Red Pottage

By

Mary Cholmondeley

AUTHOR OF

"THE DANVERS JEWELS"

"After the Red Pottage comes the exceeding bitter cry"

NEW YORK AND LONDON

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS

1900

 TO

 VICTORIA

 Good things have not kept aloof, * * * * *

 I have not lack'd thy mild reproof, Nor golden largesse of thy praise. 

RED POTTAGE

CHAPTER I

 In tragic life, God wot, No villain need be! Passions spin the plot: We are betray'd by what is false within. --GEORGE MEREDITH. 

"I can't get out, " said Sterne's starling, looking through the bars ofhis cage. 

"I will get out, " said Hugh Scarlett to himself, seeing no bars, buthalf conscious of a cage. "I will get out, " he repeated, as his hansomtook him swiftly from the house in Portman Square, where he had beendining, towards that other house in Carlton House Terrace, whither histhoughts had travelled on before him, out-distancing the_trip-clip-clop, trip-clip-clop_ of the horse. 

It was a hot night in June. Hugh had thrown back his overcoat, and thethrong of passers-by in the street could see, if they cared to see, "theglass of fashion" in the shape of white waistcoat and shirt front, surmounted by the handsome, irritated face of their owner, leaning backwith his hat tilted over his eyes. 

_Trip-clip-clop_ went the horse. 

A great deal of thinking may be compressed into a quarter of an hour, especially if it has been long eluded. 

"I will get out, " he said again to himself with an impatient movement. It was beginning to weary him, this commonplace intrigue which had beenso new and alluring a year ago. He did not own it to himself, but hewas tired of it. Perhaps the reason why good resolutions have earned forthemselves such an evil repute as paving-stones is because they areoften the result, not of repentance, but of the restlessness that dogsan evaporating pleasure. This liaison had been alternately his pride andhis shame for many months. But now it was becoming something more--whichit had been all the time, only he had not noticed it till lately--afetter, a clog, something irksome, to be cast off and pushed out ofsight. Decidedly the moment for the good resolution had arrived. 

"I will break it off, " he said again. "Thank Heaven, not a soul has everguessed it. "

How could any one have guessed it?

He remembered the day when he had first met her a year ago, and hadlooked upon her as merely a pretty woman. He remembered other days, andthe gradual building up between them of a fairy palace. He had added astone here, she a stone there, until suddenly it became--a prison. Hadhe been tempter or tempted? He did not know. He did not care. He wantedonly to be out of it. His better feelings and his conscience had beenawakened by the first touch of weariness. His brief infatuation had runits course. His judgment had been whirled--he told himself it had beenwhirled, but it had really only been tweaked--from its centre, hadperformed its giddy orbit, and now the check-string had brought it backto the point from whence it had set out, namely, that she was merely apretty woman. 

"I will break with her gradually, " he said, like the tyro he was, and hepictured to himself the wretched scenes in which she would abuse him, reproach him, probably compromise herself, the letters she would writeto him. At any rate, he need not read them. Oh! how tired he was of thewhole thing beforehand. Why had he been such a fool? He looked at thetermination of the liaison as a bad sailor looks at an inevitable seapassage at the end of a journey. It must be gone through, but theprospect of undergoing it filled him with disgust. 

A brougham passed him swiftly on noiseless wheels, and the woman in itcaught a glimpse of the high-bred, clean-shaved face, half savage, halfsullen, in the hansom. 

"Anger, impatience, and remorse, " she said to herself, and finishedbuttoning her gloves. 

"Thank Heaven, not a soul has ever guessed it, " repeated Hugh, fervently, as the hansom came suddenly to a stand-still. 

In another moment he was taking Lady Newhaven's hand as she stood at theentrance of her amber drawing-room beside a grove of pink orchids. 

He chatted a moment, greeted Lord Newhaven, and passed on into thecrowded rooms. How could any one have guessed it? No breath of scandalhad ever touched Lady Newhaven. She stood beside her pink orchids, nearher fatigued-looking, gentle-mannered husband, a very pretty woman inwhite satin and diamonds. Perhaps her blond hair was a shade darker atthe roots than in its waved coils; perhaps her blue eyes did not lookquite in harmony with their blue-black lashes; but the whole effect hadthe delicate, conventional perfection of a cleverly touched-upchromo-lithograph. Of course, tastes differ. Some people likechromo-lithographs, others don't. But even those who do are apt tobecome estranged. They may inspire love, admiration, but never fidelity. Most of us have in our time hammered nails into our walls which, thoughthey now decorously support the engravings and etchings of our matureryears, were nevertheless originally driven in to uphold the cherished, the long since discarded chromos of our foolish youth. 

The diamond sun upon Lady Newhaven's breast quivered a little, a verylittle, as Hugh greeted her, and she turned to offer the same smallsmile and gloved hand to the next comer, whose name was leaping beforehim from one footman to another. 

"Mr. Richard Vernon. "

Lady Newhaven's wide blue eyes looked vague. Her hand hesitated. Thisstrongly built, ill-dressed man, with his keen, brown, deeply scarredface and crooked mouth, was unknown to her. 

Lord Newhaven darted forward. 

"Dick!" he exclaimed, and Dick shot forth an immense mahogany hand andshook Lord Newhaven's warmly. 

"Well, " he said, after Lord Newhaven had introduced him to his wife, "I'm dashed if I knew who either of you were. But I found yourinvitation at my club when I landed yesterday, so I decided to come andhave a look at you. And so it is only you, Cackles, after all"--(LordNewhaven's habit of silence had earned for him the sobriquet of"Cackles")--"I quite thought I was going into--well, ahem!--intosociety. I did not know you had got a handle to your name. How did youfind out I was in England?"

"My dear fellow, I didn't, " said Lord Newhaven, gently drawing Dickaside, whose back was serenely blocking a stream of new arrivals. "Ifancy--in fact, I'm simply delighted to see you. How is the wine gettingon? But I suppose there must be other Dick Vernons on my wife's list. Have you the card with you?"

"Rather, " said Dick; "always take the card with me since I was kickedout of a miner's hop at Broken Hill because I forgot it. 'No gentlemanwill be admitted in a paper shirt' was mentioned on it, I remember. Aconcertina, and candles in bottles. Ripping while it lasted. I wish youhad been there. "

"I wish I had. " Lord Newhaven's tired, half-closed eye opened a little. "But the end seems to have been unfortunate. "

"Not at all, " said Dick, watching the new arrivals with his head thrownback. "Fine girl that; I'll take a look at the whole mob of themdirectly. They came round next day to say it had been a mistake, butthere were four or five cripples who found that out the night before. Here is the card. "

Lord Newhaven glanced at it attentively, and then laughed. 

"It is four years old, " he said; "I must have put you on my mother'slist, not knowing you had left London. It is in her writing. "

"I'm rather late, " said Dick, composedly; "but I am here at last. Now, Cack--Newhaven, if that's your noble name--as I am here, trot out a fewheiresses, would you? I want to take one or two back with me. I say, ought I to put my gloves on?"

"No, no. Clutch them in your great fist as you are doing now. "

"Thanks. I suppose, old chap, I'm all right? Not had on an evening-coatfor four years. "

Dick's trousers were too short for him, and he had tied his white tiewith a waist to it. Lord Newhaven had seen both details before herecognized him. 

"Quite right, " he said, hastily. "Now, who is to be the happy woman?"

Dick's hawk eye promenaded over the crowd in the second room, in thedoor-way of which he was standing. 

"That one, " he said; "the tall girl in the green gown talking to theBishop. "

"You have a wonderful eye for heiresses. You have picked out thegreatest in London. That is Miss Rachel West. You say you want two. "

"One at a time, thanks. I shall take her down to supper. Isuppose--er--there is supper at this sort of thing, isn't there?"

"Of a kind. You need not be afraid of the claret; it isn't yours. "

"Catch you giving your best at a crush, " retorted Dick. "The Bishop'smoving. Hurry up. "

CHAPTER II

 But as he groped against the wall, two hands upon him fell, The King behind his shoulder spake: "Dead man, thou dost not well. " --RUDYARD KIPLING. 

Hugh had gone through the first room, and, after a quarter of an hour, found himself in the door-way of the second. He had arrived late, andthe rooms were already thinning. 

A woman in a pale-green gown was standing near the open window, herwhite profile outlined against the framed darkness, as she listened withevident amusement to the tall, ill-dressed man beside her. 

Hugh's eyes lost the veiled scorn with which it was their wont to lookat society and the indulgent patronage which lurked in them for prettywomen. 

Rachel West slowly turned her face towards him without seeing him, andhis heart leaped. She was not beautiful except with the beauty ofhealth, and a certain dignity of carriage which is the outcome of a headand hands and body that are at unity with each other, and with a mindabsolutely unconscious of self. She had not the long nose which sofrequently usurps more than its share of the faces of the well-bred, norhad she, alas! the short upper lip which redeems everything. Herfeatures were as insignificant as her coloring. People rarely noticedthat Rachel's hair was brown, and that her deep-set eyes were gray. Butupon her grave face the word "Helper" was plainly written--and somethingelse. What was it?

Just as in the faces of seamen we trace the onslaught of storm and sunand brine, and the puckering of the skin round the eyes that comes oflong watching in half-lights, so in some faces, calm and pure asRachel's, on which the sun and rain have never beaten, there is anexpression betokening strong resistance from within of the brunt of awhirlwind from without. The marks of conflict and endurance on a youngface--who shall see them unmoved! The Mother of Jesus must have noticeda great difference in her Son when she first saw Him again after thetemptation in the wilderness. 

Rachel's grave, amused glance fell upon Hugh. Their eyes met, and heinstantly perceived, to his astonishment, that she recognized him. Butshe did not bow, and a moment later left the nearly empty rooms with theman who was talking to her. 

Hugh was excited out of recognition of his former half-scornful, half-_blasé_ self. That woman must be his wife. She would save him fromhimself, this cynical, restless self, which never remained in one stay. The half-acknowledged weakness in his nature unconsciously flung itselfupon her strength, a strength which had been tried. She would love him, and uphold him. There would be no more yielding to circumstances if thatpure, strong soul were close beside him. He would lean upon her, and theugly by-paths of these last years would know him no more. Her presencewould leaven his whole life. In the momentary insanity, which wasperhaps, after all, only a prophetic intuition, he had no fears, nomisgivings. He thought that with that face it was not possible that shecould be so wicked as to refuse him. 

"She will marry me, " he said to himself. "She must. "

Lady Newhaven touched him gently on the arm. 

"I dared not speak to you before, " she said. "Nearly every one has gone. Will you take me down to supper? I am tired out. "

He stared at her, not recognizing her. 

"Have I vexed you?" she faltered. 

And with a sudden horrible revulsion of feeling he remembered. The poorchromo had fallen violently from its nail. But the nail remained--ready. He took her into the supper-room and got her a glass of champagne. Shesubsided on to a sofa beside another woman, vaguely suspecting troublein the air. He felt thankful that Rachel had already gone. Dick, nearlythe last, was putting on his coat, arranging to meet Lord Newhaven thefollowing morning at his club. They had been in Australia together, andwere evidently old friends. 

Lord Newhaven's listless manner returned as Dick marched out. Hugh hadgot one arm in his coat. An instinct of flight possessed him, a vaguehorror of the woman in diamonds furtively watching him under her loweredeyelids through the open door. 

"Oh, Scarlett!" said Lord Newhaven, detaining him languidly, "I wantthree minutes of your valuable time. Come into my study. "

"Another cross-bow for Westhope Abbey?" said Hugh, trying to speakunconcernedly, as he followed his host to a back room on the groundfloor. Lord Newhaven was collecting arms for the hall of hiscountry-house. 

"No; much simpler than those elaborate machines, " said the older man, turning on the electric light. Hugh went in, and Lord Newhaven closedthe door. 

Over the mantel-shelf were hung a few old Japanese inlaid carbines, andbeneath them an array of pistols. 

"Useless now, " said Lord Newhaven, touching them affectionately. "But, "he added, with a shade more listlessness than before, "Society hasbecome accustomed to do without them, and does ill without them, but wemust conform to her. " Hugh started slightly, and then remainedmotionless. "You observe these two paper lighters, Scarlett? One is aninch shorter than the other. They have been waiting on the mantel-shelffor the last month, till I had an opportunity of drawing your attentionto them. I am sure we perfectly understand each other. No name need bementioned. All scandal is avoided. I feel confident you will nothesitate to make me the only reparation one man can make another in thesomewhat hackneyed circumstances in which we find ourselves. "

Lord Newhaven took the lighters out of the glass. He glanced suddenly atHugh's stunned face and went on:

"I am sorry the idea is not my own. I read it in a magazine. Thoughcomparatively modern, it promises soon to become as customary as themuch-to-be-regretted pistols for two and coffee for four. I hold thelighters thus, and you draw. Whoever draws or keeps the short one ispledged to leave this world within four months, or shall we say five, onaccount of the pheasant shooting? Five be it. Is it agreed? Just so!Will you draw?"

A swift spasm passed over Hugh's face, and a tiger glint leaped intoLord Newhaven's eyes, fixed intently upon him. 

There was a brief second in which Hugh's mind wavered, as the flame of acandle wavers in a sudden draught. Lord Newhaven's eyes glittered. Headvanced the lighters an inch nearer. 

If he had not advanced them that inch Hugh thought afterwards that hewould have refused to draw. 

He backed against the mantel-piece, and then put out his hand suddenlyand drew. It seemed the only way of escape. 

The two men measured the lighters on the table under the electric light. 

Lord Newhaven laughed. 

Hugh stood a moment, and then went out. 

CHAPTER III

 "Is it well with thee? Is it well with thy husband?"

When Lady Newhaven slipped out of the supper-room after her husband andHugh, and lingered at the door of the study, she did not follow themwith the deliberate intention of eavesdropping, but from a vague impulseof suspicious anxiety. Yet she crouched in her white satin gown againstthe door listening intently. 

Neither man moved within, only one spoke. There was no other sound todeaden her husband's distinct, low voice. The silence that followed hislast words, "Will you draw?" was broken by his laugh, and she had barelytime to throw herself back from the door into a dark recess under thestaircase before Hugh came out. He almost touched her as he passed. Hemust have seen her, if he had been capable of seeing anything; but hewent straight on unheeding. And as she stole a few steps to gaze afterhim, she saw him cross the hall and go out into the night without hishat and coat, the amazed servants staring after him. 

She drew back to go up-stairs, and met her husband coming slowly out ofthe study. He looked steadily at her, as she clung trembling to thebanisters. There was no alteration in his glance, and she suddenlyperceived that what he knew now he had always known. She put her hand toher head. 

"You look tired, " he said, in the level voice to which she wasaccustomed. "You had better go to bed. "

She stumbled swiftly up-stairs, catching at the banisters, and went intoher own room. 

Her maid was waiting for her by the dressing-table with its shadedelectric lights. And she remembered that she had given a party, and thatshe had on her diamonds. 

It would take a long time to unfasten them. She pulled at the diamondsun on her breast with a shaking hand. Her husband had given it to herwhen her eldest son was born. Her maid took the tiara gently out of herhair, and cut the threads that sewed the diamonds on her breast andshoulders. Would it never end? The lace of her gown, cautiouslywithdrawn through its hundred eyelet-holes, knotted itself. 

"Cut it, " she said, impatiently. "Cut it. "

At last she was in her dressing-gown and alone. She flung herself facedownwards on the sofa. Her attitude had the touch of artificiality whichwas natural to her. 

The deluge had arrived, and unconsciously she met it, as she would havemade a heroine meet it had she been a novelist, in a white dressing-gownand pink ribbons in a stereotyped attitude of despair on a divan. 

Conscience is supposed to make cowards of us all, but it is a matter ofcommon experience that the unimaginative are made cowards of only bybeing found out. 

Had David qualms of conscience when Uriah fell before the besieged city?Surely if he had he would have winced at the obvious parallel of theprophet's story about the ewe lamb. But apparently he remained serenelyobtuse till the indignant author's "Thou art the man" unexpectedlynailed him to the cross of his sin. 

And so it was with Lady Newhaven. She had gone through the twenty-sevenyears of her life believing herself to be a religious and virtuousperson. She was so accustomed to the idea that it had become a habit, and now the whole of her self-respect was in one wrench torn from her. The events of the last year had not worn it down to its last shred, hadnot even worn the nap off. It was dragged from her intact, and the shockleft her faint and shuddering. 

The thought that her husband knew, and had thought fit to conceal hisknowledge, had never entered her mind, any more than the probabilitythat she had been seen by some of the servants kneeling listening at akeyhole. The mistake which all unobservant people make is to assume thatothers are as unobservant as themselves. 

By what frightful accident, she asked herself, had this catastrophe comeabout? She thought of all the obvious incidents which would haverevealed the secret to herself--the dropped letter, the alteredcountenance, the badly arranged lie. No. She was convinced her secrethad been guarded with minute, with scrupulous care. The only thing shehad forgotten in her calculations was her husband's character, if, indeed, she could be said to have forgotten that which she had neverknown. 

Lord Newhaven was in his wife's eyes a very quiet man of few words. Thathis few words did not represent the whole of him had never occurred toher. She had often told her friends that he walked through life with hiseyes shut. He had a trick of half shutting his eyes which confirmed herin this opinion. When she came across persons who were after a timediscovered to have affections and interests of which they had notspoken, she described them as "cunning. " She had never thought Edward"cunning" till to-night. How had he, of all men, discoveredthis--this--? She, had no words ready to call her conduct by, thoughwords would not have failed her had she been denouncing the same conductin another wife and mother. 

Gradually "the whole horror of her situation"--to borrow from her ownvocabulary--forced itself upon her mind like damp through a gaywall-paper. What did it matter how the discovery had been made! It wasmade, and she was ruined. She repeated the words between little gaspsfor breath. Ruined! Her reputation lost! Hers--Violet Newhaven's. It wasa sheer impossibility that such a thing could have happened to a womanlike her. It was some vile slander which Edward must see to. He was goodat that sort of thing. But no, Edward would not help her. She hadcommitted--She flung out her hands, panic-stricken, as if to ward off ablow. The deed had brought with it no shame, but the word--the wordwounded her like a sword. 

Her feeble mind, momentarily stunned, pursued its groping way. 

He would divorce her. It would be in the papers. But no. What was thathe had said to Hugh--"No names to be mentioned; all scandal avoided. "

She shivered and drew in her breath. It was to be settled some otherway. Her mind became an entire blank. Another way! What way? Sheremembered now, and an inarticulate cry broke from her. They had drawnlots. 

_Which had drawn the short lighter?_

Her husband had laughed. But then he laughed at everything. He was neverreally serious, always shallow and heartless. He would have laughed ifhe had drawn it himself. Perhaps he had. Yes, he certainly had drawn it. But Hugh? She saw again the white, set face as he passed her. No; itmust be Hugh who had drawn it--Hugh, whom she loved. She wrung her handsand moaned, half aloud:

"Which? Which?"

There was a slight movement in the next room, the door was opened, andLord Newhaven appeared in the door-way. He was still in evening dress. 

"Did you call?" he said, quietly. "Are you ill?" He came and stoodbeside her. 

"No, " she said, hoarsely, and she sat up and gazed fixedly at him. Despair and suspense were in her eyes. There was no change in his, andshe remembered that she had never seen him angry. Perhaps she had notknown when he was angry. 

He was turning away, but she stopped him. "Wait, " she said, and hereturned, his cold, attentive eye upon her. There was no contempt, noindignation in his bearing. If those feelings had shaken him, it musthave been some time ago. If they had been met and vanquished in secret, that also must have been some time ago. He took up an _Imitation ofChrist_, bound in the peculiar shade of lilac which at that momentprevailed, and turned it in his hand. 

"You are overwrought, " he said, after a moment's pause, "and Iparticularly dislike a scene. "

She did not heed him. 

"I listened at the door, " she said, in a harsh, unnatural voice. 

"I am perfectly aware of it. "

A sort of horror seemed to have enveloped the familiar room. The veryfurniture looked like well-known words arranged suddenly in some new anddreadful meaning. 

"You never loved me, " she said. 

He did not answer, but he looked gravely at her for a moment, and shewas ashamed. 

"Why don't you divorce me if you think me so wicked?"

"For the sake of the children, " he said, with a slight change of voice. 

Teddy, the eldest, had been born in this room. Did either remember thatgray morning six years ago?

There was a silence that might be felt. 

"Who drew the short lighter?" she whispered, before she knew that shehad spoken. 

"I am not here to answer questions, " he replied. "And I have asked none. Neither, you will observe, have I blamed you. But I desire that you willnever again allude to this subject, and that you will keep in mind thatI do not intend to discuss it with you. "

He laid down the _Imitation_ and moved towards his own room. 

With a sudden movement she flung herself upon her knees before him andcaught his arm. The attitude suggested an amateur. 

"Which drew the short lighter?" she gasped, her small upturned facewhite and convulsed. 

"You will know in five months' time, " he said. Then he extricatedhimself from her trembling clasp and left the room, closing the doorquietly behind him. 

CHAPTER IV

 For the sin ye do by two and two ye must pay for one by one! --RUDYARD KIPLING. 

When Hugh awoke the morning after Lady Newhaven's party the day wasalready far advanced. A hot day had succeeded to a hot night. For a fewseconds he lay like one emerging from the influence of morphia, whofeels his racked body still painlessly afloat on a sea of rest, but isconscious that it is drifting back to the bitter shores of pain, and whostirs neither hand nor foot for fear of hastening the touch of theencircling, aching sands on which he is so soon to be cast in agony oncemore. 

His mind cleared a little. Rachel's grave face stood out against a darkbackground--a background darker surely than that of the summer night. Heremembered with self-contempt the extravagant emotion which she hadaroused in him. 

"Absurd, " Hugh said to himself, with the distrust of all sudden springsof pure emotion which those who have misused them rarely escape. Andthen another remembrance, which only a sleeping-draught had kept at bay, darted upon him like a panther on its prey. 

He had drawn the short lighter. 

He started violently, and then fell back trembling. 

"Oh, my God!" he said, involuntarily. 

He lay still, telling himself that this dreadful nightmare would pass, would fade in the light of common day. 

His servant came in noiselessly with a cup of coffee and a little sheafof letters. 

He pretended to be asleep; but when the man had gone he put out hisshaking hand for the coffee and drank it. 

The mist before his mind gradually lifted. Gradually, too, the horror onhis face whitened to despair, as a twilight meadow whitens beneath theevening frost. He had drawn the short lighter. Nothing in heaven orearth could alter that fact. 

He did not stop to wonder how Lord Newhaven had become aware of his owndishonor, or at the strange weapon with which he had avenged himself. Hewent over every detail of his encounter with him in the study. His handhad been forced. He had been thrust into a vile position. He ought tohave refused to draw. He did not agree to draw. Nevertheless, he haddrawn. And Hugh knew that, if it had to be done again, he should againhave been compelled to draw by the iron will before which his was asstraw. He could not have met the scorn of those terrible half-closedeyes if he had refused. 

"There was no help for it, " said Hugh, half aloud. And yet to die by hisown hand within five months! It was incredible. It was preposterous. 

"I never agreed to it, " he said, passionately. 

_Nevertheless, he had drawn_. The remembrance ever returned to lay itscold hand upon his heart, and with it came the grim conviction that ifLord Newhaven had drawn the short lighter he would have carried out theagreement to the letter. Whether it was extravagant, unchristian, whatever might have been truly said of that unholy compact, LordNewhaven would have stood by it. 

"I suppose I must stand by it, too, " said Hugh to himself, the coldsweat breaking out on his forehead. "I suppose I am bound in honor tostand by it, too. "

He suffered his mind to regard the alternative. 

To wrong a man as deeply as he had wronged Lord Newhaven; to tacitlyaccept. That was where his mistake had been. Another man, thatmahogany-faced fellow with the colonial accent, would have refused todraw, and would have knocked Lord Newhaven down and half killed him, orwould have been knocked down and half killed by him. But to tacitlyaccept a means by which the injured man risked his life to avenge hishonor, and then afterwards to shirk the fate which a perfectly evenchance had thrown upon him instead of on his antagonist! It was toomean, too despicable. Hugh's pale cheek burned. 

"I am bound, " he said slowly to himself over and over again. There wasno way of escape. 

Yesterday evening, with some intuition of coming peril, he had said, "Iwill get out. " The way of retreat had been open behind him. Now, by oneslight movement, he was cut off from it forever. 

"I can't get out, " said the starling, the feathers on its breast wornaway with beating against the bars. 

"I can't get out, " said Hugh, coming for the first time in contact withthe bars which he was to know so well--the bars of the prison that hehad made with his own hands. 

He looked into the future with blank eyes. He had no future now. Hestared vacantly in front of him like a man who looks through his windowat the wide expanse of meadow and waving wood and distant hill which hasmet his eye every morning of his life and finds it--gone. It wasincredible. He turned giddy. His reeling mind, shrinking back from theabyss, struck against a fixed point, and, clutching it, came violentlyto a stand-still. 

_His mother!_

His mother was a widow and he was her only son. If he died by his ownhand it would break her heart. Hugh groaned, and thrust the thought fromhim. It was too sharp. He could not suffer it. 

His sin, not worse than that of many another man, had found him out. Hehad done wrong. He admitted it, but this monstrous judgment on him wasout of all proportion to his offence. And, like some malignantinfectious disease, retribution would fall, not on him alone, but onthose nearest him, on his innocent mother and sister. It was unjust, unjust, unjust!

A very bitter look came into his face. Hugh had never so far hated anyone, but now something very like hatred welled up in his heart againstLady Newhaven. She had lured him to his destruction. She had temptedhim. This was undoubtedly true, though not probably the view which herguardian angel would take of the matter. 

Among the letters which the servant had brought him he suddenlyrecognized that the topmost was in Lady Newhaven's handwriting. Angerand repulsion seized him. No doubt it was the first of a series. "Whywas he so altered? What had she done to offend him?" etc. , etc. He knewthe contents beforehand, or thought he knew them. He got updeliberately, threw the unopened note into the empty fireplace, and puta match to it. He watched it burn. 

It was his first overt act of rebellion against her yoke, the first stepalong the nearest of the many well-worn paths that a man takes at randomto leave a woman. It did not occur to him that Lady Newhaven might havewritten to him about his encounter with her husband. He knew LordNewhaven well enough to be absolutely certain that he would mention thesubject to no living creature, least of all to his wife. 

"Neither will I, " he said to himself; "and as for her, I will break withher from this day forward. "

The little pink notes with the dashing, twirly handwriting persisted fora week or two and then ceased. 

 * * * * *

Hugh was a man of many social engagements. His first impulse, when laterin the day he remembered them, was to throw them all up and leaveLondon. But Lord Newhaven would hear of his departure, and would smile. He decided to remain and to go on as if nothing had happened. When theevening came he dressed with his usual care, verified the hour of hisengagement, and went out to dine with the Loftuses. 

CHAPTER V

 What the _Bandar-log_ think now the jungle will think later. --Maxim of the _Bandar-log_, RUDYARD KIPLING. 

It was Sybell Loftus's first season in London since her second marriagewith Mr. Doll Loftus. After a very brief sojourn in that city offrivolity she had the acumen to discover that London society washopelessly worldly and mercenary; that people only met to eat and toabuse each other; that the law of cutlet for cutlet was universal; thatyoung men, especially those in the Guards, were garrisoned by a fullcomplement of devils; that London girls lived only for dress and theexcitement of husband-hunting. In short, to use her own expression, she"turned London society inside out. "

London bore the process with equanimity, and presently Sybell determinedto raise the art of dinner-giving from the low estate to which sheavowed it had fallen to a higher level. She was young, she was pretty, she was well-born, she was rich. All the social doors were open to her. But one discovery is often only the prelude to another. She soon madethe further one that in order to raise the tone of social gatherings itis absolutely necessary to infuse into them a leaven of "clever people. "Further light on this interesting subject showed her that most of thereally "clever people" did not belong to her set. The discovery whichall who love adulation quickly make--namely, that the truly appreciativeand sympathetic and gifted are for the greater part to be found in aclass below their own--was duly made and registered by Sybell. Sheavowed that class differences were nothing to her with the enthusiasm ofall those who since the world began have preferred to be first in thesociety which they gather round them. 

Fortunately for Sybell she was not troubled by doubts respecting theclearness of her own judgment. Eccentricity was in her eyes originality;a wholesale contradiction of established facts was a new view. She hadnot the horrid perception of difference between the real and theimitation which spoils the lives of many. She was equally delighted withboth, and remained in blissful ignorance of the fact that her "deep"conversation was felt to be exhaustingly superficial if by chance shecame across the real artist or thinker instead of his counterfeit. 

Consequently to her house came the _raté_ in all his most virulentdevelopments; the "new woman" with stupendous lopsided opinions ondifficult Old Testament subjects; the "lady authoress" with a mission toshow up the vices of a society which she knew only by hearsay. Hithercame, unwittingly, simple-minded Church dignitaries, who, Sybell hoped, might influence for his good the young agnostic poet who had written asonnet on her muff-chain, a very daring sonnet, which Doll, who did notcare for poetry, had not been shown. Hither, by mistake, thinking it wasan ordinary dinner-party, came Hugh, whom Sybell said she haddiscovered, and who was not aware that he was in need of discovery. Andhither also on this particular evening came Rachel West, whom Sybell hadpronounced to be very intelligent a few days before, and who wasserenely unconscious that she was present on her probation, and that ifshe did not say something striking she would never be asked again. 

Doll Loftus, Sybell's husband, was standing by Rachel when Hugh came in. He felt drawn towards her because she was not "clever, " as far as herappearance went. At any rate, she had not the touzled, ill-groomed hairwhich he had learned to associate with female genius. 

"This sort of thing is beyond me, " he said, mournfully, to Rachel, hiseyes travelling over the assembly gathered round his wife, whose remarkswere calling forth admiring laughter. "I don't understand half theysay, and when I do I sometimes wish I didn't. But I suppose--"tentatively--"You go in for all this sort of thing?"

"I?" said Rachel, astonished. "I don't go in for anything. But what sortof thing do you mean?"

"There is Scarlett, " said Doll, with relief, who hated definitions, andfelt the conversation was on the slippery verge of becoming deep. "Doyou know him? Looks as if he'd seen a ghost, doesn't he?"

Rachel's interest, never a heavy sleeper, was instantly awakened as shesaw Sybell piloting Hugh towards her. She recognized him--the man shehad seen last night in the hansom and afterwards at the Newhavens. Aglance showed her that his trouble, whatever it might be, had piercedbeyond the surface feelings of anger and impatience and had reached thequick of his heart. The young man, pallid and heavy-eyed, bore himselfwell, and Rachel respected him for his quiet demeanor and a certaindignity, which, for the moment, obliterated the slight indecision of hisface, and gave his mouth the firmness which it lacked. It seemed toRachel as if he had but now stood by a death-bed, and had brought withhim into the crowded room the shadow of an inexorable fate. 

The others only perceived that he had a headache. Hugh did not deny it. He complained of the great heat to Sybell, but not to Rachel. Somethingin her clear eyes told him, as they told many others, that small liesand petty deceits might be laid aside with impunity in dealing with her. He felt no surprise at seeing her, no return of the sudden violentemotion of the night before. He had never spoken to her till thismoment, but yet he felt that her eyes were old friends, tried to theuttermost and found faithful in some forgotten past. Rachel's eyes had acertain calm fixity in them that comes not of natural temperament, butof past conflict, long waged, and barely but irrevocably won. A faintray of comfort stole across the desolation of his mind as he looked ather. He did not notice whether she was handsome or ugly, any more thanwe do when we look at the dear familiar faces which were with us intheir childhood and ours, which have grown up beside us under the sameroof, which have rejoiced with us and wept with us, and without whichheaven itself could never be a home. 

In a few minutes he was taking her in to dinner. He had imagined thatshe was a woman of few words, but after a faint attempt at conversationhe found that he had relapsed into silence, and that it was she who wastalking. Presently the heavy cloud upon his brain lifted. His strainedface relaxed. She glanced at him, and continued her little monologue. Her face had brightened. 

He had dreaded this dinner-party, this first essay to preserve hisbalance in public with his frightful invisible burden; but he wasgetting through it better than he had expected. 

"I have come back to what is called society, " Rachel was saying, "afternearly seven years of an exile something like Nebuchadnezzar's, andthere are two things which I find as difficult as Kipling's 'sillysailors' found their harps 'which they twanged unhandily. '"

"Is small talk one of them?" asked Hugh. "It has always been adifficulty to me. "

"On the contrary, " said Rachel. "I plume myself on that. Surely mypresent sample is not so much below the average that you need ask methat. "

"I did not recognize that it _was_ small talk, " said Hugh, with a faintsmile. "If it really is, I can only say I shall have brain fever if youpass on to what _you_ might call conversation. "

It was to him as if a miniature wavelet of a great ocean somewhere inthe distance had crept up to laugh and break at his feet. He did notrecognize that this tiniest runlet which fell back at once was of thesame element as the tidal wave which had swept over him yesternight. 

"But are you aware, " said Rachel, dropping her voice a little, "it isbeginning to dawn upon me that this evening's gathering is met togetherfor exalted conversation, and perhaps we ought to be practising alittle. I feel certain that after dinner you will be 'drawn through theclefts of confession' by Miss Barker, the woman in the high dinner gownwith orange velvet sleeves. Mrs. Loftus introduced her to me when Iarrived as the 'apostle of humanity. '"

"Why should you fix on that particular apostle for me?" said Hugh, looking resentfully at a large-faced woman who was talking in an"intense" manner to a slightly bewildered Bishop. 

"It is a prophetic instinct, nothing more. "

"I will have a prophetic instinct, too, then, " said Hugh, helpinghimself at last to the dish which was presented to him, to Rachel'srelief. "I shall give you the--" looking slowly down the table. 

"The Bishop?"

"Certainly not, after your disposal of me. "

"Well, then, the poet? I am sure he is a poet because his tie is unevenand his hair is so long. Why do literary men wear their hair long, andliterary women wear it short. I should _like_ the poet. "

"You shall not have him, " said Hugh, with decision. "I am hesitatingbetween the bald young man with the fat hand and the immense ring andthe old professor who is drawing plans on the table-cloth. "

"The apostle told me with bated breath that the young man with the ringis Mr. Harvey, the author of _Unashamed_. "

Hugh looked at his plate to conceal his disgust. 

There was a pause in the buzz of conversation, and into it fellstraightway the voice of the apostle like a brick through a skylight. 

"The need of the present age is the realization of our brotherhood withsin and suffering and poverty. West London in satin and diamonds doesnot hear her sister East London in rags calling to her to deliver her. The voice of East London has been drowned in the dance-music of the WestEnd. "

Sybell gazed with awed admiration at the apostle. 

"What a beautiful thought, " she said. 

"Miss Gresley's _Idyll of East London_, " said Hugh, "is a voice which, at any rate, has been fully heard. "

The apostle put up a _pince-nez_ on a bone leg and looked at Hugh. 

"I entirely disapprove of that little book, " she said. "It is misleadingand wilfully one-sided. "

"Hester Gresley is a dear friend of mine, " said Sybell, "and I muststand up for her. She is the sister of our clergyman, who is a veryclever man. In fact, I am not sure he isn't the cleverest of the two. She and I have great talks. We have so much in common. How strange itseems that she who lives in the depths of the country should havewritten a story of the East End!"

"That is always so, " said the author of _Unashamed_, in a sonorousvoice. "The novel has of late been dwarfed to the scope of the youngEnglish girl"--he pronounced it gurl--"who writes from her imaginationand not from her experience. What true art requires of us is a faithfulrendering of a great experience. "

He looked round, as if challenging the world to say that _Unashamed_ wasnot a lurid personal reminiscence. 

Sybell was charmed. She felt that none of her previous dinner-partieshad reached such a high level as this one. 

"A faithful rendering of a great experience, " she repeated. "How I wishHester were here to hear that. I often tell her she ought to see life, and cultivated society would do so much for her. I found her out a yearago, and I'm always begging people to read her book, and I simply longto introduce her to clever people and oblige the world to recognize hertalent. "

"I agree with you, it is not yet fully recognized, " said Hugh, in alevel voice; "but if _The Idyll_ received only partial recognition, itwas, at any rate, enthusiastic. And it is not forgotten. "

Sybell felt vaguely uncomfortable, and conceived a faint dislike of Hughas an uncongenial person. 

The apostle and the poet began to speak simultaneously, but the femalekey was the highest, and prevailed. 

"We all agree in admiring Miss Gresley's delicate piece of workmanship, "said the apostle, both elbows on the table after the manner of her kind, "but it is a misfortune to the cause of suffering humanity--to _our_cause--when the books which pretend to set forth certain phases of itsexistence are written by persons entirely ignorant of the life theydescribe. "

"How true!" said Sybell. "I have often thought it, but I never could putit into words as you do. Oh! how I agree with you and Mr. Harvey! As Ioften say to Hester, 'How can you describe anything if you don't goanywhere or see anything? I can't give you my experience. No one can. ' Isaid that to her only a month ago, when she refused to come up to Londonwith me. "

Rachel's white face and neck had taken on them the pink transparentcolor that generally dwelt only in the curves of her small ears. 

"Why do you think Miss Gresley is ignorant of the life she describes?"she said, addressing the apostle. 

The author and the apostle both opened their mouths at the same moment, only to register a second triumph of the female tongue. 

Miss Barker was in her element. The whole table was listening. Sheshrugged her orange-velvet shoulders. 

"Those who have cast in their lot with the poor, " she said, sententiously, "would recognize at once the impossibility of MissGresley's characters and situations. "

"To me they seem real, " said Rachel. 

"Ah, my dear Miss West, you will excuse me, but a young lady likeyourself, nursed in the lap of luxury, can hardly be expected to look atlife with the same eyes as a poor waif like myself, who has penetratedto the very core of the city, and who has heard the stifled sigh of avast perishing humanity. "

"I lived in the midst of it for six years, " said Rachel. "I did not castin my lot with the poor, for I was one of them, and earned my breadamong them. Miss Gresley's book may not be palatable in some respects, the district visitor and the woman missionary are certainly treated withharshness, but, as far as my experience goes, _The Idyll_ is a true wordfrom first to last. "

There was in Rachel's voice a restrained force that vaguely stirred allthe occupants of the room. Every one looked at her, and for a moment noone spoke. She became quite colorless. 

"Very striking. Just what I should have said in her place, " said Sybellto herself. "I will ask her again. "

"I can hear it raining, " said Doll's voice from the head of the table tothe company in general. "If it will only go on for a week withoutstopping there may be some hope for the crops yet. "

The conversation buzzed up again, and Rachel turned instantly to Hugh, before Mr. Harvey, leaning forward with his ring, had time to addressher. 

Hugh alone saw what a superhuman effort it had been to her to overcomeher shrinking from mentioning, not her previous poverty, but herpersonal experience. She had sacrificed her natural reserve, which hecould see was great; she had even set good taste at defiance to defendHester Gresley's book. Hugh had shuddered as he heard her speak. He feltthat he could not have obtruded himself on so mixed an assembly. Yet hesaw that it had cost her more to do so than it would have cost him. 

He began to remember having heard people speak of an iron-master'sdaughter, whose father had failed and died, and who, after several yearsof dire poverty, had lately inherited a vast fortune from her father'spartner. It had been talked about at the time, a few months ago. Thismust be she. 

"You have a great affection for Miss Gresley, " he said, in a low voice. 

"I have, " said Rachel, her lip still quivering. "But if I disliked her Ihope I should have said the same. Surely it is not necessary to lovethe writer in order to defend the book. "

Hugh was silent. He looked at her, and wished that she might always beon his side. 

"About two courses ago I was going to tell you, " said Rachel, smiling, "of one of my chief difficulties on my return to the civilized world and'Society. ' But now you have had an example of it. I am trying to curemyself of the trick of becoming interested in conversation. I must learnto use words as counters, not as coins. I need not disbelieve what Isay, but I must not speak of anything to which I attach value. Iperceive that to do this is an art and a means of defence from invasion. But I, on the contrary, become interested, as you have just seen. Iforget that I am only playing a game, and I rush into a subject like abull into a china-shop, and knock about all the crockery until--as I amnot opposed by my native pitchfork--I suddenly return to my senses, anddiscover that I have mistaken a game for real earnest. "

"We were all in earnest five minutes ago, " said Hugh; "at least, I was. I could not bear to hear Miss Gresley patronized by all these failuresand amateurs. But, unless I am very much mistaken, you will find severalpitchforks laid up for you in the drawing-room. "

"I don't mean to smash any more china, " said Rachel. 

Another wavelet skimmed in and broke a little further up the sand. Asense of freshness, of expectation was in the air. The great gatheredocean was stirring itself in the distance. Hugh had forgotten histrouble. 

He turned the conversation back to Hester Gresley and her writing. Hespoke of her with sympathy and appreciation, and presently detected asoftness in Rachel's eyes which made him jealous of Hester. 

By the time the evening was over the imperceptible travelling of thesummer sea had reached as far as the tidal wave. 

Hugh left when Rachel did, accompanying her to her carriage. At thedoor were the darkness and the rain. At the door with them the horrorand despair of the morning were in wait for him, and laid hold upon him. Hugh shuddered, and turned instinctively to Rachel. 

She was holding out her hand to him. He took it and held it tightly inhis sudden fear and desolation. 

"When shall I meet you again?" he said, hoarsely. 

A long look passed between them. Hugh's tortured soul, full ofpassionate entreaty, leaped to his eyes. Hers, sad and steadfast, metthe appeal in his, and recognized it as a claim. There was no surprisein her quiet face. 

"I ride early in the Row, " she said. "You can join me there if you wish. Good-night. "

She took her hand with great gentleness out of his and drove away. 

And the darkness shut down again on Hugh's heart. 

CHAPTER VI

 Ici bas tous les hommes pleurent Leurs amitiés et leurs amours. --BOURGET. 

Many sarcastic but true words have been said by man, and in no jealousspirit, concerning woman's friendship for woman. The passing judgment ofthe majority of men on such devotion might be summed up in the words, "Occupy till I come. " It does occupy till they do come. And if theydon't come the hastily improvised friendship may hold together foryears, like an unseaworthy boat in a harbor, which looks like a boat butnever goes out to sea. 

But, nevertheless, here and there among its numberless counterfeits afriendship rises up between two women which sustains the life of both, which is still young when life is waning, which man's love andmotherhood cannot displace nor death annihilate; a friendship which isnot the solitary affection of an empty heart, nor the deepest affectionof a full one, but which nevertheless lightens the burdens of this worldand lays its pure hand upon the next. 

Such a friendship, very deep, very tender, existed between Rachel Westand Hester Gresley. It dated back from the nursery days, when Hester andRachel solemnly eyed each other, and then made acquaintance in the darkgardens of Portman Square, into which Hester introduced a fortifiedcastle with a captive princess in it, and a rescuing prince and adragon, and several other ingredients of romance to the awed amazementof Rachel--stolid, solid, silent Rachel--who loved all two and fourlegged creatures, but who never made them talk to each other as Hesterdid. And Hester, in blue serge, told Rachel, in crimson velvet, as theywalked hand in hand in front of their nursery-maids, what the Londonsparrows said to each other in the gutters, and how they considered thegravel path in the square was a deep river suitable to bathe in. Andwhen the spring was coming, and the prince had rescued the princess sooften from the dungeon in the laurel-bushes that Hester was tired of it, she told Rachel how the elms were always sighing because they were shutup in town, and how they went out every night with their roots into thegreen country to see their friends, and came back, oh! so early in themorning, before any one was awake to miss them. And Rachel's heartyearned after Hester, and she gave her her red horse and the tin duckand magnet, and Hester made stories about them all. 

At last the day came when Rachel's mother, who had long viewed theintimacy with complacency, presented her compliments, in a note-sheetwith two immense gilt crests on it, to Hester's aunt, and requested thather little niece might be allowed to come to tea with her littledaughter. And Lady Susan Gresley, who had never met the richiron-master's wife in this world, and would probably be equallyexclusive in the next, was about to refuse, when Hester, who up to thatmoment had apparently taken no interest in the matter, suddenly castherself on the floor in a paroxysm of despair and beat her head againstthe carpet. The tearful entreaties of her aunt gradually elicited theexplanation, riddled by sobs, that Hester could never take an interestin life again, could never raise herself even to a sitting position, nordry her eyes on her aunt's handkerchief, unless she were allowed to goto tea with Rachel and see her dormouse. 

Lady Susan, much upset herself, and convinced that these outbursts wereprejudicial to Hester's health, gave way at once, and a few days laterHester, pale, shy, in a white muffler, escorted by mademoiselle, went totea in the magnificent house on the other side of the square, and sawRachel's round head without a feathered hat on it, and both childrenwere consumed by shyness until the two mademoiselles withdrew intoanother room, and Rachel showed Hester the dormouse which she had foundin the woods in the country, and which ate out of her hand. And Hestermade a little poem on it, beginning, "There was a mouse in Portman Square";

and so, with many breaks, the friendship attained a surer footing, andthe intimacy grew with their growth, in spite of the fact that LadySusan had felt unable (notwithstanding the marked advances of Mrs. West, possibly because of them) to enlarge her visiting-list, in spite of manyother difficulties which were only in the end surmounted by thesimplicity of character which Rachel had not inherited from her parents. 

And then, after both girls had danced through one London season indifferent ball-rooms, Rachel's parents died, her mother first, andthen--by accident--her father, leaving behind him an avalanche ofunsuspected money difficulties, in which even his vast fortune wasengulfed. 

Hard years followed for Rachel. She ate the bread of carefulness in thehouses of poor relations not of high degree, with whom her parents hadquarrelled when they had made their money and began to entertain socialambitions. She learned what it was to be the person of least importancein families of no importance. She essayed to teach, and failed. She hadno real education. She made desperate struggles for independence, andlearned how others failed besides herself. She left her relations andtheir bitter bread and came to London, and struggled with those whostruggled, and saw how Temptation spreads her net for bleeding feet. Because she loved Hester she accepted from her half her slenderpin-money. Hester had said, "If I were poor, Rachel, how would you bearit if I would not let you help me?" And Rachel had wept slow, difficulttears, and had given Hester the comfort of helping her. The greatergenerosity was with Rachel, and Hester knew it. 

And as Rachel's fortunes sank, Hester's rose. Lady Susan Gresley had onetalent, and she did not lay it up in a napkin. She had the art ofattracting people to her house, that house to which Mrs. West had neverforced an entrance. Hester was thrown from the first into a societywhich her clergyman brother, who had never seen it, pronounced to befrivolous, worldly, profane, but which no one has called dull. Therewere many facets in Hester's character, and Lady Susan had managed toplace her where they caught the light. Was she witty? Was sheattractive? Who shall say? Man is wisely averse to "cleverness" in awoman, but if he possesses any armor wherewith to steel himself againstwit it is certain that he seldom puts it on. She refused several offers, one so brilliant that no woman ever believed that it was really made. 

Lady Susan saw that her niece, without a fortune, with little beautysave that of high breeding, with weak health, was becoming a personage. "What will she become?" people said. And in the meanwhile Hester didnothing beyond dressing extremely well. And everything she saw and everyperson she met added fuel to an unlit fire in her soul. 

At last Rachel was able to earn a meagre living by type-writing, and forfour years, happy by contrast with those when despair and failure hadconfronted her, she lived by the work of her hands among those poor asherself. Gradually she had lost sight of all her acquaintances. She hadbeen out of the school-room for too short a time to make friends. And, alas! in the set in which she had been launched poverty was a crime; no, perhaps not quite that, but as much a bar to intercourse as in anotherclass a want of the letter _h_ is found to be. 

It was while Rachel was still struggling for a livelihood that the eventhappened which changed the bias of her character, as a geraniumtransplanted from the garden changes its attitude in a cottage window. 

On one of the early days of her despair she met on the dreary stairs ofthe great rabbit-warren in which she had a room, a man with whom shehad been acquainted in the short year of her social life before thecollapse of her fortunes. He had paid her considerable attention, andshe had thought once or twice, with momentary bitterness, that, like therest, he had not cared to find out what had become of her. She greetedhim with shy but evident pleasure. She took for granted he had come tosee her, and he allowed her to remain under that delusion. In reality hehad been hunting up an old model whom he wanted for his next picture, and who had silently left Museum Buildings some months before withoutleaving his address. He had genuinely admired her, though he hadforgotten her, and he was unaffectedly delighted to see her again. 

That one chance meeting was the first of many. Flowers came to Rachel'slittle room, and romance came with them. Rachel's proud, tender heartstruggled, and then gave way before this radiant first love blossomingin the midst of her loneliness. At last, on a March afternoon, when thelow sun caught the daffodils he had brought her, he told her he lovedher. 

Days followed, exquisite days, which have none like them in later lifewhatever later life may bring. That year the spring came early, and theywent often together into the country. And that year when all the worldwas white with blossom the snow came and laid upon earth's bridal veil awhite shroud. Every cup of May blossom, every petal of hawthorn, bentbeneath its burden of snow. And so it was in the full spring-tide ofRachel's heart. The snow came down upon it. She discovered at last thatthough he loved her he did not wish to marry her; that even from thetime of that first meeting he had never intended to marry her. Thatdiscovery was a shroud. She wrapped her dead love in it, and would fainhave buried it out of her sight. 

But only after a year of conflict was she suffered to bury it--after ayear during which the ghost of her dead ever came back, and came back toimportune her vainly with its love. Rachel's poor neighbors grewaccustomed to see the tall, handsome, waiting figure which alwaysreturned and returned, but which at last, after one dreadful day, wasseen no more in Museum Buildings. Rachel had laid the ghost at last. Butthe conflict remained graven in her face. 

 * * * * *

On a certain cold winter morning Hester darted across the wet pavementfrom the brougham to the untidy entrance of Museum Buildings whereRachel still lived. It was a miserable day. The streets and bare treeslooked as if they had been drawn in in ink, and the whole carelesslyblotted before it was dry. All the outlines were confused, blurred. Thecold penetrated to the very bones of the shivering city. 

Rachel had just come in, wet and tired, bringing with her a roll ofmanuscript to be transcribed. A woman waiting for her on the endlessstone stairs had cursed her for taking the bread out of her mouth. 

"He always employed me till you came, " she shrieked, shaking her fist ather, "and now he gives it all to you because you're younger andbetter-looking. "

She gave the woman as much as she dared spare, the calculation did nottake long, and went on climbing the stairs. 

Something in the poor creature's words, something vague but repulsive inher remembrance of the man who paid her for the work by which she couldbarely live, fell like lead into Rachel's heart. She looked out dumblyover the wilderness of roofs. The suffering of the world was eating intoher soul; the suffering of this vast travailing East London, wherepeople trod each other down to live. 

"If any one had told me, " she said to herself, "when I was rich, that Ilived on the flesh and blood of my fellow-creatures, that my virtue andease and pleasure were bought by their degradation and toil and pain, Ishould not have believed it, and I should have been angry. If I hadbeen told that the clothes I wore, the food I ate, the pen I wrote with, the ink I used, the paper I wrote on--all these, and everything Itouched, from my soap to my match-box, especially my match-box, was theresult of sweated labor, I should not have believed it, I should havelaughed. But yet it is so. If I had not been rich once myself I shouldthink as all these people do, that the rich are devils incarnate to letsuch things go on. They have the power to help us. We have none to helpourselves. But they never use it. The rich grind the poor for theirluxuries with their eyes shut, and we grind each other for our dailybread with our eyes open. I have got that woman's work. I have struggledhard enough to get it, but, though I did not realize it, I might haveknown that I had only got on to the raft by pushing some one else offit. "

Rachel looked out across the miles of roofs which lay below her garretwindow. The sound was in her ears of that great whirlpool wherein youthand beauty and innocence go down quick day by day. The wilderness ofleaden roofs turned suddenly before her eyes into a sullen furrowed seaof shame and crime which, awaiting no future day of judgment, daily gaveup its awful dead. 

Presently Hester came in, panting a little after the long ascent of wornstairs, and dragging with her a large parcel. It was a fur-lined cloak. Hester spread it mutely before her friend, and looked beseechingly ather. Then she kissed her, and the two girls clung together for a momentin silence. 

"Dearest, " said Rachel, "don't give me new things. It isn't that--youknow I did take it when I was in need. But, oh, Hester, I know you can'tafford it. I should not mind if you were rich, at least, I would trynot, but--if you would only give me some of your old clothes instead. Ishould like them all the better because you had worn them. " And Rachelkissed the lapel of Hester's coat. 

"I can't, " whispered Hester into Rachel's hair. "The best is only justgood enough. "

"Wouldn't it be kinder to me?"

Hester trembled, and then burst into tears. 

"I will wear it, I will wear it, " said Rachel, hurriedly. "Look, Hester!I have got it on. How deliciously warm! and--do look!--it has two littlepockets in the fur lining. "

But Hester wept passionately, and Rachel sat down by her on the floor inthe new cloak till the paroxysm was over. 

How does a subtle affinity find a foothold between natures which presentan obvious, a violent contrast to each other? Why do the obvious and thesubtle forget their life-long feud at intervals and suddenly appear fora moment in each other's society?

Rachel was physically strong. Hester was weak. The one was calm, patient, practical, equable, the other imaginative, unbalanced, excitable. 

Life had not spoiled Rachel. Lady Susan Gresley had done her best tospoil Hester. The one had lived the unprotected life, and showed it inher bearing. The other had lived the sheltered life, and bore its markupon her pure forehead and youthful face. 

"I cannot bear it, " said Hester at last. "I think and think, and I can'tthink of anything. I would give my life for you, and you will hardly letme give you £3 10_s. _ 6_d. _ That is all it cost. It is only frieze, thatcommon red frieze, and the lining is only rabbit. " A last tear fell atthe word rabbit. "I wanted to get you a velvet one, just the same as mynew one, lined with chinchilla, but I knew it would only make youmiserable. I wish, " looking vindictively at the cloak--"I wish rabbitshad never been born. "

Rachel laughed. Hester was evidently recovering. 

"Mr. Scarlett was saying last night that no one can help any one, "continued Hester, turning her white, exhausted face to her friend. "Hesaid that we are always so placed that we can only look on. And I toldhim that could not be true, but, oh, in my heart, Rachel, I have felt itwas true all these long, long five years since you have lived here. "

Rachel came and stood beside her at the little window. There was justroom for them between the type-writer and the bed. 

Far below, Hester's brougham was pacing up and down. 

"Then are love and sympathy nothing?" she said. "Those are the realgifts. If I were rich to-morrow I should look to you just as I do nowfor the things which money can't buy. And those are thethings"--Rachel's voice shook--"which you have always given me, andwhich I can't do without. You feel my poverty more than I do myself. Itcrushed me at first when I could not support myself. Now that I can--andin everything except money I am very rich--I am comparatively happy. "

There was a long silence. 

"Perhaps, " said Rachel at last, with difficulty, "if I had remained anheiress Mr. Tristram might have married me. I feel nearly sure he wouldhave married me. In that case I lost my money only just in time toprevent a much greater misfortune, and I am glad I am as I am. "

Rachel remembered that conversation often in after-years with a sense ofthankfulness that for once she, who was so reticent, had let Hester seehow dear she was to her. 

The two girls stood long together cheek against cheek. 

And as Hester leaned against Rachel the yearning of her soul towards hersuddenly lit up something which had long lain colossal, butinapprehended, in the depths of her mind. Her paroxysm of despair at herown powerlessness was followed by a lightning flash of self-revelation. She saw, as in a dream, terrible, beautiful, inaccessible, but distinct, where her power lay, of which restless bewildering hints had so oftenmocked her. She had but to touch the houses and they would fall down. She held her hands tightly together lest she should do it. The strengthas of an infinite ocean swept in beneath her weakness, and bore it uponits surface like a leaf. 

"You must go home, " said Rachel gently, remembering Lady Susan'spunctual habits. 

Hester kissed her absently and went out into the new world which hadbeen pressing upon her all her life, the gate of which Love had openedfor her. For Love has many keys besides that of her own dwelling. Somewho know her slightly affirm that she can only open her own cheap patentpadlock with a secret word on it that everybody knows. But some who knowher better hold that hers is the master-key which will one day turn allthe locks in all the world. 

 * * * * *

A year later Hester's first book, _An Idyll of East London_, was reapingits harvest of astonished indignation and admiration, and heracquaintances--not her friends--were still wondering how she came toknow so much of a life of which they decided she could know nothing, when suddenly Lady Susan Gresley died, and Hester went to live in thecountry with her clergyman brother. 

A few months later still, and on a mild April day, when the poor Londontrees had black buds on them, Rachel brushed and folded away in thelittle painted chest of drawers her few threadbare clothes, and put theboots--which the cobbler, whose wife she had nursed, had patched forher--under the shelf which held her few cups and plates and the faithfultin kettle, which had always been a cheerful boiler. And she washed herseven coarse handkerchiefs, and put them in the washhandstand drawer. And then she raked out the fire and cleaned the grate, and set the roomin order. It was quickly done. She took up her hat, which lay beside abundle on the bed. Her hands trembled as she put it on. She lookedwistfully round her, and her face worked. The little room which hadlooked so alien when she came to it six years ago had become a home. Shewent to the window and kissed the pane through which she had learned tosee so much. Then she seized up the bundle and went quickly out, lockingthe door behind her, and taking the key with her. 

"I am going away for a time, but I shall come back, " she said to thecobbler's wife on the same landing. 

"No one comes back as once goes, " said the woman, without raising hereyes from the cheap blouse which she was finishing, which kept so wellthe grim secret of how it came into being that no one was afraid ofbuying it. 

"I am keeping on the room. "

The woman smiled incredulously, giving one sharp glance at the bundle. She had seen many flittings. She should buy the kettle when Rachel's"sticks" were sold by the landlord in default of the rent. 

"Well, you was a good neighbor, " she said. "There's a-many as 'ull missyou. Good-bye, and good luck to ye. I sha'n't say as you've left. "

"I shall come back, " said Rachel, hoarsely, and she slipped down-stairslike a thief. She felt like a thief. For she was rich. The man who hadled her father into the speculations which had ruined him had diedchildless, and had bequeathed to her a colossal fortune. 

CHAPTER VII

 Cure the drunkard, heal the insane, mollify the homicide, civilize the Pawnee, but what lessons can be devised for the debauchee of sentiment?--EMERSON. 

A fortnight had passed since the drawing of lots, and Lady Newhavenremained in ignorance as to which of the two men had received hisdeath-warrant. Few have found suspense easy to bear; but for theself-centred an intolerable element is added to it, which unselfishnatures escape. From her early youth Lady Newhaven had been in the habitof viewing life in picturesque _tableaux vivants_ of which sheinvariably formed the central figure. At her confirmation the Bishop, the white-robed clergy, and the other candidates had served but as anebulous background against which her own white-clad, kneeling figure, bowed in reverent devotion, stood out in high relief. 

When she married Lord Newhaven he took so slight a part, though anecessary one, in the wedding groups that their completeness had neverbeen marred by misgivings as to his exact position in them. When, sixyears later, after one or two mild flirtations which only served as astimulus to her love of dress--when at last she met, as she would haveexpressed it, "the one love of her life, " her first fluctuations andfinal deviation from the path of honor were the result of newarrangements round the same centre. 

The first groups in which Hugh took part had been prodigies of virtue. The young mother with the Madonna face--Lady Newhaven firmly believedthat her face, with the crimped fringe drawn down to the eyebrows, resembled that of a Madonna--with her children round her, Lord Newhavenas usual somewhat out of focus in the background; and Hugh, young, handsome, devoted, heartbroken, and ennobled for life by thecontemplation of such impregnable virtue. 

"You accuse me of coldness, " she had imagined herself saying in a laterscene, when the children and the husband would have made too much of acrowd, and were consequently omitted. "I wish to Heaven I were as coldas I appear. "

And she had really said it later on. Hugh never did accuse her ofcoldness, but that was a detail. Those words, conned over many times, had nevertheless actually proceeded out of her mouth. Few of us have thepower of saying anything we intend to say. But Lady Newhaven had thatpower, and enjoyed also in consequence a profound belief in herprophetic instincts; while others, Hugh not excepted, detected apremeditated tone in her conversation, and a sense of incongruitybetween her remarks and the occasion which called them forth. 

From an early date in their married life Lord Newhaven had been in thehabit of discounting these remarks by making them in rapid rotationhimself before proceeding to the matter in hand. 

"Having noticed that a mother--I mean a young mother--is never reallyhappy in the absence of her children, and that their affection makes upfor the carelessness of their father, may I ask, Violet, what day youwish to return to Westhope?" he said one morning at breakfast. 

"Any day, " she replied. "I am as miserable in one place as in another. "

"We will say Friday week, then, " returned Lord Newhaven, ignoring, as heinvariably did, any allusions to their relative position, and because heignored them she made many. "The country, " he added, hurriedly, "will bevery refreshing after the glare and dust and empty worldly society ofLondon. "

She looked at him in anger. She did not understand the reason, but shehad long vaguely felt that all conversation seemed to dry up in hispresence. He mopped it all into his own sponge, so to speak, and leftevery subject exhausted. 

She rose in silent dignity, and went to her boudoir and lay down there. The heat was very great, and another fire was burning within her, withering her round cheek, and making her small, plump hand look shrunkand thin. A fortnight had passed, and she had not heard from Hugh. Shehad written to him many times, at first only imploring him to meet her, but afterwards telling him she knew what had happened, and entreatinghim to put her out of suspense, to send her one line that his life wasnot endangered. She had received no answer to any of her letters. Shecame to the conclusion that they had been intercepted by Lord Newhaven, and that no doubt the same fate had befallen Hugh's letters to herself. For some time past, before the drawing of lots, she had noticed thatHugh's letters had become less frequent and shorter in length. Sheunderstood the reason now. Half of them had been intercepted. How thatfact could account for the shortness of the remainder may not beimmediately apparent to the prosaic mind, but it was obvious to LadyNewhaven. That Hugh had begun to weary of her could not force the narrowentrance to her mind. Such a possibility had never been even consideredin the pictures of the future with which her imagination busied itself. But what would the future be? The road along which she was walkingforked before her eyes, and her usual perspicacity was at fault. Sheknew not in which of those two diverging paths the future would lie. 

Would she in eighteen months' time--she should certainly refuse to marrywithin the year--be standing at the altar in a "confection" of lilac andwhite with Hugh; or would she be a miserable wife, moving ghostlikeabout her house, in colored raiment, while a distant grave was alwayswhite with flowers sent by a nameless friend of the dead? "How some onemust have loved him!" she imagined Hugh's aged mother saying. And once, as that bereaved mother came in the dusk to weep beside the grave, didshe not see a shadowy figure start up, black-robed, from theflower-laden sod, and, hastily drawing a thick veil over a beautiful, despairing face, glide away among the trees? At this point Lady Newhavenalways began to cry. It was too heart-rending. And her mind in violentrecoil was caught once more, and broken on the same wheel. "Which?_Which_?"

A servant entered. 

"Would her ladyship see Miss West for a few minutes?"

"Yes, " said Lady Newhaven, glad to be delivered from herself, if only bythe presence of an acquaintance. 

"It is very charitable of you to see me, " said Rachel. "Personally, Ithink morning calls ought to be a penal offence. But I came at theentreaty of a former servant of yours. I feel sure you will let me carrysome message of forgiveness to her, as she is dying. Her name is Morgan. Do you remember her?"

"I once had a maid called Morgan, " said Lady Newhaven. "She was drunken, and I had to part with her in the end; but I kept her as long as I couldin spite of it. She had a genius for hair-dressing. "

"She took your diamond heart pendant, " continued Rachel. "She was neverfound out. She can't return it, for, of course, she sold it and spentthe money. But now at last she feels she did wrong, and she says shewill die easier for your forgiveness. "

"Oh! I forgive her, " said Lady Newhaven, indifferently. "I oftenwondered how I lost it. I never cared about it. " She glanced at Rachel, and added tremulously, "My husband gave it me. "

A sudden impulse was urging her to confide in this grave, gentle-eyedwoman. The temptation was all the stronger because Rachel, who had onlylately appeared in society, was not connected with any portion of herprevious life. She was as much a chance acquaintance as afellow-passenger in a railway carriage. 

Rachel rose and held out her hand. 

"Don't go, " whispered Lady Newhaven, taking her outstretched hand andholding it. 

"I think if I stay, " said Rachel, "that you may say things you willregret later on when you are feeling stronger. You are evidently tiredout now. Everything looks exaggerated when we are exhausted, as I seeyou are. "

"I am worn out with misery, " said Lady Newhaven. "I have not slept for afortnight. I feel I must tell some one. " And she burst into violentweeping. 

Rachel sat down again, and waited patiently for the hysterical weepingto cease. Those in whom others confide early learn that their ownengagements, their own pleasures and troubles, are liable to be setaside at any moment. Rachel was a punctual, exact person, but she missedmany trains. Those who sought her seldom realized that her day was asfull as, possibly fuller, than their own. Perhaps it was only a verysmall pleasure to which she had been on her way on this particularmorning, and for which she had put on that ethereal gray gown for thefirst time. At any rate, she relinquished it without a second thought. 

Presently Lady Newhaven dried her eyes and turned impulsively towardsher. 

The strata of impulsiveness and conventional feeling were always somixed up after one of these emotional upheavals that it was difficult toguess which would come uppermost. Sometimes fragments of both appearedon the surface together. 

"I loved you from the first moment I saw you, " she said. "I don't takefancies to people, you know. I am not that kind of person. I am verydifficult to please, and I never speak of what concerns myself. I am_most_ reserved. I dare say you have noticed how reserved I am. I livein my shell. But directly I saw you I felt I could talk to you. I saidto myself, 'I will make a friend of that girl. ' Although I always feel amarried woman is so differently placed from a girl. A girl only thinksof herself. I am not saying this the least unkindly, but, of course, itis so. Now a married woman has to consider her husband and family in allshe says and does. How will it affect _them?_ That is what I so oftensay to myself, and then my lips are sealed. But, of course, beingunmarried, you would not understand that feeling. "

Rachel did not answer. She was inured to this time-honoredconversational opening. 

"And the temptations of married life, " continued Lady Newhaven--"a girlcannot enter into them. "

"Then do not tell me about them, " said Rachel, smiling, wondering if shemight still escape. But Lady Newhaven had no intention of letting hergo. She only wished to indicate to her her true position. And gradually, not without renewed outbursts of tears, not without traversing manylayers of prepared conventional feelings, in which a few thin streaks ofgenuine emotion wore embedded, she told her story--the story of a young, high-minded, and neglected wife, and of a husband callous, indifferent, a scorner of religion, unsoftened even by the advent of thechildren--"such sweet children, such little darlings"--and the gradualestrangement. Then came the persistent siege to the lonely heart of onenot pretty, perhaps, but fatally attractive to men; the lonely heart'sunparalleled influence for good over the besieger. 

"He would do anything, " said Lady Newhaven, looking earnestly at Rachel. "My influence over him is simply boundless. If I said, as I sometimesdid at balls, how sorry I was to see some plain girl standing out, hewould go and dance with her. I have seen him do it. "

"I suppose he did it to please you. "

"That was just it, simply to please me. "

Rachel was not so astonished as Lady Newhaven expected. She certainlywas rather wooden, the latter reflected. The story went on. It becamedifficult to tell, and, according to the teller, more and more liable tomisconstruction. Rachel's heart ached as bit by bit the inevitabledevelopment was finally reached in floods of tears. 

"And you remember that night you were at an evening party here, " sobbedLady Newhaven, casting away all her mental notes and speaking extempore. "It is just a fortnight ago, and I have not slept since, and _he_ washere, looking so miserable"--(Rachel started slightly)--"he sometimesdid, if he thought I was hard upon him. And afterwards, when every onehad gone, Edward took him to his study and told him he had found us out, and they drew lots which should kill himself within five months--and Ilistened at the door. "

Lady Newhaven's voice rose half strangled, hardly human, in a shrillgrotesque whimper above the sobs which were shaking her. There was noaffectation about her now. 

Rachel's heart went out to her the moment she was natural. She kneltdown and put her strong arms round her. The poor thing clung to her, and, leaning her elaborate head against her, wept tears of real anguishupon her breast. 

"And which drew the short lighter?" said Rachel at last. 

"I don't know, " almost shrieked Lady Newhaven. "It is that which iskilling me. Sometimes I think it is Edward, and sometimes I think it isHugh. "

At the name of Hugh, Rachel winced. Lady Newhaven had mentioned no namein the earlier stages of her story while she had some vestige ofself-command; but now at last the Christian name slipped out unawares. 

Rachel strove to speak calmly. She told herself there were many Hughs inthe world. 

"Is Mr. Hugh Scarlett the man you mean?" she asked. If she had died forit, she must have asked that question. 

"Yes, " said Lady Newhaven. 

A shadow fell on Rachel's face, as on the face of one who suddenlydiscovers, not for the first time, an old enemy advancing upon him underthe flag of a new ally. 

"I shall always love him, " gasped Lady Newhaven, recovering herselfsufficiently to recall a phrase which she had made up the night before. "I look upon it as a spiritual marriage. "

CHAPTER VIII

 A square-set man and honest. --TENNYSON. 

"Dick, " said Lord Newhaven, laying hold of that gentleman as he wasleaving Tattersall's, "what mischief have you been up to for the lastten days?"

"I lay low till I got my clothes, " said Dick, "and then I went to theDuke of ----. I've just been looking at a hack for him. He says he doesnot want one that takes a lot of sitting on. I met him the first night Ilanded. In fact, I stepped out of the train on to his royal toetravelling incog. I was just going to advise him to draw in his feelersa hit and give the Colonies a chance, when he turned round and I saw whoit was. I knew him when I was A. D. C. At Melbourne before I took to thedrink. He said he thought he'd know my foot anywhere, and asked me downfor ---- races. "

"And you enjoyed it?"

"Rather. I did not know what to call the family at first, so I asked himif he had any preference and what was the right thing, and he told mehow I must hop up whenever he came in, and all that sort of child'splay. There was a large party and some uncommonly pretty women. And Iwon a tenner off his Royal Highness, and here I am. "

"And what are you going to do now?"

"Go down to the city and see what Darneil's cellars are like before Istore my wine in them. It won't take long. Er!--I say, Cack--Newhaven?"

"Well?"

"Ought I to--how about my calling on Miss--? I never caught her name. "

"Miss West, the heiress?"

"Yes. Little attention on my part. "

"Did she ask you to call?"

"No, but I think it was an oversight. I expect she would like it. "

"Well, then, go and be--snubbed. "

"I don't want snubbing. A little thing like me wants encouragement. "

"A good many other people are on the lookout for encouragement in thatquarter. "

"That settles it, " said Dick; "I'll go at once. I've got to call on LadySusan Gresley, and I'll take Miss--"

"West. West. West. "

"Miss West on the way. "

"My dear fellow, Miss West does not live on the way to Woking. LadySusan Gresley died six months ago. "

"Great Scot! I never heard of it. And what has become of Hester? She isa kind of cousin of mine. "

"Miss Gresley has gone to live in the country a few miles from us, withher clergyman brother. "

"James Gresley. I remember him. He's a bad egg. "

"Now, Dick, are you in earnest, or are you talking nonsense about MissWest?"

"I'm in earnest. " He looked it. 

"Then, for heaven's sake, don't put your foot in it by calling. My wifehas taken a violent fancy to Miss West. I don't think it is returned, but that is a detail. If you want to give her a chance, leave it to me. "

"I know what that means. You married men are mere sieves. You'll runstraight home with your tongue out and tell Lady Newhaven that I want tomarry Miss--I can't clinch her name--and then she'll tell her when theyare combing their back hair. And then if I find, later on, I don't likeher and step off the grass, I shall have behaved like a perfect brute, and all that sort of thing. A man I knew out in Melbourne told me thatby the time he'd taken a little notice of a likely girl, he'd gone toofar to go back, and he had to marry her. "

"You need not be so coy. I don't intend to mention the subject to mywife. Besides, I don't suppose Miss West will look at you. You're awretched match for her. With her money she might marry a brewery or apeerage. "

"I'll put myself in focus anyhow, " said Dick. "Hang it all! if you couldget a woman to marry you, there is hope for everybody. I don't expect itwill be as easy as falling off a log. But if she is what I take her tobe I shall go for all I'm worth. "

Some one else was going for all he was worth. Lord Newhaven rode early, and he had frequently seen Rachel and Hugh riding together at foot'space. Possibly his offer to help Dick was partly prompted by anunconscious desire to put a spoke in Hugh's wheel. 

Dick, whose worst enemy could not accuse him of diffidence, proved asolid spoke but for a few days only. Rachel suddenly broke all herengagements and left London. 

CHAPTER IX

 "Pour vivre tranquille il faut vivre loin des gens d'église. "

There is a little stream which flows through Middleshire which seems toreflect the spirit of that quiet county, so slow is its course, sonarrow is its width. Even the roads don't take the trouble to bridge it. They merely hump themselves slightly when they feel it ticklingunderneath them, and go on, vouchsafing no further notice of itsexistence. Yet the Drone is a local celebrity in Middleshire, and, likemost local celebrities, is unknown elsewhere. The squire's sons havelost immense trout in the Drone as it saunters through their lands, andmost of them have duly earned thereby the distinction (in Middleshire)of being the best trout-rod in England. Middleshire bristles with the"best shots in England" and the "best preachers in England" and thecleverest men in England. The apathetic mother-country knows, accordingto Middleshire, "but little of her greatest men. " At present sheassociates her loyal county with a breed of small black pigs. 

Through this favored locality the Drone winds, and turns and turnsagain, as if loath to leave the rich, low meadow-lands and clusteringvillages upon its way. After skirting the little town of Westhope andthe gardens of Westhope Abbey, the Drone lays itself out in comfortablecurves and twists innumerable through the length and breadth of thegreen country till it reaches Warpington, whose church is so near thestream that in time of flood the water hitches all kinds of things ithas no further use for among the grave-stones of the little church-yard. On one occasion, after repeated prayers for rain, it even overflowedthe lower part of the vicar's garden, and vindictively carried away hisbee-hives. But that was before he built the little wall at the bottom ofthe garden. 

Slightly raised above the church, on ground held together by old elms, the white vicarage of Warpington stands, blinking ever through its treesat the church like a fond wife at her husband. Indeed, so like had shebecome to him that she had even developed a tiny bell-tower near thekitchen chimney, with a single bell in it, feebly rung by a femaleservant on saints' days and G. F. S. Gatherings. 

About eight o'clock on this particular morning in July the Drone couldhear, if it wanted to hear, which apparently no one else did, the high, unmodulated voice in which Mr. Gresley was reading the morning serviceto Mrs. Gresley and to a young thrush, which was hurling its person, like an inexperienced bicyclist, now against Lazarus and hisgrave-clothes, now against the legs of John the Baptist, with one footon a river's edge and the other firmly planted in a distant desert, andagainst all the other Scripture characters in turn which adorned thewindows. 

The service ended at last, and, after releasing his unwillingcongregation by catching and carrying it, beak agape, into the open air, Mr. Gresley and his wife walked through the church-yard--with its onemelancholy Scotch fir, embarrassed by its trouser of ivy--to the littlegate which led into their garden. 

They were a pleasing couple, seen at a little distance. He, at least, evidently belonged to a social status rather above that of the averageclergyman, though his wife may not have done so. Mr. Gresley, with hislong, thin nose and his short upper lip and tall, well-set-up figure, bore on his whole personality the stamp of that for which it isdifficult to find the right name, so unmeaning has the right name becomeby dint of putting it to low uses--the maltreated, the travestied nameof "gentleman. "

None of those moral qualities, priggish or otherwise, are assumed forMr. Gresley which, we are told, distinguish the true, the perfectgentleman, and some of which, thank Heaven! the "gentleman born"frequently lacks. Whether he had them or not was a matter of opinion, but he had that which some who have it not strenuously affirm to be ofno value--the right outside. 

To any one who looked beyond the first impression of good-breeding and awell-cut coat, a second closer glance was discouraging. Mr. Gresley'ssuspicious eye and thin, compressed lips hinted that both fanatic andsaint were fighting for predominance in the kingdom of that pinchedbrain, the narrowness of which the sloping forehead betokened with suchcruel plainness. He looked as if he would fling himself as hard againsta truth without perceiving it as a hunted hare against a stone-wall. Hewas unmistakably of those who only see side issues. 

Mrs. Gresley took her husband's arm as he closed the gate. She was stillyoung and still pretty, in spite of the arduous duties of a clergyman'swife, and the depressing fact that she seemed always wearing out oldfinery. Perhaps her devotion to her husband had served to prolong heryouth, for as the ivy is to the oak, and as the moon is to the sun, andas the river is to the sea, so was Mrs. Gresley to Mr. Gresley. 

The fortunate couple were advancing through the garden, looking fondlyat their own vicarage, with their own sponges hanging out of their upperwindows, and their offspring waving to them from a third, when a small, slight figure appeared on the terrace. 

"James, " said Mrs. Gresley, with decision, "it is your duty to speak toHester about attending early service. If she can go out in the gardenshe can come to church. "

"I have spoken to her once, " said Mr. Gresley, frowning, "and though Iput it before her very plainly she showed great obstinacy. Fond as I amof Hester, I cannot shut my eyes to the fact that she has an arrogantand callous nature. But we must remember, my love, that Aunt Susan wasmost lax in all her views, and we must make allowance for Hester, wholived with her till last year. It is only natural that Hester, bred upfrom childhood in that worldly circle--dinner-parties all through Lent, and Sunday luncheons--should have fallen through want of solid churchteaching into freethinking and ideas of her own upon religion. "

Mr. Gresley's voice was of that peculiar metallic note which carriesfarther than the owner is aware. It rose, if contradicted, into a sortof continuous trumpet-blast which drowned all other lesser voices. Hester's little garret was two stories above Mr. Gresley's study on theground floor, but, nevertheless, she often heard confused, anxiousparochial buzzings overwhelmed by that sustained high note which knew nocessation until objection or opposition ceased. As she came towardsthem, she heard with perfect distinctness what he was saying, but it didnot trouble her. Hester was gifted with imagination, and imaginationdoes not find it difficult to read by the shorthand of the expressionsand habitual opinions and repressions of others what they occasionallysay at full length, and to which they fondly believe they are givingutterance for the first time. Mr. Gresley had said all this many timesalready by his manner, and it had by its vain repetitions lost itsnovelty. Mr. Gresley was fortunately not aware of this, forunimaginative persons believe themselves to be sealed books, ashermetically sealed as the characters of others are to themselves. 

Hester was very like her brother. She had the same nose, slightly toolong for her small face, the same short upper lip and light hair, onlyher brother's was straight and hers was crimped, as wet sand is crimpedby a placid outgoing sea. That she had an equally strong will wasobvious. But there the likeness ended. Hester's figure was slight, andshe stooped a little. Hester's eyes were very gentle, very appealingunder their long, curled lashes. They were sad, too, as Mr. Gresley'snever were, gay as his never were. An infinite patience looked out ofthem sometimes, that patience of enthusiasm which will cast away itsvery soul and all its best years for the sake of an ideal. Hestershowed her age in her eyes. She was seven-and-twenty, and appeared manyyears younger until she looked at you. 

Mrs. Gresley looked with veiled irritation at her sister-in-law in herclean holland gown, held in at the waist with a broad lilac ribbon, adroitly drawn in picturesque folds through a little silver buckle. 

Mrs. Gresley, who had a waist which the Southminster dress-makerinformed her had "to be kept down, " made a mental note for the hundredthtime that Hester "laced in. "

Hester gave that impression of "finish" and sharpness of edge so rarelyfound among the blurred, vague outlines of English women. There wasnothing vague about her. Lord Newhaven said she had been cut out bodyand mind with a sharp pair of scissors. Her irregular profile, herdelicate, pointed speech and fingers, her manner of picking up herslender feet as she walked, her quick, alert movements--everything abouther was neat, adjusted, perfect in its way, yet without more apparenteffort than the _succés fou_ in black and white of the water wagtail, which she so closely resembled. 

"Good-morning, " she said, turning back with them to the house. "Abelsays it is going to be the hottest day we have had yet. And theletter-bag is so fat that I could hardly refrain from opening it. Really, James, you ought to hide the key, or I shall succumb totemptation. "

Once in the days of her ignorance, when she first came to live atWarpington, Hester had actually turned the key in the lock of the sacredletter-bag when the Gresleys were both late, and had extracted her ownletters. She never did it a second time. On the contrary, she beggedpardon in real regret at having given such deep offence to her brotherand his wife, and in astonishment that so simple an action could offend. She had made an equally distressing blunder in the early days of herlife with the Gresleys by taking up the daily paper on its arrival inthe afternoon. 

"My dear Hester, " Mrs. Gresley said, really scandalized, "I am sure youwon't mind my saying so, but James has not seen his paper yet. "

"I have noticed he never by any chance looks at it till the evening, andyou always say you never read it, " said Hester, deep in a politicalcrisis. 

"That is his rule, and a very good rule it is; but he naturally likes tobe the _first_ to look at it, " said Mrs. Gresley, with a great exerciseof patience. She had heard Hester was clever, but she found her verystupid. Everything had to be explained to her. 

Her tone recalled Hester from the Indian tribal rising and the speech ofthe Prime Minister to the realities of life. It was fortunate for herthat she was quick-witted. These two flagrant blunders were sufficientfor her. She grasped the principle that those who have a great love ofpower and little scope for it must necessarily exercise it in trivialmatters. She extended the principle of the newspaper and the letter-bagover her entire intercourse with the Gresleys and never offended in thatmanner again. 

On this particular morning she waited decorously beside her brother ashe opened the bag and dealt out the contents into three heaps. Hesterpounced on hers and subsided into her chair at the breakfast-table. 

"I wonder, " said Mrs. Gresley, looking at Hester's pile of letters overthe top of her share of the morning's correspondence--namely, a list ofPryce Jones--"that you care to write so many letters, Hester. I am sureI never did such a thing when I was a girl. I should have regarded it asa waste of time. "

"Ha!" said Mr. Gresley, in a gratified tone, opening a little roll. "What have we here? Proofs! My paper upon 'Modern Dissent. ' I toldEdwards I would not allow him to put it in his next number of the_Southminster Advertiser_ until I had glanced at it in print. I don'tknow when I shall find time to correct it. I shall be out all theafternoon at the chapter meeting. "

He looked at Hester. She had laid down her letters and was taking a cupof coffee from Mrs. Gresley. She evidently had not heard her brother'sremark. 

"You and I must lay our heads together over this, Hester, " he said, holding up with some pride a long slip of proof. "It will be just inyour line. You might run it over after breakfast, " he continued, in highgood-humor, "and put in the stops and grammar and spelling--you're moreup in that sort of thing than I am--and then we will go through ittogether. "

Hester was quite accustomed, when her help was asked as to acomposition, to receive as a reason for the request the extremelygratifying assurance that she was "good" at punctuation and spelling. Itgave the would-be author a comfortable feeling that, after all, he wasonly asking advice on the crudest technical matters on which Hester'ssuperiority could be admitted without a loss of masculine self-respect. 

"I would rather not tamper with punctuation and spelling, " said Hester, dryly. "I am so shaky on both myself. You had better ask theschool-master. He knows all that sort of ABC better than I do. "

Mr. Gresley frowned, and looked suspiciously at her. He wanted Hester'sopinion, of which she was perfectly aware. But she intended that heshould ask for it. 

Mrs. Gresley, behind the coffee-pot, felt that she was overlooked. Shehad helped Mr. Gresley with his numerous literary efforts until Hestercame. 

"I saw you correcting some one's manuscript last week, " he said. "Youwere at it all day in the hay-field. "

"That was different. I was asked to criticise the style andcomposition. "

"Oh, well, " said Mr. Gresley, "don't let us split hairs. I don't want anargument about it. If you'll come into my study at ten o'clock I'll getit off my hands at once. "

"With pleasure, " said Hester, looking at him with rueful admiration. Shehad tried a hundred times to get the better of him in conversation, butshe had not yet succeeded. 

"I have a message for you, " continued Mr. Gresley, in restoredgood-humor. "Mrs. Loftus writes that she is returning to Wilderleigh atthe end of the week, and that the sale of work may take place in theWilderleigh gardens at the end of August. And--let me see, I will readwhat she says:

"'I am not unmindful of our conversation on the duty of those who goannually to London to bring a spiritual influence to bear onsociety'--("I impressed that upon her before she went up. ")--'We had amost interesting dinner-party last week, nearly all celebrated andgifted persons, and the conversation was really beyond anything I candescribe to you. I thought my poor brain would turn. I was quite afraidto join in. But Mr. Harvey--the great Mr. Harvey--told me afterwards Iwas at my best. One lady, Miss Barker, who has done so much for the EastEnd, is coming down to Wilderleigh shortly for a rest. I am anxious youshould talk to her. She says she has doubts, and she is tired of theBible. By the way, please tell Hester, with my love, that she and Mr. Harvey attacked _The Idyll of East London_, and showed it up entirely, and poor little me had to stand up for her against them all. "

"She would never do that, " said Hester, tranquilly. "She might perhapshave said, 'The writer is a friend of mine. I must stand up for her. 'But she would never have gone beyond saying it to doing it. "

"Hester, " exclaimed Mrs. Gresley, feeling that she might just as wellhave remained a spinster if she was to be thus ignored in her own house, "I can't think how you can allow your jealousy of Sybell Loftus, for Ican attribute it to nothing else, to carry you so far. "

"Perhaps it had better carry me into the garden, " said Hester, risingwith the others. "You must forgive me if I spoke irritably. I have aracking headache. "

"She looks ill, " said her brother, following Hester's figure withaffectionate solicitude, as she passed the window a moment later. 

"And yet she does next to nothing, " said the hard-worked little wife, intercepting the glance. "I always thought she wrote her stories in themorning. I know she is never about if the Pratt girls call to see herbefore luncheon. Yet when I ran up to her room yesterday morning to askher to take Mary's music, as Fräulein had the headache"--(Mrs. Gresleyalways spoke of "the headache" and "the toothache")--"she was lying onher bed doing nothing at all. "

"She is very unaccountable, " said Mr. Gresley. "Still, I can makeallowance for the artistic temperament. I share it to a certain degree. Poor Hester. She is a spoiled child. "

"Indeed, James, she is. And she has an enormous opinion of herself. Formy part, I think the Bishop is to blame for making so much of her. Haveyou never noticed how different she is when he is here, so gay andtalkative, and when we are alone she hardly says a word for daystogether, except to the children?"

"She talked more when she first came, " said Mr. Gresley. "But when shefound I made it a rule to discourage argument"--(by argument Mr. Gresleymeant difference of opinion)--"she seemed gradually to lose interest inconversation. Yet I have heard the Bishop speak of her as a brillianttalker. And Lord Newhaven asked me last spring how I liked having acelebrity for a sister. A celebrity! Why, half the people in Middleshiredon't even know of Hester's existence. " And the author of "ModernDissent" frowned. 

"That was a hit at you, my dear, " said Mrs. Gresley. "It was just afteryour pamphlet on 'Schism' appeared. Lord Newhaven always says somethingdisagreeable. Don't you remember, when you were thinking of exchangingWarpington for that Scotch living, he said he knew you would not do itbecause with your feeling towards Dissent you would never go to acountry where you would be a Dissenter yourself?"

"How about the proofs?" said Hester, through the open window. "I amready when you are, James. "

CHAPTER X

 Wonderful power to benumb possesses this brother. --EMERSON. 

"Of course, Hester, " said Mr. Gresley, leading the way to his study andspeaking in his lesson-for-the-day voice, "I don't pretend towrite"--("They always say that, " thought Hester)--"I have not sufficientleisure to devote to the subject to insure becoming a successful author. And even if I had I am afraid I should not be willing to sell my soul toobtain popularity, for that is what it comes to in these days. Thepublic must be pandered to. It must be amused. The public likes smooththings, and the great truths--the only things I should care to writeabout--are not smooth, far from it. "

"No, indeed. "

"This little paper on 'Dissent, ' which I propose to publish in pamphletform after its appearance as a serial--it will run to two numbers in the_Southminster Advertiser_--was merely thrown off in a few days when Ihad influenza, and could not attend to my usual work. "

"It must be very difficult to work in illness, " said Hester, who hadevidently made a vow during her brief sojourn in the garden, and was nowobviously going through that process which the society of some of ourfellow-creatures makes as necessary as it is fatiguing--namely, that ofthinking beforehand what we are going to say. 

Mr. Gresley liked Hester immensely when she had freshly ironed herselfflat under one of these resolutions. He was wont to say that no one waspleasanter than Hester when she was reasonable, or made more suitableremarks. He perceived with joy that she was reasonable now, and thebrother and sister sat down close together at the writing-table with theprinted sheets between them. 

"I will read aloud, " said Mr. Gresley, "and you can follow me, and stopme if you think--er--the sense is not quite clear. "

"I see. "

The two long noses, the larger freckled one surmounted by a _pince-nez_, the other slightly pink, as if it had absorbed the tint of theblotting-paper over which it was so continually poised, both bent overthe sheets. 

Through the thin wall which separated the school-room from the studycame the sound of Mary's scales. Mary was by nature a child of wrath, asfar as music was concerned, and Fräulein--anxious, musical Fräulein--wasstrenuously endeavoring to impart to her pupil the rudiments of what washer chief joy in life. 

"'Modern Dissent, '" read aloud Mr. Gresley, "by Veritas. "

"_Veritas_!" repeated Hester. Astonishment jerked the word out of herbefore she was aware. She pulled herself hastily together. 

"Certainly, " said the author, looking at his sister through his glasses, which made the pupils of his eyes look as large as the striped marbleson which Mary and Regie spent their pennies. "Veritas, " he continued, "is a Latin word signifying Truth. "

"So I fancied. But is not _Truth_ rather a large name to adopt as a _nomde guerre_? Might it not seem rather--er--in a layman it would appeararrogant. "

"I am not a layman, and I do not pretend to write on subjects of which Iam ignorant, " said Mr. Gresley, with dignity. "This is not a work offiction. I don't imagine this, or fancy that, or invent the other. Imerely place before the public, forcibly, and in a novel manner, a fewgreat truths. "

Mary was doing her finger exercises. C, C, C, with the thumb; D, D, D, with the first finger, Fräulein was repeating. "Won! two! free! Won!two! free!" with a new intonation of cheerful patience at eachrepetition. 

"Ah!" said Hester. "A few great truths. Then the name must be 'Veritas. 'You would not reconsider it?"

"Certainly not, " said Mr. Gresley, his eye challenging hers. "It is thename I am known by as the author of 'Schism. '"

"I had momentarily forgotten 'Schism, '" said Hester, dropping herglance. 

"I went through a good deal of obloquy about 'Schism, '" said Mr. Gresleywith pride, "and I should not wonder if 'Modern Dissent' caused quite aferment in Middleshire. If it does, I am willing to bear a little spiteand ill-will. All history shows that truth is met at first byopposition. Half the country clergy round here are asleep. Good men, butlax. They want waking up. I said as much to the Bishop the other day, and he agreed with me; for he said that if some of his younger clergycould be waked up to a sense of their own arrogance and narrowness hewould hold a public thanksgiving in the cathedral. But he added that hethought nothing short of the last trump would do it. "

"I agree with him, " said Hester, having first said the sentence toherself, and having decided it was innocuous. 

The climax of the music lesson had arrived. "The Blue Bells ofScotland"--the sole _Clavier Stück_ which Mary's rigidly extended littlestarfishes of hands could wrench out of the school-room piano--was atits third bar. 

"Well, " said Mr. Gresley, refreshed by a cheering retrospect. "Now for'Modern Dissent. '"

A strenuous hour ensued. 

Hester was torn in different directions, at one moment tempted to allowthe most flagrant passages to pass unchallenged rather than attempt thephysical impossibility of interrupting the reader only to be drawn intoa dispute with him, at another burning to save her brother from theconsequences which wait on certain utterances. 

Presently Mr. Gresley's eloquence, after various tortuous and unnaturalwindings, swept in the direction of a pun, as a carriage after followingthe artificial curves of a deceptive approach nears a villa. Hester hadseen the pun coming for half a page, as we see the villa through thetrees long before we are allowed to approach it, and she longed to saveher brother from what was in her eyes as much a degradation as a _tuquoque_. But she remembered in time that the Gresleys considered she hadno sense of humor, and she decided to let it pass. Mr. Gresley enjoyedit so much himself that he hardly noticed her fixed countenance. 

Why does so deep a gulf separate those who have a sense of humor andthose who, having none, are compensated by the conviction that theypossess it more abundantly? The crevasse seems to extend far inland tothe very heights and water-sheds of character. Those who differ on humorwill differ on principles. The Gresleys and the Pratts belonged to thatlarge class of our fellow-creatures who, conscious of a genius foradding to the hilarity of our sad planet, discover an irresistiblepiquancy in putting a woman's hat on a man's head, and in that "verbalromping" which playfully designates a whiskey-and-soda as a gargle, andsays "au reservoir" instead of "au revoir. "

At last, however, Hester nervously put her hand over the next sheet, ashe read the final words of the last. 

"Wait a moment, " she said, hurriedly. "This last page, James. Might itnot be well to reconsider it? Is it politic to assume such greatignorance on the part of Nonconformists? Many I know are better educatedthan I am. "

"My dear, " said Mr. Gresley, "ignorance is at the root of any differenceof opinion on such a subject as this. I do not say wilful ignorance, butthe want of sound Church teaching. I must cut at the roots of thisignorance. "

"Dear James, it is thrice killing the slain. No one believes thesefallacies which you are exposing--the Nonconformists least of all. ThoseI have talked with don't hold these absurd opinions that you put downto them. You don't even touch their real position. You are elaboratelyknocking down ninepins that have never stood up, because they havenothing to stand on. "

"I am not proposing to play a game of mental skittles, " said theclerical author. "It is enough for me, as I said before, to cut at theroots of ignorance wherever I see it flourishing, not to pull off theleaves one by one as you would have me do by dissecting their opinions. This may not be novel, it may not even be amusing, but, nevertheless, Hester, a clergyman's duty is to wage unceasing war against spiritualignorance. And what, " read on Mr. Gresley, after a triumphant moment inwhich Hester remained silent, "is the best means of coping againstignorance, against darkness"--("It was a root a moment ago, " thoughtHester)--"but by the infusion of light? The light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehendeth it not. " Half a page more and thedarkness was 'Modern Dissent. ' Hester put her hand over her mouth andkept it there. 

The familiar drama of a clerical bull and a red rag was played outbefore her eyes, and, metaphorically speaking, she followed the exampleof the majority of laymen and crept up a tree to be out of the way. 

When it was all over she came down trembling. 

"Well! what do you think of it?" said Mr. Gresley, rising and pacing upand down the room. 

"You hit very hard, " said Hester, after a moment's consideration. Shedid not say, "You strike home. "

"I have no opinion of being mealy-mouthed, " said Mr. Gresley, who wasalways perfectly satisfied with a vague statement. "If you have anythingworth saying, say it plainly. That is my motto. Don't hint this or that, but take your stand upon a truth and strike out. "

"Why not hold out our hands to our fellow-creatures instead of strikingat them?" said Hester, moving towards the door. 

"I have no belief in holding out our hands to the enemies of Christ, "Mr. Gresley began, who in the course of his pamphlet had thus gracefullydesignated the great religious bodies who did not view Christianitythrough the convex glasses of his own mental _pince-nez_. "In these dayswe see too much of that. I leave that to the Broad Church, who want torun with the hare and hunt with the hounds. I, on the contrary--"

But Hester had vanished. 

There was a dangerous glint in her gray eyes, as she ran up to herlittle attic. 

"According to him, our Lord must have been the first Nonconformist, " shesaid to herself. "If I had stayed a moment longer I should have said so. For once I got out of the room in time. "

Hester's attic was blisteringly hot. It was over the kitchen, andthrough the open window came the penetrating aroma of roast mutton newlywedded to boiled cabbage. Hester had learned during the last six monthsall the variations of smells, evil, subtle, nauseous, and overpowering, of which the preparation of food--and, still worse, the preparation ofchicken food--is capable. She seized her white hat and umbrella and fledout of the house. 

She moved quickly across a patch of sunlight, looking, with her largewhite, pink-lined umbrella, like a travelling mushroom on a slenderstem, and only drew rein in the shady walk near the beehives, where theold gardener, Abel, was planting something large in the way of "runners"or "suckers, " making a separate hole for each with his thumb. 

Abel was a solid, pear-shaped man, who passed through life bent doubleover the acre of Vicarage garden, to which he committed long lines ofseeds, which an attentive Providence brought up in due season as "curlykebbidge" or "salary" or "sparrow-grass. "

Abel had his back towards Hester, and only the corduroy half of him wasvisible as he stooped over his work. Occasionally he could be induced tostraighten himself, and--holding himself strongly at the hinge withearth-ingrained hands--to discourse on polities and religion, and toopine that our policy in China was "neither my eye nor my elber. " "Thelittle lady, " as he called Hester, had a knack of drawing out Abel; butto-day, as he did not see her, she slipped past him, and, crossing thechurch-yard, sat down for a moment in the porch to regain her breath, under the card of printed texts offered for the consideration of hisflock by their young pastor. 

"How dreadful is this place! This is none other but the house of God, "was the culling from the Scriptures which headed the selection. [A]Hester knew that card well, though she never by any chance looked at it. She had offended her brother deeply by remonstrating, or, as he calledit, by "interfering in church matters, " when he nailed it up. After afew minutes she dropped over the low church-yard wall into the meadowbelow, and flung herself down on the grass in the short shadow of a yewnear at hand. What little air there was to be had came to her across theDrone, together with the sound of the water lazily nudging the bank andwhispering to the reeds little jokelets which they had heard a hundredtimes before. 

[Footnote A: A card, headed by the above text, was seen by the writer inAugust, 1898, in the porch of a country church. ]

Hester's irritable nerves relaxed. She stretched out her small, neatlyshod foot in front of her, leaned her back against the wall, andpresently could afford to smile. 

"Dear James, " she said, shaking her head gently to and fro, "I wish wewere not both writers, or, as he calls it, 'dabblers with the pen. ' Onedabbler in a vicarage is quite enough. "

She took out her letters and read them. Only half of them had beenopened. 

"I shall stay here till the luncheon bell rings, " she said, as shesettled herself comfortably. 

Rachel's letter was read last, on the principle of keeping the best tothe end. 

"And so she is leaving London--isn't this rather sudden?--and comingdown at once--to-day--no, yesterday, to Southminster, to the Palace. AndI am to stay in this afternoon, as she will come over, and probably theBishop will come too. I should be glad if I were not so tired. "

Hester looked along the white high road which led to Southminster. Inthe hot haze she could just see the two ears of the cathedral prickingup through the blue. Everything was very silent, so silent that shecould hear the church clock of Slumberleigh, two miles away, striketwelve. A whole hour before luncheon!

The miller's old white horse, with a dip in his long back and acorresponding curve in his under outline, was standing motionless in thesun, fast asleep, his front legs bent like a sailor's. 

A little bunch of red and white cows, knee-deep in the water, wereswishing off the flies with the wet tufts of their tails. Hester watchedtheir every movement. She was no longer afraid of cows. Presently, as ifwith one consent, they all made up their minds to relieve the tedium ofthe contemplative life by an exhibition of humor, and, scrambling out ofthe water, proceeded to canter along the bank with stiff raised tails, with an artificial noose sustained with difficulty just above the tuft. 

"How like James and the Pratts!" Hester said to herself, watching thegrotesque gambols and nudgings of the dwindling humorists. "It must bevery fatiguing to be so comic. "

Hester had been up since five o'clock, utilizing the quiet hours beforethe house was astir. She was tired out. A bumblebee was droning sleepilynear at hand. The stream talked and talked and talked about what he wasgoing to do when he was a river. "How tired the banks must be oflistening to him!" thought Hester, with closed eyes. 

And the world melted slowly away in a delicious sense of well-being, from which the next moment, as it seemed to her, she was suddenlyawakened by Mr. Gresley's voice near at hand. 

"Hester! _Hester_! HESTER!"

"Here! here!" gasped Hester, with a start, upsetting her lapful ofletters as she scrambled hastily to her feet. 

The young vicar drew near, and looked over the church-yard wall. A largecrumb upon his upper lip did not lessen the awful severity of hiscountenance. 

"We have nearly finished luncheon, " he observed. "The servants could notfind you anywhere. I don't want to be always finding fault, Hester, butI wish, for your own sake as well as ours, you would be more punctual atmeals. "

Hester had never been late before, but she felt that this was not themoment to remind her brother of that fact. 

"I beg pardon, " she said, humbly. "I fell asleep. "

"You fell asleep!" said Mr. Gresley, who had been wrestling all themorning with platitudes on "Thy will be done. " "All I can say, Hester, is that it is unfortunate you have no occupation. I cannot believe it isfor the good of any of us to lead so absolutely idle a life that we fallasleep in the morning. "

Hester made no reply. 

CHAPTER XI

 It is as useless to fight against the interpretations of ignorance as to whip the fog. --GEORGE ELIOT. 

The children, who had reached the pear stage, looked with round, awedeyes at "Auntie Hester" as she sat down at the luncheon-table beside theblack bottle which marked her place. The Gresleys were ardent totalabstainers, and were of opinion that Hester's health would be greatlybenefited by following their example. But Hester's doctor differed fromthem--he was extremely obstinate--with the result that the Gresleys wereobliged to tolerate the obnoxious bottle on their very table. It waswhat Mrs. Gresley called a "cross, " and Mr. Gresley was always afraidthat the fact of its presence might become known and hopelesslymisconstrued in Warpington and the world at large. 

The children knew that Hester was in disgrace, as she vainly tried toeat the congealed slice of roast mutton, with blue slides in it, whichhad been put before her chair half an hour ago, when the joint was sentout for the servants' dinner. The children liked "Auntie Hester, " butwithout enthusiasm, except Regie, the eldest, who loved her as himself. She could tell them stories, and make butterflies and horses and dogsout of paper, but she could never join in their games, not even in thedelightful new ones she invented for them. She was always tireddirectly. And she would never give them rides on her back, as the large, good-natured Pratt girls did. And she was dreadfully shocked if they didnot play fair, so much so that on one occasion Mr. Gresley had tointerfere, and to remind her that a game was a game, and that it wouldbe better to let the children play as they liked than to be perpetuallyfinding fault with them. 

Perhaps nothing in her life at the Vicarage was a greater trial toHester than to see the rules of fair play broken by the children withthe connivance of their parents. Mr. Gresley had never been to a publicschool, and had thus missed the ABC of what in its later stages iscalled "honor. " He was an admirable hockey-player, but he was not inrequest at the frequent Slumberleigh matches, for he never hit off fair, or minded being told so. 

"Auntie Hester is leaving all her fat, " said Mary, suddenly, in a shrillvoice, her portion of pear held in her left cheek as she spoke. She hadno idea that she ought not to draw attention to the weakness of others. She was only anxious to be the first to offer interesting information. 

"Never mind, " said Mrs. Gresley, admiring her own moderation. "Finishyour pear. "

If there was one thing more than another in Hester's behavior thatannoyed Mrs. Gresley--and there were several others--it was Hester'smanner of turning her food over on her plate and leaving half of it. 

Hester did it again now, and Mrs. Gresley, already irritated by herunpunctuality, tried to look away so as not to see her, and prayed forpatience. The hundred a year which Hester contributed to the littleestablishment had eased the struggling household in many ways; but Mrs. Gresley sometimes wondered if the money, greatly needed as it was, counterbalanced the perpetual friction of her sister-in-law's presence. 

"Father!"

"Yes, my son. "

"Isn't it wrong to drink wine?"

Yes, my son. "

"Then why does Auntie Hester drink it?"

Hester fixed her eyes intently on her brother. Would he uphold herbefore the children?

"Because she thinks it does her good, " said Mr. Gresley. 

She withdrew her eyes. Her hand, holding a spoonful of cold ricepudding, shook. A delicate color flooded her face, and finally settledin the tip of her nose. In her own way she loved the children. 

"Ach, mein Herr, " almost screamed Fräulein, who adored Hester, and sawthe gravity of the occasion, "aber Sie vergessen that the Herr DoctorBr-r-r-r-r-own has so strong--so very strong command--"

"I cannot allow a discussion as to the merits or demerits of alcohol atmy table, " said Mr. Gresley. "I hold one opinion, Dr. Brown holdsanother. I must beg to be allowed to differ from him. Children, saygrace. "

 * * * * *

It was Wednesday and a half-holiday, and Mrs. Gresley had arranged totake the children in the pony-carriage to be measured for new boots. These expeditions to Westhope were a great event. At two o'clock exactlythe three children rushed down-stairs, Regie bearing in his hand his tinmoney-box, in which a single coin could be heard to leap. Hesterproduced a bright threepenny-piece for each child, one of which wasirretrievably buried in Regie's money-box, and the other two immediatelylost in the mat in the pony-carriage. However, Hester found them, andslipped them inside their white gloves, and the expedition started, accompanied by Boulou, a diminutive yellow-and-white dog of Frenchextraction. Boulou was a well-meaning, kind little soul. There was acertain hurried arrogance about his hind-legs, but it was only manner. He was not in reality more conceited than most small dogs who wear theirtails high. 

Hester saw them drive off, and a few minutes later Mr. Gresley startedon his bicycle for a ruridecanal chapter meeting in the oppositedirection. She heard the Vicarage gate "clink" behind him as she crossedthe little hall, and then she suddenly stopped short and wrung herhands. She had forgotten to tell either of them that the Bishop ofSouthminster was going to call that afternoon. She knew he was coming onpurpose to see her, but this would have been incredible to theGresleys. She had not read Rachel's letter announcing his coming tillshe had taken refuge in the field where she had fallen asleep, and hermental equilibrium had been so shaken by the annoyance she felt she hadcaused the Gresleys at luncheon that she had entirely forgotten thesubject till this moment. 

She darted out of the house and flew down the little drive. But Fortunefrowned on Hester to-day. She reached the turn of the road only to seethe bent figure of Mr. Gresley whisk swiftly out of sight, his clericalcoat-tails flowing gracefully out behind like a divided skirt on eachside of the back wheel. 

Hester toiled back to the house breathless and dusty, and ready to crywith vexation. "They will never believe I forgot to tell them, " she saidto herself. "Everything I do is wrong in their eyes and stupid in myown. " And she sat down on the lowest step of the stairs and leaned herhead against the banisters. 

To her presently came a ministering angel in the shape of Fräulein, whohad begged an egg from the cook, had boiled it over her spirit-lamp, andnow presented it with effusion to her friend on a little tray, with twothin slices of bread-and-butter. 

"You are all goodness, Fräulein, " said Hester, raising her small, haggard face out of her hands. "It is wrong of me to give so muchtrouble. " She did not want the egg, but she knew its oval was the onlyshape in which Fräulein could express her silent sympathy. So sheaccepted it gratefully, and ate it on the stairs, with the tenderlysevere Fräulein watching every mouthful. 

Life did not seem quite such a hopeless affair when the little meal wasfinished. There were breaks in the clouds, after all. Rachel was comingto see her that afternoon. Hester was, as Fräulein often said, "easycast down and easy cast up. " The mild stimulant of the egg "cast her up"once more. She kissed Fräulein and ran up to her room, where shedivested her small person of every speck of dust contracted on theroad, smoothed out an invisible crease in her holland gown, put back thelittle ring of hair behind her ear which had become loosened in her rushafter her brother, and then came down, smiling and composed, to awaither friend in the drawing-room. 

Hester seldom sat in the drawing-room, partly because it was hersister-in-law's only sitting-room and partly because it was the regularhaunt of the Pratt girls, who (with what seemed to Hester dreadfulfamiliarity) looked in at the windows when they came to call, and, ifthey saw any one inside, entered straightway by the same, making retreatimpossible. 

The Miss Pratts had been willing, when Hester first came into theneighborhood, to take a good-natured though precarious interest in"their Vicar's sister. " Indeed, Mrs. Gresley had felt obliged to warnHester not to count too much on their attentions, "as they sometimesdropped people as quickly as they took them up. "

Hester was ignorant of country life, of its small society, itsinevitable relations with unsympathetic neighbors just because they wereneighbors; and she was specially ignorant of the class to which Mrs. Gresley and the Pratts belonged, and from which her aunt had in herlifetime unwisely guarded her niece as from the plague. She was amazedat first at the Pratts calling her by her Christian name without herleave, until she discovered that they spoke of the whole county by theirChristian names, even designating Lord Newhaven's two youngerbrothers--with whom they were not acquainted--as Jack and Harry, thoughthey were invariably called by their own family John and Henry. 

When, after her aunt's death, she had, by the advice of her fewremaining relatives, taken up her abode with her brother, as much on hisaccount as her own, for he was poor and with an increasing family, shejourneyed to Warpington accompanied by a pleasant feeling that, at anyrate, she was not going among strangers. She had often visited inMiddleshire, at Wilderleigh, in the elder Mr. Loftus's time, for whomshe had entertained an enthusiastic reverence; at Westhope Abbey, whereshe had a firm ally in Lord Newhaven, and at several other Middleshirehouses. She was silly enough to think she knew Middleshire fairly well, but after she settled at Warpington she gradually discovered theexistence of a large undercurrent of society of which she knew nothingat all, in which, whether she were willing or not, she was plunged bythe fact that she was her brother's sister. 

Hester perceived clearly enough that her brother did not by birth belongto this set, though his profession brought him in contact with it, buthe had evidently, though involuntarily, adopted it for better for worse;perhaps because a dictatorial habit is generally constrained to findcompanionship in a social grade lower than its own, where a loud voiceand a tendency to monologue checkered by prehistoric jokes and torturedpuns may meet with a more patient audience. Hester made many discoveriesabout herself during the first months of her life at Warpington, and thefirst of the series amazed her more than any of the later ones. 

She discovered that she was proud. Perhaps she had not the enormousopinion of herself which Mrs. Gresley so frequently deplored, forHester's thoughts seldom dwelt upon herself. But the alteredcircumstances of her life forced them momentarily upon herselfnevertheless, as a burst pipe will spread its waters down a damaskcurtain. 

So far, during the eight years since she had left the school-room, shehad always been "Miss Gresley, " a little personage treated withconsideration wherever she went, and _choyée_ for her delicate humor andtalent for conversation. She now experienced the interesting sensation, as novel to her as it is familiar to most of us, of being nobody, andshe disliked it. The manners of the set in which she found herself alsograted continually on her fastidious taste. She was first amazed andthen indignant at hearing her old Middleshire friends, whose simplicityfar surpassed that of her new acquaintance, denounced by thelatter--without being acquainted with them except officially--as "fine, "as caring only for "London people, " and as being "tuft-hunters, " becausethey frequently entertained at their houses persons of rank, to half ofwhom they were related. All this was new to Hester. She discovered that, though she might pay visits at these houses, she must never mentionthem, as it was considered the height of vulgarity to speak of people ofrank. 

Mrs. Gresley, who had been quite taken aback when the first of theseinvitations came, felt it her duty to warn Hester against a love ofrank, reminding her that it was a very bad thing to get a name forrunning after titled people. 

"James and I have always kept clear of that, " she remarked, withdignity. "For my part, I dare say you will think me very old-fashioned, but I must own I never can see that people with titles or wealth are onebit nicer or pleasanter than those without them. "

Hester agreed. 

"And, " continued Mrs. Gresley, "it has always been our aim to beindependent, not to bow down before any one. If I am unworldly, it isbecause I had the advantage of parents who impressed on me thehollowness of all social distinctions. If the Pratts were given a titleto-morrow I should behave exactly the same to them as I do now. "

If Lady Susan Gresley had passed her acquaintance through a lessexclusive sieve, Hester might have had the advantage of hearing allthese well-worn sentiments, and of realizing the point of view of alarge number of her fellow-creatures before she became an inconspicuousunit in their midst. 

But if Mrs. Gresley was pained by Hester's predilection for the societyof what she called "swells" (the word, though quite extinct in civilizedparts, can occasionally be found in country districts), she was stillmore pained by the friendships Hester formed with persons whom hersister-in-law considered "not quite. "

Mrs. Gresley was always perfectly civil, and the Pratts imperfectly so, to Miss Brown, the doctor's invalid sister. But Hester made friends withher, in spite of the warnings of Mrs. Gresley that kindness was onething and intimacy another. 

"The truth is, " Mrs. Gresley would say, "Hester loves adulation, and asshe can't get it from the Pratts and us, she has to go to those belowher in the social scale, like Miss Brown, who will give it to her. MissBrown may be very cultivated. I dare say she is, but she makes up toHester. "

Sybell Loftus, who lived close at hand at Wilderleigh, across the Prone, was one of the very few besides Miss Brown among her new acquaintanceswho hailed Hester at once as a kindred spirit, to the unconcealedsurprise of the Pratts and the Gresleys. Sybell adored Hester's book, which the Gresleys and Pratts considered rather peculiar "as emanatingfrom the pen of a clergyman's sister. " She enthusiastically suggested toHester several improvements which might easily be made in it, whichwould have changed its character altogether. She even intrenched on thesacred precinct of a married woman's time to write out the openings ofseveral romances, which she was sure Hester, with her wonderful talent, could build up into magnificent works of art. She was always runningover to the Vicarage to confide to Hester the unique thoughts which hadbeen vouchsafed to her while contemplating a rose, or her child, or herhusband, or all three together. 

Hester was half amused, half fascinated, and ruefully lost many of themornings still left her by the Pratts and Gresleys in listening to theoutpourings of this butterfly soul, which imagined every flower itinvoluntarily alighted on and drew honey from to be its own specialproduction. 

But Hester's greatest friend in Middleshire was the Bishop ofSouthminster, with whom Rachel was staying, and whom she was expectingthis afternoon. 

CHAPTER XII

 The depth and dream of my desire, The bitter paths wherein I stray, Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire, Thou knowest Who hast made the clay! --RUDYARD KIPLING. 

The unbalanced joys and sorrows of emotional natures are apt to arousethe pity of the narrow-hearted and the mild contempt of the obtuse oftheir fellow-creatures. 

But perhaps it is a mistake to feel compassion for persons like Hester, for if they have many evil days and weeks in their usually short lives, they have also moments of sheer bliss, hours of awed contemplation andof exquisite rapture which, possibly, in the long run, equal the moresolid joys of a good income and a good digestion, nay, even theperennial glow of that happiest of happy temperaments which limits thenature of others by its own, which sees no uncomfortable differencebetween a moral and a legal right, and believes it can measure life withthe same admirable accuracy with which it measures its drawing-roomcurtains. 

As Hester and Rachel sat together in the Vicarage drawing-room, Rachel'sfaithful, doglike eyes detected no trace of tears in Hester's dancing, mischievous ones. They were alone, for the Bishop had dropped Rachel onhis way to visit a sick clergyman, and had arranged to call at theVicarage on his way back. 

Hester quickly perceived that Rachel did not wish to talk of herself, and drew a quaint picture of her own life at Warpington, which shedescribed "not wisely but too well. " But she was faithful to her salt. She said nothing of the Gresleys to which those worthies could haveobjected had they been present. Indeed, she spoke of them in what theywould have termed "a very proper manner, " of their kindness to her whenshe had been ill, of how Mr. Gresley had himself brought up herbreakfast-tray every morning, and how, in the spring, he had taught herto bicycle. 

"But, oh! Rachel, " added Hester, "during the last nine months myself-esteem has been perforated with wounds, each large enough to killthe poor creature. My life here has shown me horrible faults in myselfof which I never dreamed. I feel as if I had been ironed all over sinceI came here, and all kinds of ugly words in invisible ink are coming outclear in the process. "

"I am quite alarmed, " said Rachel, tranquilly. 

"You ought to be. First of all I did think I cared nothing about food. Idon't remember ever giving it a thought when I lived with Aunt Susan. But here I--I am difficult about it. I do try to eat it, but often Ireally can't. And then I leave it on my plate, which is a disgustinghabit, which always offends me in other people. Now I am as bad as anyof them; indeed, it is worse in me because I know poor James is not veryrich. "

"I suppose the cooking is vile?"

"I don't know. I never noticed what I ate till I came here, so I can'tjudge. Perhaps it is not very good. But the dreadful part is that Ishould mind. I could not have believed it of myself. James and Minnanever say anything, but I know it vexes them, as of course it must. "

Rachel looked critically at Hester's innocent, childlike face. WhenHester was not a cultivated woman of the world she was a child. Therewas, alas! no medium in her character. Rachel noticed how thin her faceand hands had become, and the strained look in the eyes. The faint colorin her cheek had a violet tinge. 

She did not waste words on the cookery question. She saw plainly enoughthat Hester's weak health was slipping further down the hill. 

"And all this time you have been working?"

"If you call it working. I used to call it so once, but I never do now. Yes, I manage about four hours a day. I have made another pleasantdiscovery about myself--that I have the temper of a fiend if I aminterrupted. "

"But surely you told the Gresleys when first you came that you must notbe interrupted at certain hours?"

"I did. I did. But, of course--it is very natural--they think thatrather self-important and silly. I am thought very silly here, Rachel. And James does not mind being interrupted in writing his sermons. Andthe Pratts have got the habit of running in in the mornings. "

"Who on earth are the Pratts?"

"They are what _they_ call 'county people. ' Their father made a fortunein oil, and built a house covered with turrets near here a few yearsago. I used to know Captain Pratt, the son, very slightly in London. Inever would dance with him. He used to come to our 'At Homes, ' but hewas never asked to dinner. He is a great 'parti' among a certain setdown here. His mother and sisters were very kind to me when I came, butI was not so accustomed then as I am now to be treated familiarly andcalled 'Hessie, ' which no one has ever called me before, and I am afraidI was not so responsive as I see now I ought to have been. Down here itseems your friends are the people whom you live near, not the ones youlike. It seems a curious arrangement. And as the Pratts are James's andMinna's greatest friends, I did not wish to offend them. And then, ofcourse, I did offend them mortally at last by losing my temper when theycame up to my room to what they called 'rout me out, ' though I had toldthem I was busy in the mornings. I was in a very difficult place, andwhen they came in I did not know who they were, because only the peoplein the book were real just then. And then when I recognized them, andthe scene in my mind which I had been waiting for for weeks wasshattered like a pane of glass, I became quite giddy and spoke wildly. And then--I was so ashamed afterwards--I burst into tears of rage anddespair. "

Even the remembrance was too much. Hester wiped away two large tearsonto a dear little handkerchief just large enough to receive them, andwent on with a quaver in her voice. 

"I was so shocked at myself that I found it quite easy to tell them nextday that I was sorry I had lost my temper; but they have not been thesame since. Not that I wanted them to be the same. I would rather theywere different. But I was anxious to keep on cordial terms with Minna'sfriends. She quarrels with them herself, but that is different. Isuppose it is inevitable if you are on terms of great intimacy withpeople you don't really care for. "

"At any rate, _they_ have not interrupted you again?"

"N--no. But still, I was often interrupted. Minna has too much to do, and she is not strong just now, and she often sends up one of thechildren, and I was so nearly fierce with one of them--poor littlethings!--that I felt the risk was becoming too great, so I have left offwriting between breakfast and luncheon, and I get up directly it islight instead. It is light very early now. Only the worst part of it isthat I am so tired for the rest of the day that I can hardly drag myselfabout. "

Rachel said nothing. She seldom commented on the confidences that weremade to her. She saw that Hester, always delicate, was making anenormous effort under conditions which would be certain to entaildisastrous effects on her health. The book was sapping her strength likea vampire, and the Gresleys were evidently exhausting it still furtherby unconsciously strewing her path with difficulties. Rachel did notknow them, but she supposed they belonged to that large class whose eyesare holden. 

"And the book itself? Is it nearly finished?"

Hester's face changed. Eagerly, shyly, enthusiastically she talked toher friend about the book, as a young girl talks of her lover. Everything else was forgotten. Hester's eyes burned. Her color came andwent. She was transfigured. 

The protecting, anxious affection died out of Rachel's face as shelooked at Hester, and gave place to a certain wistful, half-enviousadmiration. She had once been shaken by all these emotions herself, years ago, when she was in love. She had regarded them as a revelationwhile they lasted; and afterwards, as a steep step--a very steepstep--upon the stair of life. But she realized now that such as Hesterlive constantly in the world which the greater number of us can onlyenter when human passion lends us the key; the world at which, when thegates are shut against us, the coarser minded among us are not ashamedto level their ridicule and contempt. 

Hester spoke brokenly with awe and reverence of her book, as of somemighty presence, some constraining power outside herself. She saw itcomplete, beautiful--an entrancing vision, inaccessible, as a sunset. 

"I cannot reach up to it. I cannot get near it, " she said. "When I tryto write it, it is like drawing an angel with spread wings with a bit ofcharcoal. I understate everything. Yet I labor day by day travestyingit, caricaturing the beautiful thoughts that come into my mind. I makeeverything commonplace and vulgar by putting it into words. I go aloneinto the woods and sit for hours quite still with the trees. Andgradually I understand and know. And I listen, and Nature speaks, reallyspeaks--not a _façon de parler_, as some people think who explain to youthat you mean this or that by your words which you don't mean--and herspirit becomes one with my spirit. And I feel I can never againmisunderstand her, never again fail to interpret her, never again wanderso far away from her that every white anemone and every seedling ferndisowns me, and waits in silence till the alien has gone from amongthem. And I come home, Rachel, and I try, sometimes I try for half thenight, to find words to translate it into. But there are no words, or, if there are, I cannot find them, and at last I fall back on somecoarse simile, and in my despair I write it down. And, oh! Rachel, theworst is that presently, when I have forgotten what it ought to havebeen, when the vision fades, I know I shall _admire_ what I havewritten. It is that that breaks my heart. "

The old, old lament of those who worship art, that sternest mistress inthe world, fell into the silence of the little drawing-room. Rachelunderstood it in part only, for she had always vaguely felt that Hesteridealized Nature, as she idealized her fellow-creatures, as sheidealized everything, and she did not comprehend why Hester was indespair because she could not speak adequately of Life or Nature as shesaw them. Rachel thought, with bewilderment, that that was just what shecould do. 

At this moment a carriage drew up at the door, and after a longinterval, during which the wrathful voice of the cook could bedistinctly heard through the kitchen window recalling "Hemma" to a senseof duty from the back yard, "Hemma" breathlessly ushered in the Bishopof Southminster. 

CHAPTER XIII

 Originality irritates the religious classes, who will not be taken out of their indolent ways of thinking; who have a standing grievance against it, and "heresy" and "heterodoxy" are bad words ready for it. --W. W. PEYTON. 

The Bishop was an undersized, spare man, with a rugged, weather-beatenface and sinewy frame. If you had seen him working a crane in astone-mason's yard, or leading a cut-and-thrust forlorn-hope, or sailingpaper boats with a child, you would have felt he was the right man inthe right place. That he was also in his right place as a bishop hadnever been doubted by any one. Mr. Gresley was the only person who hadoccasionally had misgivings as to the Bishop's vocation as a truepriest, but he had put them aside as disloyal. 

Jowett is believed to have said, "A bishop without a sense of humor islost. " Perhaps that may have been one of the reasons why, by Jowett'sadvice, the See of Southminster was offered to its present occupant. TheBishop's mouth, though it spoke of an indomitable will, had a certaintwist of the lip, his deep-set, benevolent eyes had a certain twinklewhich made persons like Lord Newhaven and Hester hail him at once as anally, but which ought to have been a danger-signal to some of hisclerical brethren--to Mr. Gresley in particular. 

The Bishop respected and upheld Mr. Gresley as a clergyman, but as aconversationalist the young vicar wearied him. If the truth were known(which it never was), he had arranged to visit Hester when he knew Mr. Gresley would be engaging the reluctant attention of a ruridecanalmeeting. 

He gave a sigh of relief as he became aware that Hester and Rachel werethe only occupants of the cool, darkened room. Mrs. Gresley, it seemed, was also out. 

Hester made tea, and presently the Bishop, who looked much exhausted, roused himself. He had that afternoon attended two death-beds--one thedeath-bed of a friend, and the other that of the last vestige of peace, expiring amid the clamor of a distracted Low Church parish and HighChurch parson, who could only meet each other after the fashion ofcymbals. For the moment even his courageous spirit had beendisheartened. 

"I met a son of Anak the other night at the Newhavens', " he said toHester, "who claimed you as a cousin--a Mr. Richard Vernon. He broke theice by informing me that I had confirmed him, and that perhaps I shouldlike to know that he had turned out better than he expected. "

"How like Dick!" said Hester. 

"I remembered him at last. His father was the squire of Farlow, where Iwas rector before I came to Southminster. Dick was not a source ofunmixed pleasure to his parents. As a boy of eight he sowed the parentalbilliard-table with mustard and cress in his father's absence, andraised a very good crop, and performed other excruciating experiments. Ibelieve he beat all previous records of birch rods at Eton. I rememberwhile he was there he won a bet from another boy who could not pay, andhe foreclosed on the loser's cricketing trousers. His parents weredistressed about it when he brought them home, and I tried to make himsee that he ought not to have taken them. But Dick held firm. He said itwas like tithe, and if he could not get his own in money, as I did, hemust collect it in trousers. I must own he had me there. I noticed thathe wore the garment daily as long as any question remained in hisparents' minds as to whether they ought to be returned. After that Ifelt sure he would succeed in life. "

"I believe he is succeeding in Australia. "

"I advised his father to send him abroad. There really was not room forhim in England, and, unfortunately for the army, the examiners jibbed athis strictly phonetic spelling. He tells me he has given up being anA. D. C. And has taken to vine-growing, because if people are up in theworld they always drink freely, and if they are 'down on their luck'they drink all the more to drown care. The reasoning appeared to mesound. "

"He and James used to quarrel frightfully in the holidays, " said Hester. "It was always the same reason, about playing fair. Poor James did notknow that games were matters of deadly importance, and that a rule was asacred thing. I wonder why it is that clergymen so often have the samecode of honor as women; quite a different code from that of the averageman. "

"I think, " said the Bishop, "it is owing to that difference of code thatwomen clash so hopelessly with men when they attempt to compete or workwith them. Women have not to begin with the _esprit de corps_ which themost ordinary men possess. With what difficulty can one squeeze out of aman any fact that is detrimental to his friend, or even to hisacquaintance, however obviously necessary it may be that the informationshould be asked for and given. Yet I have known many good and earnestand affectionate women, who lead unselfish lives, who will 'give away'their best woman friend at the smallest provocation, or without anyprovocation at all; will inform you, _à propos_ of nothing, that she wasjilted years ago, or that her husband married her for her money. Thecauses of humiliation and disaster in a woman's life seem to have nosacredness for her women friends. Yet if that same friend whom she hasrun down is ill, the runner down will nurse her day and night withabsolutely selfless devotion. "

"I have often been puzzled by that, " said Rachel. "I seem to be alwaysmaking mistakes about women, and perhaps that is the reason. They showthemselves capable of some deep affection or some great self-sacrifice, and I respect and admire them, and think they are like that allthrough. And the day comes when they are not quite straightforward, orare guilty of some petty meanness, which a man who is not fit to blacktheir boots would never stoop to. "

Hester's eyes fixed on her friend. 

"Do you tell them? Do you show them up to themselves, " she asked, "or doyou leave them?"

"I do neither, " said Rachel. "I treat them just the same as before. "

"Then aren't you a hypocrite, too?"

Hester's small face was set like a flint. 

"I think not, " said Rachel, tranquilly, "any more than they are. Thegood is there for certain, and the evil is there for certain. Why shouldI take most notice of the evil, which is just the part which will berubbed out of them presently, while the good will remain?"

"I think Rachel is right, " said the Bishop. 

"I don't think she is, at all, " said Hester, her plumage ruffled, administering her contradiction right and left to her two best friendslike a sharp peck from a wren. "I think we ought to believe the best ofpeople until they prove themselves unworthy, and then--"

"Then what?" said the Bishop, settling himself in his chair. 

"Then leave them in silence. "

"I only know of a woman's silence by hearsay. I have never met it. Doyou mean bitterly reproach the thistle for not bearing grapes?"

"I do not. It is my own fault if I idealize a thistle until the thistleand I both think it is a vine. But if people appear to love and honorcertain truths which they know are everything to me, and claim kinshipwith me on that common ground, and then desert when the pinch comes, asit always does come, and act from worldly motives, then I know that theyhave never really cared for what they professed to love, that what Iimagined to be a principle was only a subject of conversation--and--Iwithdraw. "

"You withdraw!" echoed the Bishop. "This is terrible. "

"Just as I should, " continued Hester, "if I were in political life. If aman threw in his lot with me, and then, when some means of worldlyadvancement seemed probable from the other side, deserted to it, Ishould not in consequence think him incapable of being a good husbandand father and landlord. But I should never again believe that he caredfor what I had staked my all on. And when he began to talk as if hecared (as they always do, as if nothing had happened) I should not showhim up to himself. I have tried that and it is no use. I should--"

"Denounce him as an apostate?" suggested the Bishop. 

"No. He should be to me thenceforward as a heathen. "

"Thrice miserable man!"

"You would not have me treat him as a brother after that?"

"Of course not, because he would probably dislike that still more. "

At this moment a hurricane seemed to pass through the little house, andthe three children rushed into the drawing-room, accompanied by Boulou, in a frantic state of excitement. Boulou, like Hester, had no happymedium in his character. He was what Mrs. Gresley called "very Frenchy, "and he now showed his Frenchyness by a foolish exhibition of himself incoursing round and round the room with his silly foreign tail crookedthe wrong way. 

"Mother got out at Mrs. Brown's, " shrieked Regie, in his highest voice, "and I drove up. "

"Oh, Regie!" expostulated Mary the virtuous, the invariable corrector ofthe statements of others. "You held the reins, but William walkedbeside. "

Hester made the children shake hands with her guests, and then theyclustered round her to show what they had bought. 

Though the Bishop was fond of children, he became suddenly restive. Hetook out his watch, and was nervously surprised at the lapse of time. The carriage was sent for, and in a few minutes that dignified vehiclewas bowling back to Southminster. 

"I am not satisfied about Hester, " said the Bishop. "She looks ill andirritable, and she has the tense expression of a person who is making acolossal effort to be patient, and whose patience, after successfullymeeting twenty calls upon it in the course of the day, collapsesentirely at the twenty-first. That is a humiliating experience. "

"She spoke as if she were a trial to her brother and his wife. "

"I think she is. I have a sort of sympathy with Gresley as regards hissister. He has been kind to her according to his lights, and if shecould write little goody-goody books he would admire her immensely, andso would half the neighborhood. It would be felt to be suitable. ButHester jars against the preconceived ideas which depute that clergymen'ssisters and daughters should, as a matter of course, offer up theiryouth and hair and teeth and eyesight on the altar of parochial work. She does and is nothing that long custom expects her to do and be. Originality is out of place in a clergyman's family, just because it isso urgently needed. It is a constant source of friction. But, on theother hand, the best thing that could happen to Hester is to be thrownfor a time among people who regard her as a nonentity, who have no senseof humor, and to whom she cannot speak of any of the subjects she has atheart. If Hester had remained in London after the success of her _Idyll_she would have met with so much sympathy and admiration that her nextbook would probably have suffered in consequence. She is so susceptible, so expansive, that repression is positively necessary to her to enableher, so to speak, to get up steam. There is no place for getting upsteam like a country vicarage with an inner cordon of cows round it andan outer one of amiable country neighbors, mildly contemptuous oforiginality in any form. She cannot be in sympathy with them in herpresent stage. It is her loss, not theirs. At forty she will be insympathy with them, and appreciate them as I do; but that is anotherstory. She has been working at this new book all winter with a fervorand concentration which her isolation has helped to bring about. Sheowes a debt of gratitude to her surroundings, and some day I shall tellher so. "

"She says her temper has become that of a fiend. "

"She is passionate, there is no doubt. She nearly fell on us both thisafternoon. She is too much swayed by every little incident. Everythingmakes a vivid impression on her and shakes her to pieces. It is ratherabsurd and disproportionate now, like the long legs of a foal, but it isa sign of growth. My experience is that people without that fire ofenthusiasm on the one side and righteous indignation on the other neverachieve anything except in domestic life. If Hester lives, she willoutgrow her passionate nature, or at least she will grow up to it andbecome passive, contemplative. Then, instead of unbalanced anger andexcitement, the same nature which is now continually upset by them willhave learned to receive impressions calmly and, by reason of thatreceptiveness and insight, she will go far. "

CHAPTER XIV

 Only those who know the supremacy of the Intellectual life--the life which has a seed of ennobling thought and purpose within it--can understand the grief of one who falls from that serene activity into the absorbing soul-wasting struggle with worldly annoyances. --GEORGE ELIOT. 

Hester in the meanwhile was expressing wonder and astonishment at thepurchases of the children, who, with the exception of Mary, had spenttheir little all on presents for Fräulein, whose birthday was on themorrow. After Mary's tiny white bone umbrella had been discovered to bea needle-case, and most of the needles had been recovered from thefloor, Regie extracted from its paper a little china cow. But, alas! thecow's ears and horns remained in the bag, owing possibly to theincessant passage of the parcel from one pocket to another on the wayhome. Regie looked at the remnants in the bag, and his lip quivered, while Mary, her own umbrella safely warehoused, exclaimed, "Oh, Regie!"in tones of piercing reproach. 

But Hester quickly suggested that she could put them on again quiteeasily, and Fräulein would like it just as much. Still, it was a blow. Regie leaned his head against Hester's shoulder. 

Hester pressed her cheek against his little dark head. Sybell Loftus hadoften told Hester that she could have no idea of the happiness of achild's touch till she was a mother; that she herself had not an inklingtill then. But perhaps some poor substitute for that exquisite feelingwas vouchsafed to Hester. 

"The tail is still on, " she whispered, not too cheerfully, but as onewho in darkness sees light beyond. 

The cow's tail was painted in blue upon its side. 

"When I bought it, " said Regie, in a strangled voice, "and it was agreat-deal-of-money cow, I did wish its tail had been out behind; but Ithink now it is safer like that. "

"All the best cows have their tails on the side, " said Hester. "Andto-morrow morning, when you are dressed, run up to my room, and you willfind it just like it was before. " And she carefully put aside the bitswith the injured animal. 

"And now what has Stella got?"

Stella produced a bag of "bull's-eyes, " which, in striking contrast withthe cow, had, in the course of the drive home, cohered so tightlytogether that it was doubtful if they would ever be separated again. 

"Fräulein never eats bull's-eyes, " said Mary, who was what her parentscalled "a very truthful child. "

"I eats them, " said Stella, reversing her small cauliflower-like personon the sofa till only a circle of white rims with a nucleus of coventryfrilling, with two pink legs kicking gently upward, were visible. 

Stella always turned upsidedown if the conversation took a personalturn. In later and more conventional years we find a poor equivalent formarking our disapproval by changing the subject. 

Hester had hardly set Stella right side upward when the door opened oncemore and Mrs. Gresley entered, hot and exhausted. 

"Run up-stairs, my pets, " she said. "Hester, you should not keep themdown here now. It is past their tea-time. "

"We came ourselves, mother, " said Regie. "Fruälein said we might, toshow Auntie Hester our secrets. "

"Well, never mind; run away now, " said the poor mother, sitting downheavily in a low chair, "and take Boulou. "

"You are tired out, " said Hester, slipping on to her knees and unlacingher sister-in-law's brown boots. 

Mrs. Gresley looked with a shade of compunction at the fragile kneelingfigure, with its face crimsoned by the act of stooping and by theobduracy of the dust-ingrained boot-laces. But as she looked she noticedthe flushed cheeks, and, being a diviner of spirits, wondered whatHester was ashamed of now. 

As Hester rose her sister-in-law held out, with momentary hesitation, athin paper bag, in which an oval form allowed its moist presence to bediscerned by partial adhesion to its envelope. 

"I saw you ate no luncheon, Hester, so I have brought you a little solefor supper. "

Some of us poor Marthas spend all our existence, so to speak, in thekitchens of life. We never get so far as the drawing-room. Ourconquests, our self-denials, are achieved through the medium of suet andlard and necks of mutton. We wrestle with the dripping, and rise onstepping-stones--not of our dead selves, but of sheep and oxen--tohigher things. 

The sole was a direct answer to prayer. Mrs. Gresley had been enabled tostifle her irritation against this delicate, whimsical, fine lady of asister-in-law--laced in, too, we must not forget that--who, in Mrs. Gresley's ideas, knew none of the real difficulties of life, itsbutcher's bills, its monthly nurses, its constant watchfulness overdelicate children, its long, long strain at two ends which won't meet. We must know but little of our fellow-creatures if the damp sole in thebag appears to us other than the outward and homely sign of an inwardand spiritual conquest. 

As such Hester saw it, and she kissed Mrs. Gresley and thanked her, andthen ran, herself, to the kitchen with the peace offering, and came backwith her sister-in-law's down-at-heel in-door shoes. 

Mr. Gresley was stabling his bicycle in the hall as she crossed it. Hewas generally excessively jocose with his bicycle. He frequently said, "Whoa, Emma!" to it. But to-day he, too, was tired, and put Emma away insilence. 

When Hester returned to the drawing-room Mrs. Gresley had recoveredsufficiently to notice her surroundings. She was sitting with hertan-stockinged feet firmly planted on the carpet instead of listlesslyoutstretched, her eyes ominously fixed on the tea-table and seed-cake. 

Hester's silly heart nudged her side like an accomplice. 

"Who has been here to tea?" said Mrs. Gresley. "I met the Pratts and theThursbys in Westhope. "

Hester was frightened. We need to be in the presence of those who judgeothers by themselves. 

"The Bishop was here and Rachel West, " she said, coloring. "They left afew minutes ago. "

"Well, of all unlucky things, that James and I should have been out. James, do you hear that? The Bishop's been while we were away. And I dodeclare, Hester, " looking again at the table, "you never so much asasked for the silver teapot. "

"I never thought of it, " said Hester, ruefully. It was almost impossibleto her to alter the habit of a lifetime, and to remember to dash out andhurriedly change the daily routine if visitors were present. Lady Susanhad always used her battered old silver teapot every day, and for thelife of her Hester could not understand why there should be one kind oneday and one kind another. She glanced resentfully at the little brownearthen-ware vessel which she had wielded so carefully half an hour ago. Why did she never remember the Gresleys' wishes?

"Hester, " said Mrs. Gresley, suddenly, taking new note of Hester'simmaculate brown holland gown, which contrasted painfully with her owndilapidated pink shirt with hard collars and cuffs and imitation tie, tied for life in the shop where it was born. "You are so smart; I dobelieve you knew they were coming. "

If there was one thing more than another which offended Hester, it wasbeing told that she was _smart_. 

"I trust I am never smart, " she replied, not with any touch of thehaughtiness that some ignorant persons believe to be the grand manner, but with a subtle change of tone and carriage which seemed instantly toremove her to an enormous distance from the other woman with herinsinuation and tan stockings. Mrs. Gresley unconsciously drew in herfeet. "I did not know when I dressed this morning that the Bishop wascoming to-day. "

"Then you _did_ know later that he was coming?"

"Yes, Rachel West wrote to tell me so this morning, but I did not openher letter at breakfast, and I was so vexed at being late for luncheonthat I forgot to mention it then. I remembered as soon as James hadstarted, and ran after him, but he was too far off to hear me call tohim. "

It cost Hester a good deal to give this explanation, as she was awarethat the Bishop's visit had been to her and to her alone. 

"Come, come, " said Mr. Gresley, judicially, with the natural masculineabhorrence of a feminine skirmish. 

"Don't go on making foolish excuses, Hester, which deceive no one; andyou, Minna, don't criticise Hester's clothes. It is the Bishop's ownfault for not writing his notes himself. He might have known that MissWest would have written to Hester instead of to me. I can't say I thinkHester behaved kindly towards us in acting as she did, but I won't hearany more argument about it. I desire the subject should now _drop_. "

The last words were uttered in the same tone in which Mr. Gresley closedmorning service, and were felt to be final. He was not in realitygreatly chagrined at missing the Bishop, whom he regarded with some ofthe suspicious distrust with which a certain class of mind ever regardsthat which is superior to it. Hester left the room, closing the doorgently behind her. 

"James, " said Mrs. Gresley, looking at her priest with tears ofadmiration in her eyes, "I shall never be good like you, so you need notexpect it. How you can be so generous and patient with her I don't know. It passes me. "

"We must learn to make allowances for each other, " said Mr. Gresley, inhis most affectionate cornet, drawing his tired, tearful little wifedown beside him on the sofa. And he made some fresh tea for her, andwaited on her, and she told him about the children's boots and the sole, and he told her about a remarkable speech he had made at the chaptermeeting, and a feeling that had been borne in on him on the way homethat he should shortly write something striking about ApostolicSuccession. And they were happy together; for though he sometimesreproved her as a priest if she allowed herself to dwell on theprobability of his being made a Bishop, he was very kind to her as ahusband. 

CHAPTER XV

 "Beware of a silent dog and still water. "

If you are travelling across Middleshire on the local line betweenSouthminster and Westhope, after you have passed Wilderleigh with itsgray gables and park wall, close at hand you will perceive to nestle (atleast, Mr. Gresley said it nestled) Warpington Vicarage; and perhaps, ifyou know where to look, you will catch a glimpse of Hester's narrowbedroom window under the roof. Half a mile farther on Warpington Towers, the gorgeous residence of the Pratts, bursts into view, with flag onturret flying, and two tightly bitted rustic bridges leaping high overthe Drone. You cannot see all the lodges of Warpington Towers from theline, which is a source of some regret to Mr. Pratt; but if he happensto be travelling with you he will point out two of them, chaste stuccoGothic erections with church windows, and inform you that the threeothers are on the northern and eastern sides, vaguely indicating thedirections of Scotland and Ireland. 

And the Drone, kept in order on your left by the low line of theSlumberleigh hills, will follow you and leave you, leave you and returnall the way to Westhope. You are getting out at Westhope, of course, ifyou are a Middleshire man; for Westhope is on the verge of Middleshire, and the train does not go any farther--at least, it only goes into oneof the insignificant counties which jostle each other to hold on toMiddleshire, unknown Saharas, where passengers who oversleep themselveswake to find themselves cast away. 

Westhope Abbey stands in its long, low meadows and level gardens, closeto the little town, straggling red roof above red roof, up its steepcobbled streets. 

Down the great central aisle you may walk on mossy stones between thehigh shafts of broken pillars under the sky. God's stars look down oncemore where the piety of man had for a time shut them out. Through theslender tracery of what was once the east window, instead of glazedsaint and crucifix, you may see the little town clasping its hill. 

The purple clematis and the small lizard-like leaf of the ivy have laidtender hands on all that is left of that stately house of prayer. Thepigeons wheel round it, and nest in its niches. The soft, contentedmurmur of bird praise has replaced the noise of bitter human prayer. Athin wind-whipped grass holds the summit of the broken walls against allcorners. The fallen stones, quaintly carved with angel and griffin, aregoing slowly back year by year, helped by the rain and hindered by thefrost, slowly back through the sod to the generations of human handsthat held and hewed them, and fell to dust below them hundreds of yearsago. The spirit returns to the God who gave it, and the stone to thehand that fashioned it. 

The adjoining monastery had been turned into a dwelling-house, withoutaltering it externally, and it was here that Lord Newhaven loved to passthe summer months. Into its one long upper passage all the many roomsopened, up white stone steps through arched doors, rooms which had oncebeen monks' dormitories, abbots' cells, where Lady Newhaven and herguests now crimped their hair and slept under down quilts till noon. 

It was this long passage, with its interminable row of low latticedwindows, that Lord Newhaven was turning into a depository for the oldEnglish weapons which he was slowly collecting. He was standing nowgazing lovingly at them, drawing one finger slowly along an inlaidarquebus, when a yell from the garden made him turn and look out. 

It was not a yell of anguish, and Lord Newhaven remained at the windowleaning on his elbows and watching at his ease the little scene whichwas taking place below him. 

On his bicycle on the smooth-shaven lawn was Dick, wheeling slowly inand out among the stone-edged flower-beds, an apricot in each broadpalm, while he discoursed in a dispassionate manner to the two excitedlittle boys who were making futile rushes for the apricots. Thegoverness and Rachel were looking on. Rachel had arrived at Westhope theday before from Southminster. "Take your time, my son, " said Dick, justeluding by a hair's-breadth a charge through a geranium-bed on the partof the eldest boy. "If you are such jolly little fools as to crack yourlittle skulls on the sun-dial, I shall eat them both myself. Miss Turnersays you may have them, so you've only got to take them. I can't keep onoffering them all day long. My time"--(Dick ran his bicycle up aterrace, and, as soon as the boys were up, glided down again)--"my timeis valuable. You don't want them?" A shrill disclaimer and a freshonslaught. "Miss Turner, they thank you very much, but they don't carefor apricots. "

Half a second more and Dick skilfully parted from his bicycle and wascharged by his two admirers and severely pummelled as high as they couldreach. When they had been led away by Miss Turner, each biting anapricot and casting longing backward looks at their friend, Rachel andDick wandered to the north side of the abbey and sat down there in theshade. 

Lord Newhaven could still see them, could still note her amused faceunder her wide white hat. He was doing his best for Dick, and Dick wascertainly having his chance, and making the most of it according to hislights. 

"But, all the same, I don't think he has a chance, " said Lord Newhavento himself. "That woman, in spite of her frank manner and herself-possession, is afraid of men; not of being married for her money, but of man himself. And whatever else he may not be, Dick is a man. It's the best chance she will ever get, so it is probable she won't takeit. "

Lord Newhaven sauntered back down the narrow black oak staircase to hisown room on the ground-floor. He sat down at his writing-table and tookout of his pocket a letter which he had evidently read before. He nowread it slowly once more. 

"Your last letter to me had been opened, " wrote his brother from India, "or else it had not been properly closed. As you wrote on business, Iwish you would be more careful. "

"I will, " said Lord Newhaven, and he wrote a short letter in his small, upright hand, closed the envelope, addressed and stamped it, andsauntered out through the low-arched door into the garden. 

Dick was sitting alone on the high-carved stone edge of the round poolwhere the monks used to wash, and where gold-fish now lived cloisteredlives. A moment of depression seemed to have overtaken that cheerfulpersonage. 

"Come as far as the post-office, " said Lord Newhaven. 

Dick gathered himself together, and rose slowly to his large feet. 

"You millionaires are all the same, " he said. "Because you have a housecrawling with servants till they stick to the ceiling you have to go tothe post-office to buy a penny stamp. It's like keeping a dog andbarking yourself. "

"I don't fancy I bark much, " said Lord Newhaven. 

"No, and you don't bite _often_, but when you do you take out the piece. Do you remember that colored chap at Broken Hill?"

"He deserved it, " said Lord Newhaven. 

"He richly deserved it. But you took him in, poor devil, all the same. You were so uncommonly mild and limp beforehand, and letting pass thingsyou ought not to have let pass, that, like the low beast he was, hethought he could play you any dog's trick, and that you would neverturn on him. "

"It's a way worms have. "

"Oh, hang worms; it does not matter whether they turn or not. But cobrashave no business to imitate them till poor rookies think they have nopoison in them, and that they can tickle them with a switch. What agreat hulking brute that man was! You ricked him when you threw him! Isaw him just before I left Adelaide. He's been lame ever since. "

"He'd have done for me if he could. "

"Of course he would. His blood was up. He meant to break your back. Isaw him break a chap's back once, and it did not take so very longeither. I heard it snap. But why did you let him go so far to start withbefore you pulled him up? That's what I've never been able to understandabout you. If you behaved different to start with they would behavedifferent to you. They would know they'd have to. "

"I have not your art, " said Lord Newhaven, tranquilly, "of letting a manknow when he's getting out of hand that unless he goes steady there willbe a row, and he'll be in it. I'm not made like that. "

"It works well, " said Dick. "It's a sort of peaceful way of rubbingalong and keeping friends. If you let those poor bullies know what toexpect they aren't, as a rule, over-anxious to toe the mark. But younever _do_ let them know. "

"No, " said Lord Newhaven, as he shot his letter into the brass mouth inthe cottage wall, just below a window of "bulls'-eyes" and peppermints, "I never do. I don't defend it. But--"

"But what?"

Lord Newhaven's face underwent some subtle change. His eyes fixedthemselves on a bottle of heart-shaped peppermints, and then met Dick'ssuddenly, with the clear, frank glance of a schoolboy. 

"But somehow, for the life of me, until things get serious--_I can't_. "

Dick, whose perceptions were rather of a colossal than an acute order, nevertheless perceived that he had received a confidence, and changedthe subject. 

"Aren't you going to buy some stamps?" he asked, perfectly aware thatLord Newhaven had had his reasons for walking to the post-office. 

Lord Newhaven, who was being watched with affectionate interest frombehind the counter by the grocer postmaster, went in, hit his headagainst a pendent ham, and presently emerged with brine in his hair anda shilling's worth of stamps in his hand. 

Later in the day, when he and Dick were riding up the little street, with a view to having a look at the moor--for Middleshire actually has agrouse moor, although it is in the Midlands--the grocer in his whiteapron rushed out and waylaid them. 

"Very sorry about the letter, my lord, " he repeated volubly, touchinghis forelock. "Hope her la'ship told you as I could not get it outagain, or I'm sure I would have done to oblige your lordship, and herla'ship calling on purpose. But the post-office is that mean anddistrustful as it don't leave me the key, and once hanything is in, init is. "

"Ah!" said Lord Newhaven, slowly. "Well, Jones, it's not your fault. Iought not to have changed my mind. I suppose her ladyship gave you mymessage that I wanted it back?"

"Yes, my lord, and her la'ship come herself, not ten minutes after youwas gone. But I've no more power over that there receptacle than ahunlaid hegg, and that's the long and short of it. I've allus said, andI say it again, 'Them as have charge of the post-office should have thekey. '"

"When I am made postmaster-general you _shall_ have it, " said LordNewhaven, smiling. "It is the first reform that I shall bring about. "And he nodded to the smiling, apologetic man and trotted on, Dick besidehim, who was apparently absorbed in the action of his roan cob. 

But Dick's mind had sustained a severe shock. That Lady Newhaven, "thatjolly little woman, " the fond mother of those two "jolly little chaps, "should have been guilty of an underhand trick, was astonishing to him. 

Poor Dick had started life with a religious reverence for woman; hadcarried out his brittle possession to bush-life in Australia, fromthence through two A. D. C. -ships, and, after many vicissitudes, hadbrought it safely back with a large consignment of his own Burgundy tohis native land. It was still sufficiently intact--save for a chip ortwo--to make a pretty wedding-present to his future wife. But it had hada knock since he mounted the roan cob. For, unfortunately, the kind ofman who has what are called "illusions" about women is too often the manwhose discrimination lies in other directions, in fields where littlehigh-heeled shoes are not admitted. 

Rachel had the doubtful advantage of knowing that, in spite of Dick'sshrewdness respecting shades of difference in muscatels, she and LadyNewhaven were nevertheless ranged on the same pedestal in Dick's mind asflawless twins of equal moral beauty. But after this particular day sheobserved that Lady Newhaven had somehow slipped off the pedestal, andthat she, Rachel, had the honor of occupying it alone. 

CHAPTER XVI

 "Une grande passion malheureaux est un grand moyen de sagesse. "

Rachel had left London precipitately after she had been the unwillingconfidante of Lady Newhaven's secret, and had taken refuge with thatfriend of all perplexed souls, the Bishop of Southminster. She feltunable to meet Hugh again without an interval of breathing-time. Sheknew that if she saw much more of him he would confide in her, and sheshrank from receiving a confidence the ugliest fact of which she alreadyknew. Perhaps she involuntarily shrank also from fear lest he shouldlower himself in her eyes by only telling her half the truth. Sadconfessions were often poured into Rachel's ears which she had known foryears. She never alluded to that knowledge, never corrected the half-liewhich accompanies so many whispered self--accusations. Confidences andconfessions are too often a means of evasion of justice--a laying of thecase for the plaintiff before a judge without allowing the defendant tobe present or to call a witness. Rachel, by dint of long experience, which did slowly for her the work of imagination, had ceased to wonderat the faithfully chronicled harsh words and deeds of generous souls. She knew or guessed at the unchronicled treachery or deceit which hadbrought about that seemingly harsh word or deed. 

She had not the exalted ideas about her fellow-creatures which Hesterhad, but she possessed the rare gift of reticence. She exemplified thetext--"Whether it be to friend or foe, talk not of other men's lives. "And in Rachel's quiet soul a vast love and pity dwelt for these samefellow-creatures. She had lived and worked for years among those whosebodies were half starved, half clothed, degraded. When she found moneyat her command she had spent sums (as her lawyer told her) out of allproportion on that poor human body, stumbling between vice andstarvation. But now, during the last year, when her great wealth hadthrown her violently into society, she had met, until her strong heartflinched before it, the other side of life--the starved soul in thedelicately nurtured, richly clad body, the atrophied spiritual life inhideous contrast with the physical ease and luxury which were chokingit. The second experience was harder to bear than the first. And just asin the old days she had shared her bread and cheese with those hungrierthan herself, and had taken but little thought for those who had breadand to spare, so now she felt but transient interest in those among hernew associates who were successfully struggling against the blackmail ofluxury, the leprosy of worldliness, the selfishness that at last coffinsthe soul it clothes. Her heart yearned instead towards the spirituallystarving, the tempted, the fallen in that great little world, whosenames are written in the book, not of life, but of Burke--the littleworld which is called "Society. "

She longed to comfort them, to raise them up, to wipe from their handsand garments the muddy gold stains of the gutter into which they hadfallen, to smooth away the lines of mean care from their faces. But ithad been far simpler in her previous life to share her hard-earned breadwith those who needed it than it was now to share her equallyhard-earned thoughts and slow gleanings of spiritual knowledge, to sharethe things which belonged to her peace. 

Rachel had not yet wholly recovered from the overwhelming passion oflove which, admitted without fear a few years ago, had devastated thelittle city of her heart, as by fire and sword, involving its hospitabledwellings, its temples, and its palaces in one common ruin. Out of thatdesolation she was unconsciously rebuilding her city, but it was stillrather gaunt and bare, the trees had not had time to grow in thestreets, and there was an ugly fortification round it of defaced, fire-seared stones, which had once stood aloft in minaret and tower, andwhich now served only as a defence against all corners. 

If Dick had been in trouble, or rather if she had known the troubles hehad been through, and which had made his crooked mouth shut so firmly, Rachel might possibly have been able to give him something more valuablethan the paper money of her friendship. But Dick was obviouslyindependent. He could do without her, while Hugh had a claim upon her. Rachel's thoughts turned to Hugh again and ever again. Did he see hisconduct as she saw it? A haunting fear was upon her that he did not. Andshe longed with an intensity that outbalanced for the time every otherfeeling that he should confess his sin fully, entirely--see it in allits ugliness, and gather himself together into a deep repentance beforehe went down into silence, or before he made a fresh start in life. Shewould have given her right hand to achieve that. 

And in a lesser degree she was drawn towards Lady Newhaven. LadyNewhaven was conscious of the tender compassion which Rachel felt forher, and used it to the uttermost; but unfortunately she mistook it foradmiration of her character, mixed with sympathetic sorrow for herbroken heart. If she had seen herself as Rachel saw her, she would haveconceived, not for herself, but for Rachel, some of the aversion whichwas gradually distilling, bitter drop by drop, into her mind for herhusband. She would not have killed him. She would have thought herselfincapable of an action so criminal, so monstrous. But if part of theruin in the garden were visibly trembling to its fall, she would nothave warned him if he had been sitting beneath it, nor would herconscience have ever reproached her afterwards. 

"I wish Miss Gresley would come and stay here instead of taking you awayfrom me, " she said, plaintively, to Rachel one morning, when she madethe disagreeable discovery that Rachel and Hester were friends. "I don'tcare much about her myself, she is so profane and so dreadfullyirreligious. But Edward likes to talk to her. He prefers artificialpeople. I wonder he did not marry her. That old cat, Lady Susan Gresley, was always throwing her at his head. I wish she was not alwayspersuading you to leave me for hours together. I get so frightened whenI am left alone with Edward. I live in perpetual dread that he will saysomething before the children or the servants. He is quite cruelenough. "

"He will never say anything. "

"You are always so decided, Rachel. You don't see possibilities, and youdon't know him as I do. He is capable of anything. I will write a notenow, and you can take it to Miss Gresley, if you _must_ go thereto-day. "

"I wish to go very much. "

"And you will stay another week whether she comes or not?"

There was a momentary pause before Rachel said, cheerfully, "I will stayanother week, with pleasure. But I am afraid Lord Newhaven will turnrestive at taking me in to dinner. "

"Oh! he likes you. He always prefers people who are not of his ownfamily. "

Rachel laughed. "You flatter me. "

"I never flatter any one. He does like you, and, besides, there arepeople coming next week for the grouse-shooting. I suppose that heavyyoung Vernon is going to lumber over with you. It's not my fault if heis always running after you. Edward insisted on having him. I don't wanthim to dance attendance on _me_. "

"He and I are going to bicycle to Warpington together. The Gresleys arecousins of his. If it turns very hot we will wait till after sunset toreturn, if we may. "

"Just as you like, " said Lady Newhaven with asperity. "But I advise youto be careful, my dear Rachel. It never seems to occur to you whaton-lookers see at a glance, namely, that Mr. Vernon is in love withyour fortune. "

"According to public opinion that is a very praiseworthy attachment, "said Rachel, who had had about enough. "I often hear it commended. "

Lady Newhaven stared. That her conversation could have the effect of amustard leaf did not strike her. She saw that Rachel was becomingrestive, and, of course, the reason was obvious. She was thinking ofmarrying Dick. 

"Well, my dear, " she said, lying down on a low couch near the latticedwindow, and opening a novel, "you need not be vexed with me for tryingto save you from a mercenary marriage. I only speak because I am fond ofyou. But one marriage is as good as another. I was married for lovemyself; I had not a farthing. And yet you see my marriage has turned outa tragedy--a bitter, bitter tragedy. "

_Tableau_. --A beautiful, sad-faced young married woman in white, reclining among pale-green cushions near a bowl of pink carnations, endeavoring to rouse the higher feelings of an inexperienced though notyouthful spinster in a short bicycling skirt. Decidedly, the picture wasnot flattering to Rachel. 

CHAPTER XVII

 "On s'ennuie presque toujours avec ceux qu'on ennuie. "

Hester did not fail a second time to warn the Gresleys of the arrival ofguests. She mentioned it in time to allow of the making of cakes, andMr. Gresley graciously signified his intention of returning early fromhis parochial rounds on the afternoon when Dick and Rachel wereexpected, while Mrs. Gresley announced that the occasion was apropitious one for inviting the Pratts to tea. 

"Miss West will like to meet them, " she remarked to Hester, whose jawdropped at the name of Pratt. "And it is very likely if they take afancy to her they will ask her to stay at the Towers while she is in theneighborhood. If the captain is at home I will ask him to come too. ThePratts are always so pleasant and hospitable. "

Hester was momentarily disconcerted at the magnitude of the socialeffort which Rachel's coming seemed to entail. But for once she had thepresence of mind not to show her dismay, and she helped Mrs. Gresley tochange the crewel-work antimacassars, with their washed-out kittensswinging and playing leap-frog, for the best tussore-silk ones. 

The afternoon was still young when all the preparations had beencompleted, and Mrs. Gresley went up-stairs to change her gown, whileHester took charge of the children, as Fräulein had many days previouslyarranged to make music with Dr. And Miss Brown on this particularafternoon. And very good music it was which proceeded out of the openwindows of the doctor's red brick house opposite Abel's cottage. Hestercould just hear it from the bottom of the garden near the church-yardwall, and there she took the children, and under the sycamore, with abench round it, the dolls had a tea-party. Hester had provided herselfwith a lump of sugar and a biscuit, and out of these many dishes weremade, and were arranged on a clean pocket-handkerchief spread on thegrass. Regie carried out his directions as butler with solemnexactitude; and though Mary, who had inherited the paternal sense ofhumor, thought fit to tweak the handkerchief and upset everything, shefound the witticism so coldly received by "Auntie Hester, " although sheexplained that father always did it, that she at once suited herself toher company, and helped to repair the disaster. 

It was very hot. The dolls, from the featureless midshipman to thecolossal professional beauty sitting in her own costly perambulator (apresent from Mrs. Pratt), felt the heat, and showed it by their moistcountenances. The only person who was cool was a small, nude, chinainfant in its zinc bath, the property of Stella, whose determination toreach central facts, and to penetrate to the root of the matter, atpresent took the form of tearing or licking off all that could be tornor licked from objects of interest. Hester, who had presented her withthe floating baby in the bath, sometimes wondered, as she watched Stellaconscientiously work through a well-dressed doll down to its stitchedsawdust compartments, what Mr. Gresley would make of his daughter whenshe turned her attention to theology. 

They were all sitting in a tight circle round the handkerchief, Regiewatching Hester cutting a new supply of plates out of smooth leaves withher little gilt scissors, while Mary and Stella tried alternately tosuck an inaccessible grain of sugar out of the bottom of an acorn cup. 

Rachel and Dick had come up on their silent wheels, and were looking atthem over the wall before Hester was aware of their presence. 

"May we join the tea-party?" asked Rachel, and Hester startedviolently. 

"I am afraid the gate is locked, " she said. "But perhaps you can climbit. "

"We can't leave the bicycles outside, though, " said Dick, and he took agood look at the heavy padlocked gate. Then he slowly lifted it off itshinges, wheeled in the bicycles, and replaced the gate in position. 

Rachel looked at him. 

"Do you always do what you want to do?" she said, involuntarily. 

"It saves trouble, " he said, "especially as no one can be such afirst-class fool as to think a padlock will keep a gate shut. He wouldexpect it to be opened. "

"But father said no one could come in there now, " explained Regie, whohad watched, open-mouthed, the upheaval of the gate. "Father said itcould not be opened any more. He told mother. "

"Did he, my son?" said Dick, and he kissed every one, beginning withHester and finishing with the dolls. Then they all sat down to thetea-party, and partook largely of the delicacies, and after tea Dicksolemnly asked the children if they had seen the flying half-penny hehad brought back with him from Australia. The children crowded roundhim, and the half-penny was produced and handed round. Each childtouched it, and found it real. Auntie Hester and Auntie Rachel examinedit. Boulou was requested to smell it. And then it was laid on the grass, and the pocket-handkerchief which had done duty as a table-cloth wasspread over it. 

The migrations of the half-penny were so extraordinary that even Racheland Hester professed amazement. Once it was found in Rachel's hand, intowhich another large hand had gently shut it. But it was never discoveredtwice in the same place, though all the children rushed religiously tolook for it where it was last discovered. 

Another time, after a long search, the doll in the bath was discoveredto be sitting upon it, and once it actually flew down Regie's back; andamid the wild excitement of the children its cold descent was describedby Regie in piercing minuteness until the moment when it rolled out overhis stocking at his knee. 

"Make it fly down my back too, Uncle Dick, " shrieked Mary. "Regie, giveit to me. "

But Regie danced in a circle round Dick, holding aloft the wonderfulhalf-penny. 

"Make it fly down my throat, " he cried, too excited to know what he wasdoing, and he put the half-penny in his mouth. 

"Put it out this instant, " said Dick, without moving. 

A moment's pause followed, in which the blood ebbed away from the heartsof the two women. 

"I can't, " said Regie; "I've swallowed it. " And he began to whimper, andthen suddenly rolled on the grass screaming. 

Dick pounced upon him like a panther, and held him by the feet headdownward, shaking him violently. The child's face was terrible to see. 

Hester hid her face in her hands. Rachel rose and stood close to Dick. 

"I think the shaking is rather too much for him, " she said, watching thepoor little purple face intently. "I'm bound to go on, " said Dick, fiercely. "Is it moving, Regie?"

"It's going down, " screamed Regie, suddenly. 

"That it's not, " said Dick, and he shook the child again, and thehalf-penny flew out upon the grass. "Thank God, " said Dick, and he laidthe gasping child on Hester's lap and turned away. 

A few minutes later Regie was laughing and talking, and feeling himselfa hero. Presently he slipped off Hester's knee and ran to Dick, who waslying on the grass a few paces off, his face hidden in his hands. 

"Make the half-penny fly again, Uncle Dick, " cried all the children, pulling at him. 

Dick raised an ashen face for a moment and said, hoarsely, "Take themaway. "

Hester gathered up the children and took them back to the house throughthe kitchen garden. 

"Don't say we have arrived, " whispered Rachel to her. "I will come onwith him presently. " And she sat down near the prostrate vine-grower. The president of the South Australian Vine-Growers' Association lookedvery large when he was down. 

Presently he sat up. His face was drawn and haggard, but he met Rachel'sdog-like glance of silent sympathy with a difficult, crooked smile. 

"He is such a jolly little chap, " he said, winking his hawk eyes. 

"It was not your fault. "

"That would not have made it any better for the parents, " said Dick. "Ihad time to think of that while I was shaking that little money-box. Besides, it was my fault, in a way. I'll never play with other people'schildren again. They are too brittle. I've had shaves up the Fly Riverand in the South Sea Islands, but never anything as bad as this, in thisblooming little Vicarage garden with a church looking over the wall. "

Hester was skimming back towards them. 

"Don't mention it to James and his wife, " she said to Dick. "He has tospeak at a temperance meeting to-night. I will tell them when themeeting is over. "

"That's just as well, " said Dick, "for I know if James jawed much at meI should act on the text that it is more blessed to give than toreceive. "

"In what way?"

"Either way, " said Dick. "Tongue or fist. It does not matter which, solong as you give more than you get. And the text is quite right. It isblessed, for I've tried it over and over again, and found it true everytime. But I don't want to try it on James if he's anything like what hewas as a curate. "

"He is not much altered, " said Hester. 

"He is the kind of man that would not alter much, " said Dick. "I expectGod Almighty likes him as he is. "

Mr. And Mrs. Gresley, meanwhile, were receiving Mrs. Pratt and the twoMisses Pratt in the drawing-room. Selina and Ada Pratt were fine, handsome young women, with long upper lips, who wore their smart sailorhats tilted backwards to show their bushy fringes, and whosemuff-chains, with swinging pendent hearts, silk blouses and sequin beltsand brown boots represented to Mrs. Gresley the highest pinnacle of theworld of fashion. 

Selina was the most popular, being liable to shrieks of laughter at thesmallest witticisms, and always ready for that species of amusementtermed "bally-ragging" or "hay-making. " But Ada was the most admired. She belonged to that type which in hotel society and country towns isalways termed "queenly. " She "kept the men at a distance. " She "neverallowed them to take liberties, " etc. , etc. She held her chin up and herelbows out, and was considered by the section of Middleshire society inwhich she shone to be very distinguished. Mrs. Pratt was often told thather daughter looked like a duchess; and this facsimile of thearistocracy, or rather of the most distressing traits of its latestrecruits, had a manner of lolling with crossed legs in the parentalcarriage and pair which was greatly admired. "Looks as if she was bornto it all, " Mr. Pratt would say to his wife. 

Mrs. Gresley was just beginning to fear her other guests were not comingwhen two tall figures were seen walking across the lawn, with Hesterbetween them. 

Mr. Gresley sallied forth to meet them, and blasts of surprised welcomewere borne into the drawing-room by the summer air. 

"But it was locked. I locked it myself. " Inaudible reply. 

"Padlocked. Only opens to the word Moon. Key on my own watch-chain. "

Inaudible reply. 

"Hinges! ha! ha! ha! Very good, Dick. Likely story that. I see you'rethe same as ever. Travellers' tales. But we are not so easily taken in, are we, Hester?"

Mrs. Gresley certainly had the gift of prophecy as far as the Prattswere concerned. Mrs. Pratt duly took the expected "fancy" to Rachel, andpressed her to stay at "The Towers" while she was in the neighborhood, and make further acquaintance with her "young ladies. "

"Ada is very pernickety, " she said, smiling towards that individualconversing with Dick. "She won't make friends with everybody, and shegives it me" (with maternal pride) "when I ask people to stay whom shedoes not take to. She says there's a very poor lot round here, and mostof the young ladies so ill-bred and empty she does not care to makefriends with them. I don't know where she gets all her knowledge from. I'm sure it's not from her mother. Ada, now you come and talk a littleto Miss West. "

Ada rose with the air of one who confers a favor, and Rachel made roomfor her on the sofa, while Mrs. Pratt squeezed herself behind thetea-table with Mrs. Gresley. 

The conversation turned on bicycling. 

"I bike now and then in the country, " said Ada, "but I have not donemuch lately. We have only just come down from town, and, _of course_, Inever bike in London. "

Rachel had just said that she did. 

"Perhaps you are nervous about the traffic, " said Rachel. 

"Oh! I'm not the least afraid of the traffic, but it's such bad form tobike in London. "

"That, of course, depends on how it's done, " said Rachel; "but I am surein your ease you need not be afraid. "

Ada glared at Rachel, and did not answer. 

When the Pratts had taken leave she said to her mother:

"Well, you can have Rachel West if you want to, but if you do I shall goaway. She is only Birmingham, and yet she's just as stuck up as she canbe. "

The Pratts were "Liverpool. "

"Well, my dear, " said Mrs. Pratt with natural pride, "it's well knownno one is good enough for you. But I took to Miss West, and an orphanand all, with all that money, poor thing!"

"She has no style, " said Selina, "but she has a nice face; and she'scoming to stay with Sibbie Loftus next week, when she leaves ViNewhaven. She may be Birmingham, Ada, but she's just as thick withcounty people as we are. "

"I did not rightly make out, " said Mrs. Pratt, reflectively, "whetherthat tall gentleman, Mr. Vernon, was after Miss West or Hessie Gresley. "

"Oh, ma! You always think some one's after somebody else, " said Ada, impatiently, whose high breeding obliged her to be rather peremptorywith her simple parent. "Mr. Vernon is a pauper, and so is Hessie. And, besides, Hessie is not the kind of girl anybody would want to marry. "

"Well, I'm not so sure of that, " said Selina. "But if she had had anychances I know she would have told me, because I told her all aboutCaptain Cobbett and Mr. Baxter. "

CHAPTER XVIII

 Le monde est plein de gens qui ne sont pas plus sages. --LA FONTAINE. 

If, after the departure of the Pratts, Rachel had hoped for a word withHester, she was doomed to disappointment. Mr. Gresley took the seat onthe sofa beside Rachel which Ada Pratt had vacated, and after a fewkindly eulogistic remarks on the Bishop of Southminster and theresponsibilities of wealth, he turned the conversation into thewell-worn groove of Warpington. 

Rachel proved an attentive listener, and after Mr. Gresley had furnishedher at length with nutritious details respecting parochial work, he wenton:

"I am holding this evening a temperance meeting in the Parish Room. Iwish, Miss West, that I could persuade you to stay for it, and thusenlist your sympathies in a matter of vital importance. "

"They have been enlisted in it for the last ten years, " said Rachel, whowas not yet accustomed to the invariable assumption on the part of Mr. Gresley that no one took an interest in the most obvious good work untilhe had introduced and championed it. "But, " she added, "I will stay withpleasure. "

Dick, who was becoming somewhat restive under Mrs. Gresley's inquiriesabout the Newhavens, became suddenly interested in the temperancemeeting. 

"I've seen many a good fellow go to the dogs through drink in theColonies, more's the pity, " Dick remarked. "I think I'll come too, James. And if you want a few plain words you call on me. "

"I will, " said Mr. Gresley, much gratified. "I always make a point ofencouraging the laity--at least, those among them who are thoroughlygrounded in Church teaching--to express themselves. Hear both sides, that is what I always say. The Bishop constantly enjoins on his clergyto endeavor to elicit the lay opinion. The chair this evening will betaken by Mr. Pratt, a layman. "

The temperance meeting was to take place at seven o'clock, and possiblyRachel may have been biassed in favor of that entertainment by the hopeof a quiet half-hour with Hester in her own room. At any rate, shesecured it. 

When they were alone Rachel produced Lady Newhaven's note. 

"Do come to Westhope, " she said. "While you are under this roof it seemsalmost impossible to see you, unless we are close to it, " and shetouched the sloping ceiling with her hand. "And yet I came to Westhope, and I am going on to Wilderleigh, partly in order to be near you. "

Hester shook her head. 

"The book is nearly finished, " she said, the low light from the atticwindow striking sideways on the small face with its tightly compressedlips. 

A spirit indomitable, immortal, looked for a moment out of Hester's grayeyes. The spirit was indeed willing, but the flesh was becoming weakerday by day. 

"When it is finished, " she went on, "I will go anywhere and do anything, but stay here I must till it is done. Besides, I am not fit for societyat present. I am covered with blue mould. Do you remember how thathorrid Lady Carbury used to laugh at the country squires' daughters forbeing provincial? I have gone a peg lower than being provincial--I havebecome parochial. "

A knock came at the door, and Fräulein's mild, musical face appeared inthe aperture. 

"I fear to disturb you, " she said, "but Regie say he cannot go to sleeptill he see you. "

Hester introduced Fräulein to Rachel, and slipped down-stairs to thenight nursery. 

Mary and Stella were already asleep in their high-barred cribs. Theblind was down, and Hester could only just see the white figure of Regiesitting up in his night-gown. She sat down on the edge of the bed andtook him in her arms. 

"What is it; my treasure?"

"Auntie Hester, was I naughty about the flying half-penny?"

"No, darling. Why?"

"Because mother always says not to put pennies in my mouth, and I neverdid till to-day. And now Mary says I have been very naughty. "

"It does not matter what Mary says, " said Hester, with a witheringglance towards the sleeping angel in the next crib, who was only Mary byday. "But you must never do it again, and you will tell mother all aboutit to-morrow. "

"Yes, " said Regie; "but, but--"

"But what?"

"Uncle Dick did say it was a flying half-penny, and you said so, too, and that other auntie. And I thought it did not matter putting in flyinghalf-pennies, only common ones. "

Hester saw the difficulty in Regie's mind. 

"It felt common when it was inside, " said Regie, doubtfully, "and yetyou and Uncle Dick _did_ say it was a flying one. "

Regie's large eyes were turned upon her with solemn inquiry in them. Itis crises like this that our first ideals are laid low. 

Regie had always considered Hester as the very soul of honor, thatmysterious honor which he was beginning to dimly apprehend through herallegiance to it, and which, in his mind, belonged as exclusively to heras the little bedroom under the roof. 

"Regie, " said Hester, tremulously, seeing that she had unwittingly puta stumbling-block before the little white feet she loved, "when weplayed at the doll's tea-party, and you were the butler, I did not meanyou were _really_ a butler, did I? I knew, and you knew, and we allknew, that you were Regie all the time. "

"Ye-es. "

"It was a game. And so when Uncle Dick found us playing the tea-partygame he played another game about the flying half-penny. "

"Then it was a common half-penny, after all, " said Regie, with a deepsigh. 

"Yes, it was a common half-penny, only the game was that it could fly, like the other game was that the acorn cups were real teacups. So UncleDick and all of us were not saying what was not true. We were allplaying at a game. Do you understand, my little mouse?"

"Yes, " said Regie, with another voluminous sigh, and Hester realized, with thankfulness, that the half-penny and not herself had fallen fromits pedestal. "I see now; but when he said, Hi! Presto! and it flewaway, I thought I saw it flying. Mary said she did. And I suppose thegate was only a game, too. "

Hester felt that the subject would be quite beyond her powers ofexplanation if once the gate were introduced into it. 

She laid Regie down and covered him. 

"And you will go to sleep now. And I will ask Uncle Dick when next hecomes to show us how he did the game with the half-penny. "

"Yes, " said Regie, dejectedly. "I'd rather know what there is to beknown. Only I _thought_ it was a flying one. Good-night, Auntie Hester. "

She stayed beside him a few minutes until his even breathing showed herhe was asleep, and then slipped back to her own room. The front-doorbell was ringing as she came out of the nursery. The temperancedeputation from Liverpool had arrived. Mr. Gresley's voice of welcomecould be heard saying that it was only ten minutes to seven. 

Accordingly, a few minutes before that hour, Mr. Gresley and his partyentered the Parish Room. It was crammed. The back benches were filledwith a large contingent of young men, whose half-sheepish, half-sullenexpression showed that their presence was due to pressure. Why theparishioners had come in such numbers it would be hard to say. Perhapseven a temperance meeting was a change in the dreary monotony of rurallife at Warpington. Many of the faces bore the imprint of this monotony, Rachel thought, as she refused the conspicuous front seat pointed out toher by Mrs. Gresley, and sat down near the door with Hester. 

Dick, who had been finishing his cigarette outside, entered a momentlater, and stood in the gangway, entirely filling it up, his eyetravelling over the assembly, and, as Rachel well knew, looking for her. Presently he caught sight of her, wedged in four or five deep by thelast arrivals. There was a vacant space between her and the wall, but itwas apparently inaccessible. Entirely disregarding the anxiouschurch-wardens who were waving him forward, Dick disappeared among theyoung men at the back, and Rachel thought no more of him until a largeOxford shoe descended quietly out of space upon the empty seat near her, and Dick, who had persuaded the young men to give him foot-room on theirseats, and had stepped over the high backs of several "school forms, "sat down beside her. 

It was neatly done, and Rachel could not help smiling. But the thoughtdarted through her mind that Dick was the kind of man who, somehow orother, would succeed where he meant to succeed, and would marry thewoman he intended to marry. There was no doubt that she was that woman, and as he sat tranquilly beside her she wished, with a nervous tremor, that his choice had fallen on some one else. 

The meeting opened with nasal and fervent prayer on the part of aneighboring Archdeacon. No one could kneel down except the dignitarieson the platform, but every one pretended to do so. Mr. Pratt, who was inthe chair, then introduced the principal speaker. Mr. Pratt's face, verynarrow at the forehead, became slightly wider at the eyes, widest whenit reached round the corners of the mouth, and finally split into twolong, parti-colored whiskers. He assumed on these occasions a manner ofpontifical solemnity towards his "humble brethren, " admirably suited toone who, after wrestling for many years with a patent oil, is consciousthat he has blossomed out into a "county family. "

The Warpington parishioners listened to him unmoved. 

The deputation from Liverpool followed, a thin, ascetic-looking man ofmany bones and little linen, who spoke with the concentrated fury of afanatic against alcohol in all its varieties. Dick, who had so far takenmore interest in Rachel's gloves, which she had dropped, and with whichhe was kindly burdening himself, than in the proceedings, drew himselfup and fixed his steel eyes on the speaker. 

A restive movement in the audience followed the speech, which was loudlyclapped by Mr. Gresley and the Pratts. 

Mr. Gresley then mounted the platform. 

Mr. Gresley had an enormous advantage as a platform speaker, and as apreacher in the twin pulpits of church and home, owing to the convictionthat he had penetrated to the core of any subject under discussion, andcould pronounce judgment upon it in a conclusive manner. He was wont toapproach every subject by the preliminary statement that he had"threshed it out. " This threshing-out had been so thorough that therewas hardly a subject even of the knottiest description which he wasunable to dismiss with a few pregnant words. "Evolution! Ha! ha!Descended from an ape. I don't believe that for one. " While women'srights received their death-blow from a jocose allusion to the womanfollowing the plough while the man sat at home and rocked the cradle. 

With the same noble simplicity he grappled with the difficult andcomplex subject of temperance, by which he meant total abstinence. Heinformed his hearers, "in the bigoted tones of a married teetotaler, "that he had gone to the root of the matter--the roots were apparently onthe surface--and that it was no use calling black white and white black. He for one did not believe in muddling up black and white, as somelukewarm people advocated, till they were only a dirty gray. No; eitherdrink was right or it was wrong. If it was not wrong to get drunk, hedid not know what was wrong. He was not a man of compromise. Alcohol wasa servant of the devil, and to tamper with it was to tamper with theEvil One himself. Touch not. Taste not. Handle not. He for his partshould never side with the devil. 

This lofty utterance having been given time to sink in, Mr. Gresleylooked round at the sea of stolid, sullen faces, and concluded withsaying that the chairman would now call upon his cousin, Mr. Vernon, tospeak to them on the shocking evils he himself had witnessed inAustralia as the results of drink. 

Dick was not troubled by shyness. He extricated himself from his seatwith the help of the young men, and slowly ascended the platform. Helooked a size too large for it, and for the other speakers, and hisloose tweed suit and heather stockings were as great a contrast to thetightly buttoned-up black of the other occupants as were his strong, keen face and muscular hands to those of the previous speakers. 

"That's a man, " said a masculine voice behind Rachel. "He worn't rearedon ditch-water, you bet. "

"Mr. Chairman, and ladies and gentlemen, " said Dick. "You've only got tolisten to me for half a minute, and you'll find out without my tellingyou that Nature did not cut me out for a speaker. I'm no talker. I'm aworkingman"--an admission which Mr. Pratt would rather have been boiledin his own oil than have made. "For the last seven years I've done mytwelve hours a day, and I've come to think more of what a man getsthrough with his hands than the sentiments which he can wheeze out aftera heavy meal. But Mr. Gresley has asked me to tell you what I know aboutdrink, as I have seen a good many samples of it in Australia. "

Dick then proceeded, with a sublime disregard of grammar, and anearnestness that increased as he went on, to dilate on the evil effectsof drink as he himself had witnessed them. He described how he had seenmen who could not get spirits make themselves drunk on "Pain-killer";how he had seen strong, young station hands, who had not tasted spiritsfor months, come down from the hills with a hundred pounds in theirpockets, and drink themselves into "doddery" old men in a fortnight inthe nearest township, where they were kept drunk on drugged liquor tillall their hard-earned wages were gone. 

The whole room listened in dead silence. No feet shuffled. Mr. Gresleylooked patronizingly at Dick's splendid figure and large, outstretchedhand, with the crooked middle finger, which he had cut off by mistake inthe bush and had stuck on again himself. Then the young Vicar glancedsmiling at the audience, feeling that he had indeed elicited a "layopinion" of the best kind. 

"Now what are the causes of all these dreadful things?" continued Dick. "I'm speaking to the men here, not the women. What are the causes of allthis poverty and vice and scamped workmanship, and weak eyes and shakyhands, on the top of high wages? I tell you they come from two things, and one is as bad as the other. One is drinking too much, and the otheris drinking bad liquor. Every man who's worth his salt, " said Dick, balancing his long bent finger on the middle of his other palm, "shouldknow when he has had enough. Some can carry more, some less. " Mr. Gresley started and signed to Dick, but Dick did not notice. "Bad liquoris at the root of half the drunkenness I know. I don't suppose there aremany publicans here to-night, for this meeting isn't quite in theirline; and if there are, they can't have come expecting compliments. Butif you fellows think you get good liquor at the publics round here, Itell you you are jolly well mistaken. "

"Hear! hear!" shouted several voices. 

"I've been in the course of the last week to most of the public-housesin Southminster and Westhope and Warpington to see what sort of stuffthey sold, and upon my soul, gentlemen, if I settled in Warpington I'd, I'd"--Dick hesitated for a simile strong enough--"I'd turn teetotaleruntil I left it again, rather than swallow the snake poison they serveout to you. "

There was a general laugh, in the midst of which Mr. Gresley, whosecomplexion had deepened, sprang to his feet and endeavored to attractDick's attention, but Dick saw nothing but his audience. Mr. Gresleybegan to speak in his high, "singsong" voice. 

"My young friend, " he said, "has mistaken the object of this meeting. Inshort I must--"

"Not a bit, " said Dick--"not a bit; but if the people have had enough ofme I'll take your chair while you have another innings. "

In a moment the room was in an uproar. 

Shouts of "No, no, " "Go on, " "Let him speak. "

In the tumult Mr. Gresley's voice, instead of being the solo, became butas one instrument--albeit a trombone--in an orchestra. 

"But I thoroughly agree with the gentlemen who spoke before me, " saidDick, when peace was restored. "Total abstinence is a long chalk belowtemperance, but it's better than drunkenness any day. And if a man can'tget on without three-finger nips, let him take the pledge. There are oneor two here to-night who would be the better for it. But, to mythinking, total abstinence is like a water mattress. It is good for asick man, and it's good for a man with a weak will, which is anotherkind of illness. But temperance is for those who are in health. There isa text in the Bible about wine making glad the heart of man. That's agood text, and one to go on. As often as not texts are like bags, and aman crams all his own rubbish into them, and expects you to take themtogether. There are some men, who ought to know better, who actually getout of that text by saying the Bible means unfermented liquor"--Mr. Gresley became purple. "Does it? Then how about the other place where wehear of new wine bursting old bottles. What makes them burst?Fermentation, of course, as every village idiot knows. No, I take itwhen the Bible says wine it means wine. Wine's fermented liquor, andwhat's unfermented liquor? Nothing but 'pop. '"

Dick pronounced the last word with profound contempt, which was met withenthusiastic applause. 

"My last word to you, gentlemen, " continued Dick, "is, keep in mind twopoints: first, look out for an honest publican, if there is such anarticle, who will buy only the best liquor from the best sources, and isnot bound by the breweries to sell any stuff they send along. Jointogether, and make it hot for a bound publican. Kick him out, even if heis the Squire's butler. " Mr. Pratt's complexion became apoplectic. "Andthe second point is, Remember some men have heads and some haven't. Itis no use for a lame man entering for a hurdle-race. A strong man cantake his whack--if it's with his food--and it will do him good, while aweak man can't hang up his hat alter the first smile. "

A storm of applause followed, which was perhaps all the heartier byreason of the furious face of Mr. Gresley. Dick was clapped continuouslyas he descended the platform and slowly left the room, feeling in hispockets for his tobacco-pouch. A squad of young men creaked out afterhim, and others followed by twos and threes, so that the mellifluousvoice of Mr. Pratt was comparatively lost, who, disregarding hisposition as chairman, now rose to pour oil--of which, in manner alone, he had always a large supply--on the troubled waters. Mr. Pratt had felta difficulty in interrupting a member of a county family, which with theeye of faith he plainly perceived Dick to be, and at the same time aguest of "Newhaven's. " The Pratts experienced in the rare moments oftheir intercourse with the Newhavens some of that sublime awe, thatsubdued rapture, which others experience in cathedrals. Mr. Pratt hadalso taken a momentary pleasure in the defeat of Mr. Gresley, who didnot pay him the deference which he considered due to him and his "seat. "Mr. Pratt always expected that the Vicar should, by reason of his smallincome, take the position of a sort of upper servant of the Squire; andhe had seen so many instances of this happy state of things that he wasperpetually nettled by Mr. Gresley's "independent" attitude; while Mr. Gresley was equally irritated by "the impatience of clerical control"and shepherding which Mr. Pratt, his largest and woolliest sheep, toofrequently evinced. 

As the chairman benignly expressed his approval of both views, and toneddown each to meet the other, the attention of the audience wandered tothe occasional laughs and cheers which came from the school play-ground. And when, a few minutes later, Rachel emerged with the stream, she sawDick standing under the solitary lamp-post speaking earnestly to alittle crowd of youths and men. The laughter had ceased. Theircrestfallen appearance spoke for itself. 

"Well, good-night, lads, " said Dick, cordially, raising his cap to them, and he rejoined Rachel and Hester at the gate. 

When Dick and Rachel had departed on their bicycles, and when thedeputation, after a frugal supper, had retired to rest, and when thedrawing-room door was shut, then, and not till then, did Mr. Gresleygive vent to his feelings. 

"And he would not stop, " he repeated over and over again almost inhysterics, when the total-abstinence hose of his wrath had been turnedon Dick until every reservoir of abuse was exhausted. "I signed to him;I spoke to him. You saw me speak to him, Minna, and he would not stop. "

Hester experienced that sudden emotion which may result either in tearsor laughter at the cruel anguish brought upon her brother by themomentary experience of what he so ruthlessly inflicted. 

"He talked me down, " said Mr. Gresley, his voice shaking. "He opposed mein my own school-room. Of course, I blame myself for asking him tospeak. I ought to have inquired into his principles more thoroughly, buthe took me in entirely by saying one thing in this room and the exactopposite on the platform. "

"I thought his views were the same in both places, " said Hester, "and, at the time, I admired you for asking him to speak, considering he is avine-grower. "

"A what?" almost shrieked Mr. Gresley. 

"A vine-grower. Surely you know he has one of the largest vineyards inSouth Australia?"

For a moment Mr. Gresley was bereft of speech. 

"And you knew this and kept silence, " he said at last, while Mrs. Gresley looked reproachfully, but without surprise, at hersister-in-law. 

"Certainly. What was there to speak about? I thought you knew. "

"I never heard it till this instant. That quite accounts for his views. He wants to push his own wines. Of course, drunkenness is working forhis interests. I understand it all now. He has undone the work of yearsby that speech for the sake of booking a few orders. It is contemptible. I trust, Hester, he is not a particular friend of yours, for I shallfeel it my duty to speak very strongly to him if he comes again. "

But Dick did not appear again. He was off and away before the terrors ofthe Church could be brought to bear on him. 

But his memory remained green at Warpington. 

"They do say, " said Abel to Hester a few days later, planting his spadeon the ground, and slowly scraping off upon it the clay from his nailedboots, "as that Muster Vernon gave 'em a dusting in the school-yard asthey won't forget in a hurry. He said he could not speak out before thewomen folk, but he was noways nesh to pick his words onst he wasoutside. Barnes said as his tongue 'ud 'ave raised blisters on a hedgestake. But he had a way with him for all that. There was a deal of talkabout him at market last Wednesday, and Jones and Peg is just silly togo back to Australy with 'im. I ain't sure, " continued Abel, closing theconversation by a vigorous thrust of his spade into the earth, "as oneof the things that fetched 'em all most wasn't his saying that sincehe's been in a hot climate he knowed what it was to be tempted himselfwhen he was a bit down on his luck or a bit up. Pratts would never haveowned to that. " The village always spoke of Mr. Pratt in the pluralwithout a prefix. "I've been to a sight of temperance meetings, because, " with indulgence, "master likes it, tho' I always has my glass, as is natural. But I never heard one of the speakers kind of settle toit like that. That's what the folks say; that for all he was a borngentleman he spoke to 'em as man to man, not as if we was servants orchilder. "

CHAPTER XIX

 Le bruit est pour le fat. La plainte est pour le sot. L'honnête homme trompé S'en va et ne dit mot. --M. DELANONI

"And so you cannot persuade Miss Gresley to come to us next week?" saidLord Newhaven, strolling into the dining-room at Westhope Abbey, whereRachel and Dick were sitting at a little supper-table laid for two infront of the high altar. The dining-room had formerly been the chapel, and the carved stone altar still remained under the east window. 

Lord Newhaven drew up a chair, and Rachel felt vaguely relieved at hispresence. He had a knack of knowing when to appear and when to effacehimself. 

"She can't leave her book, " said Rachel. 

"Her first book was very clever, " said Lord Newhaven, "and, what wasmore, it was true. I hope for her own sake she will outgrow her love oftruth, or it will make deadly enemies for her. "

"And good friends, " said Rachel. 

"Possibly, " said Lord Newhaven, looking narrowly at her, and almostobliged to believe that she had spoken without self-consciousness. "Butif she outgrows all her principles, I hope, at any rate, she won'toutgrow her sharp tongue. I liked her ever since she first came to thishouse, ten years ago, with Lady Susan Gresley. I remember saying thatCaptain Pratt; who called while she was here, was a 'bounder. ' And MissGresley said she did not think he was quite a bounder, only on theboundary-line. If you knew Captain Pratt, that describes him exactly. "

"I wish she had not said it, " said Rachel, with a sigh. "She makestrouble for herself by saying things like that. Is Lady Newhaven in thedrawing-room?"

"Yes, I heard her singing 'The Lost Chord' not ten minutes ago. "

"I will go up to her, " said Rachel. 

"I do believe, " said Lord Newhaven, when Rachel had departed, "that shehas an affection for Miss Gresley. "

"It is not necessary to be a detective in plain clothes to see that, "said Dick. 

"No. It generally needs to be a magnifying-glass to see a woman'sfriendship, and then they are only expedients till we arrive, Dick. Youneed not he jealous of Miss Gresley. Miss West will forget all about herwhen she is Mrs. Vernon. "

"She does not seem very keen about that, " said Dick, grimly. "I'm onlymarking time. I'm no forwarder than I was. "

"Well, it's your own fault for fixing your affections on a woman who isnot anxious to marry. She has no objection to you. It is marriage shedoes not like. "

"Oh, that's bosh!" said Dick. "All women wish to be married, and if theydon't they ought to. "

He felt that an invidious reflection had been east on Rachel. 

"All the same, a man with one eye can see that women with money, oranything that makes them independent of us, don't flatter us by theiralacrity to marry us. They will make fools of themselves for love--nonegreater--and they will marry for love. But their different attitudetowards us, their natural lords and masters, directly we are no longernecessary to them as stepping-stones to a home and a recognizedposition, revolts me. If you had taken my advice at the start, you wouldhave made up to one among the mob of women who are dependent on marriagefor their very existence. If a man goes into that herd he will not berefused. And if he is it does not matter. It is the blessed custom ofpiling everything on to the eldest son, and leaving the women of thefamily almost penniless, which provides half of us with wives withoutany trouble to ourselves. Whatever we are, they have got to take us. Theaverage dancing young woman living in luxury in her father's house isbetween the devil and the deep sea. We are frequently the devil; but itis not surprising that she can't face the alternative--a poverty towhich she was not brought up, and in which she has seen her old spinsteraunts. But I suppose in your case you really want the money?"

Dick looked rather hard at Lord Newhaven. 

"I should not have said that unless I had known it to be a lie, "continued the latter, "because I dislike being kicked. But, Dick, listento me. You have not, " with sudden misgiving, "laid any littlematrimonial project before her this evening, have you?"

"No; I was not quite such a fool as that. "

"Well! Such things do occur. Moonlight, you know, etc. I was possessedby a devil once, and proposed by moonlight, as all my wife's friendsknow, and probably her maid. But, seriously, Dick, you are not makingprogress, as you say yourself. "

"Well!" rather sullenly. 

"Well, on-lookers see most of the game. Miss West may--I don't say sheis--but if things go on as they are for another week she may becomeslightly bored. That was why I joined you at supper. She had had, forthe time, enough. "

"Of me?" said Dick, reddening under his tan. 

"Just so. It is a matter of no importance after marriage, but it shouldbe avoided beforehand. Are you really in earnest about this?"

Dick delivered himself slowly and deliberately of certain platitudes. 

"Well, I hope I shall hear you say all that again some day in acondensed form before a clergyman. In the meanwhile--"

"In the meanwhile I had better clear out. "

"Yes; I don't enjoy saying so in the presence of my own galantine andmayonnaise, but that is it. Go, and--come back. "

"If you have a Bradshaw, " said Dick, "I'll look out my train now. Ithink there is an express to London about seven in the morning, if youcan send me to the station. "

"But the post only comes in at eight. "

"Well, you can send my letters after me. "

"I dare say I can, my diplomatist. But you are not going to leave tillthe post has arrived, when you will receive business letters requiringyour immediate presence in London. You are not going to let a woman knowthat you leave on her account. "

"You are very sharp, Cackles, " said Dick, drearily. "And I'll take aleaf out of your book and lie, if you think it is the right thing. But Iexpect she will know very well that the same business which took me tothat infernal temperance meeting has taken me to London. "

Rachel was vaguely relieved when Dick went off next morning. She wasnot, as a rule, oppressed by the attentions she received from young men, which in due season became "marked, " and then resulted in proposalsneatly or clumsily expressed. But she was disturbed when she thought ofDick, and his departure was like the removal of a weight, not a heavy, but still a perceptible one. For Rachel was aware that Dick was indeadly earnest, and that his love was growing steadily, almostunconsciously, was accumulating like snow, flake by flake, upon amountain-side. Some day, perhaps not for a long time, but some day, there would be an avalanche, and, in his own language, she "would be init. "

CHAPTER XX

 Si l'on vous a trahi, ce n'est pas la trahison qui importe; c'est le pardon qu'elle a fait naître dans votre âme. . . . Mais si la trahison n'a pas accru la simplicité, la confiance plus haute, l'étendue de l'amour, on vous aura trahi bien inutilement, et vous pouvez vous dire qu'il n'est rien arrivé. --MAETERLINCK. 

Rachel and Hester were sitting in the shadow of the church-yard wallwhere Hester had so unfortunately fallen asleep on a previous occasion. It was the first of many clandestine meetings. Mr. And Mrs. Gresley didnot realize that Hester and Rachel wished to "talk secrets, " as theywould have expressed it, and Rachel's arrival was felt by the Gresleysto be the appropriate moment to momentarily lay aside their dailyavocations, and to join Hester and Rachel in the garden for socialintercourse. The Gresleys liked Rachel. Listeners are generally liked. Perhaps also her gentle, unassuming manner was not an unpleasant changeafter the familiar nonchalance of the Pratts. 

The two friends bore their fate for a time in inward impatience, andthen, not without compunction, "practised to deceive. " Certain obtusepersons push others, naturally upright, into eluding and outwittingthem, just as the really wicked people, who give _vivâ voce_invitations, goad us into crevasses of lies, for which, if there is anyjustice anywhere, they will have to answer at the last day. Mr. Gresleygave the last shove to Hester and Rachel by an exhaustive harangue onwhat he called socialism. Finding they were discussing some phase of it, he drew up a chair and informed them that he had "threshed out" thewhole subject. 

"Socialism, " he began, delighted with the polite resignation of hishearers, which throughout life he mistook for earnest attention. "Community of goods. People don't see that if everything were divided upto-day, and everybody was given a shilling, by next week the thrifty manwould have a sovereign, and the spendthrift would be penniless. Community of goods is impossible as long as human nature remains what itis. But I can't knock that into people's heads. I spoke of it once toLord Newhaven, after his speech in the House of Lords. I thought he wasmore educated and a shade less thoughtless than the idle rich usuallyare, and that he would see it if it was put plainly before him. But heonly said my arguments were incontrovertible, and slipped away. "

It was after this conversation, or rather monologue, that Hester andRachel arranged to meet by stealth. 

They were sitting luxuriously in the short grass, with their backsagainst the church-yard wall, and their hats tilted over their eyes. 

"I wish I had met this Mr. Dick five or six years ago, " said Rachel, with a sigh. 

Hester was the only person who knew about Rachel's previous lovedisaster. 

"Dick always gets what he wants in the long run, " said Hester. "I shouldoffer to marry him at once, if I were you. It will save a lot oftrouble, and it will come to just the same in the end. "

Rachel laughed, but not light-heartedly. Hester had only put into wordsa latent conviction of her own which troubled her. 

"Dick is the right kind of man to marry, " continued Hester, dispassionately. "What lights he has he lives up to. If that is not highpraise, I don't know what is. He is good, but somehow his goodness doesnot offend one. One can condone it. And, if you care for such things, hehas a thorough-going respect for women, which he carries about with himin a little patent safe of his own. "

"I don't want to marry a man for his qualities and mental furniture, "said Rachel, wearily. "If I did I would take Mr. Dick. "

There was a short silence. 

"I am sure, " said Rachel at last, "that you do not realize howcommonplace I am. You know those conventional heroines of second-ratenovels, who love tremendously once, and then, when things go wrong, promptly turn into marble statues, and go through life with hearts ofstone? Well, my dear, I am just like that. I know it's despicable. Ihave straggled against it. It is idiotic to generalize from one personalexperience. I keep before my mind that other men are _not_ like _him_. Iknow they aren't, but yet--somehow I think they are. I am frightened. "

Hester turned her wide eyes towards her friend. 

"Do you still consider, after these four years, that _he_ did you aninjury?"

Rachel looked out upon the mournful landscape. The weariness ofmidsummer was upon it. A heavy hand seemed laid upon the brow of thedistant hills. 

"I gave him everything I had, " she said, slowly, "and he threw it away. I have nothing left for any one else. Perhaps it is because I amnaturally economical, " she added, smiling faintly, "that it seems now, looking back, such a dreadful waste. "

"Only in appearance, not in reality, " said Hester. "It looks like awaste of life, that mowing down of our best years by a relentlesspassion which itself falls dead on the top of them. But it is not so. Every year I live I am more convinced that the waste of life lies in thelove we have not given, the powers we have not used, the selfishprudence which will risk nothing, and which, shirking pain, misseshappiness as well. No one ever yet was the poorer in the long-run forhaving once in a lifetime 'let out all the length of all the reins. '"

"You mean it did me good, " said Rachel, "and that _he_ was a kind ofbenefactor in disguise. I dare say you are right, but you see I don'ttake a burning interest in my own character. I don't find my mentalstand-point--isn't that what Mrs. Loftus calls it?--very engrossing. "

"He was a benefactor, all the same, " said Hester, with decision. "I didnot think so at the time, and if I could have driven over him in anomnibus I would have done so with pleasure. But I believe that the daywill come when you will cover that grave with a handsome monument, erected out of gratitude to him for not marrying you. And now, Rachel, will you forgive me beforehand for what I am going to say?"

"Oh!" said Rachel, ruefully. "When you say that I know it is the preludeto something frightful. You are getting out a dagger, and I shall be itssheath directly. "

"You are a true prophet, Rachel. "

"Yes, executioner. "

"My dear, dear friend, whom I love best in the world, when that happenedmy heart was wrung for you. I would have given everything I had, lifeitself--not that that is saying much--to have saved you from that hour. "

"I know it. "

"But I should have been the real enemy if I had had power to save you, which, thank God! I had not. That hour had to be. It was necessary. Youmay not care about your own character, but I do. There is somethingstubborn and inflexible in you--the seamy side of your courage andsteadfastness--which cannot readily enter into the feelings of others orput itself in their place. I think it is want of imagination--I mean thepower of seeing things as they are. You are the kind of woman who, ifyou had married comfortably some one you rather liked, might have becomelike Sybell Loftus, who never understands any feeling beyond her ownmicroscopic ones, and who measures love by her own small preference forDoll. You would have had no more sympathy than she has. People, likeSybell, believe one can only sympathize with what one has experienced. That is why they are always saying, 'as a mother, ' or 'as a wife. ' Ifthat were true the world would have to get on without sympathy, for notwo people have the same experience. Only a shallow nature believesthat a resemblance in two cups means that they both contain the samewine. Sybell believes it, and you would have been very much the same, not from lack of perception, as in her case, but from want of using yourpowers of perception. If you had not undergone an agonized awakening, all the great realities of life--love, hatred, temptation, enthusiasm--would have remained for you as they have remained forSybell, merely pretty words to string on light conversation. That is whyI can't bear to hear her speak of them, because every word she saysproves she has not known them. But the sword that pierced your heartforced an entrance for angels, who had been knocking where there was nodoor--until then. "

Silence. 

"Since when is it that people have turned to you for comfort andsympathy?"

No answer. 

"Rachel, on your oath, did you ever really care for the London pooruntil you became poor yourself, and lived among them?"

"No. "

"But they were there all the time. You saw them in the streets. It wasnot as if you only heard of them. You saw them. Their agony, their vice, was written large on their faces. There was a slum almost at the back ofthat great house in Portman Square where you lived many years in luxurywith your parents. "

"Don't, " said Rachel, her lip trembling. 

"I must. You did not care then. If a flagrant case came before you yougave something like other uncharitable people who hate feelinguncomfortable. But you care _now_. You seek out those who need you. Answer me. Were they cheaply bought or not, that compassion and love forthe degraded and the suffering which were the outcome of your years ofpoverty in Museum Buildings?"

"They were cheaply bought, " said Rachel, with conviction, speaking withdifficulty. 

"Would you have learned them if you had gone on living in PortmanSquare?"

"Oh, Hester! would anybody?"

"Yes, they would. But that is not the question. Would _you?_"

"N--no, " said Rachel. 

There was a long silence. 

Rachel's mind took its staff and travelled slowly, humbly, a few moredifficult steps up that steep path where "Experience is converted intothought as a mulberry-leaf is converted into satin. "

At last she turned her grave eyes upon her friend. 

"I see what you mean, " she said; "I have not reached the place yet; butI can believe that I shall come to it some day, when I shall feel asthankful for that trouble as I do feel now for having known poverty. Yes, Hester, you are right. I was a hard woman, without imagination. Ihave been taught in the only way I could learn--by experience. I havebeen very fortunate. "

Hester did not answer, but bent down and kissed Rachel's hands. It wasas if she had said, "Forgive me for finding fault with one so far aboveme. " And the action was so understood. 

Rachel colored, and they sat for a moment hand close in hand, heart verynear to heart. 

"How is it you are so sure of these things, Hester?" said Rachel, in awhisper. "When you say them I see they are true, and I believe them, buthow do you _know_ them?"

A shadow, a very slight one, fell across Hester's face. "'Love knows thesecret of grief. ' But can Love claim that knowledge if he is asked howhe came by it by one who should have known?" The question crept inbetween the friends and moved them apart. Hester's voice altered. 

"Minna would say that I picked them up from the conversation of James. You know the Pratts are perfectly aware of what I have, of course, triedto conceal, namely, that the love-scenes in the _Idyll_ were puttogether from scraps I had collected of James's engagement to Minna. Andall the humorous bits are claimed by a colony of cousins in Devonshirewho say that any one 'who had heard them talk' could have written the_Idyll. _ And any one who had not heard them apparently. The so-calledprofane passages are all that are left to me as my own. "

"You are profane now, " said Rachel, smiling, but secretly wounded by theflippancy which she had brought upon herself. 

A distant whoop distracted their attention, and they saw Regie gallopingtowards them, imitating a charger, while Fräulein and the two littlegirls followed. 

Regie stopped short before Rachel, and looked suspiciously at her. 

"Where is Uncle Dick?" he said. 

"I don't know, " said Rachel, reddening, in spite of herself, and hereyes falling guiltily before her questioner. 

"Then he has not come with you?"

Regie's mind was what his father called "sure and steady. " Mr. Gresleyoften said he preferred a child of that kind to one that wasquick-witted and flashy. 

"No, he has not come with me. "

"Mary!" shrieked Regie, "he has not come. "

"I knew he had not, " said Mary. "When I saw he was not there I knew hewas somewhere else. "

Dear little Mary was naturally the Gresleys' favorite child. Howeverthoroughly they might divest themselves of parental partiality, theycould not but observe that she was as sensible as a grown-up person. 

"I thought he might be somewhere near, " explained Regie, "in a tree orsomething, " looking up into the little yew. "You can't tell with aconjurer like Uncle Dick, can you, Auntie Hester, whatever Mary maysay?"

"Mary is generally wrong, " said Hester, "but she is right for once. "

Mary, who was early acquiring the comfortable habit of hearing only theremarks that found an echo in her own breast, heard she was right, andsaid, shrilly:

"I told Regie when we was still on the road that Uncle Dick wasn'tthere. Mother doesn't always go with father, but he said he'd run andsee. "

"We shall be ver'r late for luncheon, " said Fräulein, hastily, blushingdown to the onyx brooch at her turn-down collar, and drawing Mary away. 

"Perhaps he left the half-penny with you, " said Regie. "Fräulein wouldlike to see it. "

"No, no, " said Fräulein, the tears in her eyes. "I do not vish at all. Icry half the night when I hear of it. "

"I only cry when baby beats me, " said Mary, balancing on one leg. 

"I have not got the half-penny, " said Rachel, the three eldersstudiously ignoring Mary's personal reminiscences. 

The children were borne away by Fräulein, and the friends kissed andparted. 

"I am coming to Wilderleigh to-morrow, " said Rachel. "I shall be muchnearer to you then. "

"It is no good contending against Dick and fate, " said Hester, shakingher finger at her. "You see it is all decided for you. Even the childrenhave settled it. "

CHAPTER XXI

 If a fool be associated with a wise man all his life, he will perceive the truth as little as a spoon perceives the taste of soup. --_Buddhist Dhammapada_. 

"I can't think what takes you to Wilderleigh, " said Lady Newhaven toRachel. "I am always bored to death when I go there. Sybell is soself-centred. "

Perhaps one of the reasons why Lady Newhaven and Sybell Loftus did not"get on" was owing to a certain superficial resemblance between them. 

Both exacted attention, and if they were in the same room together itseldom contained enough attention to supply the needs of both. Both wereconscious, like "Celia Chettam, " that since the birth of their firstchild their opinions respecting literature, politics, and art hadacquired additional weight and solidity, and that a wife and mothercould pronounce with decision on important subjects where a spinsterwould do well to hold her peace. Each was fond of saying, "As a marriedwoman I think this or that"; yet each was conscious of dislike andirritation when she heard the other say it. And there is no doubt thatSybell had been too unwell to appear at Lady Newhaven's garden-party theprevious summer, because Lady Newhaven had the week before advanced hercherished theory of "one life one love, " to the delight of Lord Newhavenand the natural annoyance of Sybell, whose second husband was at thatmoment handing tea and answering "That depends" when appealed to. 

"As if, " as Sybell said afterwards to Hester, "a woman can help beingthe ideal of two men. "

"Sybell is such a bore now, " continued Lady Newhaven, "that I don'tknow what she will be when she is older. I don't know why you go toWilderleigh, of all places. "

"I go because I am asked, " said Rachel, "and partly because I shall benear Hester Gresley. "

"I don't think Miss Gresley can be very anxious to see you, or she wouldhave come here when I invited her. I told several people she was coming, and that Mr. Carstairs, who thinks so much of himself, came on purposeto meet her. It is very tiresome of her to behave like that, especiallyas she did not say she had any engagement. You make a mistake, Rachel, in running after people who won't take any trouble to come and see you. It is a thing I never do myself. "

"She is buried in her book at present. "

"I can't think what she has to write about. But I suppose she picks upthings from other people. "

"I think so. She is a close observer. "

"I think you are wrong there, Rachel, for when she was here some yearsago she never looked about her at all. And I asked her how she judged ofpeople, and she said, 'By appearances. ' Now that was very silly, because, as I explained to her, appearances were most deceptive, and Ihad often thought a person with a cold manner was cold-hearted, andafterwards found I was quite mistaken. "

Rachel did not answer. She wondered in what the gift consisted, whichLady Newhaven and Sybell both possessed, of bringing all conversation toa stand-still. 

"It seems curious, " said Lady Newhaven, after a pause, "how the booksare mostly written by the people who know least of life. Now, the_Sonnets from the Portuguese_. People think so much of them. I waslooking at them the other day. Why, they are nothing to what I havefelt. I sometimes think if _I_ wrote a book--I don't mean that I haveany special talent--but if I really sat down and wrote a book with allthe deep side of life in it, and one's own religious feelings, anddescribed love and love's tragedy as they really are, what a sensationit would make! It would take the world by storm. "

"Any book dealing sincerely with one of those subjects could not fail tobe a great success. "

"Oh yes. I am not afraid I should fail. I do wish you were not going, Rachel. We have so much in common. And it is such a comfort to be withsome one who knows what one is going through. I believe you feel thesuspense, too, for my sake. "

"I do feel it--deeply. "

"I sometimes think, " said Lady Newhaven, her face aging suddenly underan emotion so disfiguring that Rachel's eyes fell before it--"I amsometimes almost certain that Edward drew the short lighter. Oh! do youthink if he did he will really _act up to it_ when the time comes?"

"If he drew it he will certainly take the consequences. "

"Will he, do you think? I am almost sure he drew it. He is doing so manylittle things that look as if he knew he were not going to live. I heardMr. Carstairs ask him to go to Norway with him next spring, and Edwardlaughed, and said he never looked more than a few months ahead. "

"I am afraid he may have said that intending you to hear it. "

"But he did not intend me to hear it. I overheard it. " Rachel's facefell. 

"You did promise after you told me about the letter that you would neverdo that kind of thing again. "

"Well, Rachel, I have not. I have not even looked at his letters since. I could not help it that once, because I thought he might have told hisbrother in India. But don't you think his saying that to Mr. Carstairslooks--"

Rachel shook her head. 

"He is beyond me, " she said. "There may be something more behind whichwe don't know about. "

"I have a feeling, it has come over me again and again lately, that Ishall be released, and that Hugh and I shall be happy together yet. "

And Lady Newhaven turned her face against the high back of her carvedoak chair and sobbed hysterically. 

"Could you be happy if you had brought about Lord Newhaven's death?"said Rachel. 

Her voice was full of tender pity, not for the crouching unhappinessbefore her, but for the poor atrophied soul. Could she reach it? Shewould have given everything she possessed at that moment for one secondof Christ's power to touch those blind eyes to sight. 

"How can you say such things? I should _not_ have brought it about. Idid not even know of that dreadful drawing of lots till the thing wasdone. That was all his own doing. "

Rachel sighed. The passionate yearning towards her companion shrank backupon herself. 

"The fault is in me, " she said to herself. "If I were purer, humbler, more loving, I might have been allowed to help her. "

Lady Newhaven rose, and held Rachel tightly in her arms. 

"I count the days, " she said, hoarsely, shaking from head to foot. "Itis two months and three weeks to-day. November the twenty-ninth. Youwill promise faithfully to come to me and be with me then? You will notdesert me? Whatever happens you will be sure--to come?"

"I will come. I promise, " said Rachel. And she stooped and kissed theclosed eyes. She could at least do that. 

CHAPTER XXII

 Brother, thy tail hangs down behind. --_Song of the Bandar-log_. 

Rachel arrived after tea at Wilderleigh, and went straight to her roomon a plea of fatigue. It was a momentary cowardice that tempted her toyield to her fatigue. She felt convinced that she should meet HughScarlett at Wilderleigh. She had no reason for the conviction beyond thevery inadequate one that she had met him at Sybell's London house. Nevertheless, she felt sure that he would be among the guests, and shelonged for a little breathing-space after parting with Lady Newhavenbefore she met him. Presently Sybell flew in and embraced her witheffusion. 

"Oh! what you have missed!" she said, breathlessly. "But you do looktired. You were quite right to lie down before dinner, only you aren'tlying down. We have had such a conversation down-stairs. The others areall out boating with Doll but Mr. Harvey, the great Mr. Harvey, youknow. "

"I am afraid I don't know. "

"Oh yes, you do. The author of _Unashamed_. "

"I remember now. "

"Well, he is here, resting after his new book, _Rahab_. And he has beenreading us the opening chapters, just to Miss Barker and me. It is quitewonderful. So painful, you know. He does not spare the reader anything;he thinks it wrong to leave out anything--but so powerful!"

"Is it the same Miss Barker whom I met at your house in the season, whodenounced _The Idyll?_"

"Yes. How she did cut it up! You see, she knows all about East London, and that sort of thing. I knew you would like to meet her again becauseyou are philanthropic, too. She hardly thought she could spare the timeto come, but she thought she would go back fresher if the wail were outof her ears for a week. The wail! Isn't it dreadful? I feel we ought todo more than we do, don't you?"

"We ought, indeed. "

"But then, you see, as a married woman, I can't leave my husband andchild and bury myself in the East End, can I?"

"Of course not. But surely it is an understood thing that marriageexempts women from all impersonal duties. "

"Yes, that is just it. How well you put it! But others could. I oftenwonder why, after writing _The Idyll_, Hester never goes near EastLondon. I should have gone straight off, and have cast in my lot withthem if I had been in her place. "

"Do you ever find people do what you would have done if you had been intheir place?"

"No, never. They don't seem to see it. It's a thing I can't understandthe way people don't act up to their convictions. And I do know, thoughI would not tell Hester so for worlds, that the fact that she goes onliving comfortably in the country after bringing out that book makesthoughtful people, not me, of course, but other earnest-minded people, think she is a humbug. "

"It would--naturally, " said Rachel. 

"Well, now I am glad you agree with me, for I said something of the samekind to Mr. Scarlett last night, and he could not see it. He's ratherobtuse. I dare say you remember him?"

"Perfectly. "

"I don't care about him, he is so superficial, and Miss Barker says heis very lethargic in conversation. I asked him because--don't breathe aword of it--but because, as a married woman, one ought to help others, and--do you remember how he stood up for Hester that night in London?"

"For her book, you mean. "

"Well, it's all one. Men are men, my dear. Let me tell you he wouldnever have done that if he had not been in love with her. "

"Do you mean that men never defend obvious truths unless they are inlove?"

"Now you are pretending to misunderstand me, " said Sybell, joyously, making her little squirrel face into a becoming pout. "But it's no usetrying to take me in. And it's coming right. He's there at this moment!"

"At the Vicarage?"

"Where else? I asked him to go. I urged him. I said I felt sure sheexpected him. One must help on these things. "

"But if he is obtuse and lethargic and superficial, is he likely to suitHester?"

"My dear, the happiest lot for a woman is marriage. And you and I areHester's friends. So we ought to do all we can for her happiness. Thatis why I just mentioned this. "

The dressing-gong began to boom. 

"I must fly, " said Sybell, depositing a butterfly kiss on Rachel'sforehead. And she flew. 

"I wish I knew what I felt about him, " said Rachel to herself. "I don'tmuch like hearing him called obtuse and superficial, but I suppose Ishould like still less to hear Sybell praise him. I have never heard herpraise anything but mediocrity yet. "

If Rachel had been at all introspective she might have found a clew asto her feeling for Hugh in the unusual care with which she arranged herhair, and her decision at the last moment to discard the pale-green gownlying in state on the bed for a white satin one embroidered at longintervals with rose-colored carnations. The gown was a masterpiece, designed especially for her by a great French milliner. Rachel oftenwondered whose eyesight had been strained over those marvellouscarnations, but to-night she did not give them a thought. She lookedwith grave dissatisfaction at her pale, nondescript face and nondescripthair and eyes. She did not know that only women with marriageabledaughters saw her as she saw herself in the glass. 

As she left her room a door opened at the farther end of the same wing, and a tall man came out. The middle-class element in her said, "Superfine. " His fastidious taste said, "A plain woman. "

In another instant they recognized each other. 

"Superfine! What nonsense, " she thought, as she met his eager, tremulousglance. 

"A plain woman. Rachel plain!" He had met the welcome in her eyes, andthere was beauty in every movement, grace in every fold of her whitegown. 

As they met the gong suddenly boomed out close beneath them, and theycould only smile at each other as they shook hands. The butler, who wasevidently an artist in his way, proved the gong to the uttermost; andthey had descended the staircase together, and had crossed the hallbefore its dying tremors allowed them to speak. 

As he was about to do so he saw her wince suddenly. She was lookingstraight in front of her at the little crowd in the drawing-room. For aninstant her face turned from white to gray, and she involuntarily putout her hand as if to ward off something. Then a lovely color mounted toher cheek; she drew herself up and entered the room, while Hugh, behindher, looked fiercely at each man in succession. 

It is always the unexpected that happens. As Rachel's half-absent eyespassed over the group in the brilliantly lighted drawing-room her heartreared, without warning, and fell back upon her. She had only justsufficient presence of mind to prevent her hand pressing itself againsther heart. He was there; he was before her--the man whom she had lovedwith passion for four years, and who had tortured her. 

Mr. Harvey (the great Mr. Harvey) strode forward, and Rachel found herhand engulfed in a large soft hand, which seemed to have a poached eggin the palm. 

"This is a pleasure to which I have long looked forward, " murmured thegreat man, all cuff and solitaire, bending in what he would have termeda "chivalrous manner" over Rachel's hand; while Doll, standing near, wondered drearily "why these writing chaps were always such bounders. "

Rachel passed on to greet Miss Barker, standing on the hearthrug, thistime in magenta velveteen, but presumably still tired of the Bible, conversing with Rachel's former lover, whose eyes were on the floor andwhose hand gripped the mantel-piece. He had seen her--recognized her. 

"May I introduce Mr. Tristram?" said Sybell to Rachel. 

"We have met before, " said Rachel, gently, as he bowed without lookingat her, and she put out her hand. 

He was obliged to touch it, obliged to meet for one moment the clear, calm eyes that had once held boundless love for him, boundless trust inhim; that had, as he well knew, wept themselves half blind for him. 

Mr. Tristram was one of the many who judge their actions in the light ofafter-circumstances, and who towards middle-age discover that the worldis a treacherous world. He had not been "in a position to marry" when hehad fallen in love with Rachel. But he had been as much in love with heras was consistent with a permanent prudential passion for himself andhis future--that future which the true artist must ever preserveuntrammelled. "High hopes faint on a warm hearthstone, " etc. He had feltkeenly breaking with Rachel. Later on, when a tide of wealth flowed upto the fifth floor of Museum Buildings, he had recognized, for the firsttime, that he had made a great mistake in life. To the smart of baffledlove had been added acute remorse, not so much for wealth missed as forhaving inflicted upon himself and upon her a frightful and unnecessarypain. But how could he have foreseen such a thing? How could he tell?he had asked himself, in mute stupefaction, when the news reached him. What a cheat life was! What a fickle jade was Fortune!

Since the memorable day when Rachel had found means to lay the ghostthat haunted her he had made no sign. 

"I hardly expected you would remember me, " he said, catching at hisself-possession. 

"I have a good memory, " she said, aware that Miss Barker was listeningand that Hugh was bristling at her elbow. "And the little Spanish boywhom you were so kind to, and who lodged just below me in MuseumBuildings, has not forgotten either. He still asks after the'Cavalier. '"

"Mr. Tristram is positively blushing at being confronted with his gooddeeds, " said Sybell, intervening on discovering that the attention ofsome of her guests had been distracted from herself. "Yes, darling"--toher husband--"you take in Lady Jane. Mr. Scarlett, will you take in MissWest?"

"I have been calling on your friend, Miss Gresley, " said Hugh, after hehad overcome his momentary irritation at finding Mr. Harvey was onRachel's other side. "I did not know until her brother dined here lastnight that she lived so near. "

"Did not Mrs. Loftus tell you?" said Rachel, with a remembrance ofSybell's remarks before dinner. 

"She told me after I had mentioned my wish to go and see her. She evenimplored me so repeatedly to go that I--"

"Nearly did not go at all. "

"Exactly. But in this case I persevered because I am, or hope I am, afriend of hers. But I was not rewarded. "

"I thought you said you had seen her. "

"Oh yes, I saw her, and I saw that she looked very ill. But I found itimpossible to have any conversation with her in the presence of Mr. AndMrs. Gresley. Whenever I spoke to her Mr. Gresley answered, andsometimes Mrs. Gresley also. In fact, Mr. Gresley considered the call aspaid to himself. Mrs. Loftus tells me he is much cleverer than hissister, but I did not gain that impression. And after I had given tongueto every platitude I could think of I had to take my leave. "

"Hester ought to have come to the rescue. "

"She did try. She offered to show me the short cut to Wilderleigh acrossthe fields. But unluckily--"

"I can guess what you are going to say. "

"I am sure you can. Mr. Gresley accompanied us, and Miss Gresley turnedback at the first gate. "

"You have my sympathy. "

"I hope I have, for I have had a severe time of it. Mr. Gresley was mostcordial, " continued Hugh, ruefully, "and said what a pleasure it was tohim to meet any one who was interested in intellectual subjects. Isuppose he was referring to my platitudes. He said living in the countrycut him off almost entirely from the society of his mental equals, somuch so that at times he had thoughts of moving to London and making alittle centre for intellectual society. According to him the wholeneighborhood was sunk in a state of hopeless apathy, with the exceptionof Mrs. Loftus. He said she was the only really clever, cultivatedperson in Middleshire. "

"Did he? How about the Bishop of Southminster?"

"He did not mention him. My acquaintance with Mrs. Loftus is of theslightest, " added Hugh, interrogatively, looking at his graceful, animated hostess. 

"I imagined you knew her fairly well, as you are staying here. "

"No. She asked me rather late in the day. I fancy I was a 'fill up. ' Iaccepted in the hope, rather a vague one, that I might meet you here. "

To Rachel's surprise her heart actually paid Hugh the compliment ofbeating a shade faster than its wont. She looked straight in front ofher, and her absent eyes fell on Mr. Tristram sitting opposite, talkingsomewhat sulkily to Miss Barker. Rachel looked steadily at him. 

Mr. Tristram had been handsome once, and four years had altered him butlittle in that respect. He had not yet grown stout, but it was evidentthat Nature had that injury in reserve for him. To grow stout is notnecessarily to look common, but if there is an element of inherentcommonness in man or woman, a very little additional surface will makeit manifest, as an enlarged photograph magnifies its own defects. The"little more and how much it is" had come upon the unhappy Tristram, once the slimmest of the slim. Life had evidently not gone too well withhim. Self-pity and the harassed look which comes of annoyance withtrifles had set their mark upon him. His art had not taken possession ofhim. "High hopes faint on a warm hearthstone. " But they sometimes faintalso in bachelor lodgings. The whole effect of the man was second-rate, mentally, morally, socially. He seemed exactly on a par with thesecond-rate friends with whom Sybell loved to surround herself. Hugh andDick were taking their revenge on the rival who blocked their way. Whatever their faults might be, they were gentlemen, and Mr. Tristramwas only "a perfect gentleman. " Rachel had not known the difference whenshe was young. She saw it now. 

"I trust, Miss West, " said the deep voice of Mr. Harvey, revolvinghimself and his solitaire slowly towards her, that I have your sympathyin the great cause to which I have dedicated myself, the emancipation ofwoman. "

"I thought the new woman had effected her own emancipation, " saidRachel. 

Mr. Harvey paid no more attention to her remark than any one with atheory to propound which must be delivered to the world as a whole. 

"I venture to think, " he continued, his heavy, lustreless eyes coming toa stand-still upon her, "that though I accept in all reverence theposition of woman as the equal of man, as promulgated in _The Princess_, by our lion-hearted Laureate, nevertheless I advance beyond him in thatrespect. I hold"--in a voice calculated to impress the wholetable--"that woman is man's superior, and that she degrades herselfwhen she endeavors to place herself on an equality with him. "

There was a momentary silence, like that which travellers tell ussucceeds the roar of the lion in his primeval forest, silencing even thetwitter of the birds. 

"How true that is!" said Sybell, awed by the lurid splendor of Mr. Harvey's genius. "Woman is man's superior, not his equal. I have feltthat all my life, but I never quite saw how until this moment. Don't youthink so, too, Miss Barker?"

"I have never lost an opportunity of asserting it, " said the Apostle, her elbow on Mr. Tristram's bread, looking at Mr. Harvey with someasperity for poaching on her manor. 

"All sensible women have been agreed for years on that point. "

CHAPTER XXIII

 With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone, We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish 'twere done! Not till the hours of light return All we have built do we discern. --MATTHEW ARNOLD. 

It was Sunday morning. The night was sinking out of the sky to leanfaint unto death upon the bosom of the earth. The great forms of thetrees, felt rather than seen, were darkness made visible. Among thenight of high elms round Warpington a single yellow light burned in anupper window. It had been burning all night. And now, as the nightwaned, the little light waned with it. At least, it was suddenly blownout. 

Hester came to the window and looked out. There was light, but there wasno dawn as yet. In the gray sky over the gray land the morning-star, alone and splendid, kept watch in the east. 

She sat down and leaned her brow against the pane. She did not know thatit was aching. She did not know that she was cold, exhausted; soexhausted that the morning-star in the outer heaven and the morning-starin her soul were to her the same. They stooped together, they mergedinto one great light, heralding a perfect day presently to be. 

The night was over, and that other long night of travail and patienceand faith, and strong rowing in darkness against the stream, was over, too, at last--at last. _The book was finished_. 

The tears fell slowly from Hester's eyes on to her clasped hands, thoseblessed tears which no human hand shall ever intervene to wipe away. 

To some of us Christ comes in the dawn of the spiritual life walkingupon the troubled waves of art. And we recognize Him, and would fain goto meet Him. But our companions and our own fears dissuade us. They sayit is only a spirit, and that Christ does not walk on water, that theland whither we are rowing is the place He has Himself appointed for usto meet Him. So our little faith keeps us in the boat, or fails us inthe waves of that windswept sea. 

It seemed to Hester as if once, long ago, shrinking and shivering, shehad stood in despair upon the shore of a great sea, and had heard avoice from the other side say, "Come over. " She had stopped her ears;she had tried not to go. She had shrunk back a hundred times from thecold touch of the water that each time she essayed let her tremblingfoot through it. And now, after an interminable interval, after she hadtrusted and doubted, had fallen and been sustained, had met the wind andthe rain, after she had sunk in despair and risen again, she knew nothow, now at length a great wave--the last--had cast her up half drownedupon the shore. A miracle had happened. She had reached the other side, and was lying in a great peace after the storm upon the solemn shoreunder a great white star. 

Hester sat motionless. The star paled and paled before the coming of agreater than he. Across the pause which God has set 'twixt night and daycame the first word of the robin. It reached Hester's ear as fromanother world--a world that had been left behind. The fragmentary notesfloated up to her from an immeasurable distance, like scattered bubblesthrough deep water. 

The day was coming. God's creatures of tree and field and hill tookform. Man's creature, the little stout church in their midst, thrustonce more its plebeian outline against God's sky. Dim shapes movedathwart the vacancy of the meadows. Voices called through the gray. Close against the eaves a secret was twittered, was passed from beak tobeak. In the nursery below a little twitter of waking children broke thestillness of the house. 

But Hester did not hear it. She had fallen into a deep sleep in the lowwindow-seat, with her pale forehead against the pane; a sleep so deepthat even the alarum of the baby did not rouse her, nor the entrance ofEmma with the hot water. 

 * * * * *

"James, " said Mrs. Gresley, an hour later; as she and her husbandreturned through the white mist from early celebration, "Hester was notthere. I thought she had promised to come. "

"She had. "

There was a moment's silence. 

"Perhaps she is not well, " said Mr. Gresley, closing the church-yardgate into the garden. 

Mrs. Gresley's heart swelled with a sense of injustice. She had oftenbeen unwell, often in feeble health before the birth of her children, but had she ever pleaded ill-health as an excuse for absenting herselffrom one of the many services which her husband held to be themain-spring of the religious life?

"I do not think she can be very unwell. She is standing by the magnolianow, " she said, her lip quivering, and withdrawing her hand from herhusband's arm. She almost hated the slight, graceful figure, which wasnot of her world, which was, as she thought, coming between her and herhusband. 

"I will speak seriously to her, " said Mr. Gresley, dejectedly, whorecollected that he had "spoken seriously" to Hester many times at hiswife's instigation without visible result. And as he went alone to meethis sister he prayed earnestly that he might be given the right word tosay to her. 

A ray of sunlight, faint as an echo, stole through the lingering mist, parting it on either hand, and fell on Hester. 

Hester, standing in a white gown under the veiled trees in a glade ofsilver and trembling opal, which surely mortal foot had never trod, seemed infinitely removed from him. Dimly he felt that she was at onewith this mysterious morning world, and that he, the owner, was an alienand a trespasser in his own garden. 

But a glimpse of his cucumber-frames in the background reassured him. Headvanced with a firmer step, as one among allies. 

Hester did not hear him. 

She was gazing with an absorption that shut out all other sights andsounds at the solitary blossom on the magnolia-tree. Yesterday it hadbeen a bud; but to-day the great almond-white petals which guarded it, overlapping each other so jealously, had opened wide, and the perfectflower, keeping nothing back, had laid bare all its pure white soulbefore its God. 

As Mr. Gresley stopped beside her, Hester turned her little pinched, ravaged face towards him and smiled. Something of the passionateself-surrender of the flower was reflected in her eyes. 

"Dear Hester, " he said, seeing only the wan, drawn face. "Are you ill?"

"Yes--no. I don't think so, " said Hester, tremulously, recalled suddenlyto herself. She looked hastily about her. The world of dew and silverhad deserted her, had broken like an iridescent bubble at a touch. Themagnolia withdrew itself. Hester found herself suddenly transplantedinto the prose of life, emphasized by a long clerical coat and a bed ofBrussels sprouts. 

"I missed you, " said Mr. Gresley, with emphasis. 

"Where? When?" Hester's eyes had lost their fixed look and staredvacantly at him. 

Mr. Gresley tried to subdue his rising annoyance. 

Hester was acting, pretending not to understand, and he saw through it. 

"At God's altar, " he said, gravely, the priest getting the upper hand ofthe man. 

"Have you not found me there?" said Hester, below her breath, but so lowthat fortunately her brother did not catch the words, and was sparedtheir profanity. 

"I will appeal to her better feelings, " he said to himself. "They mustbe there, if I can only touch them. "

He did not know that in order to touch the better feelings of ourfellow-creatures we must be able to reach up to them, or by reason ofour low stature we may succeed only in appealing to the lowest in them, in spite of our tiptoe good intentions. Is that why such appeals toooften meet with bitter sarcasm and indignation?

But fortunately a robust belief in the assiduities of the devil as thecause of all failures, and a conviction that who-so opposed Mr. Gresleyopposed the Deity, supported and blindfolded the young Vicar inemergencies of this kind. 

He spoke earnestly and at length to his sister. He waved aside her timidexcuse that she had overslept herself after a sleepless night, and hadfinished dressing but the moment before he found her in the garden. Heentreated her to put aside such insincerity as unworthy of her. Hereminded her of the long months she had spent at Warpington with itspeculiar spiritual opportunities; that he should be to blame if he didnot press upon her the first importance of the religious life, theever-present love of God, and the means of approaching Him through thesacraments. He entreated her to join her prayers with his that she mightbe saved from the worship of her own talent, which had shut out theworship of God, from this dreadful indifference to holy things, and theimpatience of all religious teaching which he grieved to see in her. 

He spoke well, the earnest, blind, would-be leader endeavoring to guideher to the ditch from which he knew not how she had emerged, passionately distressed at the opposition he met with as he would havedrawn her lovingly towards it. 

The tears were in Hester's eyes, but the eyes themselves were as flintseen through water. She stifled many fierce and cruel impulses to speakas plainly as he did, to tell him that it was not religion that wasabhorent to her, but the form in which he presented it to her, and thatthe sin against the Holy Ghost was disbelief, like his, in the religionof others. But when have such words availed anything? When have theybeen believed? Hester had a sharp tongue, and she was slowly learning tobeware of it as her worst enemy. She laid down many weapons before shetrusted herself to speak. 

"It is good of you to care what becomes of me, " she said, gently, buther voice was cold. "I am sorry you regard me as you do. But from yourpoint of view you were right to speak--as--as you have done. I value theaffection that prompted it. "

"She can't meet me fairly, " said Mr. Gresley to himself, with suddenanger at the meanness of such tactics. "They say she is so clever, andshe can't refute a word I say. She appears to yield and then defies me. She always puts me off like that. "

The sun had vanquished the mist, and in the brilliant light the twofigures moved silently, side by side, back to the house, one withsomething very like rage in his heart, the rage that in bygone daysfound expression in stake and fagot. 

Perhaps the heaviest trouble which Hester was ever called upon to bearhad its mysterious beginnings on that morning of opal and gossamer whenthe magnolia opened. 

CHAPTER XXIV

 Il le fit avec des arguments inconsistants et irréfutables, de ces arguments qui fondent devant la raison comme la neige an feu, et qu'on ne peut saisir, des arguments absurdes et triomphants, de curé de campagne qul démontre Dieu. --Guy DE MAUPASSANT. 

Sybell's party broke up on Saturday, with the exception of Rachel andMr. Tristram, who had been unable to finish by that date a sketch he wasmaking of Sybell. When Doll discovered that his wife had asked thatgentleman to stay over Sunday he entreated Hugh, in moving terms, to dothe same. 

"I am not literary, " said Doll, who always thought it necessary toexplain that he was not what no one thought he was. "I hate all thatsort of thing. Utter rot, I call it. For goodness' sake, Scarlett, sittight. I must be decent to the beast in my own house, and if you go Ishall have to have him alone jawing at me till all hours of the night inthe smoking-room. "

Hugh was easily persuaded, and so it came about that the morningcongregation at Warpington had the advantage of furtively watching Hughand Mr. Tristram as they sat together in the carved Wilderleigh pew, with Sybell and Rachel at one end of it, and Doll at the other. No onelooked at Rachel. Her hat attracted a momentary attention, but her facenone. 

The Miss Pratts, on the contrary, well caparisoned by their manmilliner, well groomed, well curled, were a marked feature of the sparsecongregation. The spectator of so many points, all made the most of, unconsciously felt with a sense of oppression that everything that couldbe done had been done. No stone had been left unturned. 

Their brother, Captain Algernon Pratt, sitting behind them, lookedcritically at them, and owned that they were smart women. But he was notentirely satisfied with them, as he had been in the old days, before hewent into the Guards and began the real work of his life, raisinghimself in society. 

Captain Pratt was a tall, pale young man--_assez beaugarçon_--faultlessly dressed, with a quiet acquired manner. He was notill-looking, the long upper lip concealed by a perfectly kept mustache, but the haggard eye and the thin line in the cheek, which did notsuggest thought and overwork as their cause, made his appearance vaguelyrepellent. 

 "Jesu, lover of my soul, "

sang the shrill voices of the choir-boys, echoed by Regie and Mary, standing together, holding their joint hymnbook exactly equally betweenthem, their two small thumbs touching. 

Fräulein, on Hester's other side, was singing with her whole soul, accompanied by a pendulous movement of the body:

 "Cover my defenceless 'ead, Wiz ze sadow of Zy wing. "

Mr. Gresley, after baying like a blood-hound through the opening verses, ascended the pulpit and engaged in prayer. The congregation amened andsettled itself. Mary leaned her blond head against her mother, Regieagainst Hester. 

The supreme moment of the week had come for Mr. Gresley. 

He gave out the text:

"Can the blind lead the blind? Shall they not both fall into the ditch?"

 * * * * *

All of us who are Churchmen are aware that the sermon is a periodadmirably suited for quiet reflection. 

"A good woman loves but once, " said Mr. Tristram to himself, in anattitude of attention, his fine eyes fixed decorously on a pillar infront of him. Some of us would be as helpless without a Bowdlerizedgenerality or a platitude to sustain our minds as the invalid would bewithout his peptonized beef-tea. 

"Rachel is a good woman, a saint. Such a woman does not love in a hurry, but when she does she loves forever. " What was that poem he and she hadso often read together? Tennyson, wasn't it? About love not altering"when it alteration finds, " but bears it out even to the crack of doom. Fine poet, Tennyson; he knew the human heart. She had certainly adoredhim four years ago, just in the devoted way in which he needed to beloved. And how he had worshipped her! Of course he had behaved badly. Hesaw that now. But if he had it was not from want of love. She had beenunable to see that at the time. Good women were narrow, and they werehard, and they did not understand men. Those were their faults. Had shelearned better by now? Did she realize that she had far better marry aman who had loved her for herself, and who still loved her, rather thansome fortune-hunter, like that weedy fellow Scarlett. (Mr. Tristramcalled all slender men weedy. ) He would frankly own his fault and askfor forgiveness. He glanced for a moment at the gentle, familiar facebeside him. 

"She will forgive me, " he said, reassuring himself, in spite of aninward qualm of misgiving. "I am glad I arranged to stay on. I willspeak to her this afternoon. She has become much softened, and we willbury the past and make a fresh start together. "

 * * * * *

"I will walk up to Beaumere this afternoon, " said Doll, stretching a legoutside the open end of the pew. "I wish Gresley would not call theDissenters worms. They are some of my best tenants, and they won't likeit when they hear of it. And I'll go round the young pheasants. (Dolldid this, or something similar, every Sunday afternoon of his life, buthe always rehearsed it comfortably in thought on Sunday mornings. ) Andif Withers is about I'll go out in the boat--the big one, the little oneleaks--and set a trimmer or two for to-morrow. I'm not sure I'll set oneunder the south bank, for there was the devil to pay last time, whenthat beast of an eel got among the roots. I'll ask Withers what hethinks. I wish Gresley would not call the Dissenters blind leaders ofthe blind. It's such bad form, and I don't suppose the text meant thatto start with, and what's the use of ill-feeling in a parish? And I'lltake Scarlett with me. We'll slip off after luncheon, and leave thatbounder to bound by himself. And poor old Crack shall come too. UncleGeorge always took him. "

 * * * * *

"James is simply surpassing himself, " said Mrs. Gresley to herself, herarm round her little daughter. "Worms what a splendid comparison! TheChurchman, the full-grown man after the stature of Christ, and theDissenter invertebrate (I think dear James means inebriate), like a wormcleaving to the earth. But possibly God in His mercy may let them slipin by a back-door to heaven! How like him to say that, so generous, sowide-minded, taking the hopeful view of everything! How noble he looks!These are days in which we should stick to our colors. I wonder how hecan think of such beautiful things. For my part, I think the duty of thetrue priest is not to grovel to the crowd and call wrong right and rightwrong for the sake of a fleeting popularity. How striking! What a lessonto the Bishop, if he were only here. He is so lax about Dissent, as ifright and wrong were mere matters of opinion! What a gift he has! I knowhe will eat nothing for luncheon. If only we were somewhere else wherethe best joints were a little cheaper, and his talents moreappreciated. " And Mrs. Gresley closed her eyes and prayed earnestly, atear sliding down her cheek on to Mary's floss-silk mane, that she mightbecome less unworthy to be the wife of one so far above her, that thechildren might all grow up like him, and that she might be givenpatience to bear with Hester even when she vexed him. 

 * * * * *

Captain Pratt's critical eye travelled over the congregation. Itabsolutely ignored Mrs. Gresley and Fräulein. It lingered momentarily onHester. He knew what he called "breeding" when he saw it, and he wasaware that Hester possessed it, though his sisters would have laughed atthe idea. He had seen many well-bred women on social pinnacles look likethat, whose houses were at present barred against him. The Pratt sisterswere fixed into their smartness as some faces are fixed into a grin. Itwas not spontaneous, fugitive, evanescent as a smile, gracefully worn, or lightly laid aside, as in Hester's case. He had known Hester slightlyin London for several years. He had seen her on terms of intimacy, suchas she never showed to his sisters, with inaccessible men and women withwhom he had achieved a bare acquaintance, but whom, in spite of manycarefully concealed advances, he had found it impossible to know better. Captain Pratt had reached that stage in his profession of raisinghimself when he had become a social barometer. He was excessivelycareful whom he knew, what women he danced with, what houses he visited;and any of his acquaintances who cared to ascertain their own socialstatus to a hair's-breadth had only to apply to it the touchstone ofCaptain Pratt's manner towards them. 

Hester, who grasped many facts of that kind, was always amused by thecold consideration with which he treated her on his rare visits to theparental Towers; and which his sisters could only construe as a signthat "Algy was gone on Hessie. "

"But he will never marry her, " they told each other. "Algy lookshigher. "

It was true. If Hester had been Lady Hester, it is possible that thesurname of Pratt, if frequently refused by stouter women, mighteventually have been offered to her. But Captain Pratt was determinedto marry rank, and nothing short of a Lady Something was of any use tohim. An Honorable was better than nothing, but it did not count for muchwith him. It had a way of absenting itself when wanted. No one wasannounced as an Honorable. It did not even appear on cards. It might heoverlooked. Rank, to be of any practical value, must be apparent, obvious. Lady Georgiana Pratt, Lady Evelina Pratt! Any name would dowith that prefix. His eye travelled as far as Sybell and stopped again. She was "the right sort" herself, and she dressed in the right way. Whycould not Ada and Selina imitate her? But he had never forgiven her thefact that he had met "a crew of cads" at her house, whom he had beenobliged to cut afterwards in the Row. No, Sybell would not have done forhim. She surrounded herself with vulgar people. 

Captain Pratt was far too well-mannered to be guilty of staring, exceptat pretty maid-servants or shop-girls, and his eye was moved on by therigid police of etiquette which ruled his every movement. It pausedmomentarily on Rachel. He knew about her, as did every bachelor inLondon. A colossal heiress. She was neither plain nor handsome. She hada good figure, but not good enough to counterbalance her nondescriptface. She had not the air of distinction which he was so quick to detectand appraise. She was a social nonentity. He did not care to look at hera second time. "I would not marry her with twice her fortune, " he saidto himself. 

 * * * * *

Regie's hand had stolen into Hester's. His even breathing, felt ratherthan heard, as he dropped asleep against her shoulder, surrounded Hesterwith the atmosphere of peace and comfort which his father had brokenearlier in the day. Regie often brought back to her what his fatherwrested from her. 

She listened to the sermon as from a warm nest safely raised above thequaggy ground of personal feeling. 

"Dear James! How good he is! how much in earnest! But worms don't go inat back-doors. Why are not clergymen taught a few elementary rules ofcomposition before they are ordained? But perhaps no one will notice itexcept myself. James is certainly a saint. He has the courage of hisopinions. I believe he loves God and the Church with his whole heart, and would go to the stake for them, or send me there if he thought itwas for the good of my soul. Why has he no power? Why is he so muchdisliked in the parish and neighborhood? I am sure it is not because hehas small abilities, and makes puns, and says cut-and-dried things. Howmany excellent clergymen who do the same are beloved? Is it because hedeals with every one as he deals with me? What dreadful things he thinksof me. I don't wonder he is anxious about me. What unworthy motives ofwilful blindness and arrogance he is attributing to the Nonconformists!Oh, James, James! will you never see that it is disbelief in thesincerity of the religion of others, because it is not in the samenarrow form as your own, which makes all your zeal and earnestness ofnone effect! You think the opposition you meet with everywhere is theopposition of evil to good, of indifference to piety. When will youlearn that it is the good in your hearers which opposes you, the love ofGod in them which is offended by your representation of Him?"

 * * * * *

Hugh's eyes were fixed on the same pillar as Mr. Tristram's, but if hehad been aware of that fact he would have chosen another pillar. Histhin, handsome face was beginning to show the marks of mental strain. His eyes had the set, impassive look of one who, hedged in on bothsides, sees a sharp turn ahead of him on an unknown road. 

 * * * * *

"Rachel! Rachel! Rachel! Don't you hear me calling to you? Don't youhear me telling you that I can't live without you? The hymn wasright--'Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on Thee'--onlyit was written of you, not of that far, far away God who does not care. Only care for me. Only love me. Only give me those cool hands that I maylean my forehead against them. No help can come to me except throughyou. Stoop down to me and raise me up, for I love you. "

The sun went in suddenly, and a cold shadow fell on the pillar and onHugh's heart. 

Love and marriage were not for him. That far-away God, that Judge in theblack cap, had pronounced sentence against him, had doomed that heshould die in his sins. When he had sat in his own village church onlylast Sunday between his mother and sister, he had seen the empty placeon his chancel wall where the tablet to his memory would be put up. Whenhe walked through the church-yard, his mother leaning on his arm, hisstep regulated by her feeble one, he had seen the vacant space by hisfather's grave already filled by the mound of raw earth which wouldshortly cover him. His heart had ached for his mother, for the gentle, feeble-minded sister, who had transferred the interest in life, whichkeeps body and soul together, from her colorless existence to that ofher brother. Hughie was the romance of her gray life: what Hughie said, what Hughie thought, Hughie's wife--oh, jealous thought, only to be metby prayer! But later on--joy of joys--Hughie's children! He realized it, now and then, vaguely, momentarily, but never as fully as last Sunday. He shrank from the remembrance, and his mind wandered anew in thelabyrinth of broken, twisted thought, from which he could find no wayout. 

_There must be some way out!_ He had stumbled callously through one dayafter another of these weeks in which he had not seen Rachel towards hisnext meeting with her, as a half-blind man stumbles towards the light. But the presence of Rachel afforded no clew to the labyrinth. What vainhope was this that he had cherished unconsciously that she could helphim. There was no help for him. There was no way out. He was in a trap. He must die, and soon, by his own hand. Incredible, preposterous fate!He shuddered, and looked around him involuntarily. 

His glance, reverent, full of timid longing, fell on Rachel, and hisheart cried aloud, suddenly, "If she loves me, I shall not be able toleave her. "

CHAPTER XXV

 Look in my face! my name is Might-have-been; I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell. --DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. 

It was Sunday afternoon. Mr. Tristram leaned on the stone balustradethat bounded the long terrace at Wilderleigh. He was watching twodistant figures, followed by a black dot, stroll away across the park. One of them seemed to drag himself unwillingly. Mr. Tristramcongratulated himself on the acumen which had led him to keep himselfconcealed until Doll and Hugh had started for Beaumere. 

Sybell had announced at luncheon, in the tone of one who observes areligious rite, that she should rest till four o'clock, and would beready to sit for the portrait of her upper lip at that hour. 

It was only half-past two now. Mr. Tristram had planted himself exactlyin front of Rachel's windows, with his back to the house. "She will keepme waiting, but she will come out in time, " he said to himself, nervousand self-confident by turns, resting his head rather gracefully on hishand. His knowledge of womankind supported him like a life-belt, but ithas been said that life-belts occasionally support their wearersupsidedown. Theories have been known to exhibit the same spitefultendency towards those who place their trust in them. 

"Of course, she has got to show me that she is offended with me, " hereflected, gazing steadily at the Welsh hills. "She would not have comeout if I had asked her, but she will certainly come as I did not. I willgive her half an hour. "

Rachel, meanwhile, was looking fixedly at Mr. Tristram from her bedroomwindow with that dispassionate scrutiny to avoid which the vainest woulddo well to take refuge in noisome caves. 

"I wonder, " she said to herself, "whether Hester always saw him as I seehim now. I believe she did. "

Rachel put on her hat and took up her gloves. "If this is really I, andthat is really he, I had better go down and get it over, " she said toherself. 

Mr. Tristram had given her half an hour. She appeared in the low stonedoorway before the first five minutes of the allotted time had elapsed, and he gave a genuine start of surprise as he heard her step on thegravel. His respect for her fell somewhat at this alacrity. 

"I have been waiting in the hope of seeing you, " he said, after amoment's hesitation. "I am anxious to have a serious conversation withyou. "

"Certainly, " she said. 

They walked along the terrace, and presently found themselves in thelittle coppice adjoining it. They sat down together on a wooden seatround an old cedar, in the heart of the golden afternoon. 

It was an afternoon the secret of which Autumn and Spring will nevertell to Winter and Summer, when the wildest dreams of love might cometrue, when even the dead might come down and put warm lips to ours, andwe should feel no surprise. 

A kingfisher flashed across the open on his way back to the brook nearat hand, fleeing from the still splendor of the sun-fired woods, wherehe was but a courtier, to the little winding world of gray stones andwater, where he was a jewelled king. 

When the kingfisher had left them _tête-à-tête_, Mr. Tristram foundhimself extremely awkwardly placed on the green bench. He felt that hehad not sufficiently considered beforehand the peculiar difficultieswhich, in the language of the law, "had been imported into his case. "

Rachel sat beside him in silence. If it could be chronicled thatsympathetic sorrow for her companion's predicament was the principalfeeling in her mind, she would have been an angel. 

Mr. Tristram halted long between two opinions. At last he said, brokenly:

"Can you forgive me?"

What woman, even with her white hair, even after a lifetime spent out ofear-shot, ever forgets the tone her lover's voice takes when he is introuble? Rachel softened instantly. 

"I forgave you long ago, " she said, gently. 

Something indefinable in the clear, full gaze that met his daunted him. He stared apprehensively at her. It seemed to him as if he were standingin cold and darkness looking in through the windows of her untroubledeyes at the warm, sunlit home which had once been his, when it had beenexceeding well with him, but of which he had lost the key. 

A single yellow leaf, crisped and hollowed to a fairy boat, came sailingon an imperceptible current of air to rest on Rachel's knee. 

"I was angry at first, " she said, her voice falling across the silencelike another leaf. "And then, after a time, I forgave you. And laterstill, much later, I found out that you had never injured me--that I hadnothing to forgive. "

He did not understand, and as he did not understand he explainedvolubly--for here he felt he was on sure ground--that, on the contrary, she had much to forgive, that he had acted like an infernal blackguard, that men were coarse brutes, not fit to kiss a good woman'sshoe-latchet, etc. , etc. He identified his conduct with that of thewhole sex, without alluding to it as that of the individual Tristram. Hemade it clear that he did not claim to have behaved better than mostmen. 

Rachel listened attentively. "And I actually loved him, " she said toherself. 

"But the divine quality of woman is her power of forgiving. Her loveraises a man, transfigures him, ennobles his whole life, " etc. , etc. 

"My love did not appear to have quite that effect upon you at the time, "said Rachel, regretting the words the moment they were spoken. 

Mr. Tristram felt relieved. Here at last; was the reproach he had beenexpecting. 

He assured her she did well to be angry. He accused himself once more. He denounced the accursed morals of the day, above which he ought tohave risen, the morals, if she did but know it, of all unmarried men. 

"That is a hit at Mr. Scarlett, " she said, scornfully, to herself, andthen her cheek blanched as she remembered that Hugh was not exempt, after all. She became suddenly tired, impatient; but she waited quietlyfor the inevitable proposal. 

Mr. Tristram, who had the gift of emphatic and facile utterance, whichthe conventional consider to be the sign-manual of genius, had become soentangled in the morals of the age that it took him some time toextricate himself from the subject before he could pass on to plead, inan impassioned manner, the cause of the man, unworthy though he mightbe, who had long loved her, loved her now, and would always love her, inthis world and the next. 

It was the longest proposal Rachel had ever had, and she had had many. But if the proposal was long, the refusal was longer. Rachel, who had agood memory, led up to it by opining that the artistic life made greatdemands, that the true artist must live entirely for his art, thatdomestic life might prove a hinderance. She had read somewhere that highhopes fainted on warm hearthstones. Mr. Tristram demolished theseobjections as ruthlessly as ducks peck their own ducklings if they havenot seen them for a day or two. 

Even when she was forced to become more explicit, it was at firstimpossible to Mr. Tristram to believe she would finally reject him. Butthe knowledge, deep-rooted as a forest oak, that she had loved himdevotedly could not at last prevail against the odious conviction thatshe was determined not to marry him. 

"Then, in that case, you never loved me?"

"I do not love you now. "

"You are determined not to marry?"

"On the contrary, I hope to do so. "

Rachel's words took her by surprise. She had no idea till that momentthat she hoped anything of the kind. 

"You prefer some one else. That is the real truth. "

"I prefer several others. "

Mr. Tristram looked suspiciously at her. Her answers did not tally withhis previous knowledge of her. Perhaps he forgot that he had set hisdocile pupil rather a long holiday task to learn in his absence, and shehad learned it. 

"You think you would be happier with some fortune-hunter of anaristocrat than with a plain man of your own class, who, whatever hisfaults may be, loves you for yourself. "

Why is it that the word aristocrat as applied to a gentleman is asoffensive as that of flunkey applied to a footman?

Rachel drew herself up imperceptibly. 

"That depends upon the fortune-hunter, " she said, with that touch of_hauteur_ which, when the vulgar have at last drawn it upon themselvesby the insolence which is the under side of their courtesy, always hasthe same effect on them as a red rag on a bull. 

In their own language they invariably "stand up to it. " Mr. Tristramstood up physically and mentally. He also raised his voice, causing tworabbits to hurry back into their holes. 

Women, he said, were incalculable. He would never believe in one again. His disbelief in woman rose even to the rookery in the high elms closeat hand. That she, Rachel, whom he had always regarded as the firstamong women, should be dazzled by the empty glamour of rank, now thather fortune put such marriages within her reach, was incredible. Heshould have repudiated such an idea with scorn, if he had not heard itfrom her own lips. Well, he would leave her to the life she had chosen. It only remained for him to thank her for stripping his last illusionsfrom him and to bid her good-bye. 

"We shall never meet again, " he said, holding her hand, and looking verymuch the same without his illusions as he did when he had them on. Hehad read somewhere a little poem about "A Woman's No, " which at the lastmoment meant "Yes. " And then there was another which chronicled how, after several stanzas of upbraiding, "we rushed into each other's arms. "Both recurred to him now. He had often thought how true they were. 

"I do not think we shall meet again, " said Rachel, who apparently had anunpoetic nature; "but I am glad for my own sake that we have met thisonce, and have had this conversation. I think we owed it to each otherand to our--former attachment. "

"Well, good-bye. " He still held her hand. If she was not careful shewould lose him. 

"Good-bye. "

"You understand it is for always?"

"I do. "

He became suddenly livid. He loved her more than ever. Would she reallylet him go?

"I am not the kind of man to be whistled back, " he said, fiercely. Itwas an appeal and a defiance, for he was just the kind of man, and theyboth knew it. 

"Of course not. "

"That is your last word?"

"My last word. "

He dropped her hand and half turned to go. 

She made no sign. 

Then he strode violently out of the wood without looking behind him. Atthe little gate he stopped a moment, listening intently. No recallingvoice reached him. Poets did not know what they were talking about. Witha trembling hand he slammed the gate and departed. 

Rachel remained a long time sitting on the wooden bench, so long thatthe stooping sun found out the solemn, outstretched arms of the cedar, and touched them till they gleamed green as a beetle's wing. Each littletwig and twiglet was made manifest, raw gold against the twilight thatlurked beneath the heavy boughs. 

She sat so still that a squirrel came tiptoeing across the moss, andstruck tail momentarily to observe her. He looked critically at her, first with one round eye, and then, turning his sleek head, with theother, and decided that she was harmless. 

Presently a robin dropped down close to her, flashing up his gray underwing as he alighted, and then flew up into the cedar, and from itssun-stirred depths said his say. 

The robin never forgets. In the autumn afternoons, when the shadows arelengthening, he sings sadness into your heart. If you are joyful shutyour ears against him, for you may keep peace, but never joy, while heis singing. He knows all about it, "love's labor lost, " the gray face ofyoung Love dead, the hard-wrought grave in the live rock where he isburied. And he tells of it again and again and again, as if Love's sharpsword had indeed reddened his little breast, until the heart aches tohear him. But he tells also that consolation is folded not inforgetfulness, but in remembrance. That is why he sings in the silenceof the autumn dawn, before Memory closes her eyes, and again nearsunset, when Memory wakes. 

Still Rachel sat motionless. 

She had labored with dumb unreasoning passion to forget, as a man workshis hand to the bone night after night, week after week, month aftermonth, to file through the bars of his prison. She found at last thatforgetfulness came not of prayer and fasting; that it was not in her toforget. The past had seemed to stretch its cruel, desecrating hand overall the future, cutting her off from the possibility of love andmarriage, and from the children whom in dreams she held in her arms. Asshe had said to Hester, she thought she "had nothing left to give. "

But now the dead past had risen from its grave in her meeting with herformer lover, and in a moment, in two short days and wakeful nights, thepast relinquished its false claim upon her life. She saw that it wasfalse, that she had been frightened where no fear was, that herdeliverance lay in remembrance itself, not in the handcuffs with whichuntil now she had bound her deliverer. 

Mr. Tristram had come back into her life, and with his own hands haddestroyed the overthrown image of himself, which lay like a barrieracross her heart. He had replaced it by an accurate presentment ofhimself as he really was. 

"Only that which is replaced is destroyed, " and it is often our realself in its native rags, and not, as we jealously imagine, another kingin richer purple who has replaced us in the throne-room of the heartthat loved us. To the end of life Rachel never forgot Mr. Tristram, anymore than the amber forgets its fly. But she was vaguely conscious as heleft her that he had set her free. She listened to his retreating stephardly daring to breathe. It was too good to be true. At last there wasdead silence. No echo of a footfall. Quite gone. He had departed notonly out of her presence, but out of her life. 

She breathed again. A tremor, like that which shakes the first greenleaf against the March sky, stole across her crushed heart, empty atlast, empty at last. She raised her hand timidly in the sunshine. Shewas free. She looked round dazzled, bewildered. The little world ofsunshine and the turquoises of sky strewn among the golden net-work ofthe trees smiled at her, as one who brings good tidings. 

A certain familiar hold on life and nature, so old that it was almostnew, which she had forgotten, but which her former self used to feel, came back suddenly upon her, like a lost friend from over-seas. Scalesseemed to fall from her eyes. The light was too much for her. She hadforgotten how beautiful the world was. Everything was possible. 

Some, in the night of their desolation, can take comfort when they seethe morning-star shuddering white in the east, and can say, "Courage, the day is at hand. "

But others never realize that their night is over till the sun is up. Rachel had sat in a long stupor. The message writ large for her comfortin the stars that the night was surely waning had not reached her, bowed, as she thought, beneath God's hand. And the sure return of thesun at last came upon her like a miracle. 

CHAPTER XXVI

 "'Tis not for every one to catch a salmon. "

Every one who knows Middleshire knows that the little lake of Beaumereis bounded on the one side by the Westhope and on the other by theWilderleigh property, the boundary being the ubiquitous Drone, whichtraverses the mere in a desultory fashion, and with the assistance ofseveral springs makes Beaumere what it is, namely (to quote from thelocal guide-book), "the noblest expanse of water surrounded by some ofthe most picturesque scenery in Middleshire. "

Thither Doll and Hugh took their way in the leisurely manner of menwhose orthodoxy obliges them to regard Sunday as a day of rest. 

Doll pointed out to Hugh the coppice which his predecessor, Mr. GeorgeLoftus, had planted. Hugh regarded it without excitement. Both agreedthat it was coming on nicely. Hugh thought that he ought to do a littleplanting at his own place. Doll said, "You can't do everything at once. "A large new farm was the next object of interest. "Uncle George rebuiltGreenfields from the ground, " remarked Doll, as they crossed the highroad and took to the harvesting fields, where "the ricks stood gray tothe sun. "

Hugh nodded. Doll thought he was a very decent chap, though ratherlow-spirited. Hugh thought that if Mr. George Loftus had been alive hemight have consulted him. In an amicable silence, broken occasionally bywhistling for Crack, who hurried blear-eyed and asthmatic out ofrabbit-holes, the pair reached Beaumere; and, after following the paththrough the wood, came suddenly upon the little lake locked in the heartof the steeply climbing forest. 

Doll stood still and pointed with his stick for fear Hugh might overlookit. "I come here every Sunday, " he remarked. 

A sense of unreality and foreboding seized on Hugh, as the still face ofthe water looked up at him. Where had he seen it before, this sea ofglass reflecting the yellow woods that stooped to its very edge? Whathad it to do with him?

"I've been here before, " he said, involuntarily. 

"I dare say, " said Doll. "Newhaven marches with me here. The boundary isby that clump of silver birch. The Drone comes in there, but you can'tsee it. The Newhavens are friends of yours, aren't they?"

"Acquaintances, " said Hugh, absently, looking hard at the water. He hadnever been here before. Memory groped blindly for a lost link, as onewho momentarily recognizes a face in a crowd, and tries to put a name toit and fails. As the face disappears, so the sudden impression passedfrom Hugh's mind. 

"I expect you have been here with them, " said Doll. "Good man, Newhaven. "

"I used to see a good deal of them at one time, " said Hugh; "but theyseem to have forgotten me of late. "

"Oh, that's her!" said Doll. "She is always off and on with people. Takes a fancy one day and a dislike the next. But he's not like that. You always know where to find him. Solid man, Newhaven. He doesn't saymuch, but what he says he sticks to. "

"He gives one that impression, " said Hugh. 

"I rather think he is there now, " said Doll, pointing to the farthershore. "I see a figure moving, and two little specks. I should notwonder if it were him and the boys. They often come here on Sundayafternoons. "

"You have long sight, " said Hugh. He had met Lord Newhaven several timessince the drawing of lots, and they had always greeted each other withcold civility. But Hugh avoided him when he could without drawingattention to the fact that he did so. 

"Are you going over to his side?" he asked. 

"Rather not, " said Doll. "I have never set a single trimmer or fired ashot beyond that clump of birch, or Uncle George before me. "

The two men picked their way down the hill-side among the tall, thintree-trunks. There was no one except the dogs at the keeper's cottage, in a clearing half-way down. Doll took the key of the boat-house from alittle hole under the eaves. 

"I think Withers must be out, " he remarked at last, after knocking andcalling at the locked door and peering through the closed window. Hughhad been of that opinion for some time. "Gone out with his wife, Iexpect. Never mind, we can do without him. "

They went slipping over the dry beech-mast to the boat-house. Dollunlocked the door and climbed into one of the boats; Hugh and Crackfollowed. They got a perch-rod off a long shelf, and half a dozentrimmers. Then they pulled out a little way and stopped near anarchipelago of water-lily leaves. 

Doll got out the perch-rod and float and made a cast. 

"It's not fishing, " he said, apologetically, half to his guest and halfto his Maker. "But we are bound to get some baits. "

Hugh nodded, and gazed down at the thin forest below. He could see theperch moving in little companies in the still water beyond thewater-trees. Presently a perch, a very small one, out alone for thefirst time, came up, all stiff head and shoulders and wagging tail, tothe carelessly covered hook. 

"Don't, don't, you young idiot!" said Hugh, below his breath. But theperch knew that the time had come when a perch must judge for himself. 

The float curtesied and went under, and in another second the littleindependent was in the boat. 

"There are other fools in the world besides me, it seems, " said Hugh tohimself. 

"He'll do; but I wish he was a dace, " said Doll, slipping the victiminto a tin with holes in the top. "Half a dozen will be enough. "

They got half a dozen, baited and set the trimmers white side up, andwere turning to row back, when Doll's eyes became suddenly fixed. 

"By Jove! there's something at it, " he said, pointing to a trimmer atsome distance. 

Both men looked intently at it. Crack felt that something was happening, and left off smelling the empty fish-can. 

The trimmer began to nod, to tilt, and then turned suddenly upsidedown, and remained motionless. 

"He's running the line off it, " said Doll. 

As he spoke the trimmer gave one jerk and went under. Then itreappeared, awkwardly bustling out into the open. 

"Oh, hang it all! it's Sunday, " said Doll, with a groan. "We can't becatching pike on a Sunday. " And he caught up the oars and rowed swiftlytowards the trimmer. 

As soon as they were within a boat's length it disappeared again, cameup again, and went pecking along the top of the water. Doll pursuedwarily, and got hold of it. 

"Gently, now, " he said, as he shipped the oars. "He'll go under the boatand break us if we don't look out. I'll play him, and you shove the netunder him. Damn!--God forgive me!--we've come out without a landing-net. Good Lord, Scarlett, you can't gaff him with a champagne-opener. There, you pull him in, and I'll grab him somehow. I've done it before. Crack, lie down, you infernal fool! Scarlett, if you pull him like that you'lllose him to a certainty. By George, he's a big one!" Doll tore off hiscoat and turned up his shirt-sleeves. "He's going under the boat. If youlet him go under the boat, I tell you, he'll break us. I'm quite ready. "Doll was rubbing his waistcoat-buttons against the gunwale. "Bring himin gradually. For goodness' sake, keep your feet off the line, or, ifhe makes a dash, he'll break you! Give him line. Keep your elbows out. Keep your hands free. Don't let him jerk you. If you don't give him moreline when he runs, you'll lose him. He's not half done yet. Confoundyou, Scarlett! hold on for all you're worth. All right, old chap, allright. Don't mind me. You're doing it first-class. Right as rain. Now, now. By George! did you see him that time? He's a nailer! Steady on him!Bring him in gently. Keep an even pull on him. Keep steady!"

Doll craned over the gunwale, his arms in the water. There was a swirl, a momentary glimpse of a stolid fish, face and heavy shoulders, and theboat righted itself. 

"Missed him, as I live!" gasped Doll. "Bring him in again. "

Hugh let out the slippery line, and drew it in again slowly, hand overhand. Doll's round head was over the side, his long legs spreadadhesively in the bottom of the boat. Crack, beyond himself withexcitement, got on the seat and barked without ceasing. 

"He's coming up again, " said Doll, gutturally, sliding forward his lefthand. "I must get him by the eyes, and then I doubt if I can lift him. He's a big brute. He's dragging the whole boat and everything. He'sabout done now. Steady! Now!"

The great side of the pike lay heaving on the surface for a second, andDoll's left forefinger and thumb were groping for its eyes. But theagonized pike made a last effort. Doll had him with his left hand, butcould not raise him. "Pull him in now for all you're worth, " he roaredto Hugh, as he made a grab with his right hand. His legs began to losetheir grip under the violent contortions of the pike. The boat tiltedmadly. Hugh reached forward to help him. There was a frantic effort, andit capsized. 

"Bad luck, " said Doll, coming up spluttering, shaking his head like aspaniel. "But we shall get him yet. He's bleeding like a pig. He'llcome up directly. Good Lord! the water's like ice. We must be over oneof the springs. I suppose you are all right, Scarlett. "

Hugh had come up, but in very different fashion. 

"Yes, " he said, faintly, clutching the upturned boat. 

"I'm not sure, " said Doll, keeping going with one hand, "that we had notbetter get ashore and fetch the other boat. The water's enough to freezeone. "

"I can't swim, " said Hugh, his teeth chattering. 

He was a delicate man at the best of times, and the cold was laying holdof him. 

Doll looked at his blue lips and shaking hands, and his face becamegrave. He measured the distance to the shore with his eye. It hadreceded in a treacherous manner. 

"I'm not much of a performer myself, " he said, "since I broke my armlast winter, but I can get to the shore. The question is, can you holdon while I go back and bring the other boat, or shall we have a try atgetting back together?"

"I can hold on all right, " said Hugh, instantly aware that Doll did notthink he could tow him to land, but was politely ready to risk hisexistence in the attempt. 

"Back directly, " said Doll, and without a second's delay he was gone. Hugh put out his whole strength in the endeavor to raise himselfsomewhat out of the ice-cold water. But the upturned boat sidled awayfrom him like a skittish horse, and after grappling with it he onlyslipped back again exhausted, and had to clutch it as best he could. 

As he clung to the gunwale he heard a faint coughing and gasping closeto his ear. Some one was drowning. Hugh realized that it must be Crack, under the boat. He called to him; he chirruped, as if all were well. Hestretched one hand as far as he could under the boat feeling for him. But he could not reach him. Presently the faint, difficult sound ceased, began again, stopped, and was heard no more. 

A great silence seemed to rush in on the extinction of that small sound. It stooped down and enveloped Hugh in it. Everything was very calm, verystill. The boat kept turning slowly round and round, the only thing thatmoved. The sunlight quivered on the wet, upturned keel. Already it wasdrying in patches. Hugh watched it. The cold was sapping his powers asif he were bleeding. 

"I could have built a boat in the time Loftus takes to fetch one, " hesaid to himself, and he looked round him. No sign of Doll. He was alonein the world. The cold was gaining on him slowly, surely. Why had he onsuch heavy gloves, which made him fumble so clumsily. He looked at hisbare cut hands, and realized that their grip was leaving them. He feltthat he was in measurable distance of losing his hold. 

Suddenly a remembrance flashed across him of the sinister face of thewater as it had first looked up at him through the trees. Now heunderstood. This was the appointed place for him to die. Hugh tightenedhis hold with his right hand, for his left was paralyzed. 

"I will not, " he said. "Nothing shall induce me. I will live and marryRachel. "

The cold advanced suddenly on him, as at the point of the bayonet. 

"Why not die?" said another voice. "Will it be easier in three months'time than it is now? Will it ever be so easy again? See how near deathis to life, a wheel within a wheel, two rings linked together. A touch, and you pass from one to the other. "

Hugh looked wildly round him. The sun lay warm upon the tree-tops. Itcould not be that he was going to die _here_ and _now_; here in theliving sunshine, with the quiet, friendly faces of the hills all aroundhim. 

He strengthened his numb hold fiercely, all but lost it, regained it. Cramp, long held at bay, overcame him. 

And the boat kept turning in the twilight. He reached the end of hisstrength, and held on beyond it. He heard some one near at handsuffocating in long-drawn gasps. Not Crack this time, but himself. 

The boat was always turning in the darkness. 

The struggle was over. "It is better so, " said the other voice, throughthe roaring of a cataract near at hand. "Your mother will bear it betterso. And all the long difficulties are over, and pain is past, and lifeis past, and sleep is best. "

"But Rachel?"

She was here in the warm, swaying darkness. She was with him. She wasDeath. Death was only her arms round him in a great peace. Death wasbetter than life. He let go the silly boat that kept him from her andturned wholly to her, his closed eyes against her breast. 

CHAPTER XXVII

 The main difference between people seems to be that one man can come under obligations on which you can rely--is obligable--and another is not. As he has not a law within him, there's nothing to tie him to. --EMERSON. 

"Father, " said Teddy to Lord Newhaven, "do--do be a horse, and I willride you in the water. "

"Me, too, " said Pauly. 

"I am not anxious to be a horse, Teddy. I'm quite content as I am. "

Lord Newhaven was stretched in an easy but undefensive attitude on theheathery bank, with his hands behind his head. His two sons rushedsimultaneously at him and knelt on his chest. 

"Promise!" they cried, punching him. "Two turns each. " There was a freefight, and Lord Newhaven promised. 

"Honor bright! Two turns each, and really deep!"

"Honor bright, " said Lord Newhaven. 

His two sons got off his chest, and Teddy climbed on his back inreadiness, as his father sat up and began to unlace his boots. 

"Higher!" said Teddy, over his shoulder, his arms tightly clasped roundhis father's neck, as Lord Newhaven rolled up his trousers. 

"You young slave-driver, they won't go up any higher. "

"You said 'honor bright. '"

"Well, Shylock, I _am_ 'honor bright. '"

"You had them over your knees last time. "

"I had knickerbockers on, then. "

"Won't these do the same?"

"They won't come up another inch. "

"Then one, two, three--off!" shrieked Teddy, digging his heels into theparental back. 

The horse displayed surprising agility. It curveted, it kicked, itjumped a little drain, it careered into the water, making a tremendoussplashing. 

The two boys screamed with delight. 

But at last the horse sat down on the bank gasping, wiped its forehead, and, in spite of frenzied entreaties, proceeded to put on its socks andboots. 

Lord Newhaven was not to be moved a second time. He lit a cigarette andobserved that the moment for sailing boats had arrived. 

The boats were accordingly sailed. Lord Newhaven tilted his hat over hiseyes and acted as umpire. 

"It is not usual to sail boats upsidedown, " he said, seeing Teddydeliberately upset his. 

"They are doing it out there, " said Teddy, who had a reason for mostthings. And he continued to sail his boat upsidedown. 

Lord Newhaven got up, and swept the water with his eye. His face becamekeen. Then his glance fell anxiously on the children. 

"Teddy and Pauly, " he said, "promise me that you will both play on thisone bit of sand, and not go in the water till I come back. "

They promised, staring bewildered at their father. 

In another moment Lord Newhaven was tearing through the brushwood thatfringed the water's edge. 

As he neared the boat-house he saw another figure trying to shove outthe remaining boat. 

It was Doll. Lord Newhaven pushed her off and jumped in. 

Doll was almost speechless. His breath came in long gasps. The sweathung on his forehead. He pointed to the black, upturned boat. 

"This one leaks, " said Lord Newhaven, sharply. 

"It's got to go all the same, and sharp, " said Doll, hoarsely. 

Lord Newhaven seized up a fishing-tin and thrust it into Doll's hands. 

"You bale while I row, " he said, and he rowed as he had never rowedbefore. 

"Who is it?" he said, as the boat shot out into the open. 

Doll was baling like a madman. 

"Scarlett, " he said. "And he's over one of the springs. He'll getcramp. "

Lord Newhaven strained at the oars. 

 * * * * *

Consciousness was coming back, was slowly climbing upwards, upwardsthrough immense intervals of time and space, to where at last, with awrench, pain met it half-way. Hugh stirred feebly in the dark of a greatforlornness and loneliness. 

"Rachel, " he said--"Rachel. "

His head was gently raised, and a cup pressed to his lips. He swallowedsomething. 

He groped in the darkness for a window, and then opened his eyes. LordNewhaven withdrew a pace or two, and stood looking at him. 

Their eyes met. 

Neither spoke; but Hugh's eyes, dark with the shadow of death, saidplainly, "Hast thou found me, O mine enemy?"

Then he turned them slowly, as an infant turns them to the sky, theclimbing woods, leaning over each other's shoulders to look at him, tothe warm earth on which he lay. At a little distance was stretched asmall rough-haired form. Hugh's eyes fixed on it. It lay very still. 

"Crack, " he said, suddenly, raising himself on his elbow. 

There was neither speech nor language. Crack's tail, that courteousmember, made no sign. 

"He was under the boat, " said Lord Newhaven, looking narrowly at theexhausted face of the man he had saved, and unable for the life of himto help a momentary fellow-feeling about the little dog. 

Hugh remembered. It all came back, the boat, Crack's dying gasps, theagonized struggle, the strait gate of death, the difficult passagethrough it, the calm beyond. He had almost got through, and had beendragged back. 

"Why did you interfere?" he said, in sudden passion, his eyes flaming inhis white face. 

A dull color rose to Lord Newhaven's cheek. 

"I thought it was an accident, " he said. "If it was not, I beg yourpardon. "

There was a moment's silence. 

"It _was_ an accident, " said Hugh, hoarsely, and he turned on his elbowand looked fixedly at the water, so that his companion might not see theworking of his face. 

Lord Newhaven walked slowly away in the direction of Doll, whose distantfigure, followed by another, was hurrying towards them. 

"And so there is a Rachel as well, is there?" he said to himself, vainlytrying to steel himself against his adversary. 

"How is he now?" said Doll, coming within ear-shot. 

"He's all right; but you'd better get him into dry clothes, andyourself, too. "

"Change on the bank, " said Doll, seizing a bundle from the keeper. "It'sas hot as an oven in the sun. Why, Scarlett's sitting up! I thought whenwe laid into him on the bank that he was too far gone, didn't you? Isuppose"--hesitating--"Crack?"

Lord Newhaven shook his head. 

"I must go back to my boys now, " he said, "or they will be getting intomischief. "

Doll nodded. He and Lord Newhaven had had a hard fight to get theleaking boat to land with Hugh at the bottom of it. It had filledominously when Doll ceased baling to help to drag in the heavy, unconscious body. 

There had been a moment when, inapprehensive as he was, Doll hadremembered, with a qualm, that Lord Newhaven could not swim. 

"Every fellow ought to swim, " was the moral he drew from the incidentand repeated to his wife, who, struck by the soundness of the remark, repeated it to the Gresleys. 

Lord Newhaven retraced his steps slowly along the bank in hiswater-logged boots. He was tired, and he did not hurry, for he could seein the distance two small figures sitting faithfully on a log where hehad left them. 

"Good little chaps, " he said, half aloud. 

In spite of himself his thoughts went back to Hugh. His feelings towardshim had not changed, but they had been forced during the last half-hourout of their original intrenchments into the open, and were liable toattack from new directions. 

It was not that he had virtually saved Hugh's life, for Doll would neverhave got him into the leaking boat and kept it afloat single-handed. That first moment of enthusiasm, when he had rubbed the senseless limbsand breathed into the cold lips, and had felt his heart leap when lifecame halting back into them, that moment had passed and left him cold. 

But Hugh's melancholy eyes, as they opened once more on this world andmet his unflinchingly, haunted him, and the sudden anger at hisinterference. It was the intrenchment of his contempt that Lord Newhavenmissed. 

A meaner nature would not have let him off so easily as Hugh had done. 

"It _was_ an accident, " he said to himself, unwillingly. "He need nothave admitted that, but I should have been on a gridiron if he had not. In different circumstances that man and I might have been friends. Andif he had got into a scrape of this kind a little further afield I mighthave helped to get him out of it. He feels it. He has aged during thelast two months. But as it is--Upon my word, if he were a boy I shouldhave had to let him off. It would have been too bloodthirsty. But he isseven-and-twenty. He is old enough to know better. She made a fool ofhim, of course. She made a greater one of me once, for I--married her. "

Lord Newhaven reviewed with a dispassionate eye his courtship andmarriage. 

"A wood anemone, " he said to himself; "I likened her to a wood anemone. Good Lord! And I was thirty years of age, while this poor devil istwenty-seven. "

Lord Newhaven stopped short with fixed eyes. 

"I believe I should have to let him off, " he said, half-aloud. "Ibelieve I would let him off if I was not as certain as I stand here thathe will never do it. "

CHAPTER XXVIII

 "The less wit a man has, the less he knows that he wants it. "

Hester always took charge of the three elder children and Fräulein ofthe baby during the six-o'clock service, so that the nurse might go tochurch. On this particular Sunday afternoon Hester and the children werewaiting in the little hall till the bell stopped, before which momentthey were forbidden to leave the house. Mr. And Mrs. Gresley had juststarted for the church, Mr. Gresley looking worn and harassed, for sinceluncheon he had received what he called "a perfectly unaccountableletter" from one of his principal parishioners, a Dissenter, who hadbeen present at the morning service, and who Mr. Gresley had confidentlyhoped might have been struck by the sermon. This hope had beenjustified, but not in the manner Mr. Gresley had expected. Mr. Walshopined, in a large round hand, that as worms (twice under-dashed) didnot usually pay voluntary church and school rates he no longer felthimself under an obligation to do so, etc. The letter was a great, anunexpected blow. Who could have foreseen such a result of the morning'seloquence. 

"The truth is, " said Mr. Gresley, tremulously, "that they can't andwon't hear reason. They can't controvert what I say, so they take refugein petty spite like this. I must own I am disappointed in Walsh. He is aman of some education, and liberal as regards money. I had thought hewas better than most of them, and now he turns on me like this. "

"It's a way worms have, " said Hester. 

"Oh, don't run a simile to death, Hester, " said Mr. Gresley, impatiently. "If you had listened to what I tried to say this morningyou would have seen I only used the word _worm_ figuratively. I nevermeant it literally, as any one could see who was not determined tomisunderstand me. Worms pay school-rates! Such folly is positivelysickening, if it were not malicious. "

Hester had remained silent. She had been deeply vexed for her brother atthe incident. 

As the church-bell stopped the swing-door opened, and Boulou hurried in, like a great personage, conscious that others have waited, and bearingwith him an aroma of Irish stew and onions, which showed that he hadbeen exchanging affabilities with the cook. For the truth must be owned. No spinster over forty could look unmoved on Boulou. Alas! for theVicarage cook, who "had kept herself _to_ herself" for nearly fiftyyears, only to fall the victim of a "grande passion" for Boulou. 

The little Lovelace bounded in, and the expedition started. It wasRegie's turn to choose where they should go, and he decided on the"shrubbery, " a little wood through which ran the private path toWilderleigh. Doll Loftus had given the Gresleys leave to take thechildren there. 

"Oh, Regie, we always go there, " said Mary, plaintively, who invariablychose the Pratts' park, with its rustic bridges and _châlets_, which Mr. Pratt, in a gracious moment, had "thrown open" to the Gresleys onSundays, because, as he expressed it, "they must feel so cramped intheir little garden. "

But Regie adhered to his determination, and to the "shrubberies" theywent. Hester was too tired to play with them, too tired even to tellthem a story; so she sat under a tree while they circled in the coppicenear at hand. 

As we grow older we realize that in the new gardens where life leads uswe never learn the shrubs and trees by heart as we did as children inour old Garden of Eden, round the little gabled house where we wereborn. We were so thorough as children. We knew the underneath of everylaurel-bush, the shape of its bunches of darkling branches, the greendust that our small restless bodies rubbed off from its under twigs. Wesee now as strangers those little hanging horse-tails of pink, whichsad-faced elders call _ribes_; but once long ago, when the world wasyoung, we knew them eye to eye, and the compact little black insects onthem, and the quaint taste of them, and the clean, clean smell of them. Everything had a taste in those days, and was submitted to that test, just as until it had been licked the real color of any object ofinterest was not ascertained. There was a certain scarlet berry, veryred without and very white within, which we were warned was deadlypoison. How well, after a quarter of a century, we remember the bittertaste of it; how much better than many other forbidden fruits dulyessayed in later years. We ate those scarlet berries and lived, thoughwarned to the contrary. 

Presently Boulou, who could do nothing simply, found a dead mouse, whereany one else could have found it, in the middle of the path, and made itan occasion for a theatrical display of growlings and shakings. Thechildren decided to bury it, and after a becoming silence their voicescould be heard singing "Home, Sweet Home, " as the body was being loweredinto the grave previously dug by Boulou, who had to be forciblyrestrained from going on digging it after the obsequies were over. 

"He never knows when to stop, " said Regie, wearily, as Boulou, with alittle plaster of earth on his nose, was carried coughing back toHester. 

As she took him Rachel and Sybell came slowly down the path towardsthem, and the latter greeted Hester with an effusion which suggestedthat when two is not company three may be. 

"A most vexing thing has happened, " said Sybell, in a gratified tone, sitting down under Hester's tree. "I really don't think I am to blame. You know Mr. Tristram, the charming artist who has been staying withus?"

"I know him, " said Hester. 

"Well, he was set on making a sketch of me for one of his largepictures, and it was to have been finished to-day. I don't see any harmmyself in drawing on Sunday. I know the Gresleys do, and I love theGresleys, he has such a powerful mind; but one must think for one'sself, and it was only the upper lip, so I consented to sit for him atfour o'clock. I noticed he seemed a little--well rather--"

"Just so, " said Hester. 

"The last few days. But, of course, I took no notice of it. A marriedwoman often has to deal with such things without making a fuss aboutthem. Well, I overslept myself, and it was nearly half-past four beforeI awoke. And when I went into my sitting-room a servant brought me anote. It was from him, saying he had been obliged to leave Wilderleighsuddenly on urgent business, and asking that his baggage might be sentafter him. "

Hester raised her eyes slightly, as if words failed her. Sybell'sconversation always interested her. 

"Perhaps the reason she is never told anything, " she said to herself, "is because the ground the confidence would cover is invariably builtover already by a fiction of her own which it would not please her tosee destroyed. "

"Who would have thought, " continued Sybell, "that he would have behavedin that way because I was one little half-hour late. And of course thepretext of urgent business is too transparent, because there is noSunday post, and the telegraph-boy had not been up. I asked that. And hewas so anxious to finish the sketch. He almost asked to stay over Sundayon purpose. "

Rachel and Hester looked on the ground. 

"Rachel said he was all right in the garden just before, didn't you, Rachel?"

"I said I thought he was a little nervous. "

And what did he talk to you about?"

"He spoke about the low tone of the morals of the day, and aboutmarriage. "

"Ah! I don't wonder he talked to you, Rachel, you are so sympathetic. Iexpect lots of people confide in you about their troubles and loveaffairs. Morals of the day! Marriage! Poor, poor Mr. Tristram! I shalltell Doll quietly this evening. On the whole, it is just as well he isgone. "

"Just as well, " said Rachel and Hester, with surprising unanimity. 

CHAPTER XXIX

 So fast does a little leaven spread within us--so incalculable is the effect of one personality on another. --GEORGE ELIOT. 

Hugh was not ill after what Mr. Gresley called "his immersion, " but forsome days he remained feeble and exhausted. Sybell quite forgot she hadnot liked him, insisted on his staying on indefinitely at Wilderleigh, and, undaunted by her distressing experience with Mr. Tristram, readpoetry to Hugh in the afternoons and surrounded him with genuinewarm-hearted care. Doll was steadily, quietly kind. 

It was during these days that Hugh and Rachel saw much of each other, during these days that Rachel passed in spite of herself beyond theanxious impersonal interest which Hugh had awakened in her, on to thatslippery much-trodden ground of uncomfortable possibilities where theunmarried meet. 

Hugh attracted and repelled her. 

It was, alas! easy to say why she was repelled. But who shall say whyshe was attracted? Has the secret law ever been discovered which drawsone man and woman together amid the crowd? Hugh was not among the bestmen who had wished to marry her, but nevertheless he was the only mansince Mr. Tristram who had succeeded in making her think continually ofhim. And perhaps she half knew that though she had been loved by bettermen, Hugh loved her better than they had. 

Which would prove the stronger, the attraction or the repulsion?

"How can I?" she said to herself, over and over again. 

"When I remember Lady Newhaven, how can I? When I think of what hisconduct was for a whole year, how can I? Can he have any sense of honorto have acted like that? Is he even really sorry? He is very charming, very refined, and he loves me. He looks good, but what do I know of himexcept evil? He looks as if he could be faithful, but how can I trusthim?"

Hugh fell into a deep dejection after his narrow escape. Dr. Brown saidit was nervous prostration, and Doll rode into Southminster and returnedladen with comic papers. Who shall say whether the cause was physical ormental? Hugh had seen death very near for the first time, and thethought of death haunted him. He had not realized when he drew lots thathe was risking the possibility of anything like _that_, such an entiregoing away, such an awful rending of his being as the short word _death_now conveyed to him. He had had no idea it would be like _that_. And hehad got to do it again. There was the crux. He had got to do it again. 

He leaned back faint and shuddering in the deck-chair in the rose-gardenwhere he was lying. 

Presently Rachel appeared, coming towards him down the narrow grass walkbetween two high walls of hollyhocks. She had a cup of tea in her hand. 

"I have brought you this, " she said, "with a warning that you had betternot come in to tea. Mr. Gresley has been sighted walking up the drive. Mrs. Loftus thought you would like to see him, but I reminded her thatDr. Brown said you were to be kept very quiet. "

Mr. Gresley had called every day since the accident in order to cheerthe sufferer, to whom he had been greatly attracted. Hugh had seen himonce, and afterwards had never felt strong enough to repeat the process. 

"Must you go back?" he asked. 

"No, " she said. "Mrs. Loftus and he are great friends. I should berather in the way. "

And she sat down by him. 

"Are you feeling ill?" she said, gently, noticing his careworn face. 

"No, " he replied. "I was only thinking. I was thinking, " he went on, after a pause, "that I would give everything I possess not to have donesomething which I have done. "

Rachel looked straight in front of her. The confession was coming atlast. Her heart beat. 

"I have done wrong, " he said, slowly, "and I am suffering for it, and Ishall suffer more before I've finished. But the worst is--"

She looked at him. 

"The worst is that I can't bear all the consequences myself. An innocentperson will pay the penalty of my sin. "

Hugh's voice faltered. He was thinking of his mother. 

Rachel's mind instantly flew to Lord Newhaven. 

"Then Lord Newhaven drew the short lighter, " she thought, and shecolored deeply. 

There was a long silence. 

"Do you think, " said Hugh, smiling faintly, "that people are ever givena second chance?"

"Always, " said Rachel. "If not here--afterwards. "

"If I were given another, " said Hugh. "If I might only be given anothernow in this life I should take it. "

He was thinking if only he might be let off this dreadful self-inflicteddeath. She thought he meant that he repented of his sin, and would faindo better. 

There was a sound of voices near at hand. Sybell and Mr. Gresley camedown the grass walk towards them. 

"London society, " Mr. Gresley was saying, "to live in a stuffy streetaway from the beauties of Nature, its birds and flowers, to spend halfmy days laying traps for invitations, and half my nights grinning like afool in stifling drawing-rooms, listening to vapid talk. No, thanks! Iknow better than to care for London society. Hester does, I know, butthen Hester does not mind making up to big people, and I do. In fact--"

"I have brought Mr. Gresley, after all, in spite of Dr. Brown, " saidSybell, "because we were in the middle of such an interestingconversation on the snares of society that I knew you would like to hearit. You have had such a dull day with Doll away at his County Council. "

That night, as Rachel sat in her room, she went over that half-made, ruthlessly interrupted confidence. 

"He does repent, " she said to herself, recalling the careworn face. "Ifhe does, can I overlook the past? Can I help him to make a fresh start?If he had not done this one dishonorable action, I could have cared forhim. Can I now?"

CHAPTER XXX

 "A fool's mouth is his destruction. "

The superficial reader of these pages may possibly have forgotten, butthe earnest one will undoubtedly remember that in an earlier chapter asale of work was mentioned which was to take place in the Wilderleighgardens at the end of August. 

The end of August had now arrived, and with it two white tents, whichsprang up suddenly one morning, like giant mushrooms, on one of Doll'ssmooth-shaven lawns. He groaned in spirit as he watched their erection. They would ruin the turf. 

"Might as well iron it with a hot iron, " he said, disconsolately toHugh. "But, of course, this sort of thing--Diocesan Fund, eh? In thesedays we must stand by our colors. " He repeated Mr. Gresley's phrase. Doll seldom ventured on an opinion not sanctioned by the ages, or thathe had not heard repeated till its novelty had been comfortably rubbedoff by his wife or the Gresleys. 

The two men watched the proceedings mournfully. They could not help, atleast they were told they could not help the women busily engaged indraping and arranging the stalls. They were still at large, but Dollknew, as well as a dog who is going to be washed, what was in store forhim in the afternoon, and he was depressed beforehand. 

"Don't let yourself be run in, " he said, generously to Hugh. "You're notup to it. It takes a strong man to grapple with this sort of thing. Kills off the weakly ones like flies. You lie low in the smoking-roomtill it's all over. "

 * * * * *

"All I can say is, " remarked Mrs. Gresley, as she and Hester led theVicarage donkey and cart up the drive, heavily laden with the work ofmany months, "that the Pratts have behaved exceedingly badly. Here theyare, the richest people by far in the parish, and they would not eventake a stall, they would not even furnish half of one, and they saidthey would be away, and they are at the Towers, after all. No one likesthe Pratts more than I do, or sees their good points as I do, but Ican't shut my eyes to the fact that they are the meanest of the mean. "

The Pratts had only contributed two "bed-spreads, " and a "sheet-sham, "and a set of antimacassars. If the reader wishes to know what"bed-spreads" and "sheet-shams" are, let him ask his intended, and lethim see to it that he marries a woman who cannot tell him. 

Mrs. Pratt had bought the antimacassars for the Towers, and secretlyadored them until Ada pronounced them to be vulgar. The number of thingswhich Ada discovered to be vulgar increased every day, and included thegreater part of her mother's wardrobe, much to the distress of that poorlady. Mrs. Pratt had reached the size when it is prudent to concentratea love of bright colors in one's parasol. On this particular afternoonshe shed tears over the fact that Ada refused to accompany her if hermother wore a unique garment of orange satin, covered with what appearedto be a plague of black worms. 

Of course, the sale of work was combined with a garden-party, and alittle after three o'clock carriage after carriage began to arrive, andSybell, with a mournful, handsome, irreproachably dressed husband, tookup her position on the south front to receive her guests. 

The whole neighborhood had been invited, and it can generally be gaugedwith tolerable accuracy by a hostess of some experience who will respondto the call and who will stay away. Sybell and her husband were amongthose who were not to be found at these festivities, neither were theNewhavens, save at their own, nor the Pontisburys, nor the Bishop ofSouthminster. Cards had, of course, been sent to each, but no oneexpected them to appear. 

Presently, among the stream of arrivals, Sybell noticed the slenderfigure of Lady Newhaven, and--astonishing vision--Lord Newhaven besideher. 

"Wonders will never cease, " said Doll, shaken for a moment out of theapathy of endurance. 

Sybell raised her eyebrows, and advanced with the prettiest air of_empressement_ to meet her unexpected guests. No, clearly it wasimpossible that the two women should like each other. They were the sameage, about the same height and coloring; their social position was toosimilar; their historic houses too near each other. Lady Newhaven was byfar the best looking, but that was not a difference which attractedSybell towards her. On this occasion Sybell's face assumed its mostsquirrel-like expression, for, as ill-luck would have it, they weredressed alike. 

Lady Newhaven looked very ethereal, as she came slowly across the grassin her diaphanous gown of rich white, covered with a flowing veil ofthinnest transparent black. Her blue eyes looked restlessly bright; herlips wore a mechanical smile. Rachel, watching her, experienced a suddenpang at her undeniable loveliness. It wounded her suddenly, as it neverhad done before. "I am a common-looking, square-built woman compared toher, " she said to herself. "No wonder he--"

She instinctively drew back as Lady Newhaven turned quickly towards her. 

"You dear person, " said Lady Newhaven, her eyes moving restlessly overthe crowd, "are you still here? Let us go and buy something together. How nice you look, " without looking at her. She drew Rachel apart in thedirection of the tents. 

"Where is he?" she said, sharply. "I know he is here. I heard all aboutthe accident, though Edward never told me. I don't see him. "

"He is not in the gardens. He is not coming out. He is still ratherknocked up. "

"I thought I should have died when I heard it. Ah, Rachel, never loveany one. You don't know what it's like. But I must see him. I have comehere on purpose. "

"So I supposed. "

"Edward would come, too. He appeared at the last moment when thecarriage came round, though I have never known him to go to agarden-party in his life. But where is he, Rachel?"

"Somewhere in the house, I suppose. "

"I shan't know where to find him. I can't be wandering about thatwoman's house by myself. We must slip away together, Rachel, and youmust take me to him. I must see him alone for five minutes. "

Rachel shook her head. 

Captain Pratt, tall, pale, cautious, immaculate, his cane held along hisspinal column, appeared suddenly close at hand. 

"Mrs. Loftus is fortunate in her day, " he remarked, addressing himselfto Lady Newhaven, and observing her fixedly with cold admiration. "Iseldom come to this sort of thing, but neighbors in the country mustsupport each other. I see you are on your way to the tents. Pray allowme to carry your purchases for you. "

"Oh! don't let me trouble you, " said Lady Newhaven, shrinkingimperceptibly. But it was no trouble to Captain Pratt, and they walkedon together. 

Lord Newhaven, who could not have been far off, joined Rachel. 

 * * * * *

"Well, my dear, " said Mrs. Pratt to Ada, "you might have let me wear myblack and orange, after all, for you see Lady Newhaven has somethingvery much the same, only hers is white underneath. And do you see shehas got two diamond butterflies on--the little one at her throat and thebig one holding her white carnations. And you would not let me put on asingle thing. There now, Algy has joined her, " continued Mrs. Pratt, herattention quickly diverted from her own wrongs. "Now they are walking ontogether. How nice he looks in those beautiful clothes. Algy and LordNewhaven and Mr. Loftus all have the same look, haven't they? Allfriends together, as I often say, such a mercy among county people. Youmight walk a little with Lord Newhaven, Ada. It's unaccountable howseldom we see him, but always so pleasant when we do. Ah! he's speakingto Rachel West. They are going to the tents, after all. Well, whateveryou may say, I do think we ought to go and buy something, too. Papa sayshe won't put his hand in his pocket if the Loftuses are to get all thecredit, and we ought to have had the choice of having the sale at theTowers, so he sha'n't do anything; but I think it would be nice if wewent and bought a little something. Just a five-pound note. You shallspend it, my dear, if you like. "

 * * * * *

"This is sheer recklessness, " said Lord Newhaven, as Rachel bought anexpensive tea-cosey from Fräulein. "In these days of death-duties youcannot possess four teapots, and you have already bought three teapotcostumes. "

"That is what I am here for, " said Rachel, producing a check-book. "Howmuch did you say, Fräulein?"

"Twenty-seven and seex, " said Fräulein. 

"Now I see it in the full light, I have taken a fancy to it myself, "said Lord Newhaven. "I never saw anything the least like it. I don'tthink I can allow you to appropriate it, Miss West. You are sweeping upall the best things. "

"I have a verr' pretty thing for gentlemen, " said Fräulein. "HerrB-r-r-rown has just bought one. "

"Very elaborate, indeed. Bible-markers, I presume? Oh, braces! Nevermind, they will be equally useful to me. I'll have them. Now for thetea-cosey. It is under-priced. I consider that, with the chenilleswallow, it is worth thirty shillings. I will give thirty for it. "

"Thirty-two and six, " said Rachel. 

"The landed interest is not going to be browbeaten by coal-mines. Thirty-three and twopence. "

"Forty shillings, " said Rachel. 

"Forty-two, " said Lord Newhaven. 

Every one in the tent had turned to watch the bidding. 

"Forty-two and six, " said Rachel. 

Fräulein blushed. She had worked the tea-cosey. It was to her a sonatain red plush. 

"Three guineas, " said Captain Pratt, by an infallible instinct, perceiving, and placing himself within the focus of general interest. 

The bidding ceased instantly. Lord Newhaven shrugged his shoulders andturned away. Fräulein, still shaking with conflicting emotions, handedthe tea-cosey to Captain Pratt. He took it with an acid smile, secretlydisgusted at the sudden cessation of interest, for which he had paidrather highly, and looked round for Lady Newhaven. 

But she had disappeared. 

"Fancy you and Algy bidding against each other like that, " said AdaPratt, archly, to Lord Newhaven, for though Ada was haughty in generalsociety she could be sportive, and even friskily ingratiating, towardsthose of her fellow-creatures whom she termed "swells. " "Why, halfMiddleshire will be saying that you have quarrelled next. "

"Only those who do not know how intimate Captain Pratt and I really arecould think we have quarrelled, " said Lord Newhaven, his eyes wanderingover the crowd. "But I am blocking your way and Mrs. Pratt's. How do youdo, Mrs. Pratt? Miss West, your burden is greater than you can bear. Youare dropping part of it. I don't know what it is, but I can shut my eyesas I pick it up. I insist on carrying half back to the house. It willgive a pleasing impression that I have bought largely. Weren't youpleased at the money we wrung out of Captain Pratt? He never thought weshould stop bidding. It's about all the family will contribute, unlessthat good old Mamma Pratt buys something. She is the only one of thefamily I can tolerate. Is Scarlett still here? I ought to have askedafter him before. "

"He's here, but he's not well. He's in hiding in the smoking-room. "

"He is lucky he is no worse. I should have had rheumatic fever if I hadbeen in his place. How cool it is in here after the glare outside. Mustyou go out again? Well, I consider I have done my duty, and that I mayfairly allow myself a cigarette in peace. "

 * * * * *

"Really, Mr. Loftus, I'm quite shocked. This absurd faintness! The tentwas very crowded, and there is not much air to-day, is there? I shall beall right if I may sit quietly in the hail a little. How deliciouslycool in here after the glare outside. A glass of water? Thanks. Yes, only I hate to be so troublesome. And how are you after that dreadfulaccident in the boat?"

"Oh! I am all right, " said Doll, who by this time hated the subject. "Itwas Scarlett who was nearly frozen like New Zealand lamb. "

Doll had heard Mr. Gresley fire off the simile of the lamb, andconsidered it sound. 

"How absurd you are. You always make me laugh. I suppose he has left nowthat he is unfrozen. "

"Oh no. He is still here. We would not let him go till he was better. Heis not up to much. Weak chap at the best of times, I should think. He'slying low in the smoking-room till the people are gone. "

"Mr. Scarlett is an old friend of ours, " said Lady Newhaven, sipping herglass of water, and spilling a little; "but I can't quite forgivehim--no, I really can't--for the danger he caused to Edward. You know, or perhaps you don't know, that Edward can't swim, either. Even now Ican't bear to think what might have happened. "

She closed her eyes with evident emotion. 

Doll's stolid garden-party face relaxed. "Good little woman, " hethought. "As fond of him as she can be. "

"All's well that ends well, " he remarked, aloud. 

Doll did not know that he was quoting Shakespeare, but he did know bylong experience that this sentence could be relied on as suitable tothe occasion, or to any occasion that looked a little "doddery, " andfinished up all right. 

"And now, Mr. Loftus, positively I must insist on your leaving mequietly here. I am quite sure you are wanted outside, and I should blamemyself if you wasted another minute on me. It was only the sun whichaffected me. Don't mention it to Edward. He is always so fussy about me. I will rest quietly here for a quarter of an hour, and then rejoin youall again in the garden. "

 * * * * *

"I hope I am not disturbing any one, " said Lord Newhaven, quietlyentering the smoking-room. "Well, Scarlett, how are you getting on?"

Hugh, who was lying on a sofa with his arms raised and his hands behindhis head, looked up, and his expression changed. 

"He was thinking of something uncommonly pleasant, " thought LordNewhaven, "not of me or mine, I fancy. I have come to smoke a cigarettein peace, " he added aloud, "if you don't object. "

"Of course not. "

Lord Newhaven lit his cigarette and puffed a moment in silence. 

"Hot outside, " he said. 

Hugh nodded. He wondered how soon he could make a pretext for getting upand leaving the room. 

There was a faint silken rustle, and Lady Newhaven, pale, breathless, came swiftly in and closed the door. The instant afterwards she saw herhusband, and shrank back with a little cry. Lord Newhaven did not lookat her. His eyes were fixed on Hugh. 

Hugh's face became suddenly ugly, livid. He rose slowly to his feet, andstood motionless. 

"He hates her, " said Lord Newhaven to himself. And he removed his glanceand came forward. 

"You were looking for me, Violet?" he remarked. "I have no doubt you arewishing to return home. We will go at once. " He threw away hiscigarette. "Well, good-bye, Scarlett, in case we don't meet again. Idare say you will pay Westhope a visit later on. Ah, Captain Pratt! soyou have fled, like us, from the madding crowd. I can recommend Loftus'scigarettes. I have just had one myself. Good-bye. Did you leave yourpurchases in the hall, Violet? Yes? Then we will collect them on ourway. "

The husband and wife were half-way down the grand staircase before LordNewhaven said, in his usual even voice:

"I must ask you once more to remember that I will not have any scandalattaching to your name. Did not you see that that white mongrel Prattwas on your track? If I had not been there when he came in he would havedrawn his own vile conclusions, and for once they would have beencorrect. "

"He could not think worse of me than you do, " said the wife, half cowed, half defiant. 

"No, but he could say so, which I don't; or, what is more probable, hecould use his knowledge to obtain a hold over you. He is a dangerousman. Don't put yourself in his power. "

"I don't want to, or in anybody's. "

"Then avoid scandal instead of courting it, and don't repeat the follyof this afternoon. "

 * * * * *

Captain Pratt did not remain long in the smoking-room. He had only aslight acquaintance with Hugh, which did not appear capable ofexpansion. Captain Pratt made a few efforts, proved its inelasticproperties, and presently lounged out again. 

Hugh moved slowly to the window, and leaned his throbbing foreheadagainst the stone mullion. He was still weak, and the encounter withLady Newhaven had shaken him. 

"What did he mean?" he said to himself, bewildered and suspicious. "'Perhaps I should be staying at Westhope later on!' But, of course, Ishall never go there again. He knows that as well as I do. What did hemean?"

CHAPTER XXXI

 The Bird of Time has but a little way To flutter--and the Bird is on the wing. --OMAR KHAYYÁM. 

It was the third week of November. Winter, the destroyer, was late, buthe had come at last. There was death in the air, a whisper of deathstole across the empty fields and bare hill-side. The birds heard it andwere silent. The November wind was hurrying round Westhope Abbey, shaking its bare trees. 

Lord Newhaven stood looking fixedly out eastward across the level landto the low hills beyond. He stood so long that the day died, andtwilight began to rub out first the hills and then the long, white linesof flooded meadow and blurred pollard willows. Presently the river mistrose up to meet the coming darkness. In the east, low and lurid, a tawnymoon crept up the livid sky. She made no moonlight on the gray earth. 

Lord Newhaven moved away from the window, where he had become a shadowamong the shadows, and sat down in the dark at his writing-table. 

Presently he turned on the electric lamp at his elbow and took a letterout of his pocket. The circle of shaded light fell on his face as heread--the thin, grave face, with the steady, inscrutable eyes. 

He read the letter slowly, evidently not for the first time. 

"If I had not been taken by surprise at the moment I should not haveconsented to the manner in which our differences were settled. Personally, I consider the old arrangement, to which you regretfullyalluded at the time"--("pistols for two and coffee for four, " I rememberperfectly)--"as preferable, and as you appeared to think so yourself, would it not be advisable to resort to it? Believing that the oldarrangement will meet your wishes as fully as it does mine, I trust thatyou will entertain this suggestion, and that you will agree to a meetingwith your own choice of weapons, on any pretext you may choose to namewithin the next week. "

The letter ended there. It was unsigned. 

"The time is certainly becoming short, " said Lord Newhaven. "He is rightin saying there is only a week left. If it were not for the scandal forthe boys, and if I thought he would really hold to the compact, I wouldmeet him, but _he won't_. He flinched when he drew lots. He won't. Hehas courage enough to stand up in front of me for two minutes, and takehis chance, but not to blow his own brains out. No. And if he knew whatis in store for him if he does not, he would not have courage to facethat either. Nor should I if I were in his shoes, poor devil. The firstsix foot of earth would be good enough for me. "

He threw the letter with its envelope into the fire and watched it burn. 

Then he took up the gold pen, which his wife had given him, examined thenib, dipped it very slowly in the ink, and wrote with sudden swiftness. 

"Allow me to remind you that you made no objection at the time to themanner of our encounter and my choice of weapons, by means of whichpublicity was avoided. The risk was equal. You now, at the last moment, propose that I should run it a second time, and in a manner to causeinstant scandal. I must decline to do so, or to reopen the subject, which had received my careful consideration before I decided upon it. Ihave burned your letter, and desire you will burn mine. "

"Poor devil!" said Lord Newhaven, putting the letter, not in thepost-box at his elbow, but in his pocket. 

"Loftus and I did him an ill turn when we pulled him out of the water. "

 * * * * *

The letter took its own time, for it had to avoid possible pitfalls. Itshunned the company of the other Westhope letters, it avoided thevillage post-office, but after a day's delay it was launched, and layamong a hundred others in a station pillar-box. And then it hurried, hurried as fast as express train could take it, till it reached itsLondon address, and went softly up-stairs, and laid itself, with a fewothers, on Hugh's breakfast-table. 

For many weeks since his visit at Wilderleigh Hugh had been like a manin a boat without oars, drifting slowly, imperceptibly on the placidcurrent of a mighty river, who far away hears the fall of Niagaradroning like a bumblebee in a lily cup. 

Long ago, in the summer, he had recognized the sound, had realized thesteep agony towards which the current was bearing him, and had struggledhorribly, impotently, against the inevitable. But of late, though thesound was ever in his ears, welling up out of the blue distance, he hadgiven up the useless struggle, and lay still in the sunshine watchingthe summer woods slide past and the clouds sail away, always away andaway, to the birthplace of the river, to that little fluttering pulse inthe heart of the hills which a woman's hand might cover, the infantpulse of the great river to be. 

Hugh's thoughts went back, like the clouds, towards that tiny spring ofpassion in his own life. He felt that he could have forgiven it--andhimself--if he had been swept into the vortex of a headlong mountaintorrent leaping down its own wild water-way, carrying all before it. Other men he had seen who had been wrested off their feet, swept out oftheir own keeping by such a torrent on the steep hill-side of theiryouth. But it had not been so with him. He had walked more cautiouslythan they. As he walked he had stopped to look at the little thread ofwater which came bubbling up out of its white pebbles. It was sopretty, it was so feeble, it was so clear. Involuntarily he followed it, watched it grow, amused himself, half contemptuously, with it, helpedits course by turning obstacles from its path. It never rushed. It neverleaped. It was a toy. The day came when it spread itself safe andshallow on level land, and he embarked upon it. But he was quickly tiredof it. It was beginning to run muddily through a commonplace country, past squalid polluting towns and villages. The hills were long sincegone. He turned to row to the shore. And, behold, his oars were gone! Hehad been trapped to his destruction. 

Hugh had never regarded seriously his intrigue with Lady Newhaven. Hehad been attracted, excited, partially, half-willingly enslaved. He hadthought at the time that he loved her, and that supposition hadconfirmed him in his cheap cynicism about woman. This, then, was herpaltry little court, where man offered mock homage, and where she playedat being queen. Hugh had made the discovery that love was a muchoverrated passion. He had always supposed so; but when he tired of LadyNewhaven he was sure of it. His experience was, after all, only the sameas that which many men acquire by marriage, and hold unshaken throughlong and useful lives. But Hugh had not been able to keep the treasuresof this early experience. It had been rendered worthless, perhaps rathercontemptible by a later one--that of falling in love with Rachel, andthe astonishing discovery that he was in love for the first time. He hadsold his birthright for a mess of red pottage, as surely as any man orwoman who marries for money or liking. He had not believed in hisbirthright, and holding it to be worthless, had given it to the firstperson who had offered him anything in exchange. 

His whole soul had gradually hardened itself against Lady Newhaven. Ifhe had loved her, he said to himself, he could have borne his fate. Butthe play had not been worth the candle. His position was damnable; butthat he could have borne--at least, so he thought if he had had hisday. But he had not had it. That thought rankled. To be hounded out oflife because he had mistaken paper money for real was not only unfair, it was grotesque. 

Gradually, however, Hugh forgot his smouldering hate of Lady Newhaven, his sense of injustice and anger against fate; he forgot everything inhis love for Rachel. It became the only reality of his life. 

He had remained in London throughout October and November, cancellingall his engagements because she was there. What her work was he vaguelyapprehended: that she was spending herself and part of her colossalfortune in the East End, but he took no interest in it. He was incapableof taking more interests into his life at this time. He passed manyquiet evenings with her in the house in Park Lane, which she had latelybought. The little secretary who lived with her had always a faint smileand more writing to do than usual on the evenings when he dined withthem. 

A great peace was over all their intercourse. Perhaps it was the hushbefore the storm, the shadow of which was falling, falling, with eachsucceeding day across the minds of both. Once only a sudden gust ofemotion stirred the quiet air, but it dropped again immediately. It camewith the hour when Hugh confessed to her the blot upon his past. Thepast was taking upon itself ever an uglier and more repulsive aspect ashe saw more of Rachel. It was hard to put into words, but he spoke ofit. The spectre of love rose like a ghost between them, as they lookedearnestly at each other, each pale even in the ruddy fire-light. 

Hugh was truthful in intention. He was determined he would never lie toRachel. He implied an intrigue with a married woman, a deviation notonly from morality, but from honor. More he did not say. But as helooked at her strained face it seemed to him that she expected somethingmore. A dreadful silence fell between them when he had finished. Hadshe then no word for him. Her eyes--mute, imploring, dark with an agonyof suspense--met his for a second and fell instantly. She did not speak. Her silence filled him with despair. He got up. "It's getting late. Imust go, " he stammered. 

She rose, mechanically, and put out her hand. 

"May I come again?" he said, holding it more tightly than he knew, andlooking intently at her. Was he going to be dismissed?

The pain he caused her hand recalled her to herself. A look ofbewilderment crossed her face, and then she realized his suspense andsaid, gravely, "You may come again. "

He kissed the hand he held, and, as he did so, he knew for the firsttime that she loved him. But he could not speak of love after what hehad just told her. He looked back when he reached the door, and saw herstanding where he had left her. She had raised the hand he had kissed toher lips. 

That was three days ago. Since then he had not dared to go and see her. He could not ask her to marry him when he was within a few days of thetime when he was bound in so-called honor to give Lord Newhavensatisfaction. He certainly could not be in her presence again withoutasking her. The shadows of the last weeks had suddenly become ghastlyrealities once more. The roar of Niagara drowned all other sounds. Whatwas he going to do? What was he going to do in the predicament towardswhich he had been drifting so long, which was now actually upon him? Whoshall say what horror, what agony of mind, what frenzied searching for away of escape, what anguish of baffled love crowded in on Hugh's mindduring those last days? At the last moment he caught at a straw, andwrote to Lord Newhaven offering to fight him. He did not ask himselfwhat he should do if Lord Newhaven refused. But when Lord Newhaven didrefuse his determination, long unconsciously fostered, sprang full-growninto existence in a sudden access of passionate anger and blind rage. 

"He won't fight, won't he! He thinks I will die like a rat in a trapwith all my life before me. I will not. I offered him a fair chance ofrevenging himself--I would have fired into the air--and if he won't takeit is his own look-out, damn him! He can shoot me at sight if he likes. Let him. "

CHAPTER XXXII

 On ne peut jamais dire. "Fontaine je ne boirai jamais de ton eau. "

If we could choose our ills we should not choose suspense. Rachel agedperceptibly during these last weeks. Her strong white hands becamethinner; her lustreless eyes and haggard face betrayed her. In yearsgone by she had said to herself, when a human love had failed her, "Iwill never put myself through this torture a second time. Whateverhappens I will not endure it again. "

And now she was enduring it again, though in a different form. There isan element of mother-love in the devotion which some women give to men. In the first instance it had opened the door of Rachel's heart to Hugh, and had gradually merged, with other feelings, and deepened into thepainful love of a woman not in her first youth for a man of whom she isnot sure. 

Rachel was not sure of Hugh. Of his love for her she was sure, but notof the man himself, the gentle, refined, lovable nature that mutelyworshipped and clung to her. She could not repulse him any more than shecould repulse a child. But through all her knowledge of him--theknowledge of love, the only true knowledge of our fellow-creatures--athread of doubtful anxiety was interwoven. She could form some idea howmen like Dick, Lord Newhaven, or the Bishop would act in givencircumstances, but she could form no definite idea how Hugh would act inthe same circumstances. Yet she knew Hugh a thousand times better thanany of the others. Why was this? Many women before Rachel have soughtdiligently to find, and have shut their eyes diligently, lest theyshould discover what it is that is dark to them in the character of theman they love. 

Perhaps Rachel half knew all the time the subtle inequality in Hugh'scharacter. Perhaps she loved him all the better for it. Perhaps she knewthat if he had been without a certain undefinable weakness he would nothave been drawn towards her strength. She was stronger than he, andperhaps she loved him more than she could have loved an equal. 

"_Les esprits faibles ne sont jamais sincères_. " She had come acrossthat sentence one day in a book she was reading, and had turned suddenlyblind and cold with anger. "He is sincere, " she said, fiercely, as ifrepelling an accusation. "He would never deceive me. " But no one hadaccused Hugh. 

The same evening he made the confession for which she had waited solong. As he began to speak an intolerable suspense, like a new and acuteform of a familiar disease, lay hold on her. Was he going to live ordie. She should know at last. Was she to part with him, to bury love forthe second time? Or was she to keep him, to be his wife, the mother ofhis children?

As he went on, his language becoming more confused; she hardly listenedto him. She had known all that too long. She had forgiven it, notwithout tears; but still, she had forgiven it long ago. Then he stopped. It seemed to Rachel as if she had reached a moment in life which shecould not bear. She waited, but still he did not speak. Then she was notto know. She was to be ground between the millstones of four moredreadful days and nights. She suddenly became aware, as she stared atHugh's blanching face, that he believed she was about to dismiss him. The thought had never entered her mind. 

"Do you not know that I love you?" she said, silently, to him, as hekissed her hand. 

When he had left her a gleam of comfort came to her, the only gleam thatlightened the days and nights that followed. It was not his fault if hehad made a half-confession. If he had gone on, and had told her of thedrawing of lots, and which had drawn the fatal lot, he would have beenwanting in sense of honor. He owed it to the man he had injured topreserve entire secrecy. 

"He told me of the sin which might affect my marrying him, " said Rachel, "but the rest had nothing to do with me. He was right not to speak ofit. If he had told me, and then a few days afterwards Lord Newhaven hadcommitted suicide, he would know I should put two and two together, andwho the woman was, and the secret would not have died with Lord Newhavenas it ought to do. But if Hugh were the man who had to kill himself, hemight have told me so without a breach of confidence, because then Ishould never have guessed who the others were. If he were the man hecould have told me, he certainly _would_ have told me, for it could havedone no harm to any one. Surely Lady Newhaven must be right when she wasso certain that her husband had drawn the short lighter. And she herselfhad gained the same impression from what Hugh had vaguely said atWilderleigh. But what are impressions, suppositions, except the food ofsuspense. " Rachel sighed, and took up her burden as best she could. Hugh's confession had at least one source of comfort in it, deadly coldcomfort if he were about to leave her. She knew that night as she layawake that she had not quite trusted him up till now, by the sense ofentire trust and faith in him which rose up to meet his self-accusation. What might have turned away Rachel's heart from him had had the oppositeeffect. "He told me the worst of himself, though he risked losing me bydoing it. He wished me to know before he asked me to marry him. Thoughhe acted dishonorably once he is an honorable man. He has shown himselfupright in his dealing with me. "

Hugh came back no more after that evening. Rachel told herself she knewwhy--she understood. He could not speak of love and marriage when theman he had injured was on the brink of death. Her heart stood stillwhen she thought of Lord Newhaven, the gentle, kindly man who was almosther friend, and who was playing with such quiet dignity a losing game. Hugh had taken from him his wife, and by that act was now taking fromhim his life too. 

"It was an even chance, " she groaned. "Hugh is not responsible for hisdeath. Oh, my God! At least he is not responsible for that. It mighthave been he who had to die instead of Lord Newhaven. But if it _is_ he, surely he could not leave me without a word. If it _is_ he, he wouldhave come to bid me good-bye. He cannot go down into silence without aword. If it _is_ he, he will come yet. "

She endured through the two remaining days, turning faint with terroreach time the door-bell rang, lest it might be Hugh. 

But Hugh did not come. 

Then, after repeated frantic telegrams from Lady Newhaven, she leftLondon precipitately to go to her, as she had promised, on thetwenty-eighth of November, the evening of the last day of the fivemonths. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

 "And he went out immediately, and it was night. "

It was nearly dark when Rachel reached Westhope Abbey. A great peaceseemed to pervade the long, dim lines of the gardens, and to be gatheredinto the solemn arches of the ruins against the darkening sky. Throughthe low door-way a faint light of welcome peered. As she drove up shewas aware of two tall figures pacing amicably together in the dusk. Asshe passed them she heard Lord Newhaven's low laugh at something hiscompanion said. 

A sense of unreality seized her. It was not the world which was out ofjoint, which was rushing to its destruction. It must be she who wasmad--stark mad--to have believed these chimeras. 

As she got out of the carriage a step came lightly along the gravel, andLord Newhaven emerged into the little ring of light by the archway. 

"It is very good of you to come, " he said, cordially, with extendedhand. "My poor wife is very unwell, and expecting you anxiously. Shetold me she had sent for you. "

All was unreal--the familiar rooms and passages, the flickering light ofthe wood fire in the drawing-room, the darkened room, into which Rachelstole softly and knelt down beside a trembling white figure, which heldher with a drowning clutch. 

"I will be in the drawing-room after dinner, " Lady Newhaven whispered, hoarsely. "I won't dine down. I can't bear to see him. "

It was all unreal, except the jealousy which suddenly took Rachel by thethroat and nearly choked her. 

"I have undertaken what is beyond my strength, " she said to herself, asshe hastily dressed for dinner. "How shall I bear it when she speaks ofhim? How shall I go through with it?"

Presently she was dining alone with Lord Newhaven. He mentioned that itwas Dick Vernon with whom he had been walking when she arrived. Dick wasstaying in Southminster for business, combined with hunting, and hadridden over. Lord Newhaven looked furtively at Rachel as he mentionedDick. Her indifference was evidently genuine. 

"She has not grown thin and parted with what little looks she possessedon Dick's account, " he said to himself; and the remembrance slippedacross his mind of Hugh's first word when he recovered consciousnessafter drowning--"Rachel. "

"I would have asked Dick to dine, " continued Lord Newhaven, when theservants had gone, "but I thought two was company and three none, andthat it was not fair on you and Violet to have him on your hands, as Iam obliged to go to London on business by the night express. "

He was amazed at the instantaneous effect of his words. 

Rachel's face became suddenly livid, and she sank back in her chair. Hesaw that it was only by a supreme effort that she prevented herself fromfainting. The truth flashed into his mind. 

"She knows, " he said to himself. "That imbecile, that brainless viper towhom I am tied, has actually confided in her. And she and Scarlett arein love with each other, and the suspense is wearing her out. "

He looked studiously away from her, and continued a desultoryconversation; but his face darkened. 

The little boys came in, and pressed themselves one on each side oftheir father, their eyes glued on the crystallized cherries. Rachel hadrecovered herself, and she watched the children and their father with apain at her heart, which was worse than the faintness. 

She had been unable to believe that if Lord Newhaven had drawn the shortlighter he would remain quietly here over the dreadful morrow, under thesame roof as Teddy and Pauly. Oh, surely nothing horrible could happenso near them! Yet he seemed to have no intention of leaving Westhope. Then, perhaps, he had not drawn the short lighter, after all. At themoment when suspense, momentarily lulled, was once more rising hideous, colossal, he casually mentioned that he was leaving by the night train. The reason was obvious. The shock of relief almost stunned her. 

"He will do it quietly to-morrow away from home, " she said to herself, watching him with miserable eyes, as he divided the cherries equallybetween the boys. She had dreaded going up-stairs to Lady Newhaven, butanything was better than remaining in the dining-room. She rosehurriedly, and the boys raced to the door and struggled which shouldopen it for her. 

Lady Newhaven was lying on a sofa by the wood fire in the drawing-room. 

Rachel went straight up to her, and said, hoarsely:

"Lord Newhaven tells me he is going to London this evening by the nightexpress. "

Lady Newhaven threw up her arms. 

"Then it is he, " she said. "When he stayed on and on up to to-day Ibegan to be afraid that it was not he, after all; and yet little thingsmade me feel sure it was, and that he was only waiting to do it beforeme and the children. I have been so horribly frightened. Oh, if he mightonly go away, and that I might never, never look upon his face again!"

Rachel sat down by the latticed window and looked out into the darkness. She could not bear to look at Lady Newhaven. Was there any help anywherefrom this horror of death without, from this demon of jealousy within?

"I am her only friend, " she said to herself, over and over again. "Icannot bear it, and I must bear it. I cannot desert her now. She has noone to turn to but me. "

"Rachel, where are you?" said the feeble, plaintive voice. 

Rachel rose and went unsteadily towards her. It was fortunate the roomwas lit only by the fire-light. 

"Sit down by me here on the sofa, and let me lean against you. You docomfort me, Rachel, though you say nothing. You are the only true friendI have in the world, the only woman who really loves me. Your cheek isquite wet, and you are actually trembling. You always feel for me. I canbear it now you are here, and he is going away. "

 * * * * *

When the boys had been reluctantly coerced to bed, Lord Newhaven rangfor his valet, told him what to pack, that he should not want him toaccompany him, and then went to his sitting-room on the ground-floor. 

"Scarlett seems a fortunate person, " he said, pacing up and down. "Thatwoman loves him, and if she marries him she will reform him. Is he goingto escape altogether in this world and the next--if there is a next? Isthere no justice anywhere? Perhaps at this moment he is thinking that hehas salved his conscience by offering to fight, and that, after all, Ican't do anything to prevent his living and marrying her if he chooses. He knows well enough I shall not touch him, or sue for a divorce, forfear of the scandal. He thinks he has me there. And he is right. But heis mistaken if he thinks I can do nothing. I may as well go up to Londonand see for myself whether he is still on his feet to-morrow night. Itis a mere formality, but I will do it. I might have guessed that shewould try to smirch her own name, and the boys through her, if she hadthe chance. She will defeat me yet, unless I am careful. Oh, ye gods!why did I marry a fool who does not even know her own interests? If Ihad life over again I would marry a Becky Sharp, any she-devilincarnate, if only she had brains. One cannot circumvent a fool, because one can't foresee their line of action. But Miss West, for amiracle, is safe. She has a lock-and-key face. But she is not forScarlett. Did Scarlett tell her himself in an access of moralspring-cleaning preparatory to matrimony? No. He may have told her thathe had got into trouble with some woman, but not about the drawing oflots. Whatever his faults are, he has the instincts of a gentleman, andhis mouth is shut. I can trust him like myself there. But she is not forhim. He may think he will marry her, but I draw the line there. Violetand I have other views for him. He can live, if he wants to, andapparently he does want to, though whether he will continue to want tois another question. But he shall not have Rachel. She must marry Dick. "

A distant rumbling was heard of the carriage driving under the stablearchway on its way to the front-door. 

Lord Newhaven picked up a novel with a mark in it, and left the room. Inthe passage he stopped a moment at the foot of the narrow black oakstaircase to the nurseries, which had once been his own nurseries. Allwas very silent. He listened, hesitated; his foot on the lowest stair. The butler came round the corner to announce the carriage. 

"I shall be back in four days at furthest, " Lord Newhaven said to him, and turning, went on quickly to the hall, where the piercing night aircame in with the stamping of the impatient horses' hoofs. 

A minute later the two listening women up-stairs heard the carriagedrive away into the darkness, and a great silence settled down upon thehouse. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

 "The fool saith, Who would have thought it?"

Winter had brought trouble with it to Warpington Vicarage. A new babyhad arrived, and the old baby was learning, not in silence, what kingsand ministers undergo when they are deposed. Hester had never greatlycared for the old baby. She was secretly afraid of it. But in its hourof adversity she took to it, and she and Regie spent many hoursconsoling it for the arrival of the little chrysalis up-stairs. 

Mrs. Gresley recovered slowly, and before she was down-stairs againRegie sickened with one of those swift, sudden illnesses of childhood, which make childless women thank God for denying them their prayers. 

Mrs. Gresley was not well enough to be told, and for many days Mr. Gresley and Hester and Doctor Brown held Regie forcibly back from thevalley of the shadow, where, since the first cradle was rocked, the softfeet of children have cleft so sharp an entrance over the mother-heartsthat vainly barred the way. 

Mr. Gresley's face grew as thin as Hester's as the days went by. On hisrounds--for he let nothing interfere with his work--heavy farmers indog-carts, who opposed him at vestry meetings, stopped to ask afterRegie. The most sullen of his parishioners touched their hats to him ashe passed, and mothers of families, who never could be induced to leavetheir cooking to attend morning service, and were deeply offended atbeing called "after-dinner Christians" in consequence, forgot theopprobrious term, and brought little offerings of new-laid eggs and rosyapples to tempt "the little master. "

Mr. Gresley was touched, grateful. 

"I don't think I have always done them justice, " he actually said toHester one day. "They do seem to understand me a little better at last. Walsh has never spoken to me since my sermon on Dissent, though I alwaysmake a point of being friendly to him, but to-day he stopped, and saidhe knew what trouble was, and how he had lost"--Mr. Gresley's voicefaltered, "it is a long time ago--but how, when he was about my age, helost his eldest boy, and how he always remembered Regie in his prayers, and I must keep up a good heart. We shook hands, " said Mr. Gresley. "Isometimes think Walsh means well, and that he may be a good-hearted man, after all. "

Beneath the arrogance which a belief in Apostolic succession seems toinduce in natures like Mr. Gresley's, as mountain air induces asthma incertain lungs, the shaft of agonized anxiety had pierced to a thin layerof humility. Hester knew that that layer was only momentarily disturbed, and that the old self would infallibly reassert itself; but themomentary glimpse drew her heart towards her brother. He was consciousof it, and love almost grew between them as they watched by Regie's bed. 

At last, after an endless night, the little faltering feet came to thedividing of the ways, and hesitated. The dawn fell gray on the watchfulfaces of the doctor and Hester, and on the dumb suspense of the poorfather. And with a sigh, as one who half knows he is making a life-longmistake, Regie settled himself against Hester's shoulder and fellasleep. 

The hours passed. The light grew strong, and still Regie slept. DoctorBrown put cushions behind Hester, and gave her food. He looked anxiouslyat her. "Can you manage?" he whispered later, when the sun was streamingin at the nursery window. And she smiled back in scorn. Could shemanage? What did he take her for?

At last Regie stretched himself and opened his eyes. The doctor tookhim gently from Hester, gave him food, and laid him down. 

"He is all right, " he said. "He will sleep all day. "

Mr. Gresley, who had hardly stirred, hid his face in his hands. 

"Don't try to move, Miss Hester, " said Doctor Brown, gently. 

Hester did not try. She could not. Her hands and face were rigid. Shelooked at him in terror. "I shall have to scream in another moment, " shewhispered. 

The old doctor picked her up, and carried her swiftly to her room, whereFräulein ministered to her. 

At last he came down and found Mr. Gresley waiting for him at the footof the stair. 

"You are sure he is all right?" he asked. 

"Sure. Fräulein is with, him. He got the turn at dawn. "

"Thank God!"

"Well, I should say thank your sister, too. She saved him. I tell you, Gresley, neither you nor I could have sat all those hours withoutstirring, as she did. She had cramp after the first hour. She has a willof iron in that weak body of hers. "

"I had no idea she was uncomfortable, " said Mr. Gresley, halfincredulous. 

"That is one of the reasons why I always say you ought not to be aclergyman, " snapped the little doctor, and was gone. 

Mr. Gresley was not offended. He was too overwhelmed with thankfulnessto be piqued. 

"Good old Brown, " he said, indulgently. "He has been up all night, andhe is so tired he does not know he is talking nonsense. As if a man whodid not understand cramp was not qualified to be a priest. Ha! ha! Healways likes to have a little hit at me, and he is welcome to it. I mustjust creep up and kiss dear Hester. I never should have thought she hadit in her to care for any one as she has shown she cares for Regie. Ishall tell her so, and how surprised I am, and how I love her for it. She has always seemed so insensible, so callous. But, please God! thisis the beginning of a new life for her. If it is, she shall never hearone word of reproach about the past from me. "

A day or two later the Bishop of Southminster had a touch of rheumatism, and Doctor Brown attended him. This momentary malady may possiblyaccount to the reader for an incident which remained to the end of lifeinexplicable to Mr. Gresley. 

Two days after Regie had taken the turn towards health, and on theafternoon of the very same day when Doctor Brown had interviewed theBishop's rheumatism, the episcopal carriage might have been seensqueezing its august proportions into the narrow drive of WarpingtonVicarage; at least, it was always called the drive, though the horses'noses were reflected in the glass of the front-door while thehind-wheels still jarred the gate-posts. 

Out of the carriage stepped, not the Bishop, but the tall figure of DickVernon, who rang the bell, and then examined a crack in the portico. 

He had plenty of time to do so. 

"Lord, what fools!" he said, half aloud. "The crazy thing is shoutingout that it is going to drop on their heads, and they put a clamp acrossthe crack. Might as well put a respirator on a South Sea Islander. IsMr. Gresley in? Well, then, just ask him to step this way, will you?Look here, James, if you want to be had up for manslaughter, you leavethis porch as it is. No, I did not drive over from Southminster onpurpose to tell you; but I mention it now I am here. "

"I added the portico myself when I came here, " said Mr. Gresley, stiffly, who had not forgotten or forgiven the enormity of Dick'sbehavior at the temperance meeting. 

"So I should have thought, " said Dick, warming to the subject, andmounting on a small garden-chair. "And some escaped lunatic has put aclamp on the stucco. "

"I placed the clamp myself, " replied Mr. Gresley. "There really is nonecessity for you to waste your time and mine here. I understand theportico perfectly. The crack is merely superficial. "

"Is it?" said Dick. "Then why does it run round those two consumptivelittle pillars? I tell you it's tired of standing up. It's going to sitdown. Look here"--Dick tore at the stucco with his knife, and caught theclamp as it fell--"that clamp was only put in the stucco. It neverreached the stone or the wood, whichever the little kennel is made of. You ought to be thankful it did not drop on one of the children, or onyour own head. It would have knocked all the texts out of it for sometime to come. "

Mr. Gresley did not look very grateful as he led the way to his study. 

"I was lunching with the Bishop to-day, " said Dick, "and Dr. Brown wasthere. He told us about the trouble here. He said the little chap Regiewas going on like a house on fire. The Bishop told me to ask after himparticularly. "

"He is wonderfully better every day, " said Mr. Gresley, softening. "Howkind of the Bishop to send you to inquire. Not having children himself, I should never have thought--"

"No, " said Dick, "you wouldn't. Do you remember when we were at Cheam, and Ogilvy's marked sovereign was found in the pocket of my flanneltrousers. You were the only one of the boys, you and that sneak Field, who was not sure I might not have taken it. You said it looked awfullybad, and so it did. "

"No one was gladder than I was when it was cleared up, " said Mr. Gresley. 

"No, " said Dick; "but we don't care much what any one thinks when it'scleared up. It's before that matters. Is Hester in? I've two notes forher. One from Brown, and one from the Bishop, and my orders are to takeher back with me. That is why the Bishop sent the carriage. "

"I am afraid Hester will hardly care to leave us at present, " said Mr. Gresley. "My wife is on her sofa, and Regie is still very weak. He hastaken one of those unaccountable fancies of children for her, and canhardly bear her out of his sight. "

"The Bishop has taken another of those unaccountable fancies for her, "said Dick, looking full at Mr. Gresley in an unpleasant manner. "I'm notone that holds that parsons should have their own way in everything. I've seen too much of missionaries. I just shove out curates and vicarsand all that small fry if they get in my way. But when they break out inbuttons and gaiters, by Jove! I knock under to them--at least, I do tomen like the Bishop. He knows a thing or two. He has told me not to comeback without Hester, and I'm not going to. Ah! there she is in thegarden. " Dick's large back had been turned towards the window, but hehad seen the reflection of a passing figure in the glass of a framedtestimonial which occupied a prominent place on the study wall, and heat once marched out into the garden and presented the letters to Hester. 

Hester was bewildered at the thought of leaving Warpington, into whichshe seemed to have grown like a Buddhist into his tree. She wasreluctant, would think it over, etc. But Dick, after one glance at herstrained face, was obdurate. He would hear no reason. He would not goaway. She and Fräulein nervously cast a few clothes into a box, Fräuleinso excited by the apparition of a young man, and a possible love affair, that she could hardly fold Hester's tea-gowns. 

When Hester came down with her hat on she found Dick untiring Mr. Gresley's bicycle in the most friendly manner, while the outraged ownerstood by remonstrating. 

"I assure you, Dick, I don't wish it to be touched. I know my ownmachine. If it were a common puncture I could mend it myself, but Idon't want the whole thing ruined by an ignorant person. I shall take itin to Southminster on the first opportunity. "

"No need to do that, " said Dick, cheerfully. "Might as well go to adoctor to have your nails cut. Do it at home. You don't believe in thewater test? Oh! that's rot. You'll believe in it when you see it. You'relearning it now. There! Now I've got it in the pail; see all theseblooming little bubbles jostling up in a row. There's a leak at thevalve. No, there isn't. It's only unscrewed. Good Lord, James! it's onlyunscrewed; and you thought the whole machine was out of order. There, now, I've screwed it up. Devil a bubble! What's that you're saying aboutswearing in your presence? Oh! don't apologize! You can't help being aclergyman. Look for yourself. You will never learn if you look the otherway just when a good-natured chap is showing you. I would have put thetire on again, but as you say you can do it better yourself, I won't. Sorry to keep you waiting, Hester. And look here, James, you ought tobicycle more. Strengthen your legs for playing the harmonium on Sundays. Well, I could not tell you had an organ in that little one-horse church. Good-bye, Fräulein; good-bye, James. Home, Coleman. And look here, " saidDick, putting his mischievous face out of the window as the carriageturned, "if you are getting up steam for another temperance meeting, I'myour man. "

"Good-bye, dear James, " interrupted Hester, hastily, and the carriagedrove away. 

"He looks pasty, " said Dick, after an interval. "A chap like James hasno power in his arms and legs. He can kneel down in church, and put hisarm round Mrs. Gresley's waist, but that's about all he's up to. Hedoesn't take enough exercise. "

"He is not well. I don't think I ought to have left them. "

"You had no choice. Brown said, unless you could be got away at once youwould be laid up. I was at luncheon at the Palace when he said it. TheBishop's sister was too busy with her good works to come herself, so Icame instead. I said I should not come back alive without you. Theyseemed to think I should all the same, but, of course, that was absurd. I wanted the Bishop to bet upon it, but he wouldn't. "

"Do you always get what you want?" said Hester. 

"Generally, if it depends on myself. But sometimes things depend onothers besides me. Then I may be beaten. "

They were passing Westhope Abbey, wrapped in a glory of sunset and mist. 

"Did you know Miss West was there?" Dick said, suddenly. 

"No, " said Hester, surprised. "I thought she was in London. "

"She came down last night to be with Lady Newhaven who is not well. MissWest is a great friend of yours, isn't she?"

"Yes. "

"Well, she has one fault, and it is one I can't put up with. She won'tlook at me. "

"Don't put up with it, " said Hester, softly. "We women all have ourfaults, dear Dick. But if men point them out to us in a nice way we cansometimes cure them. "

CHAPTER XXXV

 When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? SHAKESPEARE. 

Two nights had passed since Lord Newhaven had left the Abbey. And nowthe second day, the first day of December, was waning to its close. HowRachel had lived through them she knew not. The twenty-ninth had beenthe appointed day. Both women had endured till then, feeling that thatday would make an end. Neither had contemplated the possibility ofhearing nothing for two days more. Long afterwards, in quiet years, Rachel tried to recall those two days and nights. But memory only gavelurid glimpses, as of lightning across darkness. In one of thoseglimpses she recalled that Lady Newhaven had become ill, that the doctorhad been sent for, that she had been stupefied with narcotics. Inanother she was walking in the desolate frost-nipped gardens, and thetwo boys were running towards her across the grass. 

As the sun sank on the afternoon of the second day it peered in at hersitting alone by her window. Lady Newhaven, after making the whole dayfrightful, was mercifully asleep. Rachel sat looking out into thedistance beyond the narrow confines of her agony. Has not every man andwoman who has suffered sat thus by the window, looking out, seeingnothing, but still gazing blindly out hour after hour?

Perhaps the quiet mother earth watches us, and whispers to our deafears:

 Warte nur, balde Ruhest du auch. 

Little pulse of life writhing in your shirt of fire, the shirt is but ofclay of your mother's weaving, and she will take it from you presentlywhen you lay back your head on her breast. 

There had been wind all day, a high, dreadful wind, which hadaccompanied all the nightmare of the day as a wail accompanies pain. Butnow it had dropped with the sun, who was setting with little pageantacross the level land. The whole sky, from north to south, from east towest, was covered with a wind-threshed floor of thin wan clouds, andshreds of clouds, through which, as through a veil, the steadfast faceof the heaven beyond looked down. 

And suddenly, from east to west, from north to south, as far as thetrees and wolds in the dim, forgotten east, the exhausted livid cloudsblushed wave on wave, league on league, red as the heart of a rose. Thewind-whipped earth was still. The trees held their breath. Very blackagainst the glow the carved cross on the adjoining gable stood out. Andin another moment the mighty tide of color went as it had come, swiftlyebbing across its infinite shores of sky. And the waiting night camedown suddenly. 

"Oh, my God!" said Rachel, stretching out her hands to ward off thedarkness. "Not another night. I cannot bear another night. "

A slow step came along the gravel; it passed below the window andstopped at the door. Some one knocked. Rachel tore open the throat ofher gown. She was suffocating. Her long-drawn breathing seemed to deadenall other sounds. Nevertheless she heard it--the faint footfall of someone in the hall, a distant opening and shutting of doors. A vague, indescribable tremor seemed to run through the house. 

She stole out of her room and down the passage. At Lady Newhaven's doorher French maid was hesitating, her hand on the handle. 

Below, on the stairs, stood a clergyman and the butler. 

"I am the bearer of sad tidings, " said the clergyman. Rachel recognizedhim as the Archdeacon at whom Lord Newhaven had so often laughed. "Perhaps you would prepare Lady Newhaven before I break them to her. "

The door was suddenly opened, and Lady Newhaven stood in the doorway. One small clinched hand held together the long white dressing-gown, which she had hastily flung round her, while the other was outstretchedagainst the door-post. She swayed as she stood. Morphia and terrorburned in her glassy eyes fixed in agony upon the clergyman. The lightin the hall below struck upward at her colorless face. In later daysthis was the picture which Lady Newhaven recalled to mind as the moststriking of the whole series. 

"Tell her, " said Rachel, sharply. 

The Archdeacon advanced. 

"Prepare yourself, dear Lady Newhaven, " he said, sonorously. "Our dearfriend, Lord Newhaven, has met with a serious accident. Er--the Lordgave, and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. "

"Is he dead?" whispered Lady Newhaven. 

The Archdeacon bowed his head. 

Every one except the children heard the scream which rang through thehouse. 

Rachel put her arms round the tottering, distraught figure, drew itgently back into the room, and closed the door behind her. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

 And Nicanor lay dead in his harness. --1 MACABEES, xv. 28. 

Rachel laid down the papers which were full of Lord Newhaven's death. 

"He has managed it well, " she said to herself. "No one could suspectthat it was not an accident. He has played his losing game to the bitterend, weighing each move. None of the papers even hint that his death wasnot an accident. He has provided against that. "

The butler received a note from Lord Newhaven the morning after hisdeath, mentioning the train by which he should return to Westhope thatday, and ordering a carriage to meet him. A great doctor made public thefact that Lord Newhaven had consulted him the day before about theattacks of vertigo from which it appeared he had suffered of late. Asimilar attack seemed to have seized upon him while waiting at ClaphamJunction when the down express thundered past. The few who saw him saidthat, as he was pacing the empty platform, he staggered suddenly as thetrain was sweeping up behind him, put his hand to his head, and stumbledover the edge on to the line. Death was instantaneous. Only his wife andone other woman knew that it was premeditated. 

"The only thing I cannot understand about it, " said Rachel to herself, "is why a man, who from first to last could act with such caution, andwith such deliberate determination, should have been two days late. Thetwenty-ninth of November was the last day of the five months, and hedied on the afternoon of December the first. Why did he wait two daysafter he left Westhope? I should have thought he would have been thelast man in the world to overstep the allotted time by so much as anhour. Yet, nevertheless, he waited two whole days. I don't understandit. "

After an interminable interval Lord Newhaven's luggage returned, thefamiliar portmanteau and dressing-bag, and even the novel which he wasreading when he left Westhope, with the mark still in it. All came back. And a coffin came back, too, and was laid before the little altar in thedisused chapel. 

"I will go and pray for him in the chapel as soon as the lid is fasteneddown, " said Lady Newhaven to Rachel, "but I dare not before. I can'tbelieve he is really dead. And they say somebody ought to look, just toverify. I know it is always done. Dear Rachel, would you mind?"

So Rachel, familiar with death, as all are who have known poverty or whohave loved their fellows, went alone into the chapel, and stood a longtime looking down upon the muffled figure, the garment of flesh whichthe soul had so deliberately rent and flung aside. 

The face was fixed in a grave attention, as of one who sees that whichhe awaits. The sarcasm, the weariness, the indifference, the impatientpatience, these were gone, these were indeed dead. The sharp, thin faceknew them no more. It looked intently, unflinchingly through itshalf-closed eyes into the beyond which some call death, which some calllife. 

"Forgive him, " said Rachel, kneeling beside the coffin. "My friend, forgive him. He has injured you, I know. And your just revenge--for youthought it just--has failed to reach him. But the time for vengeance haspassed. The time for forgiveness has come. Forgive my poor Hugh, whowill never forgive himself. Do you not see now, you who see so much, that it was harder for him than for you; that it would have been theeasier part for him if he had been the one to draw death, to have atonedto you for his sin against you by his death, instead of feeling, as healways must, that your stroke failed, and that he has taken your lifefrom you as well as your honor. Forgive him, " said Rachel, over and overagain. 

But the unheeding face looked earnestly into the future. It had donewith the past. 

"Ah!" said Rachel, "if I who love him can forgive him, cannot you, whoonly hated him, forgive him, too? For love is greater than hate. "

She covered the face and went out. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

 Le nombre des êtres qui veulent voir vrai est extraordinairement petit. Ce qui domineles hommes, c'est la peur de la vérité, à moins que la vérité ne leur soit utile. --AMIEL. 

Lady Newhaven insisted on attending the funeral, a little boy in eitherhand. Rachel had implored that she would spare the children, knowing howannoyed their father would have been, but Lady Newhaven was obdurate. 

"No, " she said. "He may not have cared much about them, but that is noreason why they should forget he is their father. "

So Teddy and Pauly stared with round eyes at the crowd, and at thecoffin, and the wealth of flowers, and the deep grave in which their oldfriend and play-fellow was laid. Perhaps they did not understand. Theydid not cry. 

"They are like their father. They have not much heart, " Lady Newhavensaid to Rachel. 

Dick, who was at the funeral, looked at them, winking his hawk eyes alittle, and afterwards he came back boldly to the silent house, andobtained leave to take them away for the afternoon. He brought them backtowards bed-time, with a dancing doll he had made for them, and a man'sface cut out of cork. They met Rachel and the governess in the garden ontheir return, and flew to them with their trophies. 

Dick waited a moment after the others had gone in. 

"It seems hard on him to have left it all, " he said. "His wife and thelittle chaps, and his nice home and everything. "

Rachel could say nothing. 

"He was very fond of the boys, " he went on. "He would have done anythingfor them. "

"He did what he could, " said Rachel, almost inaudibly, and then added:"He was very fond of you. "

"He was a good friend, " said Dick, his crooked mouth twitching a little, "and a good enemy. That was why I liked him. He was hard to make afriend of or an enemy, but when he once did either he never let go. "

Rachel shivered. The frost was settling white upon the grass. 

"I must go in, " she said, holding out her hand. 

"Are you staying much longer?" said Dick, keeping it in his. 

"I leave to-morrow morning very early. "

"You will be in London, perhaps. "

"I think so for the present. "

"May I come and see you?"

The expression of Dick's eyes was unmistakable. In the dusk he seemedall eyes and hands. 

"Dear Mr. Dick, it's no use. "

"I like plain speaking, " said Dick. "I can't think why it's consideredsuch a luxury. You are quite right to say that, and I should be quitewrong if I did not say that I mean to keep on till you are actuallymarried. "

He released her hand with difficulty. It was too dark to see his face. She hesitated a moment, and then fled into the house. 

 * * * * *

It is a well-known fact that after the funeral the strictest etiquettepermits, nay, encourages, certain slight relaxations on the part of thebereaved. 

Lady Newhaven lay on the sofa in her morning-room in her long blackdraperies, her small hands folded. They were exquisite, littleblue-veined hands. There were no rings on them except a wedding-ring. Her maid, who had been living in an atmosphere of pleasurable excitementsince Lord Newhaven's death, glanced with enthusiastic admiration ather mistress. Lady Newhaven was a fickle, inconsiderate mistress, but atthis moment her behavior was perfect. She, Angélique, knew what her ownpart should be, and played it with effusion. She suffered no one to comeinto the room. She, who would never do a hand's turn for the Englishservants, put on coal with her own hands. She took the lamps from thefootman at the door. Presently she brought in a little tray with foodand wine, and softly besought "Miladi" to eat. Perhaps the mistress andmaid understood each other. Lady Newhaven impatiently shook her head, and Angélique wrung her hands. In the end Angélique prevailed. 

"Have they all gone?" Lady Newhaven asked, after the little meal wasfinished, and, with much coaxing, she had drunk a glass of champagne. 

Angélique assured her they were all gone, the relations who had come tothe funeral--"Milor Windham and l'Honorable Carson" were the last. Theywere dining with Miss West, and were leaving immediately after dinner bythe evening express. 

"Ask Miss West to come to me as soon as they have gone, " she said. 

Angélique hung about the room, and was finally dismissed. 

Lady Newhaven lay quite still, watching the fire. A great peace haddescended upon that much-tossed soul. The dreadful restlessness of thelast weeks was gone. The long suspense, prolonged beyond its time, wasover. The shock of its ending, which shattered her at first, was overtoo. She was beginning to breathe again, to take comfort once more: notthe comfort that Rachel had tried so hard to give her, but the comfortof feeling that happiness and ease were in store for her once more; thatthese five hideous months were to be wiped out, and not her own past, towhich she still secretly clung, out of which she was already buildingher future. 

"It is December now. Hugh and I shall be married next December, D. V. , not before. We will be married quietly in London and go abroad. I shallhave a few tailor-made gowns from Vernon, but I shall wait for my otherthings till I am in Paris on my way back. The boys will be at school bythen. Pauly is rather young, but they had better go together, and theyneed not come home for the holidays just at first. I don't think Hughwould care to have the boys always about. I won't keep my title. I hateeverything to do with _him_"--(Lord Newhaven was still _him_)--"and Iknow the Queen does not like it. I will be presented as Mrs. Scarlett, and we will live at his place in Shropshire, and at last we shall behappy. Hugh will never turn against me as _he_ did. "

Lady Newhaven's thoughts travelled back, in spite of herself, to hermarriage with Lord Newhaven, and the humble, boundless admiration whichshe had accepted as a matter of course, which had been extinguished soentirely, so inexplicably, soon after marriage, which had been succeededby still more inexplicable paroxysms of bitterness and contempt. Othermen, Lady Newhaven reflected, respected and loved their wives even afterthey lost their complexions, and--she had kept hers. Why had he beendifferent from others? It was impossible to account for men and theirways. And how he had sneered at her when she talked gravely to him, especially on religious subjects. Decidedly, Edward had been verydifficult, until he settled down into the sarcastic indifference thathad marked all his intercourse with her after the first year. 

"Hugh will never be like that, " she said to herself, "and he will neverlaugh at me for being religious. He understands me as Edward never did. And I will be married in a pale shade of violet velvet trimmed withermine, as it will be a winter wedding. And my bouquet shall be ofNeapolitan violets, to match my name. "

"May I come in?" said Rachel's voice. 

"Do, " said Lady Newhaven, but without enthusiasm. 

She no longer needed Rachel. The crisis during which she had clung toher was past. What shipwrecked seaman casts a second thought after hisrescue to the log which supported him upon a mountainous sea? Rachelinterrupted pleasant thoughts. Lady Newhaven observed that her friend'sface had grown unbecomingly thin, and that what little color there wasin it was faded. "She is the same age as I am, but she looks mucholder, " said Lady Newhaven to herself, adding, aloud:

"Dear Rachel!"

"Every one has gone, " said Rachel, "and I have had a telegram from LadyTrentham. She has reached Paris, and will be here to-morrow afternoon. "

"Dearest mamma!" said Lady Newhaven. 

"So now, " said Rachel, sitting down near the sofa with a setcountenance, "I shall feel quite happy about leaving you. "

"Must you go?"

"I must. I have arranged to leave by the seven-thirty to-morrow morning. I think it will be better if we say good-bye over night. "

"I shall miss you dreadfully. " Lady Newhaven perceived suddenly, andwith resentment, that Rachel was anxious to go. 

"I do not think you will miss me. "

"I don't know why you say that. You have been so dear and sympathetic. You understand me much better than mamma. And then mamma was always sofond of Edward. She cried for joy when I was engaged to him. She saidher only fear was that I should not appreciate him. She never could seethat he was in fault. I must say he was kind to her. I do wish I was notobliged to have her now. I know she will do nothing but talk of him. NowI come to think of it, do stay, Rachel. "

"There is a reason why I can't stay, and why you won't wish me to staywhen I tell it you. "

"Oh, Mr. Vernon! I saw you and him holding hands in the dusk. But Idon't mind if you marry him, Rachel. I believe he is a good sort of ayoung man--not the kind I could ever have looked at; but what does thatmatter? I am afraid it has rankled in your mind that I once warned youagainst him. But, after all, it is your affair, not mine. "

"I was not going to speak of Mr. Vernon. "

Lady Newhaven sighed impatiently. She did not want to talk of Rachel'saffairs. She wanted, now the funeral was over, to talk of her own. Sheoften said there were few people with less curiosity about others thanherself. 

Rachel pulled herself together. 

"Violet, " she said, "we have known each other five months, haven't we?"

"Yes, exactly. The first time you came to my house was that dreadfulnight of the drawing of lots. I always thought Edward drew the shortlighter. It was so like him to turn it off with a laugh. "

"I want you to remember, if ever you think hardly of me, that duringthose five months I did try to be a friend. I may have failed, but--Idid my best. "

"But you did not fail. You have been a real friend, and you will alwaysbe so, dear Rachel. And when Hugh and I are married you will often comeand stay with us. "

A great compassion flooded Rachel's heart for this poor creature, withits house of cards. Then her face became fixed as a surgeon's who getsout his knife. 

"I think I ought to tell you--you ought to know--that I care for Mr. Scarlett. "

"He is mine, " said Lady Newhaven instantly, her blue eyes dilating. 

"He is unmarried, and I am unmarried, " said Rachel, hoarsely. "I don'tknow how it came about, but I have gradually become attached to him. "

"He is not unmarried. It is false. He is my husband in the sight ofHeaven. I have always, through everything, looked upon him as such. "

This seemed more probable than that Heaven had so regarded him. Racheldid not answer. She had confided her love to no one, not even to Hester;and to speak of it to Lady Newhaven had been like tearing the words outof herself with hot pincers. 

"I knew he was poor, but I did, not know he was as poor as that, " saidLady Newhaven, after a pause. 

Rachel got up suddenly, and moved away to the fireplace. She felt itwould be horribly easy to strangle that voice. 

"And you came down here pretending to be my friend, while all the timeyou were stealing his heart from me. "

Still Rachel did not answer. Her forehead was pressed against themantel-shelf. She prayed urgently that she might stay upon thehearth-rug, that whatever happened she might not go near the sofa. 

"And you think he is in love with you?"

"I do. "

"Are you not rather credulous? But I suppose he has told you over andover again that he cares for you yourself alone. Is the wedding-dayfixed?"

"No, he has not asked me to marry him yet. I wanted to tell you beforeit happened. "

Lady Newhaven threw herself back on the sofa. She laughed softly. Alittle mirror hung tilted at an angle which allowed her to see herselfas she lay. She saw a very beautiful woman, and then she turned andlooked at Rachel, who had no beauty, as she understood it, and laughedagain. 

"My poor dear, " she said, in a voice that made Rachel wince, "Hugh is nobetter than the worst. He has made love to you _pour passer le temps_, and you have taken him seriously, like the dear, simple woman you are. But he will never marry you. You own he has not proposed? Of course not. Men are like that. It is hateful of them, but they will do it. They arethe vainest creatures in the world. Don't you see that the reason he hasnot asked you is because he knew that Edward had to--and that I shouldsoon be free to marry him. And, Rachel, you need not feel the leastlittle bit humiliated, for I shan't tell a soul, and, after all, heloved me first. "

Lady Newhaven was quite reassured. It had been a horrible moment, but itwas past. 

"Why do I always make trouble?" she said, with plaintiveself-complacency. "Rachel, you must not be jealous of me. I can't helpit. "

Rachel tried to say "I am not, " but the words would not come. She _was_jealous, jealous of the past, cut to the heart every time she noticedthat Lady Newhaven's hair waved over her ears, and that she had taperfingers. 

"I think it is no use talking of this any more, " Rachel said. "Perhaps Iwas wrong to speak of it at all. I did as I would be done by. As I amstarting early I think I will say good-night and good-bye. "

"Good-night, dear Rachel, and perhaps, as you say, it had better begood-bye. You may remain quite easy in your mind that I shall neverbreathe a word of what you have said to any living soul--except Hugh, "she added to herself, as Rachel left the room. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

 "To every coward safety, and afterwards his evil hour. "

Sleep, that fickle courtier of our hours of ease, had deserted Hugh. When the last hour of the last day was over, and the dawn which he hadbound himself in honor not to see found him sitting alone in his room, where he had sat all night, horror fell upon him at what he had done. Now that its mire was upon him he saw by how foul, by how dastardly apath he had escaped. 

"To every coward safety, and afterwards his evil hour. " Hugh's evil hourhad come. But was he a coward? Men not braver than he have earned theVictoria Cross, have given up their lives freely for others. Hugh had itin him to do as well as any man in hot blood, but not in cold. That waswhere Lord Newhaven had the advantage of him. He had been overmatchedfrom the first. The strain without had been greater than the power ofresistance within. As the light grew Hugh tasted of that cup which Godholds to no man's lips--_remorse_. Would the cup of death which he hadpushed aside have been more bitter?

He took up his life like a thief. Was it not stolen? He could not bearhis rooms. He could not bear the crowded streets. He could not bear theparks. He wandered aimlessly from one to the other, driven out of eachin turn, consumed by the smouldering flame of his self-contempt. Scornseemed written on the faces of the passers-by. As the day waned, hefound himself once again for the twentieth time in the park, pacing in"the dim, persistent rain, " which had been falling all day. 

But he could not get away from the distant roar of the traffic. Heheard it everywhere, like the Niagara which he had indeed escaped, butthe sound of which would be in his ears till he died. He drew nearer andnearer to the traffic, and stood still in the rain listening to itintently. Might one of those thousand wheels be even now bringing hisenemy towards him, to force him to keep his unspoken word. Hugh had notrealized that his worst enemy was he who stood with him in the rain. 

The forlorn London trees, black and bare, seemed to listen too, and tocling closer to their parks and grass, as if they dimly foresaw theinevitable time coming when they too should toil, and hate, and suffer, as they saw on all sides those stunted uprooted figures toil and suffer, which had once been trees like themselves. "We shall come to it, " theyseemed to say, shivering in all their branches, as they peered throughthe iron rails at the stream of human life, much as man peers at apassing funeral. 

The early night drove Hugh back to the house. He found a note, from aman who had rooms above him, enclosing a theatre ticket, which at thelast moment he had been prevented using. He instantly clutched at theidea of escaping from himself for a few hours at least. He hastilychanged his wet clothes, ate the food that had been prepared for him, and hurried out once more. 

The play was "Julius Cæsar, " at Her Majesty's. He had seen it severaltimes, but to-night it appealed to him as it had never done before. Hehardly noticed the other actors. His whole interest centred in the awfulfigure of Cassius, splendid in its unswerving deathless passion of agreat hate and a great love. His eyes never left the ruthless figure asit stood in silence with its unflinching eyes upon its victim. Had notLord Newhaven thus watched him, Hugh, ready to strike when the hourcame. 

The moment of the murder was approaching. Hugh held his breath. Cassiusknelt with the rest before Cæsar. Hugh saw his hand seek the handle ofhis sword, saw the end of the sheath tilt upwards under his robe as theblade slipped out of it. Then came the sudden outburst of animalferocity long held in leash, of stab on stab, the self-recovery, thecold stare at the dead figure with Cassius's foot upon its breast. 

For a moment the scene vanished. Hugh saw again the quiet study with itselectric reading-lamp, the pistols over the mantel-piece, the tigerglint in Lord Newhaven's eyes. He was like Cassius. He, too, had beenready to risk life, everything in the prosecution of his hate. 

"He shall never stand looking down on my body, " said Hugh to himself, "with his cursed foot upon me. " And he realized that if he had been aworthier antagonist, that also might have been. The play dealt with men. Cassius and Lord Newhaven were men. But what was he?

The fear of death leading the love of life by the hand took with shame alower seat. Hugh saw them at last in their proper places. If he couldhave died then he would have died cheerfully, gladly, as he saw Cassiusdie by his own hand, counting death the little thing it is. Afterwards, as he stood in the crowd near the door, where the rain was delaying theegress, he saw suddenly Lord Newhaven's face watching him. His heartleaped. "He has come to make me keep my word, " he said to himself, theexaltation of the play still upon him. "I will not avoid him. Let him doit, " and he pressed forward towards him. 

Lord Newhaven looked fixedly at him for a moment, and then disappeared. 

"He will follow me and stab me in the back, " said Hugh. "I will walkhome by the street where the pavement is up, and let him do it. "

He walked slowly, steadily on, looking neither to right nor left. Presently he came to a barrier across a long deserted street, with a redlamp keeping guard over it. He walked deliberately up it. He had nofear. In the middle he stopped, and fumbled in his pocket for acigarette. 

A soft step was coming up behind him. 

"It will be quickly over, " he said to himself. "Wait. Don't look round. "

He stood motionless. His silver cigarette-case dropped from his hand. Helooked at it for a second, forgetting to pick it up. A dirty handsuddenly pounced upon it, and a miserable ragged figure flew past him upthe street. Hugh stared after it, bewildered, and then looked round. Thestreet was quite empty. He drew a long breath, and something betweenrelief and despair took hold of him. 

"Then he does not want to, after all. He has not even followed me. Whywas he there? He was waiting for me. What horrible revenge is heplanning against me. Is he laying a second trap for me?"

 * * * * *

The following night Hugh read in the evening papers that Lord Newhavenhad been accidently killed on the line. The revulsion of feeling was toosudden, too overwhelming. He could not bear it. He could not livethrough it. He flung himself on his face upon the floor, and sobbed asif his heart would break. 

 * * * * *

The cyclone of passion which had swept Hugh into its vortex spent itselfand him, and flung him down at last. How long a time elapsed he neverknew between the moment when he, read the news of the accident and themoment when shattered, exhausted, disfigured by emotion, he raisedhimself to his feet. He opened the window, and the night air laid itscool mother-touch upon his face and hands. The streets were silent. Thehouse was silent. He leaned with closed eyes against the window-post. Time passed by on the other side. 

And after a while angels came and ministered to him. Thankfulness camesoftly, gently, to take his shaking hand in hers. The awful past wasover. A false step, a momentary giddiness on the part of his enemy, andthe hideous strangling meshes of the past had fallen from him at atouch, as if they had never wrapped him round. Lord Newhaven was goneto return no more. The past went with him. Dead men tell no tales. Noone knew of the godless compact between them, and of how he, Hugh, hadfailed to keep to it, save they two alone. He and one other. And thatother was dead--was dead. 

Hope came next, shyly, silently, still pale from the embrace of hersister Despair, trimming anew her little lamp, which the laboring breathof Despair had wellnigh blown out. She held the light before Hugh, shading it with her veil, for his eyes were dazed with long gazing intodarkness. She turned it faintly upon the future, and he looked where thelight fell. And the light grew. 

He had a future once more. He had been given that second chance forwhich he had so yearned. His life was his own once more: not the shamedlife in death--worse than death of the last two days--but his own totake up again, to keep, to enjoy, best of all, to use worthily. Nohorrible constraint was upon him to lay it down, or to live in tormentbecause he still held it. He was free, free to marry Rachel whom heloved, and who loved him. He saw his life with her. Hope smiled, andturned up her light. It was too bright. Hugh hid his face in his hands. 

And, last of all, dwarfing Hope, came a divine constraining presence whoever stretches out strong hands to them that fall, who alone sets thestumbling feet upon the upward path. Repentance came to Hugh at last. Inall this long time she had not come while he was suffering, whilesmouldering Remorse had darkened his soul with smoke. But in this quiethour she came and stood beside him. 

Hugh had in the past leaned heavily on extenuating circumstances. He hadmade many excuses for himself. But now he made none. Perhaps, for thefirst time in his life, under the pressure of that merciful, that benignhand, he was sincere with himself. He saw his conduct--that easilycondoned conduct--as it was. Love and Repentance, are not these thegreat teachers? Some of us so frame our lives that we never come faceto face with either, or with ourselves. Hugh came to himself at last. Hesaw how, whether detected or not, his sin had sapped his manhood, spreadlike a leaven of evil through his whole life, laid its hideous touch ofdesecration and disillusion even on his love for Rachel. It hadtarnished his mind; his belief in others; his belief in good. Theseideals, these beliefs had been his possession once, his birthright. Hehad sold his birthright for red pottage. Until now he had scorned thered pottage. Now he saw that his sin lay deeper, even in his originalscorn of his birthright, his disbelief in the Divine Spirit who dwellswith man. 

Nevertheless his just punishment had been remitted. Hitherto he hadlooked solely at that punishment, feeling that it was too great. He hadprayed many times that he might escape it. Now for the first time heprayed that he might be forgiven. 

Repentance took his hands and locked them together. 

"God helping me, " he said, "I will lead a new life. "

CHAPTER XXXIX

 "Les sots sont plus à craindre que les méchants. "

Mr. Gresley had often remarked to persons in affliction that when thingsare at their worst they generally take a turn for the better. Thisprofound truth was proving itself equal to the occasion at WarpingtonVicarage. 

Mrs. Gresley was well again, after a fortnight at the seaside withRegie. The sea air had blown back a faint color into Regie's cheeks. Thenew baby's vaccination was ceasing to cast a vocal gloom over thethin-walled house. The old baby's whole attention was mercifullydiverted from his wrongs to the investigation of that connection betweena chair and himself, which he perceived the other children could assumeat pleasure. He stood for hours looking at his own little chair, solemnly seating himself at long intervals where no chair was. But hismind was working, and work, as we know, is the panacea for mentalanguish. 

Mr. Gresley had recovered that buoyancy of spirits which was the themeof Mrs. Gresley's increasing admiration. 

On this particular evening, when his wife had asked him if the beef weretender, he had replied, as he always did if in a humorous vein:"Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. " The arrival of the pot of marmalade(that integral part of the mysterious meal which begins with meat and iscrowned with buns) had been hailed by the exclamation, "What! Morefamily jars. " In short, Mr. Gresley was himself again. 

The jocund Vicar, with his arm round Mrs. Gresley, proceeded to thedrawing-room. 

On the hall table was a large parcel insured for two hundred pounds. Ithad evidently just arrived by rail. 

"Ah! ha!" said Mr. Gresley. "My pamphlets at last. Very methodical ofSmithers insuring them for such a large sum, " and, without looking atthe address, he cut the string. 

"Well packed, " he remarked. "Water-proof sheeting, I do declare. Smithers is certainly a cautious man. Ha! at last!"

The inmost wrapping shelled off, and Mr. Gresley's jaw dropped. Wherewere the little green and gold pamphlets entitled "Modern Dissent, " forwhich his parental soul was yearning? He gazed down frowning at a solidmass of manuscript, written in a small, clear hand. 

"This is Hester's writing, " he said. "There is some mistake. "

He turned to the direction on the outer cover. 

"Miss Hester Gresley, care of Rev. James Gresley. " He had only seen hisown name. 

"I do believe, " he said, "that this is Hester's book, refused by thepublisher. Poor Hester! I am afraid she will feel that. "

His turning over of the parcel dislodged an unfolded sheet ofnote-paper, which made a parachute expedition to the floor. Mr. Gresleypicked it up and laid it on the parcel. 

"Oh! it's not refused, after all, " he said, his eye catching the senseof the few words before him. "Hester seems to have sent for it back tomake some alterations, and Mr. Bentham--I suppose that is thepublisher--asks for it back with as little delay as possible. Then shehas sold it to him. I wonder what she got for it. She got a hundred for_The Idyll_. It is wonderful to think of, when Bishop Heavysides gotnothing at all for his Diocesan sermons, and had to make up thirtypounds out of his own pocket as well. But as long as the public iswilling to pay through the nose for trashy fiction to amuse itsidleness, so long will novelists reap in these large harvests. If I hadHester's talent--"

"You have. Mrs. Loftus was saying so only yesterday. "

"If I had time to work it out, I should not pander to the depravedpublic taste as Hester does. I should use my talent, as I have oftentold her, for the highest ends, not for the lowest. It would be my aim, "Mr. Gresley's voice rose sonorously, "to raise my readers, to educatethem, to place a high ideal before them, to ennoble them. "

"You could do it, " said Mrs. Gresley, with conviction. And it isprobable that the conviction both felt was a true one; that Mr. Gresleycould write a book which would, from their point of view, fulfil thesevast requirements. 

Mr. Gresley shook his head, and put the parcel on a table in his study. 

"Hester will be back the day after to-morrow, " he said, "and then shecan take charge of it herself. " And he filled in the railway form of itsreceipt. 

Mrs. Gresley, who had been to tea with the Pratts for the first timesince her convalescence, was tired, and went early to bed; or, as Mr. Gresley termed it, "Bedfordshire"; and Mr. Gresley retired to his studyto put a few finishing touches to a paper he was writing on St. Augustine--not by request--for that receptacle of clerical genius, theparish magazine. 

Will the contents of parish magazines always be written by the clergy?Is it Utopian to hope that a day will dawn when it will be perceivedeven by clerical editors that Apostolic Succession does not invariablyconfer literary talent? What can an intelligent artisan think when hereads--what he reads--in his parish magazine? A serial story by a Rectorunknown to fame, who, if he possesses talent, conceals it in some othernapkin than the parish magazine; a short paper on "Bees, " by anArchdeacon; "An Easter Hymn, " by a Bishop, and such a good bishop, too--but what a hymn! "Poultry-Keeping, " by Alice Brown. We draw breath, but the relief is only momentary. "Side Lights on the Reformation, " bya Canon. "Half-hours with the Young, " by a Rural Dean. 

But as an invalid will rebel against a long course of milk puddings, andwill crave for the jam roll which is for others, so Mr. Gresley's mindrevolted from St. Augustine, and craved for something different. 

His wandering eye fell on Hester's book. 

"I can't attend to graver things to-night, " he said, "I will take a lookat Hester's story. I showed her my paper on "Dissent, " so, of course, Ican dip into her book. I hate lopsided confidences, and I dare say Icould give her a few hints, as she did me. Two heads are better thanone. The Pratts and Thursbys all think that bit in _The Idyll_ where thetwo men quarrelled was dictated by me. Strictly speaking, it wasn't, butno doubt she picked up her knowledge of men, which surprises people somuch, from things she has heard me say. She certainly did not want me toread her book. She said I should not like it. But I shall have to readit some time, so I may as well skim it before it goes to the printers. Ihave always told her I did not feel free from responsibility in thematter after _The Idyll_ appeared with things in it which I should havemade a point of cutting out, if she had only consulted me before sherushed into print. "

Mr. Gresley lifted the heavy mass of manuscript to his writing-table, turned up his reading-lamp, and sat down before it. 

The church clock struck nine. It was always wrong, but it set the timeat Warpington. 

There were two hours before bedtime--I mean "Bedfordshire. "

He turned over the first blank sheet and came to the next, which had oneword only written on it. 

"_Husks!_" said Mr. Gresley. "That must be the title. Husks that theswine did eat. Ha! I see. A very good sound story might be written onthat theme of a young man who left the Church, and how inadequate hefound the teaching--the spiritual food--of other denominations comparedto what he had partaken freely of in his Father's house. Husks! It isnot a bad name, but it is too short. 'The Consequences of Sin' would bebetter, more striking, and convey the idea in a more impressive manner. "Mr. Gresley took up his pen, and then laid it down. "I will run throughthe story before I alter the name. It may not take the line I expect. "

It did not. 

The next page had two words on it:

 "TO RACHEL. "

What an extraordinary thing! Any one, be they who they might, wouldnaturally have thought that if the book were dedicated to any one itwould be to her only brother. But Hester, it seemed, thought nothing ofblood relations. She disregarded them entirely. 

The blood relation began to read. He seemed to forget to skip. Pageafter page was slowly turned. Sometimes he hesitated a moment to changea word. He had always been conscious of a gift for finding the rightword. This gift Hester did not share with him. She often got hold of thewrong end of the stick. He could hardly refrain from a smile when hecame across the sentence, "He was young enough to know better, " as hesubstituted in a large illegible hand the word _old_ for _young_. Therewere many obvious little mistakes of this kind that he corrected as heread, but now and then he stopped short. 

One of the characters, an odious person, was continually saying thingsshe had no business to say. Mr. Gresley wondered how Hester had comeacross such doubtful women--not under his roof. Lady Susan must haveassociated with thoroughly unsuitable people. 

"I keep a smaller spiritual establishment than I did, " said the odiousperson. "I have dismissed that old friend of my childhood, the devil. Ireally had no further use for him. "

Mr. Gresley crossed through the passage at once. How could Hester writeso disrespectfully of the devil?

"This is positive nonsense, " said Mr. Gresley, irritably; "coming as itdoes just after the sensible chapter about the new vicar who made aclean sweep of all the old dead regulations in his parish because hefelt he must introduce spiritual life into the place. Now that is reallygood. I don't quite know what Hester means by saying he took exercise inhis clerical _cul-de-sac_. I think she means _surtout_, but she is agood French scholar, so she probably knows what she is talking about. "

Whatever the book lacked it did not lack interest. Still, it bristledwith blemishes. 

And then what could the Pratts, or indeed any one, make of such asentence as this:

"When we look back at what we were seven years ago, five years ago, andperceive the difference in ourselves, a difference amounting almost tochange of identity; when we look back and see in how many characters wehave lived and loved and suffered and died before we reached thecharacter that momentarily clothes us, and from which our soul isstruggling out to clothe itself anew; when we feel how the sympathy evenof those who love us best is always with our last expression, never withour present feeling, always with the last dead self on which ourclimbing feet are set--"

"She is hopelessly confused, " said Mr. Gresley, without reading to theend of the sentence, and substituting the word _ladder_ for _dead self_. "Of course, I see what she means, the different stages of life, theinfant, the boy, the man, but hardly any one else will so understandit. "

The clock struck ten. Mr. Gresley was amazed. The hour had seemed liketen minutes. 

"I will just see what happens in the next chapter, " he said. And he didnot hear the clock when it struck again. The story was absorbing. It wasas if through that narrow, shut-up chamber a gust of mountain air weresweeping like a breath of fresh life. Mr. Gresley was vaguely stirredin spite of himself, until he remembered that it was all fantastic, visionary. He had never felt like that, and his own experience was hismeasure of the utmost that is possible in human nature. He would havecalled a kettle visionary if he had never seen one himself. It was onlysaved from that reproach by the fact that it hung on his kitchen hob. What was so unfair about him was that he took gorillas and alligators, and the "wart pig" and all its warts on trust, though he had never seenthem. But the emotions which have shaken the human soul since the worldbegan, long before the first "wart pig" was thought of--these hedisbelieved. 

All the love which could not be covered by his own mild courtship of theobviously grateful Mrs. Gresley, Mr. Gresley put down as exaggerated. There was a good deal of such exaggeration in Hester's book, which couldonly be attributed to the French novels of which he had frequentlyexpressed his disapproval when he saw Hester reading them. It was givento Mr. Gresley to perceive that the French classics are only read forthe sake of the hideous improprieties contained in them. He hadexplained this to Hester, and was indignant that she had continued toread them just as frequently as before, even translating parts of someof them into English, and back again into the original. She would havelowered the Bishop forever in his Vicar's eyes, if she had mentioned bywhose advice and selection she read, so she refrained. 

Suddenly, as he read, Mr. Gresley's face softened. He came to theillness and death of a child. It had been written long before Regie fellill, but Mr. Gresley supposed it could only have been the result of whathad happened a few weeks ago since the book was sent up to thepublisher. 

Two large tears fell on to the sheet. Hester's had been there beforethem. It was all true, every word. Here was no exaggeration, nofantastic overcoloring for the sake of effect. 

"Ah, Hester!" he said, wiping his eyes. "If only the rest were likethat. If you would only write like that. "

A few pages more, and his eyes were like flint. The admirable clergymanwho had attracted him from the first reappeared. His opinions wereuncommonly well put. But gradually it dawned upon Mr. Gresley that theclergyman was toiling in very uncomfortable situations, in which he didnot appear to advantage. Mr. Gresley did not see that the uncomfortablesituations were the inevitable result of holding certain opinions, buthe did see that "Hester was running down the clergy. " Any fault foundwith the clergy was in Mr. Gresley's eyes an attack upon the Church, nay, upon religion itself. That a protest against a certain class of theclergy might be the result of a close observation of the causes thatbring ecclesiastical Christianity into disrepute could find no admissionto Mr. Gresley's mind. Yet a protest against the ignorance orinefficiency of some of our soldiers he would have seen withoutdifficulty might be the outcome, not of hatred of the army, but of arealization of its vast national importance, and of a desire of itswell-being. 

Mr. Gresley was outraged. "She holds nothing sacred, " he said, strikingthe book. "I told her after the _Idyll_, that I desired she would notmention the subject of religion in her next book, and this is worse thanever. She has entirely disregarded my expressed wishes. Everything shesays has a sting in it. Look at this. It begins well, but it ends with asneer. "

"Christ lives. He wanders still in secret over the hills and the valleysof the soul, that little kingdom which should not be of this world, which knows not the things that belong unto its peace. And earlier orlater there comes an hour when Christ is arraigned before the judgmentbar in each individual soul. Once again the Church and the world combineto crush Him who stands silent in their midst, to condemn Him who hasalready condemned them. Together they raise their fierce cry, 'CrucifyHim! Crucify Him!'"

Mr. Gresley tore the leaf out of the manuscript and threw it in thefire. 

But worse remained behind. To add to its other sins, the book, nowdrawing to its close, took a turn which had been led up to inevitablystep by step from the first chapter, but which, in its reader's eyes, who perceived none of the steps, was a deliberate gratuitousintermeddling with vice. Mr. Gresley could not help reading, but, as helaid down the manuscript for a moment to rest his eyes, he felt that hehad reached the limit of Hester's powers, and that he could onlyattribute the last volume to the Evil One himself. 

He had hardly paid this high tribute to his sister's talent when thedoor opened, and Mrs. Gresley came in in a wrapper that had once beenwhite. 

"Dear James, " she said, "is anything wrong? It is past one o'clock. Areyou never coming to bed?"

"Minna, " said her pastor and master, "I have been reading the worst bookI have come across yet, and it was written by my own sister under my ownroof. "

He might have added "close under the roof, " if he had remembered thelittle attic chamber where the cold of winter and the heat of summer hadeach struck in turn and in vain at the indomitable perseverence of thewriter of those many pages. 

CHAPTER XL

 The only sin which we never forgive in each other is difference of opinion. --EMERSON. 

Mr. Gresley was troubled, more troubled than he had ever been since anever-to-be-forgotten period before his ordination, when he had come incontact with worldly minds, and had had doubts as to the justice ofeternal punishment. He was apt to speak in after years of the furnacethrough which he had passed, and from which nothing short of aconversation with a bishop had had power to save him, as a greatexperience which he could not regret, because it had brought him intosympathy with so many minds. As he often said in his favorite languageof metaphor, he "had threshed out the whole subject of agnosticism, andcould consequently meet other minds still struggling in its turbidwaves. "

But now again he was deeply perturbed, and it was difficult to see inwhat blessing to his fellow-creatures this particular agitation wouldresult. He walked with bent head for hours in the garden. He could notattend to his sermon, though it was Friday. He entirely forgot hisBible-class at the alms-houses in the afternoon. 

Mrs. Gresley watched him from her bedroom window, where she was mendingthe children's stockings. At last she laid aside her work and went out. 

She might not be his mental equal. She might be unable, with her smallfeminine mind, to fathom the depths and heights of that greatintelligence, but still she was his wife. Perhaps, though she did notknow it, it troubled her to see him so absorbed in his sister, for shewas sure it was of Hester and her book that he was thinking. "I am hiswife, " she said to herself, as she joined him in silence, and passed herarm through his. He needed to be reminded of her existence. Mr. Gresleypressed it, and they took a turn in silence. 

He had not a high opinion of the feminine intellect. He was wont to saythat he was tired of most women in ten minutes. But he had learned tomake an exception of his wife. What mind does not feel confidence in thesentiments of its echo?

"I am greatly troubled about Hester, " he said at last. 

"It is not a new trouble, " said Mrs. Gresley. "I sometimes think, dearest, it is we who are to blame in having her to live with us. She isworldly--I suppose she can't help it--and we are unworldly. She isirreligious, and you are deeply religious. I wish I could say I was too, but I lag far behind you. And though I am sure she does her best--and sodo we--her presence is a continual friction. I feel she always drags usdown. "

Mr. Gresley was too much absorbed in his own thoughts to notice thediffident plea which his wife was putting forward that Hester mightcease to live with them. 

"I was not thinking of that, " he said, "so much as of this novel whichshe has written. It is a profane, immoral book, and will do incalculableharm if it is published. "

"I feel sure it will, " said Mrs. Gresley, who had not read it. 

"It is dreadfully coarse in places, " continued Mr. Gresley, who had thesame opinion of George Eliot's works. "And I warned Hester most solemnlyon that point when I found she had begun another book. I told her that Iwell knew that to meet the public taste it was necessary to interlardfiction with _risqué_ things in order to make it sell, but that it wasmy earnest hope she would in future resist this temptation. She onlysaid that if she introduced improprieties into her book in order to makemoney, in her opinion she deserved to be whipped in the public streets. She was very angry, I remember, and became as white as a sheet, and Idropped the subject. "

"She can't bear even the most loving word of advice, " said Mrs. Gresley. 

"She holds nothing sacred, " went on Mr. Gresley, remembering anunfortunate incident in the clergyman's career. "Her life here seems tohave had no softening effect upon her. She sneers openly at religion. Inever thought, I never allowed myself to think, that she was so dead tospiritual things as her book forces me to believe. Even her good people, her heroine, have not a vestige of religion, only a sort of vaguemorality, right for the sake of right, and love teaching people things;nothing real. "

There was a moment's silence. 

"Hester is my sister, " said Mr. Gresley, "and I am fond of her in spiteof all, and she has no one to look to for help and guidance but me. I amher only near relation. That is why I feel so much the way shedisregards all I say. She does not realize that it is for her sake Ispeak. "

Mr. Gresley thought he was sincere, because he was touched. 

Mrs. Gresley's cheek burned. That faithful, devoted little heart, whichlived only for her husband and children, could not brook--_what?_ Thather priest should be grieved and disregarded? Or was it any affectionfor and interest in another woman that it could not brook?

"I have made up my mind, " said Mr. Gresley, "to forbid her most solemnlywhen she comes back to-morrow to publish that book. "

"She does not come back to-morrow, but this evening, " said the youngwife; and pushed by some violent, nameless feeling which was too strongfor her, she added, "She will not obey you. When has she ever listenedto what you say? She will laugh at you, James. She always laughs at you. And the book will be published all the same. "

"It shall not, " said Mr. Gresley, coloring darkly. "I shall not allowit. "

"You can't prevent it, " said Mrs. Gresley, her breath coming quickly. She was not thinking of the book at all, but of the writer. What was abook, one more or one less? It was her duty to speak the truth to herhusband. His sister, whom he thought so much of, had no respect for hisopinion, and he ought to know it. Mr. Gresley did know it, but he feltno particular satisfaction in his wife's presentment of the fact. 

"It is no use saying I can't prevent it, " he said, coldly, letting hisarm fall by his side. He was no longer thinking of the book either, butof the disregard of his opinion, nay, of his authority, which had longgravelled him in his sister's attitude towards him. "I shall use myauthority when I see fit, and if I have so far used persuasion ratherthan authority, it was only because, in my humble opinion, it was thewisest course. "

"It has always failed, " said Mrs. Gresley, stung by the slackening ofhis arm. Yes. In spite of the new baby, she would rather have a hundreda year less than have this woman in the house. The wife ought to comefirst. By first, Mrs. Gresley meant without a second. She had thismorning seen Emma laying Hester's clean clothes on her bed, justreturned from a distant washer-woman whom the Gresleys did not employ, and whom they had not wished Hester to employ. The sight of those twowhite dressing-gowns, beautifully "got up" with goffered frills, hadaroused afresh in Mrs. Gresley what she believed to be indignation atHester's extravagance, an indignation which had been increased when shecaught sight of her own untidy wrapper over her chair. She alwaysappeared to disadvantage in Hester's presence. The old smoulderinggrievance about the washing set a light to other feelings. They caught. They burned. They had been drying in the oven a long time. 

"It has always failed, " said Mrs. Gresley, with subdued passion, "and itwill fail again. I heard you tell Mrs. Loftus that you would never letHester publish another book like the _Idyll_. But though you say thisone is worse, you won't be able to stop her. You will see when shecomes back that she will pack up the parcel and send it back to thepublishers, whatever you may say. "

The young couple were so absorbed in their conversation that they hadnot observed the approach of a tall, clerical figure whom theparlor-maid was escorting towards them. 

"I saw you through the window, and I said I would join you in thegarden, " said Archdeacon Thursby, majestically. "I have been lunchingwith the Pratts. They naturally wished to hear the details of thelamented death of our mutual friend, Lord Newhaven. "

Archdeacon Thursby was the clergyman who had been selected, as a friendof Lady Newhaven's, to break to her her husband's death. 

"It seems, " he added, "that a Miss West, who was at the Abbey at thetime, is an intimate friend of the Pratts. "

Mrs. Gresley slipped away to order tea, the silver teapot, etc. 

The Archdeacon was a friend of Mr. Gresley's. Mr. Gresley had not manyfriends among the clergy, possibly because he always attributed thepopularity of any of his brethren to a laxity of principle on theirpart, or their success, if they did succeed, to the peculiarly easycircumstances in which they were placed. But he greatly admired theArchdeacon, and made no secret of the fact that, in his opinion, heought to have been the Bishop of the diocese. 

A long conversation now ensued on clerical matters, and Mr. Gresley'sdrooping spirits revived under a refreshing _douche_ of compliments on"Modern Dissent. "

The idea flashed across his mind of asking the Archdeacon's adviceregarding Hester's book. His opinion carried weight. His remarks on"Modern Dissent" showed how clear, how statesmanlike his judgment was. Mr. Gresley decided to lay the matter before him, and to consult him asto his responsibility in the matter. The Archdeacon did not know Hester. He did not know--for he lived at a distance of several miles--that Mr. Gresley had a sister who had written a book. 

Mr. Gresley did not wish him to become aware of this last fact, for weall keep our domestic skeletons in their cupboards, so he placed ahypothetical case before his friend. 

Supposing some one he knew, a person for whose actions he felt himselfpartly responsible, had written a most unwise letter, and this letter, by no fault of Mr. Gresley's, had fallen into his hands and been read byhim. What was he, Mr. Gresley, to do? The letter, if posted, wouldcertainly get the writer into trouble, and would cause acute humiliationto the writer's family. What would the Archdeacon do, in his place?

Mr. Gresley did not perceive that the hypothetical case was not "on allfours" with the real one. His first impulse had been to gain the opinionof an expert without disclosing family dissensions. Did some unconscioussecondary motive impel him to shape the case so that only one verdictwas probable?

The good Archdeacon ruminated, asked a few questions, and then said, without hesitation:

"I cannot see your difficulty. Your course is clear. You areresponsible--"

"To a certain degree. "

"To a certain degree for the action of an extremely injudicious friendor relation who writes a letter which will get him and others intotrouble. It providentially falls into your hands. If I were in yourplace I should destroy it, inform your friend that I had done soprincipally for his own sake, and endeavor to bring him to a better mindon the subject. "

"Supposing the burning of the letter entailed a money loss?"

"I judge from what you say of this particular letter that any money thataccrued from it would be ill-gotten gains. "

"Oh! decidedly. "

"Then burn it; and if your friend remains obstinate he can always writeit again; but we must hope that by gaining time you will be able toarouse his better feelings, and at least induce him to moderate itstone. "

"Of course he could write it again if he remains obstinate. I neverthought of that, " said Mr. Gresley, in a low voice. "So he would noteventually lose the money if he was still decided to gain it in anunscrupulous manner. Or I could help him to rewrite it. I never thoughtof that before. "

"Your course is perfectly clear, my dear Gresley, " said the Archdeacon, not impatiently, but as one who is ready to open up a new subject. "Yourtender conscience alone makes the difficulty. Is not Mrs. Gresleyendeavoring to attract our attention?"

Mrs. Gresley was beckoning them in to tea. 

When the Archdeacon had departed, Mr. Gresley said to his wife: "I havetalked over the matter with him, not mentioning names, of course. He isa man of great judgment. He advises me to burn it. "

"Hester's book?"

"Yes. "

"He is quite right, I think, " said Mrs. Gresley, her hands trembling, asshe took up her work. Hester would never forgive her brother if he didthat. It would certainly cause a quarrel between them. Young marriedpeople did best without a third person in the house. 

"Will you follow his advice?" she asked. 

"I don't know. I--you see--poor Hester!--it has taken her a long time towrite. I wish to goodness she would leave writing alone. "

"She is coming home this evening, " said his wife, significantly. 

Mr. Gresley abruptly left the room, and went back to his study. He wasirritated, distressed. 

Providence seemed to have sent the Archdeacon to advise him. And theArchdeacon had spoken with decision. "Burn it, " that was what he hadsaid, "and tell your friend that you have done so. "

It did not strike Mr. Gresley that the advice might have been somewhatdifferent if the question had been respecting the burning of a bookinstead of a letter. Such subtleties had never been allowed to occupyMr. Gresley's mind. He was, as he often said, no splitter of hairs. 

He told himself that from the very first moment of consulting him he haddreaded that the Archdeacon would counsel exactly as he had done. Mr. Gresley stood a long time in silent prayer by his study window. If hisprayers took the same bias as his recent statements to his friend, wasthat his fault? If he silenced, as a sign of cowardice, a voice withinhim which entreated for delay, was that his fault? If he had nevereducated himself to see any connection between a seed and a plant, acause and a result, was that his fault? The first seedling impulse todestroy the book was buried and forgotten. If he mistook this towering, full-grown determination which had sprung from it for the will of God, the direct answer to prayer, was that his fault?

As his painful duty became clear to him, a thin veil of smoke driftedacross the little lawn. 

Regie came dancing and caracoling round the corner. 

"Father!" he cried, rushing to the window, "Abel has made such a bonfirein the back-yard, and he is burning weeds and all kinds of things, andhe has given us each a ''tato' to bake, and Fräulein has given us aband-box she did not want, and we've filled it quite full of dry leaves. And do you think if we wait a little Auntie Hester will be back in timeto see it burn?"

It was a splendid bonfire. It leaped. It rose and fell. It wasreplenished. Something alive in the heart of it died hard. The childrendanced round it. 

"Oh, if only Auntie Hester was here!" said Regie, clapping his hands asthe flame soared. 

But "Auntie Hester" was too late to see it. 

CHAPTER XLI

 And we are punished for our purest deeds, And chasten'd for our holiest thoughts; alas! There is no reason found in all the creeds, Why these things are, nor whence they come to pass. --OWEN MEREDITH

It was while Hester was at the Palace that Lord Newhaven died. She hadperhaps hardly realized, till he was gone, how much his loyal friendshiphad been to her. Yet she had hardly seen him for the last year, partlybecause she was absorbed in her book, and partly because, to herastonishment, she found that her brother and his wife looked coldly upon"an unmarried woman receiving calls from a married man. "

For in the country individuality has not yet emerged. People are marriedor they are unmarried--that is all. Just as in London they are agreeableor dull--that is all. 

"Since I have been at Warpington, " Hester said to Lord Newhaven one day, the last time he found her in, "I have realized that I am unmarried. Inever thought of it all the years I lived in London, but when I visitamong the country people here, as I drive through the park, I remember, with a qualm, that I am a spinster, no doubt because I can't help it. AsI enter the hall I recall, with a pang, that I am eight-and-twenty. Bythe time I am in the drawing-room I am an old maid. "

She had always imagined she would take up her friendship with him again, and when he died she reproached herself for having temporarily laid itaside. Perhaps no one, except Lord Newhaven's brothers, felt his deathmore than Dick and Hester and the Bishop. The Bishop had sincerelyliked Lord Newhaven. A certain degree of friendship had existed betweenthe two men, which had often trembled on the verge of intimacy. But theverge had never been crossed. It was the younger man who always drewback. The Bishop, with the instinct of the true priest, had an unshakenbelief in his cynical neighbor. Lord Newhaven, who trusted no one, trusted the Bishop. They might have been friends. But there was a deeperreason for grief at his death than any sense of personal loss. TheBishop was secretly convinced that he had died by his own hand. 

Lord Newhaven had come to see him, the night he left Westhope, on hisway to the station. He had only stayed a few minutes, and had asked himto do him a trifling service. The older man had agreed, had seen amomentary hesitation as Lord Newhaven turned to leave the room, and hadforgotten the incident immediately in the press of continuous business. But with the news of his death the remembrance of that momentaryinterview returned, and with it the instant conviction that thataccidental death had been carefully planned. 

 * * * * *

And now Hester's visit at the Palace had come to an end, and theBishop's carriage was taking her back to Warpington. 

The ten days at Southminster had brought a little color back to her thincheeks, a little calmness to her glance. She had experienced therest--better than sleep--of being understood, of being able to say whatshe thought without fear of giving offence. The Bishop's hospitality hadbeen extended to her mind, instead of stopping short at the menu. 

Her hands were full of chrysanthemums which the Bishop had picked forher himself; her small head full of his parting words and counsel. 

Yes, she would do as he so urgently advised, give up the attempt to liveat Warpington. She had been there a whole year. If the project hadfailed, as he seemed to think it had, at any rate, it had been given afair trial. Both sides had done their best. She might ease money matterslater for her brother by laying by part of the proceeds of this book forRegie's schooling. She could see that the Bishop thought highly of thebook. He had read it before it was sent to the publisher. While she wasat the Palace he had asked her to reconsider one or two passages in itwhich he thought might give needless offence to her brother and othersof his mental calibre, and she had complied at once, and had sent forthe book. No doubt she should find it at Warpington on her return. 

When it was published she should give Minna a new sofa for thedrawing-room, and Fräulein a fur boa and muff, and Miss Brown atype-writer for her G. F. S. Work, and Abel a barometer, and each of theservants a new gown, and James those four enormous volumes of Pusey forwhich his soul yearned. And what should she give Rachel--dear Rachel?Ah! What need to give her anything? The book itself was hers. Was it notdedicated to her? And she would make her home with Rachel for thepresent, as the Bishop advised, as Rachel had so urgently begged her todo. 

"And we will go abroad together after Christmas as she suggests, " saidHester to herself. "We will go to Madeira, or one of those warm placeswhere one can sit like a cat in the sun, and do nothing, nothing, nothing, from morning till night. I used to be so afraid of going backto Warpington, but now that the time is coming to an end I am sure Ishall not irritate them so much. And Minna will be glad. One can alwaysmanage if it is only for a fixed time. And they shall not be the losersby my leaving them. I will put by the money for my little Regie. I shallfeel parting with him. "

The sun was setting as she reached Warpington. All was gray, the churchtower, the trees, the pointed gables of the Vicarage, set smalltogether, as in a Christmas card, against the still red sky. It onlyneeded "Peace and Good-will" and a robin in the foreground to becomplete. The stream was the only thing that moved, with its shimmeringmesh of fire-tipped ripples fleeing into the darkness of the reeds. Thelittle bridge, so vulgar in every-day life, leaned a mystery of darknessover a mystery of light. The white frost held the meadows, and bindingthem to the gray house and church and bare trees was a thin floatingribbon of--was it mist or smoke? In her own window a faint lightwavered. They had lit a fire in her room. Hester's heart warmed to hersister-in-law at that little token of care and welcome. Minna shouldhave all her flowers, except one small bunch for Fräulein. In anothermoment she was ringing the bell, and Emma's smiling red face appearedbehind the glass door. 

Hester ran past her into the drawing-room. Mrs. Gresley was sitting nearthe fire with the old baby beside her. She returned Hester's kisssomewhat nervously. She looked a little frightened. 

The old baby, luxuriously seated in his own little arm-chair, rose, andholding it firmly against his small person to prevent any disconnectionwith it, solemnly crossed the hearth-rug, and placed the chair withhimself in it by Hester. 

"You would like some tea, " said Mrs. Gresley. "It is choir practice thisevening, and we don't have supper till nine. "

But Hester had had tea before she started. 

"And you are not cold?"

Hester was quite warm. The Bishop had ordered a foot-warmer in thecarriage for her. 

"You are looking much better. "

Hester felt much better, thanks. 

"And what lovely flowers!"

Hester suggested, with diffidence, that they would look pretty in thedrawing-room. 

"I think, " said Mrs. Gresley, who had thought the same till thatinstant, "that they would look best in the hall. "

"And the rest of the family, " said Hester, whose face had fallen alittle. "Where are they?"

"The children have just come in. They will be down directly. Come backto me, Toddy; you are boring your aunt. And James is in his study. "

"Is he busy, or may I go in and speak to him?"

"He is not busy. He is expecting you. "

Hester gathered up her rejected flowers and rose. She felt as if she hadbeen back at Warpington a year--as if she had never been away. 

She stopped a moment in the hall to look at her letters, and laid downher flowers beside them. Then she went on quickly to the study, andtapped at the door. 

"Come in, " said the well-known voice. 

Mr. Gresley was found writing. Hester instantly perceived that it was apose, and that he had taken up the pen when he heard her tap. 

Her spirits sank a peg lower. 

"He is going to lecture me about something, " she said to herself, as hekissed her. 

"Have you had tea? It is choir practice this evening, and we don't havesupper till nine. "

Hester had had tea before she started. 

"And you are not cold?"

On the contrary, Hester was quite warm, thanks. Bishop, foot-warmer, etc. 

"You are looking much stronger. "

Hester felt much stronger. Certainly married people grew very much alikeby living together. 

Mr. Gresley hesitated. He never saw the difficulties entailed by anyaction until they were actually upon him. He had had no idea he wouldfind it wellnigh impossible to open a certain subject. 

Hester involuntarily came to his assistance. 

"Well, perhaps I ought to look at my letters. By the way, there ought tobe a large package for me from Bentham. It was not with my letters. Perhaps you sent it to my room. "

"It did arrive, " said Mr. Gresley, "and perhaps I ought to apologize, for I saw my name on it and I opened it by mistake. I was expecting somemore copies of my _Modern Dissent_. "

"It does not matter. I have no doubt you put it away safely. Where isit?"

"Having opened it, I glanced at it. "

"I am surprised to hear that, " said Hester, a pink spot appearing oneach cheek, and her eyes darkening. "When did I give you leave to readit?"

Mr. Gresley looked dully at his sister, and went on without noticing herquestion. 

"I glanced at it. I do not see any difference between reading a book inmanuscript or in print. I don't pretend to quibble on a point like that. After looking at it, I felt that it was desirable I should read thewhole. You may remember, Hester, that I showed you my _Modern Dissent_. If I did not make restrictions, why should you?"

"The thing is done, " said Hester. "I did not wish you to read it, andyou have read it. It can't be helped. We won't speak of it again. "

"It is my duty to speak of it. "

Hester made an impatient movement. 

"But it is not mine to listen, " she said. "Besides, I know all you aregoing to say--the same as about _The Idyll_, only worse. That it iscoarse and profane and exaggerated, and that I have put in improprietiesin order to make it sell, and that I run down the clergy, and that thebook ought never to be published. Dear James, spare me. You and I shallnever agree on certain subjects. Let us be content to differ. "

Mr. Gresley was disconcerted. Your antagonist has no business todiscount all you were going to remark by saying it first. 

His color was gradually leaving him. This was worse than an Eastervestry meeting, and that was saying a good deal. 

"I cannot stand by calmly and see you walk over a precipice if I canforcibly hold you back, " he said. "I think, Hester, you forget that itis my affection for you that makes me try to restrain you. It is foryour own sake that--that--"

"That what?"

"That I cannot allow this book to be published, " said Mr. Gresley, in alow voice. He hardly ever lowered his voice. 

There was a moment's pause. Hester felt the situation was serious. Hownot to wound him, yet not to yield?

"I am eight-and-twenty, " she said. "I am afraid I must follow my ownjudgment. You have no responsibility in the matter. If I am blamed, " shesmiled proudly--at that instant she knew all that her book wasworth--"the blame will not attach to you. And, after all, Minna and thePratts and the Thursbys need not read it. "

"No one will read it, " said Mr. Gresley. "It was a profane, wicked book. No one will read it. "

"I am not so sure of that, " said Hester. 

The brother and sister looked at each other with eyes of flint. 

"No one will read it, " repeated Mr. Gresley--he was courageous, but allhis courage was only just enough--"because, for your own sake, and forthe sake of the innocent minds which might be perverted by it, I have--Ihave--burned it. "

Hester stood motionless, like one struck by lightning, livid, deadalready--all but the eyes. 

"You dared not, " said the dead lips. The terrible eyes were fixed onhim. They burned into him. 

He was frightened. 

"Dear Hester, " he said, "I will help you to rewrite it. I will give upan hour every morning till--" Would she never fall? Would she alwaysstand up like that? "Some day you will know I was right to do it. Youare angry now, but some day--" If she would only faint, or cry, or lookaway. 

"When Regie was ill, " said the slow, difficult voice, "I did what Icould. I did not let your child die. Why have you killed mine?"

There was a little patter of feet in the passage. The door was slowlyopened by Mary, and Regie walked solemnly in, holding with extreme carea small tin-plate, on which reposed a large potato. 

"I baked it for you, Auntie Hester, " he said, in his shrill voice, hiseyes on the offering. "It was my very own 'tato Abel gave me. And Ibaked it in the bonfire and kept it for you. "

Hester turned upon the child like some blinded, infuriated animal atbay, and thrust him violently from her. He fell shrieking. She rushedpast him out of the room, and out of the house, his screams followingher. "I've killed him, " she said. 

The side gate was locked. Abel had just left for the night. She tore itoff its hinges and ran into the back-yard. 

The bonfire was out. A thread of smoke twisted up from the crater ofgray ashes. She fell on her knees beside the dead fire, and thrust apartthe hot embers with her bare hands. 

A mass of thin black films that had once been paper met her eyes. Thesmall writing on them was plainly visible as they fell to dust at thetouch of her hands. 

"It is dead, " she said in a loud voice, getting up. Her gown was burnedthrough where she had knelt down. 

In the still air a few flakes of snow were falling in a greatcompassion. 

"Quite dead, " said Hester. "Regie and the book. "

And she set off running blindly across the darkening fields. 

 * * * * *

It was close on eleven o'clock. The Bishop was sitting alone in hisstudy writing. The night was very still. The pen travelled, travelled. The fire had burned down to a red glow. Presently he got up, walked tothe window, and drew aside the curtain. 

"The first snow, " he said, half aloud. 

It was coming down gently, through the darkness. He could just see thewhite rim on the stone sill outside. 

"I can do no more to-night, " he said, and he bent to lock hisdespatch-box with the key on his watch-chain. 

The door suddenly opened. He turned to see a little figure rush towardshim, and fall at his feet, holding him convulsively by the knees. 

"Hester!" he said, in amazement. "Hester!"

She was bareheaded. The snow was upon her hair and shoulders. Shebrought in the smell of fire with her. 

He tried to raise her, but she held him tightly with her bleeding hands, looking up at him with a convulsed face. His own hands were red, as hevainly tried to loosen hers. 

"They have killed my book, " she said. "They have killed my book. Theyburned it alive when I was away. And my head went. I don't know what Idid, but I think I killed Regie. I know I meant to. "

CHAPTER XLII

 "Is it well with the child?"

"I am not really anxious, " said Mr. Gresley, looking out across theVicarage laurels to the white fields and hedges. All was blurred andvague and very still. The only thing that had a distinct outline was thegarden railing, with a solitary rook on it. 

"I am not really anxious, " he said again, sitting down at thebreakfast-table. But his face contradicted him. It was blue and pinched, for he had just returned from reading the morning service to himself inan ice-cold church, but there was a pucker in the brow that was not theresult of cold. The Vicarage porch had fallen down in the night, but hewas evidently not thinking of that. He drank a little coffee, and thengot up and walked to the window again. 

"She is with the Pratts, " he said, with decision. "I am glad I sent anote over early, if it will relieve your mind, but I am convinced she iswith the Pratts. "

Mrs. Gresley murmured something. She looked scared. She made an attemptto eat something, but it was a mere pretence. 

The swing door near the back staircase creaked. In the Vicarage youcould hear everything. 

Mr. And Mrs. Gresley looked eagerly at the door. The parlor-maid came inwith a note between her finger and thumb. 

"She is not there, " said Mr. Gresley, in a shaking voice. "I wrote Mr. Pratt such a guarded letter, saying Hester had imprudently run across tosee them on her return home, and how grateful I was to Mrs. Pratt fornot allowing her to return, as it had begun to snow. He says he and Mrs. Pratt have not seen her. "

"James, " said Mrs. Gresley, "where _is_ she?"

A second step shuffled across the hail, and Fräulein stood in thedoor-way. Her pale face was drawn with anxiety. In both hands sheclutched a trailing skirt plastered with snow, hitched above a pair oflarge goloshed feet, into which the legs were grafted without ankles. 

"She has not return?"

"No, " said Mr. Gresley, "and she is not with the Pratts. "

"I know always she is not wiz ze Pratts, " said Fräulein, scornfully. "She never go to Pratt if she is in grief. I go out at half seven thismorning to ze Br-r-rowns, but Miss Br-r-rown know nozing. I go toWilderleigh, I see Mrs. Loftus still in bed, but she is not there. I goto Evannses, I go to Smeeth, I go last to Mistair Valsh, but she is notthere. "

Mr. Gresley began to experience something of what Fräulein had beenenduring all night. 

"She would certainly not go from my house to a Dissenter's, " he said, stiffly. "You might have saved yourself the trouble of calling there, Fräulein. "

"She like Mr. And Mrs. Valsh. She gives them her book. "

Fräulein's voice drowned the muffled rumbling of a carriage and a ringat the bell, the handle of which, uninjured amid the chaos, kept watchabove the remains of the late porch. 

The Bishop stood a moment in the little hall, while the maid went intothe dining-room to tell the Gresleys of his arrival. His eyes rested onthe pile of letters on the table, on the dead flowers beside them. Theyhad been so beautiful yesterday when he gave them to Hester. Hesterherself had been so pretty yesterday. 

The maid came back and asked him to "step" into the dining-room. 

Mr. And Mrs. Gresley had risen from their chairs. Their eyes were fixedanxiously upon him. Fräulein gave a little shriek and rushed at him. 

"She is viz you?" she gasped, shaking him by the arm. 

"She is with me, " said the Bishop, looking only at Fräulein, and takingher shaking hands in his. 

"Thank God, " said Mr. Gresley, and Mrs. Gresley sat down and began tocry. 

Some of the sternness melted out of the Bishop's face as he looked atthe young couple. 

"I came as soon as I could, " he said. "I started soon after seven, butthe roads are heavy. "

"This is a great relief, " said Mr. Gresley. He began on his deepestorgan note, but it quavered quite away on the word relief for want ofwind. 

"How is Regie?" said the Bishop. It was his turn to be anxious. 

"Regie is verr vell, " said Fräulein, with decision. "Tell her he is sovell as he vas. "

"He is very much shaken, " said Mrs. Gresley, indignant mother-loveflashing in her wet eyes. "He is a delicate child, and she, Hester--mayGod forgive her!--struck him in one of her passions. She might havekilled him. And the poor child fell and bruised his arm and shoulder. And he was bringing her a little present when she did it. The child haddone nothing whatever to annoy her, had he, James?"

"Nothing, " said Mr. Gresley, and his conscience pricking him, he added, "I must own Hester had always seemed fond of Regie till last night. "

He felt that it would not be entirely fair to allow the Bishop to thinkthat Hester was in the habit of maltreating the children. 

"I have told him that his own mother will take care of him, " said Mrs. Gresley, "and that he need not be afraid, his aunt shall never come backagain. When I saw his little arm I felt I could never trust Hester inthe house again. " As Mrs. Gresley spoke she felt she was makingcertainty doubly sure that the woman of whom she was jealous wouldreturn no more. 

"Regie cry till his 'ead ache because you say Miss Gresley no comeback, " said Fräulein, looking at Mrs. Gresley, as if she would havebitten a piece out of her. 

"I think, Fräulein, it is the children's lesson-time, " said Mr. Gresley, majestically. 

Who could have imagined that unobtrusive, submissive Fräulein, gentlestand shyest of women, would put herself forward in this aggressivemanner. The truth is, it is all very well to talk, you never can tellwhat people will do. They suddenly turn round and act exactly oppositeto their whole previous character. Look at Fräulein!

That poor lady, recalled thus to a sense of duty, hurried from the room, and the Bishop, who had opened the door for her, closed it gently behindher. 

"You must excuse her, my lord, " said Mr. Gresley; "the truth is, we areall somewhat upset this morning. Hester would have saved us muchuneasiness, I may say anxiety, if she had mentioned to us yesterdayevening that she was going back to you. No doubt she overtook yourcarriage, which put up at the inn for half an hour. "

"No, " said the Bishop, "she came on foot. She--walked all the way. "

Mr. Gresley smiled. "I am afraid, my lord, Hester has given you aninaccurate account. I assure you, she is incapable of walking fivemiles, much less ten. "

"She took about five hours to do it, " said the Bishop, who had hesitatedan instant, as if swallowing something unpalatable. "In moments of greatexcitement nervous persons like your sister are capable of almostanything. The question is, whether she will survive the shock that droveher out of your house last night. Her hands are severely burned. Dr. Brown, whom I left with her, fears brain fever. "

The Bishop paused, giving his words time to sink in. Then he went onslowly in a level voice, looking into the fire. 

"She still thinks that she has killed Regie. She won't believe thedoctor and me when we assure her she has not. She turns against us fordeceiving her. "

Mr. Gresley wrestled with a very bitter feeling towards his sister, overcame it, and said, hoarsely:

"Tell her from me that Regie is not much the worse, and tell her thatI--that his mother and I--forgive her. "

"Not me, James, " sobbed Mrs. Gresley. "It is too soon. I don't. I can't. If I said I did I should not feel it. "

"Hester is not in a condition to receive messages, " said the Bishop. "She would not believe them. Dr. Brown says the only thing we can do forher is to show Regie to her. If she sees him she may believe her owneyes, and this frightful excitement may be got under. I came to take himback with me now in the carriage. "

"I will not let him go, " said Mrs. Gresley, the mother in her overridingher awe of the Bishop. "I am sorry if Hester is ill. I will"--and Mrs. Gresley made a superhuman effort--"I will come and nurse her myself, butI won't have Regie frightened a second time. "

"He shall not be frightened a second time. But it is very urgent. Whilewe are wasting time talking, Hester's life is ebbing away as surely asif she were bleeding to death. If she were actually bleeding in thisroom how quickly you two would run to her and bind up the wound. Therewould be nothing you would not do to relieve her suffering. "

"If I would let Regie go, " said Mrs. Gresley, "he would not be willing, and we could not have him taken away by force, could we, James?"

The door opened, and Regie appeared, gently pushed from behind byFräulein's thin hand. Boulou followed. The door was closed againimmediately, almost on Boulou's tail. 

The Bishop and Regie looked hard at each other. 

"I send my love to Auntie Hester, " said Regie, in his catechism voice, "and I am quite well. "

"I should like to have some conversation with Regie alone, " said theBishop. 

Mrs. Gresley wavered, but the Bishop's eye remained fixed on Mr. Gresley, and the latter led his wife away. The door was left ajar, butthe Bishop closed it. Then he sat down by the fire and held out hishand. 

Regie went up to him fearlessly, and stood between his knees. The twofaces were exactly on the same level. Boulou sat down before the fire, his tail uncurling in the heat. 

"Auntie Hester is very sorry, " said the Bishop. "She is so sorry thatshe can't even cry. "

"Tell her not to mind, " said Regie. 

"It's no good telling her. Does your arm hurt much?"

"I don't know. Mother says it does, and Fräulein says it doesn't. But itisn't that. "

"What is it, then?"

"It isn't that, or the 'tato being lost, it was only crumbs afterwards;but, Mr. Bishop, _I hadn't done nothing_. "

Regie looked into the kind keen eyes, and his own little red ones filledagain with tears. 

"I had not done nothing, " he repeated. "And I'd kept my 'tato for her. It's that--that--I don't mind about my arm. I'm Christian soldiers aboutmy arm; but it's that--that--"

"That hurts you in your heart, " said the Bishop, putting his arm roundhim. 

"Yes, " said Regie, producing a tight little ball that had once been ahandkerchief. "Auntie Hester and I were such friends. I told her all mysecrets, and she told me hers. I knew long before, when she gave fatherthe silver cream-jug, and about Fräulein's muff. If it was a mistake, like father treading on my foot at the school-feast, I should not mind, but she did it on purpose. "

The Bishop's brow contracted. Time was ebbing away, ebbing away like alife. Yet Dr. Brown's warning remained in his ears. "If the child isfrightened of her, and screams when he sees her, I won't answer for theconsequences. "

"Is that your little dog?" he said, after a moment's thought. 

"Yes, that is Boulou. "

"Was he ever in a trap?" asked the Bishop, with a vague recollection ofthe ways of clergymen's dogs, those "little rifts within the lute, "which so often break the harmony between a sporting squire and hisclergyman. 

"He was once. Mr. Pratt says he hunts, but father says not, that hecould not catch anything if he tried. "

"I had a dog once, " said the Bishop, "called Jock. And he got in a traplike Boulou did. Now, Jock loved me. He cared for me more than anybodyin the world. Yet, as I was letting him out of the trap, he bit me. Doyou know why he did that?"

"Why?"

"Because the trap hurt him so dreadfully that he could not help bitingsomething. He did not really mean it. He licked me afterwards. Now, Auntie Hester was like Jock. She was in dreadful, dreadful pain like atrap, and she hit you like Jock bit me. But Jock loved me best in theworld all the time. And Auntie Hester loves you, and is your friend shetells secrets to, all the time. "

"Mother says she does not love me really. It was only pretence. " Regie'svoice shook. "Mother says she must never come back, because it might bebaby next. She said so to father. "

"Mother has made a mistake. I'm so old that I know better even thanmother. Auntie Hester loves you, and can't eat any breakfast till youtell her you don't mind. Will you come with me and kiss her, and tellher so? And we'll make up a new secret on the way. "

"Yes, " said Regie, eagerly, his wan little face turning pink. "Butmother?" he said, stopping short. 

"Run and get your coat on. I will speak to mother. Quick, Regie. "

Regie rushed curveting out of the room. The Bishop followed more slowly, and went into the drawing-room where Mr. And Mrs. Gresley were sittingby the fireless hearth. The drawing-room fire was never lit till twoo'clock. 

"Regie goes with me of his own free will, " he said; "so that is settled. He will be quite safe with me, Mrs. Gresley. "

"My wife demurs at sending him, " said Mr. Gresley. 

"No, no, she does not, " said the Bishop, gently. "Hester saved Regie'slife, and it is only right that Regie should save hers. You will comeover this afternoon to take him back, " he continued to Mr. Gresley. "Iwish to have some conversation with you. "

Fräulein appeared breathless, dragging Regie with her. 

"He has not got on his new overcoat, " said Mrs. Gresley. "Regie, run upand change at once. "

Fräulein actually said, "Bozzer ze new coat, " and she swept Regie intothe carriage, the Bishop following, stumbling over the ruins of theporch. 

"Have they had their hot mash?" he said to the coachman, who was tearingoff the horses' clothing. 

"Yes, my lord. "

"Then drive all you know. Put them at the hills at a gallop. "

Fräulein pressed a packet of biscuits into the Bishop's hand. "He eat nobreakfast, " she said. 

"Uncle Dick said the porch would sit down, and it has, " said Regie, inan awe-struck voice, as the carriage swayed from side to side of theroad. "Father knows a great deal, but sometimes I think Uncle Dick knowsmost of all. First gates and flying half-pennies, and now porches. "

"Uncle Dick is staying in Southminster. Perhaps we shall see him. "

"I should like to ask him about his finger, if it isn't a secret. "

"I don't think it is. Now, what secret shall we make up on the way?" TheBishop put his head out of the window. "Drive faster, " he said. 

It was decided that the secret should be a Christmas-present for"Auntie Hester, " to be bought in Southminster. The Bishop found thatRegie's entire capital was sixpence. But Regie explained that he couldspend a shilling, because he was always given sixpence by his fatherwhen he pulled a tooth out. "And I've one loose now, " he said. "When Isuck it it moves. It will be ready by Christmas. "

There was a short silence. The horses' hoofs beat the muffled ground alltogether. 

"Don't you find, Mr. Bishop, " said Regie, tentatively, "that this ridingso quick in carriages and talking secrets does make people very hungry?"

The Bishop blushed. "It is quite true, my boy. I ought to have thoughtof that before. I am uncommonly hungry myself, " he said, looking inevery pocket for the biscuits Fräulein had forced into his hand. Whenthey were at last discovered, in a somewhat dilapidated condition in therug, the Bishop found they were a kind of biscuit that always made himcough, so he begged Regie, who was dividing them equally, as a personalfavor, to eat them all. 

It was a crumb be-sprinkled Bishop who, half an hour later, hurried upthe stairs of the Palace. 

"What an age you have been, " snapped Dr. Brown, from the landing. 

"How is she?"

"The same, but weaker. Have you got Regie?"

"Yes, but it took time. "

"Is he frightened?"

"Not a bit. "

"Then bring him up. "

The doctor went back into the bedroom, leaving the door ajar. 

A small shrunken figure with bandaged head and hands was sitting in anarm-chair. The eyes of the rigid, discolored face were fixed. 

Dr. Brown took the bandage off Hester's head, and smoothed her hair. 

"He is coming up-stairs now, " he said, shaking her gently by theshoulders. "Regie is coming up-stairs now to see you. Regie is quitewell, and he is coming in now to see you. "

"Regie is dead, you old gray wolf, " said Hester, in a monotonous voice. "I killed him in the back-yard. The place is quite black, and itsmokes. "

"Look at the door, " repeated Dr. Brown, over and over again. "He iscoming in at the door now. "

Hester trembled, and looked at the door. The doctor noticed, with afrown, that she could hardly move her eyes. 

Regie stood in the doorway, holding the Bishop's hand. The cold snowlight fell upon the gallant little figure and white face. 

The doctor moved between Hester and the window. His shadow was upon her. 

The hearts of the two men beat like hammers. 

A change came over Hester's face. 

"My little Reg, " she said, holding out her bandaged hands. 

Regie ran to her, and put his arms round her neck. They clasped eachother tightly. The doctor winced to watch her hands. 

"It's all right, Auntie Hester, " said Regie. "I love you just the same, and you must not cry any more. "

For Hester's tears were falling at last, quenching the wild fire in hereyes. 

"My little treasure, my little mouse, " she said, over and over again, kissing his face and hands and little brown overcoat. 

Then all in a moment her face altered. Her agonized eyes turned to thedoctor. 

In an instant Dr. Brown's hand was over Regie's eyes, and he hurried himout of the room. 

"Take him out of hearing, " he whispered to the Bishop, and darted back. 

Hester was tearing the bandages off her hands. 

"I don't know what has happened, " she wailed, "but my hands hurt me sothat I can't bear it. "

"Thank God!" said the old doctor, blowing his nose. 

CHAPTER XLIII

 The Devil has no stancher ally than _want of perception_. --PHILIP H. WICKSTEED. 

 It takes two to speak truth--one to speak and another to hear. --THOREAU. 

Mrs. Gresley had passed an uncomfortable day. In the afternoon all thePratts had called, and Mr. Gresley, who departed early in the afternoonfor Southminster, had left his wife no directions as to how to act inthis unforseen occurrence, or how to parry the questions with which shewas overwhelmed. 

After long hesitation she at last owned that Hester had returned toSouthminster in the Bishop's carriage not more than half an hour afterit had brought her back. 

"I can't explain Hester's actions, " she would only repeat over and overagain. "I don't pretend to understand clever people. I'm not clevermyself. I can only say Hester went back to Southminster directly shearrived here. "

Hardly had the Pratts taken their departure when Doll Loftus was usheredin. His wife had sent him to ask where Hester was, as Fräulein hadalarmed her earlier in the day. Doll at least asked no questions. He hadnever asked but one in his life, and that had been of his wife, fiveseconds before he had become engaged to her. 

He accepted with equanimity the information that Hester had returned toSouthminster, and departed to impart the same to his exasperated wife. 

"But why did she go back? She had only that moment arrived, " inquiredSybell. How should Doll know. She, Sybell, had said she could not resttill she knew where Hester was, and he, Doll, had walked to Warpingtonthrough the snow-drifts to find out for her. And he had found out, andnow she wanted to know something else. There was no satisfying somewomen. And the injured husband retired to unlace his boots. 

Yes, Mrs. Gresley had passed an uncomfortable day. She had ventured outfor a few minutes, and had found Abel, with his arms akimbo;contemplating the little gate which led to the stables. It was lying onthe ground. He had swept the snow off it. 

"I locked it up the same as usual last night, " he said to Mrs. Gresley. "There's been somebody about as has tampered it off its hinges. Yetnothing hasn't been touched, the coal nor the stack. It doesn't seemnatural, twisting the gate off for nothing. "

Mrs. Gresley did not answer. She did not associate Hester with the gate. But she was too much perturbed to care about such small matters at themoment. 

"His lordship's coachman tell me as Miss Gresley was at the Palace, "continued Abel, "while I was a hotting up his mash for him, for Williamhad gone in with a note, and onst he's in the kitchen the hanimals mightbe stocks and stones for what he cares. He said his nevvy, the footman, heard the front door-bell ring just as he was getting into bed lastnight, and Miss Gresley come in without her hat, with the snow upon her. The coachman said as she must ha' run afoot all the way. "

Abel looked anxiously at Mrs. Gresley. 

"I was just thinking, " he said, "as perhaps the little lady wasn't quiteright in her 'ead. They do say as too much learning flies to the 'ead, the same as spirits to them as ain't manured to 'em. And the little ladydoes work desperate hard. "

"Not as hard as Mr. Gresley, " said Mrs. Gresley. 

"Maybe not, mem, maybe not. But when I come up when red cow was sick atfour in the morning, or maybe earlier, there was always a light in herwinder, and the shadder of her face agin the blind. Yes, she do workprecious hard. "

Mrs. Gresley retreated into the house, picking her way over the debrisof the porch. At any other time its demise would have occupied the mindsof the Vicarage household for days. But, until this moment, it hadhardly claimed the tribute of a sigh. Mrs. Gresley did sigh as shecrossed the threshold. That prostrate porch meant expense. She hadunderstood from her husband that Dick had wantonly torn out the clampthat supported it, and that the whole thing had in consequence given wayunder the first snowfall. "He meant no harm, " Mr. Gresley had added, "but I suppose in the Colonies they mistake horse-play for wit. "

Mrs. Gresley went back to the drawing-room, and sat down to herneedle-work. She was an exquisite needlewoman, but all the activity ofher untiring hands was hardly able to stem the tide of mending that wasfor ever flowing in upon her. When was she to find time to finish thedarling little garments which the new baby required? Fräulein had beenkind in helping, but Fräulein's eyes are not very strong, or herstitches in consequence very small. Mrs. Gresley would have liked to sitin the school-room when lessons were over, but Fräulein had been sodistant at luncheon about a rissole that she had not the courage to goin. 

So she sat and stitched with a heavy heart awaiting her husband'sreturn. The fly was another expense. Southminster was ten miles fromWarpington, eleven according to the Loftus Arms, from which it issued, the owner of which was not on happy terms with his "teetotal" vicar. Yetit had been absolutely necessary to have the fly, in order that Regie, who so easily caught cold, might return in safety. 

The dusk was already falling, and more snow with it. 

It was quite dark when Mrs. Gresley at last caught the sound of wheels, and hurried to the door. 

Mr. Gresley came in, bearing Regie, fast asleep in a fur rug, and laidhim carefully on the sofa, and then went out to have an altercation withthe driver, who demurred in forcible language to the arrangement, adhered to by Mr. Gresley, that the cost of the fly should be consideredas part payment of certain arrears of tithe which in those days it wasthe unhappy duty of the clergyman to collect himself. Mr. Gresley'smethods of dealing with money matters generally brought in a high rateof interest in the way of friction, and it was a long time before thedriver drove away, turning his horse deliberately on the little patch oflawn under the dining-room windows. 

Regie in the meanwhile had waked up, and was having tea in thedrawing-room as a great treat. 

He had much to tell about his expedition; how the Bishop had given himhalf-a-crown, and Uncle Dick had taken him into the town to spend it, and how after dinner he had ridden on Uncle Dick's back. 

"And Auntie Hester. How was she?"

"She was very well, only she cried a little. I did not stay long, because Mr. Bishop was wanting to give me the half-crown, and he kept itdown-stairs. And when I went in again she was in bed, and she was sosleepy she hardly said anything at all. "

Mr. Gresley came in wearily and dropped into a chair. 

Mrs. Gresley gave him his tea, and presently took Regie up-stairs. Thenshe came back and sat down in a low chair close to her husband. It wasthe first drop of comfort in Mr. Gresley's cup to-day. 

"How is Hester?"

"According to Dr. Brown she is very ill, " said Mr. Gresley, in anextinguished voice. "But they would not let me see her. "

"Not see her own brother! My dear James, you should have insisted. "

"I did, but it was no use. You know how angry Dr. Brown gets at theleast opposition. And the Bishop backed him up. They said it wouldexcite her. "

"I never heard of such a thing. What is the matter with her?"

"Shock, Dr. Brown calls it. They have been afraid of collapse all day, but she is better this evening. They seemed to think a great deal of herknowing Regie. "

"Did the little lamb forgive her?"

"Oh yes; he kissed her, and she knew him and cried. And it seems herhands are severely burned. They have got a nurse, and they havetelegraphed for Miss West. The Bishop was very good to Regie and gavehim that fur rug. "

They looked at the splendid blue fox rug on the sofa. 

"I am afraid, " said Mrs. Gresley, after a pause, "that Hester did runall the way to Southminster as the Bishop said. Abel said the Bishop'scoachman told him that she came late last night to the Palace, and shewas white with snow when the footman let her in. "

"My dear, I should have thought you were too sensible to listen toservant's gossip, " said Mr. Gresley, impatiently. "Your own common-sensewill tell you that Hester never performed that journey on foot. I toldDr. Brown the same, but he lost his temper at once. It's curious howpatient he is in a sick-room, and how furious he can be out of it. Hewas very angry with me, too, because when he mentioned to the Bishop inmy presence that Hester was under morphia, I said I strongly objected toher being drugged, and when I repeated that morphia was a most dangerousdrug, with effects worse than intoxication, in fact, that morphia was aform of intoxication, he positively, before the Bishop, shook his fistin my face, and said he was not going to be taught his business by me. 

"The Bishop took me away into the study. Dick Vernon was sitting there, at least he was creeping about on all fours with Regie on his back. Ithink he must be in love with Hester, he asked so anxiously if there wasany change. He would not speak to me, pretended not to know me. Isuppose the Bishop had told him about the porch, and he was afraid Ishould come on him for repairs, as he had tampered with it. The Bishopsent them away, and said he wanted to have a talk with me. The Bishophimself was the only person who was kind. "

There was a long pause. Mrs. Gresley laid her soft cheek against herhusband's, and put her small hand in a protecting manner over his largeone. It was not surprising that on the following Sunday Mr. Gresley saidsuch beautiful things about women being pillows against which wearymasculine athletes could rest. 

"He spoke very nicely of you, " went on Mr. Gresley at last. "He said heappreciated your goodness in letting Regie go after what had happened, and your offer to come and nurse Hester yourself. And then he spokeabout me. And he said he knew well how devoted I was to my work, and howanything I did for the Church was a real labor of love, and that myheart was in my work. "

"It is quite true. So it is, " said Mrs. Gresley. 

"I never thought he understood me so well. And he went on to say that heknew I must be dreadfully anxious about my sister, but that as far asmoney was concerned--I had offered to pay for a nurse--I was to put allanxiety off my mind. He would take all responsibility about the illness. He said he had a little fund laid by for emergencies of this kind, andthat he could not spend it better than on Hester, whom he loved like hisown child. And then he went on to speak of Hester. I don't remember allhe said when he turned off about her, but he spoke of her as if she werea person quite out of the common. "

"He always did spoil her, " said Mrs. Gresley. 

"He went off on a long rigmarole about her and her talent, and how vainhe and I should be if leading articles appeared in the _Spectator_ aboutus as they did about her. I did not know there had been anything of thekind, but he said every one else did. And then he went on more slowlythat Hester was under a foolish hallucination, as groundless, no doubt, as that she had caused Regie's death, that her book was destroyed. Hesaid, 'It is this idea which has got firm hold of her, but which hasmomentarily passed off her mind in her anxiety about Regie, which hascaused her illness. ' And then he looked at me. He seemed really quiteshaky. He held on to a chair. I think his health is breaking. "

"And what did you say?"

"I said the truth, that it was no hallucination but the fact, that muchas I regretted to say so Hester had written a profane and immoral book, and that I had felt it my duty to burn it, and a very painful duty ithad been. I said he would have done the same if he had read it. "

"I am glad you said that. "

"Well, the awkward part was that he said he had read it, every word, andthat he considered it the finest book that had been written in his day. And then he began to walk up and down and to become rather excited, andto say that he could not understand how I could take upon myself such aresponsibility, or on what grounds I considered myself a judge ofliterature. As if I ever did consider myself a judge! But I do knowright from wrong. We had got on all right up till then, especially whenhe spoke so cordially of you and me, but directly he made a personalmatter of Hester's book, setting his opinion against mine, for herepeated over and over again it was a magnificent book, his mannerseemed to change. He tried to speak kindly, but all the time I saw thatmy considering the book bad while he thought it good, gravelled him, andmade him feel annoyed with me. The truth is, he can't bear any one tothink differently from himself. "

"He always was like that, " said the comforter. 

"I said I supposed he thought it right to run down the clergy and holdthem up to ridicule. He said, 'Certainly not, but he did not see howthat applied to anything in Hester's book. ' He said, 'She has drawn us, without bias towards us, exactly as we appear to three-quarters of thelaity. It won't do us any harm to see ourselves for once as others seeus. There is in these days an increasing adverse criticism of us in manymen's minds, to which your sister's mild rebukes are as nothing. We havedrawn it upon ourselves, not so much by our conduct, which I believe tobe uniformly above reproach, or by any lack of zeal, as by our ignoranceof our calling; by our inability to "convert life into truth, " thecapital secret of our profession, as I was once told as a divinitystudent. I for one believe that the Church will regain her prestige andher hold on the heart of the nation, but if she does, it will be mainlydue to a new element in the minds of the clergy, a stronger realization, not of our responsibilities--we have that--but of the education, thepersonal search for truth, the knowledge of human nature, which arenecessary to enable us to meet them. ' He went on a long time about that. I think he grows very wordy. But I did not argue with him. I let him saywhat he liked. I knew that I must be obedient to my Bishop, just as Ishould expect my clergy to be to me, if I ever am a Bishop myself. Notthat I expect I ever shall be"--Mr. Gresley was overtired--"but itseemed to me as he talked about the book, that all the time, though heput me down to the highest motives--he did me that justice--he wastrying to make me own I had done wrong. "

"You didn't say so?" said the little wife, hotly. 

"My dear, need you ask? But I did say at last that I had consulted withArchdeacon Thursby on the matter, and he had strongly advised me to doas I did. The Bishop seemed thunderstruck. And then--it really seemedprovidential--who should come in but Archdeacon Thursby himself. TheBishop went straight up to him, and said, 'You come at a fortunatemoment, for I am greatly distressed at the burning of Miss Gresley'sbook, and Gresley tells me that you advised it. ' And would you believeit, " said Mr. Gresley, in a strangled voice, "the Archdeacon actuallydenied it then and there. He said he did not know Hester had written abook, and had never been consulted on the subject. "

The tears forced themselves out of Mr. Gresley's eyes. He was exhaustedand overwrought. He sobbed against his wife's shoulder. 

"Wicked liar!" whispered Mrs. Gresley, into his parting. "Wicked, wicked man! Oh, James, I never thought the Archdeacon could have behavedlike that!"

"Nor I, " gasped Mr. Gresley, "but he did. I suppose he did not want tooffend the Bishop. And when I expostulated with him, and reminded him ofwhat he had advised only the day before, he said that was about aletter, not a book, as if it mattered which it was. It was the principlethat mattered. But they neither of them would listen to me. I said I hadoffered to help to rewrite it, and the Bishop became quite fierce. Hesaid I might as well try to rewrite Regie if he were in his coffin. Andthen he mentioned, casually, as if it were quite an afterthought, thatHester had sold it for a thousand pounds. All through, I knew he wasreally trying to hurt my feelings, in spite of his manner, but when hesaid _that_ he succeeded. "

Mr. Gresley groaned. 

"A thousand pounds!" said Mrs. Gresley, turning white. "Oh, it isn'tpossible!"

"He said he had seen the publisher's letter offering it, and that Hesterhad accepted it by his advice. He seemed to know all about her affairs. When he said that, I was so distressed I could not help showing it, andhe made rather light of it, saying the money loss was the least seriouspart of the whole affair, but, of course, it is the worst. Poor Hester, when I think that owing to me she has lost a thousand pounds. Seventypounds a year, if I had invested it for her, and I know of several goodinvestments, all perfectly safe, at seven per cent. --when I think of itit makes me absolutely miserable. We won't talk of it any more. TheBishop sat with his head in his hands for a long time after theArchdeacon had gone, and afterwards he was quite kindly again, and saidwe looked at the subject from such different points of view that perhapsthere was no use in discussing it. And we talked of the Church Congressuntil the fly came, only he seemed dreadfully tired, quite knocked up. And he promised to let us know first thing to-morrow morning how Hesterwas. He was cordial when we left. I think he meant well. But I cannever feel the same to Archdeacon Thursby again. He was quite mygreatest friend among the clergy round here. I suppose I shall learn intime not to have such a high ideal of people, but I certainly thoughtvery highly of him until to-day. "

Mr. Gresley sat upright, and put away his handkerchief with decision. 

"One thing this miserable day has taught us, " he said, "and that is thatwe must part with Fräulein. If she is to become impertinent the firstmoment we are in trouble, such a thing is not to be borne. We could notpossibly keep her after her behavior to-day. "

CHAPTER XLIV

 If two lives join, there is oft a scar. --ROBERT BROWNING. 

Rachel left Westhope Abbey the day after Lord Newhaven's funeral, andreturned to London. And the day after that Hugh came to see her, andproposed, and was accepted. 

He had gone over in his mind a hundred times all that he should say toher on that occasion. If he had said all that he was fully resolved tosay, it is hardly credible that any woman, however well disposed towardshim, would have accepted so tedious a suitor. But what he really said, in a hoarse, inaudible voice, was, "Rachel, will you marry me?" He waslooking so intently into a little grove of Roman hyacinths, that perhapsthe hyacinths heard what he said; at any rate, she did not. But shesupposed, from long experience, that he was proposing, and she said"Yes" immediately. 

She had not intended to say so--at least, not at first. She had made upher mind that it would be only right to inform him that she was fourteenmonths older than he (she had looked him out in Burke where she herselfwas not to be found); that she was "old enough to be his mother"; alsothat she was of a cold, revengeful temper not calculated to make a homehappy, and several other odious traits of character which she had neverdreamed of confiding to any of the regiment of her previous lovers. 

But the only word she had breath to say when the time came was "Yes. "

 * * * * *

Rachel had shivered and hesitated on the brink of a new love longenough. Her anxiety about Hugh had unconsciously undermined herresistance. His confession had given her instantly the confidence in himwhich had been wanting. It is not perfection that we look for in ourfellow-creatures, but for what is apparently rarer, a little plaindealing. 

How they rise before us!--the sweet reproachful faces of those whom wecould have loved devotedly if they had been willing to bestraightforward with us; whom we have lost, not by our own will, but bythat paralysis of feeling which gradually invades the heart at thediscovery of small insincerities. Sincerity seems our only securityagainst losing those who love us, the only cup in which those who areworth keeping will care to pledge us when youth is past. 

Rachel was not by nature _de celles qui se jettent dans l'amour commedans un précipice_. But she shut her eyes, recommended her soul to God, and threw herself over. She had climbed down once--with assistance--andshe was not going to do that again. That she found herself alive at thebottom was a surprise to her, but a surprise that was quickly forgottenin the constant wonder that Hugh could love her as devotedly as it wasobvious he did. 

Women would have shared that wonder, but not men. There was a home readymade in Rachel's faithful, dog-like eyes, which at once appealed to thedesire of expansion of empire in the heart of the free-born Briton. 

Hugh had, until lately, considered woman as connected with the downwardslope of life. He would have loudly disclaimed such an opinion if it hadbeen attributed to him; but nevertheless it was the key-note of hisbehavior towards them, his belief concerning them which was of a piecewith his cheap cynicism and dilettante views of life. He now discoveredthat woman was made out of something more than man's spare rib. 

It is probable that if he had never been in love with Lady Newhaven, Hugh would never have loved Rachel. He would have looked at her, as manymen did, with a view to marriage and would probably have dismissed herfrom his thoughts as commonplace. He knew better now. It was LadyNewhaven who was commonplace. His worldliness was dropping from him dayby day as he learned to know Rachel better. 

Where was his cynicism now that she loved him?

His love for her, humble, triumphant, diffident, passionate, impatientby turns, now exacting, now selfless, possessed him entirely. Heremembered once, with astonishment, that he was making a magnificentmatch. He had never thought of it, as Rachel knew, as she knew well. 

 * * * * *

December came in bleak and dark. The snow did its poor best, laying dayafter day its white veil upon the dismal streets. But it wasmisunderstood. It was scraped into murky heaps. It melted and thenfroze, and then melted again. And London groaned and shivered on itsdaily round. 

Every afternoon Hugh came, and every morning Rachel made her roomsbright with flowers for him. The flower shop at the corner sent her tinytrees of white lilac, and sweet little united families of hyacinths andtulips. The time of azaleas was not yet. And once he sent her a bunch ofdaffodils. He knew best how he had obtained them. 

Their wild, sweet faces peered at Rachel, and she sat down faint anddizzy, holding them in her nerveless hands. If one daffodil knowsanything, all daffodils know it to the third and fourth generation. 

"Where is he?" they said. "That man whom you loved once? We were therewhen he spoke to you. We saw you stand together by the attic window. Wenever say, but we heard, we remember. And you cried for joy at nightafterwards. We never say. But we heard. We remember. "

Rachel's secretary in the little room on the ground-floor wasinterrupted by a tap at the door. Rachel came in laden with daffodils. Their splendor filled the gray room. 

"Would you mind having them?" she said, smiling, and laying them down byher. "And would you kindly write a line to Jones telling him not to sendme daffodils again. They are a flower I particularly dislike. "

 * * * * *

"Rachel?"

"Hugh!"

"Don't you think it would be better if we were married immediately?"

"Better than what?"

"Oh, I don't know; better than breaking it off. "

"You can't break it off now. I'm not a person to be trifled with. Youhave gone too far. "

"If you gave me half your attention, you would understand that I am onlyexpressing a wish to go a little further, but you have become sofrivolous since we have been engaged that I hardly recognize you. "

"I suit myself to my company. "

"Are you going to talk to me in that flippant manner when we aremarried. I sometimes fear, Rachel, you don't look upon me withsufficient awe. I foresee I shall have to be very firm when we aremarried. When may I begin to be firm?"

"Are these such evil days, Hugh?"

"I am like Oliver Twist, " he said. "I want more. "

 * * * * *

They were sitting together one afternoon in the fire-light in silence. They often sat in silence together. 

"A wise woman once advised me, " said Rachel at last, "if I married, never to tell my husband of any previous attachment. She said, Let himalways believe that he was the first

 That ever burst Into that silent sea. 

I believe it was good advice, but it seems to me to have onedrawback--to follow it may be to tell a lie. It would be in my case. "

Silence. 

"I know that a lie and an adroit appeal to the vanity of man aresupposed to be a woman's recognized weapons. The same woman told me thatI might find myself mistaken in many things in this world, but never incounting on the vanity of man. She said that was a reed which wouldnever pierce my hand. I don't think you are vain, Hugh. "

"Not vain! Why, I am so conceited at the fact that you are going tomarry me that I look down on every one else. I only long to tell themso. When may I tell my mother, Rachel? She is coming to London thisweek. "

"You have the pertinacity of a fly. You always come back to the samepoint. I am beginning to be rather bored with your marriage. You can'ttalk of anything else. "

"I can't think about anything else. "

He drew her cheek against his. He was an ingratiating creature. 

"Neither can I, " she whispered. 

And that was all Rachel ever said of all she meant to say about Mr. Tristram. 

 * * * * *

A yellow fog. It made rings round the shaded electric lamp by whichRachel was reading. The fire burned tawny and blurred. Even her red gownlooked dim. Hugh came in. 

"What are you reading?" he said, sitting down by her. 

He did not want to know, but if you are reading a book on anotherperson's knee you cannot be a very long way off. He glanced with feignedinterest at the open page, stooping a little, for he was short-sightednow and then--at least now. 

Rachel took the opportunity to look at him. You can't really look at aperson when he is looking at you. Hugh was very handsome, especiallyside face, and he knew it; but he was not sure whether Rachel thoughtso. 

He read mechanically:

 "Take back your vows. Elsewhere you trimmed and taught these lamps to burn; You bring them stale and dim to serve my turn. You lit those candles in another shrine, Guttered and cold you offer them on mine. Take back your vows. "

A shadow fell across Hugh's mind. Rachel saw it fall. 

"You do not think that of me, Rachel, " he said, pointing to the verse. It was the first time he had alluded to that halting confession whichhad remained branded on the minds of both. 

He glanced up at her, and she suffered him for a moment to look throughher clear eyes into her soul. 

"I never thought that of you, " she said, with difficulty. "I am sofoolish that I believe the candles are lit now for the first time. I amso foolish that I believe you love me nearly as much as I love you. "

"It is a dream, " said Hugh, passionately, and he fell on his knees, andhid his white face against her knee. "It is a dream. I shall wake, andfind you never cared for me. "

She sat for a moment stunned by the violence of his emotion, which wasshaking him from head to foot. Then she drew him into her tremblingarms, and held his head against her breast. 

She felt his tears through her gown. 

"What is past will never come between us, " she said, brokenly, at last. "I have cried over it too, Hugh; but I have put it from my mind. Whenyou told me about it, knowing you risked losing me by telling me, Isuddenly trusted you entirely. I had not quite up till then. I can't saywhy, except that perhaps I had grown suspicious because I was oncedeceived. But I do now, because you were open with me. I think, Hugh, you and I can dare to be truthful to each other. You have been so to me, and I will be so to you. I knew about _that_ long before you told me. Lady Newhaven--poor thing!--confided in me last summer. She had to tellsome one. I think you ought to know that I know. And oh, Hugh, I knewabout the drawing of lots, too. "

Hugh started violently, but he did not move. 

Would she have recognized that ashen, convulsed face if he had raisedit?

"Lady Newhaven listened at the door when you were drawing lots, and shetold me. But we never knew which had drawn the short lighter till LordNewhaven was killed on the line. Only she and I and you know that thatwas not an accident. I know what you must have gone through all thesummer, feeling you had taken his life as well. But you must remember itwas his own doing, and a perfectly even chance. You ran the same risk. His blood is on his own head. But oh, my darling, when I think it mighthave been you!"

Hugh thought afterwards that if her arms had not been round him, if hehad been a little distance from her, he might have told her the truth. He owed it to her, this woman who was the very soul of truth. But if shehad withdrawn from him, however gently, in the moment when hertenderness had, for the first time, vanquished her natural reserve, ifshe had taken herself away then, he could not have borne it. In deeprepentance after Lord Newhaven's death, he had vowed that from that dayforward he would never deviate again from the path of truth and honor, however difficult it might prove. But this frightful moment had comeupon him unawares. He drew back instinctively, giddy and unnerved, asfrom a chasm yawning suddenly among the flowers, one step in front ofhim. He was too stunned to think. When he rallied they were standingtogether on the hearth-rug, and she was saying--he did not know what shewas saying, for he was repeating over and over again to himself, "Themoment is past. The moment is past. "

At last her words conveyed some meaning to him. 

"We will never speak of this again, my friend, " she said; "but now thatno harm can be done by it, it seemed right to tell you I knew. "

"I ought never to have drawn, " said Hugh, hoarsely. 

"No, " said Rachel. "He was in fault to demand such a thing. It wasinhuman. But having once drawn he had to abide by it, as you would havedone if you had drawn the short lighter. "

She was looking earnestly at him, as at one given back from the grave. 

"Yes, " said Hugh, feeling she expected him to speak. "If I had drawn itI should have had to abide by it. "

"I thank God continually that you did not draw it. You made him thedreadful reparation he asked. If it recoiled upon himself you were notto blame. You have done wrong, and you have repented. You have suffered, Hugh. I know it by your face. And perhaps I have suffered too, but thatis past. We will shut up the past, and think of the future. Promise methat you will never speak of this again. "

"I promise, " said Hugh, mechanically. 

"The moment to speak is past, " he said to himself. 

Had it ever been present?

CHAPTER XLV

 Dieu n'oublíe personne. Il visite tout le monde. --VINET. 

Hugh did not sleep that night. 

His escape had been too narrow. He shivered at the mere thought of it. It had never struck him as possible that Rachel and Lady Newhaven hadknown of the drawing of lots. Now that he found they knew, sundry smallincidents, unnoticed at the time, came crowding back to his memory. Thatwas why Lady Newhaven had written so continually those letters which hehad burned unread. That was why she had made that desperate attempt tosee him in the smoking-room at Wilderleigh after the boating accident. She wanted to know which had drawn the short lighter. That explained themysterious tension which Hugh had noticed in Rachel during the last daysin London before--before the time was up. He saw it all now. And, ofcourse, they naturally supposed that Lord Newhaven had committedsuicide. They could not think otherwise. They were waiting for one ofthe two men to do it. 

"If Lord Newhaven had not turned giddy and stumbled on to the line, ifhe had not died by accident when he did, " said Hugh to himself, "whereshould I be now?"

There was no answer to that question. 

What was the use of asking it? He _was_ dead. And, fortunately, the twowomen firmly believed he had died by his own hand. Hugh as firmlybelieved that the death was accidental. 

But it could not be his duty to set them right, to rake up the wholehideous story again. 

By an extraordinary, by a miraculous chance, he was saved, as it were, asecond time. It could do no good to allude to the dreadful subjectagain. Besides, he had promised Rachel never to speak of it again. 

He groaned, and hid his face in his hands. 

"Oh, coward and wretch that I am, " he said. "Cannot I even be honestwith myself? I lied to her to-day. I never thought I could have toldRachel a lie, but I did. I can't live without her. I must have her. Iwould rather die than lose her now. And I should have lost her if I'dtold her the truth. I felt that. I am not worthy. It was an ill day forher when she took my tarnished life into her white hands. She ought tohave trodden me under foot. But she does love me, and I will neverdeceive her again. She does love me, and, God helping me, I will makeher happy. "

The strain of conflict was upon Hugh--the old, old conflict of the seedwith the earth, of the soul with love. How many little fibres and rootsthe seed puts out, pushed by an unrecognized need within itself, notwithout pain, not without a gradual rending of its being, not without adeath unto self into a higher life. Love was dealing with Hugh's soul asthe earth deals with the seed, and--he suffered. 

It was a man who did not look like an accepted lover who presentedhimself at Rachel's door the following afternoon. 

But Rachel was not there. Her secretary handed Hugh a little note whichshe had left for him, telling him that Hester had suddenly fallen ill, and that she had been sent for to Southminster. The note ended: "Thesefirst quiet days are past. So now you may tell your mother, and put ourengagement in the _Morning Post_. "

Hugh was astonished at the despair which overwhelmed him at the barethought that he should not see Rachel that day and not the next either. It was not to be borne. She had no right to make him suffer like this. Day by day, when a certain restless fever returned upon him, he hadknown, as an opium-eater knows, that at a certain hour he should becomerested and calm and sane once more. To be in the same room with Rachel, to hear her voice, to let his eyes dwell upon her, to lean his foreheadfor a moment against her hand, was to enter, as we enter in dreams, aworld of joy and comfort, and boundless, endless, all-pervading peace. 

And now he was suddenly left shivering in a bleak world without her. With her he was himself, a released, freed self, growing daily furtherand further away from all he had once been. Without her he felt he wasnothing but a fierce, wounded animal. 

He tried to laugh at himself as he walked slowly away from Rachel'shouse. He told himself that he was absurd, that an absence of a few dayswas nothing. He turned his steps mechanically in the direction of hismother's lodgings. At any rate, he could tell her. He could talk aboutthis cruel woman to her. The smart was momentarily soothed by hismother's painful joy. He wrenched himself somewhat out of himself as shewept the tears of jealous love, which all mothers must weep when thewoman comes who takes their son away. "I am so glad, " she keptrepeating. "These are tears of joy, Hughie. I can forgive her foraccepting you, but I should never have forgiven her if she had refusedyou--if she had made my boy miserable. And you have been miserablelately. I have seen it for a long time. I suppose it was all this comingon. "

He said it was. The remembrance of other causes of irritation andmoodiness had slipped entirely off his mind. 

He stayed a long time with his mother, who pressed him to wait till hissister, who was shopping, returned. But his sister tarried longout-of-doors, and at last the pain of Rachel's absence returning on him, he left suddenly, promising to return in the evening. 

He did not go back to his rooms. He wandered aimlessly through thedarkening streets, impatient of the slow hours. At last he came out onthe Embankment. The sun was setting redly, frostily, in a gray world ofsky-mist and river-mist and spectral bridge and spire. A shakingpath-way of pale flame came across the gray of the hidden river to meethim. 

He stood a long time looking at it. The low sun touched and forsook, touched and forsook point by point the little crowded world which it wasleaving. 

"My poor mother, " said Hugh to himself. "Poor, gentle, loving soul whomI so nearly brought down with sorrow to the grave. She will never knowwhat an escape she has had. I might have been more to her. I might havemade her happier, seeing her happiness is wrapped up in me. I will makeup to her for it. I will be a better son to her in future. Rachel and Itogether will make her last years happy. Rachel and I together, " saidHugh, over and over again. 

And then he suddenly remembered that though Rachel had taken herselfaway he could write to her, and--he might look out the trains toSouthminster. He leaped into a hansom and hurried back to his rooms. 

The porter met him in a mysterious manner in the entrance. Lady waitingto see him. Lady said she was his sister. Had been waiting two hours. Inhis rooms now. 

Hugh laughed, and ran up the wide, common staircase. His sister hadheard the news from his mother and had rushed over at once. 

As he stooped a little to fit the latch-key on his chain into the lock aman, who was coming down the stairs feeling in his pockets, stopped witha sudden exclamation. It was Captain Pratt, pallid, smiling, hair newlyvarnished, resplendent in a magnificent fur overcoat. 

"What luck, " he said. "Scarlett, I think. We met at Wilderleigh. Haveyou such a thing as a match about you?"

Hugh felt in his pockets. He had not one. 

"Never mind, " he said, opening the door. "I've plenty inside. Come in. "

Hugh went in first, extricating his key. Captain Pratt followed, murmuring, "Nice little dens, these. A pal of mine lives justabove--Streatham. You know Streatham, son of Lord--"

The remainder of the sentence was lost. 

The door opened straight into the little sitting-room. 

A woman in deep mourning rose suddenly out of a chair by the fire andcame towards them. 

"Hughie!" she said. 

It was Lady Newhaven. 

It is probable that none of the tableaux she had arranged were quite sodramatic as this one, in which she had not reckoned on that elaboratefigure in the door-way. 

Captain Pratt's opinion of Hugh, whom he had hitherto regarded as apauper with an involved estate, leaped from temperate to summerheat--blood-heat. After the first instant he kept his eyes steadilyfixed on Hugh. 

"I--er--thank you, Scarlett. I have found my matches. A thousand thanks. Good-night. "

He was disappearing, but Hugh, his eyes flashing in his gray face, heldhim forcibly by the arm. 

"Lady Newhaven, " he said, "the porter is inexcusable. These are my roomswhich he has shown you into by mistake, not Mr. Streatham's, yournephew. He is just above. I think, " turning to Captain Pratt, "Streathamis out of town. "

"He is out of town, " said Captain Pratt, looking with cold admiration atHugh. "Admirable, " he said to himself; "a born gentleman. "

"This is not the first time Streatham's visitors have been shown inhere, " continued Hugh. "The porter shall be dismissed. I trust you willforgive me my share in the annoyance he has caused you. Is your carriagewaiting?"

"No, " said Lady Newhaven, faintly, quite thrown off the lines of herprepared scene by the sudden intrusion into it of a foreign body. 

"My hansom is below, " said Captain Pratt, deferentially, venturing, nowthat the situation was, so to speak, draped, to turn his discreet agateeyes towards Lady Newhaven. "If it could be of the least use, I myselfshould prefer to walk. "

Now that he looked at her, he looked very hard at her. She was abeautiful woman. 

Lady Newhaven's self-possession had returned sufficiently for her totake up her fur cloak. 

"Thank you, " she said, letting Captain Pratt help her on with it. "Ishall be glad to make use of your hansom, if you are sure you can spareit. I am shocked at having taken possession of your rooms, " turning toHugh; "I will write to Georgie Streatham to-night. I am staying with mymother, and I came across to ask him to take my boys to the pantomime, as I cannot take them myself--so soon, " with a glance at her crape. "Don't come down, Mr. Scarlett. I have given you enough troublealready. "

Captain Pratt's arm was crooked. He conducted her in his best manner tothe foot of the staircase and helped her into his hansom. His manner wasnot so unctuous as his father's, but it was slightly adhesive. LadyNewhaven shuddered involuntarily as she took his arm. 

Hugh followed. 

"I hope you will both come and see my mother, " she said, with an attemptat graciousness. "You know Lady Trentham, I think?"--to Captain Pratt. 

"Very slightly. No. Delighted!" murmured Captain Pratt, closing thehansom doors in an intimate manner. "And if I could be of the least useat any time in taking your boys to the pantomime--er--only too glad. Theglass down, Richards!"

The hansom with its splendid bay horse rattled off. 

Captain Pratt nodded to Hugh, who was still standing on the steps, andturned away to buy a box of matches from a passing urchin. Then heturned up his fur collar, and proceeded leisurely on his way. 

"Very stand-off both of them in the past, " he said to himself, "but theywill have to be civil in future. I wonder if he will make her keep hertitle. Deuced awkward for them both though, only a month afterNewhaven's death. I wish that sort of _contre-temps_ would happen to mewhen I'm bringing in a lot of fellows suddenly. An opening like that isall I want to give me a start, and I should get on as well as anybody. The aristocracy all hang together, whatever Selina and Ada may say. Money don't buy everything, as the governor thinks. But if you're oncein with 'em you're in. "

 * * * * *

Hugh went back to his room and locked himself in. He was a delicate man, highly strung, and he had not slept the night before. He collapsed intoa chair and remained a long time, his head in his hands. 

It was too horrible, this woman coming back upon him suddenly, like theghost of some one whom he had murdered. His momentary infatuation hadbeen clean forgotten in his overwhelming love for Rachel. His intriguewith Lady Newhaven seemed so long ago that it had been relegated to thesame mental shelf in his mind as the nibbling of a certain forbiddenginger-bread when he was home for his first holidays. He could not beheld responsible for either offence after this immense interval of time. It was not he who had committed them, but that other embryo self, thatenvelope of flesh and sense which he was beginning to abhor, throughwhich he had passed before he reached himself, Hugh, the real man--theman who loved Rachel, and whom Rachel loved. 

He had not flinched when he came unexpectedly on Lady Newhaven. At thesight of her a sudden passion of anger shot up and enveloped him as inone flame from head to foot. His love for Rachel was a weapon, and heused it. He did not greatly care about his own good name, but the goodname of the man whom Rachel loved was a thing to fight for. It was forher sake, not Lady Newhaven's, that he had concocted the story of themistaken rooms. He should not have had the presence of mind if Rachelhad not been concerned. 

He had not finished with Lady Newhaven. He should have trouble yet withher, hideous scenes, in which the corpse of his dead lust would bedragged up, a thing to shudder at, out of its nettly grave. 

He could bear it. He must bear it. Nothing would induce him to marryLady Newhaven, as she evidently expected. He set his teeth. "She willknow the day after to-morrow, " he said to himself, "when she sees myengagement to Rachel in the papers. Then she will get at me somehow, andmake my life a hell to me, while she can. And she will try and comebetween me and Rachel. I deserve it. I deserve anything I get. ButRachel knows, and will stick to me. I will go down to her to-morrow. Ican't go on without seeing her. And she won't mind, as the engagementwill be given out next day. "

He became more composed at the thought of Rachel. But presently his lipquivered. It would be all right in the end. But, oh! not to have doneit! Not to have done it! To have come to his marriage with a whiterpast, not to need her forgiveness on the very threshold of their lifetogether, not to have been unfaithful to her before he knew her. 

What man who has disbelieved in his youth in the sanctity of Love, andthen later has knelt in its Holy of Holies, has escaped that pang?

CHAPTER XLVI

 There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good-fellowship in thee. --SHAKESPEARE

"My mind misgives me, Dick!" said the Bishop, a day or two later, asDick joined him and his sister and Rachel at luncheon at the Palace. "Iam convinced that you have been up to some mischief. "

"I have just returned from Warpington, my lord. I understood it was yourwish I should ride over and tell them Hester was better. "

"It certainly was my wish. I'm very much obliged to you. But Iremembered after you had gone that you had refused to speak to Gresleywhen he was over here, and I was sorry I sent you. "

"I spoke to him all right, " said Dick, grimly. "That was why I was soalacritous to go. "

The Bishop looked steadily at him. 

"Until you are my suffragan I should prefer to manage my own businesswith my clergy. "

"Just so, " said Dick, helping himself to mustard. "But, you see, I'm hiscousin, and I thought it just as well to let him know quietly anddispassionately what I thought of him. So I told him I was notparticular about my acquaintances. I knew lots of bad eggs out inAustralia, half of them hatched in England, chaps who'd been shaved andtubbed gratis by Government--in fact, I'd a large visiting list, butthat I drew the line at such a cad as him, and that he might remember Iwasn't going to preach for him at any more of his little cold-watercures"--a smile hovered on Dick's crooked mouth--"or ever take anynotice of him in future. That was what he wanted, my lord. You were toosoft with him, if you'll excuse my saying so. But that sort of chapwants it giving him hot and strong. He doesn't understand anything else. He gets quite beyond himself, fizzing about on his littlepocket-handkerchief of a parish, thinking he is a sort of god, becauseno one makes it their business to keep him in his place, and rub it intohim that he is an infernal fool. That is why some clergymen jaw so, because they never have it brought home to them what rot they talk. They'd be no sillier than other men if they were only treated properly. I was very calm, but I let him have it. I told him he was a mean sneak, and that either he was the biggest fool or the biggest rogue going, andthat the mere fact of his cloth did not give him the right to dodishonest things with other people's property, though it did save himfrom the pounding he richly deserved. He tried to interrupt; indeed, hewas tooting all the time like a fog-horn, but I did not take any notice, and I wound up by saying it was men like him who brought discredit onthe Church and on the clergy, and who made the gorge rise of decentchaps like me. Yes, " said Dick, after a pause, "when I left him heunderstood, I don't say entirely, but he had a distant glimmering. Itisn't often I go on these errands of mercy, but I felt that the least Icould do was to back you up, my lord. Of course, it is in little matterslike this that lay helpers come in, who are not so hampered about theirlanguage as I suppose the clergy are. "

The Bishop tried, he tried hard, to look severe, but his mouth twitched. 

"Don't thank me, " said Dick. "Nothing is a trouble where you areconcerned. It was--ahem--a pleasure. "

"That I can believe, " said the Bishop. "Well, Dick, Providence makes useof strange instruments--the jawbone of an ass has a certain Scripturalprestige. I dare say you reached poor Gresley where I failed. Icertainly failed. But, if it is not too much to ask, I should regard itas a favor another time if I might be informed beforehand whatdirection your diocesan aid was about to take. "

Dr. Brown, who often came to luncheon at the Palace, came in now. Hetook off his leathern driving-gloves and held his hands to the fire. 

"Cold, " he said. "They're skating everywhere. How is Miss Gresley?"

"She knows us to-day, " said Rachel, "and she is quite cheerful. "

"Does the poor thing know her book is burned?"

"No. She was speaking this morning of its coming out in the spring. "

The little doctor thrust out his underlip and changed the subject. 

"I travelled from Pontesbury this morning, " he said, "with that man whowas nearly drowned at Beaumere in the summer. I doctored him atWilderleigh. Tall, thin, rather a fine gentleman. I forget his name. "

Dr. Brown aways spoke of men above himself in the social scale as "finegentlemen. "

"Mr. Redman, " said Miss Keane, the Bishop's sister, a dignified person, who had been hampered throughout life by a predilection for the wrongname, and by making engagements in illegible handwriting by last year'salmanacs. 

"Was it Mr. Scarlett?" said Rachel, feeling Dick's lynx eye upon her. "Iwas at Wilderleigh when the accident happened. "

"That's the man. He got out at Southminster, and asked me which was thebest hotel. No, I won't have any more, thanks. I'll go up and see MissGresley at once. "

Rachel followed the Bishop into the library. They generally waited theretogether till the doctor came down. 

"I don't know many young men I like better than Dick, " said the Bishop. "I should marry him if I were a young woman. I admire the way he acts upto his principles. Very few of us do. Until he has a further light onthe subject, he is right to, knock a man down who insults him. And fromhis point of view he was justified in speaking to Mr. Gresley as he did. I was sorely tempted to say something of that kind to him myself, but asone grows gray one realizes that one can only speak in a spirit of love. A man of Dick's stamp will always be respected, because he does notassume virtues which belong to a higher grade than he is on at present. But when he reaches that higher grade he will act as thoroughly upon theconvictions that accompany it as he does now on his presentconvictions. "

"He certainly would not turn the other cheek to the smiter. "

"I should not advise the smiter to reckon on it. And unless it is turnedfrom that rare sense of spiritual brotherhood it would be unmanly toturn it. To imitate the outward appearance of certain virtues is likeimitating the clothes of a certain class. It does not make us belong tothe class to dress like it. The true foundation for the spiritual life, as far as I can see it, is in the full development of our human naturewith all its simple trusts and aspirations. I admire Dick's solidfoundation. It will carry a building worthy of him some day. But mywords of wisdom appear to be thrown away upon you. You are thinking ofsomething else. "

"I was thinking that I ought to tell you that I am engaged to bemarried. "

The Bishop's face lit up. 

"I am engaged to Mr. Scarlett. That is why he has come down here. "

The Bishop's face fell. Rachel had been three days at the Palace. Dickhad not allowed the grass to grow under his feet. "That admirablepromptitude, " the Bishop had remarked to himself, "deserves success. "

"Poor, dear Dick, " he said, softly. 

"That is what Hester says. I told her yesterday. "

"I really have a very high opinion of Dick, " said the Bishop. 

"So have I. If I might have two I would certainly choose him second. "

"But this superfluous Mr. Scarlett comes first, eh?"

"I am afraid he does. "

"Well, " said the Bishop, with a sigh, "if you are so ungrateful as tomarry to please yourself, instead of to please me, there is nothing moreto be said. I will have a look at your Mr. Scarlett when he comes totea. I suppose he will come to tea. I notice the most _farouche_ men dowhen they are engaged. It is the first step in the turning process. Ishall, of course, bring an entirely unprejudiced mind to bear upon him, as I always make a point of doing, but I warn you beforehand I shan'tlike him. "

"Because he is not Mr. Dick. "

"Well, yes; because he is not Dick. I suppose his name is Bertie. "

"Not Bertie, " said Rachel, indignantly, "Hugh. "

"It's a poor, inefficient kind of name, only four letters, and aduplicate at each end. I don't think, my dear, he is worthy of you. "

"Dick has only four letters. "

"I make it a rule never to argue with women. Well, Rachel, I'm glad youhave decided to marry. Heaven bless you, and may you be happy with thisman. Ah! here comes Dr. Brown. "

"Well!" said the Bishop and Rachel, simultaneously. 

"She's better, " said the little doctor, angrily; he was always angrywhen he was anxious. "She's round the first corner. But how to pull herround the next corner, that is what I'm thinking. "

"Defer the next corner. "

"We can't now her mind is clear. She's as sane as you or I are, and agood deal sharper. When she asks about her book she'll have to be told. "

"A lie would be quite justifiable under the circumstances. "

"Of course, of course, but it would be useless. You might hoodwink herfor a day or two, and then she would find out, first, that the _magnumopus_ is gone, and secondly, that you and Miss West, whom she does trustentirely at present, have deceived her. You know what she is when shethinks she is being deceived. She abused you well, my lord, until youreinstated yourself by producing Regie Gresley. But you can't reinstateyourself a second time. You can't produce the book. "

"No, " said the Bishop. "That is gone forever. "

Rachel could not trust herself to speak. Perhaps she had realized morefully than even the Bishop had done what the loss of the book was toHester, at least, what it would be when she knew it was gone. 

"Tell her, and give her that if she becomes excitable, " said Dr. Brown, producing a minute bottle out of a voluminous pocket. "And if you wantme I shall be at Canon Wylde's at five o'clock. I'll look in anyhowbefore I go home. "

Rachel and the Bishop stood a moment in silence after he was gone, andthen Rachel took up the little bottle, read the directions carefully, and turned to go up-stairs. 

The Bishop looked after her, but did not speak. He was sorry for her. 

"You can go out till tea-time, " said Rachel, to the nurse. "I will staywith Miss Gresley till then. "

Hester was lying on a couch by the fire in a rose-colored wrapper. Hersmall face, set in its ruffle of soft lace, looked bright and eager. Herhair had been cut short, and she looked younger and more like Regie thanever. 

Her thin hands lay contentedly in her lap. The principal bandages weregone. Only three fingers of the right hand were in a chrysalis state. 

"I shall not be in too great a hurry to get well, " she said to Rachel. "If I do you will rush away to London and get married. 

"Shall I?" Rachel set down the little bottle on the mantel-piece. 

"When is Mr. Scarlett coming down?"

"He came down to-day. "

"Then possibly he may call. "

"Such things do happen. "

"I should like to see him. "

"In a day or two, perhaps. "

"And I want to see dear Dick, too. "

"He sent you his love. Mr. Pratt was here at luncheon yesterday, and heasked me who the old chap was who put on his clothes with a shoe-horn. "

"How like him! Has he said anything more to the Bishop on the uses ofswearing?"

"No. But the Bishop draws him on. He delights in him. "

"Rachel, are you sure you have chosen the best man?"

"Quite sure--I mean I never had any choice in the matter. You see I loveHugh, and I'm only fond of Mr. Dick. "

"I always liked Mr. Scarlett, " said Hester. "I've known him ever since Icame out, and that wasn't yesterday. He is so gentle and refined, andone need not be on one's guard in talking to him. He understands whatone says, and he is charming looking. "

"Of course, I think so. "

"And this is the genuine thing, Rachel? Do you remember our talk lastsummer?"

Rachel was silent a moment. 

"All I can say is, " she said, brokenly, "that I thank God, day andnight, that Mr. Tristram did not marry me--that I'm free to marry Hugh. "

Hester's uncrippled hand stole into Rachel's. 

"Everybody will think, " said Rachel, "when they see the engagement into-morrow's papers that I give him everything because he is poor and hisplace involved, and of course I am horribly wealthy. But in reality itis I who am poor and he who is rich. He has given me a thousand timesmore than I could ever give him, because he has given me back the powerof loving. It almost frightens me that I can care so much a second time. I should not have thought it possible. But I seem to have got the hangof it now, as Mr. Dick would say. I wish you were down-stairs, Hester, as you will be in a day or two. You would be amused by the way he shocksMiss Keane. She asked if he had written anything on his travels, and hesaid he was on the point of bringing out a little book on 'CannibalCookery, ' for the use of Colonials. He said some of the recipes werevery simple. He began: 'You take a hand and close it round a yam. ' Butthe Bishop stopped him. "

The moment Rachel had said, "He is on the point of bringing out a book, "her heart stood still. How could she have said such a thing? Butapparently Hester took no notice. 

"He must have been experimenting on my poor hand, " she said. "I'm sure Inever burned it like this myself. "

"It will soon be better now. "

"Oh! I don't mind about it now that it doesn't hurt all the time. "

"And your head does not ache to-day, does it?"

"Nothing to matter. But I feel as if I had fallen on it from the top ofthe cathedral. Dr. Brown says that is nonsense, but I think so all thesame. When you believe a thing, and you're told it's nonsense, and youstill believe it, that is an hallucination, isn't it?"

"Yes. "

"I have had a great many, " said Hester, slowly. "I suppose I have beenmore ill than I knew. I thought I saw, I really did see, the spirits ofthe frost and the snow looking in at the window. And I talked to them along time, and asked them what quarrel they had with me, their sister, that since I was a child they had always been going about to kill me. Aunt Susan always seemed to think they were enemies who gave mebronchitis. And I told them how I loved them and all their works. Andthey breathed on the pane and wrote beautiful things in frost-work, andI read them all. Now, Rachel, is that an hallucination about thefrost-work, because it seems to me still, now that I am better, though Ican't explain it, that I do see the meaning of it at last, and that Ishall never be afraid of them again. "

Rachel did not answer. 

She had long since realized that Hester, when in her normal condition, saw things which she herself did not see. She had long since realizedthat Hester always accepted as final the limit of vision of the personshe was with, but that that limit changed with every person she met. Rachel had seen her adjust it to persons more short-sighted thanherself, with secret self-satisfaction, and then with suddenbewilderment had heard Hester accept as a commonplace from some one elsewhat appeared to Rachel fantastic in the extreme. If Rachel hadconsidered her own mind as the measure of the normal of all other minds, she could not have escaped the conclusion that Hester was a victim ofmanifold delusions. But, fortunately for herself, she saw that mostladders possessed more than the one rung on which she was standing. 

"That is quite different, isn't it, " said Hester, "from thinking Dr. Brown is a gray wolf?"

"Quite different. That was an hallucination of fever. You see that foryourself now that you have no fever. "

"I see that, of course, now that I have no fever, " repeated Hester, hereyes widening. "But one hallucination quite as foolish as that is alwayscoming back, and I can't shake it off. The wolf was gone directly, butthis is just the same now I am better, only it gets worse and worse. Ihave never spoken of it to any one, because I know it is so silly. ButRachel--I have no fever now--and yet--I know you'll laugh at me--I laughat my own foolish self--and yet all the time I have a horrible feelingthat"--Hester's eyes had in them a terror that was hardly human--"thatmy book is burned. "

CHAPTER XLVII

 The soul of thy brother is a dark forest. --_Russian Proverb_. 

"A marriage has been arranged, and will shortly take place, between HughSt. John Scarlett, of Kenstone Manor, Shropshire, only son of the lateLord Henry Scarlett, and Rachel, only child of the late Joshua HopkinsWest, of Birmingham. "

 * * * * *

This announcement appeared in the _Morning Post_ a few days afterChristmas, and aroused many different emotions in the breasts of thosewho read it. 

"She has done it to spite me, " said Mr. Tristram to himself over hismorning rasher, in the little eating-house near his studio. "I knewthere was some one else in her mind when she refused me. I ratherthought it was that weedy fellow with the high nose. Will he make herhappy because he is a lord's son? That is what I should like to ask her. Poor Rachel, if we had been able to marry five years ago we should neverhave heard of this society craze. Well, it's all over now. " And Mr. Tristram henceforward took the position of a man suffering from anindelible attachment to a woman who had thrown him over for a title. 

 * * * * *

The Gresleys were astonished at the engagement. It was so extraordinarythat they should know both persons. Now that they came to think of it, both of them had been to tea at the Vicarage only last summer. 

"A good many people pop in and out of this house, " they agreed. 

"I am as certain as that I stand here, " said Mr. Gresley, who wassitting down, "that that noisy boor, that underbred, foul-mouthed DickVernon wanted to marry her. "

"Don't mention him, " said Mrs. Gresley. "When I think of what he daredto say--"

"My love, " said Mr. Gresley, "I have forgiven him. I have put from mymind all he said, for I am convinced he was under the influence of drinkat the time. We must make allowance for those who live in hot climates. I bear him no grudge. But I am glad that a man of that stamp should notmarry Miss West. Drunkenness makes a hell of married life. Mr. Scarlett, though he looked delicate, had at least the appearance of beingabstemious. "

 * * * * *

Fräulein heard the news as she was packing her boxes to leave WarpingtonVicarage. She was greatly depressed. She could not be with her dear MissGresley in this mysterious illness which some secret sorrow had broughtupon her; but at least Miss West could minister to her. And now itseemed Miss West was thinking of "Braütigams" more than of Hester. 

Fräulein had been very uncomfortable at the Vicarage, but she wept atleaving. Mrs. Gresley had never attained to treating her with theconsideration which she would have accorded to one whom she consideredher equal. The servants were allowed to disregard with impunity hersmall polite requests. The nurse was consistently, ferociously jealousof her. But the children had made up for all, and now she was leavingthem; and she did not own it to herself, for she was but five-and-thirtyand the shyest of the shy; but she should see no more thatnoble-hearted, that musical Herr B-r-r-rown. 

 * * * * *

"Doll, " said Sybell Loftus to her husband at breakfast, "I've madeanother match. I thought at the time he liked her. You remember RachelWest, not pretty, but with a nice expression--and what does beautymatter? She is engaged to Mr. Scarlett. "

"Quiet, decent chap, " said Doll; "and I like _her_. No nonsense abouther. Good thing he wasn't drowned. "

"Mr. Harvey will feel it. He confided to me that she was his ideal. NowRachel is everything that is sweet and good and dear, and she will makea most excellent wife, but I should never have thought, would you, thatshe could be anybody's ideal?"

Doll opened his mouth to say, "That depends, " but remembered that hiswife had taken an unaccountable dislike to that simple phrase, andremained silent. 

 * * * * *

Captain Pratt, who was spending Christmas with his family, was the onlyperson at Warpington Towers who read the papers. On this particularmorning he came down to a late breakfast after the others had finished. His father, who was always down at eight, secretly admired his son'saristocratic habits, while he affected to laugh at them. "Shamefulluxurious ways, these young men in the Guards. Fashionable society isrotten, sir; rotten to the core. Never get up till noon. My boy is asbad as any of them. "

Captain Pratt propped up the paper open before him while he sipped hiscoffee and glanced down the columns. His travelling eye reached Hugh'sengagement. 

Captain Pratt rarely betrayed any feeling except ennui, but as he read, astonishment got the better of him. 

"By George!" he said, below his breath. 

The bit of omelette on its way to his mouth was slowly lowered again, and remained sticking on the end of his fork. 

_What did it mean?_ He recalled that scene in Hugh's rooms _only lastweek_. He had spoken of it to no one, for he intended to earn gratitudeby his discretion. Of course, Scarlett was going to marry Lady Newhavenafter a decent interval. She was a very beautiful woman, with a largejointure, and she was obviously in love with him. The question of herconduct was not considered. It never entered Captain Pratt's head, anymore than that of a ten-year-old child. He was aware that all the womenof the upper classes were immoral, except newly come-out girls. That wasan established fact. The only difference between the individuals, whichcaused a separation as of the sheep from the goats, was whether theywere compromised or not. Lady Newhaven was not, unless he chose tocompromise her. No breath of scandal had ever touched her. 

But what was Scarlett about? Could they have quarrelled? What did itmean? _And what would she do now?_

"By George!" said Captain Pratt, again, and the agate eyes narrowed downto two slits. 

He sat a long time motionless, his untasted breakfast before him. Hismind was working, weighing, applying now its scales, now itsthermometer. 

 * * * * *

Rachel and Hugh were sitting together looking at a paragraph in the_Morning Post_. 

"Does Miss Gresley take any interest?" said Hugh. 

He was a little jealous of Hester. This illness, the cause of which hadsincerely grieved him, had come at an inopportune moment. Hester wasalways taking Rachel from him. 

"Yes, " said Rachel, "a little when she remembers. But she can only thinkof one thing. "

"That unhappy book. "

"Yes. I think the book was to Hester something of what you are to me. Her whole heart was wrapped up in it--and she has lost it. Hugh, whatever happens, you must not be lost now. It is too late. I could notbear it. "

"I can only be lost if you throw me away, " said Hugh. 

There was a long silence. 

"Lady Newhaven will know to-day, " said Rachel at last. "I tried to breakit to her, but she did not believe me. "

"Rachel, " said Hugh, stammering, "I meant to tell you the other day, only we were interrupted, that _she_ came to my rooms the evening beforeI came down here. I should not have minded quite so much, but CaptainPratt came in with me and--found her there. "

"Oh Hugh, that dreadful man! Poor woman!"

"Poor woman!" said Hugh, his eyes flashing. "It was poor you I thoughtof. Poor Rachel! to be marrying a man who--"

There was another silence. 

"I have one great compensation, " said Rachel, laying her cool, stronghand on his. "You are open with me. You keep nothing back. You need nothave mentioned this unlucky meeting, but you did. It was like you. Itrust you entirely, Hugh. I bless and thank you for loving me. If mylove can make you happy, oh Hughie, you will be happy. "

Hugh shrank from her. The faltered words were as a two-edged sword. 

She looked at the sensitive, paling face with tender comprehension. Themother-look crept into her eyes. 

"If there is anything else that you wish to tell me, tell me now. "

A wild, overwhelming impulse to fling himself over the precipice out ofthe reach of those stabbing words! A horrible nauseating recoil thatseemed to rend his whole being. 

Somebody said hoarsely:

"There is nothing else. "

It was his own voice, but not his will, that spoke. Had any one evermade him suffer like this woman who loved him?

 * * * * *

Lady Newhaven had returned to Westhope ill with suspense and anxiety. She had felt sure she should successfully waylay Hugh in his rooms, convinced that if they could but meet the clouds between them (to borrowfrom her vocabulary) would instantly roll away. They had met, and theclouds had not rolled away. She vainly endeavored to attribute Hugh'sevident anger at the sight of her to her want of prudence, to theaccident of Captain Pratt's presence. She would not admit the thoughtthat Hugh had ceased to care for her, but it needed a good deal offorcible thrusting away. She could hear the knock of the unwelcome guestupon her door, and though always refused admittance he withdrew only toreturn. She had been grievously frightened, too, at having been seen inequivocal circumstances by such a man as Captain Pratt. The veryremembrance made her shiver. 

"How angry Edward would have been, " she said to herself. "I wonderwhether he would have advised me to write a little note to CaptainPratt, explaining how I came there, and asking him not to mention it. But, of course, he won't repeat it. He won't want to make an enemy of meand Hugh. The Pratts think so much of me. And when I marry Hugh"--(knockat the mental door)--"_if ever_ I marry Hugh, we will be civil to himand have him to stay. Edward never would, but I don't think so much ofgood family, and all that, as Edward did. We will certainly ask him. "

It was not till after luncheon that Lady Newhaven, after scanning the_Ladies' Pictorial_, languidly opened the _Morning Post_. 

Suddenly the paper fell from her hands on to the floor. She seized it upand read again the paragraph which had caught her eye. 

"No! No!" she gasped. "It is not true. It is not possible. " And she readit a third time. 

The paper fell from her nerveless hands again, and this time it remainedon the floor. 

It is doubtful whether until this moment Lady Newhaven had known whatsuffering was. She had talked freely of it to others. She had sung, asif it were her own composition, "Cleansing Fires. " She often said itmight have been written for her. 

 In the cruel fire of sorrow, [_slow, soft pedal_. Cast thy heart, do not faint or wail, [_both pedals down, quicker_. Let thy hand be firm and steady, [_loud, and hold on to last syllable_. Do not let thy spi-rit quail, [_bang! B natural. With resolution_. Bu-ut. . . . [_hurricane of false notes, etc. , etc. _

But now, poor thing, the fire had reached her, and her spirit quailedimmediately. Perhaps it was only natural that as her courage failedsomething else should take its place; an implacable burning resentmentagainst her two betrayers, her lover and her friend. She rocked herselfto and fro. Lover and friend. "Oh, never, never trust in man's love orwoman's friendship henceforth forever!" So learned Lady Newhaven thelesson of suffering. 

"Lover and friend hast Thou put far from me, " she sobbed, "and mineacquaintance out of my sight. "

A ring at the door-bell proved that the latter part of the text, at anyrate, was not true in her case. 

A footman entered. 

"Not at home. Not at home, " she said, impatiently. 

"I said not at home, but the gentleman said I was to take up his card, "said the man, presenting a card. 

When Captain Pratt tipped, he tipped heavily. 

Lady Newhaven read it. 

"No. Yes. I will see him, " she said. It flashed across her mind that shemust be civil to him, and that her eyes were not red. She had not shedtears. 

The man picked the newspaper from the floor, put it on a side table, andwithdrew. 

Captain Pratt came in, bland, deferential, orchid in button-hole. 

It was not until he was actually in the room, his cold appraising eyesupon her, that the poor woman realized that her position towards him hadchanged. She could not summon up the nonchalant distant civility which, according to her ideas, was sufficient for her country neighbors ingeneral, and the Pratts in particular. 

Captain Pratt opined that the weather, though cold, was seasonable. 

Lady Newhaven agreed. 

Captain Pratt regretted the hard frost on account of the hunting. Fourhunters eating their heads off, etc. 

Lady Newhaven thought the thaw might come any day. 

Captain Pratt had been skating yesterday on the parental flooded meadow. Flooded with fire-engine. Men out of work. Glad of employment, etc. 

How kind of Captain Pratt to employ them. 

Not at all. It was his father. Duties of the landed gentry, etc. Hebelieved if the frost continued they would skate on Beaumere. 

No; no one was allowed to skate on Beaumere. The springs rendered theice treacherous. 

Silence. 

Captain Pratt turned the gold knob of his stick slowly in his thick, white fingers. He looked carefully at Lady Newhaven, as a connoisseurwith intent to buy looks at a piece of valuable china. She wasaccustomed to being looked at, but there was something in CaptainPratt's prolonged scrutiny which filled her with vague alarm. Shewrithed under it. He observed her uneasiness, but he did not remove hiseyes. 

Were the boys well?

They were quite well, thanks. She was cowed. 

Were they fond of skating?

Very fond. 

Might he suggest that they should come over and skate at WarpingtonTowers to-morrow. He himself would be there, and would take charge ofthem. 

He rose slowly, as one who has made up his mind. Lady Newhaven feared itwould be troubling Captain Pratt too much. 

It would be no trouble to Captain Pratt; on the contrary, a pleasure. 

His hand was now extended. Lady Newhaven had to put hers into it. 

Perhaps next week if the frost held. She tried to withdraw her hand. Oh, well, then, to-morrow; certainly, to-morrow. 

"You may rely on me to take care of them, " said Captain Pratt, stillholding her hand. He obliged her to look at him. His hard eyes met herfrightened blue ones. "You may rely on my discretion entirely--in allmatters, " he said, meaningly. 

Lady Newhaven winced, and her hand trembled violently in his. 

He pressed the shrinking little hand, let it go, and went away. 

CHAPTER XLVIII

 "Le temps apporte, emporte, mais ne rapporte pas. "

"May I come in?" said the Bishop, tapping at Hester's door. 

"Do come in. "

Hester was lying propped up by many cushions on a sofa in the littlesitting-room leading out of her bedroom. She looked a mere shadow in thefire-light. 

She smiled at him mechanically, but her face relapsed at once into theapathetic expression which sat so ill upon it. Her lustreless eyes fixedthemselves again on the fire. 

"And what are you going to do this afternoon?" she said, politely. Itwas obvious she did not care what he did. 

"I am going to Westhope on business, " he said, looking narrowly at her. It was all very well for Dr. Brown to say she must be roused; but howwere his instructions to be carried out?

"I am a great deal of trouble to you, " said Hester. "Could not I be sentto a home, or a place where you go through a cure, where I should be outof the way till I'm well?"

"Have I deserved that, Hester?"

"No; but you know I always try to wound my best friends. "

"You don't succeed, my child, because they know you are in heavytrouble. "

"We will not speak of that, " said Hester, quickly. 

"Yes, the time has come to speak of it. Why do you shut us out of thissorrow? Don't you see that you make our burdens heavier by refusing tolet us share yours?"

"You can't share it, " said Hester; "no one can. "

"Do you think I have not grieved over it?"

"I know you have, but it was waste of time. It's no good--no good. Please don't cheer me, and tell me I shall write better books yet, andthat this trial is for my good. Dear Bishop, don't try and comfort me. Ican't bear it. "

"My poor child, I firmly believe you will write better books than theone which is lost, and I firmly believe that you will one day look backupon this time as a stop in your spiritual life, but I had not intendedto say so. The thought was in my mind, but it was you who put the wordsinto my mouth. "

"I was so afraid that--"

"That I was going to improve the occasion?"

"Yes. Dr. Brown and the nurse are so dreadfully cheerful now, and alwaystalking about the future, and how celebrated I shall be some day. If youand Rachel follow suit I shall--I think I shall--go out of my mind. "

The Bishop did not answer. 

"Dr. Brown may be right, " Hester went on. "I may live to seventy, and Imay become--what does he call it?--a distinguished author. I don't knowand I don't care. But whatever happens in the future, nothing will bringback the book which was burned. "

The Bishop did not speak. He dared not. 

"If I had a child, " Hester continued, in the exhausted voice with whichhe was becoming familiar, "and it died, I might have ten more, beautifuland clever and affectionate, but they would not replace the one I hadlost. Only if it were a child, " a little tremor broke the dead level ofthe passionless voice, "I should meet it again in heaven. There is theresurrection of the body for the children of the body, but there is noresurrection that I ever heard of for the children of the brain. "

Hester held her thin right hand with its disfigured first finger to thefire. 

"A great writer who had married and had children, whom she worshipped, once told me that the pang of motherhood is that even your childrendon't seem your very own. They are often more like some one else thantheir parents, perhaps the spinster sister-in-law, whom every onedislikes, or some entire alien. Look at Regie. He is just like me, whichmust be a great trial to Minna. And they grow up bewildering theirparents at every turn by characteristics they don't understand. But shesaid the spiritual children, the books, are really ours. 

"If you were other than you are, " said Hester, after a long pause, "youwould reprove me for worshipping my own work. I suppose love is worship. I loved it for itself, not for anything it was to bring me. That is whatpeople like Dr. Brown don't understand. It was part of myself. But itwas the better part. The side of me which loves success, and which he isalways appealing to, had no hand in it. My one prayer was that I mightbe worthy to write it, that it might not suffer by contact with me. Ispent myself upon it. " Hester's voice sank. "I knew what I was doing. Ijoyfully spent my health, my eyesight, my very life upon it. I wasimpelled to do it by what you perhaps will call a blind instinct, whatI, poor simpleton and dupe, believed at the time to be nothing less thanthe will of God. "

"You will think so again, " said the Bishop, "when you realize that thebook has left its mark and influence upon your character. It has taughtyou a great deal. The mere fact of writing it has strengthened you. Theoutward and visible form is dead, but its spirit lives on in you. Youwill realize this presently. "

"Shall I? On the contrary, the only thing I realize is that it is notGod who is mocked, but His foolish children who try to do His bidding. It seems He is not above putting a lying spirit in the mouth of hisprophets. Do you think I still blame poor James for his bonfire, or hisjealous little wife who wanted to get rid of me? Why should I? Theyacted up to their lights as your beloved Jock did when he squeezed thelife out of that rabbit in Westhope Park. In all those days when I didnot say anything, it was because I felt I had been deceived. I had donemy part. God had not done His. He should have seen to it that the bookwas not destroyed. You prayed by me once when you thought I wasunconscious. I heard all right. I should have laughed if I could, but itwas too much trouble. "

"These thoughts will pass away with your illness, " said the Bishop. "Youare like a man who has had a blow, who staggers about giddy and dazed, and sees the pavement rising up to strike him. The pavement is firmunder his feet all the time. "

"Half of me knows in a dim blind way that God is the same always, " saidHester, "while the other half says, 'Curse God and die. '"

"That is the giddiness, the vertigo after the shock. "

"Is it? I dare say you are right. But I don't care either way. "

"Why trouble your mind about it, or about anything?"

"Because I have a feeling, indeed, it would be extraordinary if I hadnot, for Dr. Brown is always rubbing it in, that I ought to meet mytrouble bravely, and not sink down under it, as he thinks I am doingnow. He says others have suffered more than I have. I know that, for Ihave been with them. It seems, " said Hester, with the ghost of a smile, "that there is an etiquette about these things, just as the blinds aredrawn up after a funeral. The moment has come for me, but I have notdrawn up my blinds. "

"You will draw them up presently. "

"I would draw them up now, " said Hester, looking at him steadily, "if Icould. I owe it to you and Rachel to try, and I have tried, but Ican't. "

The Bishop's cheek paled a little. 

"Take your own time, " he said, but his heart sank. 

He saw a little boat with torn sail and broken rudder, drifting on to alee shore. 

"I seem to have been living at a great strain for the last year, " saidHester. "I don't know one word from another now, but I think I meanconcentration. That means holding your mind to one place, doesn't it?Well, now, something seems to have broken, and I can't fix it toanything any more. I can talk to you and Rachel for a few minutes if Ihold my mind tight, but I can't really attend, and directly I am alone, or you leave off speaking, my mind gets loose from my body and wandersaway to an immense distance, to long, dreary, desert places. And then ifyou come in I make a great effort to bring it back, and to open my eyes, because if I don't you think I'm ill. You don't mind if I shut them now, do you?--because I've explained about them, and holding them open doestire me so. I wish they could be propped open. And--my mind gets fartherand further away every day. I hope you and Rachel won't think I amgiving way if--sometime--I really can't bring it back any longer. "

"Dear Hester, no. "

"I will not talk any more then. If you and Rachel understand, that isall that matters. I used to think so many things mattered, but I don'tnow. And don't think I'm grieving about the book while I'm lying still. I have grieved, but it is over. I'm too tired to be glad or sorry aboutanything any more. "

Hester lay back spent and gray among her pillows. 

The Bishop roused her to take the stimulant put ready near at hand, andthen sat a long time watching her. She seemed unconscious of hispresence. At last the nurse came in, and he went out silently, andreturned to his study. Rachel was waiting there to hear the result ofthe interview. 

"I can do nothing, " he said. "I have no power to help her. After fortyyears ministry I have not a word to say to her. She is beyond humanaid--at least, she is beyond mine. "

"You think she will die?"

"I do not see what is going to happen to prevent it, but I am certain itmight be prevented. "

"You could not rouse her?"

"No, she discounted anything I could have said, by asking me not to sayit. That is the worst of Hester. The partition between her mind and thatof other people is so thin that she sees what they are thinking about. Thank God, Rachel, that you are not cursed with the artistictemperament! That is why she has never married. She sees too much. I amnot a match-maker, but if I had had to take the responsibility, I shouldhave married her at seventeen to Lord Newhaven. "

"You know he asked her?"

"No, I did not know it. "

"It was a long time ago, when first she came out. Lady Susan was anxiousfor it, and pressed her. I sometimes think if she had been given time, and if her aunt had let her alone--but he married within the year. Butwhat are we to do about Hester? Dr. Brown says something must be done, or she will sink in a decline. I would give my life for her, but I cando nothing. I have tried. "

"So have I, " said the Bishop. "But it has come to this. We have got totrust the one person whom we always show we tacitly distrust by tryingto take matters out of His hands. We must trust God. So far we havestrained ourselves to keep Hester alive, but she is past our help now. She is in none the worse case for that. We are her two best friends saveone. We must leave her to the best Friend of all. God has her in Hishand. For the moment the greater love holds her away from the less, likethe mother who takes her sick child into her arms, apart from the otherchildren who are playing round her. Hester is in God's keeping, and thatis enough for us. And now take a turn in the garden, Rachel. You are toomuch in-doors. I am going out on business. "

When Rachel had left him the Bishop opened his despatch-box and took outa letter. 

It was directed to Lady Newhaven. 

"I promised to give it into her own hand a month after his death, whenever that might happen to be, " he said to himself. "There was sometrouble between them. I hope she won't confide it to me. Anyhow, I mustgo and get it over. I wish I did not dislike her so much. I shall adviseher not to read it till I am gone. "

CHAPTER XLIX

 The mouse fell from the ceiling, and the cat cried, "Allah!" --Syrian Proverb. 

That help should come through such a recognized channel as a Bishopcould surprise no one, least of all Lady Newhaven, who had had thegreatest faith in the clergy all her life, but, nevertheless, sooverwhelmed was she by despair and its physical sensations, that shevery nearly refused to see the Bishop when he called. Her faith even inlawn sleeves momentarily tottered. Who would show her any good? PoorLady Newhaven was crushed into a state of prostration so frightful thatwe must not blame her if she felt that even an Archbishop would havebeen powerless to help her. 

She had thought, after the engagement was announced, of rushing up toLondon and insisting on seeing Hugh; but always, after she had lookedout the trains, her courage had shrunk back at the last moment. Therehad been a look on Hugh's face during that last momentary meeting whichshe could not nerve herself to see again. She had been to London alreadyonce to see him, without success. 

She knew Rachel was at the Palace at Southminster nursing Hester, andtwice she had ordered the carriage to drive over to see her, and make adesperate appeal to her to give up Hugh. But she knew that she shouldfail. And Rachel would triumph over her. Women always did over adefeated rival. Lady Newhaven had not gone. The frightful injustice ofit all wrung Lady Newhaven's heart to the point of agony. To see her ownproperty deliberately stolen from her in the light of day, as it were, in the very market-place, before everybody, without being able to raisea finger to regain him! It was intolerable. For she loved Hugh as far asshe was capable of loving anything. And her mind had grown round theidea that he was hers as entirely as a tree will grow round a nailfastened into it. 

And now he was to marry Rachel, and soon. Let no one think they knowpain until they know jealousy. 

But when the Bishop sent up a second time, asking to see her onbusiness, she consented. 

It was too soon to see callers, of course. But a Bishop was different. And how could she refuse to admit him when she had admitted that odiousCaptain Pratt only four days before. She hoped no one would become awareof that fact. It was as well for her that she could not hear the remarksof Selina and Ada Pratt, as they skated on the frozen meadows with half, not the better-half, of Middleshire. 

"Poor Vi Newhaven. Yes, she won't see a creature. She saw Algy for a fewminutes last week, but then he is an old friend, and does not count. Hesaid she was quite heart-broken. He was quite upset himself. He was sofond of Ted Newhaven. "

The Bishop would not even sit down. He said he was on the way to aconfirmation, and added that he had been entrusted with a letter forher, and held it towards her. 

"It is my husband's handwriting, " she said, drawing back, withinstinctive fear. 

"It is from your husband, " said the Bishop, gently, softening somewhatat the sight of the ravages which despair had made in the lovely facesince he had last seen it. "He asked me to give it into your own hand amonth after his death. "

"Then he told you that--"

"He told me nothing, and I wish to hear nothing. "

"I should like to confess all to you, to feel myself absolved, " saidLady Newhaven in a low voice, the letter in her trembling hand. 

He looked at her, and he saw that she would not say all. She wouldarrange details to suit herself, and would omit the main pointaltogether, whatever it might be, if, as it was more than probable, ittold against herself. He would at least save her from the hypocrisy of ahalf-confession. 

"If in a month's time you wish to make a full confession to me, " hesaid, "I will hear it. But I solemnly charge you in the meanwhile tospeak to no one of this difficulty between you and your husband. Whatever it may have been, it is past. If he sinned against you, he isdead, and the least you can do is to keep silence. If you wrongedhim"--Lady Newhaven shook her head vehemently--"if you wronged him, "repeated the Bishop, his face hardening, "be silent for the sake of thechildren. It is the only miserable reparation you can make him. "

"You don't understand, " she said, feebly. 

"I know that he was a kindly, gentle-natured man, and that he died ahard and bitter one, " said the Bishop. "God knows what is in thatletter, but your husband said it would be of the greatest comfort andassistance to you in a difficulty which he foresaw for you. I will leaveyou to read it. "

And he left the room. 

The early December twilight was creeping over everything. Lady Newhaventook the letter to the window, and after several futile attemptssucceeded in opening it. 

It ran as follows:

 "It is irreligious to mourn too long for the dead. 'I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me'--II. Sam. Xii. 23. In the meanwhile, until you rejoin me, I trust you will remember that it is my especial wish that you should allow one who is in every way worthy of you to console you for my loss, who will make you as happy as you both deserve to be. That I died by my own hand you and your so-called friend Miss West are of course aware. That 'the one love of your life' drew the short lighter you are perhaps not aware. I waited two days to see if he would fulfil the compact, and as he did not--I never thought he would--I retired in his place. I present to you this small piece of information as a wedding-present, which, if adroitly handled, may add to the harmony of domestic life. And if by any chance he should have conceived the dastardly, the immoral idea of deserting you in favor of some mercenary marriage--of which I rather suspect him--you will find this piece of information invaluable in restoring his allegiance at once. He is yours by every sacred tie, and no treacherous female friend must wrest him from you. 

 "NEWHAVEN. "

Lady Newhaven put the letter in her pocket, and then fainted away, withher fair head on the window-ledge. 

CHAPTER L

 "There cannot be a pinch in death more sharp than this is. "

The Bishop's sister, Miss Keane, whose life was a perpetual orgy ofmothers' meetings and G. F. S. Gatherings, was holding a districtvisitors' working party in the drawing-room at the Palace. The ladiesknitted and stitched, while one of their number heaped fuel on the flameof their enthusiasm by reading aloud the "History of the Diocese ofSouthminster. "

Miss Keane took but little heed of the presence of Rachel and Hester inher brother's house. Those who work mechanically on fixed lines seem, asa rule, to miss the pith of life. She was kind when she remembered them, but her heart was where her treasure was--namely, in her escritoire, with her list of Bible-classes, and servants' choral unions, and thelong roll of contributors to the guild of work which she herself hadstarted. 

When she had been up to Hester's room, invariably at hours when Hestercould not see her, and when she had entered Rachel's sledge-hammersubscriptions in her various account-books, her attention left hervisitors. She considered them superficial, and wondered how it was thather brother could find time to spend hours talking to both of them, while he had rarely a moment in which to address her chosen band in thedrawing-room. She was one of those persons who find life a very prosaicaffair, quite unlike the fiction she occasionally read. 

She often remarked that nothing except the commonplace happened. Certainly she never observed anything else. 

So Hester lay in the room above, halting feebly between two opinions, whether to live or to die, and Rachel sat in the Bishop's study beneath, waiting to make tea for him on his return from the confirmation. 

If she did not make it, no one else did. Instead of ringing for it hewent without it. 

Rachel watched the sun set--a red ball dropping down a frosty sky. Itwas the last day of the year. The new year was bringing her everything. 

"Good-bye, good-bye, " she said, looking at the last rim of the sun as hesank. And she remembered other years when she had watched the sun set onthe last day of December, when life had been difficult--how difficult!

"If Hester could only get better I should have nothing left to wishfor, " she said, and she prayed the more fervently for her friend, because she knew that even if Hester died, life would still remainbeautiful; the future without her would still be flooded with happiness. 

"A year ago if Hester had died I should have had nothing left to livefor, " she said to herself. "Now this newcomer, this man whom I haveknown barely six months, fills my whole life. Are other women as narrowas I am? Can they care only for one person at a time like me? Ah, Hester! forgive me, I can't help it. "

Hugh was coming in presently. He had been in that morning, and theBishop had met him, and had asked him to come in again to tea. Racheldid not know what the Bishop thought of him, but he had managed to see agood deal of Hugh. 

Rachel waited as impatiently as most of us, when our happiness lingersby us, loth to depart. 

At last she heard the footman bringing some one across the hall. 

Would Hugh's coming ever become a common thing? Would she ever be ableto greet him without this tumult of emotion, ever be able to take hishand without turning giddy on the sheer verge of bliss?

The servant announced, "Lady Newhaven. "

The two women stood looking at each other. Rachel saw the marks ofsuffering on the white face, and her own became as white. Her eyes fellguiltily before Lady Newhaven's. 

"Forgive me, " she said. 

"Forgive you?" said Lady Newhaven, in a hoarse voice. "It is no useasking me for forgiveness. "

"You are right, " said Rachel, recovering herself, and meeting LadyNewhaven's eyes fully. "But what is the use of coming here to abuse me?You might have spared yourself and me this at least. It will onlyexhaust you and--wound me. "

"You must give him up, " said Lady Newhaven, her hands fumbling under hercrape cloak. "I've come to tell you that you must let him go. "

The fact that Hugh had drawn the short lighter, and had not taken theconsequences, did not affect Lady Newhaven's feelings towards him in theleast, but she was vaguely aware that somehow it would affect Rachel's, and now it would be Rachel's turn to suffer. 

Rachel paused a moment, and then said, slowly:

"He does not wish to be let go. "

"He is mine. "

"He was yours once, " said Rachel, her face turning from white to gray. That wound was long in healing. "But he is mine now. "

"Rachel, you cannot be bad all through. " Lady Newhaven was putting theconstraint upon herself which that tightly clutched paper, that poisonedweapon in reserve, enabled her to assume. For Hugh's sake she would onlyuse it if other means failed. "You must know that you ought to look uponhim as a married man. Don't you see"--wildly--"that we _must_ marry, toput right what was wrong? He owes it to me. People always do. "

"Yes, they generally do, " said Rachel; "but I don't see how it makes thewrong right. "

"I look upon Hugh as my husband, " said Lady Newhaven. 

"So do I. "

"Rachel, he loves me. He is only marrying you for your money. "

"I will risk that. "

"I implore you on my knees to give him back to me. "

And Lady Newhaven knelt down with bare, white outstretched hands. (Tableau number one. New Series. )

Rachel shrank back involuntarily. 

"Listen, Violet, " she said, "and get up. I will not speak until you getup. " Lady Newhaven obeyed. "If I gave back Hugh to you a hundred timesit would not make him love you any more, or make him marry you. I am notkeeping him from you. This marriage is his own doing. Oh! Violet, I'mnot young and pretty. I've no illusions about myself; but I believe hereally does love me, in spite of that, and I know I love him. "

"I don't believe it, " said Lady Newhaven. "I mean about him. Not aboutyou, of course. "

"Here he is. Let him decide, " said Rachel. 

Hugh came in unannounced. Upon his grave face there was thatconcentrated look of happiness which has settled in the very deep of theheart and gleams up into the eyes. 

His face changed painfully. He glanced from one woman to the other. Rachel was sorry for him. She would fain have spared him, but she couldnot. 

"Hugh, " she said, gently, her steadfast eyes resting on him, "LadyNewhaven and I were talking of you. I think it would be best if sheheard from your own lips what she, naturally, will not believe frommine. "

"I will never believe, " said Lady Newhaven, "that you will desert menow, that all the past is nothing to you, and that you will cast measide for another woman. "

Hugh looked at her steadily. Then he went up to Rachel, and taking herhand, raised it to his lips. There was in his manner a boundlessreverent adoration that was to Lady Newhaven's jealousy as a match togunpowder. 

Rachel kept his hand. 

"Are you sure you want him, Rachel?" gasped Lady Newhaven, holdingconvulsively to a chair for support. "He has cast me aside. He will castyou aside next, for he is a coward and a traitor. Are you sure you wantto marry him? His hands are red with blood. He murdered my husband. "

Rachel's hand tightened on Hugh's. 

"It was an even chance, " she said. "Those who draw lots must abide bythe drawing. "

"It was an even chance, " shrieked Lady Newhaven. "But who drew the shortlighter, tell me that? Who refused to fulfil his part when the time wasup? Tell me that. "

"You are mad, " said Rachel. 

"I can prove it, " said Lady Newhaven, holding out the letter in hershaking hands. "You may read it, Rachel. I can trust you. Not him, hewould burn it. It is from Edward; look, you know his writing, written totell me that he, " pointing at Hugh, "had drawn the short lighter, butthat, as he had not killed himself when the time came, he, Edward, didso instead. That was why he was late. We always wondered, Rachel, why hewas two days late. Read it! Read it!"

"I will not read it, " said Rachel, pushing away the paper. "I do notbelieve a word of it. "

"You shall believe it. Ask him to deny it, if he can. "

"You need not trouble to deny it, " said Rachel, looking full at Hugh. 

The world held only her and him. And as Hugh looked into her eyes hissoul rose up and scaled the heights above it till it stood beside hers. 

There is a sacred place where, if we follow close in Love's footsteps, we see him lay aside his earthly quiver and his bitter arrows, and turnto us as he is, with the light of God upon him, one with us as one withGod. In that pure light lies cease to be. We know them no more, neitherremember them, for love and truth are one. 

Hugh strode across to Lady Newhaven, took the letter from her, and threwit into the heart of the fire. Then he turned to Rachel. 

"I drew the short lighter, " he said. "I meant to take the consequencesat first, but when the time came--I did not. Partly I was afraid, andpartly I could not leave you. "

If Lady Newhaven yearned for revenge she had it then. They had bothforgotten her. But she saw Rachel's eyes change as the eyes of a man atthe stake might change when the fire reached him. She shrank back fromthe agony in them. Hugh's face became pinched and thin as a dead man's. A moment ago he saw no consequences. He saw only that he could not lieto her. His mind fell headlong from its momentary foothold. What madimpulse had betrayed him to his ruin?

"You drew the short lighter, and you let me think all the time he had, "said Rachel, her voice almost inaudible in its fierce passion. "You drewit, and you let him die instead of you, as any one who knew him wouldknow he would. And when he was dead you came to me, and kept me inignorance even--that time--when I said I trusted you. "

The remembrance of that meeting was too much. 

Rachel turned her eyes on Lady Newhaven, who was watching herterror-stricken. 

"I said I would not give him up, but I will, " she said, violently. "Youcan take him if you want him. What was it you said to me, Hugh? That ifyou had drawn the short lighter you would have had to abide by it. Yes, that was it. Your whole intercourse with me has been one lie from firstto last. You were right, Violet, when you said he ought to marry you. Itwill be another lie on the top of all the others. "

"It was what Edward wished, " faltered his widow. "He says so in theletter that has just been burned. "

"Lord Newhaven wished it, " said Rachel, looking at the miserable manbetween them. "Poor Lord Newhaven! First his honor. Then his life. Youhave taken everything he had. But there are still his shoes. "

"Rachel!" said Hugh, suddenly, and he fell on his knees before her, clasping the hem of her gown. 

She pushed him violently from her, tearing her gown in releasing it fromhis frenzied grasp. 

"Leave me, " she whispered. Her voice was almost gone. "Coward and liar, I will have nothing more to do with you. "

He got upon his feet somehow. The two gray desperate faces spent withpassion faced each other. They were past speech. 

He read his death-warrant in her merciless eyes. She looked at thedespair in his without flinching. 

He stood a moment, and then feeling his way, like one half blind, leftthe room, unconsciously pushing aside Lady Newhaven, whom both hadforgotten. 

She gave one terrified glance at Rachel, and slipped out after him. 

CHAPTER LI

 I thought, "Now, if I had been a woman, such As God made women, to save men by love-- By just my love I might have saved this man. " --ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 

"Has Lady Newhaven been here?" said the Bishop, coming into the study, his hands full of papers. "I thought I saw her carriage driving away asI came up. "

"She has been here. "

The Bishop looked up suddenly, his attention arrested by Rachel's voice. There is a white heat of anger that mimics the pallor of a fainting fit. The Bishop thought she was about to swoon, until he saw her eyes. Thosegentle faithful eyes were burning. He shrank as one who sees the glareof fire raging inside familiar windows. 

"My poor child, " he said, and he sat down heavily in his leatherarm-chair. 

Rachel still stood. She looked at him, and her lips moved, but no soundcame forth. 

The Bishop looked intently at her. 

"Where is Scarlett?" he said. 

"Hugh is gone, " she said, stammering. "I have broken off my engagementwith him. He will never come back. "

And she fell suddenly on her knees, and hid her convulsed face againstthe arm of a chair. 

The Bishop did not move. He waited for this paroxysm of anger tosubside. He had never seen Rachel angry before in all the years he hadknown her, but he watched her without surprise. Only stupid people thinkthat coal cannot burn as fiercely as tow. 

She remained a long time on her knees, her face hidden. The Bishop didnot hurry her. At last she began to sob silently, shuddering from headto foot. 

Then he came and sat down near her, and took the cold clinched hands inhis. 

"Rachel, tell me, " he said, gently. 

She tried to pull her hands away, but he held them firmly. He obligedher to look up at him. She raised her fierce, disfigured face for amoment, and then let it fall on his hands and hers. 

"I am a wicked woman, " she said. "Don't trouble about me. I'm not worthit. I thought I would have kept all suffering from him, but now--if Icould make him suffer--I would. "

"I have no doubt he is suffering. "

"Not enough. Not like me. And I loved him and trusted him. And he isfalse, too, like that other man I loved; like you, only I have not foundyou out yet; like Hester; like all the rest. I will never trust any oneagain. I will never be deceived again. This is--the--second time. "

And Rachel broke into a passion of tears. 

The Bishop released her hands and felt for his own handkerchief. 

Then he waited, praying silently. The clock had made a long circuitbefore she raised herself. 

"I am very selfish, " she said, looking with compunction at the kind, tired face. "I ought to have gone to my room instead of breaking downhere. Dear Bishop, forgive me. It is past now. I shall not give wayagain. "

"Will you make me some tea?" he said. 

She made the tea with shaking hands and awkward, half-blind movements. It was close on dinner-time, but she did not notice it. He obliged herto drink some, and then he settled himself in his leather arm-chair. Hewent over his engagements for the evening. In half an hour he ought tobe dining with Canon Glynn to meet an old college friend. At eleven hehad arranged to see a young clergyman whose conscience was harryinghim. He wrote a note on his knee without moving, saying he could notcome, and touched the bell at his elbow. When the servant had taken thenote he relapsed into the depths of his arm-chair and sipped his tea. 

"I think, Rachel, " he said at last, "that I ought to tell you that Ipartly guess at your reason for breaking off your engagement. I haveknown for some time that there was trouble between the Newhavens. Fromwhat Lady Newhaven said to me to-day, and from the fact that she hasbeen here, and that immediately after seeing her you broke yourengagement with Scarlett, I must come to the conclusion that Scarletthad been the cause of this trouble. "

Rachel had regained her composure. Her face was white and hard. 

"You are right, " she said. "He was at one time--her lover. "

"And you consider, in consequence, that he is unfit to become yourhusband?"

"No. He told me about it before he asked me to marry him. I acceptedhim, knowing it. "

"Then he was trying to retrieve himself. He acted towards you, at anyrate, like an honorable man. "

Rachel laughed. "So I thought at the time. "

"If you accepted him, knowing about his past, I don't see why you shouldhave thrown him over. One dishonorable action sincerely repented doesnot make a dishonorable man. "

"I did not know all, " said Rachel. "I do now. "

The Bishop looked into the fire. 

Her next words surprised him. 

"You really cared for Lord Newhaven, did you not?"

"I did. "

"Then as you know the one thing he risked his life to conceal for thesake of his children--namely, his wife's misconduct--I think I hadbetter tell you the rest. "

So Rachel told him in harsh, bald language the story of the drawing oflots, and how she and Lady Newhaven had remained ignorant as to whichhad drawn the short lighter. How Hugh had drawn it; how when the timecame he had failed to fulfil the agreement; how two days later LordNewhaven had killed himself; and how she and Lady Newhaven had both, ofcourse, concluded that Lord Newhaven must have drawn the short lighter. 

Rachel went on, her hard voice shaking a little. 

"Hugh had told me that he had had an entanglement with a married woman. I knew it long before he spoke of it, but just because he risked losingme by owning it I loved and trusted him all the more. I thought he was, at any rate, an upright man. After Lord Newhaven's death he asked me tomarry him, and I accepted him. And when we were talking quietly oneday"--Rachel's face became, if possible, whiter than before--"I told himthat I knew of the drawing of lots. (He thought no one knew of it exceptthe dead man and himself. ) And I told him that he must not blame himselffor Lord Newhaven's death. He had brought it on himself. I said tohim"--Rachel's voice trembled more and more-"'It was an even chance. Youmight have drawn the short lighter yourself. ' And--he--said that if hehad, he should have had to abide by it. "

The Bishop shaded his eyes with his hand. It seemed cruel to look atRachel, as it is cruel to watch a man drown. 

"And how do you know he did draw it?" he said. 

"It seems Lord Newhaven left his wife a letter, which she has only justreceived, telling her so. She brought it here to-day to show me. "

"Ah! A letter! And you read it?"

"No, " said Rachel, scornfully, "I did not read it. I did not believe aword she said about it. Hugh was there, and I told him I trusted him;and he took the letter from her, and put it in the fire. "

"And did he not contradict it?"

"No. He said it was true. He has lied to me over and over again; but Isaw he was speaking the truth for once. "

There was a long silence. 

"I don't know how other people regard those things, " said Rachel atlast, less harshly--she was gradually recovering herself--"but I know tome it was much worse that he could deceive me than that he should havebeen Lady Newhaven's lover. I did feel that dreadfully. I had to chokedown my jealousy when he kissed me. He had kissed her first. He had madethat side of his love common and profane; but the other side remained. Iclung to that. I believed he really loved me, and that supported me andenabled me to forgive him, though men don't know what that forgivenesscosts us. Only the walls of our rooms know that. But it seems to me muchworse to have failed me on that other side as well--to have deceivedme--to have told me a lie--just when--just when we were talkingintimately. "

"It was infinitely worse, " said the Bishop. 

"And it was the action of a coward to draw lots in the first instance ifhe did not mean to abide by the drawing, and the action of a traitor, once they were drawn, not to abide by them. But yet, if he had toldme--if he had only told me the whole truth--I loved him so entirely thatI would have forgiven--_even that_. But whenever I alluded to it, helied. "

"He was afraid of losing you. "

"He has lost me by his deceit. He would not have lost me if he had toldme the truth. I think--I know--that I could have got over anything, forgiven anything, even his cowardice, if he had only admitted it andbeen straightforward with me. A little plain dealing was all I asked, but--I did not get it. "

The Bishop looked sadly at her. Straightforwardness is so seldom thefirst requirement a woman makes of the man she loves. Women, as a rule, regard men and their conduct only from the point of view of theirrelation to women--as sons, as husbands, as fathers. Yet Rachel, itseemed, could forgive Hugh's sin against her as a woman, but not hisfurther sin against her as a friend. 

"Yet it seems he did speak the truth at last, " he said. 

"Yes. "

"And after he had destroyed the letter, which was the only proof againsthim. "

"Yes. "

Another silence. 

"I am glad you have thrown him over, " said the Bishop, slowly, "for younever loved him. "

"I deceived myself in that case, " said Rachel, bitterly. "My only fearwas that I loved him too much. "

The Bishop's face had become fixed and stern. 

"Listen to me, Rachel, " he said. "You fell desperately in love with aninferior man. He is charming, refined, well-bred, and with a picturesquemind, but that is all. He is inferior. He is by nature shallow and hard(the two generally go together), without moral backbone, the kind of manwho never faces a difficulty, who always flinches when it comes to thepoint, the stuff out of which liars and cowards are made. His oneredeeming quality is his love for you. I have seen men in love before. Ihave never seen a man care more for a woman than he cares for you. Hislove for you has taken entire possession of him, and by it he will sinkor swim. "

The Bishop paused. Rachel's face worked. 

"He deceived you, " said the Bishop, "not because he wished to deceiveyou, but because he was in a horrible position, and because his firstimpulse of love was to keep you at any price. But his love for you wasraising him even while he deceived you. Did he spend sleepless nightsbecause for months he vilely deceived Lord Newhaven? No. Rectitude wasnot in him. His conscience was not awake. But I tell you, Rachel, he hassuffered like a man on the rack from deceiving you. I knew by his faceas soon as I saw him that he was undergoing some great mental strain. Idid not understand it, but I do now. "

Rachel's mind, always slow, moved, stumbled to its bleeding feet. 

"It was remorse, " she said, turning her face away. 

"It was not remorse. It was repentance. Remorse is bitter. Repentance ishumble. His love for you has led him to it. Not your love for him, Rachel, which breaks down at the critical moment; his love for you whichhas brought him for the first time to the perception of the higher life, to the need of God's forgiveness, which I know from things he has said, has made him long to lead a better life, one worthier of you. "

"Don't, " said Rachel. "I can't bear it. "

The Bishop rose, and stood facing her. 

"And at last, " he went on--"at last, in a moment, when you showed yourfull trust and confidence in him, he shook off for an instant the clogsof the nature which he brought into the world, and rose to what he hadnever been before--your equal. And his love transcended the lies thatlove itself on its lower plane had prompted. He reached the place wherehe could no longer lie to you. And then, though his whole futurehappiness depended on one more lie, he spoke the truth. "

Rachel put out her hand as if to ward off what was coming. 

"And how did you meet him the first time he spoke the truth to you?"continued the Bishop, inexorably. "You say you loved him, and yet--youspurned him from you, you thrust him down into hell. You stooped to himin the beginning. He was nothing until your fancied love fell upon him. And then you break him. It is women like you who do more harm in theworld than the bad ones. The harm that poor fool Lady Newhaven did himis as nothing compared to the harm you have done him. You were his god, and you have deserted him. And you say you loved him. May God preservemen from the love of women if that is all that a good woman's love iscapable of. "

"I can do nothing, " said Rachel, hoarsely. 

"Do nothing!" said the Bishop, fiercely. "You can do nothing when youare responsible for a man's soul God will require his soul at yourhands. Scarlett gave it into your keeping, and you took it. You had nobusiness to take it if you meant to throw it away. And now you say youcan do nothing!"

"What can I do?" said Rachel, faintly. 

"Forgive him. "

"Forgiveness won't help him. The only forgiveness he would care for isto marry me. "

"Of course. It is the only way you can forgive him. "

Rachel turned away. Her stubborn, quivering face showed a frightfulconflict. 

The Bishop watched her. 

"My child, " he said, gently, "we all say we follow Christ, but most ofus only follow him and his cross--part of the way. When we are told thatour Lord bore our sins, and was wounded for our transgressions, Isuppose that meant that He felt as if they were His own in His greatlove for us. But when you shrink from bearing your fellow-creature'stransgressions, it shows that your love is small. "

Rachel was silent. 

"If you really love him you will forgive him. "

Rachel clinched and unclinched her hands. 

"You are appealing to a nobility and goodness which are not in me, " shesaid, stubbornly. 

"I appeal to nothing but your love. If you really love him you willforgive him. "

"He has broken my heart. "

"I thought that was it. It is yourself you are thinking of. But what ishe suffering at this moment? You do not know or care. Where is he now, that poor man who loves you? Rachel, if you had ever known despair, youwould not thrust a fellow creature down into it. "

"I have known it, " said Rachel, hoarsely. 

"Were not you deserted once? You were deserted to very little purpose, if after that you can desert another. Go back in your mind, and--remember. Where you stood once he stands now. You and his sin haveput him there. You and his sin have tied him to his stake. Will yourange yourself for ever on the side of his sin? Will you stand by andsee him perish?"

Silence; like the silence round a death-bed. 

"He is in a great strait. Only love can save him. "

Rachel flung out her arms with an inarticulate cry. 

"I will forgive him, " she said. "I will forgive him. "

CHAPTER LII

 "Les âmes dont j'aurai besoin, Et les étoiles sont trop loin; Je mourral dans un coin. "

How Hugh shook off Lady Newhaven when she followed him out of the Palacehe did not know. There had been some difficulty. She had spoken to him, had urged something upon him. But he had got rid of her somehow, and hadfound himself sitting in his bedroom at the Southminster Hotel. Anythingto be alone! He had felt that was the one thing in life to attain. Butnow that he was alone, solitude suddenly took monstrous and hideousproportions, and became a horror to flee from. He could not bear theface of a fellow-creature. He could not bear this ghoul of solitude. There was no room for him between these great millstones. They pressedupon him till he felt they were crushing him to death between them. Invain he endeavored to compose himself, to recollect himself. Butexhaustion gradually did for him what he could not do for himself. 

Rachel had thrown him over. He had always known she would, and--she had. 

They were to have been married in a few weeks; three weeks and one day. He marked a day off every morning when he waked. He had thought of heras his wife till the thought had become part of himself. Its roots werein his inmost being. He tore it out now, and looked at it apart fromhimself, as a man bleeding and shuddering looks upon a dismembered limb. 

The sweat broke from Hugh's forehead. The waiting and daily parting hadseemed unbearable, that short waiting of a few weeks. Now she wouldnever be his. That long, ever-growing hunger of the heart would never beappeased. She had taken herself away, taking away with her her dearhands and her faithful eyes and the low voice, the very sound of whichbrought comfort and peace. They were his hands and eyes. She had giventhem to him. And now she had wrenched them away again, those faithfuleyes had seared him with their scorn, those white hands, against whichhe had leaned his forehead, had thrust him violently from her. He couldnot live without her. This was death, to be parted from her. 

"I can't, Rachel, I can't, " said Hugh, over and over again. What was anylesser death, compared to this, compared to her contempt?

She would never come back. She despised him. She would never love himany more. He had told her that it must be a dream that she could lovehim, and that he should wake. And she had said it was all quite true. How sweetly she had said it. But it was a dream, after all, and he _had_waked--in torment. Life as long as he lived would be like this moment. 

"I will not bear it, " he said, suddenly, with the frantic instinct ofescape which makes a man climb out of a burning house over awindow-ledge. Far down is the pavement, quiet, impassive, deadly. Butbehind is the blast of the furnace. Panic staggers between the two, and--jumps. 

"I will not bear it, " said Hugh, tears of anguish welling up into hiseyes. 

He had not only lost her, but he had lost himself. That better, humble, earnest self had gone away with Rachel, and he was thrust back on theold false cowardly self whom, since she had loved him, he had abhorred. He had disowned it. He had cast it off. Now it enveloped him again likea shirt of fire, and a voice within him said, "This is the real you. Youdeceived yourself for a moment. But this is the real you--the liar, thecoward, the traitor, who will live with you again forever. "

"I am forsaken, " said Hugh. He repeated the words over and over again. "Forsaken! Forsaken!" And he looked round for a way of escape. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind a picture hung which he had seen onceand never looked at again. He turned and looked at it now, as a manturns and looks at a picture on the wall behind him. 

He saw it again, the still upturned face of the little lake among itsencircling trees, as he had seen it that day when he and Doll camesuddenly upon it in the woods. What had it to do with him? He hadescaped from it once. _He understood now_. 

Who, that has once seen it, has ever forgotten it, the look that deepwater takes when life is unbearable! "Come down to me among my tallwater-plants, " it says. "I am a refuge, a way of escape. This horror andnightmare of life cannot reach you in my bosom. Come down to me. Ipromise nothing but to lay my cool hand upon the fire in your brain, andthat the world shall release its clutch upon you, the world whichpromises, and will not keep its promises. I will keep mine. "

Hugh's mind wavered, as the flame of a candle wavers in a suddendraught. So had it wavered once in the fear of death, and he had yieldedto that fear. So it wavered now in a greater fear, the fear of life, andhe yielded to that fear. 

He caught up his hat and went out. 

It was dark, and he hit against the people in the feebly lighted streetsas he hurried past. How hot it was! How absurd to see those gatheredheaps of snow, and the muffled figures of men and women. 

Presently he had left the town, and was in the open country. Where washe going along this interminable road in this dim snow light?

The night was very still. The spirit of the frost stooped over the whiteface of the earth. The long homely lines of meadow and wold and hedgerowshowed like the austere folds of a shroud. 

Hugh walked swiftly, looking neither to right nor left. The fire in hisbrain mounted, mounted. The moon, entangled in a dim thicket, got upbehind him. 

At last he stopped short. That farm on the right! He had seen it before. Yes. That was Greenfields. Doll had pointed it out to him when they hadwalked on that Sunday afternoon to Beaumere. They had left the roadhere, and had taken to the fields. There was the gate. Hugh opened it. Crack had been lost here and had rejoined them in the wood. The fieldwas empty. A path like a crease ran across it. 

He knew the way. It was the only way of escape from this shadow in frontof him, this other self who had come back to him, and torn Rachel fromhim, and made her hate him. She loved him really. She was faithful. Shewould never have forsaken him. But she had mistaken this evil creepingshadow for him, and he had not been able to explain. But she wouldunderstand presently. He would make it all very clear and plain, and shewould love him again, when he had got rid of this other Hugh. He wouldtake him down and drown him in Beaumere. It was the only way to get ridof him. And he, the real Hugh, would get safely through. He had done itonce, and he knew. He should stifle and struggle for a little while. There was a turn exceeding sharp to be passed, but he should reach thatplace of peace beyond, as he had done before, and find Rachel waitingfor him, her arms round him again. 

"It is the only way, " he said, over and over again, "the only way. "

He reached the wood. The moon was up now, and smote white and sharp downthe long winding aisle of the cathedral, which God builds Him in everyforest glade, where the hoar-frost and the snow held now their solemnservice of praise. 

Hugh saw the little light of the keeper's cottage, and instinctivelyedged his way to the left. He was pressed for time. A wheel was turningin his head, so quickly, so quickly in this great heat that, unless hewere quicker than it, it would out-distance him altogether. 

At last he saw the water, and ran down swiftly towards it. The whitetree-trunks were in league against him, and waylaid him, striking himviolently. But he struck back, and got through them. They fell behind atlast. His shadow was beside him now, short and nimble. He looked roundonce or twice to make sure it was still with him. 

He reached the water's edge and then stopped short, aghast. Where wasthe water gone? It had deceived him and deserted him, like everythingelse. It was all hard as iron, one great white sheet of ice stretchingaway in front of him. He had thought of the little lake as he had lastseen it, cool and deep, and with the shadows of the summer trees in it. It was all changed and gone. There was no help here. The way of escapewas closed. With a hoarse cry he set off, running across the ice in thedirection of the place where he had been nearly drowned before. 

It was here, opposite that clump of silver birch. The ice was adifferent color here. It tilted and creaked suddenly beneath his feet. He flung himself down upon it and struck it wildly with his fist. "Letme through, " he stammered. But the ice resisted him. It made an ominousdry crackling, as if in mockery. It barely resisted him, but it didresist him. And he had no time, no time. He scrambled to his feet again, and it gave way instantly. The other self pounced suddenly upon him andcame through with him, and they struggled furiously together in deepwater. 

"I must, I must, " gasped Hugh, between his clinched teeth. 

"You shall not, " said the other self, mad with terror. "Hold on to theice. "

Hugh saw his bleeding hands holding tightly to the jagged edge. Itbroke. He clutched another piece. It broke again. The current wassucking him slowly under the ice. The broken pieces pushed him. One armwas under already, and he could not get it out. The animal horror of atrap seized him. He had not known it would be like this. He was notprepared for this. 

The other self fought furiously for life, clutching and tearing at thebreaking ice. 

"Call, " it said to him, "while there is still time. "

Hugh set his teeth. 

The ice broke in a great piece and tilted heavily against him. It wasover one shoulder. 

"Call, " said the other self, sharply, again, "or you will be under theice. "

And up to the quiet heaven rose once and again a hoarse, wild cry ofhuman agony and despair. 

CHAPTER LIII

 Ueber allen Gipfeln Ist Ruh; In allen Wipfeln Spürest Du Kaum einen Hauch; Die Vögelein schweigen im Walde. Warte nur, balde Ruhest Du auch. --GOETHE. 

The doctor was very late. Rachel, who was going to the Watch Service, waited for the Bishop in the hall till he came out of his study with thecurate, who had doubts. 

When the young man had left, Rachel said, hesitating:

"I shall not go to the service if Dr. Brown does not arrive before then. Hugh was to have come with us. I don't want him to go all through thenight thinking--perhaps if I am prevented going you will see him, andspeak a word to him. "

"My dear, " said the Bishop, "I went across to his rooms two hours ago, directly you went up to Hester. "

He loved Rachel, but he wondered at her lack of imagination. 

"Two hours ago! And what did you say to him?"

"I did not see him. I was too late. He was gone. "

"Gone!" said Rachel, faintly. "Where?"

"I do not know. I went up to his rooms. All his things were stillthere. "

"Where is he now?"

"I do not know. "

The Bishop looked at her compassionately. She had been a long timeforgiving him. While she hesitated he had said to her, "Where is henow?" and she had not understood. 

Her face became pinched and livid. She understood now, after the event. 

"I am frightened for him, " she said. 

The Bishop had been alarmed while she poured out his tea before theybegan to talk. 

"Perhaps he has gone back to London, " she said, her eyes widening with avague dread. 

The Bishop had gone on to the station, and had ascertained that Hugh hadnot left by the one train which had stopped at Southminster betweenseven and nine. But he did not add to her anxiety by saying so. 

The doctor's brougham, coming at full speed, drew up suddenly at thedoor. 

"There he is at last, " said the Bishop, and before the bell could berung he opened the door. 

A figure was already on the threshold, but it was not Dr. Brown. It wasDick. 

"Where is Dr. Brown?" said Rachel and the Bishop simultaneously, lookingat the doctor's well-known brougham and smoking horses. 

"He asked me to come, " said Dick, measuring Rachel with his eye. Then hedid as he would be done by, and added, slowly: "He was kept. He was onhis way here from Wilderleigh, where one of the servants is ill, and asI was dining there he offered me a lift back. And when we were passingthat farm near the wood a man stopped us. He said there had been anaccident--some one nearly drowned. I went, too. It turned out to beScarlett. Dr. Brown remained with him, and sent me to take you to him. "

"Is he dead?" asked Rachel, her eyes never leaving Dick's face. 

"No, but he is very ill. "

"I will come now. "

The chaplain came slowly across the hall, laden with books and papers. 

"Let Canon Sebright know at once that I cannot take part in theservice, " said the Bishop, sharply; and he hurried down the steps afterRachel, and got into the carriage with her. Dick turned up the collar ofhis fur coat, and climbed up beside the coachman. 

The carriage turned warily, and then set off at a great pace. 

The cathedral loomed up suddenly, all aglow with light within. Out intothe night came the dirge of the organ for the dying year. 

The Bishop kept his eyes fixed on the pane. The houses were left behind. They were in the country. 

"Who is that?" said Rachel, suddenly, as a long shadow ran beside themalong the white hedgerow. 

"It is only Dick. There is a rise in the ground here, and he is runningto ease the horses. "

There was a long silence. 

"I believe he did it on purpose, " said Rachel, at last. "I forsook himin his great need, and now he has forsaken me. "

"He would never forsake you, Rachel. "

"Not knowingly, " she said. "I did it knowing. That is the differencebetween him and me. "

She did not speak again. 

For a lifetime, as it seemed to the Bishop, the carriage swayed fromside to side of the white road. At last, when he had given up all hope, it turned into a field and jolted heavily over the frozen ruts. Then itcame to a stand-still. 

Rachel was out of the carriage before Dick could get off the box. 

She looked at him without speaking, and he led the way swiftly throughthe silent wood under the moon. The Bishop followed. 

The keeper's cottage had a dim yellow glimmer in it. Man's little lightlooked like a kind of darkness in the great white, all-pervadingsplendor of the night. The cottage door was open. Dr. Brown was lookingout. 

Rachel went up to him. 

"Where is he?" she said. 

He tried to speak; he tried to hold her gently back while he explainedsomething. But he saw she was past explanation, blind and deaf exceptfor one voice, one face. 

"Where is he?" she repeated, shaking her head impatiently. 

"Here, " said the doctor, and he led her through the kitchen. A man andwoman rose up from the fireside as she came in. He opened the door intothe little parlor. 

On the floor on a mattress lay a tall figure. The head, supported on apillow, was turned towards the door, the wide eyes were fixed on thecandle on the table. The lips moved continually. The hands were pickingat the blankets. 

For the first moment Rachel did not know him. How could this be Hugh?How could these blank, unrecognizing eyes be Hugh's eyes, which hadnever until now met hers without love?

But it was he. Yes, it was he. She traced the likeness as we do in aman's son to the man himself. 

She fell on her knees beside him and took the wandering hands and kissedthem. 

He looked at her, through her, with those bright, unseeing eyes, and theburning hands escaped from hers back to their weary work. 

Dick, whose eyes had followed Rachel, turned away biting his lip, andsat down in a corner of the kitchen. The keeper and his wife had slippedaway into the little scullery. 

The Bishop went up to Dick and put his arm round his shoulders. Twotears of pain were standing in Dick's hawk-eyes. He had seen Rachel kissHugh's hands. He ground his heel against the brick floor. 

The Bishop understood, and understood, too, the sudden revulsion offeeling. 

"Poor chap!" said Dick, huskily. "It's frightful hard luck on him tohave to go just when she was to have married him. If it had been me Icould not have borne it; but then I would have taken care I was notdrowned. I'd have seen to that. But it's frightful hard luck on him, allthe same. "

"I suppose he was taking a short cut across the ice. "

"Yes, " said Dick, "and he got in where any one who knew the look of icewould have known he would be sure to get in. The keeper watched himcross the ice. It was some time before they could get near him to gethim out, and it seems there is some injury. "

Dr. Brown came slowly out, half closing the parlor door behind him. 

"I can do nothing more, " he said. "If he lived he would have brainfever. But he is dying. "

"Does he know her?"

"No. He may know her at the last, but it is doubtful. I can do nothing, and I am wanted elsewhere. "

"I will stop, " said the Bishop. 

"Shall I take you back?" said Dr. Brown, looking at Dick. But Dick shookhis head. 

"I might be of use to her, " he said, when the doctor had gone. 

So the two men who loved Rachel sat in impotent compassion in the littlekitchen through the interminable hours of the night. At long intervalsthe Bishop went quietly into the parlor, but apparently he was notwanted there. Once he went out and got a fresh candle, and put it intothe tin candlestick, and set it among the china ornaments on wool-workmats. 

Hugh lay quite still now with his eyes half closed. His hands laypassive in Rachel's. The restless fever of movement was passed. Shealmost wished it back, so far, so far was his life ebbing away fromhers. 

"Hughie, " she whispered to him over and over again. "I love you. Do notleave me. "

But he muttered continually to himself and took no heed of her. 

At last she gave up the hopeless task of making him hear, and listenedintently. She could make no sense of what he said. The few words shecould catch were repeated a hundred times amid an unintelligible murmur. The boat, and Loftus, and her own name--and Crack. Who was Crack? Sheremembered the little dog which had been drowned. And the lips whichwere so soon to be silent talked on incoherently while Rachel's heartbroke for a word. 

The night was wearing very thin. The darkness before the dawn, thedeathly chill before the dawn were here. Through the low uncurtainedwindow Rachel could see the first wan light of the new day and the newyear. 

Perhaps he would know her with the daylight. 

The new day came up out of the white east in a great peace, pale asChrist newly risen from the dead, with the splendor of God's love uponHim. 

A great peace and light stole together into the little room. 

Hugh stirred, and Rachel saw a change pass over his pinched, sunkenface. 

"It was the only way to reach her, " he said, slowly and distinctly; "theonly way. I shall get through, and I shall find her upon the other side, as I did before. It is very cold, but I shall get through. I am nearlythrough now. "

He sat up, and looked directly at her. He seemed suddenly freed, released. A boyish look that she had never seen came into his face, alook which remained in Rachel's heart while she lived. 

Would he know her?

The pure light was upon his face, more beautiful than she had ever seenit. He looked at her with tender love and trust shining in his eyes, andlaughed softly. 

"I have found you, " he said, stretching out his arms towards her. "Ilost you, I don't remember how, but I came to you through the water. Iknew I should find you, my Rachel, my sweet wife. "

He was past the place of our poor human forgiveness. He might havecared for it earlier, but he did not want it now. He had forgotten thathe had any need of it, for the former things had passed away. Love onlyremained. 

She took him in her arms. She held him to her heart. 

"I knew you would, " he said, smiling at her. "I knew it. We will neverpart again. "

And with a sigh of perfect happiness he turned wholly to her, his closedeyes against her breast. 

CONCLUSION

It was autumn once more. The brambles were red in the hollow belowWarpington Vicarage. Abel was gathering the apples in the orchard. 

Mr. And Mrs. Gresley were sitting together in the shade of the newporch, contemplating a triumphal arch which they had just erected acrossthe road. "Long life and happiness" was the original motto inscribedthereon. 

Mrs. Gresley, in an alarming new hat, sank back exhausted in hergarden-chair. 

"The Pratts are having six arches, all done with electric-light designsof hearts with their crest on the top, " she said. "They are to be lit upat nine o'clock. Mr. Pratt said he did not mind any expense on such anoccasion. He said it made an epoch in the life of the county. "

"Well, " said Mr. Gresley, "I lead too busy a life to be always poking mynose into other people's affairs, but I certainly never did expect thatLady Newhaven would have married Algy Pratt. "

"Ada and Selina say Algy and she have been attached for years: that iswhy the wedding is so soon--only nine months--and she is to keep hertitle, and they are going to live at Westhope. I told Ada and Selina Ihoped they did not expect too much from the marriage, for sometimespeople who did were disappointed, but they only laughed and said Vi hadpromised Algy to take them out next season. "

"We seem to live in an atmosphere of weddings, " said Mr. Gresley. "First, Dr. Brown and Fräulein, and now Algy Pratt and Lady Newhaven. "

"I was so dreadfully afraid that Fräulein might think our arch was putup for her, and presume upon it, " said Mrs. Gresley, "that I thought itbetter to send her a little note, just to welcome her cordially, andtell her how busy we were about the Pratt festivities, and what a_coincidence_ it was her arriving on the same day. I told her I wouldsend down the children to spend the morning with her to-morrow. I knewthat would please her, and it is Miss Baker's day in Southminster withher aunt, and I shall really be too busy to see after them. In some waysI don't like Miss Baker as much as Fräulein. She is paid just the same, but she does much less, and she is really quite short sometimes if I askher to do any little thing for me, like copying out that church music. "

"Hester used to do it, " said Mr. Gresley. 

"Miss Brown told me she had heard from Hester, and that she and MissWest are still in India. And they mean to go to Australia and NewZealand, and come home next spring. "

"Was Hester well?"

"Quite well. You know, James, I always told you that hers was not agenuine illness. That was why they would not let us see her. It was onlyhysteria, which girls get when they are disappointed at not marrying, and are not so young as they were. Directly poor Mr. Scarlett died, Hester left her room, and devoted herself to Miss West, and Dr. Brownsaid it was the saving of her. But for my part I always thought Hestertook in Dr. Brown and the Bishop about that illness. "

"I should not wonder if Hester married Dick Vernon, " said Mr. Gresley. "It is rather marked, their going to Australia when he went back thereonly a few months ago. If she had consulted me I should have advised hernot to follow him up. "

A burst of cheering, echoed by piercing howls from Boulou locked up inthe empty nursery. 

"I hope Miss Baker has put the children in a good place. She is sure tobe in a good one herself, " said Mrs. Gresley, as she and her husbandtook up their position by the gate. 

More cheering! A sudden flourish of trumpets and a trombone from thevolunteer band at the corner, of which Mr. Pratt was colonel. 

A clatter of four white horses and an open carriage. A fleeting visionof Captain Pratt, white waistcoat, smile, teeth, eye-glass, hat waved inlavender-kid hand! A fleeting vision of a lovely woman in white, with awonderful white-feathered hat, and a large diamond heart, possibly alove token from Captain Pratt, hanging on a long diamond chain, bowingand smiling beside her elaborate bridegroom. 

In a moment they were passed, and a report of cannon and field-artilleryshowed that the east lodge of Warpington Towers had been reached, andthe solemn joy of the Pratts was finding adequate expression. 

"She looked rather frightened, " said Mrs. Gresley. 

"Such a magnificent reception is alarming to a gentle, retiring nature, "said Mr. Gresley. 

More cheering! this time much more enthusiastic than the last--louder, deafening. 

Dr. Brown's dog-cart came slowly in sight, accompanied by a crowd. 

"They have taken out the horse and are dragging them up, " said Mrs. Gresley, in astonishment. "Look at Dr. Brown waving his hat, andFräulein bowing in that silly way. Well, I only hope her head won't beturned by the arches and everything. She will find my note directly shegets in. Really, James! two brides and bridegrooms in one day! It islike the end of a novel. "

POSTSCRIPT

We turn the pages of the Book of Life with impatient hands. And if weshut up the book at a sad page we say, hastily, "Life is sad. " But it isnot so. There are other pages waiting to be turned. I, who have copiedout one little chapter of the lives of Rachel and Hester, cannot seeplainly, but I catch glimpses of those other pages. I seem to see Rachelwith children round her, and Dick not far off, and the old lightrekindled in Hester's eyes. For Hope and Love and Enthusiasm never die. We think in youth that we bury them in the graveyards of our hearts, butthe grass never yet grew over them. How, then, can life be sad, whenthey walk beside us always in the growing light towards the Perfect Day.