! Should think I did an' all. The cliverestlad of his hands and the best of his feet for twenty mile around--asfull o' pluck as a tarrier an' as kindly-hearted as a wench. Bar hisUncle Ezra, theer niver was a mon to match him in Heydon Hay i' my time. Know his character!" He was unused to speak with so much vigor, and hepaused breathless and mopped his scarlet face with his shirt-sleeve, staring across his arm at Rachel meanwhile in mingled rage and wonder. 

"His Uncle Ezra?" said Rachel, looking fixedly and scornfully back athim. "His Uncle Ezra is a villain!"

For a second or two he stared at her with a countenance of pureamazement, and then burst into a sudden gurgle of laughter. This soovermastered him that he had to cling to the table for support, andfinally to resume his seat. His jolly face went crimson, and the tearschased each other down his fat cheeks. When he seemed to have hadhis laugh quite out, and sat gasping and mopping his eyes with hisshirt-sleeve, a chance look at Rachel reinspired the passion of hismirth, and he laughed anew until he had to clip his wide ribs with hispalms as if to hold himself together. A mere gleam of surprise crossedthe scorn and anger of Rachel's face as she watched him, but it fadedquickly, and when once it had passed her expression remained unchanged. 

"Good-morning, Aunt Rachel, " cried Ruth's fresh voice. "You are early. "Rachel turned briskly round in time to see Ruth disappear from awhite-curtained upper window. Fuller rose with a face of suddensobriety, and began once more to mop his eyes. In a mere instant Ruthappeared at the door running towards the pair with a face all smiles. "Why, father, " she cried, kissing the old man on the cheek, "whata laugh! You haven't laughed so for a year. What is the joke, AuntRachel?"

She saw at a glance that, whatever the jest might be, Aunt Rachel was nosharer in it. 

"I know of no joke, Niece Ruth, " said the old lady, with mincingiciness. 

"Theer's summat serious at the bottom on it, but the joke's atop, plainfor annybody to see, " said Fuller. "But Miss Bly the's come here thismornin' of a funny sort of a arrant, to my thinking, though her seems tofancy it's as solemn a business as a burying. "

"What is the matter?" asked Ruth, looking from one to the other. Somemovement of Rachel's eyes sent hers to the table, and she recognized herown letter in a flash. She moved instinctively and laid her hand uponit. 

"That's it, " said her father, with a new gurgle. "'Twas your AuntRachel, my dear, " he explained, "as see you put it somewheer last night, an' took care on it for you. " Ruth turned upon the little old ladywith a grand gesture, in which both hands were suddenly drawn down andbackward until they were clinched together, crushing the letter betweenthem behind her. "Her comes to me this morning, " pursued Fuller, whilethe old woman and the young one looked at each other, "an' tells meplump an' plain as her wants t' open this letter and read it, along withme. "

"Aunt Rachel!" said Ruth, with a sort of intense quiet, "how dare you?"

"I did nothing but my duty, " said Rachel. "If I have exposed to you thecharacter of these men in vain--"

"Exposed! Exposed!" cried Fuller. "What's this here maggot aboutexposin'? Who talks about exposin' a lad like that? The best lad i' thecountry-side without a 'ception!"

"You tell me then, " said Rachel, turning upon him slowly, as if Ruth'seyes had an attraction for her, and she could scarcely leave them--"youtell me then that this Reuben Gold has your approval in makingapproaches to your daughter?"

"Approval!" shouted Fuller. "Yis. I've seen 'em gettin' fond on eachother this five 'ear, and took a pleasure in it. What's agen the lad?Nothin' but the mumblin' of a bumble-bee as an old maid's got in herbonnet. A spite agen his uncle is a thing as _is_ understandable. "

"Indeed, sir, " said Aunt Rachel, with frigid politeness. "Will you tellme why?"

"Well, no, " said Fuller. "I'd rather I didn't. Look here. Let's haveharmony. I'm no hand at quarrelin', even among the men, let alone amongthe petticuts. Let's have harmony. The wench has got her letter back, and theer's no harm done. And if theer is, ye'd better fight it outbetwigst ye. " With this he turned his back and waddled a pace or two. Then he turned a laughing face upon them, moving slowly on his axis. "Mek it up, " he said, "mek it up. Let's have no ill blood i' the family. Nothin' like harmony. "

Having thus delivered himself he rolled in-doors, and there sat downto his morning pipe. But anger and laughter are alike provocative ofthirst, and seeking a jug in the kitchen he took his way to the cellar, and there had a copious draught of small beer, after which he settledhimself down in his arm-chair, prepared to make the best of anythingwhich might befall him. 

The quarrel from which he had withdrawn himself did not seem so easy tobe made up as he had appeared to fancy. Ruth and Rachel stood faceto face in silence. To the younger woman the offence which had beencommitted against her seemed intolerable, and it took this complexionless because of the nature of the act itself than because of itsconsequences. It had mocked Reuben, and it had made her seem as if shewere the mocker. 

"You are angry, child!" said Rachel, at length. "I was prepared forthat. But I was not prepared for your father's acquiescence in theruinous course upon which you have entered. "

"Ruinous course?" said Ruth. 

"I repeat, " said the old lady, "the ruinous course upon which you haveentered. These men are villains. "

"Do they steal other people's letters?" asked Ruth. 

"They are villains, " repeated Aunt Rachel, ignoring this inquiry. "Villains, cheats, deceivers. You will rue this day in years to come. "Then, with prodigious sudden stateliness, "I find my advice derided. My counsels are rebuffed. I wish you a good-morning. I can entertain nofurther interest in your proceedings. "

CHAPTER XII. 

Rachel marched from the garden and disappeared through the door-waywithout a backward glance. The girl, holding the crumpled letter in bothhands behind her, beat her foot upon the greensward, and looked downwardwith flushed cheeks and glittering eyes. Her life had not hithertobeen fruitful of strong emotions, and she had never felt so angry oraggrieved as she felt now. 

"How did she dare? What can Reuben think of me?"

These were the only thoughts which found form in her mind, and each waspoignant. 

A knock sounded at the street door, and she moved mechanically to answerit, but catching sight of her father's figure in the hall she turnedaway, and seated herself at the musicians' table. 

Fuller greeted Reuben--for the early visitor was no other than he--witha broad grin, and stuck a facetious forefinger in his ribs. 

"Come in, lad, come in, " he said, chuckling. "I never seed such a larki' my born days as we've had here this mornin'. "

"Indeed!" said Reuben. "Can I--" He began to blush and stammer a little. "Can I see Miss Ruth, Mr. Fuller?"

"All i' good time, lad, " replied Fuller. "Come in. Sit thee down. "Reuben complied, scarcely at his ease, and wondered what was coming. "Was you expectin' any sort of a letter last night, Reuben?" the oldfellow asked him, with a fat enjoying chuckle. 

"Yes, sir, " said Reuben, blushing anew, but regarding his questionerfrankly. 

"Was that what you took away the book o' duets for, eh?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Didst find the letter?" Fuller was determined to make the most of hishistory, after the manner of men who have stories ready made for thembut rarely. 

"I don't know, " replied Reuben, to the old man's amazement. "Do you knowwhat the letter was about, Mr. Fuller?"

"Don't know?" cried Fuller. "What beest hov-erin' about? Knowst whetherthee hadst a letter or not, dostn't?"

"I had a letter, " said Reuben, "but I can't think it was meant for me. Perhaps I ought to have spoken first to you, sir, but I wrote to MissRuth yesterday--" There he paused, asking himself how to put thisaltogether sacred thing into words. 

"Didst now?" asked Fuller, unctuously enjoying the young man'sdiscomfort. "What might it ha' been about?"

"I wrote to ask her if she would marry me, " said Reuben, with desperatesimplicity. 

"Ah!" said Fuller. "And what says her to that?"

"I can't believe that I have had her answer, " returned Reuben, with muchembarrassment. "I found a letter in the book, but I think--I am sure--itis not meant for me. "

"You'll find Ruth i' the gardin, " said Fuller, puzzled in his turn. "Her'll tell you, mayhap. But wait a bit; her's rare an' wroth thismornin', and I ain't sure as it's safe to be anigh her. Miss Blythe'sbeen here this mornin'--Aunt Rachel, as the wench has allays called her, though her's no more than her mother's second cousin--and it seems asth' old creetur found out about Ruth's letter, and went and took itfrom wheer it was and marched it off. Her was here this mornin' t' askme to open it and read it along with her. Theer's no tekin' note of her, Reuben, poor old ooman. Her's got a hive in her head. 'Do you know thisyoung man's character' her says. 'Why, yis, ' I says; 'it'd be odd if Ididn't, ' I says. 'Well, ' her says, 'he's a villin. ' 'Rubbidge, ' says I;'theer's no moor esteemable feller i' the parish, ' I says, 'onless it'shis uncle Ezra. ' Then her fires up and her says, 'His uncle Ezra isa villin. ' Then I bust out a-laughin' in her face. Her's flighty, youknow, lad, her's uncommon flighty. Six-and-twenty year ago--it was aforethee couldst toddle--her left the parish because of Ezra. "

"Because of my uncle?" There were so many things to be amazed at in thisspeech of Fuller's that the youngster hardly knew which to be surprisedat most. 

"Didst never hear o' that?" asked Fuller. "It's been the talk o' theparish ever sence her come back to live in it. Your uncle used to be agood deal at her mother's house from thirty to six-and-twenty 'ear ago, and used to tek his fiddle theer and gie 'em a taste o' music nowand then. Her seems to ha' let it tek root in her poor head as he wassquirin' her and mekin' up to her for marriage; but after four or fiveyear her got tired and hopeless, I reckon, and went away. Then I expecther begun to brood a bit, after the mode of a woman as is lonely, andhas got no such thing as a man around her, and that's how it is, lad. "

"My uncle!" Reuben fell to pacing up and down the room, talking aloud, but as if he addressed himself rather than his sweetheart's father. "Manzini was the last man whose works he played--the last man he everhandled bow and fiddle for. His own words. He left the book open whenhe went away, and closed it when he came back again. " He drew thediscolored note from his pocket, and stared at it with a look of tragiccertainty. 

"Be we all mad together?" said Fuller. "What's the matter with the lad, i' the name o' wonder?"

"I'll explain everything, sir, " answered Reuben, like a man awakeningfrom sleep. "And yet I don't know that I can. I don't know that I havea right to explain. I could ask Ruth's advice. It's hard to know what todo in such a case. "

"Theer's no such thing as a straight wescut i' the house, worse luck, "said Fuller. "Theer _is_ a clothesline, if that 'ud serve as well. "

"May I see Miss Ruth, sir?" asked Reuben. "I'll tell you all about it ifI can. But I think I have found out a very strange and mournful thing. "

Fuller threw open the window and called "Ruth. " She came in slowly, and started when she saw Reuben there, and both she and he stood for amoment in some confusion. 

"Gi'e the wench a kiss and ha' done with it, " said Fuller. "Her's asready as thee beest willin'. "

Reuben acted on this sage counsel, and Ruth, though she blushed like arose, made no protest. 

"Theer, " said papa, hugging his fat waistcoat, and rolling from theroom. "Call me when I'm wanted. "

He was not wanted for a long time, for the lovers had much to say toeach other, as was only natural. First of all, Ruth shyly gave Reubenthe letter she had written the night before, and he read it, and thenthere were questions to be asked and answered on either side, as--Didshe really love him? And why? And since when? And had she not alwaysknown that he loved her? All which the reader shall figure out of hisor her own experience or fancy; for these things, though delightful intheir own time and place, are not to be written of, having a smack offoolishness with much that is tender and charming. 

Next--or rather interlaced with this--came Ruth's version of AuntRachel's curious behavior. And then said Reuben, "I think I hold the key to that. But whether I do or not remains to beseen. I found this in Manzini. You see how old it looks. The very pinthat held it to the paper was rusted half through. You see, " turningit over, "it is addressed to Mr. Gold. I am afraid it was meant for myuncle, and that he never saw it. If it is a breach of faith to show ityou I cannot help it. Read it, darling, and tell me what you think isbest to be done. "

Ruth read it, and looked up with a face pale with extreme compassion. 

"Reuben, " she said, "this is Aunt Rachel's handwriting. This is all herstory. " She began to cry, and Reuben comforted her. "What can we do?"she asked, gently evading him. "Oh, Reuben, how pitiful, how pitiful itis!"

"Should he have it after all these years?" asked Reuben. "What can it bebut a regret to him?"

"Oh yes, " she answered, with clasped hands and new tears in her eyes, "he must have it. Think of his poor spirit knowing afterwards that wehad kept it from him?"

"It will be a sore grief for him to see it. I fear so. A sore grief. "

"Aunt Rachel will be less bitter when she knows. But oh, Reuben, tobe parted in that way for so long! Do you see it all? He wrote to herasking her to be his wife, and she wrote back, and he never had heranswer, and waited for it. And she, waiting and waiting for him, andhearing nothing, thinking she had been tricked and mocked, poor thing, and growing prouder and bitterer until she went away. I never, neverheard of anything so sad. " She would have none of Reuben's consolingnow, though the tears were streaming down her cheeks. "Go, " she beggedhim--"go at once, and take it to him. Think if it were you and me!"

"It would never have happened to you and me, my darling, " said Reuben. "I'd have had 'Yes' or 'No' for an answer. A man's offer of his heart isworth a 'No, thank you, ' though he made it to a queen. "

"Go at once, " she besought him. "I shall be unhappy till I know heknows!"

"Well, my dear, " said Reuben, "if you say go, I go. But I'd as lief putmy hand in a fire. The poor old man will have suffered nothing like thisfor many a day. "

"Stop an' tek a bit o' breakfast, lad, " cried Fuller, as Reuben hurriedby him, at the door which gave upon the garden. "It'll be ready i' fiveminutes. "

"I have my orders, sir, " said Reuben, with a pale smile. "I can't stopthis morning, much as I should like to. "

Like most healthy men of vivid fancy he was a rapid walker, and in a fewminutes he was in sight of his uncle's house. His heart failed him andhe stopped short irresolutely. Should he send the letter, explainingwhere he found it, and how? He could hardly bear to think of looking onthe pain the old man might endure. And yet would it not be kinder to bewith him? Might he not be in need of some one? and if he were, who wasthere but his nephew--the one man of his kindred left alive?

"I'll do it at once, " said Reuben, and walking straight to the door, heknocked. He would have given all he had to be away when this was done, but he had to stand his ground, and he waited a long time while a handdrew back the shrieking bolts and clattering chain within. Then the keyturned in the lock. The door opened and his uncle stood before him. 

"Beest early this morning, " he said, with a smile. "Theer's somethingspecial brings thee here so 'soon?"

"Yes, " answered Reuben, clearing his throat, "something special. "

"Come in, lad, " said Ezra. "No trouble, I hope. Theer's a kind of atroubled look upon you. What is it?"

Reuben entered without an immediate answer, and Ezra closed the doorbehind him. The gloom and the almost vault-like odors of the chamberstruck upon him with a cold sense of solitude and age. They answeredto the thoughts that filled him--the thoughts of his uncle's lonely andsunless life. 

"Trouble!" said the old man, in an inward voice. "Theer's troubleeverywheer! What is it, lad?"

"Sit down, uncle, " began Reuben, after a pause in which Ezra peered athim anxiously. "I find I must tell you some business of my own to makemyself quite clear. I wrote a note to Ruth last night, and I learnedfrom her that she had put an answer between the leaves of Manzini. Itook the book home and found a note addressed to Mr. Gold. I openedit, and it was signed with an 'R, ' and so I read it. But I can't helpthinking it belongs to you. The paper's very yellow and old, and I think"--his voice grew treacherous, and he could scarcely command it--"Ithink it must have lain there unnoticed for some years. "

He held it out rustling and shaking in his hand. Ezra, breathing hardand short, accepted it, and began to grope in his pockets for hisspectacle-case. After a while he found it, and tremblingly setting hisglasses astride his nose, began to unfold the paper, which cracklednoisily in the dead silence. 

When he had unfolded it he glanced across at Reuben and walked to thewindow. 

"Theer's summat wrong, " he said, when he had stood there for a minute ortwo, with the crisp, thick old paper crackling in his hand. "Summat thematter wi' my eyes. Read it--out. " His voice was ghastly strange. 

Reuben approached him and took the letter from his fingers. In thisexchange their hands met, and Ezra's was like ice. He laid it onReuben's shoulder, repeating, "Read it out. "

"'Dear Mr. Gold, '" read Reuben, "I have not answered your esteemed noteuntil now, though in receipt of it since Thursday. '"

"Thursday?" said Ezra. 

"Thursday, " repeated Reuben. "'For I dare not seem precipitate in sucha matter. But I have consulted my own heart, and have laid it before theThrone, knowing no earthly adviser. '"

There was such a tremor in the hand which held him that Reuben's voicefailed for pure pity. 

"Yes, " said Ezra. "Goon. "

"'Dear Mr. Gold, '" read Reuben, in a voice even less steady than before, "'it shall be as you wish. '" There he paused again, his voice betrayinghim. 

"Go on, " said Ezra. 

"'It shall be as you wish, and I trust God may help me to be a worthyhelpmeet. So no more till I hear again from you. R. '"

"That's all?" asked Ezra. 

"That's all. "

"Thank you, lad, thank you. " He stooped as if in the act of sittingdown, and Reuben, passing an arm about his waist, led him to anarmchair. "Thank you, lad, " he said again. An eight-day clock ticked ina neighboring room. "That was how it came to pass, " said the old man, in a voice so strangely commonplace that Reuben started at it. "Ah! Thatwas how it came to pass. " He was silent again for two or three minutes, and the clock ticked on. "That was how it came to pass, " he said again. With great deliberation he set his hands together, finger by finger, inthe shape of a wedge, and then pushing them between his knees, bent hishead above them, and seemed to stare at the dim pattern of the carpet. He was silent for a long time now, and sat as still as if he were carvedin stone. "Who's there?" he cried, suddenly looking up. 

"I am here, uncle, " Reuben answered. 

"Yes, yes, " said Ezra. "Reuben. Yes, of course. And that was how it cameto pass. "

Reuben, with a burning and choking sensation in his throat, stood in hisplace, not knowing what to say or do. 

"Wheer is it?" asked Ezra, looking up again. Reuben handed him the note, and he sat with bent head above it for a long time. "Reuben, lad, " hesaid then, "I'll wish thee a good-mornin'. I'm like to be poor company, and to tell the truth, lad, I want to be by mysen for a while. I've beenshook a bit, my lad, I've been shook a bit. "

As he spoke thus he arose, and with his hands folded behind him walkedto and fro. His face was grayer than common, and the bright color whichgenerally marked his cheeks was flown; but it was plain to see thathe had recovered full possession of himself, though he was still muchagitated. Reuben went away in silence, and Ezra continued to pace theroom for an hour. His house-keeper appeared to tell him that breakfastwas on the table, but though he answered in his customary manner he tookno further notice. She came again to tell him with a voice of complaintthat everything was cold and spoiled. 

"Well, well, woman, " said Ezra, "leave it theer. "

He went on walking up and down, until, without any acceleration of hispace, he changed the direction of his walk and passed out at the door, feeling in the darkened little passage for his hat. 

"You sha'n't goo out wi' nothing on your stomach, " said the servant, whohad been watching and waiting to see what he would do. Ezra, to satisfyher, poured out and drank a cup of coffee, and then walked out into thestreet, bending his steps in the direction of Rachel's cottage. Twice onthe way he paused and half drew from his waistcoat-pocket the yellowold note which had so long lingered on its way to him, but each time hereturned it without looking at it, and walked on again. 

He stood for a moment at the wicket-gate, and then opening it passedthrough, suffering it to fall with a clatter behind him. His handtrembled strangely as he lifted it to the door, and he knocked witha tremulous loudness. When he had waited for a time he heard Rachel'sfootsteps tapping on the oil-cloth of the passage which divided her toysitting-room from her bandbox of a parlor. His gray face went a shadegrayer, and he cleared his throat nervously, with the tips of his thinfingers at his month. He heard the rattling of the door-chain, butit seemed rather as if it were being put up than taken down, and thissuspicion was confirmed when it was opened with a little jar and stoppedshort at the confines of the chain. Rachel's face looked round the edgeof the door. He had time to speak but a single word--"Rachel!"

The door was vigorously slammed in his face, and he heard the emphatictapping of footsteps as she retired. He stood for a minute irresolute, and then, quitting the porch, walked round the thread of gravelledfoot-path which led to the back of the cottage. He had but rounded thecorner of the building when the back door closed with a clang, and heheard the bolts shot. Next, while he still stood irresolute, he sawRachel approach a window and vigorously apply herself to the blind cord. In the mere instant which intervened between this and the descent of theblind she looked at him with a profound and passionate scorn. The oldman sighed, and nodding his head up and down retraced his steps, butlingering in the pathway in the little garden, and surveying the housewistfully, he was again aware of Rachel, who faced him once more with anunchanging countenance. This time she appeared at the parlor window, and a second time the blind came down between him and her gaze ofuncompromising scorn. 

"Eh, dear!" he said, tremblingly, as he turned away. "Her's got reasonto think it, poor thing. It's hard to find out the ways o' Providence. If it warn't for good it couldn't ha' happened, but it's a heavy burdenall the same. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

Ezra walked home and sat there alone until evening. His house-keeperrouted him from his armchair for dinner and tea, and at each meal hemade a feeble pretence of eating and drinking, and, having been scoldedfor his poor appetite, went back to his old place. He sat there till theroom was dark, scarcely moving, but wearing no very noticeable sign ofpain or trouble. The story was so old, and the misfortune it related wasso long past mending! He had been gray himself these many years, and thethings which surrounded him and touched him had long since shared allhis own want of color. 

There was no relighting these old ashes. And yet, in defiance of thatavowed impossibility, they seemed now and again to glow. They warmed himand lighted him back to a perception of lost odor and dead color. Theystung him into some remembrance of the pain of years ago. And then, again, they were altogether cold and lifeless. 

He said vaguely in a half whisper that it was a pity; and the phraserose to his lips a hundred times--oftener than not an utterance purelymechanical, and expressing neither regret for Rachel nor for himself, nor sorrow for their division. When he was not thinking of her or ofhimself, he murmured that this was how it had come to pass, and did notseem to care or feel at all. 

When the gloom was deepening in Ezra's ill-lighted chamber, though thelight of the summer evening still lingered outside, the house-keepercame in and drew the blinds, and left behind her a single candle, whichleft the room as dusky as before. Shortly after this Reuben came in, and Ezra, nodding, signed him to a chair. The young man took a seat insilence. 

"Well, lad, " said his uncle, when to the young man the continuedstillness had grown almost ponderous. The seconds had seemed to drop oneby one upon him from the audible ticking of the old clock in the nextroom, each with an increasing weight of embarrassed sympathy. 

"Well, uncle?" returned Reuben, trying to speak in his ordinary way, andonly succeeding in sounding shamefully flippant and unsympathetic to hisown ears. 

"I've a mind to have a talk with you, " said Ezra. "Is the door shut?"

Reuben rose to see, and murmuring that it was closed, resumed his seat. He waited a while in expectation that his uncle was about to confide inhim. 

"When beest going to make up your mind to pluck up a courage and speakto Ruth?" the old man asked. 

"To Ruth, sir?" returned Reuben. The question staggered him a little. 

"To Ruth, " said Ezra. 

"I have spoken, " answered Reuben. "We are going to be married. "

"That's well, " the old man said, mildly. "But I looked to be told of anysuch thing happening. Thee and me, lad, are all as is left o' th' oldstock i' this part o' the world. "

"Don't think I should have kept you ignorant of it, " said Reuben. "Ionly knew this morning. I have not seen you since till now. "

"Well, lad, well, " said Ezra, "I wish thee happy. But I'm sure you knowthat without need of any word o' mine. I asked because I meant to giveout a bit of a warning agen the danger of delay. Theer's not alone thedanger of it, but sometimes the cruelty of it. It's hard for a youngwoman as has been encouraged to set her heart upon a man, to be keptwaitin' on the young man's pleasure. You see, lad, they'm tongue-tied. Perhaps"--he offered this supposition with perfect gravity--"perhapsit's the having been tongue-tied afore marriage as makes some on 'em solively and onruled in speech when marriage has set 'em free. "

There was a definite sense in Reuben's mind that the old man was notsaying what he wished to say, and this sense was strengthened when Ezra, after moving once or twice in his seat, cleared his throat and began towalk up and down the room. 

"Had you read that letter as you brought to me this morning, lad?" heasked, coughing behind his hand, and trying to speak as if the thingwere a commonplace trifle. 

"I read it because I thought that it must be addressed to me, " saidReuben. "I had written to Ruth, and she told me to look in Manzini forher answer. I found nothing but that letter in the book. "

"Why, how was that?" asked Ezra, without turning towards him. 

"Her own note had been taken away before I got the book. " Reuben felthimself on dangerous ground. It was unpleasant to have to talk of thesethings, and it looked impossible to reveal Rachel's eccentricity toEzra, knowing what he knew. 

"Ah!" said Ezra, absent-mindedly. "You read the letter then!" He went onpacing up and down. "You understood it?"

"I--seemed to understand it, " said Reuben. Ezra came back to his chairand seated himself with a look of half resolve. 

"Reuben, " he began, in a voice pathetically ill-disguised, "it wassomething of a cruelty as that letter should ha' been found at all aftersuch a lapse o' time. The rights of the case was these: As a younger manthan now--I was six-an'-thirty at the time--I wrote to--I wrote an offerof myself in marriage to a person as was then resident i' this parish. The day but one after I wrote I had to go up to London to see to someaffairs as was in the lawyer's hands relating to thy grandfather'sproperty. He'd been dead a year or more, and the thing was only just gotstraight. While theer, I heard Paganini, and I've told you, more thanonce, I never cared to touch a bow theerafter. I found Manzini on themusic-stand and closed the pages. He was open theer as I had left him, for I was a bit particular about my things, and mother used to pretendas her dursn't lay a hand upon 'em. I waited and waited for th'answer. I met the person as I had wrote to once, and bowed to her. I'veremembered often and often the start her gave, as if I'd done her somesort of insult. I could never understand how or why. I did not know as Ihad gi'en her any right to treat me thus contemptuous. I thought her seta value upon herself beyond my deservin's, and I abode to bear it. Inthe course of a two-three weeks she left the parish, and I made up mymind as her'd left despising me. I won't pretend as I might not ha'found her letter if her had been less prideful and disdainous, forin the course of a little while I might ha' gone back to the music ifthings had gone happier with me. But it would ha' been kinder not toknow the truth at all than find it out so late. "

He had spoken throughout in what was meant for his customary tone of drygravity, but it failed him often, though for a word only. At such timeshe would pause and cough behind his wasted hand, and these frequentbreaks in the narrative made its quiet tones more touching to the hearerthan any declamation or any profession of profound regret, howevereloquently expressed, could possibly have been. 

"Have you explained to her since you received the letter?" asked Reuben. "Don't you think, uncle, that she ought to know?"

Ezra looked at him in a faint surprise. He supposed he had guardedhimself from any suspicion of betraying his old sweetheart'spersonality. 

"Yes, " he said, still bent upon this reservation. "It happens as theperson I speak of came back to Heydon Hay some time ago, and was withinthe parish this very day. I went to make a call upon her, and to showhow Providence had seen fit to deal with both of us, but her refused toexchange speech with me. You see, Reuben, " he went on, coughing with adry mildness of demeanor, "it's doubtless been upon her mind for a manyyears as I was making a sort of cruel and unmanly game of her. Seeingher that offstanding, it seemed to me her valued me so lowly as to takemy letter for a kind of offence. It seems now as it was me, and not her, as was too prideful. "

They were both silent for a time, but Reuben was the first to speakagain. 

"She ought to know, uncle. She should be told. Perhaps Ruth could tellher. "

"My lad, my lad!" said Ezra, mournfully reproving him. "How could I tellanother of a thing like this?"

"Well, sir, " Reuben answered, "I know now how the idea came into hermind, though I was puzzled at first. But she is strongly opposed to mybeing engaged to Ruth, and came down to tell Mr. Fuller this morningthat I was a villain. I am thinking of her own lonely life, and I amsure that if Ruth and I are married she will never speak again to theonly relatives she has unless this is explained. For her own sake, uncle, as well as yours, I think she ought to know the truth. "

He was looking downward as he spoke, and did not see the questioning airwith which Ezra regarded him. 

"You know who it was, then, as wrote this letter?"

"Yes, " said Reuben, looking up at him. "Ruth knew the handwriting. "

"Reuben!" cried the old man, sternly. He rose with more open signs ofagitation than Reuben had yet seen in him, and walked hurriedly to andfro. "Reuben! Reuben!" he repeated, in a voice of keen reproach. "Ah!when was ever youth and folly separate? I never thought thee wast thelad to cry thine uncle's trouble i' the market-place!"

"No, uncle, no! Don't think that of me, " cried his nephew. "I did notknow what to do. I asked Ruth's advice. I could not be certain that thenote was meant for you. And--guessing what I thought I guessed--I wasafraid to bring it. "

"Well, well! Well, well!" said Ezra. "It's been too sad an' mournfulall along for me to go about to make a new quarrel on it. Let it pass. Imake no doubt you acted for the best. Art too good a lad to tek pleasurein prying into the pain of an old man--as--loves thee. Leave it alone, lad. Let's think a while, and turn it over and see what may be done. "

He went back to his arm-chair, and Reuben watched him in sympatheticsilence. 

"I know her to be bitter hard upon me in her thoughts, " said Ezra, aftera time. "The kind of scorn her bears for me is good for nobody, not evenif it happens to be grounded i' the right. It might be a blow to herat first, but it 'ud be a blow as 'ud carry healing with it i' the longrun. Let the wench tek the letter. It'll be easier for her to get it ata woman's hands. "

He drew the cracked and faded letter from his waistcoat-pocket, and heldit out towards Reuben without looking at him. 

"I think that will be the best and kindest course, sir, " said Reuben, accepting the letter and placing it in his pocket-book. "It may not beeasy for Ruth to speak to her just at first, for she is very angry withher for having engaged herself to me. "

"I have heard word of her opposing it, " answered Ezra. "Theer are themin Heydon Hay as elsewheer--folks, without being aythur coarse-heartedor hard-minded, as talk of their neighbors' affairs, and love to tellyou whatever there is to be heard as is unpleasing. I have been toldas her describes me as a villin, and speaks in the same terms of you, Reuben. And that's why I advised you to speak out before there should betime to make mischief, if by any chance mischief might be made. AndI've seen enough to know as theer's no staple so easy to mannyfacture asill-will, even betwixt them as thinks well of each other. But, Reuben, even the best of women are talkers, and I look for it to be made a pointon between Ruth and you, that no word of this is breathed except betweenyour two selves. "

"You may trust Ruth as much as you trust me, uncle, " said Reuben. 

"Like enough, " answered Ezra. "And I've a warm liking for her. Butthere'll be no unkind-ness in naming my particular wish i' this affair. "

"No, no, " answered Reuben. "I will tell her what you say. You may trustus both. "

"Let me know how things go, " said the old man. "And good-night, Reuben. "

A tender twilight still reigned outside, and Reuben, walking along thevillage street, could see the softened mass of roofs and chimneys andthe dark green bulk of trees outlined clearly against the sky. The airwas soft and still, and something in the quiet and the dimness of thehour seemed to bear a hint of memory or continuation of the scene whichhad just closed. He was going to see Ruth at once, and she was naturallyin his mind, and presented herself as vividly there as if he had beenin her presence. The old man's trouble was so much more real to a loverthan it could have been to another man! If it were he and Ruth who werethus parted! There lay a whole heartache. He loved Ezra, and yet it didnot seem possible to feel his grief half so well save by seeing it ashis own. Such a lonely terror lay in the thought of parting from Ruthand living forever without her, that it awoke in him an actual pang ofpain for his uncle's trouble. 

"But, " said Reuben, as he strode along, "that is what was. He felt it, no doubt, and felt it for many a dreary month. But it's over now, for the most part. I could have cried for him this morning, and againto-night, but it was more pity for the past than for the present. "

Ezra had been a sad man always, since Reuben could remember him, andyet not altogether an unhappy one. The sunshine of his life had seemedveiled, but not extinguished. And could love do so little at its mostunfortunate and hapless ending? For some, maybe, but surely not forReuben! For him, if love should die, what could there be but clouds anddarkness forever and always? But the old take things tranquilly, and tothe young it seems that they must always have been tranquil. Uncle Ezraa lover? A possible fancy. But Ezra loving as _he_ loved? An impossiblefancy. And even six-and-thirty looked old to Reuben's eyes, for he stooda whole decade under it. 

"I will go at once, " said Ruth, so soon as she knew what was required ofher. "I'll just tell father, and then I'll put on my hat and be ready ina minute. Will you "--with an exquisite demureness and simplicity--"willyou go with me, Reuben?"

"Go and see Aunt Rachel?" cried old Fuller, when the girl had told himher intention. "Well, why not?" Ruth ran up-stairs, and Fuller waddledinto the room where Reuben waited. "Ruth talks about bringin' th' odewench back to rayson, " he said, with a fat chuckle, "but that's aroad Miss Blythe 'll niver travel again, I reckon. Her said good-by torayson, and shook hands a many hears ago. It's a bit too late i' life topatch up the quarrel betwigst 'em now. "

The old man's paces were so leisurely and heavy and Ruth's so quick andlight that she was in the room before he had formulated this opinion, and stood at the looking-glass regarding Reuben's reflection in itsdimly illumined depths as she patted and smoothed the ribbons beneathher chin. 

"Let us hope not, father, " she said; and then turning upon Reuben, "I amready. "

He offered her his arm and she took it. It was the simple fashion ofthe time and place. No engaged lovers took an airing of a dozen yardswithout that outward sign of the tie between them. They walked along inthe soft summer evening, pitying Ezra and Rachel in gentle whispers. 

"I was thinking just now if you and I should part, dear--if their casewere ours!"

"Oh, Reuben!"

And so the grief of the old was a part of the joy of the young, tender-hearted as they were. They played round the mournful old history. 

"But you would speak, Reuben? You would never let me go without a word?"

"And if I didn't speak, dear? If something held me back from speaking?"

"But you wouldn't let it hold you back. "

"Not now, darling. But I might have done yesterday--before I knew. "

Before he knew! He must have always known! But of that she would saynothing. 

In front of the one village shop in which the pair of window candlesstill glimmered, they paused, while Reuben searched his pocket-bookfor the note, and then went on again, in perfumed darkness, until theyreached the gate of Rachel's cottage. 

"Be brave, darling, " Reuben whispered here. "Don't let her repulse youeasily. "

Ruth entered at the gate, stole on tiptoe along the gravelled path, knocked and listened. The whole front of the little house was indarkness, but by-and-by even Reuben from his post behind the hedge heardthe faint noise made by slippered feet in the oil-clothed hall. "Who'sthere?" said' a voice from within. 

"Dear aunt, " Ruth answered, "let me in. Do, please, let me in. I want tospeak to you. "

Reuben, listening, heard the sound of the jarring chain, and the doorwas opened. He peeped through the interstices of the hedge, and saw MissBlythe smiling in the light of the candle she carried in her left hand. 

"Dear niece, " said Rachel, with an unusually fine and finicking accent. "Enter, you are welcome. "

Ruth entered, the door was closed, and Reuben sat down on the bankoutside to await his sweetheart's return. 

"I understand, " said Rachel. "You are welcome, my child. I detest rancorin families. I can forgive and forget. " As she spoke thus she ledthe way into her small sitting-room. To Ruth the poor creature'sunconsciousness seemed terrible. She laid her arms about Aunt Rachel'swithered figure, and cried a little as she leaned upon her shoulder. "There, there, " said Aunt Rachel, with a note of patronage in her voice, "compose yourself, dear child, compose yourself. I am glad to see you. Take your own time, dear child, your own time. "

At this Ruth cried afresh. It was evident that Aunt Rachel supposed herhere to perform an office of penitence; and it was all so pitiful tothe girl's heart, which, tender enough by nature, had been made soft andmore tender still by her recent talk with Reuben in the lane. 

"Don't talk so. Don't speak so, " she said, brokingly. "Dear aunt, readthis, and then you will know why I am here. "

"Ah!" sighed Aunt Rachel, with a world of meaning. "What did I tell you, my dear?" She took the letter from her niece's hand, kissed the charmingbearer of it casually, as if in certainty that she would soon becomforted, and began to search for her glasses. 

Ruth, understanding the old lady's error, was moved still more by it, but emotion and tender interest were at war, and she sat in a halffrightened silence, piteously wondering what would happen. Rachel hadfound her glasses, had set the letter upon the table before her, and nowdrawing the candle nearer, placed the spectacles deliberately astrideupon her fine little nose, snuffed the candle, and took up the crackingold bit of paper with an air of triumph and hope fulfilled which cutRuth to the heart. 

The younger woman hid her face in her hands, and furtively watched theelder through her fingers. 

Rachel read but a line, and then dropping the letter stared across thecandle at Ruth, and passed a hand across her forehead, brushing herglasses away in the act. She groped for them, polished them with anautomatic look, and began again. Ruth, too frightened even to sob, stilllooked at her, and save for the rustle of the withered paper in thewithered fingers the silence was complete. 

"What is this?" cried Aunt Rachel, suddenly. "Why do you bring me this?"She was standing bolt upright, with both hands clasped downward on theletter. 

"It was only found last night, " said Ruth, rising and making a singlestep towards her. "From the hour you wrote it until then it was neverseen. Reuben found it and brought it to me. "

The old maid's face went white, and but that the chair she had thrustaway from her in rising rested against the mantle-piece, she would havefallen. Ruth ran towards her and set a protecting arm about her waist. Her own tears were falling fast, and her voice was altogether broken. "It was in Manzini, the book you took Reuben's letter from. He found itthere, and thought it came from me, until he saw that the paper was old, and that it did not quite answer his own letter. He took it to his uncleEzra, and the poor old man's heart is broken. Oh, aunt, his heart isbroken! He had never seen it. He had waited, waited--"

She could say no more, she was so agitated by her own words, and sostricken by the stony face before her. 

Suddenly the old maid melted into tears. Reuben, sitting and waiting onthe bank of the hedge without, had heard Ruth's broken voice, and now hecould hear Rachel weeping. The night was without a sound, and he couldhear nothing but the murmurs and sobbings from the little sitting-room. Rachel cried unrestrainedly and long, and Reuben waited with exemplarypatience. At last Ruth came out and whispered to him, "Tell father I am going to stay with Aunt Rachel to-night. "

Reuben, naturally enough, would have kept her there and questioned her, but she ran back into the cottage before he could detain her, and afterlingering a while bareheaded before the casket which held her, he tookhis way back to Fuller and gave him his daughter's message. 

"Ah!" said Fuller. "At that rate it 'ud seem to be pretty wellstraightened out betwigst 'em. I'm glad to think it, for theer's nothin'like, harmony among them as is tied together. But hows'ever her an' thewench may mek it up, Reuben, thee'lt be a villin till the end o' thechapter. " The villany attributed to Reuben and Ezra tickled the old mangreatly, and his fat body was so agitated by his mirth that his legsbecame unequal to their burden. He had to drop into his great cushionedarm-chair to have his laugh out. "That villany o' thine 'll be the deatho' me, " he said, as he wiped his eyes. 

Rachel and Ruth sat far into the night, and the old maid told over andover again the story of the courtship and the misunderstanding betweenherself and Ezra. 

"Even when he was young, " she told her listener often, "he was shy andproud. And he would think I had treated him as though he had been thedirt beneath my feet. I did. I did. He will never forgive me. Never, never. "

She always cried afresh tempestuously at this, but when the firstpassion of her grief had worn itself out she came back to her story andlauded Ezra without stint. He was proud, oh yes, he was proud, but thenit was not in a way to hurt anybody. He joined in the sports of theother young men when she was quite a girl, a mere chit of a thing, mydear, and he was master of them all. Then Ruth chimed in. And so wasReuben now. Reuben was not like the rest of them. He was their masterin everything, and everybody who was old enough to remember said that hewas more like his uncle than like his father even. The duet of praise, accompanied by the old maid's tears, murmured along for an hour. 

"You will meet him now?" Ruth suggested, rather timidly. "You will befriends again?"

"We could never bear to meet each other, " cried Rachel. "How could Icome before him?" Then, "I must go away. "

"No, no, " Ruth pleaded, "you must not go away. You must stay here. Youmust be friends again. What shall we tell him, dear? He has found theletter at last, and he sends to you. Can you let him think that you arestill against him?"

"No, " said Rachel, almost wildly. "You will tell him I went away becauseI could not bear to see him. I ought to have known him too well to havethought so basely of him. "

"It was his duty to speak to you. It was less your fault than his. Itwas nobody's fault. It was a disaster. " Ruth thought poorly of Ezra'stactics as a lover, but she was not bent on expressing her own opinions. Reuben would never have acted in such a way. He would have known atleast whether his letter had been received or no. Would any _man_ takesilent contempt as a final answer from the woman he loved? It was theman's real business to come conquering, whatever airs of gentleness hemight wear. And animated by these reflections the girl became filledwith impatience at the old maid's self-upbraidings. She was sorry, sorrywith all her heart, for both, but if there were fault at all it layon Ezra's side. "I shall see him in the morning, " she said, finally, thinking of Reuben. "He will go to his uncle. "

"Child, " said Aunt Rachel, with the beginning of a return to her oldmanner, "do you think I can consent to have my affairs bandied frommessenger to messenger in this way? I will write. "

She said this boldly enough, but her heart shrank from it. Her mind wentblank when she tried to figure what she should say. She could do nothingbut prostrate herself anew before the re-established idol. She began torealize the fact that whatever disguise of hate and despite her love hadtaken, she had done nothing but love him all along. 

Ruth contented herself with the promise, but, as it happened, Rachelnever wrote, or had need to write, upon this question. For Reuben, strolling early in the morning, and finding his feet wandering in thedirection of Rachel's cottage, encountered his uncle, and their talkrendered the letter unnecessary. Ezra flushed and coughed behind hishand in more than a commonly deprecatory way when he sighted his nephew. 

"Well, lad, " he began. 

"Ruth took the letter, " answered Reuben. "I waited outside for her, and I know Miss Blythe was deeply affected by it, because I heardher crying. Ruth stayed all night with her, " he continued, "and Isuppose"--with a flush and a little hesitation--"I suppose she's therenow. "

"That means as they two are reunited?" said Ezra; and, without sayingmuch more, the old man took his nephew's arm and they strolled by thecottage together. 

Its inmates were early astir despite the lateness of the hour at whichthey had retired; and hearing voices as they stood together in thebedroom renewing the moving duet of the evening, they peeped through thecurtains and saw uncle and nephew go by arm-in-arm. At this they flewtogether and embraced, and from that moment the duet became broken andconfused. The little maid who assisted Rachel in her household affairshad not jet arrived; so the old lady herself lit the fire and made tea, while Ruth established herself in ambush in the parlor, and kept a watchupon the road. When Rachel came in to lay the snowy table-cloth, thechina and the spoons made an unusual clatter in her trembling hands, and the two were in such a state of agitation that breakfast was a purepretence. While they were seated at table Reuben and Ezra again strolledby; and Ruth divined the fact that not only was Reuben waiting for her, which was to be expected, but Ezra was attending the moment when sheshould quit the house in order that he might make a call uponAunt Rachel. So in such a state of tremulous-ness as she had neverexperienced before--even when she took Reuben's note from the pages ofManzini or hid her own there--she arose, and, protesting that her fatherwould never breakfast in her absence, and that she should be roundlyscolded for being so late, she put on her hat and gloves, kissed AuntRachel's cold cheek, and ran out into the lane with blushes so charmingand becoming that she might have been taken for the very humanizedspirit of the dawn, lingering an hour or two beyond her time to makeacquaintance with daylight. If this simile should seem to border on theridiculous, the responsibility of it may be safely thrown upon Reuben, who not merely met her with it in his mind, but conveyed it to her asthey walked homeward together. Ezra was even more bashful than Ruth, though in him the sentiment wrought less attractive tokens of itself. 

"I'll walk about a little while farther, " he said, awkwardly, when hehad bidden Ruth good-morning; and without need to watch him, theyknew that he had walked no farther than Rachel's cottage. The girl, onleaving it, had neglected to close the door, and the old maid had notdared to rise. He stood in the open door-way, and it gave him a muteinvitation to enter, though he had not courage to accept it. He knockedfaintly once or twice, and by-and-by was aware of a movement in theparlor. He turned towards the door and saw it open slowly, and Rachellooked out at him, trembling from head to foot, with signs of tears inher face. 

"Miss Blythe, " he began, shakily, "I trust all ill-feelin' is at an endbetween us. May an old friend exchange a word with you?"

"Pray come in, " said Miss Blythe, in a frightened whisper; and heentered. "Will you take a seat?" she asked him. 

"Rachel, " he said, "I was to blame, but never as you thought. But I keptsingle for your sake, Rachel. "

By what wonderful alchemy of nature the withered heart grew youngagain at that moment, Heaven knows; but it was out of a heart suddenlyimpassioned and warm with youth that she answered him, "And I will keep single for yours. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

Ferdinand, in obedience to the call of the political situation, hadabsented himself from Heydon Hay for a week or two. The Liberals hadput into the field a stronger man than he had expected to encounter, andthere was a sudden awakening in the constitutional camp. He had to gothe rounds and visit his bandsmen, and without being particularlyalert himself to see that everybody else was on the _qui vive_. Theconstitutional candidate was, perhaps, as little interested in thecoming strife as any man in the limits of the constituency, but he hadallowed himself to be entered for the race, and was bound to a pretenceof warmth even if he could not feel it. Ruth was not much in his mindwhile he was away, but when he came back again he found time once morehanging heavy on his hands; and being greeted by her when he went tolisten to the quartette party precisely as he had been from the first, he determined more than ever to start a pronounced flirtation with thehaughty little hussy, and bring her to a proper sense of her position. So he went early to church afoot on Sunday morning, leaving his lordshipto follow alone in his carriage, and he chatted affably with the membersof the little crowd that lingered about the lich-gate and the porch, andthere awaited Ruth's coming. 

Fuller was rather impressed with the young man's civility as a generalthing, being open to the territorial sentiment, and was proud tobe singled out from the rest by the Earl of Barfield's visitor, and publicly talked to on terms of apparent equality. And Ruth, whoaccompanied her father, was on this particular morning not quite whatshe had been hitherto. "When Ferdinand raised his hat and proffered herhis hand she blushed, and her eyes held a singular uncertainty he hadnever before remarked in them. He could even feel in the few briefseconds for which her hand lay in his own that it trembled slightly. Aha! She began to awake, then. The young Ferdinand plumed himself andspread himself for her vision. The old man, not unwilling that hisneighbors should remark him in familiar intercourse with the great ofthe land, lingered at the porch, and for once Ruth did not desert hisside and run into the church alone. 

"Upon my word, " said Ferdinand, "there is something in the air of HeydonHay, Mr. Fuller, which would seem to be unusually favorable to thegrowth of feminine charms. May I congratulate Miss Ruth upon her aspectthis morning?"

He meant the little thing no harm. He could compliment her in herfather's presence as easily as out of it, and perhaps with a betterconscience. Whensoever loosed from the string the arrow of complimentwould find its mark. Besides, the very carelessness of his appreciationwould help its force. He might be a little kinder and more confidentiallater on. 

"Well, sir, " said Fuller, with a chuckle, "her's bound to look her bestjust now. "

"Father, " said Ruth, with an amazingly sudden vivacity, "I want to speakto you. Excuse us, Mr. De Blacquaire. "

Her face was of the color of the rose from brow to chin, and her eyeswere as shy as ever in spite of her vivacity. They met Ferdinand'ssmiling, conquering glance for a moment, and no more. He raised his hatand withdrew. He had shot his arrow, and had hit the white. He couldafford to retire contented for the moment, and he did so. But by-and-bythat young Gold, who played first fiddle in the quartette, came up withhis auburn mane, with his fiddle tucked under his arm, and stopped totalk with Ruth and Fuller. Ferdinand, exchanging a friendly word or twowith a doubtful voter, watched with interest. She was blushing still, and still surveying the ground, and marking patterns on it with the toeof her pretty little boot--conscious of his glance, the puss, no doubt, and was posing a little for his admiration. 

Ferdinand sat in the Barfield pew, and Ruth sat opposite. Why, thephiltre was working more and more! She was so conscious that she seemedscarcely able to raise her eyes; and when, as happened no less thanthree times, she met his glance, she looked down in the sweetestconfusion. The victorious young gentleman was so absorbed in his ownreflections that he took but little note of the service, and sufferedhis attention to it to be for the most part mechanical. But on a suddena certain quite indefinable sense of general interest touched him. Something was doing, or was going to be done, which was not altogetherin the common. 

"I publish banns of marriage, " said Parson Hales, in those generous oldport-wine tones of his, "between Reuben Gold, bachelor, and Ruth Fuller, spinster, both of this parish, and--"

Mr. Ferdinand de Blacquaire realized with a shocking suddenness andvividness that he was an ass and a puppy. He learned later on that hewas not absolutely either, but he gets a twinge out of "I publish bannsof marriage, " even unto this day. 

Sennacherib, who sat near Reuben in the music-gallery, nudged him withhis elbow. 

"Knowest what's what?" he whispered, to the younger man's prodigiousscandal and discomfort. "Hast got the best wench i' the parish. "

Reuben would willingly have chosen another time and place for thereceipt of congratulations. 

Both Rachel and Ezra were in church, and each looked seriously and sadlydown, thinking of what might have been. 

When service was over the ringers met by previous arrangement, andstartled Heydon Hay with a peal. Ezra was at Rachel's side when theflood of sound descended on them and drowned his salutation. But theyshook hands, and walked away side by side until they reached the frontof Ezra's house, when Rachel turned to say good-by. 

"I'll walk a little way if you'll permit it, Miss Blythe, " said Ezra;and the old maid assenting, they walked on until the strenuous clang ofthe bells was softened into music. "They'll mek a handsome couple, " saidEzra, breaking the silence. 

"Upon acquaintance with the young man, " said Rachel, "I discover manyadmirable qualities in him. " The speech was prim still, and was likelyto continue so, but it had lost something, and had gained something. Itwould be hard to say what it had lost or gained, and yet the changewas there, and Ezra marked it, and thought the voice tenderer and morewomanly. Perhaps the flood-tide of youth which had swept over her heartat their reconciliation had not entirely ebbed away, and its inwardmusic lent an echo to her speech. If it were there still, it was thatwhich lent some of its own liquid sweetness to her look. Not much, perhaps, and yet a little, and discernible. 

There were half a dozen homeward-going worshippers ahead of them, ahundred yards away, and a handful more a hundred yards behind, as Ezra'sbackward glance discerned. They were all moving in the same direction, and at pretty much the same pace. The air was very quiet, and the clearmusic of the bells made no hinderance to their talk. 

"I'm thinkin', Miss Blythe, " said Ezra, slowly, walking with his handsclasped behind him and his downcast eyes just resting on her face andgliding away again, "I'm thinkin' as the spectacle of them two younglives being linked the one with the other gives a sort of a lonelyseeming to the old age as you and me has got to look to. "

"Perhaps so, Mr. Gold, " said Rachel, stopping with dry brevity in herwalk and holding out her hand. "I must hasten homeward. I wish you agood-morning. "

Ezra took her proffered hand in his, shook it gravely, and accepted hisdismissal. 

Not many newspapers came to Heydon Hay, and the few that found their waythither reached the regular subscribers a day or two after their newswas stale to London readers. Ezra got his _Argus_ regularly everyTuesday morning, and in fine weather would sit in the garden to read it. It happened that on the Tuesday after the first time of asking of thebanns, he sat beneath a full-leaved, distorted old cherry-tree, gravelyreading "Our Paris Correspondence, " when his eye fell upon an itemof news or fancy which startled him and then set him a-thinking. "AllParis, " said our correspondent, "was delightfully fluttered by theapproaching marriage of the Marquis of B. And Madame De X. Madame DeX. Was a reigning beauty in the days of the Consul Plancus. It would beunfair to reveal her precise age even if one knew it. The Marquis of B. Was turned seventy. The two had been lovers in their youth, and had beenseparated by a misunderstanding. The lady had married, but the gentlemanfor her sake had kept single. Monsieur X. Had lived with his bride forbut a year, and had then succumbed to an attack of phthisis. Now, aftera separation of forty years, the two lovers had met again, the ancientmisunderstanding had been romantically explained, and they had decidedto spend the winter of their days together. Paris was charmed, Paris wastouched by this picture of a life-long devotion presented by the Marquisof B. "

Ezra, rising from his seat, laid the paper upon it and walked soberlyabout the garden. Then he took up the journal, surrounded the paragraphwhich related to the devotion of the Marquis of B. With heavy ink-marks, waited patiently until the lines dried, folded up the paper, put it inhis pocket, and walked into the road. There he turned to the left, andwent straight on to Miss Blythe's cottage. There in the garden was MissBlythe herself, in a cottage bonnet and long gloves, busily hoeingwith little pecks at a raised flower-bed of the size of a tea-tray. Shelooked up when Ezra paused at the gate, nodded with brisk preciseness inanswer to his salutation, and then went on industriously pecking at theflower-bed. 

"My weekly paper has just arrived, Miss Blythe, " said Ezra. "It appearsto contain an unusual amount of interestin' matter, and I thought I'dask you in passing if you'd care to have a look at it. "

"You are remarkably obliging, Mr. Gold, " said Rachel. "I thank youextremely. " She took the newspaper from his hand and retired into thehouse with it. Ezra lingered, and she returned to resume her occupation. 

"It is beautiful weather, " said Ezra. 

"It is beautiful weather, indeed, " said Rachel. Ezra lingered on, butrather hopelessly, for she would not so much as glance in his directionso far as he could see, but her features were entirely hidden by thecottage bonnet. 

"I trust you will find a item or two as will be of interest, " he said, after a lengthy pause. Rachel contented herself with an emphatic-seeminglittle nod at the flower-bed. "Good-day, Miss Blythe. "

"Good-day, Mr. Gold, and thank you very much for being so good as tothink of me. "

They did not encounter again until the following Sunday morning, whenthe banns between Ruth and Reuben were called a second time. Theringers were at work again when Ezra and Rachel met in the porch as thechurch-goers streamed slowly away, and the two shook hands mutely. Theywalked on side by side until Ezra's house was reached, and neither spokeuntil then. Pausing before the door, Miss Blythe put out her hand. 

"If I might be allowed to go a little farther, Miss Blythe, " said Ezra, gently. Rachel withdrew her hand and said nothing. So once more theywalked, apart from other home-going worshippers, down the lane that ledto Rachel's cottage. 

"Did you, " began Ezra, pausing to cough behind his hand--"did you teka look at the paper, Miss Blythe?" He received a nod for sole answer, unless the pinching of the lips and an unconsciously affected maidendrooping of the eyelids might be supposed to add to it. "Did you happento read a particular item, " said Ezra, pausing to cough behind his handagain, "a item in the letter from Paris?"

"Really, Mr. Gold, " said Rachel, marching on with exceeding stateliness, and looking straight before her, "at our ages that piece of news wouldoffer a very frivolous theme for conversation. "

"Might we not talk of it without being frivolous, Miss Blythe?" askedEzra. 

"Decidedly not, in my opinion, " Miss Blythe responded. 

"To talk of love, " pursued Ezra, glancing at her now and then, "in thesense young people use the word, between persons of the ages of thatlady and gentleman, 'ud be frivolous indeed. But I persoom, Miss Blythe, they did not talk so. "

"I should think not, indeed, " said Rachel, with decision. "I should hopenot. "

"But to talk of love as love is betwixt the elderly--to talk ofcompanionship--to talk of shelterin' one another again the loneliness oflate old age--to talk of each one tekin' up the little remnant oflife as was left to 'em and putting it i' the other's hands for kindlykeepin'! Should you think as that was ridiculous, Rachel?"

"I should think, " said Rachel, "that old fools are the greatest foolsof all. " Ezra sighed. "I do not know, " she said at this, "that thepoor-marquis is so much to blame, but the lady should have known betterthan listen to his folly. "

"I had thought, " said Ezra, patiently, "you would ha' took a differentview of it, Rachel. " They went on to the gate without another word. "Good-morning, Rachel, " Ezra said there. "Don't be afraid of me. Iwill not come back again to this subject. I had hoped you would not ha'looked on it with such mislikin'; but sence you do, I will say no moreabout it. "

So they parted, and met again and were good friends, and not infrequentcompanions, and Ezra said no more. 

The eve of Reuben's great day came round, and Reuben was dismissed fromhis sweetheart's presence to wander where he would, for Ruth and herassistants (among whom was none more important than Aunt Rachel) hada prodigious deal to do. The lovers were to leave directly after theirmarriage for no less a place than London, and there were dresses to betried on and finished and packed, and altogether the time was trying. In his wanderings about the fields Reuben encountered the youngerSennacherib, whom he strove vainly to avoid; not because he dislikedhim, but because his own thoughts kept him in better company just thenthan the younger Sennacherib was likely to provide in his own person. But Snac was not a man to be lightly shaken off, and Reuben bent himselfto listen to him as best he might. 

"So, " said young Sennacherib, "thee beest goin' to enter into the boundsof 'oly matterymony?" Reuben laughed, and nodded an affirmative. "Well, theest done a very pretty thing for me amongst you. "

"For you?" said Reuben. "How?"

"Why this way, " said Snac, bending his knees to make the tight embracesof his cords endurable. "Thee wast by when my feyther gi'en me thefarewell shillin'. Very well. I'd got nothin' i' the world, and heknowed it. After a bit he begun to relent a bit, though nobody 'd iverhad expected sich a thing. But so it was. He took to sendin' me a sova week, onbeknownst to anybody, and most of all to mother. Well, mothersends me a sov a week from the beginning unbeknownst to anybody, andmost of all him. Her'd ha' gone in fear of her life if her'd ha' guessedhe knowed it. And now my income's cut down to half, and all because ofthis here weddin' o' thine. "

"I don't see how, " said Reuben. 

"Why thus, " said Snac, with a somewhat rueful grin. "This here RachelBlythe as has come back to the parish has come to a reconciling withyour uncle, as was a by-gone flame of hern; and her tells my mother asit's thee and thy bride as browt that to pass. "

"True enough, " Reuben allowed; "but still I don't see--"

"An' niver will see, " said Snac, "till thee lettest me tell thee. Hercomes to my feyther's house, this Miss Blythe, an' tells mother whata beautiful thing this reconcilin' is, and they fall to weepin' andcry-in' to my feyther both together, an' all on a sudden, t' everybody'smightiest astonishing, what's he to do but say, 'Theer, I forgi'en him. Hold your jaw, the pair on you!' Well, now, see what a pitch I'm let tofall on. Feyther durn't tell mother for his life as he helped me; herdurn't tell him as her helped me. So they mek up their minds to gi'e mea pound a week betwigst the two on 'em, and that's how it comes aboutwith these here cussed reconcilings, as I'm done out o' fifty per cent, o' my income. Look here, Mr. Gold, don't you goo about reconcilin' nomore of my relations. "

"Why, Snac, " cried Reuben, "it's none of my doing. "

"Well, " Snac allowed, "it'd be hard upon a man to mek him answerable forall the doin's of his wife's mother's second cousin. But if it had beena man as had ha' done it, I'd ha' had a try to punch his head for him. I should ha' took a trial trip at you yourself, Mr. Gold, for all so bigand all so handy as you be. "

"Well, Snac, " said Reuben, "it will be all the bet-ter for you in theend, and I hope it may mend sooner. But if the fact of my meaning to getmarried has done so much good as you say it has, I'm very glad to knowit, and I'll take it as a happy sign. "

It seemed an augury of happiness as he walked alone about the fields, and dwelt upon it. It seemed a fitting thing that love should spreadpeace abroad, and that peace should multiply itself. 

On the morrow the ringers rang; and being inspired by plenitude of beerand rich gratuity, and hearty good-will into the bargain, they rang tillsundown. And when the wedding was over, and the bride and bridegroom haddriven away with cheers and blessings in their train, the wedding-guestssat in the garden with the sylvan statues standing solemnly about, andthe bells making joyful music. Everybody was very sober and serious whenthe excitement of cheering away the wedded pair was over, and in a whilethe guests began to go. Ezra and Rachel lingered among the latest, andRachel's going was the signal for Ezra to say his good-bys and follow. She made no objection to his society, and they walked on withoutspeaking. The declining sun shone full in their faces, and cast theirshadows far behind. Except for themselves the lane was lonely. 

"Did you see in last week's copy of the _Argus_, " said Rachel, suddenly, and with great dryness, "that the Marquis of B. And the lady areunited?"

"I noted it, " said Ezra. "Do you think so badly of them as you did?"

Rachel said nothing. 

"Do you think so badly of them as you did?" he asked again, and stillRachel said nothing. The lane was lonely. He laid a hand upon theshoulder nearest him, and asked the question for a third time. Still shesaid not a word, but bent her head, perhaps to avoid the level sunlight. "Shall we garner up the years that are left for us together, dear?"

She gave no answer still, but he seemed to understand. They walkedon side by side towards the sunset, and the joy-bells, half sad withdistance, sounded in their ears. 

THE END.