Nuttie's Father

by

Charlotte M. Yonge

CONTENTS

 I. ST. AMBROSE'S CHOIR. II. MONKS HORTON. III. HEIR HUNTING. IV. A NAME. V. SUSPENSE. VI. THE WATER-SOLDIER. VII. THAT MAN. VIII. THE FATHER. IX. NEW PLUMES. X. BRIDGEFIELD EGREMONT. XI. LAWN-TENNIS. XII. OUT OF WORK. XIII. DETRIMENTALS. XIV. GOING AGEE. XV. A CASTLE OF UMBRELLAS. XVI. INFRA DIG. XVII. AN OLD FRIEND. XVIII. A FRIEND IN NEED. XIX. THE VORTEX. XX. WOLF. XXI. URSULA'S RECEPTION. XXII. DISENCHANTMENT. XXIII. A FAILURE. XXIV. FARMS OR UMBRELLAS. XXV. THE GIGGLING SCOTCH GIRL. XXVI. THREE YEARS LATER. XXVII. THE BOY OF EGREMONT. XXVIII. A BRAVE HEART. XXIX. A FRESH START. XXX. NUTTIE'S PROSPECTS. XXXI. SPES NON FRACTA. XXXII. BLACKS IN THE ASCENDANT. XXXIII. THE LOST HEIR. XXXIV. FETTERS RENT. XXXV. THE HULL OF THE URSULA. XXXVI. NUTTIE'S KNIGHT. XXXVII. FOUND AND TAKEN. XXXVIII. THE UMBRELLA MAN. XXXIX. ANNAPLE'S AMBITION FALLEN. 

CHAPTER I. 

ST. AMBROSE'S CHOIR. 

 'For be it known That their saint's honour is their own. '--SCOTT. 

The town of Micklethwayte was rising and thriving. There weresalubrious springs which an enterprising doctor had lately brought intonotice. The firm of Greenleaf and Dutton manufactured umbrellas inlarge quantities, from the stout weather-proof family roof down to thedaintiest fringed toy of a parasol. There were a Guild Hall and ahandsome Corn Market. There was a Modern School for the boys, and aHigh School for the girls, and a School of Art, and a School ofCookery, and National Schools, and a British School, and a BoardSchool, also churches of every height, chapels of every denomination, and iron mission rooms budding out in hopes to be replaced by churches. 

Like one of the animals which zoologists call radiated, the town wasconstantly stretching out fresh arms along country roads, all livingand working, and gradually absorbing the open spaces between. One ofthese arms was known as St. Ambrose's Road, in right of the church, anincomplete structure in yellow brick, consisting of a handsome chancel, the stump of a tower, and one aisle just weather-tight and usable, but, by its very aspect, begging for the completion of the beautiful designthat was suspended above the alms-box. 

It was the evening of a summer day which had been very hot. The choirpractice was just over, and the boys came out trooping and chattering;very small ones they were; for as soon as they began to sing tolerablythey were sure to try to get into the choir of the old church, whichhad a foundation that fed, clothed, taught, and finally apprenticedthem. So, though the little fellows were clad in surplices andcassocks, and sat in the chancel for correctness sake, there was aspace round the harmonium reserved for the more trustworthy band ofgirls and young women who came forth next, followed by four or fivemechanics. 

Behind came the nucleus of the choir--a slim, fair-haired youth oftwenty; a neat, precise, well-trimmed man, closely shaven, withstooping shoulders, at least fifteen years older, with a black poodleat his heels, as well shorn as his master, newly risen from lyingoutside the church door; a gentle, somewhat drooping lady in black, notyet middle-aged and very pretty; a small eager, unformed, black-eyedgirl, who could hardly keep back her words for the outside of thechurch door; a tall self-possessed handsome woman, with a fineclassical cast of features; and lastly, a brown-faced, wiry hardworkingclergyman, without an atom of superfluous flesh, but with an air ofgreat energy. 

'Oh! vicar, where are we to go?' was the question so eager to breakforth. 

'Not to the Crystal Palace, Nuttie. The funds won't bear it. Mr. Dutton says we must spend as little as possible on locomotion. '

'I'm sure I don't care for the Crystal Palace. A trumpery tinselplace, all shams. '

'Hush, hush, my dear, not so loud, ' said the quiet lady; but Nuttieonly wriggled her shoulders, though her voice was a trifle lowered. 'Ifit were the British Museum now, or Westminster Abbey. '

'Or the Alps, ' chimed in a quieter voice, 'or the Ufizzi. '

'Now, Mr. Dutton, that's not what I want. Our people aren't ready forthat, but what they have let it be real. Miss Mary, don't you see whatI mean?'

'Rather better than Miss Egremont herself, ' said Mr. Dutton. 

'Well, ' said the vicar, interposing in the wordy war, 'Mrs. Greenleaf'schildren have scarlatina, so we can't go to Horton Bishop. The choiceseems to be between South Beach and Monks Horton. '

'That's no harm, ' cried Nuttie; 'Mrs. Greenleaf is so patronising!'

'And both that and South Beach are so stale, ' said the youth. 

'As if the dear sea could ever be stale, ' cried the young girl. 

'I thought Monks Horton was forbidden ground, ' said Miss Mary. 

'So it was with the last regime', said the vicar; 'but now the newpeople are come I expect great things from them. I hear they are veryfriendly. '

'I expect nothing from them, ' said Nuttie so sententiously that all herhearers laughed and asked 'her exquisite reason, ' as Mr. Dutton put it. 

'Lady Kirkaldy and a whole lot of them came into the School of Art. '

'And didn't appreciate "Head of Antinous by Miss Ursula Egremont, "' wasthe cry that interrupted her, but she went on with dignityunruffled--'Anything so foolish and inane as their whole talk and alltheir observations I never heard. "I don't like this style, " one ofthem said. "Such ugly useless things! I never see anything pretty andneatly finished such as we used to do. "' The girl gave it in a tone ofmimicry of the nonchalant voice, adding, with fresh imitation, "'Andanother did not approve of drawing from the life--models might be suchstrange people. "'

'My ears were not equally open to their profanities, ' said Miss Mary. 'I confess that I was struck by the good breeding and courtesy of theleader of the party, who, I think, was Lady Kirkaldy herself. '

'I saw! I thought she was patronising you, and my blood boiled!' criedNuttie. 

'Will boiling blood endure a picnic in the park of so much ignorance, folly, and patronage?' asked Mr. Dutton. 

'Oh, indeed, Mr. Dutton, Nuttie never said that, ' exclaimed gentle Mrs. Egremont. 

'Whether it is fully worth the doing is the question, ' said the vicar. 

'Grass and shade do not despise, ' said Miss Mary. 

'There surely must be some ecclesiastical remains, ' said the young man. 

'And there is a river, ' added the vicar. 

'I shall get a stickleback for my aquarium, ' cried Nuttie. 'We shallmake some discoveries for the Scientific Society. I shall note downevery individual creature I see! I say! you are sure it is not a shamwaterfall or Temple of Tivoli?'

'It would please the choir boys and G. F. S. Girls quite as much, ifnot more, in that case, ' said Miss Mary; 'but you need not expect that, Nuttie. Landscape-gardening is gone by. '

'Even with the county people?' said Nuttie. 

'By at least half a century, ' said Mr. Dutton, 'with all deference tothis young lady's experience. '

'It was out of their own mouths, ' cried the girl defiantly. 'That'sall I know about county people, and so I hope it will be. '

'Come in, my dear, you are talking very fast, ' interposed Mrs. Egremont, with some pain in the soft sweet voice, which, if it had beena little stronger, would have been the best in the choir. 

These houses in St. Ambrose's Road were semi-detached. The pair whichthe party had reached had their entrances at the angles, with a narrowgravel path leading by a tiny grass plat to each. One, which wascovered with a rich pall of purple clematis, was the home of Mrs. Egremont, her aunt, and Nuttie; the other, adorned with a Gloire deDijon rose in second bloom, was the abode of Mary Nugent, with hermother, the widow of a naval captain. Farther on, with adjoininggardens, was another couple of houses, in one of which lived Mr. Dutton; in the other lodged the youth, Gerard Godfrey, together withthe partner of the principal medical man. The opposite neighbours werea master of the Modern School and a scholar. Indeed, the saying of thevicar, the Rev. Francis Spyers, was, and St. Ambrose's Road was proudof it, that it was a professional place. Every one had something to doeither with schools or umbrellas, scarcely excepting the doctor and thesolicitor, for the former attended the pupils and the latter suppliedthem. Mr. Dutton was a partner in the umbrella factory, and lived, asthe younger folk said, as the old bachelor of the Road. Had he not ahousekeeper, a poodle, and a cat; and was not his house, with lovelysill boxes full of flowers in the windows, the neatest of the neat; anddid not the tiny conservatory over his dining-room window alwaysproduce the flowers most needed for the altar vases, and likewisebouquets for the tables of favoured ladies. Why, the very daisies neverdurst lift their heads on his little lawn, which even bore a Frenchlooking-glass globe in the centre. Miss Nugent, or Miss Mary as everyone still called her, as her elder sister's marriage was recent, wasassistant teacher at the School of Art, and gave private drawinglessons, so as to supplement the pension on which her mother lived. They also received girls as boarders attending the High School. 

So did Miss Headworth, who had all her life been one of those peoplewho seem condemned to toil to make up for the errors or disasters ofothers. First she helped to educate a brother, and soon he had died toleave an orphan daughter to be bred up at her cost. The girl hadmarried from her first situation; but had almost immediately lost herhusband at sea, and on this her aunt had settled at Micklethwayte tomake a home for her and her child, at first taking pupils, but when theHigh School was set up, changing these into boarders; while Mrs. Egremont went as daily governess to the children of a family ofsomewhat higher pretensions. Little Ursula, or Nuttie, as she wascalled, according to the local contraction, was like the child of allthe party, and after climbing up through the High School to the lastform, hoped, after passing the Cambridge examination, to become ateacher there in another year. 

CHAPTER II. 

MONKS HORTON. 

 'And we will all the pleasures prove, By shallow rivers, by whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. '--Old Ballad. 

It was holiday-time, and liberties were taken such as were notpermissible, when they might have afforded a bad precedent to theboarders. Therefore, when two afternoons later Mary Nugent, returningfrom district visiting, came out into her garden behind the house, shewas not scandalised to see a pair of little black feet under a hollandskirt resting on a laurel branch, and going a few steps more she behelda big shady hat, and a pair of little hands busy with a pencil and ablank book; as Ursula sat on the low wall between the gardens, shadedby the laburnum which facilitated the ascent on her own side. 

'Oh Miss Mary! Delicious! Come up here! You don't know how charmingthis is. '

She moved aside so as to leave the ascent--by an inverted flower-potand a laurel branch--open to her friend, thus knocking down one of thepile of books which she had taken to the top of the wall. Miss Nugentpicked it up, 'Marie Stuart! Is this your way of studying her?'

'Now, you know 'tis holiday time, and volunteer work; besides, she waswaiting for you, and I could not help doing this. ' She held out ahand, which was scarcely needed, and Mary sprang lightly to share herperch upon the wall. 'Look here!'

'Am I to guess the subject as in the game of historic outlines, ' saidMiss Nugent, as the book was laid on her lap. 'It looks like amodern--no, a mediaeval--edition of Marcus Curtius about to leap intothe capital opening for a young man, only with his dogs instead of hishorse. That hound seems very rationally to object. '

'Now don't! Guess in earnest. '

'A compliment to your name. The Boy of Egremont, poor fellow, justabout to bound across the strid. '

'Exactly! I always feel sure that my father must have done somethinglike this. '

'Was it so heroic?' said Miss Mary. 'You know it was for the hundredthtime, and he had no reason to expect any special danger. '

'Oh, but his mother was waiting, and he had to go. Now, I'll tell youhow it must have been with my father. You know he sailed away in ayacht before I was born, and poor mother never saw him again; but Iknow what happened. There was a ship on fire like the Birkenhead, andthe little yacht went near to pick up the people, and my father calledout, like Sir Humphrey Gilbert--

 "Do not fear, Heaven is as near By water as by land. "

And the little yacht was so close when the great ship blew up that itgot sucked down in the whirlpool, and rescuers and all died a nobledeath together!'

'Has your mother been telling you?' asked Miss Mary. 

'Oh no! she never mentions him. She does not know. No one does; but Iam quite sure he died nobly, with no one to tell the tale, only theangels to look on, and that makes it all the finer. Or just suppose hewas on a desert island all the time, and came back again to find us! Isometimes think he is. '

'What? When you are _quite sure_ of the other theory?'

'I mean I am quite sure while I am thinking about it, or readingRobinson Crusoe, or the Swiss Family. '

'Oh!'

'Miss Mary, has no one ever told you anything about my father?'

'No one. '

'They never tell me. Mother cries, and aunt Ursula puts on her"there's-an-end-of-it look. " Do you think there is anything they arewaiting to tell me till I am older?'

'If there were, I am sure you had better not try to find it outbeforehand. '

'You don't think I would do anything of _that sort?_ But I thought youmight know. Do you remember their first settling here?'

'Scarcely. I was a very small child then. '

Miss Nugent had a few vague recollections which she did not think itexpedient to mention. A dim remembrance rose before her of mysteriouswhisperings about that beautiful young widow, and that it had been saidthat the rector of the Old Church had declared himself to know theladies well, and had heartily recommended them. She thought it wiseronly to speak of having been one of their first scholars, telling ofthe awe Miss Headworth inspired; but the pleasure it was to bring alesson to pretty Mrs. Egremont, who always rewarded a good one with akiss, 'and she was so nice to kiss--yes, and is. '

'Aunt Ursel and mother both were governesses, ' continued the girl, 'andyet they don't want me to go out. They had rather I was a teacher atthe High School. '

'They don't want to trust their Little Bear out in the world. '

'I think it is more than that, ' said the girl. 'I can't help thinkingthat he--my father--must have been some one rather grand, with such abeautiful name as Alwyn Piercefield Egremont. Yes; I know it was that, for I saw my baptismal certificate when I stood for the scholarship; itwas Dieppe, --Ursula Alice, daughter of Alwyn Piercefield and AliceElizabeth Egremont, May 15, 1860. James Everett--I think he was thechaplain at Dieppe. '

Mary Nugent thought it the wisest way to laugh and say: 'You, of allpeople in the world, to want to make out a connection with thearistocracy!'

'True love is different, ' said Ursula. 'He must have been cast off byhis family for her sake, and have chosen poverty--

 "To make the croon a pund, my Alwyn gaed to sea, And the croon and the pund, they were baith for me. "'

Miss Mary did not think a yacht a likely place for the conversion of acroon into a pound, and the utter silence of mother and aunt did notseem to her satisfactory; but she feared either to damp the youthfulenthusiasm for the lost father, or to foster curiosity that might leadto some painful discovery, so she took refuge in an inarticulate sound. 

'I think Mr. Dutton knows, ' proceeded Nuttie. 

'You don't mean to ask him?'

'Catch me! I know how he would look at me. '

'Slang! A forfeit!'

'Oh, it's holiday time, and the boarders can't hear. There's Mr. Dutton's door!'

This might in one way be a relief to Miss Nugent, but she did not likebeing caught upon the wall, and therefore made a rapid descent, thoughnot without a moment's entanglement of skirt, which delayed her longenough to show where she had been, as Mr. Dutton was at the same momentadvancing to his own wall on the opposite side of the Nugent garden. Perhaps he would have pretended to see nothing but for Nuttie's cry ofglee. 

'You wicked elf, ' said Miss Mary, 'to inveigle people intopredicaments, and then go shouting ho! ho! ho! like Robin Goodfellowhimself. '

'You should have kept your elevation and dignity like me, ' retortedUrsula; 'and then you would have had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Duttonclimbing his wall and coming to our feet. '

'Mischievous elves deserve no good news, ' said Mr. Dutton, who was byno means so venerable that the crossing the wall was any effort orcompromise of dignity, and who had by this time joined Mary on hergrass plat. 

'Oh, what is it! Are we to go to Monks Horton?' cried Nuttie. 

'Here is a gracious permission from Lord Kirkaldy, the onlystipulations being that no vestiges of the meal, such as sandwichpapers or gooseberry skins, be left on the grass; and that nobody doesany mischief, ' he added in an awful tone of personality. 'So if I seeanybody rooting up holly trees I shall be bound to interfere. '

'Now, Mr. Dutton, it was only a baby holly in a chink. '

'Only a holly tree! Just like the giant's daughter when she onlycarried off waggon, peasant, oxen, and all in her pinafore. '

'It is not longer than my finger now!'

'Well, remember, mischief either wanton or scientific is forbidden. Youare to set an example to the choir-boys. '

'Scientific mischief is a fatal thing to rare plants, ' said Mary. 

'If I'm not to touch anything, I may as well stay at home, ' poutedNuttie. 

'You may gather as many buttercups and daisies as the sweet childpleases, ' said Mr. Dutton; whereupon she threatened to throw her booksat his head. 

Miss Nugent asked how they were to go, and Mr. Dutton explained thatthere was only a quarter of a mile's walk from the station; that returntickets would be furnished at a tariff of fourpence a head; and thatthere would be trains at 1. 15 and 7. 30. 

'How hungry the children will be. '

'They will eat all the way. That's the worst of this sort of outing. They eat to live and live to eat. '

'At least they don't eat at church, ' said Nuttie. 

'Not since the peppermint day, when Mr. Spyers suspended Dickie Drake, 'put in Mary. 

And the Spa Terrace Church people said it was incense. '

'No. Nuttie!'

'Indeed they did. Louisa Barnet attacked us about it at school, and Isaid I wished it had been. Only they mustn't eat peppermint in thetrain, for it makes mother quite ill. '

'Do you mean that Mrs. Egremont will come?' exclaimed Mr. Dutton. 

'Oh yes, she shall. It is not too far, and it will be very good forher. I shall make her. '

'There's young England's filial duty!' said Mary. 

'Why, I know what is good for her, and she always does as "I wish. "'

'Beneficent despotism!' said Mr. Dutton. 'May I ask if Miss Headworthis an equally obedient subject. '

'Oh! Aunt Ursel is very seldom tiresome. '

'Nuttie! Nuttie! my dear, ' and a head with the snows of more than halfa century appeared on the other side of the wall, under a cap andparasol. 'I am sorry to interrupt you, but it is cool enough for yourmother to go into the town, and I wish you to go with her. '

CHAPTER III. 

HEIR HUNTING. 

 'And she put on her gown of green, And left her mother at sixteen, To marry Peter Bell!'--WORDSWORTH. 

In the shrubberies of Monks Horton were walking a lady somewhat pastmiddle age, but full of activity and vigour, with one of those brightfaces that never grow old, and with her a young man, a few years overtwenty, with a grave and almost careworn countenance. 

More and more confidential waxed the conversation, for the lady wasmaking fresh acquaintance with a nephew seldom seen since he had beenher pet and darling as almost a baby, and he was experiencing theinexpressible charm of tone and manner that recalled the young motherhe had lost in early boyhood. 

'Then your mind is made up, ' she said; 'you are quite right to decideon having a profession; but how does your father take it?'

'He is quite convinced that to repeat my uncle's life, dangling on asheir, would be the most fatal mistake. '

'Assuredly, and all the legal knowledge you acquire is so much infavour of your usefulness as the squire. '

'If I ever am the squire, of which I have my doubts. '

'You expect Mr. Egremont to marry?'

'Not a future marriage, but one in the past. '

'A private marriage! Do you suspect it?'

'I don't suspect it--I know it. I have been hoping to talk the matterover with you. Do you remember our first governess, Miss Headworth?'

'My dear Mark, did I not lose at Pera the charms of your infancy?'

'Then neither my mother nor my grandmother ever wrote to you about her?'

'I do remember that it struck me that immunity from governesses was acompensation for the lack of daughters. '

'Can you tell me no details, ' said Mark anxiously. 'Have you noletters? It was about the time when Blanche was born, when we wereliving at Raxley. '

'I am sorry to say that our roving life prevented my keeping oldletters. I have often regretted it. Let me see, there was one whoboxed May's ears. '

'That was long after. I think it was that woman's barbarity that mademy father marry again, and a very good thing that was. It was wretchedbefore. Miss Headworth was in my own mother's time. '

'I begin to remember something happening that your mother seemed unableto write about, and your grandmother said that she had been greatlyupset by "that miserable affair, " but I was never exactly told what ithad been. '

'Miss Headworth came when I was four or five years old. Edda, as weused to call her in May's language, was the first person who gave me asense of beauty. She had dark eyes and a lovely complexion. Iremember in after times being silenced for saying, "not so pretty as myEdda. " I was extremely fond of her, enough to have my small jealousyexcited when my uncle joined us in our walks, and monopolised her, turning May and me over to play with his dog!'

'But, Mark, Mr. Egremont is some years older than your father. Hecould not have been a young man at that time. '

'So much the worse. Most likely he seemed to her quite paternal. Thenext thing I recollect was our being in the Isle of Wight, we twochildren, with Miss Headworth and the German nurse, and our being toldof our new sister. Uncle Alwyn and his yacht were there, and we wenton board once or twice. Then matters became confused with me, Irecollect a confusion, papa and grandmamma suddenly arriving, everybodyseeming to us to have become very cross, our dear Miss Headworthnowhere to be found, our attendants being changed, and our beingforbidden to speak of her again. I certainly never thought of thematter till a month ago. You know my uncle's eyes have been muchaffected by his illness, and he has made a good deal of use of me. Hehas got a valet, a fellow of no particular country, more Savoyard thananything else, I fancy. He is a legacy, like other evils, from the oldGeneral, and seems a sort of necessity to my uncle's existence. Gregorio they call him. He was plainly used to absolute government, and viewed the coming down amongst us as an assertion of liberty muchagainst his will. We could see that he was awfully jealous of myfather and me, and would do anything to keep us out; but providentiallyhe can't write English decently, though he can speak any language youplease. Well, the man and I came into collision about a scamp of agroom who was doing intolerable mischief in the village, and whom theyput it on me to get discharged. On that occasion Mr. Gregorio grewinsolent, and intimated to me that I need not make so sure of thesuccession. He knew that which might make the Chanoine and me changeour note. Well, my father is always for avoiding rows; he said it wasan unmeaning threat, it was of no use to complain of Gregorio, and wemust digest his insolence. But just after, Uncle Alwyn sent me to huntup a paper that was missing, and in searching a writing-case I cameupon an unmistakable marriage certificate between Alwyn PiercefieldEgremont and Alice Headworth, and then the dim recollections I told youof began to return. '

'What did you do?'

'I thought I had better consult my father, expecting to hear that shewas dead, and that no further notice need be taken of the matter. Buthe was greatly disturbed to hear of the certificate, and would hardlybelieve me. He said that some friend of my grandmother had written herword of goings on at Freshwater between his brother and the younggoverness, and that they went off at once to put a stop to it, butfound us left with the German maid, who declared that Miss Headworthhad gone off with Mr. Egremont in the yacht. No more was heard of myuncle for six weeks, and when he came back there was a great row withthe old General, but he absolutely denied being married. I am afraidthat was all the old sinner wished, and they went off together in theyacht to the West Indies, where it was burnt; but they, as you know, never came to England again, going straight off to the Mediterranean, having their headquarters at Sorrento, and cruising about till theGeneral's death ten years ago. '

'Yes, I once met them at Florence, and thought them two weary pitiablemen. One looked at the General as a curious relic of the old buck ofthe Regency days, and compassionated his nephew for having had his lifespoilt by dangling after the old man. It was a warning indeed, and Iam glad you have profited by it, Mark. '

'He came back, after the old man died, to club life in London, andseldom has been near the old place; indeed, it has been let tillrecently, and he wants to let it again, but it is altogether toodilapidated for that without repairs. So he came down to see about it, and was taken ill there. But to return to what my father told me. Hewas shocked to hear of the certificate, for he had implicitly believedhis brother's denial of the marriage, and he said Miss Headworth was sochildish and simple that she might easily have been taken in by a shamceremony. He said that he now saw he had done very wrong in lettinghis mother-in-law take all the letters about "that unhappy business"off his hands without looking at them, but he was much engrossed by mymother's illness, and, as he said, it never occurred to him as a dutyto trace out what became of the poor thing, and see that she wasprovided for safely. You know Mrs. Egremont says laissez faire is ourfamily failing, and that our first thought is how _not_ to do it. '

'Yes, utter repudiation of such cases was the line taken by the lastgeneration; and I am afraid my mother would be very severe. '

'Another thing that actuated my father was the fear of getting hisbrother into trouble with General Egremont, as he himself would havebeen the one to profit by it. So I do not wonder so much at hisletting the whole drop without inquiry, and never even looking at theletters, which there certainly were. I could not get him to begin uponit with my uncle, but Mrs. Egremont was strongly on my side in thinkingthat such a thing ought to be looked into, and as I had found the paperit would be best that I should speak. Besides that there was noenduring that Gregorio should be pretending to hold us in terror bysuch hints. '

'Well, and has there been a wife and family in a cottage all this time?'

'Aunt Margaret, he has never seen or heard of her since he left her atDieppe! Would you believe it, he thinks himself a victim? He nevermeant more than to amuse himself with the pretty little governess; andhe took on board a Mr. And Mrs. Houghton to do propriety, shady sort ofpeople I imagine, but that she did not know. '

'I have heard of them, ' said Lady Kirkaldy, significantly. 

'She must have been a kind friend to the poor girl, ' said Mark. 'Onsome report that Lady de Lyonnais was coming down on her, wrathful andterrible, the poor foolish girl let herself be persuaded to be carriedoff in the yacht, but there Mrs. Houghton watched over her like adragon. She made them put in at some little place in Jersey, put inthe banns, all unknown to my uncle, and got them married. Each wastrying to outwit the other, while Miss Headworth herself was quiteinnocent and unconscious, and, I don't know whether to call it anexcuse for Uncle Alwyn or not, but to this hour he is not sure whetherit was a legal marriage, and my father believes it was not, looking onit as a youthful indiscretion. He put her in lodgings at Dieppe, underMrs. Houghton's protection, while he returned home on a peremptorysummons from the General. He found the old man in such a state of bodyand mind as he tries to persuade me was an excuse for denying the wholething, and from that time he represents himself as bound hand and footby the General's tyranny. He meant to have kept the secret, given heran allowance, and run over from time to time to see her, but he onlycould get there once before the voyage to the West Indies. The wholeaffair was, as he said, complicated by his debts, those debts that theestate has never paid off. The General probably distrusted him, for hecurtailed his allowance, and scarcely let him out of sight; and he--hesubmitted for the sake of his prospects, and thinking the old man muchnearer his end than he proved to be. I declare as I listened, it camenear to hearing him say he had sold his soul to Satan! From the day hesailed in the Ninon he has never written, never attempted anycommunication with the woman whose life he had wrecked, except oneinquiry at Dieppe, and that was through Gregorio. '

'What! the valet?'

Yes. I believe I seemed surprised at such a medium being employed, forUncle Alwyn explained that the man had got hold of the secretsomehow--servants always know everything--and being a foreigner he waslikely to be able to trace her out. 

'I daresay he profited by the knowledge to keep Alwyn in bondage duringthe old man's lifetime. '

'I have no doubt of it, and he expected to play the same game with me. The fellow reminds me, whenever I look at him, of a sort of incarnatefamiliar demon. When I asked my uncle whether he could guess what hadbecome of her, he held up his hands with a hideous French grimace. Icould have taken him by the throat. '

'Nay, one must pity him. The morals of George IV. 's set had beenhanded on to him by the General, ' said Lady Kirkaldy, rejoicing in thegenuine indignation of the young face, free from all taint of vice, ifsomewhat rigid. 'And what now?'

'He assured me that he could make all secure to my father and me, as ifthat were the important point; but finally he perceived that we had noright to stand still without endeavouring to discover whether there bea nearer heir, and my father made him consent to my making the search, grinning at its Quixotism all the time. '

'Have you done anything?'

'Yes. I have been to Jersey, seen the register--July 20, 1859--and anold French-speaking clerk, who perfectly recollected the party comingfrom the yacht, and spoke of her as tres belle. I have alsoascertained that there is no doubt of the validity of the marriage. Then, deeply mistrusting Master Gregorio, I went on to Dieppe, where Ientirely failed to find any one who knew or remembered anything aboutthem--there is such a shifting population of English visitors andresidents, and it was so long ago. I elicited from my uncle that shehad an aunt, he thought, of the same name as herself; but my fathercannot remember who recommended her, or anything that can be a clue. Has any one looked over my grandmother's letters?'

'I think not. My brother spoke of keeping them till I came to London. That might give a chance, or the Houghtons might know about her. Ithink my husband could get them hunted up. They are sure to be at somecontinental resort. '

'What's that?' as a sound of singing was heard. 

'"Auld Langsyne. " The natives are picnicking in the ravine belowthere. They used to be rigidly excluded, but we can't stand that; andthis is the first experiment of admitting them on condition that theydon't make themselves obnoxious. '

'Which they can't help. '

'We have yet to see if this is worse than an Austrian or Italianfestival. See, we can look down from behind this yew tree. It reallyis a pretty sight from this distance. '

'There's the cleric heading his little boys and their cricket, andthere are the tuneful party in the fern on the opposite side. Theyhave rather good voices, unless they gain by distance. '

'And there's a girl botanising by the river. '

'Sentimentalising over forget-me-nots, more likely. '

'My dear Mark, for a specimen of young England, you are greatlybehindhand in perception of progress!'

'Ah! you are used to foreigners, Aunt Margaret. You have neverfathomed English vulgarity. '

'It would serve you right to send you to carry the invitation to goround the gardens and houses. '

'Do you mean it, aunt?'

'Mean it? Don't you see your uncle advancing down theroad--there--accosting the clergyman--what's his name--either Towers orSpires--something ecclesiastical I know. We only waited to reconnoitreand see whether the numbers were unmanageable. '

'And yet he does not want to sit for Micklethwayte?'

'So you think no one can be neighbourly except for electioneering! OMark, I must take you in hand. '

'Meantime the host is collecting. I abscond. Which is the least showypart of the establishment?'

'I recommend the coal cellar--'and, as he went off--'poor boy, he is adear good fellow, but how little he knows how to be laughed at!'

CHAPTER IV. 

A NAME. 

 'Sigh no more lady, lady sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever, One foot on sea and one on land-- To one thing constant never. '--Old Ballad. 

'So you have ventured out again, ' said Lady Kirkaldy, as her nephewstrolled up to her afternoon tea-table under a great cedar tree:

'The coast being clear, and only distant shouts being heard in theravine--

 '"Like an army defeated The choir retreated; And now doth fare well In the valley's soft swell, "'

said the aunt. 

'At least you have survived; or is this the reaction, ' said the nephew, putting on a languid air. 

'There were some very nice people among them, on whom the pictures wereby no means thrown away. What would you say, Mark, if I told you thatI strongly suspect that I have seen your lost aunt?'

'Nonsense!' cried Mark, as emphatically as disrespectfully. 

'I am not joking in the least, ' said Lady Kirkaldy, looking up at him. 'I heard the name of Egremont, and made out that it belonged to a verylady-like pretty-looking woman in gray and white; she seemed to betrying to check and tame a bright girl of eighteen or so, who was in aperfect state of rapture over the Vandykes. I managed to ask theclergyman who the lady was, and he told me she was a Mrs. Egremont, wholives with her aunt, a Miss Headworth, who boards girls for the HighSchool; very worthy people, he added. '

'Headworth?'

'Yes. '

'But if it were, she would have known your name. '

'Hardly. The title had not come in those days; and if she heard of usat all it would be as Kerrs. I ventured further to put out a feeler byasking whether he knew what her husband had been, and he said hebelieved he had been lost at sea, but he, Mr. Spyers I mean, had onlybeen at Micklethwayte three or four years, and had merely known her asa widow. '

'I suppose it is worth following up, ' said Mark, rather reluctantly. 'Iwish I had seen her. I think I should know Miss Headworth again, andshe would hardly know me. '

'You see what comes of absconding. '

'After all, it was best, ' said Mark. 'Supposing her to be the realwoman, which I don't expect, it might have been awkward if she hadheard my name! How can we ascertain the history of this person withoutcommitting ourselves?'

Lord Kirkaldy, an able man, who had been for many years a diplomatist, here joined the party, and the whole story was laid before him. He wasnew to Micklethwayte, having succeeded a somewhat distant kinsman, anddid not know enough of the place to be able to fix on any one to whomto apply for information; but the result of the consultation was thatLady Kirkaldy should go alone to call on Miss Headworth, and explainthat she was come to inquire about a young lady of the same name, whohad once been governess to the children of her sister, Lady AdelaideEgremont. Mark was rather a study to his uncle and aunt all theevening. He was as upright and honourable as the day, and not onlyacted on high principle, but had a tender feeling to the beautifulplayfellow governess, no doubt enhanced by painful experiences ofsuccessors chosen for their utter dissimilarity to her. Still it wasevidently rather flat to find himself probably so near the tangiblegoal of his romantic search; and the existence of a first cousin hadbeen startling to him, though his distaste was more to the taking herfrom second-rate folk in a country town than to the overthrow of hisown heirship. At least so he manifestly and honestly believed, andknowing it to be one of those faiths that make themselves facts, theKirkaldys did not disturb him in it, nor commiserate him for a losswhich they thought the best thing possible for him. 

Miss Headworth was accustomed to receive visitors anent boarders, sowhen Lady Kirkaldy's card was brought to her, the first impression wasthat some such arrangement was to be made. She was sitting in herpretty little drawing-room alone, for Nuttie and her mother had goneout for a walk with Miss Nugent. 

The room, opening on the garden, and cool with blinds, had a certainhomely grace about the faded furniture. The drawings on the walls weregood, the work quaint and tasteful. There was a grand vase offoxgloves before the empty grate, and some Marshal Nial roses in aglass on the table. The old lady herself--with alert black eyes and asweet expression--rose from her chair in the window to receive herguest. 

Lady Kirkaldy felt reassured as to the refinement of the surroundings, and liked the gentle but self-possessed tones of the old lady. Shenoticed the foxgloves. 

'Yes, ' said Miss Headworth, 'they are the fruits of yesterday'sexpedition. My two children, as I call them, brought them home intriumph. I cannot tell you what pleasure Lord Kirkaldy's kindness gavethem--and many more. '

'I am glad, ' said the lady, while she said to herself, 'now for it, 'and sat forward. 'It struck me, ' she said, 'on hearing your name thatyou might be related to--to a young lady who lived a good while ago inthe family of my sister, Lady Adelaide Egremont. '

A strange look came into Miss Headworth's eyes, her lips trembled, sheclutched tightly the arm of her chair, but then cast a puzzled glanceat her visitor. 

'Perhaps if you heard of me then, ' said the latter, 'it was as LadyMargaret Kerr. '

'Yes, ' said Miss Headworth, then pausing, she collected herself andsaid in an anxious voice, 'Do I understand that your ladyship is cometo inquire for my niece, being aware of the circumstances. '

'I only became aware of them yesterday, ' said Lady Kirkaldy. 'I was inTurkey at the time, and no particulars were given to me; but my nephew, Mark Egremont, your niece's old pupil, came to consult us, having justdiscovered among his uncle's papers evidence of the marriage, of whichof course he had been ignorant. '

'Then, ' exclaimed Miss Headworth, holding her hands tightly clasped, 'Shall I really see justice done at last to my poor child?'

'It is young Mark's most earnest wish and his father--'Lady Kirkaldyhesitated for a word, and Miss Headworth put in:

'His father! Why would he never even acknowledge either Alice'sletters or mine? We wrote several times both to him and Lady Adelaide, and never received any reply, except one short one, desiring he mightnot be troubled on such a subject. It was cruel! Alice said it was notin his writing. She had done very wrong, and the family might well beoffended, but a poor child like her, just eighteen, might have beentreated with some pity. '

'My sister was in declining health. He was very much engrossed. Heleft the matter to--to others, ' said Lady Kirkaldy. 'He is very sorrynow that he acquiesced in what was then thought right. He did not thenknow that there had been a marriage. '

'I should have thought in that case a clergyman would have been boundto show the more compassion. '

Lady Kirkaldy knew that the cruel silence had been chiefly the work ofthe stem Puritan pitilessness of her mother, so she passed this over, saying, 'We are all very anxious to atone, as far as possible, for whatis past, but we know little or nothing, only what my nephew Mark hasbeen able to gather. '

'Little Mark! Alice always talked of him with great affection. Howpleased she will be to hear of his remembering her. '

'Would you object to telling me what you know of this history?' saidLady Kirkaldy. 'I am afraid it is very painful to you, but I think weshould understand it clearly. Please speak to me as a friend, as womanto woman. '

'Your ladyship is very kind, ' said the poor old lady. 'I have onlymentioned the subject once since we came to settle here, seventeenyears ago, but such things one cannot forget. If you will excuse me, Ihave some dates that will assist my accuracy. '

She hurried away, and came back in a few moments, having evidentlydried some tears, perhaps of thankfulness, but she paused as ifreluctant to begin. 

'I think your niece had no nearer relation than yourself, ' said LadyKirkaldy, anxious to set her off and at ease. 

'Oh no, or she never would have been so treated. She was an orphan. Mypoor brother was a curate. He married--as young men will--oninsufficient means, his strength gave way, and he died of diphtheriawhen this poor child was only two years old. Indeed, two little onesdied at the same time, and the mother married again and went toShanghai. She did not long live there, poor thing, and little Alicewas sent home to me. I thought I did my best for her by keeping her ata good school. I have often wished that I had given up my situation, and become an assistant there, so as to have her more under my owneyes; but I fancied it important to receive a salary out of which Icould save. I am wearying your ladyship, but I can't but dwell on theexcuses for my poor child. '

'Indeed I wish to hear all the details, ' was the sincere and gentleanswer. 

'I had her with me generally in the holidays, and I confess I wasabsolutely alarmed to see how pretty the child was growing, knowing howgreat a disadvantage it often is. She was always a good girl, notnaturally so studious as could be wished, but docile, merry, gentle, afavourite with every one, and peculiarly innocent and childish. Iwished her to remain a few years longer as teacher, but it so happenedthat Lady Adelaide Egremont, coming to consult the head of theestablishment about a nursery-governess, saw Alice, and was so muchstruck with her sweet face, which was all sunshine then, as to insiston engaging her. '

'Ah! my dear sister, I remember her enthusiastic letter about herpretty governess, and her boy's affection for her, an affection thathas lasted--'

'It seemed so safe. A clergyman's family in the country, and so kind alady at the head, that, though Alice had been educated for a superiorgoverness, it appeared the best beginning she could have. And she wasvery happy, and met with great kindness. Only, unfortunately, LadyAdelaide was delicate, and for many weeks entirely confined to thesofa. Mr. Egremont's elder brother was much there. He seemed to mypoor inexperienced child quite elderly, and his attentions like thoseof--of an old uncle--she told me afterwards--'

'He must really have been over forty--'

'No doubt my poor Alice was unguarded. We know what a merry, happy, childish girl may be, but I never heard that her conduct was evencensured while she remained at Baxley, though I find that CaptainEgremont used to join them in their walks, under pretext of playingwith the children. Then she was sent to Freshwater with the two eldestchildren during Lady Adelaide's confinement, and there, mostunjustifiably, Captain Egremont continually visited them from hisyacht, and offered to take them out in it. Alice knew she ought not togo without a married lady on board, and he brought a Mr. And Mrs. Houghton to call, who were very kind and caressing to her and thechildren, so that she thought all was right. Oh! Lady Kirkaldy, Idon't mean to defend her, I daresay she was very giddy and silly, shereproaches herself, poor dear, but I do say that a wicked advantage wastaken of her innocence and ignorance. She says that she had begun togrow a little uneasy at the way people looked when Captain Egremontjoined them on the beach; and the nurse, a German, said something thatshe could not understand. On the 1st of July--yes--but I have the datehere--came a telegram to the hotel to have rooms for Lady de Lyonnaisand Mr. Egremont ready by the evening. The whole place knew it, andsome meddling person burst on Alice with the news, roughly and coarselygiven, that they were coming to call her to account for her goings on. Captain Egremont found her crying in the utmost terror, and--she reallyhardly knew what he said to her--she thinks he offered to shelter heron board the Ninon, from Lady de Lyonnais' first wrath while he andMrs. Houghton explained matters; but she cannot tell, for she lost hersenses with fright, only knew that he was kind and sweet to her in herdistress, and thought only of escaping. Well, I don't excuse her. Ofcourse it was the most terrible and fatal thing she could have done, and--' The good old lady was quite overcome, and Lady Kirkaldy hadtears in her eyes as she said, 'It was frightful folly--but she was guarded. '

'Yes, her innocence was guarded, thank God, ' said Miss Headworthfervently. 'You see she did know that Mr. And Mrs. Houghton were onboard, and Mrs. Houghton was a truly kind protector who deserved herconfidence, though, poor lady, she admitted to me that her own conducthad not been-strictly correct. '

'How long was it before you heard of her?'

'There was a dreadful letter from Mr. Egremont enclosing what was dueof her salary, and then I heard no more for seven months. I went tothe Isle of Wight and made all inquiries, but the nurse and childrenhad gone away immediately, and I could obtain no trace of them. '

'Then she--your niece, never wrote. '

'She was afraid, poor dear. She had never been at her ease with me. Her mother had taught her to think me strict and harsh, and she hadnever opened to me in those days. Besides, he had forbidden her. Atlast, however, in January, came a letter from this Mrs. Houghton, telling me that my Alice was very unwell at Dieppe, that nothing hadbeen heard of her husband, Captain Egremont, to whom she had beenmarried on the 20th of July at St. Philippe, in Jersey, and that sheherself was obliged to leave the place almost immediately; but shewould, if possible, wait till my arrival, as Mrs. Egremont was not in acondition to be left alone. My dear friends, with whom I was thenliving, were as kind as possible, and set me free to go. I was therein three days, and truly the dear, beautiful, merry girl I had partedwith only a year before was a sad piteous sight. Mrs. Houghton seemedbroken-hearted at leaving her, thinking there was little chance of herliving; but Mr. Houghton, who, I am afraid, was a professed gambler, had got into some scrape, and was gone to Paris, where she had tofollow him. She told me all about it, and how, when Captain Egremontfancied that a marriage in the Channel Islands was one he could playfast and loose with, she had taken care that the formalities should besuch as to make all secure. Foolish and wrong as poor Alice had been, she had awakened all the best side of that poor woman's nature, and nomother could have been more careful and tender. She gave me thecertificate--here it is--and assured me that it would hold good. Ihave shown it to a lawyer, and he said the same; but when I sent a copyto Mr. Egremont, my letter was returned unopened. '

'Captain Egremont had denied the marriage, and they believed him, ' saidLady Kirkaldy. 'It is hard to believe that he could be so heartless, but he was in bondage to the old General Egremont, and dreaded losinghis inheritance. '

'So he told them in his one visit to Dieppe. He said he must keep hismarriage secret, but promised an allowance, on condition that Alicewould live quietly at Dieppe, and not communicate with any one of herown family or his. He had left £100 with her, but that was nearlygone, and she had never heard from him. It had preyed on her, and shewas so ill that I never expected, any more than Mrs. Houghton, to seeher recover. I stayed there with her; she could not be moved, even ifshe would have consented, when she was continually expecting him; butat last--four days after her little girl was born--came the news of theNinon having been burnt, with all on board, three months before. Doyou know, strange to say, though I had feared so much to tell her, shebegan to revive from that time. The suspense and watching were over. She saw that he had not deserted her, and believed that he had lovedher to the last. She cried a great deal, but it was in a peaceful, natural way. I wrote then, as I had already written, to Lady Adelaideand to Mr. Egremont, but was not answered. '

'I can account for that, ' said Lady Kirkaldy. 'My sister had beenordered to Madeira in the autumn, and there they remained till herdeath in May. All the letters were sent to my mother, and she did notthink fit to forward, or open, any bearing on the subject. In themeantime Mr. Egremont was presented to the family living, and on hisreturn moved to Bridgefield Egremont. And you came here?'

'Of course I could not part with my poor Alice again. Mr. And Mrs. Fordyce, whose daughter I had long ago educated, had always kept up acorrespondence with me, and, knowing all the story, proposed to me tocome here. He was then rector of the old church, and by their help andrecommendation, with such capital as I had, we were able to begin alittle school; and though that has had to give way to the High School, what with boarders, and with Alice's employment as daily governess, wehave, I am thankful to say, gone on very well and comfortably, and mydear child has recovered her cheerfulness, though she can never bequite what--I think she was meant to be, ' said the old lady, with a sadsmile, 'though perhaps she is something better. '

'Do you think she was absolutely convinced of his death?'

'Do you mean that he is alive?' exclaimed Miss Headworth in dismay. 'Oh! he is a wickeder man than even I supposed, to have forsaken herall these years. Is my poor child in his power? Must her peace, nowshe has attained it, be disturbed?'

'There is a great deal to take into consideration, ' said Lady Kirkaldy. 'I had better tell you how this visit of mine came about, and explainsome matters about the Egremont family. '

She then told how Captain Egremont, after a brief service in the LifeGuards, had been made to retire, that the old General, whose heir hewas, might keep him in attendance on him. Already self-indulgent andextravagant, the idleness of the life he led with the worn-out old rouehad deadened his better feelings, and habituated him to dissipation, while his debts, his expensive habits, and his dread of losing theinheritance, had bound him over to the General. Both had been savedfrom the fire in the Ninon, whence they were picked up by a Chilianvessel, and they had been long in communicating with home. The Generalhated England, and was in broken health. He had spent the remainingyears of his life at various continental resorts, where he could enjoya warm climate, combined with facilities for high play. 

When at length, he died, Captain Egremont had continued the life towhich he had become accustomed, and had of late manifested anexpectation that his nephew Mark should play the same part by him as hehad done by the General, but the youth, bred in a very different tone, would on no account thus surrender himself to an evil bondage. Indeedhe felt all the severity of youthful virtue, and had little tolerationfor his uncle's ways of thinking; though, when the old man had comehome ill, dejected, and half blind, he had allowed himself to be madeuseful on business matters. And thus he had discovered the marriage, and had taken up the cause with the ardour stimulated by a chivalrousfeeling for the beautiful vision of his childhood, whose suddendisappearance had ended his brightest days. 

'I suppose it is right and generous of the young man, ' said MissHeadworth. 'But since the--the man is alive, I wish my poor Alicecould have been left at peace!'

'You forget that her daughter has rights which must be taken intoconsideration. '

'Little Nuttie! Dear child! I should so far like her to be providedfor, so far as that she need not go out in the world to earn her ownlivelihood. But no! better be as we are than accept anything from thatman!'

'I quite understand and respect your feeling, Miss Headworth, ' returnedthe lady; 'but may I return to my question whether you think your niecehas any doubt of her husband being dead. '

Miss Headworth considered. 'Since you ask me, I think she has kept thepossibility of the life before her. We have never mentioned thesubject, and, as I said, the belief in his death ended a great suspenseand sense of wounded affection. She began soon and vigorously to turnher attention to the support of her child, and has found a fair measureof happiness; but at the same time she has shrunk from all notice andsociety, more than would be natural in so very young a widow and soattractive, more than I should have expected from her originalcharacter. And once, when she did apprehend symptoms of admiration, she insisted that I should tell the history, enough, as she said, tomake it plain that it was impossible. There was one night too, whenshe had scarlatina, and was a little lightheaded, only four years ago, when she talked a good deal about his coming back; but that might havebeen only the old impression on her brain, of that long watching atDieppe. He--Captain Egremont, does not yet know where she is?'

'No, certainly not. But I fear he must. '

'I suppose he ought, ' sighed Miss Headworth; 'but in the meantime, tillwe know what line he takes, surely she need not be unsettled by theknowledge of his existence. '

'By no means. You had better act as you think best about that. Butyou will not object to my nephew, her old pupil, Mark, coming to seeher? I will make him promise not to enter upon the subject. '

Miss Headworth had only time to make a sign of reluctant acquiescencewhen the door opened and mother and daughter came in. Nuttie first, eager as usual and open-mouthed, unaware that any one was there, forLady Kirkaldy, wishing to avoid talk and observation, had left hercarriage at the livery stables, and walked to St. Ambrose Road. Thegirl, whom in a moment she classed as small, dark, and oddly like MayEgremont, stopped short at sight of a stranger; the mother would haveretreated but for Miss Headworth's nervous call 'Alice, my dear, hereis Lady Kirkaldy. '

Very lovely was Lady Kirkaldy's impression as she saw a slender figurein a dark gray linen dress, and a face of refined, though notintellectual, beauty and sweetness, under a large straw hat with a gooddeal of white gauziness about it, and the curtsey was full of naturalgrace. 

'You do not know me, ' said Lady Kirkaldy, taking her hand, 'but I amaunt to some former pupils of yours, one of whom, Mark Egremont, isvery anxious to come and see you. '

'Mark! My dear little Mark, ' and her face lighted up. 'How very kindof him. But he is not little Mark now. '

'He is not a very big Mark either. Most of the Egremonts are small. Isee your daughter takes after them, ' said Lady Kirkaldy, shaking handswith Ursula, who looked at her in unmitigated amazement. 

Alice faltered something about Lady Adelaide. 

'My dear sister fell into a decline, and died while the three childrenwere still babies. Poor things, I believe they had a sad time tilltheir father married a Miss Condamine, who has been an excellentstepmother to them. I have been to see them, but Mark was not then athome, so he has come to me at Monks Horton. When will he find you athome? Or may I bring him in at once. He was to meet me atMicklethwayte. '

'I should like very much to see him, ' was the answer. And MissHeadworth was obliged to say something about her ladyship taking a cupof tea. Lady Kirkaldy, knowing that Mark was on the watch, set off insearch of him, and found him, as she expected, pacing the pavement infront of the church. There was no great distance in which to utter herexplanations and cautions, warning him of her promise that theintelligence of the husband's being alive was to be withheld for afitter time, but he promised dutifully, and his aunt then took him inwith her. 

The recognition of her claims was a less stunning shock to AliceEgremont than to her aunt. Shielded by her illness, as well as by hersimplicity and ignorance, she had never been aware of her aunt'sattempted correspondence with the Egremonts, nor of their deafness toappeals made on her behalf. Far less had it ever occurred to her thatthe validity of her marriage could be denied, and the heinous error ofher elopement seemed to her quite sufficient to account for her havingbeen so entirely cast off by the family. The idea that as wife orwidow she had any claims on them, or that Ursula might have rightsabove those of Mark, had not come into her mind, which, indeed, at themoment was chiefly occupied by the doubt whether the milk was come in, and by ordering in the best teacups, presented by the boarders. 

Thus she was in the passage when Mark entered, and his exclamationinstantly was 'Oh, Edda, dear old Edda! You aren't a bit altered!' andhe put his head under her hat and kissed her, adding, as she seemedrather startled, 'You are my aunt, you know; and where's my cousin?You are Ursula?'

He advanced upon Nuttie, took her by the hand and kissed her foreheadbefore she was aware, but she flashed at him with her black eyes, andlooked stiff and defiant. She had no notion of kisses to herself, still less to her pretty mother whom she protected with a half proud, half jealous fondness. How could the man presume to call her by thatfoolish name? However, that single effusion had exhausted Mark'spowers of cordiality, or else Nuttie's stiffness froze him. They wereall embarrassed, and had reason to be grateful to Lady Kirkaldy'spractised powers as a diplomate's wife. She made the most of Mrs. Egremont's shy spasmodic inquiries, and Mark's jerks of information, such as that they were all living at Bridgefield Egremont, now, thathis sister May was very like his new cousin, that Blanche was come outand was very like his mother, etc. Etc. Every one was more at easewhen Lady Kirkaldy carried the conversation off to yesterday'sentertainment, hoping no one had been overtired, and the like. Mrs. Egremont lighted up a little and began telling some of the expressionsof delight she had heard, and in the midst, Nuttie, waking from hertrance of stiff displeasure, came plump in with 'Oh! and there's awater-soldier, a real Stratiotes aculeatus in your lake. May we getit? Mr. Dutton didn't think we ought, but it would be such a prize!'

'Ursula means a rare water-plant, ' said Mrs. Egremont gently, seeingthat Lady Kirkaldy had no notion of the treasure she possessed. 'Sheand some of her friends are very eager botanists. '

'I am sure you may, ' said the lady, amused. 

'Thank you! Then, O mother! Miss Mary and I will go. And we'll waittill after office hours, and then Gerard Godfrey can come and fish itout for us! Oh, thank you. He wants the pattern of the Abbot's crossfor an illumination, and he can get some ferns for the church. '

Soon after this ebullition, Lady Kirkaldy carried off her nephew, andhis first utterance outside the door was 'A woman like that will be thesalvation of my uncle. '

'Firstly, if you can bring them together, ' said his aunt; 'andsecondly, if there is stuff enough in that pretty creature. '

CHAPTER V. 

SUSPENSE. 

 'Where shall the traitor rest He, the deceiver?'--SCOTT. 

Poor Miss Headworth's peace of mind was utterly destroyed. That theniece whom she had nursed back to life and happiness, and brought tolove her as a mother, should be at the mercy of a man whom she lookedon as a heartless profligate, was dreadful to her beyond measure. Andit involved Ursula's young life likewise? Could it be a duty, afterthese eighteen years, to return to him? What legal rights had he toenforce the resumption of the wife he had deserted. 'I will consultMr. Dutton, ' said the old lady to herself; 'Mr. Dutton is the onlyperson who knows the particulars. He will give me the best advice. '

And while Miss Headworth, over her evening toilette, was coming to thisresolution in one bedroom, Nuttie, in another, was standing aghast ather mother's agitation, and receiving a confession which filled herwith astonishment. 

'I can't think why that gentleman should go and be so affectionate allon a sudden, 'quoth Nuttie;' if he is my cousin, and so fond of you, why couldn't he have come to see us before?'

'Oh, Nuttie, dear, you don't understand why it is so good of him! Mydear, now this has come, I must tell you--you must hear--the sad thingyour mother did. Yes, my dear, I was their governess--and--and I didnot--In short, my dear, I eloped. '

'You, mother! Oh what fun!' cried the girl in the utter extremity ofwonder. 

'Nuttie!' exclaimed Mrs. Egremont, in a tone of horror andindignation--nay, of apprehension. 

'O mother--I didn't mean that! But I can't get to believe it. You, little mother mine, you that are so timid and bashful and quiet. Thatyou--you should have done such a thing. '

'Nuttie, my dear, can't you understand that such a thing would make mequiet? I am always feeling when I see people, or they bring theirdaughters here. "If they only knew--"'

'No, no, no! They would still see you were the sweetest dear. Buttell me all about it. How very much in love you must have been!' saidNuttie, a magnificent vision of a young sailor with curly hair and openthroat rising before her. 

'I think I was more frightened than in love, ' faintly said Mrs. Egremont. 'At least I didn't know it was love, I thought he was onlykind to me. '

'But you liked it?' said Ursula magisterially. 

'I liked it, oh, I liked it! It gave me a feeling such as nothing elseever did, but I never thought of its being love, he was so much older. '

'Older!' exclaimed Nuttie, much taken aback. 'Oh! as old as Mr. Dutton?'

'Mr. Dutton is thirty-six, I think. Yes, he was older than that. '

'Mother, how could you?' For to be older than Mr. Dutton seemed to theyouthful fancy to be near decrepitude; but she added, 'I suppose he wasvery noble, and had done great things. '

'He was the grandest gentleman I ever saw, and had such, a manner, 'said the mother, passing over the latter suggestion. 'Anyway, I neverthought what it all meant--all alone with the children as I was--till Ifound people looking at me, and laughing at me, and then I heard Ladyde Lyonnais and Mr. Egremont were coming down, very angry, to send meaway. I ought, I know it now, to have waited, for they would havewritten to my aunt. But I was horribly frightened, and I couldn't bearto think of never seeing him again, and he came and comforted me, andsaid he would take me to Mrs. Houghton, the kind lady who was stayingin the Ninon, and they would make it all square for me--and then--oh!it was very sweet--but I never knew that we were sailing away to Jerseyto be married! I knew it was very dreadful without any one's leave, but it was so noble of him to take the poor little governess and defendher, and it wasn't as if my mother had been alive. I didn't know AuntUrsel then as I did afterwards. And Mrs. Houghton said there wasnothing else to be done. '

'O don't leave off, mother. Do tell me. How long did you have him?'

'Six weeks then--and afterwards one fortnight at Dieppe. He was notfree. He had an old uncle, General Egremont, who was sick andhot-tempered, and he was obliged to keep everything secret from him, and therefore from everybody else. And so I was to live at Dieppe, while he went out to take care of his uncle, and you know--you know--'

'Yes, I know, dear mother. But I am sure he was saving somebody else, and it was a noble death! And I know how Aunt Ursel came to Dieppe, and how I--your own little Frenchwoman--came to take care of you. Andhaven't we been jolly without any of these fine relations that neverlooked after you all this time? Besides, you know he is very likely tobe on a lonely coral island, and will come home yet. I often think heis. '

'My dear child, I have been happier than I deserved, ' said AliceEgremont, drying her eyes. 'But oh! Nuttie, I hope you will be a wiserwoman than your mother. '

'Come, don't go on in that way! Why, I've such advantages! I've MissMary, and Aunt Ursel, and Mr. Spyers, and Mr. Dutton, and you, you poorlittle thing, had nobody! One good thing is, we shall get thewater-soldier. Mr. Dutton needn't come, for he's like a cat, and won'tsoil his boots, but Gerard is dying to get another look at the oldruin. He can't make up his mind about the cross on one of thestone-coffin lids, so he'll be delighted to come, and he'll get it outof the pond for us. I wonder when we can go. To-night is choirpractice, and to-morrow is cutting-out day. '

Miss Headworth was not sorry that the small sociabilities of thefriends did not leave her alone with her niece all that evening, or thenext day, when there was a grand cutting-out for the working party, --anoperation always performed in the holidays. Miss Headworth had of lateyears been excused from it, and it gave her the opportunity she wantedof a consultation with Mr. Dutton. He was her prime adviser ineverything, from her investments (such as they were) to theeccentricities of her timepieces; and as the cuckoo-clock had thatnight cuckooed all the hours round in succession, no one thought itwonderful that she should send a twisted note entreating him to call asearly as he could in the afternoon. Of course Nuttie's chatter hadproclaimed the extraordinary visitors, and it needed not the old lady'sdash under "on an anxious affair" to bring him to her littledrawing-room as soon as he could quit his desk. Perhaps he hastenedhis work with a hope in his heart which he durst not express, but theagitation on the usually placid face forbade him to entertain it for aninstant, and he only said, 'So our expedition has led to unforeseenconsequences, Miss Headworth. ' And then she answered under her breath, as if afraid of being overheard: 'Mr. Dutton, my poor child does notknow it yet, but the man is alive!'

Mr. Dutton compressed his lips. It was the greater shock, for he hadactually made inquiries at the Yacht Club, but the officials thereeither had not been made aware of the reappearance of the twoEgremonts, or they did not think it worth while to look beyond therecord which declared that all hands had perished, and the connectionof the uncle and nephew with the Yacht Club had not been renewed. Presently he said, 'Then hers was a right instinct. There is reason tobe thankful. '

Miss Headworth was too full of her own anxieties to heed his causes forthankfulness. She told what she had heard from Lady Kirkaldy and fromMark Egremont, and asked counsel whether it could be Alice's duty toreturn to the man who had deserted her, or even to accept anything fromhim. There was an impetuous and indignant spirit at the bottom of theold lady's heart, in spite of the subdued life she had led for so manyyears, and she hardly brooked the measured considerate manner in whichher adviser declared that all depended on circumstances, and the mannerin which Captain Egremont made the first move. At present no one wasacting but young Mark, and, as Mr. Dutton observed, it was not a matterin which a man was very likely to submit to a nephew's dictation. 

There was certainly no need for Mrs. Egremont to _force_ her presenceon him. But Mr. Dutton did think that for her own sake and her child'sthere ought to be full recognition of their rights, and that thisshould be proved by their maintenance. 

'I imagine that Ursula may probably be a considerable heiress, and herlights must not be sacrificed. '

'Poor little girl! Will it be for her happiness? I doubt it greatly!'

'Of that I suppose we have no right to judge, ' said Mr. Dutton, somewhat tremulously. 'Justice is what we have to look to, and to allowNuttie to be passed over would be permitting a slur to be cast on herand her mother. '

'I see that, ' said Miss Headworth, with an effort. 'I suppose I amafter all a selfish, faithless old woman, and it is not in my handsafter all. But I must prepare my poor Alice for what may be coming. '

'If any terms are offered to her, she had better put the matter into alawyer's hands. Dobson would be a safe man to deal with. '

Miss Headworth was amazed that he--who had helped her in many a littlequestion bordering on law--should not proffer his aid now in thisgreatest stress. He was a resolute, self-controlled man, and she neverguessed at the feeling that made him judge himself to be no fittingchampion for Alice Egremont against her husband. Ever since, ten yearsago, he had learnt that his beautiful neighbour did not regard herselfso certainly a widow as to venture to open her heart to any other love, he had lived patiently on, content to serve her as a trustworthyfriend, and never betraying the secret hope so long cherished and nowentirely crushed. 

He was relieved to escape from the interview, and the poor old ladyremained a little more certain as to her duty perhaps, but with acertainty that only made her more unhappy, and she was so restless andnervous that, in the middle of the evening's reading of ArchbishopTrench's Lectures on History, Alice suddenly broke off in the verymiddle of a sentence and exclaimed, 'Aunt Ursel! you are keepingsomething from me. '

Miss Headworth made a faint attempt by saying something aboutpresently, and glancing with her eyes to indicate that it was to bereserved till after Nuttie's bedtime, but the young lady comprehendedthe signs and exclaimed, 'Never mind me, Aunt Ursel, --I know all aboutmother; she told me last night. '

'It is!' broke in Mrs. Egremont, who had been watching her aunt's face. 'You have heard of _him_. '

'Oh, my father! You really have!' cried Nuttie. 'Then he really wason the desert island all this time; I was quite sure of it. Howdelightful!' She jumped up and looked at the door, as if she expectedto see him appear that instant, clad in skins like Robinson Crusoe, buther aunt's nervous agitation found vent in a sharp reproof: 'Nuttie, hold your tongue, and don't be such a foolish child, or I shall sendyou out of the room this instant!'

'But aunt?' gasped Alice, unable to bear the suspense. 

'Yes, my poor dear child. Captain Egremont with the General got offwith some of the crew in a boat when the Ninon was burnt. He spent agood many years abroad with the old man, but he has now inherited thefamily place, and is living there. ' Miss Headworth felt as if she hadfired a cannon and looked to see the effect. 

'Ah, if we could have stayed at Dieppe!' said Mrs. Egremont. 'But wedid write back to say where we could be heard of. '

'That was of no use. Mark found no traces of us when he went thither. '

'Did he send Mark?'

'No. My dear Alice, I must not conceal from you that this is all Mr. Mark Egremont's doing. He seems to have been helping his uncle withhis papers when he came on the evidence of your marriage, and, remembering you as he does, he forced the confession of it from thecaptain, and of his own accord set forth to discover what had become ofyou and to see justice done to you. '

'Dear little Mark!' said she; 'he always was such an affectionatelittle boy. '

'And now, my dear, you must consider how you will receive any advanceson his part. '

'Oh, Aunt Ursel, don't! I can't talk now. Please let me go to bed. Nuttie, dear, you need not come yet. '

The desire for solitude, in which to realise what she had heard, wasoverpowering, and she fled away in the summer twilight, leaving Nuttiewith wide open eyes, looking after her vanished hero and desert island. 

'My poor Alice!' sighed the old lady. 

'Aunt Ursel!' exclaimed Nuttie, 'was--I mean--is my father a good or abad man?'

'My dear, should a daughter ask such a question?'

'Aunt Ursel, I can't help it. I think I ought to know all about it, 'said Nuttie gravely, putting away her childishness and sitting down byher aunt. 'I did not think so much of it when mother told me theyeloped, because, though I know it was very wrong, people do do oddthings sometimes when they are very much in love (she said it in asuperior patronising tone that would have amused Miss Headworth verymuch at any other time); and it has not spoilt mother for being thedearest, sweetest, best thing in the world, and, besides, they hadneither of them any fathers or mothers to disobey. But, then, when Ifound he was so old, and that he kept it a secret, and must have toldstories only for the sake of money (uttered with extreme contempt), Ididn't like it. And if he left her as Theseus left Ariadne, or SirLancelot left Elaine, I--I don't think it is nice. Do you think heonly pretended to be lost in the Ninon to get rid of her, or that hecould not find her?'

'The Ninon was really reported lost with all on board, ' said MissHeadworth. 'That was ascertained. He was saved by a Chilian ship, andseems to have been a good while making his way back to Europe. I hadtaken care that our address should be known at Dieppe, but it is quitepossible that he may not have applied to the right people, or that theymay not have preserved my letter, so that we cannot feel sore that hewas to blame. '

'If he had been worth anything at all, he would have moved heaven andearth to find her!' cried Nuttie; 'and you said yourself it was all_that_ Mark's doing!'

'He seems to be a very upright and generous young man, that Mr. MarkEgremont, ' said Miss Headworth, a whole romance as to Nuttie's futuredestiny sweeping across her mind in an instant, with a mentaldispensation to first cousins in such a case. 'I think you will findhim a staunch champion even against his own interests. '

Perceptions came across Nuttie. 'Oh, then I am a sort of lost heiress, like people in a story! I see! But, Aunt Ursel, what do you thinkwill happen?'

'My dear child, I cannot guess in the least. Perhaps the Egremontproperty will not concern you, and only go to male heirs. That wouldbe the best thing, since in any case you must be sufficiently providedfor. Your father must do that. '

'But about mother?'

'A proper provision must be insisted on for her, ' said Miss Headworth. 'It is no use, however, to speculate on the future. We cannot guesshow Mr. Mark Egremont's communication will be received, or whether anywish will be expressed for your mother's rejoining your father. Insuch a case the terms must be distinctly understood, and I have fulltrust both in Mr. Mark and in Lady Kirkaldy as her champions to seethat justice is done to you both. '

'I'm sure he doesn't deserve that mother should go to him. '

'Nor do I expect that he will wish it, or that it would be proper; buthe is bound to give her a handsome maintenance, and I think mostprobably you will be asked to stay with your uncle and cousins, ' saidMiss Headworth, figuring to herself a kind of Newstead Abbey or somesuch scene of constant orgies at Bridgefield Egremont. 

'I shall accept nothing from the family that does not include mother, 'said Nuttie. 

'Dear child, I foresee many trials, but you must be her protector. '

'That I will, ' said Nuttie; and in the gallant purpose she went to bed, to find her mother either asleep or feigning slumber with tears on hercheek. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE WATER-SOLDIER. 

 'Presumptuous maid, with looks intent, Again she stretched, again she bent, Nor knew the gulf between. '--GRAY. 

It all seemed like a dream to Ursula, perhaps likewise to her mother, when they rose to the routine of daily life with the ordinary interestsof the day before them. There was a latent unwillingness in Mrs. Egremont's mind to discuss the subject with either aunt or daughter;and when the post brought no letter, Ursula, after a moment's sense offlatness, was relieved, and returned to her eager desire to hurry afterthe water-soldier. It was feasible that very afternoon. Mary Nugentcame in with the intelligence. 

'And can Gerard come? or we shall only look at it. '

'Yes, Gerard can come, and so will Mr. Dutton, ' said Mary, who, standing about half-way between Mrs. Egremont and her daughter, did notthink herself quite a sufficient chaperon. 

'He will look on like a hen at her ducklings, ' said Nuttie. 'It iscruel to take him, poor man!'

'Meantime, Nuttie, do you like an hour of "Marie Stuart?"'

'Oh, thank you!' But she whispered, 'Aunt Ursel, may I tell her?'

'Ask your mother, my dear. '

Leave was given, half reluctantly, and with a prohibition againstmentioning the subject to any one else, but both mother and aunt hadconfidence in Mary Nugent's wisdom and discretion, so the two friendssat on the wall together, and Ursula poured out her heart. Poor littlegirl! she was greatly discomfited at the vanishing of her noble visionof the heroic self-devoted father, and ready on the other hand tobelieve him a villain, like Bertram Risingham, or 'the Pirate, ' beingpossessed by this idea on account of his West Indian voyages. At anyrate, she was determined not to be accepted or acknowledged without hermother, and was already rehearsing magnanimous letters of refusal. 

Miss Mary listened and wondered, feeling sometimes as if this were asmuch a romance as the little yacht going down with the burning ship;and then came back the recollection that there was a real fact thatNuttie had a father, and that it was entirely uncertain what part hemight take, or what the girl might be called on to do. Consideringanxiously these bearings of the question, she scarcely heard what shewas required to assent to, in one of Nuttie's eager, 'Don't you thinkso?'

'My dear Nuttie, ' she said, rousing herself, 'what I do think is thatit will all probably turn out exactly contrariwise to our imaginations, so I believe it would be wisest to build up as few fancies as possible, but only to pray that you may have a right judgment in all things, andhave strength to do what is right, whatever you may see that to be. '

'And of course that will be to stick by mother. '

'There can be little doubt of that, but the how? No, dear, do not letus devise all sorts of _hows_ when we have nothing to go upon. Thatwould be of no use, and only perplex you when the time comes. It wouldbe much better to "do the nexte thinge, " and read our "Marie Stuart. "'

Nuttie pouted a little, but submitted, though she now and then brokeinto a translation with 'You know mother will never stand up forherself, ' or 'They think I shall be asked to stay with the Egremonts, but I must work up for the exam. '

However, the school habit of concentrating her attention prevailed, andthe study quieted Nuttie's excitement. The expedition took place asarranged. There was a train which stopped so that the party could godown by it, and the distance was not too great for walking back. 

Mr. Dutton met them on the platform, well armed with his neat silkumbrella, and his black poodle, Monsieur, trotting solemnly after him. Gerard Godfrey bore materials for an exact transcript of the Abbot'smonumental cross, his head being full of church architecture, whileNuttie carried a long green tin case, or vasculum as she chose to callit, with her three vowels, U A E, and the stars of the Little Bearconspicuously painted on it in white. 

'You did not venture on that the other day, ' said Mr. Dutton. 'Howmuch of the park do you mean to carry away in it?'

'Let me take it, ' said Gerard politely. 

'No, thank you. You'd leave it behind, while you were pottering overthe mouldings. '

'You are much more likely to leave it behind yourself. '

'What--with my soldier, my Stratiotes, in it? I think I see myself. '

'Give it to me, ' said Gerard. 'Of course I can't see you carrying agreat thing like that. '

'Can't you, indeed?'

'Gently, gently, my dear, ' said Miss Mary, as the young people seemedvery near a skirmish, and the train was sweeping up. Then there wasanother small scuffle, for Nuttie had set her heart on the third class;but Mr. Dutton had taken second-class tickets, and was about to handthem into a carriage whence there had just emerged a very superciliousblack-moustached valet, who was pulling out a leather-covereddressing-case, while Gerard was consoling Nuttie by telling her thatMonsieur never deigned to go third class. 

'It is a smoking carriage, ' said Miss Nugent, on the step. 'Pah! howit smells, ' as she jumped back. 

'Beautiful backy--a perfect nosegay, ' said Gerard. 

'Trust that fellow for having the best. '

'His master's, no doubt, ' suggested Mr. Dutton. 

'You'd better go in it, to enjoy his reversion, ' said Nuttie. 

'And where's my escort, then?'

'Oh, I'm sure we don't want you. '

'Nuttie, my dear, ' expostulated Miss Nugent, dragging her into the nextcarriage. 

'You may enjoy the fragrance still, ' said Nuttie when seated. 'Do yousee--there's the man's master; he has stood him up against that post, with his cigar, to wait while he gets out the luggage. I daresay youcan get a whiff if you lean out far enough. '

'I say! that figure is a study!' said Gerard. 'What is it that he isso like?'

'Oh! I know, ' said Nuttie. 'It is Lord Frederick Verisopht, and thebad gentlefolks in the pictures to the old numbers of Dickens that youhave got, Miss Mary. Now, isn't he? Look! only Lord Frederick wasn'tfat. '

Nuttie was in a state of excitement that made her peculiarlyunmanageable, and Miss Nugent was very grateful to Mr. Dutton for hissharp though general admonition against staring, while, under pretextof disposing of the umbrella and the vasculum, he stood up, so as toblock the window till they were starting. 

There was no one else to observe them but a demure old lady, and in tenminutes' time they were in open space, where high spirits might workthemselves off, though the battle over the botanical case was ended byMiss Nugent, who strongly held that ladies should carry their own extraencumbrances, and slung it with a scarf over Nuttie's shoulders in aknowing knapsack fashion. 

The two young people had known one another all their lives, for Gerardwas the son of a medical man who had lived next door to Miss Headworthwhen the children were young. The father was dead, and the family hadleft the place, but this son had remained at school, and afterwards hadbeen put into the office at the umbrella factory under charge of Mr. Dutton, whose godson he was, and who treated him as a nephew. He was agood-hearted, steady young fellow, with his whole interest inecclesiastical details, wearing a tie in accordance with 'the colours, 'and absorbed in church music and decorations, while his recreationswere almost all in accordance therewith. 

There was plenty of merriment, as he drew and measured at the veryscanty ruins, which were little more than a few fragments of wall, overgrown luxuriantly with ivy and clematis, but enclosing some fineold coffin-lids with floriated crosses, interesting to those who caredfor architecture and church history, as Mr. Dutton tried to make thechildren do, so that their ecclesiastical feelings might be lessnarrow, and stand on a surer foundation than present interest, aslightly aggressive feeling of contempt for all the other townchurches, and a pleasing sense of being persecuted. 

They fought over the floriations and mouldings with great zest, andeach maintained a date with youthful vigour--both being, as Mr. Duttonby and by showed them, long before the foundation. The pond had beenleft to the last with a view to the wellbeing of the water-soldier onthe return. Here the difficulties of the capture were great, for thenearest plant flourished too far from the bank to be reached withcomfort, and besides, the sharp-pointed leaves to which it owes itsname were not to be approached with casual grasps. 

'Oh Monsieur, I wish you were a Beau, ' sighed Nuttie. 'Why, are youtoo stupid to go and get it?'

'It is a proof of his superior intelligence, ' said Mr. Dutton. 

'But really it is too ridiculous--too provoking--to have come all thisway and not get it, ' cried the tantalised Nuttie. 'Oh, Gerard, are youtaking off your boots and stockings? You duck!'

'Just what I wish I was, ' said the youth, rolling up his trousers. 

But even the paddling in did not answer. Mr. Dutton called outanxiously, 'Take care, Gerard, the bottom may be soft, ' and came downto the very verge just in time to hold out his hand, and prevent anutterly disastrous fall, for Gerard, in spite of his bare feet, sank atonce into mud, and on the first attempt to take a step forward, foundhis foot slipping away from under him, and would in another instanthave tumbled backwards into the slush and weeds. He scrambled back, his hat falling off into the reeds, and splashing Mr. Dutton all over, while Monsieur began to bark 'with astonishment at seeing his master insuch a plight, ' declared the ladies, who stood convulsed with cruellaughter. 

'Isn't it dreadful?' exclaimed Ursula. 

'Well! It might have been worse, ' gravely said Mr. Dutton, wiping offthe more obnoxious of his splashes with his pocket handkerchief. 

'Oh I didn't mean you, but the water-soldier, ' said Nuttie. 'To havecome five miles for it in vain!'

'I don't know what to suggest, ' added Gerard. 'Even if the ladies wereto retire--'

'No, no, ' interposed Mr. Dutton, ''tis no swimming ground, and I forbidthe expedient. You would only be entangled in the weeds. '

'Behold!' exclaimed Mary, who had been prowling about the banks, andnow held up in triumph one of the poles with a bill-hook at the endused for cutting weed. 

'Bravo, Miss Nugent!' cried Gerard. 

'Female wit has circumvented the water-soldier, ' said Mr. Dutton. 

'Don't cry out too soon, ' returned Mary; 'the soldier may float off andescape you yet. '

However, the capture was safely accomplished, without even a dip underwater to destroy the beauty of the white flowers. With these, and afew waterlilies secured by Gerard for the morrow's altar vases, theparty set out on their homeward walk, through plantations of whisperingfirs, the low sun tingeing the trunks with ruddy light; across heatherycommons, where crimson heath abounded, and the delicate blush-colouredwax-belled species was a prize; by cornfields in ear hanging out theirdainty stamens; along hedges full of exquisite plumes of feathering ornodding grass, of which Nuttie made bouquets and botanical studies, andGerard stored for harvest decorations. They ran and danced on togetherwith Monsieur at their heels, while the elders watched them with somesadness and anxiety. Free-masonry had soon made both Mary and Mr. Dutton aware of each other's initiation, and they had discussed thematter in all its bearings, agreed that the man was a scoundrel, andthe woman an angel, even if she had once been weak, and that she oughtto be very resolute with him if he came to terms. And then they lookedafter their young companions, and Mr. Dutton said, 'Poor children, whatis before them?'

'It is well they are both so young, ' answered Mary. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THAT MAN. 

 'It is the last time--'tis the last!'--SCOTT. 

Sundays were the ever-recurring centres of work and interests to thelittle circle in St. Ambrose's Road. To them the church services andthe various classes and schools were the great objects and excitementsof the week. A certain measure of hopeful effort and varying successis what gives zest to life, and the purer and higher the aim, and themore unmixed the motives, the greater the happiness achieved by the'something attempted, something done. '

Setting apart actual spiritual devotion, the altar vases, purchased bya contribution of careful savings, and adorned with the Monks Hortonlilies, backed by ferns from the same quarter; the surplices made bythe ladies themselves, the chants they had practised, the hymns theyhad taught, could not but be much more interesting to them than if theyhad been mere lookers on. Every cross on the markers, every flower onthe altar cloth was the work of one or other of them; everything in thechurch was an achievement, and choir boys, school children, Bibleclasses, every member of the regular congregation, had some specialinterest; nay, every irregular member or visitor might be a convert intime--if not a present sympathiser, and at the very least might swellthe offertory that was destined to so many needs of the strugglingdistrict. 

Thus it was with some curiosity mingled with self-reproach that Nuttie, while singing her Benedictus among the tuneful shop-girls, to whom shewas bound to set an example, became aware of yesterday's first-classtraveller lounging, as far as the rows of chairs would permit, in theaisle, and, as she thought, staring hard at her mother. It was wellthat Mrs. Egremont's invariable custom was never to lift her eyes fromher book or her harmonium, or she surely must have been disconcerted, her daughter thought, by the eyes that must have found her out, underher little black net bonnet and veil, as the most beautiful woman inchurch, --as she certainly was, --even that fine good-for-nothinggentleman thinking so. Nuttie would add his glances to the glories ofher lovely mother!

And she did so, with triumph in her tone of reprobation, as she trottedoff, after the early dinner, to her share of Sunday-school work asusual under Miss Nugent's wing. It began with a children's service, and then ensued, in rooms at the factory, lent by Mr. Dutton, theteaching that was to supply the omissions of the Board School; theestablishment of a voluntary one being the next ambition of St. Ambrose's. 

Coming home from their labours, in the fervent discussion of theirscholars, and exchanging remarks and greetings with the other teachersof various calibres, the friends reached their own road, and there, totheir amazement, beheld Miss Headworth. 

'Yes, it really is!' cried Nuttie. 'We can't be too late? No--there'sno bell! Aunt Ursel! What has brought you out? What's the matter?Where's mother?'

'In the house. My dear, ' catching hold of her, and speakingbreathlessly, 'I came out to prepare you. He is come--your father--'

'Where?' cried Nuttie, rather wildly. 

'He is in the drawing-room with your mother. I said I would send you. 'Poor Miss Headworth gasped with agitation. 'Oh! where's Mr. Dutton--not that anything can be done--'

'Is it _that man_?' asked Nuttie, and getting no answer, 'I know it is!Oh Aunt Ursel, how could you leave her with him? I must go and protecther. Gerard--come. No, go and fetch Mr. Dutton. '

'Hush! hush, Nuttie, ' cried her aunt, grasping her. 'You know nothingabout it. Wait here till I can tell you. '

'Come in here, dear Miss Headworth, ' said Mary, gently drawing her arminto hers, for the poor old lady could hardly stand for trembling, andbidding Gerard open the door of her own house with the latch-key. 

She took them into the dining-room, so as not to disturb her mother, sent Gerard off after Mr. Dutton in the very uttermost astonishment andbewilderment, and set Miss Headworth down in an easy-chair, where sherecovered herself, under Mary's soothing care, enough to tell her storyin spite of Nuttie's exclamations. 'Wait! wait, Nuttie! You mustn'tburst in on them so! No, you need not be afraid. Don't be a sillychild! He won't hurt her! Oh no! They are quite delighted to meet. '

'Delighted to meet?' said Nuttie, as if transfixed. 

'Yes, ' said her aunt. 'Oh yes, I always knew the poor child cared forhim and tried to believe in him all along. He only had to say theword. '

'I wouldn't, ' cried the girl, her eyes flashing. 'Why didn't you askhim how he could desert her and leave her?'

'My dear! how can one come between husband and wife? Oh, my poorAlice!'

'How was it, how did they meet, dear Miss Headworth?' asked Mary, administering the wine she had been pouring out. 

'You hadn't been gone half an hour, Alice was reading to me, and I wasjust dozing, when in came Louisa. "A gentleman to see Mrs. Egremont, "she said, and there he was just behind. We rose up--she did not knowhim at once, but he just said "Edda, my little Edda, sweeter than ever, I knew you at once, " or something of that sort, and she gave one littlecry of "I knew you would come, " and sprang right into his arms. I--well, I meant to make him understand how he had treated her, butjust as I began "Sir"--he came at me with his hand outstretched--'

'You didn't take it, aunt, I hope?' cried Nuttie. 

'My dear, when you see him, you will know how impossible it is. He_has_ that high-bred manner it is as if he were conferring a favour. "Miss Headworth, I conclude, " said he, "a lady to whom I owe more thanI can express. " Just as if I had done it for his sake. ' Miss Nugentfelt this open expression dangerous on account of the daughter, and shelooked her consternation at Mr. Dutton, who had quietly entered, ruthlessly shutting Gerard Godfrey out with only such a word ofexplanation as could be given on the way. 

'Then he comes with--with favourable intentions, ' said Mary, putting asmuch admonition as she could into her voice. 

'Oh! no doubt of that, ' said Miss Headworth, drawing herself together. 'He spoke of the long separation, --said he had never been able to findher, till the strange chance of his nephew stumbling on her at AbbotsNorton. '

'That is--possib--probably true, ' said Mr. Dutton. 

'It can't be, ' broke in Nuttie. 'He never troubled himself about ittill his nephew found the papers. You said so, Aunt Ursel! He is adreadful traitor of a man, just like Marmion, or Theseus, or Lancelot, and now he is telling lies about it! Don't look at me. Aunt Ursel, they are lies, and I _will_ say it, and he took in poor dear motheronce, and now he is taking her in again, and I can't bear that heshould be my father!'

It was so entirely true, yet so shocking to hear from her mouth, thatall three stood aghast, as she stood with heaving chest, crimsoncheeks, and big tears in her eyes. Miss Headworth only muttered, 'Oh, my poor child, you mustn't!'

Mr. Dutton prevented another passionate outburst by his tone of grave, gentle authority. 'Listen a moment, Ursula, ' he said. 'It isunhappily true that this man has acted in an unjustifiable way towardsyour mother and yourself. But there are, no doubt, many more excusesfor him than you know of, and as I found a few years ago that thepeople at Dieppe had lost the address that had been left with them, hemust have found no traces of your mother there. You cannot understandthe difficulties that may have been in his way. And there is no use, quite the contrary, in making the worst of him. He has found yourmother out, and it seems that he claims her affectionately, and sheforgives and welcomes him--out of the sweet tenderness of her heart. '

'She may--but I can't, ' murmured Nuttie. 

'That is not a fit thing for a daughter, nor a Christian, to say, ' Mr. Dutton sternly said. 

''Tis not for myself--'tis for her, --'objected Nuttie. 

'That's nonsense; a mere excuse, ' he returned. 'You have nothing atall to forgive, since he did not know you were in existence. And as toyour mother, whom you say you put first, what greater grief or pain canyou give her than by showing enmity and resentment against her husband, when she, the really injured person, loves and forgives?'

'He's a bad man. If she goes back to him, I know he will make herunhappy--'

'You don't know any such thing, but you do know that your oppositionwill make her unhappy. Remember, there's no choice in the matter. Hehas legal rights over you both, and since he shows himself ready (as Iunderstand from Miss Headworth that he is) to give her and you yourproper position, you have nothing to do but to be thankful. I thinkmyself that it is a great subject of thankfulness that your mother canreturn so freely without any bitterness. It is the blessing of such asshe--'

Nuttie stood pouting, but more thoughtful and less violent, as shesaid, 'How can I be thankful? I don't want position or anything. Ionly want him to let my--my own mother, and aunt, and me alone. '

'Child, you are talking of what you do not understand. You must notwaste any more time in argument. Your mother has sent for you, and itis your duty to go and let her introduce you to your father. I havelittle doubt that you will find him very unlike all your imaginationrepresents him, but let that be as it may, the fifth Commandment doesnot say, "Honour only thy good father, " but, "Honour thy father. " Comenow, put on your gloves--get her hat right, if you please, Miss Mary. There--now, come along, be a reasonable creature, and a good girl, anddo not give unnecessary pain and vexation to your mother. ' He gave herhis arm, and led her away. 

'Well done, Mr. Dutton!' exclaimed Miss Nugent. 

'Poor Mr. Dutton!' All Aunt Ursel's discretion could not suppress thatsigh, but Mary prudently let it pass unnoticed, only honouring in herheart the unselfishness and self-restraint of the man whose long, patient, unspoken hopes had just received a death-blow. 

'Oh, Mary! I never thought it would have been like this!' cried thepoor old lady. 'I ought not to have spoken as I did before the child, but I was so taken by surprise! Alice turned to him just as if he hadbeen the most faithful, loving husband in the world. She is believingevery word he says. '

'It is very happy for her that she can, ' pleaded Mary. 

'So it is, yes, but--when one knows what he is, and what she is! Oh, Mr. Dutton, is the poor child gone in?'

'Yes, I saw her safe into the room. She was very near running off upthe stairs, ' said Mr. Dutton. 'But I daresay she is fascinated by thistime. That sort of man has great power over women. '

'Nuttie is hardly a woman yet, ' said Miss Nugent. 

'No, but there must be a strong reaction, when she sees somethingunlike her compound of Marmion and Theseus. '

'I suppose there is no question but that they must go with him!' saidMiss Headworth wistfully. 

'Assuredly. You say he--this Egremont--was affectionate, ' said Mr. Dutton quietly, but Mary saw his fingers white with his tight clenchingof the bar of the chair. 

'Oh yes, warmly affectionate, delighted to find her prettier than ever, poor dear; I suppose he meant it. Heaven forgive me, if I am judginghim too hardly, but I verily believe he went to church to reconnoitre, and see whether she pleased his fancy--'

'And do you understand, ' added Mr. Dutton, 'that he is prepared to doher full justice, and introduce her to his family and friends as hiswife, on equal terms? Otherwise, even if she were unwilling to standup for herself, it would be the duty of her friends to make somestipulations. '

'I am pretty sure that he does, ' said the aunt; 'I did not stay longwhen I saw that I was not wanted, but I heard him say something abouthis having a home for her now, and her cutting out the Redcastleladies. '

'Besides, there is the nephew, Mr. Mark Egremont, ' said Mary. 'He willtake care of her. '

'Yes, ' said Mr. Dutton. 'It appears to be all right. At any rate, there can be no grounds for interference on our part. '

Mr. Dutton took his leave with these words, wringing Miss Headworth'shand in mute sympathy, and she, poor old lady, when he was gone, fairlycollapsed into bitter weeping over the uncertain future of those whomshe had loved as her own children, and who now must leave her desolate. Mary did her best with comfort and sympathy, and presently took her toshare her griefs and fears with gentle old Mrs. Nugent. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE FATHER. 

 'I do think this lady To be my child. '--King Lear. 

Nuttie, in her fresh holland Sunday dress, worked in crewels with wildstrawberries by her mother's hands, and with a white-trimmed straw hat, was almost shoved into the little drawing-room by Mr. Dutton, though hewas himself invisible. 

Her eyes were in such a daze of tears that she hardly saw more at firstthan that some one was there with her mother on the sofa. 'Ah, thereshe is!' she heard her mother cry, and both rose. Her mother's arm wasround her waist, her hand was put into another, Mrs. Egremont's voice, tremulous with exceeding delight, said, 'Our child, our Ursula, ourNuttie! Oh, this is what I have longed for all these years! Oh, thanks, thanks!' and her hands left her daughter to be clasped anduplifted for a moment in fervent thanksgiving, while Nuttie's hand washeld, and a strange hairy kiss, redolent of tobacco-smoking, was on herforehead--a masculine one, such as she had never known, except hercousin Mark's, since the old rector died, and she had grown too big forMr. Dutton's embraces. It was more strange than delightful, and yetshe felt the polish of the tone that said, 'We make acquaintancesomewhat late, Ursula, but better late than never. '

She looked up at this new father, and understood instantly what she hadheard of his being a grand gentleman. There was a high-bred look abouthim, an entire ease and perfect manner that made everything he did orsaid seem like gracious condescension, and took away the power ofquestioning it at the moment. He was not above the middle size, andwas becoming unwieldy; but there was something imposing and evengraceful in his deportment, and his bald narrow forehead lookedaristocratic, set off between side tufts of white hair, white whiskers, and moustaches waxed into sharp points, Victor Emmanuel fashion, and around white curly beard. His eyes were dark, and looked dull, withyellow unwholesome corners, and his skin was not of a pleasant colour, but still, with all Nuttie's intentions of regarding him with horror, she was subdued, partly by the grand breeding and air of distinction, and partly by the current of sympathy from her mother's look of perfecthappiness and exultation. She could not help feeling it a favour, almost an undeserved favour, that so great a personage should say, 'Acomplete Egremont, I see. She has altogether the family face. '

'I am so glad you think so, ' returned her mother. 

'On the whole it is well, but she might have done better to resembleyou, Edda, ' he said caressingly; 'but perhaps that would have been toomuch for the Earlsforth natives. William's girls will have enough toendure without a double eclipse!' and he laughed. 

'I--I don't want--' faltered the mother. 

'You don't want, no, but you can't help it, ' he said, evidently with aproud delight in her beauty. 'Now that I have seen the child, ' headded, 'I will make my way back to the hotel. '

'Will you--won't you stay to tea or dinner?' said his wife, beginningwith an imploring tone which hesitated as she reviewed possible chopsand her aunt's dismay. 

'Thank you, I have ordered dinner at the hotel, ' he answered, 'andGregorio is waiting for me with a cab. No doubt you will wish to makearrangements with Madame--the old lady--and I will not trouble herfurther to-night. I will send down Gregorio to-morrow morning, to tellyou what I arrange. An afternoon train, probably, as we shall go nofarther than London. You say Lady Kirkaldy called on you. We mightreturn her visit before starting, but I will let you know when I havelooked at the trains. My compliments to Miss Headworth. Good evening, sweetest. ' He held his wife in a fond embrace, kissing her brow andcheeks and letting her cling to him, then added, 'Good evening, littleone, ' with a good-natured careless gesture with which Nuttie was quitecontent, for she had a certain loathing of the caresses that so charmedher mother. And yet the command to make ready had been given with sucheasy authority that the idea of resisting it had never even entered hermind, though she stood still while her mother went out to the door withhim and watched him to the last. 

Coming back, she threw her arms round her daughter, kissed her againand again, and, with showers of the glad tears long repressed, cried, 'Oh, my Nuttie, my child, what joy! How shall I be thankful enough!Your father, your dear father! Now it is all right. ' Little sentencesof ecstasy such as these, interspersed with caresses, all in theincoherence of overpowering delight, full of an absolute faith that thelost husband had loved her and been pining for her all these years, butthat he had been unable to trace her, and was as happy as she was inthe reunion. 

The girl was somewhat bewildered, but she was carried along by thisflood of exceeding joy and gladness. The Marmion and Theseus imageshad been dispelled by the reality, and, with Mr. Dutton's sharp reprooffresh upon her, she felt herself to have been doing a great injusticeto her father; believed all that her mother did, and found herself theobject of a romantic recognition--if not the beggar girl become aprincess, at any rate, the little school-teacher a county lady! Andshe had never seen her mother so wildly, overpoweringly happy with joy. That made her, too, feel that something grand and glorious had happened. 

'What are we going to do?' she asked, as the vehemence of Mrs. Egremont's emotion began to work itself off. 

'Home! He takes us to his home! _His_ home!' repeated her mother, ina trance of joy, as the yearnings of her widowed heart now werefulfilled. 

'Oh, but Aunt Ursel!'

'Poor Aunt Ursel! Oh, Nuttie, Nuttie, I had almost forgotten! Howcould I?' and there was a shower of tears of compunction. 'But he saidhe owed everything to her! She will come with us! Or if she doesn'tlive with us, we will make her live close by in a dear little cottage. Where is she? When did she go? I never saw her go. '

The sound of the front door was heard, for the visitor had been watchedaway and Miss Headworth was returning to her own house to be therereceived with another fervent gush of happiness, much more trying toher, poor thing, than to Nuttie. 

There was evensong imminent, and the most needful act at the moment wasto compose the harmonium-player sufficiently for her to take her part. Miss Headworth was really glad of the necessity, since it put off thediscussion, and made a reason for silencing Nuttie until all should bemore recovered from the first agitation. Alice Egremont herself wasglad to carry her gratitude and thankfulness to the Throne of Grace, and in her voluntary, and all her psalms, there was an exulting strainthat no one had thought the instrument capable of producing, and thatwent to the heart of more than one of her hearers. No one who knew hercould doubt that hers was simply innocent exultation in the recovery ofhim whom she so entirely loved and confided in. But there could notbut be terrible doubts whether he were worthy of that trust, and whatthe new page in her life would be. 

Miss Headworth had said they would not talk till after church, butthere was no deferring the matter then. She was prepared, however, when her niece came up to her in a tender deprecating manner, saying, 'Aunt Ursel, dear Aunt Ursel, it does seem very ungrateful, but--'

'He is going to take you away? Yes, I saw that. And it ought to be, my dear. You know where?'

'Yes; to London first, to be fitted out, and then to his own home. ToBridgefield Egremont. I shall have to see Mr. Egremont, ' and her voicesank with shame. 'But Mark will be good to me, and why should I carewhen I have him. '

'It is quite right. I am glad it should be so, ' firmly said the oldlady. 

'And yet to leave you so suddenly. '

'That can't be helped. '

'And it will only be for a little while, ' she added, 'till you can makearrangements to come to us. My dear husband says he owes youeverything. So you must be with us, or close to us. '

'My dear, it's very dear and good of you to think of it, but I must beindependent. ' She put it in those words, unwilling again to speakunguardedly before Nuttie. 

'Oh, dear auntie, indeed you must! Think what you are to us, and whatyou have done for us. We can't go away to be happy and prosperous andleave you behind. Can we, Nuttie? Come and help me to get her topromise. Do--do dearest auntie, ' and she began the coaxing andcaressing natural to her, but Nuttie did not join in it, and MissHeadworth shook her head and said gravely--

'Don't, Alice. It is of no use. I tell you once for all that my mindis made up. '

Alice, knowing by long experience that, when her aunt spoke in thattone, persuasion was useless, desisted, but looked at her inconsternation, with eyes swimming in tears. Nuttie understood her alittle better, and felt the prickings of distrust again. 

'But, aunt, dear aunt, how can we leave you? What will you do with allthe boarders, ' went on Mrs. Egremont. 

'I shall see my way, my dear. Do not think about that. It is a greatthing to see you and this child receive justice. '

'And only think, after all the hard things that have been said of him, that we should meet first at church! He would not wait and sendletters and messages by Mark. You see he came down himself the firstmoment. I always knew he would. Only I am so sorry for him, that heshould have lost all those sweet years when Nuttie was a tiny child. She must do all she can to make up to him. '

'Oh dear!' broke out Nuttie. 'It is so strange! It will be all sostrange!'

'It will be a very new life, ' said her aunt, rather didactically; 'butyou must do your best to be a good daughter, and to fill your newposition, and I have no doubt you will enjoy it. '

'If I could but take all with me!' said Nuttie. 'Oh dear! whateverwill you do, Aunt Ursel? Oh mother, the choir! Who will play theharmonium? and who will lead the girls? and whatever will Mr. Spyersdo? and who will take my class? Mother, couldn't we stay a littlelonger to set things going here?'

'It is nice of you to have thought of it, my dear, ' said Mrs. Egremont, 'but your father would not like to stay on here. '

'But mightn't I stay, just a few days, mother, to wish everybodygood-bye? Mr. Dutton, and Miss Mary, and Gerard, and all the girls?'

There was some consolation in this plan, and the three women rested onit that night, Mrs. Egremont recovering composure enough to write threeor four needful notes, explaining her sudden departure. The aunt couldnot talk of a future she so much dreaded for her nieces, losing in itthe thought of her own loneliness; Alice kept back her own loving, tender, undoubting joy with a curious sense that it was hard andungrateful towards the aunt; but it was impossible to think of that, and Nuttie was in many moods. 

Eager anticipation of the new unseen world beyond, exultation infinding herself somebody, sympathy with her mother's happiness, all hadtheir share, but they made her all the wilder, because they were farfrom unmixed. The instinctive dislike of Mr. Egremont's countenance, and doubt of his plausible story, which had vanished before hispresence, and her mother's faith, returned upon her from time to time, caught perhaps from her aunt's tone and looks. Then her aunt had beenlike a mother to her--her own mother much more like a sister, and thequitting her was a wrench not compensated for as in Mrs. Egremont'scase by a more absorbing affection. Moreover, Nuttie felt sure thatpoor Gerard Godfrey would break his heart. As the mother and daughterfor the last time lay down together in the room that had been theirsthrough the seventeen years of the girl's life, Alice fell asleep witha look of exquisite peace and content on her face, feeling her longterm of trial crowned by unlooked-for joy, while Ursula, thoughrespecting her slumbers too much to move, lay with wide-open eyes, nowspeculating on the strange future, now grieving over those sheleft--Aunt Ursel, Gerard, Mary, and all such; the schemes from whichshe was snatched, and then again consoling herself with the hope that, since she was going to be rich, she could at once give all that waswanted--the white altar cloth, the brass pitcher--nay, perhaps finishthe church and build the school! For had not some one said somethingabout her position? Oh yes, she had not thought of it before, but, since she was the elder brother's daughter, she must be the heiress!There was no doubt a grand beautiful story before her; she wouldwithstand all sorts of fascinations, wicked baronets and earlsinnumerable, and come back and take Gerard by the hand, and say, 'Pridewas quelled and love was free. ' Not that Gerard had ever uttered aword tending in that direction since he had been seven years old, butthat would make it all the prettier; they would both be silentlyconstant, till the time came, perhaps when she was of age. Motherwould like it, though _that_ father would certainly be horrid. And hownice it would be to give Gerard everything, and they would go all overthe Continent, and see pictures, and buy them, and see all thecathedrals and all the mountains. But perhaps, since Mark Egremont hadreally been so generous in hunting up the cousin who was displacinghim, she was bound in duty to marry him; perhaps he reckoned on herdoing so. She would be generous in her turn, give up all the wealth tohim, and return to do and be everything to Micklethwayte. How theywould admire and bless her. And oh! she was going to Londonto-morrow--London, which she so much wished to see--Westminster Abbey, British Museum, All Saints, National Gallery, no end of new dresses. 

Half-waking, half-dreaming, she spent the night which seemed longenough, and the light hours of the summer morning seemed still longer, before she could call it a reasonable time for getting up. Hersplashings awoke her mother, who lay smiling for a few moments, realising and giving thanks for her great joy, then bestirred herselfwith the recollection of all that had to be done on this busy morningbefore any summons from her husband could arrive. 

Combining packing and dressing, like the essentially unmethodicallittle woman she was, Mrs. Egremont still had all her beautiful silkybrown hair about her shoulders when the bell of St. Ambrose's was heardgiving its thin tinkling summons to matins at half-past seven. She wasdisappointed; she meant to have gone for this last time, but there wasno help for it, and Nuttie set off by herself. 

Gerard Godfrey was at his own door. He was not one of the regularattendants at the short service, being of that modern species thatholds itself superior to 'Cranmer's prayers, ' but on this morning hehastened up to her with outstretched hand. 

'And you are going away!' he said. 

'I hope to get leave to stay a few days after mother, ' she said. 

'To prolong the torment?' he said. 

'To wish everybody good-bye. It is a great piece of my life that iscome to an end, and I can't bear to break it off so short. '

'And if you feel so, who are going to wealth and pleasure, what must itbe to those who are left behind?'

'Oh!' said Nuttie, 'some one will be raised up. That's what theyalways say. '

'I shall go into a brotherhood, ' observed Gerard desperately. 

'Oh, don't, ' began Nuttie, much gratified, but at that moment MissNugent came out at her door, and Mr. Spyers, who was some way inadvance, looked round and waited for them to come up. He held out hishands to her and said, 'Well, Nuttie, my child, you are going to begina new life. '

'Oh dear! I wish I could have both!' cried Nuttie, not very relevantlyas far as the words went. 

'Scheiden und weiden thut weh!' quoted Mary. 

'If his place was only Monks Horton. What will Aunt Ursel do?'

'I think perhaps she may be induced to join us, ' said Mary. 'We meanto do our best to persuade her. '

'And there's the choir! And my class, and the harmonium, ' went onNuttie, while Gerard walked on disconsolately. 

'Micklethwayte has existed without you, Nuttie, ' said Mr. Spyers, taking her on with him alone. 'Perhaps it will be able to do so again. My dear, you had better look on. There will be plenty for you to learnand to do where you are going, and you will be sure to find much toenjoy, and also something to bear. I should like to remind you thatthe best means of going on well in this new world will be to keep selfdown and to have the strong desire that only love can give to besubmissive, and to do what is right both to God and your father andmother. May I give you a text to take with you? "Children, obey yourparents in the Lord, for this is right. "'

They were at the door and there was no time for an answer, but Nuttie, as she took her place, was partly touched and partly fretted at theadmonition. 

The question as to her remaining a day or two after her mother was soondisposed of. Mrs. Egremont sent a pretty little note to make therequest, but the elegant valet who appeared at ten o'clock brought averbal message that his master wished Mrs. And Miss Egremont to beready by two o'clock to join him in calling on Lady Kirkaldy at MonksHorton, and that if their luggage was ready by four o'clock, he(Gregorio) would take charge of it, as they were all to go up to townby the 4. 40 train. 

'Did he have my note?' faltered Alice, stimulated by the imploringglances of aunt and daughter, but anticipating the answer. 

'Yes, madame, but he wishes that Miss Egremont should accompany youimmediately. '

'Of course, ' was Alice's comment, 'now that he has found his child, hecannot bear to part with her. '

And all through the farewells that almost rent the gentle Alice's heartin two, she was haunted by the terror that she or her daughter shouldhave red eyes to vex her husband. As to Mr. Dutton, he had only comein with Gerard in a great hurry just after breakfast, said there wasmuch to do to-day at the office, as they were going to take stock, andthey should neither of them have time to come home to luncheon. Heshook the hands of mother and daughter heartily, promised to 'lookafter' Miss Headworth, and bore off in his train young Gerard, lookingthe picture of woe, and muttering 'I believe he has got it up onpurpose;' while mother and daughter thought it very odd, and ratherunkind. 

CHAPTER IX. 

NEW PLUMES. 

 'And ye sall walk in silk attire, And siller hae to spare. '--Old Ballad. 

The very best open fly and pair of horses, being the equipage most likea private carriage possessed by the Royal Hotel, came to the door withMr. Egremont seated in it, at a few minutes after two o'clock, andfound Alice in her only black silk, with a rose in her bonnet, and atie to match on her neck, hastily procured as signs of her wifehood. 

She had swallowed her tears, and Nuttie was not a crying person, butwas perfectly scarlet on her usually brown cheeks. Her father mutteredsome civility about back seats, but it was plain that it was only inwords, and she never thought of anything but looking back, with herlast wave to her aunt and the two maids, one crying at the gate, theother at the door. 

'There, ' said Mr. Egremont, as they drove away, 'that is over!'

'My dear aunt, ' said his wife. 'Who can express her goodness to me?'

'Cela va sans dire, ' was the reply. 'But these are connections thathappily Ursula is young enough to forget and leave behind. '

'I shall never forget!' began Nuttie, but she saw her father composinghimself in his corner without paying the slightest heed to what she wassaying, and she encountered a warning and alarmed glance from hermother, so she was forced to content herself with uttering silent vowsof perpetual recollection as she passed each well-known object, --theunfinished church, with Mr. Spyers at the door talking to old Bellman;the Town Hall, whose concerts, lectures, and S. P. G. Meetings had beenher chief gaiety and excitement; the School of Art, where LadyKirkaldy's appearance now seemed to her to have been like that of abird of omen; past the shops in the High Street, with a littleexultation at the thought of past desires which they had excited. Longcould she have rattled away, her hopes contradicting her regrets, andher regrets qualifying her anticipations, but she saw that her motherwas nervous about every word and gesture, and fairly looked dismayedwhen she exclaimed, 'Oh, mother, there's Etta Smith; how surprised shewill be!' bowing and smiling with all her might. 

There was a look of bare toleration on Mr. Egremont's face, as if heendured because it would soon be over, as Nuttie bowed several times, and his wife, though less quick to catch people's eyes, sometimes alsomade her recognition. When the streets were past and Nuttie had aimedher last nods at the nursery parties out walking on the road, shebecame aware that those cold, lack-lustre, and yet sharply criticaleyes of her father were scanning her all over. 

'She has been educated?' he presently said to his wife. 

'Oh yes, ' was the eager answer. 'She is in the highest form at theHigh School, and has to go up for the Senior Local Examination. MissBelper makes sure that she will get a first class. '

Mr. Egremont gave a little wave of the hand, as dismissing somethingsuperfluous, and said, 'I hope she has some accomplishments. '

'She has done very fairly in French and German--'

'And Latin, ' put in Ursula. 

'And she has had several prizes at the School of Art. '

'And music? That's the only thing of any value in society, ' he saidimpatiently, and Mrs. Egremont said more timidly, 'She has learnt musicregularly. '

'But I don't care about it, ' broke in Nuttie. 'I haven't mother's earnor her voice. I learnt the science in case I should have to teach, and they make me practise. I don't mind classical music, but I can'tstand rubbish, and I think it is waste of time. '

Mr. Egremont looked fairly amused, as at the outspoken folly of anenfant terrible, but he only said, either to his wife or to himself, 'Alittle polish, and then she may be fairly presentable. '

'We have taken great pains with her, ' answered the gentle mother, evidently taking this as a great compliment, while the daughter wastingling with indignation. She, bred up by mother, and aunt, and MaryNugent, to be barely presentable. Was not their society atMicklethwayte equal in good manners to any, and superior, far superior, in goodness and intelligence to these stupid fashionable people, whoundervalued all her real useful acquirements, and cared for nothing buttrumpery music. 

The carriage entered the park, and Nuttie saw lake and woods from afresh point of view. The owners were both at home, and Nuttie foundherself walking behind her parents into a cheerful apartment, halflibrary, half morning-room. Mrs. Egremont was by far the most shy andshrinking of the party, but it was an occasion that showed herhusband's complete tact and savoir favre. He knew perfectly well thatthe Kirkaldys knew all about it, and he therefore took the initiative. 'You are surprised to see us, ' he said, as he gave his hand, 'but wecould not leave the country without coming to thank Lady Kirkaldy forher kindness in assisting in following up the clue to Mrs. Egremont'sresidence. '

'I am very happy, ' said Lady Kirkaldy, while all were being seated. 

'I think it was here that my nephew Mark first met one whom, child ashe was, he could not but remember. '

'I don't think you met him here, ' said Lady Kirkaldy to Mrs. Egremont;'but he heard the name and was struck by it. '

'Dear Mark!' was the response. 'He was so kind. '

'He is a dear good boy, ' chimed in my lady. 

'Yes, ' said her lord, 'an excellent good fellow with plenty of brains. '

'As he well knows, ' said Mr. Egremont. 'Oh yes; I quite agree with allyou say of him! One ought to be thankful for the possession of a rarespecimen. '

It was in the tone in which Falstaff discussed that sober boy, LordJohn of Lancaster. Lord Kirkaldy asked if the visitors were going toremain long in the neighbourhood. 

'We are due in London to-night, ' replied Mr. Egremont. 'We shall spenda day or two there, and then go home. Alice, ' he added, though hiswife had never heard him call her so before, 'Lady Kirkaldy knows yourinexperience. Perhaps she would be good enough to give you someaddresses that might be useful. '

'I shall be delighted, ' said the lady, cordially looking at theblushing Mrs. Egremont. 

'Dressmaker, and all the rest of it, ' said Mr. Egremont. 'You knowbetter than she does what she will require, and a little advice will beinvaluable. Above all, if you could tell her how to pick up a maid. '

Lady Kirkaldy proposed to take the mother and daughter up to herdressing-room, where she kept her book of addresses to Londontradesmen; and Mr. Egremont only begged that they would remember the4. 40 train. Then Lord Kirkaldy was left to entertain him, while theladies went up the broad staircase to the pleasant room, which had amingled look of refinement and usefulness which struck Nuttie at once. Lady Kirkaldy, as soon as the door was shut, took her visitor by thehand, kissed her forehead, and said, 'You must let me tell you how gladI am. '

The crystal veil at once spread over Alice's eyes. 

'Oh, thank you. Lady Kirkaldy! I am _so_ happy, and yet I am soafraid. Please tell me what we shall _do_ so that we may not vex him, so high bred and fastidious as he is?'

'Be yourself! That's all, my dear, ' said Lady Kirkaldy tenderly. 'Don't be afraid. You are quite incapable of doing anything that coulddistress the most fastidious taste. '

It was perfectly true of the mother, perhaps less so of the daughter;but Lady Kirkaldy only thought of her as a mere girl, who could easilybe modelled by her surroundings. The kind hostess applied herself togiving the addresses of the people she thought likely to be most usefulin the complete outfit which she saw would be necessary, explaining towhich establishments she applied with confidence if she needed tocomplete her wardrobe in haste, feeling certain that nothing would besent her that she disliked, and giving leave to use her name. She soonsaw that the mother was a little dazed, while Ursula's eyes grewrounder at the unlimited vista of fine clothes, and she assented, andasked questions as to the details. As to a maid, Lady Kirkaldy wouldwrite to a person who would call on Mrs. Egremont at the hotel inLondon, and who might be what was wanted; and in conclusion, LadyKirkaldy, with some diffidence, begged to be written to--'if--if, ' shesaid, 'there happened to be any difficulty about which you might notlike to consult Mrs. William Egremont. ' Nuttie hardly knew whether tobe grateful or not, for she did not believe in any standard above thatof Micklethwayte, and she was almost angry at her mother's gratefulanswer--'Oh, thank you! I should be so grateful! I am so afraid ofannoying him by what he may think small, ignorant, country-town ways!You will understand--'

Lady Kirkaldy did understand, and she dreaded what might be before thesweet little yielding woman, not from want of breeding so much as fromthe long-indulged selfishness of her husband; but she encouraged her asmuch as possible, and promised all possible counsel, bringing herdownstairs again just in time. 

'Pretty little soul!' said Lord Kirkaldy, as the fly clattered away. 'Iwonder whether Mark has done her a kindness!'

'It is just what she is, a pretty, nay, a beautiful soul, full oftenderness and forgiveness and affection and humility, only I doubtwhether there is any force or resolution to hold her own. You smile!Well, perhaps the less of that she has the better she may get on withhim. Did he say anything about her?'

'No; I think he wants to ignore that they have not spent the lasttwenty years together. '

'That may be the best way for all parties. Do you think he will behavewell to her?'

'No man could well do otherwise to such a sweet little thing, ' saidLord Kirkaldy; 'especially as she will be his most obedient slave, andwill make herself necessary to him. It is much better luck than hedeserves; but I pity her when she comes to make her way with yonladies!'

'I wish I was there! I know she will let herself be trodden on!However, there's Mark to stand up for her, and William Egremont will dowhatever he thinks right and just. I wish I knew how his wife willtake it!'

CHAPTER X. 

BRIDGEFIELD EGREMONT. 

 'Let us see these handsome houses Where the wealthy nobles dwell. '--TENNYSON. 

'Mother, mother!' cried two young people, bursting open the door of thepretty dining-room of Bridgefield Rectory, where the grown-up part ofthe family were lingering over a late breakfast. 

'Gently, gently, children, ' said the dignified lady at the head of thetable. 'Don't disturb papa. '

'But we really have something to say, mother!' said the elder girl, 'and Fraulein said you ought to know. Uncle Alwyn is come home, andMrs. Egremont. And please, are we to call her Aunt Egremont, or AuntAlwyn, or what?'

The desired sensation was produced. Canon Egremont put down hisnewspaper. The two elder sisters looked from one to the other inunmitigated astonishment. Mark briefly made answer to the finalquestion, 'Aunt Alice, ' and Mrs. Egremont said gravely, 'How did youhear this, Rosalind? You know I always forbid you to gossip. '

'We didn't gossip, mother. We went up to the gardens to get somemulberries for our half-holiday feast; and Ronaldson came out and toldus we must ask leave first, for the ladies were come. The Squire camehome at nine o'clock last night, and Mrs. Egremont and all, and onlysent a telegram two hours before to have the rooms got ready. '

'Has Uncle Alwyn gone and got himself married?' exclaimed one of theyoung ladies, in utter amazement. 

'Not just now, Blanche, ' said her father. 'It is an old story now. Your uncle married this lady, who had been governess to May and Mark, many years ago, and from--circumstances in which she was not at all toblame, he lost sight of her while he was abroad with old GeneralEgremont. Mark met her about a fortnight ago, and this has led to youruncle's going in quest of her, though he has certainly been more suddenin his proceedings than I expected. '

The mother here succeeded in sending Rosalind and Adela, with theirwondering eyes, off the scene, and she would much have liked to sendher two stepdaughters after them, but one-and-twenty and eighteen couldnot so readily be ordered off as twelve and ten; and Mark, who had beenprohibited from uttering a word to his sisters, was eagerly examiningMargaret whether she remembered their Edda; but she had been only threeyears old at the time of the adventures in the Isle of Wight, andremembered nothing distinctly but the aspect of one of the sailors inthe yacht. 

'Well, ' said Mrs. Egremont, 'this has come very suddenly upon us. Itwould have been more for her own dignity if she had held out a littlebefore coming so easily to terms, after the way in which she has beentreated. '

'When you see her, mother, you will understand, ' said Mark. 

'Shall we have to be intimate with her?' asked May. 

'I desire that she should be treated as a relation, ' said the Canondecidedly. 'There is nothing against her character, ' and, as his wifewas about to interrupt, --'nothing but an indiscretion to which she wasalmost driven many years ago. She was cruelly treated, and I for oneam heartily sorry for having let myself be guided by others. '

Mrs. William Egremont felt somewhat complacent, for she knew he meantLady de Lyonnais, and there certainly had been no love lost between herand her step-children's grandmother; but she was a sensible woman, andforbore to speak, though there was a mental reservation that intimacywould a good deal depend upon circumstances. Blanche cried out that itwas a perfect romance, and May gravely said, 'But is she a lady?'

'A perfect lady, ' said Mark. 'Aunt Margaret says so. '

'One knows what a perfect lady means, ' returned May. 

'Come, May, ' said Mrs. Egremont, 'do not let us begin with a prejudice. By all accounts the poor thing has conducted herself with perfectrespectability all this time. What did you tell me, Mark? She has beenliving with an aunt, keeping a school at Micklethwayte. '

'Not quite, ' said Mark. 'She has been acting as a daily governess. Sheseemed to be on friendly terms with the clerical folk. I came acrossthe name at a school feast, or something of the kind, which came off inthe Kirkaldys' park. '

'Oh, then, I know exactly the sort of person!' returned May, pursing upher lips. 

Mark laughed and said, 'I wonder whether it is too soon to go up andsee them. I wonder what my uncle thinks of his daughter. '

'What! You don't mean to say there is a daughter?' cried May. 

'Even so. And exactly like you too, Miss May. '

'Then you are cut out, Mark!'

'You are cut out, I think, May. You'll have to give her all your MissEgremont cards. '

'No, ' said the young lady; 'mother made me have my Christian nameprinted. She said all but the daughters of the head of the familyought to have it so. I'm glad of it. '

'How old is she?' asked Blanche. 

'About a year younger than you. '

'I think it is very interesting, ' said Blanche. 'How wonderful it mustall be to her! I will go up with you, Mark, as soon as I can getready. '

'You had better wait till later in the day, Blanche, ' said the mother. She knew the meeting was inevitable, but she preferred having it underher own eye, if she could not reconnoitre. 

She was a just and sensible woman, who felt reparation due to thenewly-discovered sister-in-law, and that harmony, or at least theappearance of it, must be preserved; but she was also exclusive andfastidious by nature, and did not look forward to the needfulintercourse with much satisfaction either on her own account or that ofher family. 

She told Mark to say that she should come to see Mrs. Egremont afterluncheon, since he was determined to go at once, and moreover to draghis father with him. Canon Egremont was a good and upright man, according to his lights, which were rather those of a well-beneficedclergyman of the first than of the last half of the century, intensified perhaps that the passive voice was the strongest in him. All the country knew that Canon Egremont could be relied on to give aprudent, scholarly judgment, and to be kind and liberal, when onceinduced to stir mind or body--but how to do that was the problem. Hehad not been a young man at the time of his first marriage, and wasonly a few years' junior to his brother, though he had the fresh, wholesome look of a man who kept regular hours and lived much in theair. 

Alice knew him at once, and thought eighteen years had made littlechange, as, at Nuttie's call to her, she looked from the window and sawthe handsome, dignified, gray-haired, close-shaven rosy face, and theclerical garb unchanged in favour of long coats and high waistcoats. 

The mother and daughter were exploring the house together. Mr. Egremont had made it known that he preferred having his breakfastalone, and not being disturbed in the forenoon. So the two ladies hadbreakfasted together at nine, the earliest hour at which they couldprevail on the household to give them a meal. Indeed Nuttie had slepttill nearly that time, for between excitement and noise, her Londonslumbers had been broken; and her endeavour to keep Micklethwayte hourshad resulted in a long, weary, hungry time in the sitting-room of thehotel, with nothing to do, when the gaze from the window palled on her, but to write to her aunt and Mary Nugent. The rest of the day had beenspent in driving about in a brougham with her mother shopping, and thisshe could not but enjoy exceedingly, more than did the timid Mrs. Egremont, who could not but feel herself weighted with responsibility;and never having had to spend at the utmost more than ten pounds at atime, felt bewildered at the cheques put into her hands, and then wasalarmed to find them melting away faster than she expected. 

There was a very late dinner, after which Mr. Egremont, on the firstday, made his wife play bezique with him. She enjoyed it, as a tenderreminiscence of the yachting days; but Nuttie found herself de trop, and was reduced to the book she had contrived to purchase on hertravels. The second night Mr. Egremont had picked up two friends, notyet gone out of town, whose talk was of horses and of yachts, quiteincomprehensible to the ladies. They were very attentive to Mrs. Egremont, whom they evidently admired, one so visibly as to call up ablush; but they disregarded the daughter as a schoolgirl. Happily theyappeared no more after the dinner; but Nuttie's first exclamation ofastonished disgust was silenced at once by her mother with unusualdetermination, 'You must not speak so of your father's friends. '

'Not when--'

'Not at all, ' interrupted Mrs. Egremont. 

The only sense of promotion to greatness that Ursula had yet enjoyedwas in these fine clothes, and the maid whom Lady Kirkaldy hadrecommended, a grave and severe-looking person, of whom both stoodsomewhat in awe. The arrival at Bridgefield had been too late foranything to be taken in but a general impression of space anddreariness, and the inevitable dinner of many courses, after whichNuttie was so tired out that her mother sent her to bed. 

Since the waking she had made some acquaintance with the house. Therewas no show of domestics, no curtseying housekeeper to parade the newmistress over the house; Mr. Egremont had told his wife that she mustfill up the establishment as she pleased, but that there was anadmirable cook downstairs, and he would not have her interferedwith--she suited his tastes as no one else did, and she must be left todeal with the provisions and her own underlings. There was a stableestablishment, and a footman had been hired in town, but there wasbesides only one untidy-looking housemaid, who began by giving warning;and Alice and Nuttie had roamed about without meeting any one from thebig wainscotted dining-room with faded crimson curtains and familyportraits, the older grimy, the younger chalky, to the twodrawing-rooms, whose gilding and pale blue damask had been preserved bypinafores of brown holland; the library, which looked and smelt as ifMr. Egremont was in the habit of sitting there, and a bigbilliard-room, all opening into a shivery-feeling hall, with Scagliolacolumns and a few dirty statues between them; then upstairs to apossible morning-room, looking out over a garden lawn, where mowing wasgoing on in haste, and suites of dreary shut-up fusty bedrooms. Nuttie, who had notions of choosing her own bower, could not make upher mind which looked the least inviting. It did not seem as if girlscould ever have laughed together, or children clattered up and down thestairs. Mrs. Egremont begged her to keep possession for the present atleast of the chamber where the grim housemaid had chosen to put her, and which had the advantage of being aired. 

The two windows looked out over the park, and thence it was that whileMorris, the maid, was unpacking and putting away the new purchases, andNuttie was standing, scarcely realising that such pretty hats andbonnets could be her very own, when her mother beheld the Canon andMark advancing up the drive. It was with a great start that she calledUrsula to come down directly with her, as no one would know where tofind them, hastily washing the hands that had picked up a sense ofdustiness during the exploration, and taking a comprehensive glance inthe cheval glass, which showed her some one she felt entirelyunfamiliar to her in a dainty summer costume of pale gray silk pickedout with a mysterious shade of pink. Ursula too thought MissEgremont's outer woman more like a Chelsea shepherdess than Nuttie'strue self, as she tripped along in her buckled shoes and the sea greenstockings that had been sent home with her skirt. With crimson cheeksand a throbbing heart, Alice was only just at the foot of the stairswhen the newcomers had made their way in, and the kind Canon, ignoringall that was past, held out his hands saying, 'Well, my dear, I am gladto see you here, ' kissing Mrs. Egremont on each cheek. 'And so this isyour daughter. How do you do, my dear--Ursula? Isn't that your name?'And Ursula had again to submit to a kiss, much more savoury and kindlythan her father's, though very stubbly. And oh! her uncle's dress waslike that of no one she had ever seen except the rector of the oldchurch, the object of unlimited contempt to the adherents of St. Ambrose's. 

As to Mark, he only kissed his aunt, and shook hands with her, whilehis father ran on with an unusual loquacity that was a proof ofnervousness in him. 

'Mrs. Egremont--Jane, I mean--will be here after luncheon. She thoughtyou would like to get settled in first. How is Alwyn? Is he down yet?'

'I will see, ' in a trembling voice. 

'Oh no, never mind, Alwyn hates to be disturbed till he has madehimself up in the morning. My call is on you, you know. Where are yousitting?'

'I don't quite know. In the drawing-room, I suppose. '

The Canon, knowing the house much better than she did, opened a doorinto a third drawing-room she had not yet seen, a pretty little room, fitted up with fluted silk, like a tent, somewhat faded but not muchthe worse for that, and opening into a conservatory, which seemed tohave little in it but some veteran orange trees. Nuttie, however, exclaimed with pleasure at the nicest room she had seen, and Mark beganunfastening the glass door that led into it. Meantime Alice, withburning cheeks and liquid eyes, nerved her voice to say, 'Oh, sir--Mr. Egremont--please forgive me! I know now how wrong I was. '

'Nonsense, my dear. Bygones are bygones. You were far more sinnedagainst than sinning, and have much to forgive me. There, my dear, wewill say no more about it, nor think of it either. I am only toothankful that poor Alwyn should have some one to look after him. '

Alice, who had dreaded nothing more than the meeting with her formermaster, was infinitely relieved and grateful for this kindness. Shehad ejaculated, 'Oh, you are so good!' in the midst, and now at themention of her husband, she exclaimed, 'Oh! do you think he is ill? Ican't help being afraid he is, but he will not tell me, and does notlike to be asked. '

'Poor fellow, he has damaged his health a good deal, ' was the answer. 'He had a sharp attack in the spring, but he has pretty well got overit, and Raikes told me there was no reason for uneasiness, provided hewould be careful; and that will be a much easier matter now. I shouldnot wonder if we saw him with quite a renewed youth. '

So the Canon and Mrs. Egremont were getting on pretty well together, but there was much more stiffness and less cordiality between the twocousins, although Mark got the window open into the conservatory, andshowed Nuttie the way into the garden, advising her to ask Ronaldson, the gardener, to fill the conservatory with flowers. The pavilion, asthis little room was called, always seemed to have more capacities forbeing lived in than any other room in the house. It had been fitted upwhen such things were the fashion for the shortlived bride of 'ourgreat uncle. '

'The colour must have been awful then, ' said Mark, looking up at it, 'enough to set one's teeth on edge; but it has faded into somethingquite orthodox--much better than could be manufactured for you. '

Mark had evidently some ideas of art, and was besides inclined to dothe honours to the stranger; but Nuttie was not going to encourage himor anybody else to make up to her, while she had that look of GerardGodfrey's in her mind's eye. So she made small answer, and he feltrebuffed, but supposed her shy, and wondered when he could go back toher mother, who was so much more attractive. 

Presently his father went off to storm the den of the master of thehouse, and there was a pleasant quarter of an hour, during which thethree went out through the conservatory, and Mark showed theins-and-outs of the garden, found out Ronaldson, and congratulated himon having some one at last to appreciate his flowers, begging him tomake the conservatory beautiful. And Mrs. Egremont's smile was soeffective that the Scot forthwith took out his knife and presented herwith the most precious of the roses within his reach. 

Moreover Mark told the names and ages of all his sisters, whole andhalf. He was the only son, except a little fellow in the nursery. Andhe exhorted his aunt not to be afraid of his step-mother, who was amost excellent person, he declared, but who never liked to see any oneafraid of her. 

There was something a little alarming in this, but on the whole thevisit was very pleasant and encouraging to Mrs. Egremont; and she beganrejoicing over the kindness as soon as the Canon had summoned his son, and they had gone away together. 

'I am sure you must be delighted with your uncle and cousin, my dear, 'she said. 

'He's not a bit my notion of a priest, ' returned Nuttie. 'And I don'tbelieve he has any daily prayers!'

'He is old-fashioned, my dear. '

'One of the stodgey old clergymen in books, ' observed Nuttie. 'Ididn't think there were any of that sort left. '

'Oh, my dear, pray don't take fancies into your head! He is a very, very good man, and has been most kind to me, far more than I deserve, and he is your uncle, Nuttie. I do so hope you will get on well withyour cousins. '

Here a gong, a perfectly unknown sound to Nuttie, made itself heard, and rather astonished her by the concluding roar. The two ladies cameout into the hall as Mr. Egremont was crossing it. He made aninclination of the head, and uttered a sort of good morning to hisdaughter, but she was perfectly content to have no closer salutation. Having a healthy noonday appetite, her chief wish was at the momentthat those beautiful little cutlets, arranged in a crown form, were notso very tiny; or that, with two men-servants looking on, it werepossible to attain to a second help, but she had already learnt thatGregorio would not hear her, and that any attempt to obtain more foodfrightened her mother. 

'So his reverence has been to see you, ' observed Mr. Egremont. 'William, if you like it better. '

'Oh yes, and he was kindness itself!'

'And how did Master Mark look at finding I could dispense with hisassistance?'

'I think he is very glad. '

Mr. Egremont laughed. 'You are a simple woman, Edda! The pose ofvirtuous hero was to have been full compensation for all that it mightcost him! And no doubt he looks for the reward of virtue likewise. '

Wherewith he looked full at Ursula, who, to her extreme vexation, feltherself blushing up to the ears. She fidgeted on her chair, and begana most untrue 'I'm sure--' for, indeed, the poor girl was sure ofnothing, but that her father's manner was most uncomfortable to her. His laugh choked whatever she might have said, which perhaps was well, and her mother's cheeks glowed as much as hers did. 

'Did the Canoness--Jane, I mean--come up?' Mr. Egremont went on. 

'Mrs. Egremont? No; she sent word that she is coming after luncheon. '

'Hm! Then I shall ride out and leave you to her majesty. Now lookyou, Alice, you are to be very careful with William's wife. She is aCondamine, you know, and thinks no end of herself, and your positionamong the women-folk of the county depends more on how she takes you upthan anything else. But that doesn't mean that you are to let her giveherself airs and domineer over you. Remember you are the elderbrother's wife--Mrs. Egremont of Bridgefield Egremont--and she isnothing but a parson's wife, and I won't have her meddling in my house. Only don't you be absurd and offend her, for she can do more for oragainst you in society than any one else--more's the pity!'

'Oh! won't you stay and help me receive her?' exclaimed the poor lady, utterly confused by these contrary directions. 

'Not I! I can't abide the woman! nor she me!' He added, after amoment, 'You will do better without me. '

So he went out for his ride, and Ursula asked, 'Oh, mother! what willyou do?'

'The best I can, my dear. They are good people, and are sure to bekinder than I deserve. '

Nuttie was learning that her mother would never so much as hear, farless answer, a remark on her husband. It was beginning to make a sorein the young heart that a barrier was thus rising, where there once hadbeen as perfect oneness and confidence as could exist between twonatures so dissimilar, though hitherto the unlikeness had never madeitself felt. 

Mrs. Egremont turned the conversation to the establishing themselves inthe pavilion, whither she proceeded to import some fancy-work that shehad bought in London, and sent Nuttie to Ronaldson, who was arrangingcalceolarias, begonias, and geraniums in the conservatory, to beg forsome cut-flowers for a great dusty-looking vase in the centre of thetable. 

These were being arranged when Mrs. William Egremont and Miss BlancheEgremont were ushered in, and there were the regular kindred embraces, after which Alice and Nuttie were aware of a very handsome, dignified-looking lady, well though simply dressed in what wasevidently her home costume, with a large shady hat and feather, herwhole air curiously fitting the imposing nickname of the Canoness. Blanche was a slight, delicate-looking, rather pretty girl in alawn-tennis dress. The visitor took the part of treating the newcomersas well-established relations. 

'We would not inundate you all at once, ' she said, 'but the childrenare all very eager to see their cousin. I wish you would come down tothe Rectory with me. My ponies are at the door. I would drive you, and Ursula might walk with Blanche. ' And, as Alice hesitated for amoment, considering how this might agree with the complicatedinstructions that she had received, she added, 'Never mind Alwyn. Isaw him going off just before I came up, and he told William he wasgoing to look at some horses at Hale's, so he is disposed of for a goodmany hours. '

Alice decided that her husband would probably wish her to comply, andshe rejoiced to turn her daughter in among the cousins, so hats, gloves, and parasols were fetched, and the two mothers drove away withthe two sleek little toy ponies. By which it may be perceived thatMrs. William Egremont's first impressions were favourable. 

'It is the shortest way through the gardens, ' said Blanche. 'Have youbeen through them yet?'

'Mark walked about with us a little. '

'You'll improve them ever so much. There are great capabilities. Look, you could have four tennis courts on this one lawn. We wanted to havea garden-party up here last year, and father said we might, but motherthought Uncle Alwyn might think it a liberty; but now you'll have somedelicious ones? Of course you play lawn-tennis?'

'I have seen it a very few times, ' said Nuttie. 

'Oh, we must teach you! Fancy living without lawn-tennis!' saidBlanche. 'I always wonder what people did without it. Only'--with aneffort at antiquarianism--'I believe they had croquet. '

'Aunt Ursula says there weren't garden-parties before croquet came in. '

'How dreadful, Ursula! Your name's Ursula, isn't it? Haven't you somejolly little name to go by?'

'Nuttie. '

'Nuttie! That's scrumptious! I'll call you Nuttie, and you may callme Pussycat. '

'That's not so nice as Blanche. '

'Mother won't have me called so when strangers are there, but youaren't a stranger, you know. You must tell me all about yourself, andhow you came never to learn tennis!'

'I had something else to do, ' said Nuttie, with dignity. 

'Oh, you were in the schoolroom! I forgot. Poor little Nuts!'

'At school, ' said Ursula. 

'Ah, I remember! But you're out now, aren't you? I've been out sincethis spring. Mother won't let us come out till we are eighteen, isn'tit horrid? And we were so worked there! I can tell you a finishinggoverness is an awful institution! Poor little Rosie and Adey will bein for one by and by. At present they've only got a jolly littleFraulein that they can do anything they please with. '

'Oh, I wonder if she would tell me of some German books!'

'You don't mean that you want to read German!' and Blanche stood still, and looked at her cousin in astonishment. 

'Why, what else is the use of learning it?'

'Oh, I don't know. Every one does. If one went abroad or to court, you know, ' said Blanche vaguely; but Ursula had now a fresh subject ofinterest; for, on emerging from the shrubbery, they came in sight of apicturesque but not very architectural church, which had the smallestproportion of wall and the largest of roof, and a pretty oriel-windowedschoolhouse covered with clematis. Nuttie rushed into inquiries aboutservices and schools, and was aghast at hearing of mere Sundays andsaints' days. 

'Oh no! father isn't a bit Ritualistic. I wish he was, it would be somuch prettier; and then he always advertises for curates of moderateviews, and they are so stupid. You never saw such a stick as we havegot now, Mr. Edwards; and his wife isn't a lady, I'm sure. '

Then as to schools, it was an absolute amazement to Nuttie to find thatthe same plans were in force as had prevailed when her uncle had cometo the living and built that pretty house--nay, were kept up at hissole expense, because he liked old-fashioned simplicity, and did notchoose to be worried with Government inspection. 

'And, ' said Blanche, 'every one says our girls work ever so muchbetter, and make nicer servants than those that are crammed with allsorts of nonsense not fit for them. '

As to the Sunday school. Mother and the curate take care of that. I'msure, if you like it, you can have my class, for I always have aheadache there, and very often I can't go. Only May pegs away at it, and she won't let me have the boys, who are the only jolly ones, because she says I spoil them. But you must be my friend--mind, Nuttie, not May's, for we are nearer the same age. When is yourbirthday? You must put it down in my book!'

Nuttie, who had tolerable experience of making acquaintance with newgirls, was divided between a sense of Blanche's emptiness, and thewarmth excited by her friendliness, as well as of astonishment at allshe heard and saw. 

Crossing the straggling, meandering village street, the cousins enteredthe grounds of the Rectory, an irregular but well-kept building of thesoft stone of the country, all the garden front of it a deep verandahthat was kept open in summer, but closed with glass frames in thewinter--flower-beds lying before it, and beyond a lawn where the youngfolk were playing at the inevitable lawn-tennis. 

Margaret was not so pretty as Blanche, but had a more sensible face, and her welcome to Ursula was civil but reserved. Rosalind and Adelawere bright little things, in quite a different style from theirhalf-sisters, much lighter in complexion and promising to be handsomerwomen. They looked full of eagerness and curiosity at the new cousin, whom Blanche set down on a bank, and proceeded to instruct in themysteries of the all-important game by comments and criticisms on theplayers. 

As soon as Mark and Adela had come out conquerors, Ursula was called onto take her first lesson. May resigned her racket, saying she hadsomething to do, and walked off the field, and carrying off with herAdela, who, as Blanche said, 'had a spine, ' and was ordered to lie downfor an hour every afternoon. The cheerfulness with which she wentspoke well for the training of the family. 

Nuttie was light-footed and dexterous handed, and accustomed to activeamusements, so that, under the tuition of her cousins, she became apromising pupil, and thawed rapidly, even towards Mark. 

She was in the midst of her game when the two mothers came out, for thedrive had been extended all round the park, under pretext of showing itto its new mistress, but really to give the Canoness an opportunity ofjudging of her in a tete-a-tete. Yet that sensible woman had asked noalarming questions on the past, still less had offered any advice thatcould seem like interference. She had only named localities, mentionedneighbours, and made little communications about the ways of the placesuch as might elicit remarks; and, as Alice's voice betrayed less andless constraint, she ventured on speaking of their daughters, so as todraw forth some account of how Ursula might have been educated. 

And of this, Alice was ready and eager to talk, telling how clever andhow industrious Nuttie had always been, and how great an advantage MissNugent's kindness was, and how she was hoping to go up for theCambridge examination; then, detecting some doubt in her companion'smanner, she said, 'It would be a great disappointment to her not to doso now. Do you think she had better not?'

'I don't think she will find time to go on with the preparation! And, to tell the truth, I don't think we are quite ripe for such things inthis county. We are rather backward, and Ursula, coming in fresh uponus, might find it a disadvantage to be thought much cleverer than otherpeople. '

'Ah! I was not quite sure whether her father would like it. '

'I do not think he would. I am sure that if my little Rose were totake it into her head, I should have hard work to get her father'sconsent, though no doubt the world will have progressed by the time sheis old enough. '

'That settles it, ' said Alice. 'Thank you, Mrs. Egremont. I own, ' sheadded presently, 'that I do somewhat regret that it cannot be, for Ithought that a motive for keeping up her studies would be helpful to mychild;--I do not mean for the sake of the studies, but of the--thebalance in all this change and novelty. '

'You are quite right, I have felt it myself, ' said her sister-in-law. 'Perhaps something could be done by essay societies. May belongs toone, and if Ursula is an intellectual girl, perhaps you could keep herup to some regular employment in the morning. I succeeded in doing sowhen May came out, but I can accomplish nothing regular but music withBlanche; and an hour's steady practice a day is better than nothing. '

The drive was on the whole a success, and so was the tea-drinking inthe verandah, where Aunt Alice and little five-years old Basil becamefast friends and mutual admirers; the Canon strolled out and wasinstalled in the big, cushioned basket-chair that crackled under hisweight; Blanche recounted Nuttie's successes, and her own tennisengagements for the week; Mark lay on a rug and teased her, and herdachshund; Nuttie listened to the family chatter as if it were a play, and May dispensed the cups, and looked grave and severe. 

'Well?' said the Canon anxiously, when Mark, Blanche, and little Basilhad insisted on escorting the guests home, and he and his wife were fora few minutes tete-a-tete. 

'It might have been much worse, ' said the lady. 'She is a good littleinnocent thing, and has more good sense than I expected. Governessy, that's all, but she will shake out of that. '

'Of course she will. It's the best thing imaginable for Alwyn!'

His wife kept back the words, 'A hundred times too good for Alwyn!'

CHAPTER XI. 

LAWN-TENNIS. 

 'Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, My young lady asked for!'--Romeo and Juliet. 

A garden-party, Mrs. William Egremont decided, would be the best modeof testifying her approbation of her sister-in-law, and introducing thenewcomers to the neighbourhood. So the invitations were sent forth foran early day of the coming week. 

From how many points of view was Mrs. William Egremont's garden-partyregarded, and how different! There was Basil, to whom it meant wearinghis velvet suit and eating as many ices as mother would allow. ToBlanche, it was an occasion for triumph on the tennis ground forherself, and for hopes for her pupil; and Ursula herself looked forwardto it and practised for it like a knight for his first encounter in thelists, her sole care being to distinguish herself with her racket. Toher mother, it was an ordeal, where she trusted not to be amortification to her husband and his family; while to the hostess, itwas a not unwelcome occasion of exercising honest diplomacy and tact, not without a sense of magnanimity. To May, it was a bore to beendured with dutiful philosophy; to her good-natured father an occasionfor hospitality, where he trusted that his brother would appear, andappear to advantage, and was ready even to bribe him thereto with thatwonderful claret that Alwyn had always envied, and declared to bewasted on a parson. And Mark, perhaps he viewed the occasion withdifferent eyes from any one else. At any rate, even the denizens ofBridgefield mustered there with as many minds as Scott ascribes to thecombatants of Bannockburn, and there were probably as many othercircles of feeling more or less intersecting one another among the moredistant guests, most of them, however, with the same feeling ofcuriosity as to what this newly-discovered wife and daughter of AlwynEgremont might be like. 

Externally, in her rich black silk, trimmed with point lace, and herlittle straw-coloured bonnet with its tuft of feathery grass and bluecornflower, she was so charming that her daughter danced round her, crying, 'O mammy, mammy, if they could but see you at home'--then, at alook: 'Well then--Aunt Ursel, and Miss Mary, and Mr. Dutton!'

Nuttie was very much pleased with her own pretty tennis dress; but shehad no personal vanity for herself, only for her mother. The knowledgethat she was no beauty was no grievance to her youthful spirits; butwhen her father surveyed them in the hall, she looked for his verdictfor her mother as if their relations were reversed. 

'Ha! Well, you certainly are a pretty creature, Edda, ' he saidgraciously. 'You'll pass muster! You want nothing but style. And, hang it! you'll do just as well without it, if the Canoness will onlydo you justice. Faces like that weren't given for nothing. '

She blushed incarnadine and accepted one of his kisses with a pleasure, at which Nuttie wondered, her motherly affection prompting her tomurmur in his ear--

'And Ursula?'

'She'll not cut you out; but she is Egremont enough to do very fairly. Going already?'

'If you would come with us, ' she said wistfully, to the horror ofNuttie, who was burning to be at the beginning of all the matches. 

'I? oh no! I promised old Will to look in, but that won't be till latein the day, or I shall have to go handing all the dowagers into thedining-room to tea. '

'Then I think we had better go on. They asked us to come early, so asto see people arrive and know who they are. '

_They_ was a useful pronoun to Alice, who felt it a liberty to call hergrand-looking sister-in-law, Jane--was too well-bred to term her Mrs. William. 

The mother and daughter crossed the gardens, Nuttie chattering all theway about the tennis tactics she had picked up from Blanche, while hermother answered her somewhat mechanically, wondering, as her eye fellon the square squat gray church tower, what had become of the earnestdevotion to church work and intellectual pursuits that used tocharacterise the girl. True, always both mother and daughter hadhitherto kept up their church-going, and even their Sunday-schoolhabits, nor had any hindrance come in their way, Mr. Egremontapparently acquiescing in what he never shared. But these thingsseemed, in Ursula's mind, to have sunk out of the proportion they heldat Bridgefield, no longer to be the spirit of a life, but mere Sundayduties and occupations. 

Was this wicked world getting a hold of the poor child? Which wasduty? which was the world? This was the thought that perplexed Alice, too simple as yet to perceive that Ursula's former absorption had beenin the interests that surrounded her and her companions, exactly asthey were at present, and that the real being had yet to work itselfout. 

For herself, Alice did not think at all. She was rejoicing in herrestored husband, and his evident affection. Her duty towards him wasin her eyes plain. She saw, of course, that he had no religion, butshe accepted the fact like that of bad weather; she loved him, and sheloved her daughter; she said her prayers with all her heart for them, she hoped, and she did her best, without trying to go below the surface. 

There was the Rectory gate wide open. There was Basil rushing up togreet his dear Aunt Alice, there were all the windows and doors of theRectory open, and the nearer slopes covered with chairs and seats ofall dimensions, some under trees, some umbelliferous, and glowingAfghan rugs, or spotted skins spread for those who preferred theground. There was Blanche flitting about wild with excitement, andpouncing on Nuttie to admire her outfit, and reiterate instructions;there were the two younger girls altering the position of chairsaccording to their mother's directions; there were actually twoguests--not very alarming ones, only the curate and his wife, bothrather gaunt, bony people. He was button-holing the Canon, and she wastrying to do the same by the Canoness about some parish casualty. TheCanon hoped to escape in the welcome to his sister-in-law and niece, but he was immediately secured again, while his wife found it requisiteto hurry off else where, leaving Mrs. Edwards to tell her story to Mrs. Egremont. In point of fact, Alice really liked the good lady, wasquite at ease with her, and felt parish concerns a natural element, sothat she gave full heed and attention to the cruelty of Mrs. Parkins'depriving Betsy Butter (with an old father and mother to support) ofher family washing, on the ground of a missing pocket handkerchief, thewhich Mrs. Edwards believed to have been abstracted by the favouritepickle of Miss Blanche's class, if only a confession could be elicitedfrom him when undefended by his furious mother. Mrs. Egremont waslistening with actual interest and sympathy to the history of BetsyButter's struggles, and was inquiring the way to her cottage, when shewas called off to be introduced to the arrivals who were beginning toflood the lawn. She presently saw May, who had just come down, walkingup and down with Mrs. Edwards, evidently hearing the story of thehandkerchief. She thought it had been Nuttie for a moment. There wasa general resemblance between the cousins that made them be mistakenfor one another several times in the course of the day, since theirdresses, though not alike, were of the same make and style. 

Thus it was that as Nuttie was sitting on the grass in earnestcontemplation of Blanche's play, a hand was familiarly laid on hershoulder, and a voice said, 'I haven't seen that horrid girl yet!'

After so many introductions, Nuttie had little idea whom she knew, orwhom she did not know. She looked up and saw a small person in lightblue, with the delicate features, transparent skin, and blue eyes thataccompany yellow hair, with an indescribable glitter of mirth andjoyousness about the whole creature, as if she were part and parcel ofthe sunbeam in which she stood. 

'What horrid girl?' said Nuttie. 

'The interloper, the newly-discovered savage, come to upset--Ah!'--witha little shriek--'It isn't May! I beg your pardon. '

'I'm May's cousin, ' said Nuttie, 'Ursula Egremont. '

'Oh, oh!' and therewith the fact burst on both girls at once. Theystood still a moment in dismay, then the stranger went into a fit oflaughter. 'Oh, I beg your pardon! I can't help it! It is so funny!'

Nuttie was almost infected, though somewhat hurt. 'Who said I washorrid?' she asked. 

'Nobody! Nobody but me--Annaple Ruthven--and they'll all tell you, Mayand all, that I'm always putting my foot in it. And I never meant thatyou were horrid--you yourself--you know--only--'

'Only nobody wanted us here, ' said Nuttie; 'but we could not help it. '

'Of course not. It was shocking, just my way. Please forgive me!' andshe looked most pleading. Nuttie held out her hand with somethingabout 'No one could mind;' and therewith Annaple cried, 'Oh, if youdon't mind, we can have our laugh out!' and the rippling laughter didset Nuttie off at once. The peal was not over when May herself wasupon them demanding what was the joke. 

'Oh, there she is! The real May! Why, ' said Annaple, kissing her, 'only think here I've been and gone and thought this was you, andinquired about--What was it?--the awful monster--the chimera dire--thatMark had routed up--'

'No; you didn't say that, ' said Nuttie, half provoked. 

'Never mind what I said. Don't repeat it. I only wish myself andevery one else to forget it. Now it is swept to the winds by a goodwholesome giggling. But what business have you two to be soinconveniently alike? You are as bad as the twin Leslies!'

'There's an old foremother on the staircase in white satin who left herlooks to us both, ' said May. 

'You'll have to wear badges, ' said Annaple. 'You know the Leslies wereso troublesome that one had to be shipped off to the East Indies andthe other to the West. '

'They married, that's all, ' said May, seeing Nuttie looking mystified;and at that moment, Blanche's side coming out victorious, Nuttiedescended into the arena to congratulate and be asked to form part ofthe next set. 

'Well, that was a scrape!' said Annaple; 'but she wasn't bad about it!I must do something to make up for it somehow--get Janet to invite her, but really Janet is in such a state of mind that I am mildness itselfcompared with her. She would not have come, only John was curious, anddeclared he should go whether we did or not. '

'Ah!' said May, 'I saw him, like the rest of mankind, at madame's feet. '

'Oh! is she of that sort?'

'No, ' said May, 'not at all. Mother and father too both think she isgood to the backbone; but she is very pretty, with just the inane softsweetness that men rave about--innocent really. All accounts of herare excellent, and she has nice parish ways, and will be as helpful asUncle Alwyn will let her. '

'But she couldn't always have been nice?'

'Well, I verily believe it was all Uncle Alwyn's and grandmamma'sfault. I know Mark thinks so. '

'When the women of a family acquit a woman it goes for something, ' saidAnnaple. 'That's not original, my dear, I heard old Lady Grosmede sayso to Janet when she was deliberating over the invitation, "For a gooddeal more than Mr. Mark's, at any rate. '"

'Mark is very fond of her--the mother, I mean. He says when he was alittle fellow her loss was worse to him than even our mother's. '

'Do you remember the catastrophe?'

'Not a bit. Only when she is petting Basil it strikes me that I haveheard the tones before. I only remember the time of misery under thecrosspatches grandmamma got for us. '

'Well, it was a splendid cutting of his own throat in Mark, ' saidAnnaple, 'so it ought to turn out well. '

'I don't know how it is to turn out for Mark, ' answered May. 'Oh, herehe comes!'

'Will you come into this set, Annaple?' he asked. 'They want anothercouple, ' and, as she accepted, 'How do you get on with May's double?'

'I pity May for having such a double. '

'Don't encourage her by misplaced pity. '

'It's abominable altogether! I want to fly at somebody!'

'Exhaust your feelings on your racket, and reflect that you see a manreleased from bondage. '

'Is that philosophy or high-faluting?' she said in a teasing tone asthe game began. 

The Ruthvens had very blue blood in their veins, but as there were nineof the present generation, they possessed little beyond their longpedigree; even the head of the family, Lord Ronnisglen, being forced tolive as a soldier, leaving his castle to grouse shooters. His sevenbrothers had fared mostly in distant lands as they could, and hismother had found a home, together with her youngest child, at Lescombe, where her eldest was the wife of Sir John Delmar. Lady Ronnisglen wasan invalid, confined to the house, and Lady Delmar had daughters fasttreading on the heels of Annabella, so christened, but always calledAnnaple after the old Scottish queens, her ancestors. She had been MayEgremont's chief friend ever since her importation at twelve years old, and the intimacy had been promoted by her mother and sister. Indeed, the neighbourhood had looked on with some amusement at the competitionascribed to Lady Delmar and to the wealthy parvenu, Mrs. West, for theheir-presumptive of Bridgefield Egremont. 

Annaple's lightness and dexterity rendered her the best of the ladytennis-players, and the less practised Ursula found herself defeated inthe match, in spite of a partner whose play was superior to Mark's, andwith whom she shyly walked off to eat ices. 

'I see, ' said Annaple, 'it is a country-town edition of May. I shan'tblunder between them again. '

'She will polish, ' said Mark, 'but she is not equal to her mother. '

'Whom I have not seen yet. Ah, there's Mr. Egremont! Why, he looksquite renovated!'

'Well he may be!'

'But Mark, not to hurt your feelings, he must have behaved atrociously. '

'I'm not going to deny it, ' said Mark. 

'I always did think he looked like it, ' said Annaple. 

'When have you seen him before?'

'Only once, but it was my admirable sagacity, you understand? I alwayssee all the villains in books just on his model. Oh, but who's that?How very pretty! You don't mean it is she! Well, she might be theheroine of anything!'

'Isn't she lovely?'

'And has she been keeping school like Patience on a monument all theseyears? It doesn't seem to have much damaged her damask cheek!'

'It was only daily governessing. She looks much better than when Ifirst saw her; and as to the damask--why, that's deepened by theintroduction to old Lady Grosmede that is impending. '

'She is being walked up to the old Spanish duck with the red rag roundher leg to receive her fiat. What a thing it is to be a beardedDowager, and rule one's neighbourhood!'

'I think she approves. She has made room for her by her side. Is shegoing to catechise her?'

Annaple made an absurd sound of mingled pity and disgust. 

'Not that she--my aunt, I mean--need be afraid. The shame is all onthe other side. '

'And I think Lady Grosmede has too much sense to think the worse of herfor having worked for herself, ' added Annaple. 'If it was not formother I should long to begin!'

'You? It's a longing well known to me!--but you!'

'Exactly! As the Irishman felt blue moulded for want of a bating, sodo I feel fagged out for want of an honest day's work. '

'If one only knew what to turn to, ' said Mark so wearily that Annapleexclaimed, 'We seem to be in the frozen-out state of mind, and might walk up anddown singing "I've got no work to do, "'--to which she gave the wellknown intonation. 

'Too true, ' said he, joining in the hum. 

'But I thought you were by way of reading law. '

'One must see more than only "by way of" in these days to do any good. '

At that moment Basil ran up with a message that Lady Delmar was readyto go home. 

They walked slowly up the terrace and Mark paused as they came nearMrs. Egremont to say, 'Aunt Alice, here is Miss Ruthven, May's greatfriend. '

Annaple met a pleasant smile, and they shook hands, exchanging anobservation or two, while a little way off Lady Grosmede was noddingher strong old face at Lady Delmar, and saying, 'Tell your mother I'llsoon come and see her, my dear. That's a nice little innocent body, lady-like, and thoroughly presentable. Alwyn Egremont might have doneworse. '

'The only wonder is he did not!' returned Lady Delmar. 'They make thebest of it here. '

'Very good taste of them. But, now I've seen her, I don't believethere's anything behind. Very hard upon the poor young man, though itwas all his doing, his mother says. I congratulate you that it had notgone any farther in that quarter. '

'Oh, dear no! Never dreamt of it. She is May's friend, that's all. '

Nevertheless Lady Delmar made a second descent in person to hurryAnnaple away. 

'Isn't it disgusting?' said May, catching her stepmother's smile. 

'You will see a good deal more of the same kind, ' said the Canoness; 'Iam afraid more mortification is in store for Mark than he guesses. Iwish that girl were more like her mother. '

'Mamma! a girl brought up among umbrella-makers! Just fancy! Why, shehas just nothing in her!'

'Don't set Mark against her, May; he might do worse. '

'Her head is a mere tennis ball, ' said May, drawing her own higher thanever, 'and no one would know her from a shop girl. '

'She is young enough, ' said the Canoness. 'Don't class me with LadyDelmar, May--I only say--if--and that I don't think you realise thechange Mark will feel. '

'Better so than sell himself, ' muttered May. 

CHAPTER XII. 

OUT OF WORK. 

 'I'm seeking the fruit that's nae growing. '--Ballad. 

Society recognised the newcomers. Lady Grosmede's card appeared thenext day, and was followed by showers of others, and everybody askedeverybody 'Have you seen Mrs. Egremont?'

It was well for Alice's happiness even at home that she was a success. When Alwyn Egremont had been lashed by his nephew's indignant integrityinto tardy recognition of the wife of his youth, it had been as if hehad been forced to pick up a flower which he had thrown away. He hadconsiderable doubts whether it would answer. First, he reconnoitred, intending, if he found a homely or faded being, to pension her off; butthis had been prevented by her undeniable beauty and grace, bringing upa rush of such tender associations as he was capable of. Yet eventhen, her position depended on the impression she might make on thoseabout him, on her own power of self-assertion, and on her contributingto his comfort or pleasure. 

Of self-assertion Alice had none, only a gentle dignity in hersimplicity, and she was so absolutely devoted to him that he found hishouse far more pleasant and agreeable for her presence and unfailingattention, though still his estimation of her was influenced more thanhe owned to himself by that of the world in general, and the Rectory inparticular. 

And the Rectory did its part well. The Canon was not only charmed withthe gentle lady, but felt an atonement due to her; and his wife, without ever breathing into any ears, save his, the mysteriousadjective 'governessy, ' praised her right and left, confiding to allinquirers the romance of the burnt yacht, the lost bride, and the happymeeting under Lady Kirkaldy's auspices, with the perfect respectabilityof the intermediate career, while such was the universal esteem for, and trust in herself and the Canon, that she was fully believed; andpeople only whispered that probably Alwyn Egremont had been excused forthe desertion more than he deserved. 

The subject of all this gossip troubled herself about it infinitelyless than did the good Canoness. In effect she did not know enough ofthe world to think about it at all. Her cares were of a differentorder, chiefly caused by tenderness of conscience, and solicitude tokeep the peace between the two beings whom she best loved. 

Two things were in her favour in this latter respect, one that they sawvery little of each other, since Mr. Egremont seldom emerged from hisown rooms till after luncheon; and the other that Ursula's brains ranto little but lawn-tennis for the ensuing weeks. To hold a champion'splace at the tournaments, neck and neck with her cousin Blanche, anddefeat Miss Ruthven, and that veteran player, Miss Basset, was herforemost ambition, and the two cousins would have practised morning, noon, and night if their mothers would have let them. There need havebeen no fear of Ursula's rebellion about the Cambridge honours, shenever seemed even to think of them, and would have had no time in themore important competition of rackets. Indeed, it was almost treated asa hardship that the pair were forbidden to rush together before twelveo'clock, and that Ursula's mother insisted on rational home occupationuntil that time, setting the example herself by letter-writing, needlework, and sharing in the music which was a penance to the girl, only enforced by that strong sense of protecting affection whichforbade rebellion. But Alice could hope that their performances werepleasant to her husband in the evening, if only to sleep by, and so shepersisted in preparing for them. 

Nuttie's rage for tennis, and apparent forgetfulness of her old lifeand aspirations, might be disappointing, but it conduced to make hermother's task easier than if she had been her original, critical, andprotesting self. In the new and brilliant surroundings she troubledherself much less than could have been expected at the failure of herfather, his house, nay, and of the parish itself, in coming up to theSt. Ambrose standard. How much was owing to mere novelty andintoxication, how much to a yet unanalysed disappointment, how much toMay's having thrown her upon the more frivolous Blanche, could not beguessed. The effect was unsatisfactory to her mother, but a certainrelief, for Nuttie's aid would have been only mischievous in thehousehold difficulties that weighed on the anxious conscience. Goodservants would not stay at Bridgefield Hall for unexplained causes, which their mistress believed to be connected with Gregorio, or withthe treasure of a cook-housekeeper over whom she was forbidden toexercise any authority, and who therefore entirely neglected all mealswhich the master did not share with the ladies. Fortunately, Mr. Egremont came in one day at their luncheon and found nothing there butsemi-raw beef, upon which there was an explosion; and being by thistime convinced that his wife both would and could minister to hiscomfort, her dominion was established in the female department, though, as long as Gregorio continued paramount with his master, and thestables remained in their former state, it was impossible to bringmatters up to the decorous standard of the Rectory, and if ever hismistress gave an order he did not approve, Gregorio overruled it as herignorance. In fact, he treated both the ladies with a contemptuoussort of civility. Meantime Mr. Egremont was generally caressing andadmiring in his ways towards his wife, with only occasional bursts oftemper when anything annoyed him. He was proud of her, gave her aliberal allowance, and only refused to be troubled; and she was reallyhappy in his affection, for which she felt a gratitude only too humblein the eyes of her daughter. 

They had parties. Blanche's ambition of tennis courts all over thelawn was fulfilled, and sundry dinners, which were crosses to Alice, who had neither faculty nor training for a leader and hostess, sufferedmuch from the menu, more from the pairing of her guests, more again incatching her chief lady's eye after, and most of all from her husband'sscowls and subsequent growls and their consequence, for Ursula brokeout, 'It is not fair to blame my mother. How should she have all thesavoir-faire, or what you may call it, of Aunt Jane, when she has hadno practice?'

'Perhaps, Mrs. Egremont, ' he retorted with extreme suavity, 'you willalso attend to your daughter's manners. ' Otherwise he took littlenotice of Ursula, viewing her perhaps, as did the neighbourhood, as apoor imitation of May, without her style, or it may be with a sensethat her tongue might become inconvenient if not repressed. When hebegan to collect sporting guests of his own calibre in the shootingseason, the Canoness quietly advised her sister-in-law to regard themas gentlemen's parties, and send Ursula down to spend the evening withher cousins; and to this no objection was made. Mr. Egremont wantedhis beautiful wife at the head of his table, and his guests nevercomported themselves unsuitably before her; but nobody wanted theunformed girl, and she and Blanche were always happy together. 

The chief restraint was when Mark was at home, and that was not always. He made sundry visits and expeditions, and was altogether in anuncomfortable condition of reaction and perplexity as to his future. He was a good and conscientious fellow, and had never been actuallyidle, but had taken education and life with the easiness of theprospective heir to a large property; and though he had acquittedhimself creditably, it was with no view of making his powersmarketable. Though he had been entered at the Temple, it was chieflyin order to occupy himself respectably, and to have a nominalprofession, so as not to be wholly dependent on his uncle; and all thathe had acquired was the conviction that it would be half a lifetime, ifnot a whole one, before the law would afford him a maintenance. 

His father wished him to take Holy Orders with a view to the reversionof the Rectory, but Mark's estimate of clerical duty and vocation wasjust such as to make him shrink from them. He was three-and-twenty, anawkward age for all those examinations that stand as lions in the faceof youth intended for almost any sort of service, and seldom or neverto be gagged by interest. For one indeed, he went up and failed, andin such a manner as to convince him that cramming had more to do thangeneral culture with success. 

He had a certain consciousness that most people thought another wayopen to him, most decidedly his gentle aunt, and perhaps even hisparents. The matter came prominently before him one day at luncheon, when, some parochial affairs being on hand and Mr. Egremont out for theday, Alice, whose free forenoons enabled her to take a share in churchand parish affairs, was there, as well as the curate and his wife. 

These good people were in great commotion about a wedding about to takeplace between a young farmer and his delicate first cousin, the onlysurvivor of a consumptive family. 

'"Proputty, proputty, "' quoted the Canon. 'James Johnson is what theycall a warm man. '

'It is a sin and a shame, ' said Mrs. Edwards. 'What can they expect?George Johnson looks strong enough now, but they tell me his brotherundoubtedly died of decline, though they called it inflammation; butthere was tubercular disease. '

'I am afraid it is strong in the family, ' said the Canoness, 'they allhave those clear complexions; but I do believe George is heartily inlove with poor little Emily. '

'First cousins ought to be in the table of degrees, ' said Mr. Edwards. 

'It is always a question whether the multiplying of prohibitionswithout absolute necessity is expedient, ' said the Canon. 

He spoke quite dispassionately, but the excellent couple were notremarkable for tact. Mrs. Edwards gave her husband such a glance ofwarning and consternation as violently inclined May to laugh, and heobediently and hesitatingly began, 'Oh yes, sir, I beg your pardon. Ofcourse there may be instances, ' thereby bringing an intense glow ofcarnation into Alice's cheeks, while the Canon, ready for the occasion, replied, 'And George Johnson considers himself one of them. He willrepair the old moat house, I suppose. '

And his wife, though she would rather have beaten Mrs. Edwards, demanded how many blankets would be wanted that winter. 

The effect of this little episode was that Mark announced to his fatherthat evening his strong desire to emigrate, an intention which theCanon combated with all his might. He was apparently a hale and heartyman, but he had had one or two attacks of illness that made him doubtwhether he would be long-lived; and not only could he not bear to havehis eldest son out of reach, but he dreaded leaving his family to sucha head as his brother. Mark scarcely thought the reasons valid, considering the rapidity of communication with Canada, but it was notpossible to withstand the entreaties of a father with tears in hiseyes; and though he could not bring himself to consent to preparing tobe his father's curate, he promised to do nothing that would remove himto another quarter of the world, and in two or three days more, startedfor Monks Horton to see what advice his uncle and aunt there could givehim; indeed, Lord Kirkaldy's influence was reckoned on by his familyalmost as a sure card in the diplomatic line. 

The Kirkaldys were very fond of Mark, and had an odd feeling of beingaccountable for the discovery which had changed his prospects. Theywould have done anything for him that they could, but all LordKirkaldy's interest was at the foreign office, or with hisfellow-diplomates, and here he soon found an insuperable bar. Mark'seducation had stood still from the time of Miss Headworth's flight tillhis father's second marriage, his energies having been solely devotedto struggles with the grim varieties of governess purveyed by hisgrandmother, and he had thus missed all chance of foundation of foreignlanguages, and when once at school, he had shared in the averageEnglish boy's contempt and aversion for the French masters whooutscreamed a whole class. 

In consequence, Lord Kirkaldy, an accurate and elegant scholar inEuropean tongues, besides speaking them with the cosmopolitan ease ofan ambassador's son, was horrified, not only at Mark's pronunciation, but at his attempts at letter-writing and translation, made with allthe good will in the world, but fit for nothing but to furnish the goodstories which the kind uncle refrained from telling any one but hiswife. Unluckily, too, a Piedmontese family, some of them not strong intheir English, were on a visit at Monks Horton, and the dialect inwhich the old marquis and Mark tried at times to interchange ideasabout pheasants was something fearful. And as in the course of a weekMark showed no signs of improvement in vernacular French or Italian, Lord Kirkaldy's conscience would let him give no other advice than thathis nephew should stick to English law living still on the allowancehis father gave him, and hoping for one of the chance appointments opento an English barrister of good family and fair ability. 

Of course Mark had gone at once to carry tidings of 'Aunt Alice, ' as hescrupulously called her, to old Miss Headworth, whom his aunt hadcontinued to visit at intervals. That good lady had given up herboarders, having realised enough to provide for her own old age, andshe had joined forces with the Nugents, Mary being very thankful tohave her companionship for Mrs. Nugent, who was growing too blind andfeeble to be satisfactorily left alone all day. 

Mark delighted the old ladies by his visits and accounts of theirdarling's success and popularity, which he could paint so brightly thatthey could not help exulting, even though there might be secretmisgivings as to the endurance of these palmy days. He was a greathero in their eyes, and they had too good taste to oppress him withtheir admiration, so that he really was more at ease in their littledrawing-room than anywhere at Monks Horton, whither the Italians couldpenetrate. The marchesino spoke English very well, but that was allthe worse for Mark, since it gave such a sense of inferiority. He wasan intelligent man too, bent on being acquainted with Englishindustries of all kinds; and thus it was that a party was organised tosee the umbrella factory. It was conducted by Mr. Dutton, with whomLord Kirkaldy, between charities and public business, had becomeacquainted. 

To Mark's secret shame, this manufacturer spoke French perfectly, andeven got into such a lively conversation with the old marquis aboutCavour, that Lord Kirkaldy begged him to come to dinner and continueit. They were all surprised, not only by the details of themanufacture and the multitude of artizans, male and female, whom itemployed, but by the number of warehouse-clerks whom they found atwork, and who, it appeared, were in correspondence with agencies anddepots in London and all the principal towns in the kingdom. GerardGodfrey was there, --casting looks askance at the young Egremont, whomhe regarded as a kind of robber. 

The marchesino asked from what class these young men were taken, andMr. Dutton made reply that most of them were sons of professional men. If they could obtain a small capital and take shares in the businessthey were encouraged to do so, and rose to the headship of theagencies, obtaining a fair income. 

'And you don't exact an examination, ' said Mark. 

'Except in handwriting and book-keeping, ' said Mr. Dutton. 

'Poor Mark, you look for your bugbear everywhere!' sighed his aunt. 

They went over the Institute, coffee-rooms, eating-rooms, andlodging-houses, by which the umbrella firm strove to keep their handsrespectable and contented, and were highly pleased with all, mostespecially with Mr. Dutton, who, though his name did not comeprominently forward, had been the prime mover and contriver of allthese things, and might have been a wealthier man if he had notundertaken expenses which he could not charge upon the company. 

Gerard Godfrey came in to Mrs. Nugent's that evening in the lowestspirits. He had a sister married to a curate in the same county withBridgefield, and she had sent him a local paper which 'understood thata marriage was arranged between Mark de Lyonnais Egremont, Esquire, andUrsula, daughter of Alwyn Piercefield Egremont, Esquire, of BridgefieldEgremont, ' and he could not help coming to display it to Miss Headworthin all its impertinence and prematurity. 

'Indeed he said nothing to me about it, ' said Miss Headworth, 'and Ithink he would if it had been true. '

'No doubt he intends it, and is trying to recommend himself throughyou, ' said Gerard. 

'I should not think he needed that, ' returned Aunt Ursel, 'though Ishould be very glad, I am sure. He is an excellent young man, and itis quite the obvious thing. '

'People don't always do the obvious thing, ' put in Mary Nugent. 

'Certainly it didn't look like it, ' said Miss Headworth, ' when he toldus about the great annual Hunt Ball at Redcastle that Nuttie and hissister Blanche are to come out at; he said he did not intend to go homefor it if he could help it. '

'Struggling against fate, ' said Miss Nugent. 

'The puppy!' burst out Gerard. 

Having ascertained the particulars of this same Hunt Ball, Gerardbecame possessed with a vehement desire to visit his sister, and soearnestly solicited a few days' leave of absence that it was granted tohim. 'Poor boy, he may settle down when he has ascertained what an asshe is, ' said Mr. Dutton. 

'Ah!' said Mary. 'I thought he was very bad when I saw he had notchanged the green markers for St. Luke's Day. '

CHAPTER XIII. 

DETRIMENTALS. 

 'That tongue of yours at times wags more than charity allows; And if you're strong, be merciful, great woman of three cows. ' --J. O. MANGAN. 

Nine miles was a severe distance through country lanes in November togo to a ball; but the Redcastle Hunt Ball was the ball of the year, uniting all the county magnates; and young ladies were hardly reckonedas 'come out' till they had appeared there. Mrs. Egremont's positionwould hardly be established till she had been presented to thenotabilities who lived beyond calling intercourse; and her husbandprepared himself to be victimised with an amount of grumbling that wasintended to impress her with the magnitude of the sacrifice, but whichonly made her offer to forego the gaiety, and be told that she wouldnever have any common sense. 

So their carriage led the way, and was followed by the Rectorywaggonette containing the ladies and Mark, who had been decisivelysummoned home, since his stepmother disliked public balls without agentleman in attendance, and his father was not to be detached from hisfireside. 

And in a group near the door, got up as elaborately as his powers couldaccomplish, stood Gerard Godfrey. He knew nobody there except a familyin his sister's parish, who had good-naturedly given him a seat intheir fly, and having fulfilled his duty by asking the daughter todance, he had nothing to disturb him in watching for the cynosure whoseattraction had led him into these unknown regions, and, as heremembered with a qualm, on the eve of St. Britius. However, with sucha purpose, one might surely grant oneself a dispensation from the vigilof a black letter saint. 

There at length he beheld the entrance. There was the ogre himself, high bred, almost handsome, as long as he was not too closelyscrutinised, and on his arm the well-known figure, metamorphosed bydelicately-tinted satin sheen and pearls, and still more by the gentleblushing gladness on the fair cheeks and the soft eyes that used todroop. Then followed a stately form in mulberry moire and point lace, leaning on Gerard's more especial abhorrence, --'that puppy, ' who hadbeen the author of all the mischief; and behind them three girls, onein black, the other two in white, and, what was provoking, he reallycould not decide which was Ursula. The carefully-dressed hair andstylish evening dress and equipments had altogether transformed thelittle homely schoolgirl, so that, though he was sure that she was notthe fair-haired damsel with pale blue flowers, he did not know how todecide between the white and daisies and the black and grasses. Indeed, he thought the two whites most likely to be sisters, and allthe more when the black lace halted to exchange greetings with someone, and her face put on an expression so familiar to him, that hestarted forward and tried to catch her eye; but in vain, and hesuffered agonies of doubt whether she had been perverted by greatness. 

It was some comfort that, when presently a rush of waiters floated by, she was not with her cousin; but to provoke him still more, as thedaisies neared him, he beheld for a moment in the whirl the queersmile, half-frightened, half-exultant, which he had seen on Nuttie'sface when swinging sky-high!

When the pause came and people walked about, the black lady stoodtalking so near him that he ventured at last on a step forward and aneager 'Miss Egremont, ' but, as she turned, he found himself obliged tosay, 'I beg your pardon. '

'Did you mean my cousin. We often get mistaken for each other, ' saidMay civilly. 

He brightened. 'I beg your pardon, ' he said, 'I knew her atMicklethwayte. I am here--quite by accident. Mrs. Elmore was so goodas to bring me. '

May was rather entertained. 'There's my cousin, ' she said, 'LordPhilip Molyneux is asking her to dance, ' and she left him mostunnecessarily infuriated with Lord Philip Molyneux. 

A steward introduced him to a dull-looking girl, but fortune favouredhim, for this time he did catch the real Nuttie's eye, and all herself, as soon as the dance was over, she came up with outstretched hands, 'OhGerard! to think of your being here! Come to mother!'

And, beautiful and radiant, Mrs. Egremont was greeting him, and therewere ten minutes of delicious exchange of news. But 'pleasures are aspoppies fled, ' Nuttie had no dance to spare, her card was full, and shehad not learnt fashionable effrontery enough to play tricks withengagements, and just then Mr. Egremont descended on them--'I wish tointroduce you to the Duchess, ' he said to his wife; and on the way hedemanded--'Who is that young cub?'

'Gerard Godfrey--an old neighbour. '

'I thought I had seen him racketing about there with Ursula. I'll nothave those umbrella fellows coming about!'

'Does he really make umbrellas, Nuttie?' asked Blanche, catching herhand. 

'No such thing!' said Nuttie hotly, 'he is in the office. His fatherwas a surgeon; his sisters married clergymen!'

'And he came here to meet you, ' said Annaple Ruthven. 'Poor fellow, what a shame it is! Can't you give him one turn!

'Oh dear! I'm engaged all through! To Mark this time. '

'Give him one of the extras! Throw Mark over to me! No, ' as shelooked at the faces of the two girls, 'I suppose that wouldn't do, butI'm free this time--I'm not the fashion. Introduce me; I'll do my bestas consolation. '

Nuttie had just performed the feat, with great shyness, when Markappeared, having been sent in quest of his cousin, when her fatherperceived that she had hung back. 

Poor Gerard led off Miss Ruthven the more gloomily, and could not helpsighing out, 'I suppose that is an engagement!'

'Oh! you believe that impertinent gossip in the paper, ' returnedAnnaple. 'I wonder they don't contradict it; but perhaps they treat itwith magnificent scorn. '

'No doubt they know that it is only premature. '

'If _they_ means the elders, I daresay they wish it, but we aren't inFrance or Italy. '

'Then you don't think, Miss Ruthven, that it will come off?'

'I don't see the slightest present prospect, ' said Annaple, unable toresist the kindly impulse of giving immediate pleasure, though she knewthe prospect might be even slighter for her partner. 

However, he 'footed it' all the more lightly and joyously for theassurance, and the good-natured maiden afterwards made him conduct herto the tea-room, whither Mark and Nuttie were also tending, and thereall four contrived to get mixed up together; and Nuttie had time tohear of Monsieur's new accomplishment of going home for Mr. Dutton'sluncheon and bringing it in a basket to the office, before fate againdescended; Mr. Egremont, who had been at the far end of the room amongsome congeners, who preferred stronger refreshment, suddenly heard herlaugh, stepped up, and, with a look of thunder towards her, observed ina low voice, 'Mark, you will oblige me by taking your cousin back toher mother. '

'The gray tyrant father, ' murmured Annaple in sympathy. 'That beingthe case, I may as well go back in that direction also. '

This resulted in finding Lady Delmar and the two Mrs. Egremontstogether, comparing notes about the two different roads to Redcastlefrom their several homes. 

Lady Delmar was declaring that her coachman was the most obstinate manin existence, and that her husband believed in him to any extent. 

'Which way did you come?' she asked. 

'By Bankside Lane, ' said the Canoness. 

'Over Bluepost Bridge! There, Janet, ' said Annaple. 

'So much the worse. I know we shall come to grief over BluepostBridge, and now there will be treble weight to break it down. I dreamtit, I tell you, and there's second sight in the family. '

'Yes, but you should tell what you did dream, Janet, ' said her sister. 'She thought Robinson, the coachman, was waltzing with her over it, andthey went into a hole and stuck fast, while the red-flag tractionengineman prodded her with an umbrella till she was all over blood. Now, if it had been anything rational, I should have thought somethingof her second sight! I tell her 'twas suggested by--

 "London Bridge is broken down, Dance o'er my lady Lee!"'

'Well, I am quite certain those traction-engines will break it sometime or other, ' said Lady Delmar. 'I am always trying to get John tobring it before the magistrates, but he only laughs at me, and nothingwill induce Robinson to go the other way, because they have just beenmending the road on Lescombe Hill! Annaple, my dear, I can't allow youanother waltz; Mark must excuse you--I am going. It is half-past two, and the carriage was ordered at two! Robinson will be in a worsetemper than ever if we keep him waiting. '

She bore her sister off to the cloak-room, and there, nearly an hourlater, the Egremonts found them still waiting the pleasure of theimplacable Robinson; but what was that in consideration of having kepther sister from such a detrimental as poor Mark had become? Somuttered Mr. Egremont, in the satisfaction of having himself, withgentlemanly severity, intimated the insuperable gulf between MissEgremont of Bridgefield and the Man of Umbrellas. 

Moreover, his sister-in-law took care that he should hear that theDuchess of Redcastle had pronounced his wife sweetly pretty andlady-like, and talked of inviting them for a visit of a few nights. 

'A bore, ' observed he ungratefully, ''tis as dull as ditchwater. ' But, in truth, though the Canon's family, when in residence, were intimatewith the ducal family, Alwyn Egremont had never been at the castlesince the days of his earliest youth, and he was not quite prepared toowe his toleration there to his wife's charms, or the Canoness'spatronage of her. 

And innocent Alice only knew that everybody had been very kind to her, and it was only a pity that her husband did not like her to notice poorGerard Godfrey. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

GOING AGEE. 

 'Gin ye were a brig as auld as me. '--BURNS. 

'What's the matter?' exclaimed Mrs. Egremont, waking from adoze, --'that bridge?'

'Bridge! Don't be such a fool! We aren't near it yet. '

The servant, his face looking blurred through the window, came toexplain that the delay was caused by an agricultural engine, which hadchosen this unlucky night, or morning, to travel from one farm toanother. There was a long delay, while the monster could be heardcoughing frightfully before it could be backed with its spiky companioninto a field so as to let the carriages pass by; and meantime Mr. Egremont was betrayed into uttering ejaculations which made poor Nuttieround her eyes in the dark as she sat by his feet on the back seat, andAlice try to bury her ears in her hood in the corner. 

On they went at last, for about a mile, and then came another suddenstop--another fierce growl from Mr. Egremont, another apparition of theservant at the window, saying, in his alert deferential manner, 'Sir, the bridge have broke under a carriage in front. Lady Delmar's, sir. The horse is plunging terrible. '

The door was torn open, and all three, regardless of ball costumes, precipitated themselves out. 

The moon was up, and they saw the Rectory carriage safe on the roadbefore them, but on the bridge beyond was a struggling mass, dimlyilluminated by a single carriage lamp. Mr. Egremont and the groomhurried forward where Mark and the Rectory coachman were alreadyrendering what help they could. May standing at the horses' heads, andher mother trying to wrap everybody up, since stay in their carriagesthey could not. Transferring the horses to Nuttie, the two sistershurried on towards the scene of action, but Blanche's white satin bootsdid not carry her far, and she turned on meeting her uncle. He spokewith a briskness and alacrity that made him like another man in thisemergency, as he assured the anxious ladies that their friends weresafe, but that they could not be extricated till the carriage waslifted from the hole into which it had sunk amid bricks, stones, andbroken timbers. He sent his own coachman to assist, as being thestronger man, and, mounting the box, turned and drove off in quest offurther help, at a wayside cottage, or from the attendants on theengine, whose weight had probably done the mischief, and prepared thetrap for the next comer. 

As May came near, her brother made her available by putting the lampinto her hand, bidding her hold it so as to light those who wereendeavouring to release the horse, which had cleared the portion of thebridge before the break-down under the brougham, and now lay on theroad, its struggles quelled by a servant at its head. Nearly the wholeof the hind wheels and most of the door had disappeared on one side, and, though more was visible on the other, it was impossible to openthe door, as a mass of rubbish lay on it. Annaple was on this side, and her voice was heard calling to May in fits of the laughter which isperhaps near akin to screams--

 '"London bridge is broken down, Dance o'er my lady Lee!"

Janet will go in for second-sight ever after. Yes, she's all right, except a scratch from the glass, and that I'm sitting on her more orless. How are they getting on?' 'The horse is all but out. Not hurt, they think. Here's another man come to help--a gentleman--my dear, itis your partner, Nuttie's umbrella man. ' 'Oh, making itcomplete--hopes, Janet--I'm sorry, but I can't help squashing you! Ican't help subsiding on you! What is it now?' as the lamp-lightvanished. 

'They are looking for something to make levers of, ' returned May;'these wooden rails are too rotten. '

'Can't they get us through the window?' sighed a muffled voice. 

'Not unless we could be elongated, like the Hope of the Katzekopfs. '

'We shall manage now, ' cried Mark; 'we have found some iron bars to thehatch down there. But you must prepare for a shock or two before youcan be set free. '

The two gentlemen and three servants strove and struggled, hoisted andpushed, to the tune of suppressed sounds, half of sobs, half oflaughter, till at last the carriage was heaved up sufficiently to bedragged backwards beyond the hole; but even then it would not stand, for the wheels on the undermost side were crushed, neither could eitherdoor be readily opened, one being smashed in, and the other jammedfast. Annaple, however, still tried to keep up her own spirits and hersister's, observing that she now knew how to sympathise with Johnnie'stin soldiers in their box turned upside down. 

Two sturdy labourers here made their appearance, having been roused inthe cottage and brought back by Mr. Egremont, and at last one door wasforced open by main force, and the ladies emerged, Annaple, helping hersister, beginning some droll thanks, but pausing as she perceived thatLady Delmar's dress was covered with blood. 

'My dear Janet. This is worse than I guessed. Why did you not speak?'

'It is not much, ' said the poor lady, rather faintly. 'My neck--'

The elder ladies came about her, and seated her on cushions, where, bythe light of May's lamp, Alice, who had been to an ambulance class atMicklethwayte, detected the extent of the cut, extracted a fragment ofglass, and staunched the bleeding with handkerchiefs and strips of thegirls' tulle skirts, but she advised her patient to be driven at onceto a surgeon to secure that no morsel of glass remained. Mr. Egremont, gratified to see his wife come to the front, undertook to drive herback to Redcastle. Indeed, they must return thither to cross by thehigher bridge. 'You will go with me, ' entreated Lady Delmar, holdingAlice's hand; and the one hastily consigning Nuttie to her aunt's care, the other giving injunctions not to alarm her mother to Annaple, whohad declared her intention of walking home, the two ladies went offunder Mr. Egremont's escort. 

Just then it was discovered that the Delmar coachman, Robinson, had allthis time been lying insensible, not dead, for he moaned, butapparently with a broken leg, if nothing worse. Indeed, the men hadknown it all along, but, until the ladies had been rescued, nothing hadbeen possible but to put his cushion under his head and his rug overhim. The ladies were much shocked, and Mrs. William Egremont decidedthat he must be laid at the bottom of the waggonette, and that shewould take him straight to the hospital. 

They were only a mile and a half from Lescombe, and it was pronouncedsafe to cross on foot by the remains of the bridge, so that Annaple, who had a pair of fur boots, had already decided on going home on foot. The other girls wanted to accompany her, and, as May and Nuttie bothhad overshoes, they were permitted to do so, and desired to go to bed, and wait to be picked up by the waggonette, which must return toBridgefield by the Lescombe road. Blanche, having a delicate throat, was sentenced to go with her stepmother. Mark undertook to ride thehorse through the river, and escort the three girls, and Gerard Godfreyalso joined them. The place where he was staying lay a couple of milesbeyond Lescombe, and when Mrs. Elmore's fly had been met and turnedback by Mr. Egremont, he had jumped off to render assistance, and haddone so effectively enough to win Mark's gratitude. 

It was by this time about half-past five, as was ascertained by thelight of the waning moon, the carriage-lamp having burnt out. It was afine frosty morning, and the moon was still powerful enough to revealthe droll figures of the girls. May had a fur cloak, with the hoodtied over her head by Mrs. Egremont's lace shawl; Nuttie had a hugewhite cloud over her head, and a light blue opera cloak; Annaple had'rowed herself in a plaidie' like the Scotch girl she was, and her eyesflashed out merrily from its dark folds. They all disdained thegentlemen's self-denying offers of their ulsters, and only Nuttieconsented to have the carriage-rug added to her trappings, andingeniously tied on cloak-fashion with her sash by Gerard. He and Markpiloted the three ladies over the narrow border of the hole, whichlooked a very black open gulf. Annaple had thanked the men, and biddenthem come to Lescombe the next day to be paid for their assistance. Then they all stood to watch Mark ride through the river, at theshallowest place, indicated both by her and the labourers. It wasperfectly fordable, so Annaple's were mock heroics when she quoted--

 'Never heavier man and horse Stemmed a midnight torrent's force. '

And Nuttie responded in a few seconds--

 'Yet through good heart and our Ladye's grace Full soon he gained the landing place. '

They were both in high spirits, admiring each other's droll appearance, and speculating on the ghosts they might appear to any one who chancedto look out of window. Annaple walked at the horse's head, calling himpoor old Robin Hood, and caressing him, while Gerard and Nuttie kepttogether. 

May began to repent of her determination to walk; Lescombe seemed veryfar off, and she had an instinct that she was an awkward fifth wheel. Either because Robin Hood walked too fast for her weary limbs, orbecause she felt it a greater duty to chaperon Nuttie than Annaple, shefell back on the couple in the rear, and was rather surprised at thetenor of their conversation. 

This 'umbrella man' was telling of his vicar's delight in the beautifulchalice veil that had been sent by Mrs. Egremont, and Nuttie wascommunicating, as a secret she ought not to tell, that mother wasworking a set of stoles, and hoped to have the white ones ready by thededication anniversary; also that there was a box being filled for theSt. Ambrose Christmas tree. They were trying to get something nice foreach of the choir boys and of the old women; and therewith, to May'ssurprise, this youth, whom she regarded as a sort of shopman, fell intofull narration of all the events of a highly-worked parish, --all aboutthe choral festival, and the guilds, and the choir, and the temperancework. A great deal of it was a strange language to May, but shehalf-disapproved of it, as entirely unlike the 'soberness' ofBridgefield ways, and like the Redcastle vicar, whom her fathercommonly called 'that madman. ' Still, she had a practical soul forparish work, and could appreciate the earnestness that manifesteditself, and the exertions made for people of the classes whom she hadalways supposed too bad or else too well off to come under clericalsupervision. And her aunt and cousin and this young man all evidentlyhad their hearts in it! For Nuttie--though her new world had put theold one apparently aside--had plunged into all the old interests, andasked questions eagerly, and listened to their answers, as ifMicklethwayte news was water to the thirsty. The two were too happy tomeet, and, it must be confessed, had not quite manners enough, to feelit needful to include in their conversation the weary figure thatplodded along at a little distance from them, hardly attending to thedetails of their chatter, yet deriving new notions from it of theformer life of Ursula and her mother, matters which she had hithertothought beneath her attention, except so far as to be thankful thatthey had emerged from it so presentable. That it was a more activelyreligious, and perhaps a more intellectual one than her own, she hadthought impossible, where everything must be second-rate. And yet, when her attention had wandered from an account of Mr. Dutton'sdealings with a refractory choir boy bent on going to the races, shefound a discussion going on about some past lectures upon astronomy, and Nuttie vehemently regretting the not attending two courses promisedfor the coming winter upon electricity and on Italian art, andmournfully observing, 'We never go to anything sensible here. '

May at first thought, 'Impertinent little thing, ' and felt affronted, but then owned to herself that it was all too true. Otherwise therewas hardly anything said about the contrast with Nuttie's present life;Gerard knew already that the church atmosphere was very different, andwith the rector's daughter within earshot, he could not utter hiscommiseration, nor Nuttie her regrets. 

Once there was a general start, and the whole five came together at thesight of a spectrally black apparition, with a huge tufted head onhigh, bearing down over a low hedge upon them. Nobody screamed exceptNuttie, but everybody started, though the next moment it was plain thatthey were only chimney-sweepers on their way. 

'Retribution for our desire to act ghosts!' said Annaple, when thesable forms had been warned of the broken bridge. 'Poor May, you areawfully tired! Shouldn't you like a lift in their cart?'

'Or I could put you up on Robin Hood, ' said Mark. 

'Thank you, I don't think I could stick on. Is it much farther?'

'Only up the hill and across the park, ' said Annaple, still cheerily. 

'Take my arm, old woman, ' said Mark, and then there was a pause, beforeAnnaple said in an odd voice, 'You may tell her, Mark. '

'Oh, Annaple! Mark! is it so?' cried May joyously, but under herbreath; and with a glance to see how near the other couple were. 

'Yes, ' said Annaple between crying and laughing. 'Poor Janet, she'llthink we have taken a frightfully mean advantage of her, but I am sureI never dreamt of such a thing; and the queer thing is, that Mark saysshe put it into his head!'

'No, no, ' said Mark; 'you know better than that--'

'Why, you told me you only found it out when she began to trample onthe fallen--'

'I told you I had only understood my own heart. '

'And I said very much the same--she made me so angry you see. '

'I can't but admire your motives!' said May, exceedingly rejoiced allthe time, and ready to have embraced them both, if it had not been forthe spectators behind. 'In fact, it was opposition you both wanted. Iwonder how long you would have gone on not finding it out, if all hadbeen smooth?'

'The worst of it is, ' said Annaple, 'that I'm afraid it is a very badthing for Mark. '

'Not a bit of it, ' retorted he. 'It is the only thing that could haveput life into my work, or made me care to find any! And find it I willnow! Must we let the whole world in to know before I have found it, Annaple?'

'I could not but tell my mother, ' said Annaple. 'It would come out inspite of me, even if I wished to keep it back. '

'Oh yes! Lady Ronnisglen is a different thing, ' said Mark. 'Just asMay here is--'

'And she will say nothing, I know, till we are ready--my dear oldminnie, ' said Annaple. 'Only, Mark, do pray have something definite tohinder Janet with if there are any symptoms of hawking her commodityabout. '

'I _will_, ' said Mark. 'If we could only emigrate!'

'Ah, if we could!' said Annaple. 'Ronald is doing so well in NewZealand, but I don't think my mother could spare me. She could notcome out, and she must be with me, wherever I am. You know--don'tyou--that I am seven years younger than Alick. I was a regularsurprise, and the old nurse at Ronnisglen said 'Depend upon it, myLeddy, she is given to be the comfort of your old age. ' And I havealways made up my mind never to leave her. I don't think she would geton with Janet or any of them without me, so you'll have to take hertoo, Mark. '

'With all my heart, ' he answered. 'And, indeed, I have promised myfather not to emigrate. I must, and will, find work at hand, and wakea home for you both!'

'But you will tell papa at once?' said May. 'It will hurt him if youdo not. '

'You are right, May; I knew it when Annaple spoke of her mother, butthere is no need that it should go further. '

The intelligence had lightened the way a good deal, and they were atthe lodge gates by this time. Gerard began rather ruefully to takeleave; but Annaple, in large-hearted happiness and gratitude, beggedhim to come and rest at the house, and wait for daylight, and this hewas only too glad to do, especially as May's secession had made theconversation a little more personal. 

Nuttie was in a certain way realising for the first time what hermother's loyalty had checked her in expressing, even if the tumult ofnovelties had given her full time to dwell on it. 

'Everybody outside is kind, ' she said to Gerard; 'they are nice in away, and good, but oh! they are centuries behind in church matters andfeeling, just like the old rector. '

'I gathered that; I am very sorry for you. Is there no one fit to be aguide?'

'I don't know, ' said Nuttie. 'I didn't think--I must, somehow, beforeLent. '

'There is Advent close at hand, ' he said gravely. 'If you could onlybe at our mission services, we hope to get Father Smith!'

'Oh, if only I could! But mother never likes to talk about those kindof things. She says our duty is to my father. '

'Not the foremost. '

'No, she would not say that. But oh, Gerard! if he should be makingher worldly!'

'It must be your work to hinder it, ' he said, looking at heraffectionately. 

'Oh, Gerard! but I'm afraid I'm getting so myself. I have thought agreat deal about lawn-tennis, and dress, and this ball, ' said Nuttie. 'Somehow it has never quite felt real, but as if I were out on a visit. '

'You are in it, but not of it, ' said Gerard admiringly. 

'No, I'm not so good as that! I like it all--almost all. I thought Iliked it better till you came and brought a real true breath ofMicklethwayte. Oh! if I could only see Monsieur's dear curly head andbright eyes!'

This had been the tenor of the talk, and these were the actual lastwords before the whole five--just in the first streaks ofdawn--coalesced before the front door, to be admitted by a sleepyservant; Mark tied up the horse for a moment, while Annaple sent theman to waken Sir John Delmar, and say there had been a slight accident, but no one was much hurt; and, as they all entered the warm, dimly-lighted hall, they were keenly sensible that they had beendancing or walking all night. 

Rest in the chairs which stood round the big hearth and smoulderingwood-fire was so extremely comfortable, as they all dropped down, thatnobody moved or spoke, or knew how long it was before there was a voiceon the stairs--'Eh? what's this, Annaple? An accident? Where's Janet?'and a tall burly figure, candle in hand, in a dressing-gown andslippers, was added to the group. 

'Janet will be at home presently, I hope, ' said Annaple, 'but she got acut with some broken glass, and we sent her round by Dr. Raymond's toget it set to rights. Oh, John! we came to grief on Bluepost Bridgeafter all, and I'm afraid Robinson has got his leg broken!'

Sir John was a good-natured heavy man, whose clever wife thought forhim in all that did not regard horses, dogs, and game. He lookedperfectly astounded, and required to have all told him over againbefore he could fully take it in. Then he uttered a suppressedmalediction on engines, insisted that all his impromptu guests shouldimmediately eat, drink, and sleep, and declared his intention of goingoff at once to Redcastle to see about his wife. 

The two gentlemen were committed to the charge of the butler, andAnnaple took Nuttie and May to her sister's dressing-room, where sheknew she should find fire and tea, and though they protested that itwas not worth while, she made them undress and lie down in a roomprepared for them in the meantime. It was a state chamber, with a bigbed, far away from the entrance, shuttered and curtained up, and withdouble doors, excluding all noise. The two cousins lay down, Nuttiedead asleep almost before her head touched the pillow, while May wasaching all over, declaring herself far too much tired and excited tosleep; and, besides that it was not worth while, for she should becalled for in a very short time. And she remained conscious of a greatdread of being roused, so that when she heard her cousin moving aboutthe room, she insisted that they had scarcely lain down, whereuponNuttie laughed, declared that she had heard a great clock strike twelvebefore she moved, and showed daylight coming in through the shutters. 

'We can't lie here any longer, I suppose, ' said May, sitting upwearily; 'and yet what can we put on? It makes one shiver to think ofgoing down to luncheon in a ball dress!'

'Besides, mine is all torn to pieces to make bandages, ' said Nuttie. 'Imust put on the underskirt and my cloak again. '

'Or Annaple might lend us something. I must get out somehow to knowhow poor Lady Delmar is, and what has become of everybody. Ring, Ursula, please, and lie down till somebody comes. '

The bell was answered by a maid, who told them that my lady had beenbrought home by Mr. And Mrs. Egremont about an hour after theirarrival. She was as well as could be expected, and there was no causefor anxiety. Mr. And Mrs. Egremont had then gone on to Bridgefield, leaving word that Mrs. William Egremont and Miss Blanche were sleepingat Redcastle, having sent home for their own dresses and the youngladies', and would call for the rest of their party on the way. Indeed, a box for the Miss Egremonts had been deposited by the Canonfrom the pony-carriage an hour ago, and was already in thedressing-room; but Miss Ruthven would not have them disturbed. MissRuthven, --oh yes, she was up, she had not been in bed at all. 

CHAPTER XV. 

A CASTLE OF UMBRELLAS. 

No, Annaple Ruthven could not have slept, even if she had had time. Herfirst care had been to receive her sister, who had been met at theentrance of Redcastle by her husband. There had been profuse offers ofhospitality to Mr. And Mrs. Egremont, the latter of whom looked tiredout, and offers of sending messengers to Bridgefield; but Mr. Egremontwould not hear of them, and every one suspected that he would not incurthe chance of rising without Gregorio and all his appliances. 

By the time they were disposed of, and Lady Delmar safe in bed, it wastime to repair to her mother's room, so as to prevent her from beingalarmed. Lady Ronnisglen was English born. She was not by any meansthe typical dowager. Her invalid condition was chiefly owing to anaccident, which had rendered her almost incapable of walking, and shewas also extremely susceptible of cold, and therefore hardly ever wentout; but there was so much youth and life about her at sixty-three thatshe and Annaple often seemed like companion sisters, and her shrewd, keen, managing eldest-born like their mother. 

Annaple lay down beside her on her bed in the morning twilight, andgave her the history of the accident in playful terms indeed. Annaplecould never help that, but there was something in her voice that madeLady Ronnisglen say, when satisfied about Janet's hurt, 'You've more tosay, Nannie dear. '

'Yes, minnie mine, I walked home with Mark Egremont. '

'And--?'

'Yes, minnie. He is going to work and make a home--a real, true, homely home for you and me. '

'My child, my child, you have not hung the old woman about the poorboy's neck!'

'As if I would have had him if he did not love her, and make a motherof her!'

'But what is he going to do, Nan? This is a very different thingfrom--'

'Very different from Janet's notions!' and they both laughed, themother adding to the mirth by saying--

'Poor Janet, congratulating herself that no harm had been done, andthat you had never taken to one another!'

'Did she really now?'

'Oh yes, only yesterday, and I bade her not crow too soon, for Ithought I saw symptoms--'

'You dear darling minnie! Think of that! Before we either of us knewit, and when he is worth ever so much than he was before! Not but thatI am enraged when people say he has acted nobly, just as if there hadbeen anything else for him to do!'

'I own that I am glad he has proved himself. I was afraid he would bedragged in the way of his uncle. Don't be furious, Nannie. Not at allinto evil, but into loitering; and I should like to know what are hisprospects now. '

'Well, mother, I don't think he has any. But he means to have. Andnot a word is to be said to anybody except you and his father and Maytill he has looked over the top of the wall, and seen his way. We neednot bring Janet down on us till then. '

'I must see him, my dear. Let me see him before he goes away. Healways has been a very dear lad, a thoroughly excellent right-mindedfellow. Only I must know what he means to do, and whether there is anyreasonable chance of employment or fixed purpose. '

Lady Ronnisglen's maid here arrived with her matutinal cup of tea; andAnnaple, beginning to perceive that she was very stiff, went off inhopes that her morning toilette would deceive her hardworked littleframe into believing it had had a proper night's rest. 

She was quite ready to appear at the breakfast table, though her eldestniece, a long-haired, long-limbed girl, considerably the bigger of thetwo, was only too happy to preside over the cups. All the four youngpeople were in the greatest state of excitement, welcoming, as theheroes of the night, Mark and Mr. Godfrey, and clamouring to be allowedto walk down after breakfast with their father and the gentlemen to seethe scene of the catastrophe and the remains of the carriage and thebridge. 

Sir John made a courteous reference to the governess, but there was ageneral sense that the cat was away, and presently there was a rushupstairs to prepare for the walk. Annaple had time in the course ofall the bustle, while the colour came back to her cheeks for a moment, to tell Mark that her mother had been all that was good, and wanted tosee him. 

He must manage to stay till after eleven o'clock; she could not beready before. Then he might come to her sitting-room, which, as wellas her bedroom, was on the ground floor. 

Mark had to work off his anxiety by an inspection of the scene of thedisaster and a circumstantial explanation of the details to the youngDelmars, who crowded round him and Mr. Godfrey, half awed, halfdelighted, and indeed the youngest--a considerable tomboy--had nearlygiven the latter the opportunity of becoming a double hero by tumblingthrough the broken rail, but he caught her in time, and she onlyincurred from Sir John such a scolding as a great fright will producefrom the easiest of fathers. 

Afterwards Mark put Gerard on the way to his brother-in-law's living, asking him on the road so many questions about the umbrella businessthat the youth was not quite sure how to take it, and doubted whetherthe young swell supposed that he could talk of nothing else; but hispetulance was mitigated when he was asked, 'Supposing a person wishedto enter the business, to whom should he apply?'

'Do you know any one who wishes for anything of the kind?' he asked. 'Are you making inquiries for any one?' and on a hesitatingaffirmation, 'Because I know there is an opening for a man with capitaljust at present. Dutton won't advertise--'tis so risky; and he wantssome knowledge of a person's antecedents, and whether he is likely togo into it in a liberal, gentlemanly spirit, with good principles, yousee, such as would not upset all we are doing for the hands. '

'What amount of capital do you mean?'

'Oh, from five hundred to a thousand! Or more would not come amiss. IfI only had it! What it would be to conduct an affair like that on trueprinciples! But luck is against me every way. '

Mark was at the sitting-room door as the four quarters began to strikein preparation for eleven, but Lady Ronnisglen had been in her chairfor nearly half-an-hour, having been rapid and nervous enough to hurryeven the imperturbable maid, whom Annaple thought incapable of beinghastened. She was a little slight woman, with delicate features andpale complexion, such as time deals with gently, and her once yellowhair now softened with silver was turned back in bands beneath thesimple net cap that suited her so well. There was a soft yet sparklinglook about her as she held out her hands and exclaimed, 'Ah, MasterMark, what mischief have you been doing?'

Mark came and knelt on one knee beside her and said: 'Will you let mework for you both, Lady Ronnisglen? I will do my best to find some. '

'Ah! that is the point, my dear boy. I should have asked and wishedfor definite work, if you had come to me before that discovery ofyours; and now it is a mere matter of necessity. '

'Yes, ' said Mark; then, with some hesitation, he added: 'LadyRonnisglen, do you care whether I take to what people call agentleman's profession? I could, of course, go on till I am called tothe bar, and then wait for something to turn up; but that would bewaiting indeed! Then in other directions I've taken things easy, yousee, till I'm too old for examinations. I failed in the only one thatwas still open to me. Lord Kirkaldy tried me for foreign office work, and was appalled at my blunders. I'm not fit for a parson. '

'I should have thought you were. '

'Not I, ' said Mark. 'I'm not up to the mark there. I couldn't sayhonestly that I was called to it. I wish I could, for it would be theeasiest way out of it; but I looked at the service, and I can't. There--that's a nice confession to come to you with! I can't think howI can have been so impudent. '

'Mark, you are a dear good lad. I respect and honour you ever so muchmore than before all this showed what stuff was in you! But thequestion is, What's to be done? My child is verily the "penniless lasswith a high pedigree, " for she has not a poor thousand to call her own. '

'And I have no right to anything in my father's lifetime, though I haveno doubt he would give me up my share of my mother's portion--about£3000. Now this is what has occurred to me: In the place where I foundmy uncle's wife--Micklethwayte, close to Monks Horton--there's a greatumbrella factory, with agencies everywhere. There are superior peoplebelonging to it. I've seen some of them, and I've been talking to theyoung fellow who helped us last night, who is in the office. I findthat to go into the thing with such capital as I might hope for, wouldbring in a much larger and speedier return than I could hope for anyother way, if only my belongings would set aside their feelings. Andyou see there are the Kirkaldys close by to secure her good society. '

Lady Ronnisglen put out her transparent-looking, black-mittened hand, and gave a little dainty pat to his arm. 'I like to see a man inearnest, ' said she. Her little Skye terrier was seized with jealousyat her gesture, and came nuzzling in between with his black nose. 'Mullobjects!' she said, smiling; but then, with a graver look, 'And so willyour father. '

'At first, ' said Mark; 'but I think he will give way when he has hadtime to look at the matter, and sees how good you are. That will makeall the difference. '

So Annaple, who had been banished for a little while, was allowed toreturn, and mother, daughter, and lover built themselves a littlecastle of umbrellas, and bestowed a little arch commiseration on poorLady Delmar; who, it was agreed, need know nothing until somethingdefinite was arranged, since Annaple was clearly accountable to no oneexcept her mother. She would certainly think the latter part of herdream only too well realised, and consider that an unfair advantage hadbeen taken of her seclusion in her own room. In spite of all loyalefforts to the contrary, Mark, if he had been in a frame of mind todraw conclusions, would have perceived that the prospect of escapingfrom the beneficent rule of Lescombe was by no means unpleasant to LadyRonnisglen. The books that lay within her reach would hardly havefound a welcome anywhere else in the house. Sir John was notbrilliant, and his wife had turned her native wits to the practicalrather than the intellectual line, and had quite enough to think of inkeeping up the dignities of Lescombe with a large family amidagricultural difficulties. 

Annaple remembered at last that she ought to go and look after herguests, assisted therein by the pleasure of giving May a hearty kissand light squeeze, with a murmur that 'all was right. '

She brought them downstairs just as the gong was sounding, and the rushof girls descending from the schoolroom, and Lady Ronnisglen beingwheeled across the hall in her chair. Nuttie, who had expected to seea gray, passive, silent old lady like Mrs. Nugent, was quite amazed atthe bright, lively face and voice that greeted the son-in-law andgrandchildren, May and herself, congratulating these two on having beenso well employed all the morning, and observing that she was afraid herNannie could not give so good an account of herself. 

'Well, ' said Sir John, 'I am sure she looks as if she found ploddingalong the lanes as wholesome as sleeping in her bed! Nan Apple-cheeks, eh?'

Whereupon Annaple's cheeks glowed all the more into resemblance of thebaby-name which she had long ceased to deserve; but May could see thedarkness under her eyes, betraying that it was only excitement thatdrove away fatigue. 

Sir John had not gone far in his circumstantial description of theinjuries to his unfortunate carriage when the Canon arrived, with hiswife and Blanche. Mark would have given worlds in his impatience tohave matters settled between the two parents then and there; but LadyRonnisglen had already warned him that this would not be possible, andassured him that it would be much wiser to prepare his fatherbeforehand. 

Then he fixed his hopes on a solitary drive with his father back in thepony carriage, but he found himself told off to take that home, and hadto content himself with May as a companion. Nor was his sister's modeof receiving the umbrella plan reassuring. She had smiled too oftenwith her stepmother over Nuttie's having been brought up amongumbrellas to be ready to accept the same lot for her brother and herfriend, and she was quite sure that her father would never consent. 'An Egremont an umbrella-maker! how horrible! Just fancy seeingDutton, Egremont and Co. On the handle of one's umbrella!'

'Well, you need not patronise us, ' said Mark. 

'But is it possible that Lady Ronnisglen did not object?' said May. 

'She seemed to think it preferable to driving pigs in the Texas, likeher son Malcolm. '

'Yes, but then that _was_ the Texas. '

'Oh May, May, I did not think you were such a goose!'

'I should have thought the folly was in not being patient. Stick toyour profession, and something must come in time. '

'Ay, and how many men do you think are sticking to it in that hope? No, May, 'tis not real patience to wear out the best years of my life andhers in idleness, waiting for something not beneath an Egremont to do!'

'But is there nothing to do better than that?'

'Find it for me, May. '

CHAPTER XVI. 

INFRA DIG. 

 'Till every penny which she told, Creative Fancy turned to gold. '--B. LLOYD. 

The Blueposts Bridge had produced a good deal of effect. UrsulaEgremont in special seemed to herself to have been awakened from astrange dream, and to have resumed her real nature and affections. Shefelt as if she would give all her partners at the ball for one shake ofMonsieur's fringed paws; her heart yearned after Aunt Ursel and MissMary; she longed after the chants of the choir; and when she thought ofthe effort poor Gerard Godfrey had made to see her, she felt him ahero, and herself a recreant heroine, who had well-nigh been betrayedinto frivolity and desertion of him, and she registered secretresolutions of constancy. 

She burned to pour out to her mother all the Micklethwayte tidings, andall her longings to be there; but when the Rectory party set her downat the door, the footman, with a look of grave importance, announcedthat Mr. Egremont was very unwell. 'Mr. Gregory thinks he has taken achill from the effect of exposure, sir, and Dr. Hamilton has been sentfor. '

The Canon and his wife both got out on this intelligence, and Mrs. Egremont was summoned to see them. She came, looking more frightenedthan they thought the occasion demanded, for she was appalled by thesevere pain in the head and eyes; but they comforted her by assuringher that her husband had suffered in the same manner in the spring, andshe saw how well he had recovered; and then telling Nuttie to bringword what the doctor's report was, and then spend the evening at theRectory, they departed, while poor Nuttie only had one kiss, oneinquiry whether she were rested, before her mother fled back to thepatient. 

Nor did she see her again till after the doctor's visit, and then itwas only to desire her to tell her uncle that the attack was pronouncedto be a return of the illness of last spring, and that it would beexpedient to go abroad for the winter. 

Go abroad! It had always been a vision of delight to Nuttie, and shecould not be greatly concerned at the occasion of it; but she did notfind the Rectory in a condition to converse and sympathise. Blanchewas lying down with a bad headache. The Edwardses and a whole party ofsemi-genteel parish visitors had come in to inquire about the accident, and had to be entertained with afternoon tea; and May, though helpingher stepmother to do her devoir towards them, seemed more preoccupiedthan ever. 

As indeed she was, for she knew that Mark was putting his fate to thetouch with his father in the study. 

The Canon heard the proposal with utter consternation and dismay at theperverseness of the two young people, who might have been engaged anytime these two years with the full approbation of their families, andnow chose the very moment when every one was rejoicing at their freedom. 

'When a young man has got into a pickle, ' he said, 'the first thing isto want to be married!'

'Exactly so, sir, to give him a motive for getting out of the pickle. '

'Umbrellas! I should like to hear what your grandfather would havesaid!'

'These are not my grandfather's days, sir. '

'No indeed! There was nothing to do but to give a hint to old Lord deLyonnais, and he could get you put into any berth you chose. Interestwas interest in those days! I don't see why Kirkaldy can't do thesame. '

'Not unless I had foreign languages at my tongue's end. '

Whereat the Canon groaned, and Mark had to work again through all thedifficulties in the way of the more liberal professions; and the upshotwas that his father agreed to drive over to Lescombe the next day andsee Lady Ronnisglen. He certainly had always implicitly trusted hisson's veracity, but he evidently thought that there must have been muchwarping of the imagination to make the young man believe the oldScottish peeress to have consented to her daughter's marrying into anumbrella factory. 

Nuttie was surprised and gratified that both Mark and May put herthrough an examination on the habits of Micklethwayte and the positionof Mr. Godfrey, which she thought was entirely due to the favourableimpression Gerard had produced, and she felt proportionably proud ofhim when Mark pronounced him a very nice gentlemanly young fellow. Shecould not think why her uncle, with more testiness than she had everseen in that good-natured dignitary, ordered May not to standchattering there, but to give them some music. 

The Canon drove to Lescombe the next day under pretext of inquiringafter Lady Delmar, and then almost forgot to do so, after he hadascertained that she was a prisoner to her dressing-room, and that SirJohn was out shooting. The result of his interview filled him withastonishment. Lady Ronnisglen having had a large proportion of sons toput out in life on very small means had learnt not to be fastidious, and held that the gentleman might ennoble the vocation instead of thevocation debasing the gentleman. Moreover, in her secret soul she feltthat her daughter Janet's manoeuvres were far more truly degrading thanany form of honest labour; and it was very sore to her to have no powerof preventing them, ridicule, protest, or discouragement being allalike treated as the dear mother's old-world unpractical romance. Itgalled her likewise that she could perceive the determination thatAnnaple Ruthven should be disposed of before Muriel Delmar came on thescene; and the retiring to ever so small a home of their own had beendiscussed between mother and daughter, and only put aside because ofthe pain it would give their honest-hearted host and their hostess, whoreally loved them. 

Thus she did her best to persuade her old friend that there were fewopenings for a man of his son's age, and that if the Micklethwaytebusiness were all that Mark imagined, it was not beneath the attentioneven of a well-born gentleman in these modern days, and would involveless delay than any other plan, except emigration, which was equallydreaded by each parent. Delay there must be, not only in order toascertain the facts respecting the firm, but to prove whether Mark hadany aptitude for the business before involving any capital in it. However, every other alternative would involve much longer and moredoubtful waiting. And altogether the Canon felt that if a person ofLady Ronnisglen's rank did not object, he had scarcely a right to doso. However, both alike reserved consent until full inquiry shouldhave been made. 

The Canon wrote to Lord Kirkaldy, and in the meantime wanted to gatherwhat information he could from his sister-in-law; but he found herabsolutely engrossed as her husband's nurse, and scarcely permitted tosnatch a meal outside the darkened room. He groaned and grumbled athis brother's selfishness, and declared that her health would bedamaged, while his shrewder lady declared that nothing would be so goodfor her as to let Alwyn find her indispensable to his comfort, evenbeyond Gregorio. 

This absorption of her mother fell hard on Ursula, especially when thefirst two days' alarm was over, and her mother was still kept an entireprisoner, as companion rather than nurse. As before, the rheumaticattack fastened upon the head and eyes, causing lengthened suffering, and teaching Mr. Egremont that he had never had so gentle, so skilful, so loving, or altogether so pleasant a slave as his wife, the onlyperson except Gregorio whom, in his irritable state, he would tolerateabout him. 

His brother could not be entirely kept out, but was never made welcome, more especially when he took upon himself to remonstrate on Alice'sbeing deprived of air, exercise, and rest. He got no thanks; Mr. Egremont snarled, and Alice protested that she was never tired, andneeded nothing. The Rectory party were, excepting the schoolroomgirls, engaged to make visits from home before going into residence atRedcastle, and were to begin with Monks Horton. They offered to escortUrsula to see her great aunt at Micklethwayte--Oh joy of joys!--butwhen the Canon made the proposition in his brother's room, Mr. Egremontcut it short with 'I'm not going to have her running after thoseumbrella-mongers. '

The Canon's heart sank within him at the tone, and he was really verysorry for his niece, who was likely to have a fortnight or three weeksof comparative solitude before her father was ready to set out on thejourney. 

'Can't she help you, in reading to her father--or anything?' he askedAlice, who had come out with him into the anteroom to express her warmthanks for the kind proposal. 

She shook her head. 'He would not like it, nor I, for her. '

'I should think not!' exclaimed the Canon, as his eye fell on the titleof a yellow French book on the table. 'I have heard of this! Does hemake you read such as this to him, Alice?'

'Nothing else seems to amuse him, ' she said. 'Do you, think I oughtnot? I don't understand much of that kind of modern French, but Nuttieknows it better. '

'Not _that kind_, I hope, ' said the Canon hastily. No, no, my dear, 'as he saw her colour mantling, 'small blame to you. You have only todo the best you can with him, poor fellow! Then we'll take anythingfor you. We've said nothing to Nuttie, Jane said I had better ask youfirst. '

'Oh, that was kind! I am glad she is spared the disappointment. '

Not that she was. For when she learnt her cousins' destination, sheentreated to go with them, and had to be told that the proposal hadbeen made and refused. 

There is no denying that she behaved very ill. It was the first realsharp collision of wills. She had differed from, and disapproved of, her father all along, but what had been required of her had generallybeen pleasant to one side at least of her nature; but here she wascondemned to the dulness of the lonely outsider to a sick room, whenher whole soul was leaping back to the delights of her dear old home atMicklethwayte. 

She made her mother's brief meal with her such a misery of protests andinsistences on pleadings with her father that poor Alice was fain torejoice when the servants' presence silenced her, and fairly fled fromher when the last dish was carried out. 

When they met again Nuttie demanded, 'Have you spoken to my father?'

'I told you, my dear, it would be of no use?'

'You promised. '

'No, Nuttie, I did not. '

'I'm sure I understood you to say you would if you could. '

'It was your hopes, my dear child. He is quite determined. '

'And you leave him so. Mother, I can't understand your submitting toshow such cruel ingratitude!'

Nuttie was very angry, though she was shocked at the burning colour andhot tears that she beheld as, half choked, her mother said: 'Oh, mydear, my dear, do not speak so! You know--you know it is not in myheart, but my first duty, and yours too, is to your father. '

'Whatever he tells us?' demanded Nuttie, still hot and angry. 

'I did not say that, ' returned her mother gently, 'but you know, Nuttie, Aunt Ursel herself would say that it is our duty to abide byhis decision here. '

'But you could speak to him, ' still argued Nuttie, 'what's the use ofhis being so fond of you if he won't do anything you want?'

'Hush! hush, Nuttie! you know that is not a right way of speaking. Icannot worry him now he is ill. You don't know what that dreadful painis!'

Happily Nuttie did refrain from saying, 'No doubt it makes him verycross;' but she muttered, 'And so we are to be cut off for ever fromAunt Ursel, and Miss Mary, and--and--every thing good--and nice--andcatholic?'

'I hope not, indeed, I hope not. Only he wants us to get the goodsociety manners and tone--like your cousins, you know. You are youngenough for it, and a real Egremont, you know Nuttie, and when you havelearnt it, he will trust you there, ' said the mother, making a verymild version of his speech about the umbrella-mongers. 

'Yes, he wants to make me worldly, so that I should not care, but thathe never shall do, whatever you may let him do to you. '

His bell rang sharply, and away hurried Alice, leaving her daughterwith a miserably sore and impatient heart, and the consciousness ofhaving harshly wounded the mother whom she had meant to protect. Andthere was no hugging and kissing to make up for it possible. Theywould not meet till dinner-time, and Nuttie's mood of stormy repentancehad cooled before that time into longing to be more tender than usualtowards her mother, but how was that possible during the awfulhousehold ceremony of many courses, with three solemn men-servantsministering to them?

And poor Alice jumped up at the end, and ran away as if afraid of freshobjurgations, so that all Nuttie could do was to rush headlong afterher, catch her on the landing, kiss her face all over, and exclaim, 'Oh, mother, mother, I was dreadfully cross!'

'There, there! I knew you would be sorry, dear, dear child, I know itis very hard, but let me go. He wants me!'

And a very forlorn and deplorable person was left behind, feeling as ifher father, after carrying her away from everything else that sheloved, had ended by robbing her of her mother. 

She stood on the handsome staircase, and contrasted it with the littlecosy entrance at her aunt's. She felt how she hated all these finesurroundings, and how very good and unworldly she was for so doing. Only, was it good to have been so violent towards her mother?

The Rectory folks were dining out, so she could only have recourse toMudie's box to try to drive dull care away. 

A few days more and they were gone. Though Mr. Egremont was graduallymending, he still required his wife to be in constant attendance. Inpoint of fact Alice could not, and in her loyalty would not, tell herdignified brother-in-law, far less her daughter, of the hint that thedoctor had given her, namely, that her husband was lapsing into theconstant use of opiates, founded at first on the needs of his malady, but growing into a perilous habit, which accounted for his shuttinghimself up all the forenoon. 

While under medical treatment it was possible to allowance him, andkeep him under orders, but Dr. Hamilton warned her not to allow thequantity to be exceeded or the drugs to be resorted to after hisrecovery, speaking seriously of the consequences of indulgence. Hespoke as a duty, but as he looked at the gentle, timid woman, he sawlittle hope of her doing any good!

Poor Alice was appalled. All she could do was to betake herself to'the little weapon called All-Prayer, ' and therewith to use allvigilance and all her arts of coaxing and cheering away weariness andlanguor, beguiling sleeplessness, soothing pain by any other means. Shehad just enough success to prevent her from utterly despairing, and tokeep her always on the strain, and at her own cost, for Mr. Egremontwas far more irritable when he was without the narcotic, and theserenity it produced was an absolute relief. She soon found too thatGregorio was a contrary power. Once, when he had suggested the dose, and she had replied by citing the physician's commands, Mr. Egremonthad muttered an imprecation on doctors, and she had caught a horriblegrin of hatred on the man's face, which seemed to her almostdiabolical. She had prevailed then, but the next time her absence wasat all prolonged, she found that the opiate had been taken, and herdread of quitting her post increased, though she did not by any meansalways succeed. Sometimes she was good-humouredly set aside, sometimesroughly told to mind her own business; but she could not relinquish thestruggle, and whenever she did succeed in preventing the indulgence shefelt a hopefulness that--in spite of himself and Gregorio, she mightyet save him. 

Another hint she had from both the Canon and his wife. When they askedwhat place was chosen, Mr. Egremont said he had made Alice write toinquire of the houses to be had at various resorts--Mentone, Nice, Cannes, and the like. She was struck by the ardour with which theyboth began to praise Nice, Genoa, Sorrento, any place in preference toMentone, which her husband seemed to know and like the best. 

And when she went downstairs with them the Canon held her hand amoment, and said, 'Anywhere but Mentone, my dear. '

She looked bewildered for a moment, and the Canoness added, 'Look inthe guide-books. '

Then she remembered Monte Carlo, and for a moment it was to her asshocking a warning as if she had been bidden to keep her husband out ofthe temptation of thieving. 

She resolved, however, to do her best, feeling immediately that againit was a pull of her influence against Gregorio's. Fortune favouredher so far that the villa favoured by Mr. Egremont was not to be had, only the side of the bay he disliked, and that a pleasant villa offeredat Nice. 

Should she close with it? Well--was there great haste? Gregorio knewa good many people at Mentone, and could ascertain in his own way ifthey could get the right side of the bay by going to the hotel andwaiting. Alice, however, pressed the matter--represented the danger offalling between two stools, pleaded personal preference, and whereasMr. Egremont was too lazy for resistance to any persuasion, sheobtained permission to engage the Nice villa. The next day Gregorioannounced that he had heard that the proprietor of Villa Francaleone atMentone was giving up hopes of his usual tenants, and an offer mightsecure it. 

'Villa Eugenie at Nice is taken, ' said Alice, and she received one ofthose deadly black looks, which were always like a stab. 

Of all this Nuttie knew nothing. She was a good deal thrown with theschoolroom party and with the curate's wife for companionship. NowMrs. Edwards did not approve of even the canonical Egremonts, having anideal far beyond the ritual of Bridgefield; and she was delighted tofind how entirely Miss Egremont sympathised with her. 

Nuttie described St. Ambrose's as a paradise of church observances andparish management, everything becoming embellished and all shortcomingsforgotten in the loving mists of distance. The harmonium was never outof tune; the choir-boys were only just naughty enough to show howwisely Mr. Spyers dealt with them; the surplices, one would think, never needed washing; Mr. Dutton and Gerard Godfrey were paragons oflay helpers, and district visitors never were troublesome. Mrs. Edwards listened with open ears, and together they bewailed theimpracticability of moving the Canon to raising Bridgefield to anythingapproaching to such a standard; while Nuttie absolutely cultivated herhome sickness. 

According to promise Blanche wrote to her from Monks Horton, and toldher thus much--'We have been all over your umbrella place. It was verycurious. Then we called upon Miss Headworth, who was quite well, andwas pleased to hear of you. '

Blanche was famous for never putting into a letter what hercorrespondent wanted to hear, but her stepmother wrote a much longerand more interesting letter to Mrs. Egremont. 

'You will be glad to hear that we found your aunt quite well. Isuppose it is not in the nature of things that you should not bemissed; but I should think your place as well supplied as could behoped by that very handsome and superior Miss Nugent, with whom shelives. I had a good deal of conversation with both; for you will besurprised to hear that the Canon has consented to Mark's making theexperiment of working for a year in Greenleaf and Dutton's office, witha view to entering the firm in future. I was very anxious tounderstand from such true ladies what the position would be socially. Ilonged to talk it over with you beforehand; but Alwyn could never spareyou, and it was not a subject to be broached without ample time fordiscussion. We felt that though the Kirkaldys could tell us much, itwas only from the outside, whereas Miss Headworth could speak fromwithin. The decision is of course a blow to his father, and will bestill more so to the De Lyonnais family, but they have never doneanything to entitle them to have a voice in the matter, and theKirkaldys agree with us that, though not a path of distinction, it isone of honourable prosperity; and with this, if Mark is content, wehave no right to object, since his mind is set on present happinessrather than ambition. '

It was a letter gratifying to Alice in its confidential tone, as wellas in the evident approval of those surroundings which she loved sowell. She read it to her husband, as she was desired to give him amessage that the Canon had not written out of consideration for hiseyes. He laughed the laugh that always jarred on her. 'So Master Markhas got his nose to the grindstone, has he?' was his first exclamation, and, after some cogitation, 'The fellow wants to be married, depend onit!'

'Do you think so?' returned Alice wistfully. 

'Think! Why, you may see it in Jane's letter! I wonder who it is! Thelittle yellow Ruthven girl, most likely! The boy is fool enough foranything! I thought he would have mended his fortunes with Ursula, buthe's too proud to stomach that, I suppose!'

'I did wish that!' said Alice. 'It would have set everything straight, and it would have been so nice for her. '

'You should have cut out your daughter after your own pattern, ' heanswered; 'not let her be such a raw insignificant little spitfire. 'Tis a pity. I don't want the estate to go out of the name, though Iwon't leave it to an interfering prig like Mark unless he chooses totake my daughter with it!'

The latter part of this amiable speech was muttered and scarcely heardor attended to by Alice in her struggle to conceal the grief she feltat the uncompromising opinion of her child. Nuttie might outgrow beingraw, but there seemed less rather than more prospect of a betterunderstanding with her father. About a week later Mark made hisappearance, timing it happily when his uncle was making his toilette, so that his aunt was taking a turn on the sunny terrace with Nuttiewhen the young man came hurrying up the garden. 

'Mark! What? Are you come home?'

'Not the others. They are at Mr. Condamine's, I came last night--byway of Lescombe. Edda, dear, it is all right! Oh, I forgot you didnot know! There was no seeing you before we went away. Ah! by the by, how is my uncle?'

'Much better, except that using his eyes brings on the pain. 'What isit, Mark? Ah! I can guess, ' she said, aided no doubt by thatconjecture of her husband's. 

'Yes, yes, yes!' he answered, with a rapidity quite unlike himself. 'Why, Nuttie, how mystified you look!'

'I'm sure I don't wonder at any one being glad to live at dear oldMicklethwayte, ' said Nuttie slowly. 'But, somehow, I didn't think itof you, Mark. '

'My dear, that's not all!' said her mother. 

'Oh!' cried Nuttie, with a prolonged intonation. 'Is it?--Oh, Mark!did you _do it_ that night when you led the horse home?'

'Even so, Nuttie! And, Aunt Alice, Lady Ronnisglen is the best andbravest of old ladies, and the wisest. Nobody objects but Lady Delmar, and she declares she shall not consider it an engagement tillRonnisglen has been written to in Nepaul, as if he had anything to dowith it; but that matters the less, since they all insist on ourwaiting till I've had a year's trial at the office! I suppose theycould not be expected to do otherwise, but it is a pity, for I'm afraidLady Delmar will lead Annaple and her mother a life of it. '

'Dear Mark, I am delighted that it is all going so well. '

'I knew you would be! I told them I must tell _you_, though it is notto go any farther. '

So that hope of Mark's restoration to the inheritance faded from Alice, and yet she could not be concerned for him. She had never seen him insuch good spirits, for the sense of failure and disappointment hadalways been upon him; and the definite prospect of occupation, gildedby his hopes of Annaple, seemed to make a new man of him. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

AN OLD FRIEND. 

 'My heart untravelled still returns to thee. '--GOLDSMITH. 

To go abroad! Such had been the fairy castle of Nuttie's life. Shehad dreamed of Swiss mountains, Italian pictures, Rheinland castles, aperpetual panorama of delight, and here she was in one of the greathotels of Paris, as little likely to see the lions of that city as shehad been to see those of London. 

The party were halting for two days there because the dentist, on whomMr. Egremont's fine show of teeth depended, practised there; but Nuttiespent great part of the day alone in the sitting-room, and her hand-bagand her mother's, with all their books and little comforts, had beenlost in the agony of landing. Her mother's attendance was required allthe morning, or what was worse, she expected that it would be, andthough Nuttie's persistence dragged out the staid, silent English maid, who had never been abroad before, to walk in the Tuilleries gardens, which they could see from their windows, both felt half-scared thewhole time. Nuttie was quite unused to finding her own wayunprotected, and Martin was frightened, cross, and miserable about thebags, which, she averred, had been left by Gregorio's fault. She sohated Gregorio that only a sort of adoration which she entertained forMrs. Egremont would have induced her to come tete-a-tete with him, andperhaps he was visiting his disappointment about Mentone on her. Inthe afternoon nothing was achieved but a drive in the Bois de Boulogne, when it was at once made evident that Mr. Egremont would tolerate noquestions nor exclamations. 

His mouth was in no condition for eating in public, and he thereforedecreed that his wife and daughter should dine at the table d'hote, while he was served alone by Gregorio. This was a great boon toNuttie, and to her mother it recalled bridal days long past at Dieppe;but what was their astonishment when on entering the room they beheldthe familiar face of Mr. Dutton! It was possible for him to placehimself between them, and there is no describing the sense of rest andprotection his presence imparted to them, more especially to Nuttie. 

He had come over, as he did from time to time, on business connectedwith the materials he used, and he was beguiled into telling them ofhis views of Mark, whom he had put in the way of learning thepreliminaries needful to an accountant. He had a deep distrust of thebusiness capacities and perseverance of young gentlemen of family, especially with a countess-aunt in the neighbourhood, and quoted LordEldon's saying that to make a good lawyer of one, it was needful forhim to have spent both his own and his wife's fortune to begin with, but he allowed that young Mr. Egremont was a very favourable specimen, and was resolutely applying himself to his work, and that he himselffelt it due to him to give all the assistance possible. 

Miss Headworth, he could not deny, had aged, but far less than Mrs. Nugent in the past year, and it really was a great comfort to Miss Maryto have the old ladies together. He told too how the mission, nowlately over, had stirred the Micklethwayte folk into strong excitement, and how good works had been undertaken, evil habits renounced, reconciliations effected, religious services frequented. Would it last?Nobody, he said, had taken it up so zealously as Gerard Godfrey, whoseemed as if he would fain throw everything up, and spend his wholelife in some direct service as a home missionary or something of thekind. 'He is a good fellow, ' said Mr. Dutton, 'and it is quitegenuine, but I made him wait at least a year, that he may be sure thatthis is not only a passing impulse. '

Nuttie thought that she knew what was the impulse that had actuatedhim, and felt a pleasant elation and self-consciousness even while sherepressed a sigh of pity for herself and for him. Altogether the dipinto the Micklethwayte world was delightful, but when Mr. Dutton beganto ask Nuttie what she had seen, she burst out with, 'Nothing--nothingbut just a walk and a drive in the Bois de Boulogne;' and her motherexplained that 'in Mr. Egremont's state of health, ' etc. 

'I wonder, ' asked Mr. Dutton, 'if I might be allowed--'

Nuttie's eyes sparkled with ecstasy. 

It ended in her mother, who had been wondering how Mr. Egremont couldbe amused all the long evening, arranging that Mr. Dutton should comein an hour's time to call on him, on the chance of being admitted, andthat then the offer might be made when she had prepared him for it, advising Nuttie to wait in her own room. She was beginning to learnhow to steer between her husband and her daughter, and she did notguess that her old friend was sacrificing one of the best French playsfor the chance. 

It turned out well; Mr. Egremont was conscious of a want of variety. Hedemanded whether it was the young fellow, and being satisfied on thatpart, observed in almost a good-humoured tone, 'So, we are in forumbrellas, we may as well go in for the whole firm!' caused the lightsto be lowered under pretext of his eyes--to conceal the lack ofteeth--did not absolutely refuse to let Nuttie take advantage of theescort, and when Mr. Dutton did come to the anteroom of the apartment, he was received with full courtesy, though Gregorio looked unutterablecontempt. Mr. Dutton was a man who could talk, and had seen a gooddeal of the world at different times. Mr. Egremont could appreciateintelligent conversation, so that they got on wonderfully welltogether, over subjects that would have been a mere weariness to Nuttiebut for the exceeding satisfaction of hearing a Micklethwayte voice. At last Mr. Dutton said something about offering his escort to theladies, or to Miss Egremont, who used, he said in a paternal way, to bea little playfellow of his; Mr. Egremont really smiled, and said, 'Ay, ay, the child is young enough to run after sights. Well, thank you, ifyou are so good as to take the trouble, they will be very grateful toyou, or if her mother cannot go with her, there's the maid. '

Nuttie thought she had never known him so amiable, and hardly durstbelieve her good fortune would not turn the wheel before morning. Andit so far did that her mother found, or thought she found, that itwould not do to be out of call, and sent the silent Martin in herstead. But Mr. Dutton had set telegraphs to work and recovered thebags, which Gregorio had professed to give up in despair. 

A wonderful amount of lionising was contrived by Mr. Dutton, who hadlived a few years at Paris in early youth, and had made himselfacquainted alike with what was most worth seeing, and the best ways andmeans of seeing it, so that as little time as possible was wasted onthe unimportant. It was one of the white days of Nuttie's life, wanting nothing but her mother's participation in the sight of the St. Michael of the Louvre, of the Sainte Chapelle, of the vistas in NotreDame, and of poor Marie Antoinette's cell, --all that they had longed tosee together. 

She had meant to tell Mr. Dutton that it was all her father'sselfishness, but somehow she could not say so, there was somethingabout him that hindered all unbefitting outbreaks of vexation. 

And thus, when she mentioned her disappointment at not being allowed togo to Micklethwayte with her uncle, he answered, 'You could not ofcourse be spared with your father so unwell. '

'Oh, he never let me come near him! I wasn't of the slightest use tohim!'

'Mrs. Egremont would have missed you. '

'Really he never gave her time. He perfectly devours her, body andsoul. Oh dear, no! 'Twas for no good I was kept there, but just prideand ingratitude, though mother tried to call it being afraid for mymanners and my style. '

'In which, if you lapse into such talk, you fully justify theprecaution. I was just thinking what a young lady you had grown into, 'he answered in a tone of banter, under which, however, she felt arebuke; and while directing her attention to the Pantheon, he took careto get within hearing again of Martin. 

And in looking at these things, he carried her so far below thesurface. St. Michael was not so much Raffaelle's triumph of art as theeternal victory over sin; the Sainte Chapelle, spite of all its modernunsanctified gaudiness, was redolent of St. Louis; and the cell of theslaughtered queen was as a martyr's shrine, trod with reverence. Therewere associations with every turn, and Nuttie might have spent years atParis with another companion without imbibing so many impressions as onthis December day, when she came home so full of happy chatter that theguests at the table d'hote glanced with amusement at the eager girl asmuch as with admiration at the beautiful mother. Mr. Dutton had beeninvited to come and take coffee and spend the evening with them again, but Mr. Egremont's affairs with the dentist had been completed, and hehad picked up, or, more strictly speaking, Gregorio had hunted up forhim, a couple of French acquaintances, who appeared before long andengrossed him entirely. 

Mr. Dutton sat between the two ladies on a stiff dark-green sofa on theopposite side of the room, and under cover of the eager, half-shrieking, gesticulating talk of the Frenchmen they had a quietlow-toned conversation, like old times, Alice said. 'More than oldtimes, ' Nuttie added, and perhaps the others both agreed with her. 

When the two Englishwomen started at some of the loud French tones, almost imagining they were full of rage and fury, their friend smiledand said that such had been his first notion on coming abroad. 

'You have been a great deal abroad?' Mrs. Egremont asked; 'you seemquite at home in Paris. '

'Oh, mamma, he showed me where the school was that he went to, and thehouse where he lived! Up such an immense way!'

Mr. Dutton was drawn on to tell more of his former life than ever hadbeen known to them. His father, a wine merchant, had died a bankruptwhen he was ten years old, and a relation, engaged in the same businessat Paris, had offered to give him a few years of foreign schooling, andthen make him useful in the business. 

His excellent mother had come with him, and they had lived together onvery small means, high up in a many-storied lodging-house, while hedaily attended the Lycie. His reminiscences were very happy of thosedays of cheerful contrivance, of her eager desire to make the tinyappartement a home to her boy, of their pleasant Sundays and holidays, and the life that in this manner was peculiarly guarded by herinfluence, and the sense of being all she had upon earth. He hadscarcely ever spoken of her before, and he dwelt on her now with atenderness that showed how she had been the guiding spirit of his life. 

At fifteen he was taken into the office at Marseilles, and she wentthither with him, but the climate did not agree with her; she drooped, and, moreover, he discovered that the business was not conducted in thehonourable manner he had supposed. After a few months of weighing hisobligations to his kinsman against these instincts, the question wassolved by his cousin's retiring. He resolved to take his mother backto England at any loss, and falling in with one of the partners of theumbrella firm in quest of French silk, he was engaged as foreigncorrespondent, and brought his mother to Micklethwayte, but not in timeto restore her health, and he had been left alone in the world just ashe came of age, when a small legacy came to him from his cousin, toolate for her to profit by it. It had been invested in the business, andhe had thus gradually risen to his present position. Mrs. Egremont wasamazed to hear that his mother had only been dead so short a timebefore she had herself come to Micklethwayte; and fairly apologised forthe surprise she could not help betraying at finding how youthful hehad then been, and Nuttie exclaimed, in her original unguarded fashion:

'Why, Mr. Dutton, I always thought you were an old bachelor!'

'Nuttie, my dear!' said her mother in a note of warning, but Mr. Duttonlaughed and said:

'Not so far wrong! They tell me I never was a young man. '

'You had always to be everything to your mother, ' said Mrs. Egremontsoftly. 

'Yes, ' he said, 'and a very blessed thing it was for me. '

'Ah! you don't regret now all that you must have always been giving upfor her, ' returned Alice. 

'No, indeed. Only that I did not give up more. '

'That is always the way. '

'It is indeed. One little knows the whips that a little self-willprepares. '

Nuttie thought he said it for her admonition, and observed, 'But shewas good, ' only, however, in a mumble, that the other two thought itinexpedient to notice, though it made both hearts ache for her, evenAlice's--with an additional pang of self-reproach that she herself wasnot good enough to help her daughter better. 

Neither of them guessed at the effect that a glimpse of the lovelyyoung seeming widow had had on the already grave self-restrained youngman in the home lately made lonely, how she had been his secret objectfor years, and how, when her history was revealed to him, he had stillhoped on for a certainty which had come at last as so fatal a shock andoverthrow to all his dreams. 

A life of self-restraint and self-conquest had rendered it safe for himto thoroughly enjoy the brief intercourse, which had come about by theaccident of his having come to dine at the Hotel de Louvre, to meet afriend who had failed him. 

These were two completely happy hours to all the three, and when theysaid 'good-night' there was a sense of soothing and invigoration onAlice's mind; and on Nuttie's that patience and dutifulness were thebest modes of doing justice to her Micklethwayte training, although hehad scarcely said a word of direct rebuke or counsel. 

While Mr. Dutton sped home to tell Miss Headworth that Mrs. Egremontlooked lovelier than ever, and was--yes she was--more of an angel, thather husband had been very pleasant, much better than he expected, and, indeed, might come to anything good under such influence; and as tolittle Nuttie--she was developing fast, and had a brave constant heart, altogether at Micklethwayte. But that servant who was acting ascourier was an insolent scoundrel, who was evidently cheating them tothe last degree. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A FRIEND IN NEED. 

 'True courage often is in frightened eyes. '-- Thoughts and Verses. 

All the preliminaries of the sojourn at Nice had been settled incorrespondence, and the Egremont family had nothing to do, afterarriving at the station, but to drive up to Villa Eugenie, whoseflower-wreathed balconies were like a vision of beauty. Servants hadbeen hired through agencies known to Mr. Egremont, and Gregorio lookedvery black at his mistress keeping the reins in her hand, and tried tomake her feel herself inefficient. 

It was not an eventful or very interesting part of Ursula's life. Shewas almost wild with the novelty and beauty of the South at first, butexcept for what she could thus see, there was little variety. Themould of the day was as much as possible after the Bridgefield fashion, except that there were no cousins at the Rectory, no parish interests, very little society, as far as the ladies were concerned. Mr. Egremonthad old acquaintance and associates with whom he spent afternoons andevenings, after his own fashion, but they were not people to whom hewished to introduce his wife and daughter. 

And the superior English habitues of Nice, the families who formed theregular society, knew Mr. Egremont's reputation sufficiently to feel byno means disposed to be cordial to the fair wife and grown-up daughterwhom he so unexpectedly produced on the scene. It had been differentat home, where he had county standing, and the Canon and Canonessanswered for the newcomers; but here, where all sorts of strange peoplecame to the surface, the respectable felt it needful to be verycautious, and though of course one or two ladies had been asked to callthrough the intervention of Lady Kirkaldy or of Mrs. William Egremont, and had been assured on their authority that it was 'all right, ' theirattentions were clogged by doubt, and by reluctance to involve theirmankind in intimacy with the head of the family. Thus very little ofthe proverbial gaiety of Nice offered itself to Nuttie and her mother, and, except by a clerical family who knew Mr. Spyers, they were kept ata distance, which Mr. Egremont perceived and resented by permitting noadvances. The climate suited him so well that, to his wife's greatrelief, he seemed to have dropped his inclination for sedatives; buthis eyes would not bear much, and she felt bound to be always on thealert, able to amuse him and hinder his feeling it dull. Gregoriohighly disapproved of the house and servants, and was always givinghints that Mentone would agree far better with his master; but everyday that Mr. Egremont seemed sufficiently amused at Nice was so muchgain, and she had this in her favour, that he was always indolent andhard to move. Moreover, between his master's levee and late dinnerGregorio was hardly ever to be found. No doubt he knew the way toMonte Carlo well enough, and perhaps preferred that the family shouldbe farther off, for he soon ceased to show himself discontented withtheir present abode. Once when his absence was inconvenient, Mr. Egremont abused him roundly as a good-for-nothing gambler, but whenAlice hoped that he might be called to a reckoning, the wrath hadsubsided with the immediate vexation, and as usual she was told 'Allthose fellows were alike. '

The foreign servants were not to be induced to give the early-risingladies more than a roll and cup of coffee, and Nuttie felt ravenoustill she learned to lay in a stock of biscuits, and, with Martin'sconnivance, made tea on her own account, and sustained her mother forthe morning's walk before the summons to Mr. Egremont. 

He always wanted his wife much earlier in the day, during his hours ofdeshabille, and letting her write his letters and read the papers tohim. She was pleased with this advance, but it gave Nuttie a greatdeal more solitude, which was sometimes judiciously spent, but it wasvery hard not to be desultory in spite of learning lessons in French, Italian, and drawing. 

Later in the day came the drive or the visit to the public gardens whenthe band was playing, but this became less frequent as Mr. Egremontobserved the cold civility shown to his wife, and as he likewise grewstronger and made more engagements of his own. Then Nuttie had happyafternoons of driving, donkey-riding, or walking with her mother, sketching, botanising, admiring, and laying up stores for the longdescriptive letters that delighted the party in St. Ambrose's Road, drinking in all the charm of the scenery, and entering into itintelligently. They spent a good many evenings alone togetherlikewise, and it could not but give Alice a pang to see the gladnessher daughter did not repress when this was the case, even though toherself it meant relaxation of the perpetual vigilance she had to exertwhen the father and daughter were together to avert collisions. Theywere certainly not coming nearer to one another, though Nuttie wasbehaving very well and submissively on the whole, and seldom showingsymptoms of rebellion. This went on through the early part of theirstay, but latterly there was a growing sense upon the girl that she andher mother were avoided by some young ladies to whom they had beenintroduced, and whom they saw regularly at the daily services at St. Michael's Church. They were pleasant-looking girls, with whom Nuttielonged to fraternise, and she was mortified at never being allowed toget beyond a few frigidly civil words in the street, more especiallywhen she came upon sketching parties and picnics in which she was neverincluded. 

It was all very well for her mother to answer her murmurs andwonderings with 'You know people are very exclusive, my dear. ' Nuttiebegan to guess that her father and her name were the real reason, andher eyes were further opened later in the spring when Mr. Egremont, whohad recovered unusual health and vigour, took his ladies to Mentone tospend a day or two in the newer beauties there. Alice had hermisgivings, but the visit was avowedly to show the place to her, andshe could not reasonably object. He was in unusual good humour, andeven tolerated their ecstasies at the scenery and the flowers, dined atthe table d'hote and found acquaintance, enjoyed himself, and in theforenoon, while Nuttie was out wondering and admiring, and going as faras she could drag Martin, he expressed to his wife that she would beastonished at the gardens and the music of Monte Carlo. 

There, however, Alice made a stand. 'Thank you, it is very kind, butif you please, I should not like to take Ursula to Monte Carlo, or togo there myself, ' she said in an apologetic tone. 

He laughed. 'What! you are afraid of making the little one a confirmedgambler?'

'You know I am not, but--'

'You think the little prig will be contaminated, eh?'

'Well, I think it will be happier for her if she never seesanything--of the kind. '

'You little foolish Edda, as if her eyes or ears need see anything butflowers and music and good company. '

'I know that, but I had so much rather not. It was a sweet face andcaressing voice that implored, and he still was good humoured. 

'Well, well, I don't want to drag you, old lady, against your will, though I fancy you would be rather surprised at the real aspect of theabode of iniquity your fancy depicts. '

'Oh, thank you, thank you so much!'

'What an absurd little woman it is! I wonder if you would thank me asheartily supposing I cleared a round thousand and gave you--say adiamond necklace?'

'I am sure I should not!'

'No, I don't believe you would. That restless little conscience ofyours would be up on end. After all, I don't know that you are theworse for it, when it looks so prettily out of your brown eyes. Iwonder what you expect to see? The ruined gamester shooting himself onevery path, eh?'

'No, no; I don't suppose I should see anything horrid or evendisagreeable. I know it is all very beautiful; but then every personwho goes for the innocent pleasures' sake only helps to keep up thewhole thing--evil and all. '

'And what would the old women of all sorts here and at Nice do withoutsuch a choice temple of scandal to whet their teeth upon? Well, Isuppose you and your precious daughter can take care of yourselves. There are the gardens, or you can tell Gregorio to order you acarriage. '

'Then you are going?'

'Yes, I promised Grafton. Don't be afraid, Mistress Edda, I'm notgoing to stake Bridgefield and reduce you to beggary. I'm an old hand, and was a cool one in my worst days, and whatever I get I'll hand overto appease you. '

That was all she could obtain, and she secretly hoped there would be nowinnings to perplex her. Thankful that she had not made him angry bythe resistance for which she had prepared herself with secret prayerever since the Mentone scheme had been proposed, she placed herself atNuttie's disposition for the rest of the day. 

They had a charming donkey-ride, and, still unsatiated with beauty, Ursula made her mother come out again to wonder at the trees in thepublic gardens. Rather tired, they were sitting on a shaded bench, when a voice close to them exclaimed, 'It is; yes, it must be; 'tis thevoice--yes, and the face prettier than ever. Little Alice--ah! youdon't know me. Time has been kinder to you than to me. '

'Oh! I know you now! I beg your pardon, ' cried Alice, recognising inthe thin nutcracker parchment visage and shabbily-dressed figure theremnant of the brilliant aquiline countenance and gay attire ofeighteen years ago. 'Mrs. Houghton! I am so glad to have met you, youwere so kind to me. And here she is. '

'What! is this the child? Bless me, what a proof how time goes! Younglady, you'll excuse my not knowing you. You were a very inconvenientpersonage not quite born when I last met your mother. What a likeness!I could have known her for Alwyn Egremont's daughter anywhere!'

'Yes, they all say she is a thorough Egremont. '

'Then it is all right. I saw Alwyn Egremont, Esquire, and family amongthe arrivals at Nice, but I hardly durst expect that it was you. Itseemed too good to be true, though I took care the knot should be tiedfaster than my gentleman suspected. '

'Oh, please!' cried Alice deprecatingly, at first not apprehending theforce of the words, having never known the gulf from which Mrs. Houghton had saved her, and that lady, seeing that the girl waslistening with all her ears, thought of little pitchers and restrainedher reminiscences, asking with real warm interest, 'And how was it?How did you meet him again?'

'He came and found me out, ' said Alice, with satisfaction in her voice. 

'Indeed! Not at Dieppe; for he was en garcon when I nearly came acrosshim ten years ago at Florence. '

'Oh no! He inquired at Dieppe, but they had lost the address my auntleft. '

'Indeed! I should not have thought it of old Madame Leroux, she seemedso thoroughly interested in la pauvre petite. What did you do? Youraunt wrote to me when your troubles were safely over, and she thoughthim lost in the poor Ninon, that she meant to settle in a place with anawfully long Yorkshire name. '

'Micklethwayte; yes, we lived there, and got on very well. We hadboarders, and I had some dear little pupils; but last year MarkEgremont--you remember dear little Mark--was in the neighbourhood, andhearing my name, he told his uncle, who had been seeking us ever since. And he came, Mr. Egremont, and took us home, and oh, the family havebeen so kind!'

'What? The parson, and that awful old she-lion of a grandmother, whosevery name scared you out of your wits?'

'She is dead, and so is dear good Lady Adelaide. Canon Egremont iskindness itself. It was all the old lady's doing, and he knew nothingabout it. He was gone to Madeira with Lady Adelaide and got none ofour letters, and he never knew that his brother was married to me. '

'Trust Alwyn for that, ' Mrs. Houghton muttered. 'Well, all's well thatends well, and I hope he feels due gratitude to me for doing him a goodturn against his will. I tried to get at him at Florence to find outwhat he had done with you, but unluckily I was ill, and had to sendthrough poor Houghton, and he mismanaged it of course, though Iactually wrote down that barbarous address, Mickle something, on acard. I believe he only got as far as the man instead of the master. '

'Ah! I wanted to ask for Captain Houghton, ' said Alice, glad to leadthe conversation away from revelations of which she had an instinctivedread. 

'Gone, my dear! two years ago. Poor fellow! it was low fever, butquite as much want of luck, I shall always believe, ' she said. 

'Oh, I am sorry! He was so kind to me!' said Alice, squeezing herhand, and looking up with sweet tender commiseration. 

'There, there, don't, you pretty creature!' said Mrs. Houghton, puttingher hand across her eyes. 'I declare, you've almost made me cry--whichI've not done--well, hardly, since I parted with you at Dieppe, thinking you a sweet little flower plucked and thrown away to die, though I had done my best to bind it to him. What care I took not tolet Houghton disabuse him about Jersey marriages!'

There is a difference between hearing and hearkening, and AliceEgremont's loving and unsuspecting heart was so entirely closed againstevil thoughts of her husband, and so fully occupied with her oldfriend's condition, that she never took in the signification of allthis, while Nuttie, being essentially of a far more shrewd and lessconfiding nature, and already imbued with extreme distrust of herfather, was taking in all these revelations with an open-eyed, silenthorror of conviction that her old impressions of the likeness toMarmion or Theseus had been perfectly correct. It was all under herhat, however, and the elder ladies never thought of her, Alice bringingback the conversation to Mrs. Houghton herself. 'Oh, my dear, I dragon as I can. I've got a fragment of our old income, and when that'srun too low, I go up to Monte Carlo--I always had the lucky hand, youknow, and 'tis only restitution after all! I'm sick of it all though, and sometimes think I'll take my good sister Anne's offers and go home. '

'Oh do, do!' cried Alice. 

'But, ' went on the poor woman, 'humble pie goes against me, and thinkwhat an amount would be before me--heigh ho!--after nearlyfive-and-twenty years; yes, five-and-twenty years it is--sinceHoughton, poor fellow, told me I was too bright and winsome for alittle country lawyer's house in a poky street. What would they thinkof me now?' and she laughed with a sound that was painful to hear. 'Well, Sycorax had done one good deed, and when I look at you, queeningit there, I feel that so have I. '

'You were very good to me, I know; but oh, if you would go home to yoursister!'

'My dear, you little know what you ask! Anne! Why, she is the primedistrict lady, or whatever you call it, of Dockforth. Think what itwould be to her to have this battered old vaurien thrown on her hands, to be the stock subject for all the righteous tongues. Besides, ' as shecoughed, 'the English climate would make an end of me outright. I'm ina bad way enough here, where I can sit among the lemon trees half thedays in the winter, but the English fireside in a stuffy parlour--' andshe shuddered. 

That shiver reminded all that it was getting late, too late for Mrs. Houghton to be out of doors, and near the time when Mr. Egremont was tomeet his ladies at the hotel. Alice begged for Mrs. Houghton'saddress, and it was given with a short ironical laugh at her promise tocall again if possible. 'Ay, if possible, ' the poor woman repeated. 'I understand! No, no, ' as Alice was about to kiss her. 'I won't haveit done. '

'There's no one in sight. '

'As if that made a difference! Alice, child, you are as innocent asthe little dove that flew aboard the Ninon. How have you done it? Getalong with you! No kisses to such as me! I don't know whether itbreaks my heart, or binds it up to look at the face of you. Anyway, Ican't bear it. '

She hurried away, and made some steps from them. A terrible paroxysmof coughing came on, and Mrs. Egremont hurried towards her, but shewaved back all help, shook her head, and insisted on going home. Alicekept her in sight, till she dived into a small side street. 

'Mother, ' said Nuttie. Then there was a pause. 'Mother, did you knowall this?'

'Don't talk of it, Nuttie. It is not a thing to be talked about to anyone or by any one. I wish you had not been there. '

'But, mother, this once! Did you know?'

'I knew that I knew not what I did when I went on board that yacht, butthat God's kind providence was over me in a way that I little deserved. That is all I care to know, and, Ursula, I will have not another wordabout it. No, I will not hear it. '

'I was only going to ask whether you would tell my father. '

'Certainly; but not before you. '

The tone of decision was unwonted, and Nuttie knew she must abide byit, but the last shreds of filial respect towards Mr. Egremont weretorn away by what Mrs. Houghton had implied, and the girl dashed up anddown her bedroom muttering to herself, 'Oh, why have I such a father?And she, she will not see it, she is wilfully blind! Why not breakwith him and go home to dear Aunt Ursel and Gerard and Mr. Dutton atonce, instead of this horrid, horrid grandeur? Oh, if I could flingall these fine things in his face, and have done with him for ever. Some day I will, when I am of age, and Gerard has won his way. '

Meantime Alice, in some trepidation, but with resolution at the bottom, had told her husband of the meeting with Mrs. Houghton, of herwidowhood, sickness, and poverty. 

He did not like the intelligence of their meeting, and hoped no one hadseen it; then, when reassured on this score, he hummed a little andexclaimed, 'Poor old Flossy Houghton! I don't wonder! They went thepace! Well, what do you want? Twenty pounds for her! Why, 'twill allbe at Monte Carlo in three days' time. '

'It is very good of you, but I want more than that. She is so ill andwretched, you know. '

'I can't have you visiting her, if that's what you mean. Why, afterall the pains I've been at to get you on your proper level at home, here's my Lady Louisa and all her crew, in their confounded insolence, fighting shy of you, and you can't give them a better colour for itthan by running after a woman like that--divorced to begin with, andknown at every gambling table in Europe. '

'I know that, Alwyn, dear Alwyn' (it was very seldom that she calledhim so, and she put her clasped hands on his shoulder); 'but I am sureshe is dying, and she was so good to me, I can't bear doing nothing forher. '

'Well, there's twenty--fifty, if you like. '

'Thank you, thank you, but you know I never meant to visither--like--like society; only to go sometimes privately and--'

'And how about your daughter?'

'I would not take her on any account. What I want to do is this. Mrs. Houghton spoke of her sister, a kind good woman in England, who wouldtake her home, and love her, if only she could bring herself to go. Now, I think I could persuade her to write, or let me write to thesister--and if only the two were together again! It is very dreadfulto think of her dying alone, in the way she is going on!'

'What, little saint, you want to try your hand on her? I should sayshe was too tough an old sinner for you. '

'Oh, Alwyn! her heart was very near, though she tried to keep it back. I do not want to--to do what you mean--only to get her to let hersister come. I'm sure that would do the rest. '

'If any sister does more than you, you little witch, ' he said. 

Alice pressed him no more then, but a day or two later, when she knewhe had an engagement, she arranged to dispose of Nuttie with theclergyman's wife, and then begged permission to go by train to Mentone, and come back in the evening. He did not like it--no more did she--forshe was perfectly unaccustomed to travelling alone, but there was adeep sense of sacred duty upon her, only strengthened by herunwillingness to realise how much she owed to Mrs. Houghton. 

She telegraphed that she was coming, and found her friend more touchedthan she chose to allow at the fact of her visit, declaring that shemust have wonderful power over Alwyn Egremont, if she knew how to useit; indeed, the whole tone was of what Alice felt flattery, intended toturn away anything more serious. Poor woman, she was as careful ofdoing no injury to her young friend's reputation as Mr. Egremont couldhave desired. Alice had come resolved that she should have one goodmeal, but she would not hear of eating anywhere in public where eithercould be recognised, and the food was brought to a private room in thehotel. To her lodgings she still would not take Alice, nor would shegive her sister's address. Except for a genuine shower of tears whenAlice insisted on kissing her there seemed no ground gained. 

But Alice went again on her husband's next visit to Mentone. He was, to a certain degree, interested in her endeavours, and really wishedthe poor woman to be under the charge of her relations, instead ofdying a miserable lonely death among strangers. 

This time Alice had to seek her friend in the dreary quatrieme of thetall house with the dirty stone stairs. It was a doleful empty room, where, with a mannish-looking dressing-gown and a torn lace scarf tiedhood-fashion over her scanty hair, Mrs. Houghton sat over a pan ofcharcoal oppressive to Alice's English lungs. 

'Come again!' she cried. 'Well, I really shall begin to think thatangels and ministers of grace exist off the stage! You pretty thing!Let me look at you. Where did you get that delicious little bonnet?'

'Why, it is perfectly plain!'

'So it is! 'Tis only the face that is in it. Now if some folks putthis on--sister Anne, for example, what dowdies they would be. Poorold Anne, you must know she had a turn for finery, only she never knewhow to gratify it. To see the contortions of her crinolines was thedelight of all the grammar school. It was a regular comedy for them tosee her get into our pew edgeways, and once unconsciously she carriedoff a gentleman's hat on her train. '

So she went on talking, coughing at intervals, and generally using ahalf-mocking tone, as if defying the tenderness that awoke in spite ofher, but always of her original home, and especially of her sister. Alice ventured to ask whether they often heard from one another. 

'Good soul, she always writes at Christmas and on my birthday. I knowas well as possible that I shall find a letter poste restante wherevershe heard of me last, and that she hasn't done--I'm ashamed to say forhow long--really, I think not since I let her know that I couldn'tstand Ivy Lodge, Dockforth, at any price, when she wrote to Monaco onseeing poor Houghton's death in the paper. '

There was a good deal of rambling talk of this kind, to which Alicelistened tenderly and compassionately, making no attempt at persuasion, only doing what was possible for the poor lady's comfort. She hadprocured on her way some fruit and jelly, and some good English tea, atwhich Mrs. Houghton laughed, saying, 'Time was, I called it cat-lap!Somehow it will seem the elixir of life now, redolent, even milkless, of the days when we were young. '

Then she revealed something of her long, suffering, almost ghastlynights, and Alice gently told how her old friend, Mrs. Nugent, sufferedfrom sleeplessness, and kept a store of soothing psalms and hymns inher memory. There was a little laugh. 'That's for you good folk. Ihaven't such a thing about me! Come, Par exemple!' and Alice repeatedthe first thing she could remember, the verse beginning 'God, whomadest earth and heaven. '

'That's one of your charms, is it? Well, it would not be too much forme if my poor old memory would hold it. Say it again. '

Alice generally had about her a tiny prayer-book with 'Hymns, Ancientand Modern, ' attached. It had been a gift from Mary Nugent, and shewas fond of it, but the opportunity was not to be lost, and she took itout, saying she would bring a larger one and reclaim it. And, as shewas finally taking leave, she said with a throbbing heart, 'Do you knowthat you have betrayed your sister's address? I shall write to hernow. '

'If you do--!' cried Mrs. Houghton, in a tone like threateningdeprecation, but with a little of her strange banter in it besides. Alice's mind had been made up to do the thing, and she had not felt ithonest not to give due warning of her intentions. Even now she was notcertain of the lady's surname, but she trusted to her husband'sknowledge of Mrs. Houghton's previous history; and not in vain. Mr. Egremont amused himself with a little ridicule at his wife's quixotry, and demanded whether Flossy Houghton was a promising convert; butconfessed himself very glad that the poor thing should be off theirhands, declaring that it was quite time her own people looked afterher, and happily he recollected her maiden name. So the letter waswritten, after numerous attempts at expressing it suitably, explainingMrs. Houghton's illness and the yearnings she was too proud and ashamedto express to her sister, and was answered at once by a few short wordsof earnest gratitude, and an assurance that Miss Reade was preparing tostart at once. Could Mrs. Egremont meet her and prepare her sister?

To Alice's disappointment this could not be. Mr. Egremont had invitedsome friends to the villa, and would not spare her. She could onlysend a note, assuring Miss Reade that she believed that preparationwould do more harm than good, and she waited and watched anxiously. Acard came by the post in Mrs. Houghton's scrawled writing. 'Naughtylittle wretch!' was all it said, but thence she gathered hope. 

The spring was advancing, and Mr. Egremont was in haste to be gone, butAlice obtained one more run to Mentone, and once more climbed up thedark and dirty stairs to the room, where the well-known voice answeredher tap, 'Come in! Ah, there she is, the wicked little angel!'

A substantial little roly-poly business-like little woman hurriedforward with tearful eyes and outstretched hands. 'Oh, Mrs. Egremont!can I ever thank you enough?'

'You can't, Anne, so don't try. It will be a relief to all parties, 'interposed Mrs. Houghton. 'Sentiment is not permitted here. '

Nevertheless she hugged Alice almost convulsively. She was sitting ina comfortable arm-chair, one about which Mrs. Egremont knew something, and the whole aspect of the room had changed indescribably for thebetter, as much indeed as Mrs. Houghton's own personal array, which hadno longer the desolate neglected look of old. 

A little stool was close to her chair, as if the two sisters could notbear to be far apart, and the look of love and content in their eyes asthey turned to one another was perfect joy to Alice. She had no longerany doubt that Anne Reade, who had found the wanderer yet a great wayoff, would yet bring her back to the home, spiritually if not outwardly. 

Mrs. Houghton spoke, of better rooms when the winter visitors had fled, Anne spoke of her being able to return to Dockforth. Whether thatwould ever be seemed entirely doubtful to Alice's eyes, especially asthe patient's inclination was evidently otherwise. There was nothing tobe done but to leave the sisters together, obtaining Miss Reade's readypromise to write, and putting into her hands a sum of money which couldbe sincerely called 'only a debt of gratitude from my husband and me, 'and which would smooth the way either to remaining or returning toEngland. 

Nor was there any return. Ere many weeks had passed Mrs. Egremontheard from Miss Reade how a fresh cold had made it impossible to move, and summer heat had brought on low fever, which had destroyed thefeeble strength, but not till 'childhood's star' had again arisen, anda deeply and truly repentant woman had passed away, saved, as itseemed, through that one effort on behalf of the young girl whoseinnocence she had protected. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE VORTEX. 

 'With one black shadow at her feet. '--TENNYSON. 

The rebuffs that society had bestowed on his wife and daughter at Nicehad rendered Mr. Egremont the more determined on producing them inLondon and establishing their position. He secured a furnished housein Westburnia before leaving Nice, and, travelling leisurely homewithout visiting Bridgefield, he took possession the second week in May. 

There had not been much correspondence with the Rectory, and on thefirst forenoon, as Mrs. Egremont and Nuttie were trying to enliven thedrawing-room with the flowers sent up to meet them, they were surprisedby the entrance of Blanche, full of kisses and welcomes. 

'Oh! didn't you know? I'm with the Kirkaldys just round the corner. Aunt Margaret has undertaken to do the part of a noble aunt by me. '

'Then you are here for the season? And May?'

'May wouldn't come, except just for a week to see the pictures, and layin a stock of talk. She's grown more parochial than ever, and webelieve it is all Hugh Condamine. Oh! I forgot you were gone before wecame home last autumn. He is mamma's nephew, you know, and wasordained last year to the curacy of the next parish to his father'splace. If the Edwardses only would take themselves off, we would havehim at home, and then we should have flowers on the altar, and allsorts of jolly things. Papa would stand ever so much more from himthan from the old Edwardses. '

'But is he engaged to May, then?'

'Well, no, not exactly. I believe he does not think it right till hehas done preparing for priest's orders. He's ever so strict, you know, and he hasn't got much either; but he means it. Lucy, his sister, youknow, told me all about it, and that altogether the elders had settledit was better for both that he should attend to his preparation, andMay should not bind herself, though they really understand one another, and so she won't come to London. '

'Oh, that's very good of her!' cried Nuttie; 'but why won't they letthem settle their minds and be engaged?'

'People are always tiresome, ' said Blanche; 'and I do believe theliving is at the bottom of it, at least Lucy thought so. I meaneverybody wants to wait--all the old ones, I mean--not Hugh or May, ofcourse--to know whether Mark will stick to the umbrellas, or turn backand be a clergyman, because, then, of course, he would have the living;and if he doesn't, they want to be certain whether Uncle Alwyn, or you, Nuttie, would promise it to Hugh if he married May!'

'Me!' exclaimed Nuttie. 

'My dear, I don't like to hear you talk of such things, ' said Mrs. Egremont gently. 

'Oh yes, I know--it's all very dreadful. I was only telling you whatis in the old people's heads, and what would settle it, and make it allright with them. '

'And how is Mark? Is Miss Ruthven in London?' asked Mrs. Egremont, glad to turn away the conversation from the contingencies of whichBlanche spoke with the hardness of youth, as yet not realising sorrow. 

'I daresay you know nearly as much of Mark as we do, now the Kirkaldysare up here. All his letters go to Lescombe. Oh no, Annaple is not inLondon. The Delmars can't afford it, you know, though I believe mylady would have made a stretch if Annaple hadn't been bespoke--but nowshe reserves herself for Muriel. '

Alice looked with some discomfort at the soft fair-haired creature whowas uttering all this worldly jargon in a tone that would have beenflippant if it had not been so childish. She asked if Lord. Ronnisglenhad written. 

'Oh yes, long ago. Lady Delmar had tried to make him nasty about it, but he wouldn't be, so that's all right; and Mark seems to get on verywell, though it must be horridly dull for him now the Kirkaldys areaway, and he can't spend all his Sundays at Monks Horton. '

'He will get more into the spirit of the place, ' said Nuttie, whereatBlanche shrugged her shoulders a little, and exclaimed:

'You've got out of it at any rate, Nuttie!'

'I hope not!'

'Well, then, the look of it! I never saw any one so improved! Isn'tshe, Aunt Alice? She's grown, I declare! Yes'--measuring herselfagainst her cousin--'I was a leetle bit taller when you came, and nowyou've got above me! and what a duck of a way of doing your hair! Youmust show me! I must tell May there's no fear of your being taken forone another now; Aunt Margaret will be quite surprised. '

It was true that Ursula had developed a good deal during the last year, and, under the experienced hands of Martin, had lost her schoolgirlair, and turned into a young lady capable of becoming the Paris outfitwhich her father had enjoined. Without positive beauty, she was apleasing, intelligent, animated girl, with the reputation of being anheiress, with a romance in the background, and there was nothing toprevent her from being a success. The family connections, with LadyKirkaldy to set the example, had determined on giving full support toMrs. Egremont, and, as of course every one liked to look at so lovely aface, the way of both was smoothed in a manner that delighted herhusband when they encountered any of those who had looked coldly on herat Nice. 

He would have had her presented, but her own reluctance and the unitedcounsels of Lady Kirkaldy and the Canoness prevailed on him to drop theidea; and then there was a fight with Ursula, who declared that shewould not go to court if her mother did not; but she was overruled atlast by that mother's tears at her defiance; and let herself bepresented, together with Blanche, by Lady Kirkaldy. 

To Ursula it was altogether a strange time, full of the same kind ofreckless swing and sense of intoxication that had possessed her atBridgefield. Not that there was an excessive amount of actual gaiety. Hot rooms and late hours were soon found not to agree with Mrs. Egremont. She looked faded and languid after evening parties; and, asher husband really cared more to have her ready to wait upon him andamuse him than for anything else, he did not insist on her going outmore than might be needful to establish her position, or when it suitedhim to show her off. The other purposes were quite as well served byletting Ursula go out with Lady Kirkaldy, who was warmly interested inmother and daughter, glad of a companion for Blanche, and still moreglad of a companion for herself. For she was not slow to discover thatexhibitions, which were merely fashionable gapeseed to her niece, wereto Nuttie real delights, viewed intelligently, and eliciting commentsand questions that Lady Kirkaldy and even her husband enjoyed in theirfresh interest, but which were unendurable weariness to Blanche, unlessshe had some one to chatter with. Lectures and lessons, which the aunthoped to render palatable by their being shared by the two cousins, only served to show the difference between a trained and eager, and anuntrained and idle, nature. With the foreign society to be met at LordKirkaldy's, Blanche was less at a loss than her brother, and could geton by the help of nods and becks and wreathed smiles; but Nuttie, freshfrom her winter abroad, could really talk, and was often in request asa useful person to help in entertaining. She thus saw some of thechoicest society in London, and, in addition, had as much of theyouthful gaiety as Lady Kirkaldy thought wholesome for the two girls. Also there were those ecclesiastical delights and privileges which hadbeen heard of at Micklethwayte, and were within reach, greatly enjoyedby Mrs. Egremont whenever she could share them, though her daughterchafed at her treating all except the chief service on Sunday as moreindulgence than duty. 

Nuttie was strong, with that spring of energy which unbroken health anda quiet life lays up, and, in her own phrase, she went in foreverything, from early services to late balls, thinking all rightbecause it was seldom that her day did not begin with matins orCelebration, and because she was not taken to more than two balls aweek, and conversed at times with superior people, or looked at thosewith world-famed names. Possibly the whirl was greater than if it hadbeen mere gaiety, for then the brain would not have participated in it. Church functions, with the scurry to go at all, or to obtain a seat, fine music, grand sermons, religious meetings, entertainments for thepoor, lectures, lessons, exhibitions, rides, drives, kettle-drums, garden-parties, concerts, theatres, operas, balls, chattering, laughing, discussing, reading up current subjects, enjoying attention, excitement as to what should be done and how, --one thing drove outanother in perpetual succession, and the one thing she never did orcould do was to sit still and think! Rest was simply dreamless sleep, generally under the spell of a strong will to wake at the appointedhour for church. The short intervals of being alone with her motherwere spent in pouring out histories of her doings, which were receivedwith a sympathy that doubled their pleasure, excepting when Nuttiethought proper to grumble and scold at her mother's not coming to someChurch festival at an hour when she thought Mr. Egremont might want her. 

Of him Nuttie saw very little. He did not want her, and cared littlewhat she did, as long as she was under the wing of Lady Kirkaldy, whosepatronage was a triumphant refutation of all doubts. He went his ownway, and had his own club, his own associates, and, with his wifealways at his beck and call, troubled himself very little aboutanything else. 

Alice spent a good deal of time alone, chiefly in waiting his pleasure;but she had her own quiet occupations, her books, her needlework, herhousekeeping, and letter-writing, and was peacefully happy as long asshe did not displease Nuttie. There were no collisions between fatherand daughter, and the household arrangements satisfied that fastidioustaste. She was proud of Ursula's successes, but very thankful not tobe dragged out to share them, though she was much less shy, and moreable on occasion to take her place. 

One pain she had. Good old Mrs. Nugent was rapidly decaying, and sheshared with all her loving heart in the grief this was to Mary and toMiss Headworth, and longed to help them in their nursing. She wouldnot grieve Nuttie by dwelling constantly on the bad accounts, and thegirl hardly attended to them in the tumult of occupations; and so atlast, when the final tidings came in the second week in July, they werean absolute shock to Nuttie, and affected her as the first griefsometimes does. Mrs. Nugent was really the first person of her ownintimate knowledge who had died, and in the excited state in which shewas, the idea of the contrast between her own occupations and Mary'swas so dreadful to her that she wept most bitterly, with the sobs ofchildhood, such as she really did not know how to restrain. 

It was an unfortunate day, for it was one of the few on which Mr. Egremont wanted to take out his ladies. There was to be a greatgarden-party at Richmond, given by one of his former set, who hadlately whitewashed himself by marrying a very fast and fashionablelady. Nuttie had heard strong opinions on the subject at LordKirkaldy's; but her father was quite elated at being in a position tocountenance his old friends. Alice, in the midst of her sorrow, recollected this with consternation. 

'My dear, my dear, hush! You must stop yourself! Remember we have togo out. '

'Go--out, ' cried Nuttie, her sobs arrested by very horror. 'Youwouldn't go--!'

'I am afraid your father would be very much vexed--'

'Let him! It is a horrid wicked place to go to at all; and now--whendear, dear old Mrs. Nugent is lying there--and--'

The crying grew violent again, and in the midst in walked Mr. Egremontwith an astonished 'What is all this?'

'We have lost one of our dear kind old friends at Micklethwayte, ' saidAlice, going towards him; 'dear old Mrs. Nugent, ' and she lifted up hertear-stained face, which he caressed a little and said, 'Poor oldbody;' but then, at a sob, 'Can't you stop Ursula from making such arow and disfiguring herself? You must pick up your looks, Edda, for Imean you to make a sensation at Jerningham's. '

'Oh, Alwyn, if you could let us stay at home! Mrs. Nugent was so goodto us, and it does seem unkind--' The tears were in her eyes again. 

'Nonsense!' he said impatiently. 'I promised Jerningham, and it isabsurd to have you shutting yourself up for every old woman atMicklethwayte. '

Thereupon Ursula wiped away her tears, and stood up wrathful beforehim. 'I am not going, ' she said. 

'Oh, indeed!' he returned in a tone that made her still more angry. 'Hein'! a French ejaculation which he had the habit of uttering in amost exasperating manner. 

'No, ' she said. 'It is scarcely a place to which we even ought to beasked to go, and certainly not when--'

'Do you hear that, Mrs. Egremont?' he asked. 

'Oh, Nuttie, Nuttie, dear!' she implored; 'don't. '

'No, mother, ' said Nuttie, with flashing eyes; 'if you care so littlefor your best friends as to let yourself be dragged out among all sortsof gay, wicked people when your dear friend is lying dead, I'm sure Ishan't go with you. '

Her father laughed a little. 'A pretty figure you are, to make afavour of accompanying us!'

'Oh, go away, go away, Nuttie, ' entreated her mother. 'You don't knowwhat you are saying. '

'I do know, ' said Nuttie, exasperated perhaps by the contrast in themirror opposite between her own swelled, disfigured face, and the softtender one of her mother with the liquid eyes. 'I know how much youcare for the dear friends who took care of us when we were forsaken!'

And with this shaft she marched out of the room, while her father againlaughed, and said, 'Have they been training her for the tragic stage?Never mind, Edda, the little vixen will come to her senses upstairs, and be begging to go. '

'I don't think she will, ' said Alice sadly; 'she is not that sort ofstuff, and she was very fond of Mrs. Nugent. Oh, Alwyn! if you couldlet us off. '

'Not after that explosion, certainly, ' he said. 'Besides, I promisedJerningham, and such an excuse would never hold water. She is not evena relation. '

'No, but she was very good to me. '

'The more reason why you should not stay at home and be hipped. Nevermind that silly girl. She will be all right by and by. '

On the contrary, she did not come down to luncheon, and when, about anhour later, Alice, after writing a few tender loving words to themourners, went up to her daughter's room, it was to find a limp anddeplorable figure lying across the bed, and to be greeted with a freshoutburst of sobs and inarticulate exclamations. 

'Oh, Nuttie, dear, this will not do! It is not right. Dear good Mrs. Nugent herself would tell you that this is not the way any one so goodand so suffering should be grieved for. Think--'

'Oh, I know all that!' cried Nuttie, impatiently; 'but she--she was thedearest--and nobody cares for her but me. Not even you--'

Again Alice tried to debate the point, and urge on her the duties ofmoderation, self-control, and obedience, but the poor gentle mother wasat a great disadvantage. 

In the first place, she respected and almost envied her daughter'sresistance, and really did not know whether it was timidity orprinciple that made it her instinct to act otherwise; in the next, Ursula could always talk her down; and, in the third, she was, andgreatly she reproached herself for that same, in great dread of settingherself off into tears that might become hysterical if she once gaveway to them. And what would be her husband's feelings if she toocollapsed and became unpresentable. 

So, having once convinced herself that even if Nuttie had been aconsenting party, no amount of cold water and eau-de-cologne wouldbring those bloodshot eyes, swollen lids, and mottled cheeks to be fitto be seen, she fled as fast as possible from the gasps of barbedreproaches which put her own composure in peril, and dressed with theheaviest of hearts, coupled with the utmost solicitude to look herbest. If she had not thought it absolutely wrong, she would even havefollowed Martin's suggestion, and put on a soupcon of rouge; but by thetime she was summoned to the carriage the feverishness of her effort atself-control had done the work, and her husband had paid her thecompliment of observing that she looked pretty enough for two. 

Nuttie heard them drive off, with a burst of fresh misery ofindignation against her mother--now as a slave and a victim--now asforgetting her old home. It was chiefly in mutterings; she had prettywell used up her tears, for, unconsciously perhaps, she had worked themup as a defensive weapon against being carried to the party; and nowthat the danger was over, her head throbbed, her eyes burnt, and herthroat ached too much for her to wish to cry any more. She had not feltphysically like this, since the day, seven years ago, when she andMildred Sharpe had been found suspiciously toying with the key of thearithmetic, and had been debarred from trying for the prize. Then shefelt debased and guilty; now she felt, or ought to feel, like a heroinemaintaining the right. 

She got up and set herself to rights as well as she could. Martin, whohad been allowed to know that she had lost an old friend, petted andpitied her, and brought her a substantial meal with her tea, afterwhich she set out to evensong at the church at the end of the square, well veiled under a shady hat, and with a conviction that somethingought to happen. 

Nothing did, however, happen; she met no one whom she knew, the psalmswere not particularly appropriate, and her attention wandered away tothe scene at home. She did not come back, as she was sure she ought tohave done, soothed, exhilarated, and refreshed, but rather in a raspedstate of mind, and a conscience making a vehement struggle to believeitself in the right--a matter in which she thoroughly succeeded. 

She wrote a long letter to Mary Nugent, and shed some softer tears overit, then she built a few castles on her future escape from the power ofher father; and then she picked up Reata, and became absorbed in it, regretting only the weakness of her eyes, and the darkening of thesummer evening. 

She was still reading when the others came home. Her mother kissedher, but looked so languid and tired-out that Nuttie was shocked, andMartin declared that she ought not to go down to dinner. 

A tete-a-tete dinner between father and daughter was too dreadful toAlice's imagination to be permitted, so she dressed and went down, looking like a ghost. Mr. Egremont scowled at Nuttie, Nuttie scowledat him, each considering it the fault of the other, and when at last itwas over, Alice gave up the struggle, and went off to bed, leaving acontrite message that her headache would be better to-morrow. 

'All your accursed folly and obstinacy, ' observed Mr. Egremont, whenNuttie, with a tone of monition gave him the message. 

'I should call it the consequence of being dragged out with a soreheart, ' returned Nuttie--a little speech she had prepared ever sinceshe had seen how knocked up her mother was. 

'Then I should recommend keeping your ideas to yourself, ' he answered, looking at her in his annihilating manner. 

She was put down. She thought afterwards of a hundred things that shecould have said to him, but she was crushed for the present, and whenhe went out she could only betake herself to Reata, and forget allabout it as much as she could. 

When she went upstairs, at the end of the third volume, Martin was onthe watch, and would not let her go into the room. 

'I have been at hand, ma'am, without her guessing it, and I am happy tosay her tears has had a free course when she was in bed. Yes, ma'am, suppressed grief is always dangerous. '

Mrs. Egremont was still prostrate with fatigue and headache the nextday, and Nuttie had all the quiet luxuriating in reminiscences shedesired. Her father was vexed and angry, and kept out of the way, butit must be confessed that Nuttie's spirits had so much risen by theafternoon that it was a sore concession to consistency when she foundherself not expected at Blanche's last little afternoon dance at LadyKirkaldy's!

CHAPTER XX. 

WOLF. 

 'If I cannot once or twice in a quarter bear out a knave against an honest man, I have but very little credit with your Worship. ' --II. King Henry IV. 

Another cause besides Ursula's recalcitrance and her mother's ailmentcontributed to disturb Mr. Egremont, and bring him home. His agent, byname Bulfinch, a solicitor at Redcastle, came to him with irrefragableproofs of gross peculation on the part of the bailiff who managed thehome farm which supplied the house and stables, and showed him that itwas necessary to make a thorough investigation and change of system. 

In point of fact, Mr. Egremont greatly preferred being moderatelycheated to exerting himself to investigate, but this was going beyondmoderation, and the explosion had been too public to be passed over. Sohe came home and sat by, while his wife and Mr. Bulfinch did the workfor him, and made it evident to him that the frauds had been of longstanding, and carried on with the connivance of the coachman, ofGregorio, --who had before Mrs. Egremont's arrival acted as housesteward, --and of the former cook. Indeed, it was the housekeeper whomMrs. Egremont had left in charge, whose refusal to connive had broughtabout the discovery. 

Gregorio's share in all was sufficiently evident, and Alice's heartleapt with hope. Her husband would be wholly her own if his evilgenius were once departed, but Mr. Egremont would not see it. He hadno objection to sacrifice the coachman and all his underlings, with thebailiff and his entire family, and felt none of the pity that Alice hadfor the pretty, silly, half-educated daughters; but as to thevalet--Pooh! pooh! the poor fellow had been out of the way all thistime--whatever he had done had been in the dark, ages long ago, beforeBridgefield knew its mistress; he was a foreigner, and that was enoughto prevent him from forgathering with the English. It was all theirEnglish prejudice. 

'I can show you facts and figures, sir, ' said Mr. Bulfinch. 

'I daresay, a year or more old. Why, I was an unprotected carcasethen--a mere prey--the fellow only did after his kind. '

Alice held her tongue then, but made an effort in private. 'Indeed, Idon't think you know; I am afraid Gregorio is not altered. I found himout in his charges about the wine, and the servants' wages at Nice, only you wouldn't listen. '

'His little perquisites, my dear child! Come, nonsense, these foreignfellows don't pretend to have the morals you ascribe to the nativeflunkey--generally without foundation either--they are much of amuchness as to that; but your Frenchman or Italian does it more neatly, and is a dozen times better servant than the other is. '

'But--'

'Oh, ay! I know you don't like him. But he knows his manners to you, I hope?' said Mr. Egremont, with a suddenness that made her wish shecould truthfully say he did not. 

'Yes, he always is--is respectful, but somehow I see it is underprotest. '

Mr. Egremont laughed. 'Rivals--yes, I see; why, you don't consider thesore trial of having a full-grown mistress turned in upon him! Lookhere, you keep the keys already, but the new fellow at the farm and allthe rest of them shall account to you for everything--Gregorio and all. Won't that satisfy you?'

''Tis not only the money, but I think Gregorio is a bad--not agood--man. '

'Ho, ho! she wants to advertise for a pious footman and coachman! eh?No, I thank you, my dear Edda, I agree with--who was it who said, "Volez moi, mais sans m'ennuyer. "'

The Rectory likewise had hoped for Gregorio's dismissal, and there weregrave looks when Alice had to confess that nothing would move herhusband against him. The Canon even lashed himself up to say, 'I tellyou how it is, Alwyn, you'll never do any good with your household, while you keep that fellow. '

'I am not aware what description of good you expect me to do with it, Will, ' coolly answered the elder brother in a disconcerting tone. 

Poor Alice, on her side, thought of the Little Master, and thenwondered if it was uncharitable to do so. For she knew it had becomewar to the knife with Gregorio! Whether his master told him, orwhether it were his own evil conscience, or the wonderful intuition ofservants, he certainly knew of the pressure for his dismissal, and hevisited it on her as much as he durst. 

Outwardly deferential, he could thwart and annoy her in a hundred ways, from making love to the housemaids to making evil suggestions to hismaster, yet never giving her any overt cause of complaint. He couldworry and sting her under the politest exterior, and he knew very wellthat the most effectual form of annoyance was the persuading his masterthat any discomfort or lassitude was to be removed by some form ofnarcotic. This would have the further advantage of stupefying Mr. Egremont, and making him more ready to lapse under the old influence;while the duration and strength of the new one was already a surpriseto Gregorio. 

But there was no doubt that Mrs. Egremont had profited by her year oftraining. She looked tired, and less youthful and pretty, but she hadgained in grace and importance as well as in style, and was much morereally the mistress of Bridgefield. Her shyness had passed away, andshe knew now to take her place in society, though still she wassomewhat silent. And her husband depended upon her entirely for allhis correspondence, for much of his occupation and amusement, and evenfor the regulation of his affairs. In the household, Gregorio waslittle more than his personal attendant, and she had the generalmanagement, even of the other men-servants. The Canoness might wellsay it had turned out better than she expected. 

And Nuttie had become more womanly, and had acquired the indefinablepolish given by a London season. She had learnt the art ofconversation, and could make herself agreeable to her uncle, or to anyone else who came in her way. Even May allowed that she had somethingin her, and cultivated her more than before; but, on the other hand, even the Rectory could perceive that there was now an absolutealienation between her and her father, and what might before have beenfear had become dislike. If she had to refer to him, especially if herplans for herself or her mother were crossed, there was always a toneof bitterness or of sarcasm about her; and her greater boldness andfreedom of speech would occasionally manifest itself towards him. Thiswas not indeed often, since not only did his cool contempt make hercome off the worst in the encounters, but the extreme distress theygave to her mother made her refrain whenever her temper, or what shethought her conscience, would let her; but still there was always adanger which kept poor Alice on thorns whenever there was a possibledifference of schemes or opinions. 

Mrs. William Egremont was seriously considering of representing toUrsula that her conduct was bad taste, bad policy, and, moreover, wasdoing her mother's spirits and health serious harm; but it was adelicate matter in which to meddle, and the good lady could not make upher mind how far to surrender her brother-in-law's character and allowa partial justification to Ursula. She was a cautious woman, andwaited and watched her opportunities. 

In the beginning of October Mr. And Mrs. Egremont were invited to agreat shooting party at Sir James Jerningham's. The invitation did notinclude Ursula. Perhaps she had never dawned on their hostess'simagination; perhaps it was that Lady Jerningham was well known todislike girls, or any one who might absorb young men's attention. Atany rate the omission was a cause of thankfulness to the partyconcerned, and she did not neglect to worry her mother by a protestagainst keeping such company as would be met at Waldicotes. 

Alice smiled a little faintly and said, 'I don't think it hurts me, mydear; I don't understand half of what they talk about, and they arealways kind to me. '

'I don't think you ought to go among them or countenance them. '

'My dear child, '--and the colour rose--'I don't feel as if I had aright to set myself above any one. '

'Mother!'

'People might have said just the same of me. '

'And whose fault was that?' muttered Nuttie under her breath, but Mrs. Egremont would not hear. She only pleaded, as perhaps mother ought notto have done with child. 

'You know, Nuttie, it is not for my own pleasure, but your father'seyesight makes him dislike to go anywhere without me now; and I reallyshould be uneasy about him. '

'Yes; he is all you care for, ' said Nuttie. 'You sacrifice everythingyou used to think essential, just to his will and pleasure. '

'Oh, Nuttie, I hope not; I don't think I do!'

'If I thought it was doing him any good I should not so much mind, 'went on the girl; 'but he is just the same, and I am always thinking of"As the husband is, the wife is--"'

'Hush! hush! You have no right to think in that way of your father. Iwill not hear it. I have let you say too much already, Nuttie. ' Thenafter a pause she added, gently and wistfully, 'You have been bettertaught, and are clearer headed than ever I was, my Nuttie, and it isquite right that you should hate what seems evil to you. I can only goon trying to do what seems my duty from day to day. I know, ' she addedwith rising tears, 'that the sin and folly of my younger days worked adifficult position for us both; but we can only act according to ourlights, and pray God to direct us; and please--please bear with me, mydear one, if the same course does not always seem right to us both. '

Nuttie had never heard her say anything so fully showing that sherealised these difficulties, and, greatly touched, she asked pardon, kissed and caressed her mother. There was a calm over them for thenext few days, and Nuttie actually refrained from bitter comments whenher mother was not allowed to go to evensong on Sunday, on the plea ofher being tired, but, as the girl believed, in order that she mightread the newspapers aloud. 

She knew that her silence was appreciated by the way her mother kissedher and called her a dear, good, considerate girl. 

On Monday Mr. And Mrs. Egremont went away at what was a strangely earlyhour for the former, Nuttie spending her days at the Rectory. 

On the Tuesday Blanche went with her little sister and the governess ona shopping expedition to Redcastle, and in relating her adventures onher return, she said, 'Oh, by the bye, I met Annaple in Park's shop!'

'Full of Micklethwayte news, I suppose, ' said May. 

'Yes, of course. Did you know, Nuttie, that your aunt was ill?'

'No, indeed, I did not. What was the matter?'

'Bronchitis, I believe--brown titus, as Betty Butter calls it. '

'Bronchitis! Oh dear! oh dear! Are you quite sure, Blanche?'

'Oh yes! I am quite certain Annaple said Mark told her that MissHeadworth was laid up with bronchitis. '

'And nobody has written to us all this week!' sighed Nuttie. 

'I should think that a sign there could not be much in it, ' observedMay; 'it may be only a bad cold. '

'But Aunt Ursel had bronchitis four years ago, and was very illindeed, ' persisted Nuttie. 'I'm sure it is bronchitis, and that shewon't let Miss Mary write to us. '

She was in much distress about it, though May privately told her thatshe ought to know Blanche's way better than to trust implicitly to anyof her reports; and her aunt said much the same thing in more generalterms, even proposing that if she did not hear the next morning sheshould go over to Lescombe to ascertain what Mark had really said. 

This pacified her a little, but on her way home the alarm grew uponher, and, moreover, she recollected the opposition that she believedthat her father was certain to make to either her mother or herselfgoing to nurse her aunt. It flashed upon her that if she were tohasten to Micklethwayte on this alarm before there could be aprohibition, it would be no disobedience, and perfectly justifiable, not to say noble. Her parents were to return on Thursday evening, andshe made up her mind that, unless she were fully reassured as to MissHeadworth's state, she would go off at once to Micklethwayte before anyone could gainsay her. She had plenty of money, and she consulted thetime-table in the hall before going upstairs. It only concerned thenearest line, but she calculated that if she caught the express, sheshould reach her destination in time to write to her mother atWaldicotes, and prevent needless shocks. Her eagerness for the plangrew upon her, so that it seemed like liberation; she could hardlysleep for thinking of it, and certainly was not as much disappointed asshe believed herself when the post came in--a blank. 

Martin was away with her mistress, so Nuttie explained matters to theupper housemaid, who was very sympathetic, carried down her orders forthe carriage, procured for her both breakfast and provision for thejourney, and packed her clothes. Ursula would fain have been offbefore the Rectory was aware, but the two little girls came up with amessage about the plans for the day, just as she was beginning anexplanatory note, and she entrusted to them the information that shewas so uneasy about Miss Headworth that she had decided on going to seefor herself. 

So in dashed Adela and Rosalind to their mother's room full ofexcitement with the news that Cousin Nuttie was gone off by the train, because her aunt was very ill indeed. 

'Gone, Adela? are you sure? Really gone?'

'Oh yes, mamma! The dogcart was coming round, and she said she wantedto catch the 10. 05 train, and was very sorry she had not time to writea note to you. '

'Was there a letter? What had she heard?'

'Oh, only that her aunt was so very ill! She did not tell us--did she, Rosie?'

'There was something about being in time to write to Aunt Alice, 'suggested Adela. 

'I am very sorry about this. I am afraid it will be a great shock toAlice, ' observed the mother, as she imparted the news at her husband'sdressing-room door. 

'Young girls are so precipitate!' said the Canon. 

'Your brother won't like it at all, ' the lady continued. 

'Not he. But after all, it is just as well that he was not asked. Theydo owe that poor old lady a good deal, and Alwyn's not the man to seeit. I'm not sorry the girl took the matter into her own hands, thoughI couldn't have advised it. '

'Except that it will all fall on Alice. '

'He is very fond of Alice. She has done more with him than I everthought possible. Kept him respectable this whole year, and really itgrows on him. He makes ever so much more of her now than when he firstbrought her home--and no wonder. No, no; he won't fall foul of her. '

'Perhaps not; but it is just as bad, or worse, for her if he falls foulof her daughter. Besides, she is very much attached to her aunt. Iwish I knew what the account was, or whether she knows anything aboutit. '

CHAPTER XXI. 

URSULA'S RECEPTION. 

 'Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought. '--SHAKESPEARE. 

It was at half-past seven o'clock that Ursula Egremont's cab stopped atSt. Ambrose's Road. She had missed the express train, and had to comeon by a stopping one. But here at last she was, with eyes even bygaslight full of loving recognition, a hand full of her cab-fare, aheart full of throbbing hope and fear, a voice full of anxiety, as sheinquired of the astonished servant, 'Louisa, Louisa, how is AuntUrsel!' and, without awaiting the reply, she opened the adjoining door. There sat, with their evening meal on the table, not only Mary Nugent, but Miss Headworth herself. 

Nuttie rushed at her, and there was an incoherency of exclamations, thefirst thing that made itself clear to the senses of the travellerbeing, 'Ill, my dear? No such thing! Only I had a bad cold, and Maryhere is only too careful of me. '

'But Mark said you had bronchitis. '

'What could have put that into his head? He did not write it, surely?'

'He wrote it to Annaple Ruthven, and she told Blanche. '

'Oh!' and Mary Nugent's tone was rather nettling. 

'And then it was such a terrible time since we had heard anything, 'added Nuttie, on the defensive. 

'Did not your mother get my letter?' said Miss Headworth. 'I wrote toher at--what's the name of that place? I hope I addressed it right. '

'Oh, but I was not there. I didn't go with them. '

'Ah, yes, I remember. Then did not she send you?'

'No, I came off this morning. I heard this yesterday evening, and Idetermined that nothing should stop me if there was no news by thepost. '

'Dear child! But will your father not be displeased?' said MissHeadworth. 

'He hasn't any right to object, ' cried Nuttie, with flashing eyes and alook that made Miss Nugent anxious; but at the moment there could belittle thought save of welcome to the warm-hearted girl. Louisa wasalready brewing fresh tea, and extemporising additions to the meal, andNuttie was explaining how she hoped to have arrived a couple of hourssooner. 

'By the bye, I meant to have written to mother for her to have itto-morrow before leaving Waldicotes. Is there time?'

No, the pillar at hand was cleared at seven, and the regularpost-office could not be reached in time; so they satisfied themselveswith the knowledge that Mrs. Egremont must have had Aunt Ursel'scheerful letter, and Mary recommended telegraphing to the Canon thefirst thing in the morning. Then they gave themselves up to enjoyment. 

'At any rate, I'm here, ' said Nuttie, 'and I'll make the most of it. '

And her handsome furs were laid aside, and her boots taken off, and sheresigned herself to absolute ease and luxury, while Mary poured out thetea, and her aunt heaped her plate with eggs and rashers 'such as onedoesn't get anywhere else, ' said Nuttie, declaring herself quitevoracious, while her aunt fondly admired her growth and improvement, and she inquired into the cold, not quite gone yet; and there werespeculations over what Mark could have got into his head. Maryremembered having met him coming to call, and having told him that shehad persuaded Miss Headworth to keep her bed because her colds were aptto be severe, and it was agreed to lay the exaggeration at the door ofthe lovers and Blanche. Miss Headworth laughed, and said she ought tobe flattered that an old woman's sore throat should be thought worthyof mention by a fine young gentleman like Mr. Mark. 'A very good youngman he is, ' she added. 'You would never have thought how kind he is incoming in here to tell me everything he hears about your dear mother, Nuttie. '

'He makes himself very useful while Mr. Dutton is away, ' added Mary, 'taking his young men's class and all. '

'Oh! is Mr. Dutton away?'

'Yes; he has had to be in London a great deal of late. I am afraid hemay have to live there altogether. '

'What a grievous pity!'

'He won't be anywhere without doing good, ' said Miss Headworth, 'but Isometimes wish we had his cool good sense here. '

'And how is Mr. Spyers, ' asked Nuttie. She felt shy of asking forGerard Godfrey, or perhaps she thought she ought to be shy of his name, and kept hoping that it would come in naturally. 

'Mr. Spyers is very well. Very busy of course, and very much delightedwith your mother's gifts to the church. All her own work, isn't it, Nuttie?'

'Yes; every bit. She does lots of embroidery and work of all kindswhen she is waiting for _him_ or sitting with him, and luckily it hasnever occurred to him to ask what it is for. '

The two ladies knew well what was meant by him, but they would notpursue the subject, and proceeded to put Nuttie au courant with St. Ambrose affairs--how last year's mission had produced apparently animmense effect in the town, and how the improvement had been ebbingever since, but had left various individual gains, and stirred up morethan one good person who had hitherto thought it enough to save one'sown soul and let other people alone; how Mr. Spyers was endeavouring tobind people together in a guild; how a violent gust of temperanceorators had come down upon the place, and altogether fascinated andcarried away Gerard Godfrey. 

There was his name at last, and Nuttie was rather gratified to feelherself blushing as she asked, 'Ah! poor Gerard--how is he?'

'As good and sincere as ever, ' said Miss Nugent, 'but not much wiser. He is so excitable and vehement. '

'Yes, ' said Miss Headworth. 'I don't understand the kind of thing. Inmy time a steady young clerk used to be contented after hours withplaying at cricket in the summer, or learning the flute in thewinter--and a great nuisance it was sometimes, but now Gerard must gethimself made a sort of half clergyman. '

'A reader, ' suggested Mary. 

'Minor orders. Oh, how delightful!' cried Nuttie. 

'People, don't half understand it, ' added Miss Headworth. 'Mrs. Jeffreys will have it that he is no better than a Jesuit, and really Idid not know what to say, for he talked, to me by the hour about hisbeing an external brother to something. '

'Not to the Jesuits, certainly, ' said Nuttie. 

'Yes, I told her that; but she thinks all monks are Jesuits, you know, and that all brothers are monks; and he does wear his cassock--hischoir cassock, I mean--when he has his service in the iron room at thesandpits. And now he has taken up temperance, and flies about givingthe pledge, and wanting one to wear bits of blue ribbon. I told him Inever did take, and never had taken, more than a little hot wine andwater when I had a cold, and I couldn't see what good it would do toGeorge Jenkins and the poor fellows at the Spread Eagle if I took everso many vows. '

'There's a regular blue-ribbon fever set in, ' said Miss Nugent. 'Gerardtold me I was supporting the cause of intemperance yesterday because Iwas so wicked as to carry the rest of your bottle of port, MissHeadworth, to poor Anne Crake. '

'Well! he is a dear boy, and youth wouldn't be youth if it were notsometimes rather foolish, ' said Miss Headworth, 'and it is better itshould be for good than evil. '

'Eager in a cause and not for selfishness, ' said Mary. 'Poor Gerard, Iwonder where he will be safely landed!'

So did Nuttie, who had a secret flattering faith in being the cause ofall the poor young fellow's aberrations, and was conscious of havingbegun the second volume of her life's novel. She went to bed in theelated frame of mind proper to a heroine. There was a shade over allin the absence of dear old Mrs. Nugent, and in Mary's deep mourning, but there is more tenderness than poignancy in sorrow for shocks ofcorn gathered in full season, and all was cheerful about her. 

She had quite a triumph the next day, as old friends dropped in for thechance of seeing her. The least agreeable encounter was that withMark, who came in on his way to the office, having just received by thesecond post a letter from his father inquiring into Miss Headworth'sstate. He met Nuttie in the vestibule, with her hat on, and in a greathurry, as she wanted to walk with Mary to the School of Art, GerardGodfrey accompanying them as far as the office; and she did not at alllike the being called to account, and asked what could have possessedher to take alarm. 

'Why, you wrote yourself!'

'I!'

'To Annaple Ruthven. '

'What am I supposed to have written?'

'That Aunt Ursel was very ill with bronchitis. '

'I'll be bound that Miss Ruthven said no such thing. You don't pretendthat you heard it from herself?'

'No; but Blanche did. '

'Blanche! Oh, that accounts for it! Though I should have thought youknew Blanche by this time. '

'But what did you say?'

'I believe I said I couldn't get a knitting pattern Miss Headworth wasto send Lady Ronnisglen because she was in bed with a cold. What youand Blanche could contrive to make of a simple thing like that--'

'And Annaple!'

'Well, ' but checking himself with a smile, 'we will not fight aboutthat. I only hope it has not brought you into an awkward scrape, Nuttie. '

'I can't help that, ' she answered with her head rather high. 

'You have written and explained?' he said anxiously. 

'To my mother, of course. '

'If I were you, ' he said, lowering his voice, 'I should write or send aspecial message to your father. '

'I can't see why. It was a mistake. '

'Yours was a strong measure, and he won't like it. Be advised, Nuttie. Recollect your mother. The best way would be to go home at once. Icould get a day to take you--if you would start this afternoon. '

'Thank you; I'm not going back till I hear, ' she said proudly. 

Time being up, Mark took his leave hastily, and as he shut the door, Nuttie uttered half aloud the words she had scarcely repressed, 'No, Ithank you, Mr. Mark, I am not going back like a dog in a string. '

'What, was that what he expected of you?' said Gerard Godfrey, whom shehad not intended to hear her, but who had come out of the sitting-roomon the sounds of departure. 

'He said he would take me home if I could go at once. '

'Wouldn't he have liked it!' exclaimed Gerard. 

'It might be the best way, ' said Miss Nugent, who had followed youngGodfrey. 

'Now, Miss Mary, ' cried Nuttie, 'as if I could shorten my holiday nowthat I have it. '

'And I don't see what business he had to call you to account, ' saidGerard. 'A stuck-up fellow. '

'Of course all the Egremonts are set against my being here, ' saidNuttie. 

'I thought the Canon offered to bring you last year, ' said Mary gently. 

'Oh, that was only to Monks Horton! It would have been simplytantalising. '

'Lady Kirkaldy is an excellent person, ' said Miss Nugent. 

'Is she at home now?' asked Ursula. 

'Coming next week, they tell me, ' said Gerard. 

'He--your cousin--will always be loafing up there now, giving up allthat he had undertaken, I suppose. '

'Not very likely, ' said Mary quietly. 

It is a mere Scottish anti-church influence, ' said Gerard, turninground at the swing-door of his office. 'Why else will Egremont nottake the pledge?'

Wherewith he disappeared, blue ribbon and all, while Mary smiled, though she was vexed; and Nuttie observed, 'Poor Gerard; but I can'tsee why he should be jealous of Mark _now_. '

Mary did not choose to understand what Nuttie implied in hersimplicity, and made answer, 'He is rather blue ribbon mad. Besides, Iam afraid the fact of being a "swell" does not conduce to your cousin'spopularity among the clerks. '

'Surely he does not give himself airs, ' said Ursula, her familyfeelings awaking. 

'No; but I fancy he is rather reserved. '

'What's this about giving up what he has undertaken? What is it?'

'When Mr. Dutton went to London, he asked Mark to take his Sundayafternoons with the big lads. He thought they wanted some one withmore resources and variety than there is in poor Gerard, who didn't atall like being passed over. '

'I never should have thought it of Mark. He never dreamt of teachinganybody at home. '

'Very likely not, but there is an atmosphere at St. Ambrose's. '

'And oh, how glad I am to be in it! I wonder how long they will let mestay! The dear little mother will try to get me a Sunday here, if shedares. Indeed, I can't hear before Saturday, and then there wouldhardly be time to get home! Oh, that's jolly! I'll go to the nurserygardens, and get _such_ flowers for the vases!'

Saturday brought Nuttie a letter, but not from her mother--

'My Dear Ursula--I write because we are anxious to keep your mother asquiet as possible. It was a serious shock to her to find that you hadleft home, and she naturally supposed that Miss Headworth was in greatdanger. Your father was greatly displeased, and she has been muchovercome, and very unwell, but we hope by keeping her perfectly quietthat worse consequences may be prevented. Your father desires you toremain where you are for the present, as he will not have her disturbedagain. Your mother sends her love both to you and to your aunt, anddesires me to say that she will write in a day or two, and that shethinks you had better not come back till she is better and yourfather's vexation has diminished. 

'I wish you had informed us of your intentions, as then we could haveascertained the grounds of the report that terrified you sostrangely. --I remain your affectionate aunt, JANE M. EGREMONT. '

'Poor mother! he has been sneering at us all in his dreadful cynicalway, and knocked her up into one of her awful headaches, ' said Nuttie, who felt extremely angered by the grave tone of rebuke in the letter, and tossed it over to her aunt without absolutely reading it all. MissHeadworth was a good deal distressed, and anxious to know what Mrs. William Egremont meant; but Nuttie positively declared, 'Oh, it is herheadaches! You know she always had them more or less, and they havegrown a great deal worse since she has taken to sitting in that horrid, stuffy, perfumy, cigar-ry room, and doesn't take half exercise enough. '

And when Miss Headworth showed herself much concerned about the stateof things, Nuttie coaxed her, and declared that she should fancyherself unwelcome, and have to go and beg a lodging somewhere insteadof enjoying her reprieve. And Aunt Ursel was far less impervious tocoaxing than she used to be when she was the responsible head of aboarding house. She did most thoroughly enjoy the affection of hergreat niece, and could not persuade herself to be angry with her, especially when the girl looked up smiling and said, 'If the worst cameto the worst and he did disinherit me, the thing would only rightitself. I always meant to give it back to Mark. '

No great aunt in the world could fail to admire the generous spirit ofthe girl who came back from the great world of luxury, so loving andhappy in her humble surroundings. The only sighs were for poor Alice, in the hands of a man of whom Miss Headworth knew so much evil. If shewere not wretched and a victim--and Nuttie did not think her such--shemust surely be getting spoilt and worldly. Her daughter implied fearsof this kind, yet who could read her letters and think so?

Nuttie was fortunately too much in awe of the Canoness to write all thepertnesses that tingled at her fingers' ends, and she sent a proper andfairly meek letter, intimating, however, that she was only too happy toremain at Micklethwayte. 

It was two or three days more before she heard again. 

'My Own Dear Child--They have let me write at last, and I can say howmuch I like to think of your nestling up to dear Aunt Ursel, and howglad I am to find that she was well enough to enjoy you. It is almostlike being there to hear of you, and the only thing that grieves me isthat your father was very much vexed at your setting off in that suddenway, and at my being so foolish about it. His eyes have been very bad, and he missed me sadly while I was laid up. We are neither of us verystrong, and we think--if Aunt Ursel and Mary can keep you for a littlelonger--it will be better for you to stay on with them, as it might beas dreary for you as it was last winter, especially as the Rectory folkwill soon be going into residence. I will write to them about it andpersuade them to take something for your board, so as to make it easyfor them. And then you can have a fire in your room; you must notleave it off now you are used to it. My dear, I wish you would write alittle apology to your father. I ought not to conceal that he isreally very angry, and I think it would be well if you expressed someregret, or if you cannot truthfully do that, asked his pardon for yourimpetuosity; for you know he cannot be expected to realise all thatdear Aunt Ursel is to us. You cannot think how kind your Aunt Jane hasbeen to me; I did not think she could have been so tender. This is thefirst letter I ever had to write to you, my own dear child. I miss youevery moment, but after all it is better you should be away till yourfather has overlooked this hurried expedition of yours. I am sure hewould if you wrote him a real nice letter, telling how you were reallyfrightened, and that it was not a mere excuse. Pray do, and then youcan come back to your loving little mother. 

 'A. E. '

'As if I would or could, ' quoth Nuttie to herself. 'Apologise to himindeed, for loving the aunt who toiled for us when he deserted us. Poorlittle mother, she can't really expect it of me. Indeed, I don't thinkshe quite knows what she wants, or whether she likes me to be here orat Bridgefield! My belief is that he bullies her less when I am out ofthe way, because she just gives way to him, and does not assert anyprinciple. I've tried to back her up, and it is of no use, and I amsure I don't want such a winter as the last. So I am much better here;and as to begging pardon, when I have done nothing wrong, I am sure Iwon't, to please anybody. I shall tell her that she ought to know mebetter than to expect it!'

But Nuttie did not show the letter either to Aunt Ursel or Mary Nugent;nor did she see that in which Alice had satisfied them that it might bebetter that her daughter should pay them a long visit, while Mr. Egremont's health required constant attendance, and the Canon's familywere at Redcastle. And as her husband was always open-handed, shecould make Ursula's stay with them advantageous to their slender means, without hurting their feelings. 

She told them as much as she could, but there was more that no livingcreature might know, namely, the advantage that Gregorio had gainedover that battlefield, his master, during her days of illness. Thefirst cold weather had brought on pain, and anger and anxiety, nervousexcitement and sleeplessness, which the valet had taken upon him tocalm with a narcotic under a new name that at first deceived her tillshe traced its effects, and inquired of Dr. Hammond about it. Unwillingly, on her account, he enlightened her, and showed her that, though the last year's care had done much to loosen the bonds of thesubtle and alluring habit, yet that any resumption of it tended toplunge its victim into the fatal condition of the confirmedopium-eater, giving her every hope at the same time that thispropensity might be entirely shaken off, and that the improvement inMr. Egremont's health and habits which had set in might be confirmed, and raise him above the inclination. 

Could she have been rid of Gregorio, she would have felt almost sure ofvictory; but as it was, she believed the man absolutely meant to baffleher, partly out of a spiteful rivalry, partly because his master'storpid indolence could be used to his own advantage. She wasabsolutely certain that his sneering tone of remark made her husbanddoubly disinclined to let any religious book be near, or to permit herto draw him to any Sunday observance. 

The battle must be fought out alone. The gentle woman could have noearthly helper in the struggle. The Canon and Mark, the only personswho could have given her the slightest aid, were both at a distance, even if her loyal heart could have brooked confession to them, and sheonly hoped that Nuttie would never know of it. Only aid from abovecould be with her in the daily, hourly effort of cheerfulness, patience, and all the resources of feminine affection, to avert thetemptation; and she well knew that the presence of the ardent, unsubdued, opinionative girl would, alas! only double the difficulties. So she acquiesced, at least for the present, in Nuttie's grandachievement of having broken away from all the wealth and luxury ofBridgefield to return to her simple home and good old aunt. Mark was agood deal vexed, but Nuttie did not care about that, attributing thisdispleasure to Egremont clanship; Mary Nugent was doubtful and anxious, and thought it her duty to reconcile herself to her father; but MissHeadworth, who, be it remembered, had reason to have the worstimpressions of Mr. Egremont, rejoiced in her young niece having escapedfrom him for the time, and only sighed over the impossibility ofAlice's doing the same. And when Nuttie described, as she constantlydid, the various pleasures she had enjoyed during the past year, thegood old lady secretly viewed her as a noble Christian heroine forresigning all this in favour of the quiet little home at Micklethwayte, though reticent before her, and discussed her excellence whenever shewas alone with Mary. 

Nor would Miss Nugent vex her with contradictions or hints that whatNuttie was giving up at present might be a dull house, with her motherengrossed by an irritable semi-invalid, and the few gaieties to beenjoyed by the help of the Canon's family at Redcastle. She did askthe girl whether Mrs. Egremont, being avowedly not quite well, mightnot need her assistance; but Nuttie vehemently disavowed being of anypossible use to her father; he never let her read to him! oh no! hecalled her music schoolgirly, a mere infliction; he never spoke to herif he could help it, and then it was always with a sort of sneer; shebelieved he could not bear the sight of her, and was ashamed of it, aswell he might be! For Mrs. Houghton's disclosures had rankled eversince within her, and had been confirmed by her aunt. 

'But that is very sad, ' said Mary. 'I am so sorry for you. Ought younot to try hard to conquer his distaste?'

'I--why, he cares for nothing good!'

'Nay, ' smiling. 'Not for your mother?'

'Oh! She's pretty, you know; besides, she makes herself a regularslave to him, and truckles to him in everything, as I could never do. '

'Perhaps she is overcoming evil with good. '

'I am afraid it is more like being overcome of evil. No, no, dear MissMary, don't be shocked. The dear little mother never would be anythingbut good in her own sweet self, but it is her nature not to stand upfor anything, you know. She seems to me just like a Christian womanthat has been obliged to marry some Paynim knight. And it perfectlyprovokes me to see her quite gratified at his notice, and ready tosacrifice anything to him, now I know how he treated her. If I hadbeen in her place, I wouldn't have gone back to him; no, not if he hadbeen ready to crown me after I was dead, like Ines de Castro. '

'I don't know that you would have had much choice in that case. '

'My very ghost would have rebelled, ' said Nuttie, laughing a little. 

And Mary could believe that Mrs. Egremont, with all her love for herdaughter, might find it a relief not to have to keep the peace betweenthe father and child. 'Yet, ' she said to herself, 'if Mr. Dutton werehere, he would have taken her back the first day. '

CHAPTER XXII. 

DISENCHANTMENT. 

 'He promised to buy me a bunch of blue ribbons. '

St. Ambrose's road was perfectly delightful as long as there was anyexpectation of a speedy recall. Every day was precious; every meetingwith an old face was joyful; each interchange of words with Mr. Spyersor Gerard Godfrey was hailed as a boon; nothing was regretted but theabsence of Monsieur and his master, and that the favourite choir boy'svoice was cracked. 

But when there was reason to think that success had been complete, whenMiss Headworth had been persuaded by Mary that it was wiser on allaccounts not to mortify Alice by refusing the two guineas a weekoffered for Miss Egremont's expenses; when a couple of boxes of clothesand books had arrived, and Ursula found herself settled atMicklethwayte till after Christmas, she began first to admit to herselfthat somehow the place was not all that it had once been to her. 

Her mother was absent, that was one thing. Mrs. Nugent was gone, thatwas another. There was no Monsieur or Mr. Dutton to keep her in awe ofhis precision, even while she laughed at it. There were no boarders topatronise and play with, and her education at the High School was over. If she saw a half-clothed child, it was not half so interesting to buyan ulster in the next shop, as it was to turn over the family rag-bag, knit, sew, and contrive! Somehow things had a weariness in them, andthe little excitements did not seem to be the exquisite delights theyused to be. After having seen Patience at the Princess's it was noteasy to avoid criticising a provincial Lady Jane, and it was the likewith other things of more importance. Even the ritual of St. Ambrose'sChurch no longer struck her as the ne plus ultra of beauty, and onlyincited her to describe London churches. 

She resumed her Sunday-school classes, and though she talked at firstof their raciness and freedom, she soon longed after the cleanliness, respectfulness, and docility of the despised little Bridgefordites, anduttered bitter things of Micklethwayte turbulence, declaring--perhapsnot without truth--that the children had grown much worse in herabsence. 

And as Mr. Godfrey had been superintendent during the latter half ofthe time, this was a cruel stroke. He wanted to make her reverse heropinions. And they never met without 'Now, Ursula, don't you rememberJem Burton putting on Miss Pope's spectacles, and grinning at all theclass. '

'Yes; and how Mr. Dutton brought him up to beg her pardon. Now, wasany notice taken when that horrid boy--I don't know his name--turnedthe hymn they were saying to her into "Tommy, make room for youruncle"?'

'Oh, Albert Cox! It is no use doing anything to him, he would go offat once to the Primitives. '

'Let him!'

'I cannot make him a schismatic. '

'I wonder what he is now!'

'Besides, Miss Pope perfectly provokes impertinence. '

'Then I wouldn't give her work she can't do. '

Such an argument as this might be very well at the moment ofprovocation, but it became tedious when recurred to at every meeting. Nuttie began to wonder when Monks Horton would be inhabited again, andhow much notice Lady Kirkaldy would take of her, and she was a gooddeal disappointed when Mark told her that Lord Kirkaldy had been beggedto undertake a diplomatic mission which would keep them abroad all thewinter. 

There was a certain weariness and want of interest. It was not exactlythat there was nothing intellectual going on. There were the lectures, but they were on chemistry, for which Nuttie cared little. There weregood solid books, and lively ones too, but they seemed passe to one whohad heard them discussed in town. Mary and Miss Headworth read andtalked them over, and perhaps their opinions were quite as wise, andMiss Nugent's conversation was equal to that of any of Nuttie's Londonfriends, but it was only woman's talk after all--the brilliancy andpiquancy, the touch and go, she had enjoyed in Lady Kirkaldy'sdrawing-room was lacking. 

Mr. Spyers was too much immersed in parish matters to read anythingsecular, and neither he nor Gerard Godfrey seemed ever to talk ofanything but parish matters. There was not the slightest interest inanything beyond. Foreign politics, European celebrities, --things inwhich Nuttie had learnt to take warm interest when with the Kirkaldys, were nothing to them. Even Mary wondered at her endeavours to see theday's paper, and she never obtained either information or sympathyunless she came across Mark. It seemed to her that Gerard cared lessfor the peace or war of an empire than for a tipsy cobbler taking thepledge. The monotony and narrowness of the world where she had oncebeen so happy fretted and wearied her, though she was ashamed ofherself all the time, and far too proud to allow that she was tired ofit all. Aunt Ursel at her best had always been a little dry and grave, an authority over the two nieces; and though softened, she was notexpansive, did not invite confidences, and home was not home withoutthe playfellow-mother. 

And most especially was she daily tired of Gerard Godfrey! Had healways talked of nothing but 'the colours, ' chants, E. C. U. , classes, and teetotalism? Whatever she began it always came back to one orother of these subjects, and when she impatiently declared that she wasperfectly sick of hearing of the Use of Sarum, he looked at her asguilty of a profanity. 

Perhaps it was true that he was narrower than he had been. He was agood, honest, religiously-minded lad, but with no great depth or graspof intellect; Ursula Egremont had been his companion first and then hisromance, and the atmosphere of the community in which he lived had beenstudious and intelligent. His expedition to Redcastle had convincedhim that the young lady lived in a different world, entirely beyond hisreach, and in the reaction of his hopelessness, he had thrown himselfinto the excitement of the mission, and it had worked on him a zealouspurpose to dedicate himself totally to a religious life, giving up allworldly aims, and employing the small capital he could call his own inpreparing for the ministry. Mr. Dutton had insisted that he shouldtest his own steadfastness and resolution by another year's work in hispresent situation before he took any steps. 

He had submitted, but still viewed himself as dedicated, and so far asbusiness hours permitted, gave his services like a clerical pupil toSt. Ambrose's with the greatest energy, and perhaps somewhat lessjudgment than if Mr. Dutton had been at hand. Being without naturaltaste for intellectual pursuits, unless drawn into them by hissurroundings, he had dropped them entirely, and read nothing but theephemeral controversial literature of his party, and not much of that, for he was teaching, preaching, exhorting, throughout his spare time;while the vicar was in too great need of help to insist on deepeningthe source from which his zealous assistant drew. As Miss Nugentobserved, teetotalism was to him what dissipation was to other youngmen. 

On this vehemence of purpose descended suddenly Ursula Egremont oncemore; and the human heart could not but be quickened with the idea, notentirely unfounded, that it was to him that she had flown back, andthat her exile proved that she cared for him more than for all thedelights she had enjoyed as heiress of Bridgefield. The good youth wasconscientious to the back-bone, and extremely perplexed between hisself-dedication and the rights that their implied understanding mightgive to her. Was she to be the crowning blessing of his life, to besaved partly through his affection from worldly trials and temptations, and bestowing on him a brilliant lot in which boundless good could beeffected? Or was she a syren luring him to abandon his higher andbetter purposes?

The first few days of her stay, the former belief made him feel liketreading on air, or like the hero of many a magazine story; but as timewent on this flattering supposition began to fail him, when Nuttieshowed her weariness of the subjects which, in his exclusiveness, hedeemed the only ones worthy of a Christian, or rather of a Catholic. Both of them had outgrown the lively, aimless chatter and little jeststhat had succeeded the games of childhood, and the growth had been indifferent directions, so that Ursula felt herself untrue to her oldromance when she became weary of his favourite topics, disappointed byhis want of sympathy and comprehension, fretted by his pettydisapprovals, and annoyed by his evident distaste for Mark, to whom sheturned as to one of her proper world. 

At last, after many tossings, Gerard fixed upon a test. If she enduredit she would be the veritable maiden of his imagination, and they wouldstand by one another, come what would; if not, he would believe thatthe past had been fancy, not love, or love that had not withstood theattractions of fashionable life. A great temperance meeting was comingon, and Gerard, eager at once to fill the room, and to present a goodlyroll of recruits, watched anxiously for his moment, and came on Nuttiewith his hands full of bills in huge letters, and his pockets of badges. 

'Excellent speakers, ' he cried. 'We shall have the hall crowded. You'll come, Ursula?'

'I don't know what Miss Mary will do. I don't think she means it. '

'Oh, if you insist, if we both insist, she will. Look at the paper--weare to have some splendid experiences. '

Nuttie made a face. 'I've heard all about those, ' she said. 'Thatman, ' pointing to one of the names, 'regularly rants about it; he islike a madman. '

'He does go rather far, but it is quite necessary, as you will hear. Oh, Nuttie, if you would only be one of us! I've brought a card! Ifyou would!'

'Why, what's the use, Gerard! I don't like wine, I never do drink it, except a little claret-cup sometimes when I can't get water. '

'Then it would cost you nothing. '

'Yes, it would. It would make me ridiculous. '

'You used not to heed the sneers of the world. '

'Not for anything worth doing--but this is not. '

'It is the greatest cause of the day!' he cried, in an eager exaltedmanner, which somewhat inclined her to laugh. 'Do away with alcoholand you would do away with crime!'

'Thank you for the compliment, Gerard; I never found that theinfinitesimal drop of alcohol that I suppose there is in a tumbler ofclaret-cup disposed me to commit crimes. '

'Why won't you understand me, Ursula! Can't you give up that for thesake of saving others!'

'I wonder whom it would save. '

'Example saves! If you put on this'--taking out the badge--'how manyshould you not lead at your home?'

'Just nobody! Mother and I should have a bad time of it, that's all. '

'And if you endured, what would not your testimony effect in thehousehold and village?'

'Nothing! I have nothing to do with the men-servants, and as to thevillage, it is very sober. There's only one public house, and that iskept by Uncle William's old butler, and is as orderly as can be. '

'Ah! that's the way you all deceive yourselves. Moderate drinkers areten times more mischievous than regular drunkards. '

'Thank you, Gerard! And outrageous abstainers are more mischievousthan either of them, because they make the whole thing so utterlyfoolish and absurd. ' She was really angry now, and so was Gerard. 

'Is that your ultimatum?' he asked, in a voice that he strove to rendercalm. 

'Certainly; I'm not going to take the pledge. '

Having quarrelled in childhood, made quarrelling now easier, and Gerardanswered bitterly:

'Very well, I hope you will have no cause to repent it. '

''Tis not the way to make me repent it, to see how it seems to affectsome people's common sense. It is just as if all your brains had runto water!' said Nuttie, laughing a little; but Gerard was desperatelyserious, and coloured vehemently. 

'Very well, Miss Egremont, I understand. I have had my answer, ' hesaid, gathering up his papers and marching out of the room. 

She stood still, offended, and not in the least inclined to run afterhim and take back her words. He, poor fellow, stumbled down the steps, and held by the garden rail to collect his senses and compose himself. 

'What's the matter, Gerard, are you ill or giddy?' asked Miss Nugent, coming up in the winter twilight. 

'No, oh no! Only the dream of my life is over, ' he answered, scarceknowing what he said. 

'You haven't--' cried Mary aghast. 

'Oh no, ' he said, understanding the blank, 'only she won't take thepledge!'

'I don't see how she could or ought, ' responded Mary. 'Is that all?'

'I had made it the test, ' muttered poor Gerard. 'It is right! It isall over now. I shall know how to go on my way. It is best so--I knowit is--only I did not know whether anything was due to her. ' It wasalmost a sob. 

'Dear old Gerard, ' said Mary, 'I see you meant to do right. It is wellyour mind should be settled. I think you'll find comfort in your goodwork. '

He wrung her hand, and she went in, half amused, for she was fullyaware of the one-sidedness of the mania for temperance under which heacted, yet honouring his high, pure motives, and rejoicing that he hadfound this indirect mode of gauging Nuttie's feelings towards him--thatis, if he was right about them, and there was no revulsion. 

Far from it. Nuttie was still angry. 'Gerard had been so ridiculous, 'she said, 'teasing her to take the pledge, and quite incapable ofunderstanding her reasons. I can't think why Gerard has grown sostupid. '

'Enthusiasms carry people away, ' returned Mary. 

'If Mr. Dutton had only stayed, he would have kept Gerard likehimself, ' said Nuttie. 

But there was no relenting. The two young people avoided each other;and perhaps Nuttie was secretly relieved that the romance she hadoutgrown no longer entangled her. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

A FAILURE. 

 'Would I had loved her more!'--Mrs. Hemans. 

'On the 14th of January, at Bridgefield Egremont, the wife of AlwynPiercefield Egremont, Esquire, a son and heir. '

Ursula had been prepared for this event for about a fortnight by a longtender letter from her mother, mourning over the not meeting atChristmas, and the long separation, but saying that she had wished tospare the long anxiety, and that it had been a trying time which shefelt herself able to cope with better alone, than even with her dearNuttie, knowing her to be happy and safe with Aunt Ursel. Now, if allwent well, they would have a happy meeting, and begin on a new score. 'If the will of God should be otherwise, ' added Alice, 'I am sure Ineed not entreat my Nuttie to do and be all that she can to her father. My child, you do not know how sorely he needs such love and tendanceand prayer as you can give him. I know you have thought I have set youaside--if not better things, for his sake. Indeed I could not helpit. ' Then there was something tear-stained and blotted out, and itended with, 'He is beginning to miss your step and voice about thehouse. I believe he will really be glad to see you, when the brightspring days come, and I can kiss my own Nuttie again. '

Nuttie was very much delighted, but a little hurt that her aunt andMary should have been in the secret, and pledged to say nothing to hertill her mother should write. She found, moreover, that Miss Headworthwas extremely anxious and not altogether reassured by Mrs. WilliamEgremont's letter of announcement, which filled Nuttie with delight. How happy the little mother must be to have a baby in her arms again, and though she herself did not profess to have a strong turn for infanthumanity, it was the greatest possible relief to be no longer anheiress, excepting that the renunciation in favour of Mark was nolonger practicable. 

The residence at Redcastle was not over, but the Canoness had come tonurse her sister-in-law, and kept up the correspondence. The son andheir was reported to be a perfect specimen, and his father was greatlyelated and delighted, but the letters showed anxiety about the mother, who did not get on as she ought, and seemed to have no power of rallyabout her. At length came a letter that seemed to burn itself intoNuttie's brain--

'My Dear Ursula--Your mother is longing to see you. You had bettercome home directly. Your aunt saved her before. Tell her if she willcome, she shall have my deepest gratitude. I shall send to meet the5. 11 train. --Your affectionate father, A. P. EGREMONT. '

Mrs. William Egremont wrote at more length. Symptoms had set in whichfilled the doctors and nurses with double anxiety. Advice had beensent for from London, and Mr. Egremont was in an uncontrollable stateof distress. She had undertaken to summon Ursula home, and to beg MissHeadworth to undertake the journey. She evidently did not know thather brother-in-law had written himself, and before they could start atelegram terrified them, but proved to contain no fresh tidings, only arenewed summons. 

Miss Headworth forgot all her resolutions about Mr. Egremont'shospitality--her Alice was her only thought, and all the remedies thathad been found efficacious at Dieppe. The good lady had a certainconfidence in her own nursing and experience of Alice, which buoyed herup with hope, while Ursula seemed absolutely stunned. She had neverthought of such a frightful loss or grief, and her mental senses werealmost paralysed, so that she went through the journey in a kind ofsurface trance, observing all around her much as usual, looking out forthe luggage and for the servant who had come to meet them with thereport 'No change. ' She did the honours of the carriage, and coveredMiss Headworth with the fur rug. They wanted it, for they wereshivering with anxiety. 

Canon Egremont came out to the front hall to meet them, and put hisarms round Nuttie tenderly, saying, 'My poor dear child!' then as hesaw he had frightened them, 'No, no! She is alive--conscious they say, only so very weak. ' Then with something of his usual urbane grace, heheld out his hand, 'Miss Headworth, it is very good in you to come. You have a great deal to forgive. '

He took them into the tent-room, where tea was standing, interruptinghimself in the account he was giving to bid Nuttie let her aunt havesome. It was plain from his manner that he had given up hope, and inanother minute in hurried his brother, looking terribly haggard andwith bloodshot eyes, giving his hand to each, with, 'That's right, MissHeadworth, thank you. Come, let me know what you think of her!'

'Does she know they are come?' said the Canon. 'No? Then, Alwyn, letthem have some tea, and take off their things. I can tell you, thenurses will never let them in just off a journey. '

Miss Headworth seconded this, and Mr. Egremont submitted, allowing thatshe had not asked for Nuttie since the morning, and then had smiled andsqueezed his hand when he said she was coming with her aunt; but hewalked up and down in direful restlessness, his whole mind apparentlybent on extracting from Miss Headworth that she had been as ill orworse at Dieppe. 

Alas! when Mrs. William Egremont came down to fetch Nuttie; there wasno question that matters were much worse. The sweet face was perfectlywhite and wasted, and the heavy lids of the dark eyes scarcely liftedthemselves, but the lips moved into a smile, and the hand closed onthat of the girl, who stood by her as one frozen into numbness. Therewas the same recognition when her aunt was brought to her side, thepoor old lady commanding herself with difficulty, as the loving glancequivered over the face. 

Time passed on, and she still held Nuttie's hand. Once, when a littlerevived by some stimulant at her lips, she made an effort and said, 'Stay with him! Take care of him! _Love_ him! And your littlebrother, my Nuttie! Promise!'

'I promise, ' the girl answered, scarce knowing what she said. 

And the eyes closed with an air of peace and rest. 

Again when Miss Headworth was doing something to ease her position shesaid, 'Thank you, ' and then more vigorously, 'Thank you, dear aunt, forall you have been to us. '

There was little more. She asked Nuttie for 'her hymn, ' the eveninghymn with which mother and daughter used nightly to go to sleep, andwhich, in her strange dreamy way, the girl managed to say. 

Then a little murmur and sign passed between the elder ladies, and Mrs. William Egremont fetched her husband. As he opened his book to findthe commendatory prayer, thinking her past all outward consciousness, and grieved by the look of suffering, her eyes again unclosed and herlips said, 'Failed. '

'Don't think of that! God can make failures success. '

There was a half smile, a look of peace. '_He_ makes up, ' she said;and those were the last audible words before it was over, and thetender spirit was released from its strife, some time later, they onlyknew when by the failure of the clasp on her husband's hand. 

Old Miss Headworth did not understand the meaning of that sad word tillthe next forenoon. Then, --as she sat in the darkened tent-room, cryingover her letters, --while the stunned and bewildered Nuttie was, underher Aunt Jane's direction, attending to the needful arrangements, CanonEgremont wandered in upon her in the overflow of confidence of a manwith a full heart, wanting to talk it all out, communicating the more, because she was a discreet woman, and asked no questions. He had triedto see his brother, but Gregorio had not admitted him. He was awarenow of the whole state of things. Dr. Hammond had told him, when firstbeginning to be alarmed for his patient, that the principal cause foranxiety was the exhaustion caused by the long strain on her spirits andstrength consequent on her efforts to wean her husband from his fatalpropensity. There had been other 'complications, ' as the doctor calledthem, and more immediate causes of danger, but both he and hiscolleague, summoned from London, believed that she would havesurmounted them if she had had more strength to rally. But her nursesdated the decided turn for the worse from the day when she had gazed upinto Mr. Egremont's face, and detected the look in his eyes that shehad learnt too well to understand. 

She would fain have lived, and, according to her obedient nature, hadsubmitted to all the silence and stillness enforced on her; but she hadtold Dr. Hammond that she must see her brother-in-law before she wastoo far gone. And the doctor, knowing all, took care it should bebrought about. 

And then she had spoken of her failure in the effort of these years. 'If I had begun better, ' she said, 'it might not have been so with him. '

'My dear, indeed you have nothing to blame yourself for. You weregrievously sinned against by us all. Alwyn was no saint when he drewyou into it--and you, you have been his good angel, doing all and moretoo, ' said the Canon, almost breaking down. 

'I tried--but if I had been a better woman--And to leave him to thatman!'

'Child, child, victories sometimes come this way!' he cried, scarceknowing how it was put into his mouth, but glad to see the light in hereye. 

'Thanks, ' she replied. 'No, I ought not to have said that. I leavehim to God, and my poor Nuttie. I want you to tell her, if I can't, what she must try to do. If I had but brought them together more! ButI tried for the best. '

Then she begged for her last communion, saying, 'I do pray for thatpoor Gregorio. Isn't that forgiving him?' And the attempt to exchangeforgiveness with the Canon for their mutual behaviour at the time ofher marriage overcame them both so much that they had to leave it nothalf uttered. Indeed, in speaking of the scene, William Egremont wasutterly overwhelmed. 

'And that's the woman that I treated as a mere outcast!' he cried, walking about the little room. 'Oh God, forgive me! I shall neverforgive myself. '

Poor Miss Headworth! In past days she had longed for any amount ofretribution on Alice's hard-hearted employers, but it was a verydifferent thing to witness such grief and self reproach. He had intruth much more developed ideas of duty, both as man and priest, thanwhen he had passively left a disagreeable subject to his mother-in-law, as lying within a woman's province; and his good heart was sufferingacutely for the injustice and injury in which he had shared towards onenow invested with an almost saintly halo. 

In the gush of feeling he had certainly revealed more to MissHeadworth, than his wife, or even he himself, in his cooler moments, would have thought prudent, and he ended by binding her to secrecy; andsaying that he should only tell his niece what was necessary for her toknow. 

Nuttie was going about, dry-eyed and numbed, glad of any passingoccupation that would prevent the aching sense of desolation at herheart from gaining force to overwhelm her; courting employment, andshunning pity and condolence, but she could not escape when her uncletook her hand, made her sit down by him, with 'I want to speak to you, my dear;' and told her briefly and tenderly what her mother's efforthad been, and of the message and task she had bequeathed. The poorgirl's heart fainted within her. 

'Oh! but, Uncle William, how can I? How can I ever? Mother could dothings I never could! He _did_ care for her! He does not care for me!'

'You must teach him to do so, Nuttie. '

'Oh!' she said, with a hopeless sound. 

The Canon did think it very hopeless in his heart, but he persevered, as in duty bound. 'I told your dear mother that perhaps you wouldsucceed where she thought she had failed, though indeed she had donemuch. It made her happy. So, my dear child, you are bound to do yourbest. '

'Yes;' then, after a pause--'But mother could coax him and manage him. Mother was with him day and night; she could always get at him. Whatcan I do?'

'I think you will find that he depends upon you more, ' said the Canon, 'and it may be made easier to you, if you only set your will to it. '

'If I ought, I'll try, ' said poor Nuttie, more humbly perhaps than shehad ever spoken before, but in utter dejection, and her uncle answeredher like a child. 

'There, that's a good girl. Nobody can do more. '

For the Canon had one hope. He had not thought it becoming to speak toher of the counter influence, but he could not help thinking itpossible that if he and his son, backed by doctor and lawyer, made along pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether, they might induce hisbrother to part with Gregorio, and this would render Ursula's task farless impossible. 

He was confirmed in this hope by finding that Mark's arrival was notunwelcome to Mr. Egremont, who seemed to have forgotten theunpleasantness with which he had regarded the engagement, and onlyremembered that his nephew had been Alice's champion, resuming oldcustoms of dependence, making him act as amanuensis, and arraigning thedestiny that had restored so lovely and charming a creature only tosnatch her away, leaving nothing but a headstrong girl and a helplessbaby. 

That poor little fellow was all that could be desired at his age, butNuttie felt her beautiful mother almost insulted when the elder ladiestalked of the wonderful resemblance that the Canoness declared to havebeen quite startling in the earlier hours of his life. For theconvenience of one of the sponsors, he was to be christened in theafternoon following the funeral, the others being--by his mother'sspecial entreaty--his sister and Mark. Egremont customs were againstthe ladies going to the funeral, so that Nuttie was kept at home, muchagainst her will; but after the luncheon she escaped, leaving word withher aunts that she was going to walk down to church alone, and theywere sorry enough for her to let her have her own way, especially asher father, having been to the funeral, had shut himself up and leftall the rest to them. 

The Egremont family had a sort of enclosure or pen with iron railsround it close to the church wall, where they rested under flat slabs. The gate in this was open now, and the new-made grave was one mass ofwhite flowers, --wreaths and crosses, snowdrops, hyacinths, camellias, and the like, --and at the feet was a flowerpot with growing plants ofthe white hyacinth called in France 'lys de la Vierge. ' These, beforethey became frequent in England, had been grown in Mr. Dutton'sgreenhouse, and having been favourites with Mrs. Egremont, it had cometo be his custom every spring to bring her the earliest plants thatbloomed. Nuttie knew them well, the careful tying up, the neatarrangement of moss over the earth, the peculiar trimness of the whole;and as she looked, the remembrance of the happy times of old, the sicklonging for all that was gone, did what nothing had hithertoeffected--brought an overwhelming gush of tears. 

There was no checking them now that they had come. She fled intochurch on the first sounds of arrival and hid herself in the friendlyshelter of the great family pew; but she had to come out and take herplace, though she could hardly utter a word, and it was all that shecould do to keep from sobbing aloud; she could not hand the babe, andthe Canon had to take on trust the name 'Alwyn Headworth, ' for he couldnot hear the words that were on her trembling lips. 

It was soon over; and while the baby and his attendants, with MissHeadworth, were being packed into the carriage, and her uncle and auntbowing off the grand god-father, she clutched her cousin's arm, andsaid, 'Mark; where's Mr. Dutton?'

'I--I didn't know he was coming, but now you ask, I believe I saw himthis morning. '

'I know he is here. '

'Do you want to see him?' said Mark kindly. 

'Oh, if I might!'

Then, with a sudden impulse, she looked back into the church, andrecognised a black figure and slightly bald head bowed down in one ofthe seats. She pointed him out. 'No doubt he is waiting for us all tobe gone, ' said Mark in a low voice. 'You go into the Rectory, Nuttie;there's a fire in the study, and I'll bring him to you there. I'll gethim to stay the night if I can. '

'Oh, thank you!' and it was a really fervent answer. 

Mark waited, and when Mr. Dutton rose, was quite shocked at hispaleness and the worn look on his face, as of one who had struggledhard for resignation and calm. He started, almost as if a blow hadbeen struck him, as Mark uttered his name in the porch, no doubt havingnever meant to be perceived nor to have to speak to any one; but in onemoment his features had recovered their usual expression of courteousreadiness. He bowed his head when Mark told him that Ursula wanted toshake hands with him, and came towards the Rectory, but he entirelydeclined the invitation to sleep there, declaring that he must returnto London that night. 

Mark opened the study door, and then went away to secure that the manwhom he had learnt to esteem very highly should at least have somerefreshment before he left the house. 

Those few steps had given Mr. Dutton time to turn from a mourner to aconsoler, and when Nuttie came towards him with her hand outstretched, and 'Oh, Mr. Dutton, Mr. Dutton!' he took it in both his, and with acalm broken voice said, 'God has been very good to us in letting usknow one like her. '

'But oh! what can we do without her?'

'Ah, Nuttie! that always comes before us. But I saw your work and yourcomfort just now. '

'Poor little boy! I shall get to care about him, I know, but as yet Ican only feel how much rather I would have _her_. '

'No doubt, but it is _her_ work that is left you. '

'Her work? Yes! But oh, Mr. Dutton, you don't know how dreadful itis!'

He did not know what she meant. Whether it was simply the burthen onany suddenly motherless girl, or any special evil on her father's part, but he was soon enlightened, for there was something in this old friendthat drew out her confidence beyond all others, even when he repressedher, and she could not help telling him in a few murmured furtive wordssuch as she knew she ought not to utter, and he felt it almost treasonto hear. 'Opiates! she was always trying to keep my father from them!It was too much for her! My uncle says I must try to do it, and Ican't. '

'Poor child!' said Mr. Dutton kindly, though cut to the heart at therevelation of sweet Alice's trial; 'at least you can strive, and thereis always a blessing on resolution. '

'Oh, if you knew! and he doesn't like me. I don't think I've ever beennice to him, and that vexed her! I haven't got her ways. '

'No, ' said Mr. Dutton, 'but you will learn others. Look here, Nuttie. You used to be always craving for grand and noble tasks, the moredifficult the better. I think you have got one now, more severe thanever could have been thought of--and very noble. What are those linesabout the task "bequeathed from bleeding sire to son"? Isn't it likethat? You are bound to go on with her work, and the more helpless youfeel, and the more you throw yourself on God, the more God will helpyou. He takes the will for the deed, if only you have will enough;and, Nuttie, you can pray that you may be able to love and honour him. '

Teacups were brought in, followed by Mark, and interrupted them; and, after a short interval, they parted at the park gate, and Ursula walkedhome with Mark, waked from her dull numb trance, with a crushed feelingas if she had been bruised all over, and yet with a purpose within her. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

FARMS OR UMBRELLAS. 

 'He tokin into his handis His londis and his lode. '--CHAUCER. 

'Mark! Mark!' A little figure stood on the gravel road leadingthrough Lescombe Park, and lifted up an eager face, as Mark jumped downfrom his horse. 'I made sure you would come over. '

'Yes, but I could not get away earlier. And I have so much to say toyou and your mother, Annaple; there's a great proposition to beconsidered. '

'Oh dear! and here is John bearing down upon us. Never mind. We'llget into the mither's room and be cosy!'

'Well, Mark, ' said Sir John's hearty voice, 'I thought you would behere. Come to luncheon? That's right! And how is poor Egremont? Ithought he looked awful at the funeral. '

'He is fairly well, thank you; but it was a terrible shock. '

'I should think so. To find such a pretty sweet creature just to loseher again. Child likely to live, eh?'

'Oh yes, he is a fine fellow, and has never had anything amiss withhim. '

'Poor little chap! Doesn't know what he has lost! Well, Nannie, ' asthey neared the house, 'do you want a tete-a-tete or to take him in toyour mother? Here, I'll take the horse. '

'Come to her at once, ' said Annaple; 'she wants to hear all, andbesides she is expecting me. '

Mark was welcomed by Lady Ronnisglen with inquiries for all concerned, and especially for that 'poor girl. I do pity a young thing who has totake a woman's place too soon, ' she said. 'It takes too much out ofher!'

'I should think Ursula had plenty of spirit, ' said Annaple. 

'I don't know whether spirit is what is wanted, ' said Mark. 'Hermother prevailed more without it than I am afraid she is likely to dowith it. '

'Complements answer better than parallels sometimes, but not always, 'said Lady Ronnisglen. 

'Which are we?' asked Annaple demurely. 

'Not parallels certainly, for then we should never meet, ' respondedMark. 'But here is the proposal. My father and all the rest of ushave been doing our best to get my uncle to smooth Ursula's way bygetting rid of that valet of his. '

'The man with the Mephistopheles face?'

'Exactly. He is a consummate scoundrel, as we all know, and so does myuncle himself, but he has been about him these twelve or fourteenyears, and has got a sort of hold on him--that--that-- It is no use totalk of it, but it did not make that dear aunt of mine have an easierlife. In fact I should not be a bit surprised if he had been ahindrance in the hunting her up. Well, the fellow thought proper toupset some arrangements my mother had made, and then was more insolentthan I should have thought even he could have been towards her. Isuppose he had got into the habit with poor Aunt Alice. That made afulcrum, and my father went at my uncle with a will. I never saw myfather so roused in my life. I don't mean by the behaviour to hiswife, but at what he knew of the fellow, and all the harm he had doneand is doing. And actually my uncle gave in at last, and consented totell Gregorio to look out for another situation, if he has notfeathered his nest too well to need one, as I believe he has. '

'Oh, that will make it much easier for Ursula!' cried Annaple. 

'If he goes, ' put in her mother. 

'I think he will. I really had no notion how much these two years haveimproved my uncle! To be sure, it would be hard to live with such awoman as that without being the better for it! But he really seems tohave acquired a certain notion of duty!'

They did not smile at the simple way in which Mark spoke of this vastadvance, and Lady Ronnisglen said, 'I hope so, for the sake of hisdaughter and that poor little boy. '

'I think that has something to do with it, ' said Mark. 'He feels aresponsibility, and still more, I think he was struck by having acreature with him to whom evil was like physical pain. '

'It will work, ' said Lady Ronnisglen. 

'Then, ' went on Mark, 'he took us all by surprise by making me thisproposal--to take the management of the estate, and become a kind ofprivate secretary to him. You know he gets rheumatism on the opticnerve, and is almost blind at times. He would give me £300 a year, anddo up the house at the home farm, rent free. What do you say to that, Annaple?'

There was a silence, then Annaple said: 'Give up the umbrellas! Oh!What do you think, Mark?'

'My father wishes it, ' said Mark. 'He would, as he had promised to do, make over to me my share of my own mother's fortune, and that would, Ihave been reckoning, bring us to just what we had thought of startingupon this spring at Micklethwayte. '

'The same now, ' said Lady Ronnisglen, after some reckoning, 'but whatdoes it lead to?'

'Well--nothing, I am afraid, ' said Mark; 'as you know, this is all Ihave to reckon upon. The younger children will have hardly anythingfrom their mother, so that my father's means must chiefly go to them. '

'And this agency is entirely dependent on your satisfying Mr. Egremont?'

'True, but that's a thing only too easily done. However, as you say, this agency has no future, and if that came to an end, I should onlyhave to look out for another or take to farming. '

'And ask poor John if that is a good speculation nowadays!' saidAnnaple. 

'Fortunes are and have been made on the umbrellas, ' said Mark. 'Greenleaf has a place almost equal to Monks Horton, and Dutton, thoughhe makes no show, has realised a considerable amount. '

'Oh yes, let us stick to the umbrellas!' cried Annaple; 'you've madethe plunge, so it does not signify now, and we should be so much moreindependent out of the way of everybody. '

'You would lose in society, ' said Mark, 'excepting, of course, as tothe Monks Horton people; but they are often away. '

'Begging your pardon, Mark, is there much to lose in this sameneighbourhood?' laughed Annaple, 'now May will go. '

'It is not so much a question of liking, ' added her mother, 'as of whatis for the best, and where you may wish to be--say ten years hence. '

Looked at in this way, there could be no question but that the umbrellacompany promised to make Mark a richer man in ten years' time than didthe agency at Bridgefield Egremont. He had a salary from the officealready, and if he purchased shares in the partnership with the portionhis father would resign to him, his income would already equal what hewould have at Bridgefield, and there was every prospect of itsincrease, both as he became more valuable, and as the businesscontinued to prosper. If the descent in life had been a grievance tothe ladies, the agency would have been an infinite boon, but havingswallowed so much, as Annaple said, they might as well do it inearnest, and to some purpose. Perhaps, too, it might be detected thatunder the circumstances Annaple would prefer the living in a small wayout of reach of her sister's visible compassion. 

So the matter was settled, but there was an undercurrent in Mark's mindon which he had not entered, namely, that his presence at home mightmake all the difference in that reformation in his uncle's habits whichAlice had inaugurated, and left in the hands of others. With him athand, there was much more chance of Gregorio's being dispensed with, Ursula's authority maintained, little Alwyn well brought up, and theestate, tenants, and household properly cared for, and then he smiledat his notion of supposing himself of so much importance. Had he onlyhad himself to consider, Mark would have thought his duty plain; butwhen he found Miss Ruthven and her mother so entirely averse, he didnot deem it right to sacrifice them to the doubtful good of his uncle, nor indeed to put the question before them as so much a matter ofconscience that they should feel bound to consider it in that light. He did indeed say, 'Well, that settles it, ' in a tone that led Annapleto exclaim: 'I do believe you want to drop the umbrellas!'

'No, ' he answered, 'it is not that, but my father wished it, andthought it would be good for my uncle. '

'No doubt, ' said Annaple, 'but he has got a daughter, also a son, and abrother, and agents are plentiful, so I can't see why all the familyshould dance attendance on him. '

Lady Ronnisglen, much misdoubting Mr. Egremont's style of society, anddreading that Mark might be dragged into it, added her word, feeling onher side that it was desirable and just to hinder the family fromsacrificing Mark's occupation and worldly interest to a capricious oldroue, who might very possibly throw him over when it would be almostimpossible to find anything else to do. Moreover, both she and Annaplebelieved that the real wish was to rescue the name of Egremont fromassociation with umbrellas, and they held themselves bound to combatwhat they despised and thought a piece of worldly folly. 

So Mark rode home, more glad that the decision was actually made thanat the course it had taken. His father was disappointed, but could notbut allow that it was the more prudent arrangement; and Mr. Egremontshowed all the annoyance of a man whose good offer has been rejected. 

''Tis that little giggling Scotch girl!' he said. 'Well, we are quitof her, anyway. 'Tis a pity that Mark entangled himself with her, anda mother-in-law into the bargain! I was a fool to expect to get anygood out of him!'

This was said to his daughter, with whom he was left alone; for MissHeadworth could not bear to accept his hospitality a moment longer thanneedful, and besides had been so much shaken in nerves as to suspectthat an illness was coming on, and hurried home to be nursed by MaryNugent. Canon Egremont was obliged to go back to Redcastle to finishhis residence, and his wife, who had been absent nearly a month fromher family, thought it really wisest to let the father and daughter bethrown upon one another at once, so that Ursula might have the benefitof her father's softened mood. 

There could be no doubt that he was softened, and that he had derivedsome improvement from the year and a half that his wife had been withhim. It might not have lifted him up a step, but it had arrested himin his downward course. Selfish and indolent he was as ever, but therehad been a restraint on his amusements, and a withdrawal from his worstassociates, such as the state of his health might continue, above allif Gregorio could be dispensed with. The man himself had become awareof the combination against him, and, though reckoning on his master'sinertness and dependence upon him, knew that a fresh offence mightcomplete his overthrow, and therefore took care to be on his goodbehaviour. 

Thus Nuttie's task might be somewhat smoothed; but the poor girl feltunspeakably desolate as she ate her breakfast all alone with a dullpost-bag, and still more so when, having seen the housekeeper, who, happily for her, was a good and capable woman, and very sorry for her, she had to bethink herself what to do in that dreary sitting-roomduring the hour when she had always been most sure of hersister-mother's dear company. How often she had grumbled at beingcalled on to practise duets for her father's evening lullaby! Shesupposed she ought to get something up, and she proceeded to turn overand arrange the music with a sort of sick loathing for whatever wasconnected with those days of impatient murmurs, which she would sogladly have recalled. Everything had fallen into disorder, as Blancheand May had left it the last time they had played there; and theoverlooking it, and putting aside the pieces which she could never usealone, occupied her till Gregorio, very meek and polite, came with amessage that Mr. Egremont would be glad if she would come to his room. In some dread, some distaste, and yet some pity and some honestresolution, she made her way thither. 

There he sat, in dressing-gown, smoking-cap, and blue spectacles, withthe glittering February sunshine carefully excluded. He looked worseand more haggard than when she had seen him at dinner in the evening, made up for company, and her compassion increased, especially as he notonly held out his hand, but seemed to expect her to kiss him, a thingshe had never done since their first recognition. It was not pleasantin itself, but it betokened full forgiveness, and indeed he had neverspoken to her in his sneering, exasperating voice since her mournfulreturn home. 

'Have you seen the boy?' he asked. 

'Yes; they are walking him up and down under the south wall, ' saidNuttie, thankful that she had peeped under the many wraps as he wascarried across the hall. 

'Here! I want you to read this letter to me. A man ought to beindicted for writing such a hand!'

It was really distinct penmanship, though minute; but, as Nuttie found, her father did not like to avow how little available were his eyes. Hecould write better than he could read, but he kept her over hiscorrespondence for the rest of the morning, answering some of theletters of condolence for him in her own name, writing those ofbusiness, and folding and addressing what he himself contrived towrite. Her native quickness stood her in good stead, and, being rathernervous, she took great pains, and seldom stumbled; indeed, she onlyonce incurred an exclamation of impatience at her stupidity or slowness. 

She guessed rightly that this forbearance was owing to tenderpersuasions of her mother, and did not guess that a certain fear ofherself was mingled with other motives. Her father had grown used towoman's ministrations; he needed them for his precious little heir, andhe knew his daughter moreover for a severe judge, and did not want toalienate her and lose her services; so they got on fairly welltogether, and she shared his luncheon, during which a message came upabout the carriage; and as there had been an application for somenursery needment, and moreover black-edged envelopes had run short, there was just purpose enough for a drive to the little town. 

Then Nuttie read her father to sleep with the newspaper; rushed roundthe garden in the twilight to stretch her young limbs; tried to read alittle, dressed, dined with her father; finished what he had missed inthe paper, then offered him music, and was told 'if she pleased, ' andas she played she mused whether this was to be her life. It lookedvery dull and desolate, and what was the good of it all? But therewere her mother's words, 'Love him!' How fulfil them? She could pityhim now, but oh! how could she love one from whom her whole naturerecoiled, when she thought of her mother's ruined life? Mr. Dutton toohad held her new duties up to her as capable of being ennobled. Noble!To read aloud a sporting paper she did not want to understand, to beready to play at cards or billiards, to take that dawdling drive day byday, to devote herself to the selfish exactions of burnt-outdissipation. Was this noble? Her mother had done all this, and nevereven felt it a cross, because of her great love. It must be Nuttie'scross if it was her duty; but could the love and honour possibly comethough she tried to pray in faith?

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE GIGGLING SCOTCH GIRL. 

 'For every Lamp that trembled here, And faded in the night, Behold a Star serene and clear Smiles on me from the height. '--B. M. 

Nuttie was not mistaken in supposing that this first day would be afair sample of her life, though, of course, after the first weeks ofmourning there were variations; and the return of the Rectory partymade a good deal of brightening, and relieved her from the necessity offinding companionship and conversation for her father on more than halfher afternoons and evenings. 

He required her, however, almost every forenoon, and depended on herincreasingly, so that all her arrangements had to be made withreference to him. It was bondage, but not as galling in the fact asshe would have expected if it had been predicted to her a few monthspreviously. In the first place, Mr. Egremont never demanded of herwhat was actually against her conscience, except occasionally giving upa Sunday evensong to read the paper to him, and that only when he wasmore unwell than usual. He was, after all, an English gentleman, anddid not ask his young daughter to read to him the books which hermother had loathed. Moreover, Gregorio was on his good behaviour, perfectly aware that there was a family combination against him, andhaving even received a sort of warning from his master, but by no meansintending to take it, and therefore abstaining from any kind of offencethat could furnish a fresh handle against him; and thus for thepresent, Dr. Hammond's regimen was well observed, and Mr. Egremont washis better self in consequence, for, under his wife's guardianship, theperilous habit had sufficiently lost strength to prevent temper andspirits from manifestly suffering from abstinence. 

The first time Nuttie found herself obliged to make any very realsacrifice to her father's will was on the occasion of Mark's marriageat Easter. Things had arranged themselves very conveniently for him atMicklethwayte, though it seemed to Nuttie that she only heard ofaffairs there in a sort of distant dream, while such events were takingplace as once would have been to her the greatest possible revolutions. 

Aunt Ursel reached home safely, but her expectations of illness wererealised. She took to her bed on arriving, and though she rose fromit, there was reason to think she had had a slight stroke, for heractivity of mind and body were greatly decayed, and she was whollydependent on Mary Nugent for care and comfort. Mary, remembering theconsequences of the former alarm, made the best of the old lady'scondition; and Nuttie, ashamed of having once cried 'wolf, ' did notrealise the true state of the case, nor indeed could she or would shehave been spared to go to Micklethwayte. 

The next news told that Gerard Godfrey, at the end of the year requiredby Mr. Dutton, had resigned his situation, and at the close of hisquarter's notice was going to prepare for Holy Orders under thetraining of a clergyman who would employ him in his parish, and assisthim in reading up to the requirements for admission to a theologicalcollege. Poor dear old Gerard! It gave Nuttie a sort of pang ofself-reproach to own how good and devoted he was, and yet so narrow andstupid that she could never have been happy with him. Was he too good, or was he too dull for her? Had she forsaken him for the world's sake, or was it a sound instinct that had extinguished her fancy for him? Noone could tell, least of all the parties concerned. He might be farabove her in spiritual matters, but he was below her in intellectualones, and though they would always feel for one another that peculiartenderness left by the possibilities of a first love, no doubt thequarrel over the blue ribbon had been no real misfortune to either. 

The next tidings were still more surprising. Mr. Dutton was leavingthe firm. Though his father had died insolvent, and he had had tostruggle for himself in early life, he was connected with wealthypeople, and change and death among these had brought him a fair shareof riches. An uncle who had emigrated to Australia at the time of thegreat break up had died without other heirs, leaving him what was themore welcome to him that Micklethwayte could never be to him what ithad been in its golden age. He had realised enough to enable him to bebountiful, and his parting gift to St Ambrose's would complete thechurch; but he himself was winding up the partnership, and withdrawinghis means from Greenleaf and Co. In order to go out to Australia todecide what to do with his new possessions. 

Mark Egremont purchased a number of the shares, though, to gratify thefamily, the shelter of the Greenleaf veiled his name under the 'Co. , 'and another, already in the firm, possessed of a business-likeappellation, gave designation to the firm as Greenleaf, Goodenough, andCo. 

Mr. Dutton's well-kept house, with the little conservatory and themagnolia, was judged sufficient for present needs, and the lease wastaken off his hands, so that all was in order for the marriage of Markand Annaple immediately after Easter. 

Lady Delmar had resigned herself to the inevitable, and the wedding wasto take place at Lescombe. Nuttie, whose chief relaxation was inhearing all the pros and cons from May and Blanche, was asked to be oneof the bridesmaids by Annaple, who had come over to the Rectory in adroll inscrutable state of mischief, declaring that she had exasperatedJanet to the verge of insanity by declaring that she should have littleumbrellas like those in the Persian inscriptions on her cards, and thatMark was to present all the bridesmaids with neat parasols. Ifcrinolines had not been gone out they could have all been dressedappropriately. Now they must wear them closely furled. All thisbanter was hardly liked by May and Blanche, whose little sisters werelaughed at again for needing the assurance that they were really towear white and rowan leaves and berries--the Ronnisglen badge. Nuttie, who had drawn much nearer to May, refrained from relating this part ofthe story at home, but was much disappointed when, on telling herfather of the request, she was answered at once:

'Hein! The 24th? You'll be in London, and a very good thing too. '

'Are we to go so soon?'

'Yes. Didn't I tell you to take that house in Berkshire Road from the20th?'

'I did not think we were to start so soon. Is there any particularreason?'

'Yes. That Scotch girl ought to have known better than to ask you inyour deep mourning. I thought women made a great point of such things. '

'Aunt Jane did not seem to think it wrong, ' said Nuttie, for she reallywished much for consent. Not only had she grown fond both of Mark andAnnaple, but she had never been a bridesmaid, and she knew that notonly the Kirkaldys but Mr. Dutton had been invited; she had evenventured on offering to lodge some of the overflowing guests of theRectory. 

'Their heads are all turned by that poverty-stricken Scotch peerage, 'returned Mr. Egremont; 'or the Canoness should have more sense ofrespect. '

Nuttie's wishes were so strong that she made one more attempt, 'I neednot be a bridesmaid. They would not mind if I wore my black. '

'I should, then!' said her father curtly. 'If they don't understandthe proprieties of life, I do. I won't have you have anything to dowith it. If you are so set upon gaiety, you'll have enough of weddingsat fitter times!'

It was the old sneering tone. Nuttie felt partly confounded, partlyindignant, and terribly disappointed. She did care for the sight ofthe wedding--her youthful spirits had rallied enough for that, but farmore now she grieved at missing the sight of Mr. Dutton, when he wasgoing away, she knew not where, and might perhaps come on purpose tosee her; and it also made her sore and grieved at being accused ofdisregard to her mother. She was silenced, however, and presently herfather observed, in the same unpleasant tone, 'Well, if you've digestedyour disappointment, perhaps you'll condescend to write to the agent, that I expect the house to be ready on the 21st. '

Nuttie got through her morning's work she hardly knew how, though herfather was dry and fault-finding all the time. Her eyes were so fullof tears when she was released that she hardly saw where she was going, and nearly ran against her aunt, who had just walked into the hall. Mrs. Egremont was too prudent a woman to let her burst out there withher grievance, but made her come into the tent-room before sheexclaimed, 'He is going to take me away to London; he won't let me goto the wedding. '

'I am sorry for your disappointment, ' said her aunt quietly, 'but I amold-fashioned enough to be glad that such strong respect and feelingshould be shown for your dear mother. I wish Annaple had spoken to mebefore asking you, and I would have felt the way. '

'I'm sure it is not want of feeling, ' said Nuttie, as her tears brokeforth. 

'I did not say it was, ' returned her aunt, 'but different generationshave different notions of the mode of showing it; and the presentcertainly errs on the side of neglect of such tokens of mourning. If Idid not think that Annaple and her mother are really uncomfortable atLescombe, I should have told Mark that it was better taste to wait tillthe summer. '

'If I might only have stayed at home--even if I did not go to thewedding, ' sighed Nuttie, who had only half listened to the Canoness'swisdom. 

'Since you do not go, it is much better that you should be out of theway, ' said Mrs. Egremont. 'Is your father ready to see me?'

So Nuttie had to submit, though she pouted to herself, feelinggrievously misjudged, first as if she had been wanting in regard to thememory of her mother, who had been so fond of Mark, and so rejoiced inhis happiness; and then that her vexation was treated as mere love ofgaiety, whereas it really was disappointment at not seeing Mr. Dutton, that good, grave, precise old friend, who could not be named in thesame breath with vanity. Moreover, she could not help suspecting thatrespect to her mother was after all only a cloak to resentment againstMark and his marriage. 

However, she bethought herself that her mother had often beendisappointed and had borne it cheerfully, and after having done whatAunt Ursel would have called 'grizzling' in her room for an hour, shewrote her note to Miss Ruthven and endeavoured to be as usual, feelingkeenly that there was no mother now to perceive and gratefully commendone of her only too rare efforts for good humour. On other grounds shewas very sorry to leave Bridgefield. May had, in her trouble, thawedto her, and they were becoming really affectionate and intimatecompanions, by force of propinquity and relationship, as well as of theviews that May had imbibed from Hugh Condamine. Moreover Nuttie felther aunt's watch over the baby a great assistance to her own ignorance. 

However the Canoness had resigned to the poor little heir the perfectand trustworthy nurse, whom Basil had outgrown, and who consented tothe transfer on condition of having her nursery establishment entirelyapart from the rest of the household. Her reasons were known thoughunspoken, namely, that the rejection of one or two valets highlyrecommended had made it plain that there had been no dislodgment ofGregorio. The strong silent objection to him of all good femaleservants was one of the points that told much against him. Martin andthe housekeeper just endured him, and stayed on for the present chieflybecause their dear lady had actually begged them not to desert herdaughter if they could help it, at least not at first. 

Nuttie bound over her cousins to give her a full account of thewedding, and both of them wrote to her. Blanche's letter recordedsundry scattered particulars, --as to how well the rowan-trimmed tulledresses looked--how every one was packed into the carriages for thelong drive--how there had been a triumphal arch erected over theBluepost Bridge itself, and Annaple nearly choked with laughing at theappropriateness--how, to her delight, a shower began, and theprocession out of the church actually cried out for umbrellas--howpapa, when performing the ceremony, could not recollect that thebride's proper name was Annabella, and would dictate it as Anna-Maria, Sir John correcting him each time sotto voce--how Basil and littleHilda Delmar walked together and 'looked like a couple of ducks, 'which, it was to be hoped, was to be taken metaphorically--howdreadfully hard the ice on the wedding-cake was, so that when Annapletried to cut it the knife slipped and a little white dove flew away andhit May, which everyone said was a grand omen that she would be thenext bride, while of course Annaple was perfectly helpless with mirth. Every one said it was the merriest wedding ever seen, for the bride'sonly tears were those of laughter. What Nuttie really cared for mostcame just at the end, and not much of that. 'Your Mr. Dutton is justgone. He got on famously with Hugh Condamine, and I forgot to tell youthat he has given Mark such a jolly present, a lovely silvercoffee-pot, just the one thing they wanted, and Lady Delmar said hedidn't look near so like a tradesman as she expected. I see May iswriting too, but I don't know what you will get out of her, as HughCondamine came for the day. '

Nuttie, however, had more hopes from May. Her letter certainly wasfuller of interest, if shorter. 

'My Dear Nuttie--Blanche has no doubt told you all the externals. Isuppose there never was a brighter wedding, for as Annaple keeps hermother with her, there was no real rending asunder of ties. Indeed Ialmost wish her excitement did not always show itself in laughing, forit prevents people from understanding how much there is in her. 

(Plainly Hugh Condamine had been rather scandalised by the 'gigglingScotch girl. ')

'Dear old Lady Ronnisglen was delightful. If there were any tears, they were hers, and Lady Delmar was very cordial and affectionate. Ofcourse Hugh and Mr. Dutton missed much that one would have liked in awedding. I drove back with them afterwards, and it was veryinteresting to listen to their conversation about church matters. Hughis very much struck with your friend; he had heard a good deal aboutMicklethwayte before, and says that such a lay worker is perfectlyinvaluable. It is a great pity that he is not going on in the firm, itwould make it so much nicer for Mark, but he says he has duties towardshis new property. I think he was sorry not to find you at home, but heplainly never thought it possible you should be at the wedding. Idon't know whether I ought to tell you this, but I think you ought toknow it. There is a lovely new wreath of Eucharis lilies andmaiden-hair at dear Aunt Alice's grave, close against the rails at thefeet, and Hugh told me that he looked out of his window very earlyyesterday morning and saw Mr. Dutton standing there, leaning on therail, with his bare head bowed between his hands. You can't think howit impressed Hugh. He said he felt reverent towards him all throughthat day, and he was quite angry with Rosalind and Adela for jestingbecause, when the shower began as we were coming out of church, Mr. Dutton rushed up with an umbrella, being the only person there who hadone, I believe. Hugh says you may be proud of such a friend. I wishyou could have seen Hugh. --Your affectionate cousin, 'MARGARET EGREMONT. '

CHAPTER XXVI. 

THREE YEARS LATER. 

 'There's something rotten in the State. '--Hamlet. 

On an east-windy afternoon in March Mary Nugent emerged from the Schoolof Art, her well-worn portfolio under her arm, thinking how manysuccessive generations of boys and girls she had drilled through'free-hand, ' 'perspective, ' and even 'life' with an unvarying averageof failure and very moderate success, and how little talent ororiginality had come to the front, though all might be the better forknowing how to use eyes and fingers. 

On the whole her interest as well as her diligence did not flag; but asense of weariness and monotony would sometimes come after a recurrenceof well-known blunders of her pupils, and she missed the sense of goinghome to refreshment and enjoyment which had once invigorated her. St. Ambrose's Road had had its golden age, but the brightness had beendimmed ever since that festival at Monks Horton. One after another ofthe happy old society had dropped away. The vicar had receivedpromotion, and she only remained of the former intimates, excepting oldMiss Headworth, who was no longer a companion, but whom affectionforbade her to desert in feeble old age. Had her thoughts of the oldtimes conjured up a figure belonging to them? There was thewell-brushed hat, the natty silk umbrella, the perfect fit of garments, the precise turn-out, nay, the curly lion-shaven poodle, with all hisfringes, leaping on her in recognition, and there was that slightlyFrench flourish of the hat, before--with a bounding heart--she met thehand in an English grasp. 

'Miss Nugent!'

'Mr. Dutton!'

'I thought I should meet you here!'

'When did you come?'

'Half an hour ago. I came down with George Greenleaf, left my thingsat the Royal Hotel, and came on to look for you. '

'You will come and spend the evening with us?'

'If you are so good as to ask me. How is Miss Headworth?'

'Very feeble, very deaf; but she will be delighted to see you. Thereis no fear of her not remembering you, though she was quite lost whenMrs. Egremont came in yesterday. '

'Mrs. Egremont!' he repeated with a little start. 

'Mrs. Mark. Ah! we have got used to the name--the Honourable Mrs. Egremont, as the community insist on calling her. What a sunnycreature she is!'

'And Miss Egremont, what do you hear of her?'

'She writes long letters, poor child. I hope she is fairly happy. Areyou come home for good, or is this only a visit?'

'I have no intention of returning. I have been winding up my goodcousin's affairs at Melbourne. '

Mary's heart bounded again with a sense of joy, comfort, andprotection; but she did not long keep Mr. Dutton to herself, for everythird person they met gladly greeted him, and they were long in gettingto St. Ambrose's Road, now dominated by a tall and beautiful spire, according to the original design. They turned and looked in at thepillared aisles, stained glass, and handsome reredos. 

'Very different from our struggling days, ' said Mr. Dutton. 

'Yes, ' said Mary, with half a sigh. 'There's the new vicar, ' as hepassed with a civil nod. 'He has three curates, and a house ofSisters, and works the parish excellently. '

'You don't speak as if you were intimate. '

'No. His womankind are rather grand--quite out of our beat; and inparish work I am only an estimable excrescence. It is very well that Iam not wanted, for Miss Headworth requires a good deal of attention, and it is only the old Adam that regrets the days of importance. Ah, do you see?'

They were passing Mr. Dutton's old home. On the tiny strip of lawn infront was a slender black figure, with yellow hair, under a tiny blackhat, dragging about a wooden horse whereon was mounted a sturdy boy oftwo, also yellow-locked and in deep mourning under his Holland blouse. 

'Billy-boy is riding to meet his daddy!' was merrily called out both bymother and son before they perceived the stranger. 

'Mr. Dutton, ' said Mary. 

Annaple bowed, but did not put out her hand, and such a flush was onher face that Miss Nugent said, 'I am sure that is too much for you!'

'Oh no--' she began; but 'Allow me, ' said Mr. Dutton, and before shecould refuse he was galloping round and round the little lawn, the boyscreaming with delight as Monsieur raced with them. 

'So he is come!' she said in a low doubtful voice to Mary. 

'Yes. He has met Mr. Greenleaf in London. I always think he has thecontrary to the evil eye. Whatever he takes in hand rights itself. '

'I'll hope so. Oh, thank you! Billy-boy, say thank you! What a rideyou have had!'

'Why are they in such deep mourning?' asked Mr. Dutton, after they hadparted. 

'Oh, did you not know? for good old Lady Ronnisglen. She had a badfall about two years ago, and never left her bed again; and this lastautumn she sank away. '

'They have had a great deal of trouble, then. I saw the death of CanonEgremont in the Times soon after I went out to Australia. '

'Yes; he had heart disease, and died quite suddenly. The living isgiven to Mr. Condamine, who married the eldest daughter, and the widowis gone to live under the shadow of Redcastle Cathedral. '

Therewith Miss Nugent opened her own door, and Miss Headworth was soonmade aware of the visitor. She was greatly changed, and had theindescribable stony look that tells of paralysis; and though she knewMr. Dutton, and was delighted to see him, his presence made her expectto see Alice and Nuttie come in, though she soon recollected herselfand shed a few helpless tears. Then--in another mood--she began todisplay with pride and pleasure the photographs of 'Alice's dear littleboy. ' She had a whole series of them, from the long-clothed babe onhis sister's knee to the bright little fellow holding a drum--a verybeautiful child, with a striking resemblance to his mother, quitestartling to Mr. Dutton, especially in the last, which was coloured, and showed the likeness of eyes and expression. 

'Nuttie always sends me one whenever he is taken, ' said the old lady. 'Dear Nuttie! It is very good for her. She is quite a little motherto him. '

'I was sure it would be so, ' said Mr. Dutton. 

'Yes, ' said Mary, 'he is the great interest and delight of her life. Her letters are full of his little sayings and doings. '

'Is she at home now?'

'No; at Brighton. Her father seems to have taken a dislike toBridgefield since his brother's death, and only goes there for a shorttime in the shooting season. He has taken a lease of a house inLondon, and spends most of the year there. '

'Ah!' as she showed him the address, 'that is near the old house whereI used to stay with my grand-aunt. We thought it altogether in thecountry then, but it is quite absorbed now, and I have dazzling offersfrom building companies for the few acres of ground around it. Have youseen her?'

'Oh no; I believe she is quite necessary to her father. I only hear ofher through Lady Kirkaldy, who has been very kind to her, but, I amsorry to say, is now gone with her Lord to the East. She says shethinks that responsibility has been very good for Nuttie; she isgentler and less impetuous, and a good deal softened by her affectionfor the child. '

'She was certain to develop. I only dreaded what society her fathermight surround her with. '

'Lady Kirkaldy says that all has turned out better than could have beenexpected. You see, as she says, Mr. Egremont has been used to goodwomen in his own family, and would not like to see her in a slangy fastset. All her own gaieties have been under Lady Kirkaldy's wing, orthat of Mrs. William Egremont's relations, and only in a quiet moderateway. Her father gets his own old set about him, and they have not beenvery choice, but they are mostly elderly men, and gentlemen, and knowhow to behave themselves to her. Indeed, her cousin Blanche, who washere in the winter, gave us to understand that Ursula knows how to takecare of herself, and gets laughed at as rather an old maidish model ofpropriety, if you can believe it of your little Nuttie. '

'I could quite believe in her on the defensive, unprotected as she is. '

'What did that young lady--Miss Blanche--tell us about that gentleman, Mary?' asked Miss Headworth, hearing and uttering what Miss Nugenthoped had passed unnoticed. 

'Oh, I think that was all gossip!' returned Mary, 'and so I am sure didthe Mark Egremonts. She said there was one of Mr. Egremont's friends, Mr. Clarence Fane, I think she called him, rather younger than theothers, who, she was pleased to say, seemed smitten with Nuttie, but Ihave heard nothing more about it, and Mrs. Mark scouted the idea, ' sheadded in haste, as she saw his expression vary in spite of himself. 

'Do you see much of your neighbours?'

'We are both too busy to see much of one another, but we have ourlittle talks over the wall. What a buoyant creature she is. It seemsas if playfulness was really a sustaining power in her, helping her toget diversion out of much that others might stumble at. You knowperhaps that when she arrived the work-people had got up a beautifulparasol for her, white, with a deep fringe and spray of rowan. LittleSusie Gunner presented her with it, and she was very gracious and niceabout it. But then what must Mr. Goodenough do but dub it theAnnabella sunshade, and blazon it, considerably vulgarised, in all therailway stations, and magazines. '

'I know! I had the misfortune to see it in the station at Melbourne;and my mind misgave me from that hour. '

'Her husband was prepared to be very angry, but she fairly laughed himout of it, made all sorts of fun out of the affair, declared it heronly opening to fame, and turned it into a regular joke; so that indeedthe Greenleafs, who were vexed at the matter, and tried to apologise, were quite perplexed in their turn, and not at all sure that the wholeconcern was not being turned into ridicule. '

'I wonder it did not make him cut the connection, ' said Mr. Dutton, muttering 'I only wish it had. '

'Mrs. Greenleaf is very funny about her, 'added Mary, 'proud of theHonourable Mrs. Egremont, as they insist on calling her, yet not quitepleased that she should be the junior partner's wife; and decidedlyresenting her hardly going into society at all, though I really don'tsee how she could; for first there was the Canon's death, and then justafter the boy was born came Lady Ronnisglen's accident, and for thenext year and a half there was constant attendance on her. They fittedup a room on the ground floor for her, the one opening into yourdrawing-room, and there they used to sit with her. I used to hear themreading to her and singing to her, and they were always as merry aspossible, till last autumn, when something brought on erysipelas, andshe was gone almost before they took alarm. The good little daughterwas beaten down then, really ill for a week; but if you can understandme, the shock seemed to tell on her chiefly bodily, and though she washalf broken-hearted when her husband in a great fright brought me up tosee her, and say whether her sister should be sent for, she still madefun of him, and described the impossible advice they would bring onthemselves. I had to take care of her while he went away to thefuneral in Scotland, and then I learnt indeed to like her and see howmuch there is in her besides laughter. '

'Did the old lady leave them anything?'

'I believe she had nothing to leave. Her jointure was not much, but Iam sure they miss that, for Mrs. Egremont has parted with her nurse, and has only a little girl in her stead, driving out the perambulatoroften herself, to the great scandal of the Greenleafs, though she wouldhave one believe it is all for want of occupation. '

'Do you think they have taken any alarm?'

'There's no judging from her joyous surface, but I have thought himlooking more careworn and anxious than I liked. Mr. Dutton, don'tanswer if I ought not to ask, but is it true that things are goingwrong? I know you have been seeing Mr. Greenleaf, so perhaps you arein his confidence and cannot speak. '

'Tell me, what is known or suspected?'

'Just this, that Mr. Goodenough has been the ruin of the concern. Hehas been quite different ever since his voyage to America. You weregone, old Mr. Greenleaf has been past attending to business ever sincehe had that attack, and George Greenleaf has been playing the countrysquire at Horton Bishop, and not looking after the office work, and Mr. Egremont was inexperienced. One could see, of course, that the wholecharacter of the business was changed--much more advertising, much morecheap and flashy work--to be even with the times, it was said, but theold superior hands were in despair at the materials supplied to them, and the scamped work expected. You should have heard old Thorpemourning for you, and moralising over the wickedness of this world. His wife told me she really thought he would go melancholy mad if hedid not leave the factory, and he has done so. They have saved enoughto set up a nice little shop at Monks Horton. '

'I must go and see them! Good old Thorpe! I ought never to have putthose poor young things into the firm when I ceased to have any controlover it. I shall never forgive myself--'

'Nothing could seem safer then! No one could have guessed that youngMr. Greenleaf would be so careless without his father to keep him up tothe mark, nor that Mr. Goodenough should alter so much. Is it verybad? Is there worse behind? Speculation, I suppose--'

'Of course. I do not see to the bottom of it yet; poor George seemedto reckon on me for an advance, but I am afraid this is more than amere temporary depression, such as may be tided over, and that all thatcan be looked to is trying to save honourable names by an utter breakup, which may rid them of that--that--no, I won't call him a scoundrel. I thought highly of him once, and no doubt he never realised what hewas doing. '

Before the evening was far advanced Mark Egremont knocked at the door, and courteously asked whether Mr. Dutton could be spared to him for alittle while. Mary Nugent replied that she was just going to help MissHeadworth to bed, and that the parlour was at their service for aprivate interview, but Mark answered, 'My wife is anxious to hear. Sheknows all that I do, and is quite prepared to hear whatever Mr. Duttonmay not object to saying before her. '

So they bade good-night to Mary, and went on together to the nexthouse, Mr. Dutton saying 'You have much to forgive me, Mr. Egremont; Ifeel as if I had deserted the ship just as I had induced you to embarkin it. '

'You did not guess how ill it would be steered without you, ' returnedMark, with a sigh. 'Do not fear to speak out before my wife, even ifwe are sinking. She will hear it bravely, and smile to the last. '

The room which Mr. Dutton entered was not like the cabin of a sinkingship, nor, as in his own time, like the well-ordered apartment of abachelor of taste. Indeed, the house was a great puzzle to Monsieur, who entered by invitation, knowing his way perfectly, thinking himselfat home after all his travels, and then missing his own particular mat, and sniffing round at the furniture. It was of the modified aestheticdate, but arranged more with a view to comfort than anything else, andby the light of the shaded lamp and bright fire was pre-eminentlyhome-like, with the three chairs placed round the hearth, andbright-haired Annaple rising up from the lowest with her knitting togreet Mr. Dutton, and find a comfortable lair for Monsieur. 

'Miss Nugent says that you set everything right that you do but lookat, Mr. Dutton, ' she said; 'so we are prepared to receive you as a goodgenius to help us out of our tangle. '

Mr. Dutton was afraid that the tangle was far past unwinding, and ofcourse the details, so far as yet known, were discussed. There was, intruth, nothing for which Mark could be blamed. He had diligentlyattended to his office-work, which was mere routine, and, conscious ofhis own inexperience, and trusting to the senior partners, he had onlybecome anxious at the end of the year, when he perceived Goodenough'savoidance of a settlement of accounts, and detected shuffling. He hadnot understood enough of the previous business to be aware of thedeterioration of the manner of dealing with it, though he did think itscarcely what he expected. If he had erred, it was in acting too muchas a wheel in the machinery, keeping his thoughts and heart in his ownhappy little home, and not throwing himself into the spirit of thebusiness, or the ways of those concerned in it, so that he had been inno degree a controlling power. He had allowed his quality of gentlemanto keep him an outsider, instead of using it to raise the general levelof the transactions, so that the whole had gone down in the hands ofthe unscrupulous Goodenough. 

Annaple listened and knitted quietly while the affairs were explainedon either hand. Mark had had one serious talk with George Greenleaf, and both had had a stormy scene with Goodenough. Then Mr. Dutton hadtelegraphed his arrival, and Greenleaf had met him in London, withhopes, bred of long and implicit trust, that his sagacity and perhapshis wealth would carry the old house through the crisis. 

But Mr. Dutton, though reserving his judgment till the books shouldhave been thoroughly examined and the liabilities completelyunderstood, was evidently inclined to believe that things had gone toofar, and that the names of Greenleaf and Egremont could only bepreserved from actual dishonour by going into liquidation, dissolvingpartnership, and thus getting quit of Goodenough. 

Mark listened resignedly, Annaple with an intelligence that made Mr. Dutton think her the more clearheaded of the two, though still shecould not refrain from her little jokes. 'I'm sure I should not mindhow liquid we became if we could only run off clear of Goodenough, ' shesaid. 

'You know what it means?' said her husband. 

'Oh yes, I know what it means. It is the fine word for being sold up. Well, Mark, never mind, we are young and strong, and it will not be abit the worse for the Billy-boy in the end to begin at the bottom ofeverything. '

'I hope--may I ask--is everything embarked in the poor old firm?' saidMr. Dutton with some hesitation. 

'All that is mine, ' said Mark, with his elbow on the table and his chinon his hand. 

'But I've got a hundred a year, charged on poor old Ronnisglen'sestate, ' said Annaple. 'All the others gave theirs up when theymarried, and I wanted to do so, but my dear mother would not let me;she said I had better try how I got on first. Think of that, Mark, ahundred a year! Why, old Gunner or Thorpe would think themselvesrolling in riches if they only heard that they had a hundred a year!'

'You won't find it go far!'

'Yes, I shall, for I shall make you live on porridge, with now and thena sheep's head for a treat! Besides, there will be something to do. It will be working up again, you know. But seriously, Mr. Dutton, Ihave some things here of my dear mother's that really belong toRonnisglen, and I was only keeping till he comes home. Should not theybe got out of the way?'

'My dear, we are not come to that yet! I hope it may be averted!'cried Mark. 

But Mr. Dutton agreed with the young wife that it would be much betterto send these things away before their going could excite suspicion. There was only a tiny silver saucepan, valued as a gift of 'Queen'Clementina to an ancestress, also a silver teapot and some old point, and some not very valuable jewellery, all well able to go into a smallbox, which Mr. Dutton undertook to deposit with Lord Ronnisglen'sbankers. He was struck with the scrupulous veracity with which Annapledecided between what had become her own property and the heirlooms, though what she claimed might probably be sacrificed to the creditors. 

Mark could hardly endure to see what made the crisis so terribly real. 'That I should have brought you to this!' he said to his wife, whentheir visitor had at length bidden them good-night. 

'If we begin at that work, ' said Annaple, 'it was I who brought you! Ihave often thought since it was rather selfish not to have consented toyour helping poor Ursula with her heavy handful of a father! It wasall money grubbing and grabbing, you see, and if we had thought more ofour neighbour than ourselves we might have been luxuriating at the HomeFarm, or even if your uncle had quarrelled with you, he would not havedevoured your substance. I have thought so often, ever since I beganto see this coming. '

'My dear child, you don't mean that you have seen this coming!'

'My prophetic soul! Why, Mark, you have as good as inferred it overand over again. I've felt like scratching that Badenough whenever Imet him in the street. I must indulge myself by calling him so foronce in strict privacy. '

'You have guessed it all the time, while I only thought how unconsciousyou were. '

'Not to say stupid, considering all you told me. Besides, what wouldhave been the use of howling and moaning and being dismal before thetime? For my part, I could clap my hands even now at getting rid ofGoodenough, and his jaunty, gracious air! Come, Mark, it won't be sobad after all, you'll see. '

'Nothing can be "so bad, " while you are what you are, my Nan. '

'That's right. While we have each other and the Billy-boy, nothingmatters much. There's plenty of work in us both, and that good manwill find it for us; or if he doesn't, we'll get a yellow van, and knitstockings, and sell them round the country. How jolly that would be!Imagine Janet's face. There, that's right, ' as her mimicry evoked asmile, 'I should be ashamed to be unhappy about this, when our goodname is saved, and when there is a blessing on the poor, ' she added ina lower voice, tenderly kissing her husband's weary brow. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE BOY OF EGREMONT. 

 'And the boy that walked beside me, He could not understand Why, closer in mine, ah, closer, I press'd his warm soft hand. '--LONGFELLOW. 

The agony of a firm like Greenleaf, Goodenough, and Co. Could not be arapid thing, and Mr. Dutton lived between London and Micklethwayte forseveral weeks, having much to endure on all sides. The senior partnersthought it an almost malicious and decidedly ungrateful thing in himnot to throw in his means, or at any rate, offer his guarantee to tidethem over their difficulties. Goodenough's tergiversations andconcealments needed a practised hand and acute head to unravel them, and often deceived Mr. Greenleaf himself; and when, for a time, he wasconvinced that the whole state was so rotten that a crash wasinevitable, his wife's lamentations and complaints of Mr. Dutton wouldundo the whole, and it was as if he were doing them an injury that thepair accepted the comfortable prospect he was able to offer them inAustralia. 

He would have made the like proposal to the Egremonts, but found thatMark held himself bound by his promise to his father not to emigrate, and thought of some kind of office-work. Before trying to procure thisfor him, however, Mr. Dutton intended to see his uncle, and try whetherthe agency, once rejected, could still be obtained for him. Learningfrom Miss Nugent that the Egremonts were in town, he went up thitherwith the purpose of asking for an interview. 

There was a new church in the immediate neighbourhood of his house in astate of growth and development congenial to the St. Ambrose trainedmind, and here Mr. Dutton, after old Micklethwayte custom, wasattending the early matins, when, in the alternate verses of the psalm, he heard a fresh young voice that seemed to renew those days gone by, and looking across the central aisle his eyes met a pair of dark oneswhich gave a sudden glitter of gladness at the encounter. That was allhe saw or cared to see. He did not take in the finished completenessof the very plain dark dress and hat, nor the womanly air of the littlefigure, until they clasped hands in the porch, and in the old tonesNuttie exclaimed: 'I've been hoping you would come to London. How isMonsieur?'

'In high health, thank you, the darling of the steamer both going andcoming. I hope your charges are well?'

'My father is tolerable, just as usual, and my little Alwyn is gettingmore delicious every day. He will be so delighted to see Monsieur. Ihave told him so many stories about him!'

'Do you think I may call on Mr. Egremont?'

'Oh do! He is ready to be called on between two and three, and wealways have Wynnie downstairs then, so that you will see him too. Andyou have been at Micklethwayte. I am afraid you found a great changein Aunt Ursel. '

'Yes; but she is very peaceful and happy. '

'And I have to leave her altogether to dear excellent Miss Nugent. Itseems very, very wrong, but I cannot help it! And how about Mark andAnnaple?'

'I think she is the bravest woman I ever met. '

'Then things are really going badly with the dear old firm?'

'I am hoping to talk to Mr. Egremont about it. '

'Ah!'

Nuttie paused. Towards Mr. Dutton she always had a stronger impulse ofconfidence than towards any one else she had ever met; but she feltthat he might think it unbecoming to say that she had perceived acertain dislike on her father's part towards Mark ever since therejection of the agency and the marriage, which perhaps was regarded asa rejection of herself. He had a habit of dependence on Mark, whichresulted in personal liking, when in actual contact, but in absence thedistaste and offence always revived, fostered, no doubt, by Gregorio;and Canon Egremont's death had broken the link which had brought themtogether. However, for his brother's sake, and for the sake of thename, the head of the family might be willing to do something. It wasone of Nuttie's difficulties that she never could calculate on the wayher father would take any matter. Whether for better or for worse, healways seemed to decide in diametrical opposition to her expectation. And, as she was certainly less impetuous and more dutiful, she partedwith Mr. Dutton at her own door without any such hint. 

These three years had been discipline such as the tenderest, wisesthand could not have given her, though it had been insensible. She hadbeen obliged to attend to her father and watch over her little brother, and though neither task had seemed congenial to her disposition, thehonest endeavour to do them rightly had produced the affection born ofsolicitude towards her father, and the strong warm tenderness of thetrue mother-sister towards little Alwyn. 

Ursula Egremont was one of those natures to which responsibility is thebest training. If she had had any one to guard or restrain her, shemight have gone to the utmost limits before she yielded to the curb. As it was, she had to take care of herself, to bear and forbear withher father, to walk warily with her household, and to be very guardedwith the society into which she was thrown from time to time. It wasno sudden change, but one brought about by experience. An outbreak ofimpatience or temper towards her father was sure to be followed by hisgalling sneer, or by some mortification to her desires; any act ofmismanagement towards the servants brought its own punishment; and ifshe was tempted by girlish spirits to relax the quiet, stiff courtesywhich she observed towards her father's guests, there followed jests, or semi-patronage, or a tone of conversation that offended her, andmade her repent it. Happily, Mr. Egremont did not wish her to beotherwise. One day, when she had been betrayed into rattling andgiggling, he spoke to her afterwards with a cutting irony whichbitterly angered her at the moment, and which she never forgot. Eachirksome duty, each privation, each disappointment, each recurrence ofthe sweeping sense of desolation and loneliness had had one effect--ithad sent her to her knees. She had no one else to go to. She turnedto her Father in heaven. Sometimes, indeed, it was in murmuring andcomplaint at her lot, but still it was to Him and Him alone, andrepentance sooner or later came to aid her, while refreshments sprangup around her--little successes, small achievements, pleasant hours, tokens that her father was pleased or satisfied, and above all, thegrowing charms of little Alwyn. 

The special grievance, Gregorio's influence, had scarcely dwelt on herat first as it had done on her mother. The man had been very cautiousfor some time, knowing that his continuance in his situation was in theutmost jeopardy, and Mr. Egremont had, in the freshness of his grieffor his wife, abstained from relapsing into the habits from which shehad weaned him. When, however, the Canon was dead, and his son at adistance, Gregorio began to feel more secure, and in the restlesssorrow of his master over the blow that had taken away an only brother, he administered soothing drugs under another name, so that Ursula, inher inexperience, did not detect what was going on, and still fanciedthat the habit had been renounced. All she did know was that it wasentirely useless for her to attempt to exert any authority over thevalet, and that the only way to escape insolently polite disobediencewas to let him alone. Moreover, plans to which her father had agreed, when broached by her, had often been overthrown after his valet hadbeen with him. It was a life full of care and disappointment, yetthere was a certain spring of trust that kept Ursula's youth from beingdimmed, and enabled her to get a fair share of happiness out of it, though she was very sorry not to be more at Bridgefield, where shecould have worked with all her heart with May Condamine. Moreover, Lady Kirkaldy's absence from London was a great loss to her, for therewas no one who was so kind or so available in taking her into society;and Nuttie, though mistress of her father's house, was not yettwenty-two, and strongly felt that she must keep within careful bounds, and not attempt to be her own chaperon. 

But the very sight of her old friend, and the knowledge that he was inthe neighbourhood, filled her heart with gladness, and seemed like acompensation for everything. Mr. Egremont was in a gracious mood, andreadily consented to see Mr. Dutton--the friend who had been sopleasant and helpful at Paris--and Nuttie gave her private instructionsto the footman to insure his admittance. 

His card was brought in just as the father and daughter were finishingluncheon, and he was received in Mr. Egremont's sitting-room, where thefirst civilities had hardly passed before the door was opened, and introtted the golden-haired boy, so beautiful a child that it would havebeen impossible not to look at him with delight, even for those to whomhis dark eyes and sweet smile did not recall those that had once beenso dear. 

Mr. Egremont's voice took a fresh tone: 'Ah! here he comes, the oldfellow'--and he held out his hands; but the boy was intent on his ownpurpose. 

'Where's black doggie?' he asked in a silver-bell of a little voice, but lisping a good deal; 'Wyn got penny for him. '

'Wynnie must be a good boy. Kiss papa first, and Mr. Dutton, 'remonstrated the sister; and Alwyn obeyed so far as to submit to hisfather's embrace, and then raising those velvety eyes to the visitor'sface, he repeated: 'Where black doggie? Wyn want to see him buy bun. '

'There! your fame has preceded you, ' said Mr. Egremont, 'or rather yourdog's. '

'You shall see him, ' said Mr. Dutton, taking the pretty boy almostreverently on his knee, 'but he is at home now. I could not leave himout on the street, and I did not know if I might bring him in. '

'Oh, Mr. Dutton! as if Monsieur would not be welcome, ' cried the Nuttieof old times. 'I only wish I had stipulated for him, dear old fellow. '

'Wyn want to see him, ' reiterated the child. 

'May I take him to see the performance?' said Mr. Dutton. 'I live onlyat the corner of Berkshire Road, and there's a dairy just oppositewhere Monsieur has been allowed to keep up his accomplishment. '

Alwyn's legs, arms, and voice, were all excitement and entreaty; andMr. Egremont himself proposed that they should all come and witness thefeat; so Nuttie, in great glee, climbed the stairs with her littlebrother to get ready; and when she came down again, found the gentlemendeep, not in Mark Egremont's umbrellas, but in the gas and smokegrievances which had arisen since the lease of the house had beentaken, and in which sympathy might be expected from a fellow-inhabitantof the district. Little Alwyn was, however, plainly the lord of theascendant, and unused to see anything else attended to in his presence. He took possession of Mr. Dutton's hand, and his tongue went fast, nordid his father or sister seem to desire any better music. They reachedan old-walled garden, with lilac and laburnum and horse-chestnutblossoming above, and showing a mass of greenery through the ironrailing that surmounted, the low wall on the street side, where Mr. Dutton halted and took out his key. 

'Is this yours?' exclaimed Nuttie, 'I have so often wondered whose itcould be. '

'Yes, it was a country-house when I was of the age of this little man, though you might not think it. '

'The increase of London had not been on that side, ' said Mr. Egremont. 'This must be a very valuable property!'

And Nuttie perceived that such an inheritance made Mr. Dutton much morein his eyes than an ex-umbrella-monger; but no sooner was the tall irongate opened than Monsieur, beautifully shaved, with all his curly tuftsin perfection, came bounding to meet his master, and Alwyn had his armsround the neck in a moment. Monsieur had in his time been introducedto too many children not to understand the situation, and respondpolitely; and he also recognised Ursula, and gave unmistakable proofsof being glad to see her. 

Then the halfpenny was presented to him. He wagged his queer tail, smiled with his intelligent brown eyes, took it between his teeth, andtrotted across the street in the most business-like way, the othersfollowing, but detaining the boy from keeping too close. They found thecreature sitting upright, tapping the floor with his tail, the centreof rapturous admiration to all the customers already in the dairy shop. He received his bun, and demurely dropping on his front legs, walkedback with it to his master, and crossed the road with it uneaten, rather to Alwyn's disappointment, but Mr. Dutton said he would probablydispose of it in some hiding-place in the garden until his eveningappetite came on. It was well he was a dog of moderation, for therewas great temptation to repeat the entertainment more than waswholesome for him. 

'There, Wynnie, ' said Nuttie in a voice of monition, 'Monsieur doesn'teat all his goodies at once, he keeps them for bedtime. '

It might be perceived that the over-supply of sweets was a matter ofanxiety to the elder sister. To the nurse, who waited in readiness, Alwyn was consigned for his walk, while his father and sister acceptedMr. Dutton's invitation to look round his domain. It would have beensmall in the country, but it was extensive for the locality, and therewas a perfect order and trimness about the shaven lawn, the littlefountain in the midst, the flower-beds gay with pansies, forget-me-nots, and other early beauties, and the freshly-rolled gravelpaths, that made Nuttie exclaim: 'Ah! I should have known this foryours anywhere. '

'I have not had much to do to it, ' he said. 'My old aunts had it wellkept up, even when they could only see it from their windows. Their oldgardener still lives in the cottage behind the tool-house, though he istoo infirm for anything but being wheeled about in the sun in theirBath-chair. '

'You keep a large amount lying idle by retaining it as it is, ' said Mr. Egremont. 

'True, but it is well to preserve an oasis here and there. '

Nuttie knew well that it was not for himself alone, and as they enteredthe little conservatory, and her eye fell on the row of whitehyacinths, the very scent carried her back to the old times, and hereyes grew moist while Mr. Dutton was cutting a bouquet for her inaccordance with well-known tastes. 

'I shall put them in my room. It will feel like home, ' she said, andthen she saw that she had said what her father did not like; for he wasalways sensitive as to any reference to her early life. 

Mr. Dutton, however, took this opportunity of saying that he had beenbackwards and forwards to Micklethwayte several times this spring. 

'I hope you are well out of the concern there, ' said Mr. Egremont. 

'Thank you, sir; I have no share in it at present. '

'So much the better!'

'But I am very anxious about my friends. '

'Ah!' But Mr. Egremont's attention was drawn off at the entrance ofthe house by a new-fashioned stove of which Mr. Dutton did the honours, conducting father and daughter into the drawing-room, where obvioustraces of the old ladies remained, and thence into his ownsitting-room, smelling pleasantly of Russia leather, and recalling thatinto which Nuttie had been wont, before her schooldays, to climb by thewindow, and become entranced by the illustrations of a wonderful oldedition of Telemaque, picked up at Paris. 

Mr. Dutton made them sit and rest, for this had been a good deal ofexercise for Mr. Egremont; coffee was brought in, having been orderedon their arrival, and therewith Mr. Dutton entered on an exposition ofthe affairs of Greenleaf and Goodenough, which was listened to with agood deal of interest, though Nuttie could not quite detect whether itwere altogether friendly interests in Mark's misfortunes, or if therewere not a certain triumph in the young man having run into trouble byrejecting his offer. 

Mr. Dutton explained that his present object was to induce the friendsof the family to prevent annoyance by preserving the furniture andpersonals at a valuation; and Mr. Egremont readily agreed to contributeto doing this, though he said the sisters and stepmother were well ablealso to do their share. 

'And then to give the young people a fresh start, ' added Mr. Dutton. 

'There are some men who are always wanting fresh starts, ' said Mr. Egremont, 'just as there are some vessels that are always unlucky. Andif you observe, it is just those men who are in the greatest haste tohang an expensive wife and family round their necks. '

'I don't think poor Annaple can be accused of being expensive, papa, 'said Nuttie. 'Only think, when Wynnie has two nurses always after him, her Willie has only the fraction of a little maid, who does all sortsof work besides. '

'Yes, I never saw more resolute and cheerful exertion than Mrs. MarkEgremont's, ' said Mr. Dutton. 

'She owes him something, ' said Mr. Egremont, 'for she has been the ruinof him. '

'Of his worldly prospects in one sense, ' said Mr. Dutton quietly; whileNuttie felt how much better and wiser an answer it was than theindignant denial that trembled on her tongue. 'There can be no doubtthat they made a grievous mistake in their choice, and I unfortunatelywas concerned in leading them into it; but no one can see how they meettheir troubles without great respect and admiration, and I amespecially bound to seek for some new opening for them. I have littledoubt that some office work might be found for him in London, but theyare essentially country people, and it would be much better for them ifhe could have some agency. I suppose the situation you offered himbefore, sir, is filled up?'

'Not really, ' cried Nuttie. 'We have only a very common sort ofuneducated bailiff, who would be much better with some one over him. You said so, papa. '

'Did he request you to apply to me?' said Mr. Egremont sharply, lookingat Mr. Dutton. 

'Neither he nor she has the least idea of my intention; I only thought, sir, you might be willing to consider how best to assist a nephew, whohas certainly not been wanting either in industry or economy, and whobears your name. '

'Well, I will think it over, ' said Mr. Egremont, rising to take leave. 

The carriage had been bidden to await them at the door for their dailydrive, and as Mr. Egremont leant back with the furs disposed over himhe observed: 'That's a man who knows how to take care of himself. Iwonder where he gets his coffee, I've not drunk any like it since I wasat Nice. ' And Nuttie, though well knowing that Mr. Dutton's love ofperfection was not self-indulgence, was content to accept this as highapprobation, and a good augury for Mark and Annaple. Indeed, with Mr. Dutton settled near, and with the prospect of a daily walk from churchwith him, she felt such a complete content and trust as she had notknown since she had been uprooted from Micklethwayte. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A BRAVE HEART. 

 'One furnace many times the good and bad may hold, Yet what consumes the chaff will only cleanse the gold. ' Archbishop TRENCH. 

Never was there a truer verse than that which tells us that in seekingduty we find pleasure by the way, and in seeking pleasure we meet pain. It might be varied to apply to our anticipations of enjoyment or thereverse. Ursula had embraced her lot as a necessity, and found itenlivened by a good many sunshiny hours; and when she looked upon Mr. Dutton's neighbourhood as a continual source of delight andsatisfaction, she found that it gave rise to a continual course ofsmall disappointments. 

In the first place, he did not walk home from church with her everymorning. She looked for him in vain, even when she knew he was intown. He only appeared there on Sundays, and at intervals when he hadsome especial reason for speaking to her. At first she thought he musthave grown lazy or out of health to have thus dropped his oldMicklethwayte habits, but after a time she discovered by accident thathe frequented another church, open at a still earlier hour and a littlefarther off, and she was forced to come to the conclusion that he actedout of his characteristic precise scrupulosity, which would notconsider it as correct for her to walk home every day with him. Shechafed, and derided 'the dear old man' a little in her own mind, thenended with a sigh. Was there any one who cared so much about what wasproper for her? And, after all, was he really older than Mr. ClarenceFane, whom everybody in her father's set called Clarence, or evenClare, and treated as the boy of the party, so that she had taken it asquite natural that he should be paired off with her. It was quite adiscovery!

There was another and more serious disappointment. Mr. Egremont hadnot seemed disinclined to consider the giving the agency to Mark, andNuttie had begun to think with great satisfaction of May Condamine'sdelight in welcoming him, and of the good influence that would bebrought to bear on the dependents, when suddenly there came a coolness. She could trace the moment, and was sure that it was, when Gregoriobecame aware of what was intended. He had reason to dread Mark as anenemy, and was likely to wish to keep him at a distance; and it hadbeen Ursula's great hope that an absolute promise might have been givenbefore he heard of the plan; but Mr. Egremont was always slow to makeup his mind, except when driven by a sudden impulse, and had neveractually said that the post should be offered to his nephew. Nuttieonly detected the turn of the tide by the want of cordiality, the humsand haws, and by and by the resumption of the unkind ironical tone whenMark and Annaple were mentioned; and at last, when she had been readingto him a letter from Mrs. William Egremont full of anxiety for theyoung people, and yet of trust in his kindness to them, he exclaimed, 'You've not been writing to her about this absurd proposal?'

'I have not mentioned any proposal at all. What do you mean?'

'Why, this ridiculous idea about the agency. As if I was going to putmy affairs into the hands of a man who has made such a mull of his own. '

'But that was not Mark's fault, papa. He was junior, you know, and hadno power over that Goodenough. '

'He ought, then! Never sail with an unlucky captain. No, no, Mark'shonourable lady would not let him take the agency when he might havehad it, and I am not going to let them live upon me now that they havenothing of their own. '

'Oh, papa, but you almost promised!'

'Almost!' he repeated with his ironical tone; 'that's a word capable ofa good deal of stretching. This is what you and that umbrella fellowhave made out of my not giving him a direct refusal on the spot. Hemay meddle with Mark's affairs if he chooses, but not with mine. '

Nuttie had learnt a certain amount of wisdom, and knew that to argue apoint only made her father more determined, so she merely answered, 'Very well;' adding in a meek voice, 'Their furniture, poor things!'

'Oh ay. Their umbrella friend is making a collection for them. Yes, Ibelieve I said I would contribute. '

Hot blood surged up within Nuttie at the contemptuous tone, and she bither lip to keep down the answer, for she knew Mr. Dutton intended tocall the next afternoon for her father's ultimatum before going down toMicklethwayte, where the crisis was fast approaching, and she had somuch faith in his powers that she dreaded to forestall him by animprudent word. Alas, Gregorio must have been on his guard, for, though Nuttie was sure she heard her friend's ring at the usual time, no entrance followed. She went up to put on her habit to ride with herfather, and when she came down Mr. Egremont held out a card with thename 'Philip Dutton, ' and the pencilled request below to be allowed tosee Mr. Egremont later in the day. 

'He has been denied!' exclaimed she in consternation. 

'Hein! Before we go out, sit down and write a note for me. ' And hedictated--

 'Dear Sir--I will not trouble you to call again this afternoon, as I have decided on reflection that there is no employment on my estate suited to my nephew, Mark Egremont. 

 'As I understand that you are raising a family subscription for rescuing his furniture from the creditors, I enclose a cheque for £50 for the purpose. 

 --I remain--'

'Yours--what--papa?--' asked Ursula, with a trembling voice, full oftears. 

'Yours, etc. , of course. Quite intimate enough for anex-umbrella-monger. Here, give it to me, and I'll sign it while youfill up the cheque for me. '

That such should be the first letter that Nuttie ever addressed to Mr. Dutton, since the round-hand one in 'which Miss Ursula wished Mr. Dutonto have the onner of a tee with me on my birthday, and I am youraffected little Nuttie'!

She hoped to explain and lament the next morning, after church. Hewould surely come to talk it over with her; but he only returned acivil note with his receipt, and she did not see him again before hisdeparture. She was greatly vexed; she had wanted so much to tell himhow it was, and then came an inward consciousness that she wouldprobably have told him a great deal too much. 

Was it that tiresome prudence of his again that would think for her andprevent impulsive and indignant disclosures? It made her bring downher foot sharply on the pavement with vexation as she suspected that hethought her so foolish, and then again her heart warmed with theperception of self-denying care for her. She trusted to that sameprudence for no delusive hopes having been given to Mark and his wife. 

She did so justly. Mr. Dutton had thought the matter far too uncertainto be set before them. The Canoness's vague hopes had been the fruitof a hint imprudently dropped by Nuttie herself in a letter to Blanche. She had said more to Miss Nugent, but Mary was a nonconductor. Mr. Dutton's heart sank as he looked at the houses, and he had somethoughts of going to her first for intelligence, but Annaple had spiedhim, and ran out to the gate to welcome him. 

'Oh, Mr. Dutton, I'm so glad! Mark will be delighted. '

'Is he at home?'

'Oh no, at the office, wading through seas of papers with Mr. Greenleaf, but he will come home to eat in a quarter of an hour. Socome in;' then, as her boy's merry voice and a gruffer one were heard, 'That's the bailiff. He is Willie's devoted slave. '

'I hoped to have been in time to have saved you that. '

'Well, I'm convinced that among the much maligned races are bailiffs. Iwonder what I could get by an article on prejudice against classes! Iwas thinking how much beer I should have to lay in for this one, andbehold he is a teetotaller, and besides that amateur nurse-maid, parlour-maid, kitchen-maid, etc. Etc. --'

'What bailiff could withstand Mrs. Egremont? Perhaps you have tamedhim?'

'Not I. The cook did that. Indeed I believe there's a nice littleidyll going on in the kitchen, and besides he wore the blue ribbon, andwas already a devoted follower of young Mr. Godfrey!'

'However, if the valuation is ready, I hope you may be relieved fromhim, if you won't be too much concerned at the parting!'

'Mrs. Egremont told us that our people are very good to us, ' saidAnnaple, 'and don't mean to send us out with nothing but a pack at ourbacks. It is very kind in them and in you, Mr. Dutton, to take thetrouble of it! No, I'll not worry you with thanks. The great pointis, hope for something for Mark to do. That will keep up his spiritsbest! Poor Mr. Greenleaf is so melancholy that it is all I can do tokeep him up to the mark. '

'I have been making inquiries, and I have three possible openings, butI hardly like to lay them before you. '

'Oh, we are not particular about gentility! It is work we want, and ifit was anything where I could help that would be all the better! I'msure I only wonder there are so many as three. I think it issomebody's doing. Ah! there's Mark, ' and she flew out to meet him. 'Mark!' she said, on the little path, 'here's the good genius, withthree chances in his pocket. Keep him to luncheon. I've got plenty. Poor old man, how hot you look! Go and cool in the drawing-room, whileI wash my son's face. '

And she disappeared into the back regions, while Mark, the smile shehad called up vanishing from his face, came into the drawing-room, andheld out a cordial, thankful hand to his friend, whose chiefintelligence was soon communicated. 'Yes, ' said Mark, when he heardthe amount entrusted by the family to Mr. Dutton, 'that will save allmy wife's poor little household gods. Not that I should call them so, for I am sure she does not worship them. I don't know what wouldbecome of me if she were like poor Mrs. Greenleaf, who went intohysterics when the bailiff arrived, and has kept her room ever since. Isometimes feel as if nothing could hurt us while Annaple remains whatshe is. '

Mr. Dutton did not wonder that he said so, when she came in leading herlittle son, with his sunny hair newly brushed and shining, and carryinga little bouquet for the guest of one La Marque rosebud and threelilies of the valley. 

'Take it to Mr. Dutton, Billy-boy; I think he knows how the flowerscame into the garden. You shall have daddy's button-hole to take tohim next. There, Mark, it is a pansy of most smiling countenance, suchas should beam on you through your accounts. I declare, there's thatparagon of a Mr. Jones helping Bessy to bring in dinner! Isn't it verykind to provide a man-servant for us?'

It might be rattle, and it might be inconsequent, but it was muchpleasanter than hysterics. Billy-boy was small enough to require agood deal of attention at dinner, especially as he was more disposed toopen big blue eyes at the stranger, than to make use of his spoon, andAnnaple seemed chiefly engrossed with him, though a quick keen word atthe right moment showed that she was aware of all that was going on, asMark and Mr. Dutton discussed the present situation and future measures. 

It was quite true that a man concerned in a failure was in great dangerof being left out of the race for employment, and Mr. Dutton did notthink it needful to mention the force of the arguments he was using toback his recommendation of Mark Egremont. The possibilities he hadheard of were a clerkship at a shipping agent's, another at a warehousein their own line, and a desk at an insurance office. This soundedbest, but had the smallest salary to begin with, and locality had to betaken into account. Mr. Dutton's plan was, that as soon as Mark was nolonger necessary for what Annaple was pleased to call the fall of thesere and withered leaf, the pair should come to stay with him, so thatMark could see his possible employers, and Annaple consider of thesituations. They accepted this gratefully, Mark only proposing thatshe should go either to his stepmother or her own relations to avoidthe final crisis. 

'As if I would!' she exclaimed. 'What sort of a little recreant goosedo you take me for?'

'I take you for a gallant little woman, ready to stand in the breach, 'said Mark. 

'Ah, don't flatter yourself! There is a thing I have not got courageto face--without necessity, and that's Janet's triumphant pity. Mr. Dutton lives rather too near your uncle, but he is a man, and he can'tbe so bad. '

This of course did not pass till Mr. Dutton had gone in to greet theladies next door, to promise to tell them of their child at length whenthe business hours of the day should be over. 

Shall it be told? There was something in his tone--perfectlyindefinable, with which he spoke of 'Miss Egremont, ' that was like theold wistfully reverential voice in which he used to mention 'Mrs. Egremont. ' It smote Mary Nugent's quiet heart with a pang. Was itthat the alteration from the old kindly fatherliness of regard to'little Nuttie' revealed that any dim undefined hope of Mary's own mustbe extinguished for ever; or was it that she grieved that he shouldagain be wasting his heart upon the impracticable?

A little of both, perhaps, but Mary was as ready as ever to sympathise, and to rejoice in hearing that the impetuous child had grown into theforbearing dutiful woman. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

A FRESH START. 

'Did you say that Mark and his wife were come to Springfield House?'

'They come the day after to-morrow, ' answered Ursula. 'Mark could notfinish up the business sooner. '

'Well, I suppose we must have them to dinner for once. He has made afool of himself, but I won't have the Canoness complaining that I takeno notice of him; and it is easier done while he is there than when hehas got into some hole in the City--that is if he ever gets anything todo. '

'Mr. Dutton has several situations in view for him. '

'In view. That's a large order. Or does it mean living on Dutton anddoing something nominal? I should think Dutton too old and sharp ahand for that, though he is quartering them on himself. '

'I believe there is nothing Mr. Dutton would like better, if he thoughtit right for them, but I am quite sure Mark and Annaple would notconsent. '

'Ha, ha!' and Mr. Egremont laughed. 'Their nose is not brought to thegrindstone yet! Say Saturday, then, Ursula. '

'Am I to ask Mr. Dutton?'

'Of course; I'm not going to have a tete-a-tete with Master Mark. '

So Ursula had the satisfaction of writing a more agreeable note to Mr. Dutton than her last, and her invitation was accepted, but to hervexation Mr. Egremont further guarded himself from anythingconfidential by verbally asking Mr. Clarence Fane on that very day, andas that gentleman was a baronet's son, she knew she should fall to hislot at dinner, and though she was glad when this was the case at theirordinary parties, it was a misfortune on the present occasion. She hadnot seen Annaple since her marriage, except at the family gathering onthe Canon's death, when she was very much absorbed by the requirementsof the stricken household; and Nuttie expected to see her in the samesubdued condition. All Mr. Dutton had said or Mary Nugent had writtenabout her courage and cheerfulness had given the impression of'patience smiling at grief, ' and in a very compassionate mood shestarted for a forenoon call at Springfield House; but, early as it was, nobody was at home, unless it might be the little boy, whose voice shethought she heard while waiting at the gate. 

She was out driving with her father afterwards in the long summerevening, and only found Mark's card on returning just in time to dress. It was a bright glaring day, and she was sitting by the window, ratherinattentively listening to Mr. Fane's criticism of a new performance atone of the theatres, when she heard the bell, and there entered theslight, bright creature who might still have been taken for a meregirl. The refined though pronounced features, the transparentcomplexion, crispy yellow hair and merry eyes, were as sunbeam-like asat the Rectory garden-party almost five years ago, and the black dressonly marked the contrast, and made the slenderness of the figure moreevident. 

Mark looked older, and wrung his cousin's hand with a pressure ofgratitude and feeling, but Annaple's was a light little gay kiss, andthere was an entire unconsciousness about her of the role of poorrelation. She made an easy little acknowledgment of the introductionof Mr. Fane, and, as Mr. Egremont appeared the next moment, exchangedgreetings with him in a lively ordinary fashion. 

This was just what he liked. He only wanted to forget what wasunpleasant, and, giggling Scotch girl as she was, he was relieved tofind that she could not only show well-bred interest in the surfacematters of the time, but put in bright flashes of eagerness andoriginality, well seconded by Mr. Dutton. Mr. Fane was always aprofessor of small talk, and Nuttie had learnt to use the currentchange of society, so that though Mark was somewhat silent, the dinnerwas exceedingly pleasant and lively; and, as Mr. Fane remarkedafterwards, he had been asked to enliven a doleful feast to ruinedkindred, he could only say he wished prosperity always made people soagreeable. 

'This is all high spirit and self-respect, ' thought Nuttie. 'Annapleis talking as I am, from the teeth outwards. I shall have it out withher when we go upstairs! At any rate my father is pleased with her!'

Nuttie made the signal to move as soon as she could, and as they wentupstairs, put her arm round the slim waist and gave a sympatheticpressure, but the voice that addressed her had still the cheery ringthat she fancied had been only assumed. 

'I'm sorry I missed you, but we set out early and made a day of it; andoh! we've been into such funny places as I never dreamt of! You didn'tsee my boy?'

'No. I thought I heard him. I must see him to-morrow. '

'And I must see yours. May it not be a pleasure to-night? I've nodoubt you go and gloat over him at night. '

'Well, I do generally run up after dinner; but after your day, I can'tthink of dragging you up all these stairs. '

'Oh, that's nothing! Only you see it is jollier to have my Billy-boyin the next room. '

They were mounting all the time, and were received in the day nurseryby the old Rectory nurse, much increased in dignity, but inclined to bepathetic as she inquired after 'Mr. Mark, ' while Annaple, like a littleinsensible being, answered with provoking complacency as to his perfecthealth, and begged Mrs. Poole to bring Master Alwyn to play in thegarden at Springfield with her Willie. In fact there was a generalinvitation already to Alwyn to play there, but his attendants so muchpreferred the society of their congeners in the parks that they did notavail themselves of it nearly as often as Ursula wished. 

Little Alwyn asleep was, of course, a beautiful sight, with a preciousold headless rabbit pressed tight to his cheek; Annaple's face grewtender as she looked at the motherless creature; and she admired him toany extent except saying that he excelled her own. Being more than ayear the elder, there could be no rivalry as to accomplishments; but assoon as they were out of the nursery hush, Annaple laughed her way downagain with tales of Billy-boy's wonder at his first experiences oftravelling. They sat down among the plants in the balcony, as far fromthe lamps as possible, and talked themselves into intimacy overMicklethwayte. There are two Eden homes in people's lives, one that oflater childhood, the other the first of wedded happiness, and St. Ambrose Road had the same halo to both of these; for both had beenuprooted from it against their will; the chief difference being thatUrsula could cast longing, lingering looks behind, while Annaple heldherself resolutely steeled against sentiment, and would only turn itoff by something absurd. Nothing was absolutely settled yet; Mark hadbeen presenting himself at offices, and she had been seeing rooms andlodgings. 

'The insurance office sounds the best, and would be the least shock toour belongings, ' said Annaple; 'but it seems to lead to nothing. Hewould not get on unless we had capital to invest, and even if we hadany, you wouldn't catch us doing that again!'

'Does Mr. Dutton advise that?'

'No, he only thought we should like it better; but we are quite pastcaring for people's feelings in the matter. They couldn't pity usworse than they do. I incline to Stubbs and Co. One of them was oncein the Greenleaf office, and has a regard for anything from thence;besides Mark would have something to do besides desk work. He wouldhave to judge of samples, and see to the taking in and storing ofgoods. He does know something about that, and I'm sure it would agreewith him better than an unmitigated high stool, with his nose to adesk. '

'I should like it better. '

'That's right! Now I have got some one to say so. Besides, rising ispossible, if one gets very useful. I mean to be Mrs. Alderman, if notmy Lady Mayoress, before we have done. Then they have a great bigalmost deserted set of rooms over the warehouse, where we might liveand look after the place. '

'Oh! but should you like that?'

'Mr. Dutton wants us to live out in some of the suburban places, whereit seems there is a perfect population of clerks' families insemi-detached houses. He says we should save Mark's railway fare, rent, and all in doctors' bills. But people, children and all, do liveand thrive in the City; and I think Mark's health will be better lookedafter if I am there to give him his midday bite and sup, and brush himup, than if he is left to cater for himself; and as to exercise for theBilly-boy, 'tis not so far to the Thames Embankment. The only thingsthat stagger me are the blacks! I don't know whether life is longenough to be after the blacks all day long, but perhaps I shall getused to them!'

'Well, I think that would be worse. '

'Perhaps it would; and at any rate, if the blacks do beat me, we couldmove. Think, no rent, nor rates, nor taxes--that is an inducement toswallow--no--to contend with, any number of blackamoors, isn't it? evenif they settle on the tip of Billy-boy's nose. '

'I could come to see you better there than out in a suburb, ' saidNuttie. 'But what do these rooms look out upon?'

'On one side into their own court, on the other into Wulstan Street--aquiet place on the whole--all walls and warehouses; and there's anexcellent parish church, Mr. Underwood's; so I think we might do worse. '

Nuttie was very sorry that the gentlemen came up, and Mr. Fane wanderedout and began asking whether they were going to the rose show. Somehowon that evening she became conscious that Annaple looked at her and Mr. Fane rather curiously; and when they met again the next day, and havinggrown intimate over the introduction of the two little boys, weredriving out together, there were questions about whether she saw muchof him. 

'Oh, I don't know! He is the nicest, on the whole, of papa's friends;he can talk of something besides'--Nuttie paused over her'besides, '--'horseyness, and all that sort of thing--he is not so likean old satyr as some of them are; and so he is a resource. '

'I see. And you meet him elsewhere, don't you, in general society?'

'I don't go out much now that Lady Kirkaldy is not in town; but healways seems to turn up everywhere that one goes. '

'Ursula, I'm very glad of that tone of yours. I was afraid--'

'Afraid of what?' cried Nuttie in a defiant tone. 

'That you liked him, and he is not really nice, Nuttie. Mark knows allabout him; and so did I when I lived with the Delmars. '

Nuttie laughed rather bitterly. 'Thank you, Annaple. As if I couldcare for that man--or he for me, for that matter! I know but toowell, ' she added gravely, 'that nobody nice is ever intimate at home. '

'I beg your pardon. I would not have worried you about it, only Ithink you must take care, Nuttie, for Blanche mentioned it to us lastwinter. '

'Blanche is an arrant gossip! If she saw a grandfather and greatgrandmother gossiping she would say they were going to be married. '

'Yes, as Mark says, one always swallows Blanche with a qualification. '

'You may be quite sure, Annaple, that nothing like that will ever betrue about me! Why, what would ever become of my poor little Wyn if Iwas so horrid as to want to go and marry?'

She said it with an ineffable tone of contempt, just like the originalNuttie, who seemed to be recalled by association with Annaple. 

That sojourn of Mark and his wife at Springfield House was a brightspot in that summer. If it had been only that Annaple's presence gavethe free entree to such an island of old Micklethwayte, it would havebeen a great pleasure to her; but there was besides the happiness ofconfidence and unrestraint in their society, a restful enjoyment onlyto be appreciated by living the guarded life of constraint that washers. She was so seldom thrown among people whom she could admire andlook up to. Annaple told her husband of Nuttie's vehement repudiationof any intention of marriage. 'I am sure she meant it, ' she observed, 'it was only a little too strong. I wonder if that poor youth who cameto her first ball, and helped to pick us out of the hole in BluepostBridge, had anything to do with it. '

Annaple had an opportunity of judging. Mr. Dutton would not havebrought about a meeting which might be painful and unsettling to both;but one afternoon, when Nuttie was 'off duty' with her father, and hadcome in to share Annaple's five o'clock tea, Gerard Godfrey, lookingthe curate from head to foot, made his appearance, having come up fromthe far east, about some call on Mr. Dutton's purse. 

The two shook hands with pleased surprise, and a little heightening ofcolour, but that was all. Nuttie had been out to luncheon, and wasdressed 'like a mere fashionable young lady' in his eyes; and when, after the classes and clubs and schools of his district had beendiscussed, he asked, 'And I suppose you are taking part in everythinghere?'

'No, that I can't!'

'Indeed! I know Porlock, the second curate here very well, and hetells me that his vicar has a wonderful faculty of finding appropriatework for every one. Of course you know him?'

'No, I don't;' said Nuttie. 

'Miss Egremont has her appropriate work, ' said Mr. Dutton, and thedeacon felt himself pushed into his old position at Micklethwayte. Heknew the clergy of the district very well, and how persistently eitherMr. Egremont, or perhaps Gregorio, prevented their gaining admittanceat his house; and he guessed, but did not know, that Nuttie could nothave got into personal intercourse with them without flat disobedience. 

Annaple threw herself into the breach, and talked of St. Wulstan's; andthe encounter ended, leaving the sense of having drifted entirely awayfrom one another, and being perfectly heart whole, though on the onehand Ursula's feeling was of respect and honour; and Gerard's had aconsiderable element of pity and disapprobation. 

'No!' said Annaple when they were gone, 'he will not cry like thekloarek in the Breton ballad who wetted three great missals throughwith his tears at his first mass. He is very good, I am sure, but heis a bit of a prig!'

'It is very hard to youth to be good without priggishness, ' said Mr. Dutton. 'Self-assertion is necessary, and it may easily be carried toofar. '

'Buttresses are useful, but they are not beauties, ' rejoined Annaple. 

The warehouse arrangement was finally adopted, and after the threeweeks necessary for the cleaning and fitting of their floor, and thebringing in of their furniture, Mark and Annaple began what she termed'Life among the Blacks. '

Nuttie had great designs of constantly seeing Annaple, sending hersupplies from the gardens and preserves at Bridgefield, taking her outfor drives, and cultivating a friendship between Alwyn and Willie, whohad taken to each other very kindly on the whole. They could notexactly understand each other's language, and had great fights fromtime to time over toys, for though there was a year between them theywere nearly equal in strength; but they cared for each other's companymore than for anything else, were always asking to go to one another, and roared when the time of parting came; at least Alwyn did sounreservedly, for Nuttie had begun to perceive with compunction thatBilly-boy was much the most under control, and could try to be good athis mother's word, without other bribe than her kiss and smile. Ah!but he had a mother!

CHAPTER XXX. 

NUTTIE'S PROSPECTS. 

 'Three hundred pounds and possibilities. '--Merry Wives of Windsor. 

Again Nuttie's plans were doomed to be frustrated. It did not prove tobe half so easy to befriend Mr. And Mrs. Mark Egremont as she expected, at the distance of half London apart, and with no special turn forbeing patronised on their side. 

Her father took a fancy for almost daily drives with her in the park, because then he could have Alwyn with him; and the little fellow'schatter had become his chief amusement. Or if she had the carriage toherself, there was sure to be something needful to be done which madeit impossible to go into the city to take up and set down Mrs. MarkEgremont; and to leave her to make her way home would be no kindness. So Nuttie only accomplished a visit once before going out of town, andthat was by her own exertions--by underground railway and cab. Thenshe found all going prosperously; the blacks not half so obnoxious ashad been expected (of course not, thought Nuttie, in the middle of thesummer); the look-out over the yard very amusing to Billy-boy; and thelarge old-fashioned pannelled rooms, so cool and airy that Annaple wasquite delighted with them, and contemned the idea of needing a holiday. She had made them very pretty and pleasant with her Micklethwaytefurniture, whose only fault was being on too small a scale for theselarger spaces, but that had been remedied by piecing, and making whathad been used for two serve for one. 

The kitchen was on the same floor, close at hand, which was well, forAnnaple did a good deal there, having only one young maid for therougher work. She had taken lessons in the School of Cookery, andpractised a good deal even at Micklethwayte, and she was proud of herskill and economy. Mark came in for his mid-day refreshment, andlooked greatly brightened, as if the worst had come and was by no meansso bad as he expected. All the time he had been at Mr. Dutton's he hadbeen depressed and anxious, but now, with his boy on his knee, he wasmerrier than Nuttie had ever known him. As to exercise, there weredelightful evening walks, sometimes early marketings in the long summermornings before business began--and altogether it seemed, as Nuttietold her father afterwards, as if she had had a glimpse into a littleCity Arcadia. 

'Hein!' said he, 'how long will it last?'

And Nuttie was carried away to Cowes, where he had been persuaded torecur to his old favourite sport of yachting. She would have ratherliked this if Clarence Fane had not been there too, and continuallyhaunting them. She had been distrustful of him ever since Annaple'swarning, and it became a continual worry to the motherless girl todecide whether his civil attentions really meant anything, or whethershe were only foolish and ridiculous in not accepting them as freelyand simply as before. 

Of one thing she became sure, namely, that Gregorio was doing whateverin him lay to bring them together. 

In this seaside temporary abode, great part of the London establishmentwas left behind, and Gregorio condescended to act the part of butler, with only a single man-servant under him, and thus he had much moreopportunity of regulating the admission of visitors than at home; andhe certainly often turned Mr. Fane in upon her, when she had intendedthat gentleman to be excluded, and contrived to turn a deaf oruncomprehending ear when she desired that there should be no admissionof visitors unless her father was absolutely ready for them; and alsothere were times when he must have suggested an invitation to dinner, or a joining in a sail. No doubt Gregorio would have been delighted tosee her married, and to be thus free from any counter influence overhis master; but as she said to herself, 'Catch me! Even if I cared arush for the man, I could not do it. I don't do my poor father muchgood, but as to leaving poor little Alwyn in his clutches--I must beperfectly demented with love even to think of it. '

There was a desire on the valet's part to coax and court little Alwynof which she felt somewhat jealous. The boy was naturally the pet ofevery one in the household, but he was much less out of Gregorio'sreach in the present confined quarters, and she could not bear to seehim lifted up in the valet's arms, allowed to play with his watch, heldto look at distant sails on board the yacht, or even fed with sweetbiscuits or chocolate creams. 

The Rectory nursery had gone on a strict regimen and nurse was as angryas Nuttie herself; but there was no preventing it, for his father wasnot above cupboard love, and never resisted the entreaties that werealways excited by the sight of dainties, only laughing when Nuttieremonstrated, or even saying, 'Never mind sister, Wynnie, she's gotMrs. Teachem's cap on, ' and making the child laugh by pretending tosmuggle in papers of sweets by stealth, apart from the severe eyes ofsister or nurse. 

That cut Nuttie to the heart. To speak of the evils for whichself-indulgence was a preparation would only make her father sneer ather for a second Hannah More. It was a language he did not understand;and as to the physical unwholesomeness, he simply did not choose tobelieve it. She almost wished Alwyn would for once be sick enough tofrighten him, but that never happened, nor would he accept nurse'sstatement of the boy being out of order. 

Poor little Alwyn, he was less and less of an unmixed joy to her as hewas growing out of the bounds of babyhood, and her notions ofdiscipline were thwarted by her father's unbounded indulgence. To herthe child was a living soul, to be trained for a responsible positionhere and for the eternal world beyond; to her father he was adelightful plaything, never to be vexed, whose very tempers wereamusing, especially when they teased the serious elder sister. 

'Oh father! do you ever think what it will come to?' Nuttie could nothelp saying one day when Mr. Egremont had prevented her from carryinghim off in disgrace to the nursery for tying the rolls up in dinnernapkins to enact Punch and Judy, in spite of his own endeavours toprevent the consequent desolation of the preparations. 

Mr. Egremont shrugged his shoulders, and only observed, 'An excuse fora little home tyranny, eh? No, no, Wyn; we don't want tame littlemuffs here. '

Nuttie was obliged to run out of the room and--it must beconfessed--dance and stamp out her agony of indignation and misery thather father should be bent on ruining his child, for she could notunderstand that all this was simply the instinctive self-indulgence ofa drugged brain and dulled conscience. 

She did, however, get a little support and help during a brief stay inthe shooting season at Bridgefield. The Canoness was visiting theCondamines at the Rectory, and very soon understood all the state ofthings, more perhaps from her former nurse than from Ursula. She waswitness to one of those trying scenes, when Nuttie had been forbiddingthe misuse of a beautiful elaborate book of nursery rhymes, where Alwynthought proper to 'kill' with repeated stabs the old woman of the shoe, when preparing to beat her progeny. 

Just as she was getting the dagger paper-knife out of his little hand, and was diverting the pout on his swelling lip, his father became awareof the contest, and immediately the half conquered boy appealed to him. 'Sister naughty. Won't let Wynnie kill cross ugly old woman, beatingpoor little children. '

'A fellow feeling! eh, sister? Kill her away, boy, tear her out! Yes, give her to sister, and tell her that's the way to serve sour females!I declare, Ursula, she has got something of your expression. '

'Oh Wynnie, Wynnie!' said Nuttie, as he trotted up to her, 'is sistercross and ugly?' and she opened her arms to him. 

'Sister, Wyn's own sister, ' said the child affectionately, lettinghimself be kissed as he saw her grieved. 'She shan't be ugly oldwoman--ugly old woman go in fire. '

So perilously near the flame did he run to burn the old woman that Mr. Egremont shouted to her that in spite of all that humbug, she wasperfectly careless of the child, although if she had withheld him shewould probably have been blamed for thwarting him. 

'Are you quite fair towards Ursula?' the aunt ventured to say when thegirl had gone to dress for walking down with her to the Rectory. 'It ishard on her, and not good for the boy to upset her authority. '

'Eh? Why, the girl is just a governess manquee, imbued with the spiritof all those old women who bred her up. A nice life the poor childwould have of it, but for me. '

'I am sure she is devotedly attached to him. '

'Hein! So she thinks; but trust human nature for loving to wreakdiscipline on the child who has cut her out. '

'That is scarcely just, Alwyn. She was greatly relieved to be cut out. '

Mr. Egremont laughed at this, and his sister-in-law indignantly addedwith all the authority of a successful parent, 'Anyway, nothing is sobad for a child as collision between the authorities in a family. Ursula is doing her best to act as a mother to that child, and it willbe very injurious to him to interfere with her influences. '

'She's a good girl enough--gives very little trouble, ' he allowed, 'butI'm not going to have the boy sat upon. '

As he spoke the words, Nuttie returned, and as soon as she was out ofthe house and out of hearing she exclaimed, 'Oh, Aunt Jane, you see howit is! How am I to prevent my boy from being utterly ruined?'

'I have been speaking to your father, ' said Mrs. Egremont, 'but he doesnot seem to understand. Men don't. A child's faults and fancies seemsuch trifles to them that they can't see the harm of indulging them, and, besides, they expect to be amused. '

'And is that poor dear little fellow to grow up spoilt?' said Nuttie, her eyes hot with unshed tears. 

'I hope not, Ursula. I have great confidence in your influence, for Isee you are a sensible girl. ' This was astonishing praise from theCanoness. 'But you will throw away your chances if you keep up acontinual opposition to what your father allows. It will be much lesshurtful if Alwyn does get too much indulgence, and does a littleunnecessary mischief, than for him to learn to think you the enemy ofhis pleasures, always wanting to check and punish him. Oh yes, ' asNuttie was going to answer, 'I know it is for his real good, but how isthat baby to understand that? Indeed, my dear, I know how it is; Ihave gone through the same sort of thing with Basil. '

'Oh, it could never have been so bad!'

'No, of course not; but I have had to allow what I did not like for thechild rather than let him see the shadow of difference of opinionbetween us, and I don't think it has done him any harm. The greatpoint is that you should keep that poor little fellow's affection andrespect, and make him unwilling to vex you. '

'That he is, dear little man. He is sorry when he sees sister grieved. He is always distressed if anything is hurt or pained. He is reallytender-hearted. '

'Yes, but boys are boys. That feeling will fail you if you work it toohard, and especially if you show vexation at his pleasures. Keep thatfor real evils, like falsehood or cruelty. '

'Not for disobedience?'

'The evil of disobedience depends much more upon the authority of anorder than on the child itself. If he disobeys you under his father'slicence, you cannot make much of it. You have him a good deal toyourself?'

'Yes. '

'Then make use of that time to strengthen his principles and sense ofright and wrong, as well as to secure his affections. My dear, I neversaw a girl in a more difficult position than yours, but I see you aredoing your utmost; only I am afraid the love of sedatives is the same. '

'Oh aunt, I did think he had given it up!'

'You are inexperienced, my dear. I see it in his eyes. Well, I'mafraid there is no stopping that. '

'Mother--' and Nuttie's voice was choked. 

'She did her best, but you have not the same opportunities. It can'tbe helped with a man of that age. Mark might have done something, buthe is out of the question now, poor fellow!'

'Indeed, Aunt Jane, I think Mark and Annaple are some of the happiestpeople I ever saw. I only wish my poor Alwyn were as forward as theirBilly, but I'm not even allowed to teach him his letters, because oncehe cried over them. '

'I wish they had anything to fall back upon, ' said Mrs. Egremontanxiously. 'They are so unwilling to let any one know of theirdifficulties that I feel as if I never knew in what straits they maybe. You will be sure to let me know, Ursula, if there is anything thatI can do for them. '

That conversation was a great comfort and help to Nuttie, who waspleased to find herself treated as a real friend by her aunt, andperceived the wisdom of her advice. But the watching over the MarkEgremonts was a very difficult matter to accomplish, for when she wentback to London she was warned that Billy had the whooping cough, rendering them unapproachable all the winter, so that she could onlyhear of them through Mr. Dutton, whom she continued to see occasionallywhenever there was anything to communicate. Mr. Egremont rather likedhim, and on meeting him in the street, would ask him casually in todinner, or to make up a rubber, or play piquet, for he excelled inthese arts, and still more in chess, and an evening with Mr. Dutton wasquite a red-letter time with Nuttie. It gave her an indefinable senseof safety and protection; but it was not always to be had, for herfriend had many engagements, being one of the active lay churchworkers, and devoting two regular evenings in each week to GerardGodfrey's eastern district, where he kept all the accounts, had a modelcourt and evening class, besides hospitably resting tired clergymen andtheir wives in his pleasant quiet house. 

In the spring Mr. Egremont was laid up with the worst rheumatic attackhe had yet had, in consequence of yielding to the imperious will of hisson, who had insisted on standing in a bleak corner to see the LifeGuards pass by. On this occasion Nuttie did not prove herself theheaven-born nurse that the true heroine ought to be, but was extremelyfrightened, and altogether dependent on Gregorio, who knew all aboutthe symptoms, and when to send for the doctor and a garde-malade. Gregorio always talked French to Nuttie when he felt himself in theascendant, as he certainly was at present; but he became much lessgracious when he heard that Mrs. William Egremont might be expected, declaring that madame would only excite his master, and that herpresence was quite unnecessary. Her coming had been volunteered, butit was a great boon to Ursula, who was thus helped out in manyperplexities, although Mrs. Egremont was a great deal at herstep-son's, and neither lady was of much avail in the sick-room, duringthe stress of the illness. It was never actually dangerous, but therewas great suffering and much excitement, and for four or five days thedistress and anxiety were considerable. After this passed off Ursulawas surprised to find her company preferred to that of her aunt. Shewas a better souffre-douleur, was less of a restraint, and was besideshis regular reader and amanuensis, so that as the force of the attackabated, he kept her a good deal in his room during the latter part ofthe day, imparting scraps of intelligence, skimming the papers for him, and reading his letters. 

There was a lease to be signed, and, as soon as might be, Mr. Bulfinch, the Redcastle solicitor, brought it up, and had to be entertained atluncheon. While he was waiting in the drawing-room for Mr. Egremont tobe made ready for him, he looked with deep interest on the little heir, whom Ursula presently led off to the other end of the room to the hoardof downstair toys; and an elaborate camp was under construction, whenby the fireside, the Canoness inquired in a low confidential tone, 'MayI ask whether you came about a will?'

'No, Mrs. Egremont. I wish I were. It is only about the lease ofSpinneycotes farm. '

'Then there is none?'

'None that I am aware of. None has ever been drawn up by us. Indeed, Iwas wishing that some influence could be brought to bear which mightshow the expedience of making some arrangement. Any melancholy eventis, I trust, far distant, but contingencies should be provided for. '

'Exactly so. He is recovering now, but these attacks always leaveeffects on the heart, and at his age, with his habits, no one knowswhat may happen. Of course it would not make much difference to theboy. '

'No, the Court of Chancery would appoint the most suitable naturalguardians. '

'But, ' said Mrs. Egremont, 'I am afraid that the personal property whendivided would not be much of a provision for her. '

'You are right. The investments are unfortunately anddisproportionately small. '

'She ought either to have them all, or there should be a charge on theestate, ' said the Canoness decisively. 'If possible, he must be madeto move. '

'Oh, don't!' cried Nuttie, jumping up from the floor. 'He mustn't beupset on any account. '

'My dear, I had no notion that you heard us!' exclaimed her aunt. 'Ithought Alwyn was making too much noise with his soldiers. '

'I beg your pardon, ' said Nuttie, 'perhaps I should have spoken sooner, but indeed he must not be worried and disturbed, ' she added, somewhatfiercely. 

'Don't be afraid, my dear, ' said her aunt. 'Mr. Bulfinch knows thatyour father is in no condition to have such matters brought before him. '

'Certainly, ' said the old lawyer politely;' and we will trust that MissEgremont's prospects may soon come forward on a more auspiciousoccasion. '

Nuttie could have beaten him, but she was obliged to content herselfwith such a sweeping charge of her Zulus among Alwyn's Englishmen, thattheir general shrieked out in indignation against such a variation ofthe accustomed programme of all their games. 

Nuttie thought she had defended her patient sufficiently, but she foundshe had been mistaken, for when her aunt had left them, some dayslater, her father began, 'We are well quit of her. Those troublesomedictatorial women always get worse when they are left widows--takingupon them to say what their dear husbands would have said, forsooth. '

'Aunt Jane was very kind to me, ' said Ursula, not in the least knowingwhat he was thinking of. 

'To you. Ay, I should think so, taking upon her to lecture me aboutsecuring a provision for you. '

'Oh! I hoped--'

'What?' he broke in. 'You knew of it! You set her on, I suppose. '

'Oh! no, no, father. She and Mr. Bulfinch began about it, not meaningme to hear--about a will, I mean--and I told them I wasn't going tohave you worried, and I thought I had stopped it altogether. '

'Stop a woman bent on her duty? Hein! But you are a good girl, andshall come to no loss when we have to make your marriage settlement. '

'You won't have to do that, father!'

'Hein! What do you keep that poor fellow Clarence Fane dangling inattendance on you for?'

'I don't! I'm sure I don't want him. I would do anything to keep himat a distance!'

'How now! I thought your Grace condescended to him more than to anyone else. '

'I don't dislike him unless he has _that_ in his head; but as tomarrying him! Oh--h--h, ' such a note of horror that elicited a littlelaugh. 

'So hot against him, are we? Who is it then? Not the umbrella fellow?'

'Father! how can you?' she cried, with a burning flush of indignation. He--why--he! He has always been a sort of uncle, ever since I was alittle girl. '

'Oh yes, adopted uncles are very devout when young ladies rush out tomorning prayers at unearthly hours--'

'Father!' with her voice trembling, 'I assure you he doesn't--I mean healways goes to St. Michael's, unless he has anything particular to sayto me. '

'Oh yes, I understand, ' and Mr. Egremont indulged in a hearty laugh, which almost drove poor Nuttie beside herself. 

'Indeed--indeed, ' she stammered, in her confusion and suppressed wrath;'it is nothing of that sort. He is a regular old bachelor--he alwayswas. '

'At what age do men become old bachelors? For he seems to me about theage of poor Clarry, whom you seem to view as a bugbear. '

'I wish you would not think of such things, father; I have not theslightest intention of leaving you and dear little Wynnie! Nothingshould tempt me!'

'Nothing? Hein! Then you may as well be on your guard, Miss Egremont, or we shall have pleadings that you have encouraged them--church andworld--or both, maybe. You pious folk take your little diversions andflirtations just like your poor sisters whom you shake your heads at, never guessing how Gregorio and I have looked out at you and youradopted uncle parading the street. '

'I wish Gregorio would mind his own business, and not put such thingsin your head!' burst out Nuttie. 

At which Mr. Egremont laughed longer and louder than ever. 

Poor Nuttie! It was terrible discomfiture, not only for the moment, but a notion had been planted in her mind that seemed cruel, almostprofane, and yet which would not be dismissed, and made her heart leapwith strange bounds at the wild thought, 'Could it be true?' then sinkagain with shame at her own presumptuous folly in entertaining such athought for a moment. 

Yet whenever she actually encountered Mr. Dutton her habitual comfortand reliance on him revived, and dispelled all the embarrassment whichat other times she expected to feel in his presence. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

SPES NON FRACTA. 

Summer had quite set in before Mr. Egremont was able to go out for adrive, and then he was ordered to Buxton. 

Nuttie only once saw her cousins before leaving town, for their littleboy fulfilled the nursery superstition by whooping till May; and allintercourse was prohibited, till he had ceased for a whole week toutter a suspicious sound. Mr. Dutton had insisted on the familyspending a fortnight at Springfield House for change of air, and it wasthere that Nuttie was permitted to see them, though the children werestill forbidden to meet. 

Annaple looked very thin, but rattled as merrily as ever. 'No onecould guess, ' she said, 'what a delight it was not to know what one wasto have for dinner?'

'To do more than know, I am afraid, ' said Ursula. 

'Well, next to the delight of knowing nothing at all about it--and eventhat is only good for a holiday--is the delight of seeing a puddingcome out smooth and comfortable and unbroken from its basin. "Somethingattempted, something done, " you know. It is quite as good a work ofart as a water-coloured drawing. '

'Only not quite so permanent. '

'No; it is only one's first pudding that one wants to embalm in a glasscase for being so good as not to leave its better part behind in thebasin, or to collapse as soon as it is in the dish. '

'Which my puddings always did in the happy days of old, but then I wasalways hunted ignominiously out of the kitchen and told I wasted goodfood, ' said Nuttie. 

'Yes, and waste is fearful when Mark and Billy have to eat it all thesame, like the poor cows with spoilt hay. I wonder whether your oldexperiences recall the joy of finding trustworthy eggs within yourprice. '

'Ah, I was not housekeeper. I only remember being in disgrace forgrumbling when there was no pudding, because the hens would not lay. '

'Though I heard a woman declaring the other day that there ought to bea machine for them. Oh, the scenes that I encounter when I ammarketing! If I only could describe them for Punch! I walked homeonce with our porter's wife, carrying two most brilliant sticks ofrhubarb, all carmine stalk and gamboge leaf, and expressing a verynatural opinion that the rhubarb tree must be very showy to look at, and curious to know in what kind of fruit the medicine grew. '

'Oh, Annaple! do you go yourself in that way?'

'Mark used to go with me, but, poor old fellow, he has ruinous ideasabout prices and quantities, and besides, now he is so hard worked-upand down all day--he wants a little more of his bed in the morning. '

'And what do you want?'

'I never was a sleepy creature, and I get back in time to dress theboy. I generally find him at high-jinks on his father's bed. It usesup a little superfluous energy before the dressing. '

'But surely you have a servant now?'

'I've come to the conclusion that a workman's wife charing is a betterinstitution. No. 1, a pet of Miss Nugent's, was a nice creature, butthe London air did for her at once. No. 2, also from Micklethwayte, instantly set up a young man, highly respectable, and ready to marry onthe spot, as they did, though their united ages don't amount tothirty-nine. No. 3 was a Cockney, and couldn't stay because thelook-out was so dull; and No. 4 gossiped with her kind when I thoughther safe in the Temple Gardens with Billy, whereby he caught thewhooping-cough, and as she also took the liberty of wearing my furcloak, and was not particular as to accuracy, we parted on shortnotice; and I got this woman to come in every day to scrub, help makethe bed, etc. It is much less trouble, and the only fault I have tofind with her is an absolute incapability of discerning blacks. Ibelieve she thinks I have a monomania against them. '

Still Annaple insisted that she did not work half so hard as hernieces, Muriel and Janet, in their London season, and that her economywas not nearly so trying and difficult as that which Lady Delmar hadbeen practising for years in order to afford them a summer there; norwas her anxiety to make both ends meet by any means equal to hersister's in keeping up appearances, and avoiding detrimentals. The twosisters met occasionally, but Lady Delmar was so compassionate andpatronising that Annaple's spirit recoiled in off-hand levity andrattle, and neither regretted the occupation that prevented them fromseeing much of one another. 

A year passed by, chiefly spent by Mr. Egremont in the pursuit ofcomparative health, at Buxton, Bagneres, and Biarritz, during which hisdaughter could do little but attend to him and to little Alwyn. The boyhad been enough left to her and nurse during his father's acute illnessto have become more amenable. He was an affectionate child, inheriting, with his mother's face, her sweetness and docility ofnature, and he was old enough to be a good deal impressed with the factthat he had made poor papa so ill by teasing him to stand in the cold. Mr. Egremont was not at rest without a sight of the child every day, ifonly for a moment, and the helplessness and suffering had awed thelittle fellow a good deal. It was touching to see him pause whengalloping about the house when he went past the sick-room, and hush hismerry voice of his own accord. 

And in the journeys, when his father's invalided state would have madea fractious or wilful child a serious inconvenience, his good temperand contentment were invaluable. He would sit for hours on hissister's lap, listening to whispered oft-told tales, or playing atimpromptu quiet games; he could go to sleep anywhere, and the wonderfuldiscoveries he made at each new place were the amusement of all hisauditors. Sister was always his playfellow and companion whenever shecould be spared from her father, and she had an ever-increasinginfluence over him which she did her best to raise into principle. 

Perhaps she never had a happier moment than when she heard how he hadput his hands behind him and steadily refused when Gregorio had offeredto regale him at a stall of bonbons forming only a thin crust toliqueurs, which unfortunately he had already been taught to like. 

'But I told him sister said I mustn't have them, ' said Alwyn. 'Andthen he made a face and said something in French about you. I know'twas you, for he said "soeur. " What was it?'

'Never mind, Wynnie dear. We had much better never know. You weresister's own dear steadfast boy, and you shall kiss mother's picture. '

Nuttie had a beautiful coloured photograph of her mother, finished likea miniature, which had been taken at Nice, in the time of AliceEgremont's most complete and matured beauty. She had taught Alwyn tokiss and greet it every evening before his prayers, and such a kiss washis reward when he had shown any special act of goodness, for which, asshe told him, 'mother would have been pleased with her little son. '

Such another boon was his one Sunday evening at Biarritz, when shefound that while she was shut up at dinner with her father he hadvoluntarily gone to church with nurse instead of playing on the beachwith some other English children. 'It was all very long and tiresome, 'he said, when asked if he liked it. 

'Then why did you go, old man? There was no need to drag you there, 'said his father. 

'She didn't drag me, ' said the boy; 'I walked. '

'You need not have walked then, Master Dignity. '

'Poor nursie couldn't go without me, ' said Alwyn, 'and sister saysthere's a blessing on those that go. '

'A blessing? eh! and what idea does that little head entertain of ablessing?' said Mr. Egremont. 

Alwyn lifted his soft brown eyes reverently and said, 'It is somethinggood, ' speaking, as he always did, in a baby lisp inimitable here. 

'Well?'

'And it comes from God. '

'Well, what is it? Can you see it?'

'No'--he looked in perplexity towards Nuttie, who was in agony all thetime, lest there should be a scoff that might remain in the child'smind. 

'Never mind sister. Can you feel it?'

'Yes;' and the little face lighted with such a reality that theincipient mockery turned into wonder on the next question. 

'And how does it feel?'

'Oh, so nice! It makes Wynnie glad here, ' and he spread his hands overhis breast; and gave a little caper like a kid for very gladness. 

'There!' said Mr. Egremont, leaning back fairly conquered. 'Any onemight envy Wynnie! Goodnight, my boy, blessing and all. I wonder ifone felt like that when one was a little shaver, ' he pursued, as Alwynwent off to his bed. 

'I think I did sometimes, ' said Nuttie, 'but I never was half as goodas Wynnie!'

'What?' exclaimed her father. 'You! bred up among the saints. '

'Ah! but I hadn't the same nature. I never was like--_her_. '

'Well--'tis very pretty now, and I don't know how we could stand ayoung Turk, but you mustn't make a girl of him. '

'There's no fear of that, ' said Nuttie. 'He is full of spirit. Thatold bathing woman calls him "un vrai petit diable d'Anglais, " he is soventurous. '

Which delighted Mr. Egremont as much as the concession that the boy'sfaith was 'pretty' delighted Ursula. Indeed, he went a little further, for when she came back from her few minutes at Alwyn's bedside heproceeded to tell her of the absolute neglect in which his mother, abelle of the Almacks days, had left her nursery. It was the first timehe had ever hinted at a shadow of perception that anything in his ownlife had been amiss, and Ursula could not but feel a dreamy, hopefulwonder whether her sweet little Alwyn could be the destined means ofdoing that in which her mother had failed. It was at least enough toquicken those prayers which had been more dutiful than trustful. 

And then her hope sank again when she realised that her father's dayswere spent between the lull of opiate, followed by a certain serenity, then in a period of irritability, each being more or less prolonged, according to health, weather, or entertainment, and closed again by thesedatives in various forms. It relieved her indeed, but she felt it awickedness to be glad of the calm, and she was aware that the habit wasmaking inroads on her father's powers. Between that and his defect ofeyesight, he was often much confused, especially about money matters, and was more and more dependent. 

Would that it had been only upon her, but she was constantly certainthat Gregorio was taking advantage of his master's helplessness, andkeeping it up by all means in his power. Yet what could be done? Forthe valet was absolutely necessary to his comfort, and yet shesometimes thought her father half in dread of him, and afraid toexpostulate about personal neglects, which became more frequent. Things, that would have enraged him from others, were only grumbled andfretted over, when Gregorio caused him real inconvenience by absence orforgetfulness, and made very insufficient apology. It seemed like abondage; Nuttie thought of her mother's efforts, and blamed herself invain. 

It was during this journey that she heard of good Miss Headworth'sdeath. The old lady's mind had long failed, and the actual presentloss to Nuttie was not great; but it seemed to close a long account ofgratitude such as she had not thoroughly felt or understood before; andthe link with Micklethwayte was severed. 

For Mark and Annaple prevailed on Mrs. Egremont to install Miss Nugentas governess to Rosalind and Adela. In that capacity Nuttie hoped tosee a good deal of her; but of course was again disappointed, for herfather would not hear of returning to Bridgefield. It was draughty, and dull, and desolate, and nothing suited him but London. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

BLACKS IN THE ASCENDANT. 

 'Man's work ends with set of sun, Woman's work is never done. '--Proverb. 

It was far on in May when Ursula found herself again in thesitting-room over the warehouse. Somehow it had not the daintywell-cared-for air of erst. The pretty table ornaments were out ofsight; the glass over the clock was dim, the hands had stopped; some ofAnnaple's foes, the blacks, had effected a lodgment on the Parianfigures; the chintzes showed wear and wash, almost grime; the carpet'spattern was worn; a basket full of socks was on the sofa; and on thetable a dress, once belonging to Annaple's trousseau, was laid out, converted into its component parts. The wails of a baby could be heardin the distance, and the first person to appear was Master William, sturdy and happy in spite of wofully darned knees to his stockings. 

'Mother's coming, if baby will stop crying, ' he said, 'and lie in hercradle. '

'Your little sister! What's her name?'

'Jane Christian, ' said the boy, with a much more distinct enunciationthan Alwyn, though a year older, had yet acquired. 'She does cry so!She won't let mother make my new knickies out of her blue gown!'

Thoughts of the suits that Alwyn was discarding came across Nuttie. Could they be offered without offence? She asked, however, 'Do youremember Alwyn--my Wynnie?'

'Wynnie gave me my horse, ' cried the boy, unstabling a steed which hadseen hard service since the presentation. 'Where's Wynnie?'

'He is at home. You must come and see him, ' said Nuttie, who had notbeen allowed to bring him till secure of a clean bill of health. 'Butsee, just outside the door, there's something for Billy. '

She had made her servant bring up the parcels to the passage outside, and Billy was soon hugging a magnificent box of soldiers, wherewith hepranced off to show them to his mother, leaving the doors open, so thatUrsula could more decidedly hear the baby's voice, not a healthychild's lusty cry, but a poor little feeble wail, interspersed withattempts at consolation. 'Come, won't she go to Emily? Oh, Billy-boy, how splendid! I hope you thanked Cousin Ursula. Baby Jenny, now can'tyou let any one speak but yourself? Oh! shall I never teach you that"Balow, my babe, " is not "bellow, my babe. " That's better! Now can'tyou let Emily have you, while I go to Cousin Nuttie?'

'Let me come! Mayn't I?' exclaimed Ursula, invading the room thatserved as kitchen, where Annaple was trying to hush off the child andmake her over to a little twelve years old maid, who stood in waiting, helping Willie meantime to unpack his soldiers, with smotheredexclamations of delight. 

'Oh, Nuttie, how good of you! Please to excuse the accompaniment. There never was such a young lady for self-assertion to make up forthere being so little of her. '

And Annaple, very thin and tired looking, held up the child, fearfullysmall and pinched for four months old, to be kissed by Nuttie. 

'Does she always go on like this?'

''Cept when she is asleep, ' said Willie. 

'Poor wee lassie, ' said Annaple; 'there's great excuse for her, for thefood has not yet been invented that suits her ladyship. '

'You must come and consult nurse. '

'And how are you all? I'm glad you are at hand, Nuttie! Is Mr. Egremont better?'

'As well as ever he is--lame and altogether an invalid, --but he has nothad such bad attacks of pain lately. '

'And his eyes?'

'About the same. He can write, and tell one card from another, but hecan't read--or rather it hurts him to do so, and he can't bear a stronglight. But, Annaple, how are you? That child is wearing you to ashadow. '

'Oh! I'm quite well--perfectly. There, I think she is gone off atlast. You had better walk her about a little, Emily; she will breakout again if we try to put her in the cradle. '

And having handed over the child with only a very low murmur, Annapleleft her combined kitchen and nursery. She flew at the flowers Nuttiehad brought like a thirsty person, crying, as she buried her face inthem, 'Now for beauty! Now Mark will be refreshed! Ah! here's apretty pickle for a reception room. '

'Oh, don't put it away! I could help you; I do so like that kind ofwork. It is so like old times. '

'It must be put away, thank you, for Mark will be coming in. And thesaying about the public washing of garments is specially true of one'sown husband. Ways and means are worrying to the masculine mind. '

'I thought it was too early for Mark?'

'He has an appointment to keep at Charing Cross or thereabouts, so Imade him promise to come in in time to "put a bit in his head, " as ourIrish charwoman says. '

'Then I can take him. I have the carriage, and I must be at home byhalf-past twelve. I wish you would come too, Annaple. There's plentyof room. You could show the baby to nurse, and the boys could have agood game. I would send you back in the evening. Mark could come onafter his business is done. '

'Thank you, Nuttie, I can't to-day--for a whole heap of domesticreasons; but, if you can get Mark to come, do, it would be so good forhim. '

'How is Mark?'

'He is well, quite well, ' said Annaple; 'and so good and patient. Butyou see, it does take it out of a man when that doleful little noisewon't stop all night! We are both acquiring a form of somnambulism, but when there's real out-of-door business to be done, it is not likeproper sleep. '

'Or when there's woman's indoor business, I am afraid, ' said Nuttie, much concerned at the extreme thinness of Annaple's face and hands, andthe weary look of her large eyes. 

'Oh, one makes that up at odd times!' she answered brightly. 'Onething is, this work suits Mark, he feels that he can do it, and he getson well with the men. They asked him to join in their club, and he wasso much pleased. He gets up subjects for them, and I am so glad he hassuch a pleasure and interest to keep him from missing the society hewas used to. '

'It must be very good for them too. Mr. Dutton said he really thoughtMark had kept them from going in for a strike. '

'Besides the glory of the thing, ' said Annaple drawing herself up, 'Mr. Dobbs thought so too, and raised us ten pounds; which made us able toimport that little Bridgefield lassie to hold baby--when--when MissJenny will let her. He has some law copying to do besides, but I don'tlike that; it burns the candle at both ends, and he does get badheadaches sometimes, and goes on all the same. '

'You must both come and see my Wyn. '

'Ah! I had never asked after him. I suppose he is as pretty as ever, 'said Annaple, who secretly thought his beauty too girlish compared withher sturdy Billy. 

'Prettier, I think, as he gets more expression. We can't persuadeourselves to cut his hair, and it looks so lovely on his sailor suit. And he is so good. I could not have believed a child could be so quietand considerate on a journey. You should have seen him standing by myfather's knee in the railway carriage, and amusing him with all thatwas to be seen, and stopping at the least hint that he was chatteringtoo much. '

'Billy is wonderfully helpful. Ah--' and Annaple's eyes lighted up asthe step that had music in't came up the stair; and as Mark came in, Nuttie thought him grown older, his hair thinner, his shouldersrounded, and his office coat shabby, but she saw something in hiscountenance there had never been before. Ever since she had known himhe had worn a certain air of depression, or perhaps more truly offailure and perplexity, which kept before her conscious mind theDesdichado on Ivanhoe's shield, even when he was a gentleman at ease atthe luxurious Rectory; but there was now not only the settled air of aman who had found his vocation, but something of the self-respect andeagerness of one who was doing it well, and feeling himself valued. 

'Is baby--' he began. 'Oh, Nuttie! Are you there? Mr. Dutton told meyou were coming. How is my uncle?' And the voice was much briskerthan in the days of lawn-tennis. 

'Father, father, look!' cried the boy. 

'Why, Billy-boy, you are set up! Zouaves and chasseurs! I see wherethey came from. '

During the mixture of greetings and inquiries, admiration of theflowers, and the exhibition of Billy's treasures, Annaple glided away, and presently placed before him a tray, daintily benapkinned and setforth with a little cup of soup. 

'Baby is really asleep, and Emily as proud as a Hielandman, ' she said. 'Now eat this, without more ado, for that good Nuttie is going to setyou down at Charing Cross. '

'This is the way we spoil our husbands, Nuttie, ' said Mark. 'Refectionsserved up at every turn. '

'Only bones! The immortal pot au feu, ' said Annaple. 'And you are togo on after you have interviewed your man of steel, and have tea withNuttie, and pay your respects to your uncle, like a dutiful nephew. '

'No, that I can't, Nannie; I promised Dobbs to go and see a man forhim, and I must come back as soon as I can after that. '

He looked--as to figure and air--much more like his old self when hehad changed his coat. They fed him, almost against his will, with afew of the forced strawberries Nuttie had brought. Billy pressed onhim wonders from a Paris bonbon box, and Annaple fastened a rose and apink in his button-hole, and came down to the street door with her boyto see him off. 

'What do you think of her?' was Mark's first inquiry. 

'Think! As Mr. Dutton said long ago, never was braver lady!'

'Never was there a truer word! I meant as to her health? As tocourage, spirits, and temper, there is no question; I never saw themfail; but are they not almost too much for the frame?' he askedanxiously. 

It echoed Nuttie's fear, but she tried to frame a cheerful answer. 'Sheis very thin, but she seems well. '

'She never complains, but I am sure her strength is not what it was. She cannot walk out as she did at first. Indeed, she gets no real restday nor night, and there's no relieving her!'

'She says you don't get much rest either. '

'More than my share, ' said Mark. 'The poor little thing never sleepsexcept in someone's arms, and if awake, is not content for a momentexcept in her mother's. '

'And that has been going on four months?'

'Three. Ever since we brought her back from Redcastle. I have nearlydetermined to move into some suburb when I get a rise at Michaelmas, unless she improves. '

'Nurse might suggest something. '

'Or at any rate tell us what to think. We showed her to a doctor, andall he could propose was some kind of food, which was no moresuccessful than the rest. Did you look at her, Nuttie? She is apretty little thing when she is quiet, but she dwindles away--at leastso it seems to me, though Annaple will not see it, and--and if we arenot permitted to keep the little one, I dread what the effect may be onher. '

Nuttie said something about bravery and goodness, thinking in her heartthat, if the blow fell, it would be better for all than the perpetualsuffering of the poor little sickly being. 

'Ah! you don't know what her affections are, ' said Mark. 'You did notsee her when she lost her mother, and there had been no strain on herpowers then. However, I've no business to croak. Many a child getsover troubles of this kind, and, as Annaple says, little Jenny will beall the more to us for what we go through with her. '

The carriage stopped, and Nuttie asked him if it would delay him toolong if she executed a commission about her father's glasses. He hadplenty of time, but she was delayed longer than she expected, and onher return was surprised to find that he had dropped asleep. 

'Ah! that's what comes of a moment's quiet;' he said, smiling. 

'Fine quiet in the roar of Ludgate Hill!'

'To a Cockney 'tis as the mill to the miller! I like the full stir andtide, ' he added, looking out upon it. 'I never knew what life wasbefore!'

'I should have thought you never knew what hardness and hard work were. '

'That's just it, ' he answered, smiling. 'The swing of it isexhilaration--very different from being a cumberer of the ground. '

'Oh, Mark, all the privations and anxiety!'

'The privation! that's nothing. Indeed I am afraid--yes, I am ashamedto say--it falls more on my dear wife than myself, but if we can onlywear through a year or two we shall get a further rise, and my poorAnnaple may get out of this drudgery. Please God, she and the littleone can stand it for a time, and I think she has a spring within herthat will;' then, as he saw tears in his cousin's eyes, he added, 'Don't be unhappy about it, Nuttie; I have had it in my mind ever solong to tell you that the finding you at Micklethwayte was the bestthing that ever happened to me!'

Yes, so far as character went, Ursula could believe that it had beenso. He was twice the man he would have been without the incentive towork, and the constant exercise of patience and cheerfulness; but herheart was heavy with apprehension that the weight of the trial might betoo heavy. To her eyes the baby's life seemed extremely doubtful, andAnnaple looked so fragile that the increase of her burthens, anysaddening of the heart, might destroy her elasticity, and crush heroutright; while even Mark seemed to her to be toiling so close withinthe limits of his powers that a straw might break the camel's back!

She longed to talk to Mr. Dutton about them, but she found herselfdoomed to a day that perhaps Annaple would have thought more tryingthan her harrowed life. She was a little later than she had intended, and her father had been waiting impatiently to have a note read to him, so he growled at her impatience to run after 'that Scotch girl. ' Andthe note happened to be of an irritating nature; moreover, the cutletsat luncheon were said to be akin to indiarubber, and there was thewrong flavour in the sauce. Ursula let that cook do what she pleasedwithout remonstrance. 

Even Alwyn did not afford as much satisfaction as usual, for the boywas in high spirits and wanted to blow a little trumpet, which was morethan his father could stand. He was very good when this was silenced, but he then began to rush round the room daring his sister to catch thewild colt as he went by. This had likewise to be stopped, with themurmur that Ursula spoilt the child. 

She tried to compose matters by turning out the old toys in theottoman, but Alwyn had outgrown most of them, and did not care for anyexcept a certain wooden donkey, minus one ear and a leg, which went bythe name of Sambo, and had absorbed a good deal of his affection. Hehad with difficulty been consoled for Sambo being left behind, and nowturned over everything with considerable clatter in search of him. Alas! Sambo could nowhere be found in the room, and Alwyn dashed offto inquire of all the household after him. His father meanwhilegrowled at the child's noise, and went on trying the glasses Nuttie hadbrought, and pronouncing each pair in turn useless, vowing that it wasno use to send her anywhere. 

Upon this, back came Alwyn, terribly distressed and indignant, for hehad extracted from the housemaid left in charge, who was as cross asshe was trustworthy, 'What! that old broken thing, Master Egremont? Ithrew it on the fire! I'd never have thought a young gentleman of yourage would have cared for such rubbish as that. '

'You are a wicked cruel woman, ' returned Alwyn, with flashing eyes; 'Ishall tell papa and sister of you. '

And in he flew, sobbing with grief and wrath for the dear Sambo, feeling as if it had been a live donkey burnt to death, and hiding hisface on his sister's breast for consolation. 

'Come, come, Wyn, ' said his father, who did not brook interruption;'here's half a sovereign to go and buy a new donkey. '

'It won't be Sambo, ' said Alwyn ruefully. 

'But you should thank papa, ' said Nuttie. 

'Thank you, papa, ' he said, with quivering lip, 'but I don't want a newone. Oh Sambo, Sambo! burnt!' and he climbed on Nuttie's lap, hid hisface against her and cried, but her comfortings were broken off by, 'How can you encourage the child in being so foolish? Have done, Wyn;don't be such a baby! Go out with nurse and buy what you like, but Ican't have crying here. '

He tried to stop in sheer amazement, but the ground swell of sob couldnot be controlled. Nuttie was going to lead him away, and console himwith more imaginative sympathy than could be expected from the maids, but her father sharply called her back. He wanted her himself, andindeed there was no question which was the worse spoilt child. Hemight idolise Alwyn, but not so as to clash with his own comforts. Theglasses being unsuccessful, Nuttie proposed to drive back to LudgateHill for him to choose for himself, but he would not hear of going intothe heat of the City, and growled at her for thinking of such a thing. 

They took an aimless drive instead in the park, and Nuttie was nearlybaked while the carriage was stopped for her father to have a long talkover the prospects of the Derby day with one of his most unpleasantassociates, who stood leaning over the door on the shady side of thecarriage, no one recking how little protection she derived from hersmall fringed parasol. 

She came home tired out, and thankful that her father went to rest inhis own room. She climbed to the nursery, thinking to share Alwyn'stea and comfort him, but she found only nurse there. Nurse had a badfoot, and dreaded hot pavement, so she had sent Master Alwyn out withher subordinate, a country girl, to play in Mr. Dutton's garden till itshould be cool enough to go and make his purchase, and a message hadsince arrived that he was going to drink tea there, and Mr. Duttonwould take him out. 

His sister envied him the green shades, and had just done her best tocool the back drawing-room and rest herself with a book, when Mr. Fanewas announced. He talked pleasantly enough, and lingered and lingered, no doubt intending to be asked to dinner, but she was equallydetermined to do no such thing. She had heard enough of races for oneday, she thought, and at last he took his leave, only just before shedressed for dinner. 

'I thought Fane was here, ' said Mr. Egremont as he came in; no doubttold by Gregorio. 

'He has been, but he is gone. '

'You didn't ask him to stay and dine?'

'I did not know you wished it. '

'You might have known that I should have liked to see him. I supposeyou think your sweet self society enough for any man?'

'I am sorry--'

'I'm sick of hearing you are sorry! I believe there's nothing you likeso well as doing an ungracious thing to a friend of mine. '

Nuttie had learnt to hold her tongue on such occasions. 

Dinner was nearly over, and her father had been grumbling again athaving no one to take a hand at cards with him, when the door opened alittle way, and Alwyn's pretty glowing face looked in. He was come tosay good-night rather later than usual, and he ran up to his sisterwith a little bouquet of yellow banksia and forget-me-nots. 'MithterButton'--so Alwyn called him--'sent you this. He said you would likeit, 'cause it came from one that grew at Mittletwait. And oh, look, look!'

He was hugging a little ship, which he proudly exhibited, while hisfather's brow had darkened at the message. 'Did you buy that?' askedhis sister. 

'Yes, Mr. Button went with me, and we sailed it. We sailed it by thefountain in Mr. Button's garden, And we made a storm!'

He danced about with glee, and Mr. Egremont observed, 'A dear purchasefor ten shillings. Did it cost all that, Wyn?'

'They gived me a big silver half-crown, and I gived that to a littleboy what came to speak to Mr. Button, and had his toes through hisboots, and he was so glad. '

'Your money is not for beggars, Wyn. '

'The little boy was not a beggar, papa. He came with a newspaper toMr. Button, and he is so good to his poor sick mother, ' said Alwyn. 'See, see, sister!' turning the prow of his small vessel towards her, and showing a word on it in pencil which he required her to spell out. It was Ursula. 

'Oh Wynnie!' she said, duly flattered, 'did Mr. Dutton do that?'

'He held my hand, and I did!' cried Alwyn, triumphantly, 'and he willpaint it on Saturday. Then it will dry all Sunday, and not come off, so it will be the Ursula for ever and always. '

Here nurse claimed her charge; and when the goodnights were over, and amurmur recommenced, Nuttie suggested that if Mr. Dutton was at homeperhaps he would come in and make up the game, but she encountered theold humour. 'I'll tell you what, Ursula, I'll not have that umbrellafellow encouraged about the house, and if that child is to be made themedium of communication, I'll put a stop to it. '

The words were spoken just as Gregorio had entered the room with ahandkerchief of his master's. Nuttie, colouring deeply at the insult, met his triumphant eyes, bit her lips, and deigned no word of reply. 

An undefined but very slight odour, that told her of opium smoke, pervaded the stairs that night. It was the only refuge fromfretfulness; but her heart ached for her father, herself, and most ofall for her little brother. And was she to be cut off from her onlycounsellor?

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE LOST HEIR. 

 'Seemed to the boy some comrade gay Led him forth to the woods to play. '--SCOTT. 

Though it was the Derby day, Mr. Egremont's racing days were over, andhe only took his daughter with him in quest of the spectacles hewanted. When they came back, Nuttie mounted to the nursery, but nolittle brother met her on the stairs, and she found nurse in deepdispleasure with her subordinate. 

'I sent him out with Ellen to play in the garden at Springfield, andswim his ship, where he couldn't come to no harm, ' said nurse; 'beingthat my foot is that bad I can't walk the length of the street; andwhat does the girl do but lets that there Gregorio take the dear childand go--goodness knows where--without her. '

'I'm sure, ma'am, ' said the girl crying, 'I would never have done it, but Mr. Gregory said as how 'twas his papa's wish. '

'What was?' said Nuttie. 

'That he shouldn't never go and play at Mr. Dutton's again, ' said Ellen. 

'I told her she was to take her orders off me, and no one else, 'returned nurse, 'except, of course, you, Miss Egremont, as has theright. '

'Quite so; you should have told Mr. Gregorio so, Ellen. '

'I did, ma'am, but he said those was Mr. Egremont's orders; and hesaid, ' cried the girl, unable to withstand the pleasure of repeatingsomething disagreeable, 'that Mr. Egremont wouldn't have no messengersbetween you and a low tradesman fellow, as made umbrellas, and wantedto insinuate himself in here. '

'That's quite enough, Ellen; I don't want to hear any impertinences. Perhaps you did not understand his foreign accent. Did he say where hewas going?'

'I think he said he'd take him to the Serpentine to sail his ship, 'said Ellen, disposed to carry on asseverations of the correctness ofher report, but nurse ordered her off the scene, and proceeded, as aconfidential servant, 'The girl had no call to repeat it; but there'snot a doubt of it he did say something of the sort. There's not one ofus but knows he is dead against Mr. Dutton, because he tried to getmaster to get to sleep without that nasty opium smoke of his. '

There was bitter feud between nurse and valet, and Nuttie could haveexchanged with her many a lament, but she contented herself withsaying, 'I wish he would let Master Alwyn alone. It is high time theyshould come in. '

'The child will be tired to death, and all dirt! His nice new sailorsuit too! Going grubbing about at the Serpentine with no one knowswho, as isn't fit for a young gentleman, ' moaned nurse. 

This, however, was the worst fear she entertained, and it was with acertain malicious satisfaction that she heard her master's bell forGregorio. 

Nuttie descended to explain, and whereas the need was not very urgent, and she looked distressed and angered at the valet, her father receivedher complaint with, 'Well, the boy is getting too big to be tied forever to a nursery-maid. It will do him good to go about with a man. '

But as dressing-time came on, and still neither Gregorio nor Alwynappeared, Mr. Egremont became impatient, and declared that the valethad no business to keep the child out so long; indeed, he would soonerhave taken alarm but for Nuttie's manifest agony of anxiety, startingand rushing to listen at every ring at the bell or sound of wheels nearat hand. At last, at eight o'clock, there was a peal of the servants'bell, and the footman who answered it turned round to the anxiouscrowd: 'Mr. Gregory! He just asked if the child was come home, andwent off like lightning. '

'The villain! He's lost him!' shrieked nurse, with a wild scream. 'Runafter him, James! Catch him up!' suggested the butler at the samemoment. 'Make him tell where he saw him last!'

James was not a genius, but the hall boy, an alert young fellow, hadalready dashed down the steps in pursuit, and came up with the valet soas to delay him till the other servants stood round, and Gregorioturned back with them, pale, breathless, evidently terribly dismayedand unwilling to face his master, who stood at the top of the steps, white with alarm and wrath. 

'Sir, ' cried Gregorio, with a stammering of mixed languages, 'I havebeen searching everywhere! I was going to give notice to the police. Je ferai tout! Je le trouverai. '

'Where did you lose him?' demanded Mr. Egremont in a hoarse voice, suchas Nuttie had never heard. 

'In the Park, near the bridge over the Serpentine. I was speaking fora few moments to a friend. Bah! Il etait parti. Mais je letrouverai. Parker, he seeks too. Fear not, sir, I shall find him. '

'Find him, you scoundrel, or never dare to see me again! I've bornewith your insolences long, and now you've brought them to a height. Go, I say, find my boy!' exclaimed Mr. Egremont, with a fierce oath andpassionate gesture, and Gregorio vanished again. 

'Bring the carriage--no, call a cab;' commanded Mr. Egremont, snatchingup his hat. 'Who is this Parker?'

The servants hesitated, but the butler said he believed the man to be afriend of Gregorio's employed at one of the clubs. Nuttie meanwhilebegging her father not to go without her, flew upstairs to put on herhat, and coming down at full speed found that Mr. Dutton, passing byand seeing the open door and the terrified servants on the steps, hadturned in to ask what was the matter, and was hearing in no measuredterms from Mr. Egremont how the child had been taken away from hisnurse and lost in the Park while that scamp Gregorio was chattering tosome good-for-nothing friend. 

To Nuttie's great relief, Mr. Dutton offered to go with the father toassist in the search, and the coachman, far too anxious and excited tolet his master go without him in a cab, contrived to bring up thecarriage. Some of the servants were ordered off to the various policeoffices. Poor nurse, who was nearly distracted, started in a hansom onher own account, persuaded that she should see and recognise traces ofher darling at the scene of his loss, and she almost raced thecarriage, which was bound for the same spot. 

Sluggish natures like Mr. Egremont's can sometimes be roused to greatviolence, and then pour forth the long pent-up accumulations kept backby indolence and indifference. His only occupation during the rapiddrive was to vituperate his valet, the curse of his life, he said. Tohear him talk, it would have seemed as if Gregorio had been the tyrantwho had kept him in bondage all these years, fully aware of hisfalsehood, peculation, and other rascality, but as unable to break theyoke as if he had been in truth the slave of anything but his own evilhabit and helpless acquiescence. 

Would it last if Gregorio made his appearance at that instant withAlwyn in his hand? Or even, as Mr. Dutton confidently predicted, apoliceman might bring the boy home, before many hours were passed. Thechief doubt here was that Alwyn's defective pronunciation, which hadbeen rather foolishly encouraged, might make it difficult to understandhis mode of saying his own name, or even that of the street, if heknew it perfectly; but the year he had been absent from London hadprevented him from acquiring the curious ready local instinct of thetrue town child, and he had been so much guarded and watched that hewas likely to be utterly at a loss when left alone; and Nuttie waswretched at the thought of his terror and loneliness, even while Mr. Dutton told her of speedy recoveries of lost children through kindpeople or the police. 

They found all the officials of the Park already aware and on thealert, and quite certain of the impossibility of nurse's prime dreadthat the boy had fallen into the water unseen by any one and beendrowned. She was even ready to look into every bush, in case he hadbeen frightened and hidden himself; and nothing would satisfy her butto stay making these researches, when her master had decided onendeavouring to find 'Parker' at the club, and to ascertain from himparticulars of time and place. 

He was found there. The dinner-hour had brought him back, he being aman in authority there, very well dressed and deferential, declaringhimself immensely distressed at the occurrence, and at having accostedGregorio and attracted his attention. It was about four o'clock, hethought, and he described the exact spot where the little boy had beensailing his vessel fastened to a string. They might have been talkingtwenty minutes or half an hour when Gregorio missed his charge, andsince that time both had been doing all in their power to find him, until half-past seven, when he had to return to his club, and Gregoriowent to see whether the child had been taken home. 

By this time Mr. Egremont looked so utterly exhausted, that Mr. Duttonavailed himself of the hope that the boy might be found safe at home totake him back; but alas! nothing had been heard there. 

The poor man was in a restless, unmanageable state of excitement, almost as terrifying to his daughter as the distress that occasionedit. He swallowed a tumblerful of claret, but would not eat nor go tobed; and indeed, Gregorio alone having had the personal charge of him, latterly sleeping in his dressing-room, none of the other servants knewwhat to do for him. Mr. Dutton agreed with her that it would be betterto send for his doctor, as probably he ought to have a sedative, andneither would take the responsibility of giving it; while he himselfdeclared he neither would nor could rest till he had his boy again. 

The doctor was dining out, and they had two terrible hours; while Mr. Egremont paced to the windows; threw himself on the sofa; denouncedGregorio; or, for a change, all the system of police which had made nodiscovery; and Ursula for letting the boy be so helpless. Mr. Duttonsometimes diverted his attention for a few minutes, and hoped he woulddoze, but the least sound brought him to his feet again, and the onlycongenial occupation was the composition of a description of poorlittle Alwyn's person and dress, which set Nuttie crying souncontrollably, that she had to run out of the room. 

Dr. Brownlow came at last, and was very kind and helpful, taking thecommand, and insisting that Mr. Egremont should go to bed, and take thedose which he mixed. Broadbent, the butler, was to take Gregorio'splace, but he was a ponderous man, without much tact, and unused to thevalet's office. 'I might just as well have a rhinoceros about me, 'said Mr. Egremont, in a fit of irritation; and it ended, Nuttie hardlyknew how, in Mr. Dutton's going upstairs to smooth matters. He camedown after a time and said: 'I am not satisfied to leave him alone orto Broadbent; I have his consent to my sleeping in the dressing-room. I am just going home to fetch my things. Let me find you gone when Icome back. You will hear no more to-night. Even if he is found, theywill keep him till morning. '

'It is of no use; I can't sleep. '

'Even if you don't, the mere restful position will make you fitter forthe morrow. Will you promise me to undress and really go to bed?'

'Oh yes! if you say I must, ' said Nuttie drearily; following aninstinct of obedience. 

'And remember, ' he said, 'though I do not say it will be so, this maybe deliverance from bondage. '

'But what a terrible deliverance!'

'Bonds are not burst without something terrible. No; don't befrightened. Remember there is safekeeping for that sweet littlefellow, wherever he may be. '

'Oh, Mr. Dutton, if I could pray for him; but the turmoil seems to havedriven away all such things! My boy, my boy, where is he now? Who hasheard him say his little prayers?'

'His Heavenly Father has; of that we may be secure. You will feel itin the quiet of your own room. Good-night. '

'And I shall know you are praying, better than I can, ' murmured Nuttie, as she returned his good-night, and crept up to her chamber. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

FETTERS RENT. 

 'The gods are just, and of our pleasant sins Make whips to scourge us. '--King Lear. 

There was no real sleep for Ursula that short summer night. She sawthe early dawn, listened to the distant roll of market-carts, andwondered when it would be reasonable to be afoot, and ready to hear, ifaught there was to hear. At any hour after seven, surely the finderswould have mercy and bring the welcome news. And just before seven shefell asleep, deeply, soundly, and never woke till past eight, but thatwas just enough to revive the power of hope, and give the sense of anew day. But there was nothing to hear--no news. She found Mr. Duttonin the dining-room. He had had to administer another draught to herfather, and had left him in a sleep which would probably last for sometime. If she would go and sit in the outer room, after her breakfast, he would go out to obtain intelligence. 

'You must have some breakfast, ' she said, ringing the bell, andwistfully looking over the blinds; then exclaiming: 'Oh, there's Mark!Has he heard anything?' and out she darted, opening the door before herang. 'Mark! have you found him?'

'Yes, ' he said gravely, looking utterly amazed as she clasped herhands, and seemed ready to fling herself on his neck with joy. 'I camebecause it will be a great shock to my uncle. '

'Then it is so! Nurse was right, ' said Nuttie, turning deadly pale, and standing as if before a firing platoon. 'Tell me, Mark, where didthey find him?'

'At the Faringdon Station. I was sent for to identify him. '

'Stay, ' said Mr. Dutton, as there was a wild horrified look in Nuttie'seyes. 'Do you mean little Alwyn?'

'Little Alwyn! No, certainly not. What of him?'

'Gregorio managed to lose him in the park yesterday, ' put in Mr. Dutton. 

'That accounts for it, then, ' said Mark. 'No, it was Gregorio himself, poor man. He was knocked down by the engine, and killed on the spot, just by the station, at eleven o'clock last night. Our name was foundon him, and I was sent for early this morning. There was no doubtabout it, so I came on here at once to let my uncle know, littlethinking--'

'Oh, it is dreadful!' cried Nuttie, sinking into a chair. 'Do youremember, my father told him never to see his face again unless hefound Alwyn?'

Broadbent came in at the moment with the coffee-pot, and stoodsuspended, as he was told what had happened, Mark adding the detail:'He was crossing the line in front of the engine. '

'Yes, sir, ' said the butler. 'It is an awful dispensation. No doubthe knew it was all up with him. You may not be aware, sir, of thesubject of his conversation in the park. Mr. Parker had just seen atelegram of the result of the Derby, and he had heavy bets on LadyEdina. I am afraid, sir, there can be no doubt that he found avoluntary grave. '

'We will not talk of that. We cannot judge, ' said Mark, shuddering. 'Isaid I would send some one from here to arrange what was to be doneafter the inquest. '

Broadbent immediately undertook to go, if his master did not requirehim, and this was thought advisable, as his services were certainly notacceptable to Mr. Egremont. Mark had thought himself likely to bedetained and had provided for his absence, and the awe-stricken triowere consulting together over the breakfast-table, eating mechanically, from the very exhaustion of agitation, when the door opened, and Mr. Egremont in his dressing-gown was among them, exclaiming: 'You arekeeping it from me. ' He had been wakened by the whispers and rushes ofthe excited maids, had rung his bell in vain, dressed himself as besthe could after so many years of dependence, and stumbled downstairs, where, as with his daughter, it was something like a relief to knowthat hope was not extinguished in Alwyn's case. But Mr. Egremont wasin a very trembling, broken condition, and much overcome by his valet'send after so many years of intimate association. Certainly, if eitherof the others had so parted with the man, it would have been a horrorin the recollection, but he did not seem to dwell on it; and, indeed, attention was distracted by every sound at the door, since each mightbring news of the missing child. 

One of these tantalising rings proved to be a policeman with poorGregorio's keys, and a demand for an investigation into any papers hemight have left which would show his state of mind. Mr. Egremont wasvery much annoyed, declaring that he would have no stranger meddle withthem, and that he saw no use in such prying. What difference could itmake to any living creature? However, when he found there was no helpfor it, he said he must do it himself. Nuttie offered to help, but wassharply, strongly refused. Mark alone might and should help. 

Then Mr. Dutton volunteered to go and explain matters to Mr. Dobbs, soas to get freedom for Mark for at least the remainder of the day. Hewould call at the police offices and see what was doing in the search, put forward the advertisements, and obtain that the Serpentine shouldbe dragged, for he saw that only that measure would remove one greatterror from these anxious hearts. 

'And, ' he said to Mark, 'with your permission, I will bring back Mrs. Egremont and the children if they will do me the honour to become myguests. She will be a comfort to Miss Egremont, and then you will beat hand in the evening. '

Mark could only be thankful, and presently addressed himself to theinvestigation, which his uncle insisted should be made in his ownpresence, though the opiate kept him for the most part dozing in anarm-chair, only rousing up now and then by some noise at the frontdoor, or putting queries, the replies to which startled him more andmore, as he grew more wakeful and Mark proceeded. 

All, except a few unimportant bills and a betting-book, was locked intoa dressing-case that had once belonged to Mr. Egremont, and had tricksof secret drawers that only he could explain. It was full of papers, and they were a strange revelation that Mr. Egremont might well wish towithhold from his daughter. They went very far back, and of course didnot come out in order of chronology, nor would Mark have understoodthem but for exclamations and comments here and there from his uncle. 

Everything seemed to be there, --the old passport and certificate toGregorio Savelli, when he left his Savoyard home to be a waiter at ahotel; a few letters in Italian, probably from his parents, which Markcould not read, but which soon ceased; the counter-signed characterwith which he had entered General Egremont's service; and then came anote or two signed A. P. E. , which Mr. Egremont regarded with greatannoyance, though they only consisted of such phrases as 'Back onWednesday. Find an excuse, ' or in French, 'Envoyez moi la petiteboite!' 'Que la porte soit ouverte apres minuit. '

'That was the way, ' groaned Mr. Egremont. 'The scoundrel! he kept allthose to be able to show me up to the General if he chose! I was ayoung man then, Mark, not the straitlaced lad you've always been. Andthe General! A bad old dog he was, went far beyond what I ever did, but for all that he had no notion of any one going any way but his own, and wanted to rein me in as tight as if he had been an epitome of allthe virtues. And Gregorio seemed a good-natured young fellow then, andmade things easy for me, though no doubt he meant to have me in hishands, in case I tried to shake him off. '

Another discovery affected him far more. It was of a letter in Alice'shandwriting, addressed to Captain Egremont, in the yacht Ninon--posterestante, Madeira. He had never seen it, never known of its existence;Gregorio had gone to inquire for the letters, and had suppressed it. Mr. Egremont had wondered how he had become aware of the marriage. Hisknowledge had from that time been used as a means of enforcing the needof a good understanding with the heir. Mr. Egremont was much moved bythe sight of the letter, and its date, from Dieppe, about six monthsafter he had left his young wife there. He made Mark give it to himunread, handled it tenderly, struggled to read the delicate pointedwriting to himself, but soon deferred the attempt, observing, 'There, there, I can't stand it now! But you see, Mark, ' he added after aninterval, 'I was not altogether the heartless brute you thought me. '

Mark, as he told his wife afterwards, could not help thinking of theold preamble to indictments, 'By the temptation of the devil. '

And by and by, out of a pocket-book bearing the date of the General'sdeath, came a copy of the certificate of the baptism of Ursula Alice, daughter of Alwyn Piercefield and Alice Egremont, together with thataddress which Miss Headworth had left at Dieppe to gratify Alice'sforlorn idea of a possible rescue, and which Gregorio had asseveratedto be non-existent. 

Doubtless he infinitely preferred his master's wandering bachelor lifeto the resumption of marriage ties, and thus he had contrived to keepMr. Egremont from meeting the Houghtons at Florence. At the same timethe uncertainty as to Alice's fate had prevented any other marriage. Gregorio had taken care that, if Mr. Egremont had been villain enoughto make such an attempt, he should know that his secret could bebrought to light. 

Compared with all this wickedness, the proofs of fraud and dishonestywere entirely unimportant. Gambling had evidently been a passion withthe valet, and peculation had followed, and Mark could have traced outthe full tide before the reinstatement of Mrs. Egremont in her home, the gradual ebb during her reign, the diminished restraint under herdaughter. The other servants had formerly been implicated, but, excepta young groom and footman, Mark thought the present set quite free fromthe taint, and was glad to acquit Broadbent. But the last telegramsand the betting-book in the unhappy man's pocket confirmed Parker'sevidence that of late he had staked almost madly, and had risked sumsfar beyond any means he could raise upon the horse which had failed. The bailiff at Bridgefield had, it had long been guessed, played intohis hands, but to what an extent Mark only now discovered. 

The result was that what he had learnt in the Park had so astounded himthat his inattention to the child had not been wonderful. He had--asParker testified--sought the little fellow vehemently, and had he beensuccessful, he might yet have made some effort, trusting to hismaster's toleration; but the loss and reproach had made him anabsolutely desperate man. Was it blind flight or self-destruction?That he had money about him, having cashed a cheque of his master's, favoured the first idea, and no one would too curiously inquire whetherMr. Egremont was aware of the amount. 

It was only too true that, as he had said, Gregorio Savelli had beenthe curse of his life, having become one of the whips left by pleasantvices, and the breaking of the yoke had been not only at a terribleprice, but, to a man in his half-blind and invalid condition, theactual loss of the person on whom he had depended was a privation. Dr. Brownlow, however, knew of a good man-servant just set at liberty bythe death of an invalid master, and promised to send him on trial. 

It was a day of agitations and disappointments, a sample of many thatwere to follow. There was not a sound of a bell that did not makeanxious hearts throb. And oh! how many were spent on vain reports, onmere calls of sympathy by acquaintance whom the father and sister couldnot see, and on notes of inquiry or condolence that Nuttie had toanswer. 

Annaple came and was a great help and support to her. Poor nurse, oblivious of her bad foot, or perhaps, willing to wreak vengeance on itas the cause of all the mischief, had insisted on continuing her searchin the morning under all the thorns and rhododendrons where she thoughtthe dear lamb might have hidden and cried himself to sleep, and at lasthad been brought home in a cab quite worn out and despairing. But thescreaming baby proved to be a much better comforter to her than anyamount of reasonable argument. To soothe it, to understand what ailedit, to find suitable food for it, was an occupation which made thesuspense less intolerable. The very handling of an infant would havebeen congenial; and a sickly crying one was only too interesting. Willie was too near her darling's age to be a welcome sight, but he wasalready a prime pet with the servants at Springfield; and Annaple, secure that her children were in safe and experienced hands, andoverflowing with motherly sympathy for the grievous loss, was ready todevote herself to Nuttie, whether by talk, by letter writing, or byseeing inquiring friends. She did not expect to be of any use to Mr. Egremont, who had always held aloof from and disliked 'the gigglingScotch girl, ' but who came drearily wandering at an unexpected timeinto the room where she was sitting with his daughter, and presentlywas involved in their conversation. Whether it was the absence of thepoor familiar, or that Annaple was no longer a giggling girl, but abrave, cheerful wife and mother, it was certain that he found the samecomfort and support in her presence as did Nuttie. When fits ofrestless misery and despair pressed hardest upon him, it was soonperceived that Annaple's cheerful tact enabled her to deal with him asno one else could do. There was the restraint of courtesy towards her, such as had worn out towards his daughter, and besides her sanguineoptimist spirit never became so depressed as did poor Nuttie's. Markwent by day to his work, but came back to dine at his uncle's, hear thereports, and do what he could for him; and meantime Annaple spent thechief part of the day in aiding Nuttie and Mr. Egremont, while her babyreally showed signs of improvement in nurse's keeping. And so the dayswent on, while every endeavour was made to trace the child, but with noresult but bitter disappointment. Twice, strayed children, youngerthan Alwyn--one even a girl--were brought as the lost boy, and theadvertisements bore fruit in more than one harassing and heartlesscorrespondence with wretches who professed to be ready to restore thechild, on promises of absolute secrecy, and sums of money sentbeforehand, with all sorts of precautions against interference from thepolice. 

The first of these created great excitement, and the pursuit wascommitted to Mr. Dutton. When it proved abortive, Mr. Egremont'sdisappointment and anger were great, and he could not be persuaded thatall was not the fault of Mr. Dutton's suspicion and precaution inholding back the money, nor could any one persuade him that it was mereimposture. When another ill-written enigmatical letter arrived, heinsisted that it was from the same quarter, and made Broadbent conductthe negotiations, with the result that after considerable sums had beenpaid in circuitous fashions, the butler was directed to a railway archwhere the child would be deposited, and where he found a drab-colouredbrat of whom he disposed at the nearest police station, after which hecame home savagely disgusted. 

Nuttie was not much less so at what she felt as a slight to Mr. Duttonas well as at the failure. 'When you are doing so much for us. Wedeserve that you should do nothing more, ' she said with tears shiningin her eyes. 

'Do not talk in that way, ' he answered. 'You know my feeling for thedear little fellow himself, and--'

'Oh yes, ' interrupted Nuttie, 'I do trust to that! Nobody--not themost indifferent person, but must long to save him. Yes, I know it wasdoing you a wicked injustice to fancy that you could take offence inthat way at a father in such trouble. Please forgive me, Mr. Dutton. '

'As if I had anything to forgive. As if there were anything on earththat could come before the endeavour to recover him, ' said Mr. Dutton, too much moved for his usual precision of speech. 

'Yes; he is _her_ child, ' said Nuttie, with a trembling tearful smile. 

'_Her_ child! Yes, and even if he were not, he is _your_ brother, 'said Mr. Dutton; then hastily gathering himself up, as if he had saidtoo much, he rose to take leave, adding as their hands clasped, 'Remember, as long as I live, you may count upon me. '

'Oh, I know, I know! There's nobody like you, but I don't know what Isay in this awful suspense. If I had only seen him lying white andcold and peaceful, it would have been far better than to think of himpining and miserable among wicked people, who would try to bring him uplike themselves. Mother's own little boy!'

'It will not be allowed, it will not be allowed, ' cried Mr. Dutton. 'God's Providence is still over him. '

'And there are prayers, I know--at our church and Mr. Godfrey's-and allours, but oh! it takes a great deal of faith to lean on them. I wonderif you would, Annaple, if it were Willy?'

'We will not ask Mrs. Egremont, ' said Mr. Dutton, as Annaple made agesture of something like doubt. 

'It is almost as bad, ' said she, coming up and putting her arm roundNuttie. 'But indeed, Mr. Dutton, she does trust, only it is very, verysore, for her, --as it is for us all. '

'You are her great comfort, ' said Mr. Dutton, as he shook hands withher. 

'He could hardly help thanking me, ' said Annaple to her husbandafterwards. 'Mr. Egremont may well call him an adopted uncle. Ishould say he was a good deal more, poor man. '

CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE HULL OF THE URSULA. 

Ten days had passed, and Mark and Annaple were thinking that they oughtto return to ordinary life, and leave the bereaved ones to endeavour toconstruct their life afresh under the dreadful wearing uncertainty oftheir darling's fate. Still they were detained by urgent entreatiesfrom father and daughter, who both dreaded their departure asadditional desolation, and as closing the door of hope. And certainly, even this rest was good for Annaple; and her baby, for whom nurse haddiscovered a better system, had really not cried more for a whole daythan 'befitted a rational child, ' said the mother, as she walked backto Springfield with her husband in the summer night, after dinner, onthe day that Broadbent's negotiations had failed. 

'Nurse will break her heart at parting with her, ' said Mark. 'I wishwe could afford to have her. '

'Afford, indeed! Her wages are about a quarter of your salary, sir!And after all, 'tis not the nurse that guards the child, as we haveseen only too plainly. '

'Do you think he is alive, Nan?'

'I begin to think not. He is not so young but that he could makehimself known, and those advertisements are so widely spread. I amsure poor Nuttie would be more at rest if she could give up hope. '

'I did not tell you before, Nan, but Dutton was going to-day to look ata poor little unclaimed child's body that had been found in the Thames. He knew him better than I, so he went. '

'He would have come if--' said Annaple. 

'Assuredly. He meant to fetch nurse if he had any doubt, butafterwards he was going to his court about his rents. He always doesthat on Saturday evenings. '

Mr. Dutton himself opened his door to the pair. 

'Well, ' said Mark. 

'Certainly not. The poor child was evidently much younger, and had redhair. But look here, ' and he held out a battered something, black witha white stripe. Mark understood nothing, but Annaple exclaimed, 'Is ithis ship?'

'Yes, I could swear to it, for see, ' and he pointed to some grimed, almost effaced, but still legible capitals, which, however, scarcelyany one but himself could have read as "Ursula. " 'I guided his hand tomake those the evening before he was lost, ' said Mr. Dutton. 

'Dear little man! And where did you find it?'

'Where I never thought of doing so! On the bed of a little crippledboy in the next court to mine. He is rather a friend of mine, and Iturned in to take him some strawberries. I found him hugging this. '

'How did he get it?'

'Our "Liz" brought it to him. Our "Liz" is a very wild specimen, whohas spent her life in eluding the school board officer till she is tooold for his clutches; but she has a soft spot in her heart for herlittle brother, and I believe another for Gerard Godfrey. We must bevery cautious, and not excite any alarm, or we shall be baffledaltogether. I am not sure that I did quite prudently in giving littleAlf a fresh boat in exchange for this; but I could not help bringing ithome. '

'You did not see the girl?'

'No. Those girls wander long and late on these hot nights, and I donot think I could have got anything out of her. I have been to GerardGodfrey, and the next step must be left to him. '

'The next question is whether you will tell those poor things at No. 5, ' said Mark. 

Mr. Dutton hesitated. 'I should have no doubt of giving Miss Egremontthe comfort of knowing that there was a possible clue, but if herfather insisted on setting on the police, there would be very littlemore hope of success. I am afraid it will be more prudent to wait tillwe know what Godfrey says. He hopes to see the girl to-morrow eveningat his mission class, but of course she is a very uncertain attendantthere. No, I cannot trust myself. '

Annaple was forced to brook withholding the hope from the faintinghearts all the ensuing Sunday, which was a specially trying day, asNuttie pined for her dear little companion with the pictures, stories, and hymns that he had always enjoyed, and made pretty childish remarksabout, such as she began to treasure as memorable. 

As soon as he could, early on Monday morning, Mr. Dutton repaired toGerard Godfrey's lodgings, and found that the young clergyman hadsucceeded in seeing the girl, and had examined her so as not to put thewild creature on her guard, and make her use the weapons of falsehoodtowards one who had never been looked on as an ally of the police. Itappeared that she had brought home the ship, or rather its hull, fromone of the lowest of lodging houses, where she had employment assomething between charwoman and errand girl. She had found it on whatpassed for a bed in its present condition, one morning, when going tomake the extremely slight arrangements that the terrible lair, whichserved as a common bedroom, underwent, and had secreted it as a prizefor her little brother. 

At first she had been stolid, and affected utter ignorance as to how itgot there, but Mr. Godfrey had entreated her as a friend to try todiscover; and had with all his heart made a pathetic description of thegirl (he durst not say lady) who had always been a mother to her littlebrother, and now had lost him, and was in terrible uncertainty as tohis fate. That came home to Lizzie's feelings, and she let out whatshe had seen or picked up in the way of gossip, --that the ship had beenleft behind by its owner, whether boy or girl Liz was uncertain, for ithad long fair hair, wore a petticoat, and had been dosed with gin andsomething else when carried away. They said it had made noise enoughwhen brought there by Funny Frank and Julia. They were performing folk, who had come in after the Derby day to have a spree, and to pick upanother kid to do fairies and such like, because the last they had hadhurt his back and had to be left in the workhouse. Yes, she had heardtell that they had got the child from Mother Bet, of whom Gerard had avague idea as one of the horrible hags, who not only beg themselves, but provide outfits for beggars, including infants, to excitecompassion. Either she or one of her crew had picked up the child anddisposed of his clothes; and then finding him too old and intelligentto be safely used for begging purposes, she had sold or hired him outto these acrobatic performers, who had gone off into that vague andunknown region, the country. Liz had no notion what was their realname, nor where they would go, only that they attended races and fairs;and as soon as the actual pleasure of communicating information wasover, she was seized with a panic, implored Mr. Godfrey to make no useof her information, and explained that the people of the house werequite capable of killing her, if they suspected her of betraying any oftheir transactions. It was impossible to bring any authorities to bearon the quest; and Mr. Dutton held it wisest only to write a notetelling Mr. Egremont that he had obtained evidence that the child wasliving, and that he was going in pursuit, but thought it safer to sayno more at present. He gave the note to Mark at his office. 'I cannottrust myself to see your cousin, ' he said. 'I might be tempted to saymore than was consistent with Godfrey's honour towards his informant. '

'I think you are right, ' said Mark. 'You had better leave me with onlyindefinite knowledge, for I shall be hard pressed. Do you not go homefirst?'

'Yes, I go to pack up a few things and fetch Monsieur. A run in thecountry will do him good, and he may be a valuable auxiliary. I shallfind no one at Springfield at this hour. '

'What is your plan?'

'I shall venture so far as to apply to the police for the names of theusual attendants at races and fairs, and for some idea of theirordinary rounds. I have no doubt that these are known at the chiefoffices. For the rest, I must use my eyes. But tell your cousin that, with God's blessing, I hope to bring him back to her. '

'He will, ' said Ursula, when Mark gave her the message, and from thatmoment she was calmer. She did not fret Mark with questions even asmuch as Annaple did, she tried to prevent her father from raging at thescant information, and she even endeavoured to employ herself with someof her ordinary occupations, though all the time she kept up theceaseless watch. 'Mr. Dutton would not have said that without goodhope, ' she averred, 'and I trust to him. '

Yet when four, five, six, eight, days had passed with no tidings, theheart sickness grew almost more than she could bear, though she stillanswered with spirit when her father again took to abusing theumbrella-fellow for choosing to keep all in his own hands. 

Even Annaple could not help saying to her husband that a precise, prim, old bachelor was the very last person for a hunt in slums and the like. The very sight of him would put the people on their guard. 'And thinkof his fine words, ' she added. 'I wish I could go! If I started witha shawl over my head, yoked to a barrel-organ, I should have a farbetter chance than he will. I declare, Mark, if he does not succeedwe'll do it. We'll hire an organ, whereon you shall play. Ah! youshake your head. A musical education is not required, and I know Ishall do something desperate soon, if that dear little boy is notfound. '

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

NUTTIE'S KNIGHT. 

 'The night came on and the bairnies grat, Their minnie aneath the mools heard that. '

'LYNDHURST, 4th July. --Philip Dutton to Miss Egremont. Found. Waterloo, 6. 15. '

'I knew he would, ' said Nuttie, with a strange quietness, but as shetried to read it to her father her voice choked, and she had to hand itto Annaple. But for the first time in her life she went up andvoluntarily kissed her father's forehead. And perhaps it was for thefirst time in his life that the exclamation broke from him, 'Thank God!'

Perhaps it was well that the telegram had not come earlier in the day, for Mr. Egremont was very restless, showing himself much shaken innerves and spirits before the time for driving to the station, which hegreatly antedated. Nuttie could hardly keep him in the carriage, andindeed had to persuade him to return thither, when he had once sprungout on the arrival of a wrong train. 

And after all, when the train did come, his blue spectacles weredirected to the row of doors at the other end, and Nuttie was anxiouslytrying to save him from being jostled, when a voice said 'Here!' andclose beside them stood Mr. Dutton, with a little boy by his side wholooked up in her face and said 'Sister!' It was said in a dreamy, almost puzzled way, not with the ecstatic joy Nuttie had figured toherself; and there was something passive in the mode of his hearing hisfather's 'My boy, my boy!' Instinctively all turned to the harbour ofthe carriage; Mr. Dutton lifted Alwyn in, and as Nuttie received him, apang shot across her, as she felt how light, how bony the little framehad become in these three weeks. 

'Come in! Come back with us! Tell us all!' said Mr. Egremont, as Mr. Dutton was about to help him in. 

'My dog, ' said Mr. Dutton, while Alwyn looked up from nestling inNuttie's lap to say, 'Mithter Button come! And Mothu!'

'We have room for him, ' said Mr. Egremont graciously. 'Here, poorfellow. '

'He has the right, ' said Mr. Dutton, 'for he was the real finder. '

And Monsieur, curly and shiny, occupied with great dignity the backseat beside his master, while Alwyn, in a silent but dreamy content, asif he only half understood where he was, rested against his sister'sbosom with his hands in his father's. 

'Come, old chap, ' said his father cheerily, 'tell us all about it. '

But Alwyn only shuddered a little, raised his eyelids slightly, andgave a tiny faint smile. 

'I think he is very much tired, ' said Mr. Dutton. 'There was a gooddeal to be done to make him presentable this morning. You must forgiveme for sacrificing his curls, there was nothing else to be done withthem. '

'Ah!' and Nuttie looked again. The boy was in a new, rather coarse, ready-made, sailor suit that hung loosely upon his little limbs, hishair was short, and he was very pale, the delicate rosy flush quitegone, and with it the round outline of the soft cheek; and there werepurple marks under the languid eyes. She bent down and kissed him, saying, 'Was Mr. Button nurse to you, Wynnie?'

He smiled again and murmured, 'Mr. Button made me boy again. '

After a question and answer or two as to main facts of place and timeof the discovery, Mr. Dutton told his story. 'I did not effect muchwith my inquiries after the circuses. All I heard of were of toosuperior an order for kidnapping practices. However, I thought theonly way would be to haunt fairs and races, and look at theircamp-followers. At a place in Hertfordshire I saw a performanceadvertised with several children as fairies, so I went to see it. Iwas soon satisfied that Alwyn was not there; but it struck me that Ihad known the face of the prime hero, a fine handsome supple fellow, who was called in the programme Herr Adalbert Steinfuggen, or some suchname. Well, it seemed that he knew me, for as I struggled out after aconsiderable interval, I heard myself accosted, "Mr. Dutton! Sir, surely I have the honour of speaking to Mr. Dutton of Micklethwayte?"I assure you he was the very pink of politeness. Do you remember, MissEgremont, Abel Stone?'

'Oh, Abel Stone! He was a choir boy at Micklethwayte, I remember! Hewas very handsome, and had a splendid voice; but he was a real monkeyfor mischief, and nobody could manage him but mother. She was alwayspleading that he should not be turned out, and at last he ran away. '

'Yes; he went off with a circus, and there he found his vocation, roseand throve, married the prima-donna, and is part owner. He seems veryrespectable, and was so friendly and affectionate that I ventured toconsult him; when, on hearing whom I was seeking, he became warmlyinterested, and gave me just the information I wanted. He said he hadlittle doubt that Funny Frank was a clown called Brag, with whom he hadhad words some years back for misusing the children. He said he did nothold with harshness to the little ones in teaching them to do thefeats, which certainly were wonderful. If they were frightened, theywere nervous and met with accidents; but make much of them, and theythought it all fun, and took a pride and pleasure in theirperformances. However this Brag, though a clever fellow, could not behindered from bullying, and at last he went off with a girl of thetroupe and set up on their own account. Stone, or whatever he pleasesto call himself, had met them several times, but he spoke of them withgreat contempt as "low, " and they did not frequent the same places ashe does. However, he referred to one of his men, and found that theyhad been at Epsom on the Derby day, and moreover, that there was areport of them having lately narrowly escaped being in a scrape about achild who had been injured. There was no scruple as to advising mewhere to look for them, or as to the best means of detection. Stonewas very indignant, and made me understand that all his young peoplewere either to the manner born, or willingly hired out by theirparents. I saw them in private life, and they looked happy andwell-fed, but that was no guarantee for Funny Frank. Well, I followedhim up without success, trying each place Stone had set down for me, till I came last night to Lyndhurst, a very pretty place in the NewForest, where there is to be a fair to-morrow, beginning thisafternoon. Stone advised me to look about before the affair opened, while unpacking and arranging was going on. Well, after all, it wasvery simple. I strolled out with my dog round the field where the vansand booths were getting into order. There was what I thought a littlegirl in a faded red petticoat sitting on the steps at the bottom of ayellow van with her head on her hands. '

'That was me, ' said Alwyn, lighting up. 'And Mothu came and kissedFan!'

'Yes, ' said Mr. Dutton; 'I verily believe we might have missed oneanother, but Monsieur ran up to him and, as I was actually whistlinghim off, I heard a little voice say, "Mothu! Mothu!" and saw theywere--well, embracing one another, and then came "Mithter Button, Mithter Button, oh, take me home!'"

Eager caressing hands were held out to Monsieur, who jumped off theseat to receive the pats and laudations lavished on his curly roundpate, and had to be reduced to order before Mr. Dutton could answer thequestion whether he had any further difficulty or danger. 

'I took him up in my arms, and a handsome truculent-looking woman burstout on me, demanding what I was about with her child. To which Ianswered that she knew very well he was no such thing. Her man cameswaggering up, declaring impudently that I had better be off--but Ibelieve he saw that the people who came round would not take his part, for he gave in much more easily than I expected. I explained as loudas I could that this was a gentleman's son who had been stolen from hisnurse in the Park. The man began to protest that they had found himdeserted, and taken him with them out of charity, requesting to be paidfor his keep. So I thought it better to give them a sovereign at once, so as to have no further trouble, and get him away as fast as I could. The woman came after me, making further demands, but the sight of apoliceman in the distance turned her back. I went up to him andexplained. I found he knew all about the loss and the reward, andlooked regretfully at my prize. We went back to the hotel, where I setAlwyn to rights as well as I could, sent out for some clothes, such asthe place would produce, and which at least, as he says, made a boy ofhim again. I'm afraid the process was rather trying from suchunaccustomed hands, though he was very good, and he has been asleepalmost all the way home, and, his senses all as in a dream bound up. '

The heaviness--whether weariness or content, still continued. Alwynseemed to find it too much trouble to talk, and only gave littlesmiles, more like his mother than himself. He clung quite desperatelyto his sister when Mark offered to lift him from the carriage, butnurse was close behind, and it was good to see the little armsstretched out, and the head laid on her shoulder, the hand put up tostroke her cheek, and the lips whispering 'Wyn's own nursie. ' Thejubilant greeting and triumphant procession with which he was borneupstairs seemed almost to oppress him. He appeared almost as if he wasafraid of wakening from a happy dream, and his lively merriment seemedall gone; there were only beams of recognition and gladness at 'Wyn'sown nursery, Wyn's own pretty cup, ' touching it as if to make sure thatit was real, and pleased to see the twisted crusts, his special treat. 

But he could not eat much of them, and soon laid his head down, as oneweary, with the exhaustion of content; and nurse, who had allowed thatMr. Dutton had, considering all things, done much for the outwardrestoration of the daintiness of her recovered child, was impatient togive him the hot bath and night's rest that was to bring back thebright joyous Alwyn. So Nuttie only lingered for those evening prayersshe had yearned after so sorely. When she held his mother's picture tohim to be kissed, he raised his eyes to her and said: 'Will she come tome at night now?'

'Who, my darling?'

'She, mother dear. '

'Here's her picture, dear boy. '

'Not only the picture--she came out of it, when I cried, up on thenasty-smelling bundle in the van all in the dark. '

'She came?'

'Yes, she came, and made it so nice, and hushed me. I wasn't afraid togo to by-by when she came. And she sang. Sister, can't you sing likethat?'

'Not here, I'm afraid, dear, dear boy, ' she whispered, holding him sotight that he gave a little cry of 'It hurts. ' Then came the prayers, not a word forgotten, and the little voice joined in her murmuredthanksgiving for bringing him home. 

She was much moved and awe-stricken at these words of her littlebrother; but she had to dress in haste for dinner, listening the whileto her maid's rejoinings and vituperations of the wretches who hadmaltreated the child. 

When she came down she found no one in the drawing-room but Mr. Dutton, whom her father had asked to the happiest meal that had perhaps everbeen eaten in that house. 

She went towards him with winged steps in her white dress: 'Oh! Mr. Dutton, we have not said half enough to you, but we never, never can. '

He gave a curious, trembling half smile, as she held out her hands tohim, and said: 'The joy is great in itself, ' speaking in a very lowvoice. 

'Oh! I am so glad that you did it, ' cried Ursula. 'It would not havebeen half so sweet to owe it to any one else. '

'Miss Egremont, do you know what you are saying?' he exclaimed. 

'Don't call me Miss Egremont! You never used to. Why should you?'

'I have not dared--' he began. 

'Dared! Don't you know you always were our own Mr. Dutton--best, wisest friend of all, and now more than ever. '

'Stay, ' he said, 'I cannot allow you in your fervour to say such thingsto me, unaware of the strength of feeling you are stirring within me. '

'You! you! Mr. Dutton!' cried Nuttie, with a moment's recoil. 'Youdon't mean that you care for _me_. '

'I know it is preposterous--' he began. 

'Preposterous! Yes, that you should care one bit for silly, foolish, naughty, self-willed me. Oh, Mr. Dutton, you can't mean it!'

'Indeed, I would have kept silence, and not disturbed you with mypresumption, if--'

'Hush!' she cried. 'Why, it makes me so glad and so proud, I don'tknow what to do. I didn't think anybody was good enough foryou--unless it was dear, dear mother--and that it should be me. '

'It is true, ' he said gravely, 'my younger days were spent in a vaindream of that angel, then when all that was ended, I thought suchthings were not for me; but the old feeling has wakened, it seems to mein greater force than ever, though I meant to have kept it in control--'

'Oh, I am glad you didn't! It seems as if the world swam round withwonder and happiness, ' and she held his hand as if to steady herself, starting however as Annaple opened the door saying, 'We've been sendingtelegrams with the good news. '

Then an arch light came into her bright eyes, but the others werebehind her, and she said no more. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

FOUND AND TAKEN. 

 'The angels of the gateway Bent softly to the child, And stretched glad hands to take him To the kingdom undefiled. '--B. M. 

'Come up and see him, ' said Nuttie, as the dining-room door was shut. 'I must feast my eyes on him. '

Annaple replied by throwing an arm round her and looking into her eyes, kissing her on each cheek, and then, as they reached the landing in thesummer twilight, waltzing round and round that narrow space with her. 

'You ridiculous person!' said Nuttie. 'Do you mean that you saw!'

'Of course I did; I've seen ever so long--'

'Nonsense! That's impossible--'

'Impossible to owls and bats perhaps, but to nothing else not to seethat there was one sole and single hero in the world to you, and thatto him there was one single being in the world; and that being thecase---'

'But, Annaple, you can't guess what he has always been to me. '

'Oh! don't I know?--a sort of Archbishop of Canterbury and GeorgeHeriot rolled into one. So much the more reason, my dear, I don't knowwhen I've been so glad in my life than that your good times should becoming. '

'They are come in knowing this! It is only too wonderful, ' saidNuttie, as they stood together among the plants in the littleconservatory on the way upstairs. 'I always thought it insulting tohim when they teased me about him. '

'They did, did they?'

'My father, incited by poor Gregorio. Oh, Annaple! don't let any oneguess till we know how my father will take it. What is it, Ellen?' asthe nursery-maid appeared on the stairs. 

'If you please, ma'am, Mrs. Poole would be glad if you are coming up tothe nursery. '

They both hastened up and nurse came out to meet them in the daynursery, making a sign to Ellen to take her place by the cot, andwithholding the two ladies. She made them come as far off as possible, and then said that she was not at all satisfied about Master Alwyn. There had been the same drowsiness and disinclination to speak, andwhen she had undressed and washed him, he had seemed tender all over, and cried out and moaned as if her touch hurt him, especially on oneside where, she felt convinced, there was some injury; but when sheasked about it his eyes grew frightened and bewildered, and he onlycried in a feeble sort of way, as if sobs gave him pain. 

She had soothed him, and he had gone into his own bed with the samegentle languid gladness, but had presently begun moaning, and imploringin his sleep, wakening with screams and entreaties, 'Oh, I'll do it!I'll try!' and she thought him very feverish. Would it not be betterthat a doctor should see him?

Nurse was always an alarmist, and Nuttie could not help thinking thatto wake the child to see a stranger to-night would only add to histerror and distress, while Annaple declared her entire belief thatthough no doubt the poor little fellow had been cruelly knocked aboutand bruised, a night's rest would probably restore his bright self, andmake all that was past only like a bad dream. There was no judgingto-night, and sleep was wonderful reparation to those little beings. 

Then however the moans and murmurs began again, and now the awakeningcry. They started forward, and as Nuttie came to the cot-side thechild threw himself into her bosom with, 'Sister! Sister! It issister!' but his eyes grew round with terror at sight of Annaple, andclinging tightly to Nuttie he gasped, 'Send her away! don't let hertouch me! Fan's not here!'

To tell him she was Cousin Annaple, Billy's mamma, had no effect; hedid not seem able to understand, and she could only retire--nurse beingthus convinced that to let him see another stranger to-night would onlydo further harm. Nuttie and nurse succeeded in reassuring him that hewas safe at home and with them, and in hushing him off into what theyhoped would be a quiet wholesome sleep in spite of the hot sultrynight, on which Annaple laid a good deal of the blame of hisrestlessness and feverishness. 

Nuttie only came down for a short time before the visitors went away;and then she wrote a note to Dr. Brownlow, which Mark promised to leaveas he went to the city in the morning, Mr. Egremont, in his presentrelief, pooh-poohing all fears, and backing up Annaple's belief in thepowers of 'tired nature's soft restorer'; but Mr. Dutton looked graveand said that he had remarked the extreme tenderness, but had hopedthat much was due to his own inexperience in handling little children. The parting clasp of the hand had a world of meaning in it, and Nuttieopenly said that she hoped to tell him after matins at St. Michael'show the boy was. But she could not be there. When she went upstairsat night the half-delirious terrors had returned, and there was anotherdifficult soothing and comforting before the child slept again. Nursefancied the unwonted presence might disturb him, and insisted on hergoing to her own room. 

When she returned in the morning it was to find that since daylight hehad been more quietly asleep; but there was a worn sunken look abouthis face, and she could not be satisfied to leave him alone while thenurses stirred about and breakfasted. 

He awoke smiling and happy; he looked about and said gladly, 'Wyn athome! Wyn's own nursery, ' but he did not want to get up; 'Wyn sotired, ' he said, speaking of himself in the baby form that he had forseveral months discarded, but he said his pretty 'thank you, ' and tookdelight in breakfasting in his cot, though still in a subdued way, andshowing great reluctance to move or be touched. 

Nuttie was sent for to report of him to his father, who would not hearfor a moment of anxiety, declaring that the boy would be quite well ifthey let him alone, he only wanted rest, and insisting on following outhis intention of seeing a police superintendent to demand whether thekidnapping rascals could not be prosecuted. 

Neither by Nuttie nor nurse could much be extracted from the poorlittle fellow himself about his adventures. He could not bear to thinkof them, and there was a mist of confusion over his mind, partly fromweakness, partly, they also thought, from the drugged spirits withwhich he had been more than once dosed. He dimly remembered missingGregorio in the park, and that he had tried to find his way home alone, but some one, a big boy, he thought, had said he would show him theway, took hold of his hand, dragged him, he knew not where, intodreadful dirt and stench, and apparently had silenced him with a blowbefore stripping him. But it was all very indistinct, he could nottell how Mother Bet got hold of him, and the being dressed in the ragsof a girl had somehow loosed his hold of his own identity. He did notseem at all certain that the poor little dirty petticoated thing whohad wakened in a horrible cellar, or in a dark jolting van who had beendubbed Fan, who had been forced by the stick to dance and twist andcompelled to drink burning, choking stuff, was the same with Alwyn inhis sailor suit or in his white cot. 

It was Dr. Brownlow who at once detected that there had been much ofthis dosing, and drew forth the fact. It had probably been donewhenever it was expedient that he should be hidden, or unable to makeany appeal to outsiders. Alwyn was quite himself by day, and showed nounreasonable fear or shyness, but he begged not to be touched, andthough he tried to be good and manly, could not keep from cries andscreams when the doctor examined him. 

Then it came out. 'It's where he kicked me. '

'Who?'

'That man--master, she said I must call him. He kicked poor little Fanwith his great heavy big boots--'cause Fan would say Wyn's prayers. '

'Who was Fan?' asked the puzzled doctor. 

'Himself, ' whispered Nuttie. 'Alas! himself!'

'Wyn was Fan, ' said Alwyn. 'Fan's gone now!'

'And did the man kick poor little Fan, ' repeated the doctor--'here?'

'Oh don't--don't! It hurts so. Master said he would have none ofthat, and he kicked with his big boot. Oh! Fan couldn't dance one bitafter that. '

He could not tell how long ago this had been. He seemed to have lostall reckoning of days, and probably felt as if ages had past in FunnyFrank's van, but Dr. Brownlow thought the injury could not be above twoor three days old, and probably it accounted for there having been nomore obstructions put in the way of removing the child, since he hadceased to be of use, and the discovery of the injury might have broughtthe perpetrator into trouble. Indeed, as it was, Mr. Egremont causedthe police to be written to, demanding the arrest of the man and womanBrag, but they had already decamped, and were never traced, which wasdecidedly a relief to those who dreaded all that a prosecution wouldhave involved. 

And Dr. Brownlow became very grave over the injury. He said it was asurgical case, and he should like to have another opinion, enjoiningthat the child should be kept in bed, and as quiet as possible, till hecould bring his friend in the afternoon, which was no difficult matter, for Alwyn seemed to have no desire for anything but rest and the sightof his friends and his treasures, which were laid beside him to begently handled and stroked but not played with. Mothu and MithterButton were among the friends he craved for, but he showed no desire tosee Billy-boy, and it was thought best to keep that young gentleman'srampant strength at a distance. 

The chief difficulty was with his father, who declared they were allcroaking, and that the boy would be as well as ever to-morrow. He wentand sat by the cot, and talked merrily of the pony that Alwyn was toride, and the yachting they would have in the summer; and the littlefellow smiled and was pleased, but went to sleep in the midst. Then Mr. Egremont went out, taking Annaple with him, because Nuttie would not gotill the doctors' visit was over, though he declared that they werecertain not to come till long after her return from the drive. Heactually went to the dealer's, and had pony after pony paraded beforethe carriage, choosing a charming toy Shetland at last, subject to itsbehaviour with the coachman's little boy, while Annaple hopefullyagreed with him that Alwyn would be on its back in another week. 

He still maintained his opinion, outwardly at least, when he was met onhis return by Nuttie with a pale, almost thunderstruck face. Dr. Brownlow had called her from trying to soothe away the fright andsuffering of the examination, to break to her that both he and hiscolleague thought very seriously of the injury and its consequences, and deemed it very doubtful whether the poor little fellow could bepulled through. 

Mr. Egremont was again angry, declared that she had misunderstood, andmade the worst of it; that Dr. Brownlow was a conceited young ass; thathis friend played into his hands; with other amenities of the samekind, to which she listened with mingled irritation and pity for hisunreasonableness, and even at the sympathy which he found in Annaple'shopeful nature. 

The young mother never dreaded nor expected what she could not bear tothink possible, such as the death-warrant of that beautiful child, while Nuttie's nature always expected the worst, and indeed had readthe doom in the doctor's eyes and voice rather than in his words. SoAnnaple backed Mr. Egremont up when he made his daughter write todesire Dr. Brownlow to call in the first advice in London; and amongthem they made so sure that this would be effective that they actuallyraised Nuttie's hopes so as to buoy her through the feverish earlyhours of the night when the pain was aggravated, the terrors returned, the boy was tormented by his duality with Fan, and the past miserieswere acted over again. Even nurse and sister did not suffice, andMithter Button had to be fetched by Mark before he could feel quitesecure that he was Alwyn and not Fan. Indeed, in these light-headedmoments, a better notion was gained of what he must have endured thanin the day-time, when all seemed put aside or forgotten. After a timehe became capable of being soothed by hymns, though still asking whyhis sister could not sing like that vision of his mother which hadcomforted him in his previous miseries, and craving for her return. Then at last he fell quietly asleep, and Nuttie was left with a fewsustaining words and a pressure from Mr. Dutton's hand. 

Alas! the new consultation could only ratify the first opinion. Theinjury need not have been necessarily fatal, though dangerous to anyyoung child, and here it had been aggravated by previous ill-treatment, and by the doses of spirits that had been forced down, besides which, Alwyn was naturally delicate, and--though the doctors would not say soto father or sister--there were hereditary predispositions that gavehim the less chance of battling through. 

Yet Mr. Egremont concluded his purchase of the pony, and insisted thatAlwyn should be carried to the window to see it; and Alwyn's smile wasalmost enough to break Nuttie's heart, but his head drooped on nurse'sshoulder, he hardly lifted his heavy eyelids, and begged for 'by-by'again. Even Annaple burst into tears at the sight, ran out of the roomwith her sobs, and never augured recovery again, though still shestrove to cheer and while away the poor father's piteous hours bymaking the most of every sign that the child was happy and notsuffering much. 

That he would be viewed as a 'pale placid martyr' was his sister'schief comfort. His replies as to the manner of the hurt, as well ashis light-headed wanderings, had made it more and more evident that theman Brag's brutality had been excited by his persisting in kneelingdown to say his prayers aloud--the only way he knew how to say them. Indeed there was a recurring anxiety night and morning to kneel, whichhad to be reasoned away, even when he was too weak to make the attempt, and was only appeased by 'Sister' kneeling by his side, holding hishands, and repeating the little prayers with him. It was of his ownaccord that he added: 'And forgive those people, and make them good. 'Annaple burst into tears again and almost scolded when she heard of it. 'Oh dear! oh dear! now I know he won't get well! I'm glad Billy isn'tso horribly good! Nuttie, Nuttie, don't! You know I don't mean it. Only I just can't bear it. He is the sweetest little fellow in theworld! And oh! the cruelty of it. '

'Yes, ' said Nuttie in her dreary calmness; 'he is too sweet and lovelyand beautiful and good to be anywhere but safe with mother. '

For it was more apparent that they could not keep him. It did not lastlong; there were a couple of piteous days of restless pain anddistress, and then came the more fatal lull and absence of suffering, adrowsiness in which the little fellow sank gradually away, lying with astrange calm beauty on his face, and smiling feebly when he now andthen lifted his eyes to rest them on sister or nurse. His father couldnot bear the sight. It filled him more with angry compassion than withthe tender reverence and hushed awe with which Ursula watched herdarling slipping as it were from her hold. So Mr. Egremont wanderedwretchedly about the lower rooms, while Mark and Annaple tried theirbest for him through the long summer evening, darkening into night. Byand by Alwyn lifted his hand, turned his head, opened his lips, andwhispered, 'Hark, sister, she is singing. ' The look of exceeding joybeamed more and more over the pinched little face. 'She's come again, 'he said; and once more, 'Come to take Wyn to the dear Lord. ' Afterthat there were very few more long breaths before little AlwynEgremont's spirit was gone to that unseen world, and only the fairlittle frame left with that wondrous look of delighted recognition onthe face. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE UMBRELLA MAN. 

Little Alwyn was laid to rest beside his mother in a beautiful summernoontide. His father was not in a state to attend the funeral, and wasleft under the care of Annaple, his own choice among those who offeredto stay and minister to him. It was his own wish that his daughtershould be to the last with her little brother. He had even said to herthat she had been a good sister, and his boy had been very fond of her, and he would not keep her away on any account. 

And, with a man's preference for a young and kindly woman, he choseAnnaple to be with him rather than Mr. Dutton, remembering likewisethat but for him the boy would have died in some workhouse, unknown andunclaimed, or among the wretches who had caused his death. So Nuttiehad the comfort of Mr. Dutton's going down with her, as well as Mark, and poor broken-down nurse, but not a word referring to the confessionof that happy evening had passed between them during the mournfulfortnight which had since elapsed. 

May Condamine and her husband had made all as fair and consoling asthey could. There were white-robed children to bear the boy from thechurchyard gate, choristers sang hymns, the grave was lined with mossand daisies, and white roses decked the little coffin and the mound. There was as much of welcome and even of triumph as befitted theinnocent child, whose death had in it the element of testimony to thetruth. And Nuttie felt it, or would feel it by and by, when her spiritfelt less as if some precious thing had been torn up by the roots--tobe safe and waiting for her elsewhere, indeed, but that did not solacethe yearning longing for the merry loving child; nor the aching pityfor the crushed blighted creature whom she had watched suffering anddying. It was far beyond her power as yet to acquiesce in her aunt'sconsolation that it was happier for the child himself, than if he wasto grow up to temptation from without, and with an unsoundconstitution, with dangerous hereditary proclivities. She couldbelieve it in faith, nay, she had already experienced the difficultiesher father had thrown in her way of dealing with him, she tried to beresigned, but the good sense of the Canoness was too much for her. 

It was a day of more haste than suited the ideal of such a time, forMr. Egremont could not be left for a night; so there was only time fora luncheon, with little jerks of talk, and then for an hour spent inshort private interviews. Mrs. Egremont obtained from poor Nurse Pooleall the details, and, moreover, her opinion of Mr. Mark's baby, inwhom, it having been born under her auspices, she took a specialinterest. 

Nuttie meantime was pacing the shady walk with her dear old friend MissNugent, feeling it strange that her heart did not leap up at the barepresence of one she loved so much, yet conscious of the soothing of hersympathy. And Mary, watching her all through, had been struck with theincreased sweetness and nobleness her countenance had acquired duringthese years of discipline. More of her mother's expression had comethan could have been thought possible in features of such a differentmould, formed for so much more strength and energy. They had not metsince Nuttie had been summoned home to her mother's deathbed, and theirtime was chiefly spent on reminiscences alike of the old sorrow and thenew; but, when the time for parting was nearly come, Mary saidaffectionately, 'And you, my dear?'

'Oh, I am all right, ' said Nuttie, and her eyes shone with a light Marydid not at the moment understand; 'you need not be anxious for me_now_. '

'I suppose that unhappy valet's death makes your task easier, ' saidMary. 

'I think it will, ' said Nuttie. 'Poor man! He was--I can't helpsaying it--the evil genius of the house. Dear mother knew it, struggled against him, and broke down in the struggle. It seems sostrange that what she could not do has been done in such a manner, andat such a price! I wonder whether she knew it when she welcomed herboy!'

'Her influence will aid you still, ' said Mary, 'and you have Mr. Duttonto help you too. I was so glad to find he was so near you. '

'Oh, Mr. Dutton!' exclaimed Ursula, in a strange tone that sent athrill through Mary, though she knew not why; but at that moment theywere interrupted, very inopportunely, by Mr. Bulfinch, who could not goaway without asking Miss Egremont whether she thought her father couldsee him on business if he came up to town the next day. She thoughtthat such an interview would rouse her father and do him good, advisinghim to call on the chance. 

Mark's tete-a-tete had been with his sister May, to whom he had much totell of his wife and her gallant patience and energy, and how curiousit was that now the incubus that had weighed on his uncle's householdwas removed, the prejudice had melted away, and he had grown so fond ofher that, next to Ursula, she was his best comforter. 

'I hope that will lead to more, ' said May. 

'I don't see how, ' said Mark. The more we rely only on a blessing onour own exertions the better. '

'Even when Annaple works within an inch of her life?'

'Now that she is on a right tack about the baby, that will be easier. Yes, May, I do feel sometimes that I have brought her down to drudgeryand narrowness and want of variety such as was never meant for her, butshe will never let me think so. She says that it is living inrealities, and that it makes her happier than toiling after society, orrather after the world, and I do believe it is true! I'm sure it iswith me. '

'But such work as yours, Mark. '

'Nonsense, May; I enjoy it. I did not when I was in the Greenleaffirm, with an undeveloped sense that Goodenough was not to be trusted, and we were drifting to the bad, yet too green to understand or hinderit; but this I thoroughly like. What does one want but honesteffective work, with some power of dealing with and helping those goodfellows, the hands, to see the right and help themselves?'

May sighed. 'And yet, now that poor child is gone, I feel all the morehow hard it is that you should be put out of the rights of your name. '

'I never had any rights. It was the bane of my life to be supposed tohave them. Nothing but this could have made a man of me. '

'And don't you have regrets for your boy?'

'I don't think I have--provided we can give him an education--such as Ifailed to make proper use of, or Annaple might be luxuriating at Peraat this moment. '

'Well!' said May, pausing as she looked up the vista of trees at thegreat house; 'I can't bear it to go out of the old name. '

'Names may be taken!'

'You don't mean that there's any chance of--Oh! not that horrid Mr. Fane?'

'Certainly not. '

'Oh!' as a trim black figure appeared walking down the open space. 'That man!'

'I am not authorised to tell any one so, May. '

'Yes, I understand. The wretch, he is taking stock of the placealready!'

'For shame. May, no one has deserved so well of them. '

'I don't care, he got you into that horrid concern. '

'And got me out of it, and found my work for me. I tell you, May, itis the best thing that could possibly happen to your parish, or theestate, or my poor uncle either! And you will soon come to a bettermind. '

'Never, while he is to get into your place! Turn back before he comeswithin hailing distance. '

Before Mark could do anything towards bringing his sister to a bettermind he was seized on by his stepmother to propound a scheme she hadhatched, namely that, as a mutual benefit, Nurse Poole should beallowed the consolation of bringing her chief comforter, his littledaughter, down with her on the visit Mrs. Egremont had invited her topay at Redcastle. He was very grateful, though doubtful whetherAnnaple would accept the offer, for she was missing her children'scompany, though they were only at Springfield House, and she had beenwith them part of every day. And, sad as this month had been, it hadbeen such a rest from sheer physical toil that she had gained almost asmuch by it as the little one. 

There was a general assembly and coffee-drinking in the verandah, --Mr. Condamine, Blanche, and her two young sisters were all there, --and Mayhad to be duly civil to Mr. Dutton, though he came back with somewater-lilies that he had fished out of the lake for Nuttie, and shethought it taking possession. Then the Londoners set forth for thestation, and there Mark, having perhaps had a hint from his wife, sawNuttie and Mr. Dutton safely bestowed by Broadbent in an emptycarriage, and then discovered a desire to smoke, and left them tothemselves. 

They had not been alone together for more than a second since theevening of Alwyn's return, and there was a great shyness between them, which lasted till the first station was past without any irruption ofnewcomers. Nothing had been said but a few comments on thearrangements and the attendants, but probably both were trying to beginto speak, and at last it was Ursula who crossed over so that her facecould not be seen, and said in an odd tone--

'Mr. Dutton--'

'Yes, ' and he turned, instantly on the alert. 

'Did you mean it--what I thought you meant that evening?'

'Can you doubt it?' he said earnestly. 'But even then I was surprisedinto the avowal, and I would have held it back if possible, if I hadguessed what was going to happen. '

'Ah! but then I should not have had that drop of comfort through itall, ' and she laid hold of his hand, which returned the pressurestrongly, but he sedulously guarded both words and tone as he said:

'Listen, Ursula, before you speak again. How dear you must always beto me, I cannot tell you, but when I then spoke, it was with the sensethat on every account, I should meet with strong opposition from yourfather and family. And now your position is altered, so that theunsuitability is doubled. I am not a young man, remember, and mythoughts must be for you above all, I want you to consider whether, inthe present state of affairs, you would not do better to look on whatthen passed as unsaid, or only as the ebullition of gratitude towardsyour old friend. Let me go abroad, and give you full opportunityfor--for some fresh beginning likely to be fitter for you--'

'Mr. Dutton, how can you say such horrid things? As if a dukedom wouldmake any difference. '

'Yes, ' he said, turning towards her. 'If it is only the old-friendfeeling, then it is better dropped, but if your heart is in it, child, then we go on, come what may. It is due to you. '

She raised her face towards him now, and he gave a grave kiss to herforehead. She drew a long breath, and said after a little pause, 'Andnow I have something to say. One does think of such things even inthese sad times, and you can help me. I am so glad it is you, becauseI know you will, and be rejoiced to do so. You know when Mark found usout first, dear mother and I always felt that it was a great pity heshould not have the estate he had been brought up to expect. I believedear mother thought it would have been the right thing for me to marryhim, but I always did mean to give it back to him, even when I didn'tlike him. Well, then, you know it all seemed settled otherwise, butnow, it is so lucky you spoke to me while that dear little fellow waswith us, because now you will help me to persuade my father that it isthe only satisfactory thing to do to let it go in the male line to Markand his Willy. '

'I see! I see!' said Mr. Dutton eagerly. 'It would be an infiniterelief if it could be carried out. '

'I believe my father would like it, ' said Nuttie. 'He cares for thename; and now no one prevents it; he is fond of Mark, and still more ofAnnaple! And you! Oh, Mr. Dutton, if he will only take it in theright way, I think you will make me able to do what it grieved dearmother never to have brought about for my poor father. '

'My whole self is yours to aid you, ' he said. 'You know of course thatI could not ask you to detach yourself from one to whom you are sonecessary. If he will permit us, we will watch over him together asdoing her work. '

'Thank you, ' was all Nuttie's lips could utter, though her hand saidmuch more. 

And before they reached London they had arranged something of a plan ofaction for propitiating Mr. Egremont, and bringing the future prospectsto be available so as to save Annaple from being worked to death in themeantime. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

ANNAPLE'S AMBITION FALLEN. 

'Well, how did you get on, Annaple?'

'Oh! very well, poor old man, on the whole, though it made one pity himdoubly that he chose to make as if he forgot everything, and you wereall gone on a picnic, taking me out for a long drive in theafternoon--where we were least likely to meet any one--that I will sayfor him. '

'Forgetting is not the best for him. '

'As if he could forget! But he was very nice and friendly, and put onhis best, most courteous self. I think he looks on me rather as aprotector from the solemn Mr. Edsall. '

'Surely Edsall treats him well. He was excellently recommended. Youknow I saw his master's daughter. '

'Oh! only _too_ well. He takes the management of him as if he werethree years old, or a lunatic. He simply _will_ not be offended anymore than if he had to do with a baby. '

'What should offend him?'

'That Mr. Egremont greatly resents being allowed nothing but by whatEdsall calls medical sanction. He is too blind, you know, to ventureto pour out anything for himself, and besides, Edsall has all the drugsunder lock and key, and is coolness itself about any amount ofobjurgations, such as I fancy go on sometimes. '

'Do you think he will stand it?'

'Who? Your uncle? Yes, I think he will. This man really makes himmore comfortable than poor Gregorio did. '

'Yes; Nuttie said she was sure that there was neglect, if not bullyinglatterly. But he must miss Gregorio terribly. They had been togetherfor at least five-and-twenty or thirty years, and had plenty of gossiptogether. '

'Whereas the present paternal despotism and appalling dignity andgravity will keep him more dependent on his right congeners. '

'If they are of the right sort, that's all. '

'He has been making me read him a whole heap of letters; indeed, as youknow, I have been doing that all along, when he could not get Nuttie. There were some from Mr. Bulfinch. Do you know that bailiff of hismust be next door to a swindler?'

'Bulfinch is coming up to see him to-morrow. '

'And, Mark, do you know, he has been putting out feelers as if todiscover whether we would do--what he asked us to do five years ago. '

'Would you?'

'If it were not for the children, and--and sometimes the extreme pinch, I should say it was more like _life_ to work yourself up as a Cityman, ' said Annaple. 'If you were the Squire, with all hisopportunities, it would be a different thing, but there's no outletthere, and I have often admired the wisdom of the Apocryphal saying, "Make not thyself an underling to a foolish man. "'

'Well, it is lucky you think so, Nannie, for though Dutton is certainlynot a foolish man, he will not want an underling. And what do you sayto my mother's proposal of having poor Poole to stay at Redcastle, andborrowing baby to comfort her till she goes out again. 

'I hate it, ' said Annaple energetically. 'It is very horrid, but it isawfully good of the Canoness; and I suppose we shall have to let itcome to pass, and miss all that most charming time of babyhood which iscoming. But most likely it will quite set the little woman up, and bea real kindness to poor Poole. '

'If we could only keep her for good. '

'Yes, and then our children would not be half so much our own. I dowant to be away with them in our own quarters. I wonder when Nuttiecan spare us, but I should like to see her through the great crisiswith her father. '

That crisis was to involve more than Annaple in the least expected. Nuttie found that the momentous confession could not possibly takeplace before the interview with Mr. Bulfinch, at which her presence wasneeded to help her father with his papers. The principal concern wasto show the full enormity of the bailiff, and decide upon the steps tobe taken, the solicitor being anxious for a prosecution, while acertain tenderness for poor Gregorio's memory, or perhaps for theexposure of his own carelessness, made Mr. Egremont reluctant. Therewas also a proposal, brought forward with much diffidence from Mr. Condamine's mother, to rent Bridgefield House, but on this, as well asrespecting a successor to the bailiff, Mr. Egremont was to give hisanswer the next day, when Mr. Bulfinch would call again. 

Nuttie was thankful for the business that had filled up the hour afterluncheon, when Alwyn used to play in the drawing-room and delight hisfather; but she was feeling desperate to have the crisis over, andresolved to speak when she went out driving with him. It was he, however, who began. 'I sounded Mark's wife yesterday, Ursula. She isa nice little thing enough, and a good wife in her way. '

'A very good wife. '

'Except when she persuaded him to turn up his nose at the agency. D'yethink he would take it now, since he has tasted the sweets of hisumbrella business?' then, as Nuttie paused, taken by surprise; 'Fivehundred a year and the Home Farm would be better than, what is it, ahundred and fifty and a floor over a warehouse! I don't like to seeold Will's son wearing himself out there, and the lad is a good honestlad, with business habits, who would do justice to you after I am gone. '

'Father, ' said Nuttie, trembling with the effort, 'I want you to dosomething better than that. I want you to let Mark take the agencywith a view to himself--not me. Let him be as he would have been if hehad never hunted us up at Micklethwayte, and put me in his place. '

'Eh!' said Mr. Egremont. 'It is not entailed--worse luck; if it hadbeen, I should not have been bound to dance attendance at the heels ofsuch an old sinner as the General. '

'No, but it ought to go to the heir male, and keep in the old name. Think--there have been Egremonts at Bridgefield for four hundred years!'

'Very pretty talk, but how will it be with you, Miss. We shall haveFane, and I don't know how many more, coming after the scent ofBridgefield now, ' he said with a heavy sigh, ending with a bitter 'Hangthem all!'

'And welcome, ' said Nuttie, answering the thought rather than thewords. 'Father, I wanted to tell you--'

'You don't mean that any one has been after you at such a time asthis!' he cried. 

'It was before--I mean it was the evening when we were all so glad, before we began to be afraid. '

'The umbrella man! By Jove!'

'And now, ' went on Nuttie, in spite of the explosion, 'he would hardlyhave ventured to go on with it but for this--I mean, ' as her fathergave a little laugh of his unpleasant sort, 'he said it would be thegreatest possible relief, and make it all right for the property to goto the heir male. '

'Hein! You think so, do you? See how it will be when I come to talkto him! A shrewd fellow like that who got out of the Micklethwayteconcern just in time. Catch him giving up a place like that, though hemay humbug you. '

'Then you will see him, father?'

'If you turn him in on me, I can't help it. Bless me! umbrellaseverywhere! And here you mean to turn me over to the mercies of thatsolemn idiot, Edsall. I should have been better off with poorGregorio. '

'No, father; Mr. Dutton would not take me from you. We would both tryall we could to make you comfortable. '

'Convert the old reprobate? Is that his dodge?'

'Don't, father, ' for the sneering tone returned. 

'Come now, ' he added in a much more fatherly manner, for her voice hadstruck him. 'You don't mean that a well-looking girl like you, whocould have her pick of all the swells in town, can really be smittenwith a priggish old retired umbrella-monger like that. Why, he mightbe your father. '

'He has been getting younger ever since I knew him, ' said Nuttie. 

'Well. He plays as good a game of whist as any man in England, 'muttered Mr. Egremont, leaving his daughter in actual doubt whether hemeant this as a recommendation, or as expressing a distrust of him, asone likely to play his cards to the best advantage. She had to remainin doubt, for they overtook Clarence Fane, who came and spoke to themin a very friendly and solicitous manner, and showed himself willing toaccept a lift in the carriage. Mr. Egremont, willing to escape fromperplexities as well as to endeavour to drive away if possible theoppression of his grief, invited him in, and he had some gossip toimpart, which at first seemed to amuse the hearer after this time ofseclusion, but the sick and sore heart soon wearied of it, and longbefore the drive was over, Mr. Egremont was as much bored as hisdaughter had been from the first. 

When Mr. Fane got out, he paused a moment to hold Ursula's hand in atender manner, while he told her that he had not ventured to intrude(he had left a card of inquiry every day), but that if ever he could beof the least use in amusing Mr. Egremont, he was at her service, andwould give up any engagement. 

'Hein! my fine fellow! No doubt you would!' said Mr. Egremont, whenhis daughter had uttered her cold thanks, and they had driven on. 'Isee your little game, but it is soon to begin it. We may as well letthem know that she is booked before the running begins. '

It was a remarkable intimation of his acceptance of her engagement, butUrsula was contented to take it as such, and be thankful. 

Mr. Dutton had his interview as soon as Mr. Egremont had rested afterhis drive, and the result was satisfactory. 

No doubt much was due to the Egremont indolence and want of energy, which always preferred to let things take their course. And now thatGregorio was no longer present to amuse, and take all trouble off hishands, Mr. Egremont could hardly have borne to part with his daughter;and, despite of umbrellas and religion, was not sorry to have aperfectly trustworthy son-in-law in the house, able to play at cardswith him, manage his household, and obviate all trouble about suitorsfor the heiress. Moreover, his better feelings were stirred bygratitude on his poor little son's account, and he knew very well thata more brilliant match for his daughter would not have secured for hisold age the care and attention he could rely upon here. He was obligedlikewise to believe in the disinterestedness, which disclaimed alldesire for the estate, as involving cares and duties for which therehad been no training; and he was actually glad to keep the property inthe direct line. The old liking for Mark, and sense of the hardship ofhis exclusion, revived, strengthened now by regard for Annaple;together with the present relief from care obtained by making himmanager of the estate. 

When once brought to a point, Mr. Egremont was always sudden andimpetuous, chiefly for the sake of having it over and being unmolestedand at rest again. So that very evening, while Nuttie only ventured onsharing with Annaple the glad tidings that Mr. Dutton was accepted, andin his marvellous goodness, undertook to make his home with her father. Mark was almost stunned by the news, confirmed to him by Mr. Dutton aswell as his uncle, that he was to be acknowledged as heir ofBridgefield Egremont, and in the meantime manage the estate with anincome suitable to an oldest son. 

Presently he came upstairs by himself, and beckoned to Nuttie, ratherto the alarm of his wife. 

'Ursula, ' he said, and took both her hands, 'I cannot have you do thisfor me. '

'Can't you, Mark? You can't prevent it, you see. And don't you knowit is the beginning of all my happiness?'

'But indeed, I cannot feel it right. It is a strained sense ofjustice. Come and tell her so, Nannie. '

'What?' said Annaple coming forward. 

They both paused a moment, then Nuttie said, 'Only that the estateought to go in the male line. '

'Oh, is that all?' said Annaple, 'I was afraid Mr. Egremont had a fit!'

'Ah! Don't you see what it means, ' said Mark. 'They want it to be asif there were an entail--to begin treating me as an eldest son at once. It is Ursula's doing, putting herself out of the succession. '

'I always hated being an heiress, ' said Nuttie. 

'It would be more dreadful than ever now. Annaple, do be sensible!Don't you see it is the only right thing to do?'

'Billy!' was the one word Annaple said. 

'Yes, Billy and Jenny and all, ' said Nuttie, 'before you've all died ofyour horrid place--Oh! you haven't heard that part of it. Of courseMark will have to go down to Bridgefield and look after the place, andlive like a gentleman. '

'Eight hundred a year, ' murmured Mark, 'and the house at the Home Farm. '

'Oh! dear, ' gasped Annaple, 'I wanted you to be Lord Mayor, and nowyou'll only be a stupid old country squire. No, no, Nuttie, it's--it's--it's the sort of thing that one only laughs at becauseotherwise one would have to do the other thing!'

And she gripped Nuttie tight round the waist, and laid her head on hershoulder, shaking with a few little sobs, which might be one thing orthe other. 

'It will save her youth, perhaps her life, ' whispered Mark, liftingNuttie's hand to his lips for a moment, and then vanishing, whileAnnaple recovered enough to say, 'I'm tougher than that, sir. Butlittle Jenny! Oh, Nuttie, I believe it has come in time. I've knownall along that one straw more might break the camel's back. We've beenvery happy, but I am glad it is over before Mark got worn down beforehis time. Grinding is very wholesome, but one may have too much; and Ihaven't Mark's scruples, Nuttie dear, for I do think the place is morein his line than yours or Mr. Dutton's. '

'Yes, ' said Ursula, 'you see he was always happy there, and I neverwas. '

The next thing was for Mr. Dutton and Ursula to keep Mr. Egremont up tothe point of making his long deferred will; nor did they find this sodifficult as they expected, for having once made up his mind, he wishedto have the matter concluded, and he gave his instructions to Bulfinchthe next day. Of course Mark had to give full notice to his employers;but the allowance was to begin at once, so that Annaple only went backto the warehouse to pack up, since she was to occupy No. 5, while Mr. Egremont and his daughter were going under Mr. Dutton's escort to thebaths in Dauphine, an entirely new resort, free from the associationshe dreaded, for he could not yet bear the sight of little Willy--therival 'boy of Egremont. ' But the will was safely signed before hewent, to the great relief of Nuttie, who, according to the experienceof fiction, could hardly believe his life safe till what she calledjustice had been done. 

After all Mr. Egremont became so dependent on Mr. Dutton, during thisjourney, that he did not like the separation at its close, and pressedon the marriage even sooner than either of the lovers felt quitereverent towards the recent sorrow. He insisted on Bulfinch having thesettlements ready for them on their return, and only let them wait longenough to keep their residence, before there was a very quiet weddingin their parish church, with the cousins for bridesmaids. Then Markand Annaple took care of Mr. Egremont for the fortnight while Mr. Dutton showed his wife his old haunts in France, returning toSpringfield House, where there was plenty of room for Mr. Egremont tomake his home with them. 

Said Annaple to Miss Nugent, 'I never saw Nuttie so youthful andbright. She is more like a girl than I ever saw her since the first. '

'Yes, ' said Mary, 'she has some one to rest on now. '

Mr. Egremont lived between three and four years, more contented andpeaceful than he had ever been, though frequently suffering, andsometimes giving way to temper and impatience. But Mr. Duttonunderstood how to manage on these occasions, and without giving up hisown extensive usefulness, could give him such care, attention, andamusement as beguiled his discomforts, and made his daughter's task aneasier one. 

How far the sluggish enfeebled nature was capable of a touch of betterthings, or whether his low spirits were repentance, no one could judge. At any rate sneers had ended, and when he was laid beside his wife andboy at Bridgefield, Ursula stood by the grave with a far more tenderand hopeful feeling than she could have thought possible when he hadrent her away from her old home. She looked up at her husband and said, 'Is not her work done?'

THE END.