DIANA

BY

SUSAN WARNER, AUTHOR OF

"THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, " "QUEECHY, " ETC. ETC. 

LONDON

JAMES NISBET & CO. , 21 BERNERS STREET. 

MDCCCLXXVII. 

 "Know well, my soul, God's hand controls Whate'er thou fearest; Round Him in calmest music rolls Whate'er thou hearest. 

 "What to thee is shadow, to Him is day, And the end He knoweth; And not on a blinded, aimless way The spirit goeth. "

WHITTIER. 

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. THE SEWING SOCIETY

CHAPTER II. THE NEW MINISTER

CHAPTER III. HARNESSING PRINCE

CHAPTER IV. MOTHER BARTLETT

CHAPTER V. MAKING HAY

CHAPTER VI. MR. KNOWLTON'S FISH

CHAPTER VII. BELLES AND BLACKBERRIES

CHAPTER VIII. THE NEW RICHES OF THE OLD WORLD

CHAPTER IX. MRS STARLING'S OPINIONS

CHAPTER X. IN SUGAR

CHAPTER XI. A STORM IN SEPTEMBER

CHAPTER XII. THE ASHES OF THE FIRE

CHAPTER XIII. FROM THE POST OFFICE

CHAPTER XIV. MEETING AT ELMFIELD

CHAPTER XV. CATECHIZING

CHAPTER XVI. IS IT WELL WITH THEE?

CHAPTER XVII. THE USE OF LIVING

CHAPTER XVIII. A SNOWSTORM

CHAPTER XIX. OUT OF HUMDRUM

CHAPTER XX. SETTLED

CHAPTER XXI. UNSETTLED

CHAPTER XXII. NEW LIFE

CHAPTER XXIII. SUPPER AT HOME

CHAPTER XXIV. THE MINISTER'S WIFE

CHAPTER XXV. MISS COLLINS' WORK

CHAPTER XXVI. THINGS UNDONE

CHAPTER XXVII. BONDS

CHAPTER XXVIII. EVAN'S SISTER

CHAPTER XXIX. HUSBAND AND WIFE

CHAPTER XXX. SUNSHINE

CHAPTER XXXI. A JUNE DAY

CHAPTER XXXII. WIND AND TIDE

CHAPTER XXXIII. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS

CHAPTER XXXIV. DAIRY AND PARISH WORK

CHAPTER XXXV. BABYLON

CHAPTER XXXVI. THE PARTY

CHAPTER XXXVII. AT ONE

DIANA. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE SEWING SOCIETY. 

I am thinking of a little brown house, somewhere in the wilds of NewEngland. I wish I could make my readers see it as it was, one Juneafternoon some years ago. Not for anything very remarkable about it;there are thousands of such houses scattered among our hills andvalleys; nevertheless one understands any life story the better forknowing amid what sort of scenes it was unfolded. Moreover, such aplace is one of the pleasant things in the world to look at, as Ijudge. This was a small house, with its gable end to the road, and alean-to at the back, over which the long roof sloped downpicturesquely. It was weather-painted; that was all; of a soft darkgrey now, that harmonized well enough with the gayer colours of meadowsand trees. And two superb elms, of New England's own, stood beside itand hung over it, enfolding and sheltering the little old house, as itwere, with their arms of strength and beauty. Those trees would havedignified anything. One of them, of the more rare weeping variety, drooped over the door of the lean-to, shading it protectingly, andhiding with its long pendant branches the hard and stiff lines of thebuilding. So the green draped the grey; until, in the soft mingling ofhues, the light play of sunshine and shadow, it seemed as if thesmartness of paint upon the old weather-boarding would have been anintrusion, and not an advantage. In front of the house was a littlespace given to flowers; at least there were some irregular patches andborders, where balsams and hollyhocks and pinks and marigolds made aspot of light colouring; with one or two luxuriantly-growing blushroses, untrained and wandering, bearing a wealth of sweetness on theirlong, swaying branches. There was that spot of colour; all around andbeyond lay meadows, orchards and cultivated fields; till at no greatdistance the ground became broken, and rose into a wilderness of hills, mounting higher and higher. In spots these also showed cultivation; forthe most part they were covered with green woods in the depth of Junefoliage. The soft, varied hilly outline filled the whole circuit of thehorizon; within the nearer circuit of the hills the little grey housesat alone, with only one single exception. At the edge of the meadowland, half hid behind the spur of a hill, stood another greyfarm-house; it might have been half a mile off. People accustomed to amore densely populated country would call the situation lonesome;solitary it was. But Nature had shaken down her hand full of treasuresover the place. Art had never so much as looked that way. However, wecan do without art on a June afternoon. 

The door of the lean-to looked towards the road, and so made a kind offront door to the kitchen which was within. The door-sill was raised asingle step above the rough old grey stone which did duty before it;and sitting on the doorstep, in the shadow and sunlight which camethrough the elm branches and fell over her, this June afternoon, wasthe person whose life story I am going to try to tell. She sat there asone at home, and in the leisure of one who had done her work; with armscrossed upon her bosom, and an air of almost languid quiet upon herface. The afternoon was quiet-inspiring. Genial warm sunshine filledthe fields and grew hazy in the depth of the hills; the long hangingelm branches were still; sunlight and shadow beneath slept in eachother's arms; soft breaths of air, too faint to move the elms, camenevertheless with reminders and suggestions of all sorts of sweetness;from the leaf-buds of the woods, from the fresh turf of the meadows, from a thousand hidden flowers and ferns at work in their secretlaboratories, distilling a thousand perfumes, mingled and untraceable. Now and then the breath of the roses was quite distinguishable; andfrom fields further off the delicious scent of new hay. It was just thetime of day when the birds do not sing; and the watcher at the doorseemed to be in their condition. 

She was a young woman, full grown, but young. Her dress was the commonprint working dress of a farmer's daughter, with a spot or two of wetupon her apron showing that she had been busy, as her dress suggested. Her sleeves were still rolled up above her elbows, leaving the crossedarms full in view. And if there is character in faces, so there is inarms; and everybody knows there is in hands. These arms were after themodel of the typical woman's arm; not chubby and round and fat, butmoulded with beautiful contour, showing muscular form and power, withthe blue veins here and there marking the clear delicate skin. Onlylook at the arm, without even seeing the face, and you would feel therewas nervous energy and power of will; no weak, flabby, undecided actionwould ever come of it. The wrist was tapering enough, and the handperfectly shaped, like the arm; not quite so white. The face, --youcould not read it at once; possibly not till it had seen a few moreyears. It was very reposeful this afternoon. Yet the brow and the headbore tokens of the power you would expect; they were very fine; and theeyes under the straight brow were full and beautiful, a deep blue-grey, changing and darkening at times. But the mouth and lower part of theface was as sweet and mobile as three years old; playing as innocentlyand readily upon every occasion; nothing had fixed those lovely lines. The combination made it a singular face, and of course very handsome. But it looked very unconscious of that fact. 

Within the kitchen another woman was stepping about actively, and nowand then cast an unsatisfied look at the doorway. Finally came to astop in the middle of the floor to speak. 

"What are you sittin' there for, Diana?"

"Nothing, that I know of. "

"If I was sittin' there for nothin', seems to me I'd get up and gosomewheres else. "

"Where?" said the beauty languidly. 

"Anywhere. Goodness! it makes me feel as if nothin' would ever getdone, to see you sittin' there so. "

"It's all done, mother. "

"What?"

"Everything. "

"Have you got out the pink china?"

"Yes. "

"Is your cake made?"

"Yes, mother; you saw me do it. "

"I didn't see you bakin' it, though. "

"Well, it is done. "

"Did it raise light and puffy?"

"Beautiful. "

"And didn't get burned?"

"Only the least bit, in the corner. No harm. "

"Have you cut the cheese and shivered the beef?"

"All done. "

"Then I think you had better go and dress yourself. "

"There's plenty of time. Nobody can be here for two hours yet. "

"I wouldn't sit and do nothin', if I was you. "

"Why not, mother? when there is really nothing to do. "

"I don't believe in no such minutes, for my part. They never come tome. Look at what I've done to-day, now. There was first the lightingthe fire and getting breakfast. Then I washed up, and righted thekitchen and set on the dinner. Then I churned and brought the butterand worked _that_. Then there was the dairy things. Then I've been inthe garden and picked four quarts of ifs-and-ons for pickles; got 'emall down in brine, too. Then I made out my bread, and made biscuits fortea, and got dinner, and eat it, and cleared it away, and boiled a ham. "

"Not since dinner, mother?"

"Took it out, and that; and got all my pots and kettles put away; andpicked over all that lot o' berries, I think I'd make preserves of 'em, Diana; when folks come to sewing meeting for the missionaries theyneedn't have all creation to eat, seems to me. They don't sew no betterfor it. _I_ believe in fasting, once in a while. "

"What for?"

"What for? Why, to keep down people's stomach; take off a slice oftheir pride. "

"Mother! do you think eating and people's pride have anything to dowith each other?"

"I guess I do! I tell you, fasting is as good as whipping to take downa child's stomach; let 'em get real thin and empty, and they'll comedown and be as meek as Moses. Folks ain't different from children. "

"You never tried that with me, mother, " said Diana, half laughing. 

"Your father always let you have your own way. I could ha' managed_you_, I guess; but your father and you was too much at once. Come, Diana do--get up and go off and get dressed, or something. "

But she sat still, letting the soft June air woo her, and the scents offlower and field hold some subtle communion with her. There was acertain hidden harmony between her and them; and yet they stirred hersomehow uneasily. 

"I wonder, " she said after a few minutes' silence, "what a nobleman'spark is like?"

The mother stood still again in the middle of the kitchen. 

"A park!"

"Yes. It must be something beautiful; and yet I cannot think how itcould be prettier than this. "

"Than what?" said her mother impatiently. 

"Just all this. All this country; and the hayfields, and thecornfields, and the hills. "

"A park!" her mother repeated. "I saw a 'park' once, when I was down toNew York; you wouldn't want to see it twice. A homely little mite of agreen yard, with a big white house in the middle of it; and homelyenough _that_ was too. It might do very well for the city folks; butthe land knows I'd be sorry enough to live there. What's putting parksin your head?"

But the daughter did not answer, and the mother stood still and lookedat her, with perhaps an inscrutable bit of pride and delight behind herhard features. It never came out. 

"Diana, do you calculate to be ready for the sewin' meetin'?"

"Yes, mother. "

"Since they must come, we may as well make 'em welcome; and they won'tthink it, if you meet 'em in your kitchen dress. Is the new ministercomin', do you s'pose?"

"I don't know if anybody has told him. "

"Somebody had ought to. It won't be much of a meetin' without theminister; and it 'ud give him a good chance to get acquainted. Mr. Hardenburgh used to like to come. "

"The new man doesn't look much like Mr. Hardenburgh. "

"It'll be a savin' in biscuits, if he ain't. "

"I used to like to see Mr. Hardenburgh eat, mother. "

"I hain't no objection--when I don't have the biscuits to make. Diana, you baked a pan o' them biscuits too brown. Now you must look out, whenyou put 'em to warm up, or they'll be more'n crisp. "

"Everybody else has them cold, mother. "

"They won't at my house. It's just to save trouble; and there ain't alazy hair in me, you ought to know by this time. "

"But I thought you were for taking down people's pride, and keeping thesewing society low; and here are hot biscuits and all sorts of thing, "said Diana, getting up from her seat at last. 

"'The cream'll be in the little red pitcher--so mind you don't go andtake the green one. And do be off, child, and fix yourself; for it'llbe a while yet before I'm ready, and there'll be nobody to see folkswhen they come. "

Diana went off slowly up-stairs to her own room. There were but two, one on each side of the little landing-place at the head of the stair;and she and her mother divided the floor between them. Diana's room wasnot what one would have expected from the promise of all the rest ofthe house. That was simple enough, as the dwelling of a small farmerwould be, and much like the other farm-houses of the region. ButDiana's room, a little one it was, had one side filled withbookshelves; and on the bookshelves was a dark array of solid andponderous volumes. A table under the front window held one or two thatwere apparently in present use; the rest of the room displayed the moreusual fittings and surroundings of a maiden's life. Only in theiressentials, however; no luxury was there. The little chest of drawers, covered with a white cloth, held a brush and comb, and supported a tinylooking-glass; small paraphernalia of vanity. No essences or perfumesor powders; no curling sticks or crimping pins; no rats or cats, cushions or frames, or skeletons of any sort, were there for the helpof the rustic beauty; and neither did she need them. So you would havesaid if you had seen her when her toilette was done. The soft outlinesof her figure were neither helped nor hidden by any artificialcontrivances. Her abundant dark hair was in smooth bands and aluxuriant coil at the back of her head--woman's natural crown; and shelooked nature-crowned when she had finished her work. Just becausenature had done so much for her and she had let nature alone; andbecause, furthermore, Diana did not know or at least did not thinkabout her beauty. When she was in order, and it did not take long, sheplaced herself at the table under the window before noticed, andopening a book that lay ready, forgot I dare say all about the sewingmeeting; till the slow grating of wheels at the gate brought her backto present realities, and she went down-stairs. 

There was a little old green waggon before the house, with an old horseand two women, one of whom had got down and was tying the horse's headto the fence. 

"Are you afraid he will run away?" said the voice of Diana gaily fromthe garden. 

"Massy! no; but he might hitch round somewheres, you know, and gethimself into trouble. Thank ye--I am allays thankful and glad when Iget safe out o' this waggin. "

So spoke the elder lady, descending with Diana's help and a great dealof circumlocution from her perch in the vehicle. And then they wentinto the bright parlour, where windows and doors stood open, and chairshad been brought in, ready to accommodate all who might come. 

"It's kind o' sultry, " said the same lady, wiping her face. "I declarethese ellums o' yourn do cast an elegant shadder. It allays sort o'hampers me to drive, and I don't feel free till I can let the reinsfall; that's how I come to be so heated. Dear me, you do excel innotions!" she exclaimed, as Diana presented some glasses of cool waterwith raspberry vinegar. "Ain't that wonderful coolin'!"

"Will the minister come to the meeting, Diana?" asked the other woman. 

"He'd come, if he knowed he could get anything like this, " said theother, smacking her lips and sipping her glass slowly. And then came inher hostess. 

If Mrs. Starling was hard-favoured, it cannot be denied that she had acertain style about her. Some ugly people do. Country style, no doubt;but these things are relative; and in a smart black silk, with sheermuslin neckerchief and a close-fitting little cap, her naturalself-possession and self-assertion were very well set off. Verydifferent from Diana's calm grace and simplicity; the mother anddaughter were alike in nothing beyond the fact that each had character. Perhaps that is a common fact in such a region and neighbourhood; formany of the ladies who now came thronging in to the meeting looked asif they might justly lay claim to so much praise. The room filled up;thimbles and housewives came out of pockets; work was produced frombaskets and bags; and tongues went like mill-clappers. They put theJune afternoon out of countenance. Mrs. Barry, the good lady who hadarrived first, took out her knitting, and in a corner went over to herneighbour all the incidents of her drive, the weather, the getting outof the waggon, the elm-tree shadow, and the raspberry vinegar. Mrs. Carpenter, a well-to-do farmer's wife, gave the details of her dairymisfortunes and success to _her_ companion on the next seat. Mrs. Flandin discussed missions. Mrs. Bell told how the family of Mr. Hardenburgh had got away on their journey to their new place of abode. 

"I always liked Mr. Hardenburgh, " said Mrs. Carpenter. 

"He had a real good wife, " remarked Miss Gunn, the storekeeper'ssister, "and that goes a great way. Mrs. Hardenburgh was a right-downgood woman. "

"But you was speakin' o' _Mr. _ Hardenburgh, the dominie, " said Mrs. Salter. "He was a man as there warn't much harm in, I've allays said. 'Tain't a man's fault if he can't make his sermons interestin', Is'pose. "

"Mr. Hardenburgh preached real good sermons, now, always seemed to me, "rejoined Mrs. Carpenter. "He meant right; that's what he did. "

"That's _so!_" chimed in Mrs. Mansfield, a rich farmer in her ownperson. 

"There was an owl up in one of our elm-trees one night, " began Mrs. Starling. 

"Du tell! so nigh's that!" said Mrs. Barry from her corner. 

"--And I took up Josiah's gun and _meant_ to shoot him; but I didn't. "

"He was awful tiresome--there!" exclaimed Mrs. Boddington. "What's theuse of pretendin' he warn't? Nobody couldn't mind what his sermons wasabout; I don't believe as he knew himself. Now, a minister had ought toknow what he means, whether any one else does or not, and I like aminister that makes _me_ know what he means. "

"Why, Mrs. Boddington, " said Mrs. Flandin, "I didn't know as you caredanything about religion, one way or another. "

"I've got to go to church, Mrs. Flandin; and I'd a little rayther bekep' awake while I'm there without pinching my fingers. I'd prefer it. "

"Why, has anybody _got_ to go to church that doesn't want to go?"inquired Diana. But that was like a shell let off in the midst of thesewing circle. 

"Hear that, now!" said Mrs. Boddington. "Ain't that a rouser!" Mrs. Boddington was a sort of a cousin, and liked the fun; she lived in theone farm-house in sight of Mrs. Starling's. 

"She don't mean it, " said Mrs. Mansfield. 

"Trust Di Starling for meaning whatever she says, " returned the other. "You and I mayn't understand it, but that's all one, you know. "

"But what _do_ she mean?" said Mrs. Salter. 

"Yes, what's the use o' havin' a church, ef folks ain't goin' to it?"said Mrs. Carpenter. 

"No, " said Diana, laughing; "I only asked why any one _must_ go, if hedon't want to? Where's the _must?_"

"When we had good Mr. Hardenburgh, for example, " chimed in Mrs. Boddington, "who was as loggy as he could be; good old soul! and put usall to sleep, or to wishin' we could. My! hain't I eaten quarts o' dillin the course o' the summer, trying to keep myself respectably awakeand considerin' o' what was goin' on! Di says, why _must_ any one eatall that dill that don't want to?"

"Cloves is better, " suggested Miss Gunn. 

Some laughed at this; others looked portentously grave. 

"It's just one o' Di's nonsense speeches, " said her mother; "what theymean I'm sure I don't know. She reads too many books to be just likeother folks. "

"But the books were written by other folks, mother. "

"La! some sort, child. Not our sort, I guess. "

"Hain't Di never learned her catechism?" inquired Mrs. Flandin. 

"Is there anything about going to church in it?" asked the girl. 

"There's most all sorts o' good things in it, " answered vaguely Mrs. Flandin, who was afraid of committing herself. "I thought Di might ha'learned there something about such a thing as we call _duty_. "

"That's so, " said Mrs. Mansfield. 

"Just what I am asking about, " said Di. "That's the thing. Why _is_ itduty, to go to church when one don't want to go?"

"Well, I'm sure it was time we had a new minister, " said Mrs Salter;"and I'm glad he's come. If he's no better than old Mr. Hardenburgh, it'll take us a spell to find it out; and that'll be so much gained. Hedon't _look_ like him any way. "

"He _is_ different, ain't he?" assented Mrs. Boddington. "If we wanteda change, we've got it. How did you all like his sermon last Sabbath?"

"He was very quiet--" said Mrs. Flandin. 

"I like that, " said Diana. "When a man roars at me, I never can tellwhat he is saying. "

"He seemed to kind o' know his own mind, " said Mrs. Salter. 

"I thought he'd got an astonishin' knowledge o' things in the town, forthe time he's had, " said Mrs. Mansfield. 

"I wisht he had a family, " remarked Miss Gunn; "that's all I've gotagin him. I think a minister had allays ought to have a family. "

"He will, --let him alone a while, " said Mrs. Boddington. "Time enough. Who have we got in town that would do for him?"

The fruitful topic of debate and discussion here started, lasted theladies for some time. Talk and business got full under weigh. Scissorsand speeches, clipping and chattering, knitting and the interminableyarn of small talk. The affairs, sickness and health, of every familyin the neighbourhood, with a large discussion of character andprospects by the way; going back to former history and antecedents, andforward to future probable consequences and results. Nuts of society;sweet confections of conversation; of various and changing flavour;suiting all palates, and warranted never to cloy. Then there were farmprospects and doings also, with household matters; very interesting tothe good ladies, who all had life interest in them; and the hours movedon prosperously. Here a rocking-chair tipped gently back and forward, in harmony with the quiet business enjoyment of its occupant; and therea pair of heels, stretched out to the farthest limit of theircorresponding members, with toes squarely elevated in the air, testified to the restful condition of another individual of the party. See a pair of toes in the air and the heels as nearly as possiblestraight under them, one tucked up on the other, and you may be surethe person they belong to feels comfortable--physically. And Mrs. Starling in a corner, in her quiet state and black-silk gown, was ascontented as an old hen that sees all her chickens prosperouslyscratching for themselves. And the June afternoon breathed in at thewindow and upon all those busy talkers; and nobody knew that it wasJune. So things went, until Diana left them to put the finishingtouches of readiness to the tea-table. Her going was noticed by some ofthe assembly, and taken as a preparatory note of the comingentertainment; always sure to be worth having and coming for in Mrs. Starling's house. Needles and tongues took a fresh stir. 

"Mis' Starling, are we goin' to hev' the minister?" somebody asked. 

"I don't know as anybody has told him, Mis' Mansfield. "

"Won't seem like a meetin', ef we don't hev' him. "

"He's gone down to Elmfield, " said Miss Gunn. "He went down along inthe forenoon some time. Gone to see his cousin, I s'pose. "

"They've got their young soldier home to Elmfield, " said Miss Barry. "Is'pect they're dreadful sot up about it. "

"They don't want _that_, " said Mrs. Boddington. "The Knowltons alwaysdid carry their heads pretty well up, in the best o' times; and nowEvan's got home, I s'pose there'll be no holding 'em in. There ain't, Iguess, by the looks. "

"What'll he do now? stay to hum and help his gran'ther?"

"La! no. He's home just for a visit. He's got through his education atthe Military Academy, and now he's an officer; out in the world; buthe'll have to go somewhere and do his work. "

"I wonder what work they do hev' to do?" said Mrs. Salter; "there ain'tnobody to fight now, is there?"

"Fight the Injuns, " said Mrs. Boddington; "or the Mexicans; or theEnglish may be; anything that comes handy. "

"But we hain't no quarrel with the English, nor nobody, hev' we? Ithought we was done fightin' for the present, " said Miss Barry in adisturbed tone of voice. 

"Well, suppos'n we be, " said Mrs. Boddington; "somebody might give us aslap, you know, when we don't expect it, and it's best to be ready; andso, Evan Knowlton'll be one o' them that has to stand somewhere withhis musket to his shoulder, and look after a lot o' powder behind himall the while. "

"Du tell! if it takes four years to learn 'em to du that, " said MissBabbage, the doctor's sister. 

"The Knowltons is a very fine family, " remarked Miss Gunn. 

"If the outside made it, " said Mrs. Boddington. "Don't they cut a shinewhen they come into meetin', though! They _think_ they do. "

"It takes all the boys' attention off everything, " said Mrs. Flandin, who was an elderly lady herself. 

"And the girls"--added Mrs. Starling. But what more might have beensaid was cut short by Miss Barry's crying out that here was theminister coming. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE NEW MINISTER. 

The little stir and buzz which went round the assembly at this news wasdelightful. Not one but moved excitedly on her seat, and then settledherself for an unwonted good time. For the new minister wasundiscovered ground; an unexamined possession; unexplored treasure. OneSunday and two sermons had done no more than whet the appetite of thecurious. Nobody had made up his mind, or her mind, on the subject, inregard to any of its points. So there were eyes enough that from Mrs. Starling's windows watched the minister as he dismounted and tied hishorse to the fence, and then opened the little gate and came up to thehouse. Diana had returned to the room to bid the company out to supper;but finding all heads turned one way, and necks craned over, and eyeson the stretch, she paused and waited for a more auspicious moment. Andthen came a step in the passage and the door opened. 

Mr. Hardenburgh, each lady remembered, used to make the circuit of thecompany, giving every one a several clasp of the hand and an individualword of civility. Here was a change! The new minister came into themidst of them and stood still, with a bright look and a cheery "Goodafternoon!" It was full of good cheer and genial greeting; but whatlady could respond to it? The greeting was not given to _her_. Thesilence was absolute; though eyes said they had heard, and werelistening. 

"I have been down at Elmfield, " the new-comer went on, not at alldisturbed by his reception; "and some one informed me I should find alarge circle of friends if I came here; so I came. And I find I wastold truly. "

"I guess we'd most given you up, " said the mistress of the house, coming out of her corner now. 

"I don't know what reason you had to expect me! Nobody asked me tocome. "

"We're real glad to see you. Take a chair, " said Mrs. Starling, settingone for his acceptance as she spoke. 

"Mr. Hardenburgh allays used to come to our little meetin's, " said Mrs. Mansfield. 

"Thank you!--And you expect me to do all that Mr. Hardenburgh did?"

There was such a quaint air of good-fellowship and simplicity in thenew minister's manner, that the little assembly began to stir anew withgratification and amusement. But nobody was forward to answer. In fact, they were a trifle shy of him. The late Mr. Hardenburgh had been heavyand slow; kind, of course, but stiff; you knew just what he would doand how he would speak beforehand. There was a delightful freshness anduncertainty about this man. Nothing imposing, either; a rather small, slight figure; with a face that might or might not be called handsome, according to the fancy of the speaker, but that all would agree waswonderfully attractive and winning. A fine broad brow; an eye verysweet; with a build of the jaw and lines of the mouth speaking bothstrength and the absolutest calm of the mental nature. 

"I was afraid I should be late, " he went on, looking at hiswatch, --"but the roads are good. How far do you call it from Elmfield?"

"All of five miles, " said Mrs. Starling. 

"Yes; and one hill to cross. Well! I came pretty well. The long Juneafternoon favoured me. "

"Mr. Hardenburgh used to drive a buggy, " remarked Miss Barry. 

"Yes. Is that one of the things you would like me to do as he did?"

"Well, none of our ministers ever went such a venturesome way before, "said the timid little old lady. 

"As I do? But if _I_ had been in a buggy, Miss Barry, this afternoon, Iam afraid you would have got through supper and been near breaking upbefore I could have joined your society. "

"How long was you comin', then?" she asked, looking startled. 

"And there's another thing, Mr. Masters, " said Mrs. Mansfield; "why_do_ the days be so much longer in summer than in winter? I asked Mr. Hardenburgh once, but I couldn't make out nothin' from what he told me?"

Sly looks and suppressed laughter went round the room, for some of Mrs. Mansfield's neighbours were better informed than she in all that layabove the level of practical farming; but Mr. Masters quite gravelyassured her he would make it all clear the first time he had a quietchance at her house. 

"And will you walk out to supper, friends?" said Mrs. Starling. "Here'sDi been standin' waitin' to call us this half hour. "

The supper was laid on a long table in the lean-to, which was used as akitchen; but now the fire was out, and the tea-kettle had been boiledand was kept boiling in some unknown region. Doors and windows stoodopen, letting the sweet air pass through; and if the floor was bare andthe chairs were wooden, both one and the other were bright withcleanliness; and the long board was bright in another way. Yet the wordis not misapplied. Such piles of snowy bread and golden cake, suchdelicate cheeses and puffy biscuits, and such transparencies ofrich-coloured preserves, were an undoubted adornment to Mrs. Starling'sdeal table, and might have been to any table in the world. The deal wascovered, however, with white cloths. At the upper end the hostess tookher place behind a regiment of cups and saucers, officered by great tinpots which held the tea and coffee. Diana waited. 

Everybody had come expecting a good supper and primed for enjoyment;and now the enjoyment began. Mrs. Starling might smile grimly toherself as she saw her crab-apples and jellies disappear, and the pilesof biscuits go down and get heaped up again by Diana's care. Nobody wasat leisure enough to mark her. 

"Eat when you can, Mr. Masters, " said Mrs. Boddington; "you won't gethot biscuits anywhere in Pleasant Valley but here. "

"Why not?" said Mr. Masters. 

"It ain't the fashion--that's all. "

"I s'pose you've seen the fashions to-day down at Elmfield, Mr. Masters, " said Mrs. Salter. "They don't think as we hev' no fashions, up here in the mountains. "

"Their fashions is ridiculous!" said Mrs. Flandin. "Do you think it'sbecomin', Mr. Masters, for Christian women to go and make sights ofthemselves?"

"In what way, Mrs. Flandin?"

"Why, goodness! you've seen 'em. Describin's impossible. EuphemieKnowlton, she came into church last Sabbath three yards in extent, efshe was a foot. It beat me, how she was goin' to get in. Why, therewarn't room for but three of 'em in the slip, and it took 'em somethin'like half an hour to get fixed in their places. I declare I wasashamed, and I had to look, for all. "

"So had I, " assented Miss Carpenter. "I couldn't fairly keep my eyesoff of 'em. "

"And I'm certain she couldn't go agin the wind, with her bonnet; itstuck just right up from her face, and ended in a pint, and she had ahull garden in the brim of it, _I_ think ministers had ought to preachabout such doin's. "

"And you don't know what ministers are good for if they don't?" saidMr. Masters. 

"Did _you_ ever see a minister that could get the better of 'em?" saidMrs. Boddington. "'Cos, if you did, I would like to go and sit underhis preachin' a spell, and see what he could do for me. "

"Does that express the mind of Pleasant Valley generally?" asked theminister, and gravely this time. 

"La! we ain't worse than other folks, " said Mrs. Salter. "There's noharm in dressin' one's self smart now and then, is there? And we wantto know how, to be sure. "

"I hope you don't think Euphemie Knowlton knows how? 'Tain't a quarteras becomin' as the way we dress in Pleasant Valley. There ain't theleast bit of prettiness or gracefulness in a woman's bein' three yardsround; anyhow we don't think so when it's nature. " So Mrs. Salter. 

"What do you think o' lettin' your hair down over the shoulders, as ifyou were goin' to comb it?" said Mrs. Boddington; "and goin' to churchso?"

"But how ever _did_ she make it stand out as it did, " asked MissCarpenter. "It was just like spun glass, nothin' smooth or quiet aboutit. Such a yellow mop I never did see. And it warn't a child neither. Who is she anyhow?"

"Not she. It is a grown woman, " said Mrs. Flandin; "and she looked likea wild savage. Don't the minister agree with me, that it ain't becomin'for Christian women to do such things?"

It was with a smile and a sigh that the minister answered. "Where areyou going to draw the line, Mrs. Flandin?"

"Well! with what's decent and comfortable. "

"And pretty?"

"La! yes, " said Mrs. Salter. "Do let us be as nice as we kin. "

"I think people had ought to make themselves as nice-lookin' as theycan, " echoed one of the younger ladies of the party; and there was ageneral chorus of agreeing voices. 

"Well!" said the minister; "then comes the question, what isnice-looking? I dare say the young lady with the flowing tressesthought she was about right. "

"She thought she was the only one, " said Mrs. Boddington. 

A subject was started now which was fruitful enough to keep all tonguesbusy; and whether biscuits or opinions had the most lively circulationfor some time thereafter it would be hard to say. Old and young, uponthis matter of town and country fashions, and fashion in general, "gavetongue" in concert; proving that Pleasant Valley knew what was what aswell as any place in the land; that it was doubtful what right Bostonor New York had to dictate to it; at the same time the means of gettingat the earliest the mind of Boston or New York was eagerly discussed, and the pretensions of Elmfield to any advantage in that matter asearnestly denied. The minister sat silent, with an imperturbable facethat did him credit. At last there was a rush of demands upon him forhis judgment. He declared that so much had been said upon the subject, he must have time to think it over; and he promised to give them someat least of his thoughts before long in a sermon. 

With this promise, highly satisfied, the assembly broke up. Mrs. Starling declared afterwards to her daughter, that if there had beenany more fashions to talk about they would never have got done supper. But now bonnets were put on, and work put up, and one after anotherfamily party went off in its particular farm waggon or buggy. It wasbut just sundown; the golden glory of the sky was giving a mellowillumination to all the land, as one after another the horses wereunhitched, the travellers mounted into their vehicles, and the wheelswent softly rolling off over the smooth road. The minister stood by thegate, helping the ladies to untie and mount, giving pleasant wordsalong with pleasant help, and receiving many expressions of pleasure inreturn. 

"Dear me, Mr. Masters!" said Miss Barry, the last one, "ain't youafraid you'll catch cold, standing there with no hat on?"

"Cold always attacks the weakest part, Miss Barry. My head is safe. "

"Well, I declare!" said Miss Barry. "I never heerd that afore. "

And as she drove off in her little green waggon, the minister andDiana, who had come down to the gate to see the last one off, indulgedin a harmless laugh. Then they both stood still by the fence a moment, resting; the hush was so sweet. The golden glory was fading; the lastcreak of Miss Barry's wheels was getting out of hearing; the air wasperfumed with the scents which the dew called forth. 

"Isn't it delicious?" said the minister, leaning on the little gate, and pushing his hair back from his forehead. 

"The stillness is pleasant, " said Diana. 

"Yet you must have enough of that?"

"Yes--sometimes, " said the girl. She was a little shy of speaking herthoughts to the minister; indeed, she was not accustomed to speak themto anybody, not knowing where they could meet entertainment. Shewondered Mr. Masters did not go like the rest; however, it was pleasantenough to stand there talking to him. 

"What do you do for books here?" he went on. 

"O, I have all my father's books, " said Diana. "My father was aminister, Mr. Masters; and when he died his books came to me. "

"A theological library!" said Mr. Masters. 

"Yes. I suppose you would call it so. "

"Have you it _here?_"

"Yes. I have it in my room up-stairs. All one end of the room full. "

"Do you read these books?"

"Yes. They are all I have to read. I have not read the whole of them. "

"No, I suppose not. Do you not find this reading rather heavy?"

"I don't know. Some of the books are rather heavy; I do not read thosemuch. "

"You must let me look at your library some day, Miss Diana. It would becertain to have charms for me; and I'll exchange with you. Perhaps Ihave books that you would not find heavy. "

Diana's full grey eyes turned on the minister with a gleam of gratitudeand pleasure. Her words were not needed to say that she would like thatkind of barter. 

"So your father was a clergyman?" Mr. Masters went on. 

"Yes. Not here, though. That was when I was quite little. We lived agood way from here; and I remember very well a great many things aboutall that time, till father died, and then mother came back here. "

"Came _back_, --then your mother is at home in Pleasant Valley?"

"O, we're both at home here--I was so little when we came; but mother'sfather lived where Nick Boddington does, and owned all this valley--Idon't mean Pleasant Valley, but all this hollow; a good large farm itwas; and when he died he left mother a nice piece of it, with this oldhouse. "

"Mr. Boddington, --is he then a relation of yours?"

"No, not exactly; he's the son of grandpa's second wife; we're reallyno relations, but we call each other cousin. Grandpa left the most ofhis land to his wife; but mother's got enough to manage, and nice land. "

"It's a beautiful place!" said the minister. "There is a waggon coming;I wonder if any of our friends have forgotten something? That is--yes, that _is_ farmer Babbage's team; isn't it? What is the matter?"

For something unusual in the arrangements of the vehicle, or theoccupants of it, was dimly yet surely to be discerned through thedistance and the light, which was now turning brown rather than grey. Nothing could be seen clearly, and yet it came as no waggon load hadgone from that door that evening. The minister took his hand from thegate, and Diana stepped forward, as the horses stopped in front of thelean-to; and a voice called out:

"Who's there to help? Hollo! Lend a hand. "

The minister sprang down the road, followed by Diana. "What do you wanthelp for?" he asked. 

"There's been an accident--Jim Delamater's waggon--we found itoverturned in the road; and here's Eliza, she hasn't spoke since. Haveyou got no more help?"

"Where's Jim?" asked Mrs. Starling, coming herself from the lean-to. 

"Staid with his team; about all he was up to. Now then, --can we get herin? Where's Josiah?"

But no more masculine help could be mustered than what was already onhand. Brains, however, can do much to supplement muscular force. Theminister had a settee out from the house in two minutes and by the sideof the waggon; with management and care, though with much difficulty, the unconscious girl was lifted down and laid on the settee; and by theaid of the women carried straight into the lean-to, the door of whichwas the nearest. There, by the same energetic ordering, well secondedby Diana, a mattress was brought and laid on the long table, which Mrs. Starling's diligence had already cleared since supper; and there theyplaced the girl, who was perfectly helpless and motionless in theirhands. 

"There is life yet, " said the minister, after an examination duringwhich every one stood breathless around. "Loose everything she has on, Miss Diana; and let us have some hartshorn, Mrs. Starling, if you havegot any. Well, brandy, then, and cold water; and I'll go for thedoctor. "

But Mr. Babbage represented that he must himself 'go on hum, ' and wouldpass by the doctor's door; so if the minister would stay and help thewomen folks, it would be more advisable. Accordingly the farmer'swaggon wheels were soon heard departing, and the little group in thelean-to kitchen were left alone. Too busy at first to think of it, theywere trying eagerly every restorative and stimulant they could think ofand command; but with little effect. A little, they thought; butconsciousness had not returned to the injured girl, when they had doneall they knew how to do, and tried everything within their reach. Hopebegan to fade towards despair; still they kept on with the use of theirremedies. Mrs. Starling went and came between the room where they wereand the stove, which stood in some outside shed, fetching bottles ofhot water; I think, between whiles, she was washing up her cups andsaucers; the other two, in the silence of her absences, could feel thestrange, solemn contrasts which one must feel, and does, even in themidst of keener anxieties than those which beset the watchers there. The girl, a fair, rather pretty person, pleasant-tempered and generallyliked, lay still and senseless on the table round which she and othersa little while ago had been seated at supper. Very still the room wasnow, that had been full of voices; the smell of camphor and brandy wasabout; the table was wet in one great spot with the cold water whichhad been applied to the girl's face. And through the open door andwindows came the stir of the sweet night air, and the sound of insects, and the gurgle of a brook that ran a few yards off; peaceful, free, glad, as if all were as it had been last night, or nature took nocognizance of human affairs. The minister had been very active andhelpful; bringing wood and drawing water and making up the fire, aswell as anybody, Mrs. Starling said afterwards; he had taken his partin the actual nursing, and better than anybody, Diana thought. Now thetwo stood silent and grave by the long table, while they still kept upthe application of brandy to the face and heat to the extremities, andrubbing the hands and wrists of the patient. 

"Did you know Miss Delamater well?" asked the minister. 

"Yes--as I know nearly all the girls, " Diana answered. 

"Do you think she is ready for the change--if she must make it?"

Diana hesitated. "I never heard her speak on the subject, " she said. "She wasn't a member of the church. "

Silence followed, and they were two grave faces still that bent overthe table; but there was the difference between the shadow on amountain lake where there is not a ripple, and the dark stir oftroubled waters. Diana's eye every now and then glanced for an instantat the face of her companion; it was very grave, but the broad brow wasas quiet as if all its questions were answered, and the mouth was sweetand at rest in its stillness. She wished he would speak again; therewas something in him that provoked her curiosity. He did speakpresently. 

"This shows us what the meaning of life is, " he said. 

"No, " said Diana, "it doesn't--to me. It is just a puzzle, and as mucha puzzle here as ever. I _don't_ see what the use of life is, or whatwe all live for; I don't see what it amounts to. "

"What do you mean?" asked her companion, but not as if he werestartled, and Diana went on. 

"I shouldn't say so if people were always having a good time, and ifthey were just right and did just right. But they are not, Mr. Masters;you know they are not; even the best of them, that I see; and thingslike _this_ are always happening, one way or another. If it isn't here, it is somewhere else; and if it isn't one time, it is another; and itis all confusion. I don't see what it all comes to. "

"That is the thought of a moment of pain, " said the minister. 

"No, it is not, " said Diana. "I think it often. I think it all thewhile. Now this very afternoon I was sitting at the door here, --youknow what sort of a day it has been, Mr. Masters?"

"I know. Perfect. Just June. "

"Well, I was looking at it, and feeling how lovely it was; everythingperfect; and somehow all that perfection took a kind of sharp edge andhurt me. I was thinking why nothing in the world was like it, or agreedwith it; nothing in human life, I mean. This afternoon, when thecompany was here and all the talk going on--_that_ was like nothing outof doors all the while; and _this_ is not like it. "

There was a sigh, deep drawn, that came through the minister's lips;then he spoke cheerfully--"Ay, God's works have parted company somehow. "

"Parted--?" said Diana curiously. 

"Yes. You remember surely that when he had made all things at first, hebeheld them very good. "

"Well, they are not very good now; not all of them. "

"Whose fault is that?"

"I know, " said Diana, "but that does not help me with my puzzle. Whydoes the world go on so? what is the use of my living, or anybody's?What does it amount to?"

"That's your lesson, " the minister answered, with a quick glance fromhis calm eyes. Not a bit of sentiment or of speculative rhapsody there;but downright, cool common sense, with just a little bit of authority. Diana did not know exactly how to meet it; and before she had arrangedher words, they heard wheels again, and then the doctor came in. 

The doctor approved of what had been done, and aided in renewedapplication of the same remedies. After a time, these seemed at lastsuccessful; the girl revived; and the doctor, after administering alittle tea and weak brandy and water, ordered that she should be keptquiet where she was, the room be darkened when daylight came on, thewindows kept open, and handkerchiefs wet with cold water be laid on herhead. And then he took his departure; and Diana went to communicate toher mother the orders he had left. 

"Keep her there!" echoed Mrs. Starling. "In the lean-to! She'd be adeal better in her bed. "

"We must make her bed there, mother. "

"There! On the table do you mean? Diana Starling, you are a baby!"

"She mustn't be stirred, mother, he says. "

"That's the very thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Starling. "She had ought to ha'been carried into one of the bed-chambers at the first; and I said so;and the new minister, he would have it all his own way. "

"But she must have all the air she could, mother, you know. "

"Air!" said Mrs. Starling. "Do you s'pose she would smother in one ofthe chambers, where many a one before her has laid, sick and well, andgot along too? Air, indeed! The house ain't like a corked bottle, Iguess. "

"Not much, " said Diana; "but Mr. Masters said, and the doctor says, that she cannot have too much air. "

"O well! Eggs can't be beat too much, neither; but it don't followyou're to stand beating 'em for ever. I've no patience. Where am Igoing to do my ironing? I should like the minister for to tell me;--orget meals, or anything else? I don't see what possessed Josiah to goand see his folks to-night of all nights. "

"We have not wanted him, mother, after all, that I see. "

"I have wanted him, " said Mrs. Starling. "If he had been home I needn'tto have had queer help, and missed knowing who was head of the house. Well, go along and fix it, --you and the minister. "

"But, mother, I want to get Eliza's things off, and to make her bedcomfortably; and I can't do it without you. "

"Well, get rid of the minister then, and I'll come. Him and me is toomany in one house. "

The minister would not leave the two women alone and go home, as Dianaproposed to him; but he went to make his horse comfortable while theydid the same for the sick girl. And then he took up his post justoutside the door, in the moonlight which came fitfully through the elmbranches; and he and Diana talked no more that night. He was watchfuland helpful; for he kept up the fire in the stove, and once morebrought wood when it was needed. Moonlight melted away at last into thedawn; cool clear outlines began to take place of the soft mystery ofnight shadows; then the warm glow from the east, behind the house, andthe glint of the sunbeams on the tops of the hills and on the racks ofcloud lying along the horizon. Diana still kept her place by theimprovised bed, and the minister kept his just outside the door. Mrs. Starling began to prepare for breakfast; and finally Josiah, theman-of-all-work on the little farm, came from his excursion and fromthe barn, bringing the pails of milk. Then the minister fetched hishorse, and came in to shake hands with Diana. He would not stay forbreakfast. She watched him down to the gate, where he threw himself onhis grey steed and went off at a smooth gallop, swift and steady, sitting as if he were more at home on a horse's back than anywhereelse. Diana looked after him. 

"Certainly, " she thought, "that is unlike all the other ministers thatever came to Pleasant Valley. "

"He's off, is he?" said Mrs. Starling as her daughter came in. "NowDiana, take notice; don't you go and take a fancy to this new man;because I won't favour it, nor have anything of the kind going on. Itell you beforehand. "

"There is very little danger of his taking a fancy to me, mother. "

"I don't know about that. He might do worse. But you couldn't; for I'llnever have anything to say to you if you do. "

"Why, mother?" inquired Diana in much surprise. "I should think you'dlike him. I should think everybody would. Why don't you like him?"

"He's too masterful for me. Mind what I tell you, Diana. "

"It's absurd, mother! Such a one as Mr. Masters never would think ofsuch a one as I am. He's a very cultivated man, mother; and has beenaccustomed to very different society from what he'll find here. I don'tseem to him what I seem to you. "

"I hope not!" said Mrs. Starling, "for you seem to me a goose. Cultivated! Who is cultivated, if you are not? Weren't you a whole yearat school in Boston? I guess my gentleman hasn't been to a betterplace. And warn't you for ever reading those musty old books, that makeyou out of kilter for all _my_ world. If you don't fit his neither, I'msorry. Society indeed! There's no better society than the folks ofPleasant Valley. Don't you go and set yourself up; nor him neither. "

Diana knew better than to carry on the discussion. 

Meanwhile the grey horse that bore the minister home kept up that longsmooth gallop for a half mile or so, then slackened it to walk up ahill. 

"That's a very remarkable girl, " the minister was saying to himself;"with much more in her than she knows. "

The gallop began again in a few minutes, and was unbroken till he gothome. It was but a piece of a home. Mr. Masters had rooms in the houseof Mrs. Persimmon, a poor widow living among the hills. The rooms wereneat; that was all that could be said for them; little and dark andlow, with bits of windows, and with the simplest of furnishing. Thesitting-room was cheerful with books, however--as cheerful as books canmake a room; and the minister did not look uncheerful, but very grave. If his brow was neither wrinkled nor lined, the quiet eyes beneath itwere deep with thought. Mr. Masters' morning was spent on this wise. 

First of all, for a good half hour, his knees were bent, and histhoughts, whatever they were, gave him work to do. That work done, theminister threw himself on his bed and slept, as quietly as he dideverything else, for an hour or two more. Then he rose, shaved anddressed, took such breakfast as Mrs. Persimmon could give him; mountedhis grey again, and was off to a house at some distance where there wasa sick child, and another house where there dwelt an infirm old man. Between these two the hours were spent till he rode home to dinner. 

CHAPTER III. 

HARNESSING PRINCE. 

The improvement of the sick girl was better than had been hoped; it wasbut a day or two before Mrs. Starling's heart's desire could beeffected and her kitchen cleared. Eliza was moved to another room, andat the week's end was taken home. 

It was the next day after this had been done; and Diana was sittingagain in the elm shadow at the door of the lean-to. Not idly this time;for a pan of peas was in her lap, and her fingers were busy withshelling them. Still her eyes were very much more busy with the lovelylight and shade on meadow and hill; her glances went up and down, fromher pan to the sunny landscape. Mrs. Starling, bustling about as usualwithin the house and never looking out, presently hearing the gatelatch, called out--"Who's that?"

"Joe Bartlett, mother, " Diana answered without moving. 

It was not the gate that led to the flower patch and the front door. That was some distance off. Another little brown gate under theelm-tree opened directly in front of the lean-to door; and the patchbetween was all in fleckered sunlight and shadow, like the doorwaywhere Diana sat. 

The little gate opening now admitted a visitor who was in appearancethe very typical Yankee of the story books. Long in the limbs, loose inthe joints, angular, ungainly, he came up the walk with a movement thatwould tempt one to think he had not got accustomed to his inches anddid not yet know quite what to do with them all. He had a long face, red in colour; in expression a mixture of honest frankness, carelessness, and good humour. 

"Mornin'!" said he as he came near. "How's your folks, this forenoon?"

"Quite well--all there are of us, Joe, " said Diana, shelling her peasas she looked up at him. "How's your mother?"

"Well, she's pretty smart. Mother seems to be allays just about so. Inever see the beat of her for keepin' along. You've had quite a spello' nursin' folks, hain't you, down this way? Must ha' upset you quiteconsiderable. "

"We didn't have the worst of the upsetting. "

"That's a fact. Well, she's gone, ain't she?"

"Who, Eliza Delamater? Yes; gone yesterday. "

"And you hain't nobody else on hand, have ye?"

"No. Why?"

"Mother's took a lonesome fit. She says it's quite a spell that youhain't ben down our way; and I guess that's so, ain't it?"

"I couldn't help it, Joe. I have had other things to do. "

"Well, don't you think to-day's a good sort for a visit?"

"To-day?" said Diana, shelling her peas very fast. 

"You see, it's pretty silent down to our place. That is, when I ain'tto hum; and I can't be there much o' the time, 'cept when I'm asleep inmy bed. I'm off as soon as I've done the chores in the mornin'; and Ican't get hum nohow sooner than to do up the chores in the evenin'; andthe old lady has it pretty much her own way as to conversation the resto' the time. She can talk to what she likes; but there ain't nothin' ascan make a remark back to her. "

"It's too bad, Joe!"

"Fact!" said Joe seriously; all the rest had been said with a smile;"but you know mother. Come! put on your bonnit and run down and setwith her a spell. She's took a notion to have ye; and I know she'll bewatchin' till you come. "

"Then I must go. I guess I can arrange it, Joe. "

"Well, I'll get along, then, where I had ought to be. Mis' Starlingcuttin' her hay?"

"Yes, this week and more. "

"It's turnin' out a handsome swath; but it had ought to be all downnow. Well, good day! Hurry up, now, for down yonder. "

Diana brought in her pan of peas. 

"Mother, where's Josiah Davis?"

"Where should he be? He's up in the hill lot, cuttin' hay. That grassis all in flower; it had ought to been cut a week ago; but Josiahalways has one of his hands behind him. "

"And he won't be in till noon. I must harness the waggon myself. "

"If you can catch the horse, " said her mother. "He's turned out in thelot. It's a poor job, at this time o' day. "

"I'll try and make a good job of it, " said Diana. So she took hersun-bonnet and went out to the barn. The old horse was not far off, forthe "lot" in this case meant simply the small field in which the barnand the barnyard were enclosed; but being a wary old animal, with agood deal of experience of life, he had come to know that a halter anda pan of corn generally meant hard work near at hand, and was won't tobe shy of such allurements. Diana could sometimes do better thananybody else with old Prince; they were on good terms; and Prince hadsense enough to take notice that she never followed the plough, and wastherefore a safer venture than his other flatterers. With the corn andthe halter Diana now sought the corner where Prince was standingwhisking his tail in the shade of a tree. But it was a warm morning;and seeing her approach, Prince quietly walked off into the sun on theother side of the tree, and went on to another shady resting-place somedistance away. Diana followed, speaking to him; but Prince repeated hisungallant manoeuvre; and from tree to tree across the sunny field Dianatrudged after him, until she was hot and tired. Perhaps Prince'sphilosophy came in play at last, warning him that this game could notgo on for ever, and would certainly end in his discomfiture some time;for, with no apparent reason for his change of tactics, he stood stillat length under the tree farthest from the barn, and suffered himselfto be made captive. Diana got the halter on, and, flushed and excitedwith the chase, led him back over the lot and out to the road, whereJosiah had very culpably left the little waggon standing in the shadeof the elm, close by the lean-to gate. Just as she got there, Diana sawa stranger who had his hand on the gate, but who left it now and cameforward to speak to her. 

Diana stood by the thills of the waggon, horse in hand, but, to tellthe truth, forgetting both. The stranger was unlike anything often seenin Pleasant Valley. He wore the dark-blue uniform of an army officer;there was a stripe of gold down the seam of his pantaloons and a goldbar across his shoulders, and his cap was a soldier's cap. But it wasnot on his head just now; it had come off since he quitted the gate;and the step with which he drew near was the very contrast to JoeBartlett's lounging pace; this was measured, clean, compact, and firm, withal as light and even as that of an antelope. His hair showed theregulation cut; and Diana saw with the same glance a pair of light, brilliant, hazel eyes and a finely trimmed mustache. _She_ stoodflushed and still, halter in hand, with her sun-bonnet pushed a littleback for air. The stranger smiled just a little. 

"May I ask how far I am from a place called Elmfield?"

"It is"--Diana's thoughts wandered, --"It is five miles. "

"I ought not to need to ask--but I have been so long away. --Do you knowhow or where I can get a horse, or any conveyance, to bring me there? Ihave ridden beyond this, and met with an accident. "

Diana hesitated. "Is it Lieut. Knowlton?" she said. 

"Ah, you know me?" said he. "I forgot that Pleasant Valley knows mebetter than I know Pleasant Valley. I did not count on finding a friendhere. " His eye glanced at the little brown house. 

"Everybody knows Elmfield, " said Diana; "and I guessed--"

"From my dress?" said Mr. Knowlton, following the direction of herlook. "This was accident too. But which of my friends ought I to knowhere, that I don't know? Pardon me, --but is this horse to be put to thewaggon or taken away from it?"

"O, I was going to put him in. "

"Allow me"--said the young man, taking the halter from Diana's willinghands; "but where is the harnessing gear?"

"O, that is in the barn!" exclaimed Diana. "I will go and fetch it. "

"Pray no! Let me get it, " said her companion; and giving the end of thehalter a turn round one of the thills, he had overtaken her before shehad well taken half a dozen steps. They went together through thebarnyard. Diana found the harness, and the young officer threw it overhis shoulder with a smile at her which answered her deprecating words;a smile extremely pleasant and gentlemanly, if withal a little arch. Diana shrank back somewhat before the glance, which to her fancy showedthe power of keen observation along with the habit of giving orders. They went back to the elm, and Mr. Knowlton harnessed the horse, Dianaexplaining in a word or two the necessity under which she had beenacting. 

"And what about my dilemma?" said he presently, as his task wasfinished. 

"There is no horse or waggon you could get anywhere, that I know of, "said Diana. "The teams are apt to be in use just now. But I am goingdown to within a mile of Elmfield; and I was going to say, if you like, I can take you so far. "

"And who will do me such kindness?"

"Who? O--Diana Starling. "

"Is that a name I ought to know?" inquired Mr. Knowlton. "I shall knowit from this day; but how about before to-day? I have been gone fromPleasant Valley, at school and at the Military Academy, four, five, --ten years. "

"Mother came back here to live just ten years ago. "

"My conscience is clear!" he said, smiling. "I was beginning to whipmyself. Now are we ready?"

Not quite, for Diana went into the house for her gloves and a strawhat; she made no other change in her dress, having taken off her apronbefore she set out after Prince. She found her new friend standing withthe reins in his hand, as if he were to drive and not she; and Dianawas helped into her own waggon with a deferential courtesy which up tothat time she had only read of in books; nor known much even so. Itsilenced her at first. She sat down as mute as a child; and Mr. Knowlton handled Prince and the waggon and all in the style of one thatknew how and had the right. 

That drive, however, was not to be silent or stiff in any degree. Mr. Knowlton, for his part, had no shyness or hesitation belonging to him. He had seen the world and learnt its freedom. Diana was only a simplecountry girl, and had never seen the world; yet she was as littletroubled with embarrassment of any sort. Partly this was, no doubt, because of her sound, healthy New England nature; the solidself-respect which does not need--nor use--to put itself in the balancewith anything else to be assured of its own quality. But part belongedto Diana's own personalty; in a simple, large nature, too simple andtoo large to feel small motives or to know petty issues. If her cheeksand brow were flushed at first, it was because the sun had been hot inthe lot and Prince tiresome. She was as composedly herself as ever theyoung officer could be. But I think each of them was a little excitedby the companionship of the other. 

"Do you drive this old fellow yourself?" asked Mr. Knowlton, after alittle. "But I need not ask! Of course you do. There's no difficulty. And not much danger, " he added, with a tone so dry and comical thatthey both burst into a laugh. 

"I assure you I am very glad to have Prince, " said Diana. "He is so oldnow that they generally let him off from the farm work. He takes motherand me to church, and stands ready for anything I want most of thetime. "

"Lucky for me, too, " said Mr. Knowlton. "I am afraid you will find thesun very hot!"

"I? O no, I don't mind it at all, " said Diana. "There's a nice air now. Where is your horse, Mr. Knowlton? you said you had an accident. "

"Yes. That was a quarter of a mile or so beyond your house. "

"And is your horse there?"

"Must be, I think. I shall send some people to remove him. "

"Why, is he _dead?_"

"I should not have left him else, Miss Starling. "

Diana did not choose to go on with a string of questions; and hercompanion hesitated. 

"It's my own fault, " he said with a sort of displeased half laugh; "apiece of boyish thoughtlessness that I've paid for. There was a nicered cow lying in the middle of the road"--

"Where?" said Diana, wondering. 

"Just ahead of me; a few rods. She was lying quite quietly, taking hermorning siesta in the sun; plunged in ruminative thoughts, I supposed, and the temptation was irresistible to go over without disturbing her. "

"_Over_ her?" said Diana in a maze. 

"Yes. I counted on what one should never count on--what I didn't know. "

"What was that?"

"Whether it would occur to her to get upon her legs, just at thatmoment. "

"And she did?" inquired Diana. 

"She did. "

"What did that do, Mr. Knowlton?"

"Threw my poor steed off _his_ legs forever!" And here, in despite ofhis vexation, which was real and apparent, the young man burst into alaugh. Diana had not got at his meaning. 

"And where were you, Mr. Knowlton?"

"On his back. I shall never forgive myself for being such a boy. Don'tyou understand? The creature rose up just in time to be in the way ofmy leap, and we were thrown over--my horse and I. "

"Thrown! You were not hurt, Mr. Knowlton?"

"I deserved it, didn't? But I was nothing the worse--except for losingmy horse, and my self-complacency. "

"Was the horse killed?"

"No; not by the fall. But he was injured; so that I saw the best thingto do would be to put him out of life at once; so I did it. I had mypistols; I often ride with them, to be ready for any sport that mayoffer. I am very much ashamed, to have to tell you this story ofmyself!"

There was so much of earnestness in the expression of the lastsentence, it was said with such a deferential contrition, if I may sospeak, that Diana's thoughts experienced a diversion from the subjectthat had occasioned them. The contrition came more home than the fault. By common consent they went off to other matters of talk. Dianaexplained and commented on the history and features of Pleasant Valley, so far at least as her companion's questions called for suchexplanation, and that was a good deal. Mr. Knowlton gave her details ofhis own life and experience, which were much more interesting, shethought. The conversation ran freely; and again and again eyes met eyesfull in sympathy over some grave or laughing point of intelligence. 

And what is there in the meeting of eyes? What if the one pair weresparkling and quick, and the brow over them bore the fair lines ofcommand? What though the other pair were deep and thoughtful and sweet, and the brow one that promised passion and power? A thousand other eyesmight have looked on either one of them, and forgotten; these twolooked--and remembered. You cannot tell why; it is the old story; thehidden, unreadable affinity making itself known to its counterpart; thesign and countersign of nature. But it was only nature that gave andtook; not Diana and Mr. Knowlton. 

Meanwhile Prince had an easy time; and the little waggon went verygently over the smooth roads past one farm after another. 

"Prince _can_ go faster than this, " Diana confided at last to hercompanion. 

"He doesn't want to, does he?"

Diana laughed, and knew in her heart she was of Prince's mind. 

However, even five miles will come to an end in time if you keep goingeven slowly; and in time the little brown house of Mrs. Bartlettappeared in the distance, and Prince drew the waggon up before thedoor. Diana alighted, and Mr. Knowlton drove on, promising to send thewaggon back from Elmfield. 

It was coming down, in more ways than one, to get out of the waggon andgo in to make her visit. Diana did not feel just ready for it. Sheloosened the strings of her hat, walked slowly up the path between thehollyhocks that led to the door, and there stopped and turned to take alast look at Mr. Knowlton in the distance. Such a ride as she had had!Such an entertainment! People in Pleasant Valley did not talk likethat; nor look like that. How much difference it makes, to haveeducation and to see the world! And a military education especially hasa more liberalizing and adorning effect than the course of life in thecolleges; the manner of a soldier has in it a charm which is wanting inthe manner of a minister. As for farmers, they have no manners at all. And the very faces, thought Diana. 

Well, she could not stand there on the door-step. She must go in. Sheturned and lifted the latch of the door. 

The little room within was empty. It was a tiny house; the ground floorboasted only two rooms, and each of those was small. The broad hearthof flagstones took up a third of the floor of this one. A fire burnedin the chimney, though the day was so warm; and a straight-backedarm-chair, with a faded cushion in it, stood by the chimney corner witha bunch of knitting lying on the cushion. Diana tapped at an inner doorat her right, and then getting no answer, went across the kitchen andopened another opposite the one that had admitted her. 

CHAPTER IV. 

MOTHER BARTLETT. 

The little house, unpainted like many others, had no fenced enclosureon this side. A wide field stretched away from the back door, lyingpartly upon a hill-side; and several cattle were pasturing in it. Farmfields and meadows were all around, except where this one hill rose upbehind the house. It was wooded at the top; below, the ranks of acornfield sloped aspiringly up its base. A narrow footpath, which onlythe tread of feet kept free from weeds and grass, went off obliquely toa little enclosed garden, which lay beyond the corner of the house insome arbitrary and independent way, not adjoining it at all. It was asweet bit of country, soft and mellow under the summer sun; still asgrasshoppers and the tinkle of a cowbell could make it; and very farfrom most of the improvements of the nineteenth century. But the smellof the pasture and the fragrance that came from the fresh shades of thewood, and the freedom of the broad fields of pure ether, made it richwith some of nature's homely wealth; which is not by any means theworst there is. Diana knew the place very well; her eyes were lookingnow for the mistress of it. And not long. In the out-of-the-way lyinggarden she discerned her white cap; and at the gate met her bringing ahead of lettuce in her hands. 

"I knew you liked it, dear, " she said, "and I had forgot all about it;and then it flashed on me, and I thought, Diana will like to have itfor her dinner; and I guess it'll have time to cool. Just put it in atin pail, dear, and hang it down in the well; and it'll be fresh. "

This was done, and Diana came in and took a seat by her old friend. 

"You needn't do that for me, Mother Bartlett. I don't care what I haveto eat. "

"Most folks like what is good, " said the old lady; "suppos'n they knowit. "

"Yes, and so do I, but"--

"I made a pot-pie for ye, " the old lady went on contentedly. 

"And I suppose you have left nothing at all for me to do, as usual. Itis too bad, Mother Bartlett. "

"You shall do all the rest, " said her friend; "and now you may talk tome. "

She was a trim little old woman, not near so tall as her visitor; verywrinkled, but fresh-skinned, and with a quick grey eye. Her dress was acommon working dress of some dark stuff; coarse, but tidy andnice-looking; her cap white and plain; she sat in her arm-chair, setting her little feet to the fire, and her fingers merrily clickingher needles together; a very comfortable vision. The kitchen and itsfurniture were as neat as a pin. 

"I don't see how you manage, Mother Bartlett, " Diana went on, glancingaround. "You ought to have some one to live with you and help you. Itlooks as if you had half a dozen. "

"Not much, " said the old lady, laughing. "A half dozen would soon makea muss, of one sort or another. There's nothin' like having nobody. "

"But you might be sick. "

"I might be;--but I ain't, " said Mrs. Bartlett, running one end of aknitting-needle under her cap and looking placidly at Diana. 

"But you might want somebody. "

"When I do I send for 'em. I sent for you to-day, child; and here youare. "

"But you are quite well to-day?" said Diana a little anxiously. 

"I am always well. Never better. "

"How old are you, Mother Bartlett?"

"Seventy-three years, child. "

"Well, I do think you oughtn't to be here alone. It don't seem right, and I don't think it is right. "

"What's to do, child? There ain't nary one to come and live with me. They're all gone but Joe. My Lord knows I'm an old woman seventy-threeyears of age. "

"What then, Mother Bartlett?" Diana asked curiously. 

"He'll take care of me, my dear. "

"But then, we ought to take care of ourselves, " said Diana. "Now if Joewould marry somebody"--

"Joe ain't lucky in that line, " said the old lady laughing again. "Andmay be what he might like, I mightn't. Before you go to wishin' forchanges, you'd better know what they'll be. I'm content child. Thereain't a thing on earth I want that I haven't got. Now what's the news?"

Diana began and told her the whole story of the sewing meeting and theaccident and the nursing of the injured girl. Mrs. Bartlett had anintense interest in every particular; and what Diana failed toremember, her questions brought out. 

"And how do you like the new minister?"

"Haven't you seen him yet?"

"Nay. He hain't been down my way yet. In good time he will. He's hadsick folks to see arter, Joe told me; old Jemmy Claflin, and JoeSimmons' boy; and Mis' Atwood, and Eliza. "

"I think you'll like him, " said Diana slowly. "He's not like anyminister ever _I_ saw. "

"What's the odds?"

"It isn't so easy to tell. He don't look like a minister, for onething; nor he don't talk like one; not a bit. "

"Have we got a gay parson, then?" said the old lady, slightly raisingher eyebrows. 

"Gay? O no! not in the way you mean. In one way he _is_ gay; he is verypleasant; not stiff or grum, like Mr. Hardenburgh; and he is amusingtoo, in a quiet way, but he _is_ amusing; he is so cool and so quick. Ono, he's not gay in the way you mean. I guess he's good. "

"Do you like him?" Mrs. Bartlett asked. 

"Yes, " said Diana, thinking of the night of Eliza Delamater's accident. "He is very queer. "

"I don't seem to make him out by your telling, child. I'll have towait, I guess. I've got no sort of an idea of him, so far. Now, dear, if you'll set the table--dinner's ready; and then we'll have somereading. "

Diana drew out a small deal table to the middle of the floor, and seton it the delf plates and cups and saucers, the little saltcellar ofthe same ware, and the knives and forks that were never near Sheffield;in fact, were never steel. But the lettuce came out of the well crispand fresh and cool; and Mrs. Bartlett's pot-pie crust came out of thepot as spongy and light as possible; and the loaf of "seconds" breadwas sweet as it is hard for bread to be that is not made near the mill;and if you and I had been there, I promise you we would not have mindedthe knives and forks, or the cups either. Mrs. Bartlett's tea was notof corresponding quality, for it came from a country store. However, the cream went far to mend even that. The back door was open for theheat; and the hill-side could be seen through the doorway and part ofthe soft green meadow slope; and the grasshopper's song and the belltinkle were not bad music. 

"And who was that came with you, dear?" Mrs. Bartlett asked as they satat table. 

"With me? Did you see me come?"

"Surely. I was in the garden. What should hinder me? Who was it druvyou, dear?"

"It was an accident. Young Mr. Knowlton had got into some trouble withhis horse, riding out our way, and came to ask how he could get home. So I brought him. "

"That's Evan Knowlton! him they are making a soldier of?"

"He's made. He's done with his education. He is at home now. "

"Ain't goin' to be a soldier after all?"

"O yes; he _is_ a soldier; but he has got a leave, to be home forawhile. "

"Well, what sort is he? I don't see what they wanted to make a soldierof him for; his grand'ther would ha' been the better o' his help on thefarm, seems to me; and now he'll be off to the ends o' the earth, anddoin' nobody knows what. It's the wisdom o' this world. But how has heturned out, Die?"

"I don't know; well, I should think. "

"And his sisters at home would ha' been the better of him. By-and-byMr. Bowdoin will die; and then who'll look after the farm, or thegirls?"

"Still, mother, it's something more and something better to beeducated, as he is, and to know the world and all sorts of things, ashe does, than just to live on the farm here in the mountains, and raisecorn and eat it, and nothing else. Isn't it?"

"Why should it be better, child?"

"It is nice to be educated, " said Diana softly. And she thought muchmore than she said. 

"A man can get as much edication as he can hold, and live on a farmtoo. I've seen sich. Some folks can't do no better than hoe--corn likemy Joe. But there ain't no necessity for that. But arter all, what doesfolks live for, Diana?"

"I never could make out, Mother Bartlett. "

The old lady looked at her thoughtfully and wistfully, but said nomore. Diana cleared the table and washed the few dishes; and when allwas straight again, took out a newspaper she had brought from home, andshe and the old lady settled themselves for an afternoon of enjoyment. For it was that to both parties. At home Diana cared little about thepaper; here it was quite another thing. Mrs. Bartlett wanted to hearall there was in it; public doings, foreign doings, city news, editor'sgossip; and even the advertisements came in for their share ofpleasure-giving. New inventions had an interest; tokens of the world'smovements, or the world's wants, in other notices, were foundsuggestive of thought or provocative of wonder. Sitting with her feetput towards the fire, her knitting in her hands, the quick grey eyesstudied Diana's face as she read, never needing to give theirsupervision to the fingers; and the coarse blue yarn stocking, whichwas doubtless destined for Joe, grew visibly in length while the eyesand thoughts of the knitter were busy elsewhere. The newspaper filleda good part of the afternoon; for the reading was often interruptedfor talk which grew out of it. When at last it was done, and Mrs. Bartlett's eyes returned to the fire, there were a few minutes ofstillness; then she said gently, "Now, our other reading, dear?"

"You like this the best, Mother Bartlett, don't you?" said Diana, asshe rose and brought from the inner room a large volume; _the_ Book, asany one might know at a glance; carefully covered with a sewn cover ofcoarse cloth. "Where shall I read now?"

The place indicated was the beginning of the Revelation, a favouritebook with the old lady. And as she listened, the knitting grew slower;though, true to the instinctive habit of doing something, the fingersnever ceased absolutely their work. But they moved slowly; and the oldlady's eyes, no longer on the fire, went out of the open window, andgazed with a far-away gaze that went surely beyond the visible heaven;so wrapt and steady it was. Diana, sitting on a low seat at her feet, glanced up sometimes; but seeing that gaze, looked down and went onagain with her reading and would not break the spell. At last, havingread several chapters without a word of interruption, she stopped. Theold lady's eyes came back to her knitting, which began to go a littlefaster. 

"Do you like all this so much?" Diana asked. "I know you do; but Ican't see why you do. You can't understand it. "

"I guess I do, " said the old lady. "I seem to, anyhow. It's queer if Idon't. "

"But you can't make anything of all those horses?"

"Why, it's just what you've been readin' about all the afternoon. "

"In the newspaper!" cried Diana. 

"It's many a year that I've been lookin' at it, " said the old lady;"ever sen I heard it all explained by a good minister. I've beenlookin' at it ever sen. " She spoke dreamily. 

"It's all words and words to me, " said Diana. 

"There's a blessin' belongs to studyin' them words, though. Thosehorses are the works and judgments of the Lord that are goin' on in allthe earth, to prepare the way of his comin'. "

"Whose coming?"

"The Lord's comin', " said the old lady solemnly. "The white horse, that's victory; that's goin' on conquering and to conquer; that's thetruth and power of the Lord bringin' his kingdom. The red horse, that'swar; ah, how that red horse has tramped round the world! he's left themarks of his hoofs on our own ground not long sen; and now you've beenreadin' to me about his goin's on elsewhere. The black horse, that'sfamine; and not downright starvation, the minister said, but just want;grindin' and pressin' people down. Ain't there enough o' that in theworld? not just so bad in Pleasant Valley, but all over. And the palehorse--what is it the book calls him?--that's death; and he comes toPleasant Valley as he comes everywhere. They've been goin', those four, ever sen the world was a world o' fallen men. "

"But what do they do to prepare the way for the Lord's coming?" saidDiana. 

"What do I know? _That_'ll be known when the book shall come to beread, I s'pose. I'm waitin'. I'll know by and by"--

"Only I can seem to see so much as this, " the old lady went on after apause. "The Lord won't have folk to settle down accordin' to their willinto a contented forgetfulness o' him; so he won't let there be peacetill the King o' Peace comes. O, I'd be glad if he'd come!"

"But that will be the end of the world, " said Diana. 

"Well, " said Mrs. Bartlett, "it might be the end of the world for all Icare; if it would bring Him. What do I live for?"

"You know I don't understand you, Mother Bartlett, " said Diana gently. 

"Well, what do you live for, child?"

"I don't know, " said Diana slowly. "Nothing. I help mother make butterand cheese; and I make my clothes, and do the housework. And next yearit'll be the same thing; and the next year after that. It don't amountto anything. "

"And do you think the Lord made you--you pretty creatur!"--said the oldlady, softly passing her hand down the side of Diana's face, --"fornothin' better than to make cheese and butter?"

Diana smiled and blushed brightly at her old friend, a lovely child'ssmile. 

"I may come to be married, you know, one of these days! But after all, _that_ don't make any difference. It's the same thing, married or notmarried. People all do the same things, day after day, till they die. "

"If that was all"--said the old lady meditatively, looking into thefire and knitting slowly. 

"It _is_ all; except that here and there there is somebody who knowsmore and can do something better; I suppose life is something more tothem. But they are mostly men. "

"Edication's a fine thing, " Mrs. Bartlett went on in the same manner;"but there's two sorts. There's two sorts, Diana. I hain't gotmuch, --o' one kind; I never had no chance to get it, so I've donewithout it. And now my life's so near done, it don't seem much matter. But there's the other sort, that ain't learned at no 'cademy. The Lordput me into _his_ school forty-four years ago--where he puts all hischildren; and if they learn their lessons, he takes 'em up andup, --some o' the lessons is hard to learn, --but he takes 'em up and up;till life ain't a puzzle no longer, and they begin to know the languageo' heaven, where his courts be. And that's edication that's worthhavin', --when one's just goin' there, as I be. "

"How do you get into that school, Mother Bartlett?" Diana askedthoughtfully, and yet with her mind not all upon what she was saying, "You are in it, my dear. The good Lord sends his lessons and histeachers to every one; but it's no use to most folks; they won't takeno notice. "

"What 'teachers'?" said Diana, smiling. 

"There's a host of them, " said Mrs. Bartlett; "and of all sorts. Why, Iseem to be in the midst of 'em, Diana. The sun is a teacher to me everyday; and the clouds, and the air, and the colours. The hill and thepasture ahint the house, --I've learned a heap of lessons from 'em. AndI'm learnin' 'em all the time, till I seem to be rich with what they'retellin' me. So rich, some days I 'most wonder at myself. No doubt, tohear all them voices, one must hear the voice o' the Word. And thenthere's many other voices; but they don't come just so to all. I couldtell you some o' mine; but the ones that'll come to you'll be sure tobe different; so you couldn't learn from _them_, child. And folksthinks I'm a lonesome old woman!"

"Well, how can they help it?" said Diana. 

"It's nat'ral, " said Mrs. Bartlett. 

"I can't help your seeming so to me. "

"That _ain't_ nat'ral, for you had ought to know better. They think, folks does, --I know, --I'm a poor lone old woman, just going to die. "

"But isn't that nearly true?" said Diana gently. 

There was a slight glad smile on the withered lips as Mrs. Bartlettturned towards her. 

"You have the book there on your lap, dear. Just find the eleventhchapter of the Gospel of John, and read the twenty-fifth andtwenty-sixth verses. And when you feel inclined to think that o' meagin, just wait till you know what they mean. "

Diana found and read:--

"'Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life: he thatbelieveth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whoesoeverliveth and believeth in me, shall never die. '"

CHAPTER V. 

MAKING HAY. 

June had changed for July; but no heats ever withered the green of thePleasant Valley hills, nor browned its pastures; and no droughts everstopped the tinkling of its rills and brooks, which rolled down, everyone of them, over gravelly pebbly beds to lose themselves in lake orriver. Sun enough to cure the hay and ripen the grain, they had; andJuly was sweet with the perfume of hayfield, and lovely with brownhayricks, and musical with the whetting of scythes. Mrs. Starling'slittle farm had a good deal of grass land; and the haying wasproportionally a busy season. For haymakers, according to the generaltradition of the country, in common with reapers, are expected to eatmore than ordinary men, or men in ordinary employments; and to furnishthe meals for the day kept both Mrs. Starling and her daughter busy. 

It was mid-afternoon, sunny, perfumed, still; the afternoon luncheonhad gone out to the men, who were cutting then in the meadow whichsurrounded the house. Diana found her hands free; and had gone up toher room, not to rest, for she was not tired, but to get out of theatmosphere of the kitchen and breathe a few minutes without thinking ofcheese and gingerbread. She had begun to change her dress; but leisurewooed her, and she took up a book and presently forgot even that carein the delight of getting into a region of _thought_. For Diana's bookwas not a novel; few such found their way to Pleasant Valley, andseldom one to Mrs. Starling's house. Her father's library was quiteunexhausted still, its volumes took so long to read and needed so muchthinking over; and now she was deep in a treatise more solid and lessattractive than most young women are willing to read. It carried herout of the round of daily duties and took her away from Pleasant Valleyaltogether, and so was a great refreshment. Besides, Diana likedthinking. 

Once or twice a creak of a farm waggon was heard along the road; it wastoo well known a sound to awake her attention; then came a sound farless common--the sharp trot of a horse moving without wheels behindhim. Diana started instantly and went to a window that commanded theroad. The sound ceased, but she saw why; the rider had reined in hissteed and was walking slowly past; the same rider she had expected tosee, with the dark uniform and the soldier's cap. He looked hard atthe place; could he be stopping? The next moment Diana had flown backto her own room, had dropped the dress which was half off, and wasarraying herself in a fresh print; and she was down-stairs almost assoon as the visitor knocked. Diana opened the door. She knew Mrs. Starling was deep in supper preparations, mingled with provisions forthe next day's lunches. 

Uniforms have a great effect, to eyes unaccustomed to them. How Lieut. Knowlton came to be wearing his uniform in the country, so far awayfrom any post, I don't know; perhaps he did. He _said_, that he hadnothing else he liked for riding in. But a blue frock, with gold barsacross the shoulders and military buttons, is more graceful than afrieze coat. And it was a gracious, graceful head that was bared at thesight of the door-opener. 

"You see, " he said with a smile, "I couldn't go by! The other day I wasyour pensioner, in kindness. Now I want to come in my own character, ifyou'll let me. "

"Is it different from the character I saw the other day?" said Diana, as she led the way into the parlour. 

"You did not see my character the other day, did you?"

"I saw what you showed me!"

He laughed, and then laughed again; looking a little surprised, a gooddeal amused. 

"I would give a great deal to know what you thought of me. "

"Why would you?" Diana said, quite quietly. 

"That I might correct your mistakes, of course. "

"Suppose I made any mistakes, " said Diana, "you could only tell me thatyou thought differently. I don't see that I should be much wiser. "

"I find I made a mistake about you!" he said, laughing again, butshaking his head. "But every person is like a new language to thosethat see him for the first time; don't you think so? One has to learnthe signs of the language by degrees, before one can read it off like abook. "

"I never thought about that, " said Diana. "No; I think that is true of_some_ people; not everybody. All the Pleasant Valley people seem to meto belong to one language. All except one, perhaps. "

"Who is the exception?" Mr. Knowlton asked quickly. 

"I don't know whether you know him. "

"O, I know everybody here--or I used to. "

"I was thinking of somebody who didn't use to be here. He has only justcome. I mean Mr. Masters. "

"The parson?"

"Yes. "

"I don't know him much. I suppose he belongs to the _parson_ language, to carry on our figure. They all do. "

"He don't, " said Diana. "That is what struck me in him. What are thesigns of the 'parson' language?"

"A black coat and a white neckcloth, to begin with. "

"He dresses in grey, " said Diana laughing, "or in white; and wears anysort of a cravat. "

"To go on, --Generally a grave face and a manner of great propriety;with a square way of arranging words. "

"Mr. Masters has no manner at all; and he is one of the mostentertaining people I ever knew. "

"Jolly sort, eh?"

"No, I think not, " said Diana; "I don't know exactly what you mean byjolly; he is never silly, and he does not laugh much particularly; buthe can make other people laugh. "

"Well, another sign is, they put a religious varnish over commonthings. Do you recognise that?"

"I recognise that, for I have seen it; but it isn't true of Mr. Masters. "

"I give him up, " said young Knowlton. "I am sure I shouldn't like him. "

"Why, do you _like_ these common signs of the 'parson language, ' as youcall it, that you have been reckoning?"

The answer was a decided negative accompanied with a laugh again; andthen Diana's visitor turned the conversation to the country, and theplace, and the elm trees; looked out of the window and observed thatthe haymakers were at work near the house, and finally said he must goout to look at them nearer--he had not made hay since he was a boy. 

He went out, and Diana went back to her mother in the lean-to. 

"Mother, young Mr. Knowlton is here. "

"Well, keep him out o' _my_ way; that's all I ask. "

"Haven't you got through yet?"

"Through! There was but one single pan of ginger-bread left this noon;and there ain't more'n three loaves o' bread in the pantry. What's thatamong a tribe o' such grampuses? I've got to make biscuits for tea, Di;and I may as well get the pie-crust off my hands at the same time;it'll be so much done for to-morrow. I wish you'd pick over theberries. And then I'll find you something else to do. If I had sixhands and two heads, I guess I could about get along. "

"But, mother, it won't do for nobody to be in the parlour. "

"I thought he was gone?"

"Only gone out into the field to see the haymakers. "

"Queer company!" said Mrs. Starling, leaving her bowl of dough, withflowery hands, to peer out of a window. "You may make your mind easy, Di; he won't come in again. I declare! he's got his coat off and he'sgone at it himself; ain't that him?"

Diana looked and allowed that it was. Mr. Knowlton had got a rake inhand, his coat hung on the fence, and he was raking hay as busily asthe best of them. Diana gave a little sigh, and turned to her pan ofberries. This young officer was a new language to her, and she wouldhave liked, she thought, to spell out a little more of its gracefulpeculiarities. The berries took a good while. Meantime Mrs. Starling'sbiscuit went into the oven, and a sweet smell began to come thereout. Mrs. Starling bustled about setting the table; with cold pork andpickles, and cheese and berry pie, and piles of bread brown and white. Clearly the haymakers were expected to supper. 

"Mother, " said Diana doubtfully, when she had washed her hands from theberry stains, "will you bring Mr. Knowlton out _here_ to tea, if heshould possibly stay?"

"He's gone, child, this age. "

"No, he isn't. "

"He ain't out yonder any more. "

"But his horse stands by the fence under the elm. "

"I wish he was farther, then! Yes, of course he'll come here, if hetakes supper with _me_ to-night. I don't think he will. I don't knowhim, and I don't know as I want to. "

But this vaguely expressed hope was disappointed. The young officercame in, a little while before supper; laughingly asked Diana for somewater to wash his hands; and followed her out to the lean-to. There hewas introduced to Mrs. Starling, and informed her he had been doing herwork, begging to know if that did not entitle him to some supper. Ithink Mrs. Starling was a little sorry then that she had not madepreparations to receive him more elegantly; but it was too late now;she only rushed a little nervously to fetch him a finer white towelthan those which usually did kitchen duty for herself and Diana; andthen the biscuits were baked, and the farm hands came streaming in. 

There were several of them, now in haying time, headed by Josiah Davis, Mrs. Starling's ordinary stand-by. Heavy and clumsy, warm from thehay-field, a little awkward at sight of the company, they filed in anddropped into their several seats round one end of the table; and Mrs. Starling could only play all her hospitable arts around her guest, tomake him forget if possible his unwonted companions. She served himassiduously with the best she had on the table; she would not bring onany dainties extra; and the young officer took kindly even to the porkand pickles, and declared the brown bread was worth working for; andwhen Mrs. Starling let fall a word of regretful apology, assured herthat in the times when he was a cadet he would have risked getting agood many marks for the sake of such a meal. 

"What are the marks for?" inquired Mrs. Starling curiously. 

"Bad boys, " he told her; and then went off to a discussion of her haycrop, and a dissertation on the delights of making hay and the pleasurehe had had from it that afternoon; "something he did not very oftenenjoy. "

"Can't you make hay anywheres?" Mrs. Starling asked a little dryly. 

He gravely assured her it would not be considered military. 

"I don't know what military means, " said Mrs. Starling. "_You_ aremilitary, ain't you?"

"Mean to be, " he answered seriously. 

"Well, you are. Then, I should think, whatever you do would bemilitary. "

But at this giving of judgment, after a minute of, perhaps, endeavourfor self-control, Mr. Knowlton broke down and laughed furiously. Mrs. Starling looked stern. Diana was in a state of indecision, whether tolaugh with her friend or frown with her mother; but the infection offun was too much for her--the pretty lips gave way. Maybe that wasencouragement for the offender; for he did not show any embarrassmentor express any contrition. 

"You do me too much honour, " he said as soon as he could make his voicesteady; "you do me too much honour, Mrs. Starling. I assure you, I havebeen most unmilitary this afternoon; but really I am no better than aboy when the temptation takes me; and the temptation of your meadow andthose long windrows was too much for me. I enjoyed it hugely. I amcoming again, may I?"

"You'll have to be quick about it, then, " said Mrs Starling, not muchmollified; "there ain't much more haying to do on the home lot, Iguess. Ain't you 'most done, Josiah?"

"How?" said that worthy from the other end of the table. Mrs. Starlinghad raised her voice, but Josiah's wits always wanted a knock at thedoor before they would come forth to action. 

"Hain't you 'most got through haying?"

"Not nigh. "

"Why, what's to do?" inquired the mistress, with a new interest. 

"There's all this here lot to finish, and all of Savin hill. "

"Savin hill ain't but half in grass. "

"Jes' so. There ain't a lock of it cut, though. "

"If I was a man, " said Mrs. Starling, "I believe I could get the bettero' twenty acres o' hay in less time than you take for it. However, Iain't. Mr. Knowlton, do take one o' those cucumbers. I think thereain't a green pickle equal to a cucumber--when it's tender and sharp, as it had ought to be. "

"I am sure everything under your hands is as it ought to be, " said theyoung officer, taking the cucumber. "I know these are. Your haymakershave a good time, " he added as the men rose, and there was a heavyclangour of boots and grating chairs at the lower end of the table. 

"They calculate to have it, " said Mrs. Starling. "And all throughPleasant Valley they do have it. There are no poor folks in the place;and there ain't many that calls themselves rich; they all expect to becomfortable; and I guess most of 'em be. "

"Just the state of society in which-- There's a sweet little streamrunning through your meadow, Miss Diana, " said the young officer with asudden change of subject. "Where does it go to?"

"It makes a great many turns, through different farms, and then joinsyour river--the Yellow River--that runs round Elmfield. "

"That's a river; this brook is just what I like. I got tired with mylabours this afternoon, and then I threw myself down by the side of thewater to look at it. I lay there till I had almost forgotten what I wasabout. "

"Not in your shirt sleeves, just as you was?" inquired Mrs. Starling. The inquiry drew another laugh from her guest; and he then asked Dianawhere the brook came from. If it was pretty, followed up?

"Very pretty!" Diana said. "As soon as you get among the hills and inthe woods with it, it is as pretty as it can be; not a bit like what itis here; full of rocks and pools and waterfalls; lovely!"

"Any fish?"

"Beautiful trout. "

"Miss Diana, can you fish?"

"No. I never tried. "

"Well, trout fishing is not exactly a thing that comes by nature. Imust go up that brook. I wish you would go and show me the way. When Isee anything pretty, I always want some one to point it out to, or Ican't half enjoy it. "

"I think it would be the other way, " said Diana. "I should be the oneto show the brook to you. "

"You see if I don't make you find more pretty things than you ever knewwere there. Come! is it a bargain? I'll take my line and bring Mrs. Starling some trout. "

"When?" said Diana. 

"Seems to me, " said Mrs. Starling, "I could keep along a brook if Icould once get hold of it. "

"Ah, " said Mr. Knowlton, laughing, "you are a great deal cleverer thanI am. You have no idea how fast I can lose myself. Miss Diana, thesooner the better, while this lovely weather lasts. Shall we sayto-morrow?"

"I'll be ready, " said Diana. 

"This weather ain't goin' to change in a hurry, " remarked Mrs. Starling. 

But the remark did not seem to be to the purpose. The appointment wasmade for the following day at three o'clock; and Mr. Knowlton's visithaving come to an end, he mounted and galloped away. 

"Three o'clock!" said Mrs. Starling. "Just the heat o' the day. Andtrout, indeed! Don't you be a silly fish yourself, Diana. "

"Mother!" said Diana. "I couldn't help going, when he asked me. "

"You could ha' helped it if you'd wanted to, I s'pose. "

Which was no doubt true, and Diana made no response; for she wanted togo. She watched the golden promise of dawn the next morning; shewatched the cloudless vault of the sky, and secretly rejoiced withinherself that she would be ready. 

CHAPTER VI. 

MR. KNOWLTON'S FISH. 

Doubtless they were ready, those two, for the brook and the afternoon. The young officer came at half-past three; not in regimentals thistime, but in an easy grey undress and straw hat. He came in a waggon, and he brought his fishing-rod and carried a basket. Diana had beenready ever since three. They lost no time; they went out into themeadow and struck the brook. 

Now the brook, during its passage through the valley field, wasremarkable for nothing but a rare infirmity of purpose, which wouldnever let it keep one course for many rods together. It twisted andcurled about, making many little meadow promontories on one side andthe other; hurrying along with a soft, sweet gurgle that sounded fresh, even under the heat of the summer sun. It was a hot afternoon, as Mrs. Starling had said; and the two excursionists were fain to take itgently and to make as straight a course across the fields as keeping onone side of the brook left possible. They could not cross it. Thestream was not large, yet quite too broad for a jump; and not deep, yetdeep enough to cover its stony bed and leave no crossing stones. Sosometimes along the border of the brook, where a fringe of long grasshad been left by the mowers' scythes, rank and tangled; sometimesstriking across from bend to bend over the meadow, where no kindlytrees stood to shade them, the two went--on a hunt, as Mr. Knowltonsaid, after pretty things. 

After a mile or more of this walking, the scenery changed. Mown fields, hot and fragrant, were left behind; almost suddenly they entered thehills, where the brook issued from them; and then they began a slowertracking of its course back among the rocks and woods of a dell whichsoon grew close and wild. The sides of the dell became higher; the bedof the stream more steep and rough; the canopy of trees closed inoverhead, and showed the blue through only in broken patches. Theclothing of the hill-sides was elegant and exquisite; oaks, and firs, and hemlocks, with slender birches and maples, lining the ravine; andunder them a free growth of ferns, and fresh beds of moss, and lovelylichens covered the rocks and dressed the ground. The stream rattledalong at the bottom; foaming over the stones and leaping down therocks; making the still, deep pools where the fish love to lie; and inits way executing a succession of cascades and tiny waterfalls thatwanted no picturesque element except magnitude. And a good imaginationcan supply that. 

And how went the afternoon? How goes it with those who have justreceived a new sense, or found a sudden doubling of that which they hadbefore? Nay, it was a new sense, a new power of perception, able todiscern what had eluded all their previous lives. The brook in themeadow had been to Diana's vision until now merely running water;whence had come those delicious amber hues where it rolled over thestones, and the deep olive shadows where the water was deeper? She hadnever seen them before. Now they were pointed out and seen to be richand clear, a sort of dilution of sunlight, with a suggestion ofsunlight's other riches of possibility. The rank unmown grass thatfringed the stream, Diana had never seen it but as what the scythe hadmissed; now she was made to notice what an elegant fringe it was, andhow the same sunlight glanced upon its curving stems and blades, andset off the deep brown stream. Diana's own eyes began to be quickened, and her tongue loosed. The lovely outline of the hills that encircledthe valley had never looked just so rare and lovely as this afternoonwhen she pointed them out to her companion, and he scanned them andnodded in full assent. But when they got into the ravine, it wasDiana's turn. Mosses, and old trees, and sharp turns of the gorge, andfords, where it was necessary to cross the brook and recross onstepping stones just lifting them above the water, here blackenough, --Diana knew all these things, and with secret delight unfoldedthe knowledge of them to her companion as they went along. And stillthe bits of blue sky overhead had never seemed so unearthly blue; thedrapery of oak and hemlock boughs had never been so graceful andbright; there was a presence in the old gorge that afternoon, whichwent with them and cleared their eyes from vapour and their minds fromeverything, it seemed, but a susceptibility to beauty and delight inits influence. Perhaps the young officer would have said that thispresence was embodied in the unconscious eyes and fair calm brow whichwent beside him; I think he saw them more distinctly than anythingelse. Diana did not know it. Somehow she very rarely looked hercompanion in the face; and yet she knew very well how his face looked, too; so well, perhaps, that she did not need to refresh her memory. Sothey wandered on; and the fords were pleasant places, where she had tobe helped over the stones. Not that Diana needed such help; her footwas fearless and true; she never had had help there before: was thatwhat made it so pleasant? Certainly it did seem to her that it was aprettier way of going up the brook than alone and unaided. 

"I am not getting much fish at this rate, " said young Knowlton atlength with a light laugh. 

"No, " said Diana. "Why don't you stop and try here? Here looks like agood place. Right in that still, deep spot, I dare say there are trout. 

"What will you do in the meantime, if I stop and fish? It will be verystupid for you. "

"For me? O no. I shall sit here and look on. It will not be stupid. Iwill keep still, never fear. "

"I don't want you to keep still; that would be very stupid for me. "

"You can't talk while you are fishing; it would scare the trout, youknow. "

"I don't believe it. "

"I have always heard so. "

"I don't believe it will pay, " said Knowlton as he fitted his rod--"ifI am to purchase trout at the expense of all that. "

All what? Diana wondered. 

"Suppose we talk very softly--in whispers, " he went on, laughing. "Doyou suppose the trout are so observant as to mind it? If you sithere, --on this mossy stone, close by me, can't I enjoy two things atonce?"

Diana made no objection to this arrangement. She took the placeindicated, full of a breathless kind of pleasure which she did not stopto analyze; and watched in silence the progress of the fishing. Insilence, for after Mr. Knowlton's arrangement had been carried intoeffect, he too subsided into stillness; whether engrossed with thebusiness of his line, or satisfied, or with thoughts otherwise engaged, did not appear. But as presently and again a large trout, speckled andbeautiful, was swung up out of the pool below, the two faces wereturned towards each other, and the two pairs of eyes met with a smileof so much sympathy, that I rather think the temporary absence of wordslost nothing to the growth of the understanding between them. 

The place where they sat was lovely. Just there the bank was high, overhanging the brook. A projecting rock, brown and green and grey, with lichen and mosses of various kinds, held besides a delicate youngsilver birch, the roots of which found their way to nourishment somehowthrough fissures in the rock. Here sat Knowlton, with Diana beside himon a stone, just a little behind; while he sat on the brink to cast, orrather drop, his line into the little pool below where the trout werelurking. The opposite side of the stream was but a few yards off, thickwith a lovely growth of young wood, with one great hemlock not farabove towering up towards the sky. The view in that direction went up avista of the ravine, so wood-fringed on both sides, with the streamleaping and tumbling down a steep rocky bed. Overhead the narrow lineof blue sky. 

"Four!" whispered Diana, as another spotted trout came up from the pool. 

"I wonder how many there are down there?" said Knowlton as he unhookedthe fish. "It makes me hungry. "

"Catching the trout?" said Diana softly. 

He nodded. "Here comes another. I wish we could make a fire somewherehereabouts and cook them. "

"Is that a good way?"

"The best in the world, " he said, adjusting his fly, and then lookingwith a smile at her. "There is no way that fish taste so good. I usedto do that, you see, in the hills round about the Academy; and I knowall about it. "

"We could make a fire, " said Diana; "but we have no gridiron here. "

"I had no gridiron there. Couldn't have carried a gridiron in my pocketif I had had one. Here's another"--

"You had not a gridiron, of course. "

"Nor a pocket either. "

"But did you eat the trout all alone? without bread, I mean, oranything?"

"No; we took bread and salt, and pepper and butter, and a few suchthings. There were generally a lot of us; or if only two or three wecould manage that. The butter was the worst thing to accomplish--Here'sanother!"

"Such beauties!" said Diana. "Well, Mr. Knowlton, if you get _too_hungry, we'll cook you one at home, you know. "

"Will you?" said he. "I wish we had salt and bread here! I should liketo show you how wood cookery goes, though. But I'll tell you! we'll getMrs. Starling to let us have it out in the meadow--that won't be bad. "

Diana thought of her mother's utter astonishment and disapprobation atsuch a proposal; and there was silence again for a few minutes, whilethe line hung motionless over the pool, and Diana's eyes watched itmovelessly, and the liquid sweetness of the water's talk with thestones was heard, --as one hears things when the senses are strung todouble keenness. Diana heard it, at least, and listened to something init she had never perceived before; something not only sweet and liquidand musical, but in some odd sense admonitory. What did it say? Dianahardly questioned, but yet she heard, --"My peace never changes. My songnever dies. Listen, or not listen, it is all the same. You may be intwenty moods in a year. In my depth of content I flow on for ever. "

A slight rustling of leaves, a slight crackling of stems or branches, brought the eyes of both watchers in another direction; and before theycould hear a footfall, they saw, above them on the course of the brook, a figure of a man coming towards them, and Diana knew it was theminister. Swiftly and lightly he came swinging himself along, boundingover obstacles, with a sure foot and a strong hand; till presently hestood beside them. Just then Mr. Knowlton's line was swung up withanother trout. Diana introduced the gentlemen to each other. 

"Fishing?" said the minister. 

"We have got all there are in this place, I'm thinking, " said Knowlton, shutting up his rod. 

"You _had_ not, two minutes ago, " said the other. "What do you judgefrom? It doesn't do to be so easily discouraged as that. "

"Discouraged?" said Knowlton. "Not exactly. Let us see. Four, five, six--seven--eight. Eight, out of this little one pool, Mr. Masters. Doyou think there are any more?"

"I always get all I can out of a thing, " said the minister. And hisvery cheery tone, as well as his very quiet manner, seemed to say hewas in the habit of getting a good deal out of everything. 

"I don't know about that, " answered the young officer in another tone. "Doesn't always pay. To stay too long at one pool of a brook, forinstance. The brook has other pools, I suppose. "

"I suppose it has, " said the minister, with a manner which would havepuzzled any but one that knew him, to tell whether he were in jest orearnest. "I suppose it has. But you may not find them. Or by the timeyou do, you may have lost your bait. Or you may be tired of fishing. Orit may be time to go home. "

"I am never tired, " said Knowlton, springing up; "and I have got aguide that will not let me miss my way. "

"You are fortunate, " said the other. "And I will not occupy your time. Good afternoon! I shall hope to see more of you. "

With a warm grasp of the young officer's hand, and lifting his hat toDiana, the minister went on his way. Diana looked after him, wonderingwhy he had not shaken hands with her too. It was something she was alittle sorry to miss. 

"Who is that?" Knowlton asked. 

"Mr. Masters? He's our minister. "

"What sort of a chap is he? Not like all the rest of them?"

"How are all the rest of them?" Diana asked. 

"I declare, I don't know!" said Knowlton. "If I was to tell the truth, I should say they puzzle all my wits. See 'em in one place--and hear'em--and you would say they thought all the business of this world wasof no account, nor the pleasure of it either. See 'em anywhere else, and they are just as much of this world as you are--or as I am, I mean. They change as fast as a chameleon. In the light that comes through achurch window, now, they'll be blue enough, and make you think blue'sthe only wear--or black; but once outside, and they like the colourthat comes through a glass of wine or anything also that's jolly. Onething or the other they don't mean--that's plain. "

"Which do you think they don't mean?" said Diana. 

"Well, they're two or three hours in church, and the rest of the weekoutside. I believe what they say the rest of the time. "

"I don't think Mr. Masters is like that. "

"What _is_ he like, then?"

"I think he means exactly what he says. "

"Exactly, " said the young officer, laughing; "but which part of thetime, you know?"

"All times. I think he means just the same thing always. "

"Must see more of him, " said Knowlton. "You like him, then, MissStarling?"

Diana did like him, and it was quite her way to say what she thought;yet she did not say it. She had an undefined, shadowy impression thatthe hearing would not be grateful to her companion. Her reply was avery inconclusive remark, that she had not seen much of Mr. Masters;and an inquiry where Mr. Knowlton meant to fish next. 

So the brook had them without interruption the rest of the time. Theycrept up the ravine, under the hemlock branches and oak boughs; pickingtheir way along the rocky banks; catching one or two more trout, andfinding an unending supply of things to talk about; while the air grewmore delicious as the day dipped towards evening, and the light flashedfrom the upper tree-tops more clear and sparkling as the rays came moreslant; and the brook's running commentary on what was going on, like somany other commentaries, was heard and not heeded; until the shadowsdeepening in the dell warned them it was time to seek the lower groundsand open fields again. Which they did, much more swiftly than theascent of the brook had been made; in great spirits on both sides, though with a thought on Diana's part how her mother would receive thefish and the young officer's proposition. Mrs. Starling was standing atthe back door of the kitchen as they came up to it. 

"I should think, Diana, you knew enough to remember that we don't takevisitors in at this end of the house, " was her opening remark. 

"How about fish?" inquired Mr. Knowlton, bringing forward his basket. 

"What are you going to do with 'em?" asked Mrs. Starling, standing inthe door as if she meant he should not come in. 

"We are going to eat them--with your leave ma'am, and by yourhelp;--and first we are going to cook them. "

"Who?"

"Miss Starling and myself. I have promised to show her a thing. May Iask for the loan of a match?"

"A match!" echoed Mrs. Starling. 

"Or two, " added Mr. Knowlton, with an indescribable twinkle in his eye;indescribable because there was nothing contrary to good breeding init. All the more, Diana felt the sense of fun it expressed, andhastened to change the scene and put an end to the colloquy. She threwdown her bonnet and went for a handful of sticks. Mr. Knowlton had gothis match by this time. Mrs. Starling stood astonished and scornful. 

"Will this be wood enough?" Diana asked. 

Mr. Knowlton replied by taking the sticks out of her hand, and led theway into the meadow. Diana followed, very quiet and flushed. He had notsaid a word; yet the manner of that little action had a whole smallvolume in it. "Nobody else ever cared whether I had sticks in my handsor not, " thought Diana; and she flushed more and more. She turned herface away from the bright west, which threw too much illumination onit; and looked down into the brook. The brook's song sounded nowunheard. 

It was on the border of the brook that Lieut. Knowlton made his fire. He was in a very jubilant sort of mood. The fire was made, and the fishwere washed; and Diana stood by the column of smoke in the meadow andlooked on, as still as a mouse. And Mrs. Starling stood in the door ofthe lean-to and looked on too, from a distance; and if she was still, it was because she had no one near just then to whom it was safe toopen her mind. The beauty of the picture was all lost upon her: theshorn meadow, the soft column of ascending smoke coloured in daintyhues from the glowing western sky, the two figures moving about it. 

"Now, Miss Diana, " said the young officer. "If we had a little salt, and a dish--I am afraid to go and ask Mrs. Starling for them!"

Perhaps so was she; but Diana went, and got them without asking. Shesmiled at the dishing of the trout, it was so cleverly done; then shewas requested to sprinkle salt on them herself; and then with asatisfied air, which somehow called up a flush in Diana's cheeks again, Mr. Knowlton marched off to the house with the dish in his hands. Mrs. Starling had given her farm labourers their supper, and was clearingaway relics from the board. She made no move of welcome or hospitableinvitation; but Diana hastened to remove the traces of disorder, andset clean plates and cups, and bring fresh butter, and bread, and makefresh tea. How very pleasant, and how extremely unpleasant, it wasaltogether!

"Mother, " she said, when all was ready, "won't you come and taste Mr. Knowlton's fish?"

"I guess I know how fish taste. I haven't eaten the trout of that brookall my life, without. "

"But you don't know my cookery, " said Mr. Knowlton; "_that's_ somethingnew. "

"I don't see the sense of doing things in an outlandish way, when youhave no need to. Nor I don't see why men should cook, as long asthere's women about. "

"What _is_ outlandish?" inquired Mr. Knowlton. 

"What you've been doing, I should say. "

"Come and try my cookery, Mrs. Starling; you will never say anythingagainst men in that capacity again. "

"I never say anything against men anyhow; only against men cooking; andthat ain't natural. "

"It comes quite natural to me, " said the young officer. "Only taste mytrout, Mrs. Starling, and you will be quite reconciled to me again. "

"I ain't quarrelling with nobody--fur's I know, " said Mrs. Starling;"but I've had my supper. "

"Well, we haven't had ours, " said the young man; and he set himself notonly to supply that deficiency in his own case, but to secure thatDiana should enjoy and eat hers in spite of all hindrances. He saw thatshe was wofully annoyed by her mother's manner; it brought out his ownmore in contrast than perhaps otherwise would have been. He helped her, he coaxed her, he praised the trout, and the tea, and the bread, andthe butter; he peppered and salted anew, when he thought it necessary, on her own plate; and he talked and told stories, and laughed and madeher laugh, till even Mrs. Starling, moving about in the pantry, movedsoftly and set down the dishes carefully, that she too might hear. Diana sometimes knew that she did so; at other times was fain to forgeteverything but the glamour of the moment. Trout were disposed of atlast, however, and the remainder was cold; bread and butter had doneits duty; and Mr. Knowlton rose from table. His adieux were gay--quiteunaffected by Mrs. Starling's determined holding aloof; andinvoluntarily Diana stood by the table where she could look out of thewindow, till she had seen him mount into his waggon and go off. 

"Have you got through?" said Mrs. Starling. 

"Supper?" said Diana, starting. "Yes, mother. "

"Then perhaps I can have a chance now. Do you think there is anythingin the world to do? or is it all done up, in the world you have gotinto?"

Diana began clearing away the relics of the trout supper, in silenceand with all haste. 

"That ain't all, " said Mrs. Starling. "The house don't stand still fornobody, nor the world, nor things generally. The sponge has got to beset for the bread; and there's the beans, Diana; to-morrow's the dayfor the beans; and they ain't looked over yet, nor put in soak. Andyou'd better get out some codfish and put that on the stove. I don'tknow what to have for breakfast if I don't have that. You'd best go andget off your dress, first thing; that's my counsel to ye; and savewashing _that_ to-morrow. "

Diana went into no reasoning, on that subject or any other; but shemanaged to do all that was demanded of her without changing her dress, and yet without damaging its fresh neatness. In silence, and in anuncomfortable mute antagonism which each one felt in every movement ofthe other. Odd it is, that when words for any reason are restrained, the feeling supposed to be kept back manifests itself in the turn ofthe shoulders and the set of the head, in the putting down of the footor the raising of the hand, nay, in the harmless movements of pans andkettles. The work was done, however, punctually, as always in thathouse; though Diana's feeling of mingled resentment and shame grew asthe evening wore on. She was glad when the last pan was lifted for thelast time, the key turned in the lock of the door of the lean-to, andshe and her mother moved into the other part of the house, preparatoryto seeking their several rooms. But Mrs. Starling had not done her workyet. 

"When's that young man comin' again?" she asked abruptly at the foot ofthe stairs, stopping to trim the wick of her candle, and looking intothe light without winking. 

"I don't know--" Diana faltered. "I don't know that he is ever comingagain. "

"Don't expect him either, don't you?"

"I think it would be odd if he didn't, " said Diana bravely, after amoment's hesitation. 

"Odd! why?"

Diana hesitated longer this time, and the words did not come for herwaiting. 

"Why odd?" repeated Mrs. Starling sharply. 

"When people seem to like a place--they are apt to come again, " saidDiana, flushing a little. 

"_Seem to_, " said Mrs. Starling. "Now, Diana, I have just this onething to say. Don't you go and give that young fellow no encouragement. "

"Encouragement, mother!" repeated Diana. 

"Yes, encouragement. Don't you give him any. Mind my words. 'Cause, ifyou do, I won't!"

"But, mother!" said Diana, "what is there to encourage? I could nothelp going to show the brook to him to-day. "

"You couldn't?" said Mrs. Starling, beginning to mount the stairs. "Well, it is good to practise. Suppose'n he asked you to let him showyou the Mississippi--or the Pacific Ocean; couldn't you help that?"

"Mother, I am ashamed!" said poor Diana. "Just think. He is educated, and has every advantage, and is an officer in the United States armynow; and what am I?"

"Worth three dozen of him, " said Mrs. Starling decidedly. 

"He wouldn't think so, mother, nor anybody else but you. "

"Well, _I_ think so, mind, and that's enough. I ain't a goin' to giveyou to him, not if he was fifty officers in the United States army. Sokeep my words, Diana, and mind what I say. I never will give you tohim, nor to any other man that calls himself a soldier and looks downupon folks that are better than he is. I won't let you marry him; sodon't you go and tell him you will. "

"He won't ask me, mother. You make me ashamed!" said Diana, with hercheeks burning; "but I am sure he does not look down upon me. "

"Nobody shall marry you that sets himself up above me, " said Mrs. Starling as she closed her door. "Mind!"

And Diana went into her own room, and shut her door, and sat down tobreathe. "Suppose he should ask you to let him show you theMississippi, or the Pacific?" And the hot flush rushed over her and shehid her face, as if even from herself. "He will not. But what if heshould?" Mrs. Starling had raised the question. Diana, in very maidenlyshame, tried to beat it down and stamp the life out of it. But that wasmore than she could do. 

CHAPTER VII. 

BELLES AND BLACKBERRIES. 

In the first flush of Diana's distress that night, it had seemed to herthat the sight of Lieut. Knowlton in all time to come could but giveher additional distress. How could she look at him? But the clearmorning light found her nerves quiet again, and her cheeks cool; and acertain sweet self-respect, in which she held herself always, forbadeany such flutter of vanity or stir even of fancy as could in any wiseruffle the simple dignity of this country girl's manner. She had nocareful mother's training, or father's watch and safeguard; theartificial rules of propriety were still less known to her; but innatepurity and modesty, and, as I said, the poise of a true New Englandself-respect, stood her in better stead. When Diana saw Mr. Knowltonthe next time, she was conscious of no discomposure; and _he_ wasstruck with the placid elegance of manner, formed in no school, whichwas the very outgrowth of the truth within her. His own manner grewunconsciously deferential. It is the most flattering homage a man canrender a woman. 

Mrs. Starling had delivered her mind, and thereafter she was content tobe very civil to him. Further than that a true record cannot go. Theyoung officer tried to negotiate himself into her good graces; he wasattentive and respectful, and made himself entertaining. And Mrs. Starling was entertained, and entertained him also on her part; andDiana watched for a word of favourable comment or better judgment ofhim when he was gone. None ever came; and Diana sometimes sighed whenshe and her mother had shut the doors, as that night, upon each other. For to _her_ mind the favourable comments rose unasked for. 

He came very often, on one pretext or another. He began to be very muchat home. His eye used to meet her's, as something he had been lookingfor and had just found; and the lingering clasp of his hand said thetouch was pleasant. Generally their interviews were in the parlour ofDiana's home; sometimes he contrived an occasion to get her to drivewith him, or to walk; and Diana never found that she could refuseherself the pleasure, or need refuse it to him. The country was sothinly settled, and their excursions had as yet been in such lonelyplaces, that no village eyes or tongues had been aroused. 

So the depth of August came. The two were standing one moonlight nightat the little front gate, lingering in the moonlight. Mr. Knowlton wasgoing, and could not go. 

"Have you heard anything about the Bear Hill party?" he asked suddenly. 

"O yes; Miss Delamater came here a week ago to speak about it. "

"Are you going?"

"Mother said she would. So I suppose I shall. "

"Where is it? and what is it?"

"The place? Bear Hill is a very wild, stony, bare hill--at least oneside of it is bare; the other side is covered with trees. And the bareside is covered with blackberry bushes, the largest you ever saw; andthe berries are the largest. We always go there every summer, a numberof us out of Pleasant Valley, to get blackberries. "

"How far is it?"

"Fifteen miles. "

"That's a good way to go a-blackberrying, " said the young man, smiling. "People hereabouts must be very fond of that fruit. "

"We want them for a great many uses, you know; it isn't just to eatthem. Mother makes jam and wine for the whole year, besides what we eatat once. And we go for the fun too, as well as for the berries. "

"So it is fun, is it?"

"I think so. We make a day of it; and everybody carries provisions; andwe build a fire, and it is very pleasant. "

"I'll go, " said Mr. Knowlton. "I have heard something about it at home. They wanted me to drive them, but I wanted to know what I was engagingmyself to. Well, I'll be there, and I'll take care our waggon carriesits stock of supplies too. Thursday, is it?"

"I believe so. "

"What time shall you go?"

"About eight o'clock--or half-past. "

"_Eight!_" said the young officer. "I shall have to revive Academyhabits. I am grown lazy. "

"The days are so warm, you know, " Diana explained; "and we have to comehome early. We always have dinner between twelve and one. "

"I see!" said the young man. "I see the necessity, and feel thedifficulty. Well, I'll be there. "

He grasped her hand again; they had shaken hands before he left thehouse, Diana remembered; and this time he held her fingers in a lightclasp for some seconds after it was time to let them go. Then he turnedand sprang upon his horse and went off at a gallop. Diana stood stillat the gate where he had left her, looking down the road and listeningto the diminishing sound of his horse's hoofs. The moonlight streamedtenderly down upon her and the elm trees; it filled the empty spacewhere Knowlton's figure had been; it flickered where the elm branchesstirred lightly and cast broken shadows upon the ground; it poured itsfloods of effulgence over the meadows and distant hills, in still, moveless peace and power of everlasting calm. It was one of the minutesof Diana's life that she never forgot afterwards; a point where herlife had stood still--still as the moonlight, and almost as sweet inits broad restfulness. She lingered at the gate, and came slowly backagain into the house. 

"What are you going to take to Bear Hill, mother?" inquired Diana thenext day. 

"I don't know! I declare, I'm 'most tired of picnics; they cost morethan they come to. If we could tackle up, now, and go off by ourselves, early some morning, and get what we want--there'd be some fun in that. "

"It's a very lonely place, mother. "

"That's what I say. I'm tired o' livin' for ever in a crowd. "

"But you said you'd go?"

"Well, I'm goin'!"

"Then we must take something. "

"Well; I'm goin' to. I calculated to take something. "

"What?"

"Somethin' 'nother nobody else'll take--if I could contrive what that'dbe. "

"Well, mother, I can tell you. Somebody'll be sure to carry cake, andpies, and cold ham and cheese, and bread and butter, and cold chicken. All that's sure. "

"Exactly. I could have told you as much myself, Diana. What I want toknow is, somethin' nobody'll take. "

"Green corn to boil, mother?"

"Well!" said Mrs. Starling, musing, "that _is_ an idea. How'd you boilit?"

"Must take a pot--or borrow one. "

"Borrow! Not I, from any o' the Bear Hill folks. I couldn't eat cornout o' _their_ kettles. It's a sight o' trouble anyhow, Diana. "

"Then, mother, suppose I make a chicken pie?"

"Do what you've a mind to, child. And there must be a lot o' coffeeroasted. I declare, if I wasn't clean out o' blackberry wine, I'd cutthe whole concern. There'll be churning just ready Thursday; and Josiahhad ought to be sent off to mill, we're 'most out o' flour, and hecan't go to-morrow, for he's got to see to the fence round the freshpasture lot. And I want to clean the kitchen this week. There's nosittin' still in this world, I do declare! I haven't set a stitch inthose gowns o' mine since last Friday, neither; and Society comes herenext week. And if I don't catch Josiah before he goes out to work inthe morning and get the stove cleaned out--the flues are all chokedup--it'll drive me out o' the house or out o' my mind, with the smoke;and Bear Hill won't come off then. "

Bear Hill did "come off, " however. Early on the morning of Thursday, Josiah might be seen loading up the little green waggon with tinkettles and baskets, both empty and full. Ears of corn went in too, forthe "idee" had struck Mrs. Starling favourably, and an iron pot foundits way into one corner. Breakfast was despatched in haste; the houselocked up and the key put under the door-stone for Josiah to find atnoon; and the two ladies mounted and drove away while the morning lightwas yet fresh and cool, and the shadows of the trees lay long in themeadow. August mornings and evenings were seldom hotter than wasagreeable in Pleasant Valley. 

For some miles the road lay through the region so denominated. Then itentered the hills, and soon the way led over them, up and down steepascents and pitches, with a green woodland on each side, and often alook-out over some little meadow valley of level fields and cultivationbordered and encircled by more hills. The drive was a silent one; Mrs. Starling held the reins, and perhaps they gave her thoughts employmentenough; Diana was musing about another waggonful, and wonderingwhereabouts it was. Till at a turn of the road she discerned behindthem, at some distance, a vehicle coming along, and knew, with a jumpof her heart, the colour of the horse and the figure of the driver. Even so far off she was sure of them, and turned her sun-bonnet to lookstraight forward again, hoping that her mother might not by any chancegive a look back. She did not herself again; but Diana's ears werewatching all the while after that for the sound of hoofs or wheelscoming near; and her eyes served her to see nothing but what was out ofher field of vision. The scenery grew by degrees rough and wild;cultivation and civilisation seemed as they went on to fall into therear. A village, or hamlet, of miserable, dirty, uncomely houses andpeople, was passed by; and at last, just as the morning was wakening upinto fervour, Mrs. Starling drew rein in a desolate rough spot at theedge of a woodland. The regular road had been left some time before, since when only an uncertain wheel track had marked the way. Two orthree farm waggons already stood at the place of meeting; nobody was inthem; the last comer was just hitching his horse to a tree. 

"Here's Mis' Starling, " he called out. "Good day! good-day to 'ye. Holdon, Mis' Starling--I'll fetch him up. Goin' to conquer all Bear Hill, ain't ye, with all them pails and kettles? Wall--blackberries ain'tripe but once in the year. I've left all _my_ business to attend uponthe women folks. What's blackberries good for, now, when you've got'em?"

"Don't you like a blackberry pie, Mr. Selden?"

"Bless you!" said the farmer, "I kin live without it; but my folkscan't live 'thout comin' once a year to Bear Hill. It is a wonder to mewhy things warn't so ordered as that folks could get along 'thouteatin'. It'd save a sight o' trouble. Why, Mis' Starlin', we're workin'all the time to fill our stomachs; come to think of it, that's prettymuch what life is fur. Now I'll warrant you, they'll have a spread byand by, that'll be worth all they'll get here to-day. "

"Who's come, Mr. Selden?"

"Wall, they ain't all here yet, I guess; my folks is up in the lot, hard to work, I s'pose. Mis' Seelye's gals is here; and Bill Howe andhis wife; and the Delamaters; that's all, I guess. He's safe now, Mis'Starlin'. "

This last remark had reference to the horse, which farmer Selden hadbeen taking out of the shafts and tethering, after helping the ladiesdown. Mrs. Starling got out her pails and baskets destined for theberry-picking, and gave some of them to her daughter. 

"They'll be all flocking together, up in the thickest part of the lot, "she whispered. "Now, Diana, if you'll sheer off a little, kind o', andkeep out o' sight, you'll have a ventur'; and we can stand a chance toget home early after dinner. I'll go along ahead and keep 'em fromcomin' where you are--if I can. "

Diana heard with tingling ears, for she heard at the same time thesound of the approaching waggon behind her. She did not look; shecaught up her pail and basket and plunged into the wood path after hermother and Mr. Selden; but she had not gone three yards when she heardher name called. 

"You are not going to desert us?" cried young Knowlton, coming up withher. "We don't know a step of the way, nor where to find blackberriesor anything. I have been piloting myself all the way by your waggon. Come back and let me make you friends with my sister. "

Blushing and hesitating, Diana had yet no choice. She followed Mr. Knowlton back to the clearing, and looked on, feeling partly pleasedand partly uncomfortable, while he helped from their waggon the ladieshe had driven to the picnic. The first one dismounted was a beautifulvision to Diana's eyes. A trim little figure, robed in a dress almostwhite, with small crimson clusters sprinkled over it, coral buckle andearrings, a wide Leghorn hat with red ribbons, and curly, luxuriant, long, floating waves of hair. She was so pretty, and her attire was sograceful, and had so jaunty a style about it, that Diana was strucksomehow with a fresh though very undefined feeling of uneasiness. Sheturned to the other lady. Very pretty she was too; smaller even thanthe first one, with delicate, piquant features and a ready smile. Daintily she also was dressed in some stuff of deep green colour, whichset her off as its encompassing foliage does a bunch of cherries. Herface looked out almost like one, it was so blooming, from the shadow ofa green silk sun-bonnet; and her hands were cased in green kid gloves. Her eyes sought Diana. 

"My sister, Mrs. Reverdy, " said young Knowlton eagerly, leading herforward. "Miss Starling, Genevieve; you know who Miss Starling is. "

The little lady's answer was most gracious; she smiled winningly andgrasped Diana's hand, and was delighted to know her. "And we are soglad to meet you; for we are strangers here, you know. I never was atBear Hill in my life, but they told us of wonderful blackberries here, and such multitudes of them; and we persuaded Evan to drive us--youknow we don't often have him to do anything for us; so we came, but Idon't know what we should have done if we had not met you. Gertrude andI thought we would come and see what a picnic on Bear Hill meant. " Andshe laughed again; smiles came very easily to her pretty little face. And then she introduced Miss Masters. Knowlton stood by, looking on atthem all. 

"These elegant women!" thought Diana; "what must I seem to him?" Andtruly her print gown was of homely quality and country wear; she didnot take into the account a fine figure, which health and exercise hadmade free and supple in all its movements, and which the quiet poise ofher character made graceful, whether in motion or rest. For grace is nogift of a dancing-master or result of the schools. It is the growth ofthe mind, more than of the body; the natural and almost necessarysymbolization in outward lines of what is noble, simple, and free fromself; and not almost but quite necessary, if the further conditions ofa well-made and well-jointed figure and a free and unconstrained habitof life are not wanting. The conditions all met in Diana; the harmonyof development was, as it always is, lovely to see. 

But a shadow fell on her heart as she turned to lead the way throughthe wood to the blackberry field. For in the artistic elegance of theladies beside her, she thought she recognised somewhat that belonged toMr. Knowlton's sphere and not to her own--something that removed herfrom him and drew them near; she thought he could not fail to find itso. What then? She did not ask herself what then. Indeed, she had noleisure for difficult analysis of her thoughts. 

"Dear me, how rough!" Mrs. Reverdy exclaimed. "Really, Evan, I did notknow what you were bringing us to. Is it much farther we have to go?"

"It is all rough, " said Diana. "You ought to have thick shoes. "

"O, I have! I put on horridly thick ones, --look! Isn't that thickenough? But I never felt anything like these stones. Is the blackberryfield full of them too? Really, Evan, I think I cannot get along if youdon't give me your arm. "

"You have two arms, Mr. Knowlton--can't I have the other one?" criedMiss Masters dolefully. 

"I have got trees on my other arm, Gatty--I don't see where I shouldput you. Can't you help Miss Starling along, till we get out of thewoods?"

"Isn't it very impertinent of him to call me Gatty?" said the littlebeauty, tossing her long locks and speaking in a half aside to Diana. "Now he would like that I should return the compliment and call himEvan; but I won't. What do _you_ do, when men call you by yourChristian name?"

She was trying to read Diana as she spoke, eyeing her with sidelongglances, and as they went, laying her daintily gloved hand on Diana'sarm to help herself along. Diana was astounded both at her confidenceand at her request for counsel; but as to meet the request would be toreturn the confidence, she was silent. She was thinking, too, of theelegant little boot Mrs. Reverdy had displayed, and contrasting it withher own coarse shoes. And how very familiar these two were, that heshould speak to her by her first name so!

"Miss Starling!" cried the other lady behind her, --"do you know we havebeen following your lead all the way we were coming this morning?"

"Mr. Knowlton said so, " Diana replied, half turning. 

"Aren't you very much flattered?"

This time Diana turned quite, and faced the two. 

"My mother was driving, Mrs. Reverdy. "

"Ah?" said the other with a very amused laugh. "But you could have doneit just as well, I suppose. "

What does she mean? thought Diana. 

"Can you do anything?" inquired the gay lady on her arm. "I am auseless creature; I can only fire a pistol, and leap a fence onhorseback, and dance a polka. What can you do? I dare say you are wortha great deal more than me. Can you make butter and bread and puddingand pies and sweetmeats and pickles, and all that sort of thing? I daresay you can. "

"I can do that. "

"And all I am good for is to eat them! I can do that. Do you makecheeses too?"

"I can. My mother generally makes the cheese. "

"O, but I mean you. What do people do on a farm? women, I mean. I knowwhat the men do. You know all about it. Do you have to milk the cowsand feed everything?--chickens and pigs, you know, and all that?"

"The men milk, " said Diana. 

"And you have to do those other things? Isn't it horrid?"

"It is not horrid to feed the chickens. I never had anything to do withthe pigs. "

"O, but Evan says you know how to harness horses. "

Does he? thought Diana. 

"And you can cut wood?"

"Cut wood!" Diana repeated. "Did anybody say I could do that?"

"I don't know--Yes, I think so. I forget. But you can, can't you?"

"I never tried, Miss Masters. "

"Do you know my cousin, Mr. Masters?--the minister, you know?"

"Yes, I know him a little. "

"Do you like him?"

"I like him, --yes, I don't know anything against him, " said Diana ingreat bewilderment. 

"O, but I do. Don't you know he says it is wicked to do a great manythings that we do? he thinks everybody is wicked who don't do just ashe does. Now I don't think everybody is bound to be a minister. Hethinks it is wicked to dance; and I don't care to live if I can'tdance. "

"That is being very fond of it, " said Diana. 

"Do you dance her, in the country?"

"Sometimes; not very often. "

"Isn't it very dull here in the winter, when you can't go afterblackberries?"

Diana smiled. "I never found it dull, " she said. Nevertheless, thecontrast smote her more and more, between what Mr. Knowlton wasaccustomed to in his world, and the very plain, humdrum, uneventful, unadorned life she led in hers. And this elegant creature, whose verydress was a sort of revelation to Diana in its perfection of beauty, she seemed to the poor country girl to put at an immense distance fromMr. Knowlton those who could not be charming and refined and exquisitein the like manner. Her gloves, --one hand rested on Diana's arm, andpulled a little too;--what gloves they were, for colour and fit andmake! Her foot was a study. Her hat might have been a fairy queen'shat. And the face under it, pretty and gay and wilful and sweet, howcould any man help being fascinated by it? Diana made up her mind thatit was impossible. 

The rambling path through the woods brought the party out at last upona wild barren hill-side, where stones and a rank growth of blackberrybushes were all that was to be seen. Only far off might be had theglimpse of other hills and of patches of cultivation on them; the nearlandscape was all barrenness and blackberries. 

"But where are the rest of the people?" said Mrs. Reverdy with herfaint laugh. "Are we alone? I don't see anybody. "

"They are gone on--they are picking, " Diana explained. 

"Hid in this scrubby forest of bushes, " said her brother. 

"Have we got to go into that forest too?"

"If you want to pick berries. "

"I think we'll sit here and let the rest do the picking, " said Mrs. Reverdy, looking with charming merriment at Gertrude. But Gertrude wasnot so minded. 

"No, I'm going after berries, " she said. "Only, I don't see where theyare. I see bushes, and that is all. "

"Just here they have been picked, " said Diana. "Farther on there areplenty. "

"Well, you lead and we'll follow, " said Mr. Knowlton. "You lead, MissStarling, and we will keep close to you. "

Diana plunged into the blackberry bushes, and striking off from theroute she guessed the other pickers had taken, sought a part of thewilderness lower down on the hill. There was no lack of blackberriesvery soon. Every bush hung black with them; great, fat, juicy beauties, just ready to fall with ripeness. Blackberry stains spotted the wholeparty after they had gone a few yards, merely by the unavoidablecrushing up against the bushes. Diana went to work upon this richharvest, and occupied herself entirely with it; but berry-picking neverwas so dreary to her. The very sound of the berries falling into hertin pail smote her with a sense of pain; she thought of the day's workbefore her with revulsion. However, it was before her, and her fingersflew among the bushes, from berry to berry, gathering them with a deftskilfulness her companions could not emulate. Diana knew how they weregetting on, without using her eyes to find out; for all theirexperience was proclaimed aloud. How the ground was rough and thebushes thorny, how the berries blacked their lips and the prickleslacerated their fingers, and the stains of blackberry juice werespoiling gloves and dresses and all they had on. 

"I never imagined, " said Mrs. Reverdy with a gay laugh, "that pickingblackberries was such a serious business. O dear! and it's only justeleven o'clock now. And I am so hungry!"

"Eat blackberries, " said Gertrude, who was doing it diligently. 

"But I want to carry some home. "

"You can buy 'em. We came for fun, " was the cool answer. 

"Fun?" said Mrs. Reverdy with another echoing, softly echoing, laugh;"it's the fun of being torn and stained and scratched, and having one'shat pulled off one's hair, and the hair off one's head. "

Diana heard it all, they were not far from her; and she heard, too, Mr. Knowlton's little remarks, half gallant, half mocking, but veryfamiliar, she thought. No doubt, to his sister; but how to Miss Masterstoo? Yet they were; and also, she noticed, he kept in close attendanceupon the latter young lady; picking into her basket, getting her out ofher numerous entanglements with the blackberry branches, flattering andlaughing at her; Gertrude was having what she would call a good time;why not? "And why should I?" thought Diana to herself as she filled herpail. "It is not in my line. What a goose I was, to fancy that thisyoung man could take pleasure in being with me. He _did;_ but then hewas just amusing himself; it was not I; it was the country and thefishing, and so on. What a goose I have been!"

As fast as the blackberries dropped into the pail, so fell thesereflections into Diana's heart; and when the one was full, so was theother. And as she set down her pail and began upon a fresh empty one, so she did with her thoughts; they began all over again too. 

"Miss Starling, it is twelve o'clock, " cried Mrs. Reverdy; "where areall the rest of the people? Do you work all day without dinner? Iexpected to see a great picnic out under the trees here. "

"This is not the picnic place, " said Diana. "We will go to it. "

She went back first to the waggons; put her berries in safe keeping, and got out some of the lunch supplies. Mr. Knowlton loaded himselfwith a basket out of his waggon; and the procession formed again inIndian file, everybody carrying something, and the two ladies grumblingand laughing in concert. Diana headed the line, feeling very muchalone, and wishing sadly it were all over and she at home. How was sheto play her part in the preparations at hand, where she had always beenso welcome and so efficient? All spring and life seemed to be taken outof her, for everything but the dull mechanical picking of berries. However, strength comes with necessity, she found. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE NEW RICHES OF THE OLD WORLD. 

There was quite a collection of people on Bear Hill to-day, as could beseen when they were all gathered together. The lunching place was highon the mountain, where there was a good outlook over the surroundingcountry; and here in the edge of the woods the blackberry pickers werescattered about, lying and sitting on the ground in groups and pairs, chatting and watching the preparations going on before their eyes. Pretty and wild the preparations were. Under a big tree just at theborder of the clearing a fire was kindled; a stout spike driven intothe trunk of the tree held a tea-kettle just over the blaze. Wreaths ofblue and grey smoke curling up above the tea-kettle made their waythrough the tree branches into the upper air, taking hues and coloursand irradiations from the sunlight in their way. The forest behind, thewilderness of blackberry bushes in front; the wide view over the hillsand vales, without one spot of cultivation anywhere, or a trace ofman's habitation; the scene was wild enough. The soft curling smoke, grey and embrowned, gave a curious touch of homeliness to it. From twofires it went, curling up as comfortably as if it had been therealways. The second fire was lit for the purpose of boiling green corn, which two or three people were busy getting ready, stripping the greenhusks off. Other hands were unloading baskets and distributing breadand butter and cups, and unpacking ham and chickens. Meanwhile, tillthe fires should have done their work, most of the party werecomfortably awaiting the moment of enjoyment, and taking some othermoments, as it seemed, by the way. Mrs. Carpenter in one place wassurrounded by her large family of children; all come to pickblackberries, all heated with work and fun, and eager for the dinner. Miss Barry, quite tired out, was fanning herself with her sun-bonnet, and having a nice bit of chat with Miss Babbage, the schoolmaster'ssister. Mrs. Mansfield and farmer Carpenter were happily discussingsystems of agriculture. Mrs. Boddington was making a circle merry withher sharp speeches. Younger folks here and there were carrying on theirown particular lines of skirmishing operations; but there were not manyof these; the company had come for business quite as much as for play. Indeed, Miss Gunn's array of baskets and tin pails suggested that shewas doing business on her brother's account as much as on her own; andthat preserves and blackberry wine would be for sale by and by on theshelves of the store at the "Corner. "

The little party that came up with Diana melted away as it met therest. Mrs. Reverdy glided into the group gathered about Mrs. Boddington, and slid as easily into the desultory gossip that was goingon. Diana had instantly joined herself to the little band of workers atthe camp fire. Only one or two had cared to take the trouble andresponsibility of the feast; it was just what Diana craved. As ifcooking had been the great business of life, she went into it; makingcoffee, watching the corn, boiling the potatoes; looking at nothingelse and trying to see nobody, and as far as possible contriving thatnobody should see her. She hid behind the column of smoke, or shelteredherself at the further side of the great trunk of a tree; from thefire, she said to herself. But her face took on a preternatural gravityat those times, whenever she knew it was safe. She thought she did notlook at anybody; yet she knew that Miss Masters had joined none of thegroups under the trees, and seemed instead to prefer a solitary post infront of them all, where her pretty figure and dainty appointments weredisplayed in full view. Was she looking at the landscape? Diana did notin the least believe it. But she tried to work without thinking; thatvainest of all cheateries, where the conclusions of thought, independent of the processes, force themselves upon the mind and laytheir full weight upon it. Only one does not stop anywhere to thinkabout them, and the weight is distributed. It is like driving fast overthin ice; stay a minute in any one place, and you would break through. But that consciousness makes unpleasant driving. 

The corn gave forth its sweet smell, and Diana dished it up. What wasthe use of taking so much trouble, she thought, as ear after ear, whiteand fair, came out of the pot? Yet Diana had enjoyed the notion ofmaking this variety in the lunch. The coffee steamed forth itsfragrance upon the air; and Diana poured it into prepared cups of creamand sugar which others brought and carried away; she was glad to standby the fire if only she might. How the people drank coffee! Before thecups were once filled the first time, they began to come back for thesecond; and the second, Diana knew, would not satisfy some of thefarmers and farmers' wives there. So pot after pot of the rich beveragehad to be made. It wearied her; but she would rather do that thananything else. And she had expected this picnic to be such a pleasanttime! And it had turned out such a failure. Standing by her camp fire, where the ascending column of grey smoke veiled her from observation, Diana could look off and see the wide landscape of hill and valleyspread out below and around. Not a house; not another wreath of smoke;not a cornfield; hollows of beauty with nothing but their own greengrowth and the sunshine in them; hill-tops fair and lovely, but withouta fence that told of human ownership or a road that spoke of humansympathy. Was life like that, Diana wondered? Yet surely that landscapehad never looked dreary to her before. 

"Mrs. Starling will have another cup of coffee, Miss Diana. "

Diana started. What should bring Mr. Knowlton to wait upon her mother'scups of coffee? She sugared and creamed, and poured out in silence. 

"May I come presently and have some?"

"Haven't you had any?"

"Just enough to make me want more. I never saw such good coffee in mylife. "

"You are accustomed to West Point fare. "

"It's not that, though. I know a good thing when I see it. "

"When you taste it, I suppose, " said Diana; preparing his cup, however, she knew, with extra care. 

"I assure you, " said Mr. Knowlton expressively, as he stirred it, "I_have_ appreciation for better things than coffee. I always want thebest, in every kind; and I know the thing when I see it. "

"I make no doubt you can have it, " said Diana coolly, turning away. 

"Hullo, Diany!" said Mr. Carpenter on the other side, --"you're comingit strong to-day. Got no one to help ye? Sha'n't I fetch 'Lizy? she'sbig enough to do som'thin'. I vow I want another cup. You see, it'shard work, is picking blackberries. I ain't master here; and my wife, she keeps me hard at it. Can't dewolve the duty on no one, neither; shesees if I ain't got my pail filled by the time she's got her'n, and Itell you! I catch it. It makes me sweat, this kind of work; and thatmakes me kind o' dry. I'll be obleeged to you for another cup. Youneedn't to put no milk into it!"

"It's strong, Mr. Carpenter. "

"Want it, I tell you! working under orders this way makes a man feelkind o' feeble. "

"How do you think we women get along, Mr. Carpenter?" said MrsBoddington, coming up with her cup. 

"How, Mis' Boddington?"

"Yes, I'm asking that. A little more, Diana; it's first-rate, and so'sthe corn. It takes you and your mother!--How do you think we womenfeel, under orders all the time?"

"Under orders!" said Mr. Carpenter. 

"Yes, all the time. How d'you think we feel about it?"

"Must be uncommon powers of reaction, " said the farmer. "My wife a'n'tanywheres near killed yet. "

"Think any one'll ever get that piece of mantua-making under orders?"said Mrs. Boddington, looking towards the place where the frills andrufflings of Miss Masters' drapery stirred in the breeze, with the longlight tresses of her unbound hair. The breeze was partly of her ownmaking, as she stirred and turned and tossed her head in talking withMr. Knowlton; the only one of the company whom she would talk with, indeed. The farmer took a good look at her. 

"Wall, " said he, --"_I_ should say it was best to do with that kind ofarticle what you would do with the steam from your tea kettle; let itgo. 'Tain't no use to try to utilize everything, Mis' Boddington. "

"Evan Knowlton acts as if he thought differently. "

"Looks is enough, with some folks, " said the farmer; "and she's apretty enough creatur', take the outside of her. Had ought to be; for Iguess that sort o' riggin' costs somethin'--don't it, Mis' Boddington?"

"Cost?" said the lady. "Evan Knowlton is a fool if he lets himself becaught by such butterfly's wings. But men _are_ fools when women arepretty; there's no use reasoning against nature. "

"Wall, Diany, " exclaimed Joe Bartlett, now drawing near with _his_coffee cup, --"how comes you have all the work and other folks all thefun?"

"Want some coffee, Joe?"

"Fact, I do; that is, supposin' you have got any. "

"Plenty, Joe. That's what I am here for. Hold your cup. Who are youpicking for to-day?"

"Wall, _I_ ain't here for fun, " said Joe; "there's no mistake aboutthat. I b'lieve in fun too; I do sartain; but I _don't_ b'lieve inscratchin' it into you with blackberry brambles, nor no other. Thank'e, Diany; maybe this'll help me get along with the afternoon. "

"I never thought you would mind blackberry thorns, Joe. "

"No more I don't, come in the way o' business, " said Joe, sipping hiscoffee. "Guess I kin stand a few knocks, let alone scratches, when Icalculate to have 'em. But I don' know! my notion of pleasure'ssun'thin' soft and easy like; ain't your'n? I expect to takescratches--bless you! but I don't call 'em fun. That's all I object to. "

"Then how come you here, Joe?"

"Wall, --" said Joe slowly, --"I've got an old mother hum. "

"And she wanted some berries?"

"She wanted a lot. What the women does with 'em all, beats me. Anyhow, the old lady'll have enough this time for all her wants. "

"How is she, Joe, to-day?"

"Days don't make no difference to my mother, Diany. You know that, don't ye? There don't nothin' come wrong to her. I vow, I b'lieve shekind o' likes it when things is contrairy. I never see her riled by nosort o' thing; and it's not uncommon for _me_ to be as full's I kinhold; but she's just like a May mornin', whatever the weather is. Thereain't no scarin' her, either; she'd jest as lieves die as live, Ib'lieve, any day. "

"I daresay she would, " said Diana, feeling at the moment that it wasnot so very wonderful. Life in this world might be so dull as to be notworth living for. 

"It's a puzzle to me, " Joe went on, "which is right, her or the rest onus. Ef she is, we ain't. And her and the rest o' the world ain't agreedon nothin'. But it is hard to say she ain't right, for she's thehappiest woman that ever I see. "

Diana assented absently. 

"Wall, " said Joe, "I'm a little happier for that 'ere cup o' coffee. I'll go at it agin now. Who's that 'ere little bundle o' muslinruffles, Diany? she's a kind o' pretty creatur', too. She hain't sotdown this hull noonspell. Who is it?"

"Miss Masters. "

"She ain't none o' the family o' our parson?"

"A cousin, I believe. "

"Cousin, eh, " said Joe. "She hain't set down once. I guess she's afeardo' gettin' the starch out somewhere. The captain's sweet on her, ain'the? I see he tuk a deal o' care o' her eatin'. "

"Mr. Knowlton is not a captain yet, Joe; he is only a lieutenant. "

"Want to know, " said Joe. "Wall, I kin tell ye, she likes him. "

And Joe strolled off, evidently bent on doing his best with theblackberry bushes. So must Diana; at least she must seem to do it. There was a lull with the coffee cups; lunch was getting done; here andthere parties were handling their baskets and throwing theirsun-bonnets on. The column of smoke had thinned now to a filmy veil ofgrey vapour, slowly ascending, through which Diana could look over tothe round hill-tops, with their green leaves glittering in the sun; andfarther still, to the blue, clear vault of ether, where there wasneither shine nor shadow, but the changeless rest of heaven. Earth withits wildness of untrodden ways, its glitter and flutter; heaven, --howdid that seem? Far off and inscrutable, though with an infinite depthof repose, an infinite power of purity. The human heart shrank beforeboth. 

"And I had thought to-day would be a day of pleasure, " Diana said toherself. "If I could get into the waggon and go home--alone--and getthe fire started and the afternoon work done ready for supper beforemother comes!--They will not need me to pilot them home at any rate. "

But things have to be faced, not run away from, in life; and trialstake their time and cannot be lopped into easier length. Diana did whatshe could. She caught up her basket very quietly, carrying it and hersun-bonnet in one hand, and slipped away down the hill under cover ofthe trees till she was out of sight of everybody; then plunged into theforest of high bushes and lost herself. She began to pick vigorously;if she was found, anybody should see what she was there for. It was athicket of thorns and fruit; the berries, large, purple, dewy withbloom, hung in quantities, almost in masses, around her. It was onlyneedful sometimes to hold her basket underneath and give a touch to thefruit; and it dropped, fast and thick, into her hands. But she felt asif the cool soft berries hurt her fingers. She wondered whereabouts waspretty Miss Masters now, making believe pick, and with fingers at handto supplement her, and looks and words to make labour sweet, even if itwere labour. "But _she_ will never do any work, " said Diana to herself;"and he will be quite willing that she should not. " And then shenoticed her own fingers; a little coarsened with honest usefulness theywere--a little; and a little embrowned with careless exposure. Notwhite and pearly and delicate like those of that other hand. And Dianaremembered that Mr. Knowlton's own were delicate and white; and shecould understand, she thought, that a man would like in a woman heloved, all daintinesses and delicacies, even although they pertained tothe ornamental rather than to the useful. It was the first time Dianahad ever wished for white hands; she did wish for them now, or ratherregret the want of them, with a sharp, sore point of regret. Eventhough it would have made no difference. 

Picking and thinking and fancying herself safe, Diana made a plunge toget through an uncommonly tangled thicket of interlacing branches, andfound herself no longer alone. Miss Gunn was three feet off, squattingon the ground to pick the more restfully; and on the other side of herwas Diana's cousin, Nick Boddington. 

"Hullo, Di!" was his salutation, "where have you left my wife and therest of the folks?"

"I don't know, Nick; I haven't left them at all. "

"What did you come here for, then?"

"What did you?"

"I declare! I came to have the better chance, me and Miss Gunn; Ithought where nobody was, I'd have it all to myself. I'll engage youare disappointed to find us--now, ain't you?"

"The field is big enough, cousin Nick. "

"Don't know about that. What is become of your fine people?"

"I haven't any fine people. "

"What's become o' them you _had_, then? You brought 'em here; have youdeserted 'em?"

"I came to do work, Nick; and I'm doing it. "

"What did they come for? have you any guess? 'Tain't likely they cometo pick blackberries. "

"I told Mis' Reverdy, " said Miss Gunn smotheredly from the depths of ablackberry bush and her sun-bonnet, "that we'd have plenty forourselves and Elmfield too to-morrow. I will, I guess. "

"They'll want 'em, Miss Gunn, " said Mr. Boddington. "They'll not carryhome a pint, you may depend. Di, did they come after you, or you comeafter them, this morning?"

Diana answered something, she hardly knew what, and made a plungethrough the bushes in another direction. Anything to get out of _this_neighbourhood. She went on eagerly, through thicket after thicket, tillshe supposed she was safe. And as she stopped, Mr. Knowlton came roundfrom the other side of the bush. The thrill of pain and pleasure thatwent through the girl gave no outward sign. 

"Met again, " said the gentleman. "What has become of you? I have lostsight of you since dinner. "

"One can't see far through these bushes, " said Diana. 

"No. What a thicket it is! But at the same time, people can hear; andyou never know who may be a few feet off. Does anybody ever come here, I wonder, when we are gone? or is this wild fruitful hill bearing itsharvest for us alone?"

"Other parties come, I daresay, " said Diana. 

She was picking diligently, and Mr. Knowlton set himself to help her. The berries were very big and ripe here; for a few minutes the twohands were silently busy gathering and dropping them into Diana's pail;then Mr. Knowlton took the burden of that into his own hand. Diana wasnot very willing, but he would have it. 

"One would think blackberries were an important concern of life, " hesaid presently, "by the way you work. "

"I am sure, you are working too, " said Diana. 

"Ah, but I supposed you knew what it is all for. Now I have not thefaintest idea. I know what _I_ am after, of course; but what you areafter is a puzzle to me. "

"Things are very often a puzzle to me, " said Diana vaguely; and havingfor some reason or other a good deal of difficulty in commandingherself. 

"Aren't you tired?"

"No--I don't know, " said Diana. "It does not signify. "

"I don't believe you care, any more than a soldier, what you find inyour way. Do you know, you said something, up yonder at the camp fire, which has been running in my head ever since? I wish you would explainit. "

"I?" said Diana. "I said something? What?"

"I told you what I wanted, --and you said you had no doubt I could getit. "

"I have no recollection of one thing or the other, Mr. Knowlton. Ithink you must have been speaking to somebody else at the time--not me. If you please, I will try the bushes that way; I think somebody hasbeen in this place. "

"Don't you remember my telling you I always want the best ofeverything?" he said as he followed her; and Diana went too fast forhim to hold the briary branches out of her way. 

"There are so many other people who are of that mind, Mr. Knowlton!"--

"Not yourself?"

"I want the best berries, " said Diana, stopping before a cluster ofbushes heavily laden. 

"How about other things?"

Diana felt a pang at her heart, an odd desire to make some wild answer. But nothing could be cooler than what she said. 

"I take them as I find them, Mr. Knowlton. "

He was helping her now again. 

"What did you suppose I was thinking of, when I told you I wanted thebest I could have?"

"I had no right to suppose anything. No doubt it is true of all sortsof things. "

"But I was thinking of _one_--did you guess what?"

Diana hesitated. "I don't know, Mr. Knowlton, --I might guess wrong. "

"Then what made you say, 'no doubt' I could have it?"

"I don't know, Mr. Knowlton, " said Diana, feeling irritated and worriedalmost past her power to bear. "Don't you always have what you want?"

"Do you think I can?" he said eagerly. 

"I fancy you do. "

"What _did_ you think I meant by the 'best' thing, then? Tell me--dotell me?"

"I thought you meant Miss Gertrude Masters, " Diana said, fairly broughtto bay. 

"You did! And what did you think I thought of Miss Diana Starling?"

He had stopped picking blackberries now, and was putting his questionsshort and keenly. Diana's power of answering had come to an end. 

"Hey!" said he, drawing her hand from the bush and stopping her work;"what did you think I thought of _her?_--I have walked with her, anddriven with her, and talked with her, in the house and out of thehouse, now all summer long; I have seen what she is like at home andabroad; what do you think I think of _her?_"

Baskets and berries had, figuratively, fallen to the ground; literallytoo, in Mr. Knowlton's case, for certainly both his hands were free, and had been employed while these words were spoken in gently andslowly gathering Diana into close bondage. There she stood now, hardlydaring to look up; yet the tone of his questions had found its way toher inmost heart. She could not refuse one look, which they asked for. It gave her what she never forgot to her latest day. 

"Does she know now?" he went on in a tone of mixed tenderness andtriumph, like the expression of his face. "My lily!--my Camelliaflower!--my sweet Magnolia!--whatever there is most rare, and good, andperfect. My best of all things. Can I have the best, Di?"

Miss Gertrude Masters would have been equal to the situation, anddoubtless would have met it with great equanimity; Diana was unused tomost of the world's ways, and very new to this. She stood in quietdignity, indeed; but the stains of crimson on cheek and brow flushedand paled like the lights of a sunset. All at the bottom of her deepsun-bonnet; was Mr. Knowlton to blame if he gently pushed it back andinsinuated it off, till he had a full view?

"You know what is my 'best' now, " he said. "Can I have it, Diana?"

She tried to break away from him, and on her lip there broke thatbeautiful smile of hers; withal a little tremulous just then. It israre on a grown woman's lip, a smile so very guileless and free; mostlyit belongs to children. Yet not this smile, either. 

"I should think you must know by this time, " she whispered. 

I suppose he did; for he put no more questions for a minute or two. 

"There's one more thing, " he said. "Now you know what I think of you;what do you think of me, Diana?"

"I think you are very imprudent, " she said, freeing herself resolutely, and picking up her sun-bonnet. "Anybody might come, Mr. Knowlton. "

"Anybody might! But if ever you call me 'Mr. Knowlton' again--I'll dosomething extraordinary. "

Diana thought he would have a great many things to teach her, besidethat. She went at her fruit-picking with bewildered haste. She did notknow what she was doing, but mechanically her fingers flew and theberries fell. Mr. Knowlton picked rather more intelligently; butbetween them, I must say, they worked very well. Ah, the blackberryfield had become a wonderful place; and while the mellow purple fruitfell fast from the branches, it seemed also as if years had reachedtheir fruition and the perfected harvest of life had come. Could riperor richer be, than had fallen into Diana's hands now? than filled themnow? So it was, she thought. And yet this was not life's harvest, onlythe bloom of the flower; the fruit comes not to its maturity with onesunny day, and it needs more than sunshine. But let the fruit grow; itwill come in time, even if it ripens in secret; and meanwhile smell theflower. It was the fragrance of the grape blossom that filled theblackberry field; most sweet, most evanishing, most significant. Oddly, many people do not know it. But it must be that their life has neverbrought them within reach of its charm. 

Two people in the field never knew how the shadows grew long that day. No, not even though their colloquy was soon interrupted, and byGertrude Masters herself. She thenceforth claimed, and received, Mr. Knowlton's whole services; while Diana in her turn was assisted by WillFlandin, a young farmer of Pleasant Valley, who gave his hands and hisarms to her help. It did not make much difference to Diana; it mighthave been an ogre, and she would not have cared; so she hardly noticedthat Will, who had a glib enough tongue in ordinary, was now verysilent. Diana herself said nothing. She was listening to hidden music. 

"There's a wonderful lot o' blackberries on Bear Hill, " Will remarkedat last. 

"Yes, " said Diana. 

"Well, I guess we've cleaned 'em out pretty well for this time, "pursued he. 

"Have we?" said Diana. 

"Why, all these folks ha' been pickin' all day; I should _think_ they'dha' made a hole in 'em. "

Silence fell again. 

"How's the roads down your way?" began Mr. Flandin again. 

"The roads? pretty well, I believe. "

"They're awful, up this way, to Bear Hill. I say, Miss Starling, how doyou s'pose those people lives, in that village?"

"How do they? I don't know. "

"Beats me! they don't raise nothin', and they don't killnothin', --'thout it's other folks's; and what they live on I would jestlike to know. Mother, she thinks a minister had ought to go and settledown among 'em; but I tell her I'd like to see what a sheriff 'd dofust. They don't live in no reg'lar good way, that's a fact. "

"Poor people!" said Diana. "They don't even know enough to pickblackberries. "

"They hadn't no need to be so poor ef they would work, " said the youngman. "But I s'pose you've got a kind word for every one, ha'n't you, Miss Starling?"

"Diany, " said the voice of Joe Bartlett, who was pushing his waytowards her through the bushes, --"Diany! Here you be! Here's yourmother lookin' for ye. Got all you want? It's gettin' time to maketracks for hum. The sun's consid'able low. "

"I'm ready, Joe. "

"Give me one o' them pails, then, and we'll try ef we kin git throughthese pesky bushes. I vow! I wouldn't like to take Bear Hill for afarm, not on a long lease. "

They pushed and fought their way in the thicket for a long distance, till, as Joe remarked, they had surveyed the hill pretty well; Dianaconscious all the time that Mr. Knowlton and Gertrude were following intheir wake. That was near enough. She liked it so. She liked it eventhat in the crowd and the bustle of packing and hitching horses, andgetting seated, there was no chance for more than a far-off nod andwave of the hand from the Elmfield parly. They drove off first thistime. And Diana followed at a little distance, driving Prince; Mrs. Starling declaring herself "tuckered out. "

There was no sense of weariness on Diana. Never less in her life. Shewas glad the drive was so long; not because she was weary and wanted torest, but because every nerve and sense seemed strung to a finetension, so that everything that touched them sent waves of melody overher being. Truly the light was sweet that evening, for any eyes; toDiana's vision the sunbeams were solid gold, though refined out of allsordidness, and earth was heaped up and brimming over with riches. Theleaves of the trees on the hill-sides sparkled in the new wealth ofnature; the air scintillated with it; the water was full of it. Prince's hoofs trod in measure, and the wheels of the waggon movedrhythmically, and the evening breeze might have been the very spirit ofharmony. The way was long, and before home was reached the light hadfaded and the sparkling was gone; but even that was welcome to Diana. She was glad to have a veil fall, for a while, over the brightness, andhide even from herself the new world into which she had entered. Sheknew it was there, under the veil; the knowledge was enough for thepresent. 

CHAPTER IX. 

MRS. STARLING'S OPINIONS. 

It was well dusk when Prince stopped under the elm tree. The sun hadgone down behind the low distant hills, leaving a white glory in allthat region of the heavens; and shadows were settling upon the valleys. All household wants and proprieties were disarranged; the thing to dowas to bring up arrears as speedily as possible. To this Mrs. Starlingand her daughter addressed themselves. The blackberries were putcarefully away; the table set, supper cooked, for the men must have awarm supper; and after supper and clearing up there came a lull. 

"If it warn't so late, " said Mrs. Starling, --"but it _is_ toolate, --I'd go at those berries. "

"Mother! Not to-night. "

"Well, no; it's 'most too late, as I said; and I _am_ tired. I want toknow if this is what folks call work or play? 'cause if it's play, I'drather work, for my part. I believe I'd sooner stand at the wash-tub. "

"Than pick blackberries, mother?"

"Well, yes, " said Mrs. Starling; "'cause _then_ I'd know when my workwas done. If the sun hadn't gone down, we'd all be pickin' yet. "

"I am sure, you could stop when you were tired, mother; couldn't you?"

"I never am tired, child, while I see my work before me; don't you knowthat? And it's a sin to let the ripe fruit go unpicked. I wonder whatit grows in such a place for! Who were you with all day?"

"Different people. "

"Did Will Flandin find you?"

"Yes. "

"He was in a takin' to know where you were. So I just gave him a bit ofa notion. "

"I don't see how _you_ could know, mother; I had been going soroundabout among the bushes. I don't know where I was, myself. "

"When ever you don't know that, Diana, stop and find out. "

Mrs. Starling was sitting before the stove in a resting attitude, withher feet stretched out towards it. Diana was busy with some odds andends, but her mother's tone--or was it her own consciousness?--made hersuddenly stop and look towards her. Mrs. Starling did not see this, Diana being behind her. 

"Did it ever strike you that Will was sweet on you?" she went on. 

"Will Flandin, mother?"

An inarticulate note of assent. 

Diana did not answer, and instead went on with what she had been doing. 

"Hey?" said Mrs. Starling. 

"I hope he'll get cured of it, mother, if he is. "

"Why?"

"I don't know why, " said Diana, half laughing, "except that he hadbetter be sweet on some one else. "

"He's a nice fellow. "

"Yes, I think he is; as they go. "

"And he'll be very well off, Diana. "

"He's no match for me, then, mother; for I am well off now. "

"No, you ain't, child, " said Mrs. Starling. "We have enough to live on, but that's all. "

"What more does anybody want?"

"You don't mean what you say, Diana!" cried her mother, turning uponher. "Don't you want to have pretty things, and a nice house, andfurniture to suit you, and maybe servants to do your work? I wonderwho's particular, if you ain't! Wouldn't you like a nice carriage?"

"I like all these things well enough, mother; but they are not thefirst thing. "

"What is the first thing?" said Mrs. Starling shortly. 

"I should say, --how I get them. "

"Oh!--I thought you were going to say the man was the first thing. That's the usual lingo. "

Diana was silent again. 

"Now you can have Will, " her mother went on; "and he would be my verychoice for you, Diana. "

Diana made no response. 

"He is smart; and he is good-lookin'; and he'll have a beautiful farmand a good deal of money ready laid up to begin with; and he's the sortto make it more and not make it less. And his mother is a first-ratewoman. It's one of the best families in all Pleasant Valley. "

"I would rather not marry either of 'em, " said Diana, with a littlehalf laugh again. "You know, mother, there are a great many nice peoplein the world. I can't have all of 'em. "

"Who were you with all the forenoon?" Mrs. Starling asked suddenly. 

"You went off and left me with the people from Elmfield. I was takingcare of them. "

"I saw you come out of the field with them. What a popinjay thatMasters girl is, to be sure! and Mrs. --what's her name?--the other, isnot much better. Soft as oil, and as slippery. How on earth did _they_come to Bear Hill?"

"I suppose they thought it would be fun, " Diana said with constrainedvoice. 

"Don't let anybody get sweet on you there, Diana Starling; not if youknow what is good for you. "

"Where, mother?"

"_There_. At Elmfield. Among the Knowlton folks. "

"What's the matter with them?" Diana asked; but not without a touch ofamusement in her voice, which perhaps turned the edge of her mother'ssuspicion. She went on, however, energetically. 

"Poor and proud!" she said. "Poor and proud. And that's about themeanest kind of a mixture there is. I don't mind if folks has somethingto go on--why, airs come nat'ral to human nature; I can forgive 'emanyhow, for I'm as proud as they be. But when they _hain't_anything--and when they pile up their pretensions so high they can'tcarry 'em steady--for my part I'd rather keep out o' their way. They'reno pleasure to me; and if they think they're an honour, it's an opinionI don't share. Gertrude Masters ain't no better than a balloon; full ofgas; she hain't weight enough to keep her on her feet; and Mrs. --what'sher name?--Genevy--she's as smooth as an eel. And Evan is a monkey. "

"Mother! what makes you say so?"

"Why don't he shave himself then, like other folks?"

"Why, mother, it is just the fashion in the army to wear a moustache. "

"What business has he to be in the army? He ought to be here helpinghis grandfather. I have no sort o' patience with him. "

"Mother, you know they sent him to the Military Academy; of course hecould not help being in the army. It is no fault of his. "

"He could quit it, I suppose, if he wanted to. But he ain't that sort. He just likes to wear gold on his shoulders, and a stripe down his leg, and fancy buttons, and go with his coat flying all open to show hiswhite shirt. I think, when folks have a pair of such broad shoulders, they're meant to do some work; but he'll never do none. He'll pleasehimself, and hold himself up high over them that _does_ work. And he'lllive to die poor. I. Won't have you take after such a fellow, Diana;mind, I won't. I won't have _you_ settin' yourself up above your motherand despisin' the ways you was brought up to. And I want you to bemistress o' Will Flandin's house and lands and money; and you can, ifyou're a mind to. "

Diana was a little uncertain between laughing and crying, and thoughtbest not to trust her voice. So they went up to their rooms andseparated for the night. But all inclination to tears was shut out withthe shutting of her door. Was not the moonlight streaming full andbroad over all the fields, filling the whole world with quiet radiance?So came down the clear, quiet illumination of her happiness upon allDiana's soul. There was no disturbance; there was no shadow; there wasno wavering of that full flood of still ecstasy. All things not inharmony with it were hidden by it. That's the way with moonlight. 

And the daylight was sweeter. Early, Diana always saw it; in thoseprime hours of day when strength, and freshness, and promise, andbright hope are the speech and the eye-glance of nature. How much helpthe people lose who lose all that! When the sun's first look at themountains breaks into a smile; when morning softly draws off the veilfrom the work there is to do; when the stir of the breeze speakscourage or breathes kisses of sympathy; and the clear blue sky seemswaiting for the rounded and perfected day to finish its hours, now justbeginning. Diana often saw it so; she did not often stop so long at herwindow to look and listen as she did this morning. It was a clear, calm, crisp morning, without a touch of frost, promising one of thosemellow, golden, delicious days of September that are the very ripenessof the year; just yet six o'clock held only the promise of it. Like herlife! But the daylight brought all the vigour of reality; and lastnight was moonshine. Diana sat at her window a few minutes drinking itall in, and then went to her dairy. 

Alas! one's head may be in rare ether, and one's feet find bad walkingspots at the same time. It was Diana's experience at breakfast. 

"How are those pigs getting along, Josiah?" Mrs. Starling demanded. 

"Wall, I don' know, " was the somewhat unsatisfactory response. "Guesslikely the little one's gettin' ahead lately. "

"He hadn't ought to!" said Mrs. Starling. "What's the reason the othersain't gettin' ahead as fast as him?"

"He's a different critter--that's all, " said Josiah stolidly. "He'll bethe biggest. "

"They're all fed alike?"

"Fur's my part goes, " said Josiah; "but when it comes to theeatin'--tell you! that little feller'll put away consid'able more'n hisshare. That's how he's growd so. "

"They are not any of 'em the size they ought to be, Josiah. "

"We ain't feedin' 'em corn yet. "

"But they are not as big as they were last year this time. "

"Don't see how you'll help it, " said Josiah. "I ain't done nothin' to'em. "

With which conclusion Mrs. Starling's 'help' finished his breakfast andwent off. 

"There ain't the hay there had ought to be in the mows, neither, " Mrs. Starling went on to her daughter. "I know there ain't; not by tons. Andthere's no sort o' a crop o' rye. I wish to mercy, Diana, you'd dosomethin'. "

"Do what, mother?" Diana said gaily. "You mean, you wish Josiah woulddo something. "

"I know what I mean, " said Mrs. Starling, "and I commonly say it. Thatis, when I say anything. I _don't_ wish anything about Josiah. I'vegiven up wishin'. He's an unaccountable boy. There's no dependin' onhim. And the thing is, he don't care. All he thinks on is his ownvictuals; and so long's he has 'em, he don't care whether the rest ofthe world turns round or no. "

"I suppose it's the way with most people, mother; to care most fortheir own. "

"But if I had hired myself to take care of other folks' things, I'd_do_ it, " said Mrs. Starling. "That ain't my way. Just see what Ihaven't done this morning already! and he's made out to eat hisbreakfast and fodder his cattle. I've been out to the barn and had agood look at the hay mow and calculated the grain in the bins; and seento the pigs; and that was after I'd made my fire and ground my coffeeand set the potatoes on to boil and got the table ready and the roomsswept out. Is that cream going to get churned to-day, Diana?"

"No, mother. "

"It's old enough. "

"It is not ready, though. "

"It ought to be. I tell you what, Diana, you must set your cream pot inhere o' nights; the dairy's too cold. "

"Warm enough yet, mother. Makes better butter. "

"You don't get nigh so much, though. That last buttermilk was all thickwith floatin' bits of butter; and that's what I call wasteful. "

"I call it good, though. "

"There's where you make a mistake, Diana Starling; and if you ever wantto be anything but a poor woman, you've got to mend. It's just thoselittle holes in your pocket that let out the money; a penny at a time, to be sure; but by and by when you come to look for the dollars, youwon't find 'em; and you'll not know where they're gone. And you'll want'em. "

"Mother, " said Diana, laughing, "I can't feel afraid. We have neverwanted 'em yet. "

"You've been young, child. You will want 'em as you grow older. MarryWill Flandin, and you'll have 'em; and you may churn your cream how youlike. I tell you what, Diana; when your arm ain't as strong as it usedto be, and your back gets to aching, and you feel as if you'd like tosit down and be quiet instead of delvin' and delvin', _then_ you'llfeel as if 't would be handy to put your hand in your pocket and findcash somewhere. My! I wish I had all the money your father spent forbooks. Books just makes some folks crazy. Do you know it's theafternoon for Society meeting, Diana?"

"I had forgotten it. I shall not go. "

"One of us must, " said Mrs. Starling. "I don't see how in the world Ican; but I suppose I'll have to. You'll have to make the bread then, Diana. Yesterday's put me all out. And what are you going to do withall those blackberries? They're too ripe to keep. "

"I'll do them up this afternoon, mother. I'll take care of them. "

The morning went in this way, with little intermission. Mrs. Starlingwas perhaps uneasy from an undefined fear that something was going notright with Diana's affairs. She could lay hold on no clue, but perhapsthe secret fear or doubt was the reason why she brought up, as if bysheer force of affinity, every small and great source of annoyance thatshe knew of. All the morning Diana had to hear and answer a string ofsuggestions and complainings like the foregoing. She was notunaccustomed to this sort of thing, perhaps; and doubtless she had herown hidden antidote to annoyance: yet it belonged still more to thelarge sweet nature of the girl, that though annoyed she was neverirritated. Wrinkles never lined themselves on the fair smooth brow;proper token of the depth and calm of the character within. 

CHAPTER X. 

IN SUGAR. 

Dinner was over, and talk ceased, for Mrs. Starling went to dressherself for the sewing society, and presently drove off with Prince. Diana's motions then became as swift as they were noiseless. Herkitchen was in a state of perfected order and propriety. She went todress herself then; a modest dressing, for business, and kitchenbusiness, too, must claim her all the afternoon; but it is possible tocombine two effects in one's toilet; and if you had seen Diana thatday, you would have comprehended the proposition. A common print gown, clean and summery-looking, showed her soft outlines at least as well asa more modish affair would; and the sleeves rolled up to the elbowsrevealed Diana's beautiful arms. I am bound to confess she had chosen awhite apron in defiance of possible fruit stains; and the dark hairtucked away behind her ears gave the whole fair cheek and temple toview; fair and delicate in contour, and coloured with the very hues ofa perfect physical condition. I think no man but would like to see hisfuture wife present such a picture of womanly beauty and housewifelyefficiency as Diana was that day. And the best was, she did not know it. 

She went about her work. Doubtless she had a sense that interruptionsmight come that afternoon; however, that changed nothing. She hadmoulded her bread and put it in the pans and got it out of the way; andnow the berries were brought out of the pantry, and the preservingkettle went on the fire, and Diana's fingers were soon red with theripe wine of the fruit. All the time she had her ears open for thesound of a horse's hoofs upon the road; it had not come, so that aquick step outside startled her, and then the figure of Mr. Knowlton inthe doorway took her by surprise. Certainly she had been expecting himall the afternoon; but now, whether it were the surprise or somewhatelse, Diana's face flushed to the most lovely rose. Yet she went tomeet him with simple frankness. 

"I've not a hand to give you!" she said. 

"Not a hand!" he echoed. "What a mercy it is that I am independent ofhands. Yesterday I should have been in despair;--to-day"--

"You must not abuse your privileges, " said Diana, trying to freeherself. "And O, Mr. Knowlton, I have a great deal of work to do. "

"So have I, " said he, holding her fast; and indeed she was too pretty apossession to be easily let go. "Whole loads of talking, and no end ofarrangements. --Di, I never saw you with such a charming colour. Mybeauty! Do you know what a beauty you are?"

"I am glad you think so!" she said. 

"Think so? Wait till you are my wife, and I can dress you to pleasemyself. I think you will be a very princess of loveliness. "

"In the meantime, Mr. Knowlton, what do you think of letting me finishmy berries?"

"Berries?" he said, laughing. "Tell me first, Di, what do you think ofme?"

"Inconvenient, " said Diana. "And I think, presuming. I must finish myberries, Mr. Knowlton. "

"_Evan_, " he said. 

"Well; but let me do my work. "

"Do your work?--My darling! How am I going to talk to you, if you aregoing into your work? However, in consideration of yesterday--you may. "

"What made you come to this door?" Diana asked. 

"I knew you were here. "

"You would have been much more likely to find mother, most days. "

"Ah, but I met Prince, as I came along, with Mrs. Starling behind him;and then I thought"--

"What?"

"I remembered, " said Knowlton, laughing, "that the same person cannotbe in two places at once!"

The comfort of this fact being upon them, the two took advantage of it. Mr. Knowlton drew his chair close to the table over which Diana'sfingers were so busy; and a talk began, which in the range and varietyand arbitrary introduction of its topics, it would be in vain to try tofollow. Through it all Diana's work went on, except now and then whenher fingers made an involuntary pause. The berries were picked over, and weighed, and put over the fire, and watched and tended there; whilethe tall form of the young officer stood beside Diana as she handledher skimmer, and went back and forth as she went, helping her to carryher jars of sweetmeat. 

"Have you told your mother?" Mr. Knowlton asked. 

"No. "

"Why not?" he asked quickly. 

"I did not think it was a good time, last night or this morning. "

"Does she not like me?"

"I think she wants to put some one else in your place, Evan. "

"Who?" he asked instantly. 

"Nobody you need fear, " said Diana, laughing. "Nobody I like. "

"Is there anybody you do like?"

"Plenty of people--that I like a little. "

"How much do you like me, Diana?"

She lifted her eyes and looked at him; calm, large, grey eyes, intowhich there had come a new depth since yesterday and an added light. She looked at him a moment, and dropped them in silence. 

"Well?" said he eagerly. "Why don't you speak?"

"I cannot, " said Diana. 

"Why? I can speak to you. "

"I suppose people are different, " said Diana. "And I am a woman. "

"Well, what then?"

She turned away, with the shyest, sweetest grace of reserve; turnedaway to her fruit, quite naturally; there was no shadow of affectation, nor even of consciousness. But her eyes did not look up again; and Mr. Knowlton's eyes had no interruption. 

"Di, where do you think we shall go when we are married?"

"I don't know, " she said simply; and the tone of her voice said thatshe did not care. It was as quiet as the harebells when no wind isblowing. 

"And _I_ don't know!" Knowlton echoed with a half-sigh. "I don't knowwhere I am going myself. But I shall know in a day or two. Can you beready in a week, do you think, Diana?"

"Shall you have to go so soon as that?" she asked with a startled lookup. 

"Pretty near. What of that? You are going with me. It may be to somerough out-of-the-way place; we never can tell; you know we are a sortof football for Uncle Sam to toss about as he pleases; but you are notafraid of being a soldier's wife, Di?"

She looked at him without speaking; a look clear and quiet and glad, like her voice when she spoke. So full of the thought of the reality hesuggested, evidently, that she never perceived the occasion for ablush. Her eyes went through him, to the rough country or the frontierpost where she could share--and annul--all his harsh experiences. 

"What sort of places are those where you might go, Evan?"

"Nearly all sorts on the face of the earth, my beauty. I might be sentto the neighbourhood of one of the great cities; we should have a goodtime then, Di! I would wait for nothing; I could come and fetch youjust as soon as I could get a furlough of a day or two. But they areapt to send us, the young officers, to the hardest places; posts beyondcivilisation, out west to the frontier, or south to Texas, or across tothe Pacific coast. "

"California!" Diana cried. 

"California; or Oregon; or Arizona. Yes; why?"

"California is very far off. "

"Rather, " said Knowlton, with a half sigh again. "It don't make anydifference, if we were once there, Diana. "

Diana looked thoughtful. It had never occurred to her, before thistime, to wish that the country were not so extended; and certainly notto fancy that California and she had any interest in common. Lo, now itmight be. "How soon _must_ you go, Evan?" she asked, as thoughts oflongitude and latitude began to deepen the cloud shadow which had justtouched her. 

"A few days--a week or two more. "

"Is that all?"

"Can you go with me?" he whispered, bending forward to pick up a few ofher berries, for the taste of which he certainly did not care at thatmoment. 

And she whispered, "No. "

"Can't you?"

"You know it's impossible, Evan. "

"Then I must go by myself, " he said, in the same half breath, stoopinghis head still so near that a half breath could be heard; and his hair, quite emancipated from the regulation cut, touched Diana's cheek. "Idon't know how I can! But, Di--if I can get a furlough at Christmas andcome for you--will you be ready then?"

She whispered, "Yes. "

"That is, supposing I am in any place that I can take you to, " he wenton, after a hearty endorsement of the contract just made. "It is quitepossible I may not be! But I won't borrow trouble. This is the firsttrouble I ever had in my life, Di, leaving you. "

"They say prosperity makes people proud, " she said, with an arch glanceat him. 

"'Proud?" echoed Knowlton. "Yes, I _am_ proud. I have a right to beproud. I do not think, Diana, there is such a pearl in all the watersof Arabia as I shall wear on my hand. I do not believe there is a roseto equal you in all the gardens of the world. Look up, my beauty, andlet me see you. I sha'n't have the chance pretty soon. "

And yielding to the light touch of his fingers under her chin, caressing and persuading, Diana's face was lifted to view. It was likea pearl, for the childlike purity of all its lines; it was like enougha rose, too; like an opening rose, for the matter of that. Her thoughtswent back to the elegance of Mrs. Reverdy and Gertrude Masters, and shewondered in herself at Mr. Knowlton's judgment of her; but there wastoo much of Diana ever to depreciate herself unworthily. She saidnothing. 

"I wonder what will become you best?" said Evan in a very satisfiedtone. 

"Become me?" said Diana lifting her eyes. 

"Yes. What's your colour?"

"I am sure I don't know, " said Diana, laughing. "No one in particular, I guess. "

"Wear everything, can you? I shouldn't wonder! But I think I shouldlike you in white. That's cold for winter--in some regions. I think Ishould like you in--let me see--show me your eyes again, Diana. If youwear so much rose in your cheeks, my darling, " said he, kissing firstone and then the other, "I should be safe to get you green. You will belovely in blue. But of all, _except_ white, I think I should like you, Diana, in royal red. "

"I thought purple was the colour of kings and queens, " Diana remarked, trying to get back to her berries. 

"Purple is poetical. I am certain a dark, rich red would be magnificenton you; for it is you who will beautify the colour, not the colour you. I shall get you the first stuff of that colour I see that is of theright hue. "

"Pray don't, Evan. Wait, " said Diana, flushing more and more. 

"Wait? I'll not wait a minute longer than till I see it. My beauty!what a delight to get things for you--and with you! Officers' quartersare sorry places sometimes, Diana; but won't it be fun for you and meto work transformations, and make our own world; that is our own home?What does Mrs. Starling think of me?"

"I have told her nothing, Evan, yet. She was so busy this morning, Ihad not a good chance. "

"I'll confront her when she comes home this evening. "

"O no, Evan; leave it to me; I want to take a _good_ time. She will notlike it much anyhow. "

"I don't see really how she should. I have sympathy--no, I haven't! Ihaven't a bit. I am so full of my own side of the question, it is sheerhypocrisy to pretend I have any feeling for anybody else. When will youcome down to Elmfield?"

"To Elmfield?" said Diana. 

"To begin to learn to know them all. I want them to know you. "

"You have not spoken to them about me?"

"No, " said he, laughing; "but I mean to. "

"Evan, don't say anything to anybody till mother has been told. Promiseme! That would not do. "

"All's safe yet, Di. But make haste with your revelations; for I shallbe here to-morrow night and every night now, and astonish her; and itisn't healthy for some people to be astonished. Besides, Di, my orderswill be here in a week or two; and then I must go. "

"Do you like being under orders?" said Diana innocently. 

Knowlton's grave face changed again; and laughing, he asked if _she_did not like it? and how she would do when she would be a soldier'swife, and so under _double_ orders? And he got into such a game ofmerriment, at her and with her, that Diana did not know what to do withherself or her berries either. How the berries got attended to is amystery; but it shows that the action of the mind can grow mechanicalwhere it has been very much exercised. It can scarce be said that Dianathought of the blackberries; and yet, the jam was made and the wineprepared for in a most regular and faultless manner; the jars werefilled duly, and nothing was burned, and all was done and cleared awaybefore Mrs. Starling came home. Literally; for Mr. Knowlton had beensent away, and Diana had gone up to the sanctuary of her own room. Shedid not wish to encounter her mother that night. While the dew was notyet off her flowers, she would smell their sweetness alone. 

CHAPTER XI. 

A STORM IN SEPTEMBER. 

Diana was not put to the trial next day of venturing her preciousthings to harsh handling. A very uncommon thing happened. Mrs. Starlingwas not well, and kept her bed. 

She had caught cold, she confessed, by some imprudence the day before;and symptoms of pleurisy made it impossible that she should fightsickness as she liked to fight it, on foot. The doctor was not to bethought of; Mrs. Starling gave her best and only confidence to her ownskill; but even that bade her lie by and "give up. "

Diana had the whole house on her hands, as well as the nursing. Truthto tell, this last was not much. Mrs. Starling would have very littleof her daughter's presence; still less of her ministrations. To be "letalone" was her principal demand, and that Diana should "keep thingsstraight below. " Diana did that. The house went on as well as ever; andeven the farm affairs received the needful supervision. Josiah Daviswas duly ordered, fed, and dismissed; and when evening came, Diana wasdressed in order, bright, and ready for company. Company it pleased herto receive in the lean-to kitchen; the sound of voices and laughterbeneath her would have roused Mrs. Starling to a degree of excitementfrom which it would have been impossible to keep back anything; andprobably to a degree of consequent indignation which would have beencapable of very informal measures of ejectment regarding the intruder. No; Diana could not risk that. She must wait till her mother's nervesand temper were at least in their ordinary state of wholesome calm, before she would shock them by the disclosures she had to make. Andalmost by their preciousness to herself, Diana gauged theirunwelcomeness to her mother. It was always so. The two natures were sounlike, that not even the long habit of years could draw them intosympathy. They thought alike about nothing except the housewifelymatters of practical life. So these evenings when Mrs. Starling wasill, Diana had her lamp and her fire in the lean-to kitchen; and therewere held the long talks with Mr. Knowlton which made all the days ofSeptember so golden, --days when Diana's hands were too busy to let hersee him, and he was told he must not come except at night; but throughall the business streamed the radiant glow of the last night's talk, like the September sunlight through the misty air. 

So the days went by; and Mrs. Starling was kept a prisoner; pain andweakness warning her she must not dare try anything else. And in theirengrossment the two young people hardly noticed how the time flew. People in Pleasant Valley were not in the habit of paying visits to oneanother in the evenings, unless specially invited; so nobody discoveredthat Evan came nightly to Mrs. Starling's house; and if his own peoplewondered at his absence from home, they could do no more. Suspicion hadno ground to go upon in any particular direction. 

The month had been glorious with golden leaves and golden sunshine, until the middle was more than past. Then came a September storm; anequinoctial, the people said; as furious as the preceding days had beengentle. Whirlwinds of tempest, and floods of rain; legions of clouds, rank after rank, bringing the winds in their folds; or did the windsbring them? All one day and night and all the next day, the stormcontinued; and night darkened early upon Pleasant Valley with noprospect of a change. Diana had watched for it a little eagerly; Evan'svisit was lost the night before, of course; it was much to lose, whenSeptember days were growing few; and now another night he could notcome. Diana stood at the lean-to door after supper, looking and makingher conclusions sorrowfully. It was darkening fast; very dark it wouldbe, for there was no moon. The rain came down in streams, thick andgrey. The branches of the elm trees swung and swayed pitilessly in thewind, beating against each other; while the wind whistled and shoutedits intention of keeping on so all night. "He can't come, " sighed Dianafor the fifth or sixth time to herself; and she shut the door. It couldbe borne, however, to lose two evenings, when they had enjoyed so manytogether, and had so many more to look forward to; and with thatmixture in her heart of content and longing, which everybody knows, Diana trimmed her lamp and sat down to sew. How the wind roared! Shemust trim her fire too, or the room would be full of smoke. She madethe fire up; and then the snare of its leaping flames and glowing coalbed drew her from her work; she sat looking and thinking, in a fulnessof happiness to which all the roar of the storm only served for a foil. She heard the drip, drip of the rain; the fast-running stream from theovercharged eaves trough; then the thunder of the wind sweeping overthe house in a great gust; and the whistle of the elm branches as theyswung through the air like tremendous lithe switches, beating andwrithing and straining in the fury of the blast. Looking into theclear, glowing flames, Diana heard it all, with a certain sense ofenjoyment; when in the midst of it she heard another sound, a littlething, but distinguishable from all the rest; the sound of a foot uponthe little stone before the door. Only one foot it could be in theworld; Diana started up, and was standing with lips apart, facing thedoor, when it opened, and a man came in enveloped in a huge cloak, dripping at every point. 

"Evan!" Diana's exclamation was, with an utterance between joy anddread. 

"Yes, " said he as he came forward into the room, --"I've got orders. "

Without another word she helped relieve him of his cloak and went withit to the outer kitchen, where she hung it carefully to dry. As shecame back, Evan was standing in front of the fire, looking gravely intoit. The light danced and gleamed upon the gold buttons on his breast, and touched the gold bands on his shoulders; it was a very stately andgraceful figure to Diana's eyes. He turned a little, took her into hisarms, and then they both stood silent and still. 

"I've got my orders, " Knowlton repeated in a low tone. 

"To go soon, Evan?"

"Immediately. "

"I knew it, when I heard your foot at the door. "

They were both still again, while the storm swept over the house in afresh burst, the wind rushing by as if it was glad he was going andmeant he should. Perhaps the two did not hear it; but I think Dianadid. The rain poured down in a kind of fury. 

"How could you get here, Evan?" she asked, looking up at him. 

"I must, I had only to-night. "

"You are not _wet?_"

"No, darling! Rain is nothing to me. How are you? and how is yourmother?"

"She is better. She is getting well. "

"And you? You are most like a magnolia tree, full of its whitemagnificent blossoms; sweet in a kind of wealth of sweetness andbountiful beauty. One blossom would do for a comparison for ordinarywomen; but you are like the whole tree. "

"Suppose I were to find comparisons for you?"

"Ay, suppose you did. What would you liken me to?" said he with asparkle of the eyes, which quite indisposed Diana from giving any morefuel to the fire that supplied it. 

"What, Di? You might as well give me all the comfort you can to takeaway with me. I shall need it. And it will be long before I can comeback for more. What am I like?"

"Would you feel any better for thinking yourself like a pine tree? or agreen hemlock? one of those up in our ravine of the brook?"

"Ah, our ravine of the brook! Those days are all gone. I wish I were agreen hemlock anywhere, with you a magnolia beside me; or better, aclimbing rose hanging upon me! If I could take you, Di!"

The pang of the wish was very keen in her; the leap of the will towardsimpossibilities; but she said nothing and stood quite motionless. 

"I cannot come back for you at Christmas, Di. "

"Where are you going, Evan. "

"Where I would not take you, anyhow. I am under orders to report myselfat a post away off on the Indian frontier, a long journey from here;and a rough, wild place never fit for such as you. Of course we youngofficers are the ones to be sent to such places; unless we happen tohave influence at headquarters, which I haven't. But I shall not staythere for ever. "

"Must you go just where they send you?"

"Yes, " he said with a laugh. "A soldier cannot choose. "

"Must you stay as long as they keep you there?"

"Yes, of course. But there is no use in looking at it gloomily, Di. Themonths will pass, give them time; and years are made of months. Thegood time will come at last. I'm not the first who has had to bear thissort of thing. "

"Will you have to stay _years_ there?"

"Can't tell. I may. It depends on what is doing, and how much I amwanted. Probably I may have to stay two years at least; perhaps three. "

"But you can get a furlough and come for a little while, Evan?" saidDiana; her voice sounded frightened. 

"That's the worst of it!" said Knowlton. "I don't know whether I can ornot. "

"Why, Evan? don't they always?"

"Generally it can be done if the distance is not too great, and you arenot too useful. You see, there are seldom too _many_ officers on hand, at those out-of-the-way posts. "

"Is there so much to do?" said Diana, half mechanically. Her thoughtswere going farther; for grant the facts, what did the reasons matter?

"There's a good deal to do sometimes, " Evan answered in the same way, thinking of more than he chose to speak. They stood silent againawhile. Diana was clasped in Knowlton's arms; her cheek rested on hisshoulder; they both looked to the fire for consolation. Snapping, sparkling, glowing, as it has done in the face of so many of oursorrows, small and great, is there no consolation or suggestion to begot out of it? Perhaps from it came the suggestion at last that theyshould sit down. Evan brought a chair for Diana and placed one forhimself close beside it, and they sat down, holding fast each other'shands. 

Was it also the counsel of the fire that they should sit there allnight? For it was what they did. The fire burned gloriously; the lampwent out; the red lights leaped and flickered all over floor andceiling; and in front of the blaze sat the two, and talked; enough tolast two years, you and I might say; but alas! to them it was but awhetting of the appetite that was to undergo such famine. 

"If I could only take you with me, my darling!" Evan said for thetwentieth time. And Diana was silent at first; then she said, "It would be pleasant to go through hardships together. "

"No, it wouldn't!" said Evan. "Not hardships for you, my beauty! Theyare all very well for me; in a soldier's line; but not for you!"

"A soldier's wife ought not to be altogether unworthy of him, " Dianaanswered. 

"Nor he of her. So I wouldn't take you if I could where I am going. Asoldier's wife will have hardships enough, first and last, no fear; butsome places are not fit for women anyhow. I wish I could have seen Mrs. Starling, though, and had it out with her. "

"Had it out!" repeated Diana. 

"Yes. I should have a little bit of a fight, shouldn't I? She _don't_like me much. I wonder why?"

"Evan, " said Diana after a minute's thought, "if you are to be so longaway, there is no need to speak to anybody about our affair just now. It is our affair; let it stay so. It is our secret. I should like itmuch better to keep it a secret. I don't want to hear people's talk. Will you?"

"But our letters, my dear; they will tell your mother. "

"Mother will not see mine. And she is not likely to see yours; I shallgo to the post office myself. If she did, and found it out, I couldkeep _her_ quiet easily enough. She would not want to speak, any morethan I. "

Evan combated this resolution for some time. He wished to have Dianafriends with his sisters and at home at Elmfield. But Diana had her ownviews, and desired so strongly to keep her secret to herself, duringthe first part at least of what threatened to be a long engagement, that at last he yielded. It did not matter much to him, he said, awayoff in the wilds. 

So that subject was dismissed; and before the fantasia of the flamesthey sat and composed a fantasia of life for themselves; as bright, asvarious, as bewitching, as evanishing; the visions of which weremingled with the leaping and changing purple and flame tints, thesparkle and the flash of the fire. Diana could never stand before afire of hickory logs and fail to see her life-story reappear as she hadseen it that night. 

The hours went by. 

"It's too bad to keep you up so, my darling!" Evan remarked. "I amselfish. "

"No indeed! But you must want something, Evan! I had forgotten allabout it. "

He said he wanted nothing, but her; however, Diana's energies wereroused. She ran into the back kitchen, and came from thence with thetea-kettle in her hands, filled. She was not allowed to set it down, tobe sure, but under her directions it was bestowed in front of theglowing coals. Then, with noiseless, rapid movements, she brought alittle table to the hearth and fetched cups and plates. And then shespread the board. There was a cold ham on the big table; and roundwhite slices of bread, such as cities never see; and cake, light andfruity; and yellow butter; and a cream pie, another dainty thatconfectioners are innocent of; and presently the fragrance of coffeefilled the old lean-to to the very roof. Evan laughed at her, butconfessed himself hungry, and Diana had it all her own way. For once, this rare once, she would have the pleasure, she and Evan alone; many aday would come and go before she might have it again. So she thought asshe poured coffee upon the cream in his cup. And whether the pleasureor the pain were the keenest even then, I cannot tell; but it was oneof those minutes when one chooses the pleasure, and will have it andwill taste it, whatever lies at the bottom of the draught. The smallhours of night, the fire-lit kitchen, the daintily-spread table, sheand Evan at opposite sides of it; the pleasure of ministering, such asevery woman knows; the beauty of her bread, the magnificence of hercoffee, the perfection of her cookery, the exultation of seeing himenjoy it; while her heart was storing up its treasure of sorrow for theunfolding by and by, and knew it, and covered it up, and went onenjoying the minute. The criticism is sometimes made upon a writer hereand there, that he talks too much about _eating;_ and in ahigh-finished and artificial state of society it is indeed true thateating is eating, and nothing more. Servants prepare the viands, andservants bring them; and the result is more or less agreeable andsatisfactory, but can hardly be said to have much of poetry orsentiment about it. The case is not so with humbler livers on theearth's surface. Sympathy and affection and tender ministry are wroughtinto the very pie-crust, and glow in the brown loaves as they come outof the oven; and are specially seen in the shortcake for tea, and thefavourite dish at dinner, and the unexpected dumpling. Among theworking classes, too, --it is true only of them?--the meals are thebreathing spaces of humanity, the resting spots, where the members ofthe household come together to see each other's faces for a moment atleisure, and to confer over matters of common interest that have nochance in the rush and the whirl of the hours of toil. At any rate, Iknow there was much more than the mere taste of the coffee in the cupsthat Diana filled and Knowlton emptied; much more than the supply ofbodily want in the bread they eat. 

The repast was prolonged and varied with very much talk; but it wasdone at last. The kettle was set on one side, the table pushed back, and Evan looked at his watch. Still talk went on quietly for a goodwhile longer. 

"At what hour does your chief of staff open his barn doors?" said Evan, looking at his watch again. 

"Early, " said Diana, not showing the heart-thrust the question hadgiven her. "Not till it is light, though. "

"It will be desirable that I should get off before light, then. It isnot best to astonish him on this occasion. "

"It is not near light yet, Evan?"

He laughed, and looked at her. "Do you know, I don't know when thatmoment comes? I have not seen it once since I have been at Elmfield. Itshows how little truth there is in the theories of education. "

Diana did not ask what he meant. She went to the door and looked out. It was profoundly dark yet. It was also still. The rain was notfalling; the wind had ceased; hush and darkness were abroad. She cameback to the fire and asked what o'clock it was. Evan looked. They hadan hour yet; but it was an hour they could make little use of. Thenight was gone. They stood side by side on the hearth, Evan's arm roundher; now and then repeating something which had been already spoken of;really endeavouring to make the most of the mere fact of beingtogether. But the minutes went too fast. Again and again Diana went tothe window; the second time saw, with that nameless pang at her heart, that the eastern horizon was taking the grey, grave light of comingdawn. Mr. Knowlton went out then presently, saddled his horse, andbrought him out to the fence, all ready. For a few minutes they waitedyet, and watched the grey light creeping up; then, before anything wasclearly discernible through the dusky gloom, the last farewell wastaken; Evan mounted and walked his horse softly away from the door. 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE ASHES OF THE FIRE. 

Diana sat down with her face in her hands, and was still. She felt likea person stunned. It was very still all around her. The fire gentlybreathed and snapped; the living presence that had been there was gone. A great feeling of loneliness smote her. But there was leisure for fewtears just then; and too high-wrought a state of the nerves to seekmuch indulgence in them. A little while, and Josiah would be there withhis pails of milk; there was something to be done first. 

And quick, as another look from the window assured her. Things werebecoming visible out of doors. Diana roused herself, though everymovement had to be with pain, and went about her work. It was hard tomove the chair in which Evan had been sitting; it was hard to move thetable around which they had been so happy; even that little trace oflast night could not be kept. Evan's cup, Evan's plate, the bit ofbread he had left on it, Diana's fingers were dilatory and unwilling indealing with them. But then she roused herself and dallied no longer. Table and cups and eatables were safely removed; the kitchen brushedup, and the table set for breakfast: the fire made in the outer stove, and the kettle put on; though the touch of the kettle hurt her fingers, remembering when she had touched it last. Every tell-tale circumstancewas put out of the way, and the night of watching locked up among themost precious stores of Diana's memory. She opened the lean-to doorthen. 

The morning was rising fair. Clouds and wind had wearied themselvesout, as it might be; and nature was in a great hush. Racks of vapourwere scattered overhead, slowly moving away in some current of air thatcarried them; but below there was not a breath stirring. A little drip, drip from the leaves only told how heavily they had been surcharged;the long pendent branches of the elm hung moveless, as if they wereresting after last night's thrashing about. And as Diana looked, thetouches of gold began to come upon the hills and then on the tree-tops. It was lovely and fair as ever; but to Diana it was a changed world. She was not the same, and nothing would ever be just the same asyesterday it had been. She felt that, as she looked. She had lost andshe had gained. Just now the loss came keenest. The world seemedsingularly empty. The noise of entering feet behind her brought herback to common life. It was Josiah and the milk pails. 

"Hain't set up all night, hev' ye?" was Josiah's startling remark. "Ivow! you get the start of the old lady herself. I b'ain't ready forbreakfast yet, if you be. "

"It will be ready soon, Josiah. "

"Mornin's is gettin' short, " Josiah went on. "One o' them pesky barndoors got loose in the night, and it's beat itself 'most off thehinges, I guess. I must see and get it fixed afore Mis' Starlin'sround, or she'll be hoppin'. The wind was enough to take the ruff off, but how it could lift that 'ere heavy latch, I don't see. "

Diana went to the dairy without any discussion of the subject. Comingback to the kitchen, she was equally startled and dismayed to see hermother entering by the inner door. If there was one thing Diana longedfor this morning, it was, to be alone. Josiah and the farm boys werehardly a hindrance. She had thought her mother could not be. 

"Are you fit to be down-stairs, mother?" she exclaimed. 

"Might as well be down as up, " said Mrs. Starling. "Can't get welllying in bed. I'm tired to death with it all these days; and last nightI couldn't sleep half the night; seemed to me I heard all sorts ofnoises. If I'd had a light I'd ha' got up then. I thought the house wascoming down about my ears; and if it was, I'd rather be up to see. "

"The wind blew so. "

"You heard it too, did you? When did you come down, Diana? I hain'theard the first sound of your door. 'Twarn't light, was it?"

"I have been up a good while. But you are not fit to do the leastthing, mother. I was going to bring you your breakfast. "

"If there's a thing I hate, it's to have my meals in bed. I don't wantanything, to begin with; and I can take it better here. What have yougot, Diana? You may make me a cup of tea. I don't feel as though Icould touch coffee. What's the use o' _your_ gettin' up so early?"

"I've all to do, you know, mother. "

"No use in burning wood and lights half the night, though. The day'slong enough. When did you bake?"

Diana answered this and several other similar household questions, andgot her mother a cup of tea. But though it was accompanied with a nicebit of toast, Mrs. Starling looked with a dissatisfied air at the moresubstantial breakfast her daughter was setting on the table. 

"I never could eat slops. Diana, you may give me some o' that pork. Anda potato. "

"Mother, I do not believe it is good for you. "

"Good for me? And I have eat it all my life. "

"But when you were well. "

"I'm well enough. Put some of the gravy on, Diana. I'll never get mystrength back on toasted chips. "

The men came in, and Mrs. Starling held an animated dialogue with herfactotum about farm affairs; while Diana sat behind her bigcoffee-pot--not the one she had used last night, and wondered if thatwas all a dream; more sadly, if she should ever dream again. And whyher mother could not have staid in her room one day more. One daymore!--

"He hain't begun to get his ploughing ahead, " said Mrs. Starling, asthe door closed on the delinquent. 

"What, mother?" Diana asked, starting. 

"Ploughing. You haven't kept things a-going, as I see, " returned hermother. "Josiah's all behind, as usual. If I could be a man half thetime, I could get on. He ought to have had the whole west fieldploughed, while I've been sick. "

"I don't know so much about it as you do, mother. "

"I know you don't. You have too much readin' to do. There's a pane ofglass broken in that window, Diana. "

"Yes, mother. I know it. "

"How did it come?"

"I don't know. "

"You'll never get along, Diana, till you know everything that happensin your house. You aren't fit anyhow to be a poor woman. If you'rerich, why you can get a new pane of glass, and there's the end of it. I'm not so rich as all that comes to. "

"Getting a pane of glass, mother?"

"Without knowing what for. "

"But how does it help the matter to know what for? The glass must begot anyway. "

"If you know what for, it won't be to do another time. You'll find away to stop it. I'll warrant, now, Diana, you haven't had the ashescleared out of that stove for a week. "

"Why, mother?"

"It smokes. It always does smoke when it gets full of ashes; and itnever smokes when it ain't. "

"There is no smoke _here_, surely. "

"I smell it. I can smell anything there is about. I don't know whateverthere was in the house last night that smelled like coffee; but Ia'most thought there was somebody makin' it down-stairs. I smelled itas plain as could be. If I could ha' got into my shoes, I believe Iwould ha' come down to see, just to get rid of the notion, it worriedme so. It beats me now, what it could ha' been. "

Diana turned away with the cups she had been wiping, that she might notshow her face. 

"Don't you never have your ashes took up, Diana?" cried Mrs. Starling, who, when much exercised on household matters, sometimes forgot hergrammar. 

"Yes, mother. "

"When did you have 'em took up in this chimney?"

"I do not remember--yesterday, I guess, " said Diana vaguely. 

"You never burnt all the ashes there is there since yesterday morning. You'd have had to sit up all night to do it; and burn a good lot o'wood on your fire, too. "

"Mother, " exclaimed Diana in desperation, "I don't suppose everythingis just as it would be if you'd been round all these days. "

"I guess it ain't, " said Mrs. Starling. "There's where you are wanting, Diana. Your hands are good enough, but I wouldn't give much for youreyes. There's where you'd grow poor, if you weren't poor a'ready. Nowyou didn't know when that pane o' glass was broke. You'd go round andround, and a pane o' glass'd knock out here, and a quart of oil 'udleak out there, and you'd lose a pound of flour between the sieve andthe barrel, and you'd never know how or where. "

"Mother, " said Diana, "you know I _never_ spill flour or anything else;no more than you do. "

"No, but it would go, I mean, and you never the wiser. It ain't the wayto get along, unless you mean to marry a rich man. Now look at thatheap o' ashes! I declare, it beats me to know what you _have_ beendoing to burn so much wood here; and mild weather, too. Who has beenhere to see you, since I've been laid up?"

"Several people came to ask about you. "

"Who did? and who didn't? that came at all. "

"Joe Bartlett--and Mr. Masters--and Mrs. Delamater, --I can't tell youall, mother; there's been a good many. "

"Tell me the men that have been here. 

"Well, those I said; and Will Flandin, and Nick, and Mr. Knowlton. "

"Was _he_ here more than once?"

"Yes. "

"How much more?"

"Mother, how do I know? I didn't keep count. "

"Didn't keep count, eh?" Mrs. Starling repeated. "Must have beenfrequent company, I judge. Diana, you mind what I told you?"

Diana made no answer. 

"You shall have nothing to do with him, " Mrs. Starling went on. "Younever shall. You sha'n't take up with any one that holds himself aboveme. I'll be glad when his time's up; and I hope it'll be long beforehe'll have another. Once he gets away, he'll think no more of _you_, that's one comfort. "

Diana knew that was not true; but it hurt her to have it said. Shecould stand no more of her mother's talk; she left her and went off tothe dairy, till Mrs. Starling crept up-stairs again. Then Diana cameand opened the lean-to door and looked out for a breath of refreshment. The morning was going on its way in beauty. Little clouds drifted overthe deep blue sky; the mellow September light lay on fields and hills;the long branches of the elm swayed gently to and fro in the gentle airthat drove the clouds. But oh for the wind and the storm of last night, and the figure that stood beside her before the chimney fire! Thegladsome light seemed to mock her, and the soft breeze gave her touchesof pain. She shut the door and went back to her work. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

FROM THE POST OFFICE. 

Mrs. Starling's room was like her; for use, and not for show, with somepoints of pride, and a general air of humble thrift. A patchwork quilton the bed; curtains and valance of chintz; a rag carpet covering onlypart of the floor, the rest scrubbed clean; rush-bottomed chairs; andwith those a secretary bureau of old mahogany, a dressing-glass in adark carved frame, and a large oaken press. There were cornercupboards; a table holding work and work-basket; a spinning-wheel in acorner; a little iron stove, but no fire. Mrs. Starling lay down on herbed, simply because she was not able to sit up any longer; but she wasscarcely less busy, in truth, than she had been down-stairs. Her eyesroamed restlessly from the door to the window, though with never athought of the sweet September sunlight on the brilliant blue sky. 

"Diana's queer this morning, " she mused. "Yes, she was queer. What madeher so mum? She was not like herself. Sailing round with her head inthe clouds. And a little bit _blue_, too; what Diana never is; but shewas to-day. What's up? I've been lying here long enough for plenty ofthings to happen; and she's had the house to herself. Knowlton has beenhere--she owned that; well, either he has been here too often, or notoften enough. I'll find out which. She's thinkin' about him. Then thatcoffee--_was_ it coffee, last night? I could have sworn to it; just thesmell of fresh, steaming coffee. I didn't dream it. She wasn'tsurprised, either; she had nothing to say about it. She would havelaughed at it once. And the ashes in the chimney! There's been a sighto' wood burned there, and just burned, too; they lay light, and hadn'tbeen swep' up. There's mischief! but Diana never shall go off with thatyoung feller; never; never! Maybe she won't have Will Flandin; but shesha'n't have him. "

Mrs. Starling lay thinking and staring out of her window, till she feltshe could go down-stairs again. And then she watched. But Diana had putevery possible tell-tale circumstance out of the way. The very asheswere no longer where her mother could speculate upon them; pies andcakes showed no more suspiciously-cut halves or quarters; she had evenbeen out to the barn, and found that Josiah, for reasons of his own, was making the door-latch and hinges firm and fast. It was no time now, to tell her mother her secret. Her heart was too sore to brave therasping speech she would be certain to provoke. And with a widelydifferent feeling, it was too rich in its prize to drag the treasureforth before scornful eyes. For this was part of Diana's experience, she found; and the feeling grew, the feeling of being rich in hersecret possession; rich as she never had been before; perhaps thericher for the secresy. It was all hers, this beautiful, wonderful lovethat had come to her; this share in another person's heart and life;her own wholly; no one might intermeddle with her joy; she treasured itand gloated over it in the depths of her glad consciousness. 

And so, as the days went by, there was no change that her mother couldsee in the sweet lines of her daughter's face. Nothing less sweet thanusual; nothing less bright and free; if the eyes had a deeper depth attimes, it was not for Mrs. Starling to penetrate; and if the childlikeplay of the mouth had a curve of beauty that had never until thenbelonged to it, the archetype of such a sign did not lie in Mrs. Starling's nature. Yet once or twice a jealous movement of suspiciondid rise in her, only because Diana seemed so happy. She reasoned withherself immediately that Evan's absence could never have such aneffect, if her fears were true; and that the happiness must thereforebe referred to some purely innocent cause. Nevertheless, Mrs. Starlingwatched. For she was pretty sure that the young soldier had pushed hisadvances while he had been in Pleasant Valley; and he might push themstill, though there no longer. She would guard what could be guarded. She watched both Diana and other people, and kept an especial eye uponall that came from the post office. 

Evan had gone to a distant frontier post; the journey would take sometime; and it would be several days more still, in the natural course ofthings, before Diana could have a letter. Diana reasoned out all that, and was not anxious. For the present, the pleasure of expecting wasenough. A letter from _him;_ it was a fairylandish, weird, wonderfulpleasure, to come to her. She took to studying the newspaper, and, covertly, the map. From the map she gained a little knowledge; but thecolumns of the paper were barren of all allusion to the matter whichwas her world, and Evan's. Newspapers are very partial sometimes. Shewas afraid to let her mother see how eagerly she scanned them. The mapand Diana had secret and more satisfactory consultations. Measuring theprobable route of Evan's journey by the scale of miles; calculating therate of progress by different modes of travel; counting the nights, andplaces where he might spend them; she reckoned up over and over againthe days that were probably necessary to enable him to reach his post. Then she allowed margins for what she did not know, and accounted forthe blanks she could not fill up; and reasoned with herself about theengrossments which might on his first arrival hinder Evan fromwriting--for a few hours, or a night. So at last she had constructed ascheme by which she proved to herself the earliest day at which itwould do to look for a letter, and the latest to which a letter mightreasonably be delayed. Women do such things. How many men are worthy ofit?

That farthest limit was reached, and no letter yet. 

About that time, one morning the family at Elmfield were gathered atbreakfast. It was not exactly like any other breakfast table inPleasant Valley, for a certain drift from the great waves of the worldhad reached it; whereas the others were clean from any such contact. The first and the third generation were represented at the table; thesecond was wanting; the old gentleman, the head of the family, wassurrounded by only his grand-daughters. Now old Mr. Bowdoin was assimple and plain-hearted a man as all his country neighbours, ifsomewhat richer than most of them; he had wrought at the same labour, and grown up with the same associations. He was not more respectablethan respected; generous, honest, and kindly. But the young ladies, hisgrandchildren, Evan's sisters, were different. They came to spend thesummer with him, and they brought fancies and notions from theirfar-away city life, which made a somewhat incongruous mixture with theelemental simplicity of their grandfather's house. All this appearednow. The old farmer's plain strong features, his homespun dress and hisbowl of milk, were at one end of the table, where he presided heartilyover the fried ham and eggs. Look where you would beside, and you sawruffled chintzes and little fly-away breakfast-caps, and fingers withjewels on them. Miss Euphemia had her tresses of long hair unbound andunbraided, hanging down her back in a style that to her grandfathersavoured of barbarism; he could not be made to understand that it was atoken of the highest elegance. For these ladies there was some attemptat elaborate and dainty cookery, signified by sweetbreads and a puffedomelette; and Mrs. Reverdy presided over a coffee-pot that was thewonder of the Elmfield household, and even a little matter of pride tothe old squire himself; though he covered it with laughing at her mimicfires and doubtful steam engines. Gertrude Masters was still atElmfield, the only one left of a tribe of visitors who had made the oldplace gay through the summer. 

"I have had an invitation, " said Mrs. Reverdy as she sent hergrandfather his cup of coffee. And she laughed. I wish I could give theimpression of this little laugh of hers, which, in company, was theattendant of most of her speeches. A little gracious laugh, with afunny air as if she were condescending, either to her subject orherself, and amused at it. 

"What is it, Vevay? what invitation?" inquired her sister; whileGertrude tossed her mass of tresses from her neck, and looked as ifnothing at Pleasant Valley concerned _her_. 

"An invitation to the sewing society!" said Mrs. Reverdy. "We are allasked. " And the laugh grew very amused indeed. 

"What do they do?" inquired Gertrude absently. 

"O, they bring their knitting at two or three o'clock, --and have a goodtime to tell all the news till five or six; and then they have supper, and then they put up their knitting and go home. "

"What news can they have to tell at Pleasant Valley?"

"Whose hay is in first, and whose orchard will yield the most cider, "said Euphemia. 

"Yes; and how all their children are, and how many eggs go in apudding. "

"I don't believe they make puddings with eggs very often, " said theother sister again. "Their puddings are more like hasty puddings, Ifancy. "

"Some of 'em make pretty good things, " said old Mr. Bowdoin. "Thingsyou can't beat, Phemie. There's Mrs. Mansfield--she's a capitalhousekeeper; and Mrs. Starling. _She_ can cook. "

"What do they expect you to do at the sewing meeting, Vevay?"

"Show myself, I suppose, " said Mrs. Reverdy. 

"Well, I guess I'd go, " said her grandfather, looking at her. "It wouldbe as good a thing as you could do. "

"Go, grandpa? O, how ridiculous!" exclaimed Mrs. Reverdy, with herpretty face all wrinkled up with amusement. 

"Go? yes. Why not?"

"I don't know how to knit; and I shouldn't know how to talk orchardsand puddings. "

"I think you had better go. It is not a knitting society, as Iunderstand it; and I am sure you can be useful. "

"Useful!" echoed Mrs. Reverdy. "It's the last thing I know how to be. And I don't belong to the society, grandpa. "

"I shouldn't like them to think that, " said the old gentleman. "Youbelong to me; and I belong to them, my dear. "

"Isn't it dreadful!" said Mrs. Reverdy in a low aside. "Now he's gotthis in his head--whatever am I going to do?--Suppose I invite them allto Elmfield; how would you like that, sir?" she added aloud. 

"Yes, my dear, yes, " said the old gentleman, pushing back his chair;for the cup of coffee was the last part of his breakfast; "it would bewell done, and I should be glad of it. Ask 'em all. "

"You are in for it now, Vevay, " said Gertrude, when the ladies wereleft. "How will you manage?"

"O, I'll give them a grand entertainment and send them away delighted, "said Mrs. Reverdy. "You see, grandpa wishes it; and I think it'll befun. "

"Do you suppose Evan really paid attentions to that pretty girl we sawat the blackberrying?"

"I don't know, " Mrs. Reverdy answered. "He told me nothing about it. Ishould think Evan was crazy to do it; but men do crazy things. However, I don't believe it of him, Gerty. What nonsense!"

"I can find out, if she comes, " said Miss Masters. "You'll ask her, Genevieve?"

So it fell out that an invitation to hold the next meeting of thesewing society at Elmfield was sent to the ladies accustomed to be atsuch meetings; and a great stir of expectation in consequence wentthrough all Pleasant Valley. For Elmfield, whether they acknowledged itor not, was at the top of their social tree. The invitation came in duecourse to Mrs. Starling's house. 

It came not alone. Josiah brought it one evening on his return from theCorners, where the store and the post office were, and Mrs. Reverdy'smessenger had fallen in with him and intrusted to him the note for Mrs. Starling. He handed it out now, and with it a letter of more bulk andpretensions, having a double stamp and an unknown postmark. Mrs. Starling received both and Josiah's explanations in silence, for hermind was very busy. Curious as she was to know upon what subject Mrs. Reverdy could possibly have written to her, she lingered yet with hereyes upon this other letter. It was directed to "Miss D. Starling. "

"That's a man's hand, " said Mrs. Starling to herself. "He's had theassurance to go and write to her, I do believe!"

She stood looking at it, doubtful, suspicious, uneasy; then turned intothe dairy for fear Diana might surprise her, while she opened Mrs. Reverdy's note. She had a vague idea that both epistles might relate tothe same subject. But this one was innocent enough, at least. Hidingthe large letter in her bosom, she came back and gave the invitation toDiana, whose foot she had heard. 

"At Elmfield! What an odd thing! Will you go, mother?"

"I always go, don't I? What's the reason I shouldn't go now?"

"I didn't know whether you would like to go there. "

"What if I don't? No, I don't care particularly about goin' toElmfield; they're a kind o' stuck up folks; but I'll go to let them seethat I ain't. "

There was silence for a little; then Mrs. Starling broke it byinquiring if Diana had finished her chintz gown. Diana had. 

"I'd wear it, if I was you. "

"Why, mother?"

"Let 'em see that other folks can dress as well as them. "

"O, mother, my dresses are nothing alongside of theirs. "

"What's the reason they ain't?" inquired Mrs. Starling, lookingincredulous. 

"Their things are beautiful, mother; more costly a great deal; andfashionable. We can't make things so in Pleasant Valley. We don't knowhow. "

"I don't see any sense in that, " rejoined Mrs. Starling. "One fashion'sas good as another. Anyhow, there's better-lookin' folks in PleasantValley than ever called themselves Bowdoin, or Knowlton either. So beas smart as you can, Diana. I guess you needn't be ashamed of yourself. "

Diana thought of nothing less. Indeed she thought little about herappearance. While she was putting on her bright chintz dress, there wasperhaps a movement of desire that she might seem pleasant in the eyesof Evan's people--something that _he_ need not be ashamed of; but herheart was too full of richer thoughts to have much room for such asthese. For Evan had chosen her; Evan loved her; the secret bond betweenthem nothing on earth could undo; and any day now that first letter ofhis might arrive, which her eyes were bright only to think of lookingupon. Poor Diana! that letter was jammed up within the bones of Mrs. Starling's stays. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A MEETING AT ELMFIELD. 

It was one of the royal days of a New England autumn; the air clear andbracing and spicy; the light golden and glowing, and yet softened tothe dreamiest, richest, most bounteous aureole of hope, by a slightimpalpable haze; too slight to veil anything, but giving its tenderflattery to the landscape nevertheless. And through that to the mind. Who can help but receive it? Suggestions of waveless peace, of endlessdelight, of a world-full glory that must fill one's life with riches, come through such a light and under such a sky. Diana's life was fullalready; but she took the promise for all the years that stretched outin the future. The soft autumn sky where the clouds were at rest, having done their work, bore no symbol of the storms that might comebeneath the firmament; the purple and gold and crimson of nature's galadress seemed to fling their soft luxury around the beholder, enfoldinghim, as it were, from all the dust and the dimness and the dullness ofthis world's working days for evermore. So it was to Diana; and all themiles of that long drive, joggingly pulled along by Prince, she rode ina chariot of the imagination, traversing fields of thought and ofspace, now to Evan and now with him; and in her engrossment spoke nevera word from the time she mounted into the waggon till they came insight of Elmfield. And Mrs. Starling had her own subjects for thought, and was as silent on her part. She was thinking all the way what sheshould do with that letter. Suppose things had gone too far to bestopped? But Diana had told her nothing; she was not bound to know byguess-work. And if this were the _beginning_ of serious proposals, thenit were better known to but herself only. She resolved finally to watchDiana and the Elmfield people this afternoon; she could find out, shethought, whether there were any matter of common interest between them. With all this, Mrs. Starling's temper was not sweetened. 

Elmfield was a rare place. Not by the work of art or the craft of thegardener at all; for a cunning workman had never touched its turf orits plantations. Indeed it had no plantations, other than such as wereintended for pure use and profit; great fields of Indian corn, andacres of wheat and rye, and a plot of garden cabbages. Mrs. Reverdy'spower of reform had reached only the household affairs. But the cornand the rye and the cabbages were out of sight from the immediate homefield; and there the grace of nature had been so great that one almostforgot to wish that anything had been added to it. A little riverswept, curving in sweet leisure, through a large level tract ofgreenest meadows. In front of one of these large curves the housestood, but well back, so that the meadow served instead of a lawn. Ithad no foreign beauties of tree growth to adorn it, nor needed them;for along the bank of the river, from space to space, irregularly, rosea huge New England elm, giving the shelter of its canopy of branches toa wide spot of turf. The house added nothing to the scene, beyond thehuman interest; it was just a large old farmhouse, nothing more;draped, however, and half covered up by other elms and a few fir trees. But in front of it lay this wide, sunny, level meadow, with the wilfullittle stream meandering through, with the stately old trees spottingit and breaking its monotony; and in the distance a soft outline ofhills, not too far away, and varied enough to be picturesque, roundedin the whole picture. A picture one would stand long to look at;thoroughly New England and characteristic; gentle, homelike, lovely, with just a touch of wildness, intimating that you were beyond therules of conventionality. Being New England folk themselves, Mrs. Starling and Diana of course would not read some of these features. They only thought it was a "fine place. "

Long before they got there this afternoon, before anybody got there, the ladies of the family gathered upon the wide old piazza. 

"It's as a good as a play, " said Gertrude Masters. "I never saw suchsociety in my life, and I am curious to know what they will be like. "

"You have seen them in church, " said Euphemia. 

"Yes, but they all feel poky there. I can't tell anything by that. Besides, I don't hear them talk. There's somebody now!"

"Too fast for any of our good sewing friends, " said Mrs. Reverdy; "andthere is no waggon. It's Mr. Masters, Gerty! How he does ride; and yethe sits as if he was upon a rocking-horse. "

"I don't think he'd sit very quiet upon a rocking-horse, " said Gerty. And then she lifted up her voice and shouted musically a salutation tothe approaching rider. 

He alighted presently at the foot of the steps, and throwing the bridleover his horse's head, joined the party. 

"So delighted!" said Mrs. Reverdy graciously. "You are come just intime to help us take care of the people. "

"Are you going to entertain the nation?" asked Mr Masters. 

"Only Pleasant Valley, " Mrs. Reverdy answered with her little laugh;which might mean amusement at herself or condescension to PleasantValley. "Do you think they will be hard to entertain?"

"I can answer for one, " said the minister. "And looking at what thereis to see from here, I could almost answer for them all. " He wasconsidering the wide sunlit meadow, where the green and the gold, yea, and the very elm shadows, as well as the distant hills, werespiritualized by the slight soft haze. 

"Why, what is there to see, Basil?" inquired his cousin Gertrude. 

"The sky. "

"You don't think that is entertaining, I hope? If you were a politeman, you would have said something else. "

She was something to see herself, in one sense, and the something waspretty, too; but very self-conscious. From her flow of curly tressesdown to the rosettes on her slippers, every inch of her showed it. Nowthe best dressing surely avoids this effect; while there is some, andnot bad dressing either, which proclaims it in every detail. Thecrinkles of Gertrude's hair were crisp with it; her French print dress, beautiful in itself, was made with French daintiness and worn with atleast equal coquettishness; her wrists bore two or three bracelets bothvaluable and delicate; and Gertrude's eyes, pretty eyes too, wereaudacious with the knowledge of all this. Audacious in a sweet, secretway, understand; they were not bold eyes, openly. Her cousin looked herover, with a glance quite recognisant of all I have described, yetdestitute of a shade of compliment or even of admiration; very clearand very cool. 

"Basil, you don't say all you think!" exclaimed the young lady. 

"Not always, " said her cousin. "We have it on Solomon's authority, thata 'fool uttereth all his mind. A wise man keepeth it till afterwards. '"

"What are you keeping?"

But the answer was interrupted by Mrs. Reverdy. 

"Where shall we put them, do you think, Mr. Masters? I'm quite anxious. Here, on the verandah, do you think?--or on the green, where we mean tohave supper? or would it be better to go into the house?"

"As a general principle, Mrs. Reverdy, I object to houses. When youcan, keep out of them. So I say. And there comes one of your guests. Iwill take my horse out of the road. "

Mrs. Reverdy objected and protested and ran to summon a servant, butthe minister had his way and led his horse off to the stable. While hewas gone, the little old green waggon which brought Miss Barry came ata soft jog up the drive and stopped before the door. Mrs. Reverdy cameflying out and then down the steps to help her alight. 

"It's a long ways to your place, Mis' Reverdy; I declare, I'm kind o'stiff, " said the old lady as she mounted to the piazza. There she stoodstill and surveyed the prospect. And her conclusion burst forth in anunequivocal, "Ain't it elegant!"

"I am delighted you like it, " said Mrs. Reverdy with her running laugh. "Won't you sit down?"

"I hain't got straightened out yet, after drivin' the horse so long. Itdoes put me in a kind o' cramp, somehow, to drive, --'most allays. "

"Is the horse so hard-mouthed?"

"La! bless you, I never felt of his mouth. He don't do nothin'; I don'texpect he would do nothin'; but I allays think he's a horse, andthere's no tellin'. "

"That's very true, " said Mrs. Reverdy, the laugh of condescendingacquiescence mingled with a little sense of fun now. "But do sit down;you'll be tired standing. "

"There's Mrs. Flandin's waggin, I guess, comin'; she was 'most readywhen I come by. Is this your sister?"--looking at Gertrude. 

"No, the other is my sister. This is Miss Masters; a cousin of yourminister. "

"I thought she was, maybe, --your sister, I mean, --because she had herhair the same way. Ain't it very uncomfortable?" This to Gertrude. 

"It is very comfortable, " said the young lady; "except in hot weather. "

"Don't say it is!" quoth Miss Barry, looking at the astonishing hairwhile she got out her needles. "Seems to me I should feel as if my hairnever was combed. "

"Not if it _was_ combed, would you?" said Gertrude gravely. 

"Well, yes; seems to me I should. I allays liked to have my hairsleeked up as tight as I could get it; and then I knowed there warn'tnone of it flyin'. But la! it's a long time since I was young, andthere's new fashions. Is the minister your cousin?"

"Yes. How do you like him?"

"I hain't got accustomed to him yet, " said the little old lady, clicking her needles with a considerate air. "He ain't like Mr. Hardenburgh, you see; and Mr. Hardenburgh was the minister afore him. "

"What was the difference?"

"Well--Mr. Hardenburgh, you could tell he was a minister as fur as youcould see him; he had that look. Now Mr. Masters hain't; he's just likeother folks; only he's more pleasant than most. "

"Oh, he is more pleasant, is he?"

"Well, seems to me he is, " said the little old lady. "It allays makesme feel kind o' good when he comes alongside. He's cheerful. Mr. Hardenburgh _was_ a good man, but he made me afeard of him; he was sorto' fierce, in the pulpit and out o' the pulpit. Mr. Masters ain't naryone. "

"Do you think he's a good preacher, then?" said Gertrude demurely, bending over to look at Miss Barry's knitting. 

"Well, I do!" said the old lady. "There! I ain't no judge; but I loveto sit and hear him. 'Tain't a bit like a minister, nother, though it'sin church; he just speaks like as I am speakin' to you; but he makesthe Bible kind o' interestin'. "

It was very well for Gertrude that Mrs. Carpenter now came to take herseat on the piazza, and the conversation changed. She had got about asmuch as she could bear. And after Mrs. Carpenter came a crowd; Mrs. Flandin, and Mrs. Mansfield, and Miss Gunn, and all the rest, withshort interval, driving up and unloading and joining the circle on thepiazza; which grew a very wide circle indeed, and at last broke up intodivisions. Gertrude was obliged to suspend operations for a while, anduse her eyes instead of her tongue. Most of the rest were inclined todo the same; and curious glances went about in every direction, notmissing Miss Masters herself. Some people were absolutely tongue-tied;others used their opportunity. 

"Don't the wind come drefful cold over them flats in winter?" asked onegood lady who had never been at Elmfield before. Mrs. Reverdy's runninglittle laugh was ready with her answer. 

"I believe it does; but we are never here in winter. It's too cold. "

"Your gran'ther's here, ain't he?" queried Mrs. Salter. 

"Yes, O yes; grandpa is here, of course. I don't suppose anything woulddraw him away from the old place. "

"How big is the farm?" went on the first speaker. 

Mrs. Reverdy did not know; three or four hundred acres, she believed. Or it might be five. She did not know the difference!

"I guess your father misses you when you all go away, " remarked Mrs. Flandin, who had hardly spoken, at least aloud. 

The reply was prevented, for Mrs. Starling's waggon drew up at the footof the steps, and Mrs. Reverdy hastened down to give her assistance tothe ladies in alighting. Gertrude also suspended what she was saying, and gave her undivided attention to the view of Diana. 

She was only a country girl, Miss Masters said to herself. Yet what alovely figure, as she stood there before the waggon; perfectlyproportioned, light and firm in action or attitude, with the grace ofabsolute health and strength and faultless make. More; there always ismore to it; and Gertrude felt that without in the least having power toreason about it; felt in the quiet pose and soft motion those spiritindications of calm and strength and gracious dignity, which belongedto the fair proportions and wholesome soundness of the inwardcharacter. The face said the same thing when it was turned, and Dianacame up the steps; though it was seen under a white sun-bonnet only;the straight brows, the large quiet eyes, the soft creamy colour of theskin, all testified to the fine physical and mental conditions of thiscreature. And Gertrude felt as she looked that it would not have beenvery surprising if Evan Knowlton or any other young officer had losthis heart to her. But she isn't dressed, thought Gertrude; and the nextmoment a shadow crossed her heart as Diana's sun-bonnet came off, and awealth of dark hair was revealed, knotted into a crown of nature'sdevising, which art could never outdo. "I'll find out about Evan, " saidMiss Masters to herself. 

She had to wait. The company was large now, and the buzz of tonguesconsiderable; though nothing like what had been in Mrs. Starling'sparlour. So soon as the two new-comers were fairly seated and at work, Mrs. Flandin took up the broken thread of her discourse. 

"Ain't your father kind o' lonesome here in the winters, all byhimself?"

"My grandfather, you mean?" said Mrs. Reverdy, "I mean your grandfather. I forget you ain't his own; but it makes nodifference. Don't he want you to hum all the year round?"

"I daresay he would like it. "

"He's gettin' on in years now. How old is Squire Bowdoin?"

"I don't know, " said Mrs. Reverdy. "He's between seventy and eighty, somewhere. "

"You won't have him long with you. "

"O, I hope so!" said Mrs. Reverdy lightly, and with the unfailing laughwhich went with everything; "I think grandpa is stronger than I am. Ishouldn't wonder if he'd outlive _me_. "

"Still, don't you think it is your duty to stay with him?"

Mrs. Reverdy laughed again. "I suppose we don't always do our duty, "she said. "It's too cold here in the winter--after October orSeptember--for me. "

"Then it is not your duty to be here, " said her sister Euphemia, somewhat distinctly. But Mrs. Flandin was bound to "free her mind" ofwhat was upon it. 

"I should think the Squire'd want Evan to hum, " she went on. 

"It would be very nice if Evan could be in two places at once, " Mrs. Reverdy owned conciliatingly. 

"Where _is_ Captain Knowlton now?" asked Mrs. Boddington. 

"O, he is not a captain yet, " said Mrs. Reverdy. "He is only alieutenant. I don't know when he'll get any higher than that. He's agreat way off--on the frontier--watching the Indians. "

"I should think it was pleasanter work to watch sheep, " said Mrs. Flandin "Don't it make you feel bad to have him away so fur?"

"O, we're accustomed to having him away, you know; Evan has never beenat home; we really don't know him as well as strangers do. We have justgot a letter from him at his new post. "

They had got a letter from him! Two bounds Diana's heart made: thefirst with a pang of pain that they should have the earliest word; thenext with a pang of joy, at the certainty that hers must be lying inthe post office for her. The blood flowed and ebbed in her veins withthe violent action of extreme excitement. Yet nature did for this girlwhat only the practice and training of society do for others; she gaveno outward sign. Her head was not lifted from her work; the colour ofher cheek did not change; and when a moment after she found MissMasters at her side, and heard her speaking, Diana looked and answeredwith the utmost seeming composure. 

"I've been trying ever since you came to get round to you, " Gertrudewhispered. "I'm so glad to see you again. "

But here Mrs. Flandin broke in. She was seated near. 

"Ain't your hair a great trouble to you?"

Gertrude gave it a little toss and looked up. 

"How do you get it all flying like that?"

"Everybody's hair is a trouble, " said Gertrude. "This is as little asany. "

"Do you sleep with it all round your shoulders? I should think you'd bein a net by morning. "

"I suppose you would, " said Gertrude. 

"Is that the fashion now?"

"It is one fashion, " Miss Masters responded. 

"If it warn't, I reckon you'd do it up pretty quick. Dear me! what athing it is to be in the fashion, I do suppose. "

"Don't you like it yourself, ma'am?" queried Gertrude. 

"Never try. _I've_ something else to do in life. "

"Well, but there's no _harm_ in being in the fashion, Mis' Flandin, "said Miss Gunn. "The minister said he thought there warn't. "

"The minister had better take care of himself, " Mrs. Flandin retorted. 

Whereupon they all opened upon her. And it could be seen that for thefew months during which he had been among them, the minister had madeswift progress in the regards of the people. Scarce a tongue now butspoke in his praise or his justification, or called Mrs. Flandin toaccount for her hasty remark. 

"When you're all done, I'll speak, " said that lady coolly. "I'm not aman-worshipper--never was; and nobody's fit to be worshipped. _I_should like to see the dominie put down that grey horse of his. "

"Are grey horses fashionable?" inquired Mrs. Reverdy, with her littlelaugh. 

"What would he do without his horse?" said Mrs. Boddington. "How couldhe fly round Pleasant Valley as he does?"

"He ain't bound to fly, " said Mrs. Flandin. 

"How's he to get round to folks, then?" said Mrs. Salter. "The housesare pretty scattering in these parts; he'd be a spry man if he couldwalk it. "

"Seems to me, that 'ere grey hoss is real handy, " said quiet MissBarry, who never contradicted anybody. "When Meliny was sick, Mr. Masters'd be there, to our house, early in the mornin' and late atnight; and he allays had comfort with him. There! I got to set as muchby the sight o' that grey hoss, you wouldn't think; just to hear himcome gallopin' down the road did me good. "

"Yes; and so it was to our house, when Liz was overturned, " said MaryDelamater. "He'd be there every day, just as punctual as could be; andhe could never have walked over. It's a cruel piece of road between ourhouse and his'n. "

"I don't want him to walk, " said Mrs. Flandin; "there's more ways thanone o' doin' most things; but I _do_ say, all the ministers ever I seedruv a team; and it looks more religious. To see the minister flyin'over the hills like a racer is altogether too gay for my likin's. "

"But he ain't gay, " said Miss Gunn, looking appalled. 

"He's mighty spry, for anybody that gets up into a pulpit on theSabbath and tells his fellow-creaturs what they ought to be doin'. "

"But he does do that, Mrs. Flandin, " said Diana. "He speaks plainenough, too. "

"I _do_ love to hear him!" said Miss Barry. "There, his words seem togo all through me, and clear up my want of understandin'; for I neverwas smart, you know; but seems to me I see things as well agin whenhe's been talkin' to me. I say, it was a good day when he come toPleasant Valley. "

"He ain't what you call an eloquent man, " said Miss Babbage, theschoolmaster's sister. 

"What is an 'eloquent man, ' Lottie Babbage?" Mrs. Boddington asked. "It's a word, I know; but what is the thing the word means? Come, youought to be good at definitions. "

"Mr. Masters don't pretend to be an eloquent man!" cried Mrs. Carpenter. 

"Well, tell; come! what do you mean by it? I'd like to know, " said Mrs. Boddington. "I admire to get my idees straight. What is it he don'tpretend to be?"

"I don't think he pretends to be anything, " said Diana. 

"Only to have his own way wherever he goes, " added Diana's mother. 

"I'd be content to let him have his own way, " said Mrs. Carpenter. "It's pretty sure to be a good way; that's what _I_ think. I wisht hehad it, for my part. "

"And yet he isn't eloquent?" said Mrs. Boddington. 

"Well, " said Miss Babbage with some difficulty, "he just says what hehas got to say, and takes the handiest words he can find; but I'veheard men that eloquent that they'd keep you wonderin' at 'em from thebeginning of their sermon to the end; and you'd got to be smart to knowwhat they were sayin'. A child can tell what Mr. Masters means. "

"So kin I, " said Miss Barry. "I'm thankful I kin. And I don't want aman more eloquent than he is, for my preachin'. "

"It ain't movin' preachin', " said Mrs. Flandin. 

"It moves the folks, " said Mrs. Carpenter. "I don't know what you'dhev', Mis' Flandin; there's Liz Delamater, and Florry Mason, jined thechurch lately; and old Lupton; and my Jim, " she added with softenedvoice; "and there's several more serious. "

No more could be said, for the minister himself came upon the scene atthis instant. There was not an eye that did not brighten at the sightof him, with the exception of Mrs. Starling and Diana; there was not alady there who was not manifestly glad to have him come near and speakto her; even Mrs. Flandin herself, beside whom the minister presentlysat down and entered into conversation respecting some new movement inparish matters, for which he wished to enlist her help. Generalconversation returned to its usual channels. 

"I can't stand this, " whispered Gertrude to Diana; "I am tired todeath. Do come down and walk over to the river with me. Do! you canwork another day. "

Diana hesitated; glanced around her. It was manifest that this was anexceptional meeting of the society, and not for the purposes of workchiefly. Here and there needles were suspended in lingering fingers, while their owners made subdued comments to each other or used theireyes for purposes of information getting. One or two had even leftwork, and were going to the back of the house, through the hall, to seethe garden. Diana not very unwillingly dropped her sewing, and followedher conductor down the steps and over the meadow. 

CHAPTER XV. 

CATECHIZING. 

"The sun isn't hot, through all this cloud, " said Gertrude, "so I don'tmind it. We'll get into the shade under the elm yonder. "

"There is no cloud, " said Diana. 

"No cloud? What is it then? _Something_ has come over the sun. "

"No, it's haze. "

"What is haze?"

"I don't know. We have it in Indian summer, and sometimes in October, like this. "

"Isn't it hot?" said Gertrude; "and last week we were having big fires. It's such queer weather. Now this shade is nice. "

Under one or two of the elm canopies along the verge of the littleriver some rustic seats had been fixed. Gertrude sat down. Diana stood, looking about her. The dreamy beauty through which she had ridden thatafternoon was all round her still; and the meadow and the scatteredelms, with the distant softly-rounded hills, were one of New England'scombinations, in which the gentlest beauty and the most characteristicstrength meet and mingle. But what was more yet to Diana, she was amongEvan's haunts. Here _he_ was at home. There seemed to her fancy to be aconsciousness of him in the silent trees and river; as if they wouldsay if they could, --as if they were saying mutely, --"We know him--weknow him; and we are old friends of his. We could tell you a great dealabout him. "

"Elmfield is a pretty place, " said Gertrude. She had been eyeing hercompanion while Diana was receiving the confidences of the trees. 

"Lovely!"

"If it didn't grow so cold in winter, " said the young lady, shruggingher airy shoulders. 

"I like the cold. "

"I should like to have it always hot enough to wear muslin dresses. Come, sit down. Evan put these seats here. "

But Diana continued standing. 

"Did you hear that woman scolding because he don't stay here and giveup his army life?"

"She takes her own view of it, " said Diana. 

"Do _you_ think he ought to give up everything to take care of hisgrandfather?"

"I daresay his grandfather likes to have him do as he is doing. "

"But it must be awfully hard, mustn't it, for them to have him so faraway, and fighting the Indians?"

"Is he fighting the Indians?" Diana asked quietly; though she made thewords quiet, she knew, by sheer force of necessity. But quiet theywere; slow, and showing no eagerness; while her pulse had made one madjump, and then seemed to stand still. 

"O, the Indians are always making trouble, you know, on the frontier;that's what our men are there for, to watch them. I didn't mean thatEvan was fighting just at this minute; but he might be, any minute. Shouldn't you feel bad if he was your brother?"

"Mrs. Reverdy doesn't seem to be uneasy. "

"She? no, " said Gertrude with a laugh; "nothing makes _her_ uneasy. Except thinking that Evan has fallen in love with somebody. "

"She must expect that sooner or later, " said Diana, with a calmnesswhich told her companion nothing. 

"Ah, but she would rather have it later. She don't want to lose Evan. She is very proud of him. "

"Would she lose him in such a case?" Diana asked, smiling, though shewished the talk ended. 

"Why, you know brothers are good for nothing to sisters after they aremarried--worse! they are tantalizing. You are obliged to see what youused to have in somebody else's possession--and much more than ever youused to have; and it's tiresome. I'm glad I've no brothers. Basil is agood deal like a brother, and I am jealous of _him_. "

"It must be very uncomfortable to be jealous, " said Diana, "Horrid! You saw a good deal of Evan, didn't you?"

A question that might have embarrassed Diana if she had not had aninstant perception of the intent of it. She answered thereupon withabsolute self-possession, "I don't know what you would call a 'good deal. ' I saw what _I_ call agood deal of him that day in the blackberry field. "

"Don't you think he is charming?"

Diana laughed, and was vexed to feel her cheeks grow warm. 

"That's a word that belongs to women. "

"Not to many of 'em!" said Gertrude, with a slight turning up of herpretty nose. Then, struck with the fine, pure face and very lovelyfigure before her, she suddenly added, "Didn't he think you charming?"

"Are you laughing at me?" said Diana. 

"No, indeed I am not. Didn't he?" said Gertrude caressingly. 

Amusement almost carried off the temptation to be provoked. Dianalaughed merrily as she answered, "Do you think a person of so goodtaste would?"

"Yes, I do, " said Gertrude, half sulkily, for she was baffled, andbesides, her words spoke the truth. "I am sure he did. Isn't life verystupid up here in the mountains, when visitors are all gone away?"

"I don't think so. We never depend upon visitors. "

"It has been awfully slow at Elmfield since Mr. Knowlton went away. Wesha'n't stay much longer. I can't live where I can't dance. "

"What is that?" said a voice close at hand--a peculiarly clear, silveryvoice. 

"Cousin Basil!" cried Gertrude, starting. "What did you come here for?I brought Miss Starling here to have a good talk with her. "

"Have you had it?"

"I haven't had time. I was just beginning. "

"What! about dancing?"

"I was not speaking for you to hear. I was relieving myself by theconfession that I can't live--happily, I mean--without it. "

"Choice of partners immaterial?"

"I couldn't bear a dull life!"

"Nor I. "

He looked as if he certainly did not know what dulness was, Dianathought. She listened, much amused. 

"But you think it is wrong to dance, don't you?" Gertrude went on. 

"'Better not' is wrong to a Christian, " he replied. 

"It must be dreadful to be a Christian!"

"Because--?" he said, with a quiet and good-humoured glance and tone ofinquiry. 

"O, because it is slavery. So many things you cannot do, and dressesyou cannot wear. "

"By what rule?" Mr. Masters asked. 

"O, people think you are dreadful if you do those things; the Church, and all that. So I think it is a great deal better to keep out of it, and make no pretensions. "

"Better to keep out of what? let me understand, " said the minister. "You are getting my ideas in a very involved state. "

"No, I am not! I say, it is better to make no profession. "

"Better than what? What is the alternative?"

"O, you know. Now you are catechizing me. It is better to make noprofession, than to make it and not live up to it. "

"I understand. That is to say, it is wicked to pay your debts withcounterfeit notes, so it is better not to pay them at all. "

"Nonsense, Basil! I am not talking of paying debts. "

"But I am. "

"What have debts got to do with it?"

"I beg your pardon. I understood you to declare your disapprobation offalse money, and your preference for another sort of dishonesty. "

"Dishonest, Basil! there is no dishonesty. "

"By what name do you call it?"

He was speaking gravely, though with a surface pleasantry; both gravityand pleasantry were of a very winning kind. Diana looked on andlistened, much interested, as well as amused; Gertrude puzzled andimpatient, though unable to resist the attraction. She hesitated, andsurveyed him. 

"There can't be dishonesty unless where one owes something. "

"Precisely"--he said, glancing at her. His hands were busy at the timewith a supple twig he had cut from one of the trees, which he wastrimming of its leaves and buds. 

"What do I owe?" said the beauty, throwing her tresses of hair off fromher shoulders. 

He waited a bit, the one lady looking defiant, the other curious; andthen he said, with a sort of gentle simplicity that was at the sametime uncompromising, "'The Lord hath made all things for himself. '"

Gertrude's foot patted the turf; after a minute she answered, "Of course you say that because you are a clergyman. "

"No, I don't. I am stating a fact, which I thought it likely you hadforgotten. "

Gertrude stood up, as if she had got enough of the conversation. Dianawished for another word. 

"It is a fact, " she said; "but what have we to do with it?"

"Only to let the Lord have his own, " said the minister with a full lookat her. 

"How do you mean, Mr. Masters? I don't understand. "

Gertrude was marching over the grass, leading to the house. The othertwo followed. 

"When you have contrived and made a thing, you reckon it is your own, don't you? and when you have bought something, you think it is at yourdisposal?"

"Certainly; but"--

"'_You_ were bought with a price. '"

"Of course, God has a right to dispose of us, " Diana assented in an "ofcourse" way. 

"_Does_ he?" said the minister. Then, seeing her puzzled expression, hewent on--"He cannot dispose of you as he wishes, without your consent. "

Diana stopped short, midway in the meadow. "I do not in the leastunderstand, Mr. Masters, " she said. "How does He wish to dispose of me?"

"When you are his own, he will let you know, " said the minister, beginning to stroll onward again; and no more words passed till theywere nearing the house, when he said suddenly, "Whom do you think youbelong to now?"

Diana's thought made an instant leap at the words, a leap over hundredsof miles of intervening space, and alighted beside a fine officer-likefigure in a dark blue military coat with straps on the shoulders. Thatwas where she "belonged, " she thought; and a soft rose colour mantledon her cheek, and deepened, half with happiness, halt with pride. Thequestion that had provoked it was forgotten; and the neighbourhood ofthe house was now too near to allow of the inquiry being pressed orrepeated. The minister, indeed, was aware that for some time he and hiscompanion had been facing a battery; but Diana was in happyunconsciousness; it was the thought of nothing present or near whichmade her eyes droop and her cheeks take on such a bloom of loveliness. 

Among the eyes that beheld, Mrs. Starling's had not been the leastkeen, though she watched without seeming to watch. She saw how theminister and her daughter came slowly over the meadow, engaged witheach other's conversation, while Miss Masters tripped on before them. She noticed the pause in their walk, Diana's slow, thoughtful step; andthen, as they came near, her flush and her downcast eye. 

"The minister's talk's very interestin', " whispered Mrs. Carpenter inher ear. 

"Not to me, " said Mrs. Starling, wilfully misunderstanding. "Some folksthinks so, I know. I can't somehow never get along with him. "

"And Diana sha'n't, " was her inward resolve; "but she can't be thinkin'of the other feller. "

As if to try the question, at the moment, Mrs. Reverdy appeared at thetop of the steps, just as the minister and Diana got to the foot ofthem. She was in high glee, for her party was going off nicely, and thetables were just preparing for supper. 

"We want nothing now but Evan, " she said with her unfailing laugh. "Miss Starling, don't you think he might have come for this afternoon, just to see so many friends?"

Diana never knew where she got the coolness to answer, "How long ajourney is it, Mrs. Reverdy?"

"O, I don't know! How far is it, Mr. Masters?--a thousand miles?--ortwo thousand? I declare I have no idea. But love laughs at distances, they say. "

"Is Cupid a contractor on this road?" inquired the minister gravely. 

"A contractor!" exclaimed Mrs. Reverdy, laughing, "oh, dear, what afunny idea! I never thought of putting it so. But I didn't know butMiss Starling could tell us. "

"Do you know anything about it, Miss Diana?" asked the minister. 

"About what?"

"Why Lieutenant Knowlton is not here this afternoon?"

Diana knew that several pairs of eyes were upon her. It was a dangerousminute. But she had failed to discern in Mrs. Reverdy or in Gertrudeany symptom of more than curiosity; and curiosity she felt she couldmeet and baffle. It was impertinent, and it was unkind. So, though hermind was at a point which made it close steering, she managed to sheeroff from embarrassment and look amused. She laughed in the eyes thatwere watching her, and answered carelessly enough to Mr. Masters'question that she "dared say Mr. Knowlton would have come if he could. "Mrs. Starling put up her work with a sigh of relief; and the rest ofthe persons concerned felt free to dismiss the subject from their mindsand pay attention to the supper. 

It was a great success, Mrs. Reverdy's sewing party. The excellententertainment provided was heartily enjoyed, all the more for thelittle stimulus of curiosity which hung about every article and eachdetail of the tea-table. Old Mr. Bowdoin delighted himself inhospitable attentions to his old neighbours, and was full of genial andgratified talk with them. The stiffness of the afternoon departedbefore the tea and coffee; and when at last the assembly broke up, anda little file of country waggons drove away, one after another, fromthe door, it was with highly gratified loads of people. 

Diana may be quoted as a single exception. In the tremor of her spiritswhich followed the bit of social navigation noticed above, she hadhardly known how anything tasted at the supper; and the talk she hadheard without hearing. There was nothing but relief in getting away. 

The drive home was as silent between her and her mother as the driveout had been. Mrs. Starling was full of her own cogitations. Diana'sthoughts were not like that, --hard-twisted and hard-knotted lines ofargument, growing harder and more twisted towards their end; but wideflowing and soft changing visions, flowing sweet and free as the cloudsborne on the air-currents of heaven; catching such colours, anddrifting as insensibly from one form into another. The evening kept upthe dreamy character of the afternoon, the haze growing duskier as thelight waned; till the tender gleam of a full moon began to supply hereand there the glory of the lost sunlight. It was a colder gleam, though; and so far, more practical than that flush of living promisewhich a little while ago had filled the sky and the world. Diana'sthoughts centred on Evan's letter. Where was it? When should she getit? Josiah, she knew, had been to the post office that morning, andbrought home nothing! She wished she could go to the post officeherself; she sometimes had done so; but she would not like to takeEvan's letter, either, from the knowing hands of the postmaster. Shemight not be able to command her looks perfectly. 

"They don't know how to make soda biscuit down yonder, " Mrs. Starlingbroke out abruptly, just as their drive was near ended. 

"Don't they?" said Diana absently. 

"All yellow!" said Mrs. Starling disdainfully. "Nobody would ever knowthere was any salaratus in _my_ biscuit--or in yours either. "

"Except from the lightness, mother. "

"The lightness wouldn't tell what made 'em light, " said Mrs. Starlinglogically. "They had salaratus in their pickles too. "

"How could you tell?"

"Tell? As if I couldn't tell! Tell by the colour. "

"Ours are green too. "

"Not green like that. I would despise to make my pickles green thatway. I'd as soon paint 'em. "

"It was very handsome, mother, the supper altogether. "

"Hm! It was a little too handsome, " said Mrs. Starling, "and that waswhat they liked about it. I'd like to know what is the use o' havinggreat clumsy forks of make-believe silver"--

"O, they were real, mother. "

"Well, the more fools if they were. I'd like to know what is the use ofhaving great clumsy forks of silver, real or make-believe, when you canhave nice, sharp, handy steel ones, and for half or a quarter theprice?"

Diana liked the silver forks, and was silent. 

"I could hardly eat my pickles with 'em. I couldn't, if they had been_mine;_ but Genevieve's cucumbers were spongy. "

To Diana's relief, their own door was gained at this moment. She didnot know what her mother's discourse might end in, and was glad to haveit stopped. Yet the drive had been pretty!

The men had had their supper, which had been left ready for them; andJosiah's care had kept up a blazing fire in the lean-to kitchen. Dianawent up-stairs to change her dress, for she had the dishes now to washup; and Mrs. Starling stood in front of the fire-place, pondering. Shehad been pondering all the time of the drive home, as well as much ofthe time spent at Elmfield; she believed she had come to a conclusion;and yet she delayed her purpose. It was clear, she said to herself, that Diana did not care for Lieut. Knowlton; at least not much; herfancy might have been stirred. But what is a girl's fancy? Nothingworth considering. Letters, if allowed, might nourish the fancy up intosomething else. She would destroy this first one. She had determined onthat. Yet she lingered. Conscience spoke uneasily. What if she weremisled by appearances, and Diana had more than a fancy for this youngfellow? Then she would crush it! Nobody would be the wiser, and nobodywould die of grief; those things were done in stories only. Mrs. Starling hesitated nevertheless, with her hand on the letter, till thesound of Diana's step in the house decided her action. She was afraidto wait; some accident might overthrow all her arrangements; and with ahasty movement she drew the packet from her bosom and tucked it underthe fofestick, where a bed of glowing nutwood coals lay ready. Quickthe fire caught the light tindery edges, made a little jet ofexcitement about the large wax seal, fought its way through the thickfolds of paper, and in a moment had left only a mock sheet of cinder, with mock marks of writing still traceable vividly upon it. A letterstill, manifestly, sharp-edged and square; it glowed at Mrs. Starlingfrom its bed of coals, with the curious impassiveness of materialthings; as if the happiness of two lives had not shrivelled within it. Mrs. Starling stood looking. What had been written upon that fieryscroll? It was vain to ask now; and hearing Diana coming down-stairs, she took the tongs and punched the square cinder that kept its form toowell. Little bits of paper, grey cinder with red edges, fluttered inthe draught, and flew up in the smoke. 

"What are you burning there, mother?" said Diana. 

And Mrs. Starling answered a guilty "Nothing, " and walked away. Dianalooked at the little fluttering cinders, and an uneasy sensation cameover her, that yet took no form of suspicion; and passed, for the thingwas impossible. So near she came to it. 

Why had Mrs. Starling not at least read the letter before destroyingit? The answer lies in some of the strange, hidden involutions offeeling and consciousness, which are hard to trace out even by theperson who knows them best. After the thing was done, she wished shehad read it. It may be she feared to find what would stay her hand, ormake her action difficult. It may be that certain stirrings ofconscience warned her that delay might defeat her whole purpose. Shewas an obstinate woman, by nature; obstinate to the point of wilfulblindness when necessary; and to do her justice, she was perfectlyincapable of estimating the gain or the loss of such an affection asDiana's, or of sympathizing with the suffering such a nature may know. It was not in her; she had no key to it; grant the utmost mischief thatshe supposed it even possible she might be doing, and it was as asummer gale to the cyclone of the Indian seas. 

So her conscience troubled her little, and that little was soonsilenced. Perhaps not quite forgotten; for it had the effect, not tomake her more than usual tender of her daughter and indulgent towardsher, as one would expect, but stern, carping and exacting beyond allher wont. She drove household matters with a tighter rein than ever, and gave Diana as little time for private thought or musing as theconstant and engrossing occupation of her hands could leave free. But, however, thoughts are not chained to fingers. Alas! what troubledcalculations Diana worked into her butter, those weeks; and how manyheavy possibilities she shook down from her fingers along with thedrops of water she scattered upon the clothes for the ironing. Her verynights at last became filled with the anxious cogitations that neverceased all the day; and Diana awoke morning after morning unrefreshedand weary from her burdened sleep, and from dreams that reproduced infantastic combinations the perplexities of her waking life. Her facebegan to grow shadowed and anxious, and her tongue was still. Mrs. Starling had generally done most of the talking; she did it all now. 

Days passed on, and weeks. Mrs. Starling did not find out that anythingwas the matter with Diana; partly because she was determined thatnothing should be the matter; and partly because young Flandin cameabout the house a good deal, and Mrs. Starling thought Diana to bevexed, or perhaps in a state of vexed indecision about him. And inaddition, she was a little anxious herself, lest another letter shouldcome and somehow reach the hands it was meant for. Having gone so faralready, Mrs. Starling did not mean to spoil or lose her work for wantof a few finishing touches. She watched the post office as never in herlife, for any cause, she had watched it before. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

IS IT WELL WITH THEE?

Diana would have written to Mr. Knowlton to get her mystery solved; shewas far too simple and true to stand upon needless punctilio; but shedid not know how to address to him a letter. Evan himself had not knownwhen he parted from her; the information came in that epistle thatnever reached her hands, that first letter. Names and directions hadall perished in the flames, and for want of them Diana could donothing. Meanwhile, what would Evan think? He would expect an answer, and a quick answer, to his letter; he was looking for it now, no doubt;wondering why it did not come, and disappointed, and fearing somethingwrong. That trouble, of fearing something wrong, Diana was spared; forshe knew the family at Elmfield had heard, and all was well; butsometimes her other troublesome thoughts made her powerless hands cometogether with a clasp of wild pain. How long must she wait now? howlong would Evan wait, before in desperation he wrote again? And wherewas her letter? for it had been written and sent; that she knew;--wasit lost? was it stolen? Had somebody's curiosity prevailed so far, andwas her precious secret town property by this time? Every day becameharder to bear; every week made the suspense more intolerable. Mrs. Starling was far out in one of her suppositions. Will Flandin came agood deal about the house, it is true; but Diana hardly knew he wasthere. If she thought about it at all, she was half glad, because hispresence might serve to mask her silence and abstraction. She wasconscious of both, and the effort to cover the one and hide the otherwas very painful sometimes. 

October glories were passed away, and November days grew shorter andshorter, colder and more dreary. It seemed now and then to Diana thatsummer had gone to a distance from which it would never revisit her. And after those days of constant communication with Evan, the blankcessation of it, the ignorance of all that had befallen or wasbefalling him, the want of a word of remembrance or affection, grewalmost to a blank of despair. 

It was late in the month. 

"What waggon's that stopping?" exclaimed Mrs. Starling one afternoon. Mother and daughter were in the lean-to. Diana looked out, and saw witha pang of various feelings what waggon it was. 

"Ain't that the Elmfield folks?"

"I think so. "

"I know so. I thought Mrs. Reverdy and the rest had run away from thecold. "

"Didn't you know Miss Masters had been sick?"

"How should I know it?"

"I heard so. I didn't know but you had heard it. "

"I can't hear things without somebody tells me. Go along up-stairs, Diana, and put on something. "

Diana obeyed, but she was very quick about it; she was nervously afraidlest while she was absent some word should be said that she would nothave lost for the whole world. What had they come for, these people?Was the secret out, perhaps, and had they come to bring her a letter?Or to say why Evan had not written? Could he have been sick? A feverishwhirlwind of thoughts rushed through Diana's head while she wasfastening her dress; and she went down and came into the parlour withtwo beautiful spots of rose colour upon her cheeks. They werefever-spots. Diana had been pale of late; but she looked gloriouslyhandsome as she entered the room. Bad for her. A common-looking womanmight have heard news from Evan; the instant resolve in the hearts ofthe two ladies who had come to visit her was, that this girl shouldhear none. 

They were, however, exceedingly gracious and agreeable. Mrs. Reverdyentered with flattering interest into all the matters of household andfarm detail respecting which Mrs. Starling chose to be communicative;responded with details of her own. How it was impossible to get goodbutter made, unless you made it yourself. How servants wereunsatisfactory, even in Pleasant Valley; and how delightful it was tobe able to do without them, as Mrs. Starling did and Diana. 

"I should like it of all things, " said Mrs. Reverdy with her unfailinglaugh; a little, well-bred, low murmur of a laugh. "It must be sodelightful to have your biscuits always light and never tasting ofsoda; and your butter always as if it was made of cowslips; and youreggs always fresh. We never have fresh eggs, " continued Mrs. Reverdy, shaking her head solemnly;--"never. I never dare to have them boiled. "

"What becomes of them?" said a new voice; and Mr. Masters entered thefield--in other words, the room. Diana's heart contracted with a pang;was this another hindrance in the way of her hearing what she wanted?But the rest of the ladies welcomed him. 

"Charming!" said Mrs. Reverdy; "now you will go home with us. "

"I don't see just on what you found your conclusion. "

"O, you will have made your visit to Mrs. Starling, you know; and thenyou will have nothing else to do. "

"There spoke a woman of business!" said the minister. 

"Yes, why not?" said the lady. "I was just telling Mrs. Starling how Ishould delight to do as she does, without servants, and how pleasant Ishould find it; only, you know, I shouldn't know how to do anything ifI tried. " Mrs. Reverdy seemed to find the idea very entertaining. 

"You wouldn't like to get up in the morning to make your biscuits, "said Gertrude. 

"O yes, I would! I needn't have breakfast very early, you know. "

"The good butter wouldn't be on the table if you didn't, " said Mrs. Starling. 

"Wouldn't it? Why? Does it matter when butter is made, if it is onlymade right?"

"No; but the trouble is, it cannot be made right after the sun is anhour or two high. "

"An hour or two!" Mrs. Reverdy uttered a little scream. 

"Not at this time of year, mother, " interposed Diana. 

"Do you get up at these fearful times?" inquired Miss Masterslanguidly, turning her eyes full upon the latter speaker. 

Diana scarce answered. Would all the minutes of their visit pass inthese platitudes? could nothing else be talked of? The next instant sheblessed Mr. Masters. 

"Have you heard from the soldier lately?" he asked. 

"O yes! we hear frequently, " Mrs. Reverdy said. 

"He likes his post?"

"I really don't know, " said her sister, laughing; "a soldier can'tchoose, you know; I fancy they have some rough times out there; butthey manage to get a good deal of fun too. Evan's last letter told ofbuffalo hunting, and said they had some very good society too. Youwouldn't expect it, on the outskirts of everything; but the officers'families are very pleasant. There are young ladies, sometimes; andevery one is made a great deal of. "

"Where is Mr. Knowlton?" Diana asked. She had been working up hercourage to dare the question; it was hazardous; she was afraid to trusther voice; but the daring of desperation was on her, and the words cameout with sufficiently cool utterance. A keen observer might note achange in Mrs. Reverdy's look and tone. 

"O, he's in one of those dreadful posts out on the frontier; too nearthe Indians; but I suppose if there weren't Indians there wouldn't beforts, and they wouldn't want officers or soldiers to be in them, " sheadded, looking at Mr. Masters, as if she had found a happy final causefor the existence of the aborigines of the country. 

"What is the name of the place?" Diana asked. 

"I declare I've forgotten. Fort----, I can't think of any name butVancouver, and it isn't that. Gertrude, what _is_ the name of thatplace? Do you know, I can't tell whether it is in Arizona orWisconsin!" And Mrs. Reverdy laughed at her geographical innocence. 

Gertrude "didn't remember. "

"He is not so far off as Vancouver, I think, " said Mr. Masters. 

"No, --O no, not so far as that; but he might just as well. When you getto a certain distance, it don't signify whether it is more or less; youcan't get at people, and they can't get at you. _You_ have seemed to beat that distance lately, Basil. What a dreadful name! How came you tobe called such a name?"

"Be thankful it is no worse, " said the minister gravely. "I might havebeen called Lactantius. "

"Lactantius! Impossible. Was there ever a man named Lactantius?"

"Certainly. "

"'Tain't any worse than Ichabod, " remarked Mrs. Starling. 

"Nothing can be worse than Ichabod, " said Mr. Masters in the same dryway. "It means, 'The glory is departed. '"

"The Ichabods I knew, never had any glory to begin with, " said Mrs. Starling. 

But the minister laughed at this, and so gaily that it was infectious. Mrs. Starling joined in, without well knowing why; the lady visitorsseemed to be very much amused. Diana tried to laugh, with lips thatfelt rigid as steel. The minister's eye came to hers too, she knew, tosee how the fun went with her. And then the ladies rose, took a veryflattering leave, and departed, carrying Mr. Masters off with them. 

"I am coming to look at those books of yours soon, " he said, as heshook hands with Diana. "May I?"

Diana made her answer as civil as she could, with those stiff lips; howshe bade good-bye to the others she never knew. As her mother attendedthem to the garden gate, she went up the stairs to her room, feelingnow it was the first time that the pain _could not be borne_. Seeingthese people had brought Evan so near, and hearing them talk had puthim at such an impossible distance. Diana pressed both hands on herheart, and stood looking out of her window at the departing carriage. What could she do? Nothing that she could think of, and to do nothingwas the intolerable part of it. Any, the most tedious and lingeringaction, yes, even the least hopeful, anything that would have beenaction, would have made the pain supportable; she could have drawnbreath then, enough for life's purposes; now she was stifling. Therewas some mystery; there was something wrong; some mistake, ormisapprehension, or malpractice; _something_, which if she could puther hand on, all would be right. And it was hidden from her; dark; itmight be near or far, she could not touch it, for she could not findit. There was even no place for suspicion to take hold, unless thecuriosity of the post office, or of some prying neighbour; she did notsuspect Evan; and yet there was a great throb at her heart with thethought that in Evan's place _she_ would never have let things rest. Nothing should have kept the silence so long unbroken; if the firstletter got no answer, she would have written another. So would Dianahave done now, without being in Evan's place, if only she had had hisaddress. And that cruel woman to-day! did she know, or did she guess, anything? or was it another of the untoward circumstances attending thewhole matter?

It came to her now, a thought of regret that she had not ventured thedisagreeableness and told her mother long ago of her interest in Evan. Mrs. Starling could take measures that her daughter could not take. Ifshe pleased, that is; and the doubt also recurred, whether she wouldplease. It was by no means certain; and at any rate now, in hermortification and pain, Diana could not invite her mother into hercounsels. She felt that as from her window she watched the recedingwaggon, and saw Mrs. Starling turn from the gate and walk in. Uncompromising, unsympathizing, even her gait and the set of her headand shoulders proclaimed her to be. Diana was alone with her trouble. 

An hour afterwards she came down as usual, strained the milk, skimmedher cream, went through the whole little routine of the householdevening; her hands were steady, her eye was true, her memory lostnothing. But she did not speak one word, unless, which was seldom, aword was spoken to her. So went on the next day, and the next. November's days were trailing along, December's would follow; there wasno change from one to another; no variety. Less than ever before; for, with morbid sensitiveness, Diana shrank from visitors and visiting. Every contact gave her pain. 

Meanwhile, where was Evan's second letter? On its way, and in the postoffice. 

It was late in November; Diana was sitting at the door of the lean-to, where she had been sitting on that June day when our story began. Shewas alone this time, and her look and attitude were sadly at variancewith that former time. The November day was not without a charm of itsown which might even challenge comparison with the June glory; for itwas Indian summer time, and the wonder of soft spiritual beauty whichhad settled down upon the landscape, brown and bare though that was, left no room to regret the full verdure and radiant sunlight of highsummer. The indescribable loveliness of the haze and hush, the winningtender colouring that was through the air and wrapped round everything, softening, mellowing, harmonizing somehow even the most unsightly;hiding where it could not beautify, and beautifying where it could nothide, like Christian charity; gave a most exquisite lesson to theworld, of how much more mighty is spirit than matter. Diana did not seeit, as she had seen the June day; her arms were folded, lying one uponanother in idle fashion; her face was grave and fixed, the eyes aimlessand visionless, looking at nothing and seeing nothing; cheeks pale, andthe mouth parted with pain and questioning, its delicious childlikecurves just now all gone. So sitting, and so abstracted in her ownthoughts, she never knew that anybody was near till the little gateopened, and then with a start she saw Mr. Masters coming up the walk. Diana rose and stood in the doorway; all traces of country-girlmanners, if she had ever had any, had disappeared before the dignity ofa great and engrossing trouble. 

"Good evening!" she said quietly, as they shook hands. "Mother's goneout. "

"Gone out, is she?" said Mr. Masters, but not with a tone of particulardisappointment. 

"Yes. I believe she has gone to the Corner--to the post office. "

"The Corner is a good way off. And how do you do?"

Diana thought he looked at her a little meaningly. She answered in thecustomary form, that she was well. 

"That says a great deal--or nothing at all, " the minister remarked. 

"What?" said Diana, not comprehending him. 

"That form of words, --'I am well'. "

"It is very apt to mean nothing at all, " said Diana, "for people say itwithout thinking. "

"As you did just now?"

"Perhaps--but I _am_ well. "

"Altogether?" said the minister. "Soul and mind and body?"

The word read dry enough; his manner, his tone, half gentle, half bold, with a curious inoffensive kind of boldness, took from them theirdryness and gave them a certain sweet acceptableness that most personsknew who knew Mr. Masters. Diana never dreamed that he was intrusive, even though she recognised the fact that he was about his work. Nevertheless she waived the question. 

"Can anybody say that he is well _so?_" she asked. 

"I hope he can. Do you know the old lady who is called Mother Bartlett?"

"O yes. "

"Do you think she would hesitate about answering that question? or bemistaken in the answer?"

"But what do you mean by it exactly?" said Diana. 

"Don't you know?"

"I suppose I do. I know what it means to be well in body. I have beenwell all my life. "

"How would you characterize that happy condition?"

"Why, " said Diana, unused to definitions of abstractions, but followingMr. Masters' lead as people always did, gentle or simple, --"I mean, orit means, sound, and comfortable, and fit for what one has to do. "

"Excellent, " said the minister. "I see you understand the subject. Cannot those things be true of soul and mind, as well as of body?"

"What is the difference between soul and mind?" said Diana. 

"A clear departure!" said the minister, laughing; then gravely, "Do youread philosophy?"

"I don't know"--said Diana. "I read, or I used to read, a good manysorts of books. I haven't read much lately. "

The minister gave her another keen look while she was attending tosomething else, and when he spoke again it was with a change of tone. 

"I had a promise once that I should see those books. "

"Any time, " said Diana eagerly; "any time!" For it would be an easy wayof entertaining him, or of getting rid of him. Either would do. 

"I think I proposed a plan of exchange, which might be to the advantageof us both. "

"To mine, I am sure, " said Diana. "I don't know whether there can beanything you would care for among the books up-stairs; but if thereshould be-- Would you like to go up and look at them?"

"I should, --if it would not give you too much trouble. "

It would be no trouble just to run up-stairs and show him where theywere; and this Diana did, leaving him to overhaul the stock at hisleisure. She came down and went on with her work. 

Diana's heart was too sound and her head too clear to allow her to bemore than to a certain degree distressed at not hearing from Evan. Shedid not doubt him more than she doubted herself; and not doubting him, things must come out all right by and by. She was restive under thepresent pain; at times wild with the desire to find and remove thesomething, whatever it was, which had come between Evan and her; forthis girl's was no calm, easy-going nature, but one with depths ofpassionate reserve and terrible possibilities of suffering or enjoying. She had been calm all her life until now, because these powers andsusceptibilities had been in an absolute poise; an equilibrium thatnothing had shaken. Now the depths were stirred, and at times she wasin a storm of impatient pain; but there came revulsions of hope andquiet lulls, when the sun almost shone again under the clearance madeby faith and hope. One of these revulsions came now, after she had setthe minister to work upon her books. Perhaps it was simple reaction;perhaps it was something caught from the quiet sunshiny manner andspirit of her visitor; but at her work in the kitchen Diana grew quitecalm-hearted. She fancied she had discerned somewhat of more than usualearnestness in the minister's observation of her, and she began toquestion whether her looks or behaviour had furnished occasion. Perhapsshe had not been ready enough to talk; poor Diana knew it was often thecase now; she resolved she would try to mend that when he came down. And there was, besides, a certain lurking impatience of the bearing ofhis words; they had probed a little too deep, and after the manner ofsome morbid conditions, the probing irritated her. So by and by, whenMr. Masters came down with a brown volume in his hand, and offered toborrow it if she would let him lend her another of different colour, Diana met him and answered quite like herself, and went on--

"Mr. Masters, how can people be always well in body, mind, and spirit, as you say? I am sure people's bodies get sick without any fault oftheir own; and there are accidents; and just so there are troubles. People can't help troubles, and they can't be 'well' in mind, Isuppose, when they are in pain?"

"Are you sure of that?" the minister answered quietly, while he turnedto the window to look at something in the volume he had brought downwith him. 

"Why, yes; and so are you, Mr. Masters; are you not?"

"You need to know a great deal to be sure of anything, " he answered inthe same tone. 

"But you are certain of this, Mr. Masters?"

"I shouldn't like to expose myself to your criticism. Let us look atfacts. It seems to me that David was 'well' when he could say, 'Thouhast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feetfrom falling. ' Also the man described in another place--'He thatdwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under theshadow of the Almighty. '"

There came a slight quiver across Diana's face, but her words weremoved by another feeling. 

"Those were people of the old times; I don't know anything about them. I mean people of to-day. "

"I think Paul was 'well' when he could say, 'I have learned, inwhatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. '"

"O, but that is nonsense, Mr. Masters!"

"It was Paul's experience. "

"Yes, but it cannot be the experience of other people. Paul wasinspired. "

"To write what was true, --not what was false, " said the minister, looking at her. "You don't think peace and content come by inspiration, do you?"

"I did not think about it, " said Diana. "But I am sure it is impossibleto be as he said. "

"I never heard Paul's truth questioned before, " said the minister, witha dry sort of comicality. 

"No, but, Mr. Masters, " said Diana, half by way of apology, "I spokefrom my own experience. "

"And he spoke from his. "

"But, sir, --Mr. Masters, --seriously, do you think it is possible to becontented when one is in trouble?"

"Miss Diana, One greater than David or Paul said this, 'If a man loveme, he will keep my words; and my Father will love him; and we willcome unto him, and make our abode with him. ' Where there is thatindwelling, believe me, there is no trouble that can overthrow content. "

"Content and pain together?" said Diana. 

"Sometimes pain and very great joy. "

"You are speaking of what I do not understand in the least, " saidDiana. And her face looked half incredulous, half sad. 

"I wish you did know it, " he said. No more; only those few words had asimplicity, a truth, an accent of sympathy and affection, that reachedthe very depth of the heart he was speaking to; as the same things fromhis lips had often reached other hearts. He promised to take care ofthe book in his hand, and presently went away, with one of the warm, frank, lingering grasps of the hand, that were also a characteristic ofBasil Masters. Diana stood at the door watching him ride away. Itcannot be said she was soothed by his words, and perhaps he did notmean she should be. She stood with a weary feeling of want in herheart; but she thought only of the want of Evan. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE USE OF LIVING. 

It was quite according to Diana's nature, that as the winter went on, though still without news of Evan, her tumult and agony of mind quieteddown into a calm and steadfast waiting. Her spirit was too healthy forsuspicion, too true for doubt; and put away doubt and suspicion, whatwas left but the assurance that there had been some accident ormistake; from the consequences of which she was suffering, no doubt, but which would all be made right, and come out clear so soon as therecould be an opportunity for explanation. For that there was nothing todo but to wait a little; with the returning mild weather, Evan would beable to procure a furlough, he would be at her side, and then--nothingthen but union and joy. She could wait; and even in the waiting, herhealthy spirit as it were sloughed off care, and came back again to itsusual placid, strong, bright condition. 

So the winter went; a winter which was ever after a blank in Diana'sremembrance; and the cold weather broke up into the frosts and thawsthat sugar-makers love; and in such a March day it was, the word cameto Mrs. Starling's house that old Squire Bowdoin was dead. The likeweather never failed in after years to bring back to Diana that one dayand its tidings and the strange shock they gave her. 

"'Twas kind o' sudden, " said the news-bringer, who was Joe Bartlett;"he was took all to once and jes' dropped--like a ripe chestnut. "

"Why, like a ripe chestnut?" said Mrs. Starling sharply. 

"Wall, I had to say suthin', and that come first. The Scripter doosspeak of a shock o' corn in his season, don't it, Mis' Starling?"

"What's the likeness between a shock o' corn and a chestnut, Joe? Ican't abide to hear folks talk nonsense. Who's at Elmfield?"

"Ain't nary one there that had ought to be there; nary one but thehelp. "

"But they're comin'?" said Mrs. Starling, lifting up her head for theanswer. 

"Wall, I can't say. Evan, he's too fur; and I guess men in his placehain't their ch'ice. And his folks is flourishy kind o' bodies; I don'tset no count on 'em, for my part. "

"Well, everybody else'll be there, and shame 'em if they ain't, " saidMrs. Starling. "How's your mother, Joe?"

"Wall, I guess _she's_ ripe, " said Joe with a slow intonation, lovingand reverent; "but she's goin' to hold on to this state o' things yetawhile. Good day t'ye!"

Diana went to the old man's funeral with her mother; in a sort oftremble of spirits, looking forward to what she might possibly see orhear. But no one was there; no one in whom she had any interest; noneof Mr. Bowdoin's grandchildren could make it convenient to come to hisfuneral. The large gathering of friends and neighbours and distantrelations were but an unmeaning crowd to Diana's perceptions. 

What difference would this change at Elmfield make in her ownprospects? Would Mrs. Reverdy and her set come to Elmfield as usual, and so draw Evan as a matter of course? They might not, perhaps. Butwhat difference could it be to Diana? Evan would come, at all events, and under any circumstances; even if his coming let the secret out; hewould come, and nothing would keep him from it; the necessity of seeingher would be above all other except military necessities. Diana thoughtshe wished the old gentlemen had not died. But it could make nodifference. As soon as he could, Evan would be there. 

She returned to her quiet waiting. But now nature began to be noisyabout her. It seemed that everything had a voice. Spring winds said, "He is coming;" the perfume of opening buds was sweet with his far-offpresence; the very gales that chased the clouds, to her fancy chasedthe minutes as well; the waking up of the household and farmactivities, said that now Diana's inner life would come back to itswonted course and arrangements. 

The spring winds blew themselves out; spring buds opened into fullleafage; spring activities gradually merged into the steady routine ofsummer; and still Diana saw nothing, and still she heard nothing ofEvan. 

She was patient now by force of will; doggedly trusting. She _would_not doubt. None of the family came to Elmfield; so there was no news bythe way that could reach her. Mrs. Starling watched the success of herexperiment, and was satisfied. Will began to come about the house moreand more. 

It was near the end of summer, more than a year since her firstintroduction to Evan, that Diana found herself again one day at MotherBartlett's cottage. She always made visits there from time to time;to-day she had come for no special reason, but a restlessness whichpossessed her at home. The old lady was in her usual chimney corner, knitting, as a year ago; and Diana, having prepared the mid-day repastand cleared away after it, was sitting on the doorstep at the opendoor; whence her eye went out to the hillside pasture and followed thetwo cows which were slowly moving about there. It was as quiet a bit ofnature as could be found anywhere; and Diana was very quiet looking atit. But Mrs. Bartlett's eye was upon her much more than upon her work;which, indeed, could go on quite well without such supervision. Shebroke silence at last, speaking with an imperceptible little sigh. 

"And so, dear, the minister preached his sermon about the fashions lastSabbath?"

"About fashion, " said Diana. "He had promised it long ago. "

"And what did he say, dear?"

"He said, 'The fashion of this world passeth away. '"

"But he said something more, I suppose? _I_ could have said that. "

"He said a great deal more, " replied Diana. "It was a very curioussermon. "

"As I hain't heard it, and you hev', perhaps you'll oblige me with somemore of it. "

"It was a very curious sermon, " Diana repeated. "Not in the least likewhat you would have expected. There wasn't much about fashion in it;and yet, somehow it seemed to be _all_ that. "

"What was his text?"

"I can't tell; something about 'the grace of the fashion of it. ' Idon't remember how the words went. "

"I know, I guess, " said the old lady. "'Twas in James, warn't it?Something like this--'The sun is no sooner risen with a burning heat. '"

"Yes, yes, that was it. "

"'--but it withereth the grass, and the flower thereof falleth, and thegrace of the fashion of it perisheth. '"

"That was it, " assented Diana. 

"So he preached about the shortness of life?"

"No, not at all. He began with those words, and just a sentence ortwo--and it was beautiful, too, mother--explaining them; and then hesaid the Bible hadn't much in it directly speaking of our fashions; hewould give us what there was, and let us make what we could of it; sohe did. "

"You can make a good deal of it if you try, " said Mrs. Bartlett. "Andthen, dear?"

"Then he went off, you'd never think where--to the last chapter ofProverbs; and he described the woman described there; and he made herout so beautiful and good and clever and wise, that somehow, withoutsaying a word about fashion, he made us feel how _she_ would never havehad any concern about it; how she was above it, and five times morebeautiful without, than she would have been with, the foolish ways ofpeople now-a-days. But he didn't say that; you only felt it. I don'tmuch believe there are any such women, mother. "

"I hope and believe you'll make just such a one, Diana. "

"I?" said the girl, with a curious intonation; then subsiding againimmediately, she sat as she had sat at her own door a year ago, witharms folded, gazing out upon the summery hill pasture where the cowswere leisurely feeding. But now her eyes had a steady, hard look, notbusy with the sunshiny turf or the deep blue sky against which the lineof the hill cut so soft and clear. _Then_ the vision had been alloutward. 

"And that was his sermon?" said the old lady with a dash ofdisappointment. 

"No! O no, " said Diana, rousing herself. "He went on then--how shall Itell you? Do you remember a verse in the Revelation about the Churchcoming down as a bride adorned for her husband?"

"Ay!" said the old lady with a gratified change of voice. "Well?"

"He went on to describe that adornment. I can't tell you how he did it;I can't repeat what he said; but it was inner adornment, you know; 'allglorious within, ' I remember he said; and without a word more aboutwhat he started with, he made one feel that there is no real adornmentbut that kind, nor any other worth a thought. I heard Kate Boddingtontelling mother, as we came out of church, that she felt as cheap asdirt, with all her silk dress and new bonnet; and Mrs. Carpenter, whowas close by, said she felt there wasn't a bit of her that would bearlooking at. "

"What did your mother say?"

"Nothing. She didn't understand it, she said. "

"And, Di, how did you feel?"

"I don't think I felt anything, mother. "

"How come that about?"

"I don't know. I believe it seems to me as if the fashion of this worldnever passed away; it's the same thing, year in and year out. "

"What ails you, Diana?" her old friend asked after a pause. 

"Nothing. I'm sort o' tired. I don't see how folks stand it, to live along life. "

"But life has not been very hard to you, honey. "

"It needn't be _hard_ for that, " Diana answered, with a kind of chokein her voice. "Perhaps the hardest of all would be to go on anunvarying jog-trot, and to know it would always be so all one's life. "

"What makes life all of a sudden so tiresome to you, Di?"

"Something I haven't got, I suppose, " said the girl drearily. "I haveenough to eat and drink. "

"You ain't as bright as you used to be a year ago. "

"I have grown older, and have got more experience. "

"If life is good for nothin' else, Di, it's good to make ready for whatcomes after. "

"I don't believe that doctrine, mother, " said Diana energetically. "Life is meant to be life, and not getting ready to live. _'Tisn't_meant to be all brown and sawdusty here, that people may have it morefresh and pleasant by and by. "

"No; but to drive them out o' this pasture, maybe. If the cows foundalways the grass long in the meadow, when do you think they'd go up thehill?"

A quick, restless change of position was the only answer to this; ananswer most unlike the natural calm grace of Diana's movements. The oldlady looked at her wistfully, doubtfully, two or three times up anddown from her knitting, before speaking again. And then speaking wasprevented, for the other door opened and the minister came in. 

Basil was always welcome, whatever house or company he entered; hecould fall in with any mood, take up any subject, sympathize inanybody's concerns. That was part of his secret of power, but that wasnot all. There was about him an _aura_ of happiness, so to speak; asteadfastness of the inner nature, which gave a sense of calm to othersalmost by the force of sympathy; and the strength of a quiet will, which was, however, inflexible. All that was restless, uncertain, andunsatisfied in men's hearts and lives, found something in him to whichthey clung as if it had been an anchor of hope; and so his popularityhad a very wide, and at first sight very perplexing range. 

The two women in Mrs. Bartlett's cottage were glad to see him; and theyhad reason. Perhaps, for he was very quick, he discerned that thesocial atmosphere had been somewhat hazy when he came in; for throughall his stay his talk was so bright and strong that it met the needs ofboth hearers. Even Diana laughed with him and listened to him; and whenhe rose to take leave, she asked if he came on horseback to-day?

"No, I am ease-loving. I borrowed Mr. Chalmers' buggy. "

"Which way are you going now, sir, if you please?"

He hesitated an instant, looked at her, and answered quite demurely, "Ithink, your way. "

"Would you be so kind as to take me so far as home with you, then?"

"I don't see any objection to that, " said Basil in the same coolmanner. And Diana hastily took her bonnet and kissed her old friend, and in another minute or two she was in the buggy, and they weredriving off. 

If the minister suspected somewhat, he would spoil nothing by being ina hurry. He drove leisurely, saying that it was too hot weather to askmuch exertion even from a horse; and making little slight remarks, in amanner so gentle and quiet as to be very reassuring. But if that waswhat Diana wanted, she wanted a great deal of it; for she sat lookingstraight between the edges of her sun-bonnet, absolutely silent, hardlyeven making the replies her companion's words called for. At last hewas silent too. The good grey horse went very soberly on, not urged atall; but yet even a slow rate of motion will take you to the end ofanything, given the time; and every minute saw the rods of Diana's roadgetting behind her. I suppose she felt that, and spoke at last in thedesperate sense of it. When a person is under that urgency, he does notalways choose his words. 

"Mr. Masters, is there any way of making life anything but a miserablefailure?"

The lowered cadences of Diana's voice, a thread of bitterness in herutterance, quite turned the minister's thought from anything like alight or a gay answer. He said very gravely, "Nobody's life need be that. "

"How are you to get rid of it?"

"Of that result, you mean?"

"Yes. "

"Will you state the difficulty, as it appears to you?"

"Why, look at it, " said Diana, more hesitatingly; "what do mostpeople's lives amount to?--what does mine? To dress oneself, and eatand drink, and go through a round of things, which only mean that youwill dress yourself and eat and drink again and do the same thingsto-morrow, and the next day;--what does it all amount to in the end?"

"Is life no more than that to you?"

Diana hesitated, but then, with a tone still lowered, said, "No. "

The minister was silent now, and presently Diana went on again. 

"The whole world seems to me just so. People live, and die; and theymight just as well not have lived, for all that their being in theworld has done. And yet they have lived--and suffered. "

More than she knew was told in the utterance of that last word. Theminister was still not in a hurry to speak. When he did, his questioncame as a surprise. 

"You believe the first chapter of Genesis, Miss Diana?"

"Certainly, " she said, feeling with downcast heart, "O, now a sermon!"

"You believe that God made the earth, and made man to occupy it?"

"Yes--certainly. "

"What do you think he made him for?"

"I know what the catechism says, " Diana began slowly. 

"No, no; my question has nothing to do with the catechism. Do youbelieve that the Creator's intention was that men should livepurposeless lives, like what you describe?"

"I can't believe it. "

"Then what purpose are we here for? Why am I, and why are you, on theearth?"

"I don't know, " said Diana faintly. The talk was not turning out wellfor her wish, she thought. 

"To find that out, --and to get in harmony with the answer, --is thegreat secret of life. "

"Will you help me, Mr. Masters?" said Diana humbly. "It is all dark andwild to me, --I see no comfort in anything. If there were nothing betterthan this, one would rather _not_ be on the earth. "

Mr. Masters might have pondered with a little surprise on the strengthof the currents that flow sometimes where the water looks calm; but hehad no time, and in truth was in no mood for moralizing just then. Hisanswer was somewhat abrupt, though gentle as possible. 

"What do you want, Miss Diana?"

But the answer to that was a choked sob, and then, breaking all boundsof her habit and intention, a passionate storm of tears. Diana wasfrightened at herself; but, nevertheless, the sudden probe of thequestion, with the sympathetic gentleness of it, and the too greatcontrast between the speaker's happy, calm, strong content and her owndisordered, distracted life, suddenly broke her down. Neither, if youopen the sluice-gates to such a current, can you immediately get themshut again. This she found, though greatly afraid of the conclusionsher companion might draw. For a few minutes her passion was utterlyuncontrolled. 

If Basil drew conclusions, he was not in a hurry to make them known. Hedid not at that time follow the conversation any further; onlyremarking cheerfully, and sympathetically too, "We must have some moretalk about this, Miss Diana; but we'll take another opportunity, " andso presently left her at her own door, with the warm, strong grasp ofthe hand that many a one in trouble had learned to know. There isstrange intelligence, somehow, in our fingers. They can say what lipsfail to say. Diana went into the house feeling that her minister was atower of strength and a treasury of kindness. 

She found company. Mrs. Flandin and her mother were sitting together. 

"Hev' you come home to stay, Diana?" was her mother's sarcasticsalutation. 

"How come you and the Dominie to be a ridin' together?" was the otherlady's blunter question. 

"I had the chance, " said Diana, "and I asked him to bring me. It's toohot for walking. "

"And how come he to be in a buggy, so convenient? He always goestearin' round on the back of that 'ere grey horse, I thought. I neversee a minister ride so afore; and I don't _think_, Mis' Starling, it'ssuitable. What if he was to break his neck, on the way to visit somesick man?"

"Jim Treadwell broke _his_ neck out of a waggon, " responded Mrs. Starling. 

"Ah, well! there ain't no security, no place; but don't it strike you, now, Mis' Starling, that a minister had ought to set an example ofsteady goin', and not turn the heads of the young men, and young women, with his capers?"

"He is a young man himself, Mrs. Flandin, " Diana was bold to say. 

"Wall--I know he is, " said the lady in a disapproving way. "I know heis; and he can't help it; but if I had my way, I'd allays have aminister as much as fifty year old. It looks better, " said Mrs. Flandincomplacently; "and it _is_ better. "

"What is he to do all the first fifty years of his life then?"

"Wall, my dear, I hain't got the arrangement of things; I don't know. Iknow Will would hitch up and carry you anywheres you want to go--ifit's a waggon you want any time. "

After that, Will made good his mother's promise, so far as intentionswent. He was generally on hand when anything was to be done in whichhimself and his smart buggy could be useful. Indeed, he was very oftenon hand at other times; dropping in after supper, and appearing withbaskets, which were found to contain some of the Flandin pears or thefine red apples that grew in a corner of the lot, and were famous. Someof his own bees' honey Will brought another time, and a bushel ofuncommonly fine nuts. Of course this was in the fall, to which theweary weeks of Diana's summer had at length dragged themselves out. Butif Will hoped that honey would sweeten Diana's reception of him and hisattentions, as yet it did not seem to have the desired effect. Intruth, though Will could never suspect it, her brain was so heavy withother thoughts that she was only in a vague and general way consciousof his presence; and of his officious gallantries scarcely aware. Solittle aware, indeed, of their bearing, that on two or three occasionsshe suffered herself to be conveyed in Will's buggy to or from somegathering of the neighbours; Mrs. Starling or Mrs. Flandin had arrangedit, and Diana had quite blindly fallen into the trap. And then theyoung man, not unreasonably elated and inspirited, began to make hisvisits to Mrs. Starling's house more frequent than ever. It was littlehe did to recommend himself when he was there; he generally satwatching Diana, carrying on a spasmodic and interrupted conversationwith Mrs. Starling about farm affairs, and seizing the opportunity of adropped spool or an unwound skein of yarn to draw near Diana andventure some word to her. Poor Diana felt in those days so much like aperson whose earthly ties are all broken, that it did not come into herhead in what a different light she stood to other eyes. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A SNOWSTORM. 

As the weeks of September rolled away, they brought by the necessaryforce of associations a sharp waking up to Diana's torpor. These, lastyear, had been the weeks of her happiness; happiness had come to herdressed in these robes of autumn light and colour; and now every breathof the soft atmosphere, every gleam from the changing foliage, thelight's peculiar tone, and the soft indolence of the hazy days, stoleinto the recesses of Diana's heart, and smote on the nerves thatanswered every touch with vibrations of pain. The AEolian harp that hadsounded such soft harmonies a year ago, when the notes rose and fell inbreathings of joy, clanged now with sharp and keen discords that Dianacould scarcely bear. The time of blackberries passed without herjoining the yearly party which went as usual; she escaped that; butthere was no escaping September. And when in due course the time forthe equinoctial storms came, and the storms did not fail, though comingthis year somewhat later than the last, Diana felt like a personwakened up to life to die the second time. Her mood all changed. From adull, miserable apathy, which yet had somewhat of the numbness of deathin it, she woke up to the intense life of pain, and to a corresponding, but in her most unwonted, irritability of feeling. All of a sudden, asit were, she grew sensitive to whatever in her life and surroundingswas untoward or trying. She read through Will Flandin's devotion; shesaw what her mother was "driving at, " as she would have expressed it. And the whole reality of her relations to Evan and his relations to herstood in colours as distinct as those of the red and green mapleleaves, and unsoftened by the least haze of self-delusion. In the dashof the rain and the roar of the wind, in the familiar swirl of the elmbranches, she read as it were her sentence of death. Before this shehad not been dead, only stunned; now she was wakened up to die. Natureherself, which had been so kind a year ago, brought her now theirrevocable message. A whole year had gone by, a year of silence; itwas merely impossible that Evan could be true to her. If he had beentrue, he would have overleaped all barriers, rather than let thissilence last; but indeed he had no barriers to overleap; he had only towrite; and he had plenty of time for it. _She_ might have overleapedbarriers, earlier in the year, if she could have known the case was sodesperate; and yet, Diana reflected, she could not and would not, evenso. It was well she had not tried. For if Evan needed to be held, shewould not put out a finger to hold him. 

Of this change in Diana's mood it is safe to say that nothing wasvisible. Feeling as if every nerve and sense were become an avenue ofliving pain, dying mentally a slow death, she showed nothing of it toothers. Mind and body were so sound and strong, and the poise of hernature was matched with such a sweet dignity, that she was able to gothrough her usual round of duties in quite her usual way; "die and makeno sign. " Nothing was neglected in any wise, nothing was slurred orhurried over; thoroughly, diligently, punctually, she did the work fromwhich all heart was gone out, and even Mrs. Starling, keen enough tosee anything if only she had a clue to it, watched and saw nothing. ForDiana's cheek had been pale for a good while now, and she had neverbeen a talkative person, lately less than ever; so the fact that inthese days she never talked at all did not strike her mother. But suchpower of self-containing is a dangerous gift for a woman. 

No doubt the extreme bustle and variety of the autumn and early winterwork helped Mrs. Starling to shut her eyes to what she did not want tosee; helped Diana too. Fall ploughing and sowing were to be attendedto; laying down the winter's butter, storing the vegetables, disposingof the grain, fatting cattle, wood cutting and hauling, and repairingof fences, which Mrs. Starling always had done punctually in the fallas soon as the ploughs were put up. For nothing under Mrs. Starling'scare was ever left at loose ends; there was not a better farmer inPleasant Valley than she. Then the winter closed in, early in thoserather high latitudes; and pork-killing time came, when for some timenothing was even thought of in the house but pork in its variousforms, --lard, sausage, bacon, and hams, with extras of souse andheadcheese. Snow had fallen already; and winter was setting in betimes, the knowing ones said. 

So came one Sunday a little before Christmas. It brought a lull in themidst of the pork business. Hands were washed finally for the wholeday, and the kitchen "redd up. " The weariness of Diana's nerveswelcomed the respite; for business, which oftimes is a help to bearingpain, in some moods aggravates it at every touch; and Diana was glad tothink that she might go into her own room and lock the door and bealone with her misery. The day was cloudy and threatening, and Mrs. Starling had avowed her purpose not to go to church. She was "tuckeredout, " she said. "And I am sure the Sabbath was given us for rest. "Diana made no answer; she was washing up the breakfast things. 

"I guess we ain't early, neither, " Mrs. Starling went on. "Well--oneday in seven, folks must sleep; and I didn't get that headcheese out ofmy hands till 'most eleven o'clock. I guess it's first-rate, Diana;we'll try a bit this noon. Who's that stoppin'?--Will Flandin, if I seestraight; that's thoughtful of him; now he'll take you to church, Di. "

Will he? thought Diana. Flandin came in. Dressed in his Sunday best healways seemed to Diana specially lumbering and awkward; and to-day hishair was massed into smoothness by means of I know not what bountifullubrication, which looked very greasy and smelt very strong of cloves. His necktie was blue with yellow spots; about the right thing, Willthought; it was strange what a disgust it gave Diana. What's in anecktie?

"Goin' to snow, Will?" asked Mrs. Starling. 

"Wall--guess likely. Not jes' yet, though. "

"Your mother got through with her pork?"

"Wall--I guess not. Seems to me, ef she was through, there wouldn't beso many pickle tubs round. "

"Good weight?"

"Wall--fair. "

"Our'n's better than that. Tell you what, Will, your pigs don't get thesunshine enough. "

"Don't reckon they know the difference, " said Will, smiling andglancing over towards Diana; but Diana was gone. "Were you calculatin'to go to meetin' to-day, Mis' Starling?"

"Guess not to-day, Will. I'm gettin' too old to work seven days in aweek--in pork-killin' time, anyhow. I'm calculatin' to stay home. Diana's always for goin', though; she's gone to get ready, I guess. Sheain't tired. "

Silence. Diana's room was too far off for them to hear her movingabout, and Mrs. Starling sat down and stretched out her feet towardsthe fire. Both parties meditating. 

"You and she hain't come to any understanding yet?" the lady began. Will shifted his position uneasily and spoke not. 

"I wouldn't wait _too_ long, if I was you. She might take a notion tosomebody else, you know, and then you and me'd be nowhere. "

"Has she, Mis' Starling?" Will asked, terrified. 

"She hain't told _me_ nothing of it, if she has; and I hain't seen herlook sweet on anybody; but she might, you know, Will, if anybody camealong that she fancied. I always like to get the halter over my horse'shead, and then I know I've got him. "

The image suggested nothing but difficulty to Will's imagination. Ahalter over Diana's stately neck!

"I allays catch a horse by cornerin' him, " he said sheepishly, andagain moving restlessly in his chair. 

"That won't answer in this chase, " said Mrs. Starling. "Diana'll walkup to you of her own accord, if she comes at all; but you must hold outyour hand, Will. "

"Ain't I a-doin' that all the while, Mis' Starling?" said Will, whomevery one of his friend's utterances seemed to put farther and fartheraway from his goal. 

"I reckon she'll come, all right, " said Mrs. Starling reassuringly;"but, you know, girls ain't obliged to see anybody's hand till theyhave to. You all like 'em better for bein' skittish. I don't. She ain'tskittish with me, neither; and she won't be with you, when you'vecaught her once. Take your time, only I wouldn't be _too_ long aboutit, as I said. "

Poor Will! The sweat stood upon his brow with the prospect of what wasbefore him, perhaps that very day; for what time could be better for"holding out his hand" to Diana than a solitary sleigh ride? Then, ifhe held out his hand and she wouldn't see it!

Meanwhile. --Diana had, as stated, left the kitchen, and mounted thestairs with a peculiarly quick, light tread which meant business; forthe fact was that she did discern the holding out of Will's hand, andwas taking a sudden sheer. Nothing but the sheer was quite distinct toher mind as she set her foot upon the stair; but before she reached thetop landing-place, she knew what she would do. Her mother was not goingto church; Will Flandin was; and the plan, she saw, was fixed, that heshould drive herself. Her mother would oblige her to go; or else, ifshe made a determined stand, Will on the other hand would not go; andshe would have to endure him, platitudes, blue necktie, cloves, andall, for the remainder of the morning. Only one escape was left her. With the swiftness and accuracy of movement which is possible in amoment of excitement to senses and faculties habitually deft and true, Diana changed her dress, put on the grey, thick, coarse wrappings whichwere very necessary for any one going sleigh-riding in Pleasant Valley, took her hood in her hand, and slipped down the stairs as noiselesslyas she had gone up. It was not needful that she should go through thekitchen, where her mother and her visitor were; there was a side door, happily; and without being seen or heard, Diana reached the barn. 

The rest was easy. Prince was fast by his halter, instead of wanderingat will over the sunny meadow; and without any delay or difficulty, Diana got his harness on and hitched him to the small cutter which waswont to convey herself and her mother to church and wherever else theywanted to go in winter time. Only Diana carefully took the precautionto remove the sleigh bells from the rest of Prince's harness; then sheled him out of the barn where she had harnessed him, closed the barndoors securely, remembering how they had been left on another occasion, mounted, and drove slowly away. It had been a dreamy piece of work toher; for it had so fallen out that she had never once harnessed Princeagain since that June day, when she, indeed, did not harness him, buthad been about it, when somebody else had taken the work out of herhand. It was very bitter to Diana to handle the bridle and the tracesthat _he_ had handled that day; she did it with fingers that seemed tosting with pain at every touch; her brain got into a whirl; and whenshe finally drove off, it was rather instinctively that she went slowlyand made no sound, for Will and his hopes and his wooing and hispresence had faded out of her imagination. She went slowly, until she, also instinctively, knew that she was safe, and then still she wentslowly. Prince chose his own gait. Diana, with the reins slack in herhand, sat still and thought. There was no need for hurry; it was notnear church time, not yet even church-going time; Will would be quietfor a while yet, before it would be necessary to make any hue-and-cryafter the runaway; and she and Prince would be far beyond ken by thattime. And meanwhile there was something soothing in the mere beingalone under the wide grey sky. Nobody to watch her, nothing to exertherself about; for a few moments in her life, Diana could be still anddrift. 

Whither? She was beginning to feel that the chafing of home, hermother's driving and Will's courting, were becoming intolerable. Heartand brain were strained and sore; if she could be still till she died, Diana felt it to be the utmost limit of desirableness. She knew she wasnot likely to die soon; brain and nerve might be strained, but theywere sound and whole; the full capacity for suffering, the unimpairedenergy for doing, were hers yet. And stillness was not likely to begranted her. It was inexpressibly suitable to Diana's mood to sit quietin the sleigh and let Prince walk, and feel alone, and know that no onecould disturb her. A few small flakes of snow were beginning to flitaimlessly about; their soft, wavering motion suggested nothing ruderthan that same purposeless drift towards which Diana's whole soul wasgoing out in yearning. If she had been in a German fairy tale, thesnow-flakes would have seemed to her spirits of peace. She welcomedthem. She put out her hand and caught two or three, and then broughtthem close to look at them. The little fair crystals lay still on herglove; it was too cold for them to melt. O to be like that!--thoughtDiana, --cold and alone! But she was in no wise like that, but a livinghuman creature, warm at heart and quick in brain; in the midst ofhumanity, obliged to fight out or watch through the life-battle, andtake blows and wounds as they came. Ah, she would not have minded theblows or the wounds; she would have girded herself joyfully for thestruggle, were it twice as long or hard; but now, --there was nothingleft to fight for. The fight looked dreary. She longed to creep into acorner, under some cover, and get rid of it all. No cover was in sight. Diana knew, with the subtle instinct of power, that she was one ofthose who must stand in the front ranks and take the responsibility ofher own and probably of others' destinies. She could not creep into acorner and be still; there was work to do. And Diana never shirkedwork. Vaguely, even now, as Prince walked along and she was revelling, so to speak, in the loveliness and the peace of momentary immunity, shebegan to look at the question, how and where her stand must be and herwork be done. Not as Will Flandin's wife, she thought! No, she couldnever be that. But her mother would urge and press it; how much worryof that sort could she stand, when she was longing for rest? Would hermother's persistence conquer in the end, just because her own spiritwas gone for contending? No; never! Not Will Flandin, if she died forit. Anything else. 

The truth was, the girl's life-hope was so dead within her, that forthe time she looked upon all things in the universe through a veil ofunreality. What did it matter, one thing or the other? what did itsignify any longer which way she took through the wilderness of thisworld? Diana's senses were benumbed; she no longer recognised the formsof things, nor their possible hard edges, nor the perspectives of time. Life seemed unending, long, it is true, to look forward to; but she sawit, not in perspective, but as if in a nightmare it were all in masspressing upon her and taking away her breath. So what did points hereand there amount to? What did it matter? any more than this snow whichwas beginning to come down so fast. 

Fast and thick; the aimless scattering crystals, which had comefluttering about as if uncertain about reaching earth at all, had givenplace to a dense, swift, driving storm. Without much wind perceptibleyet, the snowfall came with a steady straight drift which spoke of animpelling force somewhere, might it be only the weight of the cloudreservoirs from which it came. It came in a way that could no longer beignored. The crystals struck Diana's face and hands with the force ofsmall missiles. But just now she had been going through a grey andbrown lonely landscape; it was covered up, and nothing to see but thiswhite downfall. Even the nearest outlines were hidden; she could barelydistinguish the fences on either hand of her road; nothing further;trees and hills were all swallowed up, and the road itself was notdiscernible at a very few paces' distance. Indeed, it was not too easyto keep her eyes open to see anything, so beat the crystals, sharp andfast, into her face. Diana smiled to herself, to think that she wassafe now from even distant pursuit; no fear that Flandin would by andby come up with her, or even make his appearance at the church at allthat day; the storm was violent enough to keep any one from venturingout of doors, or to make any one turn back to his house who had alreadyleft it. Diana had no thought of turning back; the more impossible thestorm made other people's travelling, the better it was for hers. Prince knew the way well enough, and could go to church like aChristian; she left the way to him, and enjoyed the strange joy ofbeing alone, beyond vision or pursuit, set aside as it were from herlife and life surroundings for a time. What did she care how hard thestorm beat? To the rough treatment of life this was as the touch of asoft feather. Diana welcomed it; loved the storm; bent her head toshield her from the blast of it, and went on. The wind began to makeitself known as one of the forces abroad, but she did not mind thateither. Gusts came by turns, sweeping the snow in what seemed a solidmass upon her shoulder and side face; and then, in a little time more, there was no question of gusts, but a steady wild fury which knew nointermission. The storm grew tremendous, and everybody in PleasantValley was well aware that such storms in those regions did not go assoon as they came. Diana herself began to feel glad that she must benear her stopping-place. No landmarks whatever were visible, but shethought she had been travelling long enough, even at Prince's slowrate, to put most of the three miles behind her; and she grew a littleafraid lest in the white darkness she might miss the little church;once past it, though never so little, and looking back would be invain. It was a question if she would not pass it even with her bestendeavour. In her preoccupation it had never once occurred to Diana tospeculate on what she would find at the church, if she reached it; andnow she had but one thought, not to miss reaching it. She had someanxious minutes of watching, for her rate of travelling had been slowerthan she knew, and there was a good piece of a mile still between herand the place when she began to look for it. Now she eyed with greatestcare the road and the fences, when she could see the latter, and indeedit is poetical to speak of her seeing the road, for the tracks were allcovered up. But at last Diana recognised a break in the fence at herleft; checked Prince, turned his head carefully in that direction, found he seemed to think it all right, and presently saw just beforeher the long low shed in which the country people were wont to tietheir horses for the time of divine service. Prince went straight tohis accustomed place. 

Diana got out. There was no need to tie Prince to-day. The usual equinesense of expediency would be quite sufficient to keep any horse undercover. She left the sleigh, and groped her way--truly it was not easyto keep on her feet, the wind blew so--till she saw the little whitechurch just before her. There was not a foot-track on the snow whichcovered the steps leading to the door. But the wind and the snow wouldcover up or blow away any such tracks in very short time, shereflected;--yet, --what if the door were locked and nobody there! Onemoment her heart stood still. No; things were better than that; thedoor yielded to her hand. Diana went in, welcomed by the warmatmosphere, which contrasted so pleasantly with the wind and thesnow-flakes, shut the door, shook herself, and opened one of the innerdoors which led into the audience room of the building. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

OUT OF HUMDRUM. 

Warm, how good and warm! but empty. Perfectly empty. Perfectly still. Empty pews, and empty pulpit; nobody, not a head visible anywhere. Nota breath to be heard. The place was awful; it was like the ghost of achurch; all the life out of it. But how, then, came it to be warm?Somebody must have made the fires; where was somebody gone? And hadnone of all the congregation come to church that day? was it too badfor everybody? Diana began to wake up to facts, as she heard the blastdrive against the windows, and listened to the swirl of it round thehouse. And how was she going to get home, if it was so bad as that? Atany rate, here was still solitude and quiet and freedom; she could getwarm and enjoy it for awhile, and let Prince rest; she would not be ina hurry. She turned to go to one of the corners of the room, where thestoves were screened off by high screens in the interest of theneighbouring pews; and then, just at the corner of the screen, fromwhere he had been watching her, she saw Mr. Masters. Diana did not knowwhether to be sorry or glad. On the whole, she rather thought she wasglad; the church was eerie all alone. 

"Mr. Masters!--I thought nobody was here. "

"I thought nobody was going to be here. Good morning! Who else iscoming?"

"Who else? Nobody, I guess. "

"How am I to understand that?"

"Just so, "--said Diana, coming up to the stove and putting her fingersout towards the warmth. 

"Where is the other half of your family?"

"I left mother at home. "

"You came alone?"

"Yes, I came alone. " Diana began to wonder a little at the situation inwhich she found herself, and to revolve in her mind how she could makeuse of it. 

"Miss Diana, you have dared what no one else has dared. "

"It was not daring, " said the girl. "I did not think much of the storm, till I was so far on the way that it was as easy to come on as to goback. "

A light rejoinder, which would have been given to anybody else, waschecked on Mr. Masters' lips by the abstracted, apart air with whichthese words were spoken. He gave one or two inquisitive glances at thespeaker, and was silent. Diana roused herself. 

"Has nobody at all come to church?"

"Nobody but Mr. St. Clair"--(he was the old sexton. ) "And he has such abad cold that I took pity on him and sent him home. I promised him Iwould shut up the church for him--when it was necessary to leave it. _He_ was in no condition to be preached to. "

He half expected Diana would propose the shutting up of the church atonce, and the ensuing return home of the two people there; but insteadof that, she drew up a stool and sat down. 

"You will not be able to preach to-day, " she remarked. 

"Not to much of a congregation, " said the minister. "I will do my bestwith what I have. "

"Are you going to preach to me?" said Diana, with a ghost of a smile. 

"If you demand it! You have an undoubted right. "

Diana sat silent. The warmth of the room was very pleasant. Also thesecurity. Not from the storm, which howled and dashed upon the windowsand raged round the building and the world generally; but from thatother storm and whirl of life. Diana did not want just yet to be athome. Furthermore, she had a dim notion of using her opportunity. Shethought how she could do it; and the minister, standing by, watchedher, with some secret anxiety but an extremely calm exterior. 

"You must give me the text, Miss Diana, " he ventured presently. 

Diana sat still, musing. "Mr. Masters, " she said at last, very slowly, in order that the composure of it might be perfect, --"will you tell mewhat is the good of life?"

"To yourself, you mean?"

"Yes. For me--or for anybody. "

"I should say briefly, that God makes all His creatures to be happy. "

"Happy!" echoed Diana, with more sharpness of accent than she knew. 

"Yes. "

"But, Mr. Masters, suppose--suppose that is impossible?"

"It never is impossible. "

"That sounds--like--mockery, " said Diana. "Only you never do saymocking things. "

"I do not about this. "

"But, Mr. Masters!--surely there are a great many people in the worldthat are not happy?"

"A sorrowful truth. How comes Diana Starling to be one of them?"

And saying this, the minister himself drew up a chair and sat down. Thequestion was daring, but the whole way and manner of the man were soquiet and gentle, so sympathizing and firm at once, that it would havelured a bird off its nest; much more the brooding reserve from a heartit is not nursing but killing. Diana looked at him, met the wise, kind, grave eye she had learned long ago to trust, --and broke down. All of asudden; she had not dreamed she was in any danger; she was as muchsurprised as he was; but that helped nothing. Diana buried her face inher hands and burst into tears. 

He looked very much concerned. Wisely, however, he kept perfectly quietand let the storm pass; the little inner storm which caused the outerviolence of winds and clouds to be for the time forgotten. Diana sobbedbitterly. When after a few minutes she checked herself, the ministerwent off and brought her a glass of water. Diana lifted her flushedface and drank it, making no word of excuse or apology. As he took theglass back, Mr. Masters spoke in the tone of mixed sympathy andauthority--it was a winning kind of authority--which was peculiar tohim. 

"Now, Miss Diana, what is it?"

But there was a long pause. Diana was regaining self-command andsearching for words. The minister was patient, and waited. 

"There seems to be nothing left in life, " she said at last. 

"Except duty, you mean?"

"There is enough of that; common sort of duties. But duty is very coldand bare if it is all alone, Mr. Masters. "

"Undoubtedly true. But who has told you that your life must be filledwith only common sorts of duties?"

"It has nothing else, " said Diana despondently. "And I look forward andsee nothing else. And when I think of living on and on so--my brainalmost turns, and I wonder why I was made. "

"Not to live so. Our Maker meant none of us to live a humdrum life;don't you know, we were intended for 'glory, honour, and immortality'?"

"How can one get out of humdrum?" Diana asked disconsolately. 

"By living to God. "

"I don't understand you. "

"You understand how a woman can live to a beloved human creature, doingeverything in the thought and the joy of her affection. "

Was he probing her secret? Diana's breath came short; she sat with eyescast down and a feeling of oppression; growing pale with her pain. Butshe said, "Well?"

"Let it be God, instead of a fellow-creature. Your life will have nohumdrum then. "

"But--one can only love what one knows, " said Diana, speaking carefully. 

"Precisely. And the Bible cry to men is, that they would 'know theLord. ' For want of that knowledge, all goes wild. "

"Do you mean that that will take the place of everything else?" saidDiana, lifting her weary eyes to him. They were strong, beautiful eyestoo, but the light of hope was gone, and all sparkle of pleasure, outof them. The look struck to the minister's heart. He answered, however, with no change of tone. 

"I mean, that it more than takes the place of everything else. "

"Not replace what is lost, " said Diana sadly. 

"More than replace it, even when one has lost all. "

"That can't be!--that must be impossible, sometimes, " said Diana. "Idon't believe you know. "

"Yes, I do, " said the minister gravely. 

"People would not be human. "

"Very human--tenderly human. Do you really think, Miss Diana, that hewho made our hearts, made them larger than he himself can fill?"

Diana sat silent a while, and the minister stood considering her; hisheart strained with sympathy and longing to give her help, and at thesame time doubting how far he might or dared venture. Diana on her partfearing to show too much, but remembering also that this chance mightnever repeat itself. The fear of losing it began to overtop all otherfear. So she began again. 

"But, Mr Masters--this, that you speak of--I haven't got it; and Idon't understand it. What shall I do?"

"Get it. "

"How?"

"Seek it in the appointed way. "

"What is that?"

"Jesus said, 'He that hath my commandments and keepeth them, he it isthat loveth me; and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father; andI will love him, and _will manifest myself to him_. '"

"But I do not love him. "

"Then pray as Moses prayed, --'I beseech thee, show me thy glory. '"

Diana's head sank a little. "I have no heart to give to anything!" sheconfessed. 

"What has become of it?" asked the minister daringly. 

"Don't people sometimes lose heart without any particular reason?"

"No; never. "

"I have reason, though, " said Diana. 

"I see that. "

"You do not know--?" said Diana, facing him with a startled movement. 

"No. I know nothing, Miss Diana. I guess. "

She sat with her face turned from him for a while; then, perhapsreminded by the blast of wind and snow which at the moment came roundthe house furiously and beat on the windows, she went on hastily:

"You wonder to see me here; but I ran away from home; and I can't bearto go back. "

"Why?"

"Mr. Masters, mother wants me to"--Diana hesitated--"marry a rich man. "

The minister was silent. 

"He is there all the while--I mean, very often; he has not spoken outyet, but mother has; and she favours him all she can. "

"You do not?"

"I wish I could never see him again!" sighed Diana. 

"You can send him away, I should think. "

"I can't, till he asks my leave to stay. And I am so tired. He came totake me to church this morning; and I ran away before it was time togo. "

"You cannot be disposed of against your will, Miss Diana. "

"I seem to have so little will now. Sometimes I am almost ready to beafraid mother and he together will tire me out. Nothing seems to matterany more. "

"That would be a great mistake. "

"Yes!"--said Diana, getting up from her chair and looking out towardsthe storm with a despairing face;--"people make mistakes sometimes. Mr. Masters, you must think me very strange--but I trust you--and I wantedhelp so much"--

"And I have not given you any. "

"You would if you could. "

"And I will if I can. I have thought of more than I have spoken. Whencan I see you again, to consult further? It must be alone. "

"I don't know. This is my chance. Tell me now. What have you thoughtof?"

"I never speak about business on Sunday, " said the minister, meetingDiana's frank eyes with a slight smile which was very far frommerriment. 

"Is this business?"

"Partly of that character. "

"I don't know, then, " said Diana. "We must take our chance. Thank you, Mr. Masters. "

"May I ask what for?"

"For your kindness. "

"I should like to be kind to you, " said he. "Now the present practicalquestion, which cannot be put off, Miss Diana, is--how are you going toget home?"

"And you?"

"That is a secondary matter and easily disposed of. I livecomparatively near by. It is out of the question that you should drivethree miles in this storm. "

Both stood and listened to the blast for a few minutes. There was nodenying the truth of his words. In fact, it would be a doubtful thingfor a strong man to venture himself and his beast out in the fury ofthe whirling wind and snow; for a woman, it was not to be thought of. Mr. Masters considered. For him to take Diana, supposing the stormwould let him, to the house of some near neighbour, would be awkwardenough, and give rise to endless and boundless town talk. To carry herhome, three miles, was, as he had said, out of the question. To wait, both of them, in the church, for the storm's abating, was again not adesirable measure, and would furnish even richer food for the tonguesof the parish than the other alternatives would. To leave her, or forher to leave him, were alike impossible. Mr. Masters was not a man whousually hesitated long about any course of action, but he was puzzledto-day. He walked up and down in one of the aisles, thinking; whileDiana resumed her seat by the stove. Her simplicity and independence ofcharacter did not allow her to greatly care about the matter; thoughshe, too, knew very well what disagreeable things would be said, athome and elsewhere, and what a handle would be made of the affair, bothagainst her and against the minister. For his sake, she was sorry; forherself, what did anything much matter? This storm was an exceptionalone; such as comes once in a year perhaps, or perhaps not in severalyears. The wind had risen to a tempest; the snow drove thick before it, whirling in the eddies of the gust, so as to come in every possibledirection, and seemingly caught up again before it could reach aresting-place. The fury of its assault upon the church windows made onething at least certain; it would be a mad proceeding now to venture outinto it, for a woman or a man either. And it was very cold; thoughhappily the stoves had been so effectually fired up, that the littlemeeting-house was still quite comfortable. Yet the minister walked andwalked. Diana almost forgot him; she sat lost in her own thoughts. Thelull was soothing. The solitude was comforting. The storm which put abarrier between her and all the rest of the world, was a temporaryfriend. Diana could find it in her heart to wish it were more thantemporary. To be out of the old grooves of pain is something, until thenew ones are worn. To forsake scenes and surroundings which know allour secrets is sometimes to escape beneficially their persistentreminders of everything one would like to forget. Diana felt like achild that has run away from school, and so for the present got rid ofits lessons; and sat in a quiet sort of dull content, listening now andthen to the roar of the blast, and hugging herself that she had runaway in time. Half an hour more, and it would have been too late, andWill and her mother would have been her companions for all day. Howabout to-morrow? Diana shuddered. And how about all the to-morrows thatstretched along in dreary perspective before her? Would they also, allof them, hold nothing but those same two persons? Nothing but anendless vista of butter-making and pork-killing on one hand, andhair-oil scented with cloves on the other? It would be better far todie, if she could die; but Diana knew she could not. 

"Well!" said the voice of the minister suddenly beside her, "what doyou think of the prospect?"

Diana's eyes, as they were lifted to his face, were full of so blank alife-prospect, that his own face changed, and a cloud came over itsbrightness. 

"We can't get away, " he said. "Not at present, unless we were gulls;and gulls never fly in these regions. Do you mind waiting?"

"I do not mind it at all, " said Diana; "except for you. I am sorry foryou to have to stay here with me. "

"There isn't anybody I would rather stay with, " said the minister, halfhumourously. "Now, can you return the compliment?"

"Yes indeed!" said Diana earnestly. "There isn't anybody else I wouldhalf as lieve stay with. "

"Apparently you have some confidence in me, " he said in the same tone. 

"I have confidence in nobody else, " said Diana sadly. "I know you wouldhelp me if you could. "

They were silent a few minutes after that, and when Mr. Masters beganto speak again, it was in a different tone; a gentle, grave tone ofbusiness. 

"I have been doing some hard thinking, " he said, "while I have beenwalking yonder; and I have come to the conclusion that the present isan exceptional case and an exceptional time. Ordinarily I do not letbusiness--private business--come into Sunday. But we are brought heretogether, and detained here, and I have come to the conclusion thatthis is the business I ought to do. I have only one parishioner on myhands to-day, " he went on with a slight smile, "and I may as wellattend to her. I am going to tell you my plan. I shall not startle you?Just now you allowed that you had confidence in me?"

"Yes. I will try to do whatever you say I ought to do. "

"That I cannot tell, " said he gravely, "but I will unfold to you myplan. You have trust in me. So have I in you, Diana; but I have more. So much more, that it would make me happy to go through my life withyou. I know, "--he said as he met her startled look up to him, --"I knowyou do not love me, I know that; but you trust me; and I have loveenough for two. That has been true a great while. Suppose you come tome and let me take care of you. Can you trust me to that extent?"

Diana's lips had grown white with fear and astonishment. "You do notknow!"--she gasped. But his answer was steady and sweet. 

"I think I do. "

"All?"

"All I need to know. "

"It would be very, very wrong to you, Mr. Masters!" said Diana, hidingher face. 

"No, " he answered in the same gentle way. "To give me what I long for?"

"But--but--I have nothing to give in return, " she said, answering notthe form of his words, but the reality under them. 

"I will take my risk of that. I told you, I have enough for both. And Imight add, to last out our lives. I only want to have the privilege oftaking care of you. "

"My heart is dead!"--cried Diana piteously. 

"Mine isn't. And yours is not. It is only sick, but not unto death; andI want to shelter and nurse it to health again. May I?"

"You cannot, " said Diana. "I am not worth anybody's looking at anymore. There is no life left in me. I am not good enough for you, Mr. Masters. You ought to have a whole heart--and a large one--in returnfor your own. "

"I do not want any return, " said he. "Not at present, beyond that trustwhich you so kindly have given me. And if I never have any more, I willbe content, Diana, to be allowed to do all the giving myself. You mustspend your life somewhere. Can you spend it anywhere better than at myside?"

"No, "--Diana breathed rather than spoke. 

"'Then it's a bargain?" said he, taking her hand. Diana did notwithdraw it, and stooping down he touched his lips gently to hers. Thiswas so unlike one of Evan's kisses, that it did not even remind Dianaof them. She sat dazed and stunned, hardly knowing how she felt, onlybewildered; yet dimly conscious that she was offered a shelter, and alot which, if she had never known Evan, she would have esteemed thehighest possible. An empty lot now, as any one must be; an unequalexchange for Mr. Masters; an unfair transaction; at the same time, forher, a hiding-place from the world's buffetings. She would escape sofrom her mother's exactions and rule; from young Flandin's followingand pretensions; from the pointed finger of gossip. True, that fingerhad never been levelled at her, not yet; but every one who has a secretsore spot knows the dread of its being discovered and touched. AndDiana had never been wont to mind her mother's exactions, or to rebelagainst her rule; but lately, for a year past, without knowing orguessing the wrong of which her mother had been guilty, Diana had beenconscious of an underlying want of harmony somewhere. She did not knowwhere it was; it was in the air; for nature's subtle sympathies findtheir way and know their ground far beyond the sphere of sense orreason. Something adverse and something sinister she had vaguely feltin her mother's manner, without having the least clue to any possiblecause or motive. Suspicion was the last thing to occur to Diana'snature; so she suspected nothing; nevertheless felt the grating and nowand then the jar of their two spirits one against the other. It wasdimly connected with Evan, too, in her mind, without knowing why; shethought, blaming herself for the thought, that Mrs. Starling would nothave been so determinately eager to get her married to Will Flandin ifEvan Knowlton had never been thought to fancy her. This was a perfectlyunreasoning conclusion in Diana's mind; she could give no account ofit; but as little could she get rid of it; and it made her mother'sways lately hard to bear. The minister, she knew instinctively, wouldnot let a rough wind blow on her face; at his side neither criticismnor any sort of human annoyance could reach her; she would have onlyher own deep heart-sorrow to bear on to the end. But what sort ofjustice was this towards him? Diana lifted her head, which had beensunk in musing, and looked round. She had heard nothing for a while;now the swirl and rush of the storm were the first thing that struckher senses; and the first thought, that no getting away was possibleyet; then she glanced at Mr. Masters. He was there near her, just asusual, looking at her quietly. 

"Mr. Masters, " she burst forth, "you are very good!"

"That is right, " he said, with a sort of dry comicality which belongedto him, "I hope you will never change your opinion. "

"But, " said Diana, withdrawing her eyes in some confusion, "I think Iam not. I think I am doing wrong. "

"In what?"

"In letting you say what you said a little while ago. You have a heart, and a big one. I have not any heart at all. I can't give you what youwould give me; I haven't got it to give. I never shall have anything togive. "

"The case being so as you put it, " said the minister quite quietly, "what then? You cannot change the facts. I cannot take back what I havegiven; it was given long ago, Diana, and remains yours. The least youcan do, is to let me have what is left of you and take care of it. While I live I will do that, and ask no reward. "

"You will get tired of it, " said Diana, with her lip trembling. 

"Will I?" said he, taking her hand. And he added no more, but throughthe gentle, almost careless intonation, Diana felt and knew the verytruth, that he never would. She left her hand in his clasp; that toowas gentle and firm, like the man; he seemed a tower of strength toDiana. If only she could have loved him! Yet she thought she was gladthat he loved her. He was something to lean upon; some one who would beable to give help. They sat so, hand in hand, for a while, the stormroaring against the windows and howling round the building. 

"Don't you think, " the minister began again with a tender, lightaccent, "it will be part of my permanent duty to preach to you?"

"I dare say; I am sure I want it enough, " said Diana. 

"Is not this a good opportunity?"

"I suppose it is. We cannot get away. "

"Never mind; the wind will go down by and by. It has been blowing onpurpose to keep us here. Diana, do you think a good God made any of hiscreatures to be unhappy?"

"I don't know, Mr. Masters. He lets them be unhappy. "

"It is not his will. "

"But he takes away what would make them happy?"

"What do you think would do that?"

"I suppose it is one thing with one person, and another with another. "

"True; but take an instance. "

"It is mother's happiness to have her farm and her dairy and her housego just right. "

"Is she happy if it does?"

"She is very uncomfortable if it don't. "

"That is not my question, " said the minister, smiling. "Happiness isnot a thing that comes and goes with the weather, or the crops, or thestate of the market;--nor even with the life and death and affection ofthose we love. "

"I thought it did"--said Diana rather faintly. 

"In that case it would be a changeable, insecure thing; and being that, it would cease to be happiness. "

"Yes. I thought human happiness was changeable and uncertain. "

"Do you not feel that such conditions would spoil it? No; God loves usbetter than that. "

"But, Mr. Masters, " said Diana in some surprise, "nobody in this worldcan be sure of keeping what he likes?"

"Except one thing. "

"What can that be?"

"Did you never see anybody who was happy independent of circumstances?"

Diana reflected. "I think Mother Bartlett is. "

"I think so too. "

"But she is the only person of whom that is true in all PleasantValley. "

"How comes she to be an exception?"

Diana reflected again, but this time without finding an answer. 

"Isn't it, that she has set her heart on what cannot fail her nor beinsufficient for her?"

"Religion, you mean. "

"I do not mean religion. "

"What then?" Diana asked in new surprise. 

"I mean--Christ. "

"But--isn't that the same thing?"

"Not exactly. Christ is a person. "

"Yes--but"--

"And _he_ it is that can make happy those who know him. Do you rememberhe said, 'He that cometh to me shall never hunger, and he thatbelieveth on me shall never thirst'?"

Looking up at the speaker and following his words, they somehow struckDiana rather hard. Her lip suddenly trembled, and she looked down. 

"You do not understand it, " said the minister, "but you must believeit. Poor hungry lamb, seeking pasture where there is none, --where it iswithered, --come to Christ!"

"Do you mean, " said Diana, struggling for voice and self-command, butunable to look up, for the minister's hand was on her shoulder and hiswords had been very tenderly spoken, --"do you mean, that wheneverything _is_ withered, he can make it green again?"

The minister answered in the words of David, which were the words ofthe Lord: "'He shall be as the light of the morning, when the sunriseth, even a morning without clouds; as the tender grass springethout of the earth by clear shining after rain. '"

Diana bent her head lower. Could such refreshment and renewal of herown wasted nature ever come to pass? She did not believe it; yetperhaps there was life yet at the roots of the grass which scented therain. The words swept over as the breath of the south wind. 

"'The light of a morning without clouds'"--she repeated when she couldspeak. 

"Christ is all that, to those who know him, " the minister said. 

"Then I do not know him, " said Diana. 

"Did you think you did?"

"But how _can_ one know him, Mr. Masters?"

"There is only one way. It is said, 'God, who created the light out ofdarkness, hath _shined in our hearts_, to give the light of the gloryof the knowledge of Christ. '"

"How?"

"I cannot tell. As the sun rises over the hills, and suddenly the goldof it is upon everything, and the warmth of it. "

"When?"

"I don't know that either, " said Mr. Masters, gently touching Diana'sbrow, as one touches a child's, with caressing fingers. "_He_ says: 'Yeshall find me when ye shall search for me with all your heart. '--'Ifthou criest after knowledge, and liftest up thy voice forunderstanding; if thou seekest her as silver, and searchest for her asfor hid treasures; then shalt thou understand the fear of the Lord, and_find the knowledge of God_. '"

Diana sat still awhile and neither of them spoke; then she said, speaking more lightly:

"I think you have preached a beautiful sermon, Mr. Masters. "

"It's a beautiful sermon, " assented the minister; "but how much effectwill it have?"

"I don't know, " said Diana. "I don't seem to have energy enough to takehold of anything. " Then after a little she added--"But if anybody canhelp me I am sure it is you. "

"We will stand by one another, then, " said he, "and do the best we can. "

Diana did not make any denial of this conclusion; and they sat stillwithout more words, for some time, each busied with his own separatetrain of musings. Then Diana felt a little shiver of cold beginning tocreep over her; and Mr. Masters roused himself. 

"This is getting serious!" said he, looking at his watch. "What o'clockdo you think it is? One, and after. Am I to make up the fires again? Wecannot stir at present. "

Neither, it was found, could he make up the fires. For the coal bin wasin the cellar or underground vault, to which the entrance was from theoutside; and looking from the window, Mr. Masters saw that the snow haddrifted on that side to the height of a man, covering the low doorentirely. Hours of labour would be required to clear away the snowenough to give access to the coal; and the minister had not even ashovel. At the same time, the fires were going down, and the room wasbeginning to get chilly under the power of the searching wind, whichfound its way in by many entrances. The only resource was to walk. Mr. Masters gave Diana his arm, and she accepted it, and together theypaced up and down the aisle. It was a strange walk to Diana; hercompanion was rather silent, speaking only a few words now and then;and it occurred to her to wonder whether this, her first walk with him, was to be a likeness of the whole; a progress through chilly and emptyspace. Diana was not what may be called an imaginative person, but athought of this kind came over her. It did not make her change her mindat all respecting the agreement she had entered into; if it were to beso, better she should find herself at his side, she thought, thananywhere else. She was even glad, in a dull sort of way, that Mr. Masters should be pleased; pleasure for her was gone out of the world. Honour him she could, and did, from the bottom of her heart; but thatwas all. It was well, perhaps, for her composure that whatever pleasureher companion might feel in their new relations, he did not make thefeeling obtrusively prominent. He was just his usual self, with aslight confidence in his manner to her which had not appeared before. 

So they walked. 

"Diana, " said Mr. Masters suddenly, "have you brought no lunch withyou?"

"I forgot it. At least, --I was in such a hurry to get out of the housewithout being seen, I didn't care about anything else. If I had gone tothe pantry, they would have found out what I was doing. "

"And I brought nothing to-day, of all days. I am sorry, for your sake. "

"I don't mind it, " said Diana. "I don't feel it. "

"Nor I, --but that proves nothing. This won't do. It is two o'clock. We_must_ get away. It will be growing dark in a little while more. Thedays are just at the shortest. "

"I think the storm isn't quite so bad as it was, " said Diana. 

They stood still and listened. It beat and blew, and the snow camethick; still the exceeding fury of the blast seemed to be lessened. 

"We'll give it a quarter of an hour more, " said the minister. "Diana--we have had preaching, but we have had no praying. "

She assented submissively, to his look as well as his words, and theyknelt down together in the chancel. Mr. Masters prayed, not very long, but a prayer full of the sweetness and the confidence and the strength, of a child of God who is at home in his Father's presence; full oftenderness and sympathy for her. Diana's mind went through a series ofexperiences in the course of that short prayer. The sweetness and theconfidence of it touched her first with the sense of contrast, andwrung tears from her that were bitter; then the speaker got beyond herdepth, into regions of feeling where she could not follow him nor quiteunderstand, but that, she knew, was only because he was at home whereshe was so much a stranger; and her thoughts made a leap to theadmiration of _him_, and then to the useless consideration, how happyshe might have been with this man had not Evan come between. Why had hecome, just to win her and prove himself unworthy of her? But it wasdone, and not to be undone. Evan had her heart, worthy or unworthy; shecould not take it back; there was nothing left for her but to be a coldshadow walking beside this good man who was so full of all gentle andnoble affections. Well, she was glad, since he wanted her, that shemight lead her colourless existence by his side. That was the lastfeeling with which she rose from her knees. 

CHAPTER XX. 

SETTLED. 

It was a very wild storm yet through which Mr. Masters drove Dianahome. Still the wind blew hard, and the snow came driving and beatingdown upon their shoulders and faces in thick white masses; and thedrifts had piled up in some places very high. More than once thesleigh, Prince and all, was near being lodged in a snow-bank, fromwhich the getting free would have been a work of time; Mr. Masters hadto get out and do some rather complicated engineering; and withal, through the thick and heavy snowfall it was difficult to see what theywere coming to. Patience and coolness and good driving got the betterof dangers however, and slowly the way was put behind them. They metnobody. 

"Mr. Masters, " said Diana suddenly, "you will have to stay at our houseto-night. You can never get back. "

"I don't believe Mrs. Starling will let me go, " said the minister. 

Diana did not know exactly how to understand this. It struck a sort ofchill to her, that he was intending at once to proclaim their newrelations to each other; yet she could find nothing to object, andindeed she did not wish to object. 

"Mother will not be pleased, " she ventured after a pause. 

"No, I do not expect it. We have got to face that. But she is a wisewoman, and will know how to accommodate herself to things when sheknows she can't help it. I will put Prince up and give him some supper, and then we will see. "

Diana accordingly went in alone. But, as it happened, Mrs. Starling wasbusied with some affairs in the outer kitchen; and Diana passed throughand got up to her own room without any encounter. She was glad. Encounters were not in her line. She was somewhat leisurely, therefore, in taking off her wrappings and changing her dress. And as the ministerwas on the other hand as soon done with his ministrations to Prince ascircumstances and the snow permitted, it fell out that they re-enteredthe kitchen almost at the same moment, though by different doors. Itwas the lean-to kitchen, the only place where fire was kept on Sunday:and indeed that was the usual winter dwelling-room, a little outerkitchen serving for all the dirty work. It was in what I should calldreary Sunday order; which means, order without life. The very chairsand tables seemed to say forlornly that they had nothing to do. Not somuch as an open book proclaimed that the mistress of the place was anybetter off. However, she had other resources; for even as the ministercame in from the snow, and Diana from up-stairs, Mrs. Starling herselfmade her appearance from the outer kitchen with a pan of potatoes inher hand. 

Mrs. Starling liked neither to be surprised, nor to seem so. Moreover, from the outer kitchen door she had seen Prince and the sleigh going tothe barn, and seen, too, who was driving him. With the cunning of anIndian, she had made a sudden tremendous leap to conclusions; howarrived at, I cannot say; there is a faculty in some natures that isvery like a power of intuition. So she came in now with a manner thatwas undeclarative of anything but grimness; gave no sign of eithersurprise or curiosity; vouchsafed the minister only a scant little nodof welcome, and to Diana scarce a look; and set her pan of potatoes onthe table, while she went into the pantry for a knife. 

"Do you want those peeled, mother?" Diana asked. 

"Must have something for supper, I suppose. "

"Shall I do it?"

"No. I guess you've done enough for one day. "

"_I_ have, " said Mr. Masters. "And if you had driven these three milesin the snow, you would know it. May I have some supper, Mrs. Starling?"

"There'll be enough, I guess, " said the mistress of the house, with herknife flying round the potato in hand in a way that showed bothpractice and energy. Then presently, with a scarce perceptible glanceup at her daughter, she added, "Where have you been?"

"To church, mother. "

"To church!"--scornfully. "What did you do there?"

"She heard preaching, " said the minister, in that very quiet andcomposed way of his, which it was difficult to fight against. Fewpeople ever tried; if any one could, it was Mrs. Starling. 

"I guess there warn't many that had the privilege?" she saidinquiringly. 

"Not many, " said the minister. "I never had a smaller audience--inchurch--to preach to. "

"Folks had better be at home such a day, and preach to themselves. "

"I quite agree with you. So I brought Diana back as soon as I could. But we have been two hours on the way. "

Mrs. Starling's knife flew round the potatoes; her tongue was silent. Diana began to set the table. Sitting by the corner of the fire to drythe wet spots on his clothes, the minister watched her. And Mrs. Starling, without looking, watched them both; and at last, havingfinished her potatoes, seized the dish and went off with it; no doubtto cook the supper, for savoury fumes soon came stealing in. Diana madecoffee, not without a strange back look to a certain stormy Septembernight when she had made it for some one else. It was December now--aDecember which no spring would follow; so what mattered anything, coffee or the rest? If there were any blessing left for her in theworld, she believed it would be under Mr. Masters' protection and inhis goodness. She felt dull and in a dream, but she believed that. 

The three had supper alone. Conversation, as far as Mrs. Starling wasconcerned, went on the pattern that has been given. Mr. Masters was atthe whole expense of the entertainment, mentally; and he talked withthe ease and pleasantness that seemed natural to him, of things thatcould not help interesting the others; even Diana in her deadness ofheart, even Mrs. Starling in her perversity, pricked up their ears andlistened. I don't believe, either, he even found it a difficult effort;nothing ever seemed difficult to Mr. Masters that he had to do; it wasalways done so graciously, and as if he were enjoying it himself. So nodoubt he was. Certainly this evening; though Mrs. Starling did notspeak many words, and Diana spoke none. So supper was finished, and themistress and her guest moved their chairs to the fire, while Dianabusied herself in putting up the things, going in and out from thepantry. 

"You'll have to keep me to-night, Mrs. Starling, " said the minister. 

"I knew that when I saw you come in, " responded the lady, not overgraciously. 

"I am not going to receive hospitality under false pretences, though, "said the minister. "If I rob, I won't steal. Mrs. Starling, Diana and Ihave come to an agreement. "

"I knew that too, " returned the lady defiantly. 

"According to which agreement, " pursued the other, without change of ahair, "I am coming again, some other time, to take her away, out ofyour care into mine. "

"There go two words to that bargain, " said Mrs. Starling after ahalf-minute's pause. 

"Two words have been spoken; mine and hers. Now we want yours. "

"Diana's got to take care of me. "

"Does that mean that she is never to marry?"

"It don't mean anything ridiculous, " said Mrs. Starling; "so it don'tmean that. "

"I should not like to say anything ridiculous. Then, if she may marry, it only remains that she and you should be suited. Do you object to meas a son-in-law?"

It is impossible to convey the impression of the manner, winning, halfhumourous, half dry, supremely careless and confident, in which allthis was said on the minister's part. It was something almostimpossible at the moment to withstand, and it fidgetted Mrs. Starlingto be under the power of it. Her grudge against the minister was evenincreased by it, and yet she could not give vent to the feeling. 

"I'm not called upon to make objections against you in any way, " sheanswered rather vaguely. 

"That means, of course, that you have no objections to make?"

"I don't make any, " said Mrs. Starling shortly. 

"I must be content with that, " said Mr. Masters, smiling. "Diana, yourmother makes no objections. " And rising, he went and gravely kissed her. 

I do not know what tied Mrs. Starling's tongue. She sat before the firewith her hands in her lap, in an inward fury of dull displeasure; shehad untold objections to this arrangement; and yet, though she knew shemust speak now or never, she could not speak. Whether it were the spellof the minister's manner, which, as I said, worked its charm upon heras it did upon others; whether it were the prick of conscience, warningher that she had interfered once too often already in her daughter'slife affairs; or whether, finally, she had an instinctive sense thatthings were gone too far for her hindering hand, she fumed in secret, and did nothing. She was a woman of sense; she knew that if a man likeMr. Masters loved her daughter, and had got her daughter's good-will, it would be an ill waste of strength on her part to try to break thearrangement. It might be done; but it would not be worth the scandaland the confusion. And she was not sure that it could be done. 

So she sat chewing the cud of her mortification and ire, giving littleheed to what words passed between the others. It had come to this! Shehad schemed, she had put a violent hand upon Diana's fate, to turn ither own way, and now _this_ was the way it had gone! All her wrongdeeds for nothing! She had purposed, as she said, that Diana shouldtake care of her; therefore Diana should not marry any poor and proudyoung officer, nor any officer at all, to carry her away beyond reachand into a sphere beyond and above the sphere of her mother. No, Dianamust marry a rich young farmer; Will Flandin would just do; a man whowould not dislike or be anywise averse to receive such a mother-in-lawinto his house, but reckon it an added advantage. Then her home wouldbe secure, and her continued rule; and ruling was as necessary to Mrs. Starling as eating. She would have a larger house and business tomanage, and withal need not do herself more than she chose; havingDiana, she would be sure of everything else she wanted. Now she hadlost Diana. And only to a poor parson when all was done! Would it havebeen better to let her marry the officer? For Mrs. Starling had ashrewd guess that such would have been the issue of things if she hadlet them alone. Diana could not so have been more out of her power orout of her sphere; for Mrs. Starling had a certain assuredconsciousness that she would not "fit" in the minister's family, andthat, gentle as he was, he would rule his house and his wife himself. She sat brooding, hardly hearing what was said by either of the others:and indeed, the discourse was not very lively; till Mr. Masters roseand bade them good night. And then Mrs. Starling still went on musing. Why had she not interfered at the right moment, to put a stop to thisaffair? She had let the moment go, and the thought vexed her; and hermood was not at all sweetened by the lurking doubt whether she couldhave stopped it if she had tried. Mrs. Starling could not abide to meetwith her match, and sorely hated her match when she found it. What ifshe were to tell Diana of those letters of Evan? But then Diana wouldbe off to the ends of the earth with _him_. Better keep her in thevillage, perhaps. Mrs. Starling grew more and more impatient. 

"Diana, you are a big fool!" she burst out. 

Diana at that moment thought _not_. She did not answer. Both weresitting before the wide fireplace, and Diana had not moved since Mr. Masters left them. 

"What sort of a life do you expect you are going to have?"

"I don't know, mother. "

"You, who might marry the richest man in town!--And live in plenty, andhave just your own way, and everything you want! You _are_ a fool I Doyou know what it means to be a poor minister's wife?"

"I shall know, I suppose. That is, if Mr. Masters is poor. I don't knowwhether he is or not. "

"He is of course! They all are. "

"Well, mother. You have taught me how to keep house on a little. "

"Yes, you and me; that's one thing. It's another thing when you have ashiftless man hanging round, and a dozen children or so, and expectedto be civil to all the world. They always have a house full ofchildren, and they are all shiftless. "

"Who, mother?"

"Poor ministers. "

"Father hadn't--and wasn't. "

"He was as shiftless a man as ever wore shoe-leather; he wasn't a bitof help to a woman. All he cared for was to lose his time in his books;and that's the way this man'll do, and leave you to take the brunt ofeverything. _Your_ time'll go in cookin' and mendin' and washin' up;and you'll have to be at everybody's beck and call at the end o' that. If there's anything _I_ hate, it's to be in the kitchen and parlourboth at the same time. "

Diana was silent. 

"You might have lived like a queen. "

"I don't want to live like a queen. "

"You might have had your own way, Diana. "

"I don't care about having my own way. "

"I wish you would care, then, or had a speck of spirit. What's lifegood for?"

"I wish I knew"--said Diana wearily, as she rose and set back her chair. 

"You never will know, in that man's house. I do think, ministers arethe meanest lot o' folks there is; and that you should go and take oneof them!"--

"It is the other way, mother; he has taken me, " said Diana, halflaughing at what seemed to her the disproportion between her mother'spassion and the occasion for it. 

"You were a fool to let him. "

"I don't think so. "

"You'll be sorry yet. "

"Why?"

"They're a shiftless lot, " said Mrs. Starling rather evasively, "thewhole of 'em. And this one has a way of holding his own in other folks'houses, that is intolerable to me! I never liked him, not from the veryfirst. "

"I always liked him, " said Diana simply; and she went off to her room. She had not expected that her mother would favour the arrangement; onthe contrary; and it had all been settled much more easily than she hadlooked for. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

UNSETTLED. 

So things were settled, and Mrs. Starling made no attempt to unsettlethem; on the other hand, she fell into a condition of permanent unrestwhich I do not know how to characterize. It was not ill-humour exactly;it was not displeasure; or if, it was displeasure at herself, but itwas contrary to all Mrs. Starling's principles to admit that, and shenever admitted it. Her farm servant, Josh, described her as beingalways now in an "aggravated" state; and Diana found her society veryuncomfortable. There was never a word spoken pleasantly, by any chance, about anything; good was not commended, and ill was not deplored; butboth, good and ill, were taken up in the same sharp, acrid, cynicaltone, or treated with the like restless mockery. Mrs. Starling found nofault with Diana, other than by this bitter manner of handling everysubject that came up; at the same time she made the little house wherethey lived together a place of thunderous atmosphere, where it wasimpossible to draw breath freely and peacefully. They were very muchshut up to one another, too. That Sunday storm in December had beenfollowed by successive falls of snow, so deep that the ways wereencumbered, and travelling more difficult than usual in Pleasant Valleyeven in winter. There was very little getting about between theneighbours' houses; and the people let their social qualities wait forspring and summer to develope themselves. Diana and her mother scarcelysaw anybody. Nick Boddington at rare intervals looked in. Joe Bartlettonce or twice came with a message from his mother; once Diana had gonedown to see her. Even Mr. Masters made his appearance at the littlebrown farm-house less frequently than might have been supposed; for, intruth, Mrs. Starling's presence made his visits rather unsatisfactory;and besides the two kitchen fires, there was none other in the house towhich Diana and he could withdraw and see each other alone. So he cameonly now and then, and generally did not stay very long. 

To Diana, all this while, the coming or the going, the solitude or thecompany, even the good or ill humours of her mother, seemed to be oflittle importance. She lived her own shut-up, deadened, secret lifethrough it all, and had no nerves of sensation near enough to thesurface to be affected much by what went on outside of her. What thoughher mother was all the while in a rasped sort of state? it could notrasp Diana; she seemed to wear a coat of mail. Neighbours? noneighbours were anything to her one way or another; if she could besaid to like anything, it was to be quite alone and see and hearnobody. Her marriage she looked at in the same dull way; with athought, so far as she gave it a thought, that in the minister's househer life would be more quiet, and peace and good-will would replace theeager disquiet around her which, without minding it, Diana yetperceived. More quiet and better, she hoped her life would be; her lifeand herself; she thought the minister was getting a bad bargain of it, but since it was his pleasure, she thought it was a good thing for her;every time she met the gentle kind eyes and felt the warm clasp of hishand, Diana repeated the assurance to herself. The girl had sunk againinto mental torpor; she did not see nor hear nor feel; she lived alonga mechanical sort of life, having relapsed into her former stunnedcondition. Not crushed--there was too much of Diana's nature for oneblow or perhaps many blows to effect that; not beaten down, like someother characters; she went on her way upright, alert, and strong, doingand expecting to do the work of life to its utmost measure; all thesame, walking as a ghost might walk through the scenes of his formerexistence; with no longer any natural conditions to put her at one withthem, and only conscious of her dead heart. This state of things hadgiven way in the fall to a few months of incessant and very live pain;with her betrothal to the minister Diana had sunk again into thedulness of apathy. But with a constitution mental and physical likehers, so full of sound life-blood, so true and strong, in the nature ofthings this state of apathetic sleep could not last for ever. And thetime of final waking came. 

The winter had dragged its length away. Spring had come, with itsrenewal of all the farm and household activities. Diana stood up to herwork and did it, day by day, with faultless accuracy, with blamelessdiligence. She was too useful a helper not to be missed unwillinglyfrom any household that had once known her; and Mrs. Starling's temperdid not improve. It had been arranged that Diana's marriage should takeplace about the first of June. Spring work over, and summer going onits orderly way, she could be easiest spared then, she thought; andMrs. Starling, seeing it must be, made no particular objection. Beyondthe time, nothing had been talked of yet concerning the occasion. So itwas a hitherto untouched question, when Mrs. Starling asked herdaughter one day, --"What sort of a wedding are you calculatin' to have?"

"What sort of a wedding? I don't know, " said Diana. "What do you meanby a wedding?"

"The thing is, what _you_ mean by it. Don't be a baby, Diana Starling!Do you mean to ask your friends to see you married?"

"I don't want anybody, I am sure, " said Diana. "And I am sure Mr. Masters does not care. "

"Are you going to be married in a black gown?"

"Black! No; but I do not care what kind of a gown it is, further thanthat. "

"I don't think you care much about the whole thing, " said Mrs. Starling, looking at her. "If I was you, I wouldn't be married just toplease somebody else, without it pleased myself too. That's what _I_think. "

Poor Diana thought of Mr. Masters' face as she had seen it the lasttime; and it seemed to her good to give somebody else pleasure, even ifpleasure were gone and out of the question for her. This view of thequestion, naturally, she did not make public. 

"What _are_ you going to marry this man for?" said Mrs. Starling, standing straight up (she had been bending over some work) and lookinghard at her daughter. 

"I hope he'll make a good woman of me, " Diana said soberly. 

"If you had a little more spunk, you might make a good man of him; butyou aren't the woman to do it. He wants his pride taken down a bit. "

"But what about the day, mother?" said Diana, who preferred not todiscuss this subject. 

"Well, if you haven't thought of it, I have; and I'm going to ask allthe folks there are; and we've got to make a spread for 'em, DianaStarling, so we may as well be about it. "

"Already!" said Diana. "It's weeks yet. "

"They'll run away, you'll find; and the cake'll be better for keepin'. You may go about stonin' the fruit as soon as you're a mind to. "

Diana said no more, but stoned her raisins and picked over her currantsand sliced her citron, with the same apathetic want of realizationwhich lately she had brought to everything. It might have been cake foranybody else's wedding that she was getting ready, so little did herfingers recognise the relation of the things with herself. The cake wasmade and baked and iced and ornamented. And then Mrs. Starling'sactivities went on to other items of preparation. Seeing Diana would bemarried, she meant it should be done in a way the country-side wouldnot forget; neither should Mrs. Flandin make mental comparisons, pityingly, of the wedding that was, with the wedding that would havebeen with her son for the bridegroom. Baking and boiling and roastingand jellying went on in quantity, for Mrs. Starling was a great cook, and could do things in style when she chose. The house was put inorder; fresh curtains hung up, and the handsomest linen laid out, andgreens and flowers employed to cover and deck the severely plain wallsand furniture. One thing more Mrs. Starling wished for which she wasnot likely to have, the presence of one of the Elmfield family on theoccasion. She would have liked some one of them to be there, in orderthat sure news of the whole might go to Evan and beyond possibility ofdoubt; for a lurking fear of his sudden appearing some time had longhidden in Mrs. Starling's mind. I do not know what she feared in such acase. Of the two, Evan was hardly more distasteful to her as ason-in-law than the minister was; though it is true that her action inthe matter of burning the letters had made her hate the man she hadinjured. This feeling was counterbalanced, I confess, by anotherfeeling of the delight it would be to see Mr. Masters nonplussed; buton the whole, she preferred that Evan should keep at a distance. 

All the work and confusion of these last few weeks claimed Diana's fulltime and strength, as well as her mother's; she had scarcely a minuteto think; and that was one reason, no doubt, why she went through themwith such unchanged composure. They were all behind her at last. Everything was in order and readiness, down to the smallest particular;and it was with a dull sense of this that Diana went up to her room thelast night before her wedding day. It was all done, and the time wasall gone. 

She went in slowly, went to the window, opened it and sat down beforeit. June had come again; one day of June was passed, and to-morrowwould be the second. Through the bustle of May, Diana had hardly givena look to the weather or a thought to the time of year; it greeted hernow at her window like a dear old friend that she had been forgetting. The moon, about an hour high, gave a gentle illumination through thedewy air, revealing plainly enough the level meadows, and the hillswhich made their distant bordering. The scent of roses and honeysuckleswas abroad; just under Diana's window there was a honeysuckle vine infull blossom, and the rich, peculiar fragrance came in heavily-ladenpuffs of air; the softest of breezes brought them, stirring the littleleaves lazily, and just touched Diana's face, sweet and tender, reminding, caressing. Reminding of what? For it began to stir vaguelyand uneasily in Diana's heart. Things not thought of before put in aclaim to be looked at. This her home and sanctuary for so many years, it was to be hers no longer. This was the last night at her window, byher honeysuckle vine. She would not have another evening the enjoymentof her wonted favourite view over the fields and hills; she had donewith all that. Other scenes, another home, would claim her; and thenslowly rose the thought that her freedom was gone; this was the lasttime she would belong to herself. Oddly enough, nothing of all this hadcome under consideration before. Diana had been stunned; she hadbelieved for a long time that she was dead, mentally; she had been, asit were, in a slumber, partly of hopelessness, partly of preoccupation;now the time of waking had come; and the hidden life in her stirred androse and shivered with the consciousness that it _was_ alive and in itsfull strength, and what it meant for it to be alive now. As I said, Diana's nature was too sound and well-balanced and strong for anythingto crush it, or even any part of it; and now she knew that the nervesof feeling she thought Evan had killed for ever, were all astir andquivering, and would never be fooled into slumbering again. I cannottell how all this dawned and broke to her consciousness. She had satdown at her window a calm, weary-hearted girl, placid, and with even adull sort of content upon her; so she had sat and dreamed awhile; andthen June and moonlight, and her honeysuckle, and the roses, and thememory of her free childish days, and the image of her lost lover, andthe thought of where she was standing, by degrees--how gently they didit, too--roused her and pricked her up to the consciousness of what shegoing to do. What was she going to do? Marry a man who had no realplace in her heart. She had thought it did not matter; she had thoughtshe was dead; now all at once she knew that she was alive in everyfibre, and that it mattered fearfully. The idea of Mr. Masters stungher, not as novel-writers say "almost to madness, "--for there was nosuch irregularity in Diana's round, sound, healthy nature, --but to painthat seemed unbearable. No confusion in her brain, and no dulness now;on the contrary, an intense consciousness of all that her positioninvolved. She had made a mistake, like many another; unlike many, shehad found it out early. She was going to marry a man to whom she had nolove to give; and she knew now that the life she must thenceforth leadwould be daily torture. Almost the worse because she had for Mr. Masters so deep a respect and so true an appreciation. And he lovedher; of that there was no question; the whole affection of the best manshe had ever known was bestowed upon her, and in his hopes he sawdoubtless a future when she would have learnt to return his love. "AndI never shall, " thought Diana. "Never, as long as I live. I wonder if Ishall get to hate him because I am obliged to live with him? All theheart I have is Evan's, and will be Evan's; it don't make anydifference that he was not worthy of me, as I suppose he wasn't; I havegiven, and I cannot take back. And now I must live with this otherman!"--Diana shuddered already. 

She shed no tears. Happy are they whose grief can flow; part of theoppression, at least, flows off with tears, if not part of the pain. Eyes wide open, staring out into the moonlight; a rigid face, fromwhich the colour gradually ebbed and ebbed away, more and more; soDiana kept the watch of her bridal eve. As the moon got higher, and theworld lay clearer revealed under its light, shadows grew more defined, and objects more recognisable, it seemed as if in due proportion thelife before Diana's mental vision opened and displayed itself, plainerand clearer; as she saw one, she saw the other. If Diana had been awoman of the world, her strength of character would have availed to dowhat many a woman of the world has not the force for; she would havedrawn back at the last minute and declined to fulfil her engagement. But in the sphere of Diana's experience, such a thing was unheard of. All the proprieties, all the conditions of the social life that wasknown to her, forbade even the thought; and the thought never came toher. She felt just as much bound, that is, as irrecoverably, as shewould be twenty-four hours later. But she was like a caged wild animal. The view of the sweet moonlit country became unbearable at last, andshe walked up and down her floor; she had a vague idea of tiringherself so that she could sleep. She did get tired of walking, but nosleep came; and at last she sat down again before her window to watchanother change that was coming over the landscape. The moon was down, and a cool grey light, very unlike her soft glamour, was stealing intothe sky and upon the world. Yes, the day was coming; the clear light ofa matter-of-fact, work-a-day creation. It was coming, and she must meetit, and march on in the procession of life, which would leave no oneout. If she could go alone! But she must walk by another's side now. And to that other, the light of this grey dawn, if he saw it, broughtonly thoughts of joy. Could she help his being disappointed? Would shebe able to help his finding out what a dreadful mistake he had made, and she? "I _must_, " thought Diana, and set her teeth mentally; "hemust not know how I feel; he does not deserve that. He deserves nothingbut good, of me or of anybody. I will give him all I can, and he shallnot know how I do it. "

With a recoil in every fibre of her nature, Diana turned to take up herlife burden. She felt as if she had had none till now. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

NEW LIFE. 

The first week of Diana's marriage was always a blank in her memory. The one continual, intense strain of effort to hide from her husbandwhat she was thinking and feeling swallowed up everything else. Mr. Masters had procured a comfortable little light rockaway, and avoidingall public thoroughfares and conveyances, had driven off with Dianaamong the leafy wildernesses of the White Mountains; going where theyliked and stopping where they liked. It was more endurable to Dianathan any other way of spending those days could have been; the constantchange and activity, and the variety of new things always claimingattention and admiration, gave her all the help circumstances couldgive. They offered abundance of subjects for Mr. Masters to talk about;and Diana could listen, and with a word or two now and then get alongquite passably. But of all the beauty they went through, of all theglory of those June days, of all the hours of conversation that wenton, Diana kept in her memory but the one fact of continual striving tohinder Mr. Masters from seeing her heart. She supposed she succeeded;she never could tell. For one other thing forced itself upon herconsciousness as the days went on--a growing appreciation of this manwhom she did not love. His gentleness of manner, his tender care andconsideration for her, the even sweetness of temper which nothingdisturbed and which would let nothing disturb her, playing withinconveniences which he could not remove; and then, beneath all that, astrength of character and steady force of will which commanded herutmost respect and drew forth her fullest confidence. It hurt Diana'sconscience terribly that she had given this man a wife who, as she saidto herself, was utterly unworthy of him; to make this loss good, so faras any possible service or life-work could, she would have doneanything or submitted to anything. It was the one wish left her. 

"What do you think of going home?" Mr. Masters asked suddenly oneevening. They had come back from a glorious ramble over the nearestmountain, and were sitting after supper in front of the smallfarm-house where they had found lodging, looking out upon the view. Twilight was settling down upon the green hills. Diana started andrepeated his word. 

"Home?"

"Yes. I mean Pleasant Valley, " said the minister, smiling. "Not thehouse where I first saw you. There are one or two sick people, fromwhom I do not feel that I can be long away. "

"You always think of other people first!" said Diana, almost with asigh. 

"So do you. "

"No, I do not. I do not think I do. It seems to me I have alwaysthought most of myself. "

"You can begin now, then, to do better. "

"In thinking of you first, you mean? O yes, I do. I will. But you thinkof people you do not care for. "

"No, I don't. Never. You cannot think of people you do not care for, inthe way you mean. They will not come into your head. "

"How can one do then, Basil? How do _you_ do?"

"Obviously, the only way is to care for them. "

"Who is sick in Pleasant Valley?"

"Nobody you know. One is an old man who lives back on the mountain; theother is a woman near Blackberry hill. "

"Blackberry hill? do you go _there?_"

"Now and then. "

"But those are dreadful people there. "

"Well, " said the minister, "they want help so much the more. "

"Help to live, do you mean? They do stealing enough for that. "

"Nobody _lives_ by stealing, " said the minister. "It is one of the waysof death; and help to live is just what they want. But 'how shall theybelieve on him of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hearwithout a preacher'?"

"And do you _preach_ to them in that place?"

"I try. "

"But there is no church there?"

"When you have got anything to do, " said the minister, with a dry sortof humourousness which belonged to him, "it is best not be stopped bytrifles. "

"Where do you preach, then, Basil?"

"Wherever I can find a man or a woman to listen to me. "

"In the houses?" exclaimed Diana. 

"Why not?"

"Well, we never had a minister in Pleasant Valley like you before. "

"Didn't you?"

"I don't believe anybody ever went to those people to preach to them, until you went. "

"They had a good deal of that appearance, " Mr. Masters assented. 

"But, " Diana began again after a short pause, "to go back; Basil, youdo not _care_ for those people?"

"I think I do, " said the minister very quietly. 

"I suppose you do!" said Diana, in a sort of admiration. "But how canyou?"

"Easy to tell, " was the answer. "God made them, and God loves them; Ilove all that my Father loves. And Christ died for them; and I seek thelost whom my Master came to save. And there is not one of them but hasin him the possibility of glory; and I see that possibility, and when Isee it, Diana, it seems to me a small thing to give my life, if needbe, that it may be realized. "

"I am not good enough to be your wife!" said Diana, sinking her head. And her secret self-abasement was very deep. 

"Does that mean, that you object to the cutting short of our holiday?"the minister asked, in his former tone of dry humourous suggestion. 

"I?" said Diana, looking up and meeting his eyes. "No, certainly. I amready for whatever you wish, and whenever you wish. "

"I don't wish it at all, " said the minister, giving a somewhat longinglook at the green wilderness before them, of which the lovely hillyoutlines were all that the gathering twilight left distinct. "But thething is, Di, I cannot play when I ought to be working. "

It made little difference to Diana. Indeed, she had a hope that in hernew home she would find, as she always had found in her old home, engrossing duties that would make her part easier to get through, andin some measure put a check to the rush of thought and feeling. So withher full consent the very next day they set out upon their journeyhome. It was not a great journey, indeed; a long day's drive would doit; their horse was fresh, and they had time for a comfortable rest anddinner at mid-day. The afternoon was very fair, and as they began toget among the hills overlooking Pleasant Valley, something in air orlight reminded Diana of the time, two years ago, when she had gone upthe brook with Evan. She began to talk to get rid of her thoughts. 

"What a nice, comfortable little carriage this is, Basil! Where did itcome from?"

"From Boston. "

"From Boston! I thought there was nothing like it in Pleasant Valley, that ever I saw. But how did you get it from Boston?"

"Where's the difficulty?" said the minister, sitting at ease sidewayson the front seat and looking in at her. He had put Diana on the backseat, that she might take a more resting position than there was roomfor beside him. 

"Why, it's so far. "

"Railway comes to Manchester. I received it there, and that is only tenmiles. I rode Saladin over a few days ago, and drove him back. I hadordered the set of harness sent with the rockaway. Ecco!"

"Echo?" said Diana. "Where?"

"A very sweet echo, " said the minister, smiling. "Didn't you hear it?"

"No. But Basil, do you mean that this carriage is yours?"

"No; it is yours. "

"Mine! then you have bought it! Didn't it cost a great deal?"

"I thought not. If you like it, certainly not. "

"O, Basil, you are very good!" said Diana humbly. "But indeed I do notwant you to go to any expense, ever, for me. "

"I am not a poor man, Diana. "

"Aren't you? I thought you were. "

"What right had you to think anything about it?"

"I thought ministers were always poor. "

"I am an exception, then. "

"And--Basil--you never acted like a rich man. "

"I am not going to, Di. Do you want to act like a rich woman?"

Spite of her desperate downheartedness, Diana could not help laughing alittle at his manner. 

"I do not wish anything different from you, " she answered. 

"It is best for every reason, if you would use money to advantage in aplace like this, not to make a show of it. And in other places, if youwould use it to advantage, you _cannot_ make a show of it. So it comesto the same thing. But short of that, Di, we can do what we like. "

"I know what you like, "--she said. 

"I shall find out what you like. In the first place, where do you thinkyou are going?"

"Where? I never thought about it. I suppose to Mrs. Persimmon's. "

"I don't think you would like that. The place was not exactly pleasant;and the house accommodations did very well for me, but would not havebeen comfortable for you. So I have set up housekeeping in anotherlocality. Do you know where a woman named Cophetua lives?"

"I never heard of her. "

"Out of your beat. She lives a little off the road to the BlackberryHill. I have taken her house, and put a woman in it to do whatever youwant done. "

"I? But we never kept help, since I can remember, Basil; not househelp. "

"Well? That proves nothing. "

"But I don't need anybody--I can do all that we want. "

"You will find enough to do. "

Mr. Masters quickened the pace of his horse, and Diana sat back in thecarriage, half dismayed. She longed to lose herself in work, and shewished for nothing less than eyes to watch her. 

It was almost evening when they got home. The place was, as Mr. Mastershad said, out of what had been Diana's way hitherto; in a part ofPleasant Valley which was at one side of the high road. The situationwas very pretty, overlooking a wide sweep of the valley bottom, withits rich cultivation and its encircling border of green wooded hills. As to the house, it was not distinguished in any way beyond itscompeers. It was rather low; it was as brown as Mrs. Starling's house;it had no giant elms to hang over it and veil its uncomelinesses. Butjust behind it rose a green hill; the house, indeed, stood on the lowerslope of the hill, which fell off more gently towards the bottom;behind the house it lifted up a very steep, rocky wall, yet not sosteep but that it was grown with beautiful forest trees. Set offagainst its background of wood and hill, the house looked rather cosy. It had been put in nice order, and even the little plot of ground infront had been cleared of thistles and hollyhocks, which had held adivided reign, and trimmed into neatness, though there had not beentime yet for grass or flowers to grow. 

Within the house about this time, at one of the two lower frontwindows, a little woman stood looking out and speculating on theextreme solitariness of the situation. She had nobody to communicateher sentiments to, or she could have been eloquent on the subject. Thegolden glow and shimmer of the setting sun all over the wide landscape, it may be said with truth, she did not see; to her it was nothing but"sunshine, " a natural and necessary accessory of the sun's presence, when clouds did not happen to come over the sky. I think she really sawnothing but the extreme emptiness of the picture before her; just thatone fact, that there was nothing to see. Therefore it was on variousaccounts an event when the rockaway hove in sight, and the grey horsestopped before the gate. It did not occur to Miss Collins then to goout to the carriage to receive bundles or baskets or render helpgenerally; she had got something to look at, and she looked. Only whenthe minister, having tied Saladin's head, came leading the way throughthe little courtyard to the front door, did it occur to his "help" toopen the same. There she stood, smiling the blankest of smiles, whichmade Diana want to get rid of her on the instant. 

"Well, of all things!" was her salutation uttered in a high key. "If itain't you! I never was so beat. Why, I didn't look for ye this longspell yet. "

"Won't you let us come in, Miss Collins, seeing we are here?"

"La! I'm glad to see ye, fust-rate, " was the answer as she steppedback; and stepping further back as Mr. Masters advanced, at last shepushed open the door of her kitchen, which was the front room on thatside, and backed in, followed by the minister and, at a littleinterval, by his wife. Miss Collins went on talking. "How do, Mis'Masters? I speck I can't be under no mistake as to the personality, though I hain't had the pleasure o' a introduction. But I thoughthoneymoon folks allays make it last as long as they could?" she wenton, turning her eyes from Diana to the minister again; "and you hain'tbeen no time at all. "

"What have you got in the house, Miss Collins? anything for supper? Iam hungry, " said the latter. 

"Wall--happiness makes some folks hungry, --and some, they say, it feeds'em, " Miss Collins returned. "Folks is so unlike! But if you're hungry, Mr. Masters, you'll have to have sun'thin. "

Leaving her to prepare it, with a laughing twinkle in his eye theminister led Diana out of that room and along a short passage toanother door. The passage was very narrow, the ceiling was low, thewalls whitewashed, the wainscotting blue; and yet the room which theyentered, though sharing in all the items of this description, washomely and comfortable. It was furnished in a way that made it seemelegant to Diana. A warm-coloured dark carpet on the floor, two orthree easy-chairs, a wide lounge covered with chintz, and chintzcurtains at the windows. On the walls here and there single shelves ofdark wood put up for books, and filled with them; a pretty lamp on thelittle leaf table, and a wide fireplace with bright brass andirons. Thewindows looked out upon the wooded mountain-side. Diana uttered anexclamation of surprise and admiration. 

"This is your room, Di, " said the minister. "The kitchen has the view:I did think of changing about and making the kitchen here: but theother room has so long been used in that way, I was afraid it would bea bad exchange. However, we will do it yet, if you like. "

"Change? why, this room is beautiful!" cried Diana. 

"Looks out into the hill. "

"O, I like that. "

"Don't make it a principle to like everything I do, " said he, smiling. 

"But I _do_ like it, Basil; I like it better than the other side, " saidDiana. "I just love the trees and the rocks. And you can hear the birdssing. And the room is most beautiful. "

Mr. Masters had opened the windows, and there came in a spicy breathfrom the woods, together with the wild warble of a wood-thrush. It wasso wild and sweet, they both were still to listen. The notes almostbroke Diana's heart, but she would not show that. 

"What do you think that bird is saying?" she asked. 

"I don't know what it may be to _his_ mind; I know what it to mine. Pray, what does it say to yours?"

"It is too plaintive for the bird to know what it means, " said Diana. 

"Probably. I have no doubt the ancients were right when they feltcertain animals to be types of good and others of evil. I think it istrue, in detail and variety. I have the same feeling. And in likemanner, carrying out the principle, I hear one bird say one thing andanother another, in their countless varieties of song. "

"Did the ancients think that?"

"Don't you remember the distinction between clean beasts and unclean?"

"I thought that was ordered. "

"It was ordered to be observed. The distinction was felt before. "

They were again silent a moment, while the thrush's song filled the airwith liquid rejoicing. 

"That bird, " said Diana slowly, "sings as if he had got somewhere aboveall the sins and troubles and fights of life; I mean, as if he were ahuman being who had got there. "

"That will do, " said the minister. 

"But that's impossible; so why should he sing it?"

"Take it the other way, " said the minister, smiling. 

"You mean"--said Diana, looking up, for she had sat down before theopen window, and he stood by her side;--"you mean, he would not sing afalse note?"

"Nor God make a promise he would not fulfil. Come up-stairs. "

"But, Basil!--how could the bird's song be a promise from God?"

"Think;--he gave the song, Diana. As has been said of visible things innature, so it may be said of audible things, --every one of them is _theexpression of a thought of God_. "

He did not wait for an answer, and Diana's mind was too full to giveone. Up-stairs they went. The room over Diana's was arranged to be Mr. Masters' study; the other, above the kitchen, looked out upon aglorious view of the rich valley and its encompassing hills; both wereexceedingly neat and pretty in their furniture and arrangements, in allof which Diana's comfort had been sedulously cared for. Her husbandshowed her the closet for her boxes, and opened the huge press preparedfor her clothes; and taking off her bonnet, welcomed her tenderly home. But it seemed to Diana as if everything stifled her, and she would haveliked to flee to the hills, like the wild creatures that had their homethere. Her outward demeanour, for all that, was dignified and sweet. Whatever she felt, she would not give pain. 

"You are too good to me, " she murmured. "I will be as good as I can, Basil, to you. "

"I know it, " said he. 

"And I think I had better begin, " she presently added more lightly, "bygoing down and seeing how Miss Collins and supper are getting on. "

"I daresay they will get on to some sort of consummation. "

"It will be a better consummation, if you let me go. "

Perhaps he divined something of her feeling, for he made no objection, and Diana escaped; with a sense that her only refuge was in action. Todo something, no matter what, and stop thinking. Yet, when she wentdown-stairs, she went first to the back room and to the open window, tosee if she could catch the note of the thrush once more. It came to herlike a voice from the other world. He was still singing; somewhere upamid the cool shades of the hemlocks and oaks on the hill, from out thedusky twilight of their tops; sending his tremulous trills of triumphdown the hillside, he was undoubtedly having a good time. Dianalistened a minute, and then went to the kitchen. Miss Collins wasstanding in front of the fire contemplating it, or the kettle she hadhung over it. 

"Where is Mr. Masters' supper?" Diana began. 

"Don't you take none?" was the rejoinder. 

"I mean, what can we have?"

"You can have all there is. And there ain't nothin' in the house butwhat's no 'count. If I'd ha' knowed--honeymoon folks wants sun'thin'tip-top, been livin' on the fat o' the land, I expect; and now ye'recome home to pork; and that's the hull on't. "

"Pork will do, " said Diana, "if it is good. Have you no ham?"

"Lots. That's pork, ain't it?"

"Eggs?"

"Yes, there's eggs. "

"Potatoes?"

"La, I didn't expect ye'd want potatoes at this time o' day. "

Diana informed herself of the places of things, and set herself andMiss Collins vigorously to work. The handmaid looked on somewhatungraciously at the quiet, competent energy of her superior, the smileon her broad mouth gradually fading. 

"Reckon you don't know me, " she remarked presently. 

"Yes, I do, " said Diana; "you are Jemima Collins, that used to live atthe post office. How came you here?"

"Wall, there's nothin' but changes in the world, I expect; that's _my_life. Mis' Reems, to the post office, had her mother come home to livewith her; owin' to her father gettin' his arm took off in some'chinery, which was the death o' him; so the mother come home to herdaughter, and then they made it out as they two was equal to all therewas to do; and I don't say they warn't; but that was reason enough whythey didn't want me no longer. And then I stayed with Miss Gunn aspell, helpin' her get her house cleaned; and then the minister madeout as he wanted a real 'sponsible person for to take care o' _his_house, and Miss Gunn she told him what she knowed about me; and so Imoved in. La, it's a change from the post office! It was sort o' livelythere; allays comin' and goin', and lots o' news. "

Diana made no answer. The very mention of the post office gave her asort of pang; about that spot her hopes had hovered for so long, andwith such bitter disillusionising. She sent Miss Collins to set thetable in the other room, and presently, having finished her cookery, followed with it herself. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

SUPPER AT HOME. 

The windows were open still, and the dusky air without was full of coolfreshness. In the wide fireplace the minister had kindled a fire; andin a little blue teapot he was just making the tea; the kettle stood onthe hearth. It was as pretty and cheerful a home view as any bride needwish to see for the first evening in her new house. Diana knew it, andtook the effect, which possibly was only heightened by theconsciousness that she wished herself five hundred miles away. What thepicture was to her husband she had no idea, nor that the crowningfeature of it was her own beautiful, sweet presence. Miss Collinsbrought in the prepared dishes, and left the two alone. 

"I see I have fallen into new hands, " the minister remarked presently. "Mrs. Persimmon never cooked these eggs. "

"You must have been tired of living in that way, I should think. "

"No, --I never get tired of anything. "

"Not of bad things?"

"No. I get rid of them. "

"But how can you?"

"Different ways. "

"Can you do everything you want to, Basil?" his wife asked, with anincredulous sort of admiration. 

"I'll do everything you want me to do. "

"You have already, --and more, " she said with a sigh. 

"How will your helpmeet in the other room answer the purpose?"

"I have never been used to have anybody, you know, Basil; and I do notneed any one. I can do all easily myself. "

"I know you can. I do not wish you should. "

"Then what will you give me to do?"

"Plenty. "

"I don't care what--if I can only be busy. I cannot bear to be idle. What shall I do, Basil?"

"Is there nothing you would like to study, that you have never had achance to learn?"

"Learn?" said Diana, a whole vista of possible new activities openingall at once before her mind's eye;--"O yes! I would like to learn--tostudy. What, Basil?"

"What would you like to take hold of?"

"I would like--Latin. "

"Latin!" cried the minister. "That's an excellent choice. Greek too?"

"I would like to learn Greek, very much. But I suppose I must beginwith one at once. "

"How about modern languages?"

"You know, " said Diana shyly, --"I can have no teacher but you. "

"And you stand in doubt as to my qualifications? Prudent!"

"I will learn anything you like to teach me, " said Diana; and her lookwas both very sweet and very humble; withal had something of an anxiousstrain in it. 

"Then there's another thing; don't you want to help me?"

"How?"

"In my work. "

"How can I?"

"I don't believe you know what my work is, " said the minister dryly. "Do you, now?"

"I thought I did, " said Diana. 

"Preaching sermons, to wit!" said the minister. "But that is only oneitem. My business is to work in my Master's vineyard. "

"Yes, and I thought that was how you did it. "

"But a man may preach many sermons, and do never a bit of work, --of thesort I mentioned. "

"What is the sort, then, Basil?"

"I'll show you when we get away from the table. It is time you knew. "

So, when the supper tray and Miss Collins were gone, the minister tookhis Bible and made Diana sit down beside him where they could both lookover it. 

"Your notion of a minister is, that he is a sort of machine to makesermons?"

"I never thought you were a _machine_, of any sort, " said Diana gently. 

"No, of course not; but you thought that was my special business, didn't you? Now look here. --'Son of man, I have made thee a watchmanunto the house of Israel: therefore hear the word at my mouth and givethem warning from me. '"

"A watchman"--Diana repeated. 

"It is a responsible post, too, for see over here, --'If the watchmansee the sword come, and blow not the trumpet, and the people be notwarned; if the sword come, and take any person from among them, he istaken away in his iniquity; _but his blood will I require at thewatchman's hand_. '"

"Do you mean, Basil"--

"Yes, I mean all that. You can understand now what was in Paul's mind, and what a great word it was, when he said to the Ephesian elders, 'Itake you to record this day, that I am pure from the blood of all men. 'He had done his whole duty in that place!"

"I never felt that old Mr. Hardenburgh warned us against anything, "Diana remarked. 

"Did I?"

"You began to make me uncomfortable almost as soon as you came. "

"That's good, " said the minister quietly. "Now see these words, Diana, --'Go ye into all the world, and tell the good news toeverybody. '"

"'Preach the gospel'"--said Diana. 

"That is simply, telling the good news. "

"Is it?"

"Certainly. "

"But, Basil, it never seemed so. "

"There was a reason for that. 'As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so isgood news from a far country. ' You were not thirsty, that is all. "

"Basil, " said Diana, almost tremulously, "I think I am now. "

"Well, " said her husband tenderly, "you know who could say, and didsay, 'If any man thirst, let him come unto ME and drink. ' 'I am thebread of life; he that cometh to me shall never hunger, and he thatbelieveth on me shall never thirst. '"

That bringing together of need and supply, while yet Need does not seehow it is to stretch out its hand to take the supply--how sharp and howpitiful it makes the sense of longing! Diana drooped her head till ittouched Basil's arm; it seemed to her that her heart would fairly break. 

"But that doesn't mean"--she said, bringing out her words withhesitation and difficulty, --"that does not mean hunger of every sort?"

"Yes. "

"Of earthly sorts, Basil? how can it? people's desires for so manythings?"

"Is there any limit or qualification to the promise?"

"N-o; not there. "

"Is there anywhere else?"

Diana was silent. 

"There is none anywhere, except the limit put by the faith of theapplicant. I have known a person starving to death, relieved for thetime even from the pangs of bodily hunger by the food which Christ gaveher. There is no condition of human extremity for which he is notsufficient. "

"But, " said Diana, still speaking with difficulty, "that is for somepeople. "

"For some people--and for everybody else. "

"But--he would not like to have anybody go to him just for such areason. "

"He will never ask _why_ you came, if you come. He was in this world torelieve misery, and to save from it. 'Him that cometh to me I will inno wise cast out, ' is his own word. He will help you if you will lethim, Diana. "

Diana's head pressed more heavily against Basil's arm; the temptationwas to break out into wild weeping at this contact of sympathy, but shewould not. Did her husband guess how much she was in want of help? Thatthought half frightened her. Presently she raised her head and sat up. 

"Here is another verse, " said her husband, "which tells of a part of mywork. 'Go ye into the highways, and as many as ye shall find, _bid tothe marriage_. '"

"I don't understand"--

"'The kingdom of heaven is like unto a certain king which made amarriage for his son, '--it means rather a wedding entertainment. "

"How, Basil?"

"The Bridegroom is Christ. The bride is the whole company of hisredeemed. The time is by and by, when they shall be all gatheredtogether, all washed from defilement, all dressed in the white robes ofthe king's court which are given them, and delivered from the lastshadow of mortal sorrow and infirmity. Then in glory begins theirperfected, everlasting union with Christ; then the wedding iscelebrated; and the supper signifies the fulness and communion of hisjoy in them and their joy in him. "

Basil's voice was a little subdued as he spoke the last words, and hepaused a few minutes. 

"It is my business to bid people to that supper, " he said then; "and Ibid you, Di. "

"I will go, Basil. "

But the words were low and the tears burst forth, and Diana hurriedaway. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE MINISTER'S WIFE. 

Diana plunged herself now into business. She was quite in earnest inthe promise she had made at the end of the conversation last recorded;but to set about a work is one thing and to carry it through isanother; and Diana did not immediately see light. In the meanwhile, thepressure of the bonds of her new existence was only to be borne byforgetting it in intense occupation. Her husband wanted her to studymany things; for her own sake and for his own sake he wished it, knowing that her education had been exceedingly one-sided andimperfect; he wanted all sources of growth and pleasure to be open toher, and he wanted full communion with his wife in his own life andlife-work. So he took her hands from the frying-pan and the preservingkettle, and put dictionaries and philosophies into them. On her part, besides the negative incitement of losing herself and her troubles inbooks, Diana's mental nature was too sound and rich not to take kindlythe new seeds dropped into the soil. She had gone just far enough inher own private reading and thinking to be all ready to spring forwardin the wider sphere to which she was invited, and in which a hand tookhers to help her along. The consciousness of awakening power, too, andof enlarging the bounds of her world, drew her on. Sometimes in Basil'sstudy, where he had arranged a place for her, sometimes down-stairs inher own little parlour, Diana pored over books and turned the leaves ofdictionaries; and felt her way along the mazes of Latin stateliness, orwondered and thrilled at the beauty of the Greek words of the NewTestament as her husband explained them to her. Or she wrought outproblems; or she wrote abstracts; or she dived into depths ofphilosophical speculation. Then Diana began to learn French, and verysoon was delighting herself in one or other of a fine collection ofFrench classics which filled certain shelves in the library. There was, besides all the motives above mentioned which quickened and stimulatedher zeal for learning, another very subtle underlying cause which hadnot a little to do with her unflagging energy in pursuit of herobjects. Nay, there were two. Diana did earnestly wish to please herhusband, and for his sake to become, so far as cultivation would do it, a fit companion for him. That she knew. But she scarcely knew, howbeneath all that, and mightier than all that, was the impulse to makeherself worthy of the other man whose companion now she would never be. Subtle, as so many of our springs of action are, unrecognised, it droveher with an incessant impulse. To be such a woman as Evan would havebeen proud of; such a one as he would have liked to stand by his sideanywhere; one that he need not have feared to present in any society. Diana strove for it, and that although Evan would never know it, and itdid not in the least concern him. And as she felt from time to timethat she was attaining her end and coming nearer and nearer to what shewished to be, Diana was glad with a secret joy, which was not the loveof knowledge, nor the pride of personal ambition, nor the duty of anaffectionate wife. As I said, she did not recognise it; if she had, Ithink she would have tried to banish it. 

One afternoon she was sitting by her table at the study window, whereshe had been very busy, but was not busy now. The window was open; thewarm summer air came in, and over the hills and the lowland thebrilliance and glow of the evening sunlight was just at its brightest. Diana sat gazing out, while her thoughts went wandering. Suddenly shepulled them up; and her question was rather a departure, thoughstanding in a certain negative connection with them. 

"Basil, I can't make out just what _faith_ is. "

"Cannot you?"

"No. Can you help me? The Bible says, '_believe_, ' '_believe_. ' Ibelieve. I believe everything it tells me, and you tell me; but I havenot faith. "

"How do you know that?"

"If I had, I should be a Christian. "

"And you think you are not?"

"I am sure I am not. "

"Are you willing?"

"I think--I am willing, " Diana answered slowly, looking out into thesunlight. 

"If you are right, then faith must be something more than mere belief. "

"What more is it?" she said eagerly, turning her face towards him now. 

"I think the heart has its part in it as well as the head, and it iswith the heart that the difficulty lies. In true Bible faith, the heartgives its confidence where the intellect has given its assent. '_Withthe heart_ man believeth unto righteousness. ' That is what the Lordwants;--our personal trust in him; unreserved and limitless trust. "

"Trust?" said Diana. "Then why cannot I give it? why don't I?"

"That is the question to be answered. But, Di, the heart cannot yieldthat confident trust, so long as there is any point in dispute betweenit and God; so long as there is any consciousness of holding backsomething from him or refusing something to him. Disobedience and trustcannot go together. It is not the child who is standing out inrebellion who can stretch out his hand for his father's gifts, and knowthat they will be given. "

"Do you think I am rebelling, Basil?"

"I cannot see into your heart, Di. "

"What could I be 'holding back' from God?"

"Unconditional surrender. "

"Surrender of what?"

"Yourself--your will. When you have made that surrender, there will beno difficulty about trusting. There never is. "

Diana turned to the window again, and leaning her head on her hand, satmotionless for a long time. Sunlight left the bottom lands and crept upthe hills and faded out of the sky. Dusk and dews of twilight fell allaround, and the dusk deepened till the stars began to shine out hereand there. Sweet summer scents came in on the dew-freshened air; sweetchirrup of insects made their gentle running commentary on the silence;Miss Collins had long ago caused the little bell with which she waswont to notify her employers that their meals were ready, to sound itstinkling call to supper; but Diana had not heard it, and the ministerwould not disturb her. It was after a very long time of this silencethat she rose, came to the table where he was sitting, and knelt downbeside it. 

"I believe, " she said. "And I _trust_, Basil. "

He took her hand, but said nothing otherwise. He could not see herface, for she had laid it down upon some books, and besides the roomwas very dusky now. But when he expected some further words whichshould tell of relief or joy, to his surprise he felt that Diana wasweeping, and then that her tears had grown into a storm. Most strangefor her, who very rarely let him or anyone see the outbursts of suchfeeling; indeed, even by herself she was very slow to come to theindulgence of tears. It was not her way. Now, before she was aware, they were flowing; and as it is with some natures, if you open thesluice-gates at all, a flood pours forth which makes it impossible toshut them again for a while. And this time I think she forgot thatanybody was by. He was puzzled. Was it joy or sorrow? Hard for herselfto tell, there was so much of both in it. For, with the very firstfinding of a sufficient refuge and help for her trouble, Diana hadbrought her burden to his feet, and there was weeping convulsively;partly from the sense of the burden, partly with the sense of laying itdown, and with the might of that infinite sympathy the apprehension ofwhich was beginning to dawn upon her now for the first time. What is itlike? O, what is it like! It is the "Dayspring from on high. " Basilcould not read all she was feeling and spell it out. But I think he hada sort of instinct of it, and felt that his wife was very far from him, in this her agony of joy and sorrow; for he kept motionless, and hisbroad brow, which never was wrinkled, was very grave. One hand he laidlightly upon Diana's shoulder, as if so to remind her of his presenceand close participation in all that concerned her; otherwise he did notinterrupt her nor make any claim upon her attention. 

Gradually Diana's sobs ceased; and then she grew utterly still; and thetwo sat so together, for neither of them knew how long. At last Dianaraised her head. 

"You have had no supper all this while!" she said. 

"I have had something much better, " said he, gently kissing her cheek. 

"To see me cry?" said Diana. "I don't know why I cried. "

"I think I do. Don't you feel better for it?"

"Yes. Or else, for that which made me do so. Come down, Basil. "

At tea she was perfectly herself and quite as usual, except for thedifferent expression in her face. It was hardly less grave than before, but something dark had gone out and something light had come in. 

"I can face the Sewing Society now, " she remarked towards the end ofthe meal. 

"The Sewing Society!" her husband echoed. "Is that much to face?"

"I have not been once since I was married. And they make so much fussabout it, I must go now. They meet to-morrow at mother's. "

"What do they sew?"

"They pretend to be making up a box for some missionary out west. "

"I guess there is no pretence about it. "

"Yes, there is. They have been eight months at work upon a box to go toIowa somewhere, to a family very much in want of everything; and thechildren and mother are almost, or quite, I guess, in rags, and theladies here are comfortably doing a little once a week, and don't evenexpect to have the box made up till Christmas time. Think of the peoplein Iowa waiting and waiting, with hardly anything to put on, while wemeet once a week and sew a little, and talk, and have supper. "

"How would you manage it?"

"I would send off the box next week, Basil. "

"So would I. Suppose now we do?"

"Send off a box?"

"Yes. I will give you the money;--you can go--I will drive you--down toGunn's, and you can get there whatever you think would be suitable, andwe will have the fun to ourselves. "

The colour flushed into Diana's face; it was the first flush ofpleasure that had come there in a long while. 

"You are very good, Basil!" she said. "Don't you think I could driveSaladin?"

"Where?"

"Anywhere. I mean, that I could go to places then without troubling youto drive me. "

"I can stand so much trouble. It is not good for a man to live tooeasy. "

"But it might be convenient for you sometimes. "

"So it might, and pleasant for you. No, I should not like to trust youto Saladin. I wonder if your mother would let me have Prince, if Ioffer her a better horse in exchange. Perhaps I can do better thanthat. We will see. "

"O, Basil, you must not get another horse for me!"

"I will get anything I like for you. "

"But do you mean, and keep Saladin too?"

"I mean that. Saladin is necessary to me. "

"Then don't, Basil. I can tell you, people will say you are extravagantif you have two horses. "

"I cannot help people talking scandal. "

"No; but it will hurt your influence. "

"Well, we will feel the pulse of the public to-morrow. But I think theywould stand it. "

They drove down to Mrs. Starling's the next day. Mr. Masters had otherbusiness, and must go farther. Diana went in alone. She was early, forshe had come to help her mother make the preparations; and at firstthese engrossed them both. 

"Well, " said Mrs. Starling, when some time had passed, --"how do you getalong with your husband?"

Diana's eyes opened slightly. "It would be a very strange person thatcould not get on with Mr. Masters, " she answered. 

"Easy, is he? I hate easy men! The best of 'em are helpless enough; butwhen you get one of the easy soft, they are consented if every doorhangs on one hinge. "

Diana made no answer. 

"How does your girl get along?"

"Very well. Pretty well. "

"What you want with a girl, I don't see. "

"I didn't either. But Mr. Masters wants me to do other things. "

"Set you up to be a lady! Well, the world's full o' fools. "

"I am as busy, mother, as ever I was in my life. "

"Depends on what you call business. Making yourself unfit for business, I should say. Call it what you like. I suppose he is your humbleservant, and just gives you your own way. "

"He is not that sort of man at all, mother. He is as kind as he can be;but he is nobody's humble servant. "

"Then I suppose you are his. There is somebody now, Diana; it's KateBoddington. Do go in and take care of her, --you can do so much, --andkeep her from coming out here where I am. "

"Well, Di!" exclaimed her relative as Diana met her. "Ain't it a sightto see _you_ at the sewin' meetin'! Why haven't you been before? Seemsto me, you make an uncommon long honeymoon of it. "

Diana's natural sweetness and dignity, and furthermore, the greatballast of old pain and new gladness which lay deep down in her heart, kept her quite steady and unruffled under all such breezes. She hadmany of the like to meet that day; and the sweet calm and poise of hermanner through them all would have done honour to the most practisedwoman of the world. Most of her friends and neighbours here collectedhad scarce seen her since her marriage, unless in church; and they werecurious to know how she would carry herself, and curious in generalabout many things. It was a sort of battery that Diana had to face, andsometimes a masked battery; but it was impossible to tell whether ashot hit. 

"What I want to know, " said Mrs. Boddington, "is, where the ministerand you made it up, Di. You were awful sly about it!"

"Ain't that so?" chimed in Mrs. Carpenter. "I never had no notion o'what was goin' on--not the smallest idee; and I was jest a sayin' oneday to Miss Gunn, or somebody--I declare I don't know now who 'twas, Iwas so dumbfounded when the news come, it took all my memory away;--butI was jes' a sayin' to somebody, and I remember it because I'd jes'been after dandelion greens and couldn't find none; they was jest aboutpast by then, and bitter; and we was a settin' with our empty baskets;and I was jes' tellin' somebody, I don't know who 'twas, who I thoughtwould make a good wife for the minister; when up comes Mrs. Starling'sJosiah and reaches me the invitation. 'There!' says I; 'if he ain't agoin' to have Diana Starling!' I was beat. "

"I daresay you could have fitted him just as well, " remarked Mrs. Starling. 

"Wall, I don't know. I was thinkin', --but I guess it's as well not tosay now what I was thinkin'. "

"That's so!" assented Miss Barry. "I don't believe he thinks nobodycould ha' chosen for him no better than he has chosen for himself. "

"Men never do know what is good for them, " Mrs. Salter remarked, butnot ill-naturedly; on the contrary, there was a gleam of fun in herface. 

"I'm thankful, anyway, he hain't done worse, " said another lady. "Iused to be afraid he would go and get himself hitched to a fly-away. "

"Euphemie Knowlton?" said Mrs. Salter. "Yes, I used to wonder if weshouldn't get our minister's wife from Elmfield. It looked likely atone time. "

"Those two wouldn't ha' pulled well together, ne--ver, " said another. 

"I should like to know how he and Di's goin' to pull together?" saidMrs. Flandin acidly. "He goin' one way, and she another. "

"Do you think so, Mrs. Flandin?" asked the lady thus in a veryuncomplimentary manner referred to. 

"Wall--ain't it true?" said Mrs. Flandin judicially. 

"I do not think it is true. "

"Wall, I'm glad to hear it, I'm sure, " said the other; "but there's aword in the Scriptur' about two walking together when they ain'tagreed. "

"Mr. Masters and I are agreed, " said Diana, while her lips parted in avery slight smile, and a lovely tinge of rose-colour came over hercheeks. 

"But not in everything, I reckon?"

"In everything I know, " said Diana steadily, while a considerablebreeze of laughter went round the room. Mrs. Flandin was getting theworst of it. 

"Then it'll be the worse for him!" she remarked with a jerk at hersewing. Diana was silent now, but Mrs. Boddington took it up. 

"Do you mean to say, Mis' Flandin, you approve of quarrels between manand wife? and quarrels in high places, too?"

"High places!" echoed Mrs. Flandin. "When it says that a minister is tobe the servant of all!"

"And ain't he?" said Mrs. Carpenter. "Is there a place or a thing ourminister don't go to if he's wanted? and does he mind whether it'snight or day, or rough or smooth? and does he care how fur it is, orhow long he goes without his victuals? I will say, I never did see a nomore self-forgetful man than is Mr. Masters; and I've a good right toknow, and I say it with feelin's of gratitude. "

"That's jes' so, " said Miss Barry, her eyes glistening over herknitting, which they did not need to watch. And there was a hum ofassent through the room. 

"I'm not sayin' nothin' agin _him_, " said Mrs. Flandin in an injuredmanner; "but what I was hintin', I warn't _sayin'_ nothin', is thathe's married a"--

"A beauty"--said Mrs. Boddington. 

"I don't set no count on beauty, " said the other. "I allays think, ef aminister is a servant of the Lord, and I hope Mr. Masters is, it's apity his wife shouldn't be too. That's all. "

"But I am, Mrs. Flandin, " said Diana quietly. 

"What?"

"A servant of the Lord. "

"Since when?" demanded the other incredulously. 

"Does it matter, since when?" said Diana, with a calm gentleness whichspoke for her. "I was not always so, but I am now. "

"Hev' _you_ met with a change?" the other asked, again judicially, andcritically. 

"Yes. "

"Ain't that good news, now!" said Miss Barry, dropping her knitting andfairly wiping her eyes. 

"I hope your evidence is clear, " said the other lady. 

"Do you want to hear what they are?" said Diana. "I have come to knowthe Lord Jesus--I have come to believe in him--I have given myself tobe his servant. As truly his servant, though not so good a one, as myhusband is. But what he bids me, I'll do. "

The little assembly was silent, silent all round. Both the news and themanner of the teller of it were imposing. Decided, clear, calm, sweet, Diana's grey eyes as well as her lips gave her testimony; they did notshrink from other eyes, nor droop in hesitation or difficulty; aslittle was there a line of daring or self-assertion about them. Thedignity of the woman struck and hushed her companions. 

"Our minister'll be a happy man, I'm thinkin', " said good Mrs. Carpenter, speaking out what was the secret thought of many present. 

"You haven't joined the church, Diana, " said Mrs. Starling harshly. 

"I will do that the first opportunity, mother. "

"That's your husband's doing. I allays knew he'd wile a bird off abush!"

"I am very thankful to him, " said Diana calmly. 

That calm of hers was unapproachable. It would neither take offence norgive it; although, it is true, it did irritate some of her neighboursand companions by the very distance it put between them and her. Dianawas different from them, and growing more different; yet it was hard tofind fault. She was so handsome, too; that helped the effect ofsuperiority. And her dress; what was there about her dress? It was apale lilac muslin, no way remarkable in itself; but it fell aroundlines so soft and noble, and about so queenly a carriage, it waved withso quiet and graceful motions, there was a temptation to think Dianamust have called in dressmaking aid that was not lawful--for theminister's wife. As the like often happens, Diana was set apart by alife-long sorrow from all their world of experience, --and they thoughtshe was proud. 

"What did you pay for that muslin, Diana?" Mrs. Flandin asked. 

"Fifteenpence. "

"Du tell! well I should ha' thought it was more, " remarked Miss Gunn. "It's made so elegant. "

"I made it myself, " said Diana, smiling. 

"Du tell!" said Miss Gunn again, reviewing the gown. For, as I hinted, its draperies were graceful, their lovely lines being unbroken byfurbelows and flummery; and the sleeves were open and half long, with afull ruffle which fell away from Diana's beautiful arms. 

"How Phemie Knowlton used to dress!" Miss Gunn went on, moved by somehidden association of ideas. 

"I wonder is nobody ever comin' back to Elmfield?" said Mrs. Boddington. "They don't do nothin' with the place, and it's just waste. "

The talk wandered on; but Diana's thoughts remained fixed. They hadflown back over the two years since Evan and she had their explanationin the blackberry field, and for a little while she sat in a dream, feeling the stings of pain, that seemed, she thought, to grow morelively now instead of less. The coming in of Mr. Masters roused her, and with a sort of start she put away the thought of Evan, and of daysand joys past for ever, and forcibly swung herself back to presentthings. People were very well-behaved after her husband came, and shedid her part, she knew, satisfactorily; for she saw his eye now andthen resting on her or meeting hers with the hidden smile in it she hadlearned to know. And besides, nothing was ever dull or commonplacewhere he was; so even in Mrs. Starling's house and Mrs. Flandin'spresence, the rest of the evening went brightly off. And then, drivinghome, through the light of a young moon and over the quiet country, Diana watched the wonderful calm line where the hill-tops met the sky;and thought, surely, with the talisman she had just found of heavenlylove and sympathy and strength, she could walk the rest of her waythrough life and bear it till the end. Then, by and by, beyond thatdividing line of eternity, there would be bright heaven, instead of thedusky earth. If only she could prevent Basil from knowing how she felt, and so losing all peace in life himself. But his peace was so fixed inheaven, she wondered if anything on earth could destroy it? She wouldnot try that question. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

MISS COLLINS' WORK. 

It was well for Diana that she had got a talisman of better power thanthe world can manufacture. It was well for her, too, that she followedup earnestly the clue to life which had been given her. If you have atreasure-house of supplies, and are going to have to get to it in thedark by and by, it is good to learn the way very well while the lightis there. For weeks Diana gave herself before all other things to thestudy of her Bible, and to better understanding of faith's duties andprivileges. In all this, Basil was a great help; and daily his wifelearned more and more to admire and revere the mind and temper of theman she had married. Reverence would have led surely to love, in such anature as Diana's; but Diana's heart was preoccupied. What love couldnot do, however, conscience and gratitude did as far as possible. Nothing that concerned Basil's comfort or honour was uncared for by hiswife. So, among other things, she never intrusted the care of his mealsentirely to Miss Collins; and quite to that lady's discomfiture, wouldoften come into the kitchen and prepare some nice dish herself, orsuperintend the preparation of it. Miss Collins resented this. Sheshared the opinion of some of the ladies of the Sewing Society, thatMrs. Masters was quite proud and needed to be "taken down" a bit; andif she got a good chance, she had it in her mind to do a little of the"taking down" herself. 

It was one evening late in September. Frosts had hardly set in yet, andevery change in the light and colour carried Diana's mind back to Evanand two years ago, and mornings and evenings of that time which were sofilled with nameless joys and hopes. Diana did not give herself tothese thoughts nor encourage them; they came with the suddenness andthe start of lightning. Merely the colour of a hill at sunset wasenough to flash back her thoughts to an hour when she was looking forEvan; or a certain sort of starlight night would recall a particularwalk along the meadow fence; or a gust and whiff of the wind wouldbring with it the thrill that belonged to one certain stormy Septembernight that never faded in her remembrance. Or the smell of coffeesometimes, when it was just at a certain stage of preparation, wouldturn her heart-sick. These associations and remembrances were countlessand incessant always under the reminders of the September light andatmosphere; and Diana could not escape from them, though as soon asthey came she put them resolutely away. 

This evening Mr. Masters was out. Diana knew he had gone a long rideand would be tired, --that is, if he ever could be tired, --and would becertainly ready for his supper when he came in. So she went out to makeready a certain dish of eggs which she knew he liked. Such service asthis she could do, and she did. There was no thoughtful care, nosmallest observance, which could have been rendered by the most devotedaffection, which Diana did not give to her husband. Except, --she neveroffered a kiss, or laid her hand in his or upon his shoulder. Happilyfor her, Basil was not a particularly demonstrative man; for everycaress from him was "as vinegar upon nitre;" she did not showrepulsion, that was all. 

"I guess I kin do that, Mis' Masters, " said her handmaid, who alwayspreferred to keep the kitchen for her own domain. Diana made no answer. She was slowly and delicately peeling her eggs, and probably did notnotice the remark. Miss Collins, however, resented the neglect. 

"Mr. Masters is gone a great deal. It's sort o' lonesome up here on thehill. Dreadfully quiet, don't you think it is?"

"I like quiet, " Diana answered absently. 

"Du, hey? Wall, I allays liked life. I never could git too much o'that. I should like a soldier's life uncommon, --if I was a man. "

Diana had finished peeling her eggs, and now began to wash a bunch ofgreen parsley which she had fetched from the garden, daintily dippingit up and down in a bowl of spring-water. 

"It was kind o' lively down to the post office, " Miss Collins remarkedagain, eyeing the beautiful half-bared arm and the whole figure, whichin its calm elegance was both imposing and irritating to her. MissCollins, indeed, had a very undefined sense of the beautiful; yet shevaguely knew that nobody else in Pleasant Valley looked so or carriedherself so; no other woman's dress adorned her so, or was so set off bythe wearer; although Diana's present attire was a very simply-madeprint gown, not even the stylish ladies of Elmfield produced an equaleffect with their French dresses. And was not Diana "Mis' Starling'sdaughter?" And Diana seemed not to hear or care what she had to say!

"Everybody comes to the post office, " she went on grimly; "you hev'only to watch, and you see all the folks; and you know all that isgoin' on. An' that suits me 'xactly. "

"But you had nothing to do with the post office, " said Diana. "Howcould you see everybody?"

"You keep your eyes open, and you'll see things, most places, " saidMiss Collins. "La! I used to be in and out; why shouldn't I? And nowand then I'd say to Miss Gunn--'You're jest fagged out with standin'upon your feet; you jes' go in there and sit down by the fire, anddon't let the pot bile over and put it out; and I'll see to the lettersand the folks. ' And so she did, and so I did. It was as good as a play. "

"How?" said Diana, feeling a vague pain at the thought of the postoffice; that place where her hopes had died. Somehow there was a vaguedread in her heart also, without any reason. 

"Wall--you git at folks' secrets--if they have any, " Miss Collinsanswered, suddenly checking her flow of words. Diana did not ask again;the subject was disagreeable. She began to cut up her parsley deftlywith a sharp knife; and her handmaid stood and looked at her. 

"Some folks thought, you know, at one time, that Mr. Masters wascourtin' Phemie Knowlton. I didn't let on, but la! I knowed it warn'tso. Why, there warn't never a letter come from her to him, nor wentfrom him to her. "

"She was here herself, " said Diana; "why should they write? You couldtell nothing by that. "

"She warn't here after she had gone away, " said Miss Collins; "and thatwas jes' the time when I knowed all about it. I knowed about otherpeople too. "

That was also the time after Evan had quitted Pleasant Valley. YetDiana did not know why she could not keep herself from trembling. IfEvan _had_ written, then, this Jemima Collins and her employer, MissGunn, would have known it and drawn their conclusions. Well, they hadno data to go upon now. 

"Bring me a little saucepan, Jemima, will you?"

Jemima brought it. Now her mistress (but she never called her so) wouldbe away and off in a minute or two more, and leave her to watch thesaucepan, she knew, and her opportunity would be over. Still she waitedto choose her words. 

"You ain't so fond o' life as I be, " she observed. 

"Perhaps not, " said Diana. "I do not think I should like a situation inthe post office. "

"But I should ha' thought you'd ha' liked to go all over the world andsee everything. Now Pleasant Valley seems to me something like acorner. Why didn't you?"

"Why didn't I what?" said Diana, standing up. She had been stoopingdown over her saucepan, which now sat upon a little bed of coals. 

"La! you needn't look at me like that, " said Miss Collins, chuckling. "It's no harm. You had your ch'ice, and you chose it; only _I_ wouldhave took the other. "

"The other what? _What_ would you have taken?"

"Wall, I don' know, " said Miss Collins; "to be sure, one never doosknow till one is tried, they say; but if I had, I think I should ha'took 'tother one. "

"I do not understand you, " said Diana, walking off to the table, whereshe began to gather up the wrecks of the parsley stems. She felt an oddsensation of cold about the region of her heart, physically verydisagreeable. 

"You are hard to make understand, then, " said Miss Collins. "I supposeyou know you had two sweethearts, don't you? And sure enough you hadthe pick of the lot. 'Tain't likely you've forgotten. "

"How dare you speak so?" asked Diana, not passionately, but with a sortof cold despair, eying her handmaiden. 

"Dare?" said the latter. "Dare what? I ain't saying nothin'. 'Tain't noharm to have two beaux; you chose your ch'ice, and _he_ hain't no causeto be uncontented, anyhow. About the 'tother one I don't say nothin'. Ishould think he _was_, but that's nat'ral. I s'pose he's got over it bynow. You needn't stand and look. He's fur enough off, too. Your husbandwon't be jealous. You knowed you had two men after you. "

"I cannot imagine why you say that, " Diana repeated, standing as itwere at bay. 

"How I come to know? That's easy. Didn't I tell you I was in the postoffice? La, I know, I see the letters. "

"Letters!" cried Diana, in a tone which forthwith made Miss Collinsopen all the eyes she had. It was not a scream; it was not even veryloud; yet Miss Collins went into a swift calculation to find out whatwas in it. Beyond her ken, happily; it was a heart's death-cry. 

"Yes, " she said stolidly; "I said letters. Ain't much else goin' at thepost office, 'cept letters and papers; and I ain't one o' them as setsno count by the papers. La, what do I care for the news at Washington?I don't know the folks; they may all die or get married for what Icare; but in Pleasant Valley I know where I be, and I know who thefolks be. And that's what made me allays like to get a chance to sortthe letters, or hand 'em out. "

"You never saw many letters of mine, " said Diana, turning away to hideher lips, which she felt were growing strange. But she must speak; shemust know more. 

"N--o, " said Miss Collins; "not letters o' your writin, '--ef you meanthat. "

"Letters of mine of any sort. I don't get many letters. "

"Some of 'em's big ones, when they come, My! didn't I use to wonderwhat was in 'em! Two stamps, and _three_ stamps. I s'pose feelin'smakes heavy weight. " Miss Collins laughed a little. 

"Two stamps and three stamps?" said Diana fiercely;--"how many werethere?"

"I guess I knowed of three. Two I handed out o' the box myself; andMiss Gunn, she said there was another. There was no mistakin' them bigletters. They was on soft paper, and lots o' stamps, as I said. "

"You gave them out? Who to?"

"To Mis' Starlin' herself. I mind partic'lerly. She come for 'emherself, and she got 'em. You don't mean she lost 'em on her way hum?They was postmarked some queer name, but they come from Californy; Iknow that. You hain't never forgotten 'em? I've heerd it's good to beoff with the old love before you are on with the new; but I never heerdo' folks forgettin' their love-letters. La, 'tain't no harm to havelove-letters. Nobody can cast that up to ye. You have chosen yourch'ice, and it's all right. I reckon most folks would be proud to havesomebody else thrown over for them. "

Diana heard nothing of this. She was standing, deaf and blind, seemingto look out of the window; then slowly, moved by some instinct, notreason, she went out of the kitchen and crept up-stairs to her own roomand laid herself upon her bed. Deaf and blind; she could neither thinknor feel; she only thought she knew that she was dead. Theconsciousness of the truth pressed upon her to benumbing; but she wasutterly unable to separate points or look at the connection of them. She had lived and suffered before; now she was crushed and dead; thatwas all she knew. She could not even measure the full weight of hermisery; she lay too prostrate beneath it. 

So things were, when very shortly after the minister came in. He hadput up his horse, and came in with his day's work behind him. Diana'slittle parlour was bright, for a smart fire was blazing; the eveningsand mornings were cool now in Pleasant Valley; and the small tablestood ready for supper, as Diana had left it. She was up-stairs, probably; and up-stairs he went, to wash his hands and get ready forthe evening; for the minister was the neatest man living. There hefound Diana laid upon her bed, where nobody ever saw her in theday-time; and furthermore, lying with that nameless something in allthe lines of her figure which is the expression not of pain but ofdespair; and those who have never seen it before, read it at firstsight. How it should be despair, of course, the minister had no clue toguess; so, although it struck him with a sort of strange chill, hesupposed she must be suffering from some bodily ailment, in spite ofthe fact that nobody had ever known Diana to have so much as a headachein her life until now. Her face was hid. Basil went up softly and laidhis hand on her shoulder, and felt so the slight convulsive shiver thatran over her. But his inquiries could get nothing but monosyllables inreturn; hardly that; rather inarticulate utterances of assent ordissent to his questions or proposals. Was she suffering?

Yes. What was the cause? No intelligible answer. Would she not comedown to tea? No. Would she have anything? No. Could he do anything forher? No. 

"Diana, " said her husband tenderly, "is it bad news?"

There was a pause, and he waited. 

"Just go down, " she managed with great difficulty to say. "There isnothing the matter with me. I'll come by and by. I'll just lie still alittle. "

She had not shown her face, and the minister quietly withdrew, feelingthat here was more than appeared on the surface. There was enoughappearing on the surface to make him uneasy; and he paid no attentionto Miss Collins, who brought in the supper and bustled about rathermore than was necessary. 

"Don't ring the bell, Jemima, " Mr. Masters said. "Mrs. Masters is notcoming down. "

Miss Collins went on to make the tea. That was always Diana's business. 

"What ails her?" she asked abruptly. 

"You ought to know, " said the minister. "What did she complain of. "

"Complain!" echoed the handmaiden. "She was as well as you be, not fiveminutes afore you come in. "

"How do you know?"

"Guess I had ought to! Why, she was in the kitchen talkin' andfiddle-faddlin' with them eggs; she thinks I ain't up to 'em. Therewarn't nothin' on earth the matter with her then. She had sot the tablein here and fixed up the fire, and then she come in to the kitchen andwent to work at the supper. There ain't never nothin' the matter withher. "

The minister made no sort of remark, nor put any further inquiry, norlooked even curious, Miss Collins, however, _did_. Her brain got into asudden confusion of possibilities. Pouring out the tea, she stood bythe table reflecting what she should say next. 

"I guess she's mad at me, " she began slowly. "Or maybe she's afeardyou'll be mad with her. La! 'tain't nothin'. I told her, you'd never bejealous. 'Tain't no harm for a girl to have two beaus, is it?"

The minister gave her a quick look from under his brows, and repliedcalmly that he "supposed not. "

"Wall, I told her so; and now she's put out 'cause I knowed o' themletters. La, folks that has the post office can't help but know more o'what concerns their fellow-creatures than other folks doos. I handledthem myself, you see, and handed them out; leastways two o' them; thatwarn't no fault o' mine nor of anybody's. La, she needn't to mind!"

"How much tea did you put in, Jemima?"

"I don't know, Mr. Masters. I put in a pinch. Mrs. Masters had ought toha' been here to make it herself. She knows how you like it. "

"I like more than such a pinch as this was. If you will empty thetea-pot, I will make a cup for myself. That will do, thank you. "

Left alone, Mr. Masters sat for a little while with his head on hishand, neglecting the supper. Then he roused himself and went on to makesome fresh tea. And very carefully and nicely he made it, poured out acup and prepared it, put it on a little tray then, and carried itsteaming and fragrant up to his wife's room. Diana was lying just as hehad left her. Mr. Masters shut the door, and came to the bedside. 

"Di, " said he gently, "I have brought you a cup of tea. "

There was neither answer nor movement. He repeated his words. Shemurmured an unintelligible rejection of the proposal, keeping her facecarefully covered. 

"No, " said he, "I think you had better take it. Lift up your head, Di, and try. It is good. "

The tone was tender and quiet, nevertheless Diana had known Mr. Masterslong enough to be assured that when he had made up his mind to a thing, there was no bringing him off it. She would have to take the tea; andas he put his hand under her head to lift her up, she suffered him todo it. Then he saw her face. Only by the light of a candle, it is true;but that revealed more than enough. So wan, so deathly pale, so dark inthe lines round the eyes, and those indescribable shadows which mentalpain brings into a face, that her husband's heart sank down. No smallmatter, easy to blow away, had brought his strong beautiful Diana tolook like that. But his face showed nothing, though indeed she neverlooked at it; and his voice was clear and gentle just as usual in thefew words he said. He held the cup to her lips, and after she had drankthe tea and lay down again, he passed his hand once or twice with atender touch over her brow and the disordered hair. Then, with no morequestions or remarks, he took away the candle and the empty cup, andDiana saw him no more that night. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

THINGS UNDONE. 

The mischief-maker slept peacefully till morning. Nobody else. Dianadid not keep awake, it is true; she was at that dull stage of miserywhen something like stupor comes over the brain; she slumbered heavilyfrom time to time. Nature does claim such a privilege sometimes. It wasBasil who watched the night through; watched and prayed. There was nostupor in his thoughts; he had a very full, though vague, realizationof great evil that had come upon them both. He was very near the truth, too, after an hour or two of pondering. Putting Miss Collins' hints, Diana's own former confessions, and her present condition together, hesaw, clearer than it was good to see, the probable state of affairs. And yet he was glad to see it; if any help or bettering was ever tocome, it was desirable that his vision should be true, and his wisdomhave at least firm data to act upon. But what action could touch thecase?--the most difficult that a man can have to deal with. Through thenight Basil alternately walked the floor and knelt down, sometimes athis study table, sometimes before the open window, where it seemedalmost as if he could read signs of that invisible sympathy he wasseeking. The air was a little frosty, but very still; he kept up a firein his chimney, and Basil was not one of those ministers who live inperpetual terror about draughts; it was a comfort to him to-night tolook off and away from earth, even though he could not see into heaven. The stars were witnesses to him and for him, in their eternal calmness. "He calleth them all by their names; for that he is strong in power, not one faileth. Why sayest thou, O Jacob, and speakest, O Israel, Myway is hid from the Lord, and my judgment is passed over from myGod?"--And in answer to the unspoken cry of appeal that burst forth ashe knelt there by the window--"O Lord, my strength, my fortress, and myrefuge in the day of affliction!"--came the unspoken promise: "Themountains shall depart, and the hills be removed; but my kindness shallnot depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace beremoved, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee. " The minister hadsomething such a night of it as Jacob had before his meeting with Esau;with the difference that there was no lameness left the next morning. Before the dawn came up, when the stars were fading, Basil threwhimself on the lounge in his study, and went into a sleep as deep andpeaceful as his sleeps were wont to be. And when he rose up, after somehours, he was entirely himself again; refreshed and restored and readyfor duty. Neither could anybody, that day or afterwards, see theslightest change in him from what he had been before. 

He went out and attended to his horse; the minister always did thathimself. Then came in and changed his dress, and went through hismorning toilet with the usual dainty care. Then he went in to see Diana. 

She had awaked at last out of her slumberous stupor, sorry to see thelight and know that it was day again. Another day! Why should there beanother day for her? what use? why could she not die and be out of hertrouble? Another day! and now would come, had come, the duties of it;how was she to meet them? how could she do them? life energy was gone. She was dead; how was she to play the part of the living, and among theliving? What mockery! And Basil, what would become of him? As for Evan, Diana dared not so much in her thoughts as even to glance his way. Shehad risen half up in bed--she had not undressed at all--and was sittingwith her arms slung round her knees, gazing at the daylight andwondering vaguely about all these things, when the door between therooms swung lightly open. If she had dared, Diana would have croucheddown and hid her face again; she was afraid to do that; she satstolidly still, gazing out at the window. Look at Basil she could not. His approach filled her with so great a feeling of repulsion that shewould have liked to spring from the bed and flee, --anywhere, away andaway, where she would see him no more. No such flight was possible. Shesat motionless and stared at the window, keeping down the internalshiver which ran over her. 

Basil came with his light quick step and stood beside her; took herhand and felt her pulse. 

"You are not feeling very well, Di, " he said gravely. 

"Well enough, "--said Diana. "I will get up and be down presently. "

"Will you?" said he. "Now I think you had better not. The best thingyou can do will be to lie still here and keep quiet all day. May Iprescribe for you?"

"Yes. I will do what you please, " said Diana. She never looked at him, and he knew it. 

"Then this is what I think you had better do. Get up and take a bath;then put on your dressing-gown and lie down again. You shall have yourbreakfast up here--and I will let nobody come up to disturb you. "

"I'm not hungry. I don't want anything. "

"You are a little feverish--but you will be better for takingsomething. Now you get your bath--and I'll attend to the breakfast. "

He kissed her brow gravely, guessing that she would rather he did not, but knowing nevertheless that he might and must; for he was herhusband, and however gladly she, and unselfishly he, would have brokenthe relation between them, it subsisted and could not be broken. Andthen he went down-stairs. 

"Where's Mis' Masters?" demanded Jemima when she brought in thebreakfast-tray, standing attention. 

"Not coming down. "

"Ain't anything ails her, is there?"

"Yes. But I don't know how serious. Give me the kettle, Jemima; I toldher to lie still, and that I would bring her a cup of tea. "

"I'll take it up, Mr. Masters; and you can eat your breakfast. "

"Thank you. I always like to keep my promises. Fetch in the kettle, Jemima. "

Jemima dared not but obey. So when Diana, between dead and alive, haddone as she was bid, taken her bath, and wrapped in her dressing-gownwas laid upon her bed again, her husband made his appearance with alittle tray and the tea. There had been a certain bodily refreshmentabout the bath and the change of dress, but with that little touch ofthe everyday work of life there had come such a rebellion against lifein general and all that it held, that Diana was nearly desperate. Inplace of dull despair, had come a wild repulsion against everythingthat was left her in the world; and yet the girl knew that she wouldneither die nor go mad, but must just live and bear. She looked atBasil and his tray with a sort of impatient horror. 

"I don't want anything!" she said. "I don't want anything!"

"Try the tea. It is out of the green chest. "

Diana had learned, as I said, to know her husband pretty well; and sheknew that though the tone in which he spoke was very quiet, and for alla certain sweet insistence in it could scarcely be said to be urging, nevertheless there was under it something to which she must yield. Hiswill never had clashed with hers once; nevertheless Diana had seen andknown that whatever Basil wanted to do with anybody, he did. Everybodygranted it to him, somehow. So did she now. She raised herself up andtasted the tea. 

"Eat a biscuit--. "

"I don't want it. I don't want anything, Basil. "

"You must eat something, though, " said he. "It is bad enough for me tohave to carry along with me all day the thought of you lying here; Icannot bear in addition the thought of you starving. "

"O no, I am not starving, " Diana answered; and unable to endure to lookat him or talk to him, she covered her face with her hands, leaning itdown upon her knees. Basil did not say anything, nor did he go away; hestood beside her, with an outflow of compassion in his heart, butwaiting patiently. At last touched her smooth hair with his hand. 

"Di, " said he gently, "look up and take something. "

She hastily removed her hands, raised her head, swallowed the tea, andmanaged to swallow the biscuit with it. He leaned forward and kissedher brow as he had done last night. 

"Now lie down and rest, " said he. "I must ride over to Blackberry Hillagain--and I do not know how long I may be kept there. I will tellJemima to let no visitors come up to bother you. Lie still and rest. Iwill give you a pillow for your thoughts, Di. --'Under the shadow of thywings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast. '"

He went away; and Diana covered her face again. She could not bear thelight. Her whole nature was in uproar. The bath and dressing, the tea, her husband's presence and words, his last words especially, had rousedher from her stupor, and given her as it were a scale with which tomeasure the full burden of her misery. There was no item wanting, Dianathought, to make it utterly immeasurable and unbearable. If she hadmarried a less good man, it would have been less hard to spoil all hishopes of happiness; if he had been a weaker man, she would not havecared about him at all. If any hand but her own mother's had dashed hercup of happiness out of her hand, she would have had there a refuge togo to. Most girls have their mothers. If Evan had not been sent to sodistant a post--but when her thoughts dared turn to Evan, Diana writhedupon her bed in tearless agony. Evan, writing in all the freshness andstrength of his love and his trust in her, those letters;--waiting andlooking for her answer;--writing again and again; disappointed all thewhile; and at last obliged to conclude that there was no faith in her, and that her love had been a sham or a fancy. What had he not sufferedon her account! even as she had suffered for him. But that he shouldthink so of her was not to be borne; she would write. Might she write?From hiding her head on her pillow, Diana sat bolt upright now andstared at the light as if it could tell her. Might she write to Evan, just once, this once, to tell him how it had been? Would that be anywrong against her husband? Would Basil have any right to forbid her?The uneasy sense of doubt here was met by a furious rebellion againstany authority that would interfere with her doing herself--as shesaid--so much justice, and giving herself and Evan so much miserablecomfort. Could there be a right to hinder her? Suppose she were to askBasil?--But what disclosures that would involve! Would he bear them, orcould she? Better write without his knowledge. Then, on the other hand, Basil was so upright himself, so true and faithful, and trusted her socompletely. No, she never could deceive his trust, not if she died. Othat she could die! But Diana knew that she was not going to die. Suppose she charged her mother with what she had done, and get _her_ towrite and confess it? A likely thing, that Mrs. Starling would bewrought upon to make such a humiliation of herself! She was forced togive up that thought. And indeed she was not clear about the essentialdistinction between communicating directly herself with Evan, andgetting another to do it for her. And what had been Mrs. Starling'smotive in keeping back the letters? But Diana knew her mother, and thatproblem did not detain her long. 

For hours and hours Diana's mind was like a stormy sea, where thethunder and the lightning were not wanting any more than the wind. Oncein a while, like the faint blink of a sun-ray through the clouds, camean echo of the words Basil had quoted--"In the shadow of thy wings willI make my refuge"--but they hurt her so that she fled from them. Thecontrast of their peace with her turmoil, of their intense sweetnesswith the bitter passion which was wasting her heart; the hint of thatharbour for the storm-tossed vessel, which could only be entered, sheknew, by striking sail; all that was unbearable. I suppose there was awhisper of conscience, too, which said, "Strike sail, and goin!"--while passion would not take down an inch of canvas. _Could_ not, she said to herself. Could she submit to have things be as they were?submit, and be quiet, and accept them, and go her way accepting them, and put the thought of Evan away, and live the rest of her life asthough he had no existence? That was the counsel Basil would give, shehad an unrecognised consciousness; and for the present, pain was easierto bear than that. And now memory flew back over the years, and took upagain the thread of her relations with Evan, and traced them to theirbeginning; and went over all the ground, going back and forward, recalling every meeting, and reviewing every one of those too scantyhours. For a long while she had not been able to do this, because Evan, she thought, had been faithless, and in that case she really never hadhad what she thought she had in him. Now she knew he was not faithless, and she had got the time and him back again, and she in a sort revelledin the consciousness. And with that came then the thought, "Toolate!"--She had got him again only to see an impassable barrier setbetween which must keep them apart for ever. And that barrier was herhusband. What the thought of Basil, or rather what his image was toDiana that day, it is difficult to tell; she shunned it whenever itappeared, with an intolerable mingling of contradictory feelings. Herfate, --and yet more like a good angel to her than anybody that had evercrossed the line of her path; the destroyer of her hope and joy forever, --and yet one to whom she was bound, and to whom she owed allpossible duty and affection; she wished it were possible never to seehim again in the world, and at the same time there was not another inthe world of whom she believed all the good she believed of him. Hisimage was dreadful to her. Basil was the very centre-point of heragonized struggles that day. To be parted from Evan she could haveborne, if she might have devoted herself to the memory of him and livedin quiet sorrow; but to put this man in his place!--to belong to him, to be his wife--

In proportion to the strength and health of Diana's nature was thepower of her realization and the force of her will. But also thepossibility of endurance. The internal fight would have broken down aless pure and sound bodily organization. It was characteristic of thisnatural soundness and sweetness, which was mental as well as physical, that her mother's part in the events which had destroyed her happinesshad very little of her attention that day. She thought of it with akind of sore wonder and astonishment, in which resentment had almost noshare. "O, mother, mother!"--she said in her heart; but she said nomore. 

Miss Collins came up once or twice to see her, but Diana lay quiet, andwas able to baffle curiosity. 

"Are ye goin' to git up and come down to supper?" the handmaid asked inthe second visit, which occurred late in the afternoon. 

"I don't know. I shall do what Mr. Masters says. "

"You don't look as ef there was much ailin' you;--and yet you look kindo' queer, too. I shouldn't wonder a bit ef you was a gettin' a fever. There's a red spot on one of your cheeks that's like fire. T'otherone's pale enough. You must be in a fever, I guess, or you couldn't liehere with the window open. "

"Leave it open--and just let me be quiet. "

Miss Collins went down, marvelling to herself. But when Basil came homehe found the flush spread to both cheeks, and a look in Diana's eyesthat he did not like. 

"How has the day been?" he asked, passing his hand over the flushedcheek and the disordered hair. Diana shrank and shivered and did notanswer. He felt her pulse. 

"Diana, " said he, "what is the matter with you?"

She stared at him, in the utter difficulty of answering. "Basil"--shebegan, and stopped, not finding another word to add. For prevaricationwas an accomplishment Diana knew nothing of. She closed her eyes, thatthey might not see the figure standing there. 

"Would you like me to fetch your mother to you?"

"No, " she said, starting. "O no! Don't bring her, Basil. "

"I will not, " said he kindly. "Why should she not come?"

"Mother? never. Never, never! Not mother. I can't bear her"--said Dianastrangely. 

Mr. Masters went down-stairs looking very grave. He took his supper, for he needed it; and then he carried up a cup of tea, fresh made, toDiana. She drank it this time eagerly; but there was no lightening ofhis grave brow when he carried the cup down again. Something was verymuch the matter, he knew now, as he had feared it last night. Hedebated with himself whether he had better try to find out just what itwas. Miss Collins, by a judicious system of suggestion and inquiry, might be led perhaps to reveal something without knowing that sherevealed anything; but the minister disliked that way of gettinginformation when it could be dispensed with. He had enough knowledge toact upon; for the rest he was patient, and could wait. 

That night he knew Diana did not sleep. He himself passed the nightagain in his study, though not in the struggles of the night before. Hewas very calm, stedfast, diligent; that is, his usual self entirely. And, watching her without her knowing he watched, he knew by herbreathing and her changes of position that it was a night of no rest onher part. Once he saw she was sitting up in the bed; once he saw thatshe had left it and was sitting by the window. 

The next day the minister did not leave home. He had no more urgentbusiness anywhere, he thought, than there. And he found Diana did notmake up by day what she had lost by night; she was always staring wideawake whenever he went into the room; and he went whenever there was acup of tea or a cup of broth to be taken to her, for he prepared it andcarried it to her himself. 

It happened in the course of the afternoon that Prince and the oldlittle green waggon came jogging along and landed Mrs. Starling at theminister's door. This was a very rare event; Mrs. Starling came at longintervals to see her daughter, and made then a call which nobodyenjoyed. To-day Miss Collins hailed the sight of her. Indeed, if thedistance had not been too much, Miss Collins would have walked down tocarry the tidings of Diana's indisposition; for, like a true gossip, she scented mischief where she could see none. The minister would lether have nothing to do with his wife; and if he were out of the houseand she got a chance, she could make nothing of Diana. Nothing certain;but nothing either that lulled her suspicions. Now, with Mrs. Starling, there was no telling what she might get at. The lady dismounted andcame into the kitchen, looking about her, as always, with sharp eyes. 

"How d'ye do, " said she. "Where is Diana?"

"I'm glad to see ye, Mis' Starling, and that's a fact, " said thehandmaid. "I was 'most a mind to walk down to your place to-day. "

"What's the matter? Where's Diana?"

"Wall, she's up-stairs. She hain't been down now for two days. "

"What's the reason?"

"Wall--sun'thin' ain't right; and I don't think the minister's clearwhat it is; and _I_ ain't. She was took as sudden--you never seenothin' suddener--she come in here to fix a dish o' eggs for supperthat she's mighty particler about, and don't think no one can cook eggsbut herself; and I was talkin' and tellin' her about my old experiencesin the post office--and she went up-stairs and took to her bed; and shehain't left it sen. Now ain't that queer? 'Cause she didn't say nothin'ailed her; not a word; only she went up and took to her bed; and shedoos look queer at you, that I will say. Mebbe it's fever a comin' on. "

There was a minute or two's silence. Mrs. Starling did not immediatelyfind her tongue. 

"What have the post office and your stories got to do with it?" sheasked harshly. "I should like to know. "

"Yes, --" said Miss Collins, drawing out the word with affableintonation, --"that's what beats me. What should they? But la! the postoffice is queer; that's what I always said. Everybody gits into it; andef you're there, o' course you can't help knowin' things. "

"You weren't in the post office!" said Mrs. Starling. "It was none of_your_ business. "

"Warn't I?" said Miss Collins. "Don't you mind better'n that, Mis'Starling? I mind you comin', and I mind givin' you your letters too; Imind some 'ticlar big ones, that had stamps enough on to set up a shop. La, 'tain't no harm. Miss Gunn, she used to feel a sort o' samenessabout allays takin' in and givin' out, and then she'd come into thekitchen and make cake mebbe, and send me to 'tend the letters and thefolks. And then it was as good as a play to me. Don't you never gittired o' trottin' a mile in a bushel, Mis' Starlin'? So I was jest atellin' Diany"--

"Where's the minister?"

"Most likely he's where she is--up-stairs. He won't let nobody else doa hand's turn for her. He takes up every cup of tea, and he spreadsevery bit of bread and butter; and he tastes the broths; you'd think hewas anythin' in the world but a minister; he tastes the broth, and hecalls for the salt and pepper, and he stirs and he tastes; andthen--you never see a man make such a fuss, leastways _I_ neverdid--he'll have a white napkin and spread over a tray, and the cup onit, and saucer too, for he won't have the cup 'thout the saucer, andthen carry it off. --Was your husband like that, Mis' Starling? He was aminister, I've heerd tell. "

Mrs. Starling turned short about without answering and went up-stairs. 

She found the minister there, as Miss Collins had opined she would; butshe paid little attention to him. He was just drawing the curtains overa window where the sunlight came in too glaringly. As he had done this, and turned, he was a spectator of the meeting between mother and child. It was peculiar. Mrs. Starling advanced to the foot of the bed, came nonearer, but stood there looking down at her daughter. And Diana's eyesfastened on hers with a look of calm, cold intelligence. It was intenseenough, yet there was no passion in it; I suppose there was too muchdespair; however, it was, as I said, keen and intent, and it held Mrs. Starling's eye, like a vice. Those Mr. Masters could not see; thelady's back was towards him; but he saw how Diana's eyes pinioned her, and how strangely still Mrs. Starling stood. 

"What's the matter with you?" she said harshly at last. 

"You ought to know, "--said Diana, not moving her eyes. 

"I ain't a conjuror, " Mrs. Starling returned with a sort of snort. "What makes you look at me like that?"

Diana gave a short, sharp laugh. "How can you look at me?" she said. "Iknow all about it, mother. "

Mrs. Starling with a sudden determination went round to the head of thebed and put out her hand to feel Diana's pulse. Diana shrank away fromher. 

"Keep off!" she cried. "Basil, Basil, don't let her touch me. "

"She is out of her head, " said Mrs. Starling, turning to herson-in-law, and speaking half loud. "I had better stay and sit up withher. "

"No, " cried Diana. "I don't want you. Basil, don't let her stay. Basil, Basil!"--

The cry was urgent and pitiful. Her husband came near, arranged thepillows, for she had started half up; and putting her gently back uponthem, said in his calm tones, --"Be quiet, Di; you command here. Mrs. Starling, shall we go down-stairs?"

Mrs. Starling this time complied without making any objection; but asshe reached the bottom she gave vent to her opinion. 

"You are spoiling her!"

"Really--I should like to have the chance. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"Just the words. I should like to spoil Di. She has never had much ofthat sort of bad influence. "

"That sounds very weak, to me, " said Mrs. Starling. 

"To whom should a man show himself weak, if not toward his wife?" saidBasil carelessly. 

"Your wife will not thank you for it. "

"I will endeavour to retain her respect, " said Basil in the same way;which aggravated Mrs. Starling, beyond bounds. Something about himalways did try her temper, she said to herself. 

"Diana is going to have a fever, " she spoke abruptly. 

"I am afraid of it. "

"What's brought it on?"

"I came home two evenings ago and found her on the bed. "

"You don't want me, you say. Who do you expect is going to sit up withher and take care of her?"

"I will try what I can do, for the present. "

"You can't manage that and your out-door work too. "

"I will manage _that_"--said Basil significantly. 

"And let your parish work go? Well, I always thought a minister wasbound to attend to his people. "

"Yes. Isn't my wife more one of my people than anybody else? Will youstay and take a cup of tea, Mrs. Starling?"

"No; if you don't want me, I am going. What will you do if Diana getsdelirious? I think she's out of her head now. "

"I'll attend to her, " said Basil composedly. 

Half suspecting a double meaning in his words, Mrs. Starling took shortleave, and drove off. Not quite easy in her mind, if the truth be told, and glad to be out of all patience with the minister. Yes, if she hadknown how things would turn--if she had known--perhaps, she would nothave thrown that first letter into the fire; which had drawn her on tothrow the second in, and the third. Could any son-in-law, could EvanKnowlton, at least, have been more untoward for her wishes than the oneshe had got? More unmanageable he could not have been; nor more likelyto be spooney about Diana. And now what if Diana really should have afever? People talk out in delirium. Well--the minister would keep hisown counsel; she did not care, she said. But all the same, she didcare; and she would fain have been the only one to receive Diana'srevelations, if she could have managed it. And by what devil'sconjuration had the truth come to be revealed, when only the fire andshe knew anything about it. Mrs. Starling chewed the cud of no sweetfancy on her road home. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

BONDS

Diana did become ill. A few days of such brain work as she had enduredthat first twenty-four hours were too much even for her perfectorganization. She fell into a low fever, which at times threatened tobecome violent, yet never did. She was delirious often; and Basil heardquite enough of her unconscious revelations to put him in fullpossession of the situation. In different portions, Diana went over thewhole ground. He knew sometimes that she was walking with Evan, takingleave of him; perhaps taking counsel with him, and forming plans forlife; then wondering at his silence, speculating about ways anddistances, tracing his letters out of the post office into the wronghand. And when she was upon that strain, Diana would break out into acry of "O, mother, mother, mother!"--repeating the word with an accentof such plaintive despair that it tore the heart of the one who heardit. 

There was only one. As long as this state of things lasted, Basil gavehimself up to the single task of watching and nursing his wife. Andamid the many varieties of heart-suffering which people know in thisworld, that which he tasted these weeks was one of refined bitterness. He came to know just how things were, and just how they had been allalong. He knew what Diana's patient or reticent calm covered. He heardsometimes her fond moanings over another name; sometimes her passionateoutcries the owner of that name to come and deliver her; sometimes--sherevealed that too--even the repulsion with which she regarded himself. "O, not this man!" she said one night, when he had been sitting by herand hoping that she was more quiet. "O, not this man! It was a mistake. It was all a mistake. People ought to take better care at the postoffice. Tell Evan I didn't know; but I'll come to him now just as soonas I can. "

Another time she burst out more violently. "Don't kiss me!" sheexclaimed. "Don't touch me. I won't bear it. Never again. I belong tosomebody else, don't you know? You have no business to be here. " Basilwas not near her, indeed she would not have recognised him if he hadbeen; he was sitting by the fire at a distance; but he knew whom shewas addressing in her mournful ravings, and his heart and couragealmost gave way. It was very bitter; and many an hour of those nightsthe minister spent on his knees at the bed's foot, seeking for strengthand wisdom, seeking to keep his heart from being quite broken, strivingto know what to do. Should he do as she said, and never kiss her again?Should he behave to her in the future as a mere stranger? What was bestfor him and for her? Basil would have done that unflinchingly, thoughit had led him to the stake, if he could know what the best was. But hedid not quite give up all hope, desperate as the case looked; his ownstrong cheerful nature and his faith in God kept him up. And heresolutely concluded that it would not be the best way nor thehopefulest, for him and Diana, bound to each other as they were, to tryto live as strangers. The bond could not be broken; it had better beacknowledged by them both. But if Basil could have broken it and sether free, he would have done it at any cost to himself. So, week afterweek, he kept his post as nurse at Diana's side. He was a capitalnurse. Untireable as a man, and tender as a woman; quick as a woman, too, to read signs and answer unspoken wishes; thoughtful as many womenare not; patient with an unending patience. Diana was herself at times, and recognised all this. And by degrees, as the slow days wore away, her disorder wore away too, or wore itself out, and she came back toher normal condition in all except strength. That was very failing, even after the fever was gone. And still Basil kept his post. He begannow, it is true, to attend to some pressing outside duties, for whichin the weeks just past he had provided a substitute; but morning, noon, and night he was at Diana's side. No hand but his own might ever carryto her the meals which his own hand had no inconsiderable share inpreparing. He knew how to serve an invalid's breakfast with arefinement of care which Diana herself before that would not have knownhow to give another, though she appreciated it and took her lesson. Then nobody could so nicely and deftly prop up pillows and cushions soas to make her rest comfortably for the taking of the meal; no one hadsuch skilful strength to enable a weak person to change his position. For all other things, Diana saw no difference in him; nothing told herthat she had betrayed herself, and she betrayed herself no more. Dulland listless she might be; that was natural enough in her weak state ofconvalescence; and Diana had never been demonstrative towards herhusband; it was no new thing that she was not demonstrative now. Neither did he betray that he knew all she was trying, poor child, tohide from him. He was just as usual. Only, in Diana's present helplesscondition, he had opportunity to show tenderness and care in a thousandservices which in her well days she would have dispensed with. And hedid it, as I said, with the strength of a man and the delicacy of awoman. He let nobody else do anything for her. 

Did he guess how gladly she would have escaped from all hisministrations? did he knew what they were to Diana? Probably not; forwith all his fineness of perception he was yet a man; and I suppose, reverse the conditions, there never was a man yet who would object tohave one woman wait upon him because he loved another. Yet Basil didknow partly and partly guess; and he went patiently on in the way hehad marked out for himself, upheld by principle and by a great tenacityof purpose which was part of his character. Nevertheless, those weredays of pain, great and terrible even for him; what they were to Dianahe could but partially divine. As health slowly came back, and shelooked at herself and her life again with eyes unveiled by disease, with the pitiless clearness of sound reason, Diana wished she coulddie. She knew she could not; she could come no nearer to it than apassing thought; her pulses were retaking their sweet regularity; hernerves were strung again, fine and true; only muscular strength seemedto tarry. Lying there on her bed and looking out over the snow-coveredfields, for it was mid-winter by this time, Diana sometimes felt aterrible impulse to fly to Evan; as if she could wait only till she hadthe power to move The feeling was wild, impetuous; it came like ahurricane wind, sweeping everything before it. And then Diana wouldfeel her chains, and writhe, knowing that she could not and would notbreak them. But how ever was life to be endured? life with this otherman? And how dreadful it was that he was so good, and so good to her!Yes, it would be easier if he did not care for her so well, far easier;easier even if he were not himself so good. The power of his goodnessfettered Diana; it was a spell upon her. Yes, and she wanted to be goodtoo; she would not forfeit heaven because she had lost earth; no, andnot to gain earth back again. But how was she to live? And what if sheshould be unable always to hide her feeling, and Basil should come toknow it? how would _he_ live? What if she had said strange things inher days and nights of illness? They were all like a confused mistylandscape to her; nothing taking shape; she could not tell how it mighthave been. Restless and weary, she was going over all these and athousand other things one day, as she did every day, when Basil camein. He brought a tray in his hand. He set it down, and came to thebedside. 

"Is it supper-time already?" she asked. 

"Are you hungry?"

"I ought not to be hungry. I don't think I am. "

"Why ought you not to be hungry?"

"I am doing nothing, lying here. "

"I find that is what the people say who are doing too much. Extremesmeet, --as usual. "

He lifted Diana up, and piled pillows and cushions at her back till shewas well supported. Nobody could do this so well as Basil. Then hebrought the tray and arranged it before her. There was a bit of coldpartridge, and toast; and Basil filled Diana's cup from a little teapothe had set by the fire. The last degree of nicety was observable in allthese preparations. Diana ate her supper. She must live, and she musteat, and she could not help being hungry; though she wondered atherself that she could be so unnatural. 

"Where could you get this bird?" she asked at length, to break thesilence which grew painful. 

"I caught it. "

"Caught it? _You!_ Shot it, do you mean?"

"No. I had not time to go after it with a gun. But I set snares. "

"I never knew partridges were so good, " said Diana, though something inher tone said, unconsciously to her, that she cared not what was goodor bad. 

"You did not use your advantages. That often happens. "

"I had not the advantage of being able to get partridges, " said Dianalanguidly. 

"The woods are full of them. "

"Don't you think it is a pity to catch them?"

"For you?" said Basil. He was removing her empty plate, and puttingbefore her another with an orange upon it, so accurately prepared thatit stirred her admiration. 

"Oranges!" cried Diana. "How did you learn to do everything, Basil?"

"Don't be too curious, " said he. As he spoke, he softly put back offher ear a stray lock of the beautiful brown hair, which fell behind herlike a cloud of wavy brightness. Even from that touch she inwardlyshrank; outwardly she was impassive enough. 

"Basil, " said Diana suddenly, "didn't I talk foolishly sometimes?--whenI was sick, I mean. "

"Don't you ever do it when you are well?"

"Do I?"

"What do you think?" said he, laughing, albeit his heart was not merryat the moment; but Diana's question was naive. 

"I did not think I was in the habit of talking foolishly. "

"Your thoughts are true and just, as usual. It is so far from being inyour habit, that it is hardly in your power, " he said tenderly. 

Diana ate her orange, for she was very fond of the fruit, and it gaveoccupation to hands and eyes while Basil was standing by. She did notlike his evasion of her question, and pondered how she could bring itup again, between wish and fear. Before she was ready to speak thechance was gone. As Basil took away her plate, he remarked that he hadto go down to see old Mrs. Barstow; and arranging her pillows anew, hestooped down and kissed her. 

Left alone, Diana sat still propped up in bed and stared into the fire, which grew brighter as the light without waned. How she rebelledagainst that kiss! "No, he has no right to me!" she cried in herpassionate thoughts; "he has no right to me! I am Evan's; every bit ofme is Evan's, and nobody's else. O, how came I to marry this man? andwhat shall I do? I wonder if I shall go mad?--for I am not going todie. But how is it possible that I can live _so?_"

She was slow in regaining strength. Yet little by little it came back, like a monarch entering a country that has rebelled against him. By andby she was able to sit up. Her husband had a luxurious easy-chair sentfrom Boston for her and placed in her room; and one evening, it was inFebruary now, Diana got up and put herself in it. She had never knownsuch a luxurious piece of furniture in her life; she was dressed in awarm wrapper also provided by her husband, and which seemed to her ofextravagant daintiness; and she sank into the depths of the one and thefolds of the other with a helpless feeling of Basil's power over her, symbolized and emphasized by these things. Presently came Basilhimself, again bringing her supper. He placed a small table by her sideand set the tray there; put the teapot down by the fire; and taking aview of his wife, gave a slight smile at the picture. He might well, having so good a conscience as this man had. Diana was one of thosemagnificent women who look well always and anywhere; with a kitchenapron on and hands in flour, or in the dishabille of careless undress;but as her husband saw her then, she was lovely in an exquisite degree. She was wrapped in a quilted dressing-gown of soft grey stuff, with awarm shawl about her shoulders; her beautiful abundant hair, which shehad been too weak of hand, and of heart too, to dress elaborately, laypiled about her head in loose, bright, wavy masses, much morepicturesque than Diana would have known how to make them by design. Ithink there is apt, too, to be about such women a natural grace ofmotion or of repose; it was her case. To think of herself or theappearance she might at any time be making, was foreign to Diana; thenoble grace of unconsciousness, united to her perfectness of build, made her always faultless in action or attitude. If she moved or if shesat, it might have been a duchess, for the beautiful unconscious easewith which she did it. Nature's high breeding; there is such a thing, and there is such an effect of it when the constitution of mind andbody are alike noble. 

Basil poured out her cup of tea, and divided her quail, and then satdown. It was hard for her to bear. 

"You are too good to me, " said Diana humbly. 

"I should like to see you prove that. "

"I am not sure but you are too good to everybody. "

"Why? how can one be too good?"

"You won't get paid for it. "

"I think I shall, " said Basil, in a quiet confident way he had, whichwas provoking if you were arguing with him. But Diana was not arguingwith him. 

"Basil, _I_ can never pay you, " she said, with a voice that faltered alittle. 

"You are sure of that in your own mind?"

"Very sure!"

"I am a man of a hopeful turn of nature. Shall I divide that joint foryou?"

"My hands cannot manage a quail!" said Diana, yielding her knife andfork to him. "What can make me so weak?"

"You have had fever. "

"But I have no fever now, and I do not seem to get my strength back. "

"After the unnatural tension, Nature takes her revenge. "

"It is very hard on you!"

"What?"

Diana did not answer. She had spoken that last word with almost a breakin her voice; she gave her attention now diligently to picking thequail bones. But when her supper was done, and the tray delivered overto Miss Collins, Basil did not, as sometimes he did, go away and leaveher, but sat down again and trimmed the fire. Diana lay back in herchair, looking at him. 

"Basil, " she said at last after a long silence, --"do you thinkmistakes, I mean life-mistakes, can ever be mended in this world?"

"You must define what you mean by mistakes, " he said without looking ather. "There are no _mistakes_, love, but those which we make by our ownfault. "

"O but yes there are, Basil!"

"Not what _I_ mean by mistakes. "

"Then what do you call them? When people's lives are all spoiled bysomething they have had nothing to do with--by death, or sickness, oraccident, or misfortune. "

"I call it, " said Basil slowly, and still without looking at her, --"Icall it, when it touches me or you, or other of the Lord'schildren, --God's good hand. "

"O no, Basil! people's wickedness cannot be his hand. "

"People's wickedness is their own. And other evil I believe is wroughtby the prince of this world. But God will use people's wickedness, andeven Satan's mischief, to his children's best good; and so it becomes, in so far, his blessed hand. Don't you know he has promised, 'Thereshall no evil happen to the just'? And that 'all things shall worktogether for good to them that love God?' His promise does not fail, mychild. "

"But, Basil, --loads of things do happen to them which _cannot_ work fortheir good. "

"Then what becomes of the Lord's promise?"

"He cannot have made it, I think. "

"He has made it, and you and I believe it. "

"But, Basil, it is impossible. I do not see how some things can everturn to people's good. "

"If any of the Lord's children were in doubt upon that point, I shouldrecommend him to ask the Lord to enlighten him. For the heavens mayfall, Diana, but 'the word of our God shall stand for ever. '"

Diana felt her lips quivering, and drew back into the shadow to hidethem. 

"But there can be no kindness in some of these things that I amthinking about, " she said as soon as she could control her voice; andit sounded harsh even then. 

"There is nothing but kindness. When I would not give you strong coffeea while ago, in your fever, do you think I was influenced by cruelmotives?"

"I could never believe anything but good of you, Basil. "

"Thank you. Do you mean, that of Christ you _could?_"

"No--" said Diana, hesitating; "but I thought, perhaps, he might notcare. "

"He had need to be long-suffering!" said Basil; "for we do try hispatience, the best of us. 'He has borne our griefs and carried oursorrows, ' Diana; down into humiliation and death; that he might so earnthe right to lift them off our shoulders and hearts; and one of hischildren doubts if he cares!"

"But he does not lift them off, Basil, " said Diana; and her voicetrembled with the unshed tears. 

"He will"--said her husband. 

"When?"

"As soon as we let him. "

"What must I do to let him?"

"Trust him wholly. And follow him like a child. "

The tears came, Diana could not hinder them; she laid her face againstthe side of her chair where Basil could not see it. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

EVAN'S SISTER. 

Slowly from this time Diana regained strength, and by degrees tookagain her former place in the household. To Miss Collins' vision shewas "the same as ever. " Basil felt she was not. 

Yet Diana did every duty of her station with all the care and diligenceshe had ever given to it. She neglected nothing. Basil's wardrobe waskept in perfect order; his linen was exquisitely got up; his meals werelooked after, and served with all the nice attention that was possible. Diana did not in the least lose her head, or sit brooding when therewas something to do. She did not sit brooding at any time, unless atrare intervals. Yet her husband's heart was very heavy with the weightwhich rested on hers, and truly with his own share as well. There was aline in the corners of Diana's sweet mouth which told him, nobody else, that she was turning to stone; and the light of her eye was, as itwere, turned inward upon itself. Without stopping to brood over things, which she did not, her mind was constantly abiding in a differentsphere away from him, dwelling afar off, or apart in a region byitself; he had her physical presence, but not her spiritual; and whocares for a body without a soul? All this time there was no confidencebetween them. Basil knew, indeed, the whole facts of the case, butDiana did not know he knew. He wished she would speak, but believed nowshe never would; and he could not ask her. Truly he had his own part tobear; and withal his sorrow and yearning tenderness for her. Sometimeshis heart was nigh to break. But Diana's heart was broken. 

Was it comfort, or was it not comfort, when near the end of spring alittle daughter was born to them? Diana in any circumstances was tootrue a woman not to enter upon a mother's riches and responsibilitieswith a full heart, not to enter thoroughly into a mother's joy anddignity; it was a beautiful something that had come into her life, sofar as itself was concerned; and no young mother's hands ever touchedmore tenderly the little pink bundle committed to them, nor ever anymother's eyes hung more intently over her wonderful new possession. Butlift the burden from Diana's heart her baby did not. There wassomething awful about it, too, for it was another bond that bound herto a man she did not love. When Diana was strong enough, she sometimesshed floods of tears over the little unconscious face, the only humanconfident she dared trust with her secret. Before this time her tearshad been few; something in the baby took the hardness from her, or elsegave one of those inexplicable touches to the spring of tears which wecan neither resist nor account for. But the baby's father was as fondof her as her mother, and had a right to be, Diana knew; and that triedher. She grudged Basil the right. On the whole, I think, however, thebaby did Diana good As for Basil, it did him good. He thanked God, andtook courage. 

The summer had begun when Diana was able to come down-stairs again. Oneafternoon she was there, in her little parlour, come down for a change. The windows were open, and she sat thinking of many things. Hereasy-chair had been moved down to this room; and Diana, in white, asBasil liked to see her, was lying back in it, close beside the window. June was on the hills and in the air, and in the garden; for a bunch ofred roses stood in a glass on the table, and one was fastened atDiana's belt and another stuck in her beautiful hair. Not by her ownhands, truly; Basil had brought in the roses a little while ago andheld them to her nose, and then put one in her hair and one in herbelt. Diana suffered it, all careless and unknowing of the exquisiteeffect, which her husband smiled at, and then went off; for his workcalled him. She had heard his horse's hoof-beats, going away at agallop; and the sound carried her thoughts back, away, as a littlething will, to a time when Mr. Masters used to come to her old home tovisit her mother and her, and then ride off so. Yes, and in those claysanother came too; and June days were sweet then as now; and rosesbloomed; and the robins were whistling then also, she remembered; did_their_ fates and life courses never change? was it all June to them, every year? How the robins whistled their answer!--"all June to them, every year!" And the smell of roses did not change, nor the colour ofthe light; and the fresh green of the young foliage was deep and brightand glittering to-day as ever it was. Just the same! and a human lifecould have all sweet scents and bright tints and glad sounds fall outof it, and not to come back! There is nothing but duty left, thoughtDiana; and duty with all the sap gone out of it. Duty was left a drytree; and more, a tree so full of thorns that she could not touch itwithout being stung and pierced. Yet even so; to this stake of duty shewas bound. 

Diana sat cheerlessly gazing out into the June sunlight, which laughedat her with no power to gain a smile in return; when a step came alongthe narrow entry, and the doorway was filled with Mrs. Starling'spresence. Mother and daughter looked at each other in a peculiar waythey had now; Diana's face cold, Mrs. Starling's face hard. 

"Well!" said the latter, --"how are you getting along?"

"You see, I am down-stairs. "

"I see you're doing nothing. "

"Mr. Masters wont let me. "

"Humph! When _I_ had a baby four weeks old, I had my own way. And sowould you, if you wanted to have it. "

"My husband will not let me have it. "

"That's fool's nonsense, Diana. If you are the girl I take you for, youcan do whatever you like with your husband. No man that ever livedwould make _me_ sit with my hands before me. Who's got the baby?"

"Jemima. "

"How's Jemima to do her work and your work too? She can't do it. "

"No, but Mr. Masters is going to get another person to help take careof baby. "

"A nurse!" cried Mrs. Starling aghast. 

"No, not exactly; but somebody to help me. "

"Are you turned weak and sickly, Diana?"

"No, mother. "

"Then you don't want another girl, any more than a frog wants anumbrella. Put your baby in the crib and teach her to lie there, whenyou are busy. That's the way you were brought up. "

"You must talk to Mr. Masters, mother. "

"I don't want to talk to Mr. Masters--I've got something else to do. But you can talk to him, Diana, and he'll do what you say. "

"It's the other way, mother. I must do what he says. " Diana's tone waspeculiar. 

"Then you're turned soft. "

"I think I am turned hard. "

"Your husband is easy to manage--for you. "

"Is he?" said Diana. "I am glad it isn't true. I despise men that areeasy to manage. I am glad I can respect him, at any rate. "

Mrs. Starling looked at her daughter with an odd expression. It wascurious and uncertain; but she asked no question. She seemed to changethe subject; though perhaps the connection was close. 

"Did you hear the family are coming to Elmfield again this summer?"

Diana's lips formed the word "no;" the breath of it hardly got out. 

"Yes, they're coming, sure enough. Phemie will be here next week; andher sister, what's her name?--Mrs. Reverdy--is here now. "

Silence. 

"I suppose they'll fill the house with company, as they did last time, and cut up their shines as usual. Well! they don't come in my way. Butyou'll have to see 'em, I guess. "

"Why?"

"You know they make a great to do about your husband in that family. And Genevieve Reverdy seems uncommonly fond of you. She asked me no endof questions about you on Sabbath. "

There flushed a hot colour into Diana's cheeks, which faded away andleft them very pale. 

"She hasn't grown old a bit, " Mrs. Starling went on, talking ratheruneasily; "nor she hain't grown wise, neither. She can't ask you howyou do without a giggle. And she had dressed herself to come to churchas if the church was a fair and she was something for sale. Flowers, and feathers, and laces, and ribbons, a little there and a little here;bows on her gloves, and bows on her shoes, and bows on her gown. Ibelieved she would have tucked some into the corners of her mouth, ifthey would have stayed. "

Diana made no reply. She was looking out into the sunlit hillside inview from her window, and had grown visibly whiter since her mothercame in. Mrs. Starling reviewed her for that instant with a keen, anxious, searching gaze, which changed before Diana turned her head. 

"I can't make out, for my part, what such folks are in the world for, "she went on. "They don't do no good, to themselves nor to nobody else. And fools mostly contrive to do harm. Well--she's coming to seeyou;--she'll be along one of these days. "

"To see me!" Diana echoed. 

"So she says. Maybe it's all flummery. I daresay it is; but she talkeda lot of it. You'd ha' thought there warn't any one else in the worldshe cared about seeing. "

Mrs. Starling went up-stairs at this point to see the baby, and Dianasat looking out of the window with her thoughts in a wild confusion ofpain. Pain and fright, I might say. And yet her senses took the mostdelicate notice of all there was in the world outside to attract them. Could it be June, once so fair and laughing, that smote her now withsuch blows of memory's hammer? or was it Memory using June? She saw thebright glisten of the leaves upon the hillside, the rich growth of thegrass, the fair beams of the summer sun; she noticed minutely the stageof development which the chestnut blossoms had reached; one or twodandelion heads; a robin redbreast that was making himself exceedinglyat home on the little spread of greensward behind the house. I don'tknow if Diana's senses were trying to cheat her heart; but from oneitem to another her eye went and her mind followed, in a maze of painthat was not cheated at all, till she heard her mother's steps forsakethe house. Then Diana's head sank. And then, even at the moment, as ifthe robin's whistle had brought them, the words came to her--"Call uponme in the day of trouble; I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorifyme. " An absolute promise of the Lord to his people. Could it be true, when trouble was beyond deliverance? And then came Basil's faith to herhelp; she knew how he believed every word, no matter how difficult orimpossible; and Diana fell on her knees and hid her face, and fled tothe one only last refuge of earth's despairing children. How even Godcould deliver her, Diana did not see, for the ground seemed giving awaybeneath her feet; but it is the man who cannot swim who clutches therope for life and death; and it is when we are hopeless of our ownstrength that we throw ourselves utterly upon the one hand that isstrong. Diana was conscious of little else but of doing that; to form aconnected prayer was beyond her; she rather held up the promise, as itwere with both hands, and pleaded it mutely and with the intensity ofone hovering between life and death. The house was still, she feared nodisturbance; and she remained motionless, without change of postureeither of mind or body, for some length of time. Gradually the "I willdeliver thee"--"I will deliver thee"--began to emphasize itself to herconsciousness, like a whisper in the storm, and Diana burst into aterrible flood of tears. That touch of divine sympathy broke her heart. She sobbed for minutes, only keeping her sobs too noiseless to reachand alarm Miss Collins' ears; till her agony was softened and changedat last into something more like a child's exhausted and humble tears, while her breast rose and fell so, pitifully. With that came also avague floating thought or two. "My duty--I'll do my duty--I'll do myduty. "

It was over, and she had risen and was resting in her chair, feelingweaker and yet much stronger than before; waiting till she could dareshow her face to Miss Collins; when a little low tap was heard at thefront door. Company? But Diana had noticed no step and heard no wheels. However, there was no escape for her if it were company. She waited, and the tap was repeated. I don't know what about it this second timesent a thrill all down Diana's nerves. The doors were open, and seeingthat Miss Collins did not stir, Diana uttered a soft "Come!" She washardly surprised at what followed; she seemed to know by instinct whatit would be. 

"Where shall I come?" asked a voice, and a pair of brisk high-heeledshoes tripped into the house, and a little trilling laugh, equallylight and meaningless, followed the words. "Where shall I come? It's anenchanted castle--I see nobody. "

But the next instant she could not say that, for Diana showed herselfat the door of her room, and Mrs. Reverdy hastened forward. Diana wascalm now, with a possession of herself which she marvelled at eventhen. Bringing her visitor into the little parlour, she placed herselfagain in her chair, with her face turned from the light. 

"And here I find you! O you beautiful creature!" Mrs. Reverdy burstout. "I declare, I don't wonder at--anything!" and she laughed. Thelaugh grated terribly on Diana. "I wonder if you know what a beauty youare?" she went on;--"I declare!--I didn't know you were half sohandsome. Have you changed, since three years ago?"

"I think I must, " Diana said quietly. 

"But where have you been? Living here in Pleasant Valley?" was the nextnot very polite question. 

"People do live in Pleasant Valley. Did you think not?" Diana answered. 

"O yes. No. Not what we call life, you know. And you were alwayshandsome; but three years ago you were just Diana Starling, andnow--you might be anybody!"

"I am Mr. Masters' wife, " said Diana, setting her teeth as it were uponthe words. 

"Yes, I heard. How happened it? Do you know, I am afraid you have donea great deal of mischief? O, you handsome women!--you have a great dealto account for. Did you never think you had another admirer?--in thosedays long ago, you know?"

"What if I had?" Diana said almost fiercely. 

"O, of course, " said Mrs. Reverdy with her laugh again, --"of course itis nothing to you now; girls are hard-hearted towards their old lovers, I know that. But weren't you a little tender towards him once? Hehasn't forgotten his part, I can tell you. You mustn't be _too_hard-hearted, Diana. "

If the woman could have spoken without laughing! That littlemeaningless trill at the end of everything made Diana nearly wild. Shecould find no answer to the last speech, and so remained silent. 

"Now I have seen you again, I declare I don't wonder at anything. I wasinclined to quarrel with him, you know, thinking it was just a boyishfoolish fancy that he ought to get over; I was a little out of patiencewith him; but now I see you, I take it all back. I declare, you're awoman the men might rave about. You mustn't mind if they do. "

"There is another question, whether my husband will mind. " She said thewords with a hard, relentless force upon herself. 

"Is he jealous?" laughing. 

"He has no reason. "

"Reason! O, people are jealous without reason; they don't wait forthat. Better without than with. How is Mr. Masters? is he one of thatkind? And how came he to marry you?"

"You ought not to wonder at it, with the opinion you have expressed ofme. "

"O no, I don't wonder at all! But somebody else wanted to marry youtoo; and somebody else thought he had the best right. I am afraid youflirted with him. Or was it with Mr. Masters you flirted? I didn'tthink you were a girl to flirt; but I see! You would keep just quietlystill, and they would flutter round you, like moths round a candle, andit would be their own fault if they both got burned. Has Mr. Mastersgot burned? My poor moth has singed his wings badly, I can tell you. Iam very sorry for him. "

"So am I, " Diana said gravely. 

"Are you? Are you really? Are you sorry for him? May I tell him you aresorry?"

"You have not said whom you are talking about, " Diana answered, with acoldness which she wondered at when she said it. 

"O, but you know! There is only one person I could be talking about. There is only one I could care enough about to be talking for him. Youcannot help but know. May I tell him you say you are sorry for him? Itwould be a sort of comfort, and he wants it. "

"You must ask Mr. Masters. "

"What?"

"That. "

"Whether I may tell Evan you are sorry for him?"

"Whether you may tell that to anybody. "

"I don't want to tell it to but one, " said Mrs. Reverdy, laughing. "What has Mr. Masters to do with it?"

"He is my husband. " And calmly as Diana said it, she felt as if shewould like to shriek out the words to the birds on the hillside--to theangels, if there were angels in the air. Yet she said it calmly. 

"But do you ask your husband about everything you do or say?"

"If I think he would not like it. "

"But that is giving him a great deal of power, --too much. Husband's arefallible, as well as wives, " said Mrs. Reverdy, laughing. 

"Mr. Masters is not fallible. At least, I never saw him fail inanything. If he ever made a mistake, it was when he married me. "

"And you?" said Mrs. Reverdy. "Didn't you make a mistake too?"

"In marrying somebody so much too good for me--yes, " Diana answered. 

The little woman was a good deal baffled. 

"Then have you really no kind word for Evan? must I tell him so?"

Diana felt as if her brain would have reeled in another minute. Beforeshe could answer, came the sound of a little wailing cry from the roomup-stairs, and she started up. That movement was sudden, but the nextwere collected and slow. "You will excuse me, " she said, --"I hearbaby, "--and she passed from the room like a princess. If her manner hadbeen less discouraging, I think Mrs. Reverdy would have still pursuedher point, and asked leave to follow her and see the baby; but Diana'sslow, languid dignity and gracious composure imposed upon the littlewoman, and she gave up the game; at least for the present. When MissCollins, set free, hurried down, Mrs. Reverdy was gone. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

Had she no kind word for Evan? Diana felt as if her heart would snapsome one of its cords, and give over its weary beating at once and forever. No kind word for Evan? her beloved, her betrayed, herlife-treasure once, towards whom still all the wealth of her heartlonged to pour itself out; and she might not send him one kind word?And he did not know that she had been true to him; and yet he hadremained true to her. Might he not know so much as that, and that herheart was breaking as well as his? Only it would not break. All thepain of death without its cessation of consciousness. Why not let himhave one word to know that she loved him still, and would always lovehim? Truth--truth and duty--loyal faith to her husband, the man whom inher mistake she had married. O, why could not such mistakes be undone!But they never could, never. It was a living death that she wascondemned to die. 

I cannot say that Diana really wavered at all in her truth; but thiswas an hour of storm never to be remembered without shuddering. She hadher baby in her arms, but the mother's instincts were for the timeswallowed up in the stormier passions of the woman. She cared for itand ministered to it, tenderly as ever, yet in a mechanical, automaticsort of way, taking no comfort and finding no relief in her sweet duty. It was the roar of the storm and the howling of temptation whichoverwhelmed every other voice in her heart. Then there were practicalquestions to be met. Mrs. Reverdy and her family at Elmfield, who couldguarantee that Evan would not get a furlough and come there too? Mrs. Reverdy's words seemed to have some ultimate design, which they had notindeed declared; they had the air of somewhat different from mereaimless rattle or mischievous gossip. Suppose Evan were to come? Whatthen?

The baby went off to sleep, and was laid away in its crib, and themother stood alone at the window wrestling with her pain. She felthelpless in the grasp of it as almost never before. Danger was loomingup and threatening dark in the distance; there might be a whirlwindcoming out of that storm quarter, and how was she going to stand in thewhirlwind? Beyond the wordless cry which meant "Lord help me!"--Dianacould hardly pray at all at this moment; and the feeling grew that shemust have human help. "Tell Basil"--a whisper said in her heart. Shehad shunned that thought always; she had judged it no use; now she wasdriven to it. He must know the whole. Perhaps then he could tell herwhat to do. 

As soon as Diana's mind through all its tossings and turnings had fixedupon this point, she went immediately from thought to action. It wastwilight now, or almost. Basil would not come home in time for a talkbefore supper; supper must be ready, so as to have no needless delay. She could wait, now she knew what she would do; though there was a fireburning at heart and brain. She went down-stairs and ordered somethingto be got ready for supper; finished the arrangement of the tea-table, which her husband liked to have very dainty; picked a rose for hisplate, though it seemed dreadful mockery; and as soon as she heard hisstep at the door she made the tea. What an atmosphere of sweet, calmbrightness he brought in with him, and always brought. It struck Diananow with the kind of a shiver which a person in a fever feels at thetouch of fresh air. Yet she recognised the beauty of it, and itfortified her in her resolve. She would be true to this man, though shedied for it! There was nothing but truth in him. 

She got through the meal-time as she could; swallowed tea, and even atebread, without knowing how it tasted, and heard Basil talk withoutknowing what he said. As soon as she could she went up-stairs to thebaby, and waited till her husband should come too. But when he came, hecame to her, and did not go to his study. 

"Basil I want to speak to you--will you come into the other room?" shesaid huskily. 

"Won't this room do to talk in?"

"No. It is over the kitchen. "

"Jemima knows I never quarrel"--said Basil lightly; however, he led theway into the study. He set a chair for Diana and took another himself, but she remained standing. 

"Basil--is God good?" she said. 

"Yes. Inexpressibly good. "

"Then why does he let such things happen?"

"Sit down, Di. You are not strong enough to talk standing. Such things?What things?"

"Why does he let people be tempted above what they can bear?"

"He never does--his children--if that is what you mean. He alwaysprovides a way of escape. "

"Where?"

"At Christ's feet. "

"Basil, how can I get there?" she said with a sob. 

"You _are_ there, my darling, " he said, putting her gently into theeasy-chair she had disregarded. "Those who trust in him, his hand neverlets go. They may seem to themselves to lose their standing--they maynot feel the ground under their feet--but he knows; and he will not letthem fall. If they hold fast to him, Diana. "

"Basil, you don't know the whole. "

"Do you want to tell me?"

Her voice was abrupt and hoarse; his was calm and cool as the fall ofthe dew. 

"I want to tell you if I can. But I shall hurt you. "

"I am very willing, if it eases you. Go on. "

"It wont ease me. But you must know it. You ought to know. O, Basil, Imade such a mistake when I married you!"--

She did not mean to say anything so bitter as that; she was where shecould not measure her words. Perhaps his face paled a little; in thefaint light she could not see the change of colour. His voice did notchange. 

"What new has brought that up?"

"Nothing new. Something old. O Basil--his sister has been here to-dayto see me. "

"Has she?" His voice did change a little then. "What did she come for?"

"I don't know. And _he_ will be here, perhaps, by and by. O Basil, doyou know who it is? And what shall I do?"

Diana had sprung up from her chair and dropped down on the floor by herhusband's side, and hid her face in her hands on his knee. His handpassed tenderly, sorrowfully, over the beautiful hair, which lay indisordered, bright, soft masses over head and neck. For a moment he didnot speak. 

"Basil--do you know who it is?"

"I know. "

"What shall I do?"

"What do you want to do, Diana?"

"Right"--she said, gasping, without looking up. 

"I am sure of it!" he said tenderly. "Well, then--the only way is, togo on and do right, Diana. "

"But how can I? how shall I? Suppose he comes? O Basil, it was all amistake; he wrote, and mother kept back the letters, and I never gotthem; he sent them, and I never got them; and I thought he was not trueand it did not matter what I did, and I honoured you above everything, Basil--and so--and so--I did what I did"--

"What cannot be undone. "

"No--" she said, shivering. 

He passed his hands again over her soft hair, and bent down and kissedit. 

"You honour yourself, too, Diana, as well as me. "

"Yes--" she said, under breath. 

"And you honour our God, who has let all this come upon us both?"

"But, O Basil! how could he? how could he?"

"I don't know. "

"And yet you say he is good?"

"And so you say too. The only good; the utterly, perfectly good; wholoves his people, and keeps his promises, and who has said that allthings shall work together for the good of those that love him. "

"How can such a thing as this?" she said faintly. 

"Suppose you and I cannot see how? Then faith comes in and believes itwithout seeing. We shall see by and by. "

"But Basil--suppose--Evan--comes?"

"Well?"

"Suppose--he came--here?"

"Well, Diana?"

She was silent then, but she shook and trembled and writhed. Her headwas still where she had laid it; her face hidden. 

"You are going through as great a trial, my poor wife, as almost everfalls to the lot of a mortal. But you will go through it, and come outfrom it; and then it will be found to have been 'unto praise and honourand glory'--by and by. "

"O how can you tell?"

"I trust in God. And I trust you. "

"But I think he will come--here to Pleasant Valley, I mean. And if hecomes--here, to this house, I mean"--

"What then?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"About seeing him?"

"Yes. "

"What you like best to do, Diana. "

"Basil--he does not know. "

"What does he not know?"

"About the letters or anything. He has never heard--never a word fromme. "

"There was an understanding between you before he went away?"

"Oh yes!"

Both were silent again for a time; silent and still. Then Diana spoketimidly:

"Do you think it would be wrong for him to know?"

Her husband delayed his answer a little; truly, if Diana had somethingto suffer, so had he; and I suppose there was somewhat of a struggle inhis own mind to be won through; however, the answer when it came was aquiet negative. 

"May I write and tell him?"

He bent down and kissed her fingers as he replied--"I will. "

"O Basil, " said the woman at his feet, "I have wished I could die athousand times!--and I am well and strong, and I cannot die. "

"No, " he said gravely; "we must not run away from our work. "

"Work!" said Diana, sitting back now and looking up at him;--"whatwork?"

"The work our Master has given us to do to glorify him. To fight withevil and overcome it; to endure temptation, and baffle it; to carry ourbanner of salvation through the thick of the smoke and the fire, andnever let it fall. "

"I am so weak, I cannot fight. "

"The fight of faith you can. The only sort of fighting that canprevail. Faith lays hold of Christ's strength, and so comes off morethan conqueror. All you can do, is to hold fast to him. "

"O Basil! why does he let such things happen? why does he let suchthings happen? Here is my life broken--and yours; both broken andruined. "

"No, " the minister answered quietly, --"not mine, nor yours. Broken, ifyou will, but not ruined. Neither yours nor mine, Diana. With the loveof Christ in our hearts, that can never be. He will not let it be. "

"It is all ruined, " said Diana; "it is all ruined. I am full of evilthoughts, and no good left. I have wished to die, and I have wanted torun away--I felt as if I must"--

"But instead of dying or running away, you have stood nobly and bravelyto your post of suffering. Wait and trust. The Lord means good to usyet. "

"What possible good?"

"Perhaps, that being stripped of all else, we may come to know him. "

"Is it necessary that people should be stripped of all before they cando that?"

"Sometimes. "

Diana stood still, and again there was silence in the room. The softJune air, heavy with the breath of roses, floated in at the openwindow, bringing one of those sharp contrasts which make the heart sickwith memory and longing; albeit the balsam of promise be there too. People miss that. "Now men see not the bright light that is in theclouds;" and how should they? when the darkness of night seems to havefallen; how can they even remember that behind that screen of darknessthere is a flood of glory? There came in sounds at the window too, fromthe garden and the wood on the hillside; chirruping sounds of insects, mingled with the slight rustle of leaves and the trickle of water froma little brook which made all the noise it could over the stones in itsway down the hill. The voices were of tender peace; the roses and thesmall life of nature all really told of love and care which can aslittle fail for the Lord's children as for the furniture of theirdwelling-place. Yet that very unchangeableness of nature hurts, whichshould comfort. Diana stood still, desolate, to her own sense seeming aruin already; and her husband sat in his place, also still, but he wascalm. They were quiet long enough to think of many things. 

"You are very good, Basil!" Diana said at last. 

It was one of those words which hurt unreasonably. Not because they arenot true words and heartily meant, but because they are the poorsubstitute for those we would like to hear, and give us an ugly scaleto measure distances and differences by. Basil made no sort of answer. Diana stood still. In her confusion of thoughts she did not miss theanswer. Then she began again. 

"Evan--I mean, Basil!"--and she started;--"I wish we could get away. "

"From Pleasant Valley?"

"Yes. "

"My work is here. "

Is mine here too? thought Diana, as she slowly went away into the otherroom. What is mine? To die by this fire that burns in me; or to freezestiff in the cold that sometimes almost stops my heart's beating? Shecame up to the side of her baby's crib and stood there looking, dimlyconscious of an inner voice that said her work was not death. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

SUNSHINE. 

A few days later, the minister came home one evening with a message forhis wife. 

"Good old Mother Bartlett is going home, Diana, and she wants to seeyou. "

"Home? Is she dying, do you mean?"

"_She_ does not mean it. To her, it is entering into life. "

"But what's the matter?"

"You know she had that bad cold. I think the treatment was worse thanthe disease; and under the effects of both, her strength seems to havegiven way. She is sinking quietly. "

"I will go down there in the morning. "

So the next day, early, Basil drove his wife down and left her at thecottage. It was somehow to Diana's feeling just such another day as hadbeen that other wonderful one when she had seen Evan first, and heharnessed Prince, and they came together over this very road. Perhapssoon Evan would be riding there again, without her, as she was goingnow without him. Never together again, never together again! and whatwas life to either of them apart? Diana went into the cottage walkingas one in a dream. 

The cottage was in nice order, as usual, though no woman's hand hadbeen about. Joe, rough as he was, could be what his friends called"real handy;" and he had put everything in trim and taken all care forhis mother's comfort before he went out. The minister had told himDiana would be there; so after he had done this he went to his work. Mrs. Bartlett was lying on her bed in the inner room. Diana kissed her, with a heart too full at the moment to speak. 

"Did the minister bring you?" the old lady asked. 

"Yes. Are you all alone?"

"The Lord never leaves his children alone, dear. They leave himsometimes. Won't you open the winders, Diana. Joe forgot that, and Iwant to see the sun. "

Diana rolled up the thick paper shades which hung over the windows, andput up the sashes. Summer air poured in, so full of warmth andbrightness and sounds of nature's activity, that it seemed to roll up atide of life to the very feet of the dying woman. She looked, and drewa deep breath or two. 

"That's good!" she said. "The Lord made the sunshine. Now sit down, dear; I want to see you. Sit down there, where I _can_ see you. "

"Does Joe leave you here by yourself?"

"He knew you was comin'. Joe's a good boy. But I don't want him nornobody hangin' round all the time, Diana. There ain't nothin' to do;only he forgot the winders, and I want to look out and see all myriches. "

"Your riches, Mother Bartlett?"--And she was not going to live but afew days more. Diana wondered if her senses were wandering. But the oldlady smiled; the wise, sweet smile that Diana knew of old. 

"Whose be they, then?" she asked. 

"You mean, all this pretty summer day?"

"Ain't it pretty? And ain't the sunshine clear gold? And ain't the skya kind of an elegant canopy? And it's all mine, and all it covers, andhe that made it too; and seein' what he makes, puts me in mind of howrich he is and what more he kin do. How's the baby?"

For some little time the baby was talked of, in both present and futurerelations. 

"And you're very happy, Diana?" the old woman asked. "I hain't seen younow for quite a spell--'most all winter. "

"I ought to be"--Diana answered, hesitating. 

"Some things folks does because they had ought to, " remarked the oldlady, "but bein' happy ain't one of 'em. The whole world had ought tobe happy, if you put it so. The Lord wants 'em to be. "

"Not happy"--said Diana hastily. 

"Yes. 'Tain't his fault if they ain't. "

"How can he want everybody to be happy, when he makes them so unhappy?"

"He?--the Lord? He don't make nobody unhappy, child. How did that gitin your head?"

"Well, it comes to the same thing, Mother Bartlett. He lets thingshappen. "

"He hain't chained up Satan yet, if that's what you mean. But Satancan't do no harm to the Lord's children. He's tried, often enough, butthe Lord won't let him. "

"But, Mother Bartlett, that's only a way of talking. I don't know if itis Satan does it, but every sort of terrible thing comes to them. Howcan you say it's not evil?"

"'Cause the good Lord turns it to blessing, dear. Or if he don't, it's'cause they won't let him. O' course it is Satan does it--Satan and hisministers. 'Every good gift and every perfect gift cometh down from theFather of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow ofturning. ' How should he be kind to-day and unkind to-morrow?"

Diana could not trust her voice and was silent. The old woman looked ather, and said in a changed tone presently, "What's come to you, Diana Masters? You had ought to be the happiestwoman there is livin'. "

Diana could not answer. 

"_Ain't_ you, dear?" Mrs. Bartlett added tenderly. 

"I didn't mean to speak of myself, " Diana said, making a tremendouseffort to bring out her words unconcernedly; "but I get utterly puzzledsometimes, Mother Bartlett, when I see such things happen--such thingsas do happen, and to good people too. "

"You ain't the fust one that's been puzzled that way, " returned the oldwoman. "Job was all out in his reckoning once; and David was as stupidas a beast, he says. But when chillen gets into the dark, they're aptto run agin sun'thin' and hurt theirselves. Stay in the light, dear. "

"How can one, always?"

"O, child, jes' believe the Lord's word. That'll keep you near him; andthere is no darkness where he is. "

"What _is_ his word, that I must believe?--about this, I mean. "

"That he loves us, dear; loves us tender and true; like you love yourlittle baby, only a deal more; and truer, and tenderer. For a woman_may_ forget her sucking child, but he never will forget. And allthings he will make to 'work together for good to them that love him. '"

Diana shook and trembled with the effort to command herself and notburst into a storm of weeping, which would have betrayed what she didnot choose to betray. She sat by the bedpost, clasping it, and with thesame clasp as it were holding herself. For a moment _she_ had"forgotten her sucking child, "--the words came home; and it was only bythat convulsive hold of herself that she could keep from crying out. With her face turned away from the sick woman, she waited till theconvulsion had passed; and then said in measured, deliberate accents, "It is hard to see how some things can turn out for good--some things Ihave known. "

"Well, you ain't infinite, be you?" said Mrs. Bartlett. "You can't seeinto the futur'; and what's more, you can't see into the present. Youdon't know what's goin' on in your own heart--not as _he_ knows it. Nomore you ain't almighty to change things. If I was you, I would jesttrust him that is all-wise, and knows everything, and almighty and kindo what he likes. "

"Then why don't he make people good?"

"I said, he kin do what he likes. He don't like to do people's own workfor 'em. He _doos_ make 'em good, as soon as they're willin' and askhim. But the man sick with the palsy had to rise and take up his bedand walk; and what's more, he had to believe fust he could do it. Iknow the Lord gave the power, but the man had his part, you see. "

"Mother Bartlett, " said Diana, rousing herself, "you must not talk somuch. "

"Don't do me no harm, Diana. "

"But you have talked enough. Now let me give you your broth. "

"Then you must talk. I hain't so many opportunities o' social conversethat I kin afford to let one of 'em slip. You must talk while I'meatin'. "

But Diana seemed to have nothing to say. She watched the spoonfuls ofbroth in attentive silence. 

"What's new, Diana? there allays is sun'thin'. "

"Nothing new. Only"--said Diana, correcting herself, "the Knowltons arecoming back to Elmfield. Mrs. Reverdy _is_ come. "

"Be the hull o' them comin'?"

"I believe so. "

"What for?"

"I don't know. To enjoy the summer, I suppose. "

"That's their sort, " said the old woman slowly. "Jest to get pleasure. I used for to see 'em flyin' past here in all the colours o' therainbow--last time they was in Pleasant Valley. "

"But God made the colours of the rainbow, " said Diana. 

"So he did, " the old lady answered, laughing a little. "So he did; andthe colours of the flowers, which is the same colours, to be sure; butwhat then, Diana?"

"I was thinking, Mother Bartlett--it cannot displease him that weshould like them too. "

"No, child, it don't; nor it don't displease him to have us wear 'em, nother, --if we could only wear 'em as innercently as the flowers doos. If you kin, Diana, you may be as scarlet as a tulip or as bright as amarigold, for all I care. "

"But people are not any better for putting on dark colours, " said Diana. 

"They're some modester, though. "

"Why?"

"They ain't expectin' that folks'll be lookin' at 'em. "

"Mr. Masters likes me to wear bright dresses. "

"Then do it, child. It's considerable of a pleasure to have his eyespleased. Do you know what a husband you've got, Diana?"

"Yes. "

"He's 'most like one o' them flowers himself. He's so full o' thesweetness the Lord has put into him, and he's jest as unconscious thathe's spreadin' it wherever he goes. "

Diana was silent. She would have liked again to burst into tears; shecontrolled herself as before. 

"That ain't the way with those Knowlton girls; nor it ain't the waythey wear their fine colours, neither. Can't you get a little senseinto their heads, Diana?"

"I? They think nothing of me, Mother Bartlett. "

"Maybe not, two years ago, but they will now. You're the minister'swife, Diana. They allays sot a great deal by him. "

Diana was chewing the cud of this, when Mrs. Bartlett asked again, "Who's sick in the place?"

"Quite a number. There's Mrs. Wilson at the tavern; she's sinking atlast; my husband sees her every day. Then old Josh Lightfoot--he's downwith I don't know what; very sick. Mrs. Saddler has a child that hasbeen hurt; he was pitched off a load of hay and fell upon a fork; hismother is distracted about him, and it is all Mr. Masters can do toquiet her. And Lizzie Satterthwaite is going slowly, you know, inconsumption, and _she_ expects to see him every day. And that isn'tall; for over in the village of Bromble there is sickness--I supposethere always is in that miserable place. "

"And the minister goes there too, I'll be bound?"

"O yes. He goes everywhere, if people want him. It takes twenty milesof riding a day, he told me, just to visit all these people that hemust see. "

"Ay, ay, " said the old woman contentedly; "enjoyment ain't the end oflife, but to do the will of God; and he's doin' it. And enjoyment comesthat way, too; ay, ay! 'an hundred-fold now, in this world, and in theworld to come eternal life. ' I hain't ever been able to do much, Diana;but it has been sweet--his service--all along the way; and now I'mgoin' where it'll be nothin' but sweetness for ever. "

A little tired, perhaps, with talking, for she had talked with a gooddeal of energy, the old lady dozed off into a nap; and Diana sat alonewith the summer stillness, and thought over and over some of the wordsthat had been said. It was the hush of the summer stillness, and alsothe full pulse of the summer life that she felt as she sat there; notsoothing to inaction, but stirring up the loving doing. A warm breathof vital energy, an odorous witness-bearing of life fruitfulness, a humand a murmur of harmonious forces in action, a depth of colour in thelight and in the shadow, which told of the richness and fullness of thenatural world. Nothing idle, nothing unfruitful, nothing out ofharmony, nothing in vain. How about Diana Masters, and her work and herpart in the great plan? Again the gentle summer air which stole in, laden with such scents and sweets, rich and bountiful out of theinfinite treasury, spoke of love at the heart of creation. But therewere cold winds, too, sometimes; icy storms; desolations of tempests;they had been here not long ago. True, but yet it was not those, but_this_ which carried on the life of the world; this was the "Yes, " andthose others the "No, " of creation; and an affirmative is stronger thana negative any day, by universal acknowledgment. Moreover, that "No"was in order to this "Yes;" gave way before it, yielded to it; and lifereigned in spite of death. Vaguely Diana's mind felt and carried on theanalogy, and the reasoning from analogy, and drew a chill, far-off hopefrom it. For it was the time of storm and desolation with her now, andthe summer sun had not come yet. She sat musing while the old ladyslumbered. 

"Hullo, Diany! here you be!" exclaimed the voice of Joe Bartlett, suddenly breaking in. "Here's your good man outside, waitin' for you, Iguess; his horse is a leetle skittish. What ails your mother?"

"My mother?"

"Yes. Josh says--you see, I've bin down to mill to git some rye ground, and he was there; and what's more, he had the start of me, and I had towait for him, or I wouldn't ha' stood there chatterin' while the sunwas shinin' like it is to-day; that ain't my way. But Josh says she'sgoin' round groanin' at sun'thin'--and that ain't _her_ way, nother. Mind you, it ain't when anybody's by; I warrant you, she don't give nosign _then_ that anythin's botherin' her; Josh says it's when she'salone. I didn't ask him how he come to know so much, and so little; butI wisht I had, " Joe finished his speech laughing. 

Diana took her hat, kissed the old woman, and went out to her husband, who was waiting for her. And some miles of the drive were made insilence. Then as the old brown house came in sight, with the weepingelms over the gate, Diana asked her husband to stop for a minute ortwo. He reined up under the elm trees and helped Diana out, lettingher, however, go in alone. 

Diana was not often here, naturally; between her and her mother, whonever in the best of times had stood near together or shared eachother's deeper sympathies, a gulf had opened. Besides, the place waspainful to Diana on other accounts. It was full of memories andassociations; she always seemed to herself when there as a dead personmight on revisiting the place where once he had lived; she felt dead toall but pain, and the impression came back with sharp torture that onceshe used to be alive. So as the shadow of the elm branches fell overher now, it hurt her inexpressibly. She was alive when she had dweltunder them; yes, she and Evan too. She hurried her steps and went in atthe lean-to door. 

It was now long past mid-day. The noon meal was over, apparently, andevery sign of it cleared away. The kitchen was in spotless order; butbeside the table sat Mrs. Starling, doing nothing; an unheard-of stateof affairs. Diana came farther in. 

"Mother"--

"Well, Diana, "--said Mrs. Starling, looking up. "What's brought younow?"

"I've been down to see Mrs. Bartlett--she sent for me--and I thought Iwould stop in as I went by. Mr. Masters is outside. "

"Well, I've no objection, " said Mrs. Starling ambiguously. 

"How do you do?"

"Middling. "

"Is all getting on well with the farm and the dairy?"

"I don't let it be no other way. "

Diana saw that something was wrong, but knew also that if she were tofind it out it would be by indirect ways. 

"May I go into the pantry and get some milk? I've been a good whilefrom home, and I'm hungry. "

"Go along, " said her mother ungraciously. "I should think likely, if_you_ are hungry, your baby is too. That's a new way of doing things. 'Twarn't ever my way. A woman that's got a baby ought to attend to it. An' if she don't, her husband ought to make her. "

"I've not been gone so long as all that comes to, " said Diana; and shewent into the pantry, her old domain. The pans of milk looked friendlyat her; the sweet clean smell of cream carried her back--it seemedages--to a time when she was as sweet and clean. "Yet it is not myfault, "--she said to herself, --"it is _her's_--all her's. " She snatcheda piece of bread and a glass of milk, and swallowed it hastily. Then, as she came out, she saw that one of her mother's hands lay bandaged upin her lap under the table. 

"Mother, what's the matter with your hand?"

"O, not much. "

"But what? It's all tied up. Have you burned it?"

"No. "

"What then? Cut yourself?"

"I should like to know how I should go to work to cut my right hand!Don't make a fuss about nothing, Diana. It's only scalded. "

"Scalded! How?"

"I shall never be able to tell that, to the end of my days, " said Mrs. Starling. "If pots and kettles and that could be possessed, I shouldknow what to think. I was makin' strawberry preserve--and the kettlewas a'most full, and it was first rate preserve, and boiling, andalmost done, and I had just set it down on the hearth; and then, Idon't know how to this day, I stumbled--I don't know over what--and myarm soused right in. "

"Boiling sweetmeat!" cried Diana. "Mother, let me see. It must bedreadfully burned. "

"It's all done up, " said Mrs. Starling coldly. "I was real put outabout my preserves. "

"Have you had dinner?"

"I never found I could live 'thout eating. "

"Who got dinner for you, and cleared away?"

"Nobody. I did it myself. "

"For the men and all!"

"Well, _they_ don't count to live without eatin', no mor'n I do, " saidMrs. Starling with a short laugh. 

"And you did it with one hand!"

"Did you ever know me to stop in anything I had to do, for want of ahand?" said Mrs. Starling scornfully. 

No, thought Diana to herself; nor for want of anything else, eventhough it were right or conscience. Aloud she only said, "I must go home to baby"--

"You had better, I should think, " her mother broke in. 

"Can I do anything for you first?"

"You can see for yourself, there is nothing to do. "

"Shall I come back and stay with you to-night?"

"You had better ask the Dominie. "

"Mother, he _never_ wants me to do anything but just what is right, "Diana said seriously. Mrs. Starling lifted up her head and gave acurious searching look into her daughter's face. What was she trying tofind?

"That's one turtle dove, " she said. "And are you another, and alwaysbob your head when he bobs his'n?"

Diana wondered at this speech; it seemed to her, her mother was losingground even in the matter of language. No thought of irritation crossedher; she was beyond trifles now. She made no answer; she merely badeher mother good-bye, and hurried out. And for a long while the drivewas again in silence. Then, when the grey horse was walking up a hill, Diana spoke in a meditative sort of way. 

"Basil--you said enjoyment was not the end of life"--

"Did I?" he answered gravely. 

"If you didn't, it was Mother Bartlett. You _do_ say so, I suppose?"

"Yes. It is not the end of life. "

"What is, then?"

"To do the will of God. And by and by, if not sooner, enjoyment comesthat way too, Diana. And when it comes that way, it stays, and lasts. "

"How long?"

"For ever and ever!"

Diana waited a few minutes and then spoke again. 

"Basil--I want to consult you. "

"Well, do it. "

"Ought I to leave my mother to live alone, as she is? She is not youngnow. "

"What would you do?"

"If I knew, Basil, I would like it to do what I _ought_ to do. "

"Would you take her to live with you?"

"If you would?--and she would. "

Basil put his arm round his wife and bent down and kissed her. He wouldnot have done it if he could have guessed how she shrank. 

"If you will take life on those terms, " he said, "then it will be truefor you, that 'sorrow may endure for a night, but joy cometh in themorning. '"

It will be the morning of the resurrection, then, thought Diana; butshe only replied, "What 'terms, ' Basil, do you mean?"

"Doing the Lord's will. His will is always good, Diana, and bringssweet fruit; only you must wait till the fruit is ripe, my child. "

"Then what about mother?"

"I do not believe she would come to us. "

"Nor I. Suppose she would let us come to her?"

"Then I would go, --if you wished it. "

"I don't wish it, Basil. I was thinking, if I could bear it? But thethought will not out of my head, that she ought not to be alone. "

"Then do what is in thine heart, " the minister said cheerfully. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

A JUNE DAY. 

Mrs. Starling hesitated, when Diana proposed her plan; she would thinkof it, she said. But when she began to think of it, the attractionswere found irresistible. To have her grandchild in the house besideher, perhaps with a vague thought of making up to her daughter in someunexplained way for the wrong she had done; at any rate, to have voicesand life in the house again, instead of the bare silence; voices ofpeople that belonged to her own blood; Mrs. Starling found that shecould not give up the idea, once it got into her head. Then sheobjected that the house was too small. 

The minister said he would put up an addition of a couple of rooms forhimself and Diana, and Diana's old room could serve as a nursery. 

Who wants a nursery? Mrs. Starling demanded. Her idea of a nursery wasthe whole house and all out of doors. The minister laughed and saidthat was not _his_ idea; and Mrs. Starling was fain to let it pass. Shewas human, though she was not a good woman; and Diana's proposal tocome back to her had, though she would never allow it even to herself, touched both her heart and her conscience. Somewhere very deep down andout of sight, nevertheless it was true; and it was true that she hadbeen very lonely; and she let the minister have his own way, undisputed, about the building. 

The carpenters were set to work at once, and at home Diana quietly madepreparations for a removal in the course of a few months. She buriedherself in business as much as ever she could, to still thought andkeep her nerves quiet; for constantly, daily and nightly now, the imageof Evan was before her, and the possibility that he might any daypresent himself in very flesh and blood. No precautions were of anyavail; if he chose to seek her out, Diana could not escape him unlessby leaving Pleasant Valley; and that was not possible. Would he come?She looked at that question from every possible point of the compass, and from every one the view that presented itself was that he wouldcome. Nay, he ought not; it would be worse than of no use for them tosee each other; and yet, something in Diana's recollections of him, or, it might be, something in the consciousness of her own nature, made hersay to herself that he would come. How should she bear it? She almostwished that Basil would forbid it, and take measures to make itimpossible; but the minister went his way unmoved and quiet as usual;there was neither fear nor doubt on his broad fair brow. Dianarespected him immensely; and at times felt a great pang of grief thathis face should wear such a shade of gravity as was habitual to it now. Knowing him so well as she did by this time, she could guess thatthough the gravity never degenerated into gloom, the reason was to befound solely and alone in the fact that Basil's inner life was fed bysprings which were beyond the reach of earthly impoverishing ordisturbing. How much better she thought him than herself!--as shelooked at the calm, stedfast beauty of his countenance, which matchedhis daily life and walk. No private sorrow touched that. Never thinkingof himself nor seeking his own, he was busy from morning till nightwith the needs of others; going from house to house, carrying help, showing light, bringing comfort, guiding into the way, pointing out thewrong; and at home, --Diana knew with what glad resort he went to hisBible and prayer for his own help and wisdom, and wrought out thelessons that were to be given openly in the little hillside church. Diana knew, too, what flowers of blessings were springing up along hispath; what fruits of good. "The angel of the church" in Pleasant Valleyhe was, in a sense most true and lovely, although that be not theoriginal bearing of the phrase in the Revelation, where Alford thinks, and I think, no human angels are intended. Nevertheless, that was Basilhere; and his wife, who did not love him, honoured him to the bottom ofher heart. 

And in her self-reproach and her humility, Diana wrote bitterer thingsagainst herself than there was any need. For she, too, was doing herdaily work with a lovely truth of aim and simpleness of purpose. Withall the joys of life crushed out, she was walking the way which hadbecome so weary with a steady foot, and with hands ready and diligentto do all they found to do. In another sort from her husband, the fair, calm, grave woman was the angel of her household. I can never tell youhow beautiful Diana was now. If the careless light glance of the girlwas gone, there was now, instead, the deeper beauty of a nature thathas loved and suffered; that ripening process of humanity, withoutwhich it never comes to its full bloom and fruitage; though that be avery material image for the matter in hand. And there was besides inDiana the dignity of bearing of one who is lifted above all smallconsiderations of every kind; that is, not above small duties, butabove petty interests. Therefore, in this woman, who had never seen andscarcely imagined courts, even in the minister's house in PleasantValley, there was the calm poise and grace which we associate in ourspeech and thoughts with the highest advantages of social relations. Soextremes sometimes meet. In Diana it was due to her inborn nobility ofnature and the sharp discipline of sorrow; in aid of which practicallycame also her perfection of physical health and form. It must beremembered, too, that she had been now for a good while in the closecompanionship of a man of great refinement and culture, and that bothstudy and conversation had lifted her by this time far out of theintellectual sphere in which the beginning of our story found her. 

The carpenters were going on vigorously with their work on the newrooms adding to Mrs. Starling's house; and Diana was making, as shecould from time to time, her little preparations for the removal, which, however, could not take place yet for some time. It was in thebeginning of July. Diana was up-stairs one day, looking over thecontents of a trunk, and cutting up pieces for patchwork. Windows wereopen, of course, and the scent of new hay came in with the warm air. Haymaking was going on all over Pleasant Valley. By and by Miss Collinsput her head in. 

"Be you fixed to see folks?"

"Who wants me?"

"Well, there's somebody comin'; and I reckon it's one or other o' themfly-aways from Elmfield. "

"Here?" said Diana, starting up and trembling. 

"Wall, there's one of 'em comin', I guess--I see the carriage--and Ithought maybe you warn't ready to see no one. When one gets into atrunk it's hard to get out again. So I thought I'd jes' come and tellye. There she is comin' up the walk. Hurry, now. "

Down went Miss Collins to let the visitor in, and Diana did hurry andchanged her dress. What can she be come for? she questioned withherself meanwhile; for it was Mrs. Reverdy, she had seen. No good! nogood! But nobody would have guessed that Diana had ever been in ahurry, that saw her entrance the next minute upon her visitor. Thatlittle lady felt a sort of imposing effect, and did not quite know howto do what she had come for. 

"I always think there has come some witchery over my eyes, " she saidwith her invariable little laugh of ingratiation, "when I see you. Ialways feel a kind of new surprise. Is it the minister that has changedyou so? What's he done?"

"Changed me?" Diana repeated. 

"Why, yes; you are changed. You are not like what you were two yearsago--three years ago--how long is it. "

"It is three years ago, " said Diana, trying to smile. "I am three yearsolder. "

"O, it isn't that. _I'm_ three years older. I suppose I didn't seeenough of you then to find you out. It was my fault. But if you hadmarried somebody belonging to me, I can tell you, I should have beenvery proud of my sister-in-law. "

She laughed at the compliment she was making, laughed lightly; whileDiana inwardly shook, like a person who has received a sudden sharpblow, and staggers in danger of losing his footing. Did she wavervisibly before her adversary's eyes, she wondered? She was sure hercolour did not change. She found nothing to say, in any case; and aftera moment her vision cleared and she had possession of herself again. 

"I am saucy, " said Mrs. Reverdy, smiling, "but nobody thinks of mindinganything I say. That's the good of being little and insignificant, as Iam. "

Diana was inclined to wish her visitor would not presume upon herharmlessness. 

"I should as soon think of being rude to a duchess, " Mrs. Reverdy wenton; "or to a princess. I don't see how Evan ever made up his mind to goaway and leave you. "

"Is it worse to be rude to a duchess than to other people?" Dianaasked, seizing the first part of this speech as a means to get over thelast. 

"I never tried, " said Mrs. Reverdy; "I never had the opportunity, youknow. I might have danced with the Prince of Wales, perhaps, when hewas here. I know a lady who did, and she said she wasn't afraid of_him_. If you had been there, I am sure she would not have got thechance. "

"You forget, I am not a dancer. "

"O, not now, of course--but then you wouldn't have been a minister'swife. "

"Why should not a minister's wife dance as well as other people?"

"O, I don't know!" said Mrs. Reverdy lightly; "but they never do, youknow. They are obliged to set an example. "

"Of what?"

"Of everything that is proper, I suppose. Don't you feel thateverybody's eyes are upon you, always, watching everything you do?"

A good reminder! But Diana answered simply that she never thought aboutit. 

"Don't you! Isn't the minister always reminding you of what people willthink?"

"No. It isn't his way. "

"Doesn't he? Why, without being a minister, that is what my husbandused always to be doing to me. I was a little giddy, you know, " saidMrs. Reverdy, laughing; "I was very young; and I used to have plenty ofadmonitions. "

"I believe Mr. Masters thinks we should only care about God's eyes, "Diana said quietly. 

Mrs. Reverdy startled a little at that, and for a moment looked grave. From Diana she had not expected this turn. 

"I never think about anything!" she said then with a laugh, that lookedas if it were meant to be one of childlike, ingenuousness. "Don't thinkme very bad. Everybody can't be good and discreet like you and Mr. Masters. "

"Very few people are like Mr. Masters, " Diana assented. 

"We all know that. And in the daily beholding of his superiority, haveyou quite forgotten everything else?--your old lover and all?"

"Whom do you mean?" Diana asked, with a calm coldness at which shewondered herself. 

"I mean Evan, to be sure. You know he was your old lover. He wants tosee you. He has not forgotten you, at any rate. Have you entirelyforgotten him? Poor fellow! he has had a hard time of it. "

"I have not forgotten Mr. Knowlton at all, " Diana said with difficulty, for it seemed to her that her throat was suddenly paralyzed. 

"You have not forgotten him? I may tell him that? Do you know, he ravesabout you?--I wish you could hear him once. He is Captain Knowlton now, you must understand; he has got his advancement early; but one or twopeople died, and somebody else was removed out of his way; and so hestepped into his captaincy. Lucky fellow! he always has been lucky;except just in one thing; and he thinks that spoils all. May he comeand see you, Diana? He has given me no peace until I would come and askyou, and he will never have any peace, that I can see, if you refusehim. Poor fellow! there he is out there all this time, champing the bitworse than the horses. "

And the woman said it all with her little civil smile and laugh, as ifshe were talking about sugar plums!

"Is he here?" cried Diana. 

"With the horses--waiting to know the success of my mission; and I havebeen afraid to ask you, for fear you should say no; and I _cannot_carry back such an answer to him. May I tell him to come in?"

"Why should not he come to see me, as well as any other friend?" saidDiana. But the quiver in her voice gave the answer to her own question. 

"Of course!" said Mrs. Reverdy, rising with a satisfied face. "There isno reason in the world why he should not, if you have kindness enoughleft for him to let him come. Then I'll go out and tell him to come in;for the poor fellow is sitting on sword's points all this while. " Andlaughing at her supposed happy professional allusion, the lady withdrew. 

Diana flew up the stairs to her own room. She did not debate much thequestion whether she ought to see Evan; it came to her rather as athing that she _must_ do; there was no question in the case. However, perhaps the question only lay very deep down in her consciousness, forthe justification presented itself, that to refuse to see him, would beto confess both to his sister and himself that there was danger in it. Diana never could confess that, whatever the fact. So, answering dumblythe doubt that was as wordless, without stopping a moment she caught upher sleeping baby out of its cradle, and drawing the cradle after herwent into her husband's study. Basil was there, she knew, at work. Helooked up as she came in. Diana drew the cradle near to him, andcarefully laid the still sleeping, fair and fat little bundle from herarms down in it again; this was done gently and deliberately enough;no hurry and no perturbation. Then she stood upright. 

"Basil, will you take care of her? He is come. "

The minister looked up into his wife's face; he knew what she meant. And he felt as he looked at her, how far she was from him. There was nosmile on Diana's lips, indeed; on the contrary, an intensity offeelings that were not pleasurable; and yet, and yet, he who has lookedfor the light of love in an eye and missed it long, knows it when hesees it, even though it be not for him. The four eyes met each othersteadily. 

"Shall I see him?" Diana asked. 

Basil stretched out his hand to her. "I can trust you, Diana. "

She put her cold hand in his for a minute and hurried away. Then, asshe reached the other room, she heard in the hall below a step, thestep she had not heard for years; and her heart made one spring backover the interval. In the urgency of action, Diana's colour had hardlychanged until now; now she turned deadly white, and for one instantsank on her knees by her bedside with her heart full of a mute, unformed prayer for help. It was fearful to go on, but she must go onnow; she must see Evan; he was there; questions were done; and as shewent down-stairs, while her face was white, and pain almost confusedher senses, there was a stir of keen joy at her heart--fierce, likethat of a wild beast which has been robbed of its prey but has got itagain. She tried for self-command, and as one mean towards it forcedherself to go deliberately. No hasty steps should be heard on thestairs or in the floor. Even so, the way was short; a moment, and shehad entered the room, and she and Evan were face to face once more. 

Face to face, and yet, neither dared look at the other. He wasstanding, waiting for her; she came a few paces into the room and stoodstill opposite him; they did not touch each other's hands; they made noshow of greeting. How should they? in each other's presence indeed theywere, with but a small space of transparent air between, to the sense;and yet, a barrier mountains high, of impassible ice, to the mind'sapprehension. You could have heard a pin drop in the room; the twostood there, a few yards apart, not even looking at each other, yetintensely conscious each all the while of the familiar outlines andtraits so long unseen, so well known by heart. Breathing the air of thesame room again, and nevertheless miles and miles apart; that was whatthey were feeling. The miles could not be bridged over; what use to tryto bridge over the yards? Diana was growing whiter, if whiter could be;Evan's head sank lower. At last the man succumbed; sat down; buried hishead in his hands, and groaned aloud. Diana stood like a statue, butlooking at him now. 

What is it in little things which has such power over us? As Dianastood there looking, it was little things which stabbed her as if eachwere a sharp sword. The set of Evan's shoulders, the waves of his hair, the very gold shoulder-straps on the well-remembered blue uniformundress; his cap which lay on her table, with its service symbols. Isit that the sameness of these material trifles seems to assert thatnothing is changed, and so makes the change more incredible anddreadful? I cannot describe the woful pain which the sight of thesethings gave Diana. With them came the fresh remembrance of all themanly beauty and grace of Evan in which she had once sunned herself, and the contrast of her husband. Not that Basil's personal appearancewas ever to be despised, any more than himself; his figure was good, and his face had a beauty of its own, possibly a higher kind of beauty;but it was not the type of a hero of romance; and Evan's, to Diana'sfancy, _was;_ and it had been her romance. She stood still, motionless, breathless. If anybody spoke, it must be he. But at last she trembledtoo much to stand, and she sat down too. 

"How has it happened, Diana?" Evan asked without looking up. 

"I don't know, "--she said just above her breath. 

"How could you do so?"

Well, it suited him well to reproach her! What matter? Things could notbe more bitter than they were. She did not try to answer. 

"You have ruined both our lives. _Mine_ is ruined; I am ruined. I shallnever be worth anything now. I don't care what becomes of me. "

As she still did not answer, he looked up, and their eyes met. Oncemeeting, they could not quit each other. Diana's gaze was sad enough, but eager with the eagerness of long hunger. His was sharp with pain atfirst, keen with unreasonable anger; one of the mind's resorts fromunbearable torment. Then as he looked it changed and grew soft; andfinally, springing up, he went over to where she sat, dropped on hisknees before her, and seizing her hands kissed them one after the othertill tears began to mingle with the kisses. She was passive; she couldnot drive him off; she felt that she and he must have this one momentto bury their past in; it was only when her hands were growing wet withhis tears that she roused herself to an effort. 

"Evan--Evan--listen to me! You mustn't--remember, I am a man's wife. "

"How could you?"

"I did not know what I was doing. "

"Have you given up loving me?"

"What is the use of talking of it, Evan? I am another man's wife. "

"But there are such things as divorces. "

"Hush! Do not speak of such a thing. "

"I must speak of it. Whom do you love? tell me that first. "

"No one has a right to ask me such a question. "

"_I_ have a right, " cried the young man; "for I have been deceived, cheated, robbed of my own; and I have a right to get back my own. Diana, speak! do you love me less than you used to do? Tell me that. "

"I do not change, Evan. "

"Then you have no business to be anybody's wife but mine. Nothing canhinder _that_, Diana. "

"Stop! You are not to speak so. I will not hear it. "

"You are mine, Diana. "

"I _was_ yours, Evan!" she said tenderly, bending her head over himtill her lips touched his hair. "We have been parted, and it isover--over for this world. You must go your way, and I must go mine. And you must not say, I am ruined. "

"Do not you say it?"

"I must not. "

"It is the truth for me, if I do not have you with me. "

"It is not the truth, " she said with infinite tenderness in her manner. "Not ruined, Evan. We can go our way and do our work, even if we arenot happy. _That_ is another thing. "

"Then you are not happy?" he said eagerly. 

Diana did not reply. 

"Why should we not be happy?" he went on passionately, looking up nowinto her face. "You are mine, Diana--you belonged to me first, you havebeen mine all along; only I have been robbed of you;--pure robbery;nothing else. And has not a man a right to his own, wherever andwhenever he finds it? You had given yourself first to me. That isirrevocable. "

"No"--she said with the same gentleness, in every tone of which lurkedan unutterable sorrow; it would have broken her husband's heart to hearher; and yet she was quiet, so quiet that she awed the young officer alittle. "No--I had promised to give myself to you; that is all. "

"You gave me your heart, Di?"

She was silent, for at the moment she could not speak

"Di!"--he insisted. 

"Yes. "

"That is enough. That is all. "

"It is not all. Since then I have"--

"How could you do it, Diana? how could you do it, after your heart wasmine? _while_ your heart was mine!"

"I was dead, " she said in the same low, slow, impressive way. "Ithought I was dead, --and that it did not matter any more what I did, one way or another. I thought I was dead; and when I found out thatthere was life in me yet, it was too late. " A slight shudder ran overher shoulders, which Evan, however, did not see. 

"And you doubted me!" said he. 

"I heard nothing"--

"Of course!--and that was enough to make you think I was nothing but afeatherhead!"--

"I thought I was not good enough for you, " she said softly. 

"Not good enough!" cried Evan. "When you are just a pearl ofperfection--a diamond of loveliness--more than all I knew you wouldbe--like a queen rather than like a common mortal. And I could havegiven you a place fit for you; and here you are"--

"Hush!" she said softly, but it stopped him. 

"_Why_ did you never hear from me? I wrote, and wrote, and O, Diana, how I looked for something from you! I walked miles on the way to meetthe waggon that brought our mails; I could hardly do my duty, or eat, or sleep, at last. I would ride then to meet the post-carrier, thoughit did not help me, for I could not open the bags till they werebrought into the post; and then I used to go and gallop thirty miles toride away from myself. _Why_ did you never write one word?"

"I did not know your address, " she said faintly. 

"I gave it you, over and over. "

"You forget, --I never got the letters. "

"What became of them?"

"I don't know. "

"What was her motive?"

"I suppose--I don't know. "

"What do you suppose?"

"What is the use of talking about it, Evan?"

"My poor darling!" said he, looking up in her face again "it has beenhard on you too. Oh Di, my Di! I cannot lose you!"--

He was still kneeling before her, and she put her two hands on hishead, smoothing or rather pushing back the short locks from his templeson either side, looking as one looks one's last on what one loves. Hereyes were dry, and large with pain which did not allow the eyelidstheir usual droop; her mouth was in the saddest lines a woman's lipscan take, but they did not tremble. 

"Hush, " she said again softly. "I am lost to you. That is over. Now goand do a man's work in the world, and if I hear of you, let me heargood. "

"Haven't you got one kiss for me?"

She bent lower down, and kissed his brow. She kissed it twice; but themanner of the woman was of such high and pure dignity that the youngofficer, who would else have had no scruple, did not dare presume uponit. He took no more than she gave; bent his head again when she tookher hands away, and covered his face, as at first. They were both stillawhile. 

"Evan--you must go, " she whispered. 

"When may I come again?"

She did not answer. 

"I am coming very soon again, Di. I must see you often--I must see youvery often, while I am here. I cannot live if I do not see you. I donot see how I can live any way!"

"Don't speak so. "

"How do _you_ expect to bear it?" he asked jealously. 

"I don't know. We shall find as the days come. "

"Life looks so long!"--

"Yes. But we have got something to do in it. "

"I have not. Not now. "

"Every one has. And a brave man, or a brave woman, will do what he hasto do, Evan. "

"I am not brave, except in the way every man is brave. When may I come, Diana? To-morrow?"

"O no!"

"Why not? Then when?"

"Not this week. "

"But this is Tuesday. "

"Yes. And Mrs. Reverdy is waiting for you all this while. "

"I have been waiting all these years. She don't know what waitingmeans. Mayn't I come again before Monday?"

"Certainly not. You must wait till then, and longer. "

"I am not going to wait longer. Then Monday, Diana?"

He stretched out his hand to her, and she laid hers within it. Thefirst time that day; the first time since so many days. Hands lingered, were slow to unclasp, loath to leave the touch which was such exquisitepain and pleasure at once. Then, without looking again, slowly, deliberately, as all her movements had been made, Diana withdrew fromthe room; not bearing, perhaps, to stay and have him leave her, ordoubting of her power to make him go, or unable to endure anything morefor this time. She left him standing there, and slowly went up thestairs. But the moment she got to her room she stopped, and stood withher hands pressed upon her heart, listening; every particle of colourvanishing from her face, and her eyes taking a strained look ofdespair; listening to the footsteps that, also slowly, now went throughthe hall. When they went out and had quitted the house, she flew to thewindow. She watched to see the stately figure go along the little walkand out at the gate; she had hardly dared to look at him down-stairs. Now her eye sought out every well-known line and trait with aneagerness like the madness of thirst. Yes, he had grown broader in theshoulders; his frame was developed; he had become more manly, and soeven finer in appearance than ever. Without meaning it, Diana drewcomparisons. How well he walked! what a firm, sure, graceful gait! Howbeloved of old time was the officer's undress coat, and the little capwhich reminded Diana so inevitably of the time when it was at home onher table or lying on a chair near! Only for a minute or two she tastedthe bitter-sweet pang of associations; and then cap and wearer werepassed from her sight. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

WIND AND TIDE. 

How that night went by it would be useless to try to tell. Some thingscannot be described. A loosing of all the bands of law and order in thematerial world we call chaos; and once in a while the mental nature ofsome poor mortal falls for a time into a like condition. No hold ofanything, not even of herself; no clear sense of anything, except ofthe disorder and pain; no hope at the moment that could fasten oneither world, the present or the future; no will to lay hold of theunruly forces within her and reduce them to obedience. An awful nightfor Diana, such as she never had spent, nor in its full measure wouldever spend again. Nevertheless, through all the confusion, under allthe tumult, there was one fixed point; indeed, it was the point roundwhich all the confusion worked, and which Diana was dimly conscious ofall the while; one point of action. At the time she could not steadyherself to look at it; but when the dawn came up in the sky, with itsineffable promise of victory by and by, --and when the rays of the sunbroke over the hills with their golden performance of conquest begun, strength seemed to come into her heart. Certainly light has nofellowship with darkness; and the spiritual and the material are moreclosely allied, perhaps, than we wot of. Diana washed herself anddressed, and felt that she had done with yesterday. 

It was a worn and haggard face that was opposite Basil at the breakfasttable; but she sat there, and poured out his tea with not less carethan usual. Except for cups of tea, the meal was not much more than apretence. After it was done, Diana followed her husband to his study. 

"Basil, " she said, "I must go away. "

Mr. Masters started, and asked what she meant. 

"I mean just that, " said Diana. "I must go away Basil, help me!"

"Help you, my child?" said he; "I will help you all I can. But sitdown, Diana; you are not able to stand. Why do you want to go away?"

"I must. "

"Where do you wish to go?"

"I do not know. I do not care. Anywhere. "

"You have no plan?"

"No; only to get away. "

"Why, Diana?" he said very tenderly. "Is it necessary?"

"Yes, Basil. I must go. "

"Do you know that it would be extremely difficult for me to leave homejust at present? There are so many people wanting me. "

"I know that. I have thought of all that. You cannot go. Let me go, andbaby. "

"Where, my dear?

"I don't know, " she said with almost a sob. "You must know. You musthelp me, Basil. "

Basil looked at her, and took several turns up and down the room, insorrow and perplexity. 

"What is your reason, Di?" he asked gently. "If I understood yourthought better, I should know better how to meet it. "

"I must be away, " said Diana vaguely. "I must not be here. I musn't bewhere I can see--anybody. Nobody must know where I am, Basil--do youunderstand? You must send me away, and you must not tell _anybody_. "

The minister walked up and down, thinking. He let go entirely thethought of arguing with Diana. She had the look at moments of acreature driven to bay; and when not so, the haggard, eager, appealingface filled his inmost heart with grief and pity. Nobody better thanBasil could manage the unreasonable and bring the disorderly toobedience; he had a magical way with him; but now he only meditated howDiana's wish was to be met. It was not just easy, for he had few familyconnections in the world, and she had none. 

"I can think of nobody to whom I should like to send you, " he said. "Unless"--

He waited, and Diana waited; then he finished his sentence. 

"I was going to say, unless a certain old grandaunt of mine. Perhapsshe would do. "

"I do not care where or who it is, " said Diana. 

"I care, though. "

"Where does she live?"

"On Staten Island. "

"Staten Island?" repeated Diana. 

"Yes. It is near New York; about an hour from the city, down the bay. "

"The bay of New York?"

"Yes. "

"May I go there?" said Diana. "That would do. "

"How soon do you wish to go?"

"To-day, if I could!" she said with a half-caught breath. "Can I, Basil? To-day is best. "

Mr. Masters considered again. 

"Will you be ready to go by the seven o'clock train this evening?"

"Yes. O yes!"

"Very well. We will take that. "

"_We?_" Diana repeated. "Must I take you, Basil, away from your work?Cannot I go alone?"

He looked up at her with a very sweet grave smile as he answered, "Notpossibly. "

"I am a great deal of trouble"--she said with a woful expression. 

"Go and make your preparations, " he said cheerfully; "and I will tellyou about Aunt Sutphen when we are off. "

There was no bustle in the house that day, there was no undue stir ofmaking arrangements; but at the time appointed Diana was ready. She hadmanaged to keep Miss Collins in the dark down to the very last minute, and answered her questions then with, "I can't tell you. You must askMr. Masters. " And Diana knew anybody might as well get the GreatPyramid to disclose its secrets. 

That night's train took them to Boston. The next morning they went ontheir way towards New York; and so far Mr. Masters had found no goodtime for his proposed explanations. Diana was busied with the baby, andcontrived to keep herself away from him or from communication with him. He saw that she was engrossed, preoccupied, suffering, and that sheshunned him; and he fell back and waited. In New York, he establishedDiana in a hotel and left her, to go himself alone to the Island andhave an interview with his aunt. 

Diana alone in a Broadway hotel, felt a little like a personshipwrecked in mid-ocean. What was all this bustling, restless, drivingmultitude around her like, but the waves of the sea, to which Scripturelikens them? and the roar of their tumult almost bewildered her senses. Proverbially there is no situation more lonely to the feeling than themidst of a strange crowd; and Diana, sitting at her window and lookingdown into the busy street, felt alone and cast adrift as she never hadfelt in her life before. _Her_ life seemed done, finished, as far asregarded hope or joy; nothing left but weary and dragging existence;and the eager hurrying hither and thither of the city crowd struck onher view as aimless and fruitless, and so very drear to look at? Whatwas it all for?--seeing life was such a thing as she had found it. Thewrench of coming away from Pleasant Valley had left her with a reactionof dull, stunned, and strained nerves; she was glad she had come away, glad she was no longer there; and that was the only thing she was gladof in the wide, wide world. 

Some degree of rest came with the quiet of those hours alone in thehotel. Basil was gone until the evening, and Diana had time to recovera little from the fatigue of the journey, and in the perfect solitudealso from the overstrain of the nerves. She began to remember Basil'spart in all this, and to be sensible how true and faithful and kind hewas; how very unselfish, how patient with her and with pain. Dianacould have wept her heart out over it, if that would have done anygood; and indeed supposing that she could have shed tears at all, whichshe could not just then. She only felt sore and sorry for her husband;and then she took some pains with her toilet, and refreshed herself soas to look pleasant to his eyes when he came home. 

He came home only to a late supper. He looked somewhat weary, but hiseye brightened when he saw Diana, and he came up and kissed her. 

"Diana--God is good, " he said to her. 

"Yes, " she answered, looking up drearily, "I believe it. "

"But you do not feel it yet. Well, remember, it is true, and you willfeel it some day. It is all right with Aunt Sutphen. "

"She will let me come?"

"She is glad to have you come. The old lady is very much alone. And shedoes me the honour to say that she expects my wife will know how tobehave herself. "

"What does she mean by that?" said Diana, a little startled. 

"I don't know! Aunt Sutphen has her own notions respecting behaviour. Idid not inquire, Diana; knowing that, whatever her meaning might be, itwas the same thing so far as you are concerned. "

"Basil--you are very good!" Diana said after a pause and with atrembling lip. 

"I can take compliments from Aunt Sutphen, " he said with a bit of hisold dry humorous manner, "but from you I don't know what to do withthem. Come to supper, Di; we must take the first boat for Cliftonto-morrow morning, if we can, to let me get back on my way to PleasantValley. "

The first boat was very early. The city, however, had long begun itsaccustomed roar, so that the change was noticeable and pleasant as soonas the breadth of a few furlongs was put between the boat and thewharf. Stillness fell, only excepting the noise made by the dash of thepaddle-wheels and the breathing and groaning of the engine; and thatseemed quietness to Diana, in contrast with the restless hum and roarof the living multitude. The bay and its shores sparkled in the earlysunlight; the sultry, heated atmosphere of the city was mostrefreshingly replaced by the cool air from the salt sea. Diana breathedit in, filling her lungs with it. 

"How good this is!" she said. "Basil, I should think it was dreadful tolive in such a place as that. "

"Makes less difference than you would think, when you once getaccustomed to it. "

"O, do you think so! It seems to me there is nothing pleasant there tosee or to hear. "

"Ay, you are a true wood-thrush, " said her husband. "But there isplenty to do in a city, Diana; and that is the main thing. "

"So there is in the country. "

"I sometimes think I might do more, --reach more people, I mean, --if Iwere somewhere else. But yes, Di, I grant you, apart from that oneconsideration, there is no comparison. Green hills are a great dealbetter company than hot brick walls. "

"And how wonderful, how beautiful, this water is!"

"The water is a new feature to you. Well, you will have plenty of it. Aunt Sutphen lives just on the edge of the shore. I am very sorry Icannot stay to see you domesticated. Do you mind it much, beginninghere alone?"

"O no. "

Diana did not mind that or anything else, in her content at havingreached a safe harbour, a place where she would be both secure andfree. Lesser things were of no account; and alas! the presence of herhusband just now with her was no pleasure. Diana felt at this time, that if she were to live and keep her reason she must have breathingspace. Above all things, she desired to be quite alone; to have leisureto think and pray, and review her ground and set up her defences. Basilcould not help her; he was better out of sight. So, when he had put herinto the little carriage that was in waiting at the landing, and with alast gesture of greeting turned back to the boat, while Diana's eyesfilled with tears, she was, nevertheless, nothing but glad at heart. She gathered her baby closer in her arms, and sat back in the carriageand waited. 

It was only a short drive, and along the edge of the bay the wholedistance. The smell of the salt water was strange and delicious. Themorning was still cool. Now that she had left the boat behind her, orrather the boat had left her, the stillness began to be like that ofPleasant Valley; for the light wheels rolled softly over a smooth road. Then they stopped before a low, plain-looking cottage. 

It was low and plain, yet it was light and pleasant. Windows openinglike doors upon the piazza, and the piazza running all round the house, and the pillars of the piazza wreathed thick with honeysuckles, some ofthem, and some with climbing roses. The breath of the salt air wassmothered in perfumes. Through one of the open window-doors Diana wentinto a matted room, where everything gave her the instant impression ofneatness and coolness and quiet, and a certain sweet summer freshness, which suited her exactly. There was no attempt at richness offurnishing. Yet the old lady who stood there waiting to receive her wasa stately lady enough, in a spotless morning dress of white, dainty andruffled, and a little close embroidered cap above her clustering greycurls. The two looked at each other. 

"So you're his wife!" said the elder lady. "I declare, you're handsomerthan he is. Come in here, my dear; if you are as good as he is, you arewelcome. " She opened an inner door and led the way into a bedchamberadjoining, opening like the other room by window-doors upon the piazza, matted and cool and furnished in white. All this Diana took in with thefirst step into the room. But she answered Mrs. Sutphen's peculiarwelcome. 

"Did you ever know anybody so good as he is, ma'am?"

"Breakfast will be on table as soon as you are ready, " Mrs. Sutphenwent on without heeding her words. "It is half-past seven, and I alwayshave it at seven. I waited for you, and now I want my cup of tea. Howsoon will you be ready?"

"Immediately. "

"What will you do with the baby?"

"I will lay her down. She is asleep. "

"You'll have to have somebody to look after her. Well, come then, mydear. "

Diana followed the old lady, who was half imperative and halfimpatient. She never forgot that hour in all her life, everything wasso new and strange. The windows open towards the water, the fresh saltair coming in, the India matting under her feet, made her feel as ifshe had got into a new world. The dishes were also in part strange toher, and her only companion fully strange. The good cup of tea shereceived was almost the only familiar thing, for the very bread waslike no bread she had ever seen before. Diana sipped her teagratefully; all this novelty was the most welcome thing in the world toher overstrained nerves. She sipped her tea as in a dream; the old ladystudied her with eyes wide awake and practical. 

"Where did Basil pick you up, my dear?"

Diana started a little, looked up, and flushed. 

"Where did you come from?"

"From the place where Mr. Masters has been settled these three or fouryears. "

"In the mountains! What sort of people have you got there? More of yoursort?"

"They are all of my sort, " said Diana somewhat wonderingly. 

"Do you know what your sort is, my dear?"

"I do not understand"--

"I thought you did not. I'll change my question. What sort of work isBasil doing there?"

"You know his profession?"--Diana said, not knowing much better eitherhow to take this question. 

"Yes, yes. I know his profession; I ought to, for I wanted him to be alawyer. But don't you know, my dear, there are all sorts of clergymen?There are some make sermons as other men make bricks; and some morelike the way children blow soap-bubbles; all they care for is, how bigthey are, and how high they will fly, and how long they will last. AndI have heard people preach, " the old lady went on, "who seemed mostlike as if they were laying out a Chinese puzzle, and you had to looksharp to see where the pieces fitted. And some, again, preach sermonsas if they were a magistrate reading the Riot Act, only they don't wantthe people to disperse by any means. What is Basil's way?"

"He has more ways than all these, " said Diana, who could not helpsmiling. 

"These among 'em?"

"I think not. "

"Go on, then, and tell me. What's he like in the pulpit?"

Diana considered how she should humour the old lady's wish. 

"Sometimes he is like a shepherd leading his flock to pasture, " shebegan. "Sometimes he is like a lifeboat going out to pick up drowningpeople. Sometimes it is rather a surgeon in a hospital, going round tofind out what is the matter with people and make them well. Sometimeshe is just the messenger of the Lord Jesus Christ, and all his businessis to deliver his message and get people to hear it. "

Mrs. Sutphen looked at Diana over the table, and evidently pricked upher ears; but Diana spoke quite simply, rather slowly; she was thinkinghow Basil had often seemed to her in his ministry, in and out of thepulpit. 

"My dear, " said the old lady, "if your husband is like that, do youknow you are married to quite a remarkable man?"

"I thought as much a great while ago. "

"And what sort of a pastor's wife do you make? You are a very handsomewoman to be a minister's wife. "

"Am I? Why should not a handsome woman be the wife of a minister?"

"Why, she should, if she can make up her mind to it. Well, my dear, ifyou will have no more breakfast, perhaps you will like to go and rest. Do you enjoy bathing?"

Diana did not take the bearing of the question. 

"I go into the water every morning, " the old lady explained. "You hadbetter do the same. It will strengthen you. "

"Into the water! You mean the salt water?"

"Of course I mean the salt water. There isn't any fresh water to gointo, and no good if there was. "

"I never tried salt water. I never saw salt water before. "

"Do you good, " said the old lady. "Well, go and sleep, my dear. Basilsays you want rest. "

But that way of taking it was not Diana's need, or purpose. Shewithdrew into her cool green-shaded room, and as the baby still slept, set open the blind doors which made that pleasant green shade, and satdown on the threshold to be quiet, and enjoy the view. The water waswithin a few rods of her window; nothing but a narrow strip of grassand a little picket fence intervening between the house and the sandybit of beach. The waves were rolling in from the Narrows, which herewere but a short distance to the eastward; and across the broad belt ofwaters she could see the low shore of Long Island on the other side. Diana put her head out of the door, and there, seven miles away to thewest and north, she could see where a low, hovering, light smoke cloudtold of the big city to which it owed its origin. Over the bay sailswere flitting, not swiftly, for the air was only very gently stirring;but they were many, near and far, of different sizes and forms; and themighty tide was rushing in with wonderful life and energy in its greenwaves. Diana's senses were like those of a person enchanted. She drewin the salt, lively air; she looked at the cool lights and shadows ofthe rushing water, over which here and there still hung bands ofmorning mist; she heard the lap of the waves upon the shore as theywent by; and it was to her as if she had escaped from danger andperplexity into another world, where sorrow might be, indeed, but fromwhich confusion and fear were banished. 

The baby slept on, as if she had been broken off her rest by thenovelties and inconveniences of travelling, and were making up for losttime; and Diana sat on the threshold of her door and thought. The lullwas inexpressibly sweet, after the storm that had tossed her hither. Itgave her repose just to remember that Evan could not find her out--andthat Basil would leave her alone. Yes, both thoughts came in for ashare in the deep-drawn breaths of relief which from time to time wrungthemselves from Diana's breast. She knew it; she could not help it; andshe soon forgot her husband in thinking of her lover. It seemed to hershe might allow herself that indulgence now; now when she had put agulf between them which he could not bridge over, and she would not;now when she had brought a separation between them which must foreverbe final. For she would never see him again. Surely now she might thinkof him, and let fancy taste the sweet bitter drops that memory woulddistil for her. Diana went back to the old time and lived in it forhours, till the baby awoke and claimed her; and even then she went onwith her dream. She dreamed all day. 

Next morning early, before she was awake, there came a littleimperative tap at her door. Diana sprang up and opened it. 

"I am going to take my bath, " said her hostess. "Here's a bathingdress--put it on and come along. "

"Now?" said Diana doubtfully. 

"Why, of course now! Now's the time. Nobody'll see you, child; and ifthey do, it won't matter. Hundreds would see you if you were at LongBranch or Newport. Come along; you want bracing. "

I wonder if I do, thought Diana, as she clothed herself in the loosegown of brown mohair; then slipped out after her hostess. If she did, she immediately confessed to herself, this was the thing to give it. The sun was not yet up; the morning air crisp and fresh and delicious;the water rolling gently in from the Narrows again, in a mighty tide, but with no wind, so sending up only little waves to the beach;however, they looked somewhat formidable to Diana. 

"How far do you go in?" she asked. 

"As far as I can. I can't swim, child, so I keep to shore. Come afterme, here!"--

And she seized Diana's hand and marched in ahead of her, and marchedon, till Diana would have stopped, but the old lady's hand pulled heralong. 

It was never to be forgotten, that first taste of salt water. When theywere in the flood up to their necks, her companion made her duck herhead under; it filled Diana's mouth and eyes at the first gasp withsalt water, but what a new freshness of life seemed at the same time tocome into her! How her brain cleared, and her very heart seemed to growstrong, and her eyesight true in that lavatory! She came out of thewater for the moment almost gay, and made her toilette with a vigourand energy she had not brought to it in many a day. Breakfast wasbetter to her, and the old lady was contented with what she said aboutit. 

Yet Diana sat and dreamed again all day after that, watching therolling tide of waters, and letting her thoughts run on in asuninterrupted a flow. She dreamed only about Evan; she went over oldtimes and new, old impressions and new; she recalled words and looksand tones and gestures, of long ago and lately; at Pleasant Valley shehad not dared; here she thought it was safe, and she might take theindulgence. She recalled all Evan's looks. How he had improved! Morestately, more manly, more confident (could that be?), more graceful;with the air of command replacing a comparative repression of manner(only comparative), even as the full, thick, curly moustache replaced avelvety dark line which Diana well remembered. As he had been then, shehad fancied him perfect; as he was now, he was to the eye far fineryet. Basil could not compare with him. Ah, why did fancy torture her byever bringing forward the comparison! Basil never pretended to wear amoustache, and the features of his face were not so regular, and hiseye was not so brilliant, and the indescribable air of authority wasnot there, nor the regulated grace of movement. True, Basil could sit ahorse, and ride him, she knew, as well as anybody; and true, Basil'sface had a high grave sweetness which was utterly unknown to thecountenance of that other; and it was also true, that if Mr. Masterswore no air of command, he knew what the thing meant, especiallycommand over himself. And there the comparison failed for Evan. In thecontrast, Diana, down deep in the bottom of her heart, was notsatisfied with him, not pleased, not contented. He might know how togive orders to his company, he had not left off himself being underorders; he might be strong to enforce discipline among his men, butalas! alas! he had left the reins loose upon the neck of his passions. Basil never did that, never. Basil never would in the likecircumstances have sought a weak gratification at her expense. That wasthe word; _weak_. Evan had been selfishly weak. Basil was always, sofar as she had known him, unselfishly strong. And yet, and yet!--sheloved the weak one; although it pained her that he should have beenweak. 

Days went by. Diana lived in dreams. 

"What is the matter with you?" her old friend asked her abruptly oneevening. 

"Nothing, I think, " said Diana, looking up from her sewing andanswering in some surprise. 

"Nothing the matter! Then what did you come here for?"

"I thought"--Diana hesitated in confusion for the moment--"my husbandagreed with me in thinking, that it would be good for me to be awayfrom home for awhile. "

"Wanted change, eh?" Mrs. Sutphen said dryly. 

Diana did not know what to add to her words. 

"Change and salt air"--the old lady went on. 

"Not salt air particularly, " Diana answered, feeling that she mustanswer. "I did not think of salt air. Though no change could have beenso good for me. "

"_Has_ it been good for you?"

"I have enjoyed it more than I can tell, " Diana said, looking up again. 

"Yes, yes; but that isn't the thing. I know you enjoy it. But do youthink it is making you fat?"

"I don't need that, " said Diana, smiling. "I am fat enough. "

"You won't be, if you go on losing as you have done since you came. NowI agree with you that I don't think that is Clifton air. What is it?"

Diana could not reply. She was startled and troubled. She knew the factwas true. 

"Basil won't like it if I let this go on; and I don't mean it shall. Isanything the matter between you and him?"

"What do you mean?" Diana asked, to gain time. 

"You know what I mean. I spoke plain. Have you and he had any sort of aquarrel or disagreement?"

"Certainly not!"

"Certainly _not?_--then why aren't you happy?"

"Why do you ask me?" said Diana. "Why should you question my beinghappy?"

"I've got eyes, child; inconvenient things, for they see. You look andact like a marble woman; only that you are not cold, and that you moveabout. Now, that isn't your nature. What spell has come over you?"

"You know, Mrs. Sutphen, " Diana answered with calmness, "there are manythings that come up in the world to try one and trouble one; things onecannot help, and that one must bear. "

"I know that, as well as you do. But a woman with the husband you havegot, ought never to be petrified by anything that comes to her. In thefirst place, she has no cause; and in the second place, she has noright. "

There was such an instant assent of Diana's inner nature to at leastthe latter of these assertions, that after a minute or two's pause shesaid very simply--

"Thank you, That is true. "

"He's rather fond of you, isn't he?" the old lady asked with awell-pleased look at her beautiful neighbour. 

"Yes. Too much, " said Diana, sighing. 

"Can't be too much, as I see, if only you are equally fond of him; itis bad to have inequality in that matter. But, my dear, whatever youdo, don't turn into marble. There's fire at the heart of the earth, folks say, but it don't do us much good in winter. "

With this oracular statement Mrs. Sutphen closed her lecture. She hadsaid enough. Diana spent half that night and all the next day in aquite new set of meditations. 

And more days than one. She waked up to see what she had been doing. What business had she to be thinking of Evan, when she was Basil'swife?--what right to, be even only in imagination, spending her lifewith him? She knew, now that she was called to look at it, that Mrs. Sutphen had spoken true, and that a process had been going on inherself which might well be likened to the process of petrifying. Everything had been losing taste and colour lately; even her baby wasnot the delight she had been formerly. Her mind had been warped fromits healthy condition, and was growing morbid. Conscience roused up nowfully, and bade Diana stop short where she was and take another course. But there she was met by a difficulty; one that many a woman has had tomeet, and that few have ever overcome. To take another course, meantthat she should cease thinking of Evan, --cease thinking of him even atall; for it was one of those things which you cannot do _a little_. Shetried it; and she found it to be impossible. Everything and anythingwould set her upon the track of thinking of him; everything led to him;everything was bound up with him, either by sympathy or contrast. Shefound that she must think of Evan, because she loved him. She said thatto herself, and pleaded it. Then do not love him! was the instant sharpanswer of conscience. And Diana saw a battle set in array. 

That day, the day when she got to this point, was one of those whicheven in summer one may know on the sea-shore. It was grey and cool, anda violent easterly wind was driving the waters in from the Narrows. Themoment Diana got a sight of those battle forces opposed to each otherin her spiritual nature, she threw on bonnet and shawl and went out. Baby was sleeping, and she left her safely in charge of a good-temperedservant who asked no better. 

She went along the shore in the face of the wind, meeting, breasting, overcoming it, though with the exertion of determined strength andenergy. The gale was rather fierce. It was a sight to see, the rush ofthat tide of waters, mighty, sweeping, rolling and tumbling in from thegreat sea, restless, endless. Diana did not stop to draw comparisons, yet I think she felt them even then; the wild accord of the unchainedforces without and the unchained forces within. Who could stay them, the one or the other? "That is Nature, " said Diana to herself; "andthis is Nature; 'the troubled sea that cannot rest. ' But that is spokenof the wicked; am I wicked because I cannot help what I _cannot_ help?As well put out my tiny hand and sweep back that stormy flood of waterto the ocean where it comes from!--as hopefully, as practicably. Whatam I, _I_--but a chip or a shingle tossed and chased along on the powerof the waves? The wicked are like the troubled sea when it cannot rest;that is it, it _cannot_ rest. Look at it, and think of bidding it rest!"

She had walked a long way in the teeth of the storm, and yet, unwillingeven to turn her face homewards with her mind still at war, she hadcrouched down to rest under the lee of an old shed which stood near theedge of the water. Diana drew her shawl closer round her and watchedthe wild play of the waves, which grew wilder every moment; taking asort of gloomy comfort in the thought that they were not moreirresistible or unopposable than the tempest in her own heart. Thencame in the thought--it stole in--"There was One who could bid it bestill--and the sea heard him and was quiet. If he could do that, couldhe not still this other storm? A worse storm, yes; but could not thehand that did one thing do the other?" Diana knew on the instant thatit could; but with that came another consciousness--that she wished itcould not. She did not want the storm laid. Better the raging forcesthan the calm that would follow the death of her love for EvanKnowlton. "But it could never die!" was the impatient objection of herheart; and then came the whisper of conscience, "It ought; you know itought; and the Lord never bade you do a thing he would not help you todo, or do for you if you are willing. " And she remembered: "If ye shallsay to this mountain, Be thou removed. "--Could she be willing? that wasall. Would she say it?

The Lord said, there are some sorts of devils that are only cast out byprayer and fasting; and I suppose that means, by very great anddeterminate laying hold of the offered strength and fullest surrenderto all its dispositions. 

This was a battle before which Waterloo sinks to a play offire-crackers and Gravelotte to a great wrestling match. There wasstruggle on those fields, and bitter determination, and death faced anddeath met; and yet the combatants there never went to the front withthe agony which Diana's fight cost her. And if anybody thinks I amextravagant, I will remind him on what authority we have it, that "hethat ruleth his spirit is greater than he that taketh a city. " Let noone suppose the battle in Diana's instance was soon fought and over. Itwas death to give up Evan; not the death of the body, which lived onand was strong though she grew visibly thin, but the death of the will;and that is a death harder by far than the other. Diana was in thestruggle of that fight for many a day, and, as I said, growing thinunder it. She was not willing; if she could be delivered from thispassion which was like her life, she was not willing to be delivered. Yet duty was plain; conscience was inexorable. Diana struggled andfought till she could fight no longer, and then she dragged herself asit were to the feet of the Stiller of the waves, with the cry of theSyro-Phenician woman on her lips and in her heart: "Lord, help me!" Butthe help, Diana knew by this time, meant that he should do all the workhimself, not come in aid of her efforts, which were like ropes of strawin a flame. Let no one think, either, that the first struggle to havefaith was faith itself, or that the first endeavour to submit wassurrender. There is a wide difference, and often a wide distance. Butthere came a time--it was slow in coming, but it came--when like awearied child Diana ceased from her own efforts, and like a helplesschild threw herself upon strength that she knew. And then the work wasdone. 

Let no one say, either, that what I have described is an impossibility. "If ye have faith, "--the Master said, --"nothing shall be impossible toyou. " And nothing is. "He is a Rock; his work is perfect. " And he whoovercame all our enemies for us can overcome them in us. They areconquered foes. Only, the Lord will not do the work for those who aretrusting in themselves. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

It was the end of September. Nearing a time of storms again in the airand on the sea; but an absolute calm had settled down upon Diana. Notat all the calm of death; for after death, in this warfare, comes notonly victory, but new life. It was very strange, even to herself. Shehad ceased to think of Captain Knowlton; if she thought of him, it waswith the recognition that his power over her was gone. She felt like aperson delivered from helpless bondage. There was some lameness, therewere some bruises yet from the fight gone by; but Diana was every dayrecovering from these, and elasticity and warmth were coming back tothe members that had been but lately rigid and cold. The sun shoneagain for her, and the sky was blue, and the arch of it grew every dayloftier and brighter to her sense. At first coming to Clifton, Dianahad perceived the beauties and novelties of her new surroundings; nowshe began to enjoy them. The salt air was delicious; the light morningmist over the bay, as she saw it when she went to take her morningbath, held a whole day of sunlit promise within its mysterious folds;the soft low hum of the distant city, which she could hear when thewaves were still, made the solitude and the freshness and the purity ofthe island seem doubly rare and sweet. And her baby began to be now toDiana the most wonderful of delights; more than ever it had been at anyprevious time. 

All this while she had had letters from Basil; not very long letters, such as a man can write to a woman whose whole sympathy he knows hehas; but good letters, such as a man can write to a woman to whom hisown heart and soul have given all they have. Not that he ever spoke ofthat fact, or alluded to it. Basil was no maudlin, and no fool to askfor a gift which cannot be yielded by an effort of will; and besides, he had never entirely lost hope; so that, though things were darkenough for him certainly, he could write manly, strong, sensibleletters, which, in their very lack of all allusion to his own feelings, spoke whole volumes to the woman who knew him and could interpret them. The thought of him grieved her; it was getting to be now the only griefshe had. Her own letters to him were brief and rare. Diana had anervous fear of letting the Clifton postmark be seen on a letter ofhers at home, knowing what sort of play sometimes went on in thePleasant Valley post office; so she never sent a letter except when shehad a chance to despatch it from New York. These epistles were veryabstract; they spoke of the baby, told of Mrs. Sutphen, gave details ofthings seen and experienced; but of Diana's inner life, the fight andthe victory, not a whit. She could not write about them to Basil; for, glad as he would be of what she could tell him, she could not sayenough. In getting deliverance from a love it was wrong to indulge, inbecoming able to forget Evan, she had not thereby come nearer to herhusband, or in the least fonder of thinking of him; and so Diana shrankfrom the whole subject when she found herself with pen in hand andpaper before her. 

When September was gone and October had begun its course, a letter camefrom Basil in which he desired to know about Diana's plans. There wereno hindrances any longer in the way of her coming home, he told her. Diana had known that such a notification would come, must come, and yetit gave her an unwelcome start. Mrs. Sutphen had handed it to her asthey came in from their morning dip in the salt water; the coachman hadbrought it late last evening from the post office, she said. Diana haddressed before reading it; and when she had read it, she sat down uponthe threshold of her glass door to think and examine herself. 

It was October, yet still and mild as June. Haze lay lingering aboutthe horizon, softened the shore of Long Island, hid with a thickcurtain the place of the busy city, the roar of which Diana couldplainly enough hear in the stillness, a strange, indistinct, mysterious, significant murmur of distant unrest. All before and aroundher was rest; the flowing waters were too quiet to-day to suggestanything disquieting; only life, without which rest is nought. The airwas inexpressibly sweet and fresh; the young light of the day dancingas it were upon every cloud edge and sail edge, in jocund triumphbeginning the work which the day would see done. Diana sat down andlooked out into it all, and tried to hold communion with herself. Shewas sorry to leave this place. Yes, why not? She was sorry to exchangeher present life for the old one. Quiet and solitary it had been, thislife at Clifton, for Mrs. Sutphen scarcely made her feel less alonewith her than without her; and she had held herself back from society. Quiet and solitary, and lately healing; and Pleasant Valley was full ofpainful memories and associations, her mother, and--her husband. Dianafelt as if she could have welcomed everything else, if only Basil hadnot been there. The sight of the lovely bay with its misty shores andits springing light hurt her at last, because she must leave it; shesank her face in her hands and began to call herself to account. Dutywas waiting before her; was she not willing to take it up? She hadsurrendered her will utterly to God in the matter of her love to Evan, and she had been delivered from the torture and the bondage of it;quite delivered; she could bear to live without Evan now, she couldbear to live without thinking of him; he would always be in a certainsense dear, but the spell of passion was broken for ever. That did notmake her love her husband. No; but would not the same strength that hadfreed her from temptation on the one hand, help her to go forward anddo her duty on the other? And in love and gratitude for the deliverancevouchsafed her, should she not do it? "I will do it, if I die!" was herinward conclusion. "And I shall not die, but by the Lord's help I shalldo it. "

So she wrote to her husband that she was ready, and he came to fetchher. 

The Pleasant Valley maples were flaunting in orange and crimson whenthe home journey was made. The fairest month of the year was in theprime of its beauty; the air had that wonderful clearness and calmwhich bids the spirit of the beholder be still and be glad, saying thatthere is peace and victory somewhere, and rest, when the harvest oflife is gathered. Diana felt the speech, but thought nevertheless thatfor _her_, peace and victory were a good way off. She believed theywould come, when life was done; the present thing was to live, andcarry the burden and do the work. The great elms hung still green andsheltering over the lean-to door. The house was enlarged and improved;and greatly beautified with a coat of paint. Diana saw it all; and shesaw the marvellous beauty of the meadows and their bordering hills; shefelt as if she were coming to her prison and place of hard labour. 

"How do you like the looks of things?" her husband asked. 

"Nice as can be. "

"You like it?"

"Very much. I am glad you did not make the house white. "

"I remembered you said it ought to be brown. "

"But would you have liked it white?"

"I would have liked it no way but your way, " he said with a slightsmile and look at her, which Diana could not answer, and which cut hersharply. She had noticed, she thought, that Basil was more sober thanhe used to be. She thought she knew why; and she wanted to tell himpart of what had gone on in her mind of late, and how free she was ofthe feelings he supposed were troubling her; but a great shyness of thesubject had seized Diana. She was afraid to broach it at all, lestgoing on from one thing to another, Basil might ask a question shecould not answer. She was very sorry for him, so much that she almostforgot to be sorry for herself, as she went into the house. 

Mrs. Flandin was sitting with Mrs. Starling in the lean-to kitchen. 

"So you made up your mind to come home, " was her mother's greeting. "Ialmost wonder you did. "

"If you knew how good the salt water was to me, you might wonder, "Diana answered cheerfully. 

"Well, I never could see what there was in salt water!" said Mrs. Flandin, "that folks should be so crazy to go into it! If I wasdrownin', 'seems to me I'd rather have my mouth full o' sun'thin'sweet. "

"But I was not drowning, " said Diana. 

"Well, I want to know what you've got by stayin' away from your placeall summer"--her mother went on. 

"Her place was there, " said the minister, who followed Diana in. 

"Now, dominie, " said Mrs. Flandin, "you say that jes' 'cause she's yourwife. Hain't her place been empty all these months? Where is a wife'splace? I should like to hear you say. "

"Don't you think it is where her husband wants her to be?"

"And you wanted her to be away from you down there? Do you mean that?"

"If he had not, I should not have gone, Mrs. Flandin, " Diana said, andwith a smile. 

"Well now, du tell! what good did salt water do ye? The minister saidyou was gone to salt water somewheres. "

"It did me more good than I could ever make you understand. "

"I don't believe it!" said Mrs. Starling harshly. "You mean, it was aclever thing to play lady and sit with your hands before you allsummer. It was good there was somebody at home to do the work. "

"Not your work, Di, " said her husband good humouredly; "nor my work. _I_ did that. Come along and see what I have done. "

He drew her off, into the little front hall or entry; from there, through a side door into the new part of the building. There was aroomy, cool, bright room, lined with the minister's books; curtainedand furnished, not expensively, indeed, yet with a thorough air ofcomfort. Taking the baby from her arms, Basil led the way from thisroom, up a short stairway, to chambers above which were charminglyneat, light, and cheerful, all in order; everything was done, everything was there that ought to be there. He laid the sleeping childdown in its crib, and turned to his wife with a serious face. 

"How will you stand it, Diana?"

"Basil, I was just thinking, how will you?"

"We can do what ought to be done, " said he, looking into her face. 

"I know you can. I think I can too--in this. And I think it is right totake care of mother. I am sure it is. "

"Diana, by the Lord's help we can do right in everything. "

"Yes, Basil; I know it!" she said, meeting his eyes with a steady look. 

He turned away, very grave, but with a deep ejaculation ofthankfulness. Diana's eyes filled; but she, too, turned away. She couldadd no more. It was not words, but living, that must speak for her now. 

And it did--even that same evening. Mrs. Flandin would not go away; itwas too good an opportunity of gathering information about variouspoints on which the "town" had been curious and divided. She kept herplace till after supper. But all she could see was a fair, quietdemeanour; an unruffled, beautiful face; and an unconscious dignity ofcarriage which was somewhat provokingly imposing. She saw that Dianawas at home, and likely to be mistress in her own sphere; held in toomuch honour by her husband, and holding him in too much honour, forthat a pin's point of malicious curiosity might find an entering placebetween them. She reported afterwards that the minister was a fool andhis wife another, and so they fitted. Mrs. Starling was inclined to beof the same opinion. 

The two most nearly concerned knew better. _Fit_ they did not, thoughthey were the only ones of all the world that knew it. While Diana hadbeen away at Clifton, the minister had managed to make one of thecompany at Elmfield rather often, moved by various reasons. One effect, however, of this plan of action had been unfavourable to his own peaceof mind. He saw Evan and came to know him; he _would_ know him, thoughthe young man would much rather have kept aloof from contact withDiana's husband. Basil's simplicity of manner and straightforwardnesswere too much for him. And while an unwilling and enormous respect forthe minister grew up in Captain Knowlton's mind, the minister on hispart saw and felt, and perhaps exaggerated, the attractiveness of theyoung army officer. Basil was not at all given to self-depreciation; infact, he did not think of himself enough for such a mischievous mentaltransaction; however, he perceived the grace of figure and bearing, theair of command and the beauty of feature, which he thought might welltake a woman's eye. "My poor Diana!" he said to himself; "her fancy hascaught the stamp of all this--and will hold it. Naturally. She is not awoman to like and unlike. What chance for me!"

Which meditations, unwholesome as they were, did not prevent Basil'sattaching himself to Captain Knowlton's society, and making a friend ofhim, in spite of both their selves, as it were. The captain's mentalnature, he suspected and found, was by no means in order to correspondwith his physical; and if a friend could help him, he would be thatfriend. And Basil did not see that the young officer's evident respectfor himself, and succumbing to his friendly advances, were a verysignificant tribute to his own personal and other qualities. It was alittle matter to him, indeed, such tribute, if he could not have itfrom his wife. 

He had everything else in her that a man's heart could desire! He sawthat, soon after her return from Clifton. Diana's demeanour had beengracious and sweet before, always, although with a shadow upon it. Nowthe shadow was gone, or changed; he could not tell which. She was notgay-spirited, as he had once known her; but she went about her housewith a gentle grace which never failed. Mrs. Starling was at timesexceedingly trying and irritating. Diana met and received it all asblandly as she would give her face to the west wind; at the same time, no rough wind could move her from the way of her duty. Mrs. Starlingwas able neither to provoke her nor prevail with her. She was thesweetest of ruling spirits within her house; without it, she was themost indefatigable and tender of fellow-workers to her husband. Tender, not to him, that is, but to all those for whom he and she ministered. Anurse to the sick, a provider to the very poor, a counsellor to thevexed, --for such would come to her, especially among the youngerwomen, --a comforter to those in trouble. Such a comforter! "Lips ofhealing, " her husband said of her once; "wise, rare; sweet as honey, but with the savour of the wind blowing over wild thyme. " If a littleof that sweetness could have come to him! But while her life was fullof observance for him, gentle and submissive as a child to everyexpressed wish of his, and watchful to meet his unexpressed wish, itwas the grief of Diana's life that she did not love this man. In thereserve of her New England nature, I think what she felt for him washidden even from herself. 

That is, I mean, as days and months went on. At Diana's first cominghome from Clifton, no doubt her opinion of her own feelings, andBasil's opinion of them, was correct. If a change came, it came soimperceptibly that nobody knew it. 

Diana's beauty at this time had taken a new phasis. It had lost themarble rigidity and calm impassiveness which had characterized itduring all the time of her married life hitherto; and it had notregained the careless lightness of the days before she knew Evan. Itwas something lovelier than either; so lovely that Basil wondered, andMrs. Starling sometimes stared, and every lip "in town" came to havenothing but utterances of respect, more often utterances of devotion, for the minister's wife, --I am afraid I cannot give you a justimpression of it. For Diana's face had come curiously near theexpression on the face of her own little child. Innocent, tender, pure, --something like that. Grave, but with no clouds at all; strongand purposeful, yet with an utter absence of self-will orself-consciousness. It had always been, to a certain degree, innocentand pure, but that was negative; and this was positive, --the refinedgold that had been through the fire. And no baby's face is sweeter thanDiana's was now, all blossoming as it were with love and humility. Ifher husband had loved her before, the feeling of longing and despairthat came over him when he looked at this rarefied beauty would be hardto tell. He had ruined her life, he reproached himself; and she waslost to him for ever. Yet, as I said, though Diana's face was grave, itwas a gravity wholly without clouds; the gravity of the summer dawn, when the stars are shining and the light in the East tells of thecoming day. 

But mental changes work slowly and insensibly ofttimes; and day afterday and week after week went by, each with its fulness of business andcares; and no one in the little family knew exactly what forces weresilently busy. So a year rolled round, and another year began itscourse, and ran it; and June came for the second time since Diana hadreturned from the seaside. Elmfield in all this time had not beenrevisited by its owners. 

June had come again. Windows were open, and the breath of roses filledthe minister's study; for Diana had developed lately a passion forflowers and for gardening, and her husband had given her with fullhands all she wanted, and much more. Mrs. Starling had grumbled andbeen very sarcastic about it. However, Basil had ordered in plants andseeds and tools and books of instruction; he had become instructorhimself; and the result was, the parsonage, as people began to call it, was encompassed with a little wilderness of floral beauty which wasgrowing to be the wonder of Pleasant Valley. "It will do them good!"the minister said, when Diana called his attention to the fact that thecountry farmers passing by were falling into the habit of reining intheir horses and stopping for a good long look. For instead of thepatch of marigolds and hollyhocks in front of the house, all the winginhabited by the minister and his family was surrounded with flowers. Roses bloomed in the beds and out of the grass, and climbed up on thewalls of the house; white Annunciation lilies shone like stars here andthere; whole beds of heliotrope were preparing their perfume; geraniumsheld up their elegant heads of every colour; verbenas and mignonetteand honeysuckle and red lilies and yellow lilies and hardy gladioluswere either just beginning or in full beauty; with many more, too manyto tell; and the old-fashioned guelder rose had shaken out its whiteballs of snow, and one or two laburnums were hung thick with theirclusters of "dropping gold. " The garden was growing large, and, as Isaid, become a wilderness of beauty. Nevertheless the roses kept theirown, and this afternoon the breath of them, rising above all the othersweet breaths that were abroad, came in and filled the minister'sstudy. Diana was there alone sitting by one of the open windows, busywith some work; not so busy but that she smelt the roses, and felt theglory of light and colour that was outside, and heard the hum of beesand the twitter of birds and the soft indistinguishable chirrup ofinsects, which filled the air. Diana sewed on, till another slightsound mingled with those--the tread of a foot on the gravel walk downbelow; then she lifted her head suddenly, and with that her hands andher work fell into her lap. It was long past mid-afternoon, and thelovely slant light striking over the roses and coming through the crownof a young elm, fell upon Basil, who was slowly sauntering along thegarden walk with his little girl in his arms. Very slowly, and oftenstanding still to exchange love passages and indulge mutual admirationwith her. They were partly talking of the flowers, Diana could see; buther own eyes had no vision but for those two, the baby and the baby'sfather. One little fair fat arm was round Basil's neck, the other tinyhand was sometimes stretched out towards the lilies or the laburnums incritical or delighted notice-taking, the word accompaniment to whichDiana could not hear but could well guess; at other times it wasbrought round ecstatically to join its companion round her father'sneck, or lifted to his face with fingers of caressing, or thrust inamong the locks of his hair, which last seemed to be a favouritepleasure. Basil would stand still at such times and talk to her, orwait, Diana knew with just what a smile in his eyes, to take the softtouches and return them. Diana's work was forgotten, and her eyes wereriveted; why did the scene in the garden give her such pain? She wouldhave said, if she had been asked, that it was self-reproach and sorrowfor the inevitable. How came it that she held not as near a place toBasil as her child did? She ought, but it was not so. She thought, shewished she loved him! She ought to be as free to put her hand on thesoft curls of Basil's hair as her baby was, but they stood too farapart from each other, and she would as soon have dared anything. AndBasil never looked at _her_ so now-a-days; he had found out how shefelt, and knew she did not care for his looks; and kind, and gentle, and unselfish as he was, yes, and strong in self-command and selfrenunciation, he had resigned his life-hope and left her to herlife-sorrow. Yet Diana knew, with every smile and kiss to the littleone, what a cry of Basil's heart went out towards the child's mother. Only, he would never give that cry utterance again. "What can I do?"thought Diana. "I cannot bear it. And he thinks I am a great deal moreunhappy than I am. Unhappy?--I am not unhappy--if only _he_ were notunhappy. "

She could not explain her feelings to herself, she had no notion thatshe was jealous of her own child; but the pain bit her, and she couldnot endure to sit up there at the window and look on. Rising hastily, she dropped her work out of her hand, and was about to go down into thegarden to join them, when another glance showed her that Basil hadturned and was coming back into the house. Diana listened to them asthey mounted the stairs, Basil's feet and the baby's voice soundingtogether, with a curious unrest at her heart, and her eyes met the paireagerly as they entered the room. From what impulse she could not havetold, she advanced to meet them, and stretched out her hands to takethe child, which, however, with a little confident cry of delight, turned from her and clasped both little arms again round her father'sneck. Basil smiled; Diana tried to follow suit. 

"She would rather be with you than with me, " she remarked, however. 

"I wonder at her bad taste!" said Basil. But he turned his face to thebaby, and laid it gently against her soft cheek. 

"It is because you are stronger, " Diana went in. 

"Is it?"

"That is one thing. You may notice children always like strong arms. "

"Her mother's arms are not weak. "

"No--but I am not so strong as you, Basil, bodily or mentally. And Ithink that is more yet--mental strength, I mean. Children recognisethat, and love to rest on it. "

"You do not think such discrimination is confined to children?" saidBasil, with a dry, quiet humourousness at which Diana could not helpsmiling, though she felt quite as much like a very differentdemonstration. She watched the two, as Basil walked on to hisstudy-table and sat down, with the child on his knee; she saw theupturned eye of love with which the little one regarded him as he didthis, and then how, with a long breath of satisfaction, she settledherself in her place, smoothed down her frock, and laid the littlehands contentedly together in her lap. Basil drew his portfolio towardshim and began to write a letter. Diana went to her work again in thewindow, feeling restless. She felt she must say something more, and ina different key, and as she worked she watched the two at the table. This was not the way things ought to be. Her husband must be told atleast something of the change that had taken place in her; he ought toknow that she was no longer miserable; he would be glad to know that. Diana thought he might have seen it without her telling; but if he didnot, then she must speak. He had a right to so much comfort as shecould give him, and he ought to be told that she was not now wishing tobe in another presence and society than his. If she could tell himwithout his thinking too much--she watched till the letter was writtenand he was folding it up. And then Diana's tongue hesitatedunaccountably. 

"Basil, " she began, obliging herself to speak, --"I can smell the rosesagain. "

He looked up instantly with keen eyes. 

"You know--there was a long while--a long while--in which I could notfeel that anything was sweet. "

"And now?"--

"Now I can. I knew you ought to know. You would be glad. I am like aperson who has been in a brain fever--or dead--and awaked to life andsoundness again. You cannot think what it is to me to see the sky. "Diana's eyes filled. 

"What did you use to see?"

"The vault of my prison. What signified whether it were blue or brazen?But now"--

"Well?--Now, Diana?"

"I can see through. "

Perhaps this was not very intelligible, for manifestly it was not easyfor Diana to explain herself; but Basil this time did not speak, andshe presently began again. 

"I mean, --there is no prison vault, nor any prison any more; the wallsthat seemed to shut me in are dissolved, and I am free again. "

"And you can see through?"--Basil repeated. 

"Yes. Where my eyes were met by something harder than fate, --it is allbroken up, and light, and clear, and I can see through. "

"I never used to think you were a fanciful woman, " said the minister, eyeing her intently, "but this time I do not quite follow you, Di. I amafraid to take your words for all they may mean. "

"But you may. "

"What may I?"

"They mean all I say. "

"I am sure of that, " said he, smiling, though he looked anxious; "but, you see, there is the very point of my difficulty. "

"I mean, Basil, that I am out of my bondage, --which I thought nevercould be broken in this world. "

"Out of what bondage, my love?"

Diana paused. 

"When I went down to Clifton, to Mrs. Sutphen's, do you know, I couldthink of nothing but--Evan Knowlton?"

Diana's colour stirred, but she looked her husband steadily in the face. 

"I suspected it. "

"For a long time I could not, Basil. Night and day I could think ofnothing else. Wasn't that bondage?"

"Depends on how you take it, " said the minister. 

"But it was _wrong_, Basil. "

"I found excuses for you, Diana. "

"Did you?" she said humbly. "I daresay you did. It is like you. But itwas wrong, and I knew it was wrong, and I could not help it. Is notthat bondage of the worst sort? O, you don't know, Basil! _you_ neverknew such a fight between wrong and right; between your wish and yourwill. But for a long time I did not see that it was wrong; I thought itwas of necessity. "

"How came your view to change?"

"I don't know. All of a sudden. Something Mrs. Sutphen said one morningstarted my thoughts, and I saw at once that I was doing very wrong. Still it seemed as if I could not help it. "

"How did you help it?"

"_I_ didn't, Basil. I fought and fought--O, what a fight! It seemedlike death, and worse, to give up Evan; and to stop thinking of himmeant, to give him up. I could not gain the victory. But don't youremember telling me often that Christ would do everything for me if Iwould trust him?"

"Yes. "

"Basil, he did. It wasn't I. At last I got utterly desperate, and Ithrew myself at his feet and claimed the promise. I was as helpless asI could be. And then Basil, presently, --I cannot tell how, --the workwas done. The battle was fought and the victory was won, and I wasfree. And ever since I have been singing songs in my heart. "

Basil did not flush with pleasure. Diana thought he grew pale, rather;but he bowed his head upon the head of the little one on his lap with adeep low utterance of thanksgiving. She thought he would have shown hispleasure differently. She did not know how to go on. 

"It was not I, Basil"--she said after a pause. 

"It never is I or you, " answered the minister without looking up. "Itis always Christ if anything is done. "

"Since then, you see, I have felt like a freedwoman. "

"Which you are. "

"And then you cannot think what it was to me, and what it is, to smellthe roses again. There were not many roses about Clifton at that timein September; but it was the bay, and the shores, and the vessels, andthe sky. I seemed to have got new eyes, and everything was sobeautiful. "

Basil repeated his ejaculation of thanksgiving, but he said nothingmore, and Diana felt somehow disappointed. Did he not understand thatshe was free? He bowed his head close down upon the head of his littledaughter, and was silent. 

"I knew you ought to know"--Diana repeated. 

"Thank you, " he said. 

"And yet I couldn't tell you--though I knew you would be so glad for meand with me. "

"I am unutterably glad for you. "

And not with me? she said to herself. Why not? Isn't it enough, if Idon't love anybody else? if I give him all I have to give? even thoughthat be not what he gives to me. I wish Basil would be reasonable. 

It was certainly the first time it had ever occurred to her to make himthe subject of such a wish. But Diana did not speak out her thought, and of course her husband did not answer it. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

DAIRY AND PARISH WORK. 

According to her custom, Diana was up early the next morning, and downin her dairy while yet the sun was only just getting above the horizon. The dairy window stood open night and day; and the cool dewy freshnesswhich was upon the roses and lilies outside was in there too among thepans of cream; the fragrance of those mingled with the different butvery pure sweetness of these. Diana was skimming pan after pan; thethick yellow cream wrinkled up in rich folds under her skimmer; theskimming-shelf was just before the window, and outside of the windowwere the roses and honeysuckles. Diana's sleeves were rolled up aboveher elbows; her hands were disposing of their business with quickskill; yet now and then, even with a pan under her hand, she paused, leaned on the window sill, and looked out into the garden. She feltglad about something, and yet an unsatisfied query was in her heart;she was glad that she had at last told her husband how the spell wasbroken that had bound her to Evan and kept her apart from himself. "Buthe did not seem so glad as I expected!" Then she recalled the deep toneof his thanksgiving for her, and Diana's eyes took a yearning lookwhich certainly saw no roses. "It was all for me; it was not for hisown share; he did not think he had any share in it. He has a notionthat I hate him; and I do not; I never did. " It occurred to her heredimly that she had once felt a horror of him; and who would not ratherhave hatred than horror? She went on skimming her cream. What shouldshe do? "I cannot speak about it again, " she said to herself; "I cannotsay any more to him. I cannot say--I don't know what I ought to say!but I wish he knew that I do not dislike him. He is keen enough; surelyhe will find it out. "

Pan after pan was set aside; the churn was filled; and Diana began tochurn. Presently in came Mrs. Starling. 

"Hain't Josh brought the milk yet?"

"Not yet. "

"It's time he did. That fellow's got a lazy streak in him somewhere. "

"It's only just half-past five, mother. "

"The butter ought to be come by now, I should think. "--Mrs. Starlingwas passing in and out, setting the table in the lean-to kitchen. Shewould have no "help" in her dominions, so it was only in Diana's partof the house that the little servant officiated, whom Basil insistedupon keeping for his wife's ease and comfort and leisure. Diana herselfattended as of old to her particular sphere, the dairy. "How do youknow it's just half-past five?" her mother went on presently. 

"I looked. "

"Watches!" exclaimed Mrs. Starling with much disgust. "Your husband isridiculous about you. "

But Diana could bear that. 

"In your dairy is a queer place to wear a watch. "

"Why, mother, it's for use, not for show. "

"Make me believe that! There's a good deal of show about it, anyhow, with such a chain hanging to it. "

"My husband gave it to me, you know, chain and all; I must wear it, "Diana said with a face as sweet as the roses. 

"Oh yes! your husband!" Mrs. Starling answered insultingly. "That willdo to say to other people. Much you care what your husband does!"

Diana got up here, left her churn, came up to her mother, and put ahand upon her arm. The action and air of the woman were so commanding, that even Mrs. Starling stood still with a certain involuntarydeference. Diana's face and voice, however, were as clear and calm asthey were commanding. 

"Mother, "--she said, --"you are mistaken. I care with all there is ofme; heart and soul and life. "

Mrs. Starling's eye shrank away. "Since when?" she asked incredulously. 

"It does not matter since when. Whatever I have ever felt for otherpeople, there is only one person in the world that I care for now; andthat is, my husband. "

"You'd better tell him so, " sneered Mrs. Starling. "When do you expectyour butter is going to come, if you stand there?"

"The butter is come, " said Diana gently. She knew the sneer was meantto cover uneasy feeling; and if it had not, still she would not haveresented it. She never resented anything now that was done to herself. In came Josh with the foaming pails. Diana's hands were in the butter, and her mother came to strain the milk. 

"There had ought to be three quarts more, that ain't here, " shegrumbled. 

"They ain't nowheres else, then, " answered her factotum. 

"Josh, you don't strip the cows clean. "

"Who doos, then?" said Josh, grinning. "If 'tain't me, I don' know who'tis. That 'ere red heifer is losin' on her milk, though, Mis'Starlin'. She had ought to be fed sun'thin'. "

"Well, feed her, then, " cried the mistress. "You know enough for that. You must keep up the milk this month, Josh; the grass is first-rate. "

Diana escaped away. 

A while later the family was assembled at breakfast. 

"Where's the child?" inquired Mrs. Starling. 

"I believe she is out in the garden, mother. "

"She oughtn't to be out before she has had her breakfast. 'Tain't goodfor her. "

"O, she has had her breakfast, " said Diana. This was nothing new. Dianaas well as her husband was glad to keep the little one from Mrs. Starling's table, where, unless they wanted her to be fed on pork andpickles and the like, it was difficult to have a harmonious meal. Itwas often difficult at any rate!

"Who's with her?" Mrs. Starling went on. 

"Her father was with her. Now Prudence is looking after her. "

"Prudence! You want to keep a girl about as much as I want to keep aboat. You have no use for her. "

"She is useful just now, " put in the Dominie. 

"Why can't Diana take care of her own child, and feed her when shetakes her own meals?--as I used to do, and as everybody else does. "

"You think that is a convenient arrangement for all parties?" said theminister. 

"I hate to have danglers about!" said Mrs. Starling. "If there'sanything I abominate, it's shiftlessness. I always found my ten fingerswas servants enough for me; and what they couldn't do I could gowithout. And I don't like to see a daughter o' mine sit with her handsbefore her and livin' off other people's strength!"

Diana laughed, a low, sweet laugh, that was enough to smooth away thewrinkles out of anybody's mood. 

"She has to do as she's told, " said the minister sententiously. 

"That's because she's a fool. "

"Do you think so?" Basil answered with unchanged good humour. 

"_I_ never took my lessons from anybody. "

"Perhaps it would have been better if you had. "

"And you are spoiling her, " Mrs. Starling added inconsistently. 

"I wonder you haven't. "

Mrs. Starling paused to consider what the minister meant. Before shecame to speech again, he rose from the table. 

"Will you come to my study, Diana, after breakfast?"

"Who's goin' to make my cake, then?" cried the mistress of the house. "Society's to meet here again this afternoon. "

"I'll make it, mother--a mountain cake, if you like, " said Diana, alsorising. "Basil won't want me all the morning. " But she was eager tohear what he had to say to her, and hurried after him. He had seemed toher more than usually preoccupied. 

"I do think, " she remarked as she reached the study, "the Society eatmore cake than--their work is worth. "

"Heresy, " said Basil, smiling. 

"They don't do much sewing, Basil. "

"They do something else. Never mind; let them come and have a goodtime. It won't hurt anybody much. "

Diana looked at him and smiled, and then waited anxiously. She longedfor some words from Basil different from those he had spoken lastnight. Could he not see, that if her passion for Evan was broken, therewas nothing left for him to look grave about? And ought he not to bejubilant over the confession she had just made to her mother? Diana wasjubilant over it herself; she had set that matter clear at last. It istrue, Basil had not heard the confession, but ought he not to divineit, when it was the truth? "If I do not just _love_ him, " said Diana toherself, "at least he is the only one I care for in all the world. Thatwould have made him glad once. And he don't look glad. Does he expectme to speak out and tell him all that?"

Basil did not look as if he expected her to do any such thing. He wasrather graver than usual, and did not at once say anything. Through theopen window came the air, still damp with dew, laden with the scent ofhoneysuckle and roses, jocund with the shouts of birds; and for oneinstant Diana's thoughts swept back away to years ago, with a wonderingrecognition of the change in herself since _those_ June days. Then herhusband began to speak. 

"I have had a call, Diana. "

"A call? You have a good many of them always, Basil. What was this?"

"Of a different sort. A call for me--not a call upon me. "

"Well, there have always been calls _for_ you too, in plenty, eversince I have known you. What do you mean?"

"This is a call to me to leave Pleasant Valley, " said Basil, watchingher, yet without seeming to do so. Diana looked bewildered. 

"To leave Pleasant Valley? Why? And where would you go, Basil?"

"I am called, because the people want somebody and have pitched uponme. The place is a manufacturing town, not very far from Boston. "

"Are you going?"

"That is the point upon which I desire to have your opinion. "

"But, Basil, the people here want you too. "

"Grant that. "

"Then what does it signify, whether other people want you?"

"Insomuch as the 'other people' are more in numbers and far more needyin condition. "

"Want you more"--said Diana wistfully. 

"That is the plain English of it. "

"And will you go?"

"What do you counsel?"

"I do not know the people"--said Diana, breathless. 

"Nor I, as yet. The church that calls me is itself a rich littlechurch, which has been accustomed, I am afraid, for some time, to adead level in religion. "

"They must want you then, badly, " said Diana. "That was how PleasantValley was five years ago. "

"But round the church lies on every hand the mill population, for whomhardly any one cares. They need not one man, but many. Nothing is donefor them. They are almost heathen, in the midst of a land calledChristian. "

"Then you will go?" said Diana, looking at Mr. Masters, and wishingthat he would speak to her with a different expression of face. It wascalm, sweet, and high, as always; but she knew he thought his wife waslost to him for ever. "And yet, I told him, last night!" she said toherself. Really, she was thinking more of that than of this othersubject Basil had unfolded to her. 

"I do not know, " he answered. "How would you like to run over therewith me and take a look at the place? I have a very friendly invitationto come and bring you, --for the very purpose. "

"Run over? Why, it must be more than one day's journey?"

"One runs by railway, " said Basil simply. "What do you think? Will yougo?"

"O yes, indeed! if you will let me. And Rosy?"

"We will go nowhere without Rosy. "

Diana made her cake like one in a dream. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

BABYLON. 

The journey to Mainbridge, the manufacturing town in question, tookplace within a few days. With eager cordiality the minister and hisfamily were welcomed in the house of one of the chief men of the churchand of the place, and made very much at home. It was a phasis of sociallife which Diana had hardly touched ever before. Wealth was aboundingand superabounding; the house was large, the luxury of furnishing andfitting, of service and equipage, was on a scale she had never seen. Basil was amused to observe that she did not seem to see it now; shetook it as a matter of course, and fitted in these new surroundings asthough her life had been lived in them. The dress of the minister'swife was very plain, certainly; her muslins were not costly, and theywere simply made; yet nobody in the room looked so much dressed as she. It was the dignity of her beauty that so attired her; it was beauty ofmind and body both; and both made the grace of her movements and thegrace of her quiet so exquisite as it was. Basil smiled--and sighed. 

But there was no doubt Diana saw the mill people. The minister and hiswife were taken to see the mills, of course, divers and various--silkmills, cotton mills, iron mills. The machinery, and the work done byit, were fascinating to Diana and delightful; the mill people, men, women, and children, were more fascinating by far, though in a fardifferent way. She watched them in the mills, she watched them when shemet them in the street, going to or from work. 

"Do they go to church?" she asked once of Mr. Brandt, theirentertainer. He shook his head. 

"They are tired with their week's work when Saturday night comes, andwant to rest. Sunday was given for rest, " he said, looking into Diana'sface, which was a study to him. 

"Don't you think, " she said, "rest of body is a poor thing without restof mind?"

"_My_ mind cannot rest unless my body does, " he answered, laughing. 

"Take it the other way--don't you know what it is to have rest of mindmake you forget weariness of body?"

"No--nor you either, " said he. 

"Then I am sorry for you; and I wish I could get at the mill people. "

"Why?"

"To tell them what I know about it. "

"But you could not get at them, Mrs. Masters. They are in the millsfrom seven till seven--or eight, and come out tired and dirty; andSunday, as I told you, they like to stay at home and rest and perhapsclean up. "

"If there is no help for that, " said Diana, "there ought to be nomills. "

"And no manufacturers?"

"What are silk and iron, to the bodies and souls of men? Basil, doesthat passage in the Revelation mean _that?_"

"What passage?" said Mr. Brandt. "Here is a Bible, Mrs. Masters;perhaps you will be so good as to find the place. I am afraid from yourexpression, it is not a flattering passage for us millowners. What arethe words you refer to?"

I think he wanted to draw out Diana much more than the meaning ofScripture. She took the Bible a little doubtfully and glanced at Basil. He was smiling at her in a reassuring way, but did not at all offer tohelp. Diana's thoughts wandered somewhat, and she turned the leaves ofthe Bible unsuccessfully. "Where is it, Basil?"

"You are thinking of the account of the destruction of Babylon. It isin the eighteenth chapter. "

"But Babylon!" said the host. "We have nothing to do with Babylon. Thatmeans Rome, doesn't it?"

"Here's the chapter, " said Diana. "No, it cannot mean Rome, Mr. Brandt;though Dean Stanley seems to assume that it does, in spite of the factwhich he naively points out, that the description don't fit. "

"What then?"

"Basil, won't you explain?"

"It is merely an assumption of old Testament imagery, " said Basil. "Ata time when lineal Israel stood for the church of God upon earth, Babylon represented the head and culmination of the world-power, thechurch's deadly opponent and foe. Babylon in the Apocalypse but meansthat of which Nebuchadnezzar's old Babylon was the type. "

"And what is that?"

"The power of this world, of which Satan is said to be the prince. "

"But what do you mean by the _world_, Mr. Masters? We cannot get out ofthe world--it is a pretty good world, too, I think, take it for all inall. People talk of being worldly and not worldly;--but they do notknow what they are talking about. "

"Why not?" Diana asked. 

"Well, now, ask my wife, " Mr. Brandt answered, laughing. "She thinks itis 'worldly' to have a cockade on your coachman's hat; it is notworldly to have the coachman, or the carriage, and she don't object toa coat with buttons. Then it is not worldly to give a party, --but it isworldly to dance; it is very worldly to play cards. There'shair-splitting somewhere, and my eyes are not sharp enough to see thelines. "

Diana sat with her book in her hand, looking up at the speaker; a lookso fair and clear and grave that Mr. Brandt was again moved bycuriosity, and tempted to try to make her speak. 

"Can _you_ make it out?" he said, smiling. 

"Why, yes!" said Diana; "but there is no hair-splitting. It is verysimple. There are just two kingdoms in the world, Mr. Brandt; andwhatever does not belong to the one, belongs to the other. Whatever isnot for God, is for the world. "

"Then your definition of the 'world' is?"--

"All that is not God's. "

"But I am not clear yet. I don't see how you draw the line. Take mymills, for example; they belong to this profane, work-a-day world; yetI must run them. Is that worldly?"

"Yes, if you do not run them for God. "

Mr. Brandt stared a little. 

"I confess I do not see how that is to be done, " he owned. 

"The business that you cannot do for God, you had better not do atall, " said Diana gently. 

"But spinning cotton?"--

"Spinning cotton, or anything else that employs men and makes money. "

"How?"

"You can do it for God, cannot you?" said Diana in the same way. "Youcan employ the men and make the money for his sake, and in his service. "

"But that is coming pretty close, " said the millowner. "Suppose I wanta little of the money for myself and my family?"

"I am speaking too much!" said Diana, with a lovely flush on her cheek, and looking up to her husband. "I wish you would take the word, Basil. "

"I hope Mr. Masters is going to be a little more merciful to theweaknesses of ordinary humanity, " said Mr. Brandt, half lightly. "Sotremendous a preacher have I never heard yet. "

Basil was silent, and Diana looked down at the volume in her hand. 

"Won't you go on, Mrs. Masters?" said her host. "What do you find forme there?"

"I was looking for my quotation, " said Diana; "I had not got it quiteright. "

"How is it?"

"Here is a list of the luxuries in which Babylon traded:--'Themerchandise of gold, and silver, and precious stones, and of pearls, and fine linen, and purple, and silk, and scarlet, and all thyine wood, and all manner vessels of ivory, and all manner vessels of mostprecious wood, and of brass, and iron, and marble, and cinnamon, andodours, and ointments, and frankincense, and wine, and oil, and fineflour, and wheat, and beasts, and sheep, and horses, and chariots, _andslaves_, _and souls of men_. '"

"Sounds for all the world like an inventory of the things in my house, "said Mr. Brandt. "Pray what of all that? Don't you like all thosethings?"

"'--For in one hour so great riches is come to nought. '"

"But what harm in these things, or most of them, Mrs. Masters?"

Diana glanced up at Basil and did not answer. He answered. 

"No harm--so long as business and the fruits of business are keptwithin the line we were speaking of; so long as all is for God and toGod. If it is not for him, it is for the 'world. '"

"O my dear Mrs. Masters!" cried Mrs. Brandt, running in, --"here youare. I was looking for you. --I came to ask--shall I order the landaufor five o'clock, to drive to the lake?"

Diana was glad to have the conversation broken up. When the hour forthe drive came, and she sank into the luxurious, satiny depths of thelandau, her thoughts involuntarily recurred to it. The carriage was sovery comfortable! It rolled smoothly along, over good roads, drawn bywell-trotting horses; the motion was delightful. Diana's thoughtsrolled on too. Suddenly Mr. Brandt leaned over towards her. 

"Is this carriage a 'worldly' indulgence, Mrs. Masters?"

Diana started. "I don't know, " she said. 

"Ah, " said the other, laughing at her startled face, --"I am glad to seethat even you may have a doubt on that subject. You cannot blame lessetherealized persons, like my wife and me, if we go on contentedly, with no doubts. "

"But you mistake me, "--said Diana. 

"You said, you did not know. "

"Because I don't know you. "

"What has that to do with it?"

"If I knew you well, Mr. Brandt, I should know whether this carriage isthe Lord's or not. "

The expression of the gentleman's face upon this was hardly agreeable;he sat back in his seat and looked at the prospect; and so Diana triedto do, but for a time the landscape to her was indistinguishable. Herthoughts went back to the mills and the mill people; pale, apathetic, reserved, sometimes stern, they had struck her painfully as a set ofpeople who did not own kindred with other classes of theirfellow-creatures; apart, alone, without instruction, without sympathy;not enjoying this life, nor on the way to enjoy the next. The marks ofpoverty were on them too, abundantly. Diana's mind was too full ofthese people to allow her leisure for the beauties of nature; or if shefelt these, to let her feel them without a great sense of contrast. Then she did not know whether she had spoken wisely. Alone in her roomat night with Basil she began to talk about it. She wished that hewould begin; but he did not, so she must. 

"Basil, --did I say too much to Mr. Brandt to-day?"

"I guess not. "

Diana knew by the tone of these words that her husband was on thissubject contented. 

"What do you think of the mill people?"

"I am very curious to find out what impression they make on you. "

"Basil, " said Diana, her voice trembling, "they break my heart!"

"What's to be done in that case?"

"I don't know. Nothing follows upon that. But how do you feel?"

"Very much as if I would like to prove the realizing of that oldprophecy--'To whom he was not spoken of, they shall see; and they thathave not heard shall understand. '"

"That is just how I feel, Basil. But they do not go to church, peoplesay; how could you get at them?"

"We could look them up at their own homes; we could arrange meetingsfor them that they would like; we could work ourselves into theiraffections, by degrees, and _then_ the door would be open for us tobring Christ in. We could give them help too, where help is needed. "

"_We_, Basil?"

"Don't you feel as I do? You said so, " he answered with a grave smile. 

"O, I do!" said Diana. "I cannot think of anything lovelier than to seethose faces change with the knowledge of Christ. "

"Then you would be willing to leave our present field of work?"

"It does not seem to want us as this does--not by many fold. "

"Would your mother leave Pleasant Valley?"

"No. "

"How, then, Di, about you?

"The first question is duty, Basil. "

"I think mine is to come here. "

"Then it must be mine, " said Diana, with a sort of disappointment uponher that he should speak in that way. 

"And would it be your pleasure too?"

"Why, certainly. Basil, I cannot _imagine_ pleasure to be apart fromduty. "

"Thank you, " he said gently. "And I thank God, who has brought you sofar in your lesson-learning as to know that. "

Diana said no more. She was ready to cry, with the feeling that herhusband thought himself to have so little to do with her pleasure. Tears, however, were not much in her way, and she did not shed any, butshe speculated. _Had_ he really to do with her pleasure? It wasdifferent certainly once. She had craved to be at a distance from him;she could remember the time well; but the time was past. Was itreasonable to expect him to know that fact? He had thoroughly learnedthe bitter truth that her heart was not his, and could never be his;what should tell him that the conditions of things were changed. _Were_they changed? Diana was in great confusion. She began to think she didnot know herself. She did not hate Mr. Masters any more; nay, shedeclared to herself she never had hated him; she always had liked him;only then she had loved Evan Knowlton, and now that was gone. She didnot love anybody. There was no reason in the world why Mr. Mastersshould not be contented. "I think, " said Diana to herself, "I give himenough of my heart to content him. I wonder what would content him? Ido not care two straws for anybody else in all the world. He would say, if I told him that, he would say it is a negative proposition. SupposeI could go further"--and Diana's cheeks began to burn--"suppose Icould, I could not possibly stand up and tell him so. I cannot. Heought to see it for himself. But he does not. He ought to becontented--I think he might be contented--with what I give him, if itisn't just"--

Diana broke off with her thoughts very much disturbed. She thought shedid not love her husband, but things were no longer clear; except thatBasil's persistent ignorance of the fact that they had changed, chafedand distressed her. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE PARTY. 

The morning of the next day was spent in still further visits to stillmore mills. Mr. Brandt was much struck with the direction his guests'attention seemed to take. 

"You are very fond of machinery, " he remarked to Diana. 

"Yes--I don't know much about it, " she answered. 

"Surely that is not true after these two or three days' work?"

"I knew _nothing_ about it before. Yes, I do enjoy it, Mr. Brandt, withyou and Mr. Masters to explain things to me; but it is the people thatinterest me most. "

"The people!"--

"The mill hands?" Mrs. Brandt asked. 

"Yes; the mill hands. "

"What _can_ you find interesting in them? I am half afraid of them, formy part. "

"They look as if they wanted friends so much. "

"Friends?" repeated Mrs. Brandt. "I suppose they have friends amongthemselves. Why should not they? Well, it is time you had a change ofsociety, I think. My husband has taken you among the mill people fortwo days; now to-night I will introduce you to a different set; some ofyour church people. I want you to take rest this afternoon, my dearMrs. Masters--now won't you!--so as to be able to enjoy the evening. Iam sure Brandt has fatigued you to death. I never can stand going upand down those stairs in the mills, and standing about; it kills me. "

"I wonder how they bear standing at the looms or the other machines allday?"

"They? O, they are accustomed to it, I suppose. An hour or two of itbreaks _me_ down. Now rest, will you? It's quite a great occasionto-night. One of our greatest men among the millowners, and one of thepillars of the church you and Mr. Masters are coming to take care of, gives an entertainment to his daughter to-night; a bride--marriedlately--just come home and just going away again. You'll see all ourbest people. Now please go and rest. "

Diana went to her room and rested, outwardly. In her mind thoughts werevery busy. And when it was time to dress, they were hardly divertedfrom their subjects. It was with a sort of unconscious instinct thatDiana threw her beautiful hair into the wavy masses and coils whichwere more graceful than she knew and crowned her so royally; and in thelike manner that she put on a dress of soft white muslin. It had noadornment other than the lace which finished it at throat and wrists;she looked most like a bride herself. So Basil thought, when he came tofetch her; though he did not say his thought, fearing lest he mightgraze something in her mind which would pain her. He often withheldwords for such a reason. 

"Will it do?" said Diana, seeing him look at her. 

"Too good for the occasion!" said Basil, shaking his head. 

"Too much dressed?" said Diana. "I thought I must dress as much as Icould. Is it too much, Basil?"

"Nobody else will think so, " said the minister with a queer smile. 

"Do _you_ think so?"

"You are just as you ought to be. All the same, it is beyond thecompany. Never mind. Come!"

Downstairs another sort of criticism. 

"My dear Mrs. Masters! Not a bit of colour! You will be taken for thebride yourself. All in white, except your beautiful hair! Wait, thatwon't do; let me try if I can't improve things a little--do youmind?--Just let me see how this will look. " Diana submitted patiently, and Mrs. Brandt officiously fastened a knot of blue ribband in herbright hair. She was greatly pleased with the effect, which Diana couldnot see. However, when they had reached the house they were going to, and leaving the dressing-room Diana took her husband's arm to go downto the company, he detained her to let Mr. And Mrs. Brandt pass onbefore, and then with a quick and quiet touch of his fingers removedthe blue bow and put it in his pocket. 

"Basil!" said Diana, smiling, --"she will miss it. "

"So shall I. It commonized the whole thing. "

There was nothing common left, as every one instantly recognised whosaw Diana that evening. A presence of such dignified grace, a face ofsuch lofty and yet innocent beauty, so sweet a movement and manner, nobody there knew anything like it in Mainbridge. On the other hand, itwas Diana's first experience of a party beyond the style and degree ofPleasant Valley parties. She found immediately that she was by much theplainest dressed woman in the company; but she forgot to think of thedresses, the people struck her with so much surprise. 

Of course everybody was introduced to her; and everybody said the samethings. 

They hoped she liked Mainbridge; they hoped she was coming to liveamong them; Mr. Masters was coming to the church, wasn't he? and howdid he like the looks of the place?

"You see the best part of the church here to-night, " remarked one stoutelderly lady in a black silk and with flowers in her cap; a verywell-to-do, puffy old lady;--"you see just the best of them, and _all_the best!"

"What do you call the best part of a church?" Diana asked, lookinground the room. 

"Well, you see them before you. There is Mr. Waters standing by thepiano--he's the wealthiest man in Mainbridge; a very wealthy man. Theone with his head a little bald, speaking just now to Mrs. Brandt, isone of our elders; he's pretty comfortable too; a beautiful place hehas--have you seen it? No? You ought to have gone there to see hisflowers; the grounds are beautiful, laid out with so much taste. But ifyou are fond of flowers, you should go to see Mr. Tillery'sgreenhouses. That is Mr. Tillery in the corner, between the two youngladies in white. Mr. Tillery's greenhouses extend half a mile, orwould, if they were set in a line, you know. "

"Are there any poor people in the church?"

"Poor people?" The article called for seemed to be rare. "Poor people?There are a few, I believe. Not many; the poor people go to the missionchapel. O, we support a mission; that's down in the mill quarter, wherethe hands live, I mean"--

"And O, Mrs. Masters, " a young lady struck in here, "you are coming, aren't you? I have fallen in love with you, and I want you to come. AndO, I want you to tell me one thing--is Mr. Masters very strict?"

"About what?" said Diana, smiling. 

"About anything. "

"Yes; he is very strict about telling the truth. "

"O, of course; but I mean about other things; what one may do or mayn'tdo. Is he strict?"

"Not any stricter than his Master. "

"His master? who's that? But I mean, --does he make a fuss aboutdancing?"

"I never saw Mr. Masters make a fuss about anything. "

"O, delightful! then he don't mind? You know, Mrs. Masters, the Biblesays David danced. "

"The Bible tells why he danced, too, " said Diana, wholly unable to keepher gravity. 

"Does it? I don't recollect. And O, Mrs. Masters, I want to knowanother thing; does Mr. Masters use the Episcopal form in marryingpeople?"

"You are concerned in the question?"

"O yes. I might be, you know, one of these days; and I always think theEpiscopal form is so dignified and graceful; the ring and all that; thePresbyterian form is so _tucky_ and ugly. O, Mrs. Masters, don't youlike a form for everything?"

Before Diana could return an answer to this somewhat comprehensivequestion, a slight sound caused her to forget both question and speakerand the place where she was, as utterly as if they all had been sweptfrom the sphere of the actual. It belonged to the sweet poise and calmof her heart and life that she was able to keep still as she was andmake no movement and give no sign. The sound she had heard was a littlerunning laugh; she thought it came from the next room; yet she did notturn her head to look that way, though it could have been uttered, sheknew, from no throat but one. The young lady friend reiterated thequestion in which she was interested, and Diana answered; I do not knowhow, nor did she; while she was at the same time collecting her forcesand reviewing them for the coming skirmish with circumstances. EvanKnowlton was here at Mainbridge. How could it possibly be? And even asthe thought went through her, came that laugh again. 

Diana's mind began to be in a great state of confusion, which presentlyconcentred itself upon the one point of keeping a calm and unmovedexterior. And to her surprise, this became easy. The confusionsubsided, like the vibrations of harp-strings which have been brushedby a harsh hand; only her heart beat a little, waiting for the comingencounter. 

"Shall I take you in to see the bride?" Mr. Brandt here presentedhimself, offering his services. And Diana rose without hesitation andput her arm in his. She was glad, however, that their progress throughthe company was slow; she hoped Evan would see before he had to speakto her. She herself felt ready for anything. 

It was with a strange feeling, nevertheless, that she went through theintroduction to the pale lady of fashion who was Evan's second choice. Beyond white silk and diamonds and a rather delicate appearance, Dianacould in that moment discern nothing. Her senses did not seem to serveher well. The lady was very much in request besides, amid her oldfriends and acquaintances, and there was no chance to talk to her. Thenfollowed the introduction to the bridegroom. He was going to contenthimself with a bow, but Diana stretched out her hand and gave his awarm grasp. "I have seen Captain Knowlton before, "--she said simply. She was perfectly quiet now, but she saw that he was not; and that hewas willing to take refuge with other claimants upon his attention toescape any particular words with her. She stepped back, and graduallygot behind people, where the sight of her could not distress him. Ithad distressed him, she had seen that. Was it on her account? or on hisown? Gradually, watching her chances, she was able to work her way backinto the other room, which was comparatively empty; and there she satdown at a table covered with photographs. She would go away, shethought, as soon as it could gracefully be done. And yet, she wouldhave liked to speak a few words with Evan, this last time they mightever be together. What made him embarrassed in meeting her? With hisbride just beside him, that ought not to be, she thought. 

The company had almost all crowded into the other room about the bride, and were fully occupied with her; and Diana was alone. She turned overthe photographs and reviewed the kings and queens of Europe, with nosort of intelligence as to their families or nationalities, mechanically, just to cover her abstraction, and to seem to be doingsomething. Then suddenly she knew that Evan was beside her. He had comeround and entered by the door from the hall; and now they both stoodtogether for a moment, shielded by a corner of the partition wallbetween the rooms. Diana had risen. 

"This is a very painful meeting"--Captain Knowlton said, after asilence which would have been longer if he had dared to let it be so. 

"No"--said Diana, looking at him with as clear and fair a brow as ifshe had been the moon goddess whose name she bore; and her voice wasvery sweet. "Not painful, Evan; why should it be? I am glad to see youagain. "

"I didn't know you were here"--he went on hurriedly, in evident greatperturbation. 

"And we did not know you were here. I had no notion of it--till I heardyour voice in the next room. I knew it instantly. "

"I would have spared you this, if I could have foreseen it. "

"Spared me what?"

"All this, --this pain, --I know it must be pain to you. --I did notanticipate it. "

"Why should it be pain to me?" inquired Diana steadily. 

"I know your feeling--I would not have brought Clara into yourpresence"--

"I am very glad to have seen her, " said Diana in the same quiet way, looking at Evan fixedly. "I should have been glad to see more of her, and learn to know her. I could scarcely speak to her for the crowdaround. "

"Yes, she is a great favourite, and everybody is eager to see herbefore she goes. "

"You are going away soon?"

"O yes!--to my post. "

"I hope she will make you happy, Evan, " Diana said gently and cordially. 

"You are very good, I am sure. I don't want you to think, Diana, thatI--that I, in fact, have forgotten anything"--

"You cannot forget too soon, " she answered, smiling, "everything thatClara would not wish you to remember. "

"A fellow is so awfully lonely out there on the frontiers"--he said, mumbling his words through his moustache in a peculiar way. 

"You will not be lonely now, I hope. "

"You see, Di, you were lost to me. If I could only think of you ashappy"--

"You may. "

"Happy?" he repeated, looking at her. He had avoided her eyes until now. 

"Yes. "

"Then _you_ have forgotten?"

"One does not forget, " said Diana, with again a grave smile. "But Ihave ceased to look back sorrowfully. "

"But--you are married"--

Then light flushed into Diana's face. She understood Evan's allusion. 

"Yes, " she said, --"to somebody who has my whole heart. "

"But--you are married to Mr. Masters?"--he went on incredulously. 

"Certainly. And I love my husband with all the strength there is in meto love. I hope your wife will love you as well, " she added withanother smile, a different one, which was exceedingly aggravating tothe young man. No other lips could wreathe so with such a mingling ofsoftness and strength, love, and--yes, happiness. Captain Knowlton hadseen smiles like that upon those lips once, long ago; never a brighteror more confident one. He felt unaccountably injured. 

"You did not speak so when I saw you last, " he remarked. 

"No. I was a fool, " said Diana, with somewhat unreasonableperverseness. "Or, if I was not a fool, I was weak. "

"I see you are strong now, " said the young officer bitterly. "I wasnever strong; and I am weak still. I have not forgotten, Diana. "

"You ought to forget, Evan, " she said gently. 

"It's impossible!" said he, hastily turning over photographs on thetable. 

Diana would have answered, but the opportunity was gone. Other peoplecame near; the two fell apart from each other, and no more words wereinterchanged between them. 

It grieved but did not astonish Basil to perceive, when he joined Dianain their own room that night, that she had been weeping; and it onlygrieved him to know that the weeping was renewed in the night. He gaveno sign that he knew it, and Diana thought he was asleep through itall. Tears were by no means a favourite indulgence with her; this nightthe spring of them seemed to be suddenly unsealed, and they flowed fastand free, and were not to be checked. Neither did Diana quite clearlyknow what moved them. She was very sorry for Evan; yes, but these tearsshe was shedding were not painful tears. It came home to her, all thesorrowful waiting months and years that Basil had endured on heraccount; but sympathy was not a spring large enough to supply such aflow. She was glad those months were ended; yet they were not ended, for Basil did not know the facts she had stated with so much clearnessto his whilome rival; she had not told himself, and he did not guessthem. "He might, " said Diana to herself, --"he ought, "--at the same timeshe knew now there was something for her to do. How she should do it, she did not know. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

AT ONE. 

They returned to Pleasant Valley that day, and Basil was immediatelyplunged in arrears of business. For the present Diana had to attend toher mother, whose conversation was anything but agreeable after shelearned that her son-in-law had accepted the call to Mainbridge. 

"Ministers are made of stuff very like common people, " she declared. "Every one goes where he can get the most. "

"You know Mr. Masters has plenty already, mother; plenty of his own. "

"Those that have most already are always the ones that want more. I'veseen that a thousand times. If a man's property lies in an onion, he'lllikely give you half of it if you want it; if he's got all PleasantValley, the odds are he won't give you an onion. "

Diana would have turned the conversation, but Mrs. Starling came backto the subject. 

"What do you suppose you are going to do with me?"

"Mother, that is for you to choose. You know, where ever we are, there's a home for you if you will have it. "

"It's a pleasure to your husband to have me, too, ain't it?"

"It is always a pleasure to him to do what is right. "

"Complimentary! You have grown very fond of him, haven't you, all of asudden?"

But this subject Diana would not touch. Not to her mother Not to anyone, till the person most concerned knew the truth; and most certainlyafter that not to any one else. Evan had been told; there had been areason; she was glad she had told him. 

"What do you suppose I'd do in Mainbridge?" Mrs. Starling went on. 

"There is plenty to do, mother. It is because there is so much to do, that we are going. "

"Dressing and giving parties. I always knew your husband held himselfabove our folks. He'll be suited there. "

This tried Diana, it was so very far from the truth. She fled thefield. It was often the safest way. But she was very sorry for hermother. She went to Basil's study, where now no one was, and sat downby the window that looked into the garden. There Rosy presently caughtsight of her; came to her, and climbed up into her lap; and for a goodwhile the two entertained one another; the child going on in wanderingsweet prattle, while the mother's thoughts, though she answered her, kept a deeper current of their own all the while. She was pondering asshe sat there and smelled the roses in the garden and talked to thesmall Rose in her lap, --she was pondering what she should do to let herhusband know what she now knew about herself. One would say, thesimplest way would be to tell him! But Diana, with all her simplicityand sweetness, had a New England nature; and though she could speakfrankly enough when spoken to, on this or any other subject, she shrankfrom volunteering revelations that were not expected of her;revelations that were so intimate, and belonged to her very inner self;and that concerned besides so vitally her relations with anotherperson, even though that person were her husband. At the mere thoughtof doing it, the colour stirred uneasily in Diana's face. Why could notBasil divine? Looking out into the garden, both mother and child, andtalking very busily one of them, thinking very busily the other, neither of them heard Basil come in. 

"Where's papa?" Rosy was at the moment asking, in a tone sufficientlyindicating that in her view of things he had been gone long enough. 

"Not very far off"--was the answer, close behind them. Rosy started andthrew herself round towards her father, and Diana also started andlooked up; and in her face not less than in the little one there was aflash and a flush of sudden pleasure. Basil stooped to put his lips toRosy's, and then, reading more than he knew in Diana's eyes, he carriedthe kiss to her lips also. It was many a day since he had done thelike, and Diana's face flushed more and more. But Basil had taken upRosy into his arms, and was interchanging a whole harvest of caresseswith her. Diana turned her looks towards the garden, and felt ready toburst into tears. Could it be that he was proud, and intended torevenge upon her the long avoidance to which in days past she hadtreated him? Not like what she knew of Mr. Masters, and Diana was awareshe was unreasonable; but it was sore and impatient at her heart, andshe wanted to be in Rosy's place. And Basil the while was thinkingwhether by his unwonted caress he had grieved or distressed his wife. He touched her shoulder gently, and said, "Forgive me!"

"Forgive you what?" said Diana, looking round. 

"My taking an indulgence that perhaps I should not have taken. "

"You are very much mistaken, Basil, " said Diana, rising; and her voicetrembled and her lips quivered. She thought he _was_ rather cruel now. 

"But I have troubled you?" he said, looking earnestly at her. 

Diana hesitated, and the quiver of her lips grew more uncontrollable. "Not in the way you think, " she answered. 

"How then?" he asked gently. "But I _have_ troubled you. How, Di?"

The last two words were spoken with a very tender, gentle accentuation, and they broke Diana down. She laid one hand on her husband's arm, andthe other, with her face in it, on his shoulder, and burst into tears. 

I do not know what there is in the telegraphy of touch and look andtone; but something in the grip of Diana's hand, and in her actionaltogether, wrought a sudden change in Basil, and brought a greatrevelation. He put his little girl down out of his arms and took hiswife in them. And for minutes there was no word spoken; and Rosy wastoo much astonished at the strange motionless hush they maintained toresent at first her own dispossession and the great slight which hadbeen done her. 

There had come a honey-bee into the room by mistake, and not findingthere what he expected to find, he was flying about and about, tryingin vain to make his way to something more in his line than books; andthe soft buzz of the creature was the only sound to be heard, till Rosybegan to complain. She did not know what to make of the utter stillnessof the two figures beside her, who stood like statues; was furthermorenot a little jealous of seeing what she considered her own prerogativeusurped by another; and finally began an importunate petitioning to betaken up again. But Rosy's voice, never neglected before, was not heardto-day. Neither of them heard it. The consciousness that was nearestwas overpowering, and barred out every other. 

"Diana"--said Basil at last in a whisper; and she looked up, allflushed and trembling, and did not meet his eyes. Neither did she takeher hand from his shoulder; they had not changed their position. 

"Diana, --what are you going to say to me?"

"Haven't I said it?" she answered with a moment's glance and smile; andthen between smiles and tears her head sank again. 

"Why did you never tell me before?" he said with a breath that wasalmost a sob, and at the same time had a somewhat imperative accent ofdemand in it. 

"I did not know myself. "

"And now?"--

"Now?"--repeated Diana, half laughing. 

"Yes, now; what have you got to tell me?"

"Do you want me to tell you what you know already?"

"You have told me nothing, and I do not feel that I know anything tillyou have told me, " he said in a lighter tone. "Hallo, Rosy!--what's thematter?"

For Rosy, seeing herself entirely to all appearance supplanted, had nowbroken out into open lamentations, too heartfelt to be longerdisregarded. Diana gently released herself, and stooped down and tookthe child up, perhaps glad of a diversion; but Rosy instantly stretchedout her arms imploringly to go to her father. 

"I was jealous of _her_, a little while ago, " Diana remarked as theexchange was made. 

But at that word, Basil set the child, scarcely in his arms, out ofthem again on the floor; and folding Diana in them anew, paid her someof the long arrear of caresses so many a day withheld. Ay, it was thefirst time he had known he might without distressing her; and no doubtlips can do no more silently to reveal a passion of affection thanthese did then. If Basil had had a revelation made to him, perhaps sodid Diana; but I hardly think Diana was surprised. She knew somethingof the depths and the contained strength in her husband's character;but it is safe to say, she would never be jealous of Rosy again! Notanything like these demonstrations had ever fallen to Rosy's share. 

Anything, meanwhile, prettier than Diana's face it would be difficultto see. Flushing like a girl, her lips wreathing with smiles, tear-drops hanging on the eyelashes still, but with flashes andsparkles coming and going in the usually quiet grey eyes. DispossessedRosy on the floor meanwhile looked on in astonishment so great that sheeven forgot to protest. Basil looked down at her at last and laughed. 

"Rosy has had a lesson, " he said, picking her up. "She will know herplace henceforth. Come, Di, sit down and talk to me. How came thisabout?"

"I don't know, Basil, " said Diana meekly. 

"Where did it begin?"

"I don't know that either. O, _begin?_ I think the beginning was verylong ago, when I learned to honour you so thoroughly. "

"Honour is very cold work; don't talk to me about honour, " said Basil. "I have fed and supped on honour, and felt very empty!"

"Well, you have had it, " said Diana contentedly. 

"Go on. When did it change into something else?"

"It has not changed, " said Diana mischievously. 

"When did you begin to give me something better?"

"Do you know, Basil, I cannot tell? I was not conscious myself of whatwas going on in me. "

"When?"

"Perhaps--since soon after I came home from Clifton. It _had_ not begunthen; how soon it began after, I cannot tell. It was so gradual. "

"When did you discover a change?"

"I _felt_ it--I hardly discovered it--a good while ago, I think. But Idid not in the least know what it was. I wished--Basil, it is veryodd!"--and the colour rose in Diana's cheeks, --"I _wished_ that I couldlove you. "

The minister smiled, and there was a suspicious drop in his eyes, whichI think to hide, he stooped and kissed Rosy. 

"Go on. When did you come to a better understanding?"

"I don't think I recognised it until--I told mother, not a great whileago, that I cared for nobody in the world but you; but that wasdifferent; I meant something different; I do not think I recognised itfully, until--you will think me very strange--until I saw--EvanKnowlton. "

"And then?" said Basil with a quick look at his wife. Diana's eyes weredreamily going out of the window, and her lips wore the rare smilewhich had vexed Evan, and which he himself had never seen on thembefore that day. 

"Then, --he ventured to remind me that--once--it was not true. "

"What?" said Basil, laughing. "Your mother makes very confusedstatements, Rosy?"

"He was mortified, I think, that I did not seem to feel more at seeinghim; and then he dared to remind me that I had married a man I didnot"--Diana left the word unspoken. 

"And then?"

"Then I knew all of a sudden that he was mistaken; that if it had beentrue once, it was true no longer. I told him so. "

"Told him!" echoed her husband. 

"I told him. He will make that mistake no more. "

"Then, pray, why did you not tell the person most concerned?"

"I could not. I thought you must find it out of yourself. "

"How did he take your communication?"

"Basil--human nature is a very strange thing! I think, do you know?--Ithink he was sorry. "

"Poor fellow!" said Basil. 

"Can you understand it?"

"I am afraid I can. "

"You may say 'poor fellow!'--but I was displeased with him. He had noright to care; at least, to be anything but glad. It was wrong. He hadno _right_. "

"No; but you have fought a fight, my child, which few fight and comeoff with victory. "

"It was not I, Basil, " said Diana softly. "It was the power that badethe sea be still. _I_ never could have conquered. Never. "

"Let us thank Him!"

"And it was you that led me to trust in him, Basil. You told me, thatanything I trusted Christ to do for me, he would do it; and I saw howyou lived, and I believed first because you believed. "

Basil was silent. His face was very grave and very sweet. 

"I am rather disappointed in Evan, " said Diana after a pause. "I shallalways feel an interest in him; but, do you know, Basil, he seems to me_weak?_"

"I knew that a long while ago. "

"I knew it two years ago--but I would not recognise it. " Then leavingher place she knelt down beside her husband and laid her head on hisbreast. "O Basil, --if I can ever make up to you!"--

"Hush!" said he. "We will go and make things up to those millworkers inMainbridge. "

There was a long pause, and then Diana spoke again; spoke slowly. 

"Do you know, Basil, the millowners in Mainbridge seemed to me to wantsomething done for them, quite as much as the millworkers?"

"I make the charge of that over to you. "

"Me!" said Diana. 

"Why not?"

"What do you want me to do for them?"

"What do you think they need?"

"Basil, they do not seem to me to have the least idea--not an_idea_--of what true religion is. "

"They would be very much astonished to hear you say so. "

"But is it not true?"

"You would find every wealthy community more or less like Mainbridge. "

"Would I? That does not alter the case, Basil. "

"No. Do you think things are different here in Pleasant Valley?"

Diana pondered. "I think they do not _seem_ the same, " she said. "People at least would not be shocked if you told them here whatChristian living is. And there are some who know it by experience. "

"No doubt, so there are in the Mainbridge church, though it may be weshall find them most among the poor people. "

"But what is it you want me to do, Basil?"

"Show them what a life lived for Christ is. We will both show them; butin my case people lay it off largely on the bond of my profession. Then, when we have shown them for awhile what it is, we can speak of itwith some hope of being understood. "

"Has anything special come to the Dominie?" Mrs. Starling asked thatevening, when after prayers the minister had gone to his study. 

"Why, mother?"

"He seems to have a great deal of thanksgiving on his mind!"

"That's nothing very uncommon in him, " said Diana, smiling. 

"What's happened to _you?_" inquired her mother next, eyeing herdaughter with curious eyes. 

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't do things commonly without a reason. When folks roll theirwords out like butter, I like to know what's to pay. "

"I cannot imagine what manner of speech that can be, " said Diana, amused. 

"Well--it was your'n just now. And it was your husband's half an hourago. "

"I suppose, " said Diana, gravely now, "that when people feel happy, itmakes their speech flow smoothly. "

"And you feel happy?" said Mrs. Starling with a look as sharp as anarrow. 

"Yes, mother. I do. "

"What about?"

Diana hesitated, and then answered with a kind of sweetsolemnity, --"All earth, and all heaven. "

Mrs. Starling was silenced for a minute. 

"By 'all earth' I suppose you mean me to understand things in thefuture?"

"And things in the past. Everything that ever happened to me, mother, has turned out for good. "

Mrs. Starling looked at her daughter, and saw that she meant it. 

"The ways o' the world, " she muttered scornfully, "are too queer foranything!" But Diana let the imputation lie. 

They went to Mainbridge. Not Mrs. Starling, but the others. And you maythink of them as happy, with both hands full of work. They live in ahouse just a little bit out of the town, where there is plenty ofground for gardens, and the air is not poisoned with smoke or vapour. Roses and honeysuckles flourish as well here as in Pleasant Valley;laburnums are here too, dropping fresh gold every year; and there arebanks of violets and beds of lilies, and in the spring-time crocusesand primroses and hyacinths and snowdrops; and chrysanthemums andasters, and all sorts of splendours and sweetnesses in the fall. Foreven Diana's flowers are not for herself alone, nor even for herchildren alone, whose special pleasure in connection with them is tomake nosegays for sick and poor people, and to cultivate garden plotsin order to have the more to give away. And not Diana's roses andhoneysuckles are sweeter than the fragrance of her life which goesthrough all Mainbridge. Rich and poor look to that house as a point oflight and centre of strength; to the poor it is, besides, a treasury ofcomfort. There is no telling the change that has been wrought alreadyin the place. It is as Basil meant it should be, and knew it would be. It is as it always is; when the box is broken at Christ's feet, thehouse is filled with the odour of the ointment. 

THE END. 

MURRAY AND GIBB, EDINBURGH, PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE. 

Typographical errors silently corrected:

Chapter 1: =take off slice= replaced by =take off a slice=

Chapter 1: =those biscuits too brown= replaced by =them biscuits toobrown=

Chapter 1: =Why has anybody= replaced by =Why, has anybody=

Chapter 1: =a rouser?= replaced by =a rouser!=

Chapter 1: =it 'ill take us= replaced by =it'll take us=

Chapter 1 =hev= replaced by =hev'=

Chapter 1: =I spect they're dreadful= replaced by =I s'pect they'redreadful=

Chapter 2: =little meetins= replaced by =little meetin's=

Chapter 2: =and she looked like= replaced by ="and she looked like=

Chapter 2: ="Don't the minister= replaced by =Don't the minister=

Chapter 3: =strip of gold= replaced by =stripe of gold=

Chapter 7: =no sitting still= replaced by =no sittin' still=

Chapter 7: =Farmer Selden= replaced by =farmer Selden=

Chapter 11: =You see there are seldom= replaced by =You see, there areseldom=

Chapter 14: =your place, Mrs. Reverdy= replaced by =your place, Mis'Reverdy=

Chapter 14: =of fierce= replaced by =o' fierce=

Chapter 14: =of the pulpit= replaced by =o' the pulpit=

Chapter 14: =hev= replaced by =hev'=

Chapter 15: =grass leading= replaced by =grass, leading=

Chapter 15: =woman by nature= replaced by =woman, by nature=

Chapter 17: =why like a ripe= replaced by =why, like a ripe=

Chapter 17: =Scripter does= replaced by =Scripter doos=

Chapter 17: =hev= replaced by =hev'=

Chapter 18: =oursn's= replaced by =our'n's=

Chapter 20: =folk's houses= replaced by =folks' houses=

Chapter 22: =a preacher?'"= replaced by =a preacher'?"=

Chapter 24: =hev= replaced by =hev'=

Chapter 25: =could get too much= replaced by =could git too much=

Chapter 25: =hev= replaced by =hev'=

Chapter 25: =at folk's secrets= replaced by =at folks' secrets=

Chapter 25: =Wall, I don't know= replaced by =Wall, I don' know=

Chapter 34: =Who does, then= replaced by =Who doos, then=