THE TRIAL

or

MORE LINKS OF THE DAISY CHAIN

by

CHARLOTTE M. YONGE

CHAPTER I

Quand on veut dessecher un marais, on ne fait pas voter lesgrenouilles. --Mme. EMILE. DE GIRADIN

'Richard? That's right! Here's a tea-cup waiting for you, ' as thealmost thirty-year-old Incumbent of Cocksmoor, still looking like ayoung deacon, entered the room with his quiet step, and silent greetingto its four inmates. 

'Thank you, Ethel. Is papa gone out?'

'I have not seen him since dinner-time. You said he was gone out withDr. Spencer, Aubrey?'

'Yes, I heard Dr. Spencer's voice--"I say, Dick"--like three notes ofconsternation, ' said Aubrey; 'and off they went. I fancy there's someillness about in the Lower Pond Buildings, that Dr. Spencer has beenraging so long to get drained. '

'The knell has been ringing for a little child there, ' added Mary;'scarlatina, I believe--'

'But, Richard, ' burst forth the merry voice of the youngest, 'you mustsee our letters from Edinburgh. '

'You have heard, then? It was the very thing I came to ask. '

'Oh yes! there were five notes in one cover, ' said Gertrude. 'Papasays they are to be laid up in the family archives, and labelled "TheInfants' Honeymoon. "'

'Papa is very happy with his own share, ' said Ethel. 'It was signed, "Still his own White Flower, " and it had two Calton Hill real daisiesin it. I don't know when I have seen him more pleased. '

'And Hector's letter--I can say that by heart, ' continued Gertrude. '"My dear Father, This is only to say that she is the darlint, and forthe pleasure of subscribing myself--Your loving SON, "--the son as bigas all the rest put together. '

'I tell Blanche that he only took her for the pleasure of being myfather's son, ' said Aubrey, in his low lazy voice. 

'Well, ' said Mary, 'even to the last, I do believe he had as soon drivepapa out as walk with Blanche. Flora was quite scandalized at it. '

'I should not imagine that George had often driven my father out, ' saidAubrey, again looking lazily up from balancing his spoon. 

Ethel laughed; and even Richard smiled; then recovering herself, shesaid, 'Poor Hector, he never could call himself son to any one before. '

'He has not been much otherwise here, ' said Richard. 

'No, ' said Ethel; 'it is the peculiar hardship of our weddings to breakus up by pairs, and carry off two instead of one. Did you ever see mewith so shabby a row of tea-cups? When shall I have them come inriding double again?'

The recent wedding was the third in the family; the first after a fiveyears' respite. It ensued upon an attachment that had grown up withthe young people, so that they had been entirely one with each other;and there had been little of formal demand either of the maiden'saffection or her father's consent; but both had been implied from thefirst. The bridegroom was barely of age, the bride not seventeen, andDr. May had owned it was very shocking, and told Richard to say nothingabout it! Hector had coaxed and pleaded, pathetically talked of hisgreat empty house at Maplewood, and declared that till he might takeBlanche away, he would not leave Stoneborough; he would bring down allsorts of gossip on his courtship, he would worry Ethel, and take careshe finished nobody's education. What did Blanche want with moreeducation? She knew enough for him. Couldn't Ethel be satisfied withAubrey and Gertrude? or he dared say she might have Mary too, if shewas insatiable. If Dr. May was so unnatural as to forbid him to hangabout the house, why, he would take rooms at the Swan. In fact, as Dr. May observed, he treated him to a modern red-haired Scotch version of'Make me a willow cabin at your gate;' and as he heartily loved Hectorand entirely trusted him, and Blanche's pretty head was a wise andprudent one, what was the use of keeping the poor lad unsettled?

So Mrs. Rivers, the eldest sister and the member's wife, had come toarrange matters and help Ethel, and a very brilliant wedding it hadbeen. Blanche was too entirely at home with Hector for flutterings oragitations, and was too peacefully happy for grief at the separation, which completed the destiny that she had always seen before her. Shewas a picture of a bride; and when she and Hector hung round theDoctor, insisting that Edinburgh should be the first place they shouldvisit, and calling forth minute directions for their pilgrimage to thescenes of his youth, promising to come home and tell him all, no wonderhe felt himself rather gaining a child than losing one. He was verybright and happy; and no one but Ethel understood how all the timethere was a sensation that the present was but a strange dreamy parodyof that marriage which had been the theme of earlier hopes. 

The wedding had taken place shortly after Easter; and immediatelyafter, the Rivers family had departed for London, and Tom May hadreturned to Cambridge, leaving the home party at the minimum of four, since, Cocksmoor Parsonage being complete, Richard had become only adaily visitor instead of a constant inhabitant. 

There he sat, occupying his never idle hands with a net that he keptfor such moments, whilst Ethel sat behind her urn, now giving out itslast sighs, profiting by the leisure to read the county newspaper, while she continually filled up her cup with tea or milk as occasionserved, indifferent to the increasing pallor of the liquid. 

Mary, a 'fine young woman, ' as George Rivers called her, of bloomingface and sweet open expression, had begun, at Gertrude's entreaty, agame of French billiards. Gertrude had still her childish sunny faceand bright hair, and even at the trying age of twelve was pleasing, chiefly owing to the caressing freedom of manner belonging to anunspoilable pet. Her request to Aubrey to join the sport had beenanswered with a half petulant shake of the head, and he flung himselfinto his father's chair, his long legs hanging over one arm--anattitude that those who had ever been under Mrs. May's disciplinethought impossible in the drawing-room; but Aubrey was a rival pet, andwith the family characteristics of aquiline features, dark gray eyes, and beautiful teeth, had an air of fragility and easy languor thatshowed his exercise of the immunities of ill-health. He had beenEthel's pupil till Tom's last year at Eton, when he was sent thither, and had taken a good place; but his brother's vigilant and tender carecould not save him from an attack on the chest, that settled hispublic-school education for ever, to his severe mortification, justwhen Tom's shower of honours was displaying to him the sweets ofemulation and success. Ethel regained her pupil, and put forth herutmost powers for his benefit, causing Tom to examine him at eachvacation, with adjurations to let her know the instant he discoveredthat her task of tuition was getting beyond her. In truth, Tomfraternally held her cheap, and would have enjoyed a triumph over herscholarship; but to this he had not attained, and in spite of hisdesire to keep his brother in a salutary state of humiliation, candourwrung from him the admission that, even in verses, Aubrey did as wellas other fellows of his standing. 

Conceit was not Aubrey's fault. His father was more guarded than inthe case of his elder sons, and the home atmosphere was not such as togive the boy a sense of superiority, especially when diligently keptdown by his brother. Even the half year at Eton had not producedsuperciliousness, though it had given Eton polish to the home-bredmanners; it had made sisters valuable, and awakened a desire formasculine companionship. He did not rebel against his sister's rule;she was nearly a mother to him, and had always been the most activepresident of his studies and pursuits; and he was perfectly obedientand dutiful to her, only asserting his equality, in imitation of Harryand Tom, by a little of the good-humoured raillery and teasing thattreated Ethel as the family butt, while she was really the familyauthority. 

'All gone, Ethel, ' he said, with a lazy smile, as Ethel mechanically, with her eyes on the newspaper, tried all her vessels round, and foundcream-jug, milk-jug, tea-pot, and urn exhausted; 'will you have in theriver next?'

'What a shame!' said Ethel, awakening and laughing. 'Those are thetea-maker's snares. '

'Do send it away then, ' said Aubrey, 'the urn oppresses the atmosphere. '

'Very well, I'll make a fresh brew when papa comes home, and perhapsyou'll have some then. You did not half finish to-night. '

Aubrey yawned; and after some speculation about their father's absence, Gertrude went to bed; and Aubrey, calling himself tired, stood up, stretched every limb portentously, and said he should go off too. Ethel looked at him anxiously, felt his hand, and asked if he were surehe had not a cold coming on. 'You are always thinking of colds, ' wasall the satisfaction she received. 

'What has he been doing?' said Richard. 

'That is what I was thinking. He was about all yesterday afternoonwith Leonard Ward, and perhaps may have done something imprudent in thedamp. I never know what to do. I can't bear him to be a coddle; yethe is always catching cold if I let him alone. The question is, whether it is worse for him to run risks, or to be thinking of himself. '

'He need not be doing that, ' said Richard; 'he may be thinking of yourwishes and papa's. '

'Very pretty of him and you, Ritchie; but he is not three parts of aboy or man who thinks of his womankind's wishes when there is anythingspirited before him. '

'Well, I suppose one may do one's duty without being three parts of aboy, ' said Richard, gravely. 

'I know it is true that some of the most saintly characters have beenthe more spiritual because their animal frame was less vigorous; butstill it does not content me. '

'No, the higher the power, the better, of course, should the servicebe. I was only putting you in mind that there is compensation. But Imust be off. I am sorry I cannot wait for papa. Let me know what isthe matter to-morrow, and how Aubrey is. '

Richard went; and the sisters took up their employments--Ethel writingto the New Zealand sister-in-law her history of the wedding, Marycopying parts of a New Zealand letter for her brother, the lieutenantin command of a gun-boat on the Chinese coast. Those letters, whetherfrom Norman May or his wife, were very delightful, they were so full ofa cheerful tone of trustful exertion and resolution, though there hadbeen perhaps more than the natural amount of disappointments. Norman'spowers were not thought of the description calculated for regularmission work, and some of the chief aspirations of the young couple hadhad to be relinquished at the voice of authority without a trial. Theyhad received the charge of persons as much in need of them asunreclaimed savages, but to whom there was less apparent glory inministering. A widespread district of very colonial colonists, and thecharge of a college for their uncultivated sons, was quite astroublesome as the most ardent self-devotion could desire; and thehardships and disagreeables, though severe, made no figure inhistory--nay, it required ingenuity to gather their existence fromMeta's bright letters, although, from Mrs. Arnott's accounts, it wasclear that the wife took a quadruple share. Mrs. Rivers had been heardto say that Norman need not have gone so far, and sacrificed so much, to obtain an under-bred English congregation; and even the Doctor hadsighed once or twice at having relinquished his favourite son to whatwas dull and distasteful; but Ethel could trust that this unmurmuringacceptance of the less striking career, might be another step in thediscipline of her brother's ardent and ambitious nature. It is a greatthing to sacrifice, but a greater to consent not to sacrifice in one'sown way. 

Ethel sat up for her father, and Mary would not go to bed and leaveher, so the two sisters waited till they heard the latch-key. Ethelran out, but her father was already on the stairs, and waved her back. 

'Here is some tea. Are you not coming, papa?--it is all here. '

'Thank you, I'll just go and take off this coat;' and he passed on tohis room. 

'I don't like that, ' said Ethel, returning to the drawing-room, whereMary was boiling up the kettle, and kneeling down to make some toast. 

'Why, what's the matter?'

'I have never known him go and change his coat but when some infectiousthing has been about. Besides, he did not wait to let me help him offwith it. '

In a few seconds the Doctor came down in his dressing-gown, and lethimself be put into his easy-chair; his two daughters waiting on himwith fond assiduity, their eyes questioning his fagged weary face, butreading there fatigue and concern that made them--ratherawe-struck--bide their time till it should suit him to speak. Mary wasafraid he would wait till she was gone; dear old Mary, who attwenty-two never dreamt of regarding herself as on the same footingwith her three years' senior, and had her toast been browner, wouldhave relieved them of her presence at once. However, her father spokeafter his first long draught of tea. 

'Well! How true it is that judgments are upon us while we are marryingand giving in marriage!'

'What is it, papa? Not the scarlatina?'

'Scarlatina, indeed!' he said contemptuously. 'Scarlet fever in themost aggravated form. Two deaths in one house, and I am much mistakenif there will not be another before morning. '

'Who, papa?' asked Mary. 

'Those wretched Martins, in Lower Pond Buildings, are the worst. Nowonder, living in voluntary filth; but it is all over the street--willbe all over the town unless there's some special mercy on the place. '

'But how has it grown so bad, ' said Ethel, 'without our having evenheard of it!'

'Why--partly I take shame to myself--this business of Hector andBlanche kept Spencer and me away last dispensary day; and partly it wasthat young coxcomb, Henry Ward, thought it not worth while to troubleme about a simple epidemic. Simple epidemic indeed!' repeated Dr. May, changing his tone from ironical mimicry to hot indignation. 'I hope hewill be gratified with its simplicity! I wonder how long he would havegone on if it had not laid hold on him. '

'You don't mean that he has it?'

'I do. It will give him a practical lesson in simple epidemics. '

'And Henry Ward has it!' repeated Mary, looking so much dismayed thather father laughed, saying--

'What, Mary thinks when it comes to fevers being so audacious as to layhold of the doctors, it is time that they should be put a stop to. '

'He seems to have petted it and made much of it, ' said Ethel; 'so nowonder! What could have possessed him?'

'Just this, Ethel; and it is only human nature after all. This younglad comes down, as Master Tom will do some day, full of his lecturesand his hospitals, and is nettled and displeased to find his fathercontent to have Spencer or me called in the instant anything serious isthe matter. '

'But you are a physician, papa, ' said Mary. 

'No matter for that, to Mr. Henry I'm an old fogie, and depend upon it, if it were only the giving a dose of salts, he would like to have thecase to himself. These poor creatures were parish patients, and Idon't mean that his treatment was amiss. Spencer is right, it was anatmosphere where there was no saving anyone, but if he had not been sodelighted with his own way, and I had known what was going on, I'd havegot the Guardians and the Town Council and routed out the place. Seventeen cases, and most of them the worst form!'

'But what was Mr. Ward about?

 '"Says I to myself, here's a lesson for me; This man's but a picture of what I shall be, "

'when Master Tom gets the upper hand of me, ' returned Dr. May. 'PoorWard, who has run to me in all his difficulties these thirty years, didn't like it at all; but Mr. Henry was so confident with his simpleepidemic, and had got him in such order, that he durst not speak. '

'And what brought it to light at last?'

'Everything at once. First the clerics go to see about the familywhere the infant died, and report to Spencer; he comes after me, and westart to reconnoitre. Then I am called in to see Shearman'sdaughter--a very ugly case that--and coming out I meet poor Wardhimself, wanting me to see Henry, and there's the other boy sickeningtoo. Then I went down and saw all those cases in the Lower Ponds, andhave been running about the town ever since to try what can be done, hunting up nurses, whom I can't get, stirring dishes of skim milk, trying to get the funerals over to-morrow morning by daybreak. Ideclare I have hardly a leg to stand on. '

'Where was Dr. Spencer?'

'I've nearly quarrelled with Spencer. Oh! he is in high feather! hewill have it that the fever rose up bodily, like Kuhleborn, out of thatunhappy drain he is always worrying about, when it is a regular case ofscarlet fever, brought in by a girl at home from service; but he willhave it that his theory is proved. Then I meant him to keep clear ofit. He has always been liable to malaria and all that sort of thing, and has not strength for an illness. I told him to mind the ordinarypractice for me; and what do I find him doing the next thing, butoperating upon one of the worst throats he could find! I told him hewas as bad as young Ward; I hate his irregular practice. I'll tell youwhat, ' he said, vindictively, as if gratified to have what must obeyhim, 'you shall all go off to Cocksmoor to-morrow morning at seveno'clock. '

'You forget that we two have had it, ' said Mary. 

'Which of you?'

'All down to Blanche. '

'Never mind for that. I shall have enough to do without a sick houseat home. You can perform quarantine with Richard, and then go toFlora, if she will have you. Well, what are you dawdling about? Goand pack up. '

'Papa, ' said Ethel, who had been abstracted through all the latter partof the conversation, 'if you please, we had better not settle my goingtill to-morrow morning. '

'Come, Ethel, you have too much sense for panics. Don't take nonsenseinto your head. The children can't have been in the way of it. '

'Stay, papa, ' said Ethel, her serious face arresting the momentaryimpatience of fatigue and anxiety, 'I am afraid Aubrey was a good whilechoosing fishing-tackle at Shearman's yesterday with Leonard Ward; andit may be nothing, but he did seem heavy and out of order to-night; Iwish you would look at him as you go up. '

Dr. May stood still for a few moments, then gave one long gasp, made afew inquiries, and went up to Aubrey's room. The boy was fast asleep;but there was that about him which softened the weary sharpness of hisfather's manner, and caused him to desire Ethel to look from the windowwhence she could see whether the lights were out in Dr. Spencer'shouse. Yes, they were. 

'Never mind. It will make no real odds, and he has had enough on hishands to-day. The boy will sleep quietly enough to-night, so let usall go to bed. '

'I think I can get a mattress into his room without waking him, if youwill help me, Mary, ' said Ethel. 

'Nonsense, ' said her father, decidedly. 'Mary is not to go near himbefore she takes Gertrude to Cocksmoor; and you, go to your own bed andget a night's rest while you can. '

'You won't stay up, papa. '

'I--why, it is all I can do not to fall asleep on my feet. Good night, children. '

'He does not trust himself to think or to fear, ' said Ethel. 'Too muchdepends on him to let himself be unstrung. '

'But, Ethel, you will not leave, dear Aubrey. '

'I shall keep his door open and mine; but papa is right, and it willnot do to waste one's strength. In case I should not see you beforeyou go--'

'Oh, but, Ethel, I shall come back! Don't, pray don't tell me to stayaway. Richard will have to keep away for Daisy's sake, and you can'tdo all alone--nurse Aubrey and attend to papa. Say that I may comeback. '

Well, Mary, I think you might, ' said Ethel, after a moment's thought. 'If it were only Aubrey, I could manage for him; but I am more anxiousabout papa. '

'You don't think he is going to have it?'

'Oh no, no, ' said Ethel, 'he is what he calls himself, a seasonedvessel; but he will be terribly overworked, and unhappy, and he mustnot come home and find no one to talk to or to look cheerful. So, Mary, unless he gives any fresh orders, or Richard thinks it will onlymake things worse, I shall be very glad of you. '

Mary had never clung to her so gratefully, nor felt so much honoured. 'Do you think he will have it badly?' she asked timidly. 

'I don't think at all about it, ' said Ethel, something in her father'smanner. 'If we are to get through all this, Mary, it must not be byriding out on perhapses. Now let us put Daisy's things together, forshe must have as little communication with home as possible. '

Ethel silently and rapidly moved about, dreading to give an intervalfor tremblings of heart. Five years of family prosperity had passed, and there had been that insensible feeling of peace and immunity fromcare which is strange to look back upon when one hour has drifted fromsmooth water to turbid currents. There was a sort of awe in seeing themysterious gates of sorrow again unclosed; yet, darling of her own asAubrey was, Ethel's first thoughts and fears were primarily for herfather. Grief and alarm seemed chiefly to touch her through him, andshe found herself praying above all that he might be shielded fromsuffering, and might be spared a renewal of the pangs that had beforewrung his heart. 

By early morning every one was astir; and Gertrude, bewildered anddistressed, yet rather enjoying the fun of staying with Richard, waswalking off with Mary. 

Soon after, Dr. Spencer was standing by the bedside of his old patient, Aubrey, who had been always left to his management. 

'Ah, I see, ' he said, with a certain tone of satisfaction, 'for oncethere will be a case properly treated. Now, Ethel, you and I will showwhat intelligent nursing can do. '

'I believe you are delighted, ' growled Aubrey. 

'So should you be, at the valuable precedent you will afford. '

'I've no notion of being experimented on to prove your theory, ' saidAubrey, still ready for lazy mischief. 

For be it known that the roving-tempered Dr. Spencer had been on fireto volunteer to the Crimean hospitals, and had unwillingly sacrificedthe project, not to Dr. May's conviction that it would be fatal in hispresent state of health, but to Ethel's private entreaty that he wouldnot add to her father's distress in the freshness of Margaret's death, and the parting with Norman. He had never ceased to mourn over thelost opportunity, and to cast up to his friend the discoveries he mighthave made; while Dr. May declared that if by any strange chance he hadcome back at all, he would have been so rabid on improved nursing andsanatory measures, that there would have been no living with him. 

It must be owned that Dr. May was not very sensible to what his friendcalled Stoneborough stinks. The place was fairly healthy, and his'town councillor's conservatism, ' and hatred of change, as well as theamusement of skirmishing, had always made him the champion of things asthey were; and in the present emergency the battle whether the enemyhad travelled by infection, or was the product of the Pond Buildings'miasma, was the favourite enlivenment of the disagreeing doctors, intheir brief intervals of repose in the stern conflict which they werewaging with the fever--a conflict in which they had soon to strive bythemselves, for the disease not only seized on young Ward, but on hisfather; and till medical assistance was sent from London, they had thewhole town on their hands, and for nearly a week lived without anight's rest. 

The care of the sick was a still greater difficulty. Though Aubrey wasnever in danger, and Dr. Spencer's promise of the effects of'intelligent nursing' was fully realized, Ethel and Mary were sooccupied by him, that it was a fearful thing to guess how it must farewith those households where the greater number were laid low, and inwant of all the comforts that could do little. 

The clergy worked to the utmost; and a letter of Mr. Wilmot's obtainedthe assistance of two ladies from a nursing sisterhood, who not onlyworked incredible wonders with their own hands among the poor, but madeefficient nurses of rough girls and stupid old women. Dr. May, who hadat first, in his distrust of innovation, been averse to theimportation--as likely to have no effect but putting nonsense intogirls' heads, and worrying the sick poor--was so entirely conquered, that he took off his hat to them across the street, importuned them todrink tea with his daughters, and never came home without dilating ontheir merits for the few minutes that intervened between his satisfyinghimself about Aubrey and dropping asleep in his chair. The onlycounter demonstration he reserved to himself was that he always calledthem 'Miss What-d'ye-call-her, ' and 'Those gems of women, ' instead ofSister Katherine and Sister Frances. 

CHAPTER II

Good words are silver, but good deeds are gold. --Cecil and Mary

'It has been a very good day, papa; he has enjoyed all his meals, indeed was quite ravenous. He is asleep now, and looks as comfortableas possible, ' said Ethel, five weeks after Aubrey's illness had begun. 

'Thank God for that, and all His mercy to us, Ethel;' and the longsigh, the kiss, and dewy eyes, would have told her that there had beenmore to exhaust him than his twelve hours' toil, even had she notpartly known what weighed him down. 

'Poor things!' she said. 

'Both gone, Ethel, both! both!' and as he entered the drawing-room, hethrew himself back in his chair, and gasped with the long-restrainedfeeling. 

'Both!' she exclaimed. 'You don't mean that Leonard--'

'No, Ethel, his mother! Poor children, poor children!'

'Mrs. Ward! I thought she had only been taken ill yesterday evening. '

'She only then gave way--but she never had any constitution--she wasdone up with nursing--nothing to fall back on--sudden collapse andprostration--and that poor girl, called every way at once, fancied herasleep, and took no alarm till I came in this morning and found herpulse all but gone. We have been pouring down stimulants all day, butthere was no rousing her, and she was gone the first. '

'And Mr. Ward--did he know it?'

'I thought so from the way he looked at me; but speech had long beenlost, and that throat was dreadful suffering. Well, "In their deaththey were not divided. "'

He shaded his eyes with his hand; and Ethel, leaning against his chair, could not hinder herself from a shudder at the longing those wordsseemed to convey. He felt her movement, and put his arm round her, saying, 'No, Ethel, do not think I envy them. I might have done soonce--I had not then learnt the meaning of the discipline of beingwithout her--no, nor what you could do for me, my child, my children. '

Ethel's thrill of bliss was so intense, that it gave her a sense ofselfishness in indulging personal joy at such a moment; and indeed itwas true that her father had over-lived the first pangs of change andseparation, had formed new and congenial habits, saw the future hopebefore him; and since poor Margaret had been at rest, had been withoutpresent anxiety, or the sight of decay and disappointment. Her onlyanswer was a mute smoothing of his bowed shoulders, as she said, 'If Icould be of any use or comfort to poor Averil Ward, I could goto-night. Mary is enough for Aubrey. '

'Not now, my dear. She can't stir from the boy, they are giving himchampagne every ten minutes; she has the nurse, and Spencer isbackwards and forwards; I think they will pull him through, but it is anear, a very near touch. Good, patient, unselfish boy he is too. '

'He always was a very nice boy, ' said Ethel; 'I do hope he will getwell. It would be a terrible grief to Aubrey. '

'Yes, I got Leonard to open his lips to-day by telling him that Aubreyhad sent him the grapes. I think he will get through. I hope he will. He is a good friend for Aubrey. So touching it was this morning tohear him trying to ask pardon for all his faults, poor fellow--fits oftemper, and the like. '

'That is his fault, I believe, ' said Ethel, 'and I always think it awholesome one, because it is so visible and unjustifiable, that peoplestrive against it. And the rest? Was Henry able to see his father ormother?'

'No, he can scarcely sit up in bed. It was piteous to see him lyingwith his door open, listening. He is full of warm sound feeling, poorfellow. You would like to have heard the fervour with which he beggedme to tell his father to have no fears for the younger ones, for itshould be the most precious task of his life to do a parent's part bythem. '

'Let me see, he is just of Harry's age, ' said Ethel, thoughtfully, asif she had not the strongest faith in Harry's power of supplying aparent's place. 

'Well, ' said her father, 'remember, a medical student is an older manthan a lieutenant in the navy. One sees as much of the interior as theother does of the surface. We must take this young Ward by the hand, and mind he does not lose his father's practice. Burdon, that youngprig that Spencer got down from London, met me at Gavin's, when Ilooked in there on my way home, and came the length of Minster Streetwith me, asking what I thought of an opening for a medicalman--partnership with young Ward, &c. I snubbed him so short, that Ifancy I left him thinking whether his nose was on or off his face. '

'He was rather premature. '

'I've settled him any way. I shall do my best to keep the town clearfor that lad; there's not much more for him, as things are now, and itwill be only looking close after him for a few years, which Spencer andI can very well manage. '

'If he will let you. '

'There! that's the spitefulness of women! Must you be casting up thatlittle natural spirit of independence against him after the lesson hehas had? I tell you, he has been promising me to look on me as afather! Poor old Ward! he was a good friend and fellow-worker. I owea great deal to him. '

Ethel wondered if he forgot how much of the unserviceableness of hismaimed arm had once been attributed to Mr. Ward's dulness, or how manytimes he had come home boiling with annoyance at having been called intoo late to remedy the respectable apothecary's half measures. Shebelieved that the son had been much better educated than the father, and after the fearful lesson he had received, thought he might realizeDr. May's hopes, and appreciate his kindness. They discussed therelations. 

'Ward came as assistant to old Axworthy, and married his daughter; hehad no relations that his son knows of, except the old aunt who leftAveril her £2000. '

'There are some Axworthys still, ' said Ethel, 'but not very creditablepeople. '

'You may say that, ' said Dr. May emphatically. 'There was a scapegracebrother that ran away, and was heard of no more till he turned up, awealthy man, ten or fifteen years ago, and bought what they call theVintry Mill, some way on this side of Whitford. He has a business on alarge scale; but Ward had as little intercourse with him as possible. A terrible old heathen. '

'And the boy that was expelled for bullying Tom is in the business. '

'I hate the thought of that, ' said the Doctor. 'If he had stayed on, who knows but he might have turned out as well as Ned Anderson. '

'Has not he?'

'I'm sure I have no right to say he has not, but he is a flashy slangstyle of youth, and I hope the young Wards will keep out of his way. '

'What will become of them? Is there likely to be any provision forthem?'

'Not much, I should guess. Poor Ward did as we are all tempted to dowhen money goes through our hands, and spent more freely than I wasever allowed to do. Costly house, garden, greenhouses--he'd betterhave stuck to old Axworthy's place in Minster Street--daughter at thatgrand school, where she cost more than the whole half-dozen of you puttogether. '

'She was more worth it, ' said Ethel; 'her music and drawing arefirst-rate. Harry was frantic about her singing last time he was athome--one evening when Mrs. Anderson abused his good-nature and got himto a tea-party--I began to be afraid of the consequences. '

'Pish!' said the Doctor. 

'And really they kept her there to enable her to educate her sisters, 'said Ethel. 'The last time I called on poor Mrs. Ward, she told me allabout it, apologizing in the pretty way mothers do, saying she waslooking forward to Averil's coming home, but that while she profited somuch, they felt it due to her to give her every advantage; and did notI think--with my experience--that it was all so much for the littleones' benefit? I assured her, from my personal experience, thatignorance is a terrible thing in governessing one's sisters. Poorthing! And Averil had only come home this very Easter. '

'And with everything to learn, in such a scene as that! The first day, when only the boys were ill, there sat the girl, dabbling with herwater-colours, and her petticoats reaching half across the room, looking like a milliner's doll, and neither she nor her poor motherdreaming of her doing a useful matter. '

'Who is spiteful now, papa? That's all envy at not having such anaccomplished daughter. When she came out in time of need so grandly, and showed all a woman's instinct--'

'Woman's nonsense! Instinct is for irrational brutes, and the more youcultivate a woman, the less she has of it, unless you work up herpractical common sense too. '

'Some one said she made a wonderful nurse. '

'Wonderful? Perhaps so, considering her opportunities, and she doesbetter with Spencer than with me; I may have called her to orderimpatiently, for she is nervous with me, loses her head, and knockseverything down with her petticoats. Then--not a word to any one, Ethel--but imagine her perfect blindness to her poor mother's state allyesterday, and last night, not even calling Burdon to look at her; why, those ten hours may have made all the difference!'

'Poor thing, how is she getting on now?'

'Concentrated upon Leonard, too much stunned to admit another idea--notears--hardly full comprehension. One can't take her away, and shecan't bear not to do everything, and yet one can't trust her any morethan a child. '

'As she is, ' said Ethel, 'but as she won't be any longer. And the twolittle ones?'

'It breaks one's heart to see them, just able to sit by their nurseryfire, murmuring in that weary, resigned, sick child's voice, 'I wishnurse would come. ' 'I wish sister would come. ' 'I wish mamma wouldcome. ' I went up to them the last thing, and told them how it was, andlet them cry themselves to sleep. That was the worst business of all. Ethel, are they too big for Mary to dress some dolls for them?'

'I will try to find out their tastes the first thing to-morrow, ' saidEthel; 'at any rate we can help them, if not poor Averil. '

Ethel, however, was detained at home to await Dr. Spencer's visit, andMary, whose dreams had all night been haunted by the thought of the twolittle nursery prisoners, entreated to go with her father, and see whatcould be done for them. 

Off they set together, Mary with a basket in her hand, which wasreplenished at the toy-shop in Minster Street with two china-faceddolls, and, a little farther on, parted with a couple of rolls, interspersed with strata of cold beef and butter, to a household ofconvalescents in the stage for kitchen physic. 

Passing the school, still taking its enforced holiday, the father anddaughter traversed the bridge and entered the growing suburb known asBankside, where wretched cottages belonging to needy, graspingproprietors, formed an uncomfortable contrast to the villa residencesinterspersed among them. 

One of these, with a well-kept lawn, daintily adorned with the newestpines and ornamental shrubs, and with sheets of glass glaring in thesun from the gardens at the back, was the house that poor Mr. And Mrs. Ward had bought and beautified; 'because it was so much better for thechildren to be out of the town. ' The tears sprang into Mary's eyes atthe veiled windows, and the unfeeling contrast of the spring glow offlowering thorn, lilac, laburnum, and, above all, the hard, flashingbrightness of the glass; but tears were so unlike Ethel that Maryalways was ashamed of them, and disposed of them quietly. 

They rang, but in vain. Two of the servants were ill, and all inconfusion; and after waiting a few moments among the azaleas in theglass porch, Dr. May admitted himself, and led the way up-stairs withsilent footfalls, Mary following with breath held back. A voice froman open door called, 'Is that Dr. May?' and he paused to look in andsay, 'I'll be with you in one minute, Henry; how is Leonard?'

'No worse, they tell me; I say, Dr. May--'

'One moment;' and turning back to Mary, he pointed along a darkpassage. 'Up there, first door to the right. You can't mistake;' thendisappeared, drawing the door after him. 

Much discomfited, Mary nevertheless plunged bravely on, concluding'there' to be up a narrow, uncarpeted stair, with a nursery wicket atthe top, in undoing which, she was relieved of all doubts and scruplesby a melancholy little duet from within. 'Mary, Mary, we want ourbreakfast! We want to get up! Mary, Mary, do come! please come!'

She was instantly in what might ordinarily have been a light, cheerfulroom, but which was in all the dreariness of gray cinders, exhaustednight-light, curtained windows, and fragments of the last meal. Ineach of two cane cribs was sitting up a forlorn child, with loose locksof dishevelled hair, pale thin cheeks glazed with tears, staring eyes, and mouths rounded with amaze at the apparition. One dropped down andhid under the bed-clothes; the other remained transfixed, as hervisitor advanced, saying, 'Well, my dear, you called Mary, and here Iam. '

'Not our own Mary, ' said the child, distrustfully. 

'See if I can't be your own Mary. '

'You can't. You can't give us our breakfast. '

'Oh, I am so hungry!' from the other crib; and both burst into thefeeble sobs of exhaustion. Recovering from fever, and still fasting athalf-past nine! Mary was aghast, and promised an instant supply. 

'Don't go;' and a bird-like little hand seized her on either side. 'Mary never came to bed, and nobody has been here all the morning, andwe can't bear to be alone. '

'I was only looking for the bell. '

'It is of no use; Minna did jump out and ring, but nobody will come. '

Mary made an ineffectual experiment, and then persuaded the children tolet her go by assurances of a speedy return. She sped down, brimmingover with pity and indignation, to communicate to her father this cruelneglect, and as she passed Henry Ward's door, and heard several voices, she ventured on a timid summons of 'papa, ' but, finding it unheard, sheperceived that she must act for herself. Going down-stairs, she triedthe sitting-room doors, hoping that breakfast might be laid out there, but all were locked; and at last she found her way to the lowerregions, guided by voices in eager tones of subdued gossip. 

There, in the glow of the huge red fire, stood a well-covered table, surrounded by cook, charwoman, and their cavaliers, discussing a pileof hot-buttered toast, to which the little kitchen-maid wascontributing large rounds, toasted at the fire. 

Mary's eyes absolutely flashed, as she said, 'The children have had nobreakfast. '

'I beg your pardon, ma'am, ' and the cook rose, 'but it is thenurse-maid that takes up the young ladies' meals. '

Mary did not listen to the rest; she was desperate, and pouncing on thebread with one hand, and the butter with the other, ran away with themto the nursery, set them down, and rushed off for another raid. Shefound that the commotion she had excited was resulting in thepreparation of a tray. 

'I am sure, ma'am, I am very sorry, ' said the cook, insisting oncarrying the kettle, 'but we are in such confusion; and the nurse-maid, whose place it is, has been up most of the night with Mr. Leonard, andmust have just dropped asleep somewhere, and I was just giving theirbreakfast to the undertaker's young men, but I'll call her directly, ma'am. '

'Oh, no, on no account. I am sure she ought to sleep, ' said Mary. 'Itwas only because I found the little girls quite starving that I camedown. I will take care of them now. Don't wake her, pray. Only Ihope, ' and Mary looked beseechingly, 'that they will have somethinggood for their dinner, poor little things. '

Cook was entirely pacified, and talked about roast chicken, andpresently the little sisters were sitting up in their beds, each in herwrapper, being fed by turns with delicately-buttered slices, Marystanding between like a mother-bird feeding her young, and pleased tofind the eyes grow brighter and less hollow, the cheeks less wan, thevoices less thin and pipy, and a little laugh breaking out when shemistook Minna for Ella. 

While tidying the room, she was assailed with entreaties to call theirMary, and let them get up, they were so tired of bed. She undertook tobe still their Mary, and made them direct her to the house-maid'sstores, went down on her knees at the embers, and so dealt withmatches, chips, and coal, that to her own surprise and pride a fire wasevoked. 

'But, ' said Ella, 'I thought you were a Miss May. '

'So I am, my dear. '

'But ladies don't light fires, ' said Minna, in open-eyed perplexity. 

'Oh, ' exclaimed the younger sister, 'you know Henry said he did notthink any of the Miss Mays were first-rate, and that our Ave beat themall to nothing. '

The elder, Minna, began hushing; and it must be confessed that honestMary was not superior to a certain crimson flush of indignation, as sheheld her head into the grate, and thought of Ethel, Flora, and Blanche, criticized by Mr. Henry Ward. Little ungrateful chit! No, it was nota matter of laughing, but of forgiveness; and the assertion of thedignity of usefulness was speedily forgotten in the toilette of thesmall light skin-and-bone frames, in the course of which she receivedsundry compliments--'her hands were so nice and soft, ' 'she did notpull their hair like their own Mary, ' 'they wished she always dressedthem. '

The trying moment was when they asked if they might kneel at her lapfor their prayers. To Mary, the twelve years seemed as nothing sinceher first prayers after the day of terror and bereavement, and her eyesswam with tears as the younger girl unthinkingly rehearsed her wontedformula, and the elder, clinging to her, whispered gravely, 'Please, what shall I say?'

With full heart, and voice almost unmanageable, Mary prompted the fewsimple words that had come to her in that hour of sorrow. She lookedup, from stooping to the child's ear, to see her father at the door, gazing at them with face greatly moved. The children greeted himfondly, and he sat down with one on each knee, and caressed them as helooked them well over, drawing out their narration of the wonderfulthings 'she' had done, the fingers pointing to designate who she was. His look at her over his spectacles made Mary's heart bound and feelcompensated for whatever Mr. Henry Ward might say of her. When thechildren had finished their story, he beckoned her out of the room, promising them that he would not keep her long. 

'Well done, Molly, ' he said smiling, 'it is well to have daughters goodfor something. You had better stay with them till that poor maid hashad her sleep out, and can come to them. '

'I should like to stay with them all day, only that Ethel must want me. '

'You had better go home by dinner-time, that Ethel may get some air. Perhaps I shall want one of you in the evening to be with them at thetime of the funeral. '

'So soon!'

'Yes, it must be. Better for all, and Henry is glad it should be so. He is out on the sofa to-day, but he is terribly cut up. '

'And Leonard?'

'I see some improvement--Burdon does not--but I think with Heaven'sgood mercy we may drag him through; the pulse is rather better. Now Imust go. You'll not wait dinner for me. '

Mary spent the next hour in amusing the children by the fabrication ofthe dolls' wardrobe, and had made them exceedingly fond of her, so thatthere was a very poor welcome when their own Mary at length appeared, much shocked at the duration of her own slumbers, and greatly obligedto Miss May. The little girls would scarcely let Mary go, though shepacified them by an assurance that she or her sister would come in theevening. 

'Don't let it be your sister. You come, and finish our dolls' frocks!'and they hung about her, kissing her, and trying to extract a promise. 

After sharing the burthen of depression, it was strange to return hometo so different a tone of spirits when she found Aubrey installed inEthel's room as his parlour, very white and weak, but overflowing withlanguid fun. There was grief and sympathy for the poor Wards, andanxious inquiries for Leonard; but it was not sorrow brought visiblybefore him, and after the decorous space of commiseration, the smileswere bright again, and Mary heard how her father had popped in to boastof his daughter being 'as good as a house-maid, or as MissWhat's-her-name;' and her foray in the kitchen was more diverting toAubrey than she was as yet prepared to understand. 'Running away withthe buttered toast from under the nose of a charwoman! let Harry nevertalk of taking a Chinese battery after that!' her incapacity ofperceiving that the deed was either valiant or ludicrous, entertaininghim particularly. 'It had evidently hit the medium between the sublimeand ridiculous. '

When evening came, Mary thought it Ethel's privilege to go, as the mostefficient friend and comforter; but Ethel saw that her sister's soulwas with the Wards, and insisted that she should go on as she had begun. 

'O, Ethel, that was only with the little ones. Now you would be of useto poor Averil. '

'And why should not you? and of more use?'

'You know I am only good for small children; but if you tell me--'

'You provoking girl, ' said Ethel. 'All I tell you is, that you aretwenty-three years old, and I won't tell you anything, nor assist yourunwholesome desire to be second fiddle. '

'I don't know what you mean, Ethel; of course you always tell me whatto do, and how to do it. '

Ethel quite laughed now, but gave up the contest, only saying, as shefondly smoothed back a little refractory lock on Mary's smooth openbrow, 'Very well then, go and do whatever comes to hand at Bankside, my dear. I do really want to stay at home, both on Aubrey's account, and because papa says Dr. Spencer is done up, and that I must catch himand keep him quiet this evening. '

Mary was satisfied in her obedience, and set off with her father. Justas they reached Bankside, a gig drove up containing the fattest old manshe had ever beheld; her father whispered that it was old Mr. Axworthy, and sent her at once to the nursery, where she was welcomed with alittle shriek of delight, each child bounding in her small arm-chair, and pulling her down between them on the floor for convenience ofdouble hugging, after which she was required to go on with thedoll-dressing. 

Mary could not bear to do this while the knell was vibrating on herear, and the two coffins being borne across the threshold; so shegathered the orphans within her embrace as she sat on the floor, andendeavoured to find out how much they understood of what was passing, and whether they had any of the right thoughts. It was ratherdisappointing. The little sisters had evidently been well andreligiously taught, but they were too childish to dwell on thoughts ofawe or grief, and the small minds were chiefly fixed upon the dolls, asthe one bright spot in the dreary day. Mary yielded, and worked andanswered their chatter till twilight came on, and the rival Mary cameup to put them to bed, an operation in which she gave her assistance, almost questioning if she were not forgotten, but she learnt that herfather was still in the house, the nurse believed looking at papers inMr. Henry's room with the other gentlemen. 

'And you will sit by us while we go to sleep. Oh! don't go away!'

The nurse was thankful to her for so doing, and a somewhat graver moodhad come over Minna as she laid her head on her pillow, for she askedthe difficult question, 'Can mamma see us now?' which Mary could onlyanswer with a tender 'Perhaps, ' and an attempt to direct the child tothe thought of the Heavenly Father; and then Minna asked, 'Who willtake care of us now?'

'Oh, will you?' cried Ella, sitting up; and both little maids, holdingout their arms, made a proffer of themselves to be her little children. They would be so good if she would let them be--

Mary could only fondle and smile it off, and put them in mind that theybelonged to their brother and sister; but the answer was, 'Ave is notso nice as you. Oh, do let us--'

'But I can't, my dears. I am Dr. May's child, you know. What could Isay to him?'

'Oh! but Dr. May wouldn't mind! I know he wouldn't mind! Mamma saysthere was never any one so fond of little children, and he is such adear good old gentleman. '

Mary had not recognized him as an old gentleman at fifty-eight, and didnot like it at all. She argued on the impracticability of taking themfrom their natural protectors, and again tried to lead them upwards, finally betaking herself to the repetition of hymns, which put them tosleep. She had spent some time in sitting between them in the summerdarkness, when there was a low tap, and opening the door, she saw herfather. Indicating that they slept, she followed him out, and awhispered conference took place as he stood below her on the stairs, their heads on a level. 

'Tired, Mary? I have only just got rid of old Axworthy. '

'The nurse said you were busy with papers in Henry's room. '

'Ay--the Will. Henry behaves very well; and is full of right feeling, poor fellow!'

'What becomes of those dear little girls? They want to make themselvesa present to me, and say they know you would like it. '

'So I should, the darlings! Well, as things are left, it all goes toHenry, except the £10, 000 Ward had insured his life for, which dividesbetween the five. He undertakes, most properly, to make them ahome--whether in this house or not is another thing; he and Averil willlook after them; and he made a most right answer when Mr. Axworthyoffered to take Leonard into his office, ' proceeded the communicativeDoctor, unable to help pouring himself out, in spite of time and place, as soon as he had a daughter to himself. 'Settle nothingnow--education not finished; but privately he tells me he believes hismother would as soon have sent Leonard to the hulks as to that oldrascal, and the scamp, his grand-nephew. '

Mary's answer to this, as his tones became incautiously emphatic, was aglance round all the attic doors, lest they should have ears. 

'Now then, do you want to get home?' said the Doctor, a little rebuked. 

'Oh no, not if there is anything I can do. '

'I want to get this girl away from Leonard. He is just come to thestate when it all turns on getting him off to sleep quietly, and notdisturbing him, and she is too excited and restless to do anything withher; she has startled him twice already, and then gets upset--tiredout, poor thing! and will end in being hysterical if she does not getfed and rested, and then we shall be done for! Now I want you to takecharge of her. See, here's her room, and I have ordered up some teafor her. You must get her quieted down, make her have a tolerablemeal, and when she has worked off her excitement, put her tobed--undressed, mind--and you might lie down by her. If you can'tmanage her, call me. That's Leonard's door, and I shall be there allnight; but don't if you can help it. Can you do this, or must I getMiss "What-d'ye-call-her" the elder one, if she can leave the Greens inRandall's Alley?

Well was it that Mary's heart was stout as well as tender; and insteadof mentally magnifying the task, and diminishing her own capabilities, she simply felt that she had received a command, and merely asked thatEthel should be informed. 

'I am going to send up to her. '

'And shall I give Averil anything to take?'

'Mutton-chops, if you can. '

'I meant sal-volatile, or anything to put her to sleep. '

'Nonsense! I hate healthy girls drugging themselves. You don't dothat at home, Mary!'

Mary showed her white teeth in a silent laugh at the improbability, there being nothing Ethel more detested than what she rather rudelycalled nervous quackeries. Her father gave her a kiss of gratefulapprobation, and was gone. 

There was a light on the table, and preparations for tea; and Marylooked round the pretty room, where the ornamental paper, the flowerychintz furniture, the shining brass of the bedstead, the frilled muslintoilet, and et ceteras, were more luxurious than what she ever saw, except when visiting with Flora, and so new as to tell a tale of themother's fond preparation for the return of the daughter from school. In a few moments she heard her father saying, in a voice as if speakingto a sick child, 'Yes, I promise you, my dear. Be good, be reasonable, and you shall come back in the morning. No, you can't go there. Henryis going to bed. Here is a friend for you. Now, Mary, don't let mesee her till she has slept. '

Mary took the other hand, and between them they placed her in anarm-chair, whose shining fresh white ground and gay rose-patterncontrasted with her heated, rumpled, over-watched appearance, as shesank her head on her hand, not noticing either Mary's presence or theDoctor's departure. Mary stood doubtful for a few seconds, full ofpity and embarrassment, trying to take in the needs of the case. 

Averil Ward was naturally a plump, well-looking girl of eighteen, withclearly-cut features, healthy highly-coloured complexion, and largebright hazel eyes, much darker than her profuse and glossy hair, whichwas always dressed in the newest and most stylish fashion, which, aswell as the whole air of her dress and person, was, though perfectlylady like, always regarded by the Stoneborough world as something onthe borders of presumption on the part of the entire Ward family. 

To Mary's surprise, the five weeks' terrible visitation, and these lastfearful five days of sleepless exertion and bereavement, had not fadedthe bright red of the cheek, nor were there signs of tears, though theeyes looked bloodshot. Indeed, there was a purple tint about theeyelids and lips, a dried-up appearance, and a heated oppressed air, asif the faculties were deadened and burnt up, though her hand was coldand trembling. Her hair, still in its elaborate arrangement, hungloose, untidy, untouched; her collar and sleeves were soiled andtumbled; her dress, with its inconvenient machinery of inflation, looked wretched from its incongruity, and the stains on the hugehanging sleeves. Not a moment could have been given to the care of herown person, since the sole burthen of nursing had so grievously andsuddenly descended on her. 

Mary's first instinct was to pour out some warm water, and bringing itwith a sponge, to say, 'Would not this refresh you?'

Averil moved petulantly; but the soft warm stream was so grateful toher burning brow, that she could not resist; she put her head back, andsubmitted like a child to have her face bathed, saying, 'Thank you. '

Mary then begged to remove her tight heavy dress, and make hercomfortable in her dressing-gown. 

'Oh, I can't! Then I could not go back. '

'Yes, you could; this is quite a dress; besides, one can move so muchmore quietly without crinoline. '

'I didn't think of that;' and she stood up, and unfastened her hooks. 'Perhaps Dr. May would let me go back now!' as a mountain of mohair andscarlet petticoat remained on the floor, upborne by an over-grown steelmouse-trap. 

'Perhaps he will by and by; but he said you must sleep first. '

'Sleep--I can't sleep. There's no one but me. I couldn't sleep. '

'Then at least let me try to freshen you up. There. You don't knowwhat good it used to do my sister Blanche, for me to brush her hair. Ilike it. '

And Mary obtained a dreamy soothed submission, so that she almostthought she was brushing her victim to sleep in her chair, before themaid came up with the viands that Dr. May had ordered. 

'I can't eat that, ' said Averil, with almost disgust. 'Take it away. '

'Please don't, ' said Mary. 'Is that the way you use me, Miss Ward, when I come to drink tea with you?'

'Oh, I beg your pardon, ' was the mechanical answer. 

Mary having made the long hair glossy once more, into a huge braid, andknotted it up, came forth, and insisted that they were to becomfortable over their grilled chickens' legs. She was obliged to makeher own welcome, and entertain her hostess; and strenuously she worked, letting the dry lips imbibe a cup of tea, before she attempted thesolids; then coaxing and commanding, she gained her point, andsucceeded in causing a fair amount of provisions to be swallowed; afterwhich Averil seemed more inclined to linger in enjoyment of theliquids, as though the feverish restlessness were giving place to asense of fatigue and need of repose. 

'This is all wrong, ' said she, with a faint bewildered smile, as Maryfilled up her cup for her. 'I ought to be treating you as guest, MissMay. '

'Oh, don't call me Miss May! Call me Mary. Think me a sister. Youknow I have known something of like trouble, only I was younger, and Ihad my sisters. '

'I do not seem to have felt anything yet, ' said Averil, passing herhands over her face. 'I seem to be made of stone. '

'You have done: and that is better than feeling. '

'Done! and how miserably! Oh, the difference it might have made, if Ihad been a better nurse!'

'Papa and Dr. Spencer both say you have been a wonderful nurse, considering--' the last word came out before Mary was aware. 

'Oh, Dr. May has been so kind and so patient with me, I shall neverforget it. Even when I scalded his fingers with bringing him thatboiling water--but I always do wrong when he is there--and now he won'tlet me go back to Leonard. '

'But, Averil, the best nurse in the world can't hold out for ever. People must sleep, and make themselves fit to go on. '

'Not when there is only one:' and she gasped. 

'All the more reason, when there is but one. Perhaps it is because youare tired out that you get nervous and agitated. You will be quitedifferent after a rest. '

'Are you sure?' whispered Averil, with her eyes rounded, 'are you surethat is all the reason?'

'What do you mean?' said Mary. 

Averil drew in her breath, and squeezed both hands tight on her chest, as she spoke very low: 'They sent me away from mamma--they told me papawanted me: then they sent me from him; they said I was better withLeonard; and--and I said to myself, nothing should make me leaveLeonard. '

'It was not papa--my father--that sent you without telling you, ' saidMary, confidently. 

'No, ' said Averil. 

'No; I have heard him say that he would take all risks, rather thandeceive anybody, ' said Mary, eagerly. 'I have heard him and Dr. Spencer argue about what they called pious frauds, and he always saidthey were want of faith. You may trust him. He told me Leonard was inthe state when calm sleep was chiefly wanted. I know he would think itcruel not to call you if there were need; and I do not believe therewill be need. '

Something like this was reiterated in different forms; and thoughAveril never regularly yielded, yet as they sat on, there came pausesin the conversation, when Mary saw her nodding, and after one or twovibrations in her chair, she looked up with lustreless glassy eyes. Mary took one of these semi-wakened moments, and in the tone ofcaressing authority that had been already found effectual, said shemust sleep in bed; took no notice of the murmur of refusal, butcompleted the undressing, and fairly deposited her in her bed. 

Mary's scrupulous conscience was distressed at having thus led to theomission of all evening orisons; but if her own simple-hearted lovingsupplications at the orphan's bedside could compensate for theirabsence, she did her utmost. Then, as both the room-door and that ofthe sick-chamber had been left open, she stole into the passage, whereshe could see her father, seated at the table, and telegraphed to him asign of her success. He durst not move, but he smiled and noddedsatisfaction; and Mary, after tidying the room, and considering withherself, took off her more cumbrous garments, wrapped herself in acloak, and lay down beside Averil, not expecting to sleep, but passingto thoughts of Harry, and of that 23rd Psalm, which they had agreed tosay at the same hour every night. By how many hours was Harrybeforehand with her? That was a calculation that to Mary was alwayslike the beads of the chaplain of Norham Castle. Certain it is, thatafter she had seen Harry lighting a fire to broil chickens' legs in aChinese temple, under the willow-pattern cannon-ball tree, and heardHenry Ward saying it was not like a lieutenant in the navy, she foundherself replying, 'Use before gentility;' and in the enunciation ofthis--her first moral sentiment--discovered that it was broad daylight. 

What o'clock it was she could not guess. Averil was sound asleep, breathing deeply and regularly, so that it was; a pleasure to listen toher; and Mary did not fear wakening her by a shoeless voyage ofdiscovery to the place whence Dr. May was visible. 

He turned at once, and with his noiseless tread came to her. 'Asleepstill? So is he. All right. Here, waken me the moment he stirs. '

And rather by sign than word, he took Mary into the sickroom, indicateda chair, and laid himself on a sofa, where he was instantaneously soundasleep, before his startled daughter had quite taken everything in; butshe had only to glance at his haggard wearied face, to be glad to bethere, so as to afford him even a few moments of vigorous slumber withall his might. 

In some awe, she looked round, not venturing to stir hand or foot. Herchair was in the full draught of the dewy morning breeze, so chilly, that she drew her shawl tightly about her; but she knew that this hadbeen an instance of her father's care, and if she wished to make theslightest move, it was only to secure a fuller view of the patient, from whom she was half cut off by a curtain at the foot of the bed. Asort of dread, however, made Mary gaze at everything around her beforeshe brought her eyes upon him--her father's watch on the table, indicating ten minutes to four, the Minster Tower in the risingsunlight--nay, the very furniture of the room, and Dr. May's position, before she durst familiarize herself with Leonard's appearance--he whomshe had last seen as a sturdy, ruddy, healthful boy, looking able tooutweigh two of his friend Aubrey. 

The original disease had long since passed into typhus, and the scarleteruption was gone, so that she only saw a yellow whiteness, that, marked by the blue veins of the bared temples, was to her minddeath-like. Mary had not been sheltered from taking part in scenes ofsuffering; she had seen sickness and death in cottages, as well as inher own home, and she had none of the fanciful alarms, either ofnovelty or imagination, to startle her in the strange watch that had sosuddenly been thrust on her but what did fill her with a certainapprehension, was the new and lofty beauty of expression that sat onthat sleeping countenance. 'A nice boy, ' 'rather a handsome lad, ' 'aboy of ingenuous face, ' they had always called Leonard Ward, whenanimated with health and spirits; and the friendship between him andAubrey had been encouraged, but without thinking of him as more than anordinary lad of good style. Now, however, to Mary's mind, the broadbrow and wasted features in their rest had assumed a calm nobility thatwas like those of Ethel's favourite champions--those who conquered by'suffering and being strong. ' She looked and listened for the lowregular breath, almost doubting at one moment whether it still weredrawn, then only reassured by its freedom and absence from effort, thatit was not soon to pass away. There was something in that look as ifdeath must set his seal on it, rather than as if it could return to theflush of health, and the struggle and strife of school-boy life and ofmanhood. 

More than an hour had passed, and all within the house was as still asever; and through the window there only came such sounds as seem likeaudible silence--the twittering of birds, the humming of bees, thecalls of boys in distant fields, the far-away sound ofwaggon-wheels--when there was a slight move, and Mary, in the tensionof all her faculties, had well-nigh started, but restrained herself;and as she saw the half-closed fingers stretch, and the head turn, sheleant forward, and touched her father's hand. 

Dr. May was on his feet even before those brown eyes of Leonard's hadhad time to unclose; and as Mary was silently moving to the door, hemade a sign to her to wait. 

She stood behind the curtain. 'You are better for your sleep. '

'Yes, thank you--much better. '

The Doctor signed towards a tray, which stood by a spirit-lamp, on atable in the further corner. Mary silently brought it, and as quietlyobeyed the finger that directed her to cordial and spoon--well knowingthe need--since that unserviceable right arm always made theseoperations troublesome to her father. 

'Have you been here all night, Dr. May?'

'Yes; and very glad to see you sleeping so well. '

'Thank you. ' And there was something that made Mary's eyes dazzle withtears in the tone of that 'Thank you. ' The Doctor held out his handfor the spoon she had prepared, and there was another 'Thank you;'then, 'Is Ave there?'

'No, I made her go to bed. She is quite well; but she wanted sleepsorely. '

'Thank you, ' again said the boy; then with a moment's pause, 'Dr. May, tell me now. '

Mary would have fled as breaking treacherously in upon such tidings;but a constraining gesture of her father obliged her to remain, andkeep the cordial ready for immediate administration. 

'My dear, I believe you know, ' said Dr. May, bending over him--and Marywell knew what the face must be saying. 

'Both?' the faint tones asked. 

'Recollect the sorrow that they have been spared, ' said Dr. May in hislowest, tenderest tones, putting his hand out behind him, and signingto Mary for the cordial. 

'She could not have borne it;' and the feebleness of those words madeMary eager to put the spoon once more into her father's hands. 

'That is right, my boy. Think of their being together;' and Mary heardtears in her father's voice. 

'Thank you, ' again showed that the cordial was swallowed; then a pause, and in a quiet, sad, low tone, 'Poor Ave!'

'Your mending is the best thing for her. '

Then came a long sigh; and then, after a pause, the Doctor knelt down, and said the Lord's Prayer--the orphan's prayer, as so many have feltit in the hour of bereavement. 

All was quite still, and both he and Mary knelt on for some shortspace; then he arose in guarded stillness, hastily wiped away the tearsthat were streaming over his face, and holding back the curtain, showedMary the boy, again sunk into that sweet refreshing sleep. 'That iswell over, ' he said, with a deep sigh of relief, when they had moved toa safe distance. 'Poor fellow! he had better become used to the ideawhile he is too weak to think. '

'He is better?' asked Mary, repressing her agitation with difficulty. 

'I believe the danger is over; and you may tell his sister so when shewakes. '

CHAPTER III

 And a heart at leisure from itself To soothe and sympathize. --Miss Waring

Recovery had fairly set in, and 'better' was the universal bulletin, eating and drinking the prevailing remedy. 

Henry Ward had quickly thrown off his illness. The sense that alldepended on him, acted as a stimulus to his energies; he was anxious tobe up and doing, and in a few days was down-stairs, looking over hisfather's papers, and making arrangements. He was eager and confident, declaring that his sisters should never want a home while he lived;and, when he first entered his brother's room, his effusion ofaffection overwhelmed Leonard in his exceeding weakness, and thethought of which during the rest of the day often brought tears to hiseyes. 

Very grateful to Dr. May, Henry declared himself anxious to abide byhis advice; and discussed with him all his plans. There had been nowill, but the house and land of course were Henry's. The otherproperty gave about £2000 to each of the family; and Averil had aboutas much again from the old aunt, from whom she had taken her peculiarname. The home of all should, of course, still be their present one;Averil would teach her sisters, and superintend the house, and Leonardcontinue at the school, where he had a fair chance of obtaining theRandall scholarship in the course of a year or two. 'And if not, ' saidHenry, 'he may still not lose his University education. My father wasproud of Leonard; and if he would have sent him there, why should notI?'

And when Dr. May thought how his own elder sons had insisted on greateradvantages of education for their juniors than they had themselvesenjoyed, he felt especially fatherly towards the young surgeon. Ononly one point was he dissatisfied, and that he could not press. Hethought the establishment at Bankside too expensive, and counselledHenry to remove into the town, and let the house; but this was rejectedon the argument of the uncertainty of finding a tenant, and theinexpediency of appearing less prosperous; and considering that Mr. AndMrs. Ward had themselves made the place, Dr. May thought his proposalhard-hearted. He went about impressing every one with his confidencein Henry Ward, and fought successfully at the Board of Guardians tohave him considered as a continuation of his father, instead ofappointing a new union doctor; and he watched with paternal solicitudethat the young man's first return to his practice should be neither toosoon for his own health or his patients' fears; giving him noexhortation more earnest, nor more thankfully accepted, than that hewas to let no scruple prevent his applying to himself in the slightestdifficulty; calling him in to pauper patients, and privately consultingin cases which could not be visited gratis. The patronage of HenryWard was one of the hobbies that Dr. May specially loved, and hecantered off upon it with vehemence such as he had hardly displayed foryears. 

Aubrey recovered with the tardiness of a weakly constitution, and waslong in even arriving at a drive in the brougham; for Dr. May had setup a brougham. As long as Hector Ernescliffe's home was atStoneborough, driving the Doctor had been his privilege, and the oldgig had been held together by diligent repairs; but when Maplewoodclaimed him, and Adams was laid aside by rheumatism, Flora would nolonger be silenced, and preached respectability and necessity. Dr. Maydid not admit the plea, unless Adams were to sit inside and drive outof window; but then he was told of the impropriety of his daughtersgoing out to dinner in gigs, and the expense of flies. When Floratalked of propriety in that voice, the family might protest andgrumble, but were always reduced to obedience; and thus Blanche'swedding had been the occasion of Ethel being put into a hoop, and theDoctor into a brougham. He was better off under the tyranny than shewas, in spite of the solitude he had bewailed. Young Adams was not thecompanion his father had been, and was no loss; and he owned that henow got through a great deal of reading, and at times a great deal ofsleep; and mourned for nothing but his moon and stars--so romantic aregret, that Dr. Spencer advised him not to mention it. 

After Aubrey's first drives, Dr. Spencer declared that the best way ofinvigorating him would be to send him for a month to the sea-side, while the house could be thoroughly purified before Gertrude's return. Dr. Spencer and Mary would take care of Dr. May; and Ethel had begun tolook forward to a tete-a-tete with Aubrey by the sea, which they hadneither of them ever seen, when her anticipations were somewhat dashedby her father's exclaiming, that it would be the best thing for LeonardWard to go with them. She said something about his not being wellenough to travel so soon. 

'Oh, yes, he will, ' said Dr. May; 'he only wants stimulus to get onfast enough. I declare I'll ask Henry about it; I'm just going to meethim at the hospital. '

And before another word could be said, he let himself out at the backdoor of the garden, in which they had been meeting Richard, who was nowallowed to come thus far, though both for Daisy's sake and his flock's, he had hitherto submitted to a rigorous quarantine; and the entireimmunity of Cocksmoor from the malady was constantly adduced by eachdoctor as a convincing proof of his own theory. 

'Well, I do hope that will go off!' exclaimed Ethel, as soon as herfather was out of hearing. 'It will be a terrible upset to all one'speace and comfort with Aubrey!'

'Indeed--what harm will the poor boy do?' asked Richard. 

'Make Aubrey into the mere shame-faced, sister-hating, commonplacecreature that the collective boy thinks it due to himself to be insociety, ' said Ethel, 'and me from an enjoying sister, into an elderly, care-taking, despised spinster--a burden to myself and the boys. '

'But why, Ethel, can't you enjoy yourself!'

'My dear Richard, just imagine turning loose a lot of boys and girls, with no keeper, to enjoy themselves in some wild sea place! No, no:the only way to give the arrangement any shade of propriety, will be tobe elderly, infuse as much vinegar as possible into my countenance, wear my spectacles, and walk at a staid pace up and down the parade, while my two sons disport themselves on the rocks. '

'If you really think it would not be proper, ' said Richard, ratheralarmed, 'I could run after my father. '

'Stuff, Richard; papa must have his way; and if it is to do the boygood, I can sacrifice a crab--I mean myself--not a crustacean. I amnot going to be such a selfish wretch as to make objections. '

'But if it would not be the correct thing? Or could not you get someone to stay with you?'

'I can make it the correct thing. It is only to abstain from the fun Ihad hoped for. I meant to have been a girl, and now I must be a woman, that's all; and I dare say Aubrey will be the happier for it--boysalways are. '

'If you don't like it, I wish you would let me speak to papa. '

'Richard, have you these five years been the safety-valve for mymurmurs without knowing what they amount to?'

'I thought no one complained unless to get a thing remedied. '

'Exactly so. That is man! And experience never shows man that woman'sgrowls relieve her soul, and that she dreads nothing more than theirbeing acted on! All I wish is, that this scheme may die a naturaldeath; but I should be miserable, and deserved to be so, if I raised afinger to hinder it. What, must you go? Rule Daisy's lines if shewrites to Meta, please. '

'I did so. I have been trying to make her write straighter. '

'Of course you have. I expect I shall find her organ of order grown toa huge bump when she comes home. Oh! when will our poor remnants beonce more a united family? and when shall I get into Cocksmoor schoolagain?'

When Dr. May came home, his plan was in full bloom. Henry hadgratefully accepted it, and answered for his brother being able totravel by the next Monday; and Dr. May wanted Ethel to walk with him toBankside, and propose it there--talking it over with the sister, andmaking it her own invitation. Ethel saw her fate, and complied, herfather talking eagerly all the way. 

'You see, Ethel, it is quite as much for his spirits as his health thatI wish it. He is just the age that our Norman was. '

That was the key to a great deal. Ethel knew that her father had neveradmitted any of the many excuses for the neglect of Norman's sufferingfor the three months after his mother's death; but though it thrilledher all over, she was not prepared to believe that any one, far lessany Ward, could be of the same sensitive materials as Norman. To avoidanswering, she went more than half-way, by saying, 'Don't you think Imight ask those poor girls to come with him?'

'By no manner of means, ' said the Doctor, stopping short. 'It is justwhat I want, to get him away from his sister. She minds nothing else;and if it were not for Mary, I don't know what the little ones woulddo; and as to Henry, he is very good and patient; but it is the way toprevent him from forming domestic tastes to have no mistress to hishouse. He will get into mischief, or marry, if she does not mind whatshe is about. '

'That must come to an end when Leonard is well, and goes back toschool. '

'And that won't be till after the holidays. No, some break there mustbe. When he is gone, Mary can put her into the way of doing things;she is anxious to do right; and we shall see them do very well. Butthis poor boy--you know he has been always living at home, while theothers were away; he was very fond of his mother, and the first comingout of his room was more than he could bear. I must have him takenfrom home till he is well again, and able to turn to other things. '

And before Ethel's eyes came a vision of poor Mrs. Ward leaning on herson's arm, on Saturday afternoon walks, each looking fond and proud ofthe other. She felt her own hardness of heart, and warmed to thedesire of giving comfort. 

Bankside was basking in summer sunshine, with small patches of shaderound its young shrubs and trees, and a baking heat on the little porch. 

The maid believed Miss Ward was in the garden. Mr. Leonard had beentaken out to-day; and the Doctor moving on, they found themselves inthe cool pretty drawing-room, rather overcrowded with furniture anddecoration, fresh and tasteful, but too much of it, and a contrast tothe Mays' mixture of the shabby and the curious, in the room that wasso decidedly for use, and not for show. 

What arrested the attention was, however, the very sweetest singingEthel had ever heard. The song was low and sad, but so intenselysweet, that Dr. May held up his hand to silence all sound, and stoodwith restrained breath and moistened eyes. Ethel, far less sensitiveto music, was nevertheless touched as she had never before been bysound; and the more, as she looked through the window and saw in theshade of a walnut-tree, a sofa, at the foot of which sat Averil Ward inher deep mourning, her back to the window, so that only her youngfigure and the braids of her fair hair were to be seen; and beyond, something prostrate, covered with wrappers. The sweet notes ended, Dr. May drew a deep sigh, wiped his spectacles, and went on; Ethel hungback, not to startle the invalid by the sight of a stranger; but asAveril rose, she saw him raising himself, with a brightening smile onhis pale face, to hold out his hand to the Doctor. In another minuteAveril had come to her, shaken hands, and seated herself where shecould best command a view of her brother. 

'I am glad to see him out of doors, ' said Ethel. 

'Henry was bent on it; but I think the air and the glare of everythingis too much for him; he is so tired and oppressed. '

'I am sure he must like your singing, ' said Ethel. 

'It is almost the only thing that answers, ' said Averil, her eyeswistfully turning to the sofa; 'he can't read, and doesn't like beingread to. '

'It is very difficult to manage a boy's recovery, ' said Ethel. 'Theydon't know how to be ill. '

'It is not that, ' replied the sister, as if she fancied censureimplied, 'but his spirits. Every new room he goes into seems to beathim down; and he lies and broods. If he could only talk!'

'I know that so well!' said Ethel. But to Averil the May troubles wereof old date, involved in the mists of childhood. And Ethel seeing thather words were not taken as sympathy, continued, 'Do not the littlegirls amuse him?'

'Oh no! they are too much for him; and I am obliged to keep them in thenursery. Poor little things! I don't know what we should do if yoursister Mary were not so kind. '

'Mary is very glad, ' began Ethel, confusedly. Then rushing into hersubject: 'Next week, I am to take Aubrey to the seaside; and we thoughtif Leonard would join us, the change might be good for him. '

'Thank you, ' Averil answered, playing with her heavy jet watch-guard. 'You are very good; but I am sure he could not move so soon. '

'Ave, ' called Leonard at that moment; and Ethel, perceiving that shelikewise was to advance, came forth in time to hear, 'O, Ave! I am togo to the sea next week, with Aubrey May and his sister. Won't it--'

Then becoming aware of the visitor, he stopped short, threw his feetoff the sofa, and stood up to receive her. 

'I can't let you come if you do like that, ' she said, shaking his longthin hand; and he let himself down again, not, however, resuming hisrecumbent posture, and giving a slight but effective frown to silencehis sister's entreaties that he would do so. He sat, leaning back asthough exceedingly feeble, scarcely speaking, but his eyes eloquentwith eagerness. And very fine eyes they were! Ethel remembered herown weariness, some twelve or fourteen years back, of the raptures ofher baby-loving sisters about those eyes; and now in the absence of theflorid colouring of health, she was the more struck by the beauty ofthe deep liquid brown, of the blue tinge of the white, and of thelustrous light that resided in them, but far more by their power ofexpression, sometimes so soft and melancholy, at other moments earnest, pleading, and almost flashing with eagerness. It was a good mouth too, perhaps a little inclined to sternness of mould about the jaw and chin;but that might have been partly from the absence of all softeningroundness, aging the countenance for the time, just as illness hadshrunk the usually sturdy figure. 

'Has Ethel told you of our plan?' asked Dr. May of the sister. 

'Yes, ' she hesitated, in evident confusion and distress. 'You are allvery kind, but we must see what Henry says. '

'I have spoken to Henry! He answers for our patching Leonard up fornext week; and I have great faith in Dr. Neptune. '

Leonard's looks were as bright as Averil's were disturbed. 

'Thank you, thank you very much! but can he possibly be well enough forthe journey?'

Leonard's eyes said 'I shall. '

'A week will do great things, ' said Dr. May, 'and it is a very easyjourney--only four hours' railway, and a ten miles' drive. '

Averil's face was full of consternation; and Leonard leant forward withhope dancing in his eyes. 

'You know the place, ' continued Dr. May, 'Coombe Hole. Quite fresh, and unhackneyed. It is just where Devon and Dorset meet. I am notsure in which county; but there's a fine beach, and beautiful country. The Riverses found it out, and have been there every autumn; besidessending their poor little girl and her governess down when London getstoo hot. Flora has written to the woman of the lodgings she alwayshas, and will lend them the maid she sends with little Margaret; sothey will be in clover. '

'Is it not a very long way!' said Averil, thinking how long those tenyards of lawn had seemed. 

'Not as things go, ' said Dr. May. 'You want Dr. Spencer to reproachyou with being a Stoneborough fungus. There are places in Wales nearerby the map, but without railway privilege; and as to a great gay place, they would all be sick of it. '

'Do you feel equal to it? as if you should like it, Leonard?' asked hissister, in a trembling would-be grateful voice. 

'Of all things, ' was the answer. 

Ethel thought the poor girl had suffered constraint enough, and that itwas time to release the boy from his polite durance, so she rose totake leave, and again Leonard pulled himself upright to shake hands. 

'Indeed, ' said Ethel, when Averil had followed them into thedrawing-room, 'I am sorry for you. It would go very hard with me tomake Aubrey over to any one! but if you do trust him with me, I mustcome and hear all you wish me to do for him. '

'I cannot think that he will be able or glad to go when it comes to thepoint, ' said Averil, with a shaken tone. 

Dr. May was nearer than she thought, and spoke peremptorily. 'Takecare what you are about! You are not to worry him with discussions. Ifhe can go, he will; if not, he will stay at home; but pros and cons areprohibited. Do you hear, Averil!'

'Yes; very well. '

'Papa you really are very cruel to that poor girl, ' were Ethel's firstwords outside. 

'Am I? I wouldn't be for worlds, Ethel. But somehow she always putsme in a rage. I wish I knew she was not worrying her brother at thismoment!'

No, Averil was on the staircase, struggling, choking with the firsttears she had shed. All this fortnight of unceasing vigilance andexertion, her eyes had been dry, for want of time to realize, for wantof time to weep, and now she was ashamed that hurt feeling rather thangrief had opened the fountain. She could not believe that it was not acruel act of kindness, to carry one so weak as Leonard away from hometo the care of a stranger. She apprehended all manner of illconsequences; and then nursing him, and regarding his progress as herown work, had been the sedative to her grief, which would come on her'like an armed man, ' in the dreariness of his absence. Above all, shefelt herself ill requited by his manifest eagerness to leave her whohad nursed him so devotedly--her, his own sister--for the stiff, plainMiss May whom he hardly knew. The blow from the favourite companionbrother, so passionately watched and tended, seemed to knock her down;and Dr. May, with medical harshness, forbidding her the one last hopeof persuading him out of the wild fancy, filled up the measure. 

Oh, those tears! How they would swell up at each throb of the woundedheart, at each dismal foreboding of the desponding spirit. But she hadno time for them! Leonard must not be left alone, with no one to coverhim up with his wrappers. 

The tears were strangled, the eyes indignantly dried. She ran out atthe garden door. The sofa was empty! Had Henry come home and helpedhim in? She hurried on to the window; Leonard was alone in thedrawing-room, resting breathlessly on an ottoman within the window. 

'Dear Leonard! Why didn't you wait for me!'

'I thought I'd try what I could do. You see I am much stronger than wethought. ' And he smiled cheerfully, as he helped himself by thefurniture to another sofa. 'I say, Ave, do just give me the map--theone in Bradshaw will do. I want to find this place. '

'I don't think there is a Bradshaw, ' said Averil, reluctantly. 

'Oh yes, there is--behind the candlestick, on the study chimney-piece. '

'Very well--' There were more tears to be gulped down--and perhaps theykept her from finding the book. 

'Where's the Bradshaw?'

'I didn't see it. '

'I tell you I know it was there. The left-hand candlestick, close tothe letter-weight. I'll get it myself. '

He was heaving himself up, when Averil prevented him by hastening to amore real search, which speedily produced the book. 

Eagerly Leonard unfolded the map, making her steady it for his shakinghand, and tracing the black toothed lines. 

'There's Bridport--ten miles from there. Can you see the name, Ave?'

'No, it is not marked. '

'Never mind. I see where it is; and I can see it is a capital place;just in that little jag, with famous bathing. I wonder if they willstay long enough for me to learn to swim?'

'You are a good way from that as yet, ' said poor Averil, her heartsinking lower and lower. 

'Oh, I shall be well at once when I get away from here!'

'I hope so. '

'Why, Ave!' he cried, now first struck with her tone, 'don't you know Ishall?'

'I don't know, ' she said, from the soreness of her heart; 'but I can'ttell how to trust you with strangers. '

'Strangers! You ungrateful child!' exclaimed Leonard, indignantly. 'Why, what have they been doing for you all this time?'

'I am sure Miss May, at least, never came near us till to-day. '

'I'm very glad of it! I'm sick of everything and everybody I haveseen!'

Everybody! That was the climax! Averil just held her tongue; but sherushed to her own room, and wept bitterly and angrily. Sick of herafter all her devotion! Leonard, the being she loved best in the world!

And Leonard, distressed and hurt at the reception of his naturalexpression of the weariness of seven weeks' sickness and sorrow, feltabove all the want of his mother's ever-ready sympathy and soothing, and as if the whole world, here, there, and everywhere, would be anequally dreary waste. His moment of bright anticipation passed intoheavy despondency, and turning his head from the light, he droppedasleep with a tear on his cheek. 

When he awoke it was at the sound of movements in the room, slow andcautious, out of regard to his slumbers--and voices, likewise low--atleast one was low, the other that whisper of the inaudibility of whichAveril could not be disabused. He lay looking for a few momentsthrough his eyelashes, before exerting himself to move. Averil, herface still showing signs of recent tears, sat in a low chair, a book inher lap, talking to her brother Henry. 

Henry was of less robust frame than Leonard promised to be, and thoughon a smaller scale, was more symmetrically made, and had more regularfeatures than either his brother or sister, but his eyes were merelyquick lively black beads, without anything of the clear depthspossessed by the others. His hair too was jet black, whereas theirswas a pale nut brown; and his whiskers, long and curling, so nearly metunder his chin, as to betray a strong desire that the hirsute movementshould extend to the medical profession. Always point-device inapparel, the dust on his boot did not prevent its perfect make frombeing apparent; and the entire sit of his black suit would have enableda cursory glance to decide that it never came out of the same shop asDr. May's. 

'O, Henry!' were the words that he first heard distinctly. 

'It will be much better for every one--himself and you included. '

'Yes, if--'

'If--nonsense. I tell you he will be quite well enough. See how wellI am now, how fast I got on as soon as I took to tonics. --Ha, Leonard, old fellow! what, awake? What do you say to this plan of old May's?'

'It is very kind of him; and I should be very glad if I am well enough;but next week is very soon, ' said Leonard, waking in the depression inwhich he had gone to sleep. 

'Oh, next week! That is as good as next year in a matter like this, asMay agreed with me, here, let us have your pulse. You have let him getlow, Averil. A basin of good soup will put more heart into you, andyou will feel ready for anything. '

'I have got on to-day, said Leonard, briskly raising himself, as thoughthe cheerful voice had been cordial in itself. 

'Of course you have, now that you have something to look forward to;and you will be in excellent hands; the very thing I wanted for you, though I could not see how to manage it. I am going to dress. I shalltell them to send in dinner; and if I am not down, I shall be in thenursery. You won't come in to dinner, Leonard?'

'No, said Leonard, with a shudder. 

'I shall send you in some gravy soup, that you may thank me for. Avenever would order anything but boiled chickens for you, and forgetsthat other people ever want to eat. There will be a chance of making ahousekeeper of her now. '

How selfish, thought Averil, to want to get rid of poor Leonard, that Imay attend to his dinners. Yet Henry had spoken in perfect good-humour. 

Henry came down with a little sister in each hand. They were hisespecial darlings; and with a touch of fatherly fondness, he tried tocompensate to them for their sequestration from the drawing-room, theconsequence of Averil not having established her authority enough tokeep their spirits from growing too riotous for Leonard's weakness. Indeed, their chatter was Henry's sole enlivenment, for Averil wasconstantly making excursions to ask what her patient would eat, andwatch its success; and but for his pleasure in the little girls poppingabout him, he would have had a meal as dull as it was unsettled. Assoon as the strawberries were eaten, he walked out through the windowwith them clinging to him, and Averil returned to her post. 

'Some music, Ave, ' said Leonard, with an instinctive dread of herconversation. 

She knew her voice was past singing, and began one of her most renownedinstrumental pieces, which she could play as mechanically as amusical-box. 

'Not that jingling airified thing!' cried Leonard, 'I want somethingquiet and refreshing. There's an evening hymn that the Mays have. '

'The Mays know nothing of music, ' said Averil. 

'Stay, this is it:' and he whistled a few bars. 

'That old thing! Of course I know that. We had it every Sunday atBrighton. '

She began it, but her eyes were full of tears, partly because she hatedherself for the irritation she had betrayed. She was a sound, good, honest-hearted girl; but among all the good things she had learned atBrighton, had not been numbered the art of ruling her own spirit. 

CHAPTER IV

 Griefs hidden in the mind like treasures, Will turn with time to solemn pleasures. 

On the Monday morning, the two convalescents shook hands in thewaiting-room at the station, surveying each other rather curiously;while Ethel, trying to conquer her trepidation, gave manifold promisesto Averil of care and correspondence. 

Dr. Spencer acted escort, being far more serviceable on the railwaythan his untravelled friend, whose lame arm, heedless head, andaptitude for missing trains and mistaking luggage, made him a chargerather than an assistant. He was always happiest among his patients athome; and the world was still ill enough to employ him so fully, thatEthel hoped to be less missed than usual. Indeed, she believed thather absence would be good in teaching him Mary's full-grown worth, andMary would be in the full glory of notability in the purification ofthe house. 

The change was likewise for Dr. Spencer's good. He had almost brokendown in the height of the labour, and still looked older and thinnerfor it; and after one night at Coombe, he was going to refresh himselfby one of his discursive tours. 

He was in high spirits, and the pink of courtesy; extremely flatteredby the charge of Ethel, and making her the ostensible object of hisattention, to the relief of the boys, who were glad to be spared thesense of prominent invalidism. The change was delightful to them. Aubrey was full of life and talk, and sat gazing from the window, as ifthe line from Stoneborough to Whitford presented a succession ofnovelties. 

'What's that old place on the river there, with crow-stepped gables andsteep roofs, like a Flemish picture?'

'Don't you know?' said Leonard, 'it is the Vintry mill, where myrelative lives, that wants to make a dusty miller of me. '

'No fear of that, old fellow, ' said Aubrey, regarding him in somedismay, 'you've got better things to grind at. '

'Ay, even if I don't get the Randall next time, I shall be sure of itanother. '

'You'll have it next. '

'I don't know; here is a quarter clean gone, and the other fellows willhave got before me. '

'Oh, but most of them have had a spell of fever!'

'Yes, but they have not had it so thoroughly, ' said Leonard. 'Mymemory is not properly come back yet; and your father says I must nottry it too soon. '

'That's always his way, ' said Aubrey. 'He would not let Ethel so muchas pack up my little Homer. '

Leonard's quick, furtive glance at Ethel was as if he suspected her ofhaving been barely prevented from torturing him. 

'Oh, it was not her doing, ' said Aubrey, 'it was I! I thought Tomwould find me gone back; and, you know, we must keep up together, Leonard, and be entered at St. John's at the same time. '

For Aubrey devoutly believed in Tom's college at Cambridge, which hadrecovered all Dr. May's allegiance. 

The extra brightness was not of long duration. It was a very hot day, such as exactly suited the salamander nature of Dr. Spencer; but thecarriage became like an oven. Aubrey curled himself up in a corner andwent to sleep, but Leonard's look of oppressed resignation grievedEthel, and the blue blinds made him look so livid, that she was alwaysfancying him fainting, and then his shyness was dreadful--it wasimpossible to elicit from him anything but 'No, thank you. '

He did nearly faint when they left the train; and while Aubrey waseagerly devouring the produce of the refreshment room, had to lie on abench under Dr. Spencer's charge, for Ethel's approach only brought ona dangerous spasm of politeness. How she should get on with him for amonth, passed her imagination. 

There was a fresher breeze when they drove out of the station, up aDorset ridge of hill, steep, high, terraced and bleak; but it was slowclimbing up, and every one was baked and wearied before the summit wasgained, and the descent commenced. Even then, Ethel, sittingbackwards, could only see height develop above height, all green, andscattered with sheep, or here and there an unfenced turnip-field, theroad stretching behind like a long white ribbon, and now and thendescending between steep chalk cuttings in slopes, down which thecarriage slowly scrooped on its drag, leaving a broad blue-fleckedtrail. Dr. Spencer was asleep, hat off, and the wind lifting his snowylocks, and she wished the others were; but Aubrey lamented on the heatand the length, and Leonard leant back in his corner, past lamentation. 

Down, down! The cuttings were becoming precipitous cliffs, the dragmade dismal groans; Aubrey, after a great slip forward, lookinginjured, anchored himself, with his feet against the seat, by Ethel;and Dr. Spencer was effectually wakened by an involuntary forwardplunge of his opposite neighbour. 'Can this be safe?' quoth Ethel;'should not some of us get out?'

'Much you know of hills, you level landers!' was the answer; and justthen they were met and passed by four horses dragging up a stage coach, after the fashion of a fly on a window-pane--a stage coach! delightfulto the old-world eyes of Dr. Spencer, recalling a faint memory toEthel, and presenting a perfect novelty to Aubrey. 

Then came a sudden turn upon flat ground, and a short cry of wonderbroke from Aubrey. Ethel was sensible of a strange salt weedy smell, new to her nostrils, but only saw the white-plastered, gray-roofedhouses through which they were driving; but, with another turn, thebuildings were only on one side--on the other there was a wondroussense of openness, vastness, freshness--something level, gray, butdazzling; and before she could look again, the horses stopped, andclose to her, under the beetling, weather-stained white cliff, was alow fence, and within it a verandah and a door, where stood Flora'smaid, Barbara, in all her respectability. 

Much wit had been expended by Aubrey on being left to the tender mercyof cruel Barbara Allen, in whom Ethel herself anticipated a tyrant; butat the moment she was invaluable. Every room was ready and inviting, and nothing but the low staircase between Leonard and the white bed, which was the only place fit for him; while for the rest, the table wasspeedily covered with tea and chickens; Abbotstoke eggs, inscribed withyesterday's date; and red mail-clad prawns, to prove to touch and tastethat this was truly sea-side. The other senses knew it well: the openwindow let in the indescribable salt, fresh odour, and the entire viewfrom it was shore and sea, there seemed nothing to hinder the tide fromcoming up the ridge of shingle, and rushing straight into the cottage;and the ear was constantly struck by the regular roll and dash of thewaves. Aubrey, though with the appetite of recovery and sea-aircombined, could not help pausing to listen, and, when his meal wasover, leant back in his chair, listened again, and gave a sigh ofcontent. 'It is one constant hush, hushaby, ' he said; 'it would makeone sleep pleasantly. '

His companions combined their advice to him so to use it; and in lessthan half an hour Ethel went to bid him good night, in the whitest ofbeds and cleanest of tiny chambers, where he looked the picture ofsleepy satisfaction, when she opened his window, and admitted the swelland dash that fascinated his weary senses. 

'My child is all right, ' said Ethel, returning to Dr. Spencer; 'can yousay the same of yours?'

'He must rest himself into the power of sleeping. I must say it was abold experiment; but it will do very well, when he has got over thejourney. He was doing no good at home. '

'I hope he will here. '

'Depend on it he will. And now what are you intending?'

'I am thirsting to see those waves near. Would it be against themanners and customs of sea-places for me to run down to them so late?'

'Sea-places have no manners and customs. '

Ethel tossed on her hat with a feeling of delight and freedom. 'Oh, are you coming, Dr. Spencer? I did not mean to drag you out. You hadrather rest, and smoke. '

'This is rest, ' he answered. 

The next moment, the ridge of the shingle was passed, and Ethel's feetwere sinking in the depth of pebbles, her cheeks freshened by thebreeze, her lips salted by the spray tossed in by the wind from thewave crests. At the edge of the water she stood--as all others standthere--watching the heaving from far away come nearer, nearer, curlover in its pride of green glassy beauty, fall into foam, and drawback, making the pebbles crash their accompanying 'frsch. ' Therepetition, the peaceful majesty, the blue expanse, the straighthorizon, so impressed her spirit as to rivet her eyes and chain herlips; and she receded step by step before the tide, unheeding anythingelse, not even perceiving her companion's eyes fixed on her, halfcuriously, half sadly. 

'Well, Ethel, ' at last he said. 

'I never guessed it!' she said, with a gasp. 'No wonder Harry cannotbear to be away from it. Must we leave it?' as he moved back. 

'Only to smooth ground, ' said Dr. Spencer; 'it is too dark to stay hereamong the stones and crab-pots. '

The summer twilight was closing in; lights shining in the village underthe cliffs, and looking mysterious on distant points of the coast;stars were shining forth in the pale blue sky, and the young moonshedding a silver rippled beam on the water. 

'If papa were but here!' said Ethel, wakening from another gaze, andrecollecting that she was not making herself agreeable. 

'So you like the expedition?'

'The fit answer to that would be, "It is very pretty, " as the Cockneysaid to Coleridge at Lodore. '

'So I have converted a Stoneborough fungus!'

'What! to say the sea is glorious? A grand conversion!'

'To find anything superior to Minster Street. '

'Ah, you are but half reclaimed! You are a living instance that thereis no content unless one has begun life as a fungus. '

She was startled by his change of tone. 'True, Ethel. Content mighthave been won, if there had been resolution to begin without it. '

'I beg your pardon, ' she faltered, 'I ought not to have said it. Iforgot there was such a cause. '

'Cause--you know nothing about it. '

She was silent, distressed, dismayed, fearing that she had spokenwrongly, and had either mistaken or been misunderstood. 

'Tell me, Ethel, ' he presently said, 'what can you know of what made mea wanderer?'

'Only what papa told me. '

'He--he was the last person to know. '

'He told me, ' said Ethel, hurrying it out in a fright, 'that you wentaway--out of generosity--not to interfere with his happiness. '

Then she felt as if she had done a shocking thing, and waitedanxiously, while Dr. Spencer deliberately made a deep hole in theshingle with his stick. 'Well, ' at last he said, 'I thought thatmatter was unknown to all men--above all to Dick!'

'It was only after you were gone, that he put things together and madeit out. '

'Did--she--know?' said Dr. Spencer, with a long breath. 

'I cannot tell, ' said Ethel. 

'And how or why did he tell you?' (rather hurt. )

'It was when first you came. I am sure no one else knows it. But hetold me because he could not help it; he was so sorry for you. '

They walked the whole length of the parade, and had turned before Dr. Spencer spoke again; and then he said, 'It is strange! My one visionwas of walking on the sea-shore with her; and that just doing so withyou should have brought up the whole as fresh as five-and-thirty yearsago!'

'I wish I was more like her, ' said Ethel. 

No more was wanting to make him launch into the descriptions, dear to adaughter's heart, of her mother in her sweet serious bloom of youngwomanhood, giving new embellishments to the character already soclosely enshrined in his hearer's heart, the more valuable that thestream of treasured recollection flowed on in partial oblivion of theperson to whom it was addressed, or, at least, that she was the childof his rival; for, from the portrait of the quiet bright maiden, hepassed to the sufferings that his own reserved nature had undergonefrom his friend's outspoken enthusiasm. The professor's visiblepreference for the youth of secure prospects, had not so muchdiscouraged as stung him; and in a moment of irritation at theprofessor's treatment, and the exulting hopes of his unconsciousfriend, he had sworn to himself, that the first involuntary token ofregard from the young lady towards one or the other, should decide himwhether to win name and position for her sake, or to carry his slightedpassion to the utmost parts of the earth, and never again see her face. 

'Ethel, ' he said, stopping short, 'never threaten Providence--aboveall, never keep the threat. '

Ethel scarcely durst speak, in her anxiety to know what cast the die, though with all Dr. Spencer's charms, she could not but pity thedelusion that could have made him hope to be preferred to herfather--above all, by her mother. Nor could she clearly understandfrom him what had dispelled his hopes. Something it was that tookplace at the picnic on Arthur's Seat, of which she had previously heardas a period of untold bliss. That something, still left in vaguemystery, had sealed the fate of the two friends. 

'And so, ' said Dr. Spencer, 'I took the first foreign appointment thatoffered. And my poor father, who had spent his utmost on me, and hadbeen disappointed in all his sons, was most of all disappointed in me. I held myself bound to abide by my rash vow; loathed tame English lifewithout her, and I left him to neglect in his age. '

'You could not have known or expected!' exclaimed Ethel. 

'What right had I to expect anything else? It was only myself that Ithought of. I pacified him by talk of travelling, and extending myexperience, and silenced my conscience by intending to return whenordinary life should have become tolerable to me--a time that never hascome. At last, in the height of that pestilential season in India, came a letter, warning me that my brother's widow had got the masteryover my poor father, and was cruelly abusing it, so that only my returncould deliver him. It was when hundreds were perishing, and I the onlymedical man near; when to have left my post would have been bothdisgraceful and murderous. Then I was laid low myself; and while I wasconquering the effects of cholera, came tidings that made it nothing tome whether they or I conquered. This, ' and he touched one of his whitecurling locks, 'was not done by mere bodily exertion or ailment. '

'You would have been too late any way, ' said Ethel. 

'No, not if I had gone immediately. I might have got him out of thatwoman's hands, and made his life happy for years. There was the sting, but the crime had been long before. You know the rest. I had nohealth to remain, no heart to come home; and then came vagrancy indeed. I drifted wherever restlessness or impulse took me, till all my workingyears were over, and till the day when the sight of your father'swedding-ring showed me that I should not break my mad word by acceptingthe only welcome that any creature gave me. '

'And, oh! surely you have been comforted by him?'

'Comforted! Cut to the heart would be truer. One moment, I could onlylook at him as having borne off my treasure to destroy it; but thenthere rose on me his loving, patient, heartbroken humility andcheerfulness; and I saw such a character, such a course, as showed mehow much better he had deserved her, and filled me with shame at havingever less esteemed him. And through all, there was the same dear DickMay, that never, since the day we first met at the pump in the schoolcourt, had I been able to help loving with all my heart--the only beingthat was glad to see me again. When he begged me to stay and watchover your sister, what could I do but remain while she lived?'

'So he bound you down! Oh, you know how we thank you! no, you can't, nor what you have been to him, and to all of us, through the worst ofour sad days. And though it was a sacrifice, I do not think it was badfor you. '

'No, Ethel. When you implored me to give up my Crimean notion, tospare your father pain, I did feel for once that you at least thoughtme of value to some one. '

'I cannot bear you to speak so, ' cried Ethel. 'You to talk of havingbeen of no use!'

'No honest man of principle and education can be utterly useless; butwhen, three days ago, I recollected that it was my sixtieth birthday, Ilooked back, and saw nothing but desultory broken efforts, and restlesschanges. Your father told me, when I thought him unaware of themeaning of his words, that if I had missed many joys, I had missed manysorrows; but I had taken the way to make my one sorrow a greater burdenthan his many. '

'But you do not grieve for my mother still?' said Ethel, anxiously. 'Even his grief is a grave joy to him now; and one is always told thatsuch things, as it was with you, are but a very small part of a man'slife. '

'I am not one of the five hundred men, whom any one of five hundredwomen might have equally pleased, ' said Dr. Spencer; 'but it is so fartrue, that the positive pain and envy wore out, and would not haveinterfered with my after life, but for my own folly. No, Ethel; it wasnot the loss of her that embittered and threw away my existence; it wasmy own rash vow, and its headstrong fulfilment, which has left me noright to your father's peaceful spirit. '

'How little we guessed!' said Ethel. 'So cheerful and ready as youalways are. '

'I never trouble others, he said abruptly. 'Neither man nor woman everheard a word of all this; and you would not have heard it now, but forthat sea; and you have got your mother's voice, and some of her ways, since you have grown older and more sedate. '

'Oh, I am so glad!' said Ethel, who had been led to view her likenessto her father as natural, that to her mother as acquired. 

Those were the last words of the conversation; but Ethel, leaning fromher window to listen to the plash of the waves, suspected that theslowly moving meteor she beheld, denoted that a cigar was soothing theemotions excited by their dialogue. She mused long over thatrevelation of the motives of the life that had always been noble andgenerous in the midst of much that was eccentric and wayward, andconstantly the beat of the waves repeated to her the half-comprehendedwords, 'Never threaten Providence. '

After superintending Aubrey's first bath, and duly installing thevice-M. D. And her charges, Dr. Spencer departed; and Ethel waslaunched on an unknown ocean, as pilot to an untried crew. She hadbeen told to regard Leonard's bashfulness as a rare grace; but it wasvery inconvenient to have the boy wretchedly drooping, and owningnothing amiss, apparently unacquainted with any English words, except'Thank you' and 'No, thank you. ' Indeed, she doubted whether theshyness were genuine, for stories were afloat of behaviour atStoneborough parties which savoured of audacity, and she vainlyconsulted Aubrey whether the cause of his discomfiture were her age orher youth, her tutorship or her plain face. Even Aubrey could notelicit any like or dislike, wish or complaint; and shrugging up hisshoulders, decided that it was of no use to bother about it; Leonardwould come to his senses in time. He was passive when taken outwalking, submissive when planted on a three-cornered camp-stool thatexpanded from a gouty walking-stick, but seemed so inadequatelyperched, and made so forlorn a spectacle, that they were forced to puthim indoors out of the glare of sea and sky, and hoping that he wouldcondescend to the sofa when Ethel was out of sight. 

Punctilio broke down the next morning; and in the midst of breakfast, he was forced to lie down, and allow Ethel to bathe his face withvinegar and water; while she repented of the 'make-the-best-of-it'letter of the yesterday, and sent Aubrey out on a secret commission ofinquiry about medical men, in case of need. Aubrey was perfectly well, and in such a state of desultory enjoyment and sea-side activeidleness, that he was quite off her mind, only enlivening her morningof nursing by his exits and entrances, to tell of fresh discoveries, orincidents wonderful to the inland mind. 

After dinner, which had driven Leonard to lie on his bed, Aubreypersuaded his sister to come to see his greatest prize; a quaint oldlocal naturalist, a seafaring man, with a cottage crammed with pans oflive wonders of the deep in water, and shelves of extinct ones, 'doneup in stane pies, ' not a creature, by sea or land, that had hauntedCoombe for a few million of ages, seemed to have escaped him. Suchsea-side sojourns as the present, are the prime moments for coquetrieswith the lighter branches of natural science, and the brother andsister had agreed to avail themselves of the geological facilities oftheir position, the fascinations of Hugh Miller's autobiography havingentirely gained them during Aubrey's convalescence. Ethel tore herselfaway from the discussion of localities with the old man, who was guideas well as philosopher, boatman as well as naturalist, and returned toher patient, whom she found less feverish, though sadly low and languid. 

'I wish I knew what to do for you, ' she said, sitting down by him. 'What would your sister do for you?'

'Nothing, ' he wearily said, 'I mean, a great deal too much. ' The toneso recalled Norman's dejected hopelessness, that she could not helptenderly laying her cold hands on the hot brow, and saying, 'Yes, Iknow how little one can do as a sister--and the mockery it is to thinkthat one place can ever be taken!'

The brown eyes looked at her with moist earnestness that she couldhardly bear, but closed with a look of relief and soothing, as she heldher hand on his forehead. Presently, however, he said, 'Don't let mekeep you in. '

'I have been out, thank you. I am so glad to try to do anything foryou. '

'Thank you. What o'clock is it, please? Ah, then I ought to take thatdraught! I forgot it in the morning. '

He permitted her to fetch it and pour it out, but as she recognized apowerful tonic, she exclaimed, 'Is this what you are taking? May itnot make you feverish?'

'No doubt it does, ' he said, lying down again; 'it was only Henry--'

'What! did not my father know of it?'

'Of course he does not, as it seems to be poison. '

'Not exactly that, ' said Ethel; 'but I was surprised, for it was talkedof for Aubrey; but they said it wanted watching. '

'Just like Henry, ' observed Leonard. 

'Well, ' said Ethel, repressing her indignation, 'I am glad, at least, to find a possible cause for your bad night. We shall see yourefreshed to-morrow, and not wishing yourself at home. '

'Don't think that I wish that. Home is gone for ever. '

'Home may be gone higher--up to the real Home, ' said Ethel, blushingwith the effort at the hint, and coming down to earthlier consolations, 'but even the fragments will grow into home again here, and you willfeel very differently. '

Leonard did not answer; but after a pause said, 'Miss May, is not it ahorrid pity girls should go to school?'

'I am no judge, Leonard. '

'You see, ' said the boy, 'after the little girls were born, my motherhad no time for Ave, and sent her to Brighton, and there she begged tostay on one half after another, learning all sorts of things; but onlycoming home for short holidays, like company, for us to wonder at herand show her about, thinking herself ever so much in advance of my poormother, and now she knows just nothing at all of her!'

'You cannot tell, Leonard, and I am sure she has been devoted to you. '

'If she had stayed at home like you, she might have known how to letone alone. Oh, you can't think what peace it was yesterday!'

'Was it peace? I feared it was desertion. '

'It is much better to be by oneself, than always worried. To have themalways at me to get up my spirits when the house is miserable--'

'Ah, ' said Ethel, 'I remember your mother rejoicing that she had not tosend you from home, and saying you were always so kind and gentle toher. '

'Did she!' cried the boy, eagerly. 'Oh, but she forgot--' and he hidhis face, the features working with anguish. 

'So pleased and proud she used to look, walking with you on Saturdayafternoons. '

'Those Saturdays! They were the only walks she ever would take; butshe would always come with me. '

More followed in the same strain, and Ethel began to gather moredistinct impressions of the Ward family. She saw that her presentcharge was warm and sound-hearted, and that the strength of hisaffections had been chiefly absorbed by the homely housewifely mother, comparatively little esteemed by the modernized brother and sister. Ofthe loss of his father he seemed to think less; it seemed, indeed, rather to reconcile him to that of his mother, by the grief it sparedher; and it confirmed Ethel's notion, that Mr. Ward, a busy and dullman, paid no great attention to his children between the playthingperiod and that of full development. The mother was the home; andAveril, though Leonard showed both love for and pride in her, hadhitherto been a poor substitute, while as to Henry, there was somethingin each mention of him which gave Ethel an undefined dread of thefuture of the young household, and a doubt of the result of herfather's kind schemes of patronage. 

At any rate, this conversation had the happy effect of banishingconstraint, and satisfying Ethel that the let-alone system waskindness, not neglect. She was at ease in discussing fossils, thoughhe contributed no word, and she let him sleep or wake as he best liked;whilst Aubrey read to her the 'Cruise of the Betsey. '

Henry's prescription was sent to invigorate the fishes, when itscessation was found to be followed by the recovery of sleep andappetite, and in the cool of the evening, by a disposition to stroll onthe beach, and lie under the lee of a rock upon a railway rug, whichEthel had substituted for the 'three-legged delusion. '

There he was left, while his companions went fossil-hunting, and stayedso long as to excite their compunction, and quicken their steps whenthey at length detached themselves from the enticing blue lias. 

'What has he got there?' cried Aubrey. 'Hillo, old fellow! have youfallen a prey to a black cat?'

'Cat!' returned Leonard, indignantly; 'don't you see it is the jolliestlittle dog in the world?'

'You call that a dog?' said the other boy with redoubled contempt; 'itis just big enough for little Margaret's Noah's Ark!'

'It really is a beauty!' said Ethel. 'I have known one of Flora'sguests bring a bigger one in her muff. '

'It is the most sensible little brute, ' added Leonard. 'See; beg, myman, beg!'

And the beauteous little black-coated King Charles erected itself onits hind legs, displaying its rich ruddy tan waistcoat and sleeves, andbeseeching with its black diamond eyes for the biscuit, dropped andcaught in mid-air. It was the first time Leonard had looked bright. 

'So you expect us to sanction your private dog stealing?' said Aubrey. 

'I have been watching for his mistress to come back, ' said Leonard;'but she must have passed an hour ago, and she does not deserve to havehim, for she never looked back for him; and he had run up to me, frisking and making much of me, as if he had found an old friend. '

'Perhaps it will run home when we move. '

No such thing; it trotted close at Leonard's heels, and entered thehouse with them. Barbara was consulted, and on Leonard's depositionthat the dog's mistress was in deep mourning, opined that she could beno other than the widow of an officer, who during his lingering illnesshad been often laid upon the beach, and had there played with hislittle dogs. This one, evidently very young, had probably, in theconfusion of its puppy memory, taken the invalid for its lost master. 

'Stupid little thing, ' said Aubrey; 'just like an undersized lady'stoy. '

'It knows its friends. These little things have twice the sense ofovergrown dogs as big and as stupid as jackasses. '

A retort from Leonard was welcome in Ethel's ears, and she quitedeveloped his conversational powers, in an argument on the sagacity ofall canine varieties. It was too late to send the little animal home;and he fondled and played with it till bed-time, when he lodged it inhis own room; and the attachment was so strong, that it was with a deepsigh, that at breakfast he accepted Aubrey's offer of conveying it home. 

'There she is! he exclaimed in the midst, gazing from the window. 

'And see the perfection of the animal!' added Aubrey, pointing to abroad-backed waddling caricature of the little black fairy. 

'Restitution must be made, little as she deserves you, you littlejewel, ' said Leonard, picking up the object of his admiration. 'I'lltake you out. '

'No, no; I am not so infectious, ' said Ethel, tying on her hat; 'I hadbetter do it. '

And after Leonard's parting embrace to his favourite, she received it;and quickly overtaking the pensive steps of the lady, arrested herprogress with, 'I beg your pardon, but I think this is your dog. '

'Poor little Mab! as the dog struggled to get to her, and danced gladlyround her. 'I missed her last night, and was coming to look for her. '

'She joined one of our party, ' said Ethel; 'and he was not strongenough to follow you. Indeed, he has had scarlet fever, so perhaps itwas better not. But he has taken great care of the little dog, andhopes it is not the worse. '

'Thank you. I wish poor Mab may always meet such kind friends, ' saidthe lady, sadly. 

'She secured her welcome, ' said Ethel. 'We were very grateful to her, for it was the first thing that has seemed to interest him since hisillness; and he has just lost both his parents. '

'Ah! Thank you. '

Ethel wondered at herself for having been so communicative; but thesweet sad face and look of interest had drawn her words out; and on herreturn she made such a touching history of the adventure, that Leonardlistened earnestly, and Aubrey looked subdued. 

When they went out Leonard refused to spread his rug in that only bedof pulverized shingle; and Ethel respected his avoidance of it asdelicacy to her whose husband had no doubt often occupied that spot. 

'He is a thorough gentleman, ' said she, as she walked away with Aubrey. 

'He might be an Eton fellow, ' was the significant reply. 

'I wonder what made him so!' said Ethel, musingly. 

'Looking at Tom, ' returned Aubrey, not in jest. 

'Even with that advantage, I don't quite see where he learnt thatrefined consideration. '

'Pshaw, Ethel! The light of nature would show that to any one but astupex. '

Ethel was not sorry that such were Aubrey's views of courtesy, but allthought of that subject was soon lost in the pursuit of ammonites. 

'I wonder what Leonard will have picked up now?' they speculated, asthey turned homewards with their weighty baskets, but what was theiramazement, when Leonard waved his hand, pointing to the little blackdog again at his feet!

'She is mine!' he exclaimed, 'my own! Mrs. Gisborne has given her tome; and she is to be the happiest little mite going!'

'Given!'

'Yes. She came as soon as you were gone, and sat by me, and talked foran hour, but she goes to-morrow to live with an old hag of an aunt. '

'Really, you seem to have been on confidential terms. '

'I mean that she must be a nuisance, because she doesn't like dogs; sothat Mrs. Gisborne can only take the old one, which she could neverpart with. So she wanted to give Mab to some one who would be kind toher; and she has come to the right shop; hasn't she, my little queen?'

'I thought she almost wished it this morning, ' said Ethel, 'when sheheard how you and Mab had taken to each other: but it is a very choicepresent; the creature looks to me to be of a very fine sort. '

'Now, Miss May, how could you know that?'

'Why, by her own deportment! Don't you know the aristocratic look thatall high-bred animals have--even bantams?'

Leonard looked as if this were the most convincing proof of Ethel'swisdom, and proceeded. 'Well, she is descended from a real KingCharles, that Charles II. Brought from France, and gave to Mrs. JaneLane; and they have kept up the breed ever since. '

'So that Mab will have the longest pedigree in Stoneborough; and wemust all respect her!' said Ethel, stroking the black head. 

'I am only surprised at Leonard's forgetting his place, ' said Aubrey. 'Walking before her majesty, indeed!'

'Oh, attendants do come first sometimes. '

'Then it should be backwards! I have a mind to try lying on the beachto-morrow, looking interesting, to see what will descend upon me!'

'A great yellow mongrel, ' said Ethel, 'as always befalls imitators inthe path of the hero. '

'What? You mean that it was all the work of Leonard's beaux yeux?'

Leonard gave a sort of growl, intimating that Aubrey was exciting hisdispleasure; and Ethel was glad to be at home, and break off theconversation; but in a few minutes Aubrey knocked at her door, andedging himself in, mysteriously said, 'Such fun! So it was your beauxyeux, not Leonard's, that made the conquest!'

'I suppose she was touched with what I said of poor Leonard'scircumstances, and the pleasure the creature gave him. '

'That is as prosy as Mary, Ethel. At any rate, the woman told Leonardyours was the most irresistibly attractive countenance she ever saw, short of beauty; and that's not the best of it, for he is absolutelyangry. 

'No wonder, ' laughed Ethel. 

'No, but it's about the beauty! He can't conceive a face morebeautiful than yours. '

'Except the gargoyle on the church tower, ' said Ethel, gaping into ascomplete a model of that worthy as flesh and blood could perpetrate. 

'But he means it, ' persisted Aubrey, fixing his eyes critically on hissister's features, but disturbed by the contortions into which shethrew them. 'Now don't, don't. I never saw any fellow with ahundredth part of your gift for making faces, ' he added, between theunwilling paroxysms of mirth at each fresh grimace; but I want to judgeof you; and--oh! that solemn one is worse than all; it is like JuliusCaesar, if he had ever been photographed!--but really, when one comesto think about it, you are not so very ugly after all; and are muchbetter looking than Flora, whom we were taught to believe in. '

'Poor Flora! You were no judge in her blooming days, before wear andtear came. '

'And made her like our Scotch grandfather. '

'But Blanche! your own Blanche, Aubrey? She might have extendedLeonard's ideas of beauty. '

'Blanche has a pretty little visage of her own; but it's not so wellworth looking at as yours, ' said Aubrey. 'One has seen to the end ofit at once; and it won't light up. Hers is just the May blossom; andyours the--the--I know--the orchis! I have read of a woman with anorchidaceous face!'

Teeth, tongue, lips, eyes, and nose were at once made to serve inhitting off an indescribable likeness to an orchis blossom, which wasrapturously applauded, till Ethel, relaxing the strain and permittingherself to laugh triumphantly at her own achievement, said, 'There! Ido pride myself on being of a high order of the grotesque. '

'It is not the grotesque that he means. ' said Aubrey, 'he is verycracked indeed. He declares that when you came and sat by him the daybefore yesterday, you were perfectly lovely. '

'Oh, then I understand, and it is no matter, ' said Ethel. 

CHAPTER V

 They stwons, they stwons, they stwons, they stwons. --Scouring of the White Horse

'So' (wrote Ethel in her daily letter to her father) 'mine is atpresent a maternal mission to Leonard, and it is highly gratifying. Isubscribe to all your praise of him, and repent of my ungraciousmurmurs at his society. You had the virtue, and I have the reward (theusual course of this world), for his revival is a very fresh andpleasant spectacle, burning hot with enthusiasm. Whatever we do, heoverdoes, till I recollect how Wilkes said he had never been a Wilkite. Three days ago, a portentous-looking ammonite attracted his attention;and whereas he started from the notion that earth was dirt, and stoneswere stones, the same all over the world, he has since so faroutstripped his instructors, that as I write this he is drawing a planof the strata, with the inhabitants dramatically arranged, Aubreysuggesting tragic scenes and uncomplimentary likenesses. His talentfor drawing shows that Averil's was worth culture. If our geologyalarm Richard, tell him that I think it safer to get it over young, andto face apparent discrepancies with revelation, rather than leave themto be discovered afterwards as if they had been timidly kept out ofsight. And whether Hugh Miller's theory be right or wrong, his grandfervid language leaves the conviction that undoubting confidence inrevelation consists with the clearest and most scientific mind. '

 * * * * *

'June 30th. --I consider my boys as returned to their normal relations. I descended on them as they were sparring like lion-cubs at play, Leonard desisted in confusion at my beholding such savage doings, butcool and easy, not having turned a hair; Aubrey, panting, done up, railing at him as first cousin to Hercules, all as a delicate boast tome of his friend's recovered strength. Aubrey's forte is certainlyveneration. His first class of human beings is a large one, thoughquizzing is his ordinary form of adoration. For instance, he teasesMab and her devoted slave some degrees more than the victim can bear, and then relieves his feelings in my room by asseverations that thefriendship with Leonard will be on the May and Spencer pattern. Thesea is the elixir of life to both; Leonard looks quite himself again, "only more so, " and Aubrey has a glow never seen since his full moonvisage waned, and not all tan, though we are on the high road to becoffee-berries. Aubrey daily entertains me with heroic tales of divingand floating, till I tell them they will become enamoured of some "ladyof honour who lives in the sea, " grow fishes' tails, and come home nomore. And really, as the time wanes, I feel that such a coast isElysium--above all, the boating. The lazy charm, the fresh purity ofair, the sights and sounds, the soft summer wave when one holds one'shand over the tide, the excitement of sea-weed catching, and thenonsense we all talk, are so delicious and such new sensations, (exceptthe nonsense, which loses by your absence, O learned doctor!) that Ifully perceive how pleasures untried cannot even be conceived. But erethe lotos food has entirely depraved my memory, I give you warning tocome and fetch us home, now that the boys are in full repair. Comeyourself, and be feasted on shrimps and mackerel, and take one sail tothe mouth of the bay. I won't say who shall bring you; it would be funto have Daisy, and Mary ought to have a holiday, but then Richard wouldtake better care of you, and Tom would keep you in the best order. Could you not all come? only if you don't yourself, I won't promise notto take up with a merman. '

 * * * * *

'July 4th. --Very well. If this is to make a strong man of Aubrey, tantmieux, and even home and Cocksmoor yearnings concern me little in thisCastle of Indolence, so don't flatter yourself that I shall grumble athaving had to take our house on again. Let us keep Leonard; we shouldboth miss him extremely, and Aubrey would lose half the good withoutsome one to swim, scramble, and fight with. Indeed, for the poorfellow's own sake, he should stay, for though he is physically asstrong as a young megalosaur, and in the water or on the rocks all day, I don't think his head is come to application, nor his health tobearing depression; and I see he dreads the return, so that he hadbetter stay away till school begins again. '

 * * * * *

'July 7th. --Oh! you weak-minded folks! Now I know why you wanted tokeep me away--that you might yield yourselves a prey to Flora. Paperand chintz forsooth! All I have to say is this, Miss Mary--as to myroom, touch it if you dare! I leave papa to protect his own study, butfor the rest, think, Mary, what your feelings would be if Harry were tocome home, and not know what room he was in! If I am to choose betweenthe patterns of chintz, I prefer the sea-weed variety, as in characterwith things in general, and with the present occasion; and as to thecarpet, I hope that Flora, touched with our submission, will not sendus anything distressing. '

 * * * * *

'July 17th. --Can you send me any more of the New Zealand letters? Ihave copied out the whole provision I brought with me for the blankbook, and by the way have inoculated Leonard with such a missionaryfever as frightens me. To be sure, he is cut out for such work. He isintended for a clergyman (on grounds of gentility, I fear), and is toofull of physical energy and enterprise to take readily to soberparochial life. His ardour is a gallant thing, and his home ties notbinding; but it is not fair to take advantage of his presentinflammable state of enthusiasm, and the little we have said has beentaken up so fervently, that I have resolved on caution for the future. It is foolish to make so much of a boy's eagerness, especially whencircumstances have brought him into an unnatural dreamy mood; andprobably these aspirations will pass away with the sound of the waves, but they are pretty and endearing while they last in their force andsincerity. 

 '"Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, When thought is speech, and speech is truth;"

'and one's heart beats at the thought of what is possible to creaturesof that age. '

 * * * * *

'July 21st. --You, who taught us to love our Walter Scott next to our"Christian Year, " and who gave us half-crowns for rehearsing him whenother children were learning the Robin's Petition, what think you ofthis poor boy Leonard knowing few of the novels and none of the poems?No wonder the taste of the day is grovelling lower and lower, whenpeople do not begin with the pure high air of his world! To take upone of his works after any of our present school of fiction is likegetting up a mountain side after a feverish drawing-room or anoffensive street. If it were possible to know the right moment for abook to be really tasted--not thrust aside because crammed down--no, itwould not be desirable, as I was going to say, we should only do doublemischief. We are not sent into the world to mould people, but to letthem mould themselves; and the internal elasticity will soon unmake allthe shapes that just now seem to form under my fingers like clay. 

'At any rate, the introduction of such a congenial spirit to Sir Walterwas a real treat; Leonard has the very nature to be fired by him, andAubrey being excessively scandalized at his ignorance, routed a cheap"Marmion" out of the little bookshop, and we beguiled a wet afternoonwith it; Aubrey snatching it from me at all the critical passages, forfear I should not do them justice, and thundering out the battle, whichstirred the other boy like a trumpet sound. Indeed, Leonard got Mabinto a corner, and had a very bad cold in the head when De Wilton wasre-knighted; and when "the hand of Douglas was his own, " he jumped upand shouted out, "Well done, old fellow!" Then he took it to himselfand read it all over again, introductions and all, and has raved eversince. I wish you could see Aubrey singing out some profane couplet of"midnight and not a nose, " or some more horrible original parody, andthen dodging apparently in the extremity of terror, just as Leonardfuriously charges him. 

'But you would have been struck with their discussions over it. Lastnight, at tea, they began upon the woeful result of the Wager ofBattle, which seemed to oppress them as if it had really happened. DidI believe in it? Was I of the Lady Abbess's opinion, that

 '"Perchance some form was unobserved, Perchance in prayer or faith he swerved"?

'This from Aubrey, while Leonard rejoined that even if De Wilton had sodone, it was still injustice that he should be so cruelly ruined, andMarmion's baseness succeed. It would be like a king wilfully givingwrong judgment because the right side failed in some respectfulobservance. He was sure such a thing could never be. Did I ever knowof a real case where Heaven did not show the right? It was confusingand alarming, for both those boys sat staring at me as if I couldanswer them; and those wonderful searching eyes of Leonard's werefixed, as if his whole acquiescence in the dealings of Providence weregoing to depend on the reply, that could but be unsatisfactory. Icould only try plunging deep. I said it was Job's difficulty, and itwas a new light to Leonard that Job was about anything but patience. He has been reading the Book all this Sunday evening; and is not DeWilton a curious introduction to it? But Aubrey knew that I meant thebewilderment of having yet to discover that Divine Justice islonger-sighted than human justice, and he cited the perplexities ofhigh-minded heathen. Thence we came to the Christian certainty that"to do well and suffer for it is thankworthy;" and that though nomortal man can be so innocent as to feel any infliction whollyunmerited and disproportioned, yet human injustice at its worst may beworking for the sufferer an exceeding weight of glory, or preparing himfor some high commission below. Was not Ralph de Wilton far nobler andpurer as the poor palmer, than as Henry the Eighth's courtier! And ifyou could but have heard our sequel, arranging his orthodoxy, hisScripture reading, and his guardianship of distressed monks and nuns, you would have thought he had travelled to some purpose, only he wouldcertainly have been burnt by one party, and beheaded by the other. Onthe whole, I think Leonard was a little comforted, and I cannot helphoping that the first apparently cruel wrong that comes before him maybe the less terrible shock to his faith from his having been set tothink out the question by "but half a robber and but half a knight. "'

 * * * * *

'August 1st. --Yesterday afternoon we three were in our privategeological treasury, Leonard making a spread-eagle of himself in animpossible place on the cliff side, trying to disinter what hope, springing eternal in the human breast, pronounced to be the paddle of asaurian; Aubrey, climbing as high as he durst, directing operations andmaking discoveries; I, upon a ledge half-way up, guarding Mab andpoking in the debris, when one of the bridal pairs, with whom the placeis infested, was seen questing about as if disposed to invade ourpremises. Aubrey, reconnoitring in high dudgeon, sarcasticallyobserved that all red-haired men are so much alike, that he should havesaid yonder was Hec--. The rest ended in a view halloo from above andbelow, and three bounds to the beach, whereon I levelled my glass, andperceived that in very deed it was Mr. And Mrs. Ernescliffe who werehopping over the shingle. Descending, I was swung off the last rock ina huge embrace, and Hector's fiery moustache was scrubbing both mycheeks before my feet touched the ground, and Blanche with both armsround my waist. They were ready to devour us alive in their famine fora Stoneborough face; and as Flora and Mary are keeping homeuninhabitable, found themselves obliged to rush away from Maplewood inthe middle of their county welcomes for a little snatch of us, and tojoin us in vituperating the new furniture. If Mary could only hearHector talk of a new sofa that he can't put his boots upon--he says itis bad enough at Maplewood, but that he did hope to be stillcomfortable at home. They have to get back to dine out to-morrow, butmeantime the fun is more fast and furious than ever, and as soon as thetide serves, we are to fulfil our long-cherished desire of boatinground to Lyme. I won't answer for the quantity of discretion added toour freight, but at least there is six feet more of valour, and Mrs. Blanche for my chaperon. Bonnie Blanche is little changed by her fourmonths' matrimony, and only looks prettier and more stylish, but she ispainfully meek and younger-sisterish, asking my leave instead of herhusband's, and distressed at her smartness in her pretty shady hat andundyed silk, because I was in trim for lias-grubbing. Her appearanceought to be an example to all the brides in the place with skirts inthe water, and nothing on to keep off eyes, sun, or wind from theirfaces. I give Flora infinite credit for it. Blanche and Aubrey walkarm in arm in unceasing talk, and that good fellow, Hector, hasincluded Leonard in the general fraternity. They are highlycomplimentary, saying they should have taken Aubrey for Harry, he is somuch stouter and rosier, and that Leonard is hugely grown. Here comethese three boys shouting that the boat is ready; I really think Hectoris more boyish and noisy than ever. 

 "Five precious souls, and all agog To dash through thick or thin. "

I'll take the best care of them in my power. Good-bye. '

 * * * * *

'August 2nd. --Safe back, without adventure, only a great deal ofenjoyment, for which I am doubly thankful, as I almost fancied we werefey, one of the many presentiments that come to nothing, but perhaps dous rather good than harm for all that. I hope I did not show it in myletter, and communicate it to you. Even when safe landed, I could notbut think of the Cobb and Louisa Musgrove, as I suppose every one does. We slept at the inn; drove with the Ernescliffes to the station thismorning, and came back to this place an hour ago, after having beensteeped in pleasure. I shall send the description of Lyme to Daisyto-morrow, having no time for it now, as I want an answer from youabout our going to Maplewood. The "married babies" are bent upon it, and Hector tries to demonstrate that it is the shortest way home, towhich I can't agree; but as it may save another journey, and it will benice to see them in their glory, I told them that if you could spareus, we would go from the 29th to the 4th of September. This will bringLeonard home four days before the end of the holidays, for he has beenmost warmly invited, Hector adopting him into the brotherhood of papa'spets. I am glad he is not left out; and Mary had better prove toAveril that he will be much happier for having no time at home beforethe half year begins. He still shrinks from the very name being broughtbefore him. Let me know, if you please, whether this arrangement willsuit, as I am to write to Blanche. Dear little woman, I hope Hectorwon't make a spoilt child of her, they are so very young, and theirmeans seem so unlimited to them both, Hector wanting to make her and uspresents of whatever we admired, and when she civilly praised Mab, vehemently declaring that she should have just such another if moneycould purchase, or if not, he would find a way. "Thank you, Hectordear, I had rather not, " placidly responds Blanche, making hisvehemence fall so flat, and Leonard's almost exulting alarm glide intosuch semi-mortification, that I could have laughed, though I remain inhopes that her "rather not" may always be as prudent, for I believe itis the only limit to Hector's gifts. '

 * * * * *

'29th, 8 A. M. --Farewell to the Coombe of Coombes. I write whilewaiting for the fly, and shall post this at Weymouth, where we are tobe met. We have been so happy here, that I could be sentimental, ifLeonard were not tete-a-tete with me, and on the verge of thatpredicament. "Never so happy in his life, " quoth he, "and never willbe again--wonders when he shall gee this white cliff again. " But, happily, in tumbles Aubrey with the big claw of a crab, which heinsists on Leonard's wearing next his heart as a souvenir of Mrs. Gisborne; he is requited with an attempt to pinch his nose therewith, And--

2. 30. P. M. Weymouth. --The result was the upset of my ink, whereof yousee the remains; and our last moments were spent in reparations andapologies. My two squires are in different plight from what they wereten weeks ago, racing up hills that it then half killed them to comedown, and lingering wistfully on the top for last glimpses of our bay. I am overwhelmed with their courtesies, and though each is luggingabout twenty pounds weight of stones, and Mab besides in Leonard'spocket, I am seldom allowed to carry my own travelling bag. Hector hasbeen walking us about while his horses are resting after their twentymiles, but we think the parade and pier soon seen, and are tantalizedby having no time for Portland Island, only contenting ourselves withan inspection of shop fossils, which in company with Hector is a sortof land of the "Three Wishes, " or worse; for on my chancing to praise abeautiful lump of Purbeck stone, stuck as full of paludinae as apudding with plums, but as big as my head and much heavier, he broughtout his purse at once; and when I told him he must either enchant it onto my nose, or give me a negro slave as a means of transport, Leonardso earnestly volunteered to be the bearer, that I was thankful for myold rule against collecting curiosities that I do not find and carrymyself. 

'August 30th. Maplewood. --I wonder whether these good children can behappier, unless it may be when they receive you! How much they do makeof us! and what a goodly sight at their own table they are! They arecapable in themselves of making any place charming, though the man musthave been enterprising who sat down five-and-twenty years ago toreclaim this park from irreclaimable down. I asked where were themaples? and where was the wood? and was shown five stunted ones in acage to defend them from the sheep, the only things that thrive here, except little white snails, with purple lines round their shells. "There now, isn't it awfully bleak?" says Hector, with a certaincomical exultation. "How was a man ever to live here without her?"And the best of it is, that Blanche thinks it beautiful--delicious freeair, open space, view over five counties, &c. Inside, one tracesFlora's presiding genius, Hector would never have made the concern soperfect without her help; and Blanche is no child in her own house, butis older and more at home than Hector, so that one would take her forthe heiress, making him welcome and at ease. Not that it is like theGrange, Blanche is furious if I remark any little unconscious imitationor similarity--"As if we could be like Flora and George indeed!" Norwill they. If Blanche rules, it will be unawares to herself. Andwhere Hector is, there will always be a genial house, overflowing withgood-humour and good-nature. He has actually kept the 1st of Septemberclear of shooting parties that he may take these two boys out, and givethem a thorough day's sport in his turnip-fields. "License? Nonsense, he thought of that before, and now Aubrey may get some shooting out ofGeorge Rivers. " After such good-nature my mouth is shut, though, ay dime, all the world and his wife are coming here on Monday evening, andunless I borrow of Blanche, Mrs. Ernescliffe's sister will "look likeane scrub. "'

 * * * * *

'September 2nd. --Train at Stoneborough, 6. 30. That's the best news Ihave to give. Oh, it has been a weary while to be out of sight of youall, though it has been pleasant enough, and the finale is perfectlybrilliant. Blanche, as lady of the house, is a sight to make a sisterproud; she looks as if she were born to nothing else, and is a model ofprettiness and elegance. Hector kept coming up to me at everyopportunity to admire her. "Now, old Ethel, look at her? Doesn't shelook like a picture? I chose that gown, you know;" then again afterdinner, "Well, old Ethel, didn't it go off well? Did you ever seeanything like her? There, just watch her among the old ladies. Ican't think where she learnt it all, can you?" And it certainly wastoo perfect to have been learnt. It was not the oppression that poordear Flora gives one by doing everything so well, as if she hadperfectly balanced what was due to herself and everybody else; it wasjust Blanche, simple and ready, pleasing herself by doing what peopleliked, and seeing what they did like. It was particularly pretty to seehow careful both she and Hector were not to put Leonard aside--indeed, they make more of him than of Aubrey, who is quite able to find his ownlevel. Even his tender feelings as to Mab are respected, and Blanchealways takes care to invite her to a safe seat on a fat scarlet cushionon the sofa (Mrs. Ledwich's wedding present), when the footmen with thetea might be in danger of demolishing her. Leonard, and his fine eyes, and his dog, were rather in fashion yesterday evening. Blanche put outhis Coombe sketches for a company trap, and people talked to him aboutthem, and he was set to sing with Blanche, and then with some of theyoung ladies. He seemed to enjoy it, and his nice, modest, gentlemanlike manner told. The party was not at all amiss in itself. I had a very nice clerical neighbour, and it is a very different thingto see and hear Hector at the bottom of the table from having poor dearGeorge there. But oh! only one dinner more before we see our own tableagain, and Tom at the bottom of it. Hurrah! I trust this is the lastletter you will have for many a day, from

 'Your loving and dutiful daughter, 'ETHELDRED MAY. '

CHAPTER VI

 The XII statute remember to observe For all the paine thou hast for love and wo All is too lite her mercie to deserve Thou musten then thinke wher er thou ride or go And mortale wounds suffre thou also All for her sake, and thinke it well besette Upon thy love, for it maie not be bette. --Chaucer's 'Court of Love'

'Good-bye, Leonard, ' said Ethel, as the two families, after musteringstrong at the station, parted at the head of Minster Street; and as shefelt the quivering lingering pressure of his hand, she added with asmile, 'Remember, any Saturday afternoon. And you will come for thebooks. '

Glad as she was to be anchored on her father's arm, and clustered roundwith rejoicing brothers and sisters, she could not be devoid of a shadeof regret for the cessation of the intimate intercourse of the lastnine weeks, and a certain desire for the continuance of theconfidential terms that had arisen. The moment's pang was lost in theeager interchange of tidings too minute for correspondence, and inapproval of the renovation of the drawing-room, which was so skilfulthat her first glance would have detected no alteration in the subduedtones of paper, carpet, and chintz, so complete was their loyalty tothe spirit of perpetuity. Flora told no one of the pains that, amongher many cares, she had spent upon those tints, not so much to gratifyEthel, as because her own wearied spirit craved the repose of homesameness, nor how she had finally sent to Paris for the paper thatlooked so quiet, but was so exquisitely finished, that the whole roomhad a new air of refinement. 

The most notable novelty was a water-coloured sketch, a labour of lovefrom the busy hands in New Zealand, which had stolen a few hours fromtheir many tasks to send Dr. May the presentment of his namesakegrandson. Little Dickie stood before them, a true son of thehumming-bird sprite, delicately limbed and featured, and with elasticspringiness, visible even in the pencilled outline. The dancing darkeyes were all Meta's, though the sturdy clasp of the hands, and thecurl that hung over the brow, brought back the reflection of Harry'sbaby days. 

It would have been a charming picture, even if it had not been byMeta's pencil, and of Norman's child, and it chained Ethel for morethan one interval of longing loving study. 

Tom interrupted her in one of these contemplations. 'Poor Flora, ' hesaid, with more feeling than he usually allowed to affect his voice, 'that picture is a hard trial to her. I caught her looking at it forfull ten minutes, and at last she turned away with her eyes full oftears. '

'I do not wonder, ' said Ethel. 'There is a certain likeness to thatpoor little Leonora, and I think Flora misses her more every year. '

'Such a child as Margaret is just the thing to cause the other to bemissed. '

'What do you think of Margaret this time?' said Ethel, for Tom aloneever durst seriously touch on the undefined impression that allentertained of Flora's only child. 

'If Flora were only silly about her, ' said Tom, 'one might have somehope; but unluckily she is as judicious there as in everything else, and the child gets more deplorable every year. She has got the look ofdeformity, and yet she is not deformed; and the queer sullen ways ofdeficiency, but she has more wit than her father already, and morecunning. '

'As long as there is a mind to work on, one hopes' said Ethel. 

'I could stand her better if she were foolish!' exclaimed Tom, 'but Ican't endure to see her come into the room to be courted by every one, and be as cross as she dares before her mother. Behind Flora's back, Idon't know which she uses worst, her father or her grandfather. I camedown upon little Miss at last for her treatment of the Doctor, andneither he nor Rivers have forgiven me. '

'Poor child! I don't believe she has ever known a moment's thoroughhealth or comfort! I always hope that with Flora's patience andmanagement she may improve. '

'Pshaw, Ethel! she will always be a misfortune to herself and everybodyelse. '

'I have faith in good coming out of misfortunes. '

'Illustrated, I suppose, by ravings about your young Ward. Mary iscrazy about his sister, and the Doctor lunatic as to the brother, whowill soon kick at him for his pains. '

'I own to thinking Leonard capable of great things. '

Tom made a grimace equal to what Ethel could do in that way, thrust hishands deep into his pockets, and philosophically observed, 'Behold theeffects of patronage! Blind Cupid is nothing to him. '

Ethel let it pass, caring too much for Leonard to set him up as a markfor Tom's satire, which was as different from Aubrey's as quinine fromorange-peel, though properly used, it was a bracing tonic, such as sheoften found wholesome. A cynical younger brother is a most valuablepossession to a woman who has taken a certain position in her own world. 

Tom was a sterling character, highly and deeply principled, though notdemonstrative, and showing his Scots descent. None of the brothers hadbeen extravagant, but Tom, with the income of his lately achievedfellowship, performed feats of economy, such as attaining to thepurchase of an ultra perfect microscope, and he was consistentlyindustrious, so exactly measuring his own powers that to undertake waswith him to succeed, and no one suffered anxiety on his account. As Dr. Spencer said, he was as sure to fall on his legs as a sandy cat, and sonobody cared for him. At home he was sufficient to himself, properlybehaved to his father, civil to Richard, unmerciful in ridicule, butmerciful in dominion over the rest, except Ethel, whom he treated as anequal, able to retort in kind, reserving for her his mosthighly-flavoured sallies, and his few and distant approaches to suchconfidence as showed her how little she knew him. His father esteemedbut did not 'get on with' him, and his chief and devoted adherent wasAubrey, to whom he was always kind and helpful. In person Tom was talland well-made, of intelligent face, of which his spectacles seemed anatural feature, well-moulded fine-grained hand, and dress theperfection of correctness, though the precision, and dandyism had beenpruned away. 

Ethel would have preferred that Leonard and Averil should not havewalked in on the Saturday after her return, just when Tom had spreadhis microscope apparatus over the table, and claimed Mary's assistancein setting up objects; and she avoided his eye when Mary and Averil didwhat he poetically called rushing into each other's arms, whilst shebestowed her greetings on Leonard and Mab. 

'Then she may come in?' said Leonard. 'Henry has banished her from thedrawing-room, and we had much ado to get her allowed even in theschoolroom. '

'It is so tiresome, ' said his sister, 'just one of Henry's fancies. 'Ethel, thinking this disloyal, remarked that those who disliked dogs inthe house could not bear them, and did not wonder that Tom muttered'Original. '

'But such a little darling as this!' cried Averil, 'and after Mrs. Ernescliffe had been so kind. Mary, you must see how clever she is. Leonard is teaching her to play on the piano. '

'I congratulate you, ' quietly said Tom; and somehow Ethel felt thatthose three words were a satire on her 'capable of great things;' whileLeonard drew up, and Averil coloured, deferring the exhibition of Mab'saccomplishments till 'another time, ' evidently meaning out of Tom'spresence. 

'Aubrey is gone to the Grange with papa, ' Ethel said, glad to lead awayfrom Mab. 

'He told me he was going, ' said Leonard, 'but he said you would be athome. '

Ethel knew that the intonation of that 'you' had curled Tom's lip withmischief, and dreading that Leonard should discover and resent hismood, she said, 'We think one of your sea eggs has got among ours; willyou come to the schoolroom and see?'

And leaving Tom to tease and be bored by the young ladies, she led theway to the schoolroom, where Aubrey's fossils, each in its privatetwist of paper, lay in confusion on the floor, whence they were incourse of being transferred to the shelf of a cupboard. 

Leonard looked at the disorder with astonished admiration. 

'Yes, ' said Ethel, 'it is a great mess, but they are to have a regularcabinet, when Richard has time, or Aubrey has money, two equallyunlikely chances. '

'How much does a cabinet cost?'

'Jones would make a plain deal one for about five-and-twenty shillings. '

'I can't unpack mine properly, ' said Leonard, disconsolately. 'Ave isgoing to make a place for them, but Henry votes them rubbish. '

'They are dreadful rubbish, ' said Ethel. 'It goes against myconscience to guard them from the house-maid, and if my sister Floracame in here, I should be annihilated. '

'Of course one expects that in women. '

'Oh, Richard would be as much distracted! It is a provision of Naturethat there should be some tidy ones, or what would the world come to?'

'It would be a great deal less of a bore. '

'Not at all; we should stifle ourselves at last if we had our own way. Never mind, Leonard, we make them go through quite as much as they makeus. '

'I am sure I hope so. '

'No, no, Leonard, ' she said, becoming less playful, 'we must not do iton purpose. Even unconsciously, we plague the spirits of order quiteenough, and they have the right on their side after all. '

'I think a lady is the person to say what one may do or not in thedrawing-room; don't you?' said Leonard. 

'That depends. '

'And you let your brother spread his things all over yours!'

'So I do; but I would not if papa minded it, or even if this wereRichard's house, and he did not like it. Don't begin with worriesabout trifles, pray, Leonard. '

'It is not I that care about trifles, ' returned the boy. 'How was oneto reckon on a man setting up a monomania about dogs' paws in the hall?'

'I have feared we were rather foolish; I ought to have reminded you toask whether Mab would be welcome. '

'I was not going to ask leave, I have no one whose leave to ask, ' saidLeonard, in tones at first proud, then sad. 

'That's a bad beginning, ' returned Ethel. 'As master of the house, your brother has a right to your compliance, and if you do not all giveway to each other, you will have nothing but dissension and misery. '

'All to each other; yes, that is fair. '

'He must have given way to you in letting you keep the dog at all inthe house' said Ethel. 'It is a real instance of kindness, and you arebound to let her be as little in his way as possible. '

'He does mean well, I suppose, ' said Leonard; 'but he is an awfulbother, and poor Ave gets the worst of it. One has no patience withfinikin ways in a man. '

'There's no telling how much I owe to my finikin brother Richard, ' saidEthel; 'and if you teach Ave to be loyal to the head of your family, you will do her as much good as you will do harm by chafing against hisordinances. '

'Don't you hate such nonsense, Miss May?'

'I can't love order as much as I honour it. Set tastes aside. Thepoint is, that if you are to hold together, Leonard, it must be bybearing and forbearing, and above all, to your elder brother. '

'Well, it is a blessing that I shall be in school on Monday. '

'So it is, ' said Ethel; 'but, barring these fidgets, Leonard, tell me, 'and she looked kindly at him, 'how is it at home? Better than youexpected, I hope. '

'Blank enough' said Leonard; 'I didn't think I should have minded thesound of the surgery door so much. '

'You will have Sunday to help you. '

'Yes, Ave and I have been down to the churchyard; Ave does care, poorgirl. She knows better what it is now, and she was glad to have me totalk to again, though Miss Mary has been so kind to her. '

'Oh, nobody can be so much to her as you. '

'Poor Ave!' said Leonard, tenderly. 'And look here, this is myfather's watch, and she made me this chain of my mother's hair. Andthey have given me a photograph of my mother's picture; Henry had itdone long ago, but thought it would upset me to give it before I wentaway. If he could but have guessed how I lay and wished for one!'

'Those are the things one never can guess, even when one would giveworlds to do so. '

'You--O, Miss May, you always know the thing that is comfortable. '

'Well, ' said Ethel, 'what will be comfortable now is that you should bethe man above being affronted by other people's nonsense--the only wayto show we did not all spoil each other at Coombe. Now, here isWoodstock for you, and tell me if this be not your Cidaris. Oh, and wehave found out the name of your funny spiked shell. '

Ten minutes of palaeontology ensued; and she was leading the way backto the drawing-room, when he exclaimed, 'Have you heard about thematch, Miss May?'

'Match? Oh, the cricket match?'

'Stoneborough against All England, on St. Matthew's Day, so I shallhave got my hand in. '

'All England meaning every one that can be scraped up that is notStoneborough, ' returned Ethel. 'George Larkins has been over herecanvassing Tom and Aubrey. But you can't be going to play, Leonard;papa does not half like it for Aubrey. '

'Perhaps not for Aubrey, ' said Leonard; 'but I am as well as ever, andluckily they can't make up a decent eleven without me. You will comeand see us, Miss May? I'll find you the jolliest place between the oldlime and the cloister door. '

'As if I had not known the meads ages before your time!' said Ethel. 

'I thought you never came to the matches?'

'Ah! you don't remember my brothers' Stoneborough days, when Norman wascricket mad, and Harry after him, and my father was the best cricketerin Stoneborough till his accident. 

'Yes, Dr. May always comes to see the matches, ' said Leonard. 'Youwill, won't you now, Miss May? I didn't think you knew anything aboutcricket, but it will be all the better now. '

Ethel laughed, and half promised. 

Cocksmoor existed without Ethel on that holiday; and indeed she wasself-reproachful, though pleased, at finding her presence so great atreat to her father. Leonard might do the honours of the lime-treenook, but she spent but little time there, for Dr. May made her walkabout with him as he exchanged greetings with each and all, whileGertrude led Richard about at her will, and Mary consorted with theWard girls. With no one on her mind, Ethel could give free attentionto the smoothly-shaven battle-field, where, within the gray wallsshaded by the overhanging elms, the young champions were throwing allthe ardour and even the chivalry of their nature into the contest. 

The annual game had been delayed by the illness in the spring, and theschool had lost several good players at the end of the half year; but, on the other hand, the holidays being over, George Larkins had beenunable to collect an eleven either in full practice or with publicschool training; and the veteran spectators were mourning the decay ofcricket, and talking of past triumphs. The school had the firstinnings, which resulted in the discomfiture of Fielder, one of theircrack champions, and with no great honour to any one except Folliot, the Dux, and Leonard Ward, who both acquitted themselves so creditably, that it was allowed that if others had done as well, Stoneborough mighthave had a chance. 

But when 'All England' went in, the game seemed to be more equallybalanced. Aubrey May, in spite of devoted practice under Tom'sinstructions, was, from nervous eagerness, out almost as soon as in, and in his misery of shame and despair felt like the betrayer of hiscause. But in due time, with the sun declining, and the score stilllow, Tom May came forward, as the last hope of 'All England, ' lissom, active, and skilled, walking up to his wicket with the easy confidenceof one not greatly caring, but willing to show the natives what playmight be. 

And his play was admirable; the fortunes of the day began to tremble inthe balance; every one, spectators and all, were in a state of eagerexcitement; and Aubrey, out of tone and unable to watch for the crisis, fairly fled from the sight, rushed through the cloister door, and threwhimself with his face down upon the grass, shivering with suspense. There he lay till a sudden burst of voices and cheers showed that thebattle was over. 

The result? He could not believe eyes or ears as he opened the door, to behold the triumphant gestures of Stoneborough, and the crestfallenair of his own side, and heard the words, 'Folliot missed two chancesof long-leg--Ward--tremendous rush--caught him out--with only one runto tie. '

Dr. May was shaking hands with Leonard in congratulation, not solelygenerous, for let his sons be where they would, Stoneborough triumphswere always the Doctor's, and he was not devoid of gratitude to any onewho would defeat Tom. Noting, however, the flitting colour, flutteringbreath, and trembling limbs, that showed the effect of the day'sfatigue and of the final exertion, he signed back the boys, and thrustLeonard within the cloister door, bidding Aubrey fetch his coat, andEthel keep guard over him, and when he was rested and cooled, to takehim home to the High Street, where his sisters would meet him. 

'But--sir--the--supper!' gasped Leonard, leaning against the door-post, unable to stand alone. 

'I dare say. Keep him safe, Ethel. '

And the Doctor shut the door, and offered himself to appease the ladswho were clamouring for the hero of their cause; while Leonard sankback on the bench, past words or looks for some moments. 

'You have redeemed your pennon with your last gasp, ' said Ethel, halfreproachfully. 

'I was determined, ' panted the boy. 'I don't know how I did it. Icouldn't fail with you looking on. You did it by coming. '

Reply was spared by Aubrey's return, with the coat in one hand, and aglass of ale in the other. 'You are to go home with Ethel at once, ' hepronounced with the utmost zest, 'that is, as soon as you are rested. My father says you must not think of the supper, unless youparticularly wish to be in bed for a week; but we'll all drink yourhealth, and I'll return thanks--the worst player for the best. '

This was the first time Aubrey had been considered in condition forsuch festivities, and the gratification of being superior to somebodymight account for his glee in invaliding his friend. 

Cricket suppers were no novelties to Leonard; and either this or hisexhaustion must have made him resign himself to his fate, and walk backwith Ethel as happily as at Coombe. 

The sisters soon followed, and were detained to drink tea. Thecricketers' mirth must have been fast and furious if it exceeded thatat home, for the Doctor thought himself bound to make up for the lossto Leonard, put forth all his powers of entertainment, and wascomically confidential about 'these Etonians that think so much ofthemselves. '

Averil was lively and at ease, showing herself the pleasantwell-informed girl whom Ethel had hitherto only taken on trust, andacting in a pretty motherly way towards the little sisters. She wasmore visibly triumphant than was Leonard, and had been much gratifiedby a request from the Bankside curate that she would entirely undertakethe harmonium at the chapel. She had been playing on it during theabsence of the schoolmaster, and with so much better effect than hecould produce, that it had been agreed that he would be best in hisplace among the boys. 

'Ah!' said the Doctor, 'two things in one are apt to be like Aubrey'scompromise between walking-stick and camp-stool--a little of neither. '

'I don't mean it to be a little of neither with me, Dr. May, ' saidAveril. 'I shall have nothing to do with my choir on week-days, till Ihave sent these pupils of mine to bed. '

'Are you going to train the choir too?' asked Leonard. 

'I must practise with them, or we shall not understand one another;besides, they have such a horrid set of tunes, Mr. Scudamour gave meleave to change them. He is going to have hymnals, and get rid of Tateand Brady at once. '

'Ah! poor Nahum!' sighed the Doctor with such a genuine sigh, thatAveril turned round on him in amazement. 

'Yes, ' said Ethel, 'I'm the only one conservative enough to sympathizewith you, papa. '

'But does any one approve of the New Version?' cried Averil, recoveringfrom her speechless wonder. 

'Don't come down on me, ' said the Doctor, holding up his hands. 'Iknow it all; but the singing psalms are the singing psalms to me--and Ican't help my bad taste--I'm too old to change. '

'Oh! but, papa, you do like those beautiful hymns that we have now?'cried Gertrude. 

'Oh! yes, yes, Gertrude, I acquiesce. They are a great improvement;but then, wasn't it a treat when I got over to Woodside Church theother day, and found them singing, "No change of times shall evershock"!' and he began to hum it. 

'That is the Sicilian Mariners' hymn, ' said Averil. 'I can sing youthat whenever you please. '

'Thank you; on condition you sing the old Tate and Brady, not your "OSanctissma, O Purissima, "' said the Doctor, a little mischievously. 

'Which is eldest, I wonder?' said Ave, smiling, pleased to comply withany whim of his; though too young to understand the associations thatentwine closely around all that has assisted or embodied devotion. 

The music went from the sacred to the secular; and Ethel owned that theperfectly pronounced words and admirable taste made her singing verydifferent from that which adorned most dinner-parties. Dr. Mayintensely enjoyed, and was between tears and bravos at the charge ofthe Six Hundred, when the two brothers entered, and stood silentlylistening. 

That return brought a change. Aubrey was indeed open and bright, bursting out with eager communications the moment the song ceased, thenturning round with winning apologies, and hopes that he was notinterrupting; but Tom looked so stiff and polite as to chill every one, and Averil began to talk of the children's bed-time. 

The Doctor and Aubrey pressed for another song so earnestly that sheconsented; but the spirit and animation were gone, and she had nosooner finished than she made a decided move to depart, and Dr. Mayaccompanied the party home. 

'Is my father going to put that fellow to bed?' said Tom, yawning, asif injured by the delay of bed-time thus occasioned. 

'Your courtesy does not equal his, ' said Ethel. 

'Nor ever will, ' said Tom. 

'Never, ' said Ethel, so emphatically that she nettled him into adding, 'He is a standing warning against spoiling one's patients. I wouldn'thave them and their whole tag-rag and bobtail about my house forsomething!'

'O, Tom, for shame!' cried Mary, bursting out in the wrath he hadintended to excite. 

'Ask him which is tag, which rag, and which bobtail, ' suggested Ethel. 

'Mab, I suppose, ' said Gertrude, happily closing the discussion, but itwas re-animated by her father's arrival. 

'That's a nice girl, ' he said, 'very nice; but we must not have her toooften in the evening, Mary, without Henry. It is not fair to break uppeople's home party. '

'Bobber than bobtail, ' murmured Tom, with a gesture only meant forEthel. 

'Ave said he would be out till quite late, papa, ' said Mary, inself-defence. 

'She ought to have been back before him, ' said Dr. May. 'He didn'tseem best pleased to have found her away, and let me tell you, youngwoman, it is hard on a man who has been at work all day to come homeand find a dark house and nobody to speak to. '

Mary looked melancholy at this approach to reproof, and Tom observed inan undertone, 'Never mind, Mary, it is only to give papa the opportunity of improvinghis pupil, while you exchange confidence with your bosom friend. Ishall be gone in another month, and there will be nothing to preventthe perfect fusion of families. '

No one was sorry that the evening here came to an end. 

'I hope, ' said Dr. May at the Sunday's dinner, 'that the cricket matchhas not done for that boy; I did not see him among the boys. '

'No, ' said Mary, 'but he has met with some accident, and has the mostterrible bruised face. Ave can't make out how he did it. Do you know, Aubrey?'

The Doctor and his two sons burst out laughing. 

'I thought, ' said Ethel, rather grieved, 'that those things had goneout of fashion. '

'So Ethel's protege, or prodigy, which is it?' said Tom, 'is turningout a muscular Christian on her hands. '

'Is a muscular Christian one who has muscles, or one who trusts inmuscles?' asked Ethel. 

'Or a better cricketer than an Etonian?' added the Doctor. 

Tom and Aubrey returned demonstrations that Eton's glory wasuntarnished, and the defeat solely owing to 'such a set of sticks. '

'Aubrey, ' said Ethel, in their first private moment, 'was this a fightin a good cause? for if so, I will come down with you and see him. '

Aubrey made a face of dissuasion, ending in a whistle. 

'Do at least tell me it is nothing I should be sorry for, ' she saidanxiously. 

He screwed his face into an intended likeness of Ethel's imitation ofan orchis, winked one eye, and looked comical. 

'I see it can't be really bad, ' said Ethel, 'so I will rest on yourassurance, and ask no indiscreet questions. '

'You didn't see, then?' said Aubrey, aggrieved at the failure of hisimitation. 'You don't remember the beauty he met at Coombe?'

'Beauty! None but Mab. '

'Well, they found it out and chaffed him. Fielder said he would cutout as good a face out of an old knob of apple wood, and the doctor inpetticoats came up again; he got into one of his rages, and they had noend of a shindy, better than any, they say, since Lake and Bensonfifteen years ago; but Ward was in too great a passion, or he wouldhave done for Fielder long before old Hoxton was seen mooning that way. So you see, if any of the fellows should be about, it would never dofor you to be seen going to bind up his wounds, but I can tell him youare much obliged, and all that. '

'Obliged, indeed!' said Ethel. 'What, for making me the laughing-stockof the school?'

'No, indeed, ' cried Aubrey, distressed. 'He said not a word--they onlyfound it out--because he found that seat for you, and papa sent himaway with you. They only meant to poke fun, and it was his caring thatmade it come home to him. I wonder you don't like to find that such afellow stood up for you. '

'I don't like to be made ridiculous. '

'Tom does not know it, and shall not, ' eagerly interposed Aubrey. 

'Thank you, ' said she, with all her heart. 

'Then don't be savage. You know he can't help it if he does think youso handsome, and it is very hard that you should be affronted with him, just when he can't see out of one of his eyes. '

'For that matter, ' said Ethel, her voice trembling, 'one likesgenerosity in any sort of a cause; but as to this, the only way is tolaugh at it. '

Aubrey thought this 'only way' hardly taken by the cachinnation withwhich she left him, for he was sure that her eyes were full of tears;and after mature consideration he decided that he should only get intoa fresh scrape by letting Leonard know that she was aware of the combatand its motive. 

'If I were ten years younger, this might be serious, ' meditated Ethel. 'Happily, it is only a droll adventure for me in my old age, and I haveheard say that a little raving for a grown-up woman is a wholesome sortof delusion, at his time of life. So I need not worry about it, and itis pretty and touching while it lasts, good fellow!'

Ethel had, in fact, little occasion to worry herself; for all specialmanifestations of Leonard's devotion ceased. Whether it were that Tomwith his grave satirical manner contrived to render the housedisagreeable to both brother and sister, or whether Leonard's boyishbashfulness had taken alarm, and his admiration expended itself in thebattle for her charms, there was no knowing. All that was certain was, that the Wards seldom appeared at Dr. May's, although elsewhere Maryand Aubrey saw a great deal of their respective friends, and throughboth, Ethel heard from time to time of Leonard, chiefly as working hardat school, but finding that his illness had cost him not only the lasthalf year's learning, but some memory and power of application. He wasmerging into the ordinary schoolboy--a very good thing for him nodoubt, though less beautiful than those Coombe fancies. And what werethey worth?

CHAPTER VII

 Little specks of daily trouble-- Petty grievance, petty strife-- Filling up with drops incessant To the brim the cup of life. 

 Deeper import have these trifles Than we think or care to know: In the air a feather floating, Tells from whence the breezes blow. --REV. G. MONSELL

The first brightening of the orphaned house of Bankside had been inLeonard's return. The weeks of his absence had been very sore ones toAveril, while she commenced the round of duties that were a heavyburthen for one so young, and became, instead of the petted favourite, the responsible head of the house. 

She was willing and glad to accept the care of her littlesisters--docile bright children--who were pleased to return to theorderly habits so long interrupted, and were so intelligent, that hertask of teaching was a pleasant one; and almost motherly love towardsthem grew up as she felt their dependence on her, and enjoyed theircaresses. 

With Henry she had less in common. He expected of her what she had notlearnt, and was not willing to acquire. A man interfering in thewoman's province meets little toleration; and Henry was extremelyprecise in his requirements of exact order, punctuality, andexcellence, in all the arrangements of his house. While breaking herin to housekeeping, he made himself appear almost in the light of atask-master--and what was worse, of a despised task-master. Averilthought she could not respect a brother whose displeasure wasmanifested by petulance, not sternness, and who cared not only abouthis dinner, but about the tidy appearance of the drawing-room--nay, whocalled that tasty which she thought vulgar, made things stiff where shemeant them to be easy and elegant, and prepared the place to be thebutt of Tom May's satire. 

Henry was not a companion to her. His intellect was lower, hiseducation had not been of the same order, and he had not the manlyforce of character that makes up for everything in a woman's eyes. Where she had talents, he had pretensions--just enough to make hisjudgments both conceited and irritating; and where her deeper thoughtsand higher aspirations were concerned, she met either a blank or agrowing jealousy of the influence of the clergy and of the May family. 

Yet Henry Ward was really a good brother, sacrificing much to hisorphan sisters, and living a moral and religious life--such as gainedfor him much credit, and made Mrs. Ledwich congratulate Averil on thegreat excellence and kindness of her incomparable brother. 

Averil assented, and felt it a dreary thing to have an incomparablebrother. 

But when Leonard came home, the face of the house was changed. Now shehad something to look forward to. Now there was something to hear thatstirred her deeper feelings--some one who would understand andrespond--some one to make common cause with. Little as she saw of theschoolboy, there was life in her day, for sympathy and comprehensionhad come home with him. 

After all, there were recesses in Leonard's confidence to which Ave didnot penetrate; but there was quite enough to be very happy upon, especially those visions that had been built on the Melanesian letters. They were not near enough to terrify her with the thought ofseparation, and she was sufficiently imbued with Mary May's sentimentsto regard mission-work as the highest ambition. Leonard's strong willand manly disposition would have obtained her homage and affection, even without the lofty sentiments and the lesser graces that made thebrother and sister thoroughly suited to one another; and the bond ofunion was unfortunately cemented by equal annoyance at Henry'speculiarities. 

It certainly was rather hard on a young head of a family to have ayounger brother his superior in every respect, and with an inseparablesister. That Henry had not found out Leonard's superiority was noreason that it should not gall him; and his self-assertions were apt tobe extremely irritating. Even in the first flush of welcome, he hadmade it plain that he meant to be felt as master of the house, and toenforce those petty regulations of exact order that might be easilyborne from a mother, or played with in a sister--would be obeyedgrudgingly from a father, but could be intolerable in a brother. 

The reception of Mab and the ammonites was but an earnest of similarungracious acts on the one hand, and aggressions on the other, oftenunintentional. Averil did, indeed, smooth matters, but she sharedLeonard's resentment, and outward submission was compensated by murmurand mockery in private. 

Still the household worked on fairly; and Mrs. Ledwich was heard todeclare, with tears in her eyes, that it was beautiful to see such ahappy family of love as those dear young Wards!

'The happy family--in Trafalgar Square!' muttered Dr. Spencer. 

The confidence of the happy family was on this wise. When Leonard camehome with his unpresentable face, he baffled all Ave's anxiousquestions, and she was only enlightened by Henry's lamentations, in hisabsence, over the hopelessness of a brother who was so low and vulgaras to box! Her defence being met by a sneer, she flew to tell Leonardof the calumny, and was laughed at for her innocence, but extorted thathe had fought with a fellow that talked impudently of some of theMays--cause fully sufficient in her eyes; nor did Henry utter any openreproof, though he contrived to exasperate his brother into fierceretort and angry gesture by an unnecessary injunction not to show thatungentlemanly face. 

Full consciousness of the difficulties presented by the characters ofthe two brothers would have been far too oppressive; and perhaps it wasbetter for Averil that she had it not, but had her own engrossinginterests and employments drawing off her attention and enlivening herspirits. Her church music was her object in life--the dedication ofthe talent that had been cultivated at so much time and cost, and thegreatest honour and enjoyment she could imagine, and she had fullparticipation from Leonard, who had a hearty love for sacred music, readily threw himself into her plans, and offered voice and taste toassist her experiments. Nor had her elder brother any objection to herbeing thus brought forward: he was proud of her performance, andgratified with the compliments it elicited; and all went well till thenew hymnals arrived, and books upon books, full of new tunes, anthems, and chants, were accumulating on the music-stand. 

'What are you about there all the evening, not opening your lips?'

'Leonard is writing out his verses, and I am copying music. '

'I wonder you neither of you will remember that that table was nevermeant to be littered over with all sorts of rubbish!'

'I thought tables were to put things on, ' returned Leonard coolly. 

'Drawing-room tables were not made to be inked! That cover will beruined in a day or two!'

'Very well--then we'll pay for it!' said Leonard, in the sameaggravating tone. 

'Here are newspapers spread between it and the ink, ' said Averil, displaying them with an air of injured innocence that made Henrysubside; but he presently exclaimed:

'Is that copying to go on all night? Can't you speak, nor playanything, to send one off to sleep?'

With a martyr look, yet a satirical glance, Averil opened the piano;and Henry settled himself in the master's arm-chair, as one about toenjoy well-earned rest and entertainment after a hard day's work. 

'I say, what doleful drone have you there!'

'I am trying a new chant for the "Nunc Dimittis". '

'Nothing but that day and night! Give us something worth hearing. '

'I thought you only wanted to go to sleep. '

'I don't want to dream myself into church, listening to Scudamour'sproses: I've quite enough of that on Sunday. '

Ave began to play one of her school waltzes; and the touch of herfingers on the keys had so sharp-edged and petulant a tone, thatLeonard smiled to himself as he ran his fingers through his hair overhis books. Nor was it soothing to Henry, who, instead of going tosleep, began to survey the room, and get food for annoyance. 

'I say, ' said he, looking across at a little brass-barred bookcase ofornamental volumes on the opposite chiffonniere, 'what book is outthere?'

'Scott's "Lay", ' said Leonard; 'it is up in my room. '

'I told you, Ave, not to let the drawing-room books be carried aboutthe house to be spoilt!' said Henry, who seldom reproved his brotherdirect, but generally through Ave. 

'You'd better get some made of wood then, ' said Leonard. 

'Remember then, Ave, I say I will not have my books taken out, and leftabout over the house. '

Leonard dashed out of the room passionately, and presently camethundering down again, every step audible the whole way, and threw thebook on the table, bringing in a whirlwind, and a flaring slopingcandle dropping upon the precious cloth. Henry started up and pointed. 

'I'm glad of it!' exclaimed Leonard; 'it will be a little amusement foryou. Good night, Ave! I'm going to finish up-stairs, since one can'tread, write, or touch a book without your being rowed!'

He was gone, and Averil, though rather frightened, gave him infinitecredit for keeping his temper; and perhaps he deserved it, consideringthe annoyance and the nature of the provocation; but she did notreflect how much might have been prevented by more forethought and lesspre-occupation. She said not a word, but quietly returned to hercopying; and when Henry came with paper and poker to remove the damage, she only shoved back her chair, and sat waiting, pen in hand, resignedand ironical. 

'I declare, ' grumbled Henry, as he examined the remaining amount ofdamage, 'these day-schools are a great inconvenience; there's nokeeping a place fit to be seen with a great uncivilized lad alwayshanging about!'

'Leonard is considered particularly gentlemanlike, ' said Ave, with lipscompressed, to keep back something about old bachelors. 

'Now, I should have thought a lady would have some regard to her owndrawing-room, and object to slovenliness--elbows on table, feeteverywhere!'

'Nothing is in worse taste than constraint, ' said Ave from the cornersof her mouth--'at least for those that can trust their manners withoutit. '

'I tell you, Ave, you are spoiling the boy. He is more conceited thanever since the Mays noticed him. '

'Leonard conceited!'

'Yes; he is getting as stuck up as Tom May himself--your model Ibelieve!'

'I thought he was yours!'

'Mine?'

'Yes; you always seem to aim at a poor imitation of him. '

There was a blushing angry stammer in reply; and she suppressed hersmile, but felt triumphant in having hit the mark. Unready at retort, he gathered himself up, and said: 'Well, Ave, I have only this to say, that if you choose to support that boy in his impertinences, there willbe no bearing it; and I shall see what I shall do. '

Seeing what shall be done is a threat stimulating to some, butappalling to others; and Averil was of the latter class, with no desirefor such a spectacle, be it what it might. She did not apologize forthe trifle--possible ink, a spot of wax, a borrowed book, were farbeneath an apology; but she made up her mind to humour Henry's folliesmagnanimously, and avoid collisions, like an admirable peace-maker. Assoon as bed-time came, she repaired to Leonard's room; and Henry, as hewent along the passage, heard the two young voices ringing withlaughter! Her retort had been particularly delightful to Leonard. 'That's right, Ave! I'm glad you set him down, for I thoughtafterwards whether I ought not to have stood by you, only his way ofpitching into me through you puts me into such a rage: I shall dosomething desperate some day!'

'Never mind it, Leonard; it does not hurt me; and if it did, I shouldlike to bear a great deal for you. '

'That's all the wrong way, ' said Leonard, smiling affectionately. 

'No; men do and women suffer. '

'That's trite!' said Leonard, patting her fondly. 'I like you todo--as you call it--Miss May does, and every one that is worthanything. I say, Ave, when I go out to the islands, you are coming too?'

'Oh yes! I know I could do a great deal. If nothing else, I couldsing; and they have a great aptitude for singing, Mary was telling me. But that reminds me I must finish copying the hymn for next Sunday;Henry hindered me, and I have six copies more to do. '

'I'll do some of them, ' said Leonard. 'Let us go down now the coast isclear, if the fire is not out. '

They went down softly, Mab and all, nursed up the fire that Henry hadraked out; and if Saturnalia could be held over the writing out of ahymn tune, they did it! At any rate, it had the charm of an assertionof independence; and to Averil it was something like a midnight meetingof persecuted Christians--to Leonard it was 'great fun. '

That evening was not a solitary specimen. 

Averil and Leonard intended to obviate causes of offence; but they wereyoung and heedless, and did not feel bound to obedience. A very littletemptation made them forget or defy Henry's fancies; and Leonard waseasily lashed into answers really unbecoming and violent, for which hecould not bring himself to be sorry, when he thought over the pettyinterference and annoyance that had caused them. 

These small tyrannies and frets made Averil the more devoted to themusic, which was her rest, her delight, and not only exalted her abovecares, but sanctioned her oblivion of them. The occupation grew uponher, never ending, still beginning, with fresh occasions for practiceand new lessons, but though Bankside boys were willing to be taught, yet it was chiefly in hope of preferment as choristers at the Minster;and she soon found that a scholar no sooner proved his voice good foranything, than he went off to be trained for the choir on thefoundation, which fed, clothed, and apprenticed its young singers. Shefound she must betake herself to an elder race if she wanted a reliablestaff of voices; and some young men and women showing themselveswilling, a practice, with Mr. Scudamour to keep order, was organizedfor late evenings, twice in the week. This was rather much! Henryopposed at first, on the ground that the evening would be broken up; towhich she answered that for such a purpose they ought to be willing tosacrifice a little domestic comfort; and when he muttered a petulant'Pshaw, ' looked at him in reproof for sacrilege. She was not going tobe one of the womankind sitting up in a row till their lords andmasters should be pleased to want them!

Next, he insisted that he would not have her going about the placeafter dark, but she was fortified by the curate's promise to escort hersafely, and reduced him to a semi-imprecation which she again viewed asextremely wicked. The existence of that meek little helpless Mrs. Scudamour, always shut up in a warm room with her delicate baby, cutoff Henry from any other possible objection, and he was obliged tosubmit. 

Leonard would gladly have been his sister's companion on herexpeditions, but he must remain at home and prepare for the morrow'sschool-work, and endure the first hour of dreariness unenlivened by hersmile and greeting, and, what was worse, without the scanty infusion ofpeace produced by her presence. Her rapid departure after dinneralways discomposed Henry; and the usual vent for his ill-humour waseither a murmur against the clergy and all their measures, or thediscovery of some of Leonard's transgressions of his code. Fretted andirritable at the destruction of evening comfort, he in his turn teasedthe fiery temper of his brother. If there were nothing worse, hisgrumbling remarks interrupted, and too often they were that sort ofcensure that is expressively called nagging. Leonard would replyangrily, and the flashes of his passion generally produced silence. Neither brother spoke to Averil of these evening interludes, which werebecoming almost habitual, but they kept Leonard in a constant soresense of injury, yet of uneasy conscience. He looked to the Randallscholarship as his best hope of leaving home and its torments, but hisillness had thrown him back: he had not only lost the last quarter, butthe acquirements of the one before it were obscured; and the vexationsthemselves so harassed and interrupted his evening studies, that heknew it was unreasonable to hope for it at the next examination, which, from various causes, was to come after the Christmas holidays; and itwould be well if he could even succeed in the summer. 

Innocent as the Mays were of the harmonium business, Henry includedthem in the annoyance it gave. It was the work of the curate--and wasnot Dr. May one in everything with the clergy? had he not beeninstrumental in building the chapel? was it not the Mays and the clergywho had made Ave inconveniently religious and opinionative, to saynothing of Leonard? The whole town was priest--led and bigoted; and Dr. May was the despot to whom all bowed down. 

This was an opinion Henry would hardly have originated: it was theshaft of an abler man than he--no other than Harvey Anderson, who hadlately become known to the world by a book proving King John to havebeen the most enlightened and patriotic of English sovereigns, enduringthe Interdict on a pure principle of national independence, anddevising Magna Charta from his own generous brain--in fact, presentinga magnificent and misunderstood anticipation of the most advancedtheories of the nineteenth century. The book had made so much noise inthe world, that the author had been induced to quit his collegetutorship, and become editor of a popular magazine. He lived inLondon, but often came down to spend Sunday with his mother, and hadbegun to be looked on as rather the lion of the place. Henry took inhis magazine, and courted his notice, often bringing him into Averil'sway that she might hear her heroes treated with irony more effectualthan home-made satire; but Ave was staunch. She hated the sight of Mr. Anderson; never cut the leaves of his magazine; and if driven to singto him, took as little pains as her musical nature would let her do. But the very strength of her dislike gave it an air of prejudice, andit was set down less to principle than to party spirit and Mayinfluence. 

There was another cause for Henry's being soured. He was not of thenature to be filial with Dr. May; and therefore gratitude oppressed, and patronage embittered him. The first months of warm feeling at anend, the old spirit of independence revived, and he avoided consultingthe physician as much as possible. More than once his management of acase was not approved by Dr. May; and the strong and hasty language, and the sharp reproofs that ensued, were not taken as the signs of thewarm heart and friendly interest, but as the greatestoffences--sullenly, but not the less bitterly endured. 

Moreover, one of the Whitford surgeons had been called in by a few ofthe out-lying families who had hitherto been patients of the Wards; andworse than all, Mrs. Rivers took her child up to London for three daysin November, and it became known--through a chain of tongues--that itwas for the enlargement of tonsils, on which Mr. Ward had operated ayear before. 

'Old May was playing him false!' was Henry's cry. 'His professionswere humbug. He would endure no one who did not submit to hisdictation; and he would bring in a stranger to ruin them all!'

Little did Henry know of Dr. May's near approach to untruth in denyingthat he had a house to let to the opposition surgeon--of hisattestations to his daughter that young Ward was a skilful operator--orof his vexation when she professed herself ready to undergo anythingfor his pleasure, but said that little Margaret's health was anotherthing. 

Yet even this might have been forgiven, but for that worst rub ofall--Tom May's manners. His politeness was intense--most punctiliousand condescending in form--and yet provoking beyond measure to personswho, like Henry and Averil, had not playfulness enough to detect withcertainty whether they were being made game of or not, nor whether hissmoothly-uttered compliments were not innuendoes. Henry was certain ofbeing despised, and naturally chafed against the prospect of the futureconnection between the two medical men of the town; and though Tom wasgone back to Cambridge, it was the rankling remembrance of hissupercilious looks that, more than any present offence or independenceof spirit, made the young surgeon kick against direction from thephysician. Here, too, Averil was of the same mind. She had heard TomMay observe that his sister Gertrude would play quite well enough for alady; for the mission of a lady's music was to put one to sleep athome, and cover conversation at a party; as to therest--unprofessionals were a mistake!

After that, the civil speeches with which Tom would approach the pianoonly added insult to injury. 

CHAPTER VIII

 Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call, Thy burghers rose to man thy wall, Than now in danger shall be thine, Thy dauntless voluntary line. --Marmion

'Drive fast, Will, ' said Dr. May, hastily stepping into his carriage inthe early darkness of a December evening. 'Five already, and he is tobe there by 5. 25. '

'He' was no other than Harry May, and 'there' was the station. Withthe tidings of the terrible fight of Peiho had come a letter from amessmate of Harry's with an account of his serious wound in the chest, describing it as just short of immediately dangerous. Another letterhad notified his amendment, and that he was invalided home, a fewcheery words from Harry himself scrawled at the end showing that hispower was far less than his good-will: and after two months' waitingand suspense, a telegram had come from Plymouth, with the words, 'Stoneborough, 5. 25. '

In ignorance as to the state of the traveller, and expecting to findhim in a condition requiring great care and watching, Dr. May had laidhis injunctions on the eager family not to rush up to the station enmasse to excite and overwhelm, but to leave the meeting there entirelyto himself and his brougham. He had, therefore, been exceedinglyannoyed that one of Henry Ward's pieces of self-assertion had delayedhim unnecessarily at a consultation; and when at last he had escaped, he spent most of his journey with his body half out of the window, hurrying Will Adams, and making noises of encouragement to the horse;or else in a strange tumult of sensation between hope and fear, painand pleasure, suspense and thankfulness, the predominant feeling beingvexation at not having provided against this contingency by sendingRichard to the station. 

After all the best efforts of the stout old chestnut, he and the trainwere simultaneously at the station, and the passengers were getting outon the opposite platform. The Doctor made a dash to cross in the rearof the train, but was caught and held fast by a porter with the angryexclamation, 'She's backing, sir;' and there he stood in an agony, feeling all Harry's blank disappointment, and the guilt of it besides, and straining his eyes through the narrow gaps between the blocks ofcarriages. 

The train rushed on, and he was across the line the same instant, butthe blank was his. Up and down the gas-lighted platform he looked invain among the crowd, only his eye suddenly lit on a black case closeto his feet, with the three letters MAY, and the next moment a hugechest appeared out of the darkness, bearing the same letters, andlifted on a truck by the joint strength of a green porter, and a pairof broad blue shoulders. Too ill to come on--telegraph, mailtrain--rushed through the poor Doctor's brain as he stepped forward asif to interrogate the chest. The blue shoulders turned, a ruddysun-burnt face lighted up, and the inarticulate exclamation on eitherside was of the most intense relief and satisfaction. 

'Where are the rest?' said Harry, holding his father's hand in no sickman's grasp. 

'At home, I told them not to come up; I thought--'

'Well, we'll walk down together! I've got you all to myself. Ithought you had missed my telegram. Hollo, Will, how d'ye do? what, this thing to drive down in?'

'I thought you were an invalid, Harry, ' said Dr. May, with a laughingyet tearful ring in his agitated tone, as he packed himself and his sonin. 

'Ay! I wished I could have let you know sooner how well I had got overit, ' said Harry, in the deep full voice of strong healthy manhood. 'Iam afraid you have been very anxious. '

'We are used to it, my boy, ' said the Doctor huskily, stroking thegreat firm fingers that were lying lovingly on his knee, 'and if italways ends in this way, it ought to do us more good than harm. '

'It has not done harm, I hope, ' said Harry, catching him up quick. 'Notto old Mary?'

'No, Mary works things off, good girl. I flatter myself you will findus all in high preservation. '

'All--all at home! That's right. '

'Yes, those infants from Maplewood and all. You are sure you are allright, Harry?'

'As sure as my own feelings can make me, and the surgeon of the Dexterto back them, ' said Harry. 'I don't believe my lungs were touchedafter all, but you shall all sit upon me when you like--Tom and all. It was a greater escape than I looked for, ' he added, in a lower voice. 'I did not think to have had another Christmas here. '

The silence lasted for the few moments till the carriage drew up behindthe limes; the doors were thrown open, and the Doctor shouted to thetimid anxious figure that alone was allowed to appear in the hall, 'Come and lift him out, Mary. '

The drawing-room was a goodly sight that evening; and the Doctor, as hesat leaning back in weary happiness, might be well satisfied with thebright garland that still clustered round his hearth, though the age ofalmost all forbade their old title of Daisies. The only one who stillasserted her right to that name was perched on the sailor's knee, insisting on establishing that there was as much room for her there asthere had been three years ago; though, as he had seated himself on alow foot-stool, her feet were sometimes on the ground, and moreover herthrone was subject to sudden earthquakes, which made her, nothing loth, cling to his neck, draw his arm closer round her, and lean on his broadbreast, proud that universal consent declared her his likeness in thefamily; and the two presenting a pleasant contrasting similarity--theopen honest features, blue eyes, and smile, expressive of heartygood-will and simple happiness, were so entirely of the same mould inthe plump, white-skinned, rosy-cheeked, golden-haired girl, and in thelarge, powerful, bronzed, ruddy sailor, with the thick mass of curls, at which Tom looked with hostility as fixed, though less declared, thanthat of his Eton days. 

Those were the idle members upon the hearth-rug. On the sofa, with asmall table to herself, and a tall embroidery frame before her, nearlyhiding her slight person, sat Mrs. Ernescliffe, her pretty headoccasionally looking out over the top of her work to smile an answer, and her artistically arranged hair and the crispness of her white dressand broad blue ribbons marking that there was a step in life betweenher and her sisters; her husband sat beside her on the sofa, with a redvolume in his hand, with 'Orders, ' the only word visible above thefingers, one of which was keeping his place. Hector looked very happyand spirited, though his visage was not greatly ornamented by amoustache, sandier even than his hair, giving effect to every freckleon his honest face. A little behind was Mary, winding one of Blanche'ssilks over the back of a chair, and so often looking up to revel in thecontemplation of Harry's face, that her skein was in a wild tangle, which she studiously concealed lest the sight should compel Richard tocome and unravel it with those wonderful fingers of his. 

Richard and Ethel were arranging the 'sick albums' which they hadconstructed--one of cheap religious prints, with texts and hymns, to belent in cases of lingering illness; the other, commonly called the'profane, ' of such scraps as might please a sick child, pictures fromworn-out books or advertisements, which Ethel was colouring--Aubreyvolunteering aid that was received rather distrustfully, as his love ofeffect caused him to array the model school-children in colours gaudyenough, as Gertrude complained, 'to corrupt a saint. ' Nor was hisdilettante help more appreciated at a small stand, well provided withtiny drawers, and holding a shaded lamp, according to Gertrude, 'burning something horrible ending in gen, that would kill anybody butTom, who managed it, ' but which threw a beautiful light upon thevarious glass dishes, tubes, and slides, and the tall brass microscopethat Tom was said to love better than all his kith and kin, and whichafforded him occupation for his leisure moments. 

'I say, Harry, ' he asked, 'did you get my letter?'

'Your letter--of what date? I got none since Mary's of the second ofMay, when every one was down in the fever. Poor old Ward, I never wasmore shocked; what is become of the young ones?'

'Oh! you must ask Mary, Miss Ward is a bosom friend of hers. '

'What! the girl that sang like the lark? I must hear her again. Butshe won't be in tune for singing now, poor thing! What are they doing?Henry Ward taken to the practice? He used to be the dirtiest littlesneak going, but I hope he is mended now. '

'Ask my father, ' said mischievous Tom; and Dr. May answered not, norrevealed his day's annoyance with Henry. 

'He is doing his best to make a home for his brother and sisters, ' saidRichard. 

'My letter, ' said Tom, 'was written in Whitsun week; I wish you had hadit. '

'Ay, it would have been precious from its rarity, ' said Harry. 'Whatcommission did it contain, may I ask?'

'You have not by good luck brought me home a Chinese flea?'

'He has all the fleas in creation, ' said Daisy confidentially, 'cats'and dogs', and hedgehogs', and human; and you would have been twice aswelcome if you had brought one. '

'I've brought no present to nobody. I'd got my eye on a splendid ivoryjunk, for Blanche's wedding present, at Canton, but I couldn't evenspeak to send any one after it. You have uncommon bad luck for asailor's relatives. '

'As long as you bring yourself home we don't care, ' said Blanche, treating the loss of the junk with far more resignation than did Tomthat of the flea. 

'If you only had a morsel of river mud sticking anywhere, ' added Tom, 'you don't know the value the infusoria might be. '

'I had a good deal more than a morsel sticking to me once, ' said Harry;'it was owing to my boat's crew that I am not ever so many feet deep init now, like many better men. They never lost sight of me, and somehowhauled me out. '

Gertrude gave him a hug, and Mary's eyes got so misty, that her skeinfell into worse entanglements than ever. 

'Were you conscious?' asked Ethel. 

'I can't say. I'm clear of nothing but choking and gasping then, and agood while after. It was a treacherous, unlucky affair, and I'm afraidI shall miss the licking of rascally John Chinaman. If all I heard atPlymouth is true, we may have work handy to home. '

'At home you may say, ' said his father, 'Dulce et, &c. Is our motto. Didn't you know what a nest of heroes we have here to receive you? Letme introduce you to Captain Ernescliffe, of the Dorset Volunteer RifleCorps; Private Thomas May, of the Cambridge University Corps; and Mr. Aubrey Spencer May, for whom I have found a rifle, and am expected tofind a uniform as soon as the wise heads have settled what colour willbe most becoming. '

'Becoming! No, papa!' indignantly shouted Aubrey: 'it is the colourthat will be most invisible in skirmishing. '

'Gray, faced with scarlet, ' said Hector, decidedly. 

'Yes, that is the colour of the invincible Dorsets, ' said Dr. May. 'There you see our great authority with his military instructions inhis hand. '

'No, sir, ' replied Hector, 'it's not military instructions, it isCrauford's General Orders. '

'And, ' added the Doctor, 'there's his bride working the colours, andMary wanting to emulate her. '

'I don't think George will ever permit us to have colours, ' said Ethel;'he says that Rifles have no business with them, for that they are ofno use to skirmishers. '

'The matter has been taken out of George's hands, ' said Aubrey; 'therewould not have been a volunteer in the country if he had his way. '

'Yes, ' explained Ethel, 'the real soldier can't believe in volunteers, nor cavalry in infantry; but he is thoroughly in for it now. '

'Owing to his Roman matron' quoth Tom. 'It was a wonderful opening forpublic spirit when Lady Walkinghame insisted on Sir Henry refusing theuse of the park for practice, for fear we should make targets of thechildren. So the Spartan mother at Abbotstoke, gallantly settingMargaret aside, sent for the committee at once to choose the very bestplace in the park. '

'Papa is chairman of the committee, ' added Aubrey, 'he is mayor thisyear, so we must encourage it. '

'And Aubrey hit four times at a hundred yards, ' triumphantly declaredGertrude, 'when Edward Anderson and Henry Ward only got a ball in byaccident. '

'Henry Ward ought to be shot at himself, ' was Aubrey's sentiment, 'fornot letting Leonard be in the corps. '

'The fellow that you brought to Maplewood?' asked Hector. 'I thoughthe was at school. '

'Didn't you know that old Hoxton has given leave to any of the sixthform to drill and practise? and that trumpery fellow, Henry, says hecan't afford the outfit, though his sister would have given theuniform. '

'Let me tell you, young folks, ' said the Doctor, 'that you are not tosuppose it always hails crack rifles on all sorts of improved systems, as it does when Captain Hector is in the house. '

'They are only on trial, sir, ' apologized Hector. 

'Very odd then that they all have an eagle and H. E. On them, ' observedthe Doctor dryly. 

'Oh! they'll take them again, or I shall find a use for them, ' saidHector. 

'Well, if Henry can't afford two, ' said Aubrey, holding to his point, 'he ought to give up to his brother; he knows no more how to handle arifle--'

'That's the very reason, ' muttered Tom. 

'And Flora is going to give a great party, ' proceeded Gertrude, 'assoon as the uniform is settled, and they are enrolled. Blanche andHector are to stay for it, and you'll have to wear your lieutenant'suniform, Harry. '

'I can't be going to balls till I've been up to report myself fit forservice, ' said Harry. 

'It is not to be a ball, ' said Blanche's soft, serious voice over hergreen silk banner; 'it is to be a breakfast and concert, ending in adance, such as we had at Maplewood. '

'Hollo!' said Harry, starting, 'now I begin to believe in Mrs. Ernescliffe, when I hear her drawing down herself as an example toFlora. '

'Only a precedent, ' said Blanche, blushing a little, but still grave. 'We have had some experience, you know. Our corps was one of theearliest enrolled, and Hector managed it almost entirely. It was thereason we have not been able to come here sooner, but we thought itright to be foremost, as the enemy are sure to attempt our coast first. '

'I believe the enemy are expected on every coast at first, ' was Ethel'saside, but it was not heard; for Harry was declaring, 'Your coast! they will never get the length of that. I was talking toan old messmate of mine in the train, who was telling me how we couldburn their whole fleet before it could get out of Cherbourg. '

'If they should slip by, ' began Hector. 

'Slip by!' and Harry had well-nigh dislodged Daisy by his vehemence indemonstrating that they were welcome to volunteer, but that the ChannelFleet would prevent the rifles from being seriously put to the proof--adeclaration highly satisfactory to the ladies, and heartily backed upby the Doctor, though Blanche looked rather discomfited, and Hectorargued loud for the probability of active service. 

'I say, Aubrey, ' said Tom, rather tired of the land and sea debate, 'dojust reach me a card, to take up some of this sand upon. '

Aubrey obeyed, and reading the black-edged card as he handed it, said, 'Mrs. Pug. What? Pug ought to have been calling upon Mab. '

'Maybe she will, in good earnest, ' observed Tom again in Ethel's ear;while the whole room rang with the laughter that always befalls theunlucky wight guilty of a blunder in a name. 

'You don't mean that you don't know who she is, Aubrey!' was the cry. 

'I--how should I?'

'What, not Mrs. Pugh?' exclaimed Daisy. 

'Pew or Pug--I know nothing of either. Is this edge as mourning forall the old pews that have been demolished in the church?'

'For shame, Aubrey, ' said Mary seriously. 'You must know it is for herhusband. '

Aubrey set up his eyebrows in utter ignorance. 

'How true it is that one half the world knows nothing of the other!'exclaimed Ethel. 'Do you really mean you have never found out thegreat Mrs. Pugh, Mrs. Ledwich's dear suffering Matilda?'

'I've seen a black lady sitting with Mrs. Ledwich in church. '

'Such is life, ' said Ethel. 'How little she thought herself living insuch an unimpressible world!'

'She is a pretty woman enough, ' observed Tom. 

'And very desirous of being useful, ' added Richard. 'She and Mrs. Ledwich came over to Cocksmoor this morning, and offered any kind ofassistance. '

'At Cocksmoor!' cried Ethel, much as if it had been the French. 

'Every district is filled up here, you know, ' said Richard, 'and Mrs. Ledwich begged me as a personal favour to give her some occupation thatwould interest her and cheer her spirits, so I asked her to look afterthose new cottages at Gould's End, quite out of your beat, Ethel, andshe seemed to be going about energetically. '

Tom looked unutterable things at Ethel, who replied with a glancebetween diversion and dismay. 

'Who is the lady?' said Blanche. 'She assaulted me in the street withinquiries and congratulations about Harry, declaring she had known meas a child, a thing I particularly dislike:' and Mrs. Ernescliffelooked like a ruffled goldfinch. 

'Forgetting her has not been easy to the payers of duty calls, ' saidEthel. 'She was the daughter of Mrs. Ledwich's brother, the Colonel ofMarines, and used in old times to be with her aunt; there used to beurgent invitations to Flora and me to drink tea there because she wasof our age. She married quite young, something very prosperous andrather aged, and the glories of dear Matilda's villa at Bristol havebeen our staple subject, but Mr. Pugh died in the spring, leaving hislady five hundred a year absolutely her own, and she is come to staywith her aunt, and look for a house. '

'Et cetera, ' added Tom. 

'What, in the buxom widow line?' asked Harry. 

'No, no!' said Richard, rather indignantly. 

'No, in the pathetic line, ' said Ethel; 'but that requires someself-denial. '

'Our tongues don't lose their venom, you see, Harry, ' put in the Doctor. 

'No indeed, papa, ' said Ethel, really anxious to guard her brothers. 'Iwas very sorry for her at first, and perhaps I pity her more now thaneven then. I was taken with her pale face and dark eyes, and I believeshe was a good wife, and really concerned for her husband; but I can'thelp seeing that she knows her grief is an attraction. '

'To simple parsons, ' muttered Tom along the tube of his microscope. 

'The sound of her voice showed her to be full of pretension, ' saidBlanche. 'Besides, Mrs. Ledwich's trumpeting would fix my opinion in amoment. '

'Just so, ' observed the Doctor. 

'No, papa, ' said Ethel, 'I was really pleased and touched in spite ofMrs. Ledwich's devotion to her, till I found out a certain manoeuvringto put herself in the foreground, and not let her sorrow hinder herfrom any enjoyment or display. '

'She can't bear any one to do what she does not. '

'What! Mary's mouth open against her too?' cried Dr. May. 

'Well, papa, ' insisted Mary, 'nobody wanted her to insist on taking theharmonium at Bankside last Sunday, just because Averil had a cold inher head; and she played so fast, that every one was put out, and thensaid she would come to the practice that they might understand oneanother. She is not even in the Bankside district, so it is nobusiness of hers. '

'There, Richard, her favours are equally distributed, ' said Aubrey, 'but if she would take that harmonium altogether, one would notmind--it makes Henry Ward as sulky as a bear to have his sister goingout all the evening, and he visits it on Leonard. I dare say if shestayed at home he would not have been such a brute about the rifle. '

'I should not wonder, ' said Dr. May. 'I sometimes doubt if home issweetened to my friend Henry. '

'O, papa!' cried Mary, bristling up, 'Ave is very hard worked, and shegives up everything in the world but her church music, and that is hergreat duty and delight. '

'Miss Ward's music must be a sore trial to the Pug, ' said Tom, 'will itbe at this affair at Abbotstoke?'

'That's the question, ' said Ethel. 'It never goes out, yet is to bemet everywhere, just over-persuaded at the last moment. Now Flora, youwill see, will think it absolutely improper to ask her; and she will begreatly disappointed not to have the chance of refusing, and thenyielding at the last minute. '

'Flora must have her, ' said Harry. 

'I trust not, ' said Blanche, shrinking. 

'Flora will not ask her, ' said Tom, 'but she will be there. '

'And will dance with me, ' said Harry. 

'No, with Richard, ' said Tom. 

'What!' said Richard, looking up at the sound of his name. Alllaughed, but were ashamed to explain, and were relieved that theirfather rang the bell. 

'At that unhappy skein still, Mary?' said Mrs. Ernescliffe, as the goodnights were passing. 'What a horrid state it is in!'

'I shall do it in time, ' said Mary, 'when there is nothing to distractmy attention. I only hope I shall not hurt it for you. '

'Chuck it into the fire at once; it is not worth the trouble, ' saidHector. 

Each had a word of advice, but Mary held her purpose, and perseveredtill all had left the room except Richard, who quietly took the crimsontangle on his wrists, turned and twisted, opened passages for thewinder, and by the magic of his dexterous hands, had found the clue tothe maze, so that all was proceeding well, though slowly, when thestudy door opened, and Harry's voice was heard in a last good night tohis father. Mary's eyes looked wistful, and one misdirection of herwinder tightened an obdurate loop once more. 

'Run after Harry, ' said Richard, taking possession of the ivory. 'Goodnight; I can always do these things best alone. I had rather--yes, really--good night:' and his kiss had the elder brother's authority ofdismissal. 

His Maimouna was too glad and grateful for more than a summary 'Thankyou, ' and flew up-stairs in time to find Harry turning, baffled, fromher empty room. 'What, only just done that interminable yarn?' he said. 

'Richard is doing it. I could not help letting him, this first eveningof you. '

'Good old Richard! he is not a bit altered since I first went to sea, when I was so proud of that, ' said Harry, taking up his midshipman'sdirk, which formed a trophy on Mary's mantelshelf. 

'Are we altered since you went last?' said Mary. 

'The younger ones, of course. I was in hopes that Aubrey would havebeen more like old June, but he'll never be so much of a fellow. '

'He is a very dear good boy, ' said Mary, warmly. 

'Of course he is, ' said Harry, 'but, somehow, he will always have awoman-bred way about him. Can't be helped, of course; but what a pairof swells Tom and Blanche are come out!' and he laughed good-naturedly. 

'Is not Blanche a beautiful dear darling?' cried Mary, eagerly. 'It isso nice to have her. They could not come at first because of theinfection, and then because of the rifle corps, and now it is deliciousto have all at home. '

'Well, Molly, I'm glad it wasn't you that have married. Mind, youmustn't marry till I do. '

And Harry was really glad that Mary's laugh was perfectly 'fancy free, 'as she answered, 'I'm sure I hope not, but I won't promise, becausethat might be unreasonable, you know. '

'Oh, you prudent, provident Polly! But, ' added Harry, recalled to asense of time by a clock striking eleven, 'I came to bring yousomething, Mary. You shall have it, if you will give me another. '

Mary recognized, with some difficulty, a Prayer-Book with limp coversthat Margaret had given him after his first voyage. Not only was itworn by seven years' use, but it was soiled and stained with darkbrownish red, and a straight round hole perforated it from cover tocover. 

'Is it too bad to keep?' said Harry. 'Let me just cut out my name inMargaret's hand, and the verse of the 107th Psalm; luckily the ballmissed that. '

'The ball?' said Mary, beginning to understand. 

'Yes. Every one of those circles that you see cut out there, was inhere, ' said Harry, laying his hand over his chest, 'before the ball, which I have given to my father. '

'O, Harry!' was all Mary could say, pointing to her own name in apencil scrawl on the fly-leaf. 

'Yes, I set that down because I could not speak to tell what was to bedone with it, when we didn't know that that book had really been thesaving of my life. That hair's-breadth deviation of the bullet madeall the difference. '

Mary was kissing the blood-stained book, and sobbing. 

'Why, Mary, what is there to cry for? It is all over now, I tell you. I am as well as man would wish, and there's no more about it but tothank God, and try to deserve His goodness. '

'Yes, yes, I know, Harry; but to think how little we knew, or thought, or felt--going on in our own way when you were in such danger andsuffering!'

'Wasn't I very glad you were going on in your own way!' said Harry. 'Why, Mary, it was that which did it--it has been always that thoughtof you at the Minster every day, that kept me to reading the Psalms, and so having the book about me. And did not it do one good to lie andthink of the snug room, and my father's spectacles, and all as usual?When they used to lay me on the deck of the Dexter at night, because Icould not breathe below, I used to watch old Orion, who was my greatfriend in the Loyalty Isles, and wish the heathen name had not stuck tothe old fellow, he always seemed so like the Christian warrior, climbing up with his shield before him and his. A home like this is ashield to a man in more ways than one, Mary. Hollo, was that thestreet door?'

'Yes; Ritchie going home. Fancy his being at the silk all this time! Iam so sorry!'

Maugre her sorrow, there were few happier maidens in England than MaryMay, even though her service was distracted by the claims of threeslave-owners at once, bound as she was, to Ethel, by habitual fidelity, to Harry, by eager adoration, to Blanche, by willing submission. Luckily, their requisitions (for the most part unconscious) seldomclashed, or, if they did, the two elders gave way, and the brideasserted her supremacy in the plenitude of her youthful importance andprosperity. 

Thus she carried off Mary in her barouche to support her in the returnof bridal calls, while the others were organizing a walk to visit Floraand the rifle target. Gertrude's enthusiasm was not equal to walkingwith a weapon that might be loaded, nor to being ordered out to admirethe practice, so she accompanied the sisters; Tom was reading hard; andEthel found herself, Aubrey, and the sailor, the only ones ready tostart. 

This was a decided treat, for Aubrey and she were so nearly one, thatit was almost a tete-a-tete with Harry, though it was not his way toenter by daylight, and without strong impulse, on what regardedhimself, and there were no such confidences as those to Mary on theprevious night; but in talking over home details, it was easier tospeak without Tom's ironical ears and caustic tongue. 

Among other details, the story of the summer that Ethel and Aubrey hadspent at Coombe was narrated, and Aubrey indulged himself by describingwhat he called Ethel's conquest. 

'It is more a conquest of Norman's, and of Melanesia, ' said Ethel. 'Ifit were not nonsense to build upon people's generous visions atseventeen, I should sometimes hope a spark had been lit that wouldshine some day in your islands, Harry. '

Going up that hill was not the place for Etheldred May to talk of thefutility of youthful aspirations, but it did not so strike either ofthe brothers, to whom Cocksmoor had long been a familiar fact. Harrylaughed to hear the old Ethel so like herself; and Aubrey said, 'By thebye, what did you do, the day you walked him to Cocksmoor? he wasfuller of those islands than ever after it. '

'I did not mean it, ' said Ethel; 'but the first day of the holidays Icame on him disconsolate in the street, with nothing to do, and verysore about Henry's refusal to let him volunteer; he walked on with metill we found ourselves close to Cocksmoor, and I found he had neverseen the church, and would like to stay for evening service, so I puthim into the parsonage while I was busy, and told him to take a book. '

'I know, ' said Aubrey; 'the liveliest literature you can get inRichard's parlour are the Missionary Reports. '

'Exactly so; and he got quite saturated with them; and when we walkedhome, I was so thankful that the rifle grievance should be a littledisplaced, that I led him on to talk and build castles rather more thanaccording to my resolutions. '

'Hollo, Ethel!' said Harry. 

'Yes, I think spontaneous castles are admirable, but I mistrust alltimber from other people's woods. '

'But isn't this a horrid shame of Henry?' said Aubrey. 'Such a littleprig as he is, to take the place of such a fellow as Leonard, a capitalshot already. '

'I wish Henry had been magnanimous, ' said Ethel. 

'I'd as soon talk of a magnanimous weasel, from what I recollect, ' saidHarry. 

'And he is worse now, Harry, ' continued Aubrey. 'So spruce and silkyout of doors, and such a regular old tyrannical bachelor indoors. Heis jealous of Leonard, any one can see, and that's the reason he won'tgive him his due. '

'You observe, ' said Ethel, 'that this boy thinks the youngest brother'sdue is always to come first. '

'So it is, in this family, ' said Harry. 'No one comes so last as oldRitchie. '

'But of course, ' said Aubrey, rather taken aback, 'if I were notyoungest, I should have to knock under to some one. '

Ethel and Harry both laughed heartily; one congratulating him on nothaving carried the principle into the cockpit, the other adding, 'Don'tindoctrinate Leonard with it; there is enough already to breedbitterness between those brothers! Leonard ought to be kept in mindthat Henry has so much to harass him, that his temper should be bornepatiently with. '

'He!'

'I don't think papa's best endeavours have kept all his father'spractice for him, and I am sure their rate of living must make him feelpinched this Christmas. '

'Whew! He will be in a sweeter humour than ever!'

'I have been trying to show Leonard that there's room for magnanimityon his side at least; and don't you go and upset it all by common-placeabuse of tutors and governors. '

'I upset it!' cried Aubrey: 'I might as well try to upset the Minsteras a word from you to Leonard. '

'Nonsense! What's that?' For they were hailed from behind, andlooking round saw two tall figures, weapon in hand, in pursuit. Theyproved to be Hector Ernescliffe and Leonard Ward, each bearing one ofwhat Dr. May called the H. E. Rifles; but Leonard looked half shy, halfgrim, and so decidedly growled off all Aubrey's attempts at inquiry orcongratulation, that Ethel hazarded none, and Aubrey lookeddiscomfited, wearing an expression which Harry took to mean that theweight of his rifle fatigued him, and insisted on carrying it for him, in, spite of his rather insulted protests and declarations that thesailor was an invalid; Ethel had walked forwards, and found Leonard ather side, with a darkening brow as he glanced back at the friendlycontest. 

'Harry spoils Aubrey as much as all the others do, ' said Ethel lightly, deeming it best to draw out the sting of the rankling thought. 

'Ay! None of them would leave him to be pitied and offered favours bysome chance person, ' said Leonard. 

'You don't call my brother Hector a chance person?'

'Did you say anything to him, Miss May?' said Leonard, turning on her aflushed face, as if he could almost have been angered with her. 

'I said not one word. '

'Nor Aubrey?'

'The volunteer politics were discussed last night, and Henry got abusedamong us; but papa defended him, and said it did not rain rifles. That's all--whatever Hector may have done was without a word to eitherof us--very likely on the moment's impulse. Did he go to Banksideafter you?'

'No. I was looking in at Shearman's window, ' said Leonard, rathersheepishly, 'at the locks of the new lot he has got in, and he came andasked if I were going to choose one, for he had got a couple down fromLondon, and the man had stupidly put his cipher on both, so he would beglad if I would take one off his hands. I didn't accept--I made thatclear--but then he begged, as if it was to oblige him, that I wouldcome out to Abbotstoke and help him try the two, for he didn't knowwhich he should keep. '

'Very ingenious of him, ' said Ethel laughing. 

'Now, Miss May, do tell me what I ought to do. It is such a beauty, better than any Shearman ever dreamt of; just look: at the finish ofthe lock. '

'By the time you have shot with it--'

'Now don't, pray, ' said Leonard, 'I haven't any one to trust for advicebut you. '

'Indeed, Leonard, I can see no objection. It is a great boon to you, and no loss to Hector, and he is quite enough my father's son for youto look on him as a friend. I can't but be very glad, for the removalof this vexation ought to make you get on all the better with yourbrother. '

'Ave would be delighted, ' said Leonard; 'but somehow--'

'Somehow' was silenced by a coalescing of the party at a gate; andHector and Harry were found deep in an argument in which thelieutenant's Indian reminiscences of the Naval Brigade were at issuewith the captain's Southdown practice, and the experiences of the onemeeting the technicalities of the other were so diverting, that Leonardforgot his scruples till at the entrance of the park he turned offtowards the target with Hector and Aubrey, while the other two walkedup to the house. 

The Grange atmosphere always had a strange weight of tedium in it, suchas was specially perceptible after the joyous ease of the house in theHigh Street. No one was in the drawing-room, and Harry gazed round atthe stiff, almost petrified, aspect of the correct and tastefularrangement of the tables and furniture, put his hands in his pockets, and yawned twice, asking Ethel why she did not go in search of Flora. Ethel shook her head; and in another moment Flora appeared in eagerwelcome; she had been dressing for a drive to Stoneborough to see herbrother, little expecting him to be in a state for walking to her. With her came her little girl, a child whose aspect was always a shockto those who connected her with the two Margarets whose name she bore. She had inherited her father's heavy mould of feature and darkcomplexion, and the black eyes had neither sparkle in themselves norrelief from the colour of the sallow cheek; the pouting lips werefretful, the whole appearance unhealthy, and the dark bullet-shapedhead seemed too large for the thin bony little figure. Worn, fagged, and aged as Flora looked, she had still so much beauty, and far more ofrefinement and elegance, as to be a painful foil and contrast to thechild that clung to her, waywardly refusing all response to her uncle'sadvances. 

Flora made a sign to him to discontinue them, and talked of herhusband, who was hunting, and heard the history of Harry's return andrecovery. In the midst, little Margaret took heart of grace, crossedthe room, and stood by the sailor, and holding up a great India-rubberball as large as her own head, asked, 'Uncle Harry, were you shot witha cannon-ball as big as this?'

Thereupon she was on his knee, and as he had all his father'sfascination for children, he absolutely beguiled her into ten minutesof genuine childish mirth, a sight so rare and precious to her mother, that she could not keep up her feint of talking to Ethel. The elderlydame, part nurse, part nursery governess, presently came to take MissRivers out, but Miss Rivers, with a whine in her voice, insisted ongoing nowhere but to see the shooting, and Uncle Harry must come withher; and come he did, the little bony fingers clasping tight hold ofone of his large ones. 

'Dear Harry!' said Flora, 'he wins every one! It is like a coolrefreshing wind from the sea when he comes in. '

In Flora's whole air, voice, and manner, there was apparent arelaxation and absence of constraint such as she never allowed herselfexcept when alone with Ethel. Then only did she relieve the constantstrain, then only did the veritable woman show herself, and the effort, the toil, the weariness, the heart-ache of her life become visible; butclose together as the sisters lived, such tete-a-tetes were rare, andperhaps were rather shunned than sought, as perilous and doubtfulindulgences. Even now, Flora at once fixed a limit by ordering thecarriage to meet her in a quarter of an hour at the nearest point tothe rifle-ground, saying she would walk there, and then take home Etheland any brother who might be tired. 

'And see that Margaret does not come to harm, ' said Ethel. 

'I am not afraid of that, ' said Flora, something in her eye belyingher; 'but she might be troublesome to Harry, and I had rather he didnot see one of her fights with Miss Morton. '

'How has she been? I thought her looking clearer and better to-day, 'said Ethel, kindly. 

'Yes, she is pretty well just now, ' said Flora, allowing herself in oneof her long deep sighs, before descending into the particulars of thechild's anxiously-watched health. If she had been describing them toher father, there would have been the same minuteness, but the tonewould have implied cheerful hope; whereas to Ethel she took no pains tomask her dejection. One of the points of anxiety was whether oneshoulder were not outgrowing the other, but it was not easy to discoverwhether the appearance were not merely owing to the child's feeble andungainly carriage. 'I cannot torment her about that, ' said Flora. 'There are enough miseries for her already without making more, and aslong as it does not affect her health, it matters little. '

'No, certainly not, ' said Ethel, who had hardly expected this fromFlora. 

Perhaps her sister guessed her thought, for she said, 'Things are bestas they are, Ethel; I am not fit to have a beautiful admired daughter. All the past would too easily come over again, and my poor Margaret'stroubles may be the best balance for her. '

'Yes, ' said Ethel, 'it is bad enough to be an heiress, but a beautifulheiress is in a worse predicament. '

'Health would improve her looks, ' began the maternal instinct ofdefence, but then breaking off. 'We met Lord H---- yesterday, and theuniform is to be like the northern division. Papa will hear itofficially to-morrow. '

'The northern has gray, and green facings. '

'You are more up in it than I. All we begged for was, that it might beinexpensive, for the sake of the townspeople. '

'I hear of little else, ' said Ethel, laughing; 'Dr. Spencer is as hoton it as all the boys. Now, I suppose, your party is to come off!'

'Yes, it ought, ' said Flora, languidly, 'I waited to see how Harry was, he is a great element towards making it go off well. I will talk itover with Blanche, it will give somebody pleasure if she thinks shemanages it. '

'Will it give George no pleasure?'

'I don't know; he calls it a great nuisance, but he would not like notto come forward, and it is quite right that he should. '

'Quite right, ' said Ethel; 'it is every one's duty to try to keep itup. '

With these words the sisters came within sight of the targets, andfound Margaret under Harry's charge, much interested, and considerablyin the way. The tidings of the colour of the uniform were highlyappreciated; Aubrey observed that it would choke off the snobs who onlywanted to be like the rifle brigade, and Leonard treated itsinexpensiveness as a personal matter, having apparently cast off hisdoubts, under Hector's complimentary tuition. Indeed, before it grewtoo dark for taking aim, he and the weapon were so thoroughly united, that no further difficulty remained but of getting out his thanks toMr. Ernescliffe. 

Averil was sitting alone over the fire in the twilight, in a somewhatforlorn mood, when the door was pushed ajar, and the muzzle of a gunentered, causing her to start up in alarm, scarcely diminished by thesight of an exultant visage, though the words were, 'Your money or yourlife. '

'Leonard, don't play with it, pray!'

'It's not loaded. '

'Oh! but one never can tell:' then, half ashamed of her terror, 'Prayput it back, or we shall have an uproar with Henry. '

'This is none of Henry's. He will never own such a beauty as this. '

'Whose is it? Not yours? Is it really a rifle! H. E. ? What's that?'

'Hector Ernescliffe! Didn't I tell you he was a princely fellow?'

'Given it to you? Leonard, dear, I am so happy! Now I don't care foranything! What a gallant volunteer you will make!' and she kissed himfondly. We will order the uniform as soon as ever it is settled, and Ihope it will be a very handsome one. '

'It will be a cheap one, which is more to the purpose. I could getpart myself, only there's the tax for Mab, and the subscription to thecricket club. '

'I would not have you get any of it! You are my volunteer, and I'llnot give up my right to any one, except that Minna and Ella want togive your belt. '

'Where are those children?' he asked. 

'Henry has taken them to Laburnum Grove, where I am afraid they arebeing crammed with cake and all sorts of nonsense. '

'What could have made him take them there?'

'Oh! some wish of Mrs. Pugh's to see the poor little dears, ' saidAveril, the cloud returning that had been for a moment dispelled. 

'What's the row?' asked Leonard, kindly. 'Has he been bothering you?'

'He wants me to sound Mary May about an invitation for Mrs. Pugh toMrs. Rivers's volunteer entertainment. I am glad I did not say no onein mourning ought to go, for I must go now you are a volunteer. '

'But you didn't consent to mention her?'

'No, indeed! I knew very well you would say it was a most improper useto make of the Mays' kindness, and I can't see what business she hasthere! Then he said, no, she was certain not to go, but the attentionwould be gratifying and proper. '

'That is Mrs. Rivers's look-out. '

'So I said, but Henry never will hear reason. I did not tell you ofour scene yesterday over the accounts; he says that we must contractour expenses, or he shall be ruined; so I told him I was ready to giveup the hot-house, or the footman, or the other horse, or anything hewould specify; but he would not hear of it--he says it would be fatalto alter our style of living, and that it is all my fault for not beingeconomical! O, Leonard, it is very hard to give up all one cared forto this housekeeping, and then never to please!'

Leonard felt his brother a tyrant. 'Never mind, Ave dear, ' said he, 'go on doing right, and then you need not care for hisunreasonableness. You are a dear good girl, and I can't think how hecan have the heart to vex you. '

'I don't care while I have you, Leonard, ' she said, clinging to him. 

At that moment the others were heard returning, and an ironical lookpassed between the brother and sister at certain injunctions that wereheard passing about the little India-rubber goloshes; but Henry hadreturned in high good-humour, was pleased to hear of his brother's goodfortune, pronounced it very handsome in Mr. Ernescliffe, and evenoffered to provide the rest of the equipment; but this was proudlyrejected by Averil, with some of the manifestations of exclusivepartiality that naturally wounded the elder brother. He then announcedan engagement that he had made with Mrs. Ledwich for a musical eveningthe next week. Averil had her harmonium at her tongue's end, but theevening was a free one, chosen on purpose to accommodate her; she hadno excuse, and must submit. 

'And practise some of your best pieces, Ave, ' said Henry. 'Mrs. Pughwas kind enough to offer to come and get up some duets with yon. '

'I am greatly obliged, ' said Averil, dryly, 'but I do not play duets. '

'You would do wisely to accept her kindness, argued Henry. 'It wouldbe a great advantage to you to be intimate with a lady of heropportunities. '

'I do not like patronage, ' said Averil. 

'Ave! Ave!' cried the children, who had been trying to attract herattention, 'if you will let us go to Laburnum Grove by twelve o'clockto-morrow, Mis. Pugh will show us her book of the pretty devices ofletters, and teach us to make one. '

'You will have not finished lessons by twelve. '

'But if we have?'

'No, certainly not, I can't have you bothering every one about thatnonsensical fashion. '

'You shall go, my dears, ' said Henry. 'I can't think why your sistershould be so ill-natured. '

Averil felt that this was the way to destroy her authority, and thoughshe kept silence, the tears were in her eyes, and her champion brokeforth, 'How can you be such a brute, Henry?'

'Come away, my dears, ' said Averil, rising, and holding out her handsto her sisters, as she recollected how bad the scene was for them, butit was only Minna who obeyed the call, Ella hung about Henry, declaringthat Leonard was naughty, and Ave was cross. 

'Well, ' shouted Leonard, 'I shan't stay to see that child set againsther sister! I wonder what you mean her to come to, Henry!'

It was no wonder that Minna and Ella squabbled together as to which wascross, Henry or Averil, and the spirit of party took up its fatal abodein the house of Bankside. 

CHAPTER IX

 Too oft my anxious eye has spied That secret grief thou fain wouldst hide-- The passing pang of humbled pride. --SCOTT

The winter was gay, between musical evenings, children's parties, clerical feastings of district visitors, soirees for Sunday-schoolteachers, and Christmas-trees for their scholars. Such a universalfavourite as Harry, with so keen a relish for amusement, was sure tofall an easy prey to invitations; but the rest of the family stoodamazed to see him accompanied everywhere by Tom, to whom the secularand the religious dissipations of Stoneborough had always hitherto beenequally distasteful. Yet be submitted to a Christmas course of music, carpet-dances, and jeux de societe on the one hand, and on the otherconferred inestimable obligations on the ecclesiastical staff byexhibitions of his microscope and of some of the ornamental sports ofchemistry. 

'The truth is, ' was the explanation privately dropped out to Ethel, 'that some one really must see that those two don't make fools ofthemselves. '

Ethel stared; then, coming to the perception who 'those two' meant, burst out laughing, and said, 'My dear Tom, I beg your pardon, but, onthe whole, I think that is more likely to befall some one else. '

Tom held his head loftily, and would not condescend to understandanything so foolish. 

He considered Bankside as the most dangerous quarter, for Harry wasenraptured with Miss Ward's music, extolled her dark eyes, and openlyavowed her attraction; but there were far more subtle perils atLaburnum Grove. The fair widow was really pretty, almost elegant, herweeds becoming; and her disposition so good, so religious, socharitable, that, with her activity, intelligence, and curate-worship, she was a dangerous snare to such of mankind as were not sensible ofher touch of pretension. As to womankind, it needed a great deal ofsubmissiveness to endure her at all; and this was not Averil Ward'sleading characteristic. 

In fact, the ubiquity of Mrs. Pugh was a sore trial to that young lady, just so superior herself as to detect the flimsiness of the widow'sattainments. It was vexatious to find that by means of age, assumption, and position, these shallow accomplishments made aprodigious show in the world, while her own were entirely overlooked. She thought she despised the admiration of the second-rate world ofStoneborough, but it nettled her to see it thus misplaced; and therewas something provoking in the species of semi-homage paid in thatquarter by the youths of the May family. 

As to the sailor, Averil frankly liked him very much; he was thepleasantest young man, of the most open and agreeable manners, who hadever fallen in her way. He was worthy to be Mary's brother, for he wasfriendly to Leonard, and to herself had a truthfully flattering waythat was delightful. Without any sentiment in the case, she alwaysfelt disappointed and defrauded if she were prevented from having aconversation with him; and when this happened, it was generally eitherfrom his being seized upon by Mrs. Pugh, or from her being baited byhis brother Tom. 

Averil was hard to please, for she was as much annoyed by seeing TomMay sitting courteous and deferential by the side of Mrs. Pugh, as byhis attentions to herself. She knew that he was playing the widow off, and that, when most smooth and bland in look and tone, he was inwardlychuckling; and to find the identical politeness transferred to herself, made her feel not only affronted but insulted by being placed on thesame level. Thus, when, at a 'reunion' at Laburnum Grove, she had beenlooking on with intense disgust while Tom was admiring Mrs. Pugh'sfamous book of devices from letters, translating the mottoes, andpromising contributions, the offence was greatly increased by hiscoming up to her (and that too just as Harry was released by thebutton-holding Mr. Grey) and saying, 'Of course you are a collector too, Miss Ward; I can secure someduplicates for you. '

She hoard such fooleries? She have Mrs. Pugh's duplicates? No wondershe coldly answered, 'My little sister has been slightly infected, thank you, but I do not care for such things. '

'Indeed! Well, I always preserve as many as I can, as passports to alady's favour. '

'That depends on how much sense the lady has, ' said Averil, trustingthat this was a spirited set down. 

'You do not consider. Philosophically treated, they become a perfectschool in historical heraldry, nay, in languages, in mathematicaldrawing, in illumination, said Tom, looking across to the album inwhich Mrs. Pugh's collection was enshrined, each device appropriatelyframed in bright colours. His gravity was intolerable. Was thismockery or not? However, as answer she must, she said, 'A very poor purpose for which to learn such things, and a poor way oflearning them. '

'True, ' said Tom, 'one pastime is as good as another; and the less itpretends to, the better. On the whole, it may be a beneficial outletfor the revival of illumination. '

Did this intolerable person know that there was an 'illuminator'sguide' at home, and a great deal of red, blue, and gold paint, withgrand designs for the ornamentation of Bankside chapel? Whether heknew it or not, she could not help answering, 'Illumination isdesecrated by being used on such subjects. '

'And is not that better than the subjects being desecrated byillumination?'

Mrs. Pugh came to insist on that 'sweet thing of Mendelssohn's' fromher dear Miss Ward; and Averil obeyed, not so glad to escape asinflamed by vexation at being prevented from fighting it out, andlearning what he really meant; though she was so far used to theslippery nature of his arguments as to know that it was highlyimprobable that she should get at anything in earnest. 

'If his sisters were silly, I should not mind, ' said she to Leonard;'then he might hold all women cheap from knowing no better; but whenthey like sensible things, why is every one else to be treated like anape?'

'Never mind, ' said Leonard, 'he sneers at everybody all alike! I can'tthink how Dr. May came to have such a son, or how Aubrey can run afterhim so. '

'I should like to know whether they really think it irreverent to doilluminations. '

'Nonsense, Ave; why should you trouble yourself about what he says totease you? bad luck to him!'

Nevertheless, Averil was not at ease till she had asked Mary's opinionof illumination, and Mary had referred to Ethel, and brought back wordthat all depended on the spirit of the work; that it was a dangerousthing, for mere fashion, to make playthings of texts of Scripture; butthat no one could tell the blessing there might be in dwelling on themwith loving decoration, or having them placed where the eye and thoughtmight be won by them. In fact, Ethel always hated fashion, but fearedprejudice. 

The crown of the whole carnival was to be the Abbotstoke entertainmenton the enrolment of the volunteers. Preparations went on with greatspirit, and the drill sergeant had unremitting work, the target littlepeace, and Aubrey and Leonard were justly accused of making fetishes oftheir rifles. The town was frantic, no clothes but uniforms could behad, and the tradesmen forgot their customers in the excitement ofelecting officers. 

Averil thought it very officious of Mrs. Pugh to collect a romanticparty of banner-working young ladies before the member's wife or themayor's family had authorized it; and she refused to join, both on theplea of want of time, and because she heard that Mr. Elvers, a realdragoon, declared colours to be inappropriate to riflemen. And so hedid; but his wife said the point was not martial correctness, butpopular feeling; so Mary gratified the party by bringing her needle, Dr. Spencer took care the blazonry of the arms of the old abbey wascorrect, and Flora asked the great lady of the county to present thebanner, and gave the invitation to Mrs. Pugh, who sighed, shook herhead, dried her eyes, and said something about goodness and spirits;and Mrs. Rivers professed to understand, and hope Mrs. Pugh would doexactly as best suited her. 

Was this manoeuvring, or only living in the present?

Mary accompanied Harry for a long day of shopping in London when hewent to report himself, starting and returning in the clouds of night, and transacting a prodigious amount of business with intense delightand no fatigue; and she was considered to have fitted out the mayor'sdaughters suitably with his municipal dignity, of which Ethel piquedherself on being proud. 

The entertainment was not easy to arrange at such a season, andBlanche's 'experience, ' being of early autumn, was at fault; but Florasent for all that could embellish her conservatories, and by one of thecharities by which she loved to kill two birds with one stone, importeda young lady who gained her livelihood by singing at private concerts, and with her for a star, supported by the Minster and Cathedral choirs, hoped to get up sufficient music to occupy people till it should belate enough to dance. She still had some diplomacy to exercise, forMrs. Ledwich suggested asking dear Ave Ward to sing, her own dearestMatilda would not object on such an occasion to assist the sweet girl;and Mrs. Rivers, after her usual prudent fashion, giving neither denialnor assent, Mrs. Ledwich trotted off, and put Averil into an agony thatraised a needless storm in the Bankside house; Leonard declaring therequest an insult, and Henry insisting that Ave ought to have noscruples in doing anything Mrs. Pugh thought proper to be done. Andfinally, when Ave rushed with her despair to Mary May, it was to berelieved at finding that Mrs. Rivers had never dreamt of exposing herto such an ordeal. 

Though it was the year 1860, the sun shone on the great day, and therewere exhilarating tokens of spring, singing birds, opening buds, sparkling drops, and a general sense of festivity; as the gray andgreen began to flit about the streets, and while Mr. Mayor repaired tothe Town Hall to administer the oaths to the corps, his unmartial sonsand his daughters started for the Grange to assist Flora in thereception of her guests. 

The Lord Lieutenant's wife and daughters, as well as the Ernescliffes, had slept there, and Ethel found them all with Flora in the great hall, which looked like a winter garden, interspersed with tables coveredwith plate and glass, where eating and drinking might go on all daylong. But Ethel's heart sank within her at the sight of Flora'shaggard face and sunken eyes. 'What is the matter?' she asked Blanche, an image of contented beauty. 

'Matter? Oh, they have been stupid in marking the ground, and Hectoris gone to see about it. That's all. He is not at all tired. '

'I never supposed he was, ' said Ethel, 'but what makes Flora look soill?'

'Oh, that tiresome child has got another cold, and fretted half thenight. It is all their fault for giving way to her; and she has donenothing but whine this whole morning because she is not well enough togo out and see the practice! I am sure it is no misfortune that she isnot to come down and be looked at. '

Ethel crossed over to Flora, and asked whether she should go up and seelittle Margaret. 

'I should be so thankful, ' said poor Flora; 'but don't excite her. Sheis not at all well, and has had very little sleep. '

Ethel ran up-stairs, and found herself in the midst of a fight betweenthe governess and Margaret, who wanted to go to the draughty passagewindow, which she fancied had a better view than that of her nursery. Luckily, Aunt Ethel was almost the only person whom Margaret did notlike to see her naughty; and she subsided into a much lessobjectionable lamentation after Uncle Harry and his anchor buttons. Ethel promised to try whether he could be found, and confident in hisgood-nature, ran down, and boldly captured him as he was setting out tosee Hector's operations. He came with a ready smile, and the child washappy throughout his stay. Flora presently stole a moment's visit, intending her sister's release as well as his; but Ethel, in pity togoverness as well as pupil, declared the nursery window to be a primepost of observation, and begged to be there left. 

Margaret began to believe that they were very snug there, and by thetime the bugles were heard, had forgotten her troubles in watching thearrivals. 

Up came the gray files, and Ethel's heart throbbed and her eyeglistened at their regular tread and military bearing. QuicklyMargaret made out papa; but he was too real a soldier to evinceconsciousness of being at his own door, before the eyes of his wife anddaughter; and Aubrey's young face was made up in imitation of hisimpassiveness. Other eyes were less under control, and of these were abrown pair that wandered restlessly, till they were raised to thenursery window, and there found satisfaction. 

The aunt and niece were too immediately above the terrace to see whatpassed upon it, nor could they hear the words; so they only beheld theapproach of the Ensign, and after a brief interval, his return with thetall green silk colours, with the arms of the old abbey embroidered inthe corner, and heard the enthusiastic cheer that rang out from all thecorps. 

Then the colours led the way to the ground for practice, for manoeuvreswere as yet not ready for exhibition. Almost all the gentlemenfollowed; and such ladies as did not object to gunpowder or damp grass, thither betook themselves, guided by the ardent Mrs. Ernescliffe. Having disposed of the others in the drawing-rooms and gardens, Floraand her father came to the nursery, and Ethel was set at liberty towitness the prowess of her young champions, being assured by Flora thatshe would be of more use there in keeping the youthful population outof danger than in entertaining the more timid in the house. 

She slipped out and hurried down a narrow path towards the scene ofaction, presently becoming aware of four figures before her, which herglass resolved into Harry and Tom, a lady in black, and a child. Evidently the devoted Tom was keeping guard over one of theenchantresses, for the figure was that of Averil Ward, though, as Ethelsaid, shaking hands, she was hardly to be known with only one sister. 

'We have been delayed, ' said Averil; 'poor little Ella was in an agonyabout the firing, and we could not leave her till yourbrother'--indicating Harry--'was so kind as to take her to Gertrude. '

'True to the Englishwoman's boast of never having seen the smoke of anengagement, ' said Tom. 

'A practising is not an engagement, ' said Ethel. 

'There may be quite as many casualties, ' quoth Tom, indulging in someof the current ready-made wit on the dangers of volunteering, for thepure purpose of teasing; but he was vigorously fallen upon by Harry andEthel, and Averil brightened as she heard him put to the rout. Theshots were already heard, when two more black figures were seen in thedistance, going towards the gate. 

'Is that Richard?' exclaimed Tom. 

'Ay, and I do believe, the widow!' rejoined Harry. 

'Oh, yes, ' said Averil. 'I heard her talking about Abbotstoke Church, and saying how much she wished to see it. She must have got Mr. May toshow it to her. '

Ethel, who had no real fears for Richard herself, looked on amused towatch how the guardian spirit was going to act. He exclaimed, 'By thebye, Miss Ward, would you not like to see it? They have a very nicebrass to old Mr. Rivers, and have been doing up the chancel. '

'Thank you, said Ave, 'I should prefer going to see how Leonard isgetting on. '

'Right, Miss Ward, ' said Harry; 'the church won't run away. '

'Well, then, ' said Tom, after a moment's hesitation, 'I think I shalljust run down, as the church is open, and see what sort of work theyhave made of the chancel. '

Ethel had the strongest fancy to try what he would do if she were to beseized with a desire to inspect the chancel; but she did not wish tolet Harry and Averil appear on the ground under no escort but Minna's, and so permitted Tom to leave them to her keeping, and watched himhasten to break up the tete-a-tete. 

Coming among the spectators, who, chiefly drawn up on the carriagedrive, were watching from a safe distance the gray figures in turn takeaim and emit from their rifles the flash and cotton-wool-like tuft ofsmoke, Ethel's interest was somewhat diminished by hearing that all theother marksmen had been distanced by the head keepers of Abbotstoke andDrydale, between whom the contest really lay. 

'The rest is a study of character, ' said Dr. Spencer, taking a turn upand down the road with her. 'I have been watching the various pairs ofbrothers; and I doubt if any stand the test as well as the house ofMay. '

'There's only one in the field to-day. '

'Yes, but I've seen them together before now, and I will say for evenTom that he has no black looks when his junior shoots better than hedoes. '

'Oh, yes! But then it is Aubrey. '

Dr. Spencer laughed. 'Lucky household where that "it is" accounts forall favours to the youngest, instead of for the countenance falling athis successes. '

'I am afraid I know whom you mean. But he has no generosity in him. '

'And his sister helps to make him jealous. '

'I am afraid she does; but though it is very sad, one can't wonder ather preference of the great to the small. '

'Poor girl, I wonder how she will get on when there is a new inmate inthe happy family. '

'Ha! you shocking old gossip, what have you found out now?'

'Negotiation for the introduction of a Pug dog from the bestcircles--eh?'

'Well, if he were alone in the world, it would be a capital match. '

'So she thinks, I fancy; but £600 a year might do better than purchaseso many incumbrances. Depend upon it, the late lamented will remain inthe ascendant till there are no breakers ahead. '

In process of time, ladies, volunteers, and all, were assembled in thegreat music-room for the concert; and Ethel, having worked hard in theservice of the company, thought her present duty lay with the sickchild, and quietly crept away, taking, however, one full view of theentire scene, partly for her own satisfaction, partly in case Margaretshould be inclined to question her on what every one was doing. 

There was the orchestra, whose erection Richard had superintended;there was the conductor in his station, and the broad back of theCathedral organist at the piano, the jolly red visages of the singingmen in their ranks, the fresh faces of the choristers full of elation, the star from London, looking quiet and ladylike, courteously led toher place by George Rivers himself. But, for all his civility, howbored and sullen he looked! and how weary were poor Flora's smiles, though her manner was so engaging, and her universal attention sounremitting! What a contrast to the serene, self-enfolded look ofhappiness and prosperity on the pretty youthful face of Blanche, herrich delicate silk spreading far beyond the sofa where she sat amongthe great ladies; and her tall yellow-haired husband leaning againstthe wall behind her, in wondering contemplation of his Blanche takingher place in her own county. 

Farther back, among the more ordinary herd, Ethel perceived Mrs. Pugh, bridling demurely, with Tom on guard over her on one side, and HenryWard looking sulky on the other, with his youngest sister in hischarge. The other was looking very happy upon Leonard's knee, close toAveril and Mary, who were evidently highly satisfied to have coalesced. Averil was looking strikingly pretty--the light fell favourably on herprofuse glossy hair, straight features, and brilliant colouring; herdark eyes were full of animation, and her lips were apart with a smileas she listened to Leonard's eager narration; and Ethel glanced towardsHarry to see whether he were admiring. No; Harry was bringing in ahall arm-chair in the background, for a vary large, heavy, vulgar-looking old man, who seemed too ponderous and infirm for a placeon the benches. Richard made one of a black mass of clergy, and Aubreyand Gertrude had asserted their independence by perching themselves ona window-seat, as far as possible from all relations, whence theynodded a merry saucy greeting to Ethel, and she smiled back again, thinking her tall boy in his gray tunic and black belt, and her plumpgirl in white with green ribbons, were as goodly a pair as the roomcontained. 

But where was the Doctor?

Ethel had a shrewd suspicion where she should find him; and in thenursery he was, playing at spillekens with his left hand. 

It was not easy to persuade him that the music would be wasted on her, and that he ought to go down that it might receive justice; butMargaret settled the question. 'You may go, grandpapa. Aunt Ethel isbest to play at spillekens, for she has not got a left hand. '

'There's honour for me, who used to have two!' and therewith Ethelturned him out in time for the overture. 

Margaret respected her aunt sufficiently not to be extra wayward withher, and between the spillekens, and a long story about Cousin Dickiein New Zealand, all went well till bed-time. There was something inthe child's nervous temperament that made the first hours of the nightpeculiarly painful to her, and the sounds of the distant festivityadded to her excitability. She fretted and tossed, moaned and wailed, sat up in bed and cried, snapped off attempts at hymns, would notlisten to stories, and received Ethel's attempts at calm grave commandswith bursts of crying, and calls for mamma and papa. The music hadceased, tuning of violins was heard, and Ethel dreaded the cries beingheard down-stairs. She was at her wits' end, and was thinking whowould most avail, and could be fetched with least sensation, when therewas a soft knock at the door, and Harry's voice said, 'Hollo, what'sthe matter here?' In he came with his white glove half on, andperceiving the state of the case said, 'Can't go to sleep?'

'Oh, Uncle Harry, take me;' and the arms were stretched out, and thetear-stained face raised up. 

'We'll put you to sleep as sound as if you were in a hammock just offmiddle watch, ' said Harry; and the next moment he had her rolled up inher little blue dressing-gown, nestling on his broad shoulder, while hewalked up and down the room, crooning out a nautical song, not infirst-rate style, but the effect was perfect; the struggles and sobswere over, and when at the end of a quarter of an hour Harry paused andlooked at the little thin sharp face, it was softened by peaceful sleep. 

Ethel pointed to the door. There stood Flora, her eyes full of tears. 

Harry laid the little sleeper on her bed, and covered her up. Floralaid her arm on his shoulder and gave him such a kiss as she had notgiven even when he had come back as from the dead. Then she signed tothem to come, but sped away before them, not trusting herself to speak. Ethel tarried with Harry, who was in difficulties with gloves too smallfor his broad hand, and was pshawing at himself at having let Tom getthem for him at Whitford. 

'O, Harry, ' said Ethel, 'you are the most really like papa of us all!How did you come to think of it!'

'I'd have given a good deal if any one would have walked quarter-deckwith me some nights last summer, ' said Harry, still intent on theglove. 'What is to be done, Ethel! that rogue Tom always snaps up allthe beauty. I dare say he has engaged Miss Ward and the widow both. '

It was no time for sentiment; so Ethel suggested getting half into oneglove, and carrying the other. 

'You'll be quite irresistible enough, Harry! And if all the beauty isengaged, I'll dance with you myself. '

'Will you?' cried the lieutenant, with sparkling eyes, 'then you are ajolly old Ethel! Come along, then;' and he took her on his arm, randown-stairs with her, and before she well knew where she was, or whatwas going on, she found herself in his great grasp passive as a doll, dragged off into the midst of a vehement polka that took her breathaway. She trusted to him, and remained in a passive, half-frightenedstate, glad he was so happy; but in the first pause heartily wishing hewould let her go, instead of which she only heard, 'Well done, oldEthel, you'll be a prime dancer yet! you're as light as a feather;' andbefore she had recovered her breath, off he led her with 'Go it again!'

When at length, panting and bewildered, she was safely placed on aseat, with 'You've had enough, have you? mind, I shan't let you offanother time, ' she found that her aberration had excited a good deal ofsensation in her own family. Blanche and Gertrude could not represstheir amusement; and Dr. May, with merry eyes, declared that she wascoming out in a new light. She had only time to confide to him thereason that she had let Harry do what he pleased with her, before twovolunteers were at her side. 

'Miss May, I did not think you ever danced!'

'Nor I, ' said Ethel; 'but you see what sailors can do with one. '

'Now, Ethel' said the other over his shoulder, 'now you have dancedwith Harry, you must have this waltz with me. '

'A dangerous precedent, Ethel, ' said the Doctor, laughing. 

'I couldn't waltz to save my life, Aubrey, ' said Ethel; 'but if you canbear me through a polka as well as Harry did, you may try the next. '

'And won't you--will you--for once dance with me? said his companionimploringly. 

'Very well, Leonard, if I can get through a quadrille;' and therewithEthel was seized upon by both boys to hear the story of every hit andmiss, and of each of the difficulties that their unpractised corps hadencountered in getting round the corners between Stoneborough and theGrange. Then came Leonard's quadrille, which it might be hoped wasgratifying to him; but which he executed with as much solemn deferenceas if he had been treading a minuet with a princess, plainly regardingit as the great event of the day. In due time, he resigned her toAubrey; but poor Aubrey had been deluded by the facility with which thestrong and practised sailor had swept his victim along; and Ethel grewterrified at the danger of collisions, and released herself and pulledhim aside by force, just in time to avoid being borne down by theponderous weight of Miss Boulder and her partner. 

'You did not come to grief with Harry!' muttered the discomfited boy. 

'No more did the lamb damage the eagle; but remember the fate of thejackdaw, Mr. Gray-coat! I deserve some ice for my exertions, so comeinto the hall and get some, and tell me if you have had better luckelsewhere. '

'I have had no partner but Minna Ward, and she trips as if one was adancing-master. '

'And how has Tom been managing?'

'Stunningly civil! He began with Ave Ward, in the Lancers, and it wassuch fun--he chaffed her in his solemn way, about music I believe itwas, and her harmonium. I could not quite hear, but I could see shewas in a tremendous taking, and she won't recover it all the evening. '

'What a shame it is of Tom!'

'Oh! but it is such fun! And since that he has been parading with Pug. '

'She has not danced!'

'Oh no! She got an audience into Meta's little sitting-room--HenryWard, Harvey Anderson, and some of the curates; they shut the door, andhad some music on their own hook. '

'Was Richard there!'

'At first; but either he could not bear to see Meta's piano profaned, or he thought it too strong when they got to the sacred line, for hebolted, and is gone home. '

'There's Harry dancing with Fanny Anderson. He has not got Miss Wardall this time. '

'Nor will, ' said Aubrey. 'Tom had put her in such a rage that she didnot choose to dance with that cousin of hers, Sam Axworthy, so she wasobliged to refuse every one else; and I had to put up with that child!'

'Sam Axworthy! He does not belong to our corps. How does he comehere?'

'Oh! the old man has some houses in the borough, and an omnium gatherumlike this was a good time to do the civil thing to him. There he is;peep into the card-room, and you'll see his great porpoise back, thesame old man that Harry in his benevolence assisted to a chair. Heshook hands with Leonard, and told him there was a snug desk at theVintry Mill for him. '

'I dare say!'

'And when Leonard thanked him, and said he hoped to get off toCambridge, he laughed that horrid fat laugh, and told him learningwould never put him in good case. Where shall I find you a place tosit down? Pug and her tail have taken up all the room, ' whisperedAubrey, as by the chief of the glittering tables in the hall, he sawMrs. Pugh, drinking tea, surrounded by her attendant gentlemen, andwith her aunt and Ella Ward, like satellites, a little way from her. 

'Here is a coign of vantage, ' said Ethel, seating herself on a step alittle way up the staircase. 'How those people have taken possessionof that child all day!'

'I fancy Leonard is come to reclaim her, ' said Aubrey, 'don't you seehim trying to work through and get at her! and Miss Ward told me shewas going home early, to put the children to bed. Ha! what's the row?There's Leonard flaring up in a regular rage! Only look at hiseyes--and Henry just like Gertrude's Java sparrow in a taking--'

'It must not be, ' cried Ethel, starting up to attempt she knew notwhat, as she heard Leonard's words, 'Say it was a mistake, Henry! Youcannot be so base as to persist!'

There it became evident that Ethel and Aubrey were seen over thebalusters; Leonard's colour deepened, but his eye did not flinch;though Henry quailed and backed, and the widow gave a disconcertedlaugh; then Leonard pounced on his little sister and carried her off tothe cloak-room. 'What treason could it have been?' muttered Aubrey;'we shall get it all from Ward;' but when Leonard re-appeared it waswith his sister cloaked and bonneted on his arm, each leading a littleone; he took them to the entrance and was seen no more. 

Nor was the true history of that explosion ever revealed in the Mayfamily, though it had grave consequences at Bankside. 

Rumour had long declared at Stoneborough that the member's littledaughter was carefully secluded on account of some deformity, and Mrs. Pugh had been one of many ladies who had hoped to satisfy theircuriosity on this head upon the present occasion. She had asked HenryWard whether it were so, and he had replied with pique that he had nomeans of judging, he had never been called in at the Grange. By way ofsalve to his feelings, the sympathizing lady had suggested that thepreference for London advice might be from the desire of secrecy, andimprobable as he knew this to be, his vanity had forbidden him to argueagainst it. When no little Miss Rivers appeared, the notion of heraffliction gained ground, and Leonard, whose gray back wasundistinguishable from other gray backs, heard Mrs. Pugh citing hisbrother as an authority for the misfortune which Mr. And Mrs. Rivers socarefully concealed as to employ no surgeon from their ownneighbourhood. 

Falsehood, slander, cruelty, ingratitude, breach of hospitality, werethe imputations that fired the hot brain of Leonard, and writhed hislips, as he started round, confronted the lady, and assured her it wasa--a--a gross mistake. His father had always attended the child, andshe must have misunderstood his brother. Then, seeing Henry at alittle distance, Leonard summoned him to contradict the allegation; butat that moment the sudden appearance of the two Mays put the wholeconclave to silence. 

Not aware that Mrs. Pugh had confounded together his intelligence andher surmise, and made him responsible for both, Henry was shocked andgrieved at his brother's insulting and violent demeanour, and exhaustedhimself in apologies and denunciations; while the kind-hearted ladyinterceded, for the boy, declaring that she doted on his generousspirit, but not confessing the piece of female embroidery which hadembroiled the matter; probably not even aware of it, though sincerelyand kindly desirous to avert the brother's anger. Her amiability, therefore, only strengthened Henry's sense of his brothers outrage, andhis resolve to call him to account. 

It was impossible that night, for Leonard had gone home with thesisters, and was in bed long before his brother returned. But atbreakfast Henry found the forces drawn up against him, and his firstattempt to remonstrate was retorted by the demand what he could mean byspreading such an abominablereport--cruel--unfounded--ungrateful--spiteful--

Averil indeed divined that it was Mrs. Pugh's invention; but Henry wasnot inclined to give up Mrs. Pugh, and continued in the belief thatLeonard's fiery imagination had fabricated the sentence, and then mostimproperly charged it on the lady, and on himself. Had it been asLeonard stated, said Henry, his conduct was shameful and required anapology, whereupon Leonard burst out in passion at being disbelieved, and Averil was no less indignant. The storm raged till the business ofthe day interrupted it; and in Henry's absence, Averil and her brotherworked up their wrath again, at the atrocity of the assertion regardingthe child of their entertainers, the granddaughter of their truest, kindest friend. 

Averil would have rushed to Mary with the whole story, but forLeonard's solemn asseveration that if ever it came to the ears of anyone of the Mays, he should send back his rifle to Mr. Ernescliffe, andwork his way out to one of the colonies rather than again look any ofthe family in the face. 

Henry divided his opponents next time, asking Leonard, in his sister'sabsence, whether he had come to his senses and would apologize?Leonard hoped Henry had come to his! On the whole, the dispute hadlost some asperity by the absence of Averil, and though Leonard heldhis ground, and maintained that he had every right to deny thestatement, and that it was Henry's duty to make Mrs. Pugh contradict iteverywhere, yet the two approached nearer together, and there was lessmisunderstanding, fewer personalities. 

But Averil could not forget or forgive. She persisted in manifestingher displeasure, and recurred to the subject till her pertinacity woreout Leonard himself. 

'Nonsense, Ave, ' he said at last, 'it was a foolish woman's gossip thatHenry ought to have quashed; but that is no reason you should treatthem like toads. '

'Would you have me sanction vile slander?'

'As if you were sanctioning slander by being decently civil! Is not itan intolerable thing that we three should never sit down to a meal inpeace together?'

'O, Leonard, don't you think I feel the misery?'

Put an end to it then, and don't pit those poor children one againstthe other. Just fancy Minna's saying to me, "I love you and sister, but Ella loves Mrs. Pugh and Henry. "'

'Yes, they have set Ella against me. She always appeals to Henry, andI can do nothing with her. '

Leonard looked out of the window and whistled, then said, as if he hadmade a discovery, 'I'll tell you what, Ave, something must be done toset things to rights between us, and I believe the best thing will beto call on Mrs. Pugh. '

'Not to apologize! O, Leonard!'

'Stuff and nonsense! Only to show we don't bear malice. Henry hadbeen at you to call ever so long before this, had he not?'

'I can't see any reason for intimacy. '

'I declare, Ave, you are too bad! I only want you just to keep thepeace with your own brother. You have led him the life of a dog thesethree days, and now when I want you to be a little obliging, you talkof intimacy!'

'Only because I know how it will be. If I give that woman an inch, shewill take an ell. '

'Let her then. It would be much better than always living atdaggers-drawn with one's brother. ' Then, after waiting for her to saysomething, he added, 'If you won't go with me, I shall go alone. '

Averil rose, subdued but not convinced, reverencing her brother, butafraid of his concessions. 

However, the call turned out well. Mrs. Pugh had a talent for makingherself agreeable, and probably had liked the boy for his outburst. Shewould not let Mab be excluded, loaded her with admiration, and wasextremely interested in the volunteer practice, so that both the youngpeople were subjugated for the time by her pleasant manners, and wentaway ashamed of their own rancour against one so friendly andgood-natured, and considerably relieved of their burden of animosity. 

Their greeting to their brother was so cordial that he perceived theirgood-will, and was sorry that the dread of an evening of warfare hadinduced him to accept an invitation to dine at the Swan with SamAxworthy and a party of his friends. 

CHAPTER X

 This night is my departing night, For here nae longer must I stay; There's neither friend nor foe of mine But wishes me away. What I have done through lack of wit, I never, never can recall: I hope ye're all my friends as yet. Good night, and joy be with you all. Armstrong's Good Night

The storm had blown over, but heavy flakes of cloud still cumbered theair, and gusts of wind portended that it might gather again. 

Henry Ward took this opportunity of giving his first dinner party. Hesaid it was a necessary return for the civilities they had received;and to Averil's representation that it transgressed the system of rigideconomy that so much tormented her, he replied by referring her to Mrs. Pugh for lessons in the combination of style and inexpensiveness. 

Averil had almost refused, but the lady herself proffered herinstructions, and reluctance was of no avail; nothing butdemonstrations from which her conscience shrank, could have served todefend her from the officious interference so eagerly and thankfullyencouraged by the master of the house. Vainly did she protest againstpretension, and quote the example of the Grange; she found herselfcompelled to sacrifice the children's lessons to learn of Mrs. Pugh tomake the paper flowers that, with bonbons and sweetmeats, were to savethe expense of good food on the dinner-table, and which she fearedwould be despised by Miss May, nay, perhaps laughed over with 'Mr. Tom!'

She hated the whole concern, even the invitation to Dr. And Miss May, knowing that it was sent in formal vanity, accepted in puregood-nature, would bring them into society they did not like, andexpose her brother's bad taste. Only one thing could have added to herdislike, namely--that which all Stoneborough perceived exceptingherself and Leonard--that this dinner was intended as a step in Henry'scourtship, and possibly as an encouragement of Harvey Anderson's likingfor herself. Averil held her head so high, and was so little popular, that no one of less assurance than Mrs. Ledwich herself would havedared approach her with personal gossip; and even Mrs. Ledwich wassilent here; so that Averil, too young and innocent to connect secondmarriages with recent widowhood, drew no conclusions from Henry'srestless eagerness that his household should present the most imposingappearance. 

While the bill of fare was worrying Averil, Leonard was told by Aubrey, that his father had brought home a fossil Tower of Babel, dug up withsome earth out of a new well, three miles off, with tidings of otherunheard-of treasures, and a walk was projected in quest of them, inwhich Leonard was invited to join. He gladly came to the early dinner, where he met reduced numbers--the Ernescliffes being at Maplewood, Tomat Cambridge, and Harry in the Channel fleet; and as usual, he felt thedifference between the perfect understanding and friendship in the onehome, and the dread of dangerous subjects in the other. The expeditionhad all the charms of the Coombe times; and the geological discoverieswere so numerous and precious, that the load became sufficient to breakdown the finders, and Ethel engaged a market-woman to bring the basketsin her cart the next morning. 

That morning a note from Richard begged Ethel to come early toCocksmoor to see Granny Hall, who was dying. Thus left to their owndevices, Aubrey and Gertrude conscientiously went through some of theirstudies; then proceeded to unpack their treasury of fossils, andendeavour to sort out Leonard's share, as to which doubts arose. Daisyproposed to carry the specimens at once to Bankside, where she wantedto see Leonard's prime echinus; and Aubrey readily agreed, neither ofthe young heads having learnt the undesirableness of a morning visit ina house preparing for a dinner-party too big for it. 

However, Leonard made them extremely welcome. It was too foggy a dayfor rifle practice, and all the best plate and china were in theschool-room, his only place of refuge; Ave was fluttering about inhopes of getting everything done before Mrs. Pugh could take it out ofher hands, and the energies of the household were spent on laying outthe dining-table. It was clearly impossible to take Gertrude anywherebut into the drawing-room, which was in demi-toilette state, thelustres released from their veils, the gayer cushions taken out oftheir hiding-places, and the brown holland covers half off. This wasthe only tranquil spot, and so poor little Mab thought, forbiddenground though it was. Even in her own home, the school-room, a strangeman had twice trod upon her toes; so no wonder, when she saw her ownmaster and his friends in the drawing-room, that she ventured in, andleaping on a velvet cushion she had never seen before, and had neverbeen ordered off, she there curled herself up and went to sleep, unseenby Leonard, who was in eager controversy upon the specimens, whichGertrude, as she unpacked, set down on floor, chair, or ottoman, unaware of the offence she was committing. So, unmolested, the younggeologists talked, named, and sorted the specimens, till the clockstriking the half-hour, warned the Mays that they must return; andLeonard let them out at the window, and crossed the lawn to the sidegate with them to save the distance. 

He had just returned, and was kneeling on the floor hastily collectingthe fossils, when the door opened, and Henry Ward, coming home toinspect the preparations, beheld the drawing-room bestrewn with therough stones that he had proscribed, and Mab, not only in the room, butreposing in the centre of the most magnificent cushion in the house!

His first movement of indignation was to seize the dog with no gentlehand. She whined loudly; and Leonard, whom he had not seen, shoutedangrily, 'Let her alone;' then, at another cry from her, finding hisadvance to her rescue impeded by a barricade of the crowded anddisarranged furniture, he grew mad with passion, and launched the stonein his hand, a long sharp-pointed belemnite. It did not strike Henry, but a sound proclaimed the mischief, as it fell back from the surfaceof the mirror, making a huge star of cracks, unmarked by Leonard, who, pushing sofa and ottoman to the right and left, thundered up to hisbrother, and with uplifted hand demanded what he meant by his cruelty. 

'Is--is this defiance?' stammered Henry, pointing to the disorderedroom. 

'Look here, Averil, ' as she appeared at the sounds, 'do you defend thisboy now he has very nearly killed me?'

'Killed you!' and Leonard laughed angrily; but when Henry held up theelf-bolt, and he saw its sharp point, he was shocked, and he saw horrorin Averil's face. 

'I see, ' he said gravely. 'It was a mercy I did not!' and he paused. 'I did not know what I was about when you were misusing my dog, Henry. Shake hands; I am sorry for it. '

But Henry had been very much frightened as well as angered, andthought, perhaps, it was a moment to pursue his advantage. 

'You treat things lightly, ' he said, not accepting the hand. 

'See what you have done. '

'I am glad it was not your head, ' said Leonard. 'What does it cost?I'll pay. '

'More than your keep for a year, ' moaned Henry, as he sighed over thelong limbs of the starfish-like fracture. 

'Well, I will give up anything you like, if you will only not be sulkyabout it, Henry. It was unlucky, and I'm sorry for it; I can't saymore!'

'But I can, ' said Henry with angry dignity, re-inforced by the sight ofthe seamed reflection of his visage in the shivered glass. 'I tellyou, Leonard, there's no having you in the house; you defy myauthority, you insult my friends, you waste and destroy more than youare worth, and you are absolutely dangerous. I would as soon have awild beast about the place. If you don't get the Randall next week, and get off to the University, to old Axworthy's office you go at once. '

'Very well, I will, ' said Leonard, turning to collect the fossils, asif he had done with the subject. 

'Henry, Henry, what are you saying?' cried the sister. 

'Not a word, Ave, ' said Leonard. 'I had rather break stones on theroad than live where my keep is grudged, and there's not spirit enoughto get over a moment's fright. '

'It is not any one individual thing, ' began Henry, in a tone ofannoyance, 'but your whole course--'

There he paused, perceiving that Leonard paid no attention to hiswords, continuing quietly to replace the furniture and collect thefossils, as it no one else were in the room, after which he carried thebasket up-stairs. 

Averil hurried after him. 'Leonard! oh, why don't you explain? Whydon't you tell him how the stones came there?'

Leonard shook his head sternly. 

'Don't you mean to do anything?'

'Nothing. '

'But you wanted another year before trying for the scholarship. '

'Yes; I have no chance there. '

'He will not do it! He cannot mean it!'

'I do then. I will get my own living, and not be a burthen, where mybrother cannot forgive a broken glass or a moment's fright, ' saidLeonard; and she felt that his calm resentment was worse than hisviolence. 

'He will be cooler, and then--'

'I will have no more said to him. It is plain that we cannot livetogether, and there's an end of it. Don't cry, or you won't be fit tobe seen. '

'I won't come down to dinner. '

'Yes, you will. Let us have no more about it. Some one wants you. '

'Please, ma'am, the fish is come. '

'Sister, sister, come and see how I have done up the macaroons in greenleaves. '

'Sister, sister, do come and reach me down some calycanthus out of thegreenhouse!'

'I will, ' said Leonard, descending; and for the rest of the day he wasan efficient assistant in the decorations, and the past adventure wasonly apparent in the shattered glass, and the stern ceremoniouscourtesy of the younger brother towards the elder. 

Averil hurried about, devoid of all her former interest in so doingthings for herself as to save interference; and when Mrs. Ledwich andMrs. Pugh walked in, overflowing with suggestions, she let them havetheir way, and toiled under them with the sensation of being like 'dumbdriven cattle. ' If Leonard were to be an exile, what mattered it toher who ruled, or what appearance things made?

Only when she went to her own room to dress, had she a moment torealize the catastrophe, its consequences, and the means of avertingthem. So appalled was she, that she sat with her hair on her shouldersas if spell-bound, till the first ring at the door aroused her to speedand consternation, perhaps a little lessened by one of her sistersrushing in to say that it was Mrs. Ledwich and Mrs. Pugh, and thatHenry was still in the cellar, decanting the wine. 

Long before the hosts were ready, Dr. May and Ethel had likewisearrived, and became cognizant of the fracture of the mirror, for, though the nucleus was concealed by a large photograph stuck into theframe, one long crack extended even to the opposite corner. The twoladies were not slow to relate all that they knew; and while the auntdismayed Ethel by her story, the niece, with much anxiety, asked Dr. May how it was that these dear, nice, superior young people should havesuch unfortunate tempers--was it from any error in management? Soearnest was her manner, so inquiring her look, that Dr. May suspectedthat she was feeling for his opinion on personal grounds, and tried toavert the danger by talking of the excellence of the parents, but hewas recalled from his eulogium on poor Mrs. Ward. 

'Oh yes! one felt for them so very much, and they are so religious, sowell principled, and all that one could wish; but family dissension isso dreadful. I am very little used to young men or boys, and I neverknew anything like this. '

'The lads are too nearly of an age, ' said the Doctor. 

'And would such things be likely to happen among any brothers?'

'I should trust not!' said the Doctor emphatically. 

'I should so like to know in confidence which you think likely to bemost to blame. '

Never was the Doctor more glad that Averil made her appearance! Hecarefully avoided getting near Mrs. Pugh for the rest of the evening, but he could not help observing that she was less gracious than usualto the master of the house; while she summoned Leonard to her side toask about the volunteer proceedings, and formed her immediate court ofHarvey Anderson and Mr. Scudamour. 

The dinner went on fairly, though heavily. Averil, in her one greattrouble, lost the sense of the minor offences that would havedistressed her pride and her taste had she been able to attend to them, and forgot the dulness of the scene in her anxiety to seek sympathy andcounsel in the only quarter where she cared for it. She wentmechanically through her duties as lady of the house, talkingcommonplace subjects dreamily to Dr. May, and scarcely even givingherself the trouble to be brief with Mr. Anderson, who was on her otherside at dinner. 

In the drawing-room, she left the other ladies to their own devices inher eagerness to secure a few minutes with Ethel May, and disabuse herof whatever Mrs. Ledwich or Mrs. Pugh might have said. Ethel had beenmore hopeful before she heard the true version; she had hithertoallowed much for Mrs. Ledwich's embellishments; and she was shocked andtook shame to her own guiltless head for Gertrude's thoughtlessness. 

'Oh no!' said Averil, 'there was nothing that any one need have minded, if Henry had waited for explanation! And now, will you get Dr. May tospeak to him? If he only knew how people would think of his treatingLeonard so, I am sure he would not do it. '

'He cannot!' said Ethel. 'Don't you know what he thinks of it himself?He said to papa last year that your father would as soon have sentLeonard to the hulks as to the Vintry Mill. '

'Oh, I am so glad some one heard him. He would care about having thatcast up against him, if he cared for nothing else. '

'It must have been a mere threat. Leonard surely has only to ask hispardon. '

'No, indeed, not again, Miss May!' said Averil. 'Leonard asked once, and was refused, and cannot ask again. No, the only difficulty iswhether he ought not to keep to his word, and go to the mill if he doesnot get the Randall. '

'Did he say he would?'

'Of course he did, when Henry threatened him with it, and talked of theburden of his maintenance! He said, "Very well, I will, " and he meansit!'

'He will not mean it when the spirit of repentance has had time towaken. '

'He will take nothing that is grudged him, ' said Averil. 'Oh! is itnot hard that I cannot get at my own money, and send him at once toCambridge, and never ask Henry for another farthing?'

'Nay, Averil; I think you can do a better part by trying to make themforgive one another. '

Averil had no notion of Leonard's again abasing himself, and though shemight try to bring Henry to reason by reproaches, she would notpersuade. She wished her guest had been the sympathizing Mary ratherthan Miss May, who was sure to take the part of the elder and theauthority. Repentance! Forgiveness! If Miss May should work onLeonard to sue for pardon and toleration, and Mrs. Pugh shouldintercede with Henry to take him into favour, she had rather he were atthe Vintry Mill at once in his dignity, and Henry be left to hisdisgrace. 

Ethel thought of Dr. Spencer's words on the beach at Coombe, 'Neverthreaten Providence!' She longed to repeat them to Leonard, as shewatched his stern determined face, and the elaborately quiet motionsthat spoke of a fixed resentful purpose; but to her disappointment andmisgiving, he gave her no opportunity, and for the first time sincetheir sea-side intercourse, held aloof from her. 

Nor did she see him again during the week that intervened before thedecision of the scholarship, though three days of it were holidays. Aubrey, whom she desired to bring him in after the rifle drill, reported that he pronounced himself sorry to refuse, but too busy tocome in, and he seemed to be cramming with fiery vehemence for the merechance of success. 

The chance was small. The only hope lay in the possibility of somehindrance preventing the return of either Forder or Folliot; and in themeantime the Mays anxiously thought over Leonard's prospects. Hisremaining at home was evidently too great a trial for both brothers, and without a scholarship he could not go to the University. The evilsof the alternative offered by his brother were duly weighed by theDoctor and Ethel with an attempt to be impartial. 

Mr. Axworthy, though the mill was the centre of his business, was infact a corn merchant of considerable wealth, and with opportunities ofextending his connection much farther. Had his personal character beenotherwise, Dr. May thought a young man could not have a better openingthan a seat in his office, and the future power of taking shares in histrade; there need be no loss of position, and there was greatlikelihood both of prosperity and the means of extensive usefulness. 

Ethel sighed at the thought of the higher aspirations that she hadfostered till her own mind was set on them. 

'Nay, ' said the Doctor, 'depend upon it, the desk is admirable trainingfor good soldiers of the Church. See the fearful evil that befallsgreat schemes intrusted to people who cannot deal with money matters;and see, on the other hand, what our merchants and men of business havedone for the Church, and do not scorn "the receipt of custom. "'

'But the man, papa!'

'Yes, there lies the hitch! If Leonard fails, I can lay things beforeHenry, such as perhaps he may be too young to know, and which mustchange his purpose. '

Mr. Axworthy's career during his youth and early manhood was guessed atrather than known, but even since his return and occupation of theVintry Mill, his vicious habits had scandalized the neighbourhood, andthough the more flagrant of these had been discontinued as he advancedin age, there was no reason to hope that he had so much 'left off hissins, as that his sins had left him off. ' His great-nephew, who livedwith him and assisted in his business, was a dashing sporting young manof no good character, known to be often intoxicated, and concerned inmuch low dissipation, and as dangerous an associate as could beconceived for a high-spirited lad like Leonard. Dr. May could notbelieve that any provocation of temper, any motive of economy, anydesire to be rid of encumbrances to his courtship, could induce a manwith so much good in him, as there certainly was in Henry Ward, toexpose his orphan brother to such temptations; and he only reserved hisremonstrance in the trust that it would not be needed, and the desireto offer some better alternative of present relief. 

One of the examiners was Norman's old school and college friend, Charles Cheviot, now a clergyman and an under-master at one of thegreat schools recently opened for the middle classes, where he wasmeeting with great success, and was considered a capital judge of boys'characters. He was the guest of the Mays during the examination; andthough his shy formal manner, and convulsive efforts at young ladytalk, greatly affronted Gertrude, the brothers liked him. 

He was in consternation at the decline of Stoneborough school since Mr. Wilmot had ceased to be an under-master; the whole tone of the schoolhad degenerated, and it was no wonder that the Government inquirieswere ominously directed in that quarter. Scholarship was at a low ebb, Dr. Hoxton seemed to have lost what power of teaching he had everpossessed, and as Dr. May observed, the poor old school was going tothe dogs. But even in the present state of things, Leonard had nochance of excelling his competitors. His study, like theirs, had beenmere task-work, and though he showed more native power than the rest, yet perhaps this had made the mere learning by rote even more difficultto an active mind full of inquiry. He was a whole year younger thanany other who touched the foremost ranks, two years younger thanseveral; and though he now and then showed a feverish spark of genius, reminding Mr. Cheviot of Norman in his famous examination, it was notsustained--there were will and force, but not scholarship--and besides, there was a wide blurred spot in his memory, as though all thebrain-work of the quarter before his illness had been confused, and hadnot yet become clear. There was every likelihood that a few yearswould make him superior to the chosen Randall scholar, but at presenthis utmost efforts did not even place him among the seven whose namesappeared honourably in the newspaper. It was a failure; but Mr. Cheviot had become much interested in the boy for his own sake, as wellas from what he heard from the Mays, and he strongly advised thatLeonard should at Easter obtain employment for a couple of years at theschool in which he himself was concerned. He would thus be maintaininghimself, and pursuing his own studies under good direction, so as tohave every probability of success in getting an open scholarship at oneof the Universities. 

Nothing could be better, and there was a perfect jubilee among the Maysat the proposal. Aubrey was despatched as soon as breakfast was overto bring Leonard to talk it over, and Dr. May undertook to propound itto Henry on meeting him at the hospital; but Aubrey came back lookingvery blank--Leonard had started of his own accord that morning toannounce to his uncle his acceptance of a clerk's desk at the VintryMill!

Averil followed upon Aubrey's footsteps, and arrived while theschoolroom was ringing with notes of vexation and consternation. Shewas all upon the defensive. She said that not a word had passed on thesubject since the dinner-party, and there had not been a shadow of adispute between the brothers; in fact, she evidently was delighted withLeonard's dignified position and strength of determination, and thoughtthis expedition to the Vintry Mill a signal victory. 

When she heard what the Mays had to propose, she was enchanted, she hadno doubt of Henry's willing consent, and felt that Leonard's triumphand independence were secured without the sacrifice of prospects, whichshe had begun to regard as a considerable price for his dignity. 

But Dr. May was not so successful with Henry Ward. He did not want todisoblige his uncle, who had taken a fancy to Leonard, and might domuch for the family; he thought his father would have changed his viewsof the uncle and nephew had he known them better, he would not acceptthe opinion of a stranger against people of his own family, and he hadalways understood the position of an usher to be most wretched, norwould he perceive the vast difference between the staff of the middleschool and of the private commercial academy. He evidently was pleasedto stand upon his rights, to disappoint Dr. May, and perhaps to gratifyhis jealousy by denying his brother a superior education. 

Yet in spite of this ebullition, which had greatly exasperated Dr. May, there was every probability that Henry's consent might be wrung out ordispensed with, and plans of attack were being arranged at thetea-table, when a new obstacle in the shape of a note from Leonardhimself. 

'My Dear Aubrey, 'I am very much obliged to Dr. May and Mr. Cheviot for their kindintentions; but I have quite settled with Mr. Axworthy, and I enter onmy new duties next week. I am sorry to leave our corps, but it is toofar off, and I must enter the Whitford one. 

 'Yours, 'L. A. Ward. '

'The boy is mad with pride and temper, ' said the Doctor. 

'And his sister has made him so, ' added Ethel. 

'Shall I run down to Bankside and tell him it is all bosh?' saidAubrey, jumping up. 

'I don't think that is quite possible under Henry's very nose, ' saidEthel. 'Perhaps they will all be tamer by to-morrow, now they haveblown their trumpets; but I am very much vexed. '

'And really, ' added Mr. Cheviot, 'if he is so wrong-headed, I begin todoubt if I could recommend him. '

'You do not know how he has been galled and irritated, ' said thegeneral voice. 

'I wonder what Mrs. Pugh thinks of it, ' presently observed the Doctor. 

'Ah!' said Ethel, 'Mrs. Pugh is reading "John of Anjou". '

'Indeed!' said the Doctor; 'I suspected the wind was getting into thatquarter. Master Henry does not know his own interest: she was sure totake part with a handsome lad. '

'Why have you never got Mrs. Pugh to speak for him?' said Mary. 'I amsure she would. '

'O, Mary! simple Mary, you to be Ave's friend, and not know that herinterposition is the only thing wanting to complete the frenzy of theother two!'

Ethel said little more that evening, she was too much grieved and tooanxious. She was extremely disappointed in Leonard, and almosthopeless as to his future. She saw but one chance of preventing hisseeking this place of temptation, and that was in the exertion of herpersonal influence. His avoidance of her showed that he dreaded it, but one attempt must be made. All night was spent in broken dreams ofjust failing to meet him, or of being unable to utter what was on hertongue; and in her waking moments she almost reproached herself for thediscovery how near her heart he was, and how much pleasure his devotionhad given her. 

Nothing but resolution on her own part could bring about a meeting, andshe was resolute. She stormed the castle in person, and told Averilshe must speak to Leonard. Ave was on her side now, and answered withtears in her eyes that she should be most grateful to have Leonardpersuaded out of this dreadful plan, and put in the way of excelling ashe ought to do; she never thought it would come to this. 

'No, ' thought Ethel; 'people blow sparks without thinking they may burna house down. '

Ave conducted her to the summer-house, where Leonard was packing up hisfossils. He met them with a face resolutely bent on brightness. 'I amto take all my household gods, ' he said, as he shook hands with Ethel. 

'I see, ' said Ethel, gravely; and as Averil was already falling out ofhearing, she added, 'I thought you were entirely breaking with your oldlife. '

'No, indeed, ' said Leonard, turning to walk with her in the paths; 'Iam leaving the place where it is most impossible to live in. '

'This has been a place of great, over-great trial, I know, ' said Ethel, 'but I do not ask you to stay in it. '

'My word is my word, ' said Leonard, snapping little boughs off thelaurels as he walked. 

'A hasty word ought not to be kept. '

His face looked rigid, and he answered not. 

'Leonard, ' she said, 'I have been very unhappy about you, for I see youdoing wilfully wrong, and entering a place of temptation in a dangerousspirit. '

'I have given my word, ' repeated Leonard. 

'O, Leonard, it is pride that is speaking, not the love of truth andconstancy. '

'I never defend myself, ' said Leonard. 

Ethel felt deeply the obduracy and pride of these answers; her eyesfilled with tears, and her hopes failed. 

Perhaps Leonard saw the pain he was giving, for he softened, and said, 'Miss May, I have thought it over, and I cannot go back. I know I wascarried away by passion at the first moment, and I was willing to makeamends. I was rejected, as you know. Was it fit that we should go onliving together?'

'I do not ask you to live together. '

'When he reproached me with the cost of my maintenance, and threatenedme with the mill if I lost the scholarship, which he knew I could notget, I said I would abide by those words. I do abide by them. '

'There is no reason that you should. Why should you give up all yourbest and highest hopes, because you cannot forgive your brother?'

'Miss May, if I lived with you and the Doctor, I could have such aims. Henry has taken care to make them sacrilege for me. I shall never befit now, and there's an end of it. '

'You might--'

'No, no, no! A school, indeed! I should be dismissed for licking theboys before a week was out! Besides, I want the readiest way to get onin the world; I must take care of my sisters; I don't trust one momentto Henry's affection for any of them. This is no home for me, and itsoon may be no home for them!' and the boy's eyes were full of tears, though his voice struggled for firmness and indifference. 

'I am very sorry for you, Leonard, ' said Ethel, much moreaffectionately, as she felt herself nearer her friend of Coombe. 'I amglad you have some better motives, but I do not see how you will bemore able to help them in this way. '

'I shall be near them, ' said Leonard; 'I can watch over them. Andif--if--it is true what they say about Henry and Mrs. Pugh--then theycould have a cottage near the mill, and I could live with them. Don'tyou see, Miss May?'

'Yes; but I question whether, on further acquaintance, you will wishfor your sisters to be with their relations there. The other coursewould put you in the way of a better atmosphere for them. '

'But not for six years, ' said Leonard. 'No, Miss May; to show you itis not what you think in me, I will tell you that I had resolved thelast thing to ask Henry's pardon for my share in this unhappyhalf-year; but this is the only resource for me or my sisters, and mymind is made up. '

'O, Leonard, are you not deceiving yourself? Are the grapes ever sosour, or the nightshade below so sweet, as when the fox has leapt tooshort, and is too proud to climb?'

'Nightshade! Why, pray?'

'My father would tell you; I know he thinks your cousin no safecompanion. '

'I know that already, but I can keep out of his way. '

'Then this is the end of it, ' said Ethel, feeling only half justifiedin going so far, 'the end of all we thought and talked of at Coombe!'

There was a struggle in the boy's face, and she did not know whethershe had touched or angered him. 'I can't help it, ' he said, as if hewould have recalled his former hardness; but then softening, 'No, MissMay, why should it be? A man can do his duty in any state of life. '

'In any state of life where God has placed him; but how when it is hisown self-will?'

'There are times when one must judge for one's self. '

'Very well, then, I have done, Leonard. If you can conscientiouslyfeel that you are acting for the best, and not to gratify your pride, then I can only say I hope you will be helped through the course youhave chosen. Good-bye. '

'But--Miss May--though I cannot take your advice--' he hesitated, 'thisis not giving me up?'

'Never, while you let me esteem you. '

'Thank you, ' he said, brightening, 'that is something to keep my headabove water, even if this place were all you think it. '

'My father thinks, ' said Ethel. 

'I am engaged now; I cannot go back, ' said Leonard. 'Thank you. MissMay. '

'Thank you for listening patiently, ' said Ethel. 'Good-bye. '

'And--and, ' he added earnestly, following her back to the house, 'youdo not think the Coombe days cancelled?'

'If you mean my hopes of you, ' said Ethel, with a swelling heart, 'aslong as you do your duty--for--for the highest reason, they will onlytake another course, and I will try to think it the right one. '

Ethel had mentally made this interview the test of her regard forLeonard. She had failed, and so had her test; her influence had notsucceeded, but it had not snapped; the boy, in all his wilfulness, hadbeen too much for her, and she could no longer condemn and throw himoff!

Oh! why will not the rights and wrongs of this world be more clearlydivided!

CHAPTER XI

 The stream was deeper than I thought When first I ventured here, I stood upon its sloping edge Without a rising fear. --H. BONAR

It was a comfort to find that the brothers parted on good terms. Theelder was beholden to the younger for the acquiescence that removed theodium of tyranny from the expulsion, and when the one great disturbancehad silenced the ephemeral dissensions that had kept both minds in aconstant state of irritation, Henry wanted, by kindness andconsideration, to prove to himself and the world that Leonard's realinterests were his sole object; and Leonard rejoiced in being at peace, so long as his pride and resolution were not sacrificed. He went offas though his employment had been the unanimous choice of the family, carrying with him his dog, his rifle, his fishing-rod, his fossils, andall his other possessions, but with the understanding that his Sundayswere to be passed at home, by way of safeguard to his religion andmorals, bespeaking the care and consideration of his senior, as Henryassured himself and Mrs. Pugh, and tried to persuade his sister and Dr. May. 

But Dr. May was more implacable than all the rest. He called Henry'saction the deed of Joseph's brethren, and viewed the matter as theresponsible head of a family; he had a more vivid contemporaneousknowledge of the Axworthy antecedents, and he had been a witness toHenry's original indignant repudiation of such a destiny for hisbrother. He was in the mood of a man whose charity had endured long, and refused to condemn, but whose condemnation, when forced from him, was therefore doubly strong. The displeasure of a loving charitableman is indeed a grave misfortune. 

Never had he known a more selfish and unprincipled measure, deliberately flying in the face of his parents' known wishes beforethey had been a year in their graves, exposing his brother to ruinoustemptation with his eyes open. The lad was destroyed body and soul, asmuch as if he had been set down in Satan's own clutches; and if theydid not mind what they were about, he would drag Aubrey after him! Assure as his name was Dick May, he would sooner have cut his hand offthan have sent the boys to Coombe together, could he have guessed thatthis was to be the result. 

Such discourses did not tend to make Ethel comfortable. If she hadbeen silly enough to indulge in a dream of her influence availing tostrengthen Leonard against temptation, she must still have refrainedfrom exerting it through her wonted medium, since it was her father'sexpress desire that Aubrey, for his own sake, should be detached fromhis friend as much as possible. 

Aubrey was the greatest present difficulty. Long before their illnessthe boys had been the resource of each other's leisure, and Coombe hadmade their intimacy a friendship of the warmest nature. Aubrey was atan age peculiarly dependent on equal companionship, and in the absenceof his brothers, the loss of his daily intercourse with Leonard tookaway all the zest of life. Even the volunteer practice lost its charmwithout the rival with whom he chiefly contended, yet whose successagainst others was hotter to him than his own; his other occupationsall wanted partnership, and for the first time in his life he showedweariness and contempt of his sisters' society and pursuits. He rushedoff on Sunday evenings for a walk with Leonard; and though Dr. May didnot interfere, the daughters saw that the abstinence was an effort ofprudence, and were proportionately disturbed when one day at dinner, inhis father's absence, Aubrey, who had been overlooking hisfishing-flies with some reviving interest, refused all his sisters'proposals for the afternoon, and when they represented that it was nota good fishing-day, owned that it was not, but that he was going overto consult Leonard Ward about some gray hackles. 

'But you mustn't, Aubrey, ' cried Gertrude, aghast. 

Aubrey made her a low mocking bow. 

'I am sure papa would be very much vexed, ' added she, conclusively. 

'I believe it was luckless Hal that the mill-wheel tore in your nurseryrhymes, eh, Daisy, ' said Aubrey. 

'Nursery rhymes, indeed!' returned the offended young lady; 'you knowit is a very wicked place, and papa would be very angry at your goingthere. ' She looked at Ethel, extremely shocked at her not havinginterfered, and disregarding all signs to keep silence. 

'Axworthy--worthy of the axe, ' said Aubrey, well pleased to retort alittle teasing by the way; 'young Axworthy baiting the trap, and oldAxworthy sitting up in his den to grind the unwary limb from limb!'

'Ethel, why don't you tell him not?' exclaimed Gertrude. 

'Because he knows papa's wishes as well as I do, ' said Ethel; 'and itis to them that he must attend, not to you or me. '

Aubrey muttered something about his father having said nothing to him;and Ethel succeeded in preventing Daisy from resenting this answer. She herself hoped to catch him in private, but he easily contrived tobaffle this attempt, and was soon marching out of Stoneborough in astate of rampant independence, manhood, and resolute friendship, whichnevertheless chose the way where he was least likely to encounter alittle brown brougham. 

Otherwise he might have reckoned three and a half miles of ploughedfield, soppy lane, and water meadow, as more than equivalent to fivemiles of good turnpike road. 

Be that as it might, he was extremely glad when, after forcing his waythrough a sticky clayey path through a hazel copse, his eye fell on awide reach of meadow land, the railroad making a hard line across it atone end, and in the midst, about half a mile off, the river meanderinglike a blue ribbon lying loosely across the green flat, the handsomebuildings of the Vintry Mill lying in its embrace. 

Aubrey knew the outward aspect of the place, for the foreman at themill was a frequent patient of his father's, and he had often waited inthe old gig at the cottage door at no great distance; but he lookedwith more critical eyes at the home of his friend. 

It was a place with much capacity, built, like the Grange, by the monksof the convent, which had been the germ of the cathedral, and showingthe grand old monastic style in the solidity of its stone barns andstorehouses, all arranged around a court, whereof the dwelling-houseoccupied one side, the lawn behind it with fine old trees, and slopingdown to the water, which was full of bright ripples after its agitationaround the great mill-wheel. The house was of more recent date, havingbeen built by a wealthy yeoman of Queen Anne's time, and had longranges of square-headed sash windows, surmounted by a pediment, carvedwith emblems of Ceres and Bacchus, and a very tall front door, alsowith a pediment, and with stone stops leading up to it. Of the sameera appeared to be the great gateway, and the turret above it, containing a clock, the hands of which pointed to 3. 40. 

Aubrey had rather it had been four, at which time the office closed. Helooked round the court, which seemed very dean and ratherempty--stables, barns, buildings, and dwelling-house not showing muchsign of life, excepting the ceaseless hum and clack of the mill, andthe dash of the water which propelled it. The windows nearest to himwere so large and low, that he could look in and see that the first twoor three belonged to living rooms, and the next two showed him businessfittings, and a back that he took to be Leonard's; but he paused indoubt how to present himself, and whether this were a welcome moment, and he was very glad to see in a doorway of the upper story of the millbuildings, the honest floury face of his father's old patient--theforeman. 

Greeting him in the open cordial way common to all Dr. May's children, Aubrey was at once recognized, and the old man came down a step-ladderin the interior to welcome him, and answer his question where he shouldfind Mr. Ward. 

'He is in the office, sir, there, to the left hand as you go in at thefront door, but--' and he looked up at the clock, 'maybe, you would notmind waiting a bit till it strikes four. I don't know whether mastermight be best pleased at young gentlemen coming to see him in officehours. '

'Thank you, ' said Aubrey. 'I did not mean to be too soon, Hardy, but Idid not know how long the walk would be. '

Perhaps it would have been more true had he said that he had wanted toelude his sisters, but he was glad to accept a seat on a bundle ofsacks tremulous with the motion of the mill, and to enter into aconversation with the old foreman, one of those good old peasants whoseintegrity and skill render them privileged persons, worth their weightin gold long after their bodily strength has given way. 

'Well, Hardy, do you mean to make a thorough good miller of Mr. Ward?'

'Bless you, Master May, he'll never stay here long enough. '

'Why not?'

'No, nor his friends didn't ought to let him stay!' added Hardy. 

'Why?' said Aubrey. 'Do you think so badly of your own trade, Hardy?'

But he could not get an answer from the oracle on this head. Hardycontinued, 'He's a nice young gentleman, but he'll never put up withit. '

'Put up with what?' asked Aubrey, anxiously; but at that instant acarter appeared at the door with a question for Master Hardy, andAubrey was left to his own devices, and the hum and clatter of themill, till the clock had struck four; and beginning to think that Hardyhad forgotten him, he was about to set out and reconnoitre, when to hisgreat joy Leonard himself came hurrying up, and heartily shook him bythe hand. 

'Hardy told me you were here, ' he said. 'Well done, old fellow, Ididn't think they would have let you come and see me. '

'The girls did make a great row about it, ' said Aubrey, triumphantly, 'but I was not going to stand any nonsense. '

Leonard looked a little doubtful; then said, 'Well, will you see theplace, or come and sit in my room? There is the parlour, but we shallnot be so quiet there. '

Aubrey decided for Leonard's room, and was taken through the front doorinto a vestibule paved with white stone, with black lozenges at theintersections. 'There, ' said Leonard, 'the office is here, you see, and my uncle's rooms beyond, all on the ground floor, he is too infirmto go up-stairs. This way is the dining-room, and Sam has got asitting-room beyond, then there are the servants' rooms. It is a greatplace, and horridly empty. '

Aubrey thought so, as his footsteps echoed up the handsome but ill-keptstone staircase, with its fanciful balusters half choked with dust, andfollowed Leonard along a corridor, with deep windows overlooking thegarden and river, and great panelled doors opposite, neither looking asif they were often either cleaned or opened, and the passage smellingvery fusty. 

'Pah!' said Aubrey; 'it puts me in mind of the wings of houses in booksthat get shut up because somebody has been murdered! Are you sure itis not haunted, Leonard?'

'Only by the rats, ' he answered, laughing; 'they make such anintolerable row, that poor little Mab is frightened out of her wits, and I don't know whether they would not eat her up if she did not creepup close to me. I'm tired of going at them with the poker, and wouldpoison every man Jack of them if it were not for the fear of hergetting the dose by mistake. '

'Is that what Hardy says you will never put up with?' asked Aubrey; butinstead of answering, Leonard turned to one of the great windows, saying, 'There now, would not this be a charming place if it were properlykept?' and Aubrey looked out at the great cedar, spreading out itsstraight limbs and flakes of dark foliage over the sloping lawn, onebranch so near the window as to invite adventurous exits, and a littleboat lying moored in the dancing water below. 

'Perfect!' said Aubrey. 'What fish there must lie in the mill tail!'

'Ay, I mean to have a try at them some of these days, I should like youto come and help, but perhaps--Ha, little Mab, do you wonder what I'mafter so long? Here's a friend for you: as the little dog danceddelighted round him, and paid Aubrey her affectionate respects. Herdelicate drawing-room beauty did not match with the spacious butneglected-looking room whence she issued. It had three greatuncurtained windows looking into the court, with deep window-seats, olive-coloured painted walls, the worse for damp and wear, a smallamount of old-fashioned solid furniture, and all Leonard's individualgoods, chiefly disposed of in a cupboard in the wall, but Averil'sbeautiful water-coloured drawings hung over the chimney. To Aubrey'spetted home-bred notions it was very bare and dreary, and he could nothelp exclaiming, 'Well, they don't lodge you sumptuously!'

'I don't fancy many clerks in her Majesty's dominions have so big andairy an apartment to boast of, ' said Leonard. 'Let's see these fliesof yours. '

Their mysteries occupied the boys for some space; but Aubrey returnedto the charge. 'What is it that Hardy says you'll never put up with, Leonard?'

'What did the old fellow say?' asked Leonard, laughing; and as Aubreyrepeated the conversation, ending with the oracular prediction, helaughed again, but said proudly, 'He'll see himself wrong then. I'llput up with whatever I've undertaken. '

'But what does he mean?'

'Serving one's apprenticeship, I suppose, ' said Leonard; 'they allthink me a fine gentleman, and above the work, I know, though I'venever stuck at anything yet. If I take to the business, I suppose itis capable of being raised up to me--it need not pull me down to it, eh?'

'There need be no down in the case, ' said Aubrey. 'My father alwayssays there is no down except in meanness and wrong. But, ' as if thatmention brought a recollection to his mind, 'what o'clock is it? Imust not stay much longer. '

'I'll walk a bit of the way home with you, ' said Leonard, 'but I mustbe back by five for dinner. I go to rifle practice two days in theweek, and I don't like to miss the others, for Sam's often out, and thepoor old man does not like being left alone at meals. '

The two boys were at the room door, when Aubrey heard a step, felt thefustiness enlivened by the odour of a cigar, and saw a figure at thetop of the stairs. 

'I say, Ward, ' observed Mr. Sam, in a rude domineering voice, 'Spelman's account must be all looked over to-night; he says that thereis a blunder. D'ye hear?'

'Very well. '

'Who have you got there?'

'It is Aubrey May. '

'Oh! good morning to you, ' making a kind of salutation; 'have you beenlooking at the water? We've got some fine fish there, if you like tothrow a line any day. --Well, that account must be done to-night, and ifyou can't find the error, you'll only have to do it over again. '

Leonard's colour had risen a good deal, but he said nothing, and hiscousin ran down-stairs and drove off in his dog-cart. 

'Is it much of a business?' said Aubrey, feeling extremely indignant. 

'Look here, ' said Leonard, leading the way down-stairs and into theoffice, where he pointed to two huge account books. 'Every page inthat one must I turn over this blessed night; and if he had only toldme three hours ago, I could have done the chief of it, instead ofkicking my heels all the afternoon. '

'Has he any right to order you about, out of office hours, and withouta civil word either? Why do you stand it?'

'Because I can stand anything better than being returned on Henry'shands, ' said Leonard, 'and he has spite enough for that. The thingmust be done, and if he won't do it, I must, that's all. Come along. '

As they went out the unwieldy figure of the elder Mr. Axworthy wasseen, leaning out of his open window, smoking a clay pipe. He spoke ina much more friendly tone, as he said, 'Going out, eh? Mind thedinner-time. '

'Yes, sir, ' said Leonard, coming nearer, 'I'm not going far. '

'Who have you got there?' was again asked. 

'One of the young Mays, sir. I was going to walk part of the way back. '

Aubrey thought the grunt not very civil; and as the boys and Mab passedunder the gateway, Leonard continued, 'There's not much love lostbetween him and your father; he hates the very name. '

'I should expect he would, ' said Aubrey, as if his hatred were anhonour. 

'I fancy there's some old grievance, ' said Leonard, 'where he was wrongof course. Not that that need hinder your coming over, Aubrey; I've aright to my own friends, but--'

'And so have I to mine, ' said Aubrey eagerly. 

'But you see, ' added Leonard, 'I wouldn't have you do it--if--if itvexes your sister. I can see you every Sunday, you know, and we canhave some fun together on Saturdays when the evenings get longer. '

Aubrey's face fell; he had a strong inclination for Leonard's company, and likewise for the trout in the mill tail, and he did not like hisindependence to be unappreciated. 

'You see, ' said Leonard, laying his hand kindly on his shoulder, 'it isvery jolly of you, but I know they would hate it in the High Street ifyou were often here, and it is not worth that. Besides, Aubrey, totell the plain truth, Sam's not fit company for any decent fellow. '

'I can't think how he came to ask me to fish. '

'Just to show he is master, because he knew the poor old man would notlike it! It is one reason he is so savage with me, because his uncletook me without his consent. '

'But, Leonard, it must be worse than the living at home ever was. '

Leonard laughed. 'It's different being jawed in the way of businessand at one's own home. I'd go through a good deal more than I do herein the week to have home what it is now on Sunday. Why, Henry reallyseems glad to see me, and we have not had the shadow of a row since Icame over here. Don't you tell Ave all this, mind, and you may just aswell not talk about it at home, you know, or they will think I'm goingto cry off. '

Aubrey was going to ask what he looked to; but Leonard saw, or thoughthe saw, a weasel in the hedge, and the consequent charge and pursuitfinished the dialogue, the boys parted, and Aubrey walked home, hissatisfaction in his expedition oozing away at every step, though hisresolve to assert his liberty grew in proportion. 

Of course it had not been possible to conceal from Dr. May where Aubreywas gone, and his annoyance had burst out vehemently, the whole roundof objurgations against the Wards, the Vintry Mill, and his own follyin fostering the friendship, were gone through, and Ethel had come infor more than she could easily bear, for not having prevented theescapade. Gertrude had hardly ever seen her father so angry, and satquaking for her brother; and Ethel meekly avoided answering again, withthe happy trustfulness of experienced love. 

At last, as the tea was nearly over, Aubrey walked in, quite ready forself-defence. Nobody spoke for a little while, except to supply himwith food; but presently Dr. May said, not at all in the tone in whichhe had talked of his son's journey, 'You might as well have told me ofyour intentions, Aubrey. '

'I didn't think they mattered to anybody, ' said Aubrey; 'we generallygo our own way in the afternoon. '

'Oh!' said Dr. May. 'Interference with the liberty of the subject?'

Aubrey coloured, and felt he had not quite spoken truth. 'I could notgive him up, father, ' he said, less defiantly. 

'No, certainly not; but I had rather you only saw him at home. It willbe more for our peace of mind. '

'Well, father, ' said Aubrey, 'I am not going there any more. He toldme not himself:' and then with laughing eyes he added, 'He said youwould not like it, Ethel. '

'Poor boy!' said Ethel, greatly touched. 

'Very right of him, ' said Dr. May, well pleased. 'He is a fine lad, and full of proper feeling. What sort of a berth has the old roguegiven him, Aubrey?'

Much relieved that matters had taken this course, Aubrey tried to tellonly as much as his friend would approve, but the medium was not easilyfound, and pretty nearly the whole came out. Dr. May was reallydelighted to hear how Sam treated him. 

'If that fellow takes the oppressive line, there may be some hope, ' hesaid. 'His friendship is the worse danger than his enmity. '

When the sisters had bidden good night, the Doctor detained Aubrey tosay very kindly, 'My boy, I do not like to hear of your running counterto your sister. 

'I'm not going there again, ' said Aubrey, willing to escape. 

'Wait a minute, Aubrey, ' said Dr. May; 'I want to tell you that I feelfor you in this matter more than my way of talking may have made itseem to you. I have a great regard for your friend Leonard, and thinkhe has been scandalously used, and I don't want to lessen yourattachment to him. Far be it from me to think lightly of a friendship, especially of one formed at your age. Your very name, my boy, showsthat I am not likely to do that!'

Aubrey smiled frankly, his offended self-assertion entirely melted. 

'I know it is very hard on you, but you can understand that the veryreasons that made me so averse to Leonard's taking this situation, would make me anxious to keep you away from his relations there, notnecessarily from him. As long as he is what he is now, I would notlift a finger to keep you from him. Have I ever done so, Aubrey?'

'No, papa. '

'Nor will I, as long as he is what I see him now. After this, Aubrey, is it too much to ask of you to keep out of the way of the persons withwhom he is thrown?'

'I will do so, papa. He wishes it himself. ' Then with an effort, headded, 'I am sorry I went to-day; I ought not, but--' and he looked alittle foolish. 

'You did not like taking orders from the girls? No wonder, Aubrey; Ihave been very thankful to you for bearing it as you have done. It isthe worst of home education that these spirits of manliness generallyhave no vent but mischief. But you are old enough now to be thankfulfor such a friend and adviser as Ethel, and I don't imagine that sheorders you. '

'No, ' said Aubrey, smiling and mumbling; 'but Daisy--'

'Oh, I can quite understand the aggravation of Daisy happening to beright; but you must really be man enough to mind your own conscience, even if Daisy is imprudent enough to enforce it. '

'It was not only that, ' said Aubrey, 'but I could not have Wardthinking I turned up my nose at his having got into business. '

'No, Aubrey, he need never fancy it is the business that I object to, but the men. Make that clear to him, and ask him to this house as muchas you please. The more "thorough" he is in his business, the more Ishall respect him. '

Aubrey smiled, and thanked his father with a cleared brow, wondering athimself for having gone without consulting him. 

'Good night, my boy. May this friendship of yours be a lifelong stayand blessing to you both, even though it may cost you some pain andself-command, as all good things must, Aubrey. '

That evening Ethel had been writing to Cambridge. Tom had passed hisexamination with great credit, and taken an excellent degree, afterwhich he projected a tour in Germany, for which he had for some timebeen economizing, as a well-earned holiday before commencing his courseof hospitals and lectures. Tom was no great correspondent, and haddrilled his sisters into putting nothing but the essential into theirletters, instead, as he said, of concealing it in flummery. This is aspecimen of the way Tom liked to be written to. 

 'Stoneborough, Feb. 20th. 'My Dear Tom, 'Dr. Spencer says nothing answers so well as a knapsack. Get one at----. The price is L. S. D. Order extra fittings as required, including a knife and fork. Letters from N. Z. Of the 1st of November, all well. I wish Aubrey was going with you; he misses Leonard Ward sosorely, as to be tempted to follow him to the Vintry Mill. I suspectyour words are coming true, and the days of petticoat governmentending. However, even if he would not be in your way, he could notafford to lose six months' study before going into residence. 

 'Your affectionate sister, 'Etheldred May. '

Tom wrote that he should spend a night in London and come home. Whenhe came, the family exclaimed that his microscope, whose handsome casehe carried in his hand, was much grown. 'And improved too, I hope'said Tom, proceeding to show off various new acquisitions and exchangesin the way of eye-pieces, lenses, and other appliances of the mostexpensive order, till his father exclaimed, 'Really, Tom, I wish I had the secret of your purse. '

'The fact is, ' said Tom, 'that I thought more would be gained bystaying at home, so I turned my travels into a binocular tube, ' &C. 

Aubrey and Gertrude shouted that Tom certainly did love the microscopebetter than any earthly thing; and he coolly accepted the inference. 

Somewhat later, he announced that he had decided that he should bebetter able to profit by the London lectures and hospitals, if he firststudied for half a year at the one at Stoneborough, under the directionof his father and Dr. Spencer. 

Dr. May was extremely gratified, and really esteemed this one of thegreatest compliments his science had ever received; Dr. Spencer couldnot help observing, 'I did not think it was in him to do such a wisething. I never can fathom the rogue. I hope he was not bitten duringhis benevolent exertions last winter. '

Meantime, Tom had observed that he had time to see that Aubrey wasdecently prepared for Cambridge, and further promoted the boy to be hisout-of-door companion, removing all the tedium and perplexity of thelast few weeks, though apparently merely indulging his owninclinations. Ethel recognized the fruit of her letter, and could wellforgive the extra care in housekeeping required for Tom's criticaltastes, nay, the cool expulsion of herself and Gertrude from her twentyyears' home, the schoolroom, and her final severance from Aubrey'sstudies, though at the cost of a pang that reminded her of hergirlhood's sorrow at letting Norman shoot ahead of her. She gave nohint; she knew that implicit reserve was the condition of his strangesilent confidence in her, and that it would be utterly forfeited unlessshe allowed his fraternal sacrifice to pass for mere long-headedprudence. 

Aubrey's Saturday and Sunday meetings with his friend were not yielded, even to Tom, who endeavoured to interfere with them, and would fainhave cut the connection with the entire family, treating Miss Ward withthe most distant and supercilious bows on the unpleasantly numerousoccasions of meeting her in the street, and contriving to be markedlyscornful in his punctilious civility to Henry Ward when they met at thehospital. His very look appeared a sarcasm, to the fancy of the Wards;and he had a fashion of kindly inquiring after Leonard, that seemed toboth a deliberate reproach and insult. 

Disputes had become less frequent at Bankside since Leonard'sdeparture, and few occasions of actual dissension arose; but the spiritof party was not extinguished, and the brother and sister had adoptedlines that perhaps clashed less because they diverged more. 

Averil had, in reply to the constant exhortations to economize, resolved to decline all invitations, and this kept her constantly athome, or with her harmonium, whereas Henry made such constantengagements, that their dining together was the exception, not therule. After conscientiously teaching her sisters in the morning, shedevoted the rest of her day to their walk, and to usefulness in theparish. She liked her tasks, and would have been very happy in them, but for the constant anxiety that hung over her lest her home shouldsoon cease to be her home. 

Henry's devotion to Mrs. Pugh could no longer be mistaken. Theconviction of his intentions grew upon his sister, first from a mereabsurd notion, banished from her mind with derision, then from amisgiving angrily silenced, to a fixed expectation, confirmed by theevident opinion of all around her, and calling for decision andself-command on her own part. 

Perhaps her feelings were unnecessarily strong, and in some degreeunjust to Mrs. Pugh; but she had the misfortune to be naturally proudand sensitive, as well as by breeding too refined in tone for most ofthose who surrounded her. She had taken a personal dislike to Mrs. Pugh from the first; she regarded pretension as insincerity, andofficiousness as deliberate insult, and she took the recoil of hertaste for the judgment of principle. To see such a woman ruling in hermother's, her own, home would be bad enough; but to be ruled by her, and resign to her the management of the children, would be intolerablebeyond measure. Too unhappy to speak of her anticipations even toLeonard or to Mary May, she merely endeavoured to throw them off fromday to day, till one evening, when the days had grown so long that shecould linger in the twilight in the garden before her singing practice, she was joined by Henry, with the long apprehended 'I want to speak toyou, Ave. '

Was it coming? Her heart beat so fast, that she could hardly hear hiskind commencement about her excellent endeavours, and the house'sunhappy want of a mistress, the children's advantage, and so on. Sheknew it could only tend to one point, and longed to have it reached andpassed. Of course she would be prepared to hear who was the object ofhis choice, and she could not but murmur 'Yes, ' and 'Well. '

'And, Ave, you will, I hope, be gratified to hear that I am notentirely rejected. The fact is, that I spoke too soon. ' Averil couldhave jumped for joy, and was glad it was too dusk for her face to beseen. 'I do not believe that her late husband could have had anystrong hold on her affections; but she has not recovered the shock ofhis loss, and entreated, as a favour granted to her sentiments ofrespect for his memory, not to hear the subject mentioned for at leastanother year. I am permitted to visit at the house as usual, and nodifference is to be made in the terms on which we stand. Now, Ave, will you--may I ask of you, to do what you can to remove any impressionthat she might not be welcome in the family?'

'I never meant--' faltered Averil, checked by sincerity. 

'You have always been--so--so cold and backward in cultivating heracquaintance, that I cannot wonder if she should think it disagreeableto you; but, Ave, when you consider my happiness, and the immenseadvantage to all of you, I am sure you will do what is in your power inmy behalf. ' He spoke more affectionately and earnestly than he haddone for months; and Averil was touched, and felt that to hang backwould be unkind. 

'I will try, ' she said. 'I do hope it may turn out for your happiness, Henry. '

'For all our happiness, ' said Henry, walking down to the gate and alongthe road with her, proving all the way that he was acting solely forthe good of the others, and that Averil and the children would findtheir home infinitely happier. 

A whole year--a year's reprieve--was the one thought in Averil's head, that made her listen so graciously, and answer so amiably, that Henryparted with her full of kind, warm feeling. 

As the sage said, who was to be beheaded if he could not in a yearteach the king's ass to speak--what might not happen in a year; theking might die, the ass might die, or he might die--any way there wasso much gained: and Averil, for the time, felt as light-hearted as ifMrs. Pugh had vanished into empty air. To be sure, her own life had, of late, been far from happy; but this extension of it was bailed withsuppressed ecstasy--almost as an answer to her prayers. Ah, Ave, little did you know what you wished in hoping for anything to preventthe marriage!

She did obey her brother so far as to call upon Mrs. Pugh, whom shefound in ordinary mourning, and capless--a sign that dismayed her; but, on the other hand, the lady, though very good-natured and patronizing, entertained her with the praises of King John, and showed her a copy ofMagna Charta in process of illumination. Also, during her call, TomMay walked in with a little book on drops of water; and Averil foundthe lady had become inspired with a microscopic furore, and wasthinking of setting up a lens, and preparing objects for herself, undergood tuition. 

Though Averil was very desirous that Mrs. Pugh should refuse herbrother, yet this was the last service she wished the May family torender her. She was sure Tom May must dislike and despise the widow asmuch as she did; and since the whole town was unluckily aware ofHenry's intentions, any interference with them was base and malicious, if in the way of mere amusement and flirtation. She was resolved tosee what the game was, but only did see that her presence greatlydisconcerted 'Mr. Thomas May. '

Henry was wretched and irritable in the velvet paws of the widow, whoencouraged him enough to give him hope, and then held him aloof, or wasequally amiable to some one else. Perhaps the real interpretation was, that she loved attention. She was in all sincerity resolved to observea proper period of widowhood, and not determined whether, when, or how, it should terminate: courtship amused her, and though attracted byHenry and his good house, the evidences of temper and harshness hadmade her unwilling to commit herself; besides that, she was afraid ofAveril, and she was more flattered by the civilities of a lioncel likeHarvey Anderson; or if she could be sure of what Mr. Thomas May'sintentions were, she would have preferred an embryo physician to afull-grown surgeon--at any rate, it was right by her poor dear Mr. Pughto wait. 

She need not have feared having Averil as an inmate. Averil talked itover with Leonard, and determined that no power on earth should makeher live with Mrs. Pugh. If that were necessary to forward his suit, she would make it plain that she was ready to depart. 

'Oh, Leonard, if my uncle were but a nice sort of person, how pleasantit would be for me and the children to live there, and keep his house;and I could make him so comfortable, and nurse him!'

'Never, Ave!' cried Leonard; 'don't let the thing be talked of. '

'Oh no, I know it would not do with Samuel there; but should we be tooyoung for your old scheme of having a cottage together near?'

'I did not know what the Axworthys were like, ' returned Leonard. 

'But need we see them much?'

'I'll tell you what, Ave, I've heard them both--yes, the old man theworst of the two--say things about women that made my blood boil. 'Leonard was quite red as he spoke. 'My father never let my mother seeany of the concern, and now I know why. I'll never let you do so. '

'Then there is only one other thing to be done, ' said Averil; 'and thatis for me to go back to school as a parlour boarder, and take thechildren with me. It would be very good for them, and dear Mrs. Woodwould be very glad to have me. '

'Yes, ' said Leonard, 'that is the only right thing, Ave; and the Mayswill say so, too. Have you talked it over with them!'

'No. I hate talking of this thing. '

'Well, you had better get their advice. It is the best thing going!'said Leonard, with a sigh that sounded as if he wished he had taken it. 

But it was not to Averil that he said so. To her he spoke brightly ofserving the time for which he was bound to his uncle; then of making afresh engagement, that would open a home to her; or, better still, suppose Sam did not wish to go on with the business, he might take it, and make the mill the lovely place it might be. It was to Aubrey Maythat the boy's real feelings came out, as, on the Sunday evening, theyslowly wandered along the bank of the river. Aubrey had seen aspecimen of his life at the mill, and had been kept up to the knowledgeof its events, and he well knew that Leonard was heartily sick of it. That the occupation was uncongenial and tedious in the extreme to a boyof good ability and superior education--nay, that the drudgery was madeunnecessarily oppressive, was not the point he complained of, though itwas more trying than he had expected, that was the bed that he hadmade, and that he must lie upon. It was the suspicion of frauds andtricks of the trade, and, still worse, the company that he lived in. Sam Axworthy hated and tyrannized over him too much to make dissipationalluring; and he was only disgusted by the foul language, coarsemanners, and the remains of intemperance worked on in violent temper. 

The old man, though helpless and past active vice, was even more coarsein mind and conversation than his nephew; and yet his feebleness, andSam's almost savage treatment of him, enlisted Leonard's pity on hisside. In general, the old man was kind to Leonard, but would abuse himroundly when the evidences of his better principles and training, orhis allegiance to Dr. May, came forward, and Leonard, though greatlycompassionating him, could not always bear his reproaches withpatience, and was held back from more attention to him than commonhumanity required, by an unlucky suggestion that he was currying favourin the hope of supplanting Sam. 

'Old Hardy is the only honest man in the place, I do believe, ' saidLeonard. 'I'll tell you what, Aubrey, I have made up my mind, there isone thing I will not do. If ever they want to make me a party to anyof their cheatings, I'll be off. That window and the cedar-tree standvery handy. I've been out there to bathe in the early summer mornings, plenty of times already, so never you be surprised if some fine day youhear--non est inventus. '

'And where would you go?'

'Get up to London, and see if my quarter's salary would take me out inthe steerage to some diggings or other. What would your brother say tome if I turned up at the Grange--New Zealand?'

'Say! Mention Ethel, and see what he would not say. '

And the two boys proceeded to arrange the details of the evasion insuch vivid colouring, that they had nearly forgotten all presenttroubles, above all when Leonard proceeded to declare that New Zealandwas too tame and too settled for him, he should certainly findsomething to do in the Feejee Isles, where the high spirit of thenatives, their painted visages, and marvellous head-dresses, asdepicted in Captain Erskine's voyage, had greatly fired his fancy, andthey even settled how the gold fields should rebuild the Market Cross. 

'And when I'm gone, Aubrey, mind you see to Mab, ' he said, laughing. 

'Oh! I thought Mab was to act Whittington's cat. '

'I'm afraid they would eat her up; besides, there's the voyage. No, you must keep her till I come home, even if she is to end like Argus. Would you die of joy at seeing me, eh, little black neb?'

CHAPTER XII

 Let us meet, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it farther. Macbeth

'If you please, sir, Master Hardy from the Vintry Mill wants to seeyou, said a voice at Dr. May's door early in the morning; and theDoctor completed his dressing in haste, muttering to himselfexclamations of concern that the old man's malady should have returned. 

On entering the study, Hardy's appearance, whiter than even theproverbial hue of his trade, his agitation of feature, confused eye, and trembling lip, inspired fears that the case was more alarming thanhad been apprehended; but to cheer him, the Doctor began, 'Frightenedabout yourself, Master Hardy, eh! You've come out without breakfast, and that's enough to put any man out of heart. '

'No, sir, ' said the old man, 'it is nothing about myself; I wish itwere no worse; but I've not got the heart to go to tell the poor younggentleman, and I thought--'

'What--what has happened to the boy?' exclaimed Dr. May, sharply, standing as if ready to receive the rifle shot which he alreadybelieved had destroyed Leonard. 

'That's what we can't say, sir, ' returned Hardy; 'but he is gone, noone knows where. And, sir, my poor master was found at five o'clockthis morning, in his chair in his sitting-room, stone dead from a blowon the head. '

'Mind what you are saying!' shouted the Doctor passionately. 'You oldscoundrel, you don't mean to tell me that you are accusing the lad!'

'I accuse nobody, sir, ' said the old man, standing his ground, andspeaking steadily, but respectfully, 'I wouldn't say nothing to bringany one into trouble if I could help it, and I came to ask you what wasto be done. '

'Yes, yes; I beg your pardon, Hardy, but it sounded enough to oversetone. Your poor master murdered, you say!'

Hardy nodded assent. 

'And young Ward missing? Why, the burglars must have hurt the poorfellow in defending his uncle. Have you searched the place?'

'I never thought of that, sir, ' said Hardy, his countenance muchrelieved; 'it would be more like such a young gentleman as Mr. Ward. '

'Then we'll get over to the mill as fast as we can, and see what can bedone, ' said Dr. May, snatching up his hat and gloves. 'You come andwalk with me to Bankside, and tell me by the way about this terriblebusiness. Good heavens! they'll have thrown the boy into the river!'

And calling out that his carriage should follow to Bankside, the Doctordashed up-stairs, and knocked at Ethel's door. 'My dear, ' he said, 'there has been a robbery or something at the Vintry Mill. I must goand see Henry Ward about it. Poor old Axworthy is murdered, and I'mterribly afraid Leonard has met with some foul play. You or Mary hadbetter go and see about Ave presently, but don't believe a word ofanything till you see me again. '

And shutting the door, while Ethel felt as if the room were reelinground with her, Dr. May was in a few seconds more hastening along byHardy's side, extracting from him the little he had to tell. The oldman had been unlocking the door of the mill at five o'clock, when hewas summoned by loud shrieks from the window of Mr. Axworthy'ssitting-room, and found that the little maid had been appalled by thesight of her master sunk forward from his gouty chair upon the table, his hair covered with blood. Hardy had been the first to touch him, and to perceive that he had long been dead. The housekeeper, the onlyother servant who slept in the house, had rushed in half-dressed; butneither nephew appeared. Young Axworthy had gone the previous day tothe county races, leaving the time of his return doubtful, and LeonardWard did not answer when called. It was then found that his room wasempty, his bed untouched, and the passage window outside his door leftopen. The terrified servants held confused consultation, and while thegroom had hurried off to give the alarm at Whitford, and ride on insearch of Sam Axworthy, Hardy had taken another horse and started toinform Henry Ward, but his heart failing him, he had come to beg theDoctor to break the intelligence to the family. 

Dr. May had few doubts that the robbers must have entered by thepassage window, and meeting resistance from Leonard, must have draggedhim out, and perhaps thrown him from it, then having gone on to theirmurderous work in the old man's sitting-room. In that great ramblinghouse, where the maids slept afar off, and the rats held nightlygambols, strange noises were not likely to be observed; and the thoughtof Leonard lying stunned and insensible on the grass, made the Doctor'space almost a run, as if he were hastening to the rescue. 

When Mr. Ward sent down word that he was not up, Dr. May replied thathe must see him in bed, and followed upon the very heels of themessenger, encountering no amiable face, for Henry had armed himselffor defence against any possible reproaches for his treatment of anypatient. Even when Dr. May began, 'Henry, my poor fellow, I havefrightful news for you, ' his month was opening to reply, 'I knew weshould lose that case, ' let the patient be who he might, when the fewsimple words put to flight all petulant jealousy, and restored HenryWard to what he had been when in his hour of sickness and affliction hehad leant in full confidence on Dr. May's unfailing kindness. 

He was dressed by the time the brougham was at the door, and would havehurried off without telling his sister of the alarm; but Dr. May, knowing that the town must soon be ringing with the news, was sendinghim to Averil's room, when both rejoiced to see Mary enter the house. Charging her to keep Averil quiet, and believe nothing but what camefrom themselves, they thrust on her the terrible commission andhastened away, dwelling on the hope that every moment might beimportant. 

Old Hardy had already mounted his cart-horse, and for him farm roads soshortened the distance, that he received them at the entrance of thecourtyard, which was crowded with excited gazers and importantpolicemen. 

'Found him?' was the instantaneous question of both; but Hardy shookhis head so sadly, that the Doctor hastily exclaimed, 'What then?'

'Sir, ' said Hardy very low, and with a deprecating look, 'he did go upby the mail train to London last night--got in at Blewer station at12. 15. They have telegraphed up, sir. '

'I'll lay my life it is all a mistake, ' said Dr. May, grasping Henry'sarm as if to give him support, and looking him in the face as thoughresolved that neither should be cast down. 

'That's not all, sir, ' added Hardy, still addressing himself to theelder gentleman. 'There's his rifle, sir. '

'Why, he was not shot!' sharply cried Dr. May. 'You told me soyourself. '

'No, sir; but--You'll see for yourself presently! There's the bloodand gray hairs on the stock, sir. '

'Never fear, Henry; we shall see, ' said Dr. May, pressing on, andadding as soon as they were out of hearing, 'Nothing those folks, eventhe best of them, like so well as laying on horrors thick enough. '

A policeman stood at the house door to keep off idlers; but Dr. May'scharacter and profession, as well as his municipal rank, caused way tobe instantly made for them. They found a superintendent within, and heat once began, 'Most unfortunate business, Mr. Mayor--very mysterious;'then, as a sign from the Doctor made him aware of Henry Ward's nearconcern, he added, 'Shall I inform young Mr. Axworthy that you arehere?'

'Is he come?'

'Yes, sir. He had only slept at the Three Goblets, not half a mileacross the fields, you know, Mr. Mayor--came home too late to disturbthe house here, slept there, and was on the spot at the firstintelligence--before I was myself, ' added the superintendent a littlejealously. 

'Where is he?'

'In his room, sir. He was extremely overcome, and retired to his roomas soon as the necessary steps had been taken. Would you wish to seethe room, sir? We are keeping it locked till the inquest takes place;but--'

Henry asked, 'When?' his first word since his arrival, and almostinarticulate. 

He was answered that it would probably be at two that afternoon; theWhitford coroner had intimated that he was ready, and the down trainwould be in by one. A telegram had just arrived, reporting that theelectric message had anticipated the mail train, and that young Mr. Ward would be brought down in time. 

'Never mind, never heed, Henry, ' persisted Dr. May, pressing the youngman's arm as they proceeded to the door of the sitting-room; 'he mustbe intensely shocked, but he will explain the whole. Nay, I've nodoubt we shall clear him. His rifle, indeed! I could swear to hisrifle anywhere. '

The superintendent had by this time opened the door of thesitting-room, communicating on one side with the office, on the otherwith the old man's bed-room. 

Except that the body had been carried to the bed in the inner chamber, all remained as it had been found. There were no signs of robbery--noteven of a struggle. The cushions of the easy-chair still bore theimpress of the sitter's weight; the footstool was hardly pushed aside;the massive library table was undisturbed; the silver spoons andsugar-tongs beside the tumbler and plate on the supper tray; the yellowlight of the lamp still burnt; not a paper was ruffled, not a drawerpulled out. Only a rifle stood leaning against the window shutter, andtowards it both friend and brother went at once, hoping and trustingthat it would be a stranger to their eyes. 

Alas! alas! only too familiar were the rich brown mottlings of thestock, the steel mountings, the eagle crest, and twisted H. E. Cipher!and in sickness of heart the Doctor could not hide from himself thedark clot of gore and the few white hairs adhering to the wood, andanswering to the stain that dyed the leather of the desk. 

Henry could not repress an agonized groan, and averted his face; buthis companion undaunted met the superintendent's eye and query, 'Youknow it, sir!'

'I do. It was my son-in-law's present to him. I wonder where he keptit, for the ruffians to get hold of it. '

The superintendent remained civil and impassive, and no one spoke tobreak the deathly hush of the silent room, filled with the appliancesof ordinary business life, but tainted with the awful unexplained markthat there had been the foot of the shedder of blood in silence and atunawares. 

The man in authority at length continued his piteous exhibition. Dr. Rankin of Whitford had arrived on the first alarm; but would not thegentlemen see the body? And he led them on, Dr. May's eyes on thealert to seize on anything exculpatory, but detecting nothing, seeingonly the unwieldy helpless form and aged feeble countenance of thedeceased, and receiving fresh impressions of the brutality andcowardice of the hand that could have struck the blow. He looked, examined, defined the injury, and explained that it must have causedinstant death, thus hoping to divert attention from his palehorror-stricken companion, whose too apparent despondency almostprovoked him. 

At the Doctor's request they were taken up the staircase into thecorridor, and shown the window, which had been found nearly closed butnot fastened, as though it had been partially shut down from theoutside. The cedar bough almost brushed the glass, and the slope ofturf came so high up the wall, that an active youth could easily swinghimself down to it; and the superintendent significantly remarked thatthe punt was on the farther side of the stream, whereas the eveningbefore it had been on the nearer. Dr. May leant out over thewindow-sill, still in the lingering hope of seeing--he knew not what, but he only became oppressed by the bright still summer beauty of thetrees and grass and sparkling water, insensible of the horror thatbrooded over all. He drew back his head; and as the door hard by wasopened, Leonard's little dog sprang from her basket kennel, wagging hertail in hopes of her master, but in her disappointment greeting onewhom dogs always hailed as a friend, 'Poor little doggie! good little Mab! If only you could tell us!' andthe creature fondly responded to his gentle hand, though keeping alooffrom Henry, in mindfulness of past passages between them, while Henrycould evidently not bear to look at her. 

They gazed round the room, but it conveyed no elucidation of themystery. There were Leonard's books in their range on the drawers, hisfossils in his cupboard, his mother's photograph on his mantel-piece, his sister's drawings on the wall. His gray uniform lay on the bed asif recently taken off, his ordinary office coat was folded on a chair, and he seemed to have dressed and gone in his best clothes. Whileanxiously seeking some note of explanation, they heard a step, and SamAxworthy entered, speaking fast and low in apology for not havingsooner appeared, but he had been thoroughly upset; as indeed he looked, his whole appearance betraying the disorder of the evening'sdissipation, followed by the morning's shock. 

Most unfortunate, he said, that he had not returned earlier. Hisfriend Black--Tom Black, of Edsall Green--had driven him home in hisdog-cart, set him down at the turn to cross the fields--moon as lightas day--no notion, of the lateness till he got in sight of the greatclock, and saw it was half-past twelve; so knowing the early habits ofthe place, he had thought it best to turn back, and get a bed at theThree Goblets. If he had only come home, he might have preventedmischief! There ensued a few commonplace words on the old man's infirmstate, yet his independent habits, and reluctance to let any servantassist him, or even sleep near him. Sam spoke as if in a dream, andwas evidently so unwell, that Dr. May thought it charitable to followthe dictates of his own disgust at breaking bread in that house ofhorrors, and refuse offers of breakfast. He said he must go home, butwould return for the inquest, and asked whether Henry would remain tomeet his brother. 

'No, no, thank you, ' said Henry huskily, as with the driest of throats, and a perceptible shudder, he turned to go away; the Doctor pausing tocaress little Mab, and say, 'I had better take home this poor littlething. She may come to harm here, and may be a comfort to the sister. '

No objection came from Sam, but Mab herself ran back to her house, andeven snarled at the attempt to detach her from it. 'You are a faithfullittle beast, ' he said, 'and your master will soon be here to set allstraight, so I will leave you for the present;' and therewith he signedfarewell, and breathed more freely as he gained the outer air. 

'I'll tell you what, Henry, ' he said, as they drove out of thecourtyard, 'we'll bring out Bramshaw to watch the case. He will seethrough this horrible mystery, and throw the suspicion in the rightquarter, whatever that may be, depend upon it. '

Henry had thrown himself back in the carriage with averted face, andonly answered by a groan. 

'Come, don't be so downcast, ' said Dr. May; 'it is a frightful affair, no doubt, and Leonard has chosen a most unlucky moment for thisescapade; but he will have a thorough warning against frolics. '

'Frolics indeed!' said Henry, bitterly. 

'Well, I'll be bound that's all he has attempted, and it has got himinto a horrid scrape; and ten to one but the police have got the realruffians in their hands by this time. '

'I have no hope, ' said Henry. 

'More shame for you not to feel a certain confidence that He who seesall will show the right. '

'If!' said Henry, breaking off with a sound and look of such intensemisery as almost to stagger the Doctor himself, by reminding him ofLeonard's violent temper, and the cause Henry had to remember hispromptness of hand; but that Ethel's pupil, Aubrey's friend, the boy ofingenuous face, could under any provocation strike helpless old age, or, having struck, could abscond without calling aid, actuated byterror, not by pity or repentance, was more than Dr. May could believe, and after brief musing, he broke out in indignant refutation. 

'I should have thought so. I wish I still could believe so' sighedHenry; 'but--' and there they lapsed into silence, till, as they camenear the town, Dr. May offered to set him down at Bankside. 

'No! no, thank you, ' he cried in entreaty. 'I cannot see her--Ave. '

'Then come home with me. You shall see no one, and you will look upwhen you are not faint and fasting. You young men don't stand upagainst these things like us old stagers. '

As the carriage stopped, several anxious faces were seen on the watch, but the Doctor signed them back till he had deposited Henry in hisstudy, and then came among them. 

Gertrude was the first to speak. 'O, papa, papa, what is it! Mrs. Pugh has been here to ask, and Ethel won't let me hear, though Tom andAubrey know. '

'I took refuge in your order to believe nothing till you came, ' saidEthel, with hands tightly clasped together. 

'It is true, then?' asked Tom. 

'True that it looks as bad as bad can be, ' said the Doctor, sighingheavily, and proceeding to state the aspect of the case. 

'It is a trick--a plot, ' cried Aubrey passionately; 'I know it is! Healways said he would run away if they tried to teach him dishonesty;and now they have done this and driven him away, and laid the blame onhim. Ethel, why don't you say you are sure of it?'

'Leonard would be changed indeed if this were so, ' said Ethel, trembling as she stood, and hardly able to speak articulately. 

Aubrey broke out with a furious 'If, ' very different from Henry Ward's. 

'It would not be the Leonard we knew at Coombe, ' said Ethel. 'He mightbe blind with rage, but he would never be cowardly. No. Unless he ownit, nothing shall ever make me believe it. '

'Own it! For shame, Ethel, ' cried Aubrey. And even the Doctorexclaimed, 'You are as bad as poor Henry himself, who has not got soulenough to be capable of trusting his brother. '

'I do trust, ' said Ethel, looking up. 'I shall trust his own word, 'and she sat down without speaking, and knitted fast, but her needlesclattered. 

'And how about that poor girl at Bankside?' said the Doctor. 

'I went down there, ' said Tom, 'just to caution the servants againstbringing in stories. She found out I was there, and I had to go in andmake the best of it. '

'And what sort of a best?' said the Doctor. 

'Why, she knew he used to get out in the morning to bathe, and waspersuaded he had been drowned; so I told her I knew he was alive andwell, and she would hear all about it when you came back. I broughtthe youngest child away with me, and Gertrude has got her up-stairs;the other would not come. Poor thing! Mary says she is very good andpatient; and I must say she was wonderfully reasonable when I talked toher. '

'Thank you, Tom, ' said his father with warmth, 'it was very kind ofyou. I wonder if Ave knew anything of this runaway business; it mightbe the saving of him!'

'I did, ' said Aubrey eagerly; 'at least, I know he said he would notstay if they wanted to put him up to their dishonest tricks; and hetalked of that very window!'

'Yes, you imprudent fellow; and you were telling Mrs. Pugh so, if Ihadn't stopped you, ' said Tom. 'You'll be taken up for an accomplicenext, if you don't hold your tongue. '

'What did he say?' asked the Doctor, impatiently; and then declaredthat he must instantly go to Bankside, as soon as both he and Henry hadtaken some food; 'for, ' he added, 'we are both too much shaken to dealrationally with her. '

Ethel started up in shame and dismay at having neglected to orderanything. The Doctor was served in the study alone with Henry, andafter the briefest meal, was on his way to Bankside. 

He found Averil with the crimson cheek and beseeching eye that he knewso well, as she laid her trembling hand on his, and mutely looked uplike a dumb creature awaiting a blow. 

'Yes, my dear, ' he said, tenderly, 'your brother needs prayer such aswhen we watched him last year, he is in peril of grave suspicion. ' Andas she stood waiting and watching for further explanation, hecontinued, 'My dear, he told you everything. You do not know of anynotion of his of going away, or going out without leave?'

'Why is Leonard to be always suspected of such things?' cried Averil. 'He never did them!'

'Do you know?' persisted Dr. May. 

'But you are mayor!' cried Averil, indignantly, withdrawing her hand. 'You want me to accuse him!'

'My dear, if I were ten times mayor, it would make no difference. Myjurisdiction does not even cross the river here; and if it did, this isa graver case than I deal with. I am come, as his friend, to beg youto help me to account for his unhappy absence in any harmless way. Were it ever so foolish or wrong, it would be the best news that ever Iheard. '

'But--but I can't, ' said Averil. 'I never knew he was going out! Iknow he used to get out at the passage window to bathe and fish beforethe house was astir--and--you know he is safe, Dr. May?'

Dr. May would almost sooner have known that he was at the bottom of thedeepest pool in the river, than where he was. 'He is safe, my poorchild. He is well, and I trust he will be able to prove his innocence;but he must so account for his absence as to clear himself. Averil, there is a charge against him--of being concerned in your uncle'sdeath. '

Averil's eyes dilated, and she breathed short and fast, standing like astatue. Little Minna, whom the Doctor had scarcely perceived, standingin a dark corner, sprang forward, exclaiming, 'O, Ave, don't be afraid!Nobody can hurt him for what he did not do!'

The words roused Averil, and starting forward, she cried, 'Dr. May, Dr. May, you will save him! He is fatherless and motherless, and hisbrother has always been harsh to him; but you will not forsake him; yousaid you would be a father to us! Oh, save Leonard!'

'My dear, as I would try to save my own son, I will do my utmost forhim; but little or nothing depends on me or on any man. By truth andjustice he must stand or fall; and you must depend on the Father of thefatherless, who seeth the truth! as this dear child tells you, ' withhis hand on Minna's head, 'he cannot be really injured while he isinnocent. '

Awed into calm, Averil let him seat her beside him, and put her inpossession of the main facts of the case, Minna standing by him, herhand in his, evidently understanding and feeling all that passed. 

Neither could throw light on anything. Leonard had been lesscommunicative to them than to Aubrey, and had kept his resolution ofuncomplainingly drinking the brewst he had brewed for himself. AllAveril could tell was, that her uncle had once spoken to Henry incommendation of his steadiness and trustworthiness, though at the sametime abusing him for airs and puppyism. 

'Henry would tell you. Where is Henry?' she added. 

'In my study. He could not bear to bring you these tidings. You mustbe ready to comfort him, Ave. '

'Don't let him come, ' she cried. 'He never was kind to Leonard. Hedrove him there. I shall always feel that it was his doing. '

'Averil, ' said Dr. May gravely, 'do you forget how much that increaseshis suffering? Nothing but mutual charity can help you through thisfiery trial. Do not let anger and recrimination take from you the lastshreds of comfort, and poison your prayers. Promise me to be kind toHenry, for indeed he needs it. '

'O, Dr. May, ' said Minna, looking up with her eyes full of tears, 'indeed I will. I was cross to Henry because he was cross to Leonard, but I won't be so any more. '

Ave drooped her head, as if it were almost impossible to her to speak. 

Dr. May patted Minna's dark head caressingly, and said to the eldersister, 'I will not urge you more. Perhaps you may have Leonard back, and then joy will open your hearts; or if not, my poor Ave, the sightof Henry will do more than my words. '

Mary looked greatly grieved, but said nothing, only following herfather to take his last words and directions. 'Keep her as quiet asyou can. Do not worry her, but get out this root of bitterness if youcan. Poor, poor things!'

'That little Minna is a dear child!' said Mary. 'She is grown so mucholder than Ella, or than she was last year. She seems to understandand feel like a grown-up person. I do think she may soften poor Avemore than I can; but, papa, there is excuse. Mr. Ward must have madethem more miserable than we guessed. '

'The more reason she must forgive him. O, Mary, I fear a grievouslesson is coming to them; but I must do all I can. Good-bye, my dear;do the best you can for them;' and he set forth again with a bleedingheart. 

At the attorney's office, he found the principal from home, but thepartner, Edward Anderson, on the qui vive for a summons to attend onbehalf of his fellow-townsman, and confident that however bad were thepresent aspect of affairs, his professional eye would instantly find aclue. 

Aubrey was in an agony of excitement, but unable to endure the notionof approaching the scene of action; and his half-choked surly 'Don't'was sufficient to deter his brother Thomas, who had never shown himselfso kind, considerate, and free from sneer or assumption. In 'hours ofease' he might seem selfish and exacting, but a crisis evoked thelatent good in him, and drew him out of himself. 

Nor would Henry return to Bankside. After many vacillations, themoment for starting found him in a fit of despair about the familydisgrace, only able to beg that 'the unhappy boy' should be assuredthat no expense should be spared in his defence; or else, that if hewere cleared and returned home, his welcome should be most joyful. Butthere Henry broke off, groaned, said they should never look up again, and must leave the place. 

Except for Averil's own sake, Dr. May would almost have regretted hisexhortations in favour of her eldest brother. 

In due time the Doctor arrived at the mill, where the inquest was totake place, as the public-house was small, and inconveniently distant;and there was ample accommodation in the large rambling building. Socrowded was the court-yard, that the Doctor did not easily make his wayto the steps of the hall door; but there, after one brief question tothe policeman in charge, he waited, though several times invited in. 

Before long, all eyes turned one way, as a closed fly, with a policemanon the box, drove in at the gateway, stopped, and between the two menon guard appeared a tall young figure. 

The Doctor's first glance showed him a flushed and weary set offeatures, shocked and appalled; but the eyes, looking straight up intheir anxiety, encountered his with an earnest grateful appeal forsympathy, answered at once by a step forward with outstretched hand. The grip of the fingers was heated, agitated, convulsive, but nottremulous; and there was feeling, not fear, in the low husky voice thatsaid, 'Thank you. Is Henry here?'

'No, he is too--too much overcome; but he hopes to see you at hometo-night; and here is Edward Anderson, whom he has sent to watch theproceedings for you. '

'Thank you, ' said Leonard, acknowledging Edward's greeting. 'As far asI am concerned, I can explain all in a minute; but my poor uncle--Ilittle thought--'

There was no opportunity for further speech in private, for the coronerhad already arrived, and the inquiry had been only deferred untilLeonard should have come. The jury had been viewing the body, and theproceedings were to take place in the large low dining-room, where thesouthern windows poured in a flood of light on the faces of the personscrowded together, and the reflections from the rippling water danced onthe ceiling. Dr. May had a chair given him near the coroner, andkeenly watched the two nephews--one seated next to him, the other atsome distance, nearly opposite. Both young men looked haggard, shocked, and oppressed: the eye of Axworthy was unceasingly fixed on aninkstand upon the table, and never lifted, his expression never varied;and Leonard's glance flashed inquiringly from one speaker to another, and his countenance altered with every phase of the evidence. 

The first witness was Anne Ellis, the young maid-servant, who told ofher coming down at ten minutes after five that morning, the 6th ofJuly, and on going in to clean the rooms, finding her master sunkforward on the table. Supposing him to have had a fit, she had run tothe window and screamed for help, when Master Hardy, the foreman, andMrs. Giles, the housekeeper, had come in. 

James Hardy deposed to having heard the girl's cry while he wasunlocking the mill door. Coming in by the low sash-window, which stoodopen, he had gone up to his master, and had seen the wound on the head, and found the body quite cold, Mrs. Giles coming in, they had carriedit to the bed in the next room; and he had gone to call the younggentlemen, but neither was in his room. He knew that it had been leftuncertain whether Mr. Samuel would return to sleep at home between thetwo days of the county races, but he did not expect Mr. Ward to be out;and had then observed that his bed had not been slept in, and that thepassage window outside his room was partly open. He had then thoughtit best to go into Stoneborough to inform the family. 

Rebecca Giles, the housekeeper, an elderly woman, crying violently, repeated the evidence as to the discovery of the body. The last timeshe had seen her master alive, was when she had carried in his supperat nine o'clock, when he had desired her to send Mr. Ward to him; andhad seemed much vexed to hear that the young man had not returned fromrifle practice, little thinking, poor old gentleman!--but here thehousekeeper was recalled to her subject. The window was then open, asit was a sultry night, but the blind down. Her master was a good dealcrippled by gout, and could not at that time move actively nor write, but could dress himself, and close a window. He disliked beingassisted; and the servants were not in the habit of seeing him from thetime his supper was brought in till breakfast next morning. She hadseen Mr. Ward come home at twenty minutes or half after nine, inuniform, carrying his rifle; she had given the message, and he had goneinto the sitting-room without putting down the rifle. She believed itto be the one on the table, but could not say so on oath; he never letany one touch it; and she never looked at such horrid murderous things. And some remarks highly adverse to the volunteer movement were cutshort. 

William Andrews, groom, had been called by Anne Ellis, had seen thewound, and the blood on the desk, and had gone to fetch a surgeon andthe police from Whitford. On his return, saw the rifle leaning againstthe shutter; believed it to be Mr. Ward's rifle. 

Charles Rankin, surgeon, had been called in to see Mr. Axworthy, andarrived at seven o'clock A. M. Found him dead, from a fracture of theskull over the left temple, he should imagine, from a blow from a heavyblunt instrument, such as the stock of a gun. Death must have beeninstantaneous, and had probably taken place seven or eight hours beforehe was called in. The marks upon the rifle before him were probablyblood; but he could not say so upon oath, till he had subjected them tomicroscopic examination. The hair was human, and corresponded withthat of the deceased. 

Samuel Axworthy had slept at the Three Goblets, in consequence offinding himself too late for admission at home. He had been wakened athalf-past five, and found all as had been stated by the previouswitnesses; and he corroborated the housekeeper's account of his uncle'shabits. The rifle he believed to belong to his cousin, Leonard Ward. He could not account for Leonard Ward's absence on that morning. Nopermission, as far as he was aware, had been given him to leave home;and he had never known his uncle give him any commission at that hour. 

The different policemen gave their narrations of the state ofthings--the open window, the position of the boat, &c. And theticket-clerk at the small Blewer Station stated that at about 12. 15 atnight, Mr. Ward had walked in without baggage, and asked for asecond-class ticket to London. 

Leonard here interposed an inquiry whether he had not said a dayticket, and the clerk recollected that he had done so, and had spokenof returning by four o'clock; but the train, being reckoned asbelonging to the previous day, no return tickets were issued for it, and he had therefore taken an ordinary one, and started by the mailtrain. 

The London policeman, who had come down with Leonard, stated that, inconsequence of a telegraphic message, he had been at the PaddingtonStation at 6. 30 that morning; had seen a young gentleman answering tothe description sent to him, asked if his name were Leonard Ward, andreceiving a reply in the affirmative, had informed him of the charge, and taken him into custody. The bag that he placed on the table he hadfound on the young man's person. 

Every one was startled at this unexpected corroboration of thesuspicion. It was a heavy-looking bag, of reddish canvas, marked witha black circle, containing the letters F. A. Gold; the neck tied with astring; the contents were sovereigns, and a note or two. 

Dr. May looked piteously, despairingly, at Leonard; but the brow wasstill open and unclouded, the eye glanced back reassurance andconfidence. 

The policeman added that he had cautioned the young man to take carewhat he said, but that he had declared at once that his uncle had senthim to lodge the sum in Drummond's Bank, and that he would show areceipt for it on his return. 

The coroner then proceeded to examine Leonard, but still as a witness. Edward Anderson spoke to him in an undertone, advising him to becautious, and not commit himself, but Leonard, rather impatientlythanking him, shook him off, and spoke with freedom and openness. 

'I have nothing to keep back, ' he said. 'Of course I know nothing ofthis frightful murder, nor what villain could have got hold of therifle, which, I am sorry to say, is really mine. Last evening I usedit at drill and practice on Blewer Heath, and came home when it grewdusk, getting in at about half-past nine. I was then told by Mrs. Giles that my uncle wished to speak to me, and was displeased at mystaying out so late. I went into his room as I was, and put my rifledown in a corner by the window, when he desired me to sit down andlisten to him. He then told me that he wished to send me to town bythe mail train, to take some cash to Drummond's Bank, and to return byto-day's four o'clock train. He said he had reasons for wishing no oneto be aware of his opening an account there, and he undertook toexplain my absence. He took the sum from the private drawer of hisdesk, and made me count it before him, £124 12s. In sovereigns andbank-notes. The odd money he gave me for my expenses, the rest I putin the bag that I fetched out of the office. He could not hold a pen, and could therefore give me no letter to Messrs. Drummond, but he mademe write a receipt for the amount in his memorandum book. I wished himgood night, and left him still sitting in his easy-chair, with thewindow open and the blind down. I found that I had forgotten my rifle, but I did not go back for it, because he disliked the disturbance ofopening and shutting doors. While I was changing my dress, I saw fromthe window that some one was still about in the court, and knowing thatmy uncle wished me to avoid notice, I thought it best to let myself outby the passage window, as I had sometimes done in early mornings tobathe or fish, and go across the fields to Blewer Station. I got downinto the garden, crossed in the punt, and went slowly by Barnard'shatch; I believe I stopped a good many times, as it was too soon, and abeautiful moonlight night, but I came to Blewer soon after twelve, andtook my ticket. At Paddington I met this terrible news. '

As the boy spoke, his bright eyes turned from one listener to another, as though expecting to read satisfaction on their faces; but as doubtand disbelief clouded all, his looks became almost constantly directedto Dr. May, and his voice unconsciously passed from a sound ofjustification to one of pleading. When he ceased, he glanced round asif feeling his innocence established. 

'You gave a receipt, Mr. Ward, ' said the coroner. 'Will you tell uswhere it is likely to be?'

'It must be either on or in my uncle's desk, or in his pocket. Willsome one look for it? I wrote it in his memorandum book--a curious oldblack shagreen book, with a silver clasp. I left it open on the deskto dry. '

A policeman went to search for it; and the coroner asked what the entryhad been. 

'July 5th, 1860. Received, £120. L. A. Ward, '--was the answer. 'Youwill find it about the middle of the book, or rather past it. '

'At what time did this take place?'

'It must have been towards ten. I cannot tell exactly, but it waslater than half-past nine when I came in, and he was a good whilebringing out the money. '

The policeman returned, saying he could not find the book; and Leonardbegging to show where he had left it, the coroner and jury accompaniedhim to the room. At the sight of the red stain on the desk, ashuddering came over the boy, and a whiteness on his heated brow, norcould he at once recover himself so as to proceed with the search, which was still in vain; though with a voice lowered by the sickness ofhorror, he pointed out the place where he had laid it, and the pen hehad used; and desk, table, drawer, and the dead man's dress werecarefully examined. 

'You must know it, Sam, ' said Leonard. 'Don't you remember his puttingin the cheque--old Bilson's cheque for his year's rent--twenty-fivepounds? I brought it in, and he put it away one day last week. Youwere sitting there. '

Sam stammered something of 'Yes, he did recollect something of it. '

Inquiries were made of the other persons concerned with Mr. Axworthy. Hardy thought his master used such a book, but had never seen it near;Mrs. Giles altogether disbelieved its existence; and Sam could not bepositive--his uncle never allowed any one to touch his privatememorandums. 

As, with deepened anxiety, Dr. May returned to the dining-room, hecaught a glimpse of Henry Ward's desponding face, but received a signnot to disclose his presence. Edward Anderson wrote, and considered;and the coroner, looking at his notes again, recurred to Leonard'sstatement that he had seen some one in the yard. 

'I thought it was one of the men waiting to take my cousin Axworthy'shorse. I did not know whether he had ridden or gone by train; and Isupposed that some one would be looking out for him. '

Questions were asked whether any of the servants had been in the yard, but it was denied by all; and on a more particular description of theperson being demanded, Leonard replied that the figure had been in thedark shade of the stables, and that he only knew that it was a youngman--whether a stranger or not he did not know; he supposed now that itmust have been the--the murderer, but at the time he had thought it oneof the stable-men; and as his uncle had particularly wished that hisjourney should be a secret, the sight had only made him hasten to putout his light, and depart unseen. It was most unfortunate that he haddone so. 

Others ironically whispered, 'Most unfortunate. '

The coroner asked Mr. Anderson whether he had anything to ask orobserve, and on his reply in the negative, proceeded to sum up theevidence for the consideration of the jury. 

It seemed as if it were only here that Leonard perceived the real gistof the evidence. His brow grew hotter, his eyes indignant, his handsclenched, as if he with difficulty restrained himself from breaking inon the coroner's speech; and when at length the question was put to thejury, he stood, the colour fading from his cheek, his eyes set andglassy, his lip fallen, the dew breaking out on his brow, every limb asit were petrified by the shock of what was thus first fully revealed tohim. 

So he stood, while the jury deliberated in low gruff sorrowful murmurs, and after a few minutes, turned round to announce with much sadnessthat they could do no otherwise than return a verdict of wilful murderagainst Leonard Ward. 

'Mr. Leonard Ward, ' said the coroner, a gentleman who had well knownhis father, and who spoke with scarcely concealed emotion, 'it becomesmy painful duty to commit you to Whitford Gaol for trial at the nextassizes. '

Dr. May eagerly offered bail, rather as the readiest form of kindnessthan in the hope of its acceptance, and it was of course refused; buthe made his way to the prisoner, and wrung his chill hand with all hismight. The pressure seemed to waken the poor lad from his frozenrigidity; the warmth came flowing back into his fingers as his friendheld them; he raised his head, shut and re-opened his eyes, and pushedback his hair, as though trying to shake himself loose from a toohorrible dream. His face softened and quivered as he met the Doctor'skind eyes; but bracing himself again, he looked up, answered thecoroner's question--that his Christian name was Leonard Axworthy, hisage within a few weeks of eighteen; and asked permission to fetch whathe should want from his room. 

The policeman, in whose charge he was, consented both to this, and toDr. May being there alone with him for a short time. 

Then it was that the boy relaxed the strain on his features, and saidin a low and strangled voice, 'O, Dr. May, if you had only let me diewith them last year!'

'It was not I who saved you. He who sent that ordeal, will bring youthrough--this, ' said Dr. May, with a great sob in his throat thatbelied his words of cheer. 

'I thank Him at least for having taken her, ' said Leonard, resting hishead on the mantel-shelf beneath his mother's picture, while his littledog sat at his foot, looking up at him, cowed and wistful. 

Dr. May strove for words of comfort, but broke utterly down; and couldonly cover his face with his hands, and struggle with his emotion, unable to utter a word. 

Yet perhaps none would have been so comforting as his genuine sympathy, although it was in a voice of extreme distress that Leonard exclaimed, 'Dr. May, Dr. May, pray don't! you ought not to grieve for me!'

'I'm a fool, ' said Dr. May, after some space, fighting hard withhimself. 'Nonsense! we shall see you out of this! We have only tokeep up a good heart, and we shall see it explained. '

'I don't know; I can't understand, ' said Leonard, passing his hand overhis weary forehead. 'Why could they not believe when I told them justhow it was?'

At that moment the policeman opened the door, saying, 'Here, sir;' andHenry hurried in, pale and breathless, not looking in his brother'sface, as he spoke fast and low. 

'Ned Anderson says there's nothing at all to be made of this defence ofyours; it is of no use to try it. The only thing is to own that hefound fault with you, and in one of your rages--you know--'

'You too, Henry!' said Leonard, in dejected reproach. 

'Why--why, it is impossible it could have been otherwise--open window, absconding, and all. We all know you never meant it; but your storywon't stand; and the only chance, Anderson says, is to go in formanslaughter. If you could only tell anything that would give him aclue to pick up evidence while the people are on the spot. '

Leonard's face was convulsed for a moment while his brother wasspeaking; but he recovered calmness of voice, as he mournfullyanswered, 'I have no right to wonder at your suspicion of me. '

Henry for the first time really looked at him, and instinctivelyfaltered, 'I beg your pardon. '

'Indeed, ' said Leonard, with the same subdued manner, 'I cannot believethat any provocation could make me strike a person like that old man;and here there was none at all. Except that he was vexed at first atmy being late, he had never been so near kindness. '

'Then is this extraordinary story the truth?'

'Why should I not tell the truth?' was the answer, too mournful forindignation. 

Henry again cast down his eyes, Leonard moved about makingpreparations, Dr. May leant against the wall--all too much oppressedfor speech; till, as Leonard stooped, poor little Mab, thrusting herblack head into his hand, drew from him the words, 'My doggie, what isto become of you?'

A sort of hoarse explosion of 'Ave' from Henry was simultaneous withthe Doctor's 'I tried to get her home with me in the morning, but shewaited your orders. '

'Miss May would not have her now. After all, prussic acid would be thetruest mercy' said Leonard, holding the little creature up to his face, and laying his cheek against her silken coat with almost passionateaffection. 

'Not while there are those who trust your word, Leonard; as Ethel saidthis morning. '

He raised the face which he had hidden against the dog, and lookedearnestly at the Doctor as if hardly venturing to understand him; thena ray of real gladness and comfort darted into his eyes, which soenlivened Dr. May, that he was able to say cheerfully, 'We will takegood care of her till you come for her. '

'Then, Henry, ' said Leonard, 'it is not unkindness, nor that I rememberthings, but indeed I think it will be better for you all, since Dr. Mayis so--so--' The word kind was so inadequate, that it stuck in histhroat. 'Take this to Ave, ' putting his mother's likeness in his hand, 'and tell her I will write, '

'Poor Ave!'

Leonard imploringly shook his head; the mention of his sister shook himmore than he could bear; and he asked the time. 

'Nearly six. '

'Only six! What an endless day! There, I am ready. There is no usein delaying. I suppose I must show what I am taking with me. '

'Wait, ' said his brother. 'Cannot you say anything to put us on thetrack of the man in the yard?'

'I did not see him plain. '

'You've no notion?' said Henry, with a movement of annoyance. 

'No. I only looked for a moment; for I was much more anxious to getoff quietly, than to make any one out. If I had only waited tenminutes, it might have been the saving of his life, but my commissionwas so like fun, and so important too, that I thought of nothing else. Can it be not twenty-four hours ago?'

'And why don't you explain why he sent you?'

'I cannot say it so certainly as to be of the slightest use, ' saidLeonard. 

'He never expressed it either; and I have no right to talk of mysuspicions. '

'Eh! was it to put it out of Sam's way?'

'So I suppose. Sam used to get all he chose out of the poor old man;and I believe he thought this the only chance of keeping anything forhimself, but he never told me so. Stay! Bilson's cheque might betracked. I took it myself, and gave the receipt; you will find itentered in the books--paid on either the twenty-third or fourth. '

'Then there's something to do, at any rate, ' cried Henry, invigorated. 'Anderson shall hunt out the balance and Sam's draughts on it. I'llspare no expense, Leonard, if it is to my last farthing; and you shallhave the best counsel that can be retained. '

Leonard signed thanks with some heartiness, and was going to the door, when Henry detained him. 'Tell me, Leonard, have you no suspicion?'

'It must have been the person I saw in the court, and, like a fool, didnot watch. The window was open, and he could have easily got in andcome out. Can't they see that if it had been me, I should have madeoff at once that way?'

'If you could only tell what the fellow was like!'

'I told you he was in the dark, ' said Leonard, and without giving timefor more, he called in the man outside, showed the clothes and, bookshe had selected, put them into his bag, and declared himself ready, giving his hand to the Doctor, who drew him near and kissed his brow, as if he had been Harry setting forth on a voyage. 

'Good-bye, my dear fellow; God bless you; I'll soon come to see you. '

'And I, ' said Henry, 'will bring Bramshaw to see what is to be done. '

Leonard wrung his brother's hand, murmuring something of love to hissisters; then put Mab into Dr. May's arms, with injunctions that thelittle creature understood and obeyed, for though trembling and whiningunder her breath, she was not resisting. 

It might be to shorten her distress as well as his own that Leonardpassed quickly down-stairs, and entered the carriage that was to takehim to the county gaol. 

CHAPTER XIII

 Tears are not always fruitful; their hot drops Sometimes but scorch the cheek and dim the eye; Despairing murmurs over blackened hopes, Not the meek spirit's calm and chastened cry. Oh, better not to weep, than weep amiss! For hard it is to learn to weep aright; To weep wise tears, the tears that heal and bless, The tears which their own bitterness requite. --H. BONAR

To one of the most tender-hearted of human beings had the office ofconveying ill tidings been most often committed, and again Dr. Mayfound himself compelled to precede Henry Ward into the sister'spresence, and to break to her the result of the inquest. 

He was no believer in the efficacy of broken news, but he could notrefuse when Henry in his wretchedness entreated not to be the first inthe infliction of such agony; so he left the carriage outside, andwalked up to the door; and there stood Averil, with Ethel a few stepsbehind her. His presence was enough revelation. Had things gone well, he would not have been the forerunner; and Averil, meaning perhaps tospeak, gave a hoarse hysterical shriek, so frightful as to drive awayother anxieties, and summon Henry in from his watch outside. 

All day the poor girl had kept up an unnatural strain on her powers, vehemently talking of other things, and, with burning cheeks andshining eyes, moving incessantly from one employment to another; nowher needle, now her pencil--roaming round the garden gathering flowers, or playing rattling polkas that half stunned Ethel in her intenselistening for tidings. Ethel, who had relieved guard and sent Maryhome in the afternoon, had vainly striven to make Ave rest or takefood; the attempt had brought on such choking, that she could onlydesist, and wait for the crisis. The attack was worse than anyordinary hysterics, almost amounting to convulsions; and all that couldbe done was to prevent her from hurting herself, and try to believe Dr. May's assurance that there was no real cause for alarm, and that theparoxysms would exhaust themselves. 

In time they were spent, and Ave lay on her bed half torpid, feeblymoaning, but with an instinctive dread of being disturbed. Henryanxiously watched over her, and Dr. May thought it best to leave thebrother and sister to one another. Absolute quiet was best for her, and he had skill and tenderness enough to deal with her, and wasevidently somewhat relieved by the necessity of waiting on her. It wasthe best means, perhaps, of uniting them, that they should be thus lefttogether; and Dr. May would have taken home little pale frightenedMinna, who had been very helpful all the time. 

'Oh, please not, Dr. May, ' she said, earnestly. 'Indeed I will not betroublesome, and I can give Henry his tea, and carry Ave's cup. Please, Henry, don't send me:' and she took hold of his hand, and laid itagainst her cheek. He bent down over her, and fondled her; and therewere tears that he could not hide as he tried both to thank Dr. May, and tell her that she need not leave him. 

'No, ' said Dr. May; 'it would be cruel to both of you. --Good-bye, little Minna; I never wanted to carry away a little comforter. '

'I believe you are right, papa, ' said Ethel, as she went out with himto the carriage; 'but I long to stay, it is like doing something forthat boy. '

'The best you did for him, poor dear boy! was the saying you trustedhis word. The moment I told him that, he took comfort and energy. '

Ethel's lips moved into a strange half smile, and she took Mab on herlap, and fondled her. 'Yes, ' she said, 'I believe I stand for a gooddeal in his imagination. I was afraid he would have been wrecked uponthat horrid place; but, after all, this may be the saving of him. '

'Ah! if that story of his would only be more vraisemblable. '

There was only time briefly to narrate it before coming home, where thefirst person they met was Aubrey, exceeding pale, and in greatdistress. 'Papa, I must tell you, ' he said, drawing him into thestudy. 'I have done terrible harm, I am afraid. ' And he explained, that in the morning, when Mrs. Pugh had come down full of inquiries andconjectures, and had spoken of the possibility of Leonard's having beendrowned while bathing, he had unguardedly answered that it could be nosuch thing; Leonard had always meant to run away, and by that verywindow, if the Axworthys grew too bad. 

Prudent Tom had silenced him at the time, but had since found that ithad got abroad that the evasion had long been meditated with Aubrey'sprivity, and had been asked by one of the constabulary force if hisbrother would not be an important witness. Tom had replied that heknew nothing about it; but Aubrey was in great misery, furious withMrs. Pugh, and only wanting his father to set off at once to assurethem it was all nonsense. 

'No, Aubrey, they neither would, nor ought to, take my word. '

'Just hear, papa, and you would know the chaff it was. '

'I cannot hear, Aubrey. If we were to discuss it, we might give it anunconscious colouring. You must calm your mind, and exactly recallwhat passed; but do not talk about it to me or to any one else. Youmust do nothing to impair the power of perfect truth and accuracy, which is a thing to be prayed for. If any one--even the lawyer who mayhave to get up the case against him--asks you about it, you must refuseto answer till the trial; and then--why, the issue is in the hands ofHim that judgeth righteously. '

'I shall never remember nor speak with his eyes on me, seeing me betrayhim!'

'You will be no worse off than I, my boy, for I see I am in foridentifying Hector's rifle; the Mill people can't swear to it, and mydoing it will save his brother something. '

'No, it is not like me. O! I wish I had stayed at Eton, even if I haddied of it! Tom says it all comes of living with women that I can'tkeep my mouth shut; and Leonard will be so hurt that I--'

'Nay, any tolerable counsel will make a capital defence out of the merefact of his rodomontading. What, is that no comfort to you?'

'What! to be the means of making a fool of him before all thecourt--seeing him hear our talk by the river-side sifted by thosehorrid lawyers?'

The Doctor looked even graver, and his eye fixed as on a thought faraway, as the boy's grief brought to his mind the Great Assize, when allthat is spoken in the ear shall indeed be proclaimed on the house-tops. 

There was something almost childish in this despair of Aubrey, for hehad not become alarmed for the result of the trial. His misery waschiefly shame at his supposed treason to friendship, and failure inmanly reserve; and he could not hold up his head all the evening, butsilently devoted himself to Mab, endeavouring to make her at home, andmeeting with tolerable success. 

Tom was no less devoted to Ella Ward. It was he who had brought herhome, and he considered her therefore as his charge. It was curious tosee the difference that a year had made between her and Minna. They hadthe last summer been like one child, and had taken the stroke that hadorphaned them in the same childish manner; but whether the year fromeight to nine had been of especial growth to Minna, or whether therehad been a stimulus in her constant association with Averil, thepresent sorrow fell on her as on one able to enter into it, think andfeel, and assume her sweet mission of comfort; whilst Ella, thoughneither hard nor insensible, was still child enough to close her mindto what she dreaded, and flee willingly from the pain and tedium ofaffliction. She had willingly accepted 'Mr. Tom's' invitation, and aswillingly responded to his attentions. Gertrude did not like people inthe 'little girl' stage, and the elder sisters had their hands andhearts full, and could only care for her in essentials; but Tomundertook her amusement, treated her to an exhibition of hismicroscope, and played at French billiards with her the rest of theevening, till she was carried off to bed in Mary's room, when hepronounced her a very intelligent child. 

'I think her a very unfeeling little thing, ' said Gertrude. 'Veryunbecoming behaviour under the circumstances. '

'What would you think becoming behaviour?' asked Tom. 

'I won't encourage it, ' returned Daisy, with dignified decision, thatgave her father his first approach to a laugh on that day; but nobodywas in spirits to desire Miss Daisy to define from what her importantsanction was withdrawn. 

Mary gave up her Sunday-school class to see how Averil was, and foundHenry much perturbed. He had seen her fast asleep at night, and in themorning Minna had carried up her breakfast, and he was about to followit, as soon as his own was finished, when he found that she had slippedout of the house, leaving a message that she was gone to practise onthe harmonium. 

He was of the mind that none of the family could or ought to be seen atchurch; and though Mary could not agree with him, she willinglyconsented to go to the chapel and try what she could do with hissister. She met Mrs. Ledwich on the way, coming to inquire and seewhether she or dear Matilda could do anything for the 'sweet sufferer. 'Even Mary could not help thinking that this was not the epithet mostbefitting poor Ave; and perhaps Mrs. Ledwich's companionship made herthe less regret that Ave had locked herself in, so that there was nomaking her hear, though the solemn chants, played with great fervour, reached them as they waited in the porch. They had their own seats inthe Minster, and therefore could not wait till the sexton should cometo open the church. 

There was no time for another visit till after the second service, andthen Dr. May and Mary, going to Bankside, found that instead ofreturning home, Ave had again locked herself up between the services, and that Minna, who had ventured on a mission of recall, had come homecrying heartily both at the dreary disappointment of knocking in vain, and at the grand mournful sounds of funeral marches that had fallen onher ear. Every one who had been at the chapel that day was speaking ofthe wonderful music, the force and the melody of the voluntary at thedismissal of the congregation; no one had believed that such powerresided in the harmonium. Mr. Scudamour had spoken to Miss Ward mostkindly both before and after evening service, but his attempt to takeher home had been unavailing; she had answered that she was goingpresently, and he was obliged to leave her. 

Evening was coming on, and she had not come, so the other keys werefetched from the sexton's, and Dr. May and his daughter set off tostorm her fortress. Like Minna, the Doctor was almost overpowered bythe wonderful plaintive sweetness of the notes that were floatingthrough the atmosphere, like a wailing voice of supplication. They hadalmost unnerved him, as he waited while Mary unlocked the door. 

The sound of its opening hushed the music; Averil turned her head, andrecognizing them, came to them, very pale, and with sunken eyes. 'Youare coming home, dear Ave, ' said Mary; and she made no resistance orobjection, only saying, 'Yes. It has been so nice here!'

'You must come now, though, ' said the Doctor. 'Your brother is verymuch grieved at your leaving him. '

'I did not mean to be unkind to him, ' said Averil, in a low subduedvoice; 'he was very good to me last night. Only--this is peace--this, 'pointing to her instrument, 'is such a soothing friend. And surelythis is the place to wait in!'

'The place to wait in indeed, my poor child, if you are not increasingthe distress of others by staying here. Besides, you must not exhaustyourself, or how are you to go and cheer Leonard!'

'Oh! there is no fear but that I shall go to-morrow, ' said Averil; 'Imean to do it!' the last words being spoken in a resolute tone, unlikethe weariness of her former replies. 

And with this purpose before her, she consented to be taken back byMary to rest on the sofa, and even to try to eat and drink. Herbrother and sister hung over her, and waited on her with a tenderassiduous attention that showed how they had missed her all day; andshe received their kindness gratefully, as far as her broken weariedstate permitted. 

Several inquiries had come throughout the day from the neighbours; andwhile Mary was still with Ave, a message was brought in to ask whetherMiss Ward would like to see Mrs. Pugh. 

'Oh no, no, thank her, but indeed I cannot, ' said Averil, shiveringuncontrollably as she lay. 

Mary felt herself blushing, in the wonder what would be kindest to do, and her dread of seeing Henry's face. She was sure that he too shrank, and she ventured to ask, 'Shall I go and speak to her?'

'Oh, do, do, ' said Averil, shuddering with eagerness. 'Thank you, MissMary, ' said Henry slowly. 'She is most kind--but--under thecircumstances--'

Mary went, finding that he only hesitated. She had little opportunityfor saying anything; Mrs. Pugh was full of interest and eagerness, andpoured out her sympathy and perfect understanding of dear Averil'sfeelings; and in the midst Henry came out of the room, with a strongerversion of their gratitude, but in terrible confusion. Mary would fainhave retreated, but could not, and was witness to the lady's urgententreaties to take Minna home, and Henry's thankfulness; but hefeared--and retreated to ask the opinion of his sisters, while Mrs. Pugh told Mary that it was so very bad for the poor child to remain, and begged to have Ella if she were a moment's inconvenience to the Mayfamily. 

Henry came back with repeated thanks, but Minna could not bear to leavehome; and in fact, he owned, with a half smile that gave sweetness tohis face, she was too great a comfort to be parted with. So Mrs. Pughdeparted, with doubled and trebled offers of service, and entreaties tobe sent for at any hour of the day or night when she could be of use toAveril. 

Mary could not but be pleased with her, officious as she was. Itlooked as if she had more genuine feeling for Henry than had beensuspected, and the kindness was certain, though some of it might be thebusy activity of a not very delicate nature, eager for the importanceconferred by intimacy with the subjects of a great calamity. Probablyshe would have been gratified by the eclat of being the beloved of thebrother of the youth whose name was in every mouth, and her realgoodness and benevolent heart would have committed her affections andinterest beyond recall to the Ward family, had Averil leant upon her, or had Henry exerted himself to take advantage of her advances. 

But Henry's attachment had probably not been love, for it seemedutterly crushed out of him by his shame and despair. Everythingconnected with his past life was hateful to him; he declared that hecould never show his face at Stoneborough again, let the result be whatit might--that he could never visit another patient, and that he shouldchange his name and leave the country, beginning on that very Sundayafternoon to write a letter to his principal rival to negotiate thesale of his practice. 

In fact, his first impression had returned on him, and though he neverdisclaimed belief in Leonard's statement, the entire failure of allconfirmation convinced him that the blow had been struck by his brotherin sudden anger, and that, defend him as he might and would, the stainwas on his house, and the guilt would be brought home. 

Resolved, however, to do his utmost, he went with Mr. Bramshaw for aconsultation with Leonard on the Monday. Averil could not go. Sherose and dressed, and remained resolute till nearly the last minute, when her feverish faint giddiness overpowered her, and she was forcedto submit to lie on the sofa, under Minna's care; and there she lay, restless and wretched, till wise little Minna sent a message up to theHigh Street, which brought down Mary and Dr. Spencer. They found herin a state of nervous fever, that sentenced her to her bed, where Marydeposited her and watched over her, till her brother's return, moredesponding than ever. 

Dr. May, with all Henry's patients on his hands as well as his own, hadbeen forced to devote this entire day to his profession; but on thenext, leaving Henry to watch over Averil, who continued very feeble andfeverish, he went to Whitford, almost infected by Henry's forebodingsand Mr. Bramshaw's misgivings. 'It is a bad case, ' the attorney hadsaid to him, confidentially. 'But that there is always a greatreluctance to convict upon circumstantial evidence, I should have verylittle hope, that story of his is so utterly impracticable; and yet helooks so innocent and earnest all the time, and sticks to it soconsistently, that I don't know what to make of it. I can't doanything with him, nor can his brother either; but perhaps you mightmake him understand that we could bring him clear off formanslaughter--youth, and character and all. I should not doubt of averdict for a moment! It is awkward about the money, but the alarmwould be considered in the sentence. '

'You don't attend to his account of the person he saw in thecourt-yard?'

'The less said about that the better, ' returned Mr. Bramshaw. 'Itwould only go for an awkward attempt to shift off the suspicion, unlesshe would give any description; and that he can't, or won't do. Or evenif he did, the case would be all the stronger against hisstory--setting off, and leaving a stranger to maraud about the place. No, Dr. May; the only thing for it is to persuade the lad to own tohaving struck the old man in a passion; every one knows old Axworthycould be intolerably abusive, and the boy always was passionate. Don'tyou remember his flying out at Mr. Rivers's, the night of the party, and that affair which was the means of his going to the mill at all? Idon't mind saying so to you in confidence, because I know you won'trepeat it, and I see his brother thinks so too; but nothing is likelyto turn out so well for him as that line of defence; as things standnow, the present one is good for nothing. '

Dr. May was almost as much grieved at the notion of the youth'spersistence in denying such a crime, as at the danger in which itinvolved him, and felt that if he were to be brought to confession, itshould be from repentance, not expediency. 

In this mood he drove to Whitford Gaol, made application at the gates, and was conducted up the stairs to the cell. 

The three days of nearly entire solitude and of awful expectation hadtold like double the number of years; and there was a stamp of graveearnest collectedness on the young brow, and a calm resolution ofaspect and movement, free from all excitement or embarrassment, asLeonard Ward stood up with a warm grateful greeting, so full ofingenuous reliance, that every doubt vanished at the same moment. 

His first question was for Averil; and Dr. May made the best of herstate. 'She slept a little more last night, and her pulse is lowerthis morning; but we keep her in bed, half to hinder her from trying tocome here before she is fit. I believe this ailment is the best thingfor her and Henry both, ' added the Doctor, seeing how much pain hiswords were giving. 'Henry is a very good nurse; it occupies him, andit is good for her to feel his kindness! Then Minna has come out inthe prettiest way: she never fails in some sweet little tender word orcaress just when it is wanted. '

Leonard tried to smile, but only succeeded in keeping back a sob; andthe Doctor discharged his memory of the messages of love of which hehad been the depositary. Leonard recovered his composure during these, and was able to return a smile on hearing of Ella's conquest of Tom, oftheir Bible prints on Sunday, and their unwearied French billiards inthe week. Then he asked after little Mab. 

'She is all a dog should be, ' said Dr. May. 'Aubrey is her chieffriend, except when she is lying at her ease on Ethel's dress. '

The old test of dog-love perhaps occurred to Leonard, for his lipstrembled, and his eyes were dewy, even while they beamed with gladness. 

'She is a great comfort to Aubrey, ' the Doctor added. 'I must beg youto send that poor fellow your forgiveness, for he is exceedinglyunhappy about something he repeated in the first unguarded moment. '

'Mr. Bramshaw told me, ' said Leonard, with brow contracted. 

'I cannot believe, ' said Dr. May, 'that it can do you any real harm. Ido not think the prosecution ought to take notice of it; but if theydo, it will be easy to sift it, and make it tell rather in your favour. '

'Maybe so, ' said Leonard, still coldly. 

'Then you will cheer him with some kind message?'

'To be sure. It is the time for me to be forgiving every one, ' heanswered, with a long tightly-drawn breath. 

Much distressed, the Doctor paused, in uncertainty whether Leonard wereactuated by dread of the disclosure or resentment at the breach ofconfidence; but ere he spoke, the struggle had been fought out, and asweet sad face was turned round to him, with the words, 'Poor oldAubrey! Tell him not to mind. There will be worse to be told out thanour romancings together, and he will feel it more than I shall! Don'tlet him vex himself. '

'Thank you, ' said the father, warmly. 'I call that pardon. '

'Not that there is anything to forgive, ' said Leonard, 'only it is oddthat one cares for it more than--No, no, don't tell him that, but thatI know it does not signify. It must not come between us, if this is tobe the end; and it will make no difference. Nothing can do that butthe finding my receipt. I see that book night and day before my eyes, with the very blot that I made in the top of my L. '

'You know they are searching the garden and fields, and advertising areward, in case of its having been thrown away when rifled, or found tocontain no valuables. '

'Yes!' and he rested on the word as though much lay behind. 

'Do you think it contained anything worth keeping?'

'Only by one person. '

'Ha!' said the Doctor, with a start. 

Instead of answering, Leonard leant down on the narrow bed on which hewas seated, and shut in his face between his hands. 

The Doctor waited, guessed, and grew impatient. 'You don't mean thatfellow, Sam? Do you think he has it? I should like to throttle him, as sure as my name's Dick May!' (this in soliloquy between his teeth). 'Speak up, Leonard, if you have any suspicion. '

The lad lifted himself with grave resolution that gave him dignity. 'Dr. May, ' he said, 'I know that what I say is safe with you, and itseems disrespectful to ask your word and honour beforehand, but I thinkit will be better for us both if you will give them not to make use ofwhat I tell you. It weighs on me so, that I shall be saying it to thewrong person, unless I have it out with you. You promise me?'

'To make no use of it without your consent, ' repeated the Doctor, withrising hope, 'but this is no case for scruples--too much is at stake. '

'You need not tell me that, ' Leonard replied, with a shudder; 'but Ihave no proof. I have thought again and again and again, but can findno possible witness. He was always cautious, and drink made himsavage, but not noisy. '

'Then you believe--' The silence told the rest. 

'If I did not see how easy people find it to believe the same of me onthe mere evidence of circumstances, I should have no doubt, ' saidLeonard, deliberately. 

'Then it was he that you saw in the yard?'

'Remember, all I saw was that a man was there. I concluded it wasAndrews, waiting to take the horse; and as he is a great hanger-on ofSam, I wished to avoid him, and not keep my candle alight to attracthis attention. That was the whole reason of my getting out of window, and starting so soon; as unlucky a thing as I could have done. '

'You are sure it was not Andrews?'

'Now I am. You see, Sam had sent home his horse from the station, though I did not know it; and, if you remember, Andrews was shown tohave been at his father's long before. If he had been the man, hecould speak to the time my light was put out. '

'The putting out of your light must have been the signal for the deedto be done. '

'My poor uncle! Well might he stare round as if he thought the wallswould betray him, and start at every chinking of that unhappy gold inhis helpless hands! If we had only known who was near--perhaps behindthe blinds--' and Leonard gasped. 

'But this secrecy, Leonard, I cannot understand it. Do you mean thatthe poor old man durst not do what he would with his own?'

'Just so. Whenever Sam knew that he had a sum of money, he laid handson it. Nothing was safe from him that Mr. Axworthy had in the WhitfordBank. '

'That can be proved from the accounts?'

'You recollect the little parlour between the office and my uncle'ssitting-room? There I used to sit in the evening, and to feel, ratherthan hear, the way Sam used to bully the poor old man. Once--afortnight ago, just after that talk with Aubrey--I knew he had beendrinking, and watched, and came in upon them when there was no bearingit any longer. I was sworn at for my pains, and almost kicked outagain; but after that Mr. Axworthy made me sit in the room, as if Iwere a protection; and I made up my mind to bear it as long as helived. '

'Surely the servants would bear witness to this state of things?'

'I think not. Their rooms are too far off for overhearing, and myuncle saw as little of them as possible. Mrs. Giles was Sam's nurse, and cares for him more than any other creature; she would not say aword against him even if she knew anything; and my uncle would neverhave complained. He was fond of Sam to the last, proud of hissteeple-chases and his cleverness, and desperately afraid of him; in asort of bondage, entirely past daring to speak. '

'I know, ' said Dr. May, remembering how his own Tom had been fetteredand tongue-tied by that same tyrant in boyhood. 'But he spoke to you?'

'No, ' said Leonard. 'After that scene much was implied between us, butnothing mentioned. I cannot even tell whether he trusted me, or onlymade me serve as a protector. I believe that row was about this money, which he had got together in secret, and that Sam suspected, and wantedto extort; but it was exactly as I said at the inquest, he gave noreason for sending me up to town with it. He knew that I knew why, andso said no more than that it was to be private. It was pitiful to seethat man, so fierce and bold as they say he once was, trembling as ifdoing something by stealth, and the great hard knotty hands so crumpledand shaky, that he had to leave all to me. And that they should fancyI could go and hurt him!' said Leonard, stretching his broad chest andshoulders in conscious strength. 

'Yes, considering who it was, I do not wonder that you feel thepassion-theory as insulting as the accusation. '

'I ought not, ' said Leonard, reddening. 'Every one knows what mytemper can do. I do not think that a poor old feeble man like thatcould have provoked me to be so cowardly, but I see it is no wonderthey think so. Only they might suppose I would not have been a robber, and go on lying now, when they take good care to tell me that it isruinous!'

'It is an intolerable shame that they can look you in the face andimagine it for a moment, ' said the Doctor, with all his native warmth. 

'After all, ' said Leonard, recalled by his sympathy, 'it is my ownfault from beginning to end that I am in this case. I see now that itwas only God's mercy that prevented my brother's blood being on me, andit was my unrepenting obstinacy that brought me to the mill; so therewill be no real injustice in my dying, and I expect nothing else. '

'Hush, Leonard, depend upon it, while there is Justice in Heaven, thetrue criminal cannot go free, ' cried the Doctor, much agitated. 

Leonard shook his head. 

'Boyish hastiness is not murder, ' added the Doctor. 

'So I thought. But it might have been, and I never repented. Ibrought all this on myself; and while I cannot feel guiltless in God'ssight, I cannot expect it to turn out well. '

'Turn out well, ' repeated the Doctor. 'We want Ethel to tell us thatthis very repentance and owning of the sin, is turning out well--betterthan going on in it. '

'I can see that, ' said Leonard. 'I do hope that if--if I can take thispatiently, it may show I am sorry for the real thing--and I may beforgiven. Oh! I am glad prisoners are not cut off from church. '

Dr. May pressed his hand in much emotion: and there was a silencebefore another question--whether there were nothing that could be ofservice. 

'One chance there is, that Sam might relent enough to put that receiptwhere it could be found without implicating him. He must know what itwould do for me. '

'You are convinced that he has it?'

'There must be papers in the book valuable to him; perhaps some that hehad rather were not seen. Most likely he secured it in the morning. You remember he was there before the police. '

'Ay! ay! ay! the scoundrel! But, Leonard, what possessed you not tospeak out at the inquest, when we might have searched every soul on thepremises?'

'I did not see it then. I was stunned by the horror of the thing--theroom where I had been so lately, and that blood on my own rifle too. It was all I could do at one time not to faint, and I had no notionthey would not take my explanation; then, when I found it rejected, andeverything closing in on me, I was in a complete maze. It was not tillyesterday, when I was alone again, after having gone over my defencewith Mr. Bramshaw, and shown what I could prove, that I saw exactly howit must have been, as clear as a somnambulist. I sometimes could fancyI had seen Sam listening at the window, and have to struggle not tothink I knew him under the stable wall. '

'And you are not such a--such a--so absurd as to sacrifice yourself toany scruple, and let the earth be cumbered with a rascal who, if he bewithholding the receipt, is committing a second murder! It is notgenerosity, it is suicide. '

'It is not generosity, ' said the boy, 'for if there were any hope, thatwould not stop me; but no one heard nor saw but myself, and I neitherrecognized him--no, I did not--nor heard anything definite from myuncle. Even if I had, no one--no one but you, believes a word I speak;nay, even my own case shows what probabilities are worth, and that Imay be doing him the same wrong that I am suffering. I should onlybring on myself the shame and disgrace of accusing another. '

The steady low voice and unboyish language showed him to be speakingfrom reflection, not impulse. The only tremulous moment was when hespoke of the one friend who trusted him, and whom his words werefilling with a tumult of hope and alarm, admiration, indignation, andperplexity. 

'Well, well, ' the Doctor said, almost stammering, 'I am glad you havebeen open with me. It may be a clue. Can there be any excuse foroverhauling his papers? Or can't we pick a hole in that alibi of his?Now I recollect, he had it very pat, and unnecessarily prominent. I'llfind some way of going to work without compromising you. Yes, you maytrust me! I'll watch, but say not a word without your leave. '

'Thank you, ' said Leonard. 'I am glad it is you--you who would neverthink a vague hope of saving me better than disgrace and dishonour. '

'We will save you, ' said the Doctor, becoming eager to escape to thatfavourite counsellor, the lining of his brougham, which had inspiredhim with the right theory of many a perplexing symptom, and he trustedwould show him how to defend without betraying Leonard. 'I must go andsee about it. Is there anything I can do for you--books, or anything?'

No, thank you--except--I suppose there would be no objection to myhaving a few finer steel pens. 'And to explain his wants, he took uphis Prayer-Book, which his sister had decorated with several smalldevotional prints. Copying these minutely line by line in pen and ink, was the solace of his prison hours; and though the work was hardlyafter drawing-masters' rules, the hand was not untaught, and there wastalent and soul enough in the work to strike the Doctor. 

'It suits me best, ' said Leonard. 'I should go distracted with nothingto do; and I can't read much--at least, not common books. And mysisters may like to have them. Will you let me do one for you?'

The speaking expression of those hazel eyes almost overcame the Doctor, and his answer was by bending head and grasping hand. Leonard turned tothe Collects, and mutely opened at the print of the Son of Consolation, which he had already outlined, looked up at his friend, and turnedaway, only saying, 'Two or three of the sort with elastic nibs; theyhave them at the post-office. '

'Yes, I'll take care, ' said Dr. May, afraid to trust his self-commandany longer. 'Good-bye, Leonard. Tom says I adopt every one who getsthrough a bad enough fever, so what will you be to me after this secondattack?'

The result of the Doctor's consultation with his brougham was hisstopping it at Mr. Bramshaw's door, to ascertain whether the search forthe receipt had extended to young Axworthy's papers; but he found thatthey had been thoroughly examined, every facility having been given bytheir owner, who was his uncle's executor, and residuary legatee, by awill dated five years back, leaving a thousand pounds to the late Mrs. Ward, and a few other legacies, but the mass of the property to thenephew. 

Sam's 'facilities' not satisfying the Doctor, it was further explainedthat every endeavour was being made to discover what other documentswere likely to have been kept in the missing memorandum-book, so as tolead to the detection of any person who might present any such at abank; and it was made evident that everything was being done, short ofthe impracticability of searching an unaccused man, but he could notbut perceive that Mr. Bramshaw's 'ifs' indicated great doubt of theexistence of receipt and of pocket-book. Throwing out a hint that thetime of Sam's return should be investigated, he learnt that this hadbeen Edward Anderson's first measure, and that it was clear, from theindependent testimony of the ostler at Whitford, the friend who haddriven Sam, and the landlord of the Three Goblets, that there was notmore than time for the return exactly as described at the inquest; andthough the horse was swift and powerful, and might probably have beendriven at drunken speed, this was too entirely conjectural for anythingto be founded on it. Nor had the cheque by Bilson on the Whitford Bankcome in. 

'Something must assuredly happen to exonerate the guiltless, it wouldbe profane to doubt, ' said Dr. May continually to himself and to theWards; but Leonard's secret was a painful burthen that he couldscarcely have borne without sharing it with that daughter who was hisother self, and well proved to be a safe repository. 

'That's my Leonard, ' said Ethel. 'I know him much better now than anytime since the elf-bolt affair! They have not managed to ruin himamong them. '

'What do you call this?' said Dr. May, understanding her, indeed, butwilling to hear her thought expressed. 

'Thankworthy, ' she answered, with a twitching of the corners of hermouth. 

'You will suffer for this exaltation, ' he said, sadly; 'you know youhave a tender heart, for all your flights. '

'And you know you have a soul as well as a heart, ' said Ethel, as wellas the swelling in her throat would allow. 

'To be sure, this world would be a poor place to live in, if admirationdid not make pity bearable, ' said the Doctor; 'but--but don't ask me, Ethel: you have not had that fine fellow in his manly patience beforeyour eyes. Talk of your knowing him! You knew a boy! I tell you, this has made him a man, and one of a thousand--so high-minded and sosimple, so clearheaded and well-balanced, so entirely resigned and freefrom bitterness! What could he not be? It would be grievous to see himcut off by a direct dispensation--sickness, accident, battle; but forhim to come to such an end, for the sake of a doublemurderer--Ethel--it would almost stagger one's faith!'

'Almost!' repeated Ethel, with the smile of a conqueror. 

'I know, I know, ' said the Doctor. 'If it be so, it will be right; onewill try to believe it good for him. Nay, there's proof enough in whatit has done for him already. If you could only see him!'

'I mean to see him, if it should go against him, ' said Ethel, 'if youwill let me. I would go to him as I would if he were in a decline, andwith more reverence. '

'Don't talk of it, ' cried her father. 'For truth's sake, for justice'ssake, for the country's sake, I can not, will not, believe it will gowrong. There is a Providence, after all, Ethel!'

And the Doctor went away, afraid alike of hope and despondency, andEthel thought of the bright young face, of De Wilton, of Job, and ofthe martyrs; and when she was not encouraging Aubrey, or soothingAveril, her heart would sink, and the tears that would not come wouldhave been very comfortable. 

It was well for all that the assizes were so near that the suspense wasnot long protracted; for it told upon all concerned. Leonard, when theDoctor saw him again, was of the same way of thinking, but his mannerwas more agitated; he could not sleep, or if he slept, theanticipations chased away in the day-time revenged themselves in hisdreams; and he was very unhappy, also, about his sister, whose illnesscontinued day after day. She was not acutely ill, but in a constantstate of low fever, every faculty in the most painful state of tension, convinced that she was quite able to get up and go to Leonard, and thather detention was mere cruelty; and then, on trying to rise, refused byfainting. Her searching questions and ardent eyes made it impossibleto keep any feature in the case from her knowledge. Sleep wasimpossible to her; and once when Henry tried the effect of an anodyne, it produced a semi-delirium, which made him heartily repent of hisindependent measure. At all times she was talking--nothing but thebeing left with a very stolid maid-servant ever closed her lips, andshe so greatly resented being thus treated, that the measure was seldompossible. Henry seldom left her. He was convinced that Leonard'ssentence would be hers likewise, and he watched over her with theutmost tenderness and patience with her fretfulness and waywardness, never quitting her except on their brother's behalf, when Ethel or Marywould take his place. Little Minna was always to be found on her smallchair by the bed-side, or moving about like a mouse, sometimeswhispering her one note, 'They can't hurt him, if he has not done it, 'and still quietly working at the pair of slippers that had been begunfor his birthday present. Mary used to bring Ella, and take them outwalking in the least-frequented path; but though the little sisterskissed eagerly, and went fondly hand in hand, they never were sorry topart: Ella's spirits oppressed Minna, and Minna's depression vexed themore volatile sister; moreover, Minna always dreaded Mary's desire tocarry her away--as, poor child, she looked paler, and her eyes heavierand darker, every day. 

No one else, except, of course, Dr. May, was admitted. Henry would notlet his sister see Mr. Scudamour or Mr. Wilmot, lest she should beexcited; and Averil's 'No one' was vehement as a defence against Mrs. Pugh or Mrs. Ledwich, whom she suspected of wanting to see her, thoughshe never heard of more than their daily inquiries. 

Mrs. Pugh was, in spite of her exclusion, the great authority with theneighbourhood for all the tidings of 'the poor Wards, ' of whom shetalked with the warmest commiseration, relating every touching detailof their previous and present history, and continually enduring thegreat shock of meeting people in shops or in the streets, whom she knewto be reporters or photographers. In fact, the catastrophe had taken astrong hold on the public mind; and 'Murder of an Uncle by his Nephew, ''The Blewer Tragedy, ' figured everywhere in the largest type; newsboyson the railway shouted, 'To-day's paper-account of inquest;' and theillustrated press sent down artists, whose three-legged cameras staredin all directions, from the Vintry Mill to Bankside, and who aimed atthe school, the Minster, the volunteers, and Dr. Hoxton himself. Tomadvised Ethel to guard Mab carefully from appearing stuffed in thechamber of horrors at Madame Tussaud's; and the furniture at the millwould have commanded any price. Nay, Mrs. Pugh was almost certain shehad seen one of the 'horrid men' bargaining with the local photographerfor her own portrait, in her weeds, and was resolved the interestinginjury should never be forgiven!

She really had the 'trying scenes' of two interviews with both Mr. Bramshaw and the attorney from Whitford who was getting up theprosecution, each having been told that she was in possession ofimportant intelligence. Mr. Bramshaw was not sanguine as to what hemight obtain from her, but flattered her with the attempt, and ended byassuring her, like his opponent, that there was no need to expose herto the unpleasantness of appearing in court. 

Aubrey was not to have the same relief, but was, like his father, subpoenaed as a witness for the prosecution. He had followed hisfather's advice, and took care not to disclose his evidence to theenemy, as he regarded the Whitford lawyer. He was very miserable, andit was as much for his sake as that of the immediate family, that Ethelrejoiced that the suspense was to be short. Counsel of high reputationhad been retained; but as the day came nearer, without bringing any ofthe disclosures on which the Doctor had so securely reckoned, more andmore stress was laid on the dislike to convict on circumstantialevidence, and on the saying that the English law had rather acquit tencriminals than condemn one innocent man. 

CHAPTER XIV

 Ah! I mind me now of thronging faces, Mocking eyed, and eager, as for sport; Hundreds looking up, and in high places Men arrayed for judgment and a court. 

 And I heard, or seemed to hear, one seeking Answer back from one he doomed to die, Pitifully, sadly, sternly speaking Unto one--and oh! that one, twas I. --Rev. G. E. Monsell

The 'Blewer Murder' was the case of the Assize week; and the court wasso crowded that, but for the favour of the sheriff, Mr. And Mrs. Rivers, with Tom and Gertrude, could hardly have obtained seats. Noothers of the family could endure to behold the scene, except fromnecessity; and indeed Ethel and Mary had taken charge of the sisters athome, for Henry could not remain at a distance from his brother, thoughunable to bear the sight of the proceedings; he remained in a house athand. 

Nearly the whole population of Stoneborough, Whitford, and Blewer wasstriving to press into court, but before the day's work began, EdwardAnderson had piloted Mrs. Pugh to a commodious place, under the escortof his brother Harvey, who was collecting materials for an article oncriminal jurisprudence. 

Some of those who, like the widow and little Gertrude, had been wild tobe present, felt their hearts fail them when the last previous case hadbeen disposed of; and there was a brief pause of grave and solemnsuspense and silent breathless expectation within the court, unbroken, except by increased sounds of crowding in all the avenues without. 

Every one, except the mere loungers, who craved nothing but excitement, looked awed and anxious; and the impression was deepened by theperception that the same feeling, though restrained, affected the judgehimself, and was visible in the anxious attention with which he lookedat the papers before him, and the stern sadness that had come over thefeatures naturally full of kindness and benevolence. 

The prisoner appeared in the dock. He had become paler, and perhapsthinner, for his square determined jaw, and the resolute mould of hislips, were more than usually remarkable, and were noted in thephysiognomical brain of Harvey Anderson; as well as the keen light ofhis full dark hazel eye, the breadth of his brow, with his shininglight brown hair brushed back from it; the strong build of his frame, and the determined force, apparent even in the perfect quiescence ofhis attitude. 

Leonard Axworthy Ward was arraigned for the wilful murder of FrancisAxworthy, and asked whether he pleaded Guilty or Not Guilty. 

His voice was earnest, distinct, and firm, and his eyes were raisedupwards, as though he were making the plea of 'Not Guilty' not to manalone, but to the Judge of all the earth. 

The officer of the court informed him of his right to challenge any ofthe jury, as they were called over by name; and as each came to besworn, he looked full and steadily at each face, more than one of whichwas known to him by sight, as if he were committing his cause intotheir hands. He declined to challenge; and then crossing his arms onhis breast, cast down his eyes, and thus retained them through thegreater part of the trial. 

The jurymen were then sworn in, and charged with the issue; and thecounsel for the prosecution opened the case, speaking more as if inpity than indignation, as he sketched the history, which it was hispainful duty to establish. He described how Mr. Axworthy, having spentthe more active years of his life in foreign trade, had finallyreturned to pass his old age among his relatives; and had taken toassist him in his business a great-nephew, and latterly another youthin the same degree of relation, the son of his late niece--theprisoner, who on leaving school had been taken into his uncle's office, lodged in the house, and became one of the family. It would, however, be shown by witnesses that the situation had been extremely irksome tothe young man; and that he had not been in it many months before he hadexpressed his intention of absconding, provided he could obtain themeans of making his way in one of the colonies. Then followed a summaryof the deductions resulting from the evidence about to be adduced, andwhich carried upon its face the inference that the absence of thecousin, the remoteness of the room, the sight of a large sum of money, and the helplessness of the old man, had proved temptations too strongfor a fiery and impatient youth, long fretted by the restraints of hissituation, and had conducted him to violence, robbery, and flight. Itwas a case that could not be regarded without great regret andcompassion; but the gentlemen of the jury must bear in mind in theirinvestigation, that pity must not be permitted to distort the facts, which he feared were only too obvious. 

The speech was infinitely more telling from its fair and commiseratingtone towards the prisoner; and the impression that it carried, not thathe was to be persecuted by having the crime fastened on him, but thattruth must be sought out at all hazards. 

'Even he is sorry for Leonard! I don't hate him as I thought Ishould, ' whispered Gertrude May, to her elder sister. The first witnesswas, as before, the young maid-servant, Anne Ellis, who described herfirst discovery of the body; and on farther interrogation, thesituation of the room, distant from those of the servants, and out ofhearing--also her master's ordinary condition of feebleness. She hadobserved nothing in the room, or on the table, but knew the window wasopen, since she had run to it, and screamed for help, upon which MasterHardy had come to her aid. 

Leonard's counsel then elicited from her how low the window was, andhow easily it could be entered from without. 

James Hardy corroborated all this, giving a more minute account of thestate of the room; and telling of his going to call the younggentlemen, and finding the open passage window and empty bed-room. Thepassage window would naturally be closed at night; and there was noreason to suppose that Mr. Ward would be absent. The bag shown to himwas one that had originally been made for the keeping of cash, butlatterly had been used for samples of grain, and he had last seen it inthe office. 

The counsel for the prisoner inquired what had been on the table atHardy's first entrance; but to this the witness could not swear, exceptthat the lamp was burning, and that there were no signs of disorder, nor was the dress of the deceased disarranged. He had seen his masterput receipts, and make memorandums, in a large, black, silver-claspedpocket-book, but had never handled it, and could not swear to it; hehad seen nothing like it since his master's death. He was further askedhow long the prisoner had been at the mill, his duties there, and theamount of trust reposed in him; to which last the answer was, thatabout a month since, Mr. Axworthy had exclaimed that if ever he wanteda thing to be done, he must set Ward about it. Saving this speech, madein irritation at some omission on Sam's part, nothing was adduced toshow that Leonard was likely to have been employed without his cousin'sknowledge; though Hardy volunteered the addition that Mr. Ward wasalways respectful and attentive, and that his uncle had lately thoughtmuch more of him than at first. 

Rebekah Giles gave her account of the scene in the sitting-room. Shehad been in the service of the deceased for the last four years, andbefore in that of his sister-in-law, Mr. Samuel's mother. She hadherself closed the passage window at seven o'clock in the evening, asusual. She had several times previously found it partly open in themorning, after having thus shut it over-night; but never before, Mr. Ward's bed unslept in. Her last interview with Mr. Axworthy was thennarrated, with his words--an imprecation against rifle practice, as anexcuse for idle young rascals to be always out of the way. Thenfollowed her communication to the prisoner at half-past nine, when shesaw him go into the parlour, in his volunteer uniform, rifle in hand, heard him turn the lock of the sitting-room door, and then herselfretired to bed. 

Cross-examination did not do much with her, only showing that, when shebrought in the supper, one window had been open, and the blinds, commoncalico ones, drawn down, thus rendering it possible for a person tolurk unseen in the court, and enter by the window. Her master hadassigned no reason for sending for Mr. Ward. She did not know whetherMr. Axworthy had any memorandum-book; she had seen none on the table, nor found any when she undressed the body, though his purse, watch, andseals were on his person. 

Mr. Rankin's medical evidence came next, both as to the cause of death, the probable instrument, and the nature of the stains on the desk andrifle. 

When cross-examined, he declared that he had looked at the volunteeruniform without finding any mark of blood, but from the nature of theinjury it was not likely that there would be any. He had attended Mr. Axworthy for several years, and had been visiting him professionallyduring a fit of the gout in the last fortnight of June, when he hadobserved that the prisoner was very attentive to his uncle. Mr. Axworthy was always unwilling to be waited on, but was unusuallytolerant of this nephew's exertions on his behalf, and had seemed oflate to place much reliance on him. 

Doctor Richard May was the next witness called. The sound of that namecaused the first visible change in the prisoner's demeanour, if thatcould be called change, which was only a slight relaxation of the firmclosing of the lips, and one sparkle of the dark eyes, ere they wereagain bent down as before, though not without a quiver of the lids. 

Dr. May had brought tone, look, and manner to the grave impartialitywhich even the most sensitive man is drilled into assuming in public;but he durst not cast one glance in the direction of the prisoner. 

In answer to the counsel for the prosecution, he stated that he was atthe Vintry Mill at seven o'clock on the morning of the 6th of July, notprofessionally, but as taking interest in the Ward family. He had seenthe body of the deceased, and considered death to have been occasionedby fracture of the skull, from a blow with a blunt heavy instrument. The superintendent had shown him a rifle, which he considered, from themarks on it, as well as from the appearance of the body, to haveproduced the injury. The rifle was the one shown to him; it was theproperty of Leonard Ward. He recognized it by the crest and cipher H. E. It had belonged to his son-in-law, Hector Ernescliffe, by whom ithad been given to Leonard Ward. 

Poor Doctor! That was a cruel piece of evidence; and his son anddaughters opposite wondered how he could utter it in that steadymatter-of-fact way; but they knew him to be sustained by hopes of thecross-examination; and he soon had the opportunity of declaring that hehad known Leonard Ward from infancy, without being aware of anyimputation against him; but had always seen him highly principled andtrustworthy, truthful and honourable, kind-hearted and humane--the lastperson to injure the infirm or aged. 

Perhaps the good Doctor, less afraid of the sound of his own voice, andnot so much in awe as some of the other witnesses, here in hiseagerness overstepped the bounds of prudence. His words indeed broughta tremulous flicker of grateful emotion over the prisoner's face; butby carrying the inquiry into the region of character and opinion, heopened the door to a dangerous re-examination by the Crown lawyer, whorequired the exact meaning of his unqualified commendation, especiallyin the matter of humanity, demanding whether he had never known of anyact of violence on the prisoner's part. The colour flushed suddenlyinto Leonard's face, though he moved neither eye nor lip; but hiscounsel appealed to the judge, and the pursuit of this branch of thesubject was quashed as irrelevant; but the Doctor went down in very lowspirits, feeling that his evidence had been damaging, and his hopes ofany ray of light becoming fainter. 

After this, the village policeman repeated the former statements, as tothe state of the various rooms, the desk, locked and untouched, therifle, boat, &c. , further explaining that the distance from the mill toBlewer Station, by the road was an hour and half's walk, by the fields, not more than half an hour's. 

The station-master proved the prisoner's arrival at midnight, hisdemand of a day-ticket, his being without luggage, and in a black suit;and the London policeman proved the finding of the money on his person, and repeated his own explanation of it. 

The money was all in sovereigns, except one five and one ten-poundnote, and Edward Hazlitt, the clerk of the Whitford Bank, was called toprove the having given the latter in change to Mr. Axworthy for afifty-pound cheque, on the 10th of May last. 

This same clerk had been at the volunteer drill on the evening of the5th of July, had there seen the prisoner, had parted with him at dusk, towards nine o'clock, making an engagement with him to meet on BlewerHeath for some private practice at seven o'clock on Monday evening. Thought Mr. Axworthy did sometimes employ young Ward on hiscommissions; Mr. Axworthy had once sent him into Whitford to pay in alarge sum, and another time with an order to be cashed. The dates ofthese transactions were shown in the books; and Hazlitt added, onfurther interrogation, that Samuel Axworthy could not have been awareof the sum being sent to the bank, since he had shortly after come anddesired to see the account, which had been laid before him asconfidential manager, when he had shown surprise and annoyance at therecent deposit, asking through whom it had been made. Not ten dayssubsequently, an order for nearly the entire amount had been cashed, signed by the deceased, but filled up in Samuel's handwriting. 

This had taken place in April; and another witness, a baker, proved thehaving paid the five-pound note to old Mr. Axworthy himself on the 2ndof May. 

Samuel Axworthy himself was next called. His florid face woresomething of the puffed, stupefied look it had had at the inquest, buthis words were ready, and always to the point. He identified the bagin which the money had been found, giving an account of it similar toHardy's, and adding that he had last seen it lying by his cousin'sdesk. His uncle had no account with any London bank, all transactionshad of late passed through his own hands, and he had never known theprisoner employed in any business of importance--he could not have beenkept in ignorance of it if it had previously been the case. Thedeceased had a black shagreen pocket-book, with a silver clasp, whichhe occasionally used, but the witness had never known him give it outof his own hand, nor take a receipt in it. Had not seen it on themorning of the 6th, nor subsequently. Could not account for the sumfound on the person of the prisoner, whose salary was £50 per annum, and who had no private resources, except the interest of £2000, which, he being a minor, was not in his own hands. Deceased was fond ofamassing sovereigns, and would often keep them for a longtime in thedrawer of his desk, as much as from £50 to £100. There was none therewhen the desk was opened on the 6th of July, though there had certainlybeen gold there two days previously. It was kept locked. It had asmall Bramah key, which his uncle wore on his watch-chain, in hiswaistcoat pocket. The drawer was locked when he saw it on the morningof the 6th. 

The Doctor, who had joined his children, gave a deep respiration, andrelaxed the clenching of his hand, as this witness went down. 

Then it came to the turn of Aubrey Spencer May. The long waiting, after his nerves had been wound up, had been a severe ordeal, and hisdelicacy of constitution and home breeding had rendered him peculiarlysusceptible. With his resemblance to his father in form andexpression, it was like seeing the Doctor denuded of that shell ofendurance with which he had contrived to conceal his feelings. The boywas indeed braced to resolution, bat the resolution was equally visiblewith the agitation in the awe-stricken brow, varying colour, tightenedbreath, and involuntary shiver, as he took the oath. Again Leonardlooked up with one of his clear bright glances, and perhaps a shade ofanxiety; but Aubrey, for his own comfort, was too short-sighted formeeting of eyes from that distance. 

Seeing his agitation, and reckoning on his evidence, the counsel gavehim time, by minutely asking if his double Christian name werecorrectly given, his age, and if he were not the son of Dr. May. 

'You were the prisoner's school-fellow, I believe?'

'No, ' faltered Aubrey. 

'But you live near him?'

'We are friends, ' said Aubrey, with sudden firmness and precision; andfrom the utterance of that emphatic _are_, his spirit returned. 

'Did you often see him?'

'On most Sundays, after church. '

'Did you ever hear him say he had any thoughts of the means of leavingthe mill privately?'

'Something like it, ' said Aubrey, turning very red. 

'Can you tell me the words?'

'He said if things went on, that I was not to be surprised if I heardnon est inventus, ' said Aubrey, speaking as if rapidity would concealthe meaning of the words, but taken aback by being made to repeat andtranslate them to the jury. 

'And did he mention any way of escaping?'

'He said the window and cedar-tree were made for it, and that he oftenwent out that way to bathe, ' said Aubrey. 

'When did this conversation take place?'

'On Sunday, the 22nd of June, ' said Aubrey, in despair, as the Crownlawyer thanked him, and sat down. 

He felt himself betrayed into having made their talk wear the air ofdeliberate purpose, and having said not one word of what Mr. Bramshawhad hailed as hopeful. However, the defending barrister rose up to askhim what he meant by having answered 'Something like it. '

'Because, ' said Aubrey, promptly, 'though we did make the scheme, wewere neither of us in earnest. '

'How do you know the prisoner was not in earnest?'

'We often made plans of what we should like to do. '

'And had you any reason for thinking this one of such plans!'

'Yes, ' said Aubrey; 'for he talked of getting gold enough to build upthe market-cross, or else of going to see the Feejee Islands. 

'Then you understood the prisoner not to express a deliberate purpose, so much as a vague design. '

'Just so, ' said Aubrey. 'A design that depended on how things went onat the mill. ' And being desired to explain his words, he added, thatLeonard had said he could not bear the sight of Sam Axworthy's tyrannyover the old man, and was resolved not to stay, if he were made a partyto any of the dishonest tricks of the trade. 

'In that case, did he say where he would have gone?'

'First to New Zealand, to my brother, the Reverend Norman May. '

Leonard's counsel was satisfied with the colour the conversation hadnow assumed; but the perils of re-examination were not over yet, forthe adverse lawyer requested to know whence the funds were to have comefor this adventurous voyage. 

'We laughed a little about that, and he said he should have to try howfar his quarter's salary would go towards a passage in the steerage. '

'If your friend expressed so strong a distaste to his employers andtheir business, what induced him to enter it?'

Leonard's counsel again objected to this inquiry, and it was notpermitted. Aubrey was dismissed, and, flushed and giddy, was met byhis brother Tom, who almost took him in his arms as he emerged from thepassage. 

'O, Tom! what have I done?'

'Famously, provided there's no miller in the jury. Come, ' as he feltthe weight on his arm, 'Flora says I am to take you down and make youtake something. '

'No, no, no, I can't! I must go back. '

'I tell you there's nothing going on. Every one is breathing andbaiting. ' And he got him safe to a pastrycook's, and administeredbrandy cherries, which Aubrey bolted whole like pills, only entreatingto return, and wanting to know how he thought the case going. 

'Excellently. Hazlitt's evidence and yours ought to carry him through. And Anderson says they have made so much out of the witnesses for theprosecution, that they need call none for the defence; and so the enemywill be balked of their reply, and we shall have the last word. I vowI have missed my vocation. I know I was born for a barrister!'

'Now may we come back?' said the boy, overwhelmed by his brother'scheeriness; and they squeezed into court again, Tom inserting Aubreyinto his own former seat, and standing behind him on half a foot at theangle of the passage. They were in time for the opening of thedefence, and to hear Leonard described as a youth of spirit andpromise, of a disposition that had won him general affection andesteem, and recommended to universal sympathy by the bereavement whichwas recent in the memory of his fellow-townsmen; and there was a glanceat the mourning which the boy still wore. 

'They had heard indeed that he was quick-tempered and impulsive; butthe gentlemen of the jury were some of them fathers, and he put it tothem whether a ready and generous spirit of indignation in a lad werecompatible with cowardly designs against helpless old age; whether onewhose recreations were natural science and manly exercise, showedtokens of vicious tendencies; above all, whether a youth, whosefriendship they had seen so touchingly claimed by a son of one of themost highly respected gentlemen in the county, were evincing thepropensities that lead to the perpetration of deeds of darkness. '

Tom patted Aubrey on the shoulder; and Aubrey, though muttering'humbug, ' was by some degrees less wretched. 

'Men did not change their nature on a sudden, ' the counsel continued;'and where was the probability that a youth of character entirelyunblemished, and of a disposition particularly humane and generous, should at once rush into a crime of the deep and deadly description, towhich a long course of dissipation, leading to perplexity, distress, and despair, would be the only inducement?'

He then went on to speak of Leonard's position at the mill, as juniorclerk. He had been there for six months, without a flaw beingdetected, either in his integrity, his diligence, or his regularity;indeed, it was evident that he had been gradually acquiring a greaterdegree of esteem and confidence than he had at first enjoyed, and hadbeen latterly more employed by his uncle. That a young man of superioreducation should find the daily drudgery tedious and distasteful, andthat one of sensitive honour should be startled at the ordinary, hemight almost say proverbial, customs of the miller's trade, wassurprising to no one; and that he should unbosom himself to a friend ofhis own age, and indulge together with him in romantic visions ofadventure, was, to all who remembered their own boyhood, anillustration of the freshness and ingenuousness of the character thatthus unfolded itself. Where there were day-dreams, there was no roomfor plots of crime. 

Then ensued a species of apology for the necessity of entering intoparticulars that did not redound to the credit of a gentleman, who hadappeared before the court under such distressing circumstances as Mr. Samuel Axworthy; but it was needful that the condition of the familyshould be well understood, in order to comprehend the unhappy train ofevents which had conducted the prisoner into his present situation. Hethen went through what had been traceable through the evidence--thatSamuel Axworthy was a man of expensive habits, and accustomed to drainhis uncle's resources to supply his own needs; showing how the sum, which had been intrusted to the prisoner, to be paid into the localbank, had been drawn out by the elder nephew as soon as he became awareof the deposit; and how, shortly after, the prisoner had expressed toAubrey May his indignation at the tyranny exercised on his uncle. 

'By and by, another sum is amassed, ' continued Leonard's advocate. 'Howdispose of it? The local bank is evidently no security from therapacity of the elder nephew. Once aware of its existence, he knowshow to use means for compelling its surrender; and the feeble old mancan no longer call his hard-earned gains his own except on sufferance. The only means of guarding it is to lodge it secretly in a distantbank, without the suspicion of his nephew Samuel; but the invalid istoo infirm to leave his apartment; his fingers, crippled by gout, refuse even to guide the pen. He can only watch for an opportunity, and this is at length afforded by the absence of the elder nephew fortwo days at the county races. This will afford time for a trustworthyand intelligent messenger to convey the sum to town, deposit it inMessrs, Drummond's bank, and return unobserved. When, therefore, supperis brought in, Mr. Axworthy sends for the lad on whom he has learnt todepend, and shows much disappointment at his absence. Where is he? Ishe engaged with low companions in the haunts of vice, that are thedeclivity towards crime? Is he gaming, or betting, or drinking? No. He has obeyed the summons of his country; he is a zealous volunteer, and is eagerly using a weapon presented to him by a highly respectedgentleman of large fortune in a neighbouring county; nay, so far is hefrom any sinister purpose, that he is making an appointment with afellow-rifleman for the ensuing Monday. On his return at dark, hereceives a pressing summons to his uncle's room, and hastens to obey itwithout pausing to lay aside his rifle. The commission is explained, and well understanding the painfulness of the cause, he discreetly asksno questions, but prepares to execute it. The sum of £124 12s. Istaken from the drawer of the desk, the odd money assigned to travellingexpenses, the £120 placed in a bag brought in from the office for thepurpose, bearing the initials of the owner, and a receipt in a privatepocket-book was signed by him for the amount, and left open on thetable for the ink to dry. 

'Who that has ever been young, can doubt the zest and elevation ofreceiving for the first time a confidential mission? Who can doubtthat even the favourite weapon would be forgotten where it stood, andthat it would only be accordant to accredited rules that the windowshould be preferable to the door? Had it not already figured in thevisions of adventure in the Sunday evening's walk? was it not afavourite mode of exit in the mornings, when bathing and fishing weremore attractive than the pillow! Moreover, the moonlight disclosedwhat appeared like a figure in the court-yard, and there was reason atthe time to suppose it a person likely to observe and report upon theexpedition. The opening of the front door might likewise attractnotice; and if the cousin should, as was possible, return that night, the direct road was the way to meet him. The hour was too early forthe train which was to be met, but a lighted candle would reveal thevigil, and moonlight on the meadows was attractive at eighteen. Gentlemen of soberer and maturer years might be incredulous, but surelyit was not so strange or unusual for a lad, who indulged in visions ofadventure, to find a moonlight walk by the river-side more invitingthan a bed-room. 

'Shortly after, perhaps as soon as the light was extinguished, themurder must have been committed. The very presence of that light hadbeen guardianship to the helpless old man below. When it was quenched, nothing remained astir, the way from without was open, the weapon stoodonly too ready to hand, the memorandum-book gave promise of booty andwas secured, though nothing else was apparently touched. It was thisvery book that contained the signature that would have exonerated theprisoner, and to which he fearlessly appealed upon his arrest at thePaddington Station, before, for his additional misfortune, he had timeto discharge himself of his commission, and establish his innocence bythe deposit of the money at the bank. He has thus for a while becomethe victim of a web of suspicious circumstances. But look at thesevery circumstances more closely, and they will be found perfectlyconsistent with the prisoner's statement, never varying, be itremembered, from the explanation given to the policeman in firstsurprise and horror of the tidings of the crime. 

'It might have been perhaps thought that there was another alternativebetween entire innocence and a deliberate purpose of robbery andmurder-namely, that reproof from the old man had provoked a blow, andthat the means of flight had been hastily seized upon in the moment ofconfusion and alarm. This might have been a plausible line of defence, and secure of a favourable hearing; but I beg to state that theprisoner has distinctly refused any such defence, and my instructionsare to contend for his perfect innocence. A nature such as we havealready traced is, as we cannot but perceive, revolted by the bare ideaof violence to the aged and infirm, and recoils as strongly from theone accusation as from the other. 

'The prisoner made his statement at the first moment, and has adheredto it in every detail, without confusion or self-contradiction. Itdoes not attempt to explain all the circumstances, but they all tallyexactly with his story; he is unable to show by whom the crime couldhave been committed, nor is he bound in law or justice so to do; nay, his own story shows the absolute impossibility of his being able toexplain what took place in his absence. But mark how completely theestablished facts corroborate his narrative. Observe first theposition in which the body was found, the head on the desk, the stainof blood corresponding with the wound, the dress undisturbed, allmanifestly untouched since the fatal stroke was dealt. Could this havebeen the case, had the key of the drawer of gold been taken from thewaistcoat pocket, the chain from about the neck of the deceased, andboth replaced after the removal of the money and relocking the drawer!Can any one doubt that the drawer was opened, the money taken out, andthe lock secured, while Mr. Axworthy was alive and consenting? Again, what robber would convey away the spoil in a bag bearing the initialsof the owner, and that not caught up in haste, but fetched in for thepurpose from the office? Or would so tell-tale a weapon as the riflehave been left conspicuously close at hand? There was no guiltyprecipitation, for the uniform had been taken off and folded up, andwith a whole night before him, it would have been easy to reach a moredistant station, where his person would not have been recognized. Why, too, if this were the beginning of a flight and exile, should nopreparation have been made for passing a single night from home? whyshould a day-ticket have been asked for? No, the prisoner's ownstraightforward, unvarnished statement is the only consistentinterpretation of the facts, otherwise conflicting and incomprehensible. 

'That a murder has been committed is unhappily too certain. I make noattempt to unravel the mystery. I confine myself to the far moregrateful task of demonstrating, that to fasten the imputation on theaccused, would be to overlook a complication of inconsistencies, allexplained by his own account of himself, but utterly inexplicable onthe hypothesis of his guilt. 

'Circumstantial evidence is universally acknowledged to be perilousground for a conviction; and I never saw a case in which it was moremanifestly delusive than in the present, bearing at first an imposingand formidable aspect, but on examination, confuted in every detail. Most assuredly, ' continued the counsel, his voice becoming doublyearnest, 'while there is even the possibility of innocence, it becomesincumbent on you, gentlemen of the jury, to consider well the fearfulconsequences of a decision in a matter of life or death--a decision forwhich there can be no reversal. The facts that have come to light aremanifestly incomplete. Another link in the chain has yet to be added;and when it shall come forth, how will it be if it should establish theguiltlessness of the prisoner too late? Too late, when a young life ofhigh promise, and linked by close family ties, and by bonds of ardentfriendship with so many, has been quenched in shame and disgrace, for acrime to which he may be an utter stranger. 

'The extinction of the light in that upper window was the sign fordarkness and horror to descend on the mill! Here is the light of lifestill burning, but a breath of yours can extinguish it in utter gloom, and then who may rekindle it! Nay, the revelation of events that wouldmake the transactions of that fatal night clear as the noonday, wouldnever avail to rekindle the lamp, that may yet, I trust, shine forth tothe world--the clearer, it may be, from the unmerited imputations, which it has been my part to combat, and of which his entire life is aconfutation. '

Mrs. Pugh was sobbing under her veil; Gertrude felt the cause won. Tomnoiselessly clapped the orator behind his brother's back, and noddedhis approval to his father. Even Leonard lifted up his face, and shotacross a look, as if he felt deliverance near after the weary day, thatseemed to have been a lifetime already, though the sunbeams were onlybeginning to fall high and yellow on the ceiling, through the heatedstifling atmosphere, heavy with anxiety and suspense. Doctor May wasthinking of the meeting after the acquittal, of the telegram toStoneborough, of the sister's revival, and of Ethel's greeting. 

Still the judge had to sum up; and all eyes turned on him, knowing thatthe fate of the accused would probably depend on the colouring that thefacts adduced would assume in his hands. Flora, who met him insociety, was struck by the grave and melancholy bracing, as it were, ofthe countenance, that she had seen as kindly and bright as herfather's; and the deep, full voice, sad rather than stern, the verytone of which conveyed to every mind how heavy was the responsibilityof justice and impartiality. In effect, the very force of thepersuasions made for the defence, unanswered by the prosecution, rendered it needful for him to give full weight to the evidence for theother side; namely, the prisoner's evident impatience of his position, and premeditated flight, the coincidence of the times, the being thelast person seen to enter the room, and with the very weapon that hadbeen the instrument of the crime; the probability that the deceased hadhimself opened the drawer, the open window, the flight, and the missingsum being found on his person, the allegation that the receipt would befound in the pocket-book, unsupported by any testimony as to thepractice of the deceased; the strangeness of leaving the premises somuch too early for the train, and, by his own account, leaving a personprowling in the court, close to his uncle's window. No opinion wasgiven; but there was something that gave a sense that the judge felt ita crushing weight of evidence. Yet so minutely was every pointexamined, so carefully was every indication weighed which could tend toestablish the prisoner's innocence, that to those among his audiencewho believed that innocence indubitable, it seemed as if his argumentsproved it, even more triumphantly than the pleading of the counsel, as, vibrating between hope and fear, anxiety and gratitude, they followedhim from point to point of the unhappy incident, hanging upon everyword, as though each were decisive. 

When at length he ceased, and the jury retired, the breathlessstillness continued. With some, indeed, there was the relaxation oflong-strained attention, eyes unbent, and heads turned, but Flora hadto pass her arm round her little sister, to steady the child's nervoustrembling; Aubrey sat rigid and upright, the throbs of his heartwell-nigh audible; and Dr. May leant forward, and covered his eyes withhis hand; Tom, who alone dared glance to the dock, saw that Leonard toohad retired. Those were the most terrible minutes they had ever spentin their lives; but they were minutes of hope--of hope of relief from aburthen, becoming more intolerable with every second's delay ere therebound. 

Long as it seemed to them, it was not in reality more than a quarter ofan hour before the jury returned, and with slow grave movements, andserious countenances, resumed their places. Leonard was already in his;his cheek paler, his fingers locked together, and his eyes scanningeach as they came forward, and one by one their names were called over. His head was erect, and his bearing had something undaunted, thoughintensely anxious. 

The question was put by the clerk of the court, 'How find you? Guiltyor Not guilty?'

Firmly, though sadly, the foreman rose, and his answer was, 'We findthe prisoner guilty; but we earnestly recommend him to mercy. '

Whether Tom felt or not that Aubrey was in a dead faint, and restedagainst him as a senseless weight, he paid no visible attention toaught but one face, on which his eyes were riveted as though nothingwould ever detach them--and that face was not the prisoner's. 

Others saw Leonard's face raised upwards, and a deep red flush spreadover brow and cheek, though neither lip nor eye wavered. 

Then came the question whether the prisoner had anything to say, wherefore judgment should not be passed upon him. 

Leonard made a step forward, and his clear steady tone did not shakefor a moment as he spoke. 'No. I see that appearances are so muchagainst me, that man can hardly decide otherwise. I have known fromthe first that nothing could show my innocence but the finding of thereceipt. In the absence of that one testimony, I feel that I have hada fair trial, and that all has been done for me that could be done; andI thank you for it, my Lord, and you, Gentlemen, ' as he bent his head;then added, 'I should like to say one thing more. My Lord, you wouldnot let the question be asked, how I brought all this upon myself. Iwish to say it myself, for it is that which makes my sentence just inthe sight of God. It is true that, though I never lifted my handagainst my poor uncle, I did in a moment of passion fling a stone at mybrother, which, but for God's mercy, might indeed have made me amurderer. It was for this, and other like outbreaks, that I was sentto the mill; and it may be just that for it I should die--though indeedI never hurt my uncle. '

Perhaps there was something in the tone of that one word, indeed, which, by recalling his extreme youth, touched all hearts more thaneven the manly tone of his answer, and his confession. There was auniversal weeping and sobbing throughout the court; Mrs. Pugh was onthe verge of hysterics, and obliged to be supported away; and Gertrudewas choking between the agony of contagious feeling and dread ofFlora's displeasure; and all the time Leonard stood calm, with hisbrave head and lofty bearing, wound up for the awful moment of thesentence. 

The weeping was hushed, when the crier of the court made proclamation, commanding all persons on pain of imprisonment to be silent. Then thejudge placed on his head the black cap, and it was with trembling handsthat he did so; the blood had entirely left his face, and his lips werepurple with the struggle to contend with and suppress his emotion. Hepaused, as though he were girding himself up to the most terrible ofduties, and when he spoke his voice was hollow, as he began:

'Leonard Axworthy Ward, you have been found guilty of a crime thatwould have appeared impossible in one removed from temptation by birthand education such as yours have been. What the steps may have beenthat led to such guilt, must lie between your own conscience and thatGod whose justice you have acknowledged. To Him you have evidentlybeen taught to look; and may you use the short time that still remainsto you, in seeking His forgiveness by sincere repentance. I willforward the recommendation to mercy, but it is my duty to warn you thatthere are no such palliating circumstances in the evidence, as towarrant any expectation of a remission of the sentence. 

And therewith followed the customary form of sentence, ending with thesolemn 'And may God Almighty have mercy on your soul!'

Full and open, and never quailing, had the dark eyes been fixed uponthe judge all the time; and at those last words, the head bent low, andthe lips moved for 'Amen. '

Then Tom, relieved to find instant occupation for his father, drew hisattention to Aubrey's state; and the boy between Tom and George Riverswas, as best they could, carried through the narrow outlets, and laiddown in a room, opened to them by the sheriff, where his father andFlora attended him, while Tom flew for remedies; and Gertrude sobbedand wept as she had never done in her life. 

It was some time before the swoon yielded, or Dr. May could leave hisson, and then he was bent on at once going to the prisoner; but he wasso shaken and tremulous, that Tom insisted on giving him his arm, andheld an umbrella over him in the driving rain. 

'Father, ' he said, as soon as they were in the street, 'I can swear whodid it. '

Dr. May just hindered himself from uttering the name, but Tom answeredas if it had been spoken. 

'Yes. I saw the face of fiendish barbarity that once was over me, whenI was a miserable little school-boy! He did it; and he has thereceipt. '

Dr. May squeezed his arm. 'I have not betrayed the secret, have I!'

'You knew that he knew it!'

'Not knew--suspected--generosity. '

'I saw him! I saw him cast those imploring earnest eyes of his on thescoundrel as he spoke of the receipt--and the villain try to makehimself of stone. Well, if I have one wish in life, it is to see thatfellow come to the fate he deserves. I'll never lose sight of him;I'll dog him like a bloodhound!'

And what good will that do, when--Tom, Tom, we must move Heaven andearth for petitions. I'll take them up myself, and get George Riversto take me to the Home Secretary. Never fear, while there's justice inHeaven. '

'Here's Henry!' exclaimed Tom, withholding his father, who had almostran against the brother, as they encountered round a corner. 

He was pale and bewildered, and hardly seemed to hear the Doctor'shasty asseverations that he would get a reprieve. 

'He sent me to meet you, ' said Henry. 'He wants you to go home--to AveI mean. He says that is what he wants most--for you to go to her now, and to come to him to-morrow, or when you can; and he wants to hear howAubrey is, ' continued Henry, as if dreamily repeating a lesson. 

'He saw then--?'

'Yes, and that seems to trouble him most. '

Dr. May was past speaking, and Tom was obliged to answer for him--thatAubrey was pretty well again, and had desired his dearest, dearestlove; then asked how Leonard was. 

'Calm and firm as ever, ' said Henry, half choked. 'Nothing seems toupset him, but speaking of--of you and Aubrey, Dr. May--and poor Ave. But--but they'll be together before long. '

'No such thing, ' said Dr. May. 'You will see that certainty cures, when suspense kills; and for him, I'll never believe but that all willbe right yet. Are you going home?'

'I shall try to be with--with the dear unhappy boy as long as I can, and then I'll come home. '

Dr. May grasped Henry's hand, gave a promise of coming, and a messageof love to the prisoner, tried to say something more, but broke down, and let Tom lead him away. 

CHAPTER XV

 Under the shroud Of His thunder-cloud Lie we still when His voice is loud, And our hearts shall feel The love notes steal, As a bird sings after the thunder peal--C. F. A. 

Not till dusk could Dr. May get back to Stoneborough, and then, in anevening gleam of that stormy day, he was met at the gate of Bankside byRichard and Ethel. 

'You need not come in, papa, ' said Ethel. 'She is asleep. She knows. '

Dr. May sighed with unspeakable relief. 

'Mr. Bramshaw telegraphed, and his clerk came down. It was not so verybad! She saw it in our faces, and she was so worn out with talking andwatching, that--that the very turning her face to the wall with hopeover, became sleep almost directly. '

'That is well, ' murmured the Doctor. 'And can you be spared, my dear?If you could come I should be glad, for poor Aubrey is quite done up. '

'I can come. Mary is with her, and Richard will stay to meet Henry, ifhe is coming home, or to send up if they want you; but I think she willnot wake for many hours; and then--oh! what can any one do!'

So Richard turned back to the sorrowful house; and Dr. May, tenderlydrawing Ethel's arm into his own, told her, as they walked back, thefew incidents that she most wanted to hear, as best he could narratethem. 'You have had a heart-rending day, my dear, ' he said; 'you andMary, as well as the rest of us. '

'There was one comfort!' said Ethel, 'and that was his own notes. Avehas all that he has written to her from Whitford under her pillow, andshe kept spreading them out, and making us read them, and--oh! theirbraveness and cheeriness--they did quite seem to hold one up! And thenpoor little Minna's constant little robin-chirp of faith, "God will notlet them hurt him. " One could not bear to tell the child, that thoughindeed they cannot hurt him, it may not be in her sense! Look here!These are her slippers. She has worked on all day to finish them, thatthey might be done and out of sight when he came home this evening. The last stitch was done as Richard came in; and now I thought I couldonly take them out of every one's sight. '

'Poor things! poor things! And how was it with the child when sheheard?'

'The old sweet note, ' said Ethel, less steadily than she had yetspoken, '"nothing could hurt him for what he had not done. " I don'tknow whether she knows what--what is in store. At least she is notshaken yet, dear child. '

'And Ave--how did you manage with her through all the day?'

'Oh! we did as we could. We tried reading the things Mr. Wilmot hadmarked, but she was too restless; her hands would wander off to theletters, caressing them, and she would go back to talk of him--all hisways from a baby upwards. I hope there was no harm in letting her doit, for if there is anything to do one good, it is his noble spirit. '

'If you had only seen his face to-day, ' exclaimed the Doctor, halfangrily, 'you would not feel much comfort in the cutting off such afellow. No, no, it won't be. We'll petition--petition--petition--andsave him, we will! Minna will be right yet! They shall not hurt him!'

'Is there really hope in that way?' said Ethel, and a quiver of reliefagitated her whole frame. 

'Every hope! Every one I have seen, or Tom either, says so. We haveonly to draw up a strong enough representation of the facts, hischaracter, and all that; and there's his whole conduct before and sinceto speak for itself. Why, when it was all over, George heard every onesaying, either he was a consummate hypocrite, or he must be innocent. Harvey Anderson declares the press will take it up. We shall certainlyget him off. '

'You don't mean pardoned!'

'Commutation of the penalty. Come on, ' said the Doctor, hurrying athis headlong pace, 'there's no time to be lost in getting it drawn up. '

Ethel was dragged on so fast, that she could not speak; but it was withwilling haste, for this was the sort of suspense in which motion andpurpose were a great relief after the day's weary waiting. Gertrude, quite spent with excitement and tears, had wisely betaken herself tobed; and it would have been well had Aubrey followed her example, instead of wandering up and down the room in his misery, flushed thoughwan, impetuously talking treason against trial by jury, and abusingdignitaries. They let him have it out, in all its fury and violence, till he had tired out his first vehemence, and could be persuaded tolie on the sofa while the rough draught of the petition was drawn up, Tom writing, and every one suggesting or discussing, till the Doctor, getting thorough mastery over the subject, dictated so fluently andadmirably, that even Tom had not a word to gainsay, but observed toEthel, when his father had gone up to bed, and carried Aubrey off, 'What an exceedingly able man my father is!'

'Is this the first time you have found that out?' said Ethel. 

'Why, you know it is not his nature to make the most of himself! Butstudying under him brings it out more; and there's a readiness abouthim that I wish was catching. But I say, Ethel, what's this? I nomore doubt who did the deed, than I do who killed Abel; but I had onceseen Cain's face, and I knew it again. Is it true that the boy wasaware, and told my father?'

'Did he tell you so?'

'Only asked if he had betrayed the secret. If they both know it--why, if it be Leonard's taste, I suppose I must say nothing to the contrary, but he might as well consider his sister. '

'What do you know, Tom?' said she, perplexed. 

'Only that there's some secret; and if it be as I am given tounderstand, then it is a frenzy that no lucid person should permit. '

'No, Tom, ' said Ethel, feeling that the whole must be told, 'it is nocertainty--only unsupported suspicion, which he could not help tellingpapa after binding him on honour to make no use of it. Putting thingstogether, he was sure who the man in the yard was; but it was notrecognition, and he could not have proved it. '

'What Quixotry moved my father not to put the lawyers on the scent?'

Ethel explained; and for her pains Tom fell upon her for her folly innot having told him all, when he could have gone to Blewer and gatheredinformation as no professional person could do; then lamented that hehad let Aubrey keep him from the inquest, when the fellow's hang-doglook would have been sure to suggest to him to set Anderson to get himsearched. Even now he would go to the mill, and try to hunt upsomething. 

'Tom, remember papa's promise!'

'Do you think a man can do nothing without committing himself, likepoor Aubrey? No, Ethel, the Doctor may be clever, but that's no use ifa man is soft, and he is uncommonly soft; and you should not encouragehim in it. '

Ethel was prevented from expressing useless indignation by the arrivalof Mary, asking where papa was. 

'Gone to bed. He said he must go off at six to-morrow, there are somany patients to see. Ave does not want him, I hope?'

No, she is still asleep; I was only waiting for Richard, and he haddreadful work with that poor Henry. '

'What kind of work?'

'Oh, I believe it has all come on him now that it was hisfault--driving Leonard to that place; and he was in such misery, thatRichard could not leave him. '

'I am glad he has the grace to feel it at last, ' said Tom. 

'It must be very terrible!' said Mary. 'He says he cannot stay in thathouse, for every room reproaches him; and he groaned as if he was intremendous bodily pain. '

'What, you assisted at this scene?' said Tom, looking at her rathersharply. 

'No; but Richard told me; and I heard the groans as I sat on thestairs. '

'Sat on the stairs?'

'Yes. I could not go back to Ave's room for fear of waking her. '

'And how long?'

'Towards an hour, I believe. I did all that piece, ' said Mary, displaying a couple of inches of a stocking leg, 'and I think it waspretty well in the dark. '

'Sitting on the stairs for an hour in the dark, ' said Tom, as he gaveMary the candle he had been lighting for her. 'That may be calledunappreciated devotion. '

'I never can tell what Tom means, ' said Mary, as she went up-stairswith Ethel. 'It was a very comfortable rest. I wish you had had thesame, dear Ethel, you look so tired and worn out. Let me stay and helpyou. It has been such a sad long day; and oh! how terrible this is!And you know him better than any of us, except Aubrey. '

Mary stopped almost in dismay, for her sister, usually so firm, brokedown entirely, and sitting down on a low chair, threw an arm round her, and resting her weary brow against her, gave way to long tearless sobs, or rather catches of breath. 'Oh! Mary! Mary!' she said, between hergasps, 'to think of last year--and Coombe--and the two bright boys--andthe visions--and the light in those glorious eyes--and that this shouldbe the end!'

'Dear, dear Ethel, ' said Mary, with fast-flowing tears and tendercaresses, 'you have kept us all up; you have always shown us it was forthe best. '

'It is! it is!' cried Ethel. 'I do, I _will_ believe it! If I hadonly seen his face as papa tells of it, I could keep hold of the gloryof it and the martyr spirit. Now I only see his earnest, shy, confiding look--and--and I don't know how to bear it. ' And Ethel'sgrasp of Mary in both arms was tightened, as if to support herselfunder her deep labouring sobs of anguish. Ah! he was very fond of you. '

'There never was any one beyond our own selves that loved me so well. Ialways knew it would not last--that it ought not; but oh! it wasendearing; and I did think to have seen him a shining light!'

'And don't you tell us he is a shining light now?' said Mary, among thetears that really almost seemed to be a relief, as if her sisterherself had shed them; and as she knelt down, Ethel laid her head onher shoulder, and spoke more calmly. 

'He is, ' she said, 'and I ought to be thankful for it! I think I amgenerally--but now--it makes it the more piteous--the hopes--thespirit--the determination--all to be quenched, and so quenched--and tohave nothing--nothing to do for him. 

'But, Ethel, papa says your messages do him more good than anything;and papa will let you go and see him, and that will comfort him. '

Ethel's lips gave a strange sort of smile; she thought it was at simpleMary's trust in her power, but it would hardly have been there but forthe species of hope thus excited, and the sense of sympathy. Mary wasnot one to place any misconstruction on what had passed; she well knewthat Leonard had almost taken a brother's place in Ethel's heart, andshe prized him at the rate of her sister's esteem. Perhaps herprominent thought was how cruel were those who fancied that Ethel'slofty faith was unfeeling, and how very good Leonard must be to be thusmourned. At any rate, she was an excellent comforter, in the sympathythat was neither too acute nor too obtuse; and purely to oblige her, Ethel for the first time submitted to her favourite panacea of hairbrushing, and found that in very truth those soft and steadymanipulations were almost mesmeric in soothing away the hard oppressiveexcitement, and bringing on a gentle and slumberous resignation. 

The sisters were early astir next morning, to inflict on their father acup of cocoa, which he rebelled against, but swallowed, and to receivehis last orders, chiefly consisting of messages to Tom about taking thepetition to be approved of by Dr. Spencer and others, and then havingit properly drawn out. Mary asked if women might sign it, and wasanswered with an impatient 'Pshaw!'

'But ladies do have petitions of their own, ' said Mary, with somediffidence. 'Could not we have one?'

His lips were compressed for another 'Pshaw, ' when he bethoughthimself. 'Well, I don't know--the more the better. Only it won't dofor you to set it going. Flora must be the woman for that. '

'Oh, then, ' cried Mary, eagerly, 'might not I walk over to breakfast atthe Grange, and talk to Flora? Ethel, you would not mind going to Aveinstead? Or will you go to Flora?'

'You had better, ' said Ethel. 'I must stay on Aubrey's account; andthis is your doing, Mary, ' she added, looking at her warmly. 

'Then put on your hat, Mary, and take a biscuit, ' said the Doctor, 'andyou shall have a lift as far as the cross roads. '

Thus the morning began with action and with hope. Mary found herselfvery welcome at the Grange, where there was much anxiety to hear ofAubrey, as well as the more immediate sufferers. The Riverses haddined at Drydale, and had met the judges, as well as a good many of thecounty gentlemen who had been on the grand jury and attended on thetrial. They had found every one most deeply touched by the conduct ofthe prisoner. The judge had talked to Flora about her young brother, and the friendship so bravely avouched; had asked the particulars ofthe action to which Leonard had alluded, and shown himself muchinterested in all that she related. 

She said that the universal impression was that the evidence was deadagainst Leonard, and taken apart, led to such conviction of his guilt, that no one could wonder at the verdict; but that his appearance andmanner were such, that it was almost impossible, under their influence, not to credit his innocence. She had reason to believe that petitionswere already in hand both from the county and the assize town, and sheeagerly caught at Mary's proposal of one from the ladies ofStoneborough. 

'I'll drive in at once before luncheon, and take you home, Mary, ' shesaid. 'And, first of all, we will begin with the two widows, and halfthe battle will be won. '

Nay, more than half the battle proved to be already gained in thatquarter. The writing-table was covered with sheets of foolscap, andMrs. Pugh was hard at work copying the petition which Mr. HarveyAnderson had kindly assisted in composing, and which the aunt and niecehad intended to have brought to the Grange for Mrs. Rivers's approvalthat very day. Harvey Anderson had spent the evening at Mrs. Ledwich'sin drawing it up, and giving his advice; and Flora, going over it wordfor word with Mrs. Pugh, felt that it could hardly have been betterworded. 

'He is a very clever, a very rising young man, and so feeling, saidMrs. Ledwich to Mary while this was going on. 'In fact, he is aperfect knight-errant on this subject. He is gone to London thismorning to see what can be done by means of the press. I tell Matildait is quite a romance of modern life; and indeed, the sweet girl isvery romantic still--very young, even after all she has gone through. '

Not understanding this, Mary let it pass in calculations on the numberof possible signatures, which the two ladies undertook to collect. 

'That is well, ' said Flora, as they went away. 'It could not be inbetter hands. It will thrive the better for our doing nothing butwriting our names. '

They met Tom on the like errand, but not very sanguine, for he saidthere had of late been an outcry against the number of reprievesgranted, and the public had begun to think itself not sufficientlyprotected. He thought the best chance was the discovery of someadditional fact that might tell in favour of Leonard, and confident inhis own sagacity, was going to make perquisitions at the mill. Everyone had been visiting of late, and now that he knew more, if he and hismicroscope could detect one drop of human blood in an unexpected place, they would do better service to the prisoner than all the petitionsthat could be signed. 

Averil was somewhat better; the feverishness had been removed by herlong sleep of despair, and her energy revived under the bodily relief, and the fixed purpose of recovering in time to see her brother again;but the improvement was not yet trusted by Henry, who feared her doingtoo much unless he was himself watching over her, and therefore onlypaid Leonard a short visit in the forenoon, going and returning byearly trains. 

He reported that Leonard was very pale, and owned to want of sleep, adding, however, 'It does not matter. Why should I wish to lose anytime?' Calm and brave as ever, he had conversed as cheerfully asHenry's misery would permit, inquiring into the plans of the family, which he knew were to depend on his fate, and acquiescing in hisbrother's intention of quitting the country; nay, even suggesting thatit might be better for his sisters to be taken away before all wasover, though he, as well as Henry, knew that to this Averil would neverhave consented. He had always been a great reader of travels, and hebecame absolutely eager in planning their life in the wild, as if wherethey were he must be, till the casual mention of the word 'rifle'brought him to sudden silence, and the consciousness of the condemnedcell; but even then it was only to be urgent in consoling his brother, and crowding message on message for his sisters; begging Henry not tostay, not to consider him for a moment, but only whatever might be bestfor Ave. 

In this frame Henry had left him, and late in the afternoon, Dr. Mayhad contrived to despatch his work and make his way to the jail, where, as he entered, he encountered the chaplain, Mr. Reeve, a very worthy, but not a very acute man. Pausing to inquire for the prisoner, he wasmet by a look of oppression and perplexity. The chaplain had been withyoung Ward yesterday evening, and was only just leaving him; but then, instead of the admiring words the Doctor expected, there only came acomplaint of the difficulty of dealing with him; so well instructed, sorespectful in manner, and yet there was a coldness, a hardness abouthim, amounting to sullenness, rejecting all attempts to gain hisconfidence, or bring him to confession. 

Dr. May had almost been angry, but he bethought himself in time thatthe chaplain was bound to believe the verdict of the court; andbesides, the good man looked so grieved and pitiful, that it wasimpossible to be displeased with him, especially when he began to hopethat the poor youth might be less reserved with a person who knew himbetter, and to consult Dr. May which of the Stoneborough clergy hadbetter be written to as likely to be influential with him. Dr. Mayrecommended Mr. Wilmot, as having visited the boy in his illness, aswell as prepared him for Confirmation; and then, with a heavier load ofsadness on his heart, followed the turnkey on his melancholy way. 

When the door was opened, he saw Leonard sitting listlessly on the sideof his bed, resting his head on his hand, entirely unoccupied; but atthe first perception who his visitor was, he sprang to his feet, andcoming within the arms held out to him, rested his head on the kindshoulder. 

'My dear boy--my brave fellow, ' said Dr. May, 'you got throughyesterday nobly. '

There was none either of the calmness or the reserve of which Dr. Mayhad been told, in the hot hands that were wringing his own, nor in thechoking struggling voice that tried to make the words clear--'Thank youfor what you said--And dear Aubrey--how is he?'

'I came away at six, before he was awake, ' said the Doctor; 'but hewill not be the worse for it, never fear! I hope his evidence was lesstrying than you and he expected. '

Leonard half smiled. 'I had forgotten that, ' he said, 'it was so longago! No, indeed--the dear fellow was--like a bright spot in thatday--only--only it brought back all we were--all that is gone for ever. '

The tenderness of one whom he did not feel bound to uphold like hisbrother had produced the outbreak that could not fail to come to sowarm, open, and sensitive a nature, and at such an age. He was boldand full of fortitude in the front of the ordeal, and solitude pent uphis feelings, but the fatherly sympathy and perfect confidence drewforth expression, and a vent once opened, the rush of emotion andanguish long repressed was utterly overpowering. His youthful manhoodstruggled hard, but the strangled sobs only shook his frame the moreconvulsively, and the tears burnt like drops of fire, as they fellamong the fingers that he spread over his face in the agony of weepingfor his young vigorous life, his blasted hopes, the wretchedness hecaused, the disgrace of his name. 

'Don't, don't fight against it, ' said Dr. May, affectionately drawinghim to his seat on the bed, as, indeed, the violence of the paroxysmmade him scarcely able to stand. 'Let it have its way; you will be allthe better for it. It ought to be so--it must. '

And in tears himself, the Doctor turned his back, and went as far awayas the cell would permit, turning towards the books that lay on anarrow ledge that served for a table. 'How long, O Lord, how long?'were the words that caught his eye in the open Psalms; and, startled asif at unauthorized prying, he looked up at the dull screened and spikedwindow above his head, till he knew by the sounds that the worst of theuncontrollable passion had spent itself, and then he came back with thetowel dipped in water, and cooled the flushed heated face as a sistermight have done. 

'Oh--thank you--I am ashamed, ' gasped the still sobbing boy. 

'Ashamed! No; I like you the better for it, ' said the Doctor, earnestly. 'There is no need that we should not grieve together inthis great affliction, and say out all that is in our hearts. '

'All!' exclaimed Leonard. 'No--no words can say that! Oh! was it forsuch as this that my poor mother made so much of me--and I got throughthe fever--and I hoped--and I strove--Why--why should I be cut off--fora disgrace and a misery to all! and again came the heart-broken sobs, though less violently. 

'Not to those who look within, and honour you, Leonard. '

'Within! Why, how bad I have been, since _this_ is the reckoning! Ideserve it, I know--but--' and his voice again sank in tears. 

'Ethel says that your so feeling comforts her the most; to know thatyou have not the terrible struggle of faith disturbed by injustice. '

'If--I have not, ' said Leonard, 'it is her doing. In those happy dayswhen we read Marmion, and could not believe that God would not alwaysshow the right, she showed me how we only see bits and scraps of HisJustice here, and it works round in the end! Nay, if I had not donethat thing to Henry, I should not be here now! It is right! It isright!' he exclaimed between the heaving sobs that still recurred. 'Ido try to keep before me what she said about Job--when it comes burningbefore me, why should that man be at large, and I here? or when I thinkhow his serpent-eye fell under mine when I tried that one word aboutthe receipt, that would save my life. Oh! that receipt!'

'Better to be here than in his place, after all!'

'I'd rather be a street-sweeper!' bitterly began Leonard. --'Oh, Dr. May, do let me have that!' he cried, suddenly changing his tone, andholding out his hand, as he perceived in the Doctor's button-hole adove-pink, presented at a cottage door by a grateful patient. For aspace he was entirely occupied with gazing into its crimson depths, inhaling the fragrance, and caressingly spreading the cool damaskpetals against his hot cheeks and eyelids. 'It is so long since I sawanything but walls!' he said. 

'Three weeks, ' sadly replied the Doctor. 

'There was a gleam of sunshine when I got out of the van yesterday. Inever knew before what sunshine was. I hope it will be a sunny daywhen I go out for the last time!'

'My dear boy, I have good hopes of saving you. There's not a creaturein Stoneborough, or round it, that is not going to petition foryou--and at your age--'

Leonard shook his head in dejection. 'It has all gone against me, ' hesaid. 'They all say there's no chance. The chaplain says it is of nouse unsettling my mind. '

'The chaplain is an old--' began Dr. May, catching himself up only justin time, and asking, 'How do you get on with him!'

'I can hear him read, ' said Leonard, with the look that had beenthought sullen. 

'But you cannot talk to him?'

'Not while he thinks me guilty. ' Then, at a sound of warm sympathyfrom his friend, he added, 'I suppose it is his duty; but I wish hewould keep away. I can't stand his aiming at making me confess, and Idon't want to be disrespectful. '

'I see, I see. It cannot be otherwise. But how would it be if Wilmotcame to you?'

'Would Mr. May?' said Leonard, with a beseeching look. 

'Richard? He would with all his heart; but I think you would find moresupport and comfort in a man of Mr. Wilmot's age and experience, andthat Mr. Reeve would have more trust in him; but it shall be exactly aswill be most comforting to you. '

'If Mr. Wilmot would be so good, then' said Leonard, meekly. 'Indeed, Iwant help to bear it patiently! I don't know how to die; and yet itseemed not near so hard a year ago, when they thought I did not notice, and I heard Ave go away crying, and my mother murmuring, again andagain, "Thy will be done!"--the last time I heard her voice. Oh, wellthat she has not to say it now!'

'Well that her son can say it!'

'I want to be able to say it, ' said the boy, fervently; 'but this seemsso hard--life is so sweet. ' Then, after a minute's thought: 'Dr. May, that morning, when I awoke, and asked you for them--papa and mamma--youknelt down and said the Lord's Prayer. Won't you now?'

And when those words had been said, and they both stood up again, Leonard added: 'It always seems to mean more and more! But oh, Dr. May! that forgiving--I can't ask any one but you if--' and he paused. 

'If you forgive, my poor boy! Nay, are not your very silence andforbearance signs of practical forgiveness? Besides, I have alwaysobserved that you have never used one of the epithets that I can'tthink of him without. '

'Some feelings are too strong for common words of abuse, ' said Leonard, almost smiling; 'but I hope I may be helped to put away what iswrong. --Oh, must you go?'

'I fear I must, my dear; I have a patient to see again, on my way back, and one that will be the worse for waiting. '

'Henry has not been able to practise. I want to ask one thing, Dr. May, before you go. Could not you persuade them, since home ispoisoned to them, at any rate to go at once? It would be better for mysisters than being here--when--and they would only remember that lastSunday at home. '

'Do you shrink from another meeting with Averil?'

His face was forced into calmness. 'I will do without it, if it wouldhurt her. '

'It may for the time, but to be withheld would give her a worseheart-ache through life. '

'Oh, thank you!' cried Leonard, his face lighting up; 'it is somethingstill to hope for. '

'Nay, I've not given you up yet, ' said the Doctor, trying for acheerful smile. 'I've got a prescription that will bring you throughyet--London advice, you know. I've great faith in the consultingsurgeon at the Home Office. '

By the help of that smile and augury, the Doctor got away, terriblybeaten down, but living on his fragment of hope; though obliged toperceive that every one who merely saw the newspaper report in blackand white, without coming into personal contact with the prisoner, could not understand how the slightest question of the justice of theverdict could arise. Even Mr. Wilmot was so convinced by the papers, that the Doctor almost repented of the mission to which he had invitedhim, and would, if he could, have revoked what had been said. But thevicar of Stoneborough, painful as was the duty, felt his post to be bythe side of his unhappy young parishioner, equally whether the gaolchaplain or Dr. May were right, and if he had to bring him toconfession, or to strengthen him to 'endure grief, sufferingwrongfully. '

And after the first interview, no more doubts on that score wereexpressed; but the vicar's tone of pitying reverence in speaking of theprisoner was like that of his friends in the High Street. 

Tom May spared neither time nor pains in beating up for signatures forthe petition, but he had a more defined hope, namely, that of detectingsomething that might throw the suspicion into the right quarter. Theleast contradiction of the evidence might raise a doubt that would saveLeonard's life, and bring the true criminal in peril of the fate he sorichly deserved. The Vintry Mill was the lion of the neighbourhood, and the crowds of visitors had been a reason for its new master'svacating it, and going into lodgings in Whitford; so that Tom, when hefound it convenient to forget his contempt of the gazers and curiosityhunters who thronged there, and to march off on a secret expedition ofinvestigation, found no obstacle in his way, and at the cost of a feeto Mrs. Giles, who was making a fortune, was free to roam and searchwherever he pleased. Even his careful examination of the cotton blind, and his scraping of the window-sill with a knife, were not remarked;for had not the great chair been hacked into fragmentary relics, andthe loose paper of the walls of Leonard's room been made mincemeat of, as memorials of 'the murderer, Ward'?

One long white hair picked out of a mat below the window, and thesescrapings of the window-sill, Tom carried off, and also the scrapingsof the top bar of a stile between the mill and the Three Goblets. Thatevening, all were submitted to the microscope. Dr. May was waked froma doze by a very deferential 'I beg your pardon, sir, ' and a suddentweak, which abstracted a silver thread from his head; and Mab showedsomewhat greater displeasure at a similar act of plunder upon her whitechemisette. But the spying was followed by a sigh; and, in dumb show, Ethel was made to perceive that the Vintry hair had more affinity withthe canine than the human. As to the scrapings of the window, nothingbut vegetable fibre could there be detected; but on the stile, therewas undoubtedly a mark containing human blood-disks; Tom proved thatboth by comparison with his books, and by pricking his own finger, andkept Ethel to see it after every one else was gone up to bed. But asone person's blood was like another's, who could tell whether some onewith a cut finger had not been through the stile? Tom shook his head, there was not yet enough on which to commit himself. 'But I'll havehim!--I'll have him yet!' said he. 'I'll never rest while that villainwalks the earth unpunished!'

Meantime, Harvey Anderson did yeoman's service by a really powerfularticle in a leading paper, written from the very heart of an able man, who had been strongly affected himself, and was well practised infeeling in pen and ink. Every word rang home to the soul, and all themore because there was no defence nor declamation against the justiceof the verdict, which was acknowledged to be unavoidable; it was merelya pathetic delineation of a terrible mystery, with a little meditativephilosophy upon it, the moral of which was, that nothing is moredelusive than fact, more untrue than truth. However, it was copiedeverywhere, and had the great effect of making it the cue of more thanhalf the press to mourn over, rather than condemn, 'the unfortunateyoung gentleman. '

Mrs. Pugh showed every one the article, and confided to most that shehad absolutely ventured to suggest two or three of the sentences. But agreat deal might be borne from Mrs. Pugh, in consideration of herindefatigable exertions with the ladies' petition, and it was a decidedsuccess. The last census had rated Market Stoneborough at 7561inhabitants, and Mrs. Pugh's petition bore no less than 3024 femalenames, in which she fairly beat that of the mayor; but then she hadbeen less scrupulous as to the age at which people should be asked tosign; as long as the name could be written at all, she was notparticular whose it was. 

Dr. May made his patients agree to accept as his substitute Dr. Spenceror Mr. Wright, to whom Henry Ward intended to resign practice andhouse. He himself was to go to London for a couple of nights withGeorge Rivers, who was exceedingly gratified at having the charge ofhim all to himself, and considered that the united influence of memberand mayor must prevail. Dr. Spencer, on the contrary, probably by wayof warning, represented Mr. Mayor as ruining everything by his headlongway of setting about it, declaring that he would abuse everybody allround, and assure the Home Secretary, that, as sure as his name wasDick May, it was quite impossible the boy could have hurt a fly; thougha strict sense of truth would lead him to add the next moment, that hewas terribly passionate, and had nearly demolished his brother. 

Dr. May talked of his caution and good behaviour, which, maybe, weresomewhat increased by this caricature, but he ended by very heartywishes that these were the times of Jeanie Deans; if the pardondepended on our own good Queen, he should not doubt of it a moment. Why, was not the boy just the age of her own son?

And verily there was no one in the whole world whom poor Averil enviedlike Jeanie Deans. 

So member and mayor went to London together, and intense were theprayers that speeded them and followed them. The case was laid beforethe Home Secretary, the petitions presented, and Dr. May said all thatman might say on ground where he felt as if over-partisanship might beperilous. The matter was to have due consideration: nothing moredefinite or hopeful could be obtained; but there could be no doubt thatthis meant a real and calm re-weighing of the evidence, with aconsideration of all the circumstances. It was something for theDoctor that a second dispassionate study should be given to the case, but his heart sank as he thought of that cold, hard statement ofevidence, without the counter testimony of the honest, tearless eyesand simple good faith of the voice and tone. 

And when he entered the railway carriage on his road home, thenewspaper that George Rivers attentively pressed upon him bore theinformation that Wednesday, the 21st, would be the day, according tousage, for the execution of the condemned criminal, Leonard AxworthyWard. If it had been for the execution of Richard May, the Doctorcould hardly have given a deeper groan. 

He left the train at the county town. He had so arranged, that hemight see the prisoner on his way home; but he had hardly the heart togo, except that he knew he was expected, and no disappointment that hecould help must add to the pangs of these last days. 

Leonard was alone, but was not, as before, sitting unemployed; hecarefully laid down his etching work ere he came forward to meet hisfriend; and there was not the bowed and broken look about him, but afixed calmness and resolution, as he claimed the fatherly embrace andblessing with which the Doctor now always met him. 

'I bring you no certainty, Leonard. It is under consideration. '

'Thank you. You have done everything, ' returned Leonard, quietly;'and--' then pausing, he added, 'I know the day now--the day after mybirthday. '

'Let us--let us hope, ' said the Doctor, greatly agitated. 

'Thank you, ' again said Leonard; and there was a pause, during whichDr. May anxiously studied the face, which had become as pale and almostas thin as when the lad had been sent off to Coombe, and infinitelyolder in the calm steadfastness of every feature. 

'You do not look well, Leonard. '

'No; I am not quite well; but it matters very little, ' he said, with asmile. 'I am well enough to make it hard to believe how soon all senseand motion will be gone out of these fingers!' and he held up his hand, and studied the minutiae of its movements with a strange grave sort ofcuriosity. 

'Don't--don't, Leonard!' exclaimed the Doctor. 'You may be able tobear it, but I cannot. '

'I thought you would not mind, you have so often watched death. '

'Yes; but--' and he covered his face with his hands. 

'I wish it did not pain you all so much, ' said Leonard, quietly. 'Butfor that, I can feel it to be better than if I had gone in the fever, when I had no sense to think or repent; or if I had--I hardly knew myown faults. '

'You seem much happier now, my boy. '

'Yes, ' said Leonard. 'I am more used to the notion, and Mr. Wilmot hasbeen so kind. Then I am to see Ave to-morrow, if she is well enough. Henry has promised to bring her, and leave her alone with me; and I dohope--that I shall be able to convince her that it is not so very badfor me--and then she may be able to take comfort. You know she would, if she were nursing me now in my bed at Bankside; so why should she notwhen she sees that I don't think this any worse, but rather better?'

The Doctor was in no mood to think any comfort possible in thus losingone like Leonard, and he did not commit himself to an untruth. Therewas a silence again, and Leonard opened his book, and took out hisetchings, one which he had already promised the Doctor, another forAubrey, and at the third the Doctor exclaimed inarticulately withsurprise and admiration. 

It was a copy of the well-known Cross-bearing Form in the MagdalenCollege Chapel Altar-piece, drawn in pen and ink on a half-sheet ofthick note-paper; but somehow, into the entire Face and Figure therewas infused such an expression as now and then comes direct from thesoul of the draughtsman--an inspiration entirely independent of manualdexterity, and that copies, however exact, fail to render, nay, whichthe artist himself fails to renew. The beauty, the meekness, thehidden Majesty of the Countenance, were conveyed in a marvellousmanner, and were such as would bring a tear to the eye of the gazer, even had the drawing been there alone to speak for itself. 

'This is your doing, Leonard?'

'I have just finished it. It has been one of my greatest comforts--'

'Ah!'

'Doing those lines;' and he pointed to the thorny Crown, 'I seem to getashamed of thinking this hardness. Only think, Dr. May, from the veryfirst moment the policeman took me in charge, nobody has said a roughword to me. I have never felt otherwise than that they meant justiceto have its way as far as they knew, but they were all considerationfor me. To think of that, and then go over the scoffs andscourgings!'--there was a bright glistening tear in Leonard's eyenow--'it seems like child's play to go through such a trial as mine. '

'Yes! you have found the secret of willingness. '

'And, ' added the boy, hesitating between the words, but feeling that hemust speak them, as the best balm for the sorrow he was causing, 'evenmy little touch of the shame and scorn of this does make me know betterwhat it must have been, and yet--so thankful when I remember why itwas--that I think I could gladly bear a great deal more than this islikely to be. '

'Oh! my boy, I have no fears for you now. '

'Yes, yes--have fears, ' cried Leonard, hastily. 'Pray for me! Youdon't know what it is to wake up at night, and know something is comingnearer and nearer--and then this--before one can remember all thatblesses it--or the Night of that Agony--and that He knows what it is--'

'Do we not pray for you?' said Dr. May, fervently, 'in church and athome? and is not this an answer? Am I to take this drawing, Leonard, that speaks so much?'

'If--if you think Miss May--would let me send it to her? Thank you, itwill be very kind of her. And please tell her, if it had not been forthat time at Coombe, I don't know how I could ever have felt the groundunder my feet. If I have one wish that never can be--'

'What wish, my dear, dear boy? Don't be afraid to say. Is it to seeher?'

'It was, ' said Leonard, 'but I did not mean to say it. I know itcannot be. '

'But, Leonard, she has said that if you wished it, she would come as ifyou were lying on your bed at home, and with more reverence. '

Large tears of gratitude were swelling in Leonard's eyes, and hepressed the Doctor's hand, but still said, almost inarticulately, 'Ought she?'

'I will bring her, my boy. It will do her good to see how--how herpupil, as they have always called you in joke, Leonard, can be willingto bear the Cross after his Master. She has never let go for a momentthe trust that it was well with you. '

'Oh! Dr. May, it was the one thing--and when I had gone against all herwishes. It is so good of her! It is the one thing--' and there was nodoubt from his face that he was indeed happy. 

And Dr. May went home that day softened and almost cheered, well-nighas though he had had a promise of Leonard's life, and convinced that inthe region to which the spirits of Ethel and her pupil could mount, resignation would silence the wailings of grief and sorrow; the thingsinvisible were more than a remedy for the things visible. 

That Ethel should see Leonard before the last, he was quite resolved;and Ethel, finding that so it was, left the _when_ in his hands, knowing the concession to be so great, that it must be met by gratefulpatience on her own side, treasuring the drawing meanwhile withfeelings beyond speech. Dr. May did not wish the meeting to take placetill he was really sure that all hope was at an end; he knew it wouldbe a strong measure, and though he did not greatly care for the worldin general, he did not want to offend Flora unnecessarily; in mattersof propriety she was a little bit of a conscience to him, and though hewould brave her or any one else when a thing was right, especially ifit were to give one last moment of joy to Leonard, she was not to beset at naught till the utmost extremity. 

And for one day, the sight of Averil would be enough. She hadstruggled into something sufficiently like recovery to be able tomaintain her fitness for the exertion; and Henry had recognized thatthe unsatisfied pining was so preying on her as to hurt her more thanthe meeting and parting could do, since, little as he could understandhow it was, he perceived that Leonard could be depended on for supportand comfort. With him, indeed, Leonard had ever shown himself cheerfuland resolute, speaking of anything rather than of himself and nevergrieving him with the sight of those failings of flesh and heart thatwould break forth where there was more congenial sympathy, yet wherethey were not a reproach. 

So Averil, with many a promise to be 'good, ' and strongly impressedwith warnings that the chance of another meeting depended on theeffects of this one, was laid back in the carriage, leaving poor littleMinna to Mary's consolation. Minna was longing to go too, but Henryhad forbidden it, and not even an appeal to Dr. May had prevailed; soshe was taken home by Mary, and with a child's touching patience, washelped through the weary hours, giving wandering though gentleattention to Ella's eager display of the curiosities of the place, andexplanations of the curious games and puzzles taught by 'Mr. Tom. 'Ethel, watching the sweet wistful face, and hearing the subdued voice, felt a reverence towards the child, as though somewhat of the shadow ofher brother's cross had fallen on her. 

The elder brother and sister meanwhile arrived at the building now onlytoo familiar to one of them, and, under her thick veil, unconscious ofthe pitying looks of the officials, Averil was led, leaning on Henry'sarm, along the whitewashed passages, with their slate floors, and upthe iron stairs, the clear, hard, light coldness chilling her heartwith a sense of the stern, relentless, inevitable grasp in which thevictim was held. The narrow iron door flew open at the touch of theturnkey; a hand was on her arm, but all swam round with her, and sheonly knew it was the well-known voice; she did not follow the wordsbetween her brothers and the turnkey about the time she was to be leftthere, but she gave a start and shudder when the door sprung fast againbehind her, and at the same instant she felt herself upheld by an armround her waist. 

'Take off your bonnet, Ave; let me see you, ' he said, himself undoingthe strings, and removing it, then bending his face to hers for a long, almost insatiable kiss, as they stood strained in one intense embrace, all in perfect silence on the sister's part. 

'I have been making ready for you, ' he said at length, partly releasingher; 'you are to sit here;' and he deposited her, still perfectlypassive in his hands, upon his bed, her back against the wall. 'Put upyour feet! There!' And having settled her to his satisfaction, heknelt down on the floor, one arm round her waist, one hand in hers, looking earnestly up into her face, with his soul in his eyes, herother hand resting on his shoulder. 

'How are the little ones, Ave?'

'Very well. Minna so longed to come. '

'Better not, ' said Leonard; 'she is so little, and these white wallsmight distress her fancy. They will remember our singing on the lastSunday evening instead. Do you remember, Ave, how they begged to stayon and on till it grew so dark that we could not see a word or a note, and went on from memory?' and he very softly hummed the restfulcadence, dying away into

 'Till in the ocean of Thy love We lose ourselves in Heaven above. '

'How can you bear to think of those dear happy days!'

'Because you will be glad of them by and by, said Leonard; 'and I amvery glad of them now, though they might have been so much better, ifonly we had known. '

'They were the only happy days of all my life!'

'I hope not--I trust not, dearest. You may and ought to have muchbetter and happier days to come. '

She shook her head, with a look of inexpressible anguish, almost ofreproach. 

'Indeed I mean it, Ave, ' he said; 'I have thought it over many times, and I see that the discomfort and evil of our home was in the spirit ofpride and rebellion that I helped you to nurse. It was like a wedge, driving us farther and farther apart; and now that it is gone, and youwill close up again, when you are kind and yielding to Henry--what ahappy peaceful home you may make out in the prairie land!'

'As if we could ever--'

'Nay, Averil, could not you recover it if I were dying now of sickness?I know you would, though you might not think so at the time. Believeme, then, when I say that I am quite willing to have it as it is--to bemy own man to the last--to meet with such precious inestimable kindnessfrom so many. Of course I should like to live longer, and do somethingworth doing; but if I am to die young, there is so much blessing evenin this way, that nothing really grieves me but the thought of you andHenry; and if it makes you one together, even that is made up. '

Awe-struck, and as if dreaming, she did not answer, only smoothingcaressingly the long waves of bright brown hair on his forehead. Shewas surprised by his next question. 

'Ave! how has Mrs. Pugh behaved?'

'Oh! the woman! I have hardly thought of her! She has been veryactive about the petition, somebody said; but I don't believe Henry canbear to hear of her any more than I can. What made you think of her?'

'Because I wanted to know how it was with Henry, and I could not askhim. Poor fellow! Well, Ave, you see he will depend on you entirelyfor comfort, and you must promise me that shall be your great businessand care. '

'How you do think of Henry!' she said, half jealously. 

'Of course, Ave. You and I have no past to grieve over together, butpoor Henry will never feel free of having left me to my self-willedobstinacy, and let me go to that place. Besides, the disgrace in thesight of the world touches him more, and you can tread that down moreeasily than he. ' Then, in answer to a wondering look, 'Yes, you can, when you recollect that it is crime, not the appearance of it, that isshame. I do not mean that I do not deserve all this--but--but--' andhis eye glistened, 'Ave, dear, if I could only bring out the words totell you how much peace and joy there is in knowing that--with thatvast difference--it is like in some degree what was borne to save us, Ireally don't think you could go on grieving over me any more; at leastnot more than for the loss, ' he added, tenderly; 'and you'll not missme so much in a new country, you know, with Henry and the children totake care of. Only promise me to be kind to Henry. '

And having drawn forth a faint promise, that he knew would have moreforce by and by, Leonard went on, in his low quiet voice, intoreminiscences that sounded like random, of the happy days of childhoodand early youth, sometimes almost laughing over them, sometimes linkinghis memory as it were to tune or flower, sport or study, but always forjoy, and never for pain; and thus passed the time, with long intervalsof silent thought and recollection on his part, and of a sort of dreamystupor on his sister's, during which the strange peaceful hush seemedto have taken away her power of recalling the bitter complaints ofcruel injustice, and the broken-hearted lamentations she had imaginedherself pouring out in sympathy with her victim brother. Instead ofbeing wrung with anguish, her heart was lulled and quelled by wonderingreverence; and she seemed to herself scarcely awake, and only dimlyconscious of the pale-cheeked bright-eyed face upturned to her, so calmand undaunted, yet so full of awe and love, the low steady tendervoice, and the warm upholding arm. 

A great clock struck, and Leonard said, 'There! they were to come atfour, and then the chaplain is coming. He is grown so very kind now!Ave, if they would let you be with me at my last Communion! Will you?Could you bear it? I think then you would know all the peace of it!'

'Oh, yes! make them let me come. '

'Then it is not good-bye, ' he said, as he fetched her bonnet and cloak, and put them on with tender hands, as if she were a child, in readinessas steps approached, and her escort reappeared. 

'Here she is, Henry, ' he said, with a smile. 'She has been very good;she may come again. ' And then, holding her in his arms once more, heresigned her to Henry, saying, 'Not good-bye, Ave; we will keep mybirthday together. '

CHAPTER XVI

 The captives went To their own places, to their separate glooms, Uncheered by glance, or hand, or hope, to brood On those impossible glories of the past, When they might touch the grass, and see the sky, And do the works of men. But manly work Is sometimes in a prison. --S. M. Queen Isabel

'Commutation of punishment, to penal servitude for life. '

Such were the tidings that ran through Stoneborough on Sunday morning, making all feel as if a heavy oppression had been taken from the air. In gratitude to the merciful authorities, and thankfulness for theexemption from death, the first impressions were that Justice was atlast speaking, that innocence could not suffer, and that right wasreasserting itself. Even when the more sober and sad remembered thatleniency was not pardon, nor life liberty, they were hastily answeredthat life was everything--life was hope, life was time, and time wouldshow truth. 

Averil's first tears dropped freely, as she laid her head on Mary'sshoulder, and with her hand in Dr. May's, essayed to utter the words, 'It is your doing--you have twice saved him for me, ' and Minna stoodcalmly glad, but without surprise. 'I knew they could not hurt him;God would not let them. '

The joy and relief were so great as to absorb all thought orrealization of what this mercy was to the prisoner himself, until Dr. May was able to pay him a visit on Monday afternoon. It was at amoment when the first effects of the tidings of life had subsided, andthere had been time to look forth on the future with a spirit moresteadfast than buoyant. The strain of the previous weeks was reactingon the bodily frame, and indisposition unhinged the spirits; so that, when Dr. May entered, beaming with congratulations, he was met with thesame patient glance of endurance, endeavouring at resignation, that heknew so well, but without the victorious peace that had of late gainedthe ascendant expression. There was instead an almost painfulendeavour to manifest gratitude by cheerfulness, and the smile was farless natural than those of the last interview, as fervently returningthe pressure of the hand, he said, 'You were right, Dr. May, you havebrought me past the crisis. '

'A sure sign of ultimate recovery, my boy. Remember, dum spiro spero. '

Leonard attempted a responsive smile, but it was a hopeless business. From the moment when at the inquest he found himself entangled in themeshes of circumstance, his mind had braced itself to endure ratherthan hope, and his present depressed state, both mental and bodily, rendered even that endurance almost beyond his powers. He could onlysay, 'You have been very good to me. '

'My dear fellow, you are sadly knocked down; I wish--' and the Doctorlooked at him anxiously. 

'I wish you had been here yesterday, ' said Leonard; 'then you would nothave found me so. No, not thankless, indeed!'

'No, indeed; but--yes, I see it was folly--nay, harshness, to expectyou to be glad of what lies before you, my poor boy. '

'I am--am thankful, ' said Leonard, struggling to make the words truth. 'Wednesday is off my mind--yes, it is more than I deserve--I knew I wasnot fit to die, and those at home are spared. But I am as much cut offfrom them--perhaps more--than by death. And it is the same disgrace tothem, the same exile. I suppose Henry still goes--'

'Yes, he does. '

'Ah! then one thing, Dr. May--if you had a knife or scissors--I do notknow how soon they may cut my hair, and I want to secure a bit for poorAve. '

Dr. May was too handless to have implements of the first order, but aknife he had, and was rather dismayed at Leonard's reckless hacking athis bright shining wavy hair, pulling out more than he cut, withperfect indifference to the pain. The Doctor stroked the chestnut headas tenderly as if it had been Gertrude's sunny curls, but Leonardstarted aside, and dashing away the tears that were overflowing hiseyes under the influence of the gentle action, asked vigorously, 'Haveyou heard what they will do with me?'

'I do not know thoroughly. A year or six months maybe at one of thegreat model establishments, then probably you will be sent to some ofthe public works, ' said the Doctor, sadly. 'Yes, it is a small boon togive you life, and take away all that makes life happy. '

'If it were only transportation!'

'Yes. In a new world you could live it down, and begin afresh. Andeven here, Leonard, I look to finding you like Joseph in his prison. '

'The iron entering into his soul!' said Leonard, with a mournful smile. 

'No; in the trustworthiness that made him honoured and blessed eventhere. Leonard, Leonard, conduct _will_ tell. Even there, you canlive this down, and will!'

'Eighteen to-morrow, ' replied the boy. 'Fifty years of it, perhaps! Iknow God can help me through with it, but it is a long time to bepatient!'

By way of answer, the Doctor launched into brilliant auguries of theimpression the prisoner's conduct would produce, uttering assurances, highly extravagant in his Worship the Mayor, of the charms of themodern system of prison discipline, but they fell flat; there could beno disguising that penal servitude for life was penal servitude forlife, and might well be bitterer than death itself. Sympathy mightindeed be balm to the captive, but the good Doctor pierced his ownbreast to afford it, so that his heart sank even more than when he hadleft the young man under sentence of death. His least unavailingconsolations were his own promises of frequent visits, and Aubrey's ofcorrespondence, but they produced more of dejected gratitude than ofexhilaration. Yet it was not in the way of murmur or repining, butrather of 'suffering and being strong, ' and only to this one friend wasthe suffering permitted to be apparent. To all the officials he wassimply submissive and gravely resolute; impassive if he encounteredsharpness or sternness, but alert and grateful towards kindliness, ofwhich he met more and more as the difference between dealing with himand the ordinary prisoners made itself felt. 

To Dr. May alone was the depth of pain betrayed; but another comforterproved more efficient in cheering the prisoner, namely, Mr. Wilmot, who, learning from the Doctor the depression of their young friend, hastened to endeavour at imparting a new spring of life on thismelancholy birthday. Physically, the boy was better, and perhaps thenew day had worn off somewhat of the burthen of anticipation, for Mr. Wilmot found him already less downcast, and open to consolation. Itmight be, too, that the sense that the present was to have been hislast day upon earth, had made him more conscious of the relief from theimmediate shadow of death, for he expressed his thankfulness far morefreely and without the effort of the previous day. 

'And, depend on it, ' said Mr. Wilmot, 'you are spared because there issomething for you to do. '

'To bear, ' said Leonard. 

'No, to do. Perhaps not immediately; but try to look on whatever youhave to bear, not only as carrying the cross, as I think you alreadyfeel it--'

'Or there would be no standing it at all. '

'True, ' said Mr. Wilmot; 'and your so feeling it convinces me the morethat whatever may follow is likewise to be looked upon as discipline totrain you for something beyond. Who knows what work may be in store, for which this fiery trial may be meant to prepare you?'

The head was raised, and the eyes brightened with something like hopein their fixed interrogative glance. 

'Even as things are now, who knows what good may be done by thepresence of a man educated, religious, unstained by crime, yet in thesame case as those around him? I do not mean by quitting your naturalplace, but by merely living as you must live. You were willing to havefollowed your Master in His death. You now have to follow Him byliving as one under punishment; and be sure it is for some purpose forothers as well as yourself. '

'If there is any work to be done for Him, it is all right, ' saidLeonard, cheerily; and as Mr. Wilmot paused, he added, 'It would belike working for a friend--if I may dare say so--after the hours whenthis place has been made happy to me. I should not mind anything if Imight only feel it working for Him. '

'Feel it. Be certain of it. As you have realized the support of thatFriend in a way that is hardly granted, save in great troubles, so nowrealize that every task is for Him. Do not look on the labour ashardship inflicted by mistaken authority--'

'Oh, I only want to get to that! I have been so long with nothing todo!'

'And your hearty doing of it, be it what it may, as unto the Lord, canbe as acceptable as Dr. May's labours of love among the poor--asentirely a note in the great concord in Heaven and earth as the work ofthe ministry itself--as completely in unison. Nay, further, suchobedient and hearty work will form you for whatever may yet be awaitingyou, and what that may be will show itself in good time, when you areready for it. 

'The right chord was touched, the spirit of energy was roused, andLeonard was content to be a prisoner of hope, not the restless hope ofliberation, but the restful hope that he might yet render faithfulservice even in his present circumstances. 

Not much passed his lips in this interview, but its effect was apparentwhen Dr. May again saw him, and this time in company with Aubrey. Mosturgent had been the boy's entreaties to be taken to see his friend, andDr. May had only hesitated because Leonard's depression had madehimself so unhappy that he feared its effect on his susceptible son;whose health had already suffered from the long course of grief andsuspense. But it was plain that if Aubrey were to go at all, it mustbe at once, since the day was fixed for the prisoner's removal, and thestill nearer and dearer claims must not clash with those of the friend. Flora shook her head, and reminded her father that Leonard would not beout of reach in future, and that the meeting now might seriously damageAubrey's already uncertain health. 

'I cannot help it, Flora, ' said the Doctor; 'it may do him sometemporary harm, but I had rather see him knocked down for a day or two, than breed him up to be such a poor creature as to sacrifice hisfriendship to his health. '

And Mrs. Rivers, who knew what the neighbourhood thought of the goodDoctor's infatuation, felt that there was not much use in suggestinghow shocked the world would be at his encouragement of the intimacybetween the convict and his young son. 

People did look surprised when the Doctor asked admission to the cellfor his son as well as himself; and truly Aubrey, who in silence hadworked himself into an agony of nervous agitation, looked far from fitfor anything trying. Dr. May saw that he must not ask to leave theyoung friends alone together, but in his reverence for the rights oftheir friendship, he withdrew himself as far as the limits of the cellwould allow, turned his back, and endeavoured to read the Thirty-nineArticles in Leonard's Prayer-Book; but in spite of all his abstraction, he could not avoid a complete consciousness that the two lads sat onthe bed, clinging with arms round one another like young children, andthat it was Leonard's that was the upright sustaining figure, his ownAubrey's the prone and leaning one. And of the low whispering murmursthat reached his would-be deafened ear, the gasping almost sobbingtones were Aubrey's. The first distinct words that he could not helphearing were, 'No such thing! There can't be slavery where one workswith a will!' and again, in reply to something unheard, 'Yes, one can!Why, how did one do one's Greek?'--'Verydifferent!'--'How?'--'Oh!'--'Yes; but you are a clever chap, and hadher to teach you, but I only liked it because I'd got it to do. Justthe same with the desk-work down at the mill; so it may be the samenow. '

Then came fragments of what poor Aubrey had expressed more than once athome--that his interest in life, in study, in sport, was all gone withhis friend. 

'Come, Aubrey, that's stuff. You'd have had to go to Cambridge, youknow, without me, after I doggedly put myself at that place. There'sjust as much for you to do as ever there was. '

'How you keep on with your _do_!' cried Ethel's spoilt child, with atouch of petulance. 

'Why, what are we come here for--into this world, I mean--but to _do_!'returned Leonard; 'and I take it, if we do it right, it does not muchmatter what or where it is. '

'I shan't have any heart for it!' sighed Aubrey. 

'Nonsense! Not with all your people at home? and though the voice fellagain, the Doctor's ears distinguished the murmur, 'Why, just thelittle things she let drop are the greatest help to me here, and youalways have her--'

Then ensued much that was quite inaudible, and at last Leonard said, 'No, old fellow; as long as you don't get ashamed of me, thinking aboutyou, and knowing what you are about, will be one of the best pleasuresI shall have. And look here, Aubrey, if we only consider it right, youand I will be just as really working together, when you are at yourbooks, and I am making mats, as if we were both at Cambridge side byside! It is quite true, is it not, Dr. May?' he added, since theDoctor, finding it time to depart, had turned round to close theinterview. 

'Quite true, my boy, ' said the Doctor; 'and I hope Aubrey will try totake comfort and spirit from it. '

'As if I could!' said Aubrey, impatiently, 'when it only makes me moremad to see what a fellow they have shut up in here!'

'Not mad, I hope, ' said Dr. May; 'but I'll tell you what it should dofor both of us, Aubrey. It should make us very careful to be worthy toremain his friends. '

'O, Dr. May!' broke in Leonard, distressed. 

'Yes, ' returned Dr. May, 'I mean what I say, however you break in, Master Leonard. As long as this boy of mine is doing his best for theright motives, he will care for you as he does now--not quite in thesame despairing way, of course, for holes in one's daily life do closethemselves up with time--but if he slacks off in his respect oraffection for you, then I shall begin to have fears of him. Now comeaway, Aubrey, and remember for your comfort it is not the good-bye itmight have been, ' he added, as he watched the mute intensity of theboys' farewell clasp of the hands; but even then had some difficulty ingetting Aubrey away from the friend so much stronger as the consolerthan as the consoled, and unconsciously showing how in the lasttwenty-four hours his mind had acted on the topics presented to him byMr. Wilmot. 

Changed as he was from the impetuous boyish lad of a few weeks since, achange even more noticeable when with his contemporary than inintercourse with elder men, yet the nature was the same. Obstinacy hadsoftened into constancy, pride into resolution, generosity made pardonless difficult, and elevation of temper bore him through many ahumiliation that, through him, bitterly galled his brother. 

Whatever he might feel, prison regulations were accepted by him asmatters of course, not worth being treated as separate grievances. Henever showed any shrinking from the assumption of the convict dress, whilst Henry was fretting and wincing over the very notion of hiswearing it, and trying to arrange that the farewell interview shouldprecede its adoption. 

CHAPTER XVII

 Scorn of me recoils on you. E. B. BROWNING

After the first relief, the relaxation of his brother's sentence had byno means mitigated Henry Ward's sense of disgrace, but had ratherdeepened it by keeping poor Leonard a living, not a dead, sorrow. 

He was determined to leave England as soon as possible, that hissisters might never feel that they were the relative of a convict; andbringing Ella home, he promulgated a decree that Leonard was never tobe mentioned; hoping that his existence might be forgotten by thelittle ones. 

To hurry from old scenes, and sever former connections, was his solethought, as if he could thus break the tie of brotherhood. There was ahalf-formed link that had more easily snapped. His courtship had beenone of prudence and convenience, and in the overwhelming period ofhorror and suspense had been almost forgotten. The lady's attempts atsympathy had been rejected by Averil without obstruction from him, forhe had no such love as could have prevented her good offices frombecoming oppressive to his wounded spirit, and he had not sufficientenergy or inclination to rouse himself to a response. 

And when the grant of life enabled him to raise his head and lookaround him, he felt the failure of his plans an aggravation of hiscalamity, though he did not perceive that his impatience to rid himselfof an encumbrance, and clear the way for his marriage, had been thereal origin of the misfortune. Still he was glad that matters had goneno further, and that there was no involvement beyond what could behandsomely disposed of by a letter, resigning his pretensions, andrejoicing that innate delicacy and prudence had prevented what mighthave involved the lady's feelings more deeply in the misfortune of hisfamily: representing himself in all good faith as having retreated fromher proffered sympathy out of devoted consideration for her, andclosing with elaborate thanks for her exertions on behalf of 'hisunhappy brother. '

The letter had the honour of being infinitely lauded by Mrs. Ledwich, who dwelt on its nobleness and tenderness in many a tete-a-tete, anddeclared her surprise and thankfulness at the immunity of her dearMatilda's heart. In strict confidence, too, Dr. Spencer (among others)learnt that--though it was not to be breathed till the year was out, above all till the poor Wards were gone--the dear romantic girl hadmade her hand the guerdon for obtaining Leonard's life. 

'So there's your fate, Dick, ' concluded his friend. 

'You forget the influence of the press, ' returned Dr. May. 'Peopledon't propose such guerdons without knowing who is to earn them. '

'Yes, she has long believed in King John, ' said Ethel. 

Meantime Averil Ward was acquiescing in all Henry's projects with calmdesperate passiveness. She told Mary that she had resolved that shewould never again contend with Henry, but would let him do what hewould with herself and her sisters. Nor had his tenderness during herillness been in vain; it had inspired reliance and affection, such asto give her the instinct of adherence to him as the one stay left toher. With Leonard shut up, all places were the same to her, exceptthat she was in haste to escape from the scenes connected with her lostbrother; and she looked forward with dull despairing acquiescence tothe new life with which Henry hoped to shake off the past. 

A colony was not change enough for Henry's wishes; even there he madesure of being recognized as the convict's brother, and was resolved toseek his new home in the wide field of America, disguising his veryname, as Warden, and keeping up no communication with the prisonerexcept under cover to Dr. May. 

To this unfailing friend was committed the charge of the brother. Heundertook to watch over the boy, visit him from time to time, take careof his health, and obtain for him any alleviations permitted by theprison rules; and as Henry reiterated to Averil, it was absolutelycertain that everything possible from external kindness was thussecured. What more could they themselves have done, but show him theirfaces at the permitted intervals? which would be mere wear and tear offeeling, very bad for both parties. 

Averil drooped, and disputed not--guessing, though not yetunderstanding, the heart hunger she should feel even for such a drearyglimpse. 

Every hour seemed to be another turn of the wheel that hurried on thedeparture. The successor wished to take house and furniture as theystood, and to enter into possession as soon as possible, as he alreadyhad taken the practice. This coincided with Henry's burning impatienceto be quit of everything, and to try to drown the sense of his ownidentity in the crowds of London. He was his sisters' only guardian, their property was entirely in his hands, and no one had the power ofoffering any obstacle, so that no delay could be interposed; and thevague design passed with startling suddenness to a fixed decision, tobe carried into execution immediately. It came in one burst upon theMay household that Averil and her sisters were coming to spend a lastevening before their absolute packing to go on the Saturday to London, where they would provide their outfit, and start in a month for America. 

The tidings were brought by Mary, who had, as usual, been spending partof the morning with Averil. No one seemed to be so much taken bysurprise as Tom, whose first movement was to fall on his sisters fornot having made him aware of such a preposterous scheme. They thoughthe knew. He knew that all the five quarters of the world had beentalked of in a wild sort of a way; but how could he suppose that anyman could be crazed enough to prefer to be an American citizen, when hemight remain a British subject?

Repugnance to America was naturally strong in Tom, and had of late beenenhanced by conversations with an Eton friend, who, while quartered inCanada, had made excursions into the States, and acquired suchimpressions as high-bred young officers were apt to bring home from asuperficial view of them. Thus fortified, he demanded whether anyreasonable person had tried to bring Henry Ward to his senses. 

Ethel believed that papa had advised otherwise. 

'Advised! It should have been enforced! If he is fool enough to alterhis name, and throw up all his certificates what is to become of him?He will get no practice in any civilized place, and will have to betakehimself to some pestilential swamp, will slave his sisters to death, spend their money, and destroy them with ague. How can you sit stilland look on, Ethel?'

'But what could I do?'

'Stir up my father to interfere. '

'I thought you always warned us against interfering with Henry Ward. '

He treated this speech as maliciously designed to enrage him. 'Ethel!'he stammered, 'in a case like this--where the welfare--the verylife--of one--of your dearest friend--of Mary's, I mean--I did thinkyou would have been above--'

'But, Tom, I would do my utmost, and so would papa, if it were possibleto do anything; but it is quite in vain. Henry is resolved againstremaining under British rule, and America seems to be the only fieldfor him. '

'Much you know or care!' cried Tom. 'Well, if no one else will, Imust!'

With which words he departed, leaving his sister surprised at hissolicitude, and dubious of the efficacy of his remonstrance, though sheknew by experience that Tom was very different in a great matter fromwhat he was in a small one. 

Tom betook himself to Bankside, and the first person he encounteredthere was his little friend Ella, who ran up to him at once. 

'Oh, Mr. Tom, we are going to America! Shall you be sorry?'

'Very sorry, ' said Tom, as the little hand was confidingly thrust intohis. 

'I should not mind it, if you were coming too, Mr. Tom!'

'What, to play at French billiards?'

'No, indeed! To find objects for the microscope. I shall save all theobjects I meet, and send them home in a letter. '

'An alligator or two, or a branch of the Mississippi, ' said Tom, in ayoung man's absent way of half-answering a pet child; but the reply sostruck Ella's fancy, that, springing through the open French window, she cried, 'Oh, Ave, Ave, here is Mr. Tom saying I am to send him abranch of the Mississippi in a letter, as an object for his microscope!'

'I beg your pardon, ' said Tom, shocked at Averil's nervous start, andstill more shocked at her appearance. She looked like one shattered bylong and severe illness; her eyes were restless and distressed, herhair thrust back as if it oppressed her temples, her manner startledand over-wrought, her hand hot and unsteady--her whole air that of onetotally unequal to the task before her. He apologized for having takenher by surprise, and asked for her brother. She answered, that he wasbusy at Mr. Bramshaw's, and she did not know when he would come in. But still Tom lingered; he could not bear to leave her to exertionsbeyond her strength. 'You are tiring yourself, ' he said; 'can I donothing to help you?'

'No, no, thank you; I am only looking over things. Minna is helpingme, and I am making an inventory. '

'Then you must let me be of use to you. You must be as quiet aspossible. You need rest. '

'I can't rest; I'm better busy!' she said hastily, with quick, aimless, bustling movements. 

But Tom had his father's tone, as he gently arrested the trembling handthat was pulling open a drawer, and with his father's sweet, convincingsmile, said, 'What's that for?' then drew up a large arm-chair, placedher in it, and, taking pen and list, began to write--sometimes at hersuggestion, sometimes at his own--giving business-like and efficientaid. 

The work was so grave and regular, that Ella soon found the roomtedious, and crept out, calling Minna to aid in some of their ownpersonal matters. 

Slowly enumerating the articles they came to the piano. Averil went upto it, leant fondly against it, and softly touched the keys. 'My own, 'she said, 'bought for a surprise to me when I came home from school!And oh, how he loved it!'

'Every one had reason to love it, ' said Tom, in a low voice; but shedid not heed or hear. 

'I cannot--cannot part with it! When I sit here, I can almost feel himleaning over me! You must go--I will pay your expenses myself! Iwonder if we should have such rough roads as would hurt you, ' sheadded, caressingly toying with the notes, and bringing soft repliesfrom them, as if she were conversing with a living thing. 

'Ah!' said Tom, coming nearer, 'you will, I hope, take care to whatyour brother's impetuosity might expose either this, or yourself. '

'We shall all fare alike, ' she said, carelessly. 

'But how?' said Tom. 

'Henry will take care of that. '

'Do you know, Miss Ward, I came down here with the purpose of settingsome matters before your brother that might dissuade him from makingthe United States his home. You have justly more influence than I. Will you object to hear them from me?'

Ave could not imagine why Tom May, of all people in the world, shouldthrust himself into the discussion of her plans; but she could onlysubmit to listen, or more truly to lean back with wandering thoughtsand mechanical signs of assent, as he urged his numerous objections. Finally, she uttered a meek 'Thank you, ' in the trust that it was over. 

'And will you try to make your brother consider these things?'

Poor Ave could not have stood an examination on 'these things, ' andfeeling inadequate to undertake the subject, merely said something of'very kind, but she feared it would be of no use. '

'I assure you, if you would persuade him to talk it over with me, thatI could show him that he would involve you all in what would be mostdistasteful. '

'Thank you, but his mind is made up. No other course is open. '

'Could he not, at least, go and see what he thinks of it, before takingyou and your sisters?'

'Impossible!' said Averil. 'We must all keep together; we have no oneelse. '

'No, indeed, you must not say that, ' cried Tom, with a fire thatstartled Averil in the midst of her languid, dreary indifference. 

'I did not mean, ' she said, 'to be ungrateful for the kindness of yourfamily--the Doctor and dear Mary, above all; but you must know-'

'I know, ' he interrupted, 'that I cannot see you exiling yourself withyour brother, because you think you have no one else to turn to--you, who are so infinitely dear--'

'This is no time for satire, ' she said, drawing aside with offence, butstill wearily, and as if she had not given attention enough tounderstand him. 

'You mistake me, ' he exclaimed; 'I mean that no words can tell howstrong the feeling is that--that--No, I never knew its force till now;but, Averil, I cannot part with you--you who are all the world to me. '

Lifting her heavy eyelids for a moment, she looked bewildered, andthen, moving towards the door, said, 'I don't know whether this is jestor earnest--any way, it is equally unsuitable. '

'What do you see in me, ' cried Tom, throwing himself before her, 'thatyou should suppose me capable of jesting on such a subject, at such amoment?'

'I never saw anything but supercilious irony, ' she answered, in thesame dreamy, indifferent way, as if hardly aware what she was saying, and still moving on. 

'I cannot let you go thus. You must hear me, ' he cried, and he wheeledround an easy-chair, with a gesture of entreaty; which she obeyed, partly because she was hardly alive to understand his drift, partlybecause she could scarcely stand; and there she sat, in the same drowsyresignation with which she had listened to his former expostulation. 

Calm collected Tom was almost beside himself. 'Averil! Averil!' hecried, as he sat down opposite and bent as close to her as possible, 'if I could only make you listen or believe me! What shall I say? Itis only the honest truth that you are the dearest thing in the wholeworld to me! The very things that have given you most offence arosefrom my struggles with my own feelings. I tried to crush what wouldhave its way in spite of me, and now you see its force. ' He sawgreater life and comprehension in her eye as he spoke, but the look wasnot encouraging; and he continued: 'How can I make you understand! Oh!if I had but more time!--but--but it was only the misery of thosemoments that showed me why it was that I was always irresistibly drawnto you, and yet made instinctive efforts to break the spell; and nowyou will not understand. '

'I do understand, ' said Averil, at length entirely roused, but chieflyby resentment. 'I understand how much a country surgeon's daughter isbeneath an M. D. 's attention, and how needful it was to preserve thedistance by marks of contempt. As a convict's sister, the distance isso much widened, that it is well for both that we shall never meetagain. '

Therewith she had risen, and moved to the door. 'Nay, nay, ' he cried;'it is for that very reason that all my past absurdity is trampled on!I should glory in a connection with such as Leonard! Yes, Averil, ' ashe fancied he saw her touched, 'you have never known me yet; but trustyourself and him to me, and you will give him a true brother, proud ofhis nobleness. You shall see him constantly--you shall keep yoursisters with you. Only put yourself in my hands, and you shall knowwhat devotion is. '

He would have said more, but Averil recalled herself, and said: 'Thisis mere folly; you would be very sorry, were I to take you at yourword. It would be unworthy in me towards your father, towards Henry, towards you, for me to listen to you, even if I liked you, and that youhave taken good care to prevent me from doing. ' And she opened thedoor, and made her way into the hall. 

'But, Averil!--Miss Ward!' he continued, pursuing her, 'if, as I swearI will, I track out the real offender, bring him to justice, proclaimLeonard's innocence? Then--'

She was half-way up the stairs. He had no alternative but to take hishat and stride off in a tumult of dismay, first of all at therejection, and next at his own betrayal of himself. Had he guessedwhat it would come to, would he ever have trusted himself in thatdrawing-room? This was the meaning of it all, was it? He, thesensible man of the family, not only to be such an egregious ass, butto have made such a fool of himself! For he was as furious at havingcommitted himself to himself, as he was at his avowal to Averil--he, who had always been certain of loving so wisely and so well, choosingan example of the true feminine balance of excellence, well born, butnot too grand for the May pretensions; soundly religious, but notphilanthropically pious; of good sense and ability enough for hiscomfort, but not of overgrown genius for his discomfort; of good looksenough for satisfaction, but not for dangerous admiration; of useful, but not overwhelming wealth; of creditable and not troublesomekindred--that he should find himself plunged headlong into love bythose brown eyes and straight features, by the musical genius, talentsanything but domestic, ill-regulated enthusiasm, nay, dislike tohimself, in the very girl whose station and family he contemned at thebest, and at the very time when her brother was a convict, and hersisters dependent! Was he crazed? Was he transformed? What frenzyhad come over him to endear her the more for being the reverse of hisideal? And, through all, his very heart was bursting at the thought ofthe wounds he had given her in his struggles against the net offascination. He had never imagined the extent of the provocation hegave; and in truth, his habitual manner was such, that it was hard todistinguish between irony and genuine interest. And now it was toolate! What should he be henceforth to her? What would Stoneboroughand his future be to him? He would, he believed, have taught himselfto acquiesce, had he seen any chance of happiness before her; but thepicture he drew of her prospects justified his misery, at being onlyable to goad her on, instead of drawing her back. He was absolutelyamazed at himself. He had spoken only the literal truth, when he saidthat he had been unconscious of the true nature of the feelings thatalways drew him towards her, though only to assert his independence, and make experiments by teasing in his ironically courteous way. Notuntil the desolate indifference of her tone had incited him to show herthat Henry was not all that remained to her, had he arrived at theperception that, in the late weeks of anxiety, she had grown into hisheart, and that it was of no use to argue the point with himself, orthink what he would do, the fact was accomplished--his first love was adirect contradiction to his fixed opinions, he had offended herirrevocably and made a fool of himself, and she was going away todreariness!

At first he had rushed off into the melancholy meadows, among thesodden hay-cocks still standing among the green growth of grass; but ashower, increasing the damp forlornness of the ungenial day, made himturn homewards. When, late in the afternoon, Ethel came into theschoolroom for some Cocksmoor stores, she found him leaning over hisbooks on the table. This was his usual place for study; and she didnot at once perceive that the attitude was only assumed on herentrance, so kneeling in front of her cupboard, she asked, 'Whatsuccess?'

'I have not seen him. '

'Oh! I thought I saw you going--'

'Never mind! I mean, ' he added with some confusion, 'I wish for alittle peace. I have a horrid headache. '

'You!' exclaimed Ethel; and turning round, she saw him leaning back inhis chair, a defenceless animal without his spectacles, his eyes smalland purpled ringed, his hair tossed about, his spruceness gone. 'I amsure you are not well, ' she said. 

'Quite well. Nonsense, I only want quiet. '

'Let me give you some of Aubrey's camphor liniment. '

'Thank you, ' submitting to a burning application to his brow; but asshe lingered in anxiety, 'I really want nothing but quiet. '

How like Norman he looks! thought Ethel, as she cast her last glanceand departed. Can he be going to be ill? If he would only tell whenanything is the matter! I know papa says that some of us feel with ourbodies, and some with our minds; but then I never knew Tom muchaffected any way, and what is all this to him? And a sigh betrayed thesuppressed heartache that underlaid all her sensations. I am afraid itmust be illness; but any way, he will neither tell nor bear to have itnoticed, so I can only watch. 

Enter the two little Wards, with a message that Ave was sorry, but thatshe was too much tired to come that evening; and when Mary regrettednot having been able to come and help her, Ella answered that 'Mr. Tomhad come and helped her for a long time. '

'Yes, ' said Minna; 'but I think he must have done it all wrong, for, doyou know, I found the list he had made torn up into little bits. 

Ethel almost visibly started, almost audibly exclaimed. At tea-timeTom appeared, his trimness restored, but not his usual colouring; andElla hailed him with reproaches for having gone away without tellingher. The soft attention of which the child had a monopoly did notfail, though he bent down, trying to keep her to himself, and preventtheir colloquy from attracting notice; but they were so close behindEthel's chair, that she could not help hearing: 'We were only gone todig up the violets that you are to have, and if you had only stayed youwould have seen Henry, for he came in by the little gate, and when Iwent to tell you, you were gone. '

Ethel wondered whether the blushes she felt burning all over her faceand neck would be remarked by those before her, or would reveal to Tom, behind her, that the child was giving her the key to his mystery. Marvelling at the exemplary gentleness and patience of his replies tohis little coquettish tormentor, she next set herself to relieve him bya summons to Ella to tea and cherries. Fortunately the fruit suggestedDr. May's reminiscences of old raids on cherry orchards now a merename, and he thus engrossed all the younger audience not entirelypreoccupied. He set himself to make the little guests forget all theirsorrows, as if he could not help warming them for the last time in themagic of his own sunshine; but Ethel heard and saw little but onefigure in the quietest corner of the room, a figure at which shescarcely dared to look. 

'And there you are!' so went her thoughts. 'It is true then! Fairlycaught! Your lofty crest vailed at last--and at such a time! O, Tom, generous and true-hearted, in spite of all your nonsense! How couldshe help being touched? In the net and against his will! Oh, triumphof womanhood! I am so glad! No, I'm not, it is best this way, forwhat an awkward mess it would have been! She is dear Leonard's sister, to be sure, and there is stuff in her, but papa does not take to her, and I don't know whether she would fit in with Tom himself! But oh!the fun it would have been to see Flora's horror at finding her oneprudent brother no better than the rest of us! Dear old Tom! The Mayheart has been too strong for the old Professor nature! What aretribution for his high mightiness! Harry and Richard to be guardedfrom making fools of themselves! What a nice cloak for jealousy! Butit is no laughing matter! How miserable, how thoroughly upset, he is!Poor dear Tom! If I could only go and kiss you, and tell you that Inever loved you half so well; but you would rather die than let out oneword, I know! Why, any one of the others would have had it all outlong ago! And I don't know whether it is quite safe to screen the lampfrom those aching eyes that are bearing it like a martyr! There!Well, maybe he will just stand the knowing that I know, provided Idon't say a word; but I wish people would not be so "self-contained!"'

Self-contained Tom still continued in the morning, though lookingsallow and wan; but, in a political argument with his father, he wassnappish and overbearing, and in the course of the day gave anotherindication of being thrown off his balance, which was even harder forEthel to endure. 

Throughout the suspense on Leonard's account, Aubrey had been a sourceof anxiety to all, especially to Tom. The boy's sensitive frame hadbeen so much affected, that tender dealings with him were needful, andall compulsion had been avoided. His father had caused him to be put onthe sick-list of the volunteers; and as for his studies, though thebooks were daily brought out, it was only to prevent the vacuum ofidleness; and Tom had made it his business to nurse his brother'spowers, avoid all strain on the attention, and occupy without exciting, bearing with his fitful moods of despondence or of hope, whether theytook the form of talking or of dreaming. 

But now that all was over, every one knew that it was time to turn overa new leaf; and Tom, with his sore heart, did it with a vengeance, andon the first instance of carelessness, fell on the poor family pet, asa younger brother and legitimate souffre douleur, with vehemenceproportioned to his own annoyance. It was a fierce lecture upongeneral listlessness, want of manliness, spirit, and perseverance, indifference to duties he had assumed. Nonsense about feelings--afellow was not worth the snap of a finger who could not subdue hisfeelings--trash. 

The sisters heard the storm from the drawing-room, and Gertrude grewhotly indignant, and wanted Ethel to rush in to the rescue; but Ethel, though greatly moved, knew that female interposition only aggravatedsuch matters, and restrained herself and her sister till she heard Tomstride off. Then creeping in on tiptoe, she found the boy sittingstunned and confounded by the novelty of the thing. 

'What can it be all about, Ethel? I never had such a slanging in mylife?'

'I don't think Tom is quite well. He had a bad headache last night. '

Then I hope--I mean, I think--he must have made it worse! I know mineaches, as if I had been next door to the great bell;' and he leantagainst his sister. 

'I am afraid you really were inattentive. '

'No worse than since the heart has gone out of everything. But thatwas not all! Ethel, can it really be a disgrace, and desertion, andall that, if I don't go on with those volunteers, when it makes me sickto think of touching my rifle?' and his eyes filled with tears. 

'It would be a great effort, I know, ' said Ethel, smoothing his hair;'but after all, you volunteered not for pleasure, but because yourcountry wanted defence. '

'The country? I don't care for it, since it condemned him, when he wasserving it. '

'He would not say that, Aubrey! He would only be vexed to hear thatyou gave in, and were fickle to your undertaking. Indeed, if I werethe volunteer, I should think it due to him, not to shrink as if I wereashamed of what he was connected with. '

Aubrey tried to answer her sweet high-spirited smile, but he had beengreatly hurt and distressed, and the late reproach to his manhoodembittered his tears without making it easier to repress them; andpushing away his chair, he darted up-stairs. 

'Poor dear fellow! I've been very hard on him, and only blamed insteadof comforting, ' thought Ethel sadly, as she slowly entered the passage, 'what shall I think of, to make a break for both of those two?'

'So you have been cockering your infant, ' said Tom, meeting her. 'Youmean to keep him a baby all his life. '

'Tom, I want to talk to you, ' said she. 

In expectation of her displeasure, he met it half way, setting his backagainst the passage wall, and dogmatically declaring, 'You'll be theruin of him if you go on in this way! How is he ever to go through theworld if you are to be always wiping his tears with an embroideredpocket-handkerchief, and cossetting him up like a blessed littlesucking lamb?'

'Of course he must rough it, ' said Ethel, setting her back against theopposite wall; 'I only want him to be hardened; but after a shock likethis, one cannot go on as if one was a stock or stake. Even a machinewould have its wheels out of order--'

'Well, well, but it is time that should be over. '

'So it is;' and as the sudden thought flashed on her, 'Tom, I want youto reconsider your journey, that you gave up in the spring, and takehim--'

'I don't want to go anywhere, ' he wearily said. 

'Only it would be so good for him, ' said Ethel earnestly; 'he reallyought to see something taller than the Minster tower, and you are theonly right person to take him, you are so kind to him. '

'For instance?' he said, smiling. 

'Accidents will happen in the best regulated families; besides, he didwant shaking up. I dare say he will be the better for it. There's thedinner-bell. '

To her surprise, she found his arm round her waist, and a kiss on herbrow. 'I thought I should have caught it, ' he said; 'you are not halfa fool of a sister after all. '

Aubrey was not in the dining-room; and after having carved, Tom, insome compunction, was going to look for him, when he made hisappearance in his uniform. 

'Oho!' said the Doctor, surprised. 

'There's to be a grand parade with the Whitford division, ' he answered;and no more was said. 

Not till the eight o'clock twilight of the dripping August evening didthe family reassemble. Ethel had been preparing for a journey thatMary and Gertrude were to make to Maplewood; and she did not come downtill her father had returned, when following him into the drawing-room, she heard his exclamation, 'Winter again!'

For the fire was burning, Tom was sitting crumpled over it, with hisfeet on the fender, and his elbows on his knees, and Aubrey in hisfather's arm-chair, his feet over the side, so fast asleep that neitherentrance nor exclamation roused him; the room was pervaded with anodour of nutmeg and port wine, and a kettle, a decanter, and emptytumblers told tales. Now the Doctor was a hardy and abstemious man, ofa water-drinking generation; and his wife's influence had furthertended to make him--indulgent as he was--scornful of whatever savouredof effeminacy or dissipation, so his look and tone were sharp, anddisregardful of Aubrey's slumbers. 

'We got wet through, ' said Tom; 'he was done up, had a shivering fit, and I tried to prevent mischief. '

'Hm! said the Doctor, not mollified. 'Cold is always the excuse. Butanother time don't teach your brother to make this place like a fastman's rooms. '

Ethel was amazed at Tom's bearing this so well. With the slightestpossible wrinkle of the skin of his forehead, he took up the decanterand carried it off to the cellaret. 

'How that boy sleeps!' said his father, looking at him. 

'He has had such bad nights!' said Ethel. 'Don't be hard on Tom, he isvery good about such things, and would not have done it without need. He is so careful of Aubrey!'

'Too careful by half, ' said the Doctor, smiling placably as his sonreturned. 'You are all in a league to spoil that youngster. He wouldbe better if you would not try your hand on his ailments, but wouldknock him about. '

'I never do that without repenting it, ' said Tom; then, after a pause, 'It is not spirit that is wanting, but you would have been frightenedyourself at his state of exhaustion. '

'Of collapse, don't you mean?' said the Doctor, with a little lurkingsmile. 'However, it is vexatious enough; he had been gaining groundall the year, and now he is regularly beaten down again. '

'Suppose I was to take him for a run on the Continent?'

'What, tired of the hospital?'

'A run now and then is duty, not pleasure, ' replied Tom, quietly; whileEthel burnt to avert from him these consequences of his peculiarpreference for appearing selfish. 

'So much for railway days! That will be a new doctrine atStoneborough. Well, where do you want to go?'

'I don't want to go anywhere. '

Ethel would not have wondered to see him more sullen than he looked atthat moment. It was lamentable that those two never could understandeach other, and that either from Tom's childish faults, his resemblanceto his grandfather, or his habitual reserve, Dr. May was never freefrom a certain suspicion of ulterior motives on his part. She wasrelieved at the influx of the rest of the party, including Richard; andAubrey wakening, was hailed with congratulations on the soundness ofhis sleep, whilst she looked at Tom with a meaning smile as she saw herfather quietly feel the boy's hand and brow. The whole family werealways nursing the lad, and scolding one another for it. 

Tom had put himself beside Ethel, under the shade of her urn, and sheperceived that he was ill at ease, probably uncertain whether anyconfidences had been bestowed on her or Mary from the other side. Therewas no hope that the topic would be avoided, for Richard began withinquiries for Averil. 

'She is working herself to death, ' said Mary, sadly; 'but she says itsuits her. '

'And it does, ' said the Doctor; 'she is stronger every day. There isnothing really the matter with her. '

'Contrary blasts keep a ship upright, ' said Gertrude, 'and she has themin abundance. We found her in the midst of six people, all givingdiametrically opposite advice. '

'Dr. Spencer was really helping, and Mr. Wright was there about his ownaffairs, ' said Ethel, in a tone of repression. 

'And Mrs. Ledwich wanted her to settle on the Ohio to assist therunaway slaves, ' continued Gertrude. 

'It does not tease her as if she heard it, ' said Mary. 

'No, ' said the Doctor, 'she moves about like one in a dream, and has noinstinct but to obey her brother. '

'Well, I am glad to be going, ' said Daisy; 'it will be flat when allthe excitement is over, and we have not the fun of seeing Tom gettingrises out of Ave Ward. '

This time Tom could not repress a sudden jerk, and Ethel silenced hersister by a hint that such references were not nice when people were introuble. 

'By the bye, ' said Aubrey, 'speaking of going away, what were yousaying while I was asleep? or was it a dream that I was looking throughTom's microscope at a rifle bullet in the Tyrol?'

'An inspiration from Tom's brew, ' said the Doctor. 

'Weren't you saying anything?' said Aubrey, eagerly. 'I'm sure therewas something about duty and pleasure. Were you really talking of it?'

'Tom was, and if it is to put some substance into those long uselesslegs, I don't care if you do start off. '

Aubrey flashed into a fresh being. He had just been reading a bookabout the Tyrol, and Tom not caring at all where they were to go, thisgave the direction. Aubrey rushed to borrow a continental Bradshawfrom Dr. Spencer, and the plan rapidly took form; with eagersuggestions thrown in by every one, ending with the determination tostart on the next Monday morning. 

'That's settled, ' said Tom, wearily, when he and Ethel, as oftenhappened, had lingered behind the rest; 'only, Ethel, there's onething. You must keep your eye on the Vintry Mill, and fire off aletter to me if the fellow shows any disposition to bolt. '

'If I can possibly find out--'

'Keep your eyes open; and then Hazlitt has promised to let me know ifthat cheque of Bilson's is cashed. If I am away, telegraph, andmeantime set my father on the scent. It may not hang that dog himself, but it may save Leonard. '

'Oh, if it would come!'

'And meantime--silence, you know--'

'Very well;' then lingering, 'Tom, I am sure you did the right thing byAubrey, and so was papa afterwards. '

His brow darkened for a moment, but shaking it off he said, 'I'll do mybest for your cosset lamb, and bring him back in condition. '

'Thank you; I had rather trust him with you than any one. '

'And how is it that no one proposes a lark for you, old Ethel?' saidTom, holding her so as to study her face. 'You look awfully elderlyand ragged. '

'Oh, I'm going to be left alone with the Doctor, and that will be thegreatest holiday I ever had. '

'I suppose it is to you, ' said Tom, with a deep heavy sigh, perhapsglad to have some ostensible cause for sighing. 

'Dear Tom, when you are living here, and working with him--'

'Ah--h!' he said almost with disgust, 'don't talk of slavery to mebefore my time. How I hate it, and everything else! Good night!'

'Poor Tom!' thought Ethel. 'I wish papa knew him better and would notgoad him. Will Averil ever wake to see what she has done, and feel forhim? Though I don't know why I should wish two people to be unhappyinstead of one, and there is weight enough already. O, Leonard, Iwonder if your one bitter affliction will shield you from the othersthat may be as trying, and more tempting!'

CHAPTER XVIII

 All bright hopes and hues of day Have faded into twilight gray. --Christian Year

'No fear of Aubrey's failing, ' said Tom; 'he has a better foundationthan nine-tenths of the lads that go up, and he is working like a man. '

'He always did work heartily, ' said Ethel, 'and with pleasure in hiswork. '

'Ay, like a woman. '

'Like a scholar. '

'A scholar is a kind of woman. A man, when he's a boy, only worksbecause he can't help it, and afterwards for what he can get by it. '

'For what he can do with it would have a worthier sound. '

'Sound or sense, it is all the same. '

'Scaffolding granted, what is the building?'

Tom apparently thought it would be working like a woman to give himselfthe trouble of answering; and Ethel went on in her own mind, 'For thework's own sake--for what can be got by it--for what can be done withit--because it can't be helped--are--these all the springs of labourhere? Then how is work done in that solitary cell? Is it because itcan't be helped, or is it 'as the Lord's freeman'? And when he canhear of Aubrey's change, will he take it as out of his love, or grievefor having been the cause?'

For the change had been working in Aubrey ever since Leonard hadaltered his career. The boy was at a sentimental age, and had thesusceptibility inseparable from home breeding; his desire to become aclergyman had been closely connected with the bright visions of thehappy days at Coombe, and had begun to wane with the first thwarting ofLeonard's plans; and when the terrible catastrophe of the one friend'slife occurred, the other became alienated from all that they had hopedto share together. Nor could even Dr. May's household be so whollyexempt from the spirit of the age, that Aubrey was not aware of thestrivings and trials of faith at the University. He saw what HarveyAnderson was, and knew what was passing in the world; and while freefrom all doubts, shrank boyishly from the investigations that hefancied might excite them. Or perhaps these fears of possible scrupleswere merely his self-justification for gratifying his reluctance. 

At any rate, he came home from his two months' tour, brown, robust, with revived spirits, but bent on standing an examination for theacademy at Woolwich. He had written about it several times before hisreturn, and his letters were, as his father said, 'so appallinglysensible that perhaps he would change his mind. ' But it was notchanged when he came home; and Ethel, though sorely disappointed, wasconvinced by her own sense as well as by Richard's prudence, thatinterference was dangerous. No one in Israel was to go forth to thewars of the Lord save those who 'willingly offered themselves;' andthough grieved that her own young knight should be one of the manychampions unwilling to come forth in the Church's cause, she rememberedthe ordeal to Norman's faith, and felt that the exertion of herinfluence was too great a responsibility. 

'You don't like this, ' said Tom, after a pause. 'It is not my doing, you know. '

'No, I did not suppose it was, ' said Ethel. 'You would not withholdany one in these days of exceeding want of able clergymen. '

'I told him it would be a grief at home, ' added Tom, 'but when a ladgets into that desperate mood, he always may be a worse grief if youthwart him; and I give you credit, Ethel, you have not pulled the curb. '

'Richard told me not. '

'Richard represents the common sense of the family when I am not athome. '

Tom was going the next day to his course of study at the Londonhospitals, and this--the late afternoon--was the first time that he andhis sister had been alone together. He had been for some little timehaving these short jerks of conversation, beginning and breaking offrather absently. At last he said, 'Do those people ever write?'

'Prisoners, do you mean? Not for three months. '

'No--exiles. '

'Mary has heard twice. '

He held out Mary's little leathern writing-case to her. 

'O, Tom!'

'It is only Mary. '

Ethel accepted the plea, aware that there could be no treason betweenherself and Mary, and moreover that the letters had been read by allthe family. She turned the key, looked them out, and standing by thewindow to catch the light, began to read--

'You need not be afraid, kind Mary, ' wrote Averil, on the first days ofher voyage; 'I am quite well, as well as a thing can be whose heart isdried up. I am hardened past all feeling, and seem to be made ofIndia-rubber. Even my colour has returned--how I hate to see it, andto hear people say my roses will surprise the delicate Americans. Fancy, in a shop in London I met an old school-fellow, who wasdelighted to see me, talked like old times, and insisted on knowingwhere we were staying. I used to be very fond of her, but it was as ifI had been dead and was afraid she would find out I was a ghost, yet Italked quite indifferently, and never faltered in my excuses. When weembarked, it was no use to know it was the last of England, where _he_and you and home and life were left. How I envied the poor girl, whowas crying as if her heart would break!'

On those very words, broke the announcement of Mr. Cheviot. Tom coollyheld out his hand for the letters, so much as a matter of course, thatEthel complied with his gesture, and he composedly pocketed them, whileshe felt desperately guilty. Mary's own entrance would have excited nocompunction, Ethel would have said that Tom wanted to hear of thevoyage; but in the present case, she could only blush, conscious thatthe guest recognized her sister's property, and was wondering whatbusiness she had with it, and she was unwilling to explain, not only onTom's account, but because she knew that Mr. Cheviot greatlydisapproved of petitioning against the remission of capital sentences, and thought her father under a delusion. 

After Tom's departure the next day, she found the letters in herwork-basket, and restored them to Mary, laughing over Mr. Cheviot'sevident resentment at the detection of her doings. 

'I think it looked rather funny, ' said Mary. 

'I beg your pardon, ' said Ethel, much astonished; 'but I thought, asevery one else had seen them--'

'Tom always laughed at poor Ave. '

'He is very different now; but indeed, Mary, I am sorry, since you didnot like it. '

'Oh!' cried Mary, discomfited by Ethel's apology, 'indeed I did notmean that, I wish I had not said anything. You know you are welcome todo what you please with all I have. Only, ' she recurred, 'you can'twonder that Mr. Cheviot thought it funny. '

'If he had any call to think at all, ' said Ethel, who was one of thosewho thought that Charles Cheviot had put a liberal interpretation onDr. May's welcome to Stoneborough. He had arrived after the summerholidays as second master of the school, and at Christmas was tosucceed Dr. Hoxton, who had been absolutely frightened from his chairby the commissions of inquiry that had beset the Whichcote foundation;and in compensation was at present perched on the highest niche sacredto conservative martyrdom in Dr. May's loyal heart. 

Charles Cheviot was a very superior man, who had great influence withyoung boys, and was admirably fitted to bring about the much requiredreformation in the school. He came frequently to discuss hisintentions with Dr. May, and his conversation was well worth beinglistened to; but even the Doctor found three evenings in a week a largeallowance for good sense and good behaviour--the evenings treated asinviolable even by old friends like Dr. Spencer and Mr. Wilmot, thefast waning evenings of Aubrey's home life. 

The rest were reduced to silence, chess, books, and mischief, exceptwhen a treat of facetious small talk was got up for their benefit. Anyattempt of the ladies to join in the conversation was replied to with acondescending levity that reduced Ethel to her girlhood's awkward senseof forwardness and presumption; Mary was less disconcerted, because herremarks were never so aspiring, and Harry's wristbands sufficed her;but the never-daunted Daisy rebelled openly, related the day's eventsto her papa, fearless of any presence, and when she had grown tired ofthe guest's regular formula of expecting to meet Richard, she told himthat the adult school always kept Richard away in the winter evenings;'But if you want to see him, he is always to be found at Cocksmoor, andhe would be very glad of help. '

'Did he express any such wish?' said Mr. Cheviot, looking ratherpuzzled. 

'Oh dear, no; only I thought you had so much time on your hands. '

'Oh no--oh no!' exclaimed Mary, in great confusion, 'Gertrude did notmean--I am sure I don't know what she was thinking of. '

And at the first opportunity, Mary, for once in her life, administeredto Gertrude a richly-deserved reproof for sauciness and contempt ofimproving conversation; but the consequence was a fancy of the idleyounglings to make Mary accountable for the 'infesting of theirevenings, ' and as she was always ready to afford sport to thehousehold, they thus obtained a happy outlet for their drollery anddiscontent, and the imputation was the more comical from his apparentindifference and her serene composure; until one evening when, as thebell rung, and mutterings passed between Aubrey and Gertrude, of 'Dayset, ' and 'Cheviot's mountains lone, ' the head of the family, for thefirst time, showed cognizance of the joke, and wearily taking down hisslippered feet from their repose, said, 'Lone! yes, there's the rub! Ishall have to fix days of reception if Mary will insist on being soattractive. '

Mary, with an instinct that she was blamed, began to be very sorry, butbroke off amid peals of merriment, and blushes that were less easilyextinguished; and which caused Ethel to tell each of the young onesprivately, that their sport was becoming boy and frog work, and shewould have no more of it. The Daisy was inclined to be restive; butEthel told her that many people thought this kind of fun could never besafe or delicate. 'I have always said that it might be quite harmless, if people knew where to stop--now show me that I am right. '

And to Aubrey she put the question, whether he would like to encourageDaisy in being a nineteenth-century young lady without reticence?

However, as Mary heard no more of their mischievous wit, Ethel wasquite willing to let them impute to herself a delusion that theschoolmaster was smitten with Mary, and to laugh with them in privateover all the ridiculous things they chose to say. 

At last Flora insisted on Ethel's coming with her to make a distantcall, and, as soon as they were in the carriage, said, 'It was not onlyfor the sake of Mrs. Copeland, though it is highly necessary you shouldgo, but it is the only way of ever speaking to you, and I want to knowwhat all this is about Mary?'

'The children have not been talking their nonsense to you!'

'No one ever talks nonsense to me--intentionally, I mean--not even you, Ethel; I wish you did. But I hear it is all over the town. George hasbeen congratulated, and so have I, and one does not like contradictingonly to eat it up again. '

'You always did hear everything before it was true, Flora. '

'Then is it going to be true?'

'O, Flora, can it be possible?' said Ethel, with a startled, astonishedlook. 

'Possible! Highly obvious and proper, as it seems to me. The onlydoubt in my mind was whether it were not too obvious to happen. '

'He is always coming in, ' said Ethel, 'but I never thought it wasreally for that mischief! The children only laugh about it as the mostpreposterous thing they can think of, for he never speaks to a woman ifhe can help it. '

'That may not prevent him from wanting a good wife. '

'Wanting a wife--ay, as he would want a housekeeper, just because hehas got to the proper position for it; but is he to go and get ourbonny Mary in that way, just for an appendage to the mastership?'

'Well done, old Ethel! I'm glad to see you so like yourself. Iremember when we thought Mrs. Hoxton's position very sublime. '

'I never thought of positions!'

'Never! I know that very well; and I am not thinking of it now, exceptas an adjunct to a very worthy man, whom Mary will admire to the depthsof her honest heart, and who will make her very happy. '

'Yes, I suppose if she once begins to like him, that he will, ' saidEthel, slowly; 'but I can't bring myself to swallow it yet. She hasnever given in to his being a bore, but I thought that was heruniversal benevolence; and he says less to her than to any one. '

'Depend upon it, he thinks he is proceeding selon les regles. '

'Then he ought to be flogged! Has he any business to think of my Mary, without falling red-hot in love with her? Why, Hector was regularlycrazy that last half-year; and dear old Polly is worth ever so muchmore than Blanche. '

'I must say you have fulfilled my desire of hearing you talk nonsense, Ethel. Mary would never think of those transports. '

'She deserves them all the more. '

'Well, she is the party most concerned, though she will be a cruel lossto all of us. '

'She will not go far, if--'

'Yes, but she will be the worse loss. You simple Ethel, you don'tthink that Charles Cheviot will let her be the dear family fag we havealways made of her?'

'Oh no--that always was wrong. '

'And living close by, she will not come on a visit, all festal, toresume home habits. No, you must make up your mind, Ethel--_if, _ asyou say, _if_--he will be a man for monopolies, and he will resentanything that he thinks management from you. I suspect it is a realsign of the love that you deny, that he has ventured on the sister of aclever woman, living close by, and a good deal looked up to. '

'Flora, Flora, you should not make one wicked. If she is to be happy, why can't you let me rejoice freely, and only have her drawn off fromme bit by bit, in the right way of nature?'

'I did not tell you to make you dislike it--of course not. Only Ithought that a little tact, a little dexterity, might prevent CharlesCheviot from being so much afraid of you, as if he saw at once howreally the head of the family you are. '

'Nonsense, Flora, I am no such thing. If I am domineering, the soonerany one sees it and takes me down the better. If this does come, Iwill try to behave as I ought, and not to mind so Mary is happy; but Ican't act, except just as the moment leads me. I hope it will soon beover, now you have made me begin to believe in it. I am afraid it willspoil Harry's pleasure at home! Poor dear Harry, what will he do?'

'When does he come?'

'Any day now; he could not quite tell when he could get away. 

When they came back, and Dr. May ran out to say, 'Can you come in. Flora? we want you, ' the sisters doubted whether his excitement weredue to the crisis, or to the arrival. He hurried them into the study, and shut the door, exulting and perplexed. 'You girls leave one norest, ' he said. 'Here I have had this young Cheviot telling me thatthe object of his attentions has been apparent. I'm sure I did notknow if it were Mab or one of you. I thought he avoided all alike; andpoor Mary was so taken by surprise that she will do nothing but cry, and say, "No, never;" and when I tell her she shall do as she pleases, she cries the more; or if I ask her if I am to say Yes, she goes intoecstasies of crying! I wish one of you would go up, and see if you cando anything with her. '

'Is he about the house?' asked Flora, preparing to obey. 

'No--I was obliged to tell him that she must have time, and he is gonehome. I am glad he should have a little suspense--he seemed to make socertain of her. Did he think he was making love all the time he wasboring me with his gas in the dormitories? I hope she will serve himout!'

'He will not be the worse for not being a lady's man, ' said Flora, atthe door. 

But in ten minutes, Flora returned with the same report of nothing buttears; and she was obliged to leave the party to their perplexity, anddrive home; while Ethel went in her turn to use all manner of pleas toher sister to cheer up, know her own mind, and be sure that they onlywished to guess what would make her happiest. To console or to scoldwere equally unsuccessful, and after attempting all varieties oftreatment, bracing or tender, Ethel found that the only approach tocalm was produced by the promise that she should be teased no more thatevening, but be left quite alone to recover, and cool her burning eyesand aching head. So, lighting her fire, shaking up a much-neglectedeasy-chair, bathing her eves, desiring her not to come down to tea, andengaging both that Gertrude should not behold her, and that papa wouldnot be angry, provided that she tried to know what she really wished, and be wiser on the morrow, Ethel left her. The present concern wasabsolutely more to persuade her to give an answer of some sort, thanwhat that answer should be. Ethel would not wish; Dr. May had verylittle doubt; and Gertrude, from whom there was no concealing the stateof affairs, observed, 'If she cries so much the first time she has toknow her own mind, it shows she can't do without some one to do it forher. '

The evening passed in expeditions of Ethel's to look after her patient, and in desultory talk on all that was probable and improbable betweenDr. May and the younger ones, until just as Ethel was coming down atnine o'clock with the report that she had persuaded Mary to go to bed, she was startled by the street door being opened as far as the chainwould allow, and a voice calling, 'I say, is any one there to let mein?'

'Harry! O, Harry! I'm coming;' and she had scarcely had time to shutthe door previous to taking down the chain, before the three otherswere in the hall, the tumult of greetings breaking forth. 

'But where's Polly?' he asked, as soon as he was free to look roundthem all. 

'Going to bed with a bad headache, ' was the answer, with which Daisyhad sense enough not to interfere; and the sailor had been brought intothe drawing-room, examined on his journey, and offered supper, beforehe returned to the charge. 

'Nothing really the matter with Mary, I hope?'

'Oh! no--nothing. '

'Can't I go up and see her?'

'Not just at present, ' said Ethel. 'I will see how she is when she isin bed, but if she is going to sleep, we had better not disturb her. '

'Harry thinks she must sleep better for the sight of him, ' said theDoctor; 'but it is a melancholy business. --Harry, your nose is out ofjoint. '

'Who is it?' said Harry, gravely. 

'Ah! you have chosen a bad time to come home. We shall know no comforttill it is over. '

'Who?' cried Harry; 'no nonsense, Gertrude, I can't stand guessing. '

This was directed to Gertrude, who was only offending by pursed lipsand twinkling eyes, because he could not fall foul of his father. Dr. May took pity, and answered at once. 

'Cheviot!' cried Harry. 'Excellent! He always did know how to get thebest of everything. Polly turning into a Mrs. Hoxton. Ha! ha! Well, that is a relief to my mind. '

'You did look rather dismayed, certainly. What were you afraid of?'

'Why, when that poor young Leonard Ward's business was in the papers, amessmate of mine was asked if we were not all very much interested, because of some attachment between some of us. I thought he must meanme or Tom, for I was tremendously smitten with that sweet pretty girl, and I used to be awfully jealous of Tom, but when I heard of Mary goingto bed with a headache, and that style of thing, I began to doubt, andI couldn't stand her taking up with such a dirty little nigger as HenryWard was at school. '

'I think you might have known Mary better!' exclaimed Gertrude. 

'And it's not Tom either?' he asked. 

'Exactly the reverse, ' laughed his father. 

'Well, Tom is a sly fellow, and he had a knack of turning up wheneverone wanted to do a civil thing by that poor girl. Where is she now?'

'At New York. '

'They'd better take care how they send me to watch the Yankees, then. '

'Your passion does not alarm me greatly, ' laughed the Doctor. 'I don'tthink it ever equalled that for the reigning ship. I hope there's avacancy in that department for the present, and that we may have you athome a little. '

'Indeed, sir, I'm afraid not, ' said Harry. 'I saw Captain Gordon atPortsmouth this morning, and he tells me he is to go out in the Clio tothe Pacific station, and would apply for me as his first lieutenant, ifI liked to look up the islands again. So, if you have any commissionsfor Norman, I'm your man. 

'And how soon?'

'Uncertain--but Cheviot and Mary must settle their affairs in goodtime; I've missed all the weddings in the family hitherto, and won't bebalked of Polly's. I say, Ethel, you can't mean me not to go and wishher joy. '

'We are by no means come to joy yet, ' said Ethel; 'poor Mary is oversetby the suddenness of the thing. '

'Why, I thought it was all fixed. '

'Nothing less so, ' said the Doctor. 'One would think it was a naiadthat had had an offer from the mountains next, for she has beenshedding a perfect river of tears ever since; and all that the uniteddiscernment of the family has yet gathered is, that she cries rathermore when we tell her she is right to say No than when we tell her sheis right to say Yes. '

'I declare, Ethel, you must let me go up to her. '

'But, Harry, I promised she should hear no more about it to-night. Youmust say nothing unless she begins. '

And thinking a quiet night's rest, free from further excitement, thebest chance of a rational day, Ethel was glad that her mission resultedin the report, 'Far too nearly asleep to be disturbed;' but on the wayup to bed, soft as Harry's foot-falls always were, a voice came downthe stairs, 'That's Harry! Oh, come!' and with a face of triumphturned back to meet Ethel's glance of discomfited warning, he boundedup, to be met by Mary in her dressing-gown. 'O, Harry, why didn't youcome?' as she threw her arms round his neck. 

'They wouldn't let me. '

'I did think I heard you; but when no one came I thought it was onlyRichard, till I heard the dear old step, and then I knew. O, Harry!'and still she gasped, with her head on his shoulder. 

'They said you must be quiet. '

'O Harry! did you hear?'

'Yes, indeed, ' holding her closer, 'and heartily glad I am; I know himas well as if I had sailed with him, and I could not wish you in betterhands. '

'But--O, Harry dear--' and there was a struggle with a sob between eachword, 'indeed--I won't--mind if you had rather not. '

'Do you mean that you don't like him?'

'I should see him, you know, and perhaps he would not mind--he couldalways come and talk to papa in the evenings. '

'And is that what you want to put a poor man off with, Mary?'

'Only--only--if you don't want me to--'

'I not want you to--? Why, Mary, isn't it the very best thing I couldwant for you? What are you thinking about?'

'Don't you remember, when you came home after your wound, you said I--Imustn't--' and she fell into such a paroxysm of crying that he hadquite to hold her up in his arms, and though his voice was merry, therewas a moisture on his eyelashes. 'Oh, you Polly! You're a cautionagainst deluding the infant mind! Was that all? Was that what madeyou distract them all? Why not have said so?'

'Oh, never! They would have said you were foolish. '

'As I was for not knowing that you wouldn't understand that I onlymeant you were to wait till the right one turned up. Why, if I hadbeen at Auckland, would you have cried till I came home?'

'Oh, I'm sorry I was silly! But I'm glad you didn't mean it, dearHarry!' squeezing him convulsively. 

'There! And now you'll sleep sound, and meet them as fresh as a fairwind to-morrow. Eh?'

'Only please tell papa I'm sorry I worried him. '

'And how about somebody else, Mary, whom you've kept on tenter-hooksever so long? Are you sure he is not walking up and down under thelimes on the brink of despair?'

'Oh, do you think--? But he would not be so foolish!'

'There now, go to sleep. I'll settle it all for you, and I shan't letany one say you are a goose but myself. Only sleep, and get thosehorrid red spots away from under your eyes, or perhaps he'll repent hisbargain, said Harry, kissing each red spot. 'Promise you'll go to bedthe instant I'm gone. '

'Well, ' said Dr. May, looking out of his room, 'I augur that the spiritof the flood has something to say to the spirit of the fell. '

'I should think so! Genuine article--no mistake. '

'Then what was all this about?'

'All my fault. Some rhodomontade of mine about not letting her marryhad cast anchor in her dear little ridiculous heart, and it is well Iturned up before she had quite dissolved herself away. '

'Is that really all?'

'The sum total of the whole, as sure as--' said Harry, pausing for anasseveration, and ending with 'as sure as your name is Dick May;'whereat they both fell a-laughing, though they were hardly drops oflaughter that Harry brushed from the weather-marked pucker in the comerof his eyes; and Dr. May gave a sigh of relief, and said, 'Well, that'sright!'

'Where's the latch-key? I must run down and put Cheviot out of hismisery. '

'It is eleven o'clock, he'll be gone to bed. '

'Then I would forbid the banns. Where does he hang out? Has he gotinto old Hoxton's?'

'No, it is being revivified. He is at Davis's lodgings. But I adviseyou not, a little suspense will do him good. '

'One would think you had never been in love, ' said Harry, indignantly. 'At least, I can't sleep till I've shaken hands with the old fellow. Good night, father. I'll not be long. '

He kept his word, and the same voice greeted him out of thedressing-room: 'How was the spirit of the fell? Sleep'st thou, brother?'

'Brother, nay, ' answered Harry, 'he was only looking over Latin verses!He always was a cool hand. '

'The spirit of the Fell--Dr. Fell, with a vengeance, ' said Dr. May. 'Isay, Harry, is this going to be a mere business transaction on hispart? Young folks have not a bit of romance in these days, and onedoes not know where to have them; but if I thought--'

'You may be sure of him, sir, ' said Harry, speaking the more eagerlybecause he suspected the impression his own manner had made; 'he isthoroughly worthy, and feels Mary's merits pretty nearly as much as Ido. More, perhaps, I ought to say. There's more warmth in him thanshows. I don't know that Norman ever could have gone through thatterrible time after the accident, but for the care he took of him. Andthat little brother of his that sailed with me in the Eurydice, anddied at Singapore--I know how he looked to his brother Charles, and Ido assure you, father, you could not put the dear Mary into safer, sounder hands, or where she could be more prized or happier. He iscoming up to-morrow morning, and you'll see he is in earnest in spiteof all his set speeches. Good night, father; I am glad to be in timefor the last of my Polly. '

This was almost the only moment at which Harry betrayed a consciousnessthat his Polly was less completely his own. And yet it seemed as if itmust have been borne in on him again and again, for Mary awoke the nextmorning as thoroughly, foolishly, deeply in love as woman could be, andwent about comporting herself in the most comically commonplace style, forgetting and neglecting everything, not hearing nor seeing, makingabsurd mistakes, restless whenever Mr. Cheviot was not present, andthen perfectly content if he came to sit by her, as he always did; forhis courtship--now it had fairly begun--was equally exclusive anddetermined. Every day they walked or rode together, almost everyevening he came and sat by her, and on each holiday they engrossed thedrawing-room, Mary looking prettier than she had ever been seen before;Aubrey and Gertrude both bored and critical; Harry treating the wholeas a pantomime got up for his special delectation, and never betokeningany sense that Mary was neglecting him. It was the greatest help toEthel in keeping up the like spirit, under the same innocentunconscious neglect from the hitherto devoted Mary, who was onlyhelpful in an occasional revival of mechanical instinct in lucidintervals, and then could not be depended on. To laugh good-naturedlyand not bitterly, to think the love-making pretty and not foolish, torepress Gertrude's saucy scorn, instead of encouraging it, would havebeen far harder without the bright face of the brother who generouslysurrendered instead of repining. 

She never told herself that there was no proportion between the trials, not only because her spirits still suffered from the ever-present loadof pity at her heart, nor because the loss would be hourly to her, butalso because Charles Cheviot drew Harry towards him, but kept her at adistance, or more truly laughed her down. She was used to be laughedat; her ways had always been a matter of amusement to her brothers, andperhaps it was the natural assumption of brotherhood to reply to anysuggestion or remark of hers with something intended for drollery, andfollowed with a laugh, which, instead of as usual stirring her up togood-humoured repartee, suppressed her, and made her feel foolish andawkward. As to Flora's advice, to behave with tact, she could not ifshe would, she would not if she could; in principle she tried toacquiesce in a man's desire to show that he meant to have his wife tohimself, and in practice she accepted his extinguisher because shecould not help it. 

Mr. Cheviot was uneasy about the chances of Aubrey's success in theexamination at Woolwich, and offered assistance in the finalpreparation; but though Aubrey willingly accepted the proposal, two orthree violent headaches from over-study and anxiety made Dr. May insiston his old regimen of entire holiday and absence of work for the lastweek; to secure which repose, Aubrey was sent to London with Harry fora week's idleness and the society of Tom, who professed to be too busyto come home even for Christmas. Mr. Cheviot's opinion transpiredthrough Mary, that it was throwing away Aubrey's only chance. 

In due time came the tidings that Aubrey had the second largest numberof marks, and had been highly commended for the thoroughness of hisknowledge, so different from what had been only crammed for theoccasion. He had been asked who had been his tutor, and had answered, 'His brother, ' fully meaning to spare Ethel publicity; and she wasgenuinely thankful for having been shielded under Tom's six months ofteaching. She heartily wished the same shield would have availed athome, when Charles Cheviot gave that horrible laugh, and asked her ifshe meant to stand for a professor's chair. She faltered somethingabout Tom and mathematics. 'Ay, ay, ' said Charles; 'and these militaryexaminations are in nothing but foreign languages and trash;' and againhe laughed his laugh, and Mary followed his example. Ethel would fainhave seen the fun. 

'Eh, Cheviot, what two of a trade never agree?' asked Dr. May, in highglory and glee. 

'Not my trade, papa, ' said Ethel, restored by his face and voice, 'onlythe peculiarity of examiners, so long ago remarked by Norman, of onlysetting questions that one can answer. '

'Not your trade, but your amateur work!' said Mr. Cheviot, againexploding, and leaving Ethel to feel demolished. Why, she wonderedpresently, had she not held up her knitting, and merrily owned it forher trade--why, but because those laughs took away all merriment, allpresence of mind, all but the endeavour not to be as cross as she felt. Was this systematic, or was it only bad taste?

The wedding was fixed for Whitsuntide; the repairs and drainagenecessitating early and long holidays; and the arrangements gave fulloccupation. Mary was the first daughter who had needed a portion, since Mr. Cheviot was one of a large family, and had little of his own. Dr. May had inherited a fair private competence, chiefly in land in andabout the town, and his professional gains, under his wife's prudentmanagement, had been for the most part invested in the like property. The chief of his accumulation of ready money had been made over toestablish Richard at Cocksmoor; and though living in an inexpensivestyle, such as that none of the family knew what it was to find meanslacking for aught that was right or reasonable, there was no largeamount of capital available. The May custom had always been that thephysician should inherit the landed estate; and though this wasdisproportionately increased by the Doctor's own acquisitions, yet thehold it gave over the town was so important, that he was unwilling itshould be broken up at his death, and wished to provide for his otherchildren by charges on the rents, instead of by sale and division. Allthis he caused Richard to write to Tom, for though there was noabsolute need of the young man's concurrence in arranging Mary'ssettlements, it was a good opportunity for distinctly stating hisprospects, and a compliment to consult him. 

Feeling that Tom had thus been handsomely dealt with, his letter to hisfather was the greater shock, when, after saying that he doubtedwhether he could come home for the wedding, he expressed gratitude forthe opening held out to him, but begged that precedents applicable tovery different circumstances might not be regarded as binding. He wasdistressed at supplanting Richard, and would greatly prefer theproperty taking its natural course. It would be so many years, hetrusted, before there would be room for his services, even as anassistant, at Stoneborough, that he thought it would be far moreadvisable to seek some other field; and his own desire would be at onceto receive a younger son's share, if it were but a few hundreds, and befree to cut out his own line. 

'What is he driving at, Ethel?' asked the Doctor, much vexed. 'I offerhim what any lad should jump at; and he only says, "Give me the portionof goods that falleth to me. " What does that mean?'

'Not prodigality, ' said Ethel. 'Remember what Sir Matthew Fleet saidto Dr. Spencer--"Dick's ability and common sense besides. "'

'Exactly what makes me suspicious of his coming the disinterested overme. There's something behind! He is running into debt and destructionamong that precious crew about the hospitals. '

'Harry saw nothing wrong, and thought his friends in good style. '

'Every one is in good style with Harry, happy fellow! He is no more ajudge than a child of six years old--carries too much sunshine to seeshades. '

'A lieutenant in the navy can hardly be the capital officer that ourHarry is without some knowledge of men and discipline. '

'I grant you, on his own element; but on shore he goes about in hisholiday spectacles, and sees a bird of paradise in every cock-sparrow. '

'Isn't _there_ a glass house that can sometimes make a swan?' saidEthel, slyly touching her father's spectacles; 'but with you both, there's always a something to attract the embellishing process; andbetween Harry and Aubrey, Dr. Spencer and Sir Matthew, we could hardlyfail to have heard of anything amiss. '

'I don't like it. '

'Then it is hard, ' said Ethel, with spirit. 'So steady as he hasalways been, he ought to have the benefit of a little trust. '

'He was never like the others; I don't know what to be at with him! Ishould not have minded but for that palaver about elder brothers. '

Defend as Ethel might, it was still with a misgiving lestdisappointment should have taken a wrong course. It was hard to trustwhere correspondence was the merest business scrap, and neitherChristmas nor the sister's marriage availed to call Tom home; andthough she had few fears as to dissipation, she did dread hardening andambition, all the more since she had learnt that Sir Matthew Fleet wasaffording to him a patronage unprecedented from that quarter. 

No year of Etheldred May's life had been so trying as this last. Itseemed like her first step away from the aspirations of youth, into thegraver fears of womanhood. With all the self-restraint that she hadstriven to exercise at Coombe, it had been a time of glorious dreamsover the two young spirits who seemed to be growing up by her side tobe faithful workers, destined to carry out her highest visions; and theboyish devotion of the one, the fraternal reverence of the other, hadmade her very happy. And now? The first disappointment in Leonard hadled--not indeed to less esteem for him, but to that pitying venerationthat could only be yielded by a sharing in spirit of the likemartyrdom; a continued thankfulness and admiration, but a continualwringing of the heart. And her own child and pupil, Aubrey, had turnedaside from the highest path; and in the unavowed consciousness that hewas failing in the course he had so often traced out with her, and thatall her aid and ready participation in his present interests were butfrom her outward not her inward heart, he had never argued the pointwith her, never consulted her on his destination. He had talked onlyto his father of his alteration of purpose, and had at least paid herthe compliment of not trying to make her profess that she was gratifiedby the change. In minor matters, he depended on her as much as ever;but Harry was naturally his chief companion, and the prime of his fulland perfect confidence had departed, partly in the step from boy toman, but more from the sense that he was not fulfilling the soldiershiphe had dreamt of with her, and that he had once led her to think histalents otherwise dedicated. She had few fears for his steadiness, butshe had some for his health, and he was something taken away fromher--a brightness had faded from his image. 

And this marriage--with every effort at rejoicing and certainty ofMary's present bliss and probability of future happiness, it was theloss of a sister, and not the gain of a brother, and Mr. Cheviot didhis utmost to render the absence of repining a great effort ofunselfishness. And even with her father, her possession of Tom'shalf-revealed secret seemed an impairing of absolute confidence; shecould not but hope that her father did her brother injustice, and inher tenderness towards them both this was a new and painful sensation. Her manner was bright and quaint as ever, her sayings perhaps lessedged than usual, because the pain at her heart made her guard hertongue; but she had begun to feel middle-aged, and strangely lonely. Richard, though always a comfort, would not have entered into hertroubles; Harry, in his atmosphere of sailor on shore, had nothing ofthe confidant, and engrossed his father; Mary and Aubrey were both gonefrom her, and Gertrude was still a child. She had never so longed afterMargaret or Norman. But at least her corner in the Minster, her tableat home with her Bible and Prayer-Book, were still the same, andwitnessed many an outpouring of her anxiety, many a confession of thewords or gestures that she had felt to have been petulant, whetherothers had so viewed them or not. 

CHAPTER XIX

 Long among them was seen a maiden, who waited and wondered, Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things; Fair was she, and young, but alas! before her extended, Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life. --Evangeline. LONGFELLOW

'Sister, sister! who is it? Going to be married! Oh, do tell us!'cried Ella Warden--as she now was called--capering round her eldersister, who stood beneath a gas-burner, in a well-furnished bed-room, reading a letter, its enclosure clasped within a very trembling hand. 

'Mary May, dear Mary, ' answered Averil, still half absently. 

'And who?'

'Mr. Cheviot, ' said Averil, thoroughly rousing herself, and, with aquick movement, concealing the enclosure in her bosom. 'I rememberhim; he was very good, when--'

And there she paused; while Ella chattered on: 'Oh, sister, if you werebut at home, you would be a bridesmaid now, and perhaps we should. Little Miss Rivers was Mrs. Ernescliffe's bridesmaid. Don't youremember, Minna, how we saw her in her little cashmere cloak?'

'Oh, don't, Ella!' escaped from Minna, like a cry of pain, as she leantback in a rocking-chair, and recollected who had held her up in hisarms to watch Blanche May's wedding procession. 

'And how soon will she be married, sister, and where will she live?'asked the much-excited Ella. 

'She will be married in Whitsun week, and as he is headmaster, theywill live in Dr. Hoxton's house. Dear, good Mary, how glad I am thatshe is so full of happiness--her letter quite brims over with it! Iwonder if I may work anything to send her. '

'I should like to send her some very beautiful thing indeed, ' criedElla, with emphasis, and eyes dilating at some visionary magnificence. 

'Ah, I have nothing to send her but my love! And I may send _her_ thatstill, ' said Minna, looking up wistfully at Averil, who bent down andkissed her. 

'And Ave won't let me send mine to Mr. Tom, though I'm sure I do lovehim the best of them all, ' said Ella. 

'That wasn't--' half whispered Minna, but turned her head away, with asigh of oppression and look of resignation, sad in so young a child, though, indeed, the infantine form was fast shooting into tall, lankgirlhood. Ella went on: 'I shall send him the objects for hismicroscope, when I get into the country; for I promised, so sistercan't prevent me. '

'Oh, the country!--when shall we go there?' sighed Minna. 

'Your head aches to-night, my dear, ' said Averil, looking anxiously ather listless attitude, half-opened eyes, and the deep hollows above hercollar-bones. 

'It always does after the gas is lighted, ' said the child, patiently, 'it is always so hot here. '

'It is just like being always in the conservatory at the Grange, ' addedElla. 'I do hate this boarding-house. It is very unkind of Henry tokeep us here--fifteen weeks now. '

'Oh, Ella, ' remonstrated Minna, 'you mustn't say that!'

'But I shall say it, ' retorted Ella. 'Rosa Willis says what shepleases, and so shall I. I don't see the sense of being made a babyof, when every one else of our age eats all they like, and is consultedabout arrangements, and attends classes. And sister owns she does notknow half so much as Cora!'

This regular declaration of American independence confounded the twosisters, and made Averil recall the thoughts that had been wandering:'No, Ella, in some things I have not learnt so much as Cora; but Ibelieve I know enough to teach you, and it has been a comfort to me tokeep my two little sisters with me, and not send them to be mixed upamong strange girls. Besides, I have constantly hoped that our presentway of life would soon be over, and that we should have a home of ourown again. '

'And why can't we!' asked Ella, in a much more humble and subdued voice. 

'Because Henry cannot hear of anything to do. He thought he shouldsoon find an opening in this new country; but there seem to be so manymedical men everywhere that no one will employ or take into partnershipa man that nothing is known about; and he cannot produce any of histestimonials, because they are all made out in his old name, except oneletter that Dr. May gave him. It is worse for Henry than for us, Ella, and all we can do for him is not to vex him with our grievances. 

Poor Averil! her dejected, patient voice, sad soft eyes, and gentlepersuasive manner, were greatly changed from those of the handsome, accomplished girl, who had come home to be the family pride and pet;still more, perhaps, from the wilful mistress of the house and thewayward sufferer of last summer. 

'And shan't we go to live in the dear beautiful forest, as Cora Mullerwishes?'

There was a tap at the door, and the children's faces brightened, though a shade passed over Averil's face, as if everything at thatmoment were oppressive; but she recovered a smile of greeting for thepretty creature who flew up to her with a fervent embrace--a girl a fewyears her junior, with a fair, delicate face and figure, in a hot-houserose style of beauty. 

'Father's come!' she cried. 

'How glad you must be!'

'And now, ' whispered the children, 'we shall know about going toIndiana. '

'He says Mordaunt is as tall as he is, and that the house is quitefixed for me; but I told him I must have one more term, and then I willtake you with me. Ah! I am glad to see the children in white. If youwould only change that plain black silk, you would receive so much moreconsideration. '

'I don't want it, Cora, thank you, ' said Averil, indifferently; and, indeed, the simple mourning she still wore was a contrast to herfriend's delicate, expensive silk. 

'But I want it for you, ' pleaded Cora. 'I don't want to hear my Averilcensured for English hauteur, and offend my country's feelings, so thatshe keeps herself from seeing the best side. '

'I see a very good, very dear side of one, ' said Averil, pressing theeager hand that was held out to her, 'and that is enough for me. I wasnot a favourite in my own town, and I have not spirits to make friendshere. '

'Ah! you will have spirits in our woods, ' she said. 'You shall show mehow you go gipsying in England. '

'The dear, dear woods! Oh, we must go!' cried the little girls. 

'But it is going to be a town, ' said Minna, gravely. 

Cora laughed. 'Ah, there will be plenty of bush this many a day, Minna! No lack of butternuts and hickories, I promise you, nor ofmaples to paint the woods gloriously. '

'You have never been there?' said Averil, anxiously. 

'No; I have been boarding here these two years, since father andbrothers located there, but we had such a good time when we lived at mygrandfather's farm, in Ohio, while father was off on the railwaybusiness. '

A gong resounded through the house, and Averil, suppressing adisappointed sigh, allowed Cora to take possession of her arm, and, followed by the two children, became parts of a cataract of people whodescended the great staircase, and flowed into a saloon, where thedinner was prepared. 

Henry, with a tall, thin, wiry-looking gentleman, was entering at thesame time, and Averil found herself shaking hands with her brother'scompanion, and hearing him say, 'Good evening, Miss Warden; I'm glad tomeet my daughter's friend. I hope you feel at home in our greatcountry. '

It was so exactly the ordinary second-rate American style, that Averil, who had expected something more in accordance with the refinement ofeverything about Cora, except a few of her tones, was a littledisappointed, and responded with difficulty; then, while Mr. Mullergreeted her sisters, she hastily laid her hand on Henry's arm, andsaid, under her breath, 'I've a letter from him. '

'Hush!' Henry looked about with a startled eye and repressing gesture. Averil drew back, and, one hand on her bosom, pressing the letter, andalmost holding down a sob, she took her accustomed seat at the meal. Minna, too languid for the rapidity of the movements, hardly made theexertion of tasting food. Ella, alert and brisk, took care of herselfas effectually as did Rosa Willis, on the opposite side of the table. Averil, all one throb of agitation, with the unread letter lying at herheart, directed all her efforts to look, eat, and drink, as usual;happily, talking was the last thing that was needed. 

Averil had been greatly indebted to Miss Muller, who had taken pity onthe helpless strangers--interested, partly by her own romance aboutEngland, partly by their mourning dresses, dark melancholy eyes, andretiring, bewildered manner. A beautiful motherless girl, underseventeen--left, to all intents and purposes, alone in NewYork--attending a great educational establishment, far more independentand irresponsible than a young man at an English University, yetperfectly trustworthy--never subject to the bevues of the 'unprotectedfemale, ' but self-reliant, modest, and graceful, in the heterogeneoussociety of the boarding-house--she was a constant marvel to Averil, anda warm friendship soon sprang up. The advances were, indeed, all onone side; for Ave was too sad, and oppressed with too heavy a secret, to be readily accessible; but there was an attraction to the younger, fresher, freer nature, even in the mystery of her mournful reserve; andthe two drew nearer together from gratitude, and many congenialfeelings, that rendered Cora the one element of comfort in theboarding-house life; while Henry in vain sought for occupation. 

Cora had been left under the charge of the lady of the boarding-house, a distant connection, while her father, who had been engaged in morevarious professions than Averil could ever conceive of or remember, hadbeen founding a new city in Indiana, at once as farmer and land-agent, and he had stolen a little time, in the dead season, to hurry up to NewYork, partly on business, and partly to see his daughter, who hadcommunicated to him her earnest desire that her new friends might beinduced to settle near their future abode. 

American meals were too serious affairs for conversation; but such asthere was, was political, in all the fervid heat of the firstcommencements of disunion and threatenings of civil war. After theladies had repaired to their saloon, with its grand ottomans, sofas, rocking-chairs, and piano, the discussion continued among them; Coratalking with the utmost eagerness of the tariff and of slavery, and theother topics of the day, intensely interesting, and of terrible moment, to her country; but that country Averil had not yet learnt to feel herown, and to her all was one dreary whirl of words, in which she longedto escape to her room, and read her letter. Ella had joined RosaWillis, and the other children; but Minna, as usual, kept under hersister's wing, and Averil could not bear to shake herself free of thegentle child. The ladies of the boarding-house--some resident in orderto avoid the arduous duties of housekeeping, others temporarily broughtthither in an interregnum of servants, others spending a winter in thecity--had grown tired of asking questions that met with the scantiestresponse, took melancholy for disdain, and were all neglectful, someuncivil, to the grave, silent English girl, and she was sitting alone, with Minna's hand in hers, as she had sat for many a weary evening, when her brother and Mr. Muller came up together, and, sitting down oneither side of her, began to talk of the rising city ofMassissauga--admirably situated--excellent water privilege, communicating with Lake Michigan--glorious primeval forest--healthysituation--fertile land--where a colossal fortune might be realized inmaize, eighties, sections, speculations. It was all addressed to her, and it was a hard task to give attention, so as to return a rationalanswer, while her soul would fain have been clairvoyante, to read theletter in her breast. She did perceive, at last, though not till longafter the children had gone to bed, that the project was, that thefamily should become the purchasers of shares, which would give them aright to a portion of the soil, excellent at present for growing corn, and certain hereafter to be multiplied in value for building; thatHenry might, in the meantime, find an opening for practice, but mightspeedily be independent of it. It sounded promising, and it wasescape--escape from forced inaction, from an uncongenial life, frominjury to the children, and it would be with Cora, her one friend. What was the demur, and why were they consulting her, who, as Henryknew, was ready to follow him wherever he chose to carry her? At lastcame a gleam of understanding: 'Then, Doctor, you will talk it overwith your sister, and give me your ultimatum;' and therewith Mr. Mullerwalked away to mingle in other conversation, and Henry coming closer tohis sister, she again eagerly said, 'I have it here; you shall see itto-morrow, when I have read it. '

'It--'

'The letter. '

'How can you be so unguarded? You have not let the children know? Takecare then, I will not have the subject revived with them. '

'But Minna--'

'It is this heated stove atmosphere. She will soon forget if you don'tkeep it up, and she will be herself when we leave this place, and itdepends on you when we do that, Ave. '

'On me!' she said, with bewildered face. 

And Henry, marvelling at her slowness of comprehension, made herunderstand that the advance of money, for the purchase at Massissauga, must come from her means. His own had been heavily drained by theremoval, the long period of inaction, and moreover what remained hadbeen embarked in shares in a company, absolutely certain to succeed, but where they were not at once available for sale. Averil was now ofage, her property was in her own power, and could not, her brotherassured her, be better invested, than on ground certain to increase invalue. She looked at him, confused and distressed, aware that it wastoo important a step to be taken without consideration, yet unable tocompose her thoughts, or recollect objections. 

'Must I answer to-night?' she said. 

'No, there is no need for that. But we must close to-morrow withMuller, for it is not a chance that will long go begging. '

'Then let me go, please, Henry, ' she said, imploringly. 'I will tellyou to-morrow, but I can't now. I don't seem to understand anything. '

It was late, and he released her, with a kind good night, though stillwith a sign of caution. Cora, however, hastened to join her, and walkup the stairs with her, eagerly inquiring into the success of thenegotiation, and detailing what she had gathered from her father as tothe improvements he had been making. She would fain have made Averilcome into her bedroom to build castles there; but this was more thancould be borne, and breaking from her at last, Averil reached her ownroom, not to think of Mr. Muller's project, but to cast an anxiousglance at each of the little beds, to judge whether the moment had comewhen that famishing hunger might be appeased by the crumb which forthese mortal hours had lain upon her craving heart--the very firstsince the one on the arrival at Milbank. 

Each brown head was shrouded in the coverings, the long dark fringesrested safely on the cheeks, and Averil at length drew out thetreasure, and laid it on her hand to dwell on its very sight. Theaddress needed to be looked at with lingering earnestness, as if it hadindeed been a missive from another world; she looked, and was tardy tounfold it, as though, now the moment was come, the sense of being incommunication with her brother must be tasted to the utmost, ereentering on the utterances that must give pain; and when she did openthe envelope, perhaps the first sensation was disappointment--the lineswere not near enough together, the writing not small enough, to satisfyeven the first glance of the yearning eye. It was cheerful, it spokeof good health, and full occupation, with the use of books, dailyexercise, the chaplain's visits, schooling and attendance at chapel, and of the great pleasure of having heard from her. 'And that good Dr. May inclosed your letter in one written to me with his own hand, akindness I never dared to think of as possible, but which he promisesto repeat. Your letter and his are the continual food of my thoughts, and are valued beyond all power of words. I only hope you knew that Ihave not been allowed to write sooner, and have not expected letters. 'Then came a few brief comments on her last inquiries, and entreatiesthat she would give him full information of all details of theirpresent life: 'It will carry me along with you, and I shall live withyou, both as I read, and as I dwell on it afterwards. Do not indulgein a moment's uneasiness about me, for I am well, and busy; every oneis as kind to me as duty permits, and Dr. May is always ready to do allin his power for me. ' There were a few affectionate words for Henry, and 'I long to send a message to the children, but I know it is betterfor them to let me drop from their minds, only you must tell me allabout them; I want to know that the dear little Minna is bright andhappy again. '

No confidences, only generalities; not even any reference to the oneunbroken bond of union, the one support, except in the three scantyfinal words, the simplest of blessings. It was not satisfying; butAveril recalled, with a start, that no wonder the letter was meagre, since it was necessarily subject to inspection; and how could the innersoul be expressed when all must pass under strangers' eyes, who wouldthink such feelings plausible hypocrisy in a convicted felon. Again shetook it up, to suck to the utmost all that might be conveyed in theshort commonplace sentences, and to gaze at them as if intensity ofstudy could reveal whether the cheerfulness were real or only assumed. Be they what they might, the words had only three weeks back beenformed by Leonard's hand, and she pressed her lips upon them in afervent agony of affection. 

When she roused herself and turned her head, she perceived on Minna'spillow two eyes above the bed-clothes, intently fixed on her. Shouldshe see, or should she not see? She believed that the loving heart wassuffering a cruel wrong, she yearned to share all with the child, butshe was chained by the command of one brother, and by that acquiescenceof the other which to her was more than a command. She would not see, she turned away, and made her preparations for the night withoutbetraying that she knew that the little one was awake, resuming thetedious guard on the expression of her face. But when her longkneeling had ended, and with it that which was scarcely so muchconscious intercession as the resting an intolerable load on One whoalone knew its weight, just as she darkened the room for the night, thelow voice whispered, 'Ave, is it?'--

And Averil crept up to the little bed: 'Yes, Minna; he is well! Hehopes you are bright and happy, but he says it is best you shouldforget him. ' The brow was cold and clammy, the little frame chill andtrembling, the arms clasped her neck convulsively. She lifted thechild into her own bed, pressed tight to her own bosom, and though noother word passed between the sisters, that contact seemed to sootheaway the worst bitterness; and Averil slept from the stillness enforcedon her by the heed of not disturbing Minna's sleep. 

Little that night had she recked of the plan needing so muchdeliberation! When she awoke it was to the consciousness that besidesthe arrival of Leonard's letter, something had happened--there was someperplexity--what was it? And when it came back she was bewildered. Her own fortune had always appeared to her something to fall back on incase of want of success, and to expend it thus was binding the wholefamily down at a perilous moment, to judge by the rumours of battle andresistance. And all she had ever heard at home, much that she dailyheard at New York, inclined her to distrust and dislike of Americanspeculations. It was Cora's father! Her heart smote her for includinghim in English prejudice, when Henry liked and trusted him! And shehad disobeyed and struggled against Henry too long. She had promisedto be submissive and yielding. But was this the time? And theboarding-house life--proverbially the worst for children--was fastAmericanizing Ella, while Minna drooped like a snowdrop in a hot-house, and idleness might be mischievous to Henry. 

Oh, for some one to consult! for some one to tell her whether the riskwas a foolish venture, or if the terms were safe! But not a creaturedid she know well enough to seek advice from! Even the clergyman, whose church she attended, was personally unknown to her; Cora Mullerwas her sole intimate; there was a mutual repulsion between her and theother ladies, and still more with the gentlemen. A boarding-house wasnot the scene in which to find such as would inspire confidence, andthey had no introductions. There was no one to turn to; and in thedreary indifference that had grown over her, she did not even feelcapable of exerting her own judgment to the utmost, even if she hadbeen able to gather certain facts, or to know prudent caution fromblind prejudice--often woman's grievous difficulty. What could ahelpless girl of one-and-twenty, in a land of strangers, do, but try tothink that by laying aside the use of her own judgment she was trustingall to Providence, and that by leaving all to her brother she wasproving her repentance for her former conduct. 

There, too, were her sisters, clamorous with hopes of the forest life;and there was Cora, urging the scheme with all the fervour of girlishfriendship, and in herself no small element in its favour, engaging foreverything, adducing precedents for every kind of comfort and success, and making Ave's consent a test of her love. One question Averil askedof her--whether they should be utterly out of reach of their Church?Cora herself had been bred up to liberal religious ways, and was readyto attend whatever denomination of public worship came first to hand, though that which had descended from the Pilgrim Fathers came mostnaturally. She had been at various Sunday schools, and was a goodconscientious girl, but had never gone through the process ofconversion, so that Rosa Willis had horrified Ella by pronouncing her'not a Christian. ' She had no objection to show her English friendsthe way to the favourite Episcopal Church, especially as it wasesteemed fashionable; and her passion for Averil had retained herthere, with growing interest, drawn on by Averil's greater precision ofreligious knowledge, and the beauty of the Church system, displayed toher as the one joy and relief left to one evidently crushed withsuffering. The use of Averil's books, conversations with her, and theteaching she heard, disposed her more and more to profess herself amember of the Episcopal Church, and she was unable to enter intoAveril's scruples at leading her to so decided a step without herfather's sanction. 'Father would be satisfied whatever profession shemade. Did people in England try to force their children'sconsciences?' Cora, at Averil's desire, ascertained that Massissaugahad as yet no place of worship of its own; but there was a choice ofchapels within a circuit of five miles, and an Episcopal Church sevenmiles off, at the chief town of the county. Moreover, her fatherdeclared that the city of Massissauga would soon be considerable enoughto invite every variety of minister to please every denomination ofinhabitant. Averil felt that the seven miles off church was all shecould reasonably hope for, and her mind was clear on that score, whenHenry came to take her out walking for the sake of being able to talkmore freely. 

No longer afraid of being overheard, he gave kind attention toLeonard's letter; and though he turned away from the subject soonerthan she wished, she was not exacting. Again he laid before her theadvantages of their migration, and assured her that if there were theslightest risk he would be the last to make the proposal. She asked ifit were safe to invest money in a country apparently on the eve ofcivil war?

He laughed the idea to scorn. How could the rebel states make war, with a population of negroes sure to rise against their masters? Whereshould their forces come from? Faction would soon be put down, and theunion be stronger than ever. It was what Averil had been hearingmorning, noon, and night, so no wonder she believed it, and was ashamedof a futile girlish fear. 

And was Henry sure it was a healthy place? Had she not heard offeverish swamps in Indiana?

Oh yes, in new unsettled places; but there had hardly been an ailmentin the Muller family since they had settled at Massissauga. 

And Averil's last murmur was--Could he find out anything about otherpeople's opinion of the speculation? did they know enough about Mr. Muller to trust themselves entirely in his hands?

Henry was almost angry--Could not his sister trust him to take allreasonable precaution? It was the old story of prejudice againstwhatever he took up. 

Poor Averil was disarmed directly. The combats of will and theirconsequences rose up before her, and with them Leonard's charges todevote herself to Henry. She could but avow herself willing to dowhatever he pleased. She only hoped he would be careful. 

All thenceforth was pleasant anticipation and hope. Averil's propertyhad to be transferred to America, and invested in shares of the land atMassissauga; but this was to cause no delay in arranging for theremoval, they were only to wait until the winter had broken up, and theroads become passable after the melting of the snows; and meantime Mr. Muller was to have their house prepared. Cora would remain andaccompany them, and in the intervening time promised to assist Averilwith her judgment in making the necessary purchases for 'steppingwestward. '

When Averil wrote their plans to her English friends, she felt thedifficulty of pleading for them. She was sensible that at Stoneboroughthe risking of her property would be regarded as folly on her part, andsomething worse on that of her brother; and she therefore wrote withevery effort to make the whole appear her own voluntary act--though thevery effort made her doubly conscious that the sole cause for herpassive acquiescence was, that her past self-will in trifles had lefther no power to contend for her own opinion in greater matters--thecommon retribution on an opinionative woman of principle. 

Moreover, it was always with an effort that she wrote to Mary May. Arejected offer from a brother is a rock in a correspondence with asister, and Averil had begun to feel greatly ashamed of the manner ofher own response. Acceptance would have been impossible; butirritating as had been Tom May's behaviour, insulting as had been hisexplanation, and provoking, his pertinacity, she had begun to feel thatthe impulse had been too generous and disinterested to deserve suchtreatment, and that bitterness and ill-temper had made her lose allsoftness and dignity, so that he must think that his pitying affectionhad been bestowed on an ungrateful vixen, and be as much disgusted withthe interview as she was herself. She did not wish him to love her;but she regretted the form of the antidote, above all, since he was ofthe few who appreciated Leonard; and the more she heard of Ella'snarrations of his kindness, the more ashamed she grew. Every letter toor from Mary renewed the uncomfortable sense, and she would havedropped the correspondence had it not been her sole medium ofcommunication with her imprisoned brother, since Henry would not permitletters to be posted with the Milbank address. 

CHAPTER XX

 A little hint to solace woe, A hint, a whisper breathing low, 'I may not speak of what I know. '--TENNYSON

At the pace at which rapid people walk alone, when they wish to devourboth the way and their own sensations, Ethel May was mounting the hillout of the town in the premature heat assumed by May in compliment toWhitsun week, when a prolonged shout made her turn. At first shethought it was her father, but her glass showed her that it was thebrother so like him in figure that the London-made coat, and the hairpartaking of the sand instead of the salt, were often said to be thechief distinction. Moreover, the dainty steps over the puddles werelittle like the strides of the Doctor, and left no doubt that it wasthe one wedding guest who had been despaired of. 

'O, Tom, I am glad you are come!'

'What a rate you were running away at! I thought you had done withyour hurricane pace. '

'Hurricane because of desperate hurry. I'm afraid I can't turn backwith you. '

'Where is all the world?'

'Blanche is helping Mary arrange the Hoxton--I mean her owndrawing-room. Hector has brought a dog-cart to drive papa about in;Daisy is gone with Harry and Aubrey to the Grange for some camellias. '

'And Ethel rushing to Cocksmoor!'

'I can't help it, Tom, ' she said, humbly; 'I wish I could. '

'What's this immense pannier you are carrying?'

'It is quite light. It is twelve of the hats for the childrentomorrow. Mary was bent on trimming them all as usual, and I wasdeluded enough to believe she would, till last evening I found just oneand a half done! I did as many as I could at night, till papa heard merustling about and thumped. Those went early this morning; and theseare the rest, which I have just finished. '

'Was there no one to send?'

'My dear Tom, is your experience of weddings so slight as to supposethere is an available being in the family the day before?'

'I'm sure I don't desire such experience. Why could not they becontent without ferreting me down?'

'I am very glad you have come. It would have been a greatmortification if you had stayed away. I never quite believed youwould. '

'I had much rather see the operation I shall miss to-morrow morning. Ishall go back by the two o'clock train. '

'To study their happiness all the way up to town?'

'Then by the mail--'

'I won't torment you to stay; but I think papa will want a talk withyou. '

'The very thing I don't want. Why can't he dispose of his propertylike other people, and give Richard his rights?'

'You know Richard would only be encumbered. '

'No such thing; Richard is a reasonable being--he will marry some ofthese days--get the living after Wilmot, and--'

'But you know how papa would be grieved to separate the practice fromthe house. '

'Because he and his fathers were content to bury themselves in a hole, he expects me to do the same. Why, what should I do? The place isover-doctored already. Every third person is a pet patient sending forhim for a gnat-bite, gratis, taking the bread out of Wright's mouth. No wonder Henry Ward kicked! If I came here, I must practise on thelap-dogs! Here's my father, stronger than any of us, with fifteen goodyears' work in him at the least! He would be wretched at giving up tome a tenth part of his lambs, and that tenth would keep us always inhot water. His old-world practice would not go down with me, and hewould think everything murder that was fresher than the year 1830. '

'I thought he was remarkable for having gone on with the world, ' saidEthel, repressing some indignation. 

'So he has in a way, but always against the grain. He has a tough lotof prejudices; and you may depend upon it, they would be more obstinateagainst me than any one else, and I should be looked on as an undutifuldog for questioning them, besides getting the whole credit of everycase that went wrong. '

'I think you are unjust, ' said Ethel, flushing with displeasure. 

'I wish I were not, Ethel; but when there is one son in a family whocan do nothing that is not taken amiss, it is hard that he should bethe one picked out to be pinned down, and, maybe, goaded into doingsomething to be really sorry for. '

There was truth enough in this to seal Ethel's lips from replying thatit was Tom's own fault, since his whole nature and constitution werefar more the cause than his conduct, and she answered, 'You might getsome appointment for the present, till he really wants you. '

'To be ordered home just as I am making something of it, and see asmany cases in ten years as I could in a month in town. Things arealtered since his time, if he could only see it. What was the use ofgiving me a first-rate education, if he meant to stick me down here?'

'At least I hope you will think long before you inflict the crueldisappointment of knowing that not one of his five sons will succeed tothe old practice. '

'The throne, you mean, Ethel. Pish!'

The 'Pish' was as injurious to her hereditary love for 'the oldpractice, ' and for the old town, as to her reverence for her father. One angry 'Tom!' burst from her lips, and only the experience thatscolding made him worse, restrained her from desiring him to turn backif this was the best he had to say. Indeed she wondered to find himstill by her side, holding the gate of the plantation open for her. Hepeered under her hat as she went through--

'How hot you look!' he said, laying hold of the handles of the basket. 

'Thank you; but it is more cumbrous than heavy, ' she said, not lettinggo; 'it is not _that_--'

An elision which answered better than words, to show that his speech, rather than hill or load, had made her cheeks flame; but he only drewthe great basket more decisively from her hand, put his stick into thehandle, and threw it over his shoulder; and no doubt it was a muchgreater act of good-nature from him than it would have been fromRichard or Harry. 

'This path always reminds me of this very matter, ' he said; 'I talkedit over with Meta here, on the way to lay the foundation-stone atCocksmoor, till Norman overtook us and monopolized her for good, poorlittle thing. She was all in the high romantic strain, making a sortof knight hospitaller of my father. I wonder what she is like by thistime, and how much of _that_ she has left. '

'Of the high romantic strain? I should think it was as much as everthe salt of life to her. Her last letter described her contrivances tomake a knapsack for Norman on his visitation tour. Oh, fancy old Junea venerable archdeacon!'

'You don't think a colonial archdeacon is like one of your great portlyswells in a shovel hat. '

'It must be something remarkable that made Norman portly. But as forthe shovel hat, Mrs. Meta has insisted on having it sent out. I wasgoing to tell you that she says, "I do like such a good tough bit ofstitchery, to fit my knight out for the cause. "'

'Marriage and distance have not frozen up her effusions. '

'No; when people carry souls in their pens, they are worth a great dealmore, if they are to go to a distance. '

Ah! by the bye, I suppose Cheviot has put a fresh lock on Mary'swriting-case. '

'I suspect some of Mary's correspondence will devolve on me. Harry hasasked me already. '

'I wished you had mentioned more about the letters of late. Leonardwanted to know more than I could tell him. '

'You don't mean that you have seen him? O, Tom, how kind of you! Papahas been trying hard to get a day now that these first six months areup; but there are two or three cases that wanted so much watching thathe has not been able to stir. '

'I know how he lets himself be made a prisoner, and that it was achance whether any one saw the poor fellow at all. '

'I am so glad'--and Ethel turned on him a face still flushed, but nowwith gratitude. 'How was he looking?'

'The costume is not becoming, and he has lost colour and grownhollow-eyed; but I saw no reason for being uneasy about him; he lookedclear and in health, and has not got to slouch yet. It is shocking tosee such a grand face and head behind a grating. '

'Could he talk'?

'Why, the presence of a warder is against conversation, and six monthsof shoe-making in a cell does not give much range of ideas. There wasnothing to be done but to talk on right ahead and judge by his eyes ifhe liked it. '

'I suppose you could find out nothing about himself?'

'He said he got on very well; but one does not know that means. Iasked if he got books; and he said there was a very good library, andhe could get what gave him something to think of; and he says they giveinteresting lectures in school. '

'You could not gather what is thought of him?'

'No; I saw but a couple of officers of the place, and could only getout of them "good health and good conduct. " I do not expect even hisconduct makes much impression as to his innocence, for I saw it statedthe other day that the worst prisoners are those that are alwaysgetting convicted for petty offences; those that have committed onegreat crime are not so depraved, and are much more amenable. However, he has only three months more at Pentonville, and then he will go toPortland, Chatham, or Gibraltar. '

'Oh, I hope it will not be Gibraltar! But at least that terriblesolitude will be over. '

'At any rate, his spirit is not broken. I could see his eye light upafter I had talked a little while, and he fell into his natural toneagain. He would not try to put out his hand to me when he came down;but when I went away, he put it through and we had a good hearty shake. Somehow it made one feel quite small. '

Ethel could have pledged herself for the soundness of Tom's natureafter those words; but all she did was in an unwonted tone to utter theunwonted exclamation--'Dear Tom. '

'If my father does not come up, I shall see him once more before heleaves Pentonville, ' added Tom; 'and so you must mind and let me knowall about his people in America. I found he had no notion of the rowthat is beginning there, so I said not a word of it. But what is allthis about going to Indiana?'

'They are going at the end of April to settle in a place calledMassissauga, where Henry is to farm till practice comes to him. It istowards the north of the State, in the county of Pulaski. '

'Ay, in one of the pestilential swamps that run up out of LakeMichigan. All the fertile ground there breeds as many fevers and aguesas it does stalks of corn. '

'Indeed! how did you hear that?'

'I looked up the place after Leonard told me of it. It is as unlucky alocation as the ill luck of that fellow Henry could have pitched on. Some friend Leonard spoke of--a Yankee, I suppose, meaning to make aprey of them. '

'The father of their young lady friend at the boarding-house. '

'Oh! a Yankee edition of Mrs. Pugh!'

'And the worst of it is that this is to be done with poor Averil'sfortune. She has written to Mr. Bramshaw to sell out for her, and sendher the amount, and he is terribly vexed; but she is of age, and thereare no trustees nor any one to stop it. '

'All of a piece, ' muttered Tom; then presently he swung the basketround on the ground with a vehement exclamation--'If any man on thisearth deserved to be among the robbers and murderers, I know who itis. ' Then he shouldered his load again, and walked on in silence byhis sister's side to the school door. 

Richard had been obliged to go to a benefit club entertainment; andEthel, knowing the limited literary resources of the parsonage, wassurprised to find Tom still waiting for her, when the distribution andfitting of the blue-ribboned hats was over, and matters arranged forthe march of the children to see the wedding, and to dine afterwards atthe Grammar-school hall. 

'O, Tom, I did not expect to find you here. '

'It is not fit for you to be walking about alone on a Whit Monday. '

'I am very glad to have you, but I am past that. '

'Don't talk nonsense; girls are girls till long past your age, ' saidTom. 

'It is not so much age, as living past things, ' said Ethel. 

'It was not only that, added Tom; 'but I've more to say to you, whileone can be sure of a quiet moment. Have you heard anything about thatplace?' and he pointed in the direction of the Vintry Mill. 

'I heard something of an intention to part with it, and have beenwatching for an advertisement; but I can see none in the Courant, or onthe walls. '

'Mind he does not slip off unawares. '

'I don't know what to do now that old Hardy is cut off from us. Itried to stir up Dr. Spencer to go and investigate, but I could nottell him why, and he has not the same interest in going questing aboutas he used to have. People never will do the one thing one wantsparticularly!'

Tom's look and gesture made her ask if he knew of anything wrong withtheir old friend; and in return, she was told that Dr. Spencer's recentvisit to London had been to consult Sir Matthew Fleet. The foundationsof mortal disease had been laid in India, and though it might longremain in abeyance, there were from time to time symptoms of activity;and tedious lingering infirmity was likely to commence long before theend. 

'And what do you think the strange old fellow charged me as we walkedaway from dining at Fleet's?'

'Secrecy, of course, ' returned the much-shocked Ethel. 

'One does keep a secret by telling you. It was to have my eye on somelodging with a decent landlady, where, when it is coming to that, hecan go up to be alone, out of the way of troubling Dick, and of all ofyou. '

'Tom, how dreadful!'

'I fancy it is something of the animal instinct of creeping away alone, and partly his law to himself not to trouble Dick. '

'An odd idea of what would trouble Dick!'

'So I told him; but he said, after seeing what it cost my father towatch dear Margaret's long decay, he would never entail the like onhim. It is queer, and it is beautiful, the tender way he has about myfather, treating him like a pet to be shielded and guarded--a man thathas five times the force and vigour of body and mind that he has now, whatever they may have been. '

'Very beautiful, and I cannot help telling you how beautiful, ' saidEthel, greatly moved; 'only remember, it is not to be mentioned. '

'Ha! did he ever make you an offer? I have sometimes suspected it. '

'No indeed! It was much--much more beautiful than that!'

'Our mother then? I had thought of that too, and it accounts for hishaving always taken to you the most of us. '

'Why, I'm the least like her of us all!'

'So they say, I know, and I can't recollect enough to judge, exceptthat'--and Tom's voice was less clear for a moment--'there wassomething in being with her that I've never found again, except now andthen with you, Ethel. Well, he never got over it, I suppose. '

And Ethel briefly told of the rash resolution, the unsettled life, theneglect of the father's wishes, the grievous remorse, the brokenhealth, and restless aimless wanderings, ending at last in lovingtendance of the bereaved rival. It had been a life never wanting ingenerosity or benevolence, yet falling far short of what it might havebeen--a gallant voyage made by a wreck--and yet the injury had beenless from the disappointment than from the manner of bearing it. Suddenly it struck her that Tom might suspect her of intending apersonal application of the history, and she faltered; but he kept herto it by his warm interest and many questions. 

'And oh, Tom, he must not be allowed to go away in this manner! Nothingwould so cut papa to the heart!'

'I don't believe he ever will, Ethel. He may go on for years as he is;and he said in the midst that he meant to live to carry out thedrainage. Besides, if it comes gradually on him, he may feel dependentand lose the energy to move. '

'Oh! what a sorrow for papa! But I know that not to watch over himwould make it all the worse. '

They walked on gravely till, on the top of the hill, Tom exclaimed, 'They've mounted the flag on the Minster steeple already. '

'It went up yesterday for Harvey Anderson and Mrs. Pugh. There was aproposal to join forces, and have a double wedding--so interesting, thetwo school-fellows and two young friends. The Cheviot girls muchregretted it was not to be. '

'Cheviot girls! Heavens and earth! At home?'

'Not sleeping; but we shall have them all day to-morrow, for theycannot get home the same day by setting off after the wedding. Therewill be no one else, for even our own people are going, for Harry is togo to Maplewood with Blanche, and Aubrey has to be at Woolwich; but weshall all be at home to-night. '

'Last time was in the volunteer days, two or three centuries ago. '

It was strange how, with this naturally least congenial of all thefamily, Ethel had a certain understanding and fellow-feeling that gaveher a sense of rest and relief in his company, only impaired by thedread of rubs between him and his father. None, however, happened; Dr. May had been too much hurt to press the question of the inheritance, and took little notice of Tom, being much occupied with the finalbusiness about the wedding, and engrossed by Hector and Harry, whoalways absorbed him in their short intervals of his company. Tom wentto see Dr. Spencer, and brought him in, so cheerful and full of life, that what Ethel had been hearing seemed like a dream, excepting whenshe recognized Tom's unobtrusive gentleness and attention towards him. 

She was surprised and touched through all the harass and hurry of thatevening and morning, to find the 'must be dones' that had of latedevolved on her alone, now lightened and aided by Tom, who appeared tohave come for the sole purpose of being always ready to give a helpinghand where she wanted it, with all Richard's manual dexterity, and moreresource and quickness. The refreshment of spirits was the morevaluable as this was a very unexciting wedding. Even Gertrude, not yetfourteen, had been surfeited with weddings, and replied to Harry's oldwit of 'three times a bridesmaid and never a bride, ' that she hoped so, her experience of married life was extremely flat; and a glance atBlanche's monotonous dignity, and Flora's worn face, showed what thatexperience was. 

Harry was the only one to whom there was the freshness of novelty, andhe was the great element of animation; but as the time came near, honest Harry had been seized with a mortal dread of the tears heimagined an indispensable adjunct of the ceremony, and went aboutprivately consulting every one how much weeping was inevitable. Floratold him she saw no reason for any tears, and Ethel that when peoplefelt very much they couldn't cry; but on the other hand, Blanche saidshe felt extremely nervous, and knew she should be overcome; Gertrudeassured him that on all former occasions Mary did all the cryingherself; and Aubrey told him that each bridesmaid carried sixhandkerchiefs, half for herself and half for the bride. 

The result was, that the last speech made by Harry to his favouritesister in her maiden days was thus:--'Well, Mary, you do lookuncommonly nice and pretty; but now'--most persuasively--'you'll be agood girl and not cry, will you?' and as Mary fluttered, tried tosmile, and looked out through very moist eyes, he continued, 'I feelhorribly soft-hearted to-day, and if you howl I must, you know; somind, if I see you beginning, I shall come out with my father's oldstory of the spirit of the flood and the spirit of the fell, and thatwill stop it, if anything can. '

The comicality of Harry's alarm was nearly enough to 'stop it, ' coupledwith the great desire of Daisy that he should be betrayed into tears;and Mary did behave extremely well, and looked all that a bride shouldlook. Admirable daughter and sister, she would be still more in herplace as wife; hers was the truly feminine nature that, happily formankind, is the most commonplace, and that she was a thoroughly genericbride is perhaps a testimony to her perfection in the part, as in allothers where quiet unselfish womanhood was the essential. Never hadshe been so sweet in every tone, word, and caress; never had Ethel sofully felt how much she loved her, or how entirely they had been one, from a time almost too far back for memory. There had not beenintellectual equality; but perhaps it was better, fuller affection, than if there had been; for Mary had filled up a part that had been insome measure wanting in Ethel. She had been a sort of wife to hersister, and thus was the better prepared for her new life, but was allthe sorer loss at home. 

The bridegroom! How many times had Ethel to remind herself of heresteem, and security of Mary's happiness, besides frowning downGertrude's saucy comments, and trying to laugh away Tom's low growlthat good things always fell to the share of poor hearts and narrowminds. Mr. Cheviot did in fact cut a worse figure than George Riversof old, having a great fund of natural bashfulness andself-consciousness, which did not much damage his dignity, but made hisattempts at gaiety and ease extremely awkward, not to say sheepish. Perhaps the most trying moment was the last, when hearing a few wordsbetween Ethel and Mary about posting a mere scrap, if only an emptyenvelope, from the first resting-place, he turned round, with hislaugh, to object to rash promises, and remind his dear sister Ethelthat post-offices were not always near at hand! After that, when Maryin her bright tenderness hung round her sister, it was as if that wasthe last fond grasp from the substance--as if only the shadow wouldcome back and live in Minster Street. 

Perhaps it was because Ethel had tried to rule it otherwise, Mr. Cheviot had insisted that the Cocksmoor children's share in thefestivity should be a dinner in the Whichcote hall, early in the day, after which they had to be sent home, since no one chose to have theresponsibility of turning them loose to play in the Grammar-schoolprecincts, even in the absence of the boys. Richard was much afraid oftheir getting into mischief, and was off immediately after church tosuperintend the dinner, and marshal them home; and the rest of theworld lost the resource that entertaining them generally afforded thesurvivors after a marriage, and which was specially needed with the twoCheviot sisters to be disposed of. By the time the Riverses were gonehome, and the Ernescliffes and Harry off by the train, there were stillfour mortal hours of daylight, and oh! for Mary's power of making everyone happy!

Caroline and Annie Cheviot were ladylike, nice-looking girls; but whenthey found no croquet mallets in the garden, they seemed at a loss whatlife had to offer at Stoneborough! Gertrude pronounced that 'sheplayed at it sometimes at Maplewood, where she had nothing better todo, ' and then retreated to her own devices. Ethel's heart sank bothwith dread of the afternoon, and with self-reproach at her spoiltchild's discourtesy, whence she knew there would be no rousing herwithout an incapacitating discussion; and on she wandered in the gardenwith the guests, receiving instruction where the hoops might beplanted, and hearing how nice it would be for her sister to have suchan object, such a pleasant opportunity of meeting one's friends--aninterest for every day. 'No wonder they think I want an object inlife, ' thought Ethel; 'how awfully tiresome I must be! Poor things, what can I say to make it pleasanter?--Do you know this Dielytra? Ithink it is the prettiest of modern flowers, but I wish we might callit Japan fumitory, or by some English name. '

'I used to garden once, but we have no flower-beds now, they spoilt thelawn for croquet. '

'And here comes Tom, ' thought Ethel; 'poor Tom, he will certainly beoff to London this evening. '

Tom, however, joined the listless promenade; and the first time croquetwas again mentioned, observed that he had seen the Andersons knockingabout the balls in the new gardens by the river; and proposed to godown and try to get up a match. There was an instant brightening, andTom stepped into the drawing-room, and told Daisy to come with them. 

'To play at croquet with the Andersons in the tea-gardens!' sheexclaimed. 'No, I thank you, Thomas!'

He laid his hand on her shoulder--'Gertrude, ' he said, 'it is time tohave done being a spoilt baby. If you let Ethel fag herself ill, youwill rue it all your life. '

Frightened, but without clear comprehension, she turned two scared eyeson him, and replaced the hat that she had thrown on the table, just asEthel and the others came in. 

'Not you, Ethel, ' said Tom; 'you don't know the game. '

'I can learn, ' said Ethel, desperately bent on her duty. 

'We would teach you, ' volunteered the Cheviots. 

'You would not undertake it if you knew better, ' said Tom, smiling. 'Ethel's hands are not her strong point. '

'Ethel would just have to be croqued all through by her partner, ' saidGertrude. 

'Besides, my father will be coming in and wanting you, ' added Tom; 'heis only at the hospital or somewhere about the town. I'll look afterthis child. '

And the two sisters, delighted that poor little Gertrude should havesuch a holiday treat as croquet in the public gardens, away from hergoverness elder sister, walked off glorious; while Ethel, breathingforth a heavy sigh, let herself sink into a chair, feeling as if thesilence were in itself invaluable, and as if Tom could not be enoughthanked for having gained it for her. 

She was first roused by the inquiry, 'Shall I take in this letter, ma'am? it is charged four shillings over-weight. And it is for Mr. Thomas, ma'am, ' impressively concluded the parlour-maid, as onepenetrated by Mr. Thomas's regard to small economies. 

Ethel beheld a letter bloated beyond the capacities of the two bewiggedWashingtons that kept guard in its corner, and addressed in a crampedhand unknown to her; but while she hesitated, her eye fell on anotherAmerican letter directed to Miss Mary May, in Averil Ward's well-knownwriting, and turning both round, she found they had the same post-mark, and thereupon paid the extra charge, and placed the letter where Tomwas most likely to light naturally on it without public comment. Theother letter renewed the pang at common property being at an end. 'No, Mab, ' she said, taking the little dog into her lap, 'we shall none ofus hear a bit of it! But at least it is a comfort that this businessis over! You needn't creep under sofas now, there's nobody to treadupon your dainty little paws. What is to be done, Mab, to get out of asavage humour--except thinking how good-natured poor Tom is!'

There was not much sign of savage humour in the face that was lifted upas Dr. May came in from the hospital, and sitting down by his daughter, put his arm round her. 'So there's another bird flown, ' he said. 'Weshall soon have the old nest to ourselves, Ethel. '

'The Daisy is not going just yet, ' said Ethel, stroking back the thinflying flakes over his temples. 'If we may believe her, never!'

'Ah! she will be off before we can look round, ' said the Doctor; 'whenonce the trick of marrying gets among one's girls, there's no end toit, as long as they last out. '

'Nor to one's boys going out into the world, ' said Ethel: both of themtalking as if she had been his wife, rather than one of these fly-awayyounglings herself. 

'Ah! well, ' he said, 'it's very pretty while it lasts, and one keepsthe creatures; but after all, one doesn't rear them for one's ownpleasure. That only comes by the way of their chance good-will to one. '

'For shame, Doctor!' said Ethel, pretending to shake him by the collar. 

'I was thinking, ' he added, 'that we must not require too much. Peoplemust have their day, and in their own fashion; and I wish you wouldtell Tom--I've no patience to do it myself--that I don't mean to hamperhim. As long as it is a right line, he may take whichever he pleases, and I'll do my best to set him forward in it; but it is a pity--'

'Perhaps a few years of travelling, or of a professorship, might givehim time to think differently, ' said Ethel. 

'Not he, ' said the Doctor; 'the more a man lives in the world, the morehe depends on it. Where is the boy? is he gone without vouchsafing agood-bye?'

'Oh no, he has taken pity on Annie and Caroline Cheviot's famine ofcroquet, and gone with them to the gardens. '

'A spice of flirtation never comes amiss to him. '

'There, that's the way!' said Ethel, half-saucily, half-caressingly;'that poor fellow never can do right! Isn't it the very thing to keephim away from home, that we all may steal a horse, and he can't lookover the wall, no, not with a telescope?'

'I can't help it, Ethel. It may be very wrong and unkind of me--Heavenforgive me if it is, and prevent me from doing the boy any harm! but Inever can rid myself of a feeling of there being something behind whenhe seems the most straightforward. If he had only not got hisgrandfather's mouth and nose! And, ' smiling after all--'I don't knowwhat I said to be so scolded; all lads flirt, and you can't deny thatMaster Tom divided his attentions pretty freely last year between Mrs. Pugh and poor Ave Ward. '

'This time, I believe, it was out of pure kindness to me, ' said Ethel, 'so I am bound to his defence. He dragged off poor Daisy to chaperonthem, that I might have a little peace. '

'Ah! he came down on us this morning, ' said the Doctor, 'on Richard andFlora and me, and gave us a lecture on letting you grow old, Ethel--said you were getting over-tasked, and no one heeding it; andlooking--let's look'--and he took off his spectacles, put his hand onher shoulder, and studied her face. 

'Old enough to be a respectable lady of the house, I hope, ' said Ethel. 

'Wiry enough for most things, ' said the Doctor, patting her shoulder, reassured; 'but we must take care, Ethel; if you don't fatten yourselfup, we shall have Flora coming and carrying you off to London for achange, and for Tom to practise on. 

'That is a threat! I expected he had been prescribing for me already, never to go near Cocksmoor, for that's what people always begin by--'

'Nothing worse than pale ale. ' At which Ethel made one of her faces. 'And to make a Mary of that chit of a Daisy. Well, you may do as youplease--only take care, or Flora will be down upon us. '

'Tom has been very helpful and kind to me, ' said Ethel. 'And, papa, hehas seen Leonard, and he says he looked so noble that to shake handswith him made him feel quite small. '

'I never heard anything so much to Tom's credit! Well, and what did hesay of the dear lad?'

The next step was to mention Averil's letter to Mary, which could notbe sent on till tidings had been permitted by Mr. Cheviot. 

'Let us see it, ' said the Doctor. 

'Do you think Charles Cheviot would like it?'

'Cheviot is a man of sense, ' said the open-hearted Doctor, 'and theremay be something to authorize preventing this unlucky transfer of herfortune. '

Nothing could be further from it; but it was a long and interestingletter, written in evidently exhilarated spirits, and with a hopefuldescription of the new scenes. Ethel read it to her father, and hetold every one about it when they came in. Tom manifested noparticular interest; but he did not go by the mail train that night, and was not visible all the morning. He caught Ethel alone however atnoon, and said, 'Ethel, I owe you this, ' offering the amount she hadpaid for the letter. 

'Thank you, ' she said, wondering if this was to be all she should hearabout it. 

'I am going by the afternoon train, ' he added; 'I have been over toBlewer. It is true, Ethel, the fellow can't stand it! he has sent downa manager, and is always in London! Most likely to dispose of it byprivate contract there, they say. '

'And what has become of old Hardy?'

'Poor old fellow, he has struck work, looks terribly shaky. He took mefor my father at first sight, and began to apologize mostplaintively--said no one else had ever done him any good. I advisedhim to come in and see my father, though he is too far gone to do muchfor him. '

'Poor old man, can he afford to come in now?'

'Why, I helped him with the cart hire. It is no use any way, he knowsno more than we do, and his case is confirmed; but he thinks he hasoffended my father, and he'll die more in peace for having had himagain. Look here, what a place they have got to. '

And without further explanation of the 'they, ' Tom placed a letter inEthel's hands. 

'My Dear Mr. Thomas, 'I send you the objects I promised for your microscope; I could not getany before because we were in the city; but if you like these I can getplenty more at Massissauga, where we are now. We came here last week, and the journey was very nice, only we went bump bump so often, andonce we stuck in a marsh, and were splashed all over. We are stayingwith Mr. Muller and Cora till our own house is quite ready; it was onlybegun a fortnight ago, and we are to get in next week. I thought thiswould have been a town, it looked so big and so square in the plan; butit is all trees still, and there are only thirteen houses built yet. Ours is all by itself in River Street, and all the trees near it havebeen killed, and stand up all dead and white, because nobody has timeto cut them down. It looks very dismal, but Ave says it will be verynice by and by, and, Rufus Muller says it has mammoth privileges. Isend you a bit of rattlesnake skin. They found fifteen of them asleepunder a stone, just where our house is built, and sometimes they comeinto the kitchen. I do not know the names of the other things I send;and I could not ask Ave, for she said you would not want to be botheredwith a little girl's letter, and I was not to ask for an answer. RosaWillis says no young lady of my age would ask her sister's permission, and not even her mother's, unless her mamma was very intellectual andhighly educated, and always saw the justice of her arguments; but Minnaand I do not mean to be like that. I would tell Ave if you did writeto me, but she need not read it unless she liked. 

 'I am, your affectionate little friend, 'ELLA. '

'Well!' said Tom, holding out his hand for more when she had restoredthis epistle. 'You have heard all there was in it, except--'

'Except what I want to see. '

And Ethel, as she had more or less intended all along, let him haveAveril's letter, since the exception was merely a few tender words ofcongratulation to Mary. The worst had been done already by her father;and it may here be mentioned that though nothing was said in answer toher explanation of the opening of the letter, the head-master neverrecovered the fact, and always attributed it to his dear sister Ethel. 

'For the future, ' said Tom, as he gave back the thin sheets, 'they willall be for the Cheviots' private delectation. '

'I shall begin on my own score, ' said Ethel. 'You know if you answerthis letter, you must not mention that visit of yours, or you will beprohibited, and one would not wish to excite a domestic secession. '

'It would serve the unnatural scoundrel right, ' said Tom. 'Well, Imust go and put up my things. You'll keep me up to what goes on athome, and if there's anything out there to tell Leonard--'

'Wait a moment, Tom!'--and she told him what the Doctor had said abouthis plans. 

'Highly educated and intellectual, ' was all the answer that Tomvouchsafed; and whether he were touched or not she could not gather. 

Yet her spirit felt less weary and burdened, and more full of hope thanit had been for a long time past. Averil's letter showed theexhilaration of the change, and of increasing confidence and comfort inher friend Cora Muller. Cora's Confirmation had brought the girls intocontact with the New York clergy, and had procured them an introductionto the clergyman of Winiamac, the nearest church, so that there wasmuch less sense of loneliness, moreover, the fuller and more systematicdoctrine, and the development of the beauty and daily guidance of theChurch, had softened the bright American girl, so as to render herinfinitely dearer to her English friend, and they were as much unitedas they could be, where the great leading event of the life of oneremained a mystery to the other. Yet perhaps it helped to begin afresh life, that the intimate companion of that new course should beentirely disconnected with the past. 

Averil threw herself into the present with as resolute a will as shecould muster. With much spirit she described the arrival at theWiniamac station, and the unconcealed contempt with which the mass ofluggage was regarded by the Western world, who 'reckoned it would befittest to make kindlings with. ' Heavy country wagons were to bringthe furniture; the party themselves were provided for by a light wagonand a large cart, driven by Cora's brother, Mordaunt, and by thefarming-man, Philetus, a gentleman who took every occasion of assertinghis equality, if not his superiority to the new-comers; demanded allthe Christian names, and used them without prefix; and when Henryimpressively mentioned his eldest sister as Miss Warden, stared andsaid, 'Why, Doctor, I thought she was not your old woman!'--the Westernepithet of a wife. But as Cora was quite content to leave Miss behindher in civilized society, and as they were assured that to stand uponceremony would leave them without domestic assistance, the sisters hadimplored Henry to waive all preference for a polite address. 

The loveliness of the way was enchanting--the roads running straight asan arrow through glorious forest lands of pine, beech, maple, and oak, in the full glory of spring, and the perspective before and behindmaking a long narrowing green bower of meeting branches; the whole ofthe borders of the road covered with lovely flowers--May-wings, abutterfly-like milkwort, pitcher-plant, convolvulus; new insects dancedin the shade--golden orioles, blue birds, the great American robin, thefield officer, with his orange epaulettes, glanced before them. Corawas in ecstasy at the return to forest scenery, the Wards at itsnovelty, and the escape from town. Too happy were they at first tocare for the shaking and bumping of the road, and the first mud-holeinto which they plunged was almost a joke, under Mordaunt Muller'sassurances that it was easy fording, though the splashes flew far andwide. Then there was what Philetus called 'a mash with a real handsomebridge over it, ' i. E. A succession of tree trunks laid side by sidefor about a quarter of a mile. Here the female passengers insisted onwalking--even Cora, though her brother and Philetus both laughed her toscorn; and more especially for her foot-gear, delicate kid boots, without which no city damsel stirred. Averil and her sisters, in theEnglish boots scorned at New York, had their share in the laugh, whilepicking their way from log to log, hand in hand, and excitingPhiletus's further disdain by their rapture with the glorious flowersof the bog. 

But where was Massissauga? Several settlements had been passed, thehouses looking clean and white in forest openings, with fields wherethe lovely spring green of young maize charmed the eye. 

At last the road grew desolate. There were a few patches of corn, afew squalid-looking log or frame houses, a tract of horrible drearyblackness; and still more horrible, beyond it was a region ofspectres--trees white and stripped bare, lifting their dead arms likethings blasted. Averil cried out in indignant horror, 'Who has donethis?'

'We have, ' answered Mordaunt. 'This is Maclellan Square, Miss Warden, and there's River Street, ' pointing down an avenue of skeletons. 'Ifyou could go to sleep for a couple of years, you would wake up to findyourself in a city such as I would not fear to compare with any inEurope. Your exhausted civilization is not as energetic as ours, Icalculate. '

The energetic young colonist turned his horse's head up a slight risingground, where something rather more like habitation appeared; a greatbrick-built hotel, and some log houses, with windows displaying thewares needed for daily consumption, and a few farm buildings. It wasbacked by corn-fields; and this was the great Maclellan Street, thechief ornament of Massissauga. Not one house had the semblance of agarden; the wilderness came up to the very door, except where cattlerendered some sort of enclosure necessary. 

Cora exclaimed, 'Oh, Mordaunt, I thought you would have had a gardenfor me!'

'I can fix it any time you like, ' said he; 'but you'll be thelaughing-stock of the place, and never keep a flower. '

The Mullers' abode was a sound substantial log house, neatly whitened, and with green shutters, bearing a festal appearance, full of welcome, as Mr. Muller, his tall bearded son Rufus, and a thin butmotherly-looking elderly woman, came forth to meet the travellers; andin the front, full stare, stood a trollopy-looking girl, every bar ofher enormous hoop plainly visible through her washed-out flimsy muslin. This was Miss Ianthe, who condescended to favour the family with herassistance till she should have made up dollars enough to buy a newdress! The elder woman, who went by the name of Cousin Deborah, wouldhave been a housekeeper in England--here she was one of thefamily--welcomed Cora with an exchange of kisses, and received thestrangers with very substantial hospitality, though with pity at theirunfitness for their new home, and utter incredulity as to their success. 

Here the Wards had been since their arrival. Their frame-house, nearthe verdant bank of the river, was being finished for them; and a greatbrass plate, with Henry's new name and his profession, had alreadyadorned the door. The furniture was coming; Cousin Deborah had huntedup a Cleopatra Betsy, who might perhaps stay with them if she weretreated on terms of equality, a field was to be brought intocultivation as soon as any labour could be had. Minna was lookinginfinitely better already, and Averil and Cora were full of designs forrival housewifery, Averil taking lessons meantime in ironing, dusting, and the arts of the kitchen, and trusting that in the two years' time, the skeletons would have given place--if not indeed to houses, towell-kept fields. Such was her account. 

How much was reserved for fear of causing anxiety? Who could guess?

CHAPTER XXI

 Quanto si fende La rocca per dar via a chi va suso N'andai 'nfino ove'l cerchiar si prende Com'io nel quinto giro fui dischiuso Vidi gente per esso che piangea Glacendo a terra tutta volta in giuso Adhaesit pavimento anima mia Sentia dir loro con si alti sospiri Che la parola appena s'intendea. 'O eletti di Deo, i cui soffriri E giustizia e speranza fan men duri--' DANTE. Purgatorio

Ah, sir, we have learnt the way to get your company, ' said HectorErnescliffe, as he welcomed his father-in-law at Maplewood; 'we haveonly to get under sentence. '

'Sick or sorry, Hector; that's the attraction to an old doctor. '

'And, ' added Hector, with the importance of his youthful magisterialdignity, 'I hope I have arranged matters for you to see him. I wroteabout it; but I am afraid you will not be able to see him alone. '

Great was the satisfaction with which Hector took the conduct of theexpedition to Portland Island; though he was inclined to encumber itwith more lionizing than the good Doctor's full heart was ready for. Few words could he obtain, as in the bright August sunshine theysteamed out from the pier at Weymouth, and beheld the gray sides of theisland, scarred with stone quarries, stretching its lengtheningbreakwater out on one side, and on the other connected with the land bythe pale dim outline of the Chesill Bank. The water was dancing ingolden light; white-sailed or red-sailed craft plied across it; a shipof the line lay under the lee of the island, practising gunnery, thethree bounds of her balls marked by white columns of spray each time oftouching the water, pleasure parties crowded the steamer; but to Dr. May the cheerfulness of the scene made a depressing contrast to thepurpose of his visit, as he fixed his eyes on the squared outline ofthe crest of the island, and the precipitous slope from thence to thebreakwater, where trains of loaded trucks rushed forth to the end, discharged themselves, and hurried back. 

Landing at the quay, in the midst of confusion, Hector smiled at theDoctor's innocent proposal of walking, and bestowed him in a littlecarriage, with a horse whose hard-worked patience was soon called out, as up and up they went, through the narrow, but lively street, past theold-fashioned inn, made memorable by a dinner of George III. ; past thefossil tree, clamped against a house like a vine; past heaps of slabsready for transport, a church perched up high on the slope, and aparsonage in a place that looked only accessible to goats. Lines offortification began to reveal themselves, and the Doctor thoughthimself arrived, but he was to wind further on, and be more struck withthe dreariness and inhospitality of the rugged rock, almost bare ofvegetation, the very trees of stone, and older than our creation; themelancholy late ripening harvest within stone walls, the whole surfacefurrowed by stern rents and crevices riven by nature, or cut intogreater harshness by the quarries hewn by man. The grave strangeness ofthe region almost marked it out for a place of expiation, like themountain rising desolate from the sea, where Dante placed his prisonersof hope. 

The walls of a vast enclosure became visible; and over them might beseen the tops of great cranes, looking like the denuded ribs ofumbrellas. Buildings rose beyond, with deep arched gateways; and asmall town was to be seen further off. Mr. Ernescliffe sent in hiscard at the governor's house, and found that the facilities he hadasked for had been granted. They were told that the prisoner theywished to see was at work at some distance; and while he was summoned, they were to see the buildings. Dr. May had little heart for making asight of them, except so far as to judge of Leonard's situation; and hewas passively conducted across a gravelled court, turfed in the centre, and containing a few flower-beds, fenced in by Portland's most naturalproductions, zamias and ammonites, together with a few stone coffins, which had once inclosed corpses of soldiers of the Roman garrison. Large piles of building inclosed the quadrangle; and passing into thefirst of these, the Doctor began to realize something of Leonard'spresent existence. There lay before him the broad airy passage, andeither side the empty cells of this strange hive, as closely packed, and as chary of space, as the compartments of the workers of thehoneycomb. 

'Just twice as wide as a coffin, ' said Hector, doing the honours ofone, where there was exactly width to stand up between the bed and thewall of corrugated iron; 'though, happily, there is more liberality ofheight. '

There was a ground glass window opposite to the door, and a shelf, holding a Bible, Prayer and hymn book, and two others, one religious, and one secular, from the library. A rust-coloured jacket, with ablack patch marked with white numbers, and a tarpaulin hat, crossedwith two lines of red paint on the crown, hung on the wall. The Doctorasked for Leonard's cell, but it was in a distant gallery, and he wastold that when he had seen one, he had seen all. He asked if thesewere like those that Leonard had previously inhabited at Milbank andPentonville, and hearing that they were on the same model, he almostgasped at the thought of the young enterprising spirit thus caged fornine weary months, and to whom this bare confined space was still theonly resting-place. He could not look by any means delighted with theexcellence of the arrangements, grant it though he might; and he washurried on to the vast kitchens, their ranges of coppers full ofsavoury steaming contents, and their racks of loaves looking all thatwas substantial and wholesome; but his eyes were wandering after thefigures engaged in cooking, to whom he was told such work was a reward;he was trying to judge how far they could still enjoy life; but heturned from their stolid low stamp of face with a sigh, thinking howlittle their condition could tell him of that of a cultivated nature. 

He was shown the chapel, unfortunately serving likewise for aschoolroom; the centre space fitted for the officials and theirfamilies, the rest with plain wooden benches. But it was not an hourfor schooling, and he went restlessly on to the library, to gather allthe consolation he could from seeing that the privation did not extendto that of sound and interesting literature. He had yet to see thecourt, where the prisoners were mustered at half-past five in themorning, thence to be marched off in their various companies to work. He stood on the terrace from which the officials marshalled them, andhe was called on to look at the wide and magnificent view of sea andland; but all he would observe to Hector was, 'That boy's throat hasalways been tender since the fever. ' He was next conducted to thegreat court, the quarry of the stones of the present St. Paul's, andwhere the depression of the surface since work began there, was markedby the present height of what had become a steep conical edifice, surmounted by a sort of watch-tower. There he grew quite restive, andhearing a proposal of taking him to the Verne Hill works half a mileoff, he declared that Hector was welcome to go; he should wait for hisboy. 

Just then the guide pointed out at some distance a convict approachingunder charge of a warder; and in a few seconds more, the Doctor hadstepped back to a small room, where, by special favour, he was allowedto be with the prisoner, instead of seeing him through a grating, butonly in the presence of a warder, who was within hearing, though notobtrusively so. Looking, to recognize, not to examine, he drew theyoung man into his fatherly embrace. 

'You have hurt your hands, ' was his first word, at the touch of thebruised fingers and broken skin. 

'They are getting hardened, ' was the answer, in an alert tone, thatgave the Doctor courage to look up and meet an unquenched glance;though there was the hollow look round the eyes that Tom had noticed, the face had grown older, the expression more concentrated, theshoulders had rounded; the coarse blue shirt and heavy boots were dustywith the morning's toil, and the heat and labour of the day had lefttheir tokens, but the brow was as open, the mouth as ingenuous as ever, the complexion had regained a hue of health, and the air of alacrityand exhilaration surprised as much as it gratified the visitor. 

'What is your work?' he asked. 

'Filling barrows with stones, and wheeling them to the trucks for thebreakwater, ' answered Leonard, in a tone like satisfaction. 'But pray, if you are so kind, tell me, ' he continued, with anxiety that he couldnot suppress, 'what is this about war in America?'

'Not near Indiana; no fear of that, I trust. But how did you know, Leonard?'

'I saw, for one moment at a time, in great letters on a placard of thecontents of newspapers, at the stations as we came down here, thewords, 'Civil War in America;' and it has seemed to be in the air hereever since. But Averil has said nothing in her letters. Will itaffect them?'

The Doctor gave a brief sketch of what was passing, up to the battle ofBull Run; and his words were listened to with such exceeding avidity, that he was obliged to spend more minutes than he desired on thechances of the war, and the Massissauga tidings, which he wished tomake sound more favourable than he could in conscience feel that theywere; but when at last he had detailed all he knew from Averil'sletters, and it had been drunk in with glistening eyes, and mannergrowing constantly less constrained, he led back to Leonard himself:'Ethel will write at once to your sister when I get home; and I think Imay tell her the work agrees with you. '

'Yes; and this is man's work; and it is for the defences, ' he added, with a sparkle of the eye. 

'Very hard and rough, ' returned the Doctor, looking again at thewounded hands and hard-worked air. 

'Oh, but to put out one's strength again, and have room!' cried theboy, eagerly. 

'Was it not rather a trying change at first?'

'To be sure I was stiff, and didn't know how to move in the morning, but that went off fast enough; and I fill as many barrows a day as anyone in our gang. '

'Then I may tell your sister you rejoice in the change?'

'Why, it's work one does not get deadly sick of, as if there was nomaking one's self do it, ' said Leonard, eagerly; 'it is work! andbesides, here is sunshine and sea. I can get a sight of that everyday; and now and then I can get a look into the bay, andWeymouth--looking like the old time. ' That was his first sorrowfulintonation; but the next had the freshness of his age, 'And there arethistles!'

'Thistles?'

'I thought you cared for thistles; for Miss May showed me one atCoombe; but it was not like what they are here--the spikes pointing outand pointing in along the edges of the leaves, and the scales lappingover so wonderfully in the bud. '

'Picciola!' said the Doctor to himself; and aloud, 'Then you have timeto enjoy them?'

'When we are at work at a distance, dinner is brought out, and there isan hour and a half of rest; and on Sunday we may walk about the yards. You should have seen one of our gang, when I got him to look at thechevaux de frise round a bud, how he owned it was a regular patentinvention; it just answered to Paley's illustration. '

'What, the watch?' said the Doctor, seeing that the argument had beenfar from trite to his young friend. 'So you read Paley?'

'I read all such books as I could get up there, ' he answered; 'theygave one something to think about. '

'Have you no time for reading here?'

'Oh, no! I am too sleepy to read except on school days and Sundays, 'he said, as if this were a great achievement. 

'And your acquaintance--is he a reader of Paley too?'

'I believe the chaplain set him on it. He is a clerk, like me, and notmuch older. He is a regular Londoner, and can hardly stand the work;but he won't give in if he can help it, or we might not be together. '

Much the Doctor longed to ask what sort of a friend this might be, butthe warder's presence forbade him; and he could only ask what they sawof each other. 

'We were near one another in school at Pentonville, and knew eachother's faces quite well, so that we were right glad to be put into thesame gang. We may walk about the yard together on Sunday evening too. '

The Doctor had other questions on his lips that he again restrained, and only asked whether the Sundays were comfortable days. 

'Oh, yes, ' said Leonard, eagerly; but then he too recollected theofficial, and merely said something commonplace about excellentsermons, adding, 'And the singing is admirable. Poor Averil would envysuch a choir as we have! We sing so many of the old Bankside hymns. '

'To make your resemblance to Dante's hill of penitence complete, asEthel says, ' returned the Doctor. 

'I should like it to be a hill of purification!' said Leonard, understanding him better than he had expected. 

'It will, I think, ' said the Doctor, 'to one at least. I am comfortedto see you so brave. I longed to come sooner, but--'

'I am glad you did not. '

'How?' But he did not pursue the question, catching from look andgesture, that Leonard could hardly have then met him withself-possession; and as the first bulletin of recovery is often thefirst disclosure of the severity of an illness, so the Doctor was moreimpressed by the prisoner's evident satisfaction in his change ofcircumstances, than he would have been by mere patient resignation; andhe let the conversation be led away to Aubrey's prospects, in whichLeonard took full and eager interest. 

'Tell Aubrey I am working at fortifications too, ' he said, smiling. 

'He could not go to Cambridge without you. '

'I don't like to believe that, ' said Leonard, gravely; 'it is carryingthe damage I have done further: but it can't be. He always was fond ofmathematics, and of soldiering. How is it at the old mill?' he added, suddenly. 

'It is sold. '

'Sold?' and his eyes were intently fixed on the Doctor. 

'Yes, he is said to have been much in debt long before; but it wasmanaged quietly--not advertised in the county papers. He went toLondon, and arranged it all. I saw great renovations going on at themill, when I went to see old Hardy. '

'Good old Hardy! how is he?'

'Much broken. He never got over the shock; and as long as that fellowstayed at the mill, he would not let me attend him. '

'Ha!' exclaimed Leonard, but caught himself up. 

A message came that Mr. Ernescliffe feared to miss the boat; and theDoctor could only give one tender grasp and murmured blessing, andhurry away, so much agitated that he could hardly join in Hector'scivilities to the officials, and all the evening seemed quite struckdown and overwhelmed by the sight of the bright brave boy, and hispatience in his dreary lot. 

After this, at all the three months' intervals at which Leonard mightbe seen, a visit was contrived to him, either by Dr. May or Mr. Wilmot;and Aubrey devoted his first leave of absence to staying at Maplewood, that Hector might take him to his friend; but he came home expatiatingso much on the red hair of the infant hope of Maplewood, and the fussthat Blanche made about this new possession, that Ethel detected anunavowed shade of disappointment. Light and whitewash, abundant fare, garments sufficient, but eminently unbecoming, were less impressivethan dungeons, rags, and bread and water; when, moreover, the prisonerclaimed no pity, but rather congratulation on his badge of merit, improved Sunday dinner, and promotion to the carpenter's shop, so asabsolutely to excite a sense of wasted commiseration and uninterestingprosperity. Conversation constrained both by the grating and thepresence of the warder, and Aubrey, more tenderly sensitive than hisbrother, and devoid of his father's experienced tact, was too muchembarrassed to take the initiative, was afraid of giving pain bydwelling on his present occupations and future hopes, and confusedLeonard by his embarrassment. Hector Ernescliffe discoursed aboutCharleston Harbour and New Orleans; and Aubrey stood with downcasteyes, afraid to seem to be scanning the convict garb, and thusrendering Leonard unusually conscious of wearing it. Then when inparting, Aubrey, a little less embarrassed, began eagerly and in muchemotion to beg Leonard to say if there was anything he could get forhim, anything he could do for him, anything he would like to have senthim, and began to promise a photograph of his father, Leonard checkedhim, by answering that it would be an irregularity--nothing of personalproperty was allowed to be retained by a prisoner. 

Aubrey forgot all but the hardship, and began an outburst about thetyranny. 

'It is quite right, ' said Leonard, gravely; 'there is nothing thatmight not be used for mischief if one chose. '

And the warder here interfered, and said he was quite right, and italways turned out best in the end for a prisoner to conform himself, and his friends did him no good by any other attempt, as Mr. Ernescliffe could tell the young gentleman. The man's tone, thoughneither insolent nor tyrannical, but rather commendatory of his charge, contrasting with his natural deference to the two gentlemen, irritatedpoor Aubrey beyond measure, so that Hector was really glad to have himsafe away, without his having said anything treasonable to theauthorities. The meeting, so constrained and uncomfortable, had butmade the friends more vividly conscious of the interval between thecadet and the convict, and, moreover, tended to remove the aureole ofromance with which the unseen captive had been invested by youthfulfancy. 

To make the best of a prolonged misfortune does absolutely lessensympathy, by diminishing the interest of the situation; and even thegood Doctor himself was the less concerned at any hindrance to hisvisits to Portland, as he uniformly found his prisoner cheerful, approved by officials, and always making some small advance in thescale of his own world, and not, as his friends without expected ofhim, showing that he felt himself injured instead of elated by suchrewards as improved diet, or increased gratuities to be set to hisaccount against the time when, after eight years, he might hope forexportation with a ticket of leave to Western Australia. 

The halo of approaching death no longer lighted him up, and after theeffusion of the first meeting, his inner self had closed up, he wasmore ready to talk of American news than of his own feelings, andseemed to look little beyond the petty encouragements devised to suitthe animal natures of ordinary prisoners, and his visitors sometimesfeared lest his character were not resisting the deadening, hardeninginfluence of the unvaried round of manual labour among such associates. He had been soon advanced from the quarry to the carpenter's shop, andwas in favour there from his activity and skill; but his verypromotions were sad--and it was more sad, as some thought, for him tobe gratified by them. But, as Dr. May always ended, what did they knowabout him?

CHAPTER XXII

 Oh, Bessie Bell and Mary Grey, They were twa bonnie lasses; They bigged a bower on yon burn side, And theekt it over wi' rashes. 

The early glory of autumn was painting the woods of Indiana--crimson, orange, purple, as though a rainbow of intensified tints had beenbroken into fragments, and then scattered broadcast upon the forest. But though ripe nuts hung on many a bough, the gipsyings had not yettaken place, except at home--when Minna, in her desperate attempts atmaking the best of things, observed, 'Now we have to make the fireourselves, let us think it is all play, and such fun. '

But 'such fun' was hard when one or other of the inmates of the housewas lying on the bed shaking with ague, and the others creeping wearilyabout, even on their intermediate days. They had been deluded intoimprudent exposure in the lovely evenings of summer, and had nevershaken off the results. 

'Come, Ella, ' said Minna, one afternoon, as she descended the barerickety stairs, 'Ave is getting better; and if we can get the fire up, and make some coffee and boil some eggs, it will be comfortable for herwhen she comes down and Henry comes in. '

Ella, with a book in her hand, was curled up in a corner of a sofastanding awry among various other articles of furniture that seemed tohave tumbled together by chance within the barn-like room. Minna beganmoving first one and then the other, daintily wiping off the dust, andrestoring an air of comfort. 

'Oh dear!' said Ella, unfolding herself; 'I am so tired. Where's HettaMary?'

'Oh, don't you know, Hetta Mary went home this morning because Henryasked her where his boots were, and she thought he wanted her to cleanthem. '

'Can't Mrs. Shillabeer come in!'

'Mrs. Shillabeer said she would never come in again, because Averilasked her not to hold the ham by the bone and cut it with her own knifewhen Henry was there! Come, Ella it is of no use. We had better dothings ourselves, like Cora and Ave, and then we shall not hear peoplesay disagreeable things. '

The once soft, round, kitten-like Minna, whom Leonard used to rollabout on the floor, had become a lank, sallow girl, much too tall forher ten years, and with a care-stricken, thoughtful expression on herface, even more in advance of her age than was her height. She movedinto the kitchen, a room with an iron stove, a rough table, and a fewshelves, looking very desolate. The hands of both little girls hadbecome expert in filling the stove with wood, and they had not far toseek before both it and the hearth in the sitting-room werereplenished, and the flame beginning to glow. 

'Where's the coffee-mill?' said Minna, presently, looking round inblank despair. 

'Oh dear!' said Ella, 'I remember now; that dirty little Polly Masoncame to borrow it this morning. I said we wanted it every day: but sheguessed we could do without it, for they had got a tea-party, and herlittle brother had put in a stone and spoilt Cora Muller's; and shesnatched it up and carried it off. '

'He will serve ours the same, I suppose, ' said Minna. 'It is too faroff to go for it; let us make some tea. '

'There's no tea, ' said Ella; 'a week ago or more that great Irene Brownwalked in and reckoned we could lend her 'ma some tea and sugar, 'causewe had plenty. And we have used up our own since; and if we did askher to return the loan, hers is such nasty stuff that nobody coulddrink it. What shall we do, Minna?' and she began to cry. 

'We must take some coffee up to the hotel, ' said Minna, after amoment's reflection; 'Black Joe is very good-natured, and he'll grindit. '

'But I don't like to go ail by myself, ' said Ella; 'into the kitchentoo, and hear them say things about Britishers. '

'I'll go, dear, ' said Minna, gently, 'if you will just keep the fireup, and boil the eggs, and make the toast, and listen if Ave calls. '

Poor Minna, her sensitive little heart trembled within her at the roughcontemptuous words that the exclusive, refined tone of the familyalways provoked, and bodily languor and weariness made the walk trying;but she was thinking of Ave's need, and resolutely took down her cloakand hat. But at that moment the latch was raised, and the brightgraceful figure of Cora stood among them, her feathered hat anddelicate muslin looking as fresh as at New York. 

'What, all alone!' she said; 'I know it is poor Ave's sick day. Is shebetter?'

'Yes, going to get up and come down; but--' and all the troubles werepoured out. 

'True enough, the little wretch did spoil our mill, but Rufus mendedit; and as I thought Polly had been marauding on you, I brought somedown. '

'Ah! I thought I smelt it most deliciously as you came in, but I wasafraid I only fancied it because I was thinking about it. Dear Cora, how good you are!'

'And have you anything for her to eat?'

'I was going to make some toast. '

'Of that dry stuff! Come, we'll manage something better:' and off camethe dainty embroidered cambric sleeves, up went the coloured ones, awhite apron came out of a pocket, and the pretty hands were busy amongthe flour; the children assisting, learning, laughing a childlike laugh. 

'Ah!' cried Cora, turning round, and making a comic threatening gesturewith her floury fingers; 'you ought not to have come till we werefixed. Go and sit in your chair by the fire. '

'Dear Cora!'

But Cora ran at her, and the wan trembling creature put on a smile, andwas very glad to comply; being totally unequal to resist or even tostand long enough to own her dread of Henry's finding all desolate andnothing to eat. 

Presently Cora tripped in, all besleeved and smartened, to set cushionsbehind the tired back and head, and caress the long thin fingers. 'I've left Minna, like King Alfred, to watch the cakes, ' she said; 'andElla is getting the cups. So your fifth girl is gone. '

'The fifth in five months! And we let her sit at table, and poor dearMinna has almost worn out her life in trying to hinder her from gettingaffronted. '

'I've thought what to do for you, Ave. There's the Irish woman, KattyBlake--her husband has been killed. She is rough enough, but tender inher way; and she must do something for herself and her child. '

'Her husband killed!'

'Yes, at Summerville. I thought you had heard it. Mordaunt wrote tome to tell her; and I shall never forget her wailing at his dying awayfrom his country. It was not lamentation for herself, but that heshould have died far away from his own people. '

'She is not long from the old country; I should like to have her if--ifwe can afford it. For if the dividends don't come soon from thatbuilding company, Cora, I don't know where to turn--'

'Oh, they must come. Father has been writing to Rufus about thearrangements. Besides, those Irish expect less, and understand oldcountry manners better, if you can put up with their breakages. '

'I could put up with anything to please Henry, and save Minna's littlehard-worked bones. '

'I will send her to-morrow. Is it not Minna's day of ague?'

'Yes, poor dear. That is always the day we get into trouble. '

'I never saw a child with such an instinct for preventing variance, orso full of tact and pretty ways; yet I have seen her tremble under hercoaxing smile, that even Mis' Shillabeer can't resist. '

'See, see!' cried Ella, hurrying in, 'surely our contingent is notcoming home!'

'No, ' said Cora, hastening to the door, 'these must be a reinforcementmarching to take the train at Winiamac. '

'Marching?' said Ella, looking up archly at her. 'We didn't let ourvolunteers march in that way. '

They were sturdy bearded backwoodsmen, rifle on shoulder, and withgrave earnest faces; but walking rather than marching, irregularlykeeping together, or straggling, as they chose. 

'Your volunteers!' cried Cora, her eyes flashing; 'theirs was toy work!These are bound for real patriotic war!' and she clasped her handstogether, then waved her handkerchief. 

'It is sad, ' said Averil, who had moved to the window, 'to see so manyelderly faces--men who must be the prop of their families. '

'It is because ours is a fight of men, not of children; not one of yourEuropean wars of paltry ambition, but a war of principle!' cried Cora, with that intensity of enthusiasm that has shed so much blood in thebreak-up of the Great Republic. 

'They do look as Cromwell's Ironsides may have done, ' said Averil; 'asfull of stern purpose. '

And verily Averil noted the difference. Had a number of Europeansoldiers been passing so near in an equally undisciplined manner, youngwomen could not have stood forth as Cora was doing, unprotected, yetperfectly safe from rudeness or remark; making ready answer to theinquiry for the nearest inn--nay, only wishing she were in her ownhouse, to evince her patriotism by setting refreshment before thedefenders of her cause. Her ardour had dragged Averil up with her alittle way, so as to feel personally every vicissitude that befell theNorth, and to be utterly unaware of any argument in favour of theConfederates; but still Averil was, in Cora's words, 'too English;' shecould not, for the life of her, feel as she did when equipping herbrother against possible French invasions, and when Mordaunt Muller hadbeen enrolled in the Federal army, she had almost offended the exultantsister by condolence instead of congratulation. 

Five months had elapsed since the arrival of Averil inMassissauga--months of anxiety and disappointment, which had sickenedHenry of plans of farming, and lessened his hopes of practice. Thesame causes that affected him at New York told in Indiana; and even ifhe had been employed, the fees would have been too small to support theexpense of horses. As to farming, labour was scarce, and could only beobtained at the cost of a considerable outlay, and, moreover, ofenduring rude self-assertions that were more intolerable to Henry thaneven to his sisters. The chief hope of the family lay in thespeculation in which Averil's means had been embarked, which gave thema right to their present domicile, and to a part of the uncleared wastearound them; and would, when Massissauga should begin to flourish, place them in affluence. The interest of the portions of the twoyounger girls was all that was secure, since these were fortunatelystill invested at home. Inhabitants did not come, lots of land werenot taken; and the Mullers evidently profited more by the magnificentharvest produced by their land than by the adventure of city founding. Still, plenty and comfort reigned in their house, and Cora had importeda good deal of refinement and elegance, which she could make respectedwhere Averil's attempts were only sneered down. Nor had sickness triedher household. Owing partly to situation--considerably above the levelof River Street--partly to the freer, more cleared and cultivatedsurroundings--partly likewise to experience, and Cousin Deborah'smotherly watchfulness--the summer had passed without a visitation ofague, though it seemed to be regarded as an adjunct of spring, asinevitable as winter frost. Averil trembled at the thought, but therewas no escape; there were absolutely no means of leaving the spot, orof finding maintenance elsewhere. Indeed, Cora's constant kindness andsympathy were too precious to be parted with, even had it been possibleto move. After the boarding-house, Massissauga was a kind of home; andthe more spirits and energy failed, the more she clung to it. 

Mr. Muller had lately left home to arrange for the sale of his corn, and had announced that he might perhaps pay a visit to his son Mordauntin the camp at Lexington. Cora was expecting a letter from him, andthe hope that 'Dr. Warden' might bring one from the post-office atWiniamac had been one cause of her visit on this afternoon; for themammoth privileges of Massissauga did not include a post-office, northe sight of letters more than once a week. 

The table had just been covered with preparations for a meal, and theglow of the fire was beginning to brighten the twilight, when the soundof a horse's feet came near, and Henry rode past the window, but didnot appear for a considerable space, having of late been reduced tobecome his own groom. But even in the noise of the hoofs, even in thewave of the hand, the girls had detected gratified excitement. 

'Charleston has surrendered! The rebels have submitted!' cried Cora. 

And Averil's heart throbbed with its one desperate hope. No! _That_would have brought him in at once. 

After all, both were in a state to feel it a little flat when he camein presenting a letter to Miss Muller, and announcing, 'I have had aproposal, ladies; what would you say to seeing me a surgeon to theFederal forces?--Do you bid me go, Miss Muller?'

'I bid every one go who can be useful to my country, ' said Cora. 

'Don't look alarmed, Averil, ' said Henry, affectionately, as he met herstartled eyes; 'there is no danger. A surgeon need never exposehimself. '

'But how--what has made you think of it?' asked Averil, faintly. 

'A letter from Mr. Muller--a very kind letter. He tells me thatmedical men are much wanted, and that an examination by a Board is allthat is required, the remuneration is good, and it will be anintroduction that will avail me after the termination of the war, whichwill end with the winter at latest. '

'And father has accepted an office in the commissariat department!'exclaimed Cora, from her letter. 

'Yes, ' answered Henry; 'he tells me that, pending more progressionhere, it is wiser for us both to launch into the current of publicevents, and be floated upwards by the stream. '

'Does he want you to come to him, Cora?' was all that Averil contrivedto say. 

'Oh no, he will be in constant locomotion, ' said Cora. 'I shall stayto keep house for Rufus. And here are some directions for him that Imust carry home. Don't come, Dr. Warden; I shall never cure you ofthinking we cannot stir without an escort. You will want to put alittle public spirit into this dear Ave. That's her one defect; andwhen you are one of us, she will be forced to give us her heart. '

And away ran the bright girl, giving her caresses to each sister as shewent. 

The little ones broke out, 'O, Henry, Henry, you must not go away tothe wars!' and Averil's pleading eyes spoke the same. 

Then Henry sat down and betook himself to argument. It would be follyto lose the first opening to employment that had presented itself. Hegrieved indeed to leave his sisters in this desolate, unhealthy place;but they were as essentially safe as at Stoneborough; their livingalone for a few weeks, or at most months, would be far less remarkablehere than there; and he would be likely to be able to improve or toalter their present situation, whereas they were now sinking deeper andmore hopelessly into poverty every day. Then, too, he read aloudpiteous accounts of the want of medical attendance, showing that it wasabsolutely a cruelty to detain such assistance from the sick andwounded. This argument was the one most appreciated by Averil andMinna. The rest were but questions of prudence; this touched theirhearts. Men lying in close tents, or in crowded holds of ships, withfestering wounds and fevered lips, without a hand to help them--some, too, whom they had seen at New York, and whose exulting departure theyhad witnessed--sufferers among whom their own Cora's favourite brothermight at any moment be numbered--the thought brought a glow ofindignation against themselves for having wished to withhold him. 

'Yes, go, Henry; it is right, and you shall hear not another word ofobjection, ' said Averil. 

'You can write or telegraph the instant you want me. And it will befor a short time, ' said Henry, half repenting when the opposition hadgiven way. 

'Oh, we shall get on very well, ' said Minna, cheerfully; 'better, perhaps for you know we don't mind Far West manners; and I'll havelearnt to do all sorts of things as well as Cora when you come home!'

And Henry, after a year's famine of practice, was in better spiritsthan since that fatal summer morning. Averil felt how different a manis in his vocation, and deprived of it. 

'Oh yes, ' she said to herself, 'if I had let ourselves be a drag on himwhen he is so much needed, I could never have had the face to write toour dear sufferer at home in his noble patience. It is better that weshould be desolate than that he should be a wreck, or than that mass ofsickness should be left untended! And the more desolate, the more sureof One Protector. '

There was true heroism in the spirit in which this young girl bracedherself to uncomplaining acceptance of desertion in this unwholesomeswamp, with her two little ailing sisters, beside the sluggish stream, amid the skeleton trees--heroism the greater because there was noenthusiastic patriotism to uphold her--it was only the land of hercaptivity, whence she looked towards home like Judah to Jerusalem. 

CHAPTER XXIII

 Prisoner of hope thou art; look up and sing, In hope of promised spring. Christian Year

In the summer of 1862, Tom May was to go up for his examination at theCollege of Physicians, but only a day or two before it he made hisappearance at home, in as much excitement as it was in him to betray. Hazlitt, the banker's clerk at Whitford, had written to him tidings ofthe presentation of the missing cheque for £25, which Bilson had paidto old Axworthy shortly before the murder, and which Leonard hadmentioned as in the pocket-book containing his receipt for the sum thathad been found upon him. Tom had made a halt at Whitford, and seen thecheque, which had been backed by the word Axworthy, with an initialthat, like all such signatures of the nephew, might stand either for S. Or F. , and the stiff office hand of both the elder and younger Axworthywas so much alike, that no one could feel certain whose writing it was. The long concealment, after the prisoner's pointed reference to it, was, however, so remarkable, that the home conclave regarded the causeas won; and the father and son hastened triumphantly to the attorneys'office. 

Messrs. Bramshaw and Anderson were greatly struck, and owned that theirown minds were satisfied as to the truth of their client's assertion;but they demurred as to the possibility of further steps. An action forforgery, Tom's first hope, he saw to be clearly impossible; SamuelAxworthy appeared to have signed the cheque in his own name, and he hadevery right to it as his uncle's heir; and though the long withholdingof it, as well as his own departure, were both suspiciouscircumstances, they were not evidence. Where was there any certaintythat the cheque had ever been in the pocket-book or even if it had, howdid it prove the existence of young Ward's acknowledgment? Might itnot have been in some receptacle of papers hitherto not opened? Therewas no sufficient case to carry to the police, after a conviction likeLeonard's, to set them on tracing the cheque either to an unknownrobber, or to Sam Axworthy, its rightful owner. 

Mr. Bramshaw likewise dissuaded Dr. May from laying the case before theSecretary of State, as importunity without due grounds would only tellagainst him if any really important discovery should be made: and theDoctor walked away, with blood boiling at people's coolness to otherfolk's tribulations, and greatly annoyed with Tom for having acceded tothe representations of the men of law, and declining all co-operationin drawing up a representation for the Home Office, on the plea that hehad no time to lose in preparing for his own examination, and mustreturn to town by the next train, which he did without a syllable ofreal converse with any one at home. 

The Doctor set to work with his home helpers, assisted by Dr. Spencer;but the work of composition seemed to make the ground give way undertheir feet, and a few adroit remarks from Dr. Spencer finally showedhim and Ethel that they had not yet attained the prop for the leverthat was to move the world. He gave it up, but still he did not quiteforgive Tom for having been so easily convinced, and ready to bedismissed to his own affairs. 

However, Dr. May was gratified by the great credit with which his sonpassed his examination, and took his degree; and Sir Matthew Fleethimself wrote in high terms of his talent, diligence, and steadiness, volunteering hopes of being able to put him forward in town in his ownline, for which Tom had always had a preference; and adding, that itwas in concurrence with his own recommendation that the young manwished to pursue his studies at Paris--he had given him introductionsthat would enable him to do so to the greatest advantage, and he hopedhis father would consent. The letter was followed up by one from Tomhimself, as usual too reasonable and authoritative to be gainsaid, withthe same representation of advantages to be derived from a course ofthe Parisian hospitals. 

'Ah, well! he is after old Fleet's own heart, ' said Dr. May, betweenpride and mortification. 'I should not grudge poor Fleet some one totake interest in his old age, and I did not look to see him so warmabout anything. He has not forgotten Calton Hill! But the boy musthave done very well! I say, shall we see him Sir Thomas some of thesedays, Ethel, and laugh at ourselves for having wanted, to make him goround in a mill after our old fashion?'

'You were contented to run round in your mill, ' said Ethel, fondly, 'and maybe he will too. '

'No, no, Ethel, I'll not have him persuaded. Easy-going folk, too lazyfor ambition, have no right to prescribe for others. Ambition turnedsour is a very dangerous dose! Much better let it fly off! I mean tolook out of my mill yet, and see Sir Thomas win the stakes. Only I wishhe would come and see us; tell him he shall not hear a word to botherhim about the old practice. People have lived and died at Stoneboroughwithout a May to help them, and so they will again, I suppose. '

Ethel was very glad to see how her father had made up his mind to whatwas perhaps the most real disappointment of his life, but she wasgrieved that Tom did not respond to the invitation, and next wrote fromParis. It was one of his hurried notes, great contrasts to suchelaborate performances as his recent letter. 'Thanks, many thanks tomy father, ' he said; 'I knew you would make him see reason, and healways yields generously. I was too much hurried to come home; couldnot afford to miss the trail. I had not time to say before that theBank that sent the cheque to Whitford had it from a lodging-house intown. Landlord had a writ served on S. A. ; as he was embarking atFolkestone, he took out the draft and paid. He knew its import, ifBramshaw did not. I hope my father was not vexed at my not staying. There are things I cannot stand, namely, discussions and Gertrude. '

Gertrude was one of the chief cares upon Ethel's mind. She spent manythoughts upon the child, and even talked her over with Flora. 

'What is it, Flora? is it my bad management? She is a good girl, and adear girl; but there is such a want of softness about her. '

'There is a want of softness about all the young ladies of the day, 'returned Flora. 

'I have heard you say so, but--'

'We have made girls sensible and clear-headed, till they have grownhard. They have been taught to despise little fears and illusions, andit is certainly not becoming. '

'We had not fears, we were taught to be sensible. '

'Yes, but it is in the influence of the time! It all tends to makegirls independent. '

'That's very well for the fine folks you meet in your visits, but itdoes not account for my Daisy--always at home, under papa's eye--havingturned nineteenth century--What is it, Flora? She is reverent in greatthings, but not respectful except to papa, and that would not have beenrespect in one of us--only he likes her sauciness. '

'That is it, partly. '

'No, I won't have that said, ' exclaimed Ethel. 'Papa is the onlysoftening influence in the house--the only one that is tender. You seeit is unlucky that Gertrude has so few that she really does love, withanything either reverend or softening about them. She is always at warwith Charles Cheviot, and he has not fun enough, is too lumberingaltogether, to understand her, or set her down in the right way; andshe domineers over Hector like the rest of us. I did hope the babiesmight have found out her heart, but, unluckily, she does not take tothem. She is only bored by the fuss that Mary and Blanche make aboutthem. 

'You know we are all jealous of both Charles Cheviots, elder andyounger. '

'I often question whether I should not have taken her down and made herashamed of all the quizzing and teasing at the time of Mary's marriage. But one cannot be always spoiling bright merry mischief, and I am onlyelder sister after all. It is a wonder she is as good to me as she is. '

'She never remembered our mother, poor dear. '

'Ah! that is the real mischief, ' said Ethel. 'Mamma would have giventhe atmosphere of gentleness and discretion, and so would Margaret. Howoften I have been made, by the merest pained look, to know when what Isaid was saucy or in bad taste, and I--I can only look forbidding, orelse blurt out a reproof that _will_ not come softly. '

'The youngest _must_ be spoilt, ' said Flora, 'that's an ordinance ofnature. It ends when a boy goes to school, and when a girl--'

'When?'

'When she marries--or when she finds out what trouble is, ' said Flora. 

'Is that all you can hold out to my poor Daisy?'

'Well, it is the way of the world. There is just now a reaction fromsentiment, and it is the less feminine variety. The softness will comewhen there is a call for it. Never mind when the foundation is safe. '

'If I could only see that child heartily admiring and looking up! Idon't mean love--there used to be a higher, nobler reverence!'

'Such as you and Norman used to bestow on Shakespeare and Scott, and--the vision of Cocksmoor. '

'Not only _used_, ' said Ethel. 

'Yes, it is your soft side, ' said Flora; 'it is what answers thepurpose of sentiment in people like you. It is what I should havethought living with you would have put into any girl; but Gertrude hasa satirical side, and she follows the age. '

'I wish you would tell her so--it is what she especially wants not todo! But the spirit of opposition is not the thing to cause tenderness. '

'No, you must wait for something to bring it out. She is very kind tomy poor little Margaret, and I won't ask how she talks _of_ her. '

'Tenderly; oh yes, that she always would do. '

'There, then, Ethel, if she can talk tenderly of Margaret, there can'tbe much amiss at the root. '

'No; and you don't overwhelm the naughty girl with baby talk. '

'Like our happy, proud young mothers, ' sighed Flora; and then lettingherself out--'but indeed, Ethel, Margaret is very much improved. Shehas really begun to wish to be good. I think she is struggling withherself. '

'Something to love tenderly, something to reverence highly. ' Someditated Ethel, as she watched her sunny-haired, open-faced Daisy, sounconquerably gay and joyous that she gave the impression of sunshinewithout shade. There are stages of youth that are in themselvesunpleasing, and yet that are nobody's fault, nay, which may have withinthem seeds of strength. Tom's satire had fostered Daisy's toocongenial spirit, and he reaped the consequence in the want of reposeand sympathy that were driving him from home, and shutting him upwithin himself. Would he ever forgive that flippant saying, whichEthel had recollected with shame ever since--shame more for herselfthan for the child, who probably had forgotten, long ago, her 'shaft atrandom sent'?

Then Ethel would wonder whether, after all, her discontent withGertrude's speeches was only from feeling older and graver, and perhapsfrom a certain resentment at finding how the course of time was wearingdown the sharp edge of compassion towards Leonard. 

A little more about Leonard was gathered when the time came of releasefor his friend the clerk Brown. This young man had an uncle at Paris, engaged in one of the many departments connected with steam that carryEnglishmen all over the world, and Leonard obtained permission to writeto Dr. Thomas May, begging him to call upon the uncle, and try if hecould be induced to employ the penitent and reformed nephew under hisown eye. It had been wise in Leonard to write direct, for if therequest had been made through any one at home, Tom would haveconsidered it as impossible; but he could not resist the entreaty, andhis mission was successful. The uncle was ready to be merciful, andundertook all the necessary arrangements for, and even theresponsibility of, bringing the ticket-of-leave man to Paris, where hefound him a desk in his office. One of Tom's few detailed epistles wassent to Ethel after this arrival, when the uncle had told him how thenephew had spoken of his fellow-prisoner. It was to Leonard Ward thatthe young man had owed the inclination to open his heart to religiousinstruction, hitherto merely endured as a portion of the generalinfliction of the penalty, a supposed engine for dealing with thesuperstitious, but entirely beneath his attention. The sight of theeducated face had at first attracted him, but when he observed thereverential manner in chapel, he thought it mere acting the ''umbleprisoner, ' till he observed how unobtrusive, unconscious, and retiringwas every token of devotion, and watched the eyes, brightened orsoftened in praise or in prayer, till he owned the genuineness andguessed the depth of both, then perceived in school how far removed hisunknown comrade was from the mere superstitious boor. This was thebeginning. The rest had been worked out by the instruction anddiscipline of the place, enforced by the example, and latterly by theconversation, of his fellow-prisoner, until he had come forth sincerelyrepenting, and with the better hope for the future that his sins hadnot been against full light. 

He declared himself convinced that Ward far better merited to be atlarge than he did, and told of the regard that uniform good conduct wasobtaining at last, though not till after considerable persecution, almost amounting to personal danger from the worse sort of convicts, who regarded him as a spy, because he would not connive at theintroduction of forbidden indulgences, and always stood by theauthorities. Once his fearless interposition had saved the life of awarder, and this had procured him trust, and promotion to a class wherehis companions were better conducted, and more susceptible to goodinfluences, and among them Brown was sure that his ready submission andconstant resolution to do his work were producing an effect. As to hisspirits, Brown had never known him break down but once, and that waswhen he had come upon a curious fossil in the stone. Otherwise he wasgrave and contented, but never laughed or joked as even some gentlemenprisoners of more rank and age had been known to do. The music in thechapel was his greatest pleasure, and he had come to be regarded as animportant element in the singing. 

Very grateful was Dr. May to Tom for having learnt, and still more forhaving transmitted, all these details, and Ethel was not the lesstouched, because she knew they were to travel beyond Minster Street. Those words of Mr. Wilmot's seemed to be working out theiraccomplishment; and she thought so the more, when in early spring oneof Leonard's severe throat attacks led to his being sent after hisrecovery to assist the schoolmaster, instead of returning to thecarpenter's shed; and he was found so valuable in the school that themaster begged to retain his services. 

That spring was a grievous one in Indiana. The war, which eighteenmonths previously was to have come to an immediate end, was stillraging, and the successes that had once buoyed up the Northern Stateswith hope had long since been chequered by terrible reverses. On, on, still fought either side, as though nothing could close the strife butexhaustion or extinction; and still ardent, still constant, throughbereavement and privation, were either party to their blood-stainedflag. Mordaunt Muller had fallen in one of the terrible battles on theRappahannock; and Cora, while, sobbing in Averil's arms, had stillconfessed herself thankful that it had been a glorious death for hiscountry's cause! And even in her fresh grief, she had not endeavouredto withhold her other brother, when, at the urgent summons ofGovernment, he too had gone forth to join the army. 

Cora was advised to return to her friends at New York, but she declaredher intention of remaining to keep house with Cousin Deborah. UnlessAveril would come with her, nothing should induce her to leaveMassissauga, certainly not while Ella and Averil were alternately laidlow by the spring intermittent fever. Perhaps the fact was that, besides her strong affection for Averil, she felt that in her ignoranceshe had assisted her father in unscrupulously involving them in ahazardous and unsuccessful speculation, and that she was the morebound, in justice as well as in love and pity, to do her best for theirassistance. At any rate, Rufus had no sooner left home, than sheinsisted on the three sisters coming to relieve her loneliness--inother words, in removing them from the thin ill-built frame house, gaping in every seam with the effects of weather, and with damp oozingup between every board of the floor, the pestiferous river-fog, theclose air of the forest, and the view of the phantom trees, nowdecaying and falling one against another. 

Cousin Deborah, who had learnt to love and pity the forlorn Englishgirls, heartily concurred; and Averil consented, knowing that the dryhouse and pure air were the best hope of restoring Ella's health. 

Averil and Ella quickly improved, grew stronger in the intervals, andsuffered less during the attacks; but Minna, who in their own house hadbeen less ill, had waited on both, and supplied the endlessdeficiencies of the kindly and faithful, but two-fisted Katty; Minna, whose wise and simple little head had never failed in sensiblecounsels, or tender comfort; Minna, whom the rudest and mostself-important far-wester never disobliged, Minna, the peace-maker, thecomfort and blessing--was laid low by fever, and fever that, as theexperienced eyes of Cousin Deborah at once perceived, 'meant mischief. 'Then it was that the real kindliness of heart of the rough people ofthe West showed itself. The five wild young ladies, whose successivedomestic services had been such trouble, and whose answer to a summonsfrom the parlour had been, 'Did yer holler, Avy? I thort I heerd ascritch, ' each, from Cleopatra Betsy to Hetta Mary, were constantlyrushing in to inquire, or to present questionable dainties and nostrumsfrom their respective 'Mas'; the charwomen, whom Minna had coaxed inher blandest manner to save trouble to Averil and disgust to Henry, were officious in volunteers of nursing and sitting up, the black cookat the hotel sent choice fabrics of jelly and fragrant ice; and evenHenry's rival, who had been so strong against the insolence of apractitioner showing no testimonials, no sooner came under theinfluence of the yearning, entreating, but ever-patient eyes, than hisattendance became assiduous, his interest in the case ardent. 

Henry himself was in the camp, before Vicksburg, with his hands toofull of piteous cases of wounds and fever to attempt the most hurriedvisit. 

'Sister, dear, ' said the soft slow voice, one day when Averil had beenhoping her patient was asleep, 'are you writing to Henry?'

'Yes, my darling. Do you want to say anything?'

'Oh yes! so much;' and the eyes grew bright, and the breath gasping;'please beg Henry--tell Henry--that I must--I can't bear it any longerif I don't--'

'You must what, dear child? Henry would let you do anything he could. '

'Oh, then, would he let me speak about dear Leonard?' and the childgrew deadly white when the words were spoken; but her eyes still soughtAveril's face, and grew terrified at the sight of the gush of tears. 'O, Ave, Ave, tell me only--he is not dead!' and as Averil could onlymake a sign, 'I do have such dreadful fancies about him, and I think Icould sleep if I only knew what was really true. '

'You shall, dear child, you shall, without waiting to hear from Henry;I know he would let you. '

And only then did Averil know the full misery that Henry's decision hadinflicted on the gentle little heart, in childish ignorance, imaginingfetters and dungeons, even in her sober waking moods, and a prey tountold horrors in every dream, exaggerated by feverishness andailment--horrors that, for aught she knew, might be veritable, and mademore awful by the treatment of his name as that of one dead. 

To hear of him as enjoying the open air and light of day, going tochurch, singing their own favourite hymn tunes, and often visited byDr. May, was to her almost as great a joy as if she had heard of him atliberty. And Averil had a more than usually cheerful letter to read toher, one written in the infirmary during his recovery. His letters toher were always cheerful, but this one was particularly so, having beenwritten while exhilarated by the relaxations permitted toconvalescents, and by enjoying an unwonted amount of conversation withthe chaplain and the doctor. 

'So glad, so glad, ' Minna was heard murmuring to herself again andagain; her rest was calmer than it had been for weeks, and the doctorfound her so much better that he trusted that a favourable change hadbegun. 

But it was only a gleam of hope. The weary fever held its prey, andmany as were the fluctuations, they always resulted in greaterweakness; and the wandering mind was not always able to keep fast holdof the new comfort. Sometimes she would piteously clasp her sister'shand, and entreat, 'Tell me again;' and sometimes the hauntingdelirious fancies of chains and bars would drop forth from the tonguethat had lost its self-control; yet even at the worst came the dear oldrecurring note, 'God will not let them hurt him, for he has not doneit!' Sometimes, more trying to Averil than all, she would live overagain the happy games with him, or sing their favourite hymns andchants, or she would be heard pleading, 'O, Henry, don't be cross toLeonard. '

Cora could not fail to remark the new name that mingled in theunconscious talk; but she had learnt to respect Averil's reserve, andshe forbore from all questioning, trying even to warn Cousin Deborah, who, with the experience of an elderly woman, remarked, 'That she hadtoo much to do to mind what a sick child rambled about. When Cora hadlived to her age, she would know how unaccountably they talked. '

But Averil felt the more impelled to an outpouring by this delicateforbearance, and the next time she and Cora were sent out together tobreathe the air, while Cousin Deborah watched the patient, she told thehistory, and to a sympathizing listener, without a moment's doubt ofLeonard's innocence, nor that American law would have managed mattersbetter. 

'And now, Cora, you know why I told you there were bitterer sorrowsthan yours. '

'Ah! Averil, I could have believed you once; but to know that he nevercan come again! Now you always have hope. '

'My hope has all but gone, ' said Averil. 'There is only one thing leftto look to. If I only can live till he is sent out to a colony, thennothing shall keep me back from him!'

'And what would I give for even such a hope?'

'We have a better hope, both of us, ' murmured Averil. 

'It won't seem so long when it is over. '

Well was it for Averil that this fresh link of sympathy was riveted, for day by day she saw the little patient wasting more hopelessly away, and the fever only burning lower for want of strength to feed on. Utterly exhausted and half torpid, there was not life or power enoughleft in the child for them to know whether she was aware of hercondition. When they read Prayers, her lips always moved for theLord's Prayer and Doxology; and when the clergyman came out fromWiniamac, prayed by her and blessed her, she opened her eyes with alook of comprehension; and if, according to the custom from thebeginning of her illness, the Psalms and Lessons were not read in herroom, she was uneasy, though she could hardly listen. So came EasterEve; and towards evening she was a little revived, and asked Averilwhat day it was, then answered, 'I thought it would have been nice tohave died yesterday, '--it was the first time she mentioned death. Averil told her she was better, but half repented, as the child sankinto torpor again; and Averil, no longer the bewildered girl who hadbeen so easily led from the death scene, knew the fitful breath andfluttering pulse, and felt the blank dread stealing over her heart. 

Again, however, the child looked up, and murmured, 'You have not readto-day. ' Cora, who had the Bible on her knee, gently obeyed, and readon, where she was, the morning First Lesson, the same in the AmericanChurch as in our own. Averil, dull with watching and suffering, sat ondreamily, with the scent of primroses wafted to her, as it were, by theassociation of the words, though her power to attend to them was gone. Before the chapter was over, the doze had overshadowed the little girlagain; and yet, more than once, as the night drew on, they heard hermuttering what seemed like the echo of one of its verses, 'Turn you, turn you--'

At last, after hours of watching, and more than one vain endeavour ofgood Cousin Deborah to lead away the worn but absorbed nurses, thedread messenger came. Minna turned suddenly in her sister's arms, withmore strength than Averil had thought was left in her, and eagerlystretched out her arms, while the words so long trembling on her lipsfound utterance. 'Turn you to the stronghold, ye prisoners of hope!O, Leonard dear! it does not hurt!' But that last word was almost lostin the gasp--the last gasp. What 'did not hurt' was death without hissting. 

'O, Cora! Was he with her? Is he gone too?' was Averil's cry at thefirst moment, as she strained the form of her little comforter for thelast time in her arms. 

'And if he is, they are in joy together, ' said Cousin Deborah, tenderlybut firmly unloosing Averil's arms, though with the tears running downher cheeks. 'Take her away, Cora, and both of you sleep. This dearlamb is in better keeping than yours. '

Heavy, grievous, was the loss, crushing the grief; but it was such asto be at its softest and sweetest at Easter, amid the Resurrectionjoys, and the budding flowers, though Ella's bitterest fit of weepingwas excited by there being no primroses--the primroses that Minna lovedso much; and her first pleasurable thought was to sit down and write toher dear 'Mr. Tom' to send her some primrose seed, for Minna's grave. 

Minna's grave! Alas! Massissauga had but an untidy desolate-lookingregion, with a rude snake fence, all unconsecrated! Cora wanted tochoose a shaded corner in her father's ground, where they might dailytend the child's earthly resting-place; but Averil shrank from thiswith horror; and finally, on one of the Easter holidays, the littlewasted form in its coffin was reverently driven by Philetus toWiniamac, while the sisters and Cora slowly followed, thinking--the oneof the nameless blood-stained graves of a battle-field; the otherwhether an equally nameless grave-yard, but one looked on with ashudder unmixed with exultation, had opened for the other being sheloved best. 'The Resurrection and the Life. --Yes, had not He made Hisgrave with the wicked, and been numbered with the transgressors!'

Somehow, the present sorrow was more abundant in such comforts as thesethan all the pangs which her heart, grown old in sorrow, had yetendured. 

Yet if her soul had bowed itself to meet sorrow more patiently andpeacefully, it was at the expense of the bodily frame. Alreadyweakened by the intermittent fever, the long strain of nursing had toldon her; and that hysteric affection that had been so distressing at thetime of her brother's trial recurred, and grew on her with everyoccasion for self-restraint. The suspense in which she lived--with onebrother in the camp, in daily peril from battle and disease, the otherin his convict prison--wore her down, and made every passing effect ofclimate or fatigue seize on her frame like a serious disorder; and themore she resigned her spirit, the more her body gave way. Yet she wasinfinitely happier. The repentance and submission were bearing fruit, and the ceasing to struggle had brought a strange calm and acceptanceof all that might be sent; nay, her own decay was perhaps the sweetestsolace and healing of the wearied spirit; and as to Ella, she wouldtrust, and she did trust, that in some way or other all would be well. 

She felt as if even Leonard's death could be accepted thankfully as thecaptive's release. But that sorrow was spared her. 

The account of Leonard came from Mr. Wilmot, who had carried him thetidings. The prisoner had calmly met him with the words, 'I know whatyou are come to tell me;' and he heard all in perfect calmness andresignation, saying little, but accepting all that the clergyman said, exactly as could most be desired. 

From the chaplain, likewise, Mr. Wilmot learnt that Leonard, thoughstill only in the second stage of his penalty, stood morally in a verydifferent position, and was relied on as a valuable assistant in allthat was good, more effective among his fellow-prisoners than waspossible to any one not in the same situation with themselves, andfully accepting that position when in contact either with convicts orofficials. 'He has never referred to what brought him here, ' said thechaplain, 'nor would I press him to do so; but his whole tone is ofrepentance, and acceptance of the penalty, without, like most of them, regarding it as expiation. It is this that renders his example sovaluable among the men. '

After such a report as this, it was disappointing, on Dr. May's nextvisit to Portland, at two months' end, to find Leonard drooping anddowncast. The Doctor was dismayed at his pale, dejected, stoopingappearance, and the silence and indifference with which he met theirordinary topics of conversation, till the Doctor began anxiously--

'You are not well?'

'Quite well, thank you. '

'You are looking out of condition. Do you sleep?'

'Some part of the night. '

'You want more exercise. You should apply to go back to thecarpenter's shop--or shall I speak to the governor?'

'No, thank you. I believe they want me in school. '

'And you prefer school work?'

'I don't know, but it helps the master. '

'Do you think you make any progress with the men? We heard you werevery effective with them. '

'I don't see that much can be done any way, certainly not by me. '

Then the Doctor tried to talk of Henry and the sisters; but soon sawthat Leonard had no power to dwell upon them. The brief answers weregiven with a stern compression and contraction of face; as if themanhood that had grown on him in these three years was no longercapable of the softening effusion of grief; and Dr. May, with all histenderness, felt that it must be respected, and turned the conversation. 

'I have been calling at the Castle, ' he said, 'with Ernescliffe, andthe governor showed me a curious thing, a volume of Archbishop Usher, which had been the Duke of Lauderdale's study after he was taken atWorcester. He has made a note in the fly-leaf, "I began this book atWindsor, and finished it during my imprisonment here;" and below aremottoes in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. I can't construe the Hebrew. TheGreek is oisteon kai elpisteon (one must bear and hope), the Latin isdurate. Will you accept your predecessor's legacy?'

'I think I read about him in an account of the island, ' said Leonard, with a moment's awakened intelligence; 'was he not the L. Of the Cabal, the persecutor in "Old Mortality?"'

'I am afraid you are right. Prosperity must have been worse for himthan adversity. '

'Endure' repeated Leonard, gravely. 'I will think of that, and what hewould mean by hope now. '

The Doctor came home much distressed; he had been unable to penetratethe dreary, resolute self-command that covered so much anguish; he hadfailed in probing or in healing, and feared that the apathy he hadwitnessed was a sign that the sustaining spring of vigour was failingin the monotonous life. The strong endurance had been a strain thatthe additional grief was rendering beyond his power; and the crushedresignation, and air of extinguished hope, together with theindications of failing health, filled the Doctor with misgivings. 

'It will not last much longer, ' he said. 'I do not mean that he isill; but to hold up in this way takes it out of a man, especially athis age. The first thing that lays hold of him, he will have nostrength nor will to resist, and then--Well, I did hope to live to seeGod show the right. '

CHAPTER XXIV

 We twa hae wandered o'er the braes, And pu'ed the gowans fine; I've wandered many a weary foot Sin auld lang syne. 

These years had passed quietly at Stoneborough, with little changesince Mary's marriage. She was the happy excellent wife that she wasmade to be; and perhaps it was better for Ethel that the firstseverance had been so decisive that Mary's attentions to her old homewere received as favours, instead of as the mere scanty relics of herformer attachment. 

Mr. Cheviot, as the family shook down together, became less afraid ofEthel, and did not think it so needful to snub her either by hisdignity or jocularity; though she still knew that she was only on termsof sufferance, and had been, more than once, made to repent ofunguarded observations. He was admirable; and the school was sorapidly improving that Norman had put his father into ecstasies byproposing to send home little Dickie to begin his education there. Moreover, the one element wanting, to accomplish the town improvements, had been supplied by a head-master on the side of progress, and Dr. Spencer's victory had been won at last. There was a chance thatStoneborough might yet be clean, thanks to his reiteration of plans forpurification, apropos to everything. Baths and wash-houses wereadroitly carried as a monument to Prince Albert; and on the Prince ofWales's marriage, his perseverance actually induced the committee tofinish up the drains with all the contributions that were neither eatenup nor fired away! Never had he been more happy and triumphant; andDr. May used to accuse him of perambulating the lower streets snuffingthe deodorized air. 

One autumn evening, contrary to his wont, he allowed himself to bedrawn into the May drawing-room, and there fell into one of the brightbantering talks in which the two old friends delighted, quizzing eachother, and bringing up stories of their life; while Ethel and Gertrudelistened to and laughed at the traditions of a sunnier, gayer, and morereckless age than their own; and Ethel thought how insufficient arethose pictures of life that close with the fever-dream of youthfulpassion, and leave untold those years of the real burthen of manhood, and still more the tranquil brightness when toil has been overlived, and the setting sun gilds the clouds that are drifting away. 

Ethel's first knowledge of outer life the next morning was the sound ofvoices in her father's adjoining room, which made her call out, 'Areyou sent for, papa?'

'Yes, ' he answered, and in an agitated tone, 'Spencer; I'll send word. '

Should she mention what she had two years ago heard from Tom? Therewas no time, for the next moment she heard him hurrying down-stairs, she saw him speeding up the garden. There was nothing for her to dobut to dress as fast as possible, and as she was finishing she heardhis tread slowly mounting, the very footfall warning her what toexpect. She opened the door and met him. 'Thank God, ' he said, as hetook her hand into his own, 'it has been very merciful. '

'Is it--?'

'Yes. It must have been soon after he lay down at night. As calm assleep. The heart. I am very thankful. I had thought he would havehad much to suffer. '

And then it appeared that his own observations had made him sure ofwhat Ethel had learnt from Tom; but as long as it was unavowed by hisfriend, he had thought himself bound to ignore it, and had so dreadedthe protracted suffering, that the actual stroke was accepted as aloving dispensation. 

Still, as the close of a life-long friendship, the end of a dailyrefreshing and sustaining intimacy, the loss was very great, and wouldbe increasingly felt after the first stimulus was over. It would makeTom's defection a daily grievance, since much detail of hospital care, and, above all, town work, his chief fatigue, would now again fall uponhim. But this was not his present thought. His first care was, thathis friend's remains should rest with those with whom his lot in lifehad been cast, in the cloister of the old Grammar-school; but here Mr. Cheviot looked concerned, and with reluctance, but decision, declaredit to be his duty not to consent, cited the funeral of one of hisscholars at the cemetery, and referred to recent sanatory measures. 

Dr. May quickly exclaimed that he had looked into the matter, and thatthe cloister did not come under the Act. 

'Not technically, sir, ' said Mr. Cheviot; 'but I am equally convincedof my duty, however much I may regret it. ' And then, with a few wordsabout Mary's presently coming up, he departed; while 'That is too bad, 'was the general indignant outburst, even from Richard; from all but Dr. May himself. 

'He is quite right, ' he said. 'Dear Spencer would be the first to sayso. Richard, your church is his best monument, and you'll not shut himout of your churchyard nor me either. '

'Cheviot could not have meant--' began Richard. 

'Yes, he did, I understood him, and I am glad you should have had itout now, ' said Dr. May, though not without a quivering lip. 'Yourmother has _one_ by her side, and we'll find each other out just aswell as if we were in the cloister. I'll walk over to Cocksmoor withyou, Ritchie, and mark the place. '

Thus sweetly did he put aside what might have been so severe a shock;and he took extra pains to show his son-in-law his completeacquiescence both for the present and the future. Charles Cheviotexpressed to Richard his great satisfaction in finding sentiment thussurmounted by sense, not perceiving that it was faith and lovesurmounting both. 

Dr. Spencer's only surviving relation was a brother's son, who, on hisarrival, proved to be an underbred, shrewd-looking man, evidently withstrong prepossessions against the May family, whose hospitality he didnot accept, consorting chiefly with 'Bramshaw and Anderson. ' Hisdisposition to reverse the arrangement for burying his uncle in 'anobscure village churchyard, ' occasioned a reference to the will, drawnup two years previously. The executors were Thomas and Etheldred May, and it was marked on the outside that they were to have the soledirection of the funeral. Ethel, greatly astonished, but as muchbewildered as touched, was infinitely relieved that this same day hadbrought a hurried note from Paris, announcing Tom's intention of comingto attend the funeral. He would be able to talk to the angry andsuspicious nephew, without, like his father, betraying eitherindignation or disgust. 

Another person was extremely anxious for Tom's arrival, namely, SirMatthew Fleet, who, not a little to Dr. May's gratification, came toshow his respect to his old fellow-student; and arriving the eveningbefore Tom, was urgent to know the probabilities of his appearance. Anappointment in London was about to be vacant, so desirable in itself, and so valuable an introduction, that there was sure to be a greatcompetition; but Sir Matthew was persuaded that with his own support, and an early canvass, Tom might be certain of success. Dr. May couldnot help being grateful and gratified, declaring that the boy deservedit, and that dear Spencer would have been very much pleased; and thenhe told Ethel that it was wonderful to see the blessing upon Maggie'schildren; and went back, as usual, to his dear old Tate and Brady, with--

 'His house the seat of wealth shall be, An inexhausted treasury; His justice, free from all decay, Shall blessings to his heirs convey. '

And Ethel, within herself, hoped it was no disrespect to smile at hishaving so unconsciously turned away the blessing from the father's tothe mother's side. 

It was his great pride and pleasure that so many of Maggie's childrenwere round him to do honour to her old friend's burial--three sons, andfour daughters, and three sons-in-law. They all stood round the grave, as near as might be to the stone that Gertrude, as a child, had laidunder his care, when his silver hair had mingled with her golden locks;and with them was a concourse that evidently impressed the nephew witha new idea of the estimation in which his uncle had been held. 

Tom had travelled all night, and had arrived only just in time. Nobodywas able to say a word to him before setting off; and almostimmediately after the return, Sir Matthew Fleet seized upon him to walkup to the station with him, and, to the infinite disgust of the nephew, the reading of the will was thus delayed until the executor came back, extremely grave and thoughtful. 

After all, Mr. Spencer had no available grievance. His uncle'sproperty was very little altogether, amounting scarcely to a thousandpounds, but the bulk was bequeathed to the nephew; to Aubrey May wasleft his watch, and a piece of plate presented to him on his leavingIndia; to Dr. May a few books; to Tom the chief of his library, hispapers, notes, and instruments, and the manuscript of a work upondiseases connected with climate, on which he had been engaged for manyyears, but had never succeeded in polishing to his own fastidioussatisfaction, or in coming to the end of new discoveries. To Etheldred, his only legacy was his writing-desk, with all its contents. And Mr. Spencer looked so suspicious of those contents, that Tom made her openit before him, and show that they were nothing but letters. 

It had been a morning of the mixture of feelings and restless bustle, so apt to take place where the affection is not explained byrelationship; and when the strangers were gone, and the family wereonce again alone, there was a drawing of freer breath, and the Doctorthrew himself back in his chair, and indulged in a long, heavy sigh, with a weary sound in it. 

'Can I go anywhere for you, father?' said Tom, turning to him with akind and respectful manner. 

'Oh no--no, thank you, ' he said, rousing himself, and laying his handon the bell, 'I must go over to Overfield; but I shall be glad of thedrive. Well, Dr. Tom, what did you say to Fleet's proposal?'

'I said I would come up to town and settle about it when I had gotthrough this executor business. '

'You always were a lucky fellow, Tom, ' said Dr. May, trying to beinterested and sympathetic. 'You would not wish for anything better. '

'I don't know, I have not had time to think about it yet, ' said Tom, pulling off his spectacles and pushing back his hair, with an action ofsadness and fatigue. 

'Ah! it was not the best of times to choose for the communication; butit was kindly meant. I never expected to see Fleet take so muchtrouble for any one. But you are done up, Tom, with your nightjourney. '

'Not at all, ' he answered, briskly, 'if I can do anything for you. Could not I go down to the hospital?'

'Why, if I were not to be back till five, ' began Dr. May, considering, and calling him into the hall to receive directions, from which he cameback, saying, 'There! now then, Ethel, we had better look over things, and get them in train. '

'You are so tired, Tom. '

'Not too much for that, ' he said. But it was a vain boast; he was toomuch fatigued to turn his mind to business requiring thought, thoughcapable of slow, languid reading and sorting of papers. 

Aubrey's legacy was discovered with much difficulty. In fact, it hadnever been heard of, nor seen the light, since its presentation, andwas at last found in a lumber closet, in a strong box, in Indianpacking. It was a compromise between an epergne and a candelabrum, growing out of the howdah of an unfortunate elephant, pinning one tigerto the ground, and with another hanging on behind, in the midst of ajungle of palm-trees and cobras; and beneath was an elaborateinscription, so laudatory of Aubrey Spencer, M. D. , that nobodywondered he had never unpacked it, and that it was yellow withtarnish--the only marvel was, that he had never disposed of it; butthat it was likely to wait for the days when Aubrey might be a generaland own a side-board. 

The other bequests were far more appreciated. Tom had known of thebook in hand, was certain of its value to the faculty, and was muchgratified by the charge of it, both as a matter of feeling and ofinterest. But while he looked over and sorted the mass of curiousnotes, his attention was far more set on the desk, that reverently, almost timidly, Ethel examined, well knowing why she had been selectedas the depositary of these relics. There they were, some embrowned bya burn in the corner, as though there had been an attempt to destroythem, in which there had been no heart to persevere. It was butlittle, after all, two formal notes in which Professor Norman Mackenzieasked the honour of Mr. Spencer's company to dinner, but in handwritingthat was none of the professor's--writing better known to Ethel than toTom--and a series of their father's letters, from their firstseparation till the traveller's own silence had caused theircorrespondence to drop. Charming letters they were, such as peoplewrote before the penny-post had spoilt the epistolary art--long, minute, and overflowing with brilliant happiness. Several of them wereurgent invitations to Stoneborough, and one of these was finished inthat other hand--the delicate, well-rounded writing that would not beinherited--entreating Dr. Spencer to give a few days to Stoneborough, 'it would be such a pleasure to Richard to show him the children. '

Ethel did not feel sure whether to see these would give pain orpleasure to her father. He would certainly be grieved to see how muchsuffering he must have inflicted in the innocence of his heart, and inthe glory of his happiness; and Tom, with a sort of shudder, advisedher to keep them to herself, he was sure they would give nothing butpain. 

She had no choice just then, for it was a time of unusual occupation, and the difference made by their loss told immediately--the more, perhaps, because it was the beginning of November, and there was muchmunicipal business to be attended to. 

However it might be for the future, during the ensuing week Dr. Maynever came in for a meal with the rest of the family; was too muchfagged for anything but sleep when he came home at night; and on theSunday morning, when they all had reckoned on going to Cocksmoortogether, he was obliged to give it up, and only come into the Minsterat the end of the prayers. Every one knew that he was not a goodmanager of his time, and this made things worse; and he declared thathe should make arrangements for being less taken up; but it was sad tosee him overburthened, and Tom, as only a casual visitor, could dolittle to lessen his toil, though that little was done readily andattentively. There were no rubs between the two, and scarcely anyconversation. Tom would not discuss his prospects; and it was notclear whether he meant to avail himself of Sir Matthew's patronage; hecommitted himself to nothing but his wish that it were possible to stayin Paris; and he avoided even talking to his sister. 

Not till a week after he had left home for London came a letter

'Dear Ethel, 'I have told Fleet that I am convinced of my only right course. Icould never get the book finished properly if I got into his line, andI must have peaceable evenings for it at home. I suppose my fatherwould not like to let Dr. Spencer's house. If I might have it, andkeep my own hours and habits, I think it would conduce to our workingbetter together. I am afraid I kept you in needless distress abouthim, but I wanted to judge for myself of the necessity, and to thinkover the resignation of that quest. I must commit it to Brown. I hopeit is not too great a risk; but it can't be helped. It is a matter ofcourse that I should come home now the helper is gone; I always knew itwould come to that. Manage it as quietly as you can. I must go toParis for a fortnight, to bring home my things, and by that time myfather had better get me appointed to the hospital. 

'Yours ever, 'TH. MAY. '

Ethel was not so much surprised as her father, who thought she musthave been working upon Tom's feelings; but this she disavowed, exceptthat it had been impossible not to growl at patients sending atunreasonable hours. Then he hoped that Fleet had not beendisappointing the lad; but this notion was nullified by a remonstrancefrom the knight, on the impolicy of burying such talents for the sakeof present help; and even proposing to send a promising young man inTom's stead. 'Not too good for poor Stoneborough, ' said Dr. May, smiling. 'No, no, I'm not so decrepit as that, whatever he and Tom mayhave thought me; I fancy I could tire out both of them. I can't havethe poor boy giving up all his prospects for my sake, Ethel. I neverlooked for it, and I shall write and tell him so! Mind, Ethel, I shallwrite, not you! I know you would only stroke him down, and bring himhome to regret it. No, no, I won't always be treated like Karl, in"Debit and Credit", who the old giant thought could neither write norbe written to, because his finger was off. '

And Dr. May's letter was the first which this son had ever had from him. 

'My Dear Tom, 'I feel your kind intentions to the heart; it is like all the rest ofyour dear mother's children; but the young ought not to be sacrificedto the old, and I won't have it done. The whole tone of practice hasaltered since my time, and I do not want to bind you down to theroutine. I had left off thinking of it since I knew of your distaste. I have some years of work in me yet, that will see out most of my oldpatients; and for the rest, Wright is a great advance on poor Ward, andI will leave more to him as I grow older. I mean to see you a greatman yet, and I think you will be the greater and happier for thesacrifice you have been willing to make. His blessing on you. 

'Your loving father, 'R. M. '

What was Tom's answer, but one of his cool 'good letters, ' ademonstration that he was actuated by the calmest motives ofconvenience and self-interest, in preferring the certainties ofStoneborough to the contingencies of London, and that he only wantedtime for study and the completion of Dr. Spencer's book, enforcing hisrequest for the house. 

His resolution was, as usual, too evident to be combated, and it wasalso plain that he chose to keep on the mask of prudent selfishness, which he wore so naturally that it was hard to give him credit for anyother features; but this time Dr. May was not deceived. He fullyestimated the sacrifice, and would have prevented it if he could; buthe never questioned the sincerity of the motive, as it was not upon thesurface; and the token of dutiful affection, as coming from the leastlikely quarter of his family, touched and comforted him. He dwelt onit with increasing satisfaction, and answered all hurries and worrieswith, 'I shall have time when Tome is come;' re-opened old schemes thathad died away when he feared to have no successor, and now and thenshowed a certain comical dread of being drilled into conformity withTom's orderly habits. 

There was less danger of their clashing, as the son had outgrown thepresumptions of early youth, and a change had passed over his naturewhich Ethel had felt, rather than seen, during his fleeting visits athome, more marked by negatives than positives, and untraced byconfidences. The bitterness and self-assertion had ceased to tinge hiswords, the uncomfortable doubt that they were underlaid by satire hadpassed away, and methodical and self-possessed as he always was, theatmosphere of 'number one' was no longer apparent round all his doings. He could be out of spirits and reserved without being eitherill-tempered or ironical; and Ethel, with this as the upshot of herweek's observations, was reassured as to the hopes of the father andson working together without collisions. As soon as the die was cast, and there was no danger of undue persuasion in 'stroking him down, ' sheindulged herself by a warmly-grateful letter, and after she had sentit, was tormented by the fear that it would be a great offence. Theanswer was much longer than she had dared to expect, and alarmed herlest it should be one of his careful ways of making the worst ofhimself; but there was a large 'Private, ' scored in almost menacingletters on the top of the first sheet, and so much blotted in thefolding, that it was plain that he had taken alarm at the unreserve ofhis own letter. 

'My Dear Ethel, 'I have been to Portland. Really my father ought to make a stir andget Ward's health attended to; he looks very much altered, but will notown to anything being amiss. They say he has been depressed ever sincehe heard of Minna's death. I should say he ought to be doingout-of-doors work--perhaps at Gibraltar, but then he would be out ofour reach. I could not get much from him, but that patient, contentedlook is almost more than one can bear. It laid hold of me when I sawhim the first time, and has haunted me ever since. Verily I believe itis what is bringing me home! You need not thank me, for it is sobercalculation that convinces me that no success on earth would compensatefor the perpetual sense that my father was wearing himself out, and youpining over the sight. Except just at first, I always meant to comeand see how the land lay before pledging myself to anything; andnothing can be clearer than that, in the state of things my father hasallowed to spring up, he must have help. I am glad you have got me theold house, for I can be at peace there till I have learnt to stand hisunmethodical ways. Don't let him expect too much of me, as I see he isgoing to do. It is not in me to be like Norman or Harry, and he mustnot look for it, least of all now. If you did not understand, and knowwhen to hold your tongue, I do not think I could come home at all; asit is, you are all the comfort I look for. I cross to Paris to-morrow. That is a page I am very sorry to close. I had a confidence that Ishould have hunted down that fellow, and the sight of Portland and theaccounts from Massissauga alike make one long to have one's hands onhis throat; but that hope is ended now, and to loiter about Paris insearch of him, when it it a plain duty to come away, would be one ofthe presumptuous acts that come to no good. Let them discuss what theywill, there's nothing so hard to believe in as Divine Justice! And yetthat uncomplaining face accepts it! You need say nothing about thisletter. I will talk about Leonard with my father when I get home. 

'Ever yours, 'Thomas May. '

CHAPTER XXV

 But soon as once the genial plain Has drunk the life-blood of the slain, Indelible the spots remain; And aye for vengeance call, Till racking pangs of piercing pain Upon the guilty fall. AEschylus. (Translated by Professor Anstice. )

If Tom May's arrival at home was eagerly anticipated there, it was witha heavy heart that he prepared for what he had never ceased to look onas a treadmill life. He had enjoyed Paris, both from the society andthe abstract study, since he still retained that taste for theoryrather than practice, which made him prefer diseases to sick people, and all sick people to those of Stoneborough. The student life, in thefreedom of a foreign capital, was, even while devoid of license andirregularity, much pleasanter than what he foresaw at home, even thoughhe had obtained a separate establishment. His residence at Paris, withthe vague hope it afforded, cost him more in the resignation than hisprospects in London. It was the week when he would have beencanvassing for the appointment, and he was glad to linger abroad out ofreach of Sir Matthew's remonstrances, and his father's compunction, while he was engaged in arranging for a French translation of Dr. Spencer's book, and likewise in watching an interesting case, esteemeda great medical curiosity, at the Hotel Dieu. 

He was waiting in the lecture-room, when one of the house surgeons camein, saying, 'Ah! I am glad to see you here. A compatriot of yours hasbeen brought in, mortally injured in a gambling fray. You may perhapsassist in getting him identified. '

Tom followed him to the accident ward, and beheld a senseless figure, with bloated and discoloured features, distorted by the effects of theinjury, a blow upon the temple, which had caused a fall backwards onthe sharp edge of a stove, occasioning fatal injury to the spine. Albeit well accustomed to gaze critically upon the tokens of mortalagony, Tom felt an unusual shudder of horror and repugnance as heglanced on the countenance, so disfigured and contorted that there wasno chance of recognition, and turned his attention to the clothes, which lay in a heap on the floor. The contents of the pockets had beentaken out, and consisted only of some pawnbroker's duplicates, acigar-case, and a memorandum-book, which last he took in his hand, andbegan to unfasten, without looking at it, while he took part in theconversation of the surgeons on the technical nature of the injuries. Thus he stood for some seconds, before, on the house surgeon asking ifhe had found any address, he cast his eyes on the pages which lay openin his hand. 

'Ha! What have you found?--He does not hear! Is it the portrait ofthe beloved object? Is it a brother--an enemy--or a debt? But he istruly transfixed! It is an effect of the Gorgon's head!'

'July 15th, 1860. Received £120. 'L. A. WARD. '

There stood Tom May, like one petrified, deaf to the words around, hisdazzled eyes fixed on the letters, his faculties concentrated in theendeavour to ascertain whether they were sight or imagination. Yes, there they were, the very words in the well-known writing, theschool-boy's forming into the clerk's, there was the blot in the top ofthe L! Tom's heart gave one wild bound, then all sensation, except thesight of the writing, ceased, the exclamations of those around him camesurging gradually on his ear, as if from a distance, and he did not yethear them distinctly when he replied alertly, almost lightly, 'Here isa name that surprises me. Let me look at the patient again. '

'No dear friend?' asked his chief intimate, in a tone ready to becomegaiety or sympathy. 

'No, indeed, ' said Tom, shuddering as he stood over the insensiblewretch, and perceived what it had been which had thrilled him with suchunwonted horror, for, fixed by the paralyzing convulsion of the fatalblow, he saw the scowl and grin of deadly malevolence that had been theterror of his childhood, and that had fascinated his eyes at the momentof Leonard's sentence. Changed by debauchery, defaced by violence, contorted by the injured brain, the features would scarcely have beenrecalled to him but for the frightful expression stamped on his memoryby the miseries of his timid boyhood. 

'Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed. ' Theawful thought, answering his own struggle for faith in Divine Justice, crossed him, as he heard the injury on the head defined, in almost thesame scientific terms that had so often rung on his ears as the causesof Francis Axworthy's death; but this was no society where he couldgive vent to his feelings, and mastering himself with difficulty heanswered, 'I know Him. He is from my own town. '

'Has he friends or relations?'

'Relations, yes, ' said Tom, hardly able to restrain a trembling of thelip, half horror, half irony. 'None here, none near. They shall know. '

'And means?'

'Once he had. Probably none now. '

To Tom's great relief, a new case drew off general attention. Thereonly remained the surgeon who had called him at first, and with whom hewas particularly intimate. 

'Gaspard, ' he said, 'shall you have charge of this case?'

'Brief charge it will be, apparently! I will volunteer to watch it, ifit is your desire! Is it friendship, or enmity, or simple humanity?'

'All!' said Tom, hastily. 'It is the clearing up of a horriblemystery--freedom for an innocent prisoner--I must tell you the rest atleisure. There is much to be done now in case of his reviving. '

This was remotely possible, but very doubtful; and Tom impressed onboth Gaspard and the nursing sister the most stringent entreaties tosummon him on the first symptom. He then gave the name of the unhappyman, and, though unwilling to separate himself from that invaluablepocket-book, perceived the necessity of leaving it as a deposit withthe authorities of the hospital, after he had fully examined it, recognizing Leonard's description in each particular, the cipher F. A. On the tarnished silver clasp, the shagreen cover, and the receipt on apage a little past the middle. On the other half of the leaf was theentry of some sums due to the house; and it contained other paperswhich the guilty wretch had been evidently eager to secure, yet afraidto employ, and that, no doubt, were the cause that, like so many othermurderers on record, he had preserved that which was the most fatalproof against himself. Or could it be with some notion of futurerelenting, that he had refrained from its destruction?

With brain still seeming to reel at the discovery, and limbs actuallytrembling with the shock, Tom managed to preserve sufficient coolnessand discretion to bring back to mind the measures he had so oftenplanned for any such contingency. Calling a cabriolet, he repaired tothe police-station nearest to the scene of the contest, and therelearnt that Axworthy had long been watched as a dangerous subject, fullof turbulence, and with no visible means of maintenance. The officialshad taken charge of the few personal effects in his miserable lodgings, and were endeavouring to secure the person who had struck the fatalblow. 

His next measure was to go to the British Embassy, where, through hissister Flora's introductions, and his own Eton connections, he wasalready well known; and telling his story there, without any attempt toconceal his breathless agitation, he had no difficulty in bringing withhim a companion who would authenticate the discovery of the receipt, and certify to any confession that might be obtained. 

A confession! That was the one matter of the most intense interest. Tom considered whether to secure the presence of a clergyman, butsuspected that this would put Axworthy on his guard rather than softenhim, and therefore only wrote to the chaplain, begging him to holdhimself in readiness for a summons to the Hotel Dieu, whither he droverapidly back with his diplomatic friend, whom he wrought up well-nighto his own pitch of expectation. He had already decided on his ownfirst address--pitying, but manifesting that nothing, not evenvengeance, could be gained by concealment; and then, according to theeffect, would he try either softening or threatening to extort thetruth. 

Gaspard was eagerly awaiting them. 'I had already sent for you, ' hesaid. 'The agony is commencing; he has spoken, but he has not his fullconsciousness. '

Tom hurried on, drawing after him the young diplomate, who would havehung back, questioning if there were any use in his witnessing thedying struggles of a delirious man. 

'Come, come, ' peremptorily repeated Tom, 'there must be some lastwords. Every moment is of importance. '

Yet his trust was shaken by the perception of the progress that deathhad made in the miserable frame during his absence. The fixedexpression of malignity had been forced to yield to exhaustion andanguish, the lips moved, but the murmurs between the moans werescarcely articulate. 

'He is almost past it, ' said Tom, 'but there is the one chance that hemay be roused by my voice. '

And having placed his friend conveniently, both for listening andmaking notes, he came close to the bed, and spoke in a tone ofcompassion. 'Axworthy, I say, Axworthy, is there anything I can do foryou?'

There was a motion of the lid of the fast-glazing eye; but the terribleface of hatred came back, with the audible words, 'I tell you, you oldfool, none of the Mays are to come prying about my place. '

Appalled by the deadly malice of the imprecation and the look thataccompanied this partial recognition of his voice, Tom was nervinghimself to speak again, when the dying man, as if roused by the echo ofhis own thought, burst out, 'Who? What is it? I say Dr. May shall notbe called in! He never attended the old man! Let him mind his ownbusiness! I was all night at the Three Goblets. Yes, I was! The newdarling will catch it--going off with the money upon him--' and thelaugh made their blood run cold. 'I've got the receipt;' and he madean attempt at thrusting his hand under the pillow, but failing, swore, shouted, howled with his last strength, that he had been robbed--thepocket-book--it would hang him! and with one of the most fearfulshrieks of despair that had perhaps ever rung through that asylum ofpain, woe, and death, the wretched spirit departed. 

Tom May turned aside, made a few steps, and, to the infinite surpriseof every one, fell helplessly down in a swoon. A nature of deep andreal sensibility, though repressed by external reserve and prudence, could not with entire impunity undergo such a scene. The suddendiscovery, the vehement excitement forced down, the intense strain ofexpectation, and finally, the closing horror of such a death, betrayingthe crime without repenting of it, passing to the other world withimprecations on the lips, and hatred in the glare of the eye, all thefrightfulness enhanced by the familiarity of the allusions, and theghastly association of the tones that had tempted and tyrannized overhis childhood, altogether crushed and annihilated his faculties, mentaland bodily. 

Oh, when our very hearts burn for justice, how little do we know howintolerable would be the sight of it! Tom's caution and readinessreturned as soon as--after a somewhat long interval--he began todistinguish the voices round him, and perceive the amazement he hadcreated. Before he was able to sit up on the couch, where he had beenlaid out of sight of the scene which had affected him so strongly, hewas urging his friend to set down all that had been spoken, and onGaspard's writing a separate deposition. The pocket-book, and othereffects, were readily ceded to the British authority, and were carriedaway with them. 

How Tom got through the remaining hours of the day and the night henever recollected, though he knew it must have been in the bustle ofpreparation, and that he had imparted the tidings to Leonard's friendBrown, for when he and his friend had attended that which answered toan inquest on the body, and had obtained a report of the proceedings, he was ready to start by the night train, bearing with him theattestations of the death-bed scene at the Hotel Dieu, and thelong-lost memorandum-book, and was assured that the next mail wouldcarry an official letter to the Home Office, detailing thecircumstances of Samuel Axworthy's decease. Brown came to bid himfarewell, full of gladness and warm congratulation, which he longed tosend to his friend, but which Tom only received with hasty, half-comprehending assents. 

Late in the afternoon he reached Stoneborough, found no one come in, and sat down in the fire-light, where, for all his impatience, fatiguehad made him drop asleep, when he was roused by Gertrude's voice, exclaiming, 'Here really is Tom come, as you said he would, withoutwriting. Here are all his goods in the hall. '

'Is it you, Tom!' cried Ethel. 'Notice or no notice, we are glad ofyou. But what is the matter?'

'Where's my father?'

'Coming. Charles Cheviot took him down to look at one of the boys. Isthere anything the matter?' she added, after a pause. 

'No, nothing. '

'You look very odd, ' added Gertrude. 

He gave a nervous laugh. 'You would look odd, if you had travelled allnight. '

They commented, and began to tell home news; but Ethel noted that heneither spoke nor heard, only listened for his father. Gertrude grewtired of inattentive answers, and said she should go and dress. Ethelwas turning to follow, when he caught hold of her cloak, and drew herclose to him. 'Ethel, ' he said, in a husky, stifled voice, 'do youknow this?'

On her knees, by the red fire-light, she saw the 'L. A. Ward, ' andlooked up. 'Is it?' she said. He bowed his head. 

And then Ethel put her arm round his neck, as he knelt down by her; andhe found that her tears, her rare tears, were streaming down, silentbut irrepressible. She had not spoken, had asked no question, made noremark, when Dr. Mays entrance was heard, and she loosed her hold onher brother, out without rising from the floor, looked up from underthe shade of her hat, and said, 'O, papa! it is found, and he has doneit! Look there!'

Her choked voice, and tokens of emotion, startled the Doctor; but Tom, in a matter-of-fact tone, took up the word: 'How are you, father?--Yes. I have only met with this little memorandum. '

Dr. May recognized it with a burst of incoherent inquiry andexclamation, wringing Tom's hand, and giving no time for an answer;and, indeed, his son attempted none--till, calming himself, the Doctorsubsided into his arm-chair, and with a deep sigh, exclaimed, 'Nowthen, Tom, let us hear. Where does this come from?'

'From the casualty ward at the Hotel Dieu. '

'And from--'

'He is dead, ' said Tom, answering the unspoken question. 'You willfind it all here. Ethel, do I sleep here to-night? My old room?' Ashe spoke, he bent to light a spill at the fire, and then the twocandles on the side-table; but his hand shook nervously, and though heturned away his face, his father and sister saw the paleness of hischeek, and knew that he must have received a great shock. Neitherspoke, while he put one candle conveniently for his father, took up theother, and went away with it. With one inquisitive glance at eachother, they turned to the papers, and with eager eyes devoured thewritten narratives of Tom himself and of the attache, then, with noless avidity, the French reports accompanying them. Hardly a word wasspoken while Ethel leant against her father's knee, and he almostsinged his hair in the candle, as they helped one another out in thedifficulties of the crooked foreign writing. 

'Will it be enough?' asked Ethel, at last, holding her breath for theanswer. 

'If there is justice in England!' said Dr. May. 'Heaven forgive me, Ethel, this business has tried my trust more than anything that everbefell me; but it will all be right now, and righter than right, ifthat boy comes out what I think him. '

'And oh, how soon?'

'Not a moment longer than can be helped. I'd go up by the mail trainthis very night if it would do any good. '

Tom, who reappeared as soon as he had spared himself the necessity ofthe narration, was willing and eager to set out; but Dr. May, who bythis time had gathered some idea of what he had gone through, and sawthat he was restless, nervous, and unhinged, began to reconsider theexpedience of another night journey, and was, for once in his life, theperson cool enough to see that it would be wisest to call Bramshaw intotheir counsels, and only that night to send up a note mentioning thatthey would do themselves the honour of calling at the Home Office thenext day, on matters connected with the intelligence received thatmorning from the British Embassy at Paris. 

Tom was disappointed; he was in no mood for sitting still, and far lessfor talking. As a matter of business, he would elucidate any question, but conversation on what he had witnessed was impossible to him; andwhen Gertrude, with a girl's lightness, lamented over being balked of aconfession and explanation, he gravely answered, that she did not knowwhat she was talking of; and his father led away from the subject. Indeed, Dr. May was full of kindness and consideration, being evidentlynot only grateful for the discovery, but touched by his entire absenceof exulting triumph, and his strong sense of awe in the retribution. 

That changed and awe-struck manner impressed both the sisters, so thatall the evening Ethel felt subdued as by a strange shock, and eventhrough the night and morning could hardly realize that it was intenserelief--joy, not sorrow--that made her feel so unlike herself, and thatthe burthen was taken away from her heart. Even then, there was atrembling of anxiety. The prisoner might be set free; but who couldgive back to him the sister who had pined away in exile, or the threeyears of his youthful brightness? There might be better things instore; but she knew she must not look again for the boy of ingenuouscountenance, whose chivalrous devotion to herself had had such a charm, even while she tried to prize it at its lightest worth. It was foolishto recollect it with a pang, but there was no helping it. In the greattragedy, she had forgotten that the pretty comedy was over, but sheregretted it, rather as she did the pleasant baby-days of Aubrey andGertrude. 

Indeed, during the day of suspense, while the two physicians were goneto London, taking with them the papers, and a minute detail of theevidence at the trial, Gertrude's high spirits, triumph over CharlesCheviot, and desire to trumpet forth the good news, were oppressive. How many times that day was Mab stroked, and assured that her masterwould come back! And how often did the two sisters endeavour topersuade themselves that she was not grown broader in the back! Marywas, of course, told early in the day, but Gertrude got less sympathyfrom her than answered to that damsel's extortionate expectations, for, according to her wicked account, Mary's little Charlie had sneezedthree times, and his mamma must regret what sent all the medicalscience of Stoneborough away by the early train. 

However, Tom came home at night. The interview had been satisfactory. The letters received in the morning had prepared the way, and revivedthe recollection of the unsatisfactory case of Leonard Axworthy Ward, and of the representations of the then Mayor of Market Stoneborough. After all the new lights upon the matter had been looked into, thefather and son had been assured that, as soon as possible, a freepardon should be issued, so drawn up as to imply a declaration ofinnocence--the nearest possible approach to a reversal of the sentence;and they further were told of a mention of his exemplary conduct in alate report from Portland, containing a request that he might bepromoted to a post of greater influence and trust before the ordinarytime of probation had passed. Dr. May was eager to be at Portland atthe same time as the pardon, so to give Leonard the first intelligence, and to bring him home; and he had warmly closed with Tom's offer tolook after the work, while he himself waited till the necessary formshad been complied with. He had absolutely begged Tom's pardon forgoing in his stead. 'It is your right, ' he said; 'but, somehow, Ithink, as I have been more with him, I might do better. ' To which Tomhad assented with all his heart, and had added that he would not go ifhe were paid for it. He had further taken care that the Doctor shouldtake with him a suit of clothes for Leonard to come home in, and hadhimself made the selection; then came back with the tidings that filledthe house with the certainty of joy, and the uncertainty of expectation. 

Nobody was, however, in such a fever as Tom himself. He wasmarvellously restless all the morning. Gertrude asserted it wasbecause he was miserable at not venturing to set his father's study torights; and to be sure he was seen looking round at the litter with aface of great disgust, and declaring that he was ashamed to see apatient in a room in such a mess. But this did not fully account forhis being in and out, backwards and forwards, all the morning, lookingwistfully at Ethel, and then asking some trivial question aboutmessages left for his father, or matters respecting his own new abode, where he kept on Dr. Spencer's old housekeeper, and was about to turnin paperers and painters. He had actually brought a drawing-room paperfrom Paris, a most delicate and graceful affair, much too lady-like forthe old house, as Daisy told him, when she pursued him and her sisterdown to a consultation. 

Late in the afternoon, as the sisters were coming up the High Street, they met him setting out in Hector's dog-cart. 'Oh, I say, Ethel, ' hesaid, drawing up, 'do you like a drive out to Chilford? Here's a notecome to ask my father to see the old lady there, and I want some one togive me courage to be looked at, like the curate in the pulpit insteadof the crack preacher. '

It was an offer not to be despised, though Ethel knew what a waitingthere would be, and what a dark drive home. Up she jumped, and Tomshowed his usual thoughtfulness by ordering Gertrude to run home andfetch her muff and an additional cloak, tucking her up himself with thecarriage rug. That affection of Tom's had been slow in coming, butalways gave her a sense of gratitude and enjoyment. 

They drove all the seven miles to Chilford without twenty words passingbetween them; and when there, she sat in the road, and watched oneconstellation after another fill up its complement of stars as well asthe moon permitted, wondering whether Tom's near-sighted driving wouldbe safe in the dark; but her heart was so light, so glad, that shecould not be afraid, she did not care how long she waited, it was onlysitting still to recollect that deliverance had come to thecaptive--Leonard was free--'free as heart can think or eye can see, ' aswould keep ringing in her ears like a joy-bell; and some better things, too. 'Until the time came that his cause was known, the Word of theLord tried him. '

Whether she were really too happy to note time, or that gossipry wasdeducted from the visit, Tom certainly returned sooner than herexperience had led her to expect, made an exclamation of dismay atfinding the machine was innocent of lamps, and remounted to his seat, prepared to be extremely careful. 

'I could not get them to take me for my father in a new wig, ' he said;'but it was a very easy-going rheumatic case, and I think I satisfiedher. '

Then on he drove for a mile, till he was out of the bad cross-countryroad, and at last he said, 'Ethel, I have made up my mind. There's nopress of work just now, and I find it is advisable I should go toAmerica before I get into harness here. '

'To America!'

'Yes, about this book of dear old Spencer's. It is a thing that mustbe complete, and I find he was in correspondence with some men ofscience there. I could satisfy my mind on a few points, which wouldmake it infinitely more valuable, you see--and get it published theretoo. I know my father would wish every justice to be done to it. '

'I know he would; and, ' continued Ethel, as innocently as she could, 'shall you see the Wards?'

'Why, ' said Tom, in his deliberate voice, 'that is just one thing; Iwant particularly to see Henry. I had a talk with Wright this morning, and he tells me that young Baines, at Whitford, is going to the dogs, and the practice coming in to him. He thinks of having a partner, andI put out a feeler in case Henry Ward should choose to come back, andfound it might do very well. But the proposal must come from him, andthere's no time to be lost, so I thought of setting out as soon as Ihear my father is on his way back. '

'Not waiting to see Leonard?'

'I did see him not a month ago. Besides--' and his voice came to asudden end. 

'Yes, the first news, ' said Ethel. 'Indeed it is due to you, Tom. '

Ten minutes more of silence. 

'Ethel, did she ever tell you?'

'Never, ' said Ethel, her heart beating. 

'Then how did you know all about it?'

'I didn't know. I only saw--'

'Saw what?'

'That you were very much distressed. '

'And very kind and rational you were about it, ' said Tom, warmly; 'Inever thought any woman could have guessed so much, without makingmischief. But you must not put any misconstruction on my presentintention. All I mean to do as yet is to induce Henry to remove themout of that dismal swamp, and bring them home to comfort andcivilization. Then it may be time to--'

He became silent; and Ethel longed ardently to ask further, but stillshe durst not, and he presently began again. 

'Ethel, was I very intolerable that winter of the volunteers, whenHarry was at home?'

'You are very much improved since, ' she answered. 

'That's just like Flora. Answer like yourself. '

'Well, you were! You were terribly rampant in Eton refinement, andvery anxious to hinder all the others from making fools of themselves. '

'I remember! I thought you had all got into intimacies that were fornobody's good, and I still think it was foolish. I know it has donefor me! Well, ' hastily catching up this last admission, as if it haddropped out at unawares, 'you think I made myself disagreeable?'

'On principle. '

'Ah! then you would not wonder at what she said--that she had neverseen anything in me but contemptuous irony. '

'I think, sometimes feeling that you were satirical, she took all yourcourtesy for irony--whatever you meant. I have heard other people saythe same. But when--was this on the day--the day you went toremonstrate?'

'Yes. I declare to you, Ethel, that I had no conception of what I wasgoing to do! I never dreamt that I was in for it. I knew she was--wasattractive--and that made me hate to see Harry with her, and I couldnot bear her being carried off to this horrible place--but as tomyself, I never thought of it till I saw her--white and broken--' andthen came that old action Ethel knew so well in her father, of clearingthe dew from the glasses, and his voice was half sob, 'and with nocreature but that selfish brother to take care of her. I couldn't helpit, Ethel--no one could--and this--this was her answer. I don't wonder. I had been a supercilious prig, and I ought to have known better thanto think I could comfort her. '

'I think the remembrance must have comforted her since. '

'What--what, has she said anything?'

'Oh no, she could not, you know. But I am sure, if it did anger her atthe moment, there must have been comfort in recollecting that even sucha terrible trouble had not alienated you. And now--'

'Now that's just what I don't want! I don't want to stalk in and sayhere's the hero of romance that has saved your brother! I want to gether home, and show her that I can be civil without being satirical, andthen, perhaps, she would forgive me. '

'Forgive you--'

'I mean forgiveness won, not purchased. And after all, you know it wasmere accident--Providence if you please--that brought me to that poorwretch; all my plans of tracking him had come to an end; any one elsecould have done what I did. '

'She will not feel that, ' said Ethel; 'but indeed, Tom, I see what youmean, and like it. It is yourself, and not the conferrer of thebenefit, that you want her to care for. '

'Exactly, ' said Tom. 'And, Ethel, I must have seen her and judged ofmy chance before I can be good for anything. I tried to forget it--ownit as a lucky escape--a mere passing matter, like Harry's affairs--butI could not do it. Perhaps I could if things had gone well; but thatdear face of misery, that I only stung by my attempts to comfort, wouldstick fast with me, and to go and see Leonard only brought it morehome. It is a horrid bad speculation, and Flora and Cheviot andBlanche will scout it; but, Ethel, you'll help me through, and myfather will not mind, I know. '

'Papa will feel as I do, Tom--that it has been your great blessing, turn out as it may. '

'H'm! has it? A blessing on the wrong side of one's mouth--to go aboutwith a barb one knew one was a fool for, and yet couldn't forget!Well, I know what you mean, and I believe it was. I would not have hadit annihilated, when the first mood was over. '

'It was that which made it so hard to you to come home, was it not?'

'Yes; but it was odd enough, however hard it was to think of coming, you always sent me away more at peace, Ethel. I can't think how youdid it, knowing nothing. '

'I think you came at the right time. '

'You see, I did think that while Spencer lived, I might follow up thetrack, and see a little of the world--try if that would put out thatface and voice. But it won't do. If this hadn't happened, I wouldhave tied myself down, and done my best to get comfort out of you, andthe hospital, and these 'Diseases of Climate'--I suppose one might intime, if things went well with her; but, as it is, I can't rest till Ihave seen if they can be got home again. So, Ethel, don't mind if I gobefore my father comes home. I can't stand explanations with him, andI had rather you did not proclaim this. You see the book, and gettingHenry home, are really the reasons, and I shan't molest heragain--no--not till she has learnt to know what is irony. '

'I think if you did talk it over with papa, you would feel the comfort, and know him better. '

'Well, well, I dare say, but I can't do it, Ethel. Either he shuts meup at first, with some joke, or--' and Tom stopped; but Ethel knew whathe meant. There was on her father's side an involuntary absence ofperfect trust in this son, and on Tom's there was a character sosensitive that her father's playfulness grated, and so reserved thathis demonstrative feelings were a still greater trial to one who couldnot endure outward emotion. 'Besides, ' added Tom, 'there is reallynothing--nothing to tell. I'm not going to commit myself. I don'tknow whether I ever shall. I was mad that day, and I want to satisfymy mind whether I think the same now I am sane, and if I do, I shallhave enough to do to make her forget the winter when I made myself suchan ass. When I have done that, it may be time to speak to my father. I really am going out about the book. When did you hear last?'

'That is what makes me anxious. I have not heard for two months, andthat is longer than she ever was before without writing, except whenMinna was ill. '

'We shall know if Leonard has heard. '

'No, she always writes under cover to us. '

The course that the conversation then took did not look much like Tom'sdoubt whether his own views would be the same. All the long-represseddiscussion of Averil's merits, her beautiful eyes, her sweet voice, herrefinement, her real worth, the wonder that she and Leonard should beso superior to the rest of the family, were freely indulged at last, and Ethel could give far heartier sympathy than if this had come to herthree years ago. Averil had been for two years her correspondent, andthe patient sweetness and cheerfulness of those letters had given a farhigher estimate of her nature than the passing intercourse of the townlife had left. The terrible discipline of these years of exile andsorrow had, Ethel could well believe, worked out something verydifferent from the well-intentioned wilful girl whose spirit ofpartisanship had been so fatal an element of discord. Distance had, intruth, made them acquainted, and won their love to one another. 

Tom's last words, as he drew up under the lime-trees before the door, were, 'Mind, I am only going about the 'Diseases of Climate'. '

CHAPTER XXVI

 And Bishop Gawain as he rose, Said, 'Wilton, grieve not for thy woes, Disgrace and trouble; For He who honour best bestows, Can give thee double. '--Marmion

Dr. May had written to Portland, entreating that no communication mightbe made to Leonard Ward before his arrival; and the good physician'saffection for the prisoner had been so much observed, that no one wouldhave felt it fair to anticipate him. Indeed, he presented himself atthe prison gates only two hours after the arrival of the documents, when no one but the governor was aware of their contents. 

Leonard was as usual at his business in the schoolmaster's department;and thither a summons was sent for him, while Dr. May and the governoralone awaited his arrival. Tom's visit was still very recent; andLeonard entered with anxious eyes, brow drawn together, and compressedlips, as though braced to meet another blow; and the unusual room, thepresence of the governor instead of the warder, and Dr. May'sirrepressible emotion, so confirmed the impression, that his face atonce assumed a resolute look of painful expectation. 

'My boy, ' said Dr. May, clasping both his hands in his own, 'you haveborne much of ill. Can you bear to hear good news?'

'Am I to be sent out to Australia already?' said Leonard--for ashortening of the eight years before his ticket-of-leave was the solehope that had presented itself. 

'Sent out, yes; out to go wherever you please, Leonard. The right iscome round. The truth is out. You are a free man! Do you know whatthat is? It is a pardon. Your pardon. All that can be done to rightyou, my boy--but it is as good as a reversal of the sentence. '

The Doctor had spoken this with pauses; going on, as Leonard, insteadof answering, stood like one in a dream, and at last said withdifficulty, 'Who did it then?'

'It was as you always believed. '

'Has he told?' said Leonard, drawing his brows together with the effortto understand. 

'No, Leonard. The vengeance he had brought on himself did not givespace for repentance; but the pocket-book, with your receipt, was uponhim, and your innocence is established. '

'And let me congratulate you, ' added the governor, shaking hands withhim; 'and add, that all I have known of you has been as complete anexculpation as any discovery can be. '

Leonard's hand was passive, his cheek had become white, his foreheadstill knit. 'Axworthy!' he said, still as in a trance. 

'Yes. Hurt in a brawl at Paris. He was brought to the Hotel Dieu; andmy son Tom was called to see him. '

'Sam Axworthy! repeated Leonard, putting his hand over his eyes, as ifone sensation overpowered everything else; and thus he stood for someseconds, to the perplexity of both. 

They showed him the papers: he gazed, but without comprehension; andthen putting the bag, provided by Tom, into his hand, they sent him, moving in a sort of mechanical obedience, into the room of one of theofficials to change his dress. 

Dr. May poured out to the governor and chaplain, who by this time hadjoined them, the history of Leonard's generous behaviour at the time ofthe trial, and listened in return to their account of the growingimpression he had created--a belief, almost reluctant, that instead ofbeing their prime specimen, he could only be in their hands by mistake. He was too sincere not to have confessed had he been really guilty; andin the long run, such behaviour as his would have been impossible inone unrepentant. He had been the more believed from the absence ofcomplaint, demonstration, or assertion; and the constant endeavour toavoid notice, coupled with the quiet thorough execution of whatever wasset before him with all his might. 

This was a theme to occupy the Doctor for a long time; but at last hegrew eager for Leonard's return, and went to hasten him. He startedup, still in the convict garb, the bag untouched. 

'I beg your pardon, ' he said, when his friend's exclamation hadreminded him of what had been desired of him; and in a few minutes hereappeared in the ordinary dress of a gentleman, but the change did notseem to have made him realize his freedom--there was the samesubmissive manner, the same conventional gesture of respect in reply tothe chaplain's warm congratulation. 

'Come, Leonard, I am always missing the boat, but I don't want to do sonow. We must get home to-night. Have you anything to take with you?'

'My Bible and Prayer-Book. They are my own, sir;' as he turned to thegovernor. 'May I go to my cell for them?'

Again they tarried long for him, and became afraid that he had falleninto another reverie; but going to fetch him, found that the delay wascaused by the farewells of all who had come in his way. The tidings ofhis full justification had spread, and each official was eager to wishhim good speed, and thank him for the aid of his example and support. The schoolmaster, who had of late treated him as a friend, kept closeto him, rejoicing in his liberation, but expecting to miss him sorely;and such of the convicts as were within reach, were not without theirshare in the general exultation. He had never galled them by hissuperiority; and though Brown, the clerk, had been his only friend, hehad done many an act of kindness; and when writing letters for theunlearned, had spoken many a wholesome simple word that had gone hometo the heart. His hand was as ready for a parting grasp from afellow-prisoner as from a warder; and his thought and voice wererecalled to leave messages for men out of reach; his eyes moistened atthe kindly felicitations; but when he was past the oft-troddenprecincts of the inner court and long galleries, the passivenessreturned, and he received the last good-byes of the governor andsuperior officers, as if only half alive to their import. And thus, silent, calm, and grave, his composure like that of a man walking inhis sleep, did Leonard Ward pass the arched gateway, enter on the outerworld, and end his three and a half years of penal servitude. 

'I'm less like an angel than he is like St. Peter, ' thought Dr. May, ashe watched the fixed dreamy gaze, 'but this is like "yet wist he notthat it was true, but thought he saw a vision. " When will he realizeliberty, and enjoy it? I shall do him a greater kindness by leavinghim to himself. '

And in spite of his impatience, Dr. May refrained from disturbing thatopen-eyed trance all the way down the long hill, trusting to the crowdin the steamer for rousing him to perceive that he was no longer amongrusset coats and blue shirts; but he stood motionless, gazing, or atleast his face turned, towards the Dorset coast, uttering no word, making no movement, save when summoned by his guide--then obeying asimplicitly as though it were his jailor. 

So they came to the pier; and so they walked the length of Weymouth, paced the platform, and took their places in the train. Just as theyhad shot beyond the town, and come into the little wooded valleysbeyond, Leonard turned round, and with the first sparkle in his eye, exclaimed, 'Trees! Oh, noble trees and hedges!' then turned again tolook in enchantment at the passing groups--far from noble, thoughbright with autumn tints--that alternated with the chalk downs. 

Dr. May was pleased at this revival, and entertained at the start andglance of inquiring alarm from an old gentleman in the other corner. Presently, in the darkness of a cutting, again Leonard spoke: 'Whereare you taking me, Dr. May?'

'Home, of course. '

Whatever the word might imply to the poor lad, he was satisfied, andagain became absorbed in the sight of fields, trees, and hedgerows;while Dr. May watched the tokens of secret dismay in theirfellow-traveller, who had no doubt understood 'home' to mean hisprivate asylum. Indeed, though the steady full dark eyes showed noaberration, there was a strange deep cave between the lid and theeyebrow, which gave a haggard look; the spare, worn, grave features hadan expression--not indeed weak, nor wandering, but half bewildered, half absorbed, moreover, in spite of Tom's minute selection of apparel, it had been too hasty a toilette for the garments to look perfectlynatural; and the cropped head was so suspicious, that it was no wonderthat at the first station, the old gentleman gathered up his umbrella, with intense courtesy squeezed gingerly to the door, carefully avoidingany stumble over perilous toes, and made his escape--entering anothercarriage, whence he no doubt signed cautions against the lunatic andhis keeper, since no one again invaded their privacy. 

Perhaps this incident most fully revealed to the Doctor, how unlikeother people his charge was, how much changed from the handsomespirited lad on whom the trouble had fallen; and he looked again andagain at the profile turned to the window, as fixed and set as thoughit had been carved. 

'Ah, patience is an exhausting virtue!' said he to himself. 'Verily itis bearing--bearing up under the full weight; and the long bent springis the slower in rebounding in proportion to its inherent strength. Poor lad, what protracted endurance it has been! There is health andforce in his face; no line of sin, nor sickness, nor worldly care, suchas it makes one's heart ache to see aging young faces; yet how utterlyunlike the face of one and-twenty! I had rather see it sadder than sostrangely settled and sedate! Shall I speak to him again? Not yet:those green hill-sides, those fields and cattle, must refresh himbetter than my clavers, after his grim stony mount of purgatory. Iwish it were a brighter day to greet him, instead of this gray dampfog. '

The said fog prevented any semblance of sunset; but through the graymoonlit haze, Leonard kept his face to the window, pertinaciouslyclearing openings in the bedewed glass, as though the varying outlineof the horizon had a fascination for him. At last, after ten minutesof glaring gas at a junction had by contrast rendered the mistimpenetrable, and reduced the view to brightened clouds of steam, andto white telegraphic posts, erecting themselves every moment, withtheir wires changing their perspective in incessant monotony, he ceasedhis gaze, and sat upright in his place, with the same strange rigidsomnambulist air. 

Dr. May resolved to rouse him. 

'Well, Leonard, ' he said, 'this has been a very long fever; but we arewell through it at last--with the young doctor from Paris to our aid. '

Probably Leonard only heard the voice, not the words, for he passed hishand over his face, and looked up to the Doctor, saying dreamily, 'Letme see! Is it all true?' and then, with a grave wistful look, 'It wasnot I who did that thing, then?'

'My dear!' exclaimed the Doctor, starting forward, and catching hold ofhis hand, 'have they brought you to this?'

'I always meant to ask you, if I ever saw you alone again, ' saidLeonard. 

'But you don't mean that you have imagined it!'

'Not constantly--not when any one was with me, ' said Leonard, roused byDr. May's evident dismay; and drawn on by his face of anxious inquiry. 'At Milbank, I generally thought I remembered it just as they describedit in court, and that it was some miserable ruinous delusion thathindered my confessing; but the odd thing was, that the moment any oneopened my door, I forgot all about it, resolutions and all, and wasmyself again. '

'Then surely--surely you left that horror with the solitude?'

'Yes, till lately; but when it did come back, I could not be sure whatwas recollection of fact, and what of my own fancy;' and he drew hisbrows together in painful effort. 'Did I know who did it, or did Ionly guess?'

'You came to a right conclusion, and would not let me act on it. '

'And I really did write the receipt, and not dream it?'

'That receipt has been in my hand. It was what has brought you here. 'And now to hearing ears, Dr. May went over the narrative; and Leonardstood up under the little lamp in the roof of the carriage to read thepapers. 

'I recollect--I understand, ' he said, presently, and sat down, graveand meditative--no longer dreamy, but going over events, which had atlast acquired assurance to his memory from external circumstances. Presently his fingers were clasped together over his face, his headbent, and then he looked up, and said, 'Do they know it--my sister andbrother?'

'No. We would not write till you were free. You must date the firstletter from Stoneborough. '

The thought had brought a bitter pang. 'One half year sooner--' and heleant back in his seat, with fingers tightly pressed together, andtrembling with emotion. 

'Nay, Leonard; may not the dear child be the first to rejoice in thefulfilment of her own sweet note of comfort? They could not harm theinnocent. '

'Not innocent, ' he said, 'not innocent of causing all the discord thathas ended in their exile, and the dear child's death. '

'Then this is what has preyed on you, and changed you so much more oflate, ' said Dr. May. 

'When I knew that I was indeed guilty of _her_ death, ' said Leonard, ina calm full conviction of too long standing to be accompanied withagitation, though permanently bowing him down. 

'And you never spoke of this: not to the chaplain?'

'I never could. It would have implied all the rest that he could notbelieve. And it would not have changed the fact. '

'The aspect of it may change, Leonard. You know yourself how manyimmediate causes combined, of which you cannot accuse yourself--yourbrother's wrongheadedness, and all the rest. And, ' added the Doctor, recovering himself, 'you do see it in other aspects, I know. Think ofthe spirit set free to be near you--free from the world that has goneso hard with you!'

'I can't keep that thought long; I'm not worthy of it. '

Again he was silent; but presently said, as with a sudden thought, 'Youwould have told me if there were any news of Ave. '

'No, there has been no letter since her last inclosure for you, ' andthen Dr. May gave the details from the papers on the doings of Henry'sdivision of the army. 

'Will Henry let me be with them?' said Leonard, musingly. 

'They will come home, depend upon it. You must wait till you hear. '

Leonard thought a little while, then said, 'Where did you say I was togo, Dr. May?'

'Where, indeed? Home, Leonard--home. Ethel is waiting for us. To theHigh Street. '

Leonard looked up again with his bewildered face, then said, 'I knowwhat you do with me will be right, but--'

'Had you rather not?' said the Doctor, startled. 

'Rather!' and the Doctor, to his exceeding joy, saw the fingers overhis eyes moist with the tears they tried to hide; 'I only meant--' headded, with an effort, 'you must think and judge--I can'tthink--whether I ought. '

'If you ask me that, ' said Dr. May, earnestly, 'all I have to say is, that I don't know what palace is worthy of you. '

There was not much said after that; and the Doctor fell asleep, wakingonly at the halts at stations to ask where he was. 

At last came 'Blewer!' and as the light shone on the clock, Leonardsaid, 'A quarter past twelve! It is the very train I went by! Is it adream?'

Ten minutes more, and 'Stoneborough' was the cry. Hastily springingout, shuffling the tickets into the porter's hand, and grapplingLeonard's arm as if he feared an escape, Dr. May hurried him into theempty streets, and strode on in silence. 

The pull at the door-bell was answered instantly by Ethel herself. Sheheld out her hand, and grasped that which Leonard had almost withheld, shrinking as from too sudden a vision; and then she ardently exchangedkisses with her father. 

'Where's Tom? Gone to bed?' said Dr. May, stepping into the brightdrawing-room. 

'No, ' said Ethel, demurely; 'he is gone--he is gone to America. '

The Doctor gave a prodigious start, and looked at her again. 

'He went this afternoon. ' she said. 'There is some matter about the'Diseases of Climate' that he must settle before the book is published;and he thought he could best be spared now. He has left messages thatI will give you by and by; but you must both be famished. '

Her looks indicated that all was right, and both turned to welcome theguest, who stood where the first impulse had left him, in the hall, notmoving forward, till he was invited in to the fire, and the mealalready spread. He then obeyed, and took the place pointed out; whilethe Doctor nervously expatiated on the cold, damp, and changes oftrain; and Ethel, in the active bashfulness of hidden agitation, madetea, cut bread, carved chicken, and waited on them with doubleassiduity, as Leonard, though eating as a man who had fasted sinceearly morning, was passive as a little child, merely accepting what wasoffered to him, and not even passing his cup till she held out her handfor it. 

She did not even dare to look at him; she could not bear that he shouldsee her do so; it was enough to know that he was free--that he wasthere--that it was over. She did not want to see how it had changedhim; and, half to set him at ease, half to work off her own excitement, she talked to her father, and told him of the little events of hisabsence till the meal was over; and, at half-past one, good nights wereexchanged with Leonard, and the Doctor saw him to his room, thenreturned to his daughter on her own threshold. 

'That's a thing to have lived for, ' he said. 

Ethel locked her hands together, and looked up. 

'And now, how about this other denouement? I might have guessed thatthe wind sat in that quarter. '

'But you're not to guess it, papa. It is really and truly about the'Diseases of Climate'. '

'Swamp fevers, eh! and agues!'

The 'if you can help it, ' was a great comfort now; Ethel could ventureon saying, 'Of course that has something to do with it; but he reallydoes make the book his object; and please--please don't give any hintthat you suspect anything else. '

'I suppose you are in his confidence; and I must ask no questions. '

'I hated not telling you, and letting you tease him; but he trusted mejust enough not to make me dare to say a word; though I never was surethere was a word to say. Now do just once own, papa, that Tom is theromantic one after all, to have done as he did in the height of thetrouble. '

'Well in his place so should I, ' said the Doctor, with the perversenessof not satisfying expectations of amazement. 

'_You_ would, ' said Ethel; 'but Tom! would you have thought it of Tom?'

'Tom has more in him than shows through his spectacles, ' answered Dr. May. 'So! That's the key to his restless fit. Poor fellow! How didit go with him? They have not been carrying it on all this time, surely!'

'Oh, no, no, papa! She cut him to the heart, poor boy! thought he waslaughing at her--told him it had all been irony. He has no notionwhether she will ever forgive him. '

'A very good lesson, Master Doctor Thomas, ' said Dr. May, with atwinkle in his eye; 'and turn out as it will, it has done himgood--tided him over a dangerous time of life. Well, you must tell meall about it to-morrow; I'm too sleepy to know what I'm talking of. '

The sleepiness that always finished off the Doctor's senses at theright moment, was a great preservative of his freshness and vigour; butEthel was far from sharing it, and was very glad when the clock soundeda legitimate hour for getting up, and dressing by candle-light, brieflyanswering Gertrude's eager questions on the arrival. It was a pouringwet morning, and she forbade Daisy to go to church--indeed, it wouldhave been too bad for herself on any morning but this--any but this, asshe repeated, smiling at her own spring of thankfulness, as shefortified herself with a weight of waterproof, and came forth in thedarkness of 7. 45, on a grim November day. 

A few steps before her, pacing on, umbrellaless, was a figure whichmade her hurry to overtake him. 

'O, Leonard! after your journey, and in this rain!'

He made a gesture of courtesy, but moved as if to follow, not join her. Did he not know whether he were within the pale of humanity?

'Here is half an umbrella. Won't you hold it for me?' she said; and ashe followed his instinct of obedience, she put it into his hand, andtook his arm, thinking that this familiarity would best restore him toa sense of his regained position; and, moreover, feeling glad andtriumphant to be thus leaning, and to have that strong arm to contendwith the driving blast that came howling round the corner of MinsterStreet, and fighting for their shelter. They were both out of breathwhen they paused to recover in the deep porch of the Minster. 

'Is Dr. May come home?'

'Yes--and--'

Ethel signed, and Mr. Wilmot held out an earnest hand, with, 'This iswell. I am glad to see you. '

'Thank you, sir, ' said Leonard, heartily; 'and for all--'

'This is your new beginning of life, Leonard. God bless you in it. '

As Mr. Wilmot passed on, Ethel for the first time ventured to look upinto the eyes--and saw their hollow setting, their loss of sparkle, buttheir added steadfastness and resolution. She could not help repeatingthe long-treasured lines: 'And, Leonard, "--grieve not for thy woes, Disgrace and trouble; For He who honour best bestows, Shall give thee double. "'

'I've never ceased to be glad you read Marmion with me, ' he hastilysaid, as they turned into church on hearing a clattering of choristersbehind them. 

Clara might have had such sensations when she bound the spurs on herknight's heels, yet even she could hardly have had so pure, unselfish, and exquisite a joy as Ethel's, in receiving the pupil who had been ina far different school from hers. 

The gray dawn through the gloom, the depths of shadow in the twilightchurch, softening and rendering all more solemn and mysterious, weremore in accordance than bright and beamy sunshine with her subduedgrave thankfulness; and there was something suitable in the fewness ofthe congregation that had gathered in the Lady Chapel--so few, thatthere was no room for shyness, either in, or for, him who was againtaking his place there, with steady composed demeanour, its stillnessconcealing so much. 

Ethel had reckoned on the verse--'That He might hear the mournings ofsuch as are in captivity, and deliver the children appointed untodeath. ' But she had not reckoned on its falling on her ears in thedeep full-toned melodious bass, that came in, giving body to the youngnotes of the choristers--a voice so altered and mellowed since she lasthad heard it, that it made her look across in doubt, and recognize inthe uplifted face, that here indeed the freed captive was at home, andlifted above himself. 

When the clause, in the Litany, for all prisoners and captives broughtto her the thrill that she had only to look up to see the fulfilment ofmany and many a prayer for one captive, for once she did not hear theresponse, only saw the bent head, as though there were thoughts wenttoo deep to find voice. And again, there was the special thanksgivingthat Mr. Wilmot could not refrain from introducing for one to whom agreat mercy had been vouchsafed. If Ethel had had to swim home, shewould not but have been there!

Charles Cheviot addressed them as they came out of church: 'Goodmorning--Mr. Ward, I hope to do myself the honour of calling on you--Ishall see you again, Ethel. 

And off he went over the glazy stones to his own house, Ethel knowingthat this cordial salutation and intended call were meant to behonourable amends for his suspicions; but Leonard, unconscious of theimport, and scarcely knowing indeed that he was addressed, made hismechanical gesture of respect, and looked up, down, and round, absorbedin the scene. 'How exactly the same it all looks, ' he said; 'thecloister gate, and the Swan, and the postman in the very samewaterproof cape. '

'Do you not feel like being just awake?'

'No; it is more like being a ghost, or somebody else. '

Then the wind drove them on too fast for speech, till as they crossedthe High Street, Ethel pointed through the plane-trees to two roundblack eyes, and a shining black nose, at the dining-room window. 

'My Mab, my poor little Mab!--You have kept her all this time! I wasafraid to ask for her. I could not hope it. '

'I could not get my spoilt child, Gertrude, to bed without taking Mab, that she might see the meeting. '

Perhaps it served Daisy right that the meeting did not answer herexpectations. Mab and her master had both grown older; she smelt roundhim long before she was sure of him, and then their content in oneanother was less shown by fervent rapture, than by the quiet handsmoothing her silken coat; and, in return, by her wistful eye, nestlinggesture, gently waving tail. 

And Leonard! How was it with him? It was not easy to tell in hisabsolute passiveness. He seemed to have neither will nor impulse tospeak, move, or act, though whatever was desired of him, he did withthe implicit obedience that no one could bear to see. They put booksnear him, but he did not voluntarily touch one: they asked if he wouldwrite to his sister, and he took the pen in his hand, but did notaccomplish a commencement. Ethel asked him if he were tired, or had aheadache. 

'Thank you, no, ' he said; 'I'll write, ' and made a dip in the ink. 

'I did not mean to tease you, ' she said; 'the mail is not going justyet, and there is no need for haste. I was only afraid something waswrong. '

'Thank you, ' he said, submissively; 'I will--when I can think; but itis all too strange. I have not seen a lady, nor a room like this, since July three years. '

After that Ethel let him alone, satisfied that peace was the best meansof recovering the exhaustion of his long-suffering. 

The difficulty was that this was no house for quiet, especially the dayafter the master's return: the door-bell kept on ringing, and each timehe looked startled and nervous, though assured that it was onlypatients. But at twelve o'clock in rushed Mr. Cheviot's littlebrother, with a note from Mary, lamenting that it was too wet forherself, but saying that Charles was coming in the afternoon, and thathe intended to have a dinner-party of old Stoneborough scholars towelcome Leonard back. 

Meanwhile, Martin Cheviot, wanting to see, and not to stare, and tounite cordiality and unconsciousness, made an awkward mixture of all, and did not know how to get away; and before he had accomplished it, Mr. Edward Anderson was announced. He heartily shook hands withLeonard, eagerly welcomed him, and talked volubly, and his lastcommunication was, 'If it clears, you will see Matilda this afternoon. '

'I did not know she was here. '

'Yes; she and Harvey are come to Mrs. Ledwich's, to stay over Sunday;'and there was a laugh in the corner of his eye, that convinced Ethelthat the torrents of rain would be no protection. 

'Papa, ' said she, darting out to meet her father in the hall, 'you musttake Leonard out in your brougham this afternoon, if you don't want himdriven distracted. If he is in the house, ropes won't hold Mrs. HarveyAnderson from him!'

So Dr. May invited his guest to share his drive; and the excitementbegan to seem unreal when the Doctor returned alone. 

'I dropped him at Cocksmoor, ' he said. 'It was Richard's notion thathe would be quieter there--able to get out, and go to church, withoutbeing stared at. '

'Did he like it?' asked Gertrude, disappointed. 

'If one told him to chop off his finger, he would do it, and never showwhether he liked it. Richard asked him, and he said, "Thank you. " Inever could get an opening to show him that we did not want to suppresshim; I never saw spirit so quenched. '

Charles Cheviot thought it was a mistake to do what gave the appearanceof suppression--he said that it was due to Leonard to welcome him asheartily as possible, and not to encourage false shame, where there wasno disgrace; so he set his wife to fill up her cards for hisdinner-party, and included in it Mr. And Mrs. Harvey Anderson, for thesake of their warm interest in the liberated prisoner. 

'However, Leonard was out of the scrape, ' as the Doctor expressed it, for he had one of his severe sore throats, and was laid up atCocksmoor. Richard was dismayed by his passive obedience--a novelty tothe gentle eldest, who had all his life been submitting, and now waspuzzled by his guest's unfailing acquiescence without a token ofpreference or independence: and comically amazed at the implicitfulfilment of his recommendation to keep the throat in bed--a wisesuggestion, but one that the whole house of May, in their own persons, would have scouted. Nothing short of the highest authority ever keptthem there. 

The semblance of illness was perhaps a good starting-point for a returnto the ways of the world; and on the day week of his going toCocksmoor, Ethel found him by the fire, beginning his letters to hisbrother and sister, and looking brighter and more cheery, but so devoidof voice, that speech could not be expected of him. 

She had just looked in again after some parish visiting, when a quicksoldierly step was heard, and in walked Aubrey. 

'No; I'm not come to you, Ethel; I'm only come to this fellow;' and heardently grasped his hand. 'I've got leave till Monday, and I shallstay here and see nobody else. --What, a sore throat? Couldn't you getwrapped up enough between the two doctors?'

Leonard's eyes lighted as he muttered his hoarse 'Thank you, ' and Ethellingered for a little desultory talk to her brother, contrasting thechanges that the three years had made in the two friends. Aubrey, drilled out of his home scholarly dreaminess by military and practicaldiscipline, had exchanged his native languor for prompt uprightalertness of bearing and speech; his eye had grown more steady, hismouth had lost its vague pensive expression, and was rendered sternerby the dark moustache; definite thought, purpose, and action, hadmoulded his whole countenance and person into hopeful manhood, insteadof visionary boyhood. The other face, naturally the most full of fireand resolution, looked strangely different in its serious unsmilinggravity, the deeply worn stamp of patient endurance and utterisolation. There was much of rest and calm, and even of content--butwithal a quenched look, as if the lustre of youth and hope had beenextinguished, and the soul had been so driven in upon itself, thatthere was no opening to receive external sympathy--a settledexpression, all the stranger on a face with the clear smoothness ofearly youth. One thing at least was unchanged--the firm friendship andaffection--that kept the two constantly casting glances over oneanother, to assure themselves of the presence before them. 

Ethel left them together; and her father, who made out that he shouldsave time by going to Cocksmoor Church on Sunday morning, reported thatthe boys seemed very happy together in their own way; but that Richardreported himself to have been at the sole expense of conversation inthe evening--the only time such an event could ever have occurred!

Aubrey returned home late on the Sunday evening; and Leonard set off towalk part of the way with him in the dusk, but ended by coming thewhole distance, for the twilight opened their lips in this renewal ofold habits. 

'It is all right to be walking together again, ' said Aubrey, warmly;'though it is not like those spring days. '

'I've thought of them every Sunday. '

'And what are you going to do now, old fellow?'

'I don't know. '

'I hear Bramshaw is going to offer you to come into his office. Now, don't do that, Leonard, whatever you do!'

'I don't know. '

'You are to have all your property back, you know, and you could domuch better for yourself than that. '

'I can't tell till I have heard from my brother. '

'But, Leonard, promise me now--you'll not go out and make a Yankee ofyourself. '

'I can't tell; I shall do what he wishes. '

Aubrey presently found that Leonard seemed to have no capacity to thinkor speak of the future or the past. He set Aubrey off on his ownconcerns, and listened with interest, asking questions that showed himperfectly alive to what regarded his friend, but the passive inactionof will and spirits still continued, and made him almost adisappointment. 

On Monday morning there was a squabble between the young engineer andthe Daisy, who was a profound believer in the scientific object ofTom's journey, and greatly resented the far too obvious constructionthereof. 

'You must read lots of bad novels at Chatham, Aubrey; it is like thefag end of the most trumpery of them all!'

'You haven't gone far enough in your mathematics, you see, Daisy. Youthink one and one--'

'Make two. So I say. '

'I've gone into the higher branches. '

'I didn't think you were so simple and commonplace. It would be sostupid to think he must--just because he could not help making thisdiscovery. '

'All for want of the higher branches of mathematics! One plusone--equals one. '

'One minus common sense, plus folly, plus romance, minus anything todo. Your equation is worthy of Mrs. Harvey Anderson. I gave her agood dose of the 'Diseases of Climate!''

Aubrey was looking at Ethel all the time Gertrude was triumphing; andfinally he said, 'I've no absolute faith in disinterested philanthropyto a younger brother--whatever I had before I went to the Tyrol. '

'What has that to do with it?' asked Gertrude. 'Everybody was cut up, and wanted a change--and you more than all. I do believe thepossibility of a love affair absolutely drives people mad: and now theymust needs saddle it upon poor Tom--just the one of the family who isnot so stupid, but has plenty of other things to think about. '

'So you think it a stupid pastime?'

'Of course it is. Why, just look. Hasn't everybody in the familyturned stupid, and of no use, as soon at they went and fell in love!Only good old Ethel here has too much sense, and that's what makes hersuch a dear old gurgoyle. And Harry--he is twice the fun after hecomes home, before he gets his fit of love. And all the story booksthat begin pleasantly, the instant that love gets in, they are justalike--so stupid! And now, if you haven't done it yourself, you wantto lug poor innocent Tom in for it. '

'When your time comes, may I be there to see!'

He retreated from her evident designs of clapper-clawing him; and sheturned round to Ethel with, 'Now, isn't it stupid, Ethel!'

'Very stupid to think all the zest of life resides in one particularfeeling, ' said Ethel; 'but more stupid to talk of what you know nothingabout. '

Aubrey put in his head for a hurried farewell, and, 'Telegraph to mewhen Mrs. Thomas May comes home. '

'If Mrs. Thomas May comes home, I'll--'

'Give her that chair cover, ' said Ethel; and her idle needlewoman, having been eight months working one corner of it, went off into fitsof laughter, regarding its completion as an equally monstrous feat withan act of cannibalism on the impossible Mrs. Thomas May. 

How different were these young things, with their rhodomontade andexuberant animation and spirits, from him in whom all the sparkle andaspiration of life seemed extinguished!

CHAPTER XXVII

 A cup was at my lips: it pass'd As passes the wild desert blast! ***** I woke--around me was a gloom And silence of the tomb; But in that awful solitude That little spirit by me stood-- But oh, how changed! --Thoughts in Past Years

Under Richard's kind let-alone system, Leonard was slowly recoveringtone. First he took to ruling lines in the Cocksmoor account-books, then he helped in their audit; and with occupation came the sense ofthe power of voluntary exertion. He went and came freely, and began totake long rambles in the loneliest parts of the heath and plantations, while Richard left him scrupulously to his own devices, and rejoiced tosee them more defined and vigorous every day. The next stop was toassist in the night-school where Richard had hitherto toiledsingle-handed among very rough subjects. The technical training andexperience derived from Leonard's work under the schoolmaster atPortland were invaluable; and though taking the lead was the last thinghe would have thought of, he no sooner entered the school thanattention and authority were there, and Richard found that what had tohim been a vain and patient struggle was becoming both effective andagreeable. Interest in his work was making Leonard cheerful and alert, though still grave, and shrinking from notice--avoiding the town bydaylight, and only coming to Dr. May's in the dark evenings. 

On the last Sunday in Advent, Richard was engaged to preach at hisoriginal curacy, and that the days before and after it should likewisebe spent away from home was insisted on after the manner of the friendsof hard-working clergy. He had the less dislike to going that he couldleave his school-work to Leonard, who was to be housed at his father's, and there was soon perceived to have become a much more ordinary memberof society than on his first arrival. 

One evening, there was a loud peal at the door-bell, and the maid--oneof Ethel's experiments of training--came in. 

'Please, sir, a gentleman has brought a cockatoo and a letter and alittle boy from the archdeacon. '

'Archdeacon!' cried Dr. May, catching sight of the handwriting on theletter and starting up. 'Archdeacon Norman--'

'One of Norman's stray missionaries and a Maori newly caught; oh, whatfun!' cried Daisy, in ecstasy. 

At that moment, through the still open door, walking as if he had livedthere all his life, there entered the prettiest little boy that everwas seen--a little knickerbocker boy, with floating rich dark ringlets, like a miniature cavalier coming forth from a picture, with a whitecockatoo on his wrist. Not in the least confused, he went straighttowards Dr. May and said, 'Good-morning, grandpapa. '

'Ha! And who may you be, my elfin prince?' said the Doctor. 

'I'm Dickie--Richard Rivers May--I'm not an elfin prince, ' said theboy, with a moment's hurt feeling. 'Papa sent me. ' By that time theboy was fast in his grandfather's embrace, and was only enough releasedto give him space to answer the eager question, 'Papa--papa here?'

'Oh no; I came with Mr. Seaford. '

The Doctor hastily turned Dickie over to the two aunts, and hastenedforth to the stranger, whose name he well knew as a colonist's son, afavourite and devoted clerical pupil of Norman's. 

'Aunt Ethel, ' said little Richard, with instant recognition; 'mammasaid you would be like her, but I don't think you will. '

'Nor I, Dickie, but we'll try. And who's that!'

'Yes, what am I to be like?' asked Gertrude. 

'You're not Aunt Daisy--Aunt Daisy is a little girl. '

Gertrude made him the lowest of curtseys; for not to be taken for alittle girl was the compliment she esteemed above all others. Dickie'snext speech was, 'And is that Uncle Aubrey?'

'No, that's Leonard. '

Dickie shook hands with him very prettily; but then returning uponEthel, observed, 'I thought it was Uncle Aubrey, because soldiersalways cut their hair so close. '

The other guest was so thoroughly a colonist, and had so little idea ofanything but primitive hospitality, that he had had no notion ofwriting beforehand to announce his coming, and accident had delayed theletters by which Norman and Meta had announced their decision ofsending home their eldest boy under his care. 

'Papa had no time to teach me alone, ' said Dickie, who seemed to havebeen taken into the family councils; 'and mamma is always busy, and Iwasn't getting any good with some of the boys that come to school topapa. '

'Indeed, Mr. Dickie!' said the Doctor, full of suppressed laughter. 

'It is quite true, ' said Mr. Seaford; 'there are some boys that thearchdeacon feels bound to educate, but who are not desirable companionsfor his son. '

'It is a great sacrifice, ' remarked the young gentleman. 

'Oh, Dickie, Dickie, ' cried Gertrude, in fits, 'don't you be a prig--'

'Mamma said it, ' defiantly answered Dickie. 

'Only a parrot, ' said Ethel, behind her handkerchief; but Dickie, whoheard whatever he was not meant to hear, answered--

'It is not a parrot, it is a white cockatoo, that the chief of(something unutterable) brought down on his wrist like a hawk to themission-ship; and that mamma sent as a present to Uncle George. '

'I prefer the parrot that has fallen to my share, ' observed the Doctor. 

It was by this time perched beside him, looking perfectly at ease andthoroughly at home. There was something very amusing in the aspect ofthe little man; he so completely recalled his mother's humming-birdtitle by the perfect look of finished porcelain perfection that even ajourney from the Antipodes with only gentleman nursemaids had notdestroyed. The ringleted rich brown hair shone like glossy silk, thecheeks were like painting, the trim well-made legs and small hands andfeet looked dainty and fairy-like, yet not at all effeminate; hands andface were a healthy brown, and contrasted with the little white collar, the set of which made Ethel exclaim, 'Just look, Daisy, that's what Ialways told you about Meta's doings. Only I can't understandit. --Dickie, have the fairies kept you in repair ever since mammadressed you last?'

'We haven't any fairies in New Zealand, ' he replied; 'and mamma neverdressed me since I was a baby!'

'And what are you now?' said the Doctor. 

'I am eight years old, ' said this piece of independence, perfectly wellmannered, and au fait in all the customs of the tea-table; and when themeal was over, he confidentially said to his aunt, 'Shall I come andhelp you wash up? I never break anything. '

Ethel declined this kind offer; but he hung on her hand and asked if hemight go and see the schoolroom, where papa and Uncle Harry used toblow soap-bubbles. She lighted a candle, and the little gentlemanshowed himself minutely acquainted with the whole geography of thehouse, knew all the rooms and the pictures, and where everything hadhappened, even to adventures that Ethel had forgotten. 

'It is of no use to say there are no fairies in New Zealand, ' said Dr. May, taking him on his knee, and looking into the blue depths ofNorman's eyes. 'You have been head-waiter to Queen Mab, andperpetually here when she made you put a girdle round the earth inforty minutes. '

'Papa read that to the boys, and they said it was stupid and no use, 'said Dickie; 'but papa said that the electric telegraph would do it. '

The little cavalier appeared not to know what it was to be at a lossfor an answer, and the joint letter from his parents explained that hisprecocious quickness was one of their causes for sending him home. Hewas so deft and useful as to be important in the household, andnecessarily always living with his father and mother, he took constantpart in their conversation, and was far more learned in things than inbooks. In the place where they were settled, trustworthy boy societywas unattainable, and they had felt their little son, in danger ofbeing spoilt and made forward from his very goodness andbrightness--wrote Meta, 'If you find him a forward imp, recollect it ismy fault for having depended so much on him. '

His escort was a specimen of the work Norman had done, not actualmission-work, but preparation and inspiriting of those who went forthon the actual task. He was a simple-minded, single-hearted man, one ofthe first pupils in Norman's college, and the one who had most fullyimbibed his spirit. He had been for some years a clergyman, andlatterly had each winter joined the mission voyage among the MelanesianIsles, returning to their homes the lads brought for the summer foreducation to the mission college in New Zealand, and spending some timeat a station upon one or other of the islands. He had come back fromthe last voyage much out of health, and had been for weeks nursed byMeta, until a long rest having been declared necessary, he had beensent to England as the only place where he would not be tempted towork, and was to visit his only remaining relation, a sister, who hadmarried an officer and was in Ireland. He was burning to go back again, and eagerly explained--sagely corroborated by the testimony of the tinyarchdeacon--that his illness was to be laid to the blame of his ownimprudence, not to the climate; and he dwelt upon the delights of theyearly voyage among the lovely islands, beautiful beyond imagination, fenced in by coral breakwaters, within which the limpid water displayedexquisite sea-flowers, shells, and fishes of magical gorgeousness ofhue; of the brilliant white beach, fringing the glorious vegetation, cocoa-nut, bread-fruit, banana, and banyan, growing on the slopingsides of volcanic rocks; of mysterious red-glowing volcano lights seenfar out at sea at night, of glades opening to show high-roofed hutscovered with mats: of canoes decorated with the shining white shellsresembling a poached egg; of natives clustering round, eager andexcited, seldom otherwise than friendly; though in hitherto unvisitedplaces, or in those where the wanton outrages of sandal-wood tradershad excited distrust, caution was necessary, and there was peril enoughto give the voyage a full character of heroism and adventure. Bows andpoisoned arrows were sometimes brought down--and Dickie insisted thatthey had been used--but in general the mission was recognized, and aneager welcome given; presents of fish-hooks, or of braid andhandkerchiefs, established a friendly feeling; and readiness--in whichthe Hand of the Maker must be recognized--was manifested to intrustlads to the mission for the summer's training at the college in NewZealand--wild lads, innocent of all clothing, except marvellousadornments of their woolly locks, wigged out sometimes into hugecauliflowers whitened with coral lime, or arranged quarterly red andwhite, and their noses decorated with rings, which were their nearestapproach to a pocket, as they served for the suspension of fish-hooks, or any small article. A radiate arrangement of skewers from the nose, in unwitting imitation of a cat's whiskers, had even been known. A fewdays taught dressing and eating in a civilized fashion; and time, example, and the wonderful influence of the head of the mission, trained these naturally intelligent boys into much that was hopeful. Dickie, who had been often at the college, had much to tell offamiliarity with the light canoes that some cut out and launched; ofthe teaching them English games, of their orderly ways in school and inhall; of the prayers in their many tongues, and of the baptism of some, after full probation, and at least one winter's return to their ownisles, as a test of their sincerity and constancy. Much as the Mayfamily had already heard of this wonderful work, it came all the closerand nearer now. The isle of Alan Ernescliffe's burial-place had nowmany Christians in it. Harry's friend, the young chief David, wasdead; but his people were some of them already teachers and examples, and the whole region was full to overflowing of the harvest, callingout for labourers to gather it in. 

Silent as usual, Leonard nevertheless was listening with all his heart, and with parted lips and kindling eyes that gave back somewhat of hisformer countenance. Suddenly his face struck Mr. Seaford, and turningon him with a smile, he said, 'You should be with us yourself, you lookcut out for mission work. '

Leonard murmured something, blushed up to the ears, and subsided, butthe simple, single-hearted Mr. Seaford, his soul all on one object, hisexperience only in one groove, by no means laid aside the thought, andthe moment he was out of Leonard's presence, eagerly asked who thatyoung man was. 

'Leonard Ward? he is--he is the son of an old friend, ' replied Dr. May, a little perplexed to explain his connection. 

'What is he doing? I never saw any one looking more suited for ourwork. '

'Tell him so again, ' said Dr. May; 'I know no one that would be fitter. '

They were all taken up with the small grandson the next day. He wasready in his fairy-page trimness to go to the early service at theMinster; but he was full of the colonial nil admirari principle, andwas quite above being struck by the grand old building, or allowing itssuperiority--either to papa's own church or Auckland Cathedral. Theytook him to present to Mary on their way back from church, when he wasthe occasion of a great commotion by carrying the precious MasterCharlie all across the hall to his mamma, and quietly observing inresentment at the outcry, that of course he always carried little Ethelabout when mamma and nurse were busy. After breakfast, when he hadfinished his investigations of all Dr. May's domains, and muchentertained Gertrude by his knowledge of them, Ethel set him down towrite a letter to his father, and her own to Meta being engrossing, shedid not look much more after him till Dr. May came in, and said, 'Iwant you to sketch off a portrait of her dicky-bird for Meta;' and heput before her a natural history with a figure of that tinyhumming-bird which is endowed with swansdown knickerbockers. 

'By the bye, where is the sprite?'

He was not to be found; and when dinner-time, and much calling andsearching, failed to produce him, his grandfather declared that he wasgone back to Elf-land; but Leonard recollected certain particularinquiries about the situation of the Grange and of Cocksmoor, and itwas concluded that he had anticipated the Doctor's intentions of takinghim and Mr. Seaford there in the afternoon. The notion was confirmedby the cockatoo having likewise disappeared; but there was no greatanxiety, since the little New Zealander appeared as capable of takingcare of himself as any gentleman in Her Majesty's dominions; and a notehad already been sent to his aunt informing her of his arrival. Still, a summons to the Doctor in an opposite direction was inopportune, themore so as the guest was to remain at Stoneborough only this one day, and had letters and messages for Mr. And Mrs. Rivers, while it was alsodesirable to see whether the boy had gone to Cocksmoor. 

Leonard proposed to become Mr. Seaford's guide to the Grange, learnwhether Dickie were there, and meet the two ladies at Cocksmoor withthe tidings, leaving Mr. Seaford and the boy to be picked up by theDoctor on his return. It was his first voluntary offer to go anywhere, though he had more than once been vainly invited to the Grange withRichard. 

Much conversation on the mission took place during the walk, andresulted in Mr. Seaford's asking Leonard if his profession weresettled. 'No, ' he said; and not at all aware that his companion didnot know what every other person round him knew, he added, 'I have beenthrown out of everything--I am waiting to hear from my brother. '

'Then you are not at a University?'

'Oh no, I was a clerk. '

'Then if nothing is decided, is it impossible that you should turn youreyes to our work?'

'Stay, ' said Leonard, standing still; 'I must ask whether you know allabout me. Would it be possible to admit to such work as yours one who, by a terrible mistake, has been under sentence of death and inconfinement for three years?'

'I must think! Let us talk of this another time. Is that the Grange?'hastily exclaimed the missionary, rather breathlessly. Leonard withperfect composure replied that it was, pointed out the differentmatters of interest, and, though a little more silent, showed no otherchange of manner. He was asking the servant at the door if Master Maywere there, when Mr. Rivers came out and conducted both into thedrawing room, where little Dickie was, sure enough. It appeared that, cockatoo on wrist, he had put his pretty face up to the glass of MrsRivers's morning-room, and had asked her, 'Is this mamma's room, AuntFlora? Where's Margaret?'

Uncle, aunt, and cousin had all been captivated by him, and he was atpresent looking at the display of all Margaret's treasures, keenlyappreciating the useful and ingenious, but condemning the merelyornamental as only fit for his baby sister. Margaret was wonderfullygracious and child-like; but perhaps she rather oppressed him; for whenLeonard explained that he must go on to meet Miss May at Cocksmoor, thelittle fellow sprang up, declaring that he wanted to go thither; andthough told that his grandfather was coming for him, and that the walkwas long, he insisted that he was not tired; and Mr. Seaford, findinghim not to be dissuaded, broke off his conversation in the midst, andinsisted on accompanying him, leaving Mr. And Mrs. Rivers rather amazedat colonial breeding. 

The first time Mr. Seaford could accomplish being alone with Dr. May, he mysteriously shut the door, and began, 'I am afraid Mrs. Riversthought me very rude; but though no doubt he is quite harmless, I couldnot let the child or the ladies be alone with him. '

'With whom?'

'With your patient. '

'What patient of mine have you been seeing to-day?' asked Dr. May, muchpuzzled. 

'Oh, then you consider him as convalescent, and certainly he does seemrational on every other point; but is this one altogether anhallucination?'

'I have not made out either the hallucination or the convalescent. Ibeg your pardon, ' said the courteous Doctor; 'but I cannot understandwhom you have seen. '

'Then is not that young Ward a patient of yours? He gave me tounderstand to-day that he has been under confinement for three years--'

'My poor Leonard!' exclaimed the Doctor; 'I wish his hair would grow!This is the second time! And did you really never hear of the Blewermurder, and of Leonard Ward?'

Mr. Seaford had some compound edifice of various murders in his mind, and required full enlightenment. Having heard the whole, he was ardentto repair his mistake, both for Leonard's own sake, and that of hiscause. The young man was indeed looking ill and haggard; but there wassomething in the steady eyes, hollow though they still were, and in thedetermined cast of features, that strangely impressed the missionarywith a sense of his being moulded for the work; and on the firstopportunity a simple straightforward explanation of the error was laidbefore Leonard, with an entreaty that if he had no duties to bind himat home, he would consider the need of labourers in the great harvestof the Southern Seas. 

Leonard made no answer save 'Thank you' and that he would think. Thegrave set features did not light up as they had done unconsciously whenlistening without personal thought; he only looked considering, andaccepted Mr. Seaford's address in Ireland, promising to write afterhearing from his brother. 

Next morning, Dr. May gave notice that an old patient was coming to seehim, and must be asked to luncheon. Leonard soon after told Ethel thathe should not be at home till the evening, and she thought he was goingto Cocksmoor, by way of avoiding the stranger. In the twilight, however, Dr. May, going up to the station to see his patient off, wasastonished to see Leonard emerge from a second-class carriage. 

'You here! the last person I expected. '

'I have only been to W---- about my teeth. '

'What, have you been having tooth-ache?'

'At times, but I have had two out, so I hope there is an end of it. '

'And you never mentioned it, you Stoic!'

'It was only at night. '

'And how long has this been?'

'Since I had that cold; but it was no matter. '

'No matter, except that it kept you looking like Count Ugolino, and mealways wondering what was the matter with you. And'--detaining him fora moment under the lights of the station--'this extraction must havebeen a pretty business, to judge by your looks! What did the dentistdo to you?'

'It is not so much that' said Leonard, low and sadly; 'but I began tohave a hope, and I see it won't do. '

'What do you mean, my dear boy? what have you been doing?'

'I have been into my old cell again, ' said he, under his breath; andDr. May, leaning on his arm, felt his nervous tremor. 

'Prisoner of the Bastille, eh, Leonard!'

'I had long been thinking that I ought to go and call on Mr. Reeve andthank him. '

'But he does not receive calls there. '

'No, ' said Leonard, as if the old impulse to confidence had returned;'but I have never been so happy since, as I was in that cell, and Iwanted to see it again. Not only for that reason, ' he added, 'butsomething that Mr. Seaford said brought back a remembrance of what Mr. Wilmot told me when my life was granted--something about the wholebeing preparation for future work--something that made me feel readyfor anything. It had all gone from me--all but the remembrance of thesense of a blessed Presence and support in that condemned cell, and Ithought perhaps ten minutes in the same place would bring it back tome. '

'And did they?'

'No, indeed. As soon as the door was locked, it all went back to July1860, and worse. Things that were mercifully kept from me then, mereabject terror of death, and of that kind of death--the disgrace--thecrowds--all came on me, and with them, the misery all in one of thosenine months; the loathing of those eternal narrow waved white walls, the sense of their closing in, the sickening of their sameness, thelonging for a voice, the other horror of thinking myself guilty. Thewarder said it was ten minutes--I thought it hours! I was quite donefor, and could hardly get down-stairs. I knew the spirit was beingcrushed out of me by the solitary period, and it is plain that I mustthink of nothing that needs nerve or presence of mind!' he added, in atone of quiet dejection. 

'You are hardly in a state to judge of your nerve, after sleeplessnights and the loss of your teeth. Besides, there is a differencebetween the real and imaginary, as you have found; you who, in theterrible time of real anticipation, were a marvel in that very point ofphysical resolution. '

'I could keep thoughts out _then_, ' he said; 'I was master of myself. '

'You mean that the solitude unhinged you? Yet I always found you braveand cheerful. '

'The sight of you made me so. Nay, the very sight or sound of anyhuman being made a difference! And now you all treat me as if I hadborne it well, but I did not. It was all that was left me to do, butindeed I did not. '

'What do you mean by bearing it well?' said the Doctor, in the tone inwhich he would have questioned a patient. 

'Living--as--as I thought I should when I made up my mind to lifeinstead of death, ' said Leonard; 'but all that went away. I let itslip, and instead came everything possible of cowardice, and hatred, and bitterness. I lost my hold of certainty what I had done or what Ihad not, and the horror, the malice, the rebellion that used to come onme in that frightful light white silent place, were unutterable! Iwish you would not have me among you all, when I know there can hardlybe a wicked thought that did not surge over me. '

'To be conquered. '

'To conquer me, ' he said, in utter lassitude. 

'Stay. Did they ever make you offend wilfully?'

'There was nothing I could offend in. '

'Your tasks of work, for instance. '

'I often had a savage frantic abhorrence of it, but I always broughtmyself to do it, and it did me good; it would have done more if it hadbeen less mechanical. But it often was only the instinct of notdegrading myself like the lowest prisoners. '

'Well, there was your conduct to the officials. '

'Oh! one could not help being amenable to them, they were so kind. Besides, these demons never came over me except when I was alone. '

'And one thing more, Leonard; did these demons, as you well call them, invade your devotions?'

'Never, ' he answered readily; then recalling himself--'not at the settimes I mean, though they often made me think the comfort I had theremere hypocrisy and delusion, and be nearly ready to give over whatdepended on myself. Chapel was always joy; it brought change and thepresence of others, if nothing else; and that would in itself have beenenough to banish the hauntings. '

'And they did not interfere with your own readings?' said the Doctor, preferring this to the word that he meant. 

'I could not let them, ' said Leonard. 'There was always refreshment;it was only before and after that all would seem mockery, profanation, or worse still, delusion and superstition--as if my very conditionproved that there was none to hear. '

'The hobgoblin had all but struck the book out of Christian's hand, 'said Dr. May, pressing his grasp on Leonard's shuddering arm. 'You areonly telling me that you have been in the valley of the shadow ofdeath; you have not told me that you lost the rod and staff. '

'No, I must have been helped, or I should not have my senses now. '

And perhaps it was the repressed tremor of voice and frame rather thanthe actual words that induced the Doctor to reply--'That is the verypoint, Leonard. It is the temptation to us doctors to ascribe too muchto the physical and too little to the moral; and perhaps you would bemore convinced by Mr. Wilmot than by me; but I do verily believe thatall the anguish you describe could and would have been insanity ifgrace had not been given you to conquer it. It was a tottering of themind upon its balance; and, humanly speaking, it was the self-controlthat enabled you to force yourself to your duties, and find relief inthem, which saved you. I should just as soon call David conqueredbecause the "deep waters had come in over his soul. "'

'You can never know how true those verses are, ' said Leonard, withanother shiver. 

'At least I know to what kind of verses they all lead, ' said theDoctor; 'and I am sure they led you, and that you had more and brighterhours than you now remember. '

'Yes, it was not all darkness. I believe there were more spaces than Ican think of now, when I was very fairly happy, even at Pentonville;and at Portland all did well with me, till last spring, and then thenews from Massissauga brought back all the sense of blood-guiltiness, and it was worse than ever. '

'And that sense was just as morbid as your other horrible doubt, aboutwhich you asked me when we were coming home. '

'I see it was now, but that was the worst time of all--the monotony ofschool, and the sense of hypocrisy and delusion in teaching--thecraving to confess, if only for the sake of the excitement, and theabsolute inability to certify myself whether there was any crime toconfess--I can't talk about it. And even chapel was not the samerefreshment, when one was always teaching a class in it, as coming infresh only for the service. Even that was failing me, or I thought itwas! No, I do not know how I could have borne it much longer. '

'No, Leonard, you could not; Tom and I both saw that in your looks, andquite expected to hear of your being ill; but, you see, we are nevertried above what we can bear!'

'No, ' said Leonard, very low, as if he had been much struck; and thenhe added, after an interval, 'It is over now, and there's no need torecollect it except in the way of thanks. The question is what it hasleft me fit for. You know, Dr. May, ' and his voice trembled, 'my firstand best design in the happy time of Coombe, the very crown of my life, was this very thing--to be a missionary. But for myself, I might be intraining now. If I had only conquered my temper, and accepted thatkind offer of Mr. Cheviot's, all this would never have been, and Ishould have had my youth, my strength, and spirit, my best, to devote. I turned aside because of my obstinacy, against warning, and now howcan I offer?--one who has stood at the bar, lived among felons, thoughtsuch thoughts--the released convict with a disgraced name! It wouldjust be an insult to the ministry! No, I know how prisoners feel. Ican deal with them. Let me go back to what I am trained for. My nerveand spirit have been crushed out; I am fit for nothing else. The worstthing that has remained with me is this nervousness--cowardice is itsright name--starting at the sound of a door, or at a fresh face--apretty notion that I should land among savages!'

Dr. May had begun an answer about the remains of the terrible ordealthat might in itself have been part of Leonard's training, when theyreached the house door. 

These nerves, or whatever they were, did indeed seem disposed to haveno mercy on their owner; for no sooner had he sat down in the warmdrawing-room, than such severe pain attacked his face as surpassed evenhis powers of concealment. Dr. May declared it was all retribution forhis unfriendliness in never seeking sympathy or advice, which mighthave proved the evil to be neuralgia and saved the teeth, instead ofaggravating the evil by their extraction. 

'I suspect he has been living on nothing, ' said Dr. May, when, in alull of the pain, Leonard had gone to bed. 

'Papa!' exclaimed Gertrude, 'don't you know what Richard's housekeepingis? Don't you recollect his taking that widow for a cook because shewas such a good woman?'

'I don't think it was greatly Richard's fault, ' said Ethel. 'I canhardly get Leonard to make a sparrow's meal here, and most likely hismouth has been too uncomfortable. '

'Ay, that never seeking sympathy is to me one of the saddest parts ofall. He has been so long shut within himself, that he can hardly feelthat any one cares for him. '

'He does so more than at first, ' said Ethel. 

'Much more. I have heard things from him to-night that are arevelation to me. Well, he has come through, and I believe he isrecovering it; but the three threads of our being have all had aterrible wrench, and if body and mind come out unscathed, it is thesoundness of the spirit that has brought them through. '

A sleepless night and morning of violent pain ensued; but, at leastthus much had been gained--that there was no refusal of sympathy, but agrateful acceptance of kindness, so that it almost seemed a recurrenceto the Coombe days; and as the pain lessened, the enjoyment of Ethel'sattendance seemed to grow upon Leonard in the gentle languor of relief;and when, as she was going out for the afternoon, she came back to seeif he was comfortable in his easy-chair by the drawing-room fire, andput a screen before his face, he looked up and thanked her with asmile--the first she had seen. 

When she returned, the winter twilight had closed in, and he wasleaning back in the same attitude, but started up, so that she asked ifhe had been asleep. 

'I don't know--I have seen her again. '

'Seen whom?'

'Minna, my dear little Minna!'

'Dreamt of her?'

'I cannot tell, ' he said; 'I only know she was there; and then risingand standing beside Ethel, he continued--'Miss May, you remember thenight of her death?'

'Easter Eve?'

'Well, ' continued he, 'that night I saw her. '

'I remember, ' said Ethel, 'that Mr. Wilmot told us you knew at oncewhat he was come to tell you. '

'It was soon after I was in bed, the lights were out, and I do notthink I was asleep, when she was by me--not the plump rosy thing sheused to be, but tall and white, her hair short and waving back, hereyes--oh! so sad and wistful, but glad too--and her hands held out--andshe said, "Turn you to the stronghold, ye prisoners of hope. OLeonard, dear, it does not hurt. "'

'It was the last thing she did say. '

'Yes, so Ave's letter said. And observe, one o'clock in Indiana ishalf-past nine with us. Then her hair--I wrote to ask, for you know itused to be in long curls, but it had been cut short, like what I saw. Surely, surely, it was the dear loving spirit allowed to show itself tome before going quite away to her home!'

'And you have seen her again?'

'Just now'--his voice was even lower than before--'since it grew dark, as I sat there. I had left off reading, and had been thinking, whenthere she was, all white but not wistful now; "Leonard, dear, " shesaid, "it has not hurt;" and then, "He brought me forth, He brought meforth even to a place of liberty, because He had a favour unto me. "'

'O, Leonard, it must have made you very happy. '

'I am very thankful for it, ' he said. Then after a pause, 'You willnot speak of it--you will not tell me to think it the action of my ownmind upon itself. '

'I can only believe it a great blessing come to comfort you and cheeryou, ' said Ethel: 'cheer you as with the robin-note, as papa called it, that sung all through the worst of times! Leonard, I am afraid youwill think it unkind of me to have withheld it so long, but papa toldme you could not yet bear to hear of Minna. I have her last presentfor you in charge--the slippers she was working for that eighteenthbirthday of yours. She would go on, and we never knew whether shefully understood your danger; it was always "they could not hurt you, "and at last, when they were finished, and I had to make her understandthat you could not have them, she only looked up to me and said, "Please keep them, and give them to him when he comes home. " She neverdoubted, first or last. '

Ethel, who had daily been watching for the moment, took out the parcelfrom the drawer, with the address in the childish writing, the date inher own. 

Large tears came dropping from Leonard's eyes, as he undid the paper, and looked at the work, then said, 'Last time I saw that pattern, mymother was working it! Dear child! Yes, Miss May, I am glad you didnot give them to me before. I always felt as if my blow had glancedaside and fallen on Minna; but somehow I feel more fully how happy sheis!'

'She was the messenger of comfort throughout to Ave and to Ella, ' saidEthel, 'and well she may be to you still. '

'I have dreaded to ask, ' said Leonard; 'but there was a line in oneletter I was shown that made me believe that climate was not the wholecause. '

'No, ' said Ethel; 'at least the force to resist it had been lost, asfar as we can see. It was a grievous error of your brother's to thinkher a child who could forget. She pined to hear of you, and that oneconstant effort of faith and love was too much, and wasted away thelittle tender body. But oh, Leonard, how truly she can say that hercaptivity is over, and that it has not hurt!'

'It has not hurt, ' musingly repeated Leonard. 'No, she is beyond thereach of distracting temptations and sorrows; it has only made herbrighter to have suffered what it breaks one's heart to think of. Ithas not hurt. '

'Nothing from without does hurt!' said Ethel, 'unless one lets it. '

'Hurt what?' he asked. 

'The soul, ' returned Ethel. 'Mind and body may be hurt, and it is notpossible to know one's mind from one's soul while one is alive, but aslong as the will and faith are right, to think the soul can be hurtseems to me like doubting our Protector. '

'But if the will have been astray?'

'Then while we repent, we must not doubt our Redeemer. '

Dickie ran in at the moment, calling for Aunt Ethel. She had droppedher muff. Leonard picked it up, and as she took it, he wrung her handwith an earnestness that showed his gratitude. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

 Tender as woman; manliness and meekness In him were so allied, That those who judged him by his strength or weakness, Knew but a single side. --J. WHITTIER

It promised to be a brilliant Christmas at Stoneborough, though littleDickie regarded the feast coming in winter as a perverse Englishinnovation, and was grand on the superiority of supple jack aboveholly. Decorations had been gradually making their way into theMinster, and had advanced from being just tolerated to being absolutelydelighted in; but Dr. Spencer, with his knack of doing everything, wassorely missed as a head, and Mr. Wilmot insisted that the May forcesshould come down and work the Minster, on the 23rd, leaving the Eve forthe adornment of Cocksmoor, after the return of its incumbent. Mary, always highly efficient in that line, joined them; and Leonard'shandiness and dexterity in the arts relating to carpentry were asquietly useful as little Dickie's bright readiness in always handingwhatever was wanting. 

The work was pretty well over, when Aubrey, who had just arrived withleave for a week, came down, and made it desultory. Dickie, whoseimagination had been a good deal occupied by his soldier uncle, wantedto study him, and Gertrude was never steady when Aubrey was near. Presently it was discovered that the door to the tower stair was open. The ascent of the tower was a feat performed two or three times in alifetime at Stoneborough. Harry had once beguiled Ethel and Mary up, but Gertrude had never gone, and was crazy to go, as was likewiseDickie. Moreover, Aubrey and Gertrude insisted that it was only properthat Ethel should pay her respects to her prototype the gurgoyle, theywanted to compare her with him, and ordered her up; in fact theirspirits were too high for them to be at ease within the church, andEthel, maugre her thirty years, partook of the exhilaration enough todelight in an extraordinary enterprise, and as nothing remained but alittle sweeping up, they left this to the superintendence of Mary andMr. Wilmot, and embarked upon the narrow crumbling steps of the spiralstair, that led up within an unnatural thickening of one of the greatpiers that supported the tower, at the intersection of nave andtransepts. After a long period of dust and darkness, and the monotonyof always going with the same leg foremost, came a narrow door, leadingto the ringers' region, with all their ropes hanging down. Ethel wasthankful when she had got her youngsters past without an essay on them;she doubted if she should have succeeded, but for Leonard's being anelement of soberness. Other little doors ensued, leading out to thevarious elevations of roof, which were at all sorts of differentheights, the chancel lower than the nave, and one transept than theother; besides that the nave had both triforium and clerestory. It wasa sort of labyrinth, and they wondered whether any one, except perhapsthe plumber's foreman knew his way among all the doors. Then there wasone leading inwards to the eight bells--from whose fascinations Ethelthought Dickie never would be taken away--and still more charming, tothe clock, which clanged a tremendous three, as they were in the act oflooking at it, causing Leonard to make a great start, and then colourpainfully. It was hard to believe, as Daisy said, that the old tower, that looked so short and squat below, could be so very high when youcame to go up it; but the glimpses of the country, through the littleloop-hole windows, were most inviting. At last, Aubrey, who wasforemost, pushed up the trap-door, and emerged; but, as Dickie followedhim, exclaimed, 'Here we are; but you ladies in crinolines will neverfollow! You'll stick fast for ever, and Leonard can't pass, so thereyou'll all have to stay. '

'Aunt Daisy will sail away like a balloon, ' added Dickie, roguishly, looking back at her, and holding on his cap. 

But Gertrude vigorously compressed her hoop, and squeezed through, followed by Ethel and Leonard. There was a considerable space, square, leaded and protected by the battlemented parapet, with a deep mouldinground, and a gutter resulting in the pipe smoked by Ethel's likeness, the gurgoyle. Of course the first thing Dickie and Aubrey did was tolook for the letters that commemorated the ascent of H. M. , E. M. , M. M. , in 1852; and it was equally needful that R. R. M. , if nobody else, should likewise leave a record on the leads. There was an R. M. Of1820, that made it impossible to gainsay him. The view was not grandin itself, but there was a considerable charm in looking down on therooks in their leafless trees, cawing over their old nests, and inseeing the roofs of the town; far away, too, the gray Welsh hills, andbetween, the country lying like a map, with rivers traced in lightinstead of black. Leonard stood still, his face turned towards thegreenest of the meadows, and the river where it dashed over the wheelof a mill. 

'Have you seen it again?' asked Ethel, as she stood by him, and watchedhis eye. 

'No. I am rather glad to see it first from so far off, ' he answered, 'I mean to walk over some day. '

'Ethel, ' called Gertrude, 'is this your gurgoyle? His profile, as seenfrom above, isn't flattering. '

'O, Daisy, don't lean over so far. '

'Quite safe;' but at that instant a gust of wind caught her hat, shegrasped at it, but only saved it from whirling away, and made it fallshort. 'There, Ethel, your image has put on my hat; and henceforthwill appear to the wondering city in a black hat and feather!'

'I'll get it, ' exclaimed the ever ready Dickie; and in another momenthe had mounted the parapet and was reaching for it. Whether it wereGertrude's shriek, or the natural recoil away from the grasping hand, or that his hold on the side of the adjoining pinnacle was insecure, helost his balance, and with a sudden cry, vanished from their eyes. 

The frightful consternation of that moment none of those four couldever bear to recall; the next, they remembered that he could only fallas far as the roof, but it was Ethel and Leonard alone who durst pressto the parapet, and at the same moment a cry came up--

'Oh, come! I'm holding on, but it cuts! Oh, come!'

Ethel saw, some five-and-twenty feet below, the little boy upon thetransept roof, a smooth slope of lead, only broken by a skylight, a bitof churchwarden's architecture still remaining. The child had gonecrashing against the window, and now lay back clinging to its ironframe. Behind him was the entire height within to the church floor, before him a rapid slope, ended by a course of stone, wide enoughindeed to walk on, but too narrow to check the impetus from slippingdown the inclination above. Ethel's brain swam; she just perceivedthat both Aubrey and Leonard had disappeared, and then had barely powerto support Gertrude, who reeled against her, giddy with horror. 'Ohlook, look, Ethel, ' she cried; 'I can't. Where is he?'

'There! Yes, hold on, Dickie, they are coming. Look up--notdown--hold on!'

A door opened, and out dashed Aubrey! Alas! it was on the naveclerestory; he might as well have been a hundred, miles off. Anotherdoor, and Leonard appeared, and on the right level, but with a giddyunguarded ridge on which to pass round the angle of the tower. She sawhis head pass safely round, but, even then, the horror was not over. Could he steady himself sufficiently to reach the child, or might notDickie lose hold too soon? It was too close below for sight, themoulding and gurgoyle impeded her agonized view, but she saw thechild's look of joyful relief, she heard the steady voice, 'Wait, don'tlet go yet. There, ' and after a few more sounds, came up a shout, 'allright!' Infinitely relieved, she had to give her whole attention topoor Gertrude, who, overset by the accident, giddy with the attempt tolook over, horrified by the danger, confused and distressed by the hairthat came wildly flapping about her head and face, and by the puffs ofwind at her hoop, had sunk down in the centre of the little leadensquare, clinging with all her might to the staff of the weathercock, and feeling as if the whole tower were rocking with her, absolutelyseeing the battlements dance. How was she ever to be safely got downthe rickety ladder leading to the crumbling stone stair? Ethel kneltby her, twisted up the fluttering hair, bade her shut her eyes andcompose her thoughts, and then called over the battlements to Aubrey, who, confused by the shock, continued to emerge at wrong doors and losehimself on the roofs, and was like one in a bad dream, nearly as muchdizzied as his sister, to whose help he came the more readily, as theway up was the only one plain before him. 

The detention would have been more dreadful to Ethel had she known allthat was passing below, and that when the little boy, at Leonard'ssign, lowered himself towards the out-reaching arms of the young man, who was steadying himself against the wall of the tower, it was with alook of great pain, and leaving a trail of blood behind him. When, atlength, he stood at the angle, Leonard calmly said, 'Now go before me, round that corner, in at the door. Hold by the wall, I'll hold yourshoulder. ' The boy implicitly obeyed, the notion of giddiness neverseemed to occur to him, and both safely came to the little door, on thethreshold of which Leonard sat down, and lifting him on his knee, askedwhere he was hurt? 'My leg, ' said Dickie, 'the glass was running inall the time, and I could not move; but it does not hurt so much now. '

Perhaps not; but a large piece of glass had broken into the slenderlittle calf, and Leonard steadied himself to withdraw it, as, happily, the fragment was large enough to give a hold for his hand. The sensiblelittle fellow, without a word, held up the limb across Leonard's knee, and threw an arm round his neck, to hold himself still, just saying, 'Thank you, ' when it was over. 

'Did it hurt much, Dickie?'

'Not very much, ' he answered; 'but how it bleeds! Where's Aunt Ethel?'

'On the tower. She will come in a moment, ' said Leonard, startled bythe exceeding flow of blood, and binding the gash round with hishandkerchief. 'Now, I'll carry you down. '

The boy did not speak all the weary winding way down the dark stairs;but Leonard heard gasps of oppression, and felt the head lean on hisshoulder; moreover, a touch convinced him that the handkerchief wassoaking, nay dripping, and when he issued at length into the free airof the church, the face was deadly white. No one was near, and Leonardlaid him on a bench. He was still conscious, and looked up withlanguid eyes. 'Mayn't I go home?' he said, faintly; 'Aunt Ethel!'

'Let me try to stop this bleeding first, ' said Leonard. 'My dearlittle man, if you will only be quiet, I think I can. '

Leonard took the handkerchief from his throat, and wound it to itstightest just above the hurt, Dickie remonstrating for a moment with, 'That's not the place. It is too tight. '

'It will cut off the blood from coming, ' said Leonard; and in the sameunderstanding way, the child submitted, feebly asking, 'Shall I bleedto death? Mamma will be so sorry!'

'I trust--I hope not, ' said Leonard; he durst utter no encouragement, for the life-blood continued to pour forth unchecked, and the nextmurmur was, 'I'm so sick. I can't say my prayers. Papa! Mamma!'Already, however, Leonard had torn down a holly bough, and twisted off(he would have given worlds for a knife) a short stout stick, which hethrust into one of the folds of the ligature, and pulled it muchtighter, so that his answer was, 'Thank God, Dickie, that will do! thebleeding has stopped. You must not mind if it hurts for a littlewhile. '

An ejaculation of 'Poor little dear, ' here made him aware of thepresence of the sexton's wife; but in reply to her offer to carry himin to Mrs. Cheviot's, Dickie faintly answered, 'Please let me go home;'and Leonard, 'Yes, I will take him home. Tell Miss May it is a cutfrom the glass, I am taking him to have it dressed, and will bring himhome. Now, my dear little patient fellow, can you put your arms roundmy neck?'

Sensible, according to both meanings of the word, Dickie clasped hisfriend's neck, and laid his head on his shoulder, not speaking againtill he found Leonard was not turning towards the High Street, when hesaid, 'That is not the way home. '

'No, Dickie, but we must get your leg bound up directly, and thehospital is the only place where we can be sure of finding any one todo it. I will take you home directly afterwards. '

'Thank you, ' said the courteous little gentleman; and in a few minutesmore Leonard had rung the bell, and begged the house surgeon would comeat once to Dr. May's grandson. A few drops of stimulant much revivedDickie, and he showed perfect trust and composure, only holdingLeonard's hands, and now and then begging to know what they were doing, while he was turned over on his face for the dressing of the wound, bearing all without a sound, except an occasional sobbing gasp, accompanied by a squeeze of Leonard's finger. Just as this businesshad been completed, the surgeon exclaimed, 'There's Dr. May's step, 'and Dickie at once sat up, as his grandfather hurried in, nearly aspale as the boy himself. 'O, grandpapa, never mind, it is almost wellnow; and has Aunt Daisy got her hat?'

'What is it, my dear? what have you been doing?' said the Doctor, looking in amazement from the boy to Leonard, who was covered withblood. 'They told me you had fallen off the Minster tower!'

'Yes I did, ' said Dickie; 'I reached after Aunt Daisy's hat, but I fellon the roof, and I was sliding, sliding down to the wall, but there wasa window, and the glass broke and cut me, but I got my feet against thebottom of it, and held on by the iron bar, till Leonard came and tookme down;' and he lay back on the pillow, quiet and exhausted, butbright-eyed and attentive as ever, listening to Leonard's equally briefversion of the adventure. 

'Didn't he save my life, grandpapa?' said the boy, at the close. 

'Twice over, you may say, ' added the surgeon, and his words as to thenature of the injury manifested that all had depended on the immediatestoppage of the haemorrhage. With so young a child, delay fromindecision or want of resource would probably have been fatal. 

'There would have been no doing anything, if this little man had notbeen so good and sensible, ' said Leonard, leaning over him. 

'And I did not cry. You will tell papa I did not cry, ' said Dickie, eagerly, but only half gratified by such girlish treatment as thatagitated kiss of his grandfather, after being a little bit of a hero;but then Dickie's wondering eyes really beheld such another kissbestowed over his head upon Leonard, and quite thought there were tearson grandpapa's cheeks. Perhaps old gentlemen could do what waschildish in little boys. 

Dickie was to be transported home. He wished to be carried by Leonard, but the brougham was at the door, and he had to content himself withbeing laid on the seat, with his friend to watch over him, the Doctorpointing out that Leonard was a savage spectacle for the eyes ofStoneborough, and hurrying home by the short cut. Ethel met him inextreme alarm. Gertrude's half-restored senses had been totallyscattered by the sight of the crimson traces on the spot of Leonard'soperations, and she had been left to Mary's care; while Ethel andAubrey had hastened home, and not finding any one there, the latter haddashed off to Bankside, whilst Ethel waited, arranging the littlefellow's bed, and trying to trust to Leonard's message, and not let hermind go back to that fearful day of like waiting, sixteen years ago, nor on to what she might have to write to Norman and Meta of the chargethey had sent to her. Her father's cheerful face at first was a pang, and then came the rebound of gladness at the words. 'He is coming. Nofear for him, gallant little man--thanks for God's mercy, and to thatnoble fellow, Leonard. '

At the same moment Aubrey burst in--'No one at Wright's--won't be in noone knows how long! What is to become of us?' And he sank down on achair. 

'Ay, what would become of any of us, if no one had a better pate thanyours, sir?' said Dr. May. 'You have one single perfection, and youhad better make the most of it--that of knowing how to choose yourfriends. There's the carriage. '

After a moment's delay, the cushion was lifted out with the littlewounded cavalier, still like a picture; for, true to his humming-birdnature, a few scarcely-conscious movements of his hands had done awaywith looks of disarray--the rich glossy curls were scarcely disordered, and no stains of blood had adhered to the upper part of his smallperson, whereas Leonard was a ghastly spectacle from head to foot. 

'So, Master Dicky-bird, ' said Dr. May, as they rested him a moment onthe hall-table, 'give me that claw of yours. Yes, you'll do very well, only you must go to bed now; and, mind, whatever you did when you werein Fairy-land, we don't fly here in Stoneborough--and it does notanswer. '

'I am not to go to bed for being naughty, am I?' said Dickie, his bravewhite lip for the first time quivering; 'indeed, I did not know it waswrong. '

The poor little man's spirits were so exhausted, that the reassuranceon this head absolutely brought the much-dreaded tears into his eyes;and he could only be carried up gently to his bed, and left to beundressed by his aunt, so great an aggravation to the troubles of thissmall fragment of independence, that it had almost overset his courtesyand self-command. There was no contenting him till he had had alltraces of the disaster washed from face and hands, and the other foot;and then, over his tea, though his little clear chirrup was weak, hemust needs give a lucid description of Leonard's bandaging, in themidst of which came a knock at the door, and a gasping voice--'I'll bequite quiet--indeed I will! Only just let me come in and kiss him, andsee that he is safe. '

'O, Auntie Daisy, have you got your hat?'

Wan, tear-stained, dishevelled, Gertrude bit her lip to save anoutburst, gave the stipulated kiss, and retreated to Mary, who stood inthe doorway like a dragon. 

'Auntie Daisy has been crying, ' said Dickie, turning his eyes back toEthel. 'Please tell her I shall be well very soon, and then I'll go upagain and try to get her hat, if I may have a hook and line--I'll tellyou how. '

'My dear Dickie, you had better lie down, and settle it as you go tosleep, ' said Ethel, her flesh creeping at the notion of his going upagain. 

'But if I go to sleep now, I shall not know when to say my prayers. '

'Had you not better do so now, Dickie?'

Next came the child's scruple about not kneeling; but at last he wassatisfied, if Aunt Ethel would give him his little book out of thedrawer--that little delicately-illuminated book with the pointedwriting and the twisted cipher, Meta's hand in every touch. Presentlyhe looked up, and said: 'Aunt Ethel, isn't there a verse somewhereabout giving the angels charge? I want you to find it for me, for Ithink they helped me to hold on, and helped Leonard upon the narrowplace. You know they are sure to be flying about the church. '

Ethel read the ninety-first Psalm to him. He listened all through, andthanked her; but in a few minutes more he was fast asleep. As she leftthe room she met Leonard coming down and held out her hands to him witha mute intensity of thanks, telling him, in a low voice, what Dickiehad said of the angels' care. 

'I am sure it was true, ' said Leonard. 'What else could have saved thebrave child from dizziness?'

Down-stairs Leonard's reception from Dr. May was, 'Pretty well for anervous man!'

'Anybody can do what comes to hand. '

'I beg your pardon. Some bodies lose their wits, like your friendAubrey, who tells me, if he had stood still, he would have faintedaway. As long as nerves can do what comes to hand, they need not beblamed, even if they play troublesome tricks at other times, as Isuspect they are doing now. '

'Yes; my face is aching a little. '

'Not to say a great deal, ' said the Doctor. 'Well, I am not going topity you; for I think you can feel to-day that most of us would be gladto be in your place!'

'I am very glad, ' said Leonard. 

'You remember that child's parents? No, you have grown so old, that Iam always forgetting what a boy you ought to be; but if you had everseen the tenderness of his father, and that sunbeam of a Meta, youwould know all the more how we bless you for what you have spared them. Leonard, if anything had been needed to do so, you have won to yourselfsuch a brother in Norman as you have in Aubrey!'

Meantime Ethel was soothing Gertrude, to whom the shock had been inproportion to the triumphal heights of her careless gaiety. CharlesCheviot had come in while his wife was restoring her; and he hadplainly said what no one else would have intimated to the spoiltdarling--that the whole accident had been owing to her recklessness, and that he had always expected some fatal consequences to give her alesson!

Gertrude had been fairly cowed by such unwonted treatment; and when hewould only take her home on condition of composure and self-command, her trembling limbs obliged her to accept his arm, and he subdued herinto meek silence, and repression of all agitation, till she was safein her room, when she took a little bit of revenge upon Mary by cryingher heart out, and declaring it was very cruel of Charles, when she didnot mean it. 

And Mary, on her side, varied between assurances that Charles did notmean it, and that he was quite right--the sister now predominating inher, and now the wife. 

'Mean what?' said Ethel, sitting down among them before they were aware. 

'That--that it was all my fault!' burst out Gertrude. 'If it was, Idon't see what concern it is of his!'

'But, Daisy dear, he is your brother!'

'I've got plenty of brothers of my own! I don't count thosepeople-in-law--'

'She's past reasoning with, Mary, ' said Ethel. 'Leave her to me; shewill come to her senses by and by!'

'But indeed, Ethel, you won't be hard on her? I am sure dear Charlesnever thought what he said would have been taken in this way. '

'Why did he say it then?' cried Gertrude, firing up. 

'My dear Mary, do please go down, before we get into the pitiablelast-word condition!'

That condition was reached already; but in Ethel's own bed-room Mary'simplicit obedience revived, and away she went, carrying off with hermost of what was naughtiness in Gertrude. 

'Ethel--Ethel dear!' cried she at once, 'I know you are coming down onme. I deserve it all, only Charles had no business to say it. Andwasn't it very cruel and unkind when he saw the state I was in?'

'I suppose Charles thought it was the only chance of giving a lesson, and therefore true kindness. Come, Daisy, is this terrible fit ofpride a proper return for such a mercy as we have had to-day?'

'If I didn't say so to myself a dozen times on the way home!--only Marycame and made me so intolerably angry, by expecting me to take it as ifit had come from you or papa. '

'Ah, Daisy, that is the evil! If I had done my duty by you all, thiswould not have been!'

'Now, Ethel, when you want to be worse, and more cutting than anything, you go and tell me my faults are yours! For pity's sake, don't come tothat!'

'But I must, Daisy, for it is true. Oh, if you had only been a naughtylittle girl!'

'What--and had it out then?' said Daisy, who was lying across the bed, and put her golden head caressingly on Ethel's knee. 'If I had plaguedyou then, you would have broken me in out of self-defence. '

'Something like it, ' said Ethel. 'But you know, Daisy, the little lasttreasure that mamma left did always seem something we could not makeenough of, and it didn't make you fractious or tiresome--at least notto us--till we thought you could not be spoilt. And then I didn't seethe little faults so soon as I ought; and I'm only an elder sister, after all, without any authority. '

'No, you're not to say that, Ethel, I mind your authority, and alwayswill. You are never a bother. '

'Ah, that's it, Daisy! If I had only been a bother, you might neverhave got ahead of yourself. '

'Then you really think, like Charles Cheviot, that it was my doing, Ethel?'

'What do you think yourself?'

Great tears gathered in the corners of the blue eyes. Was it weak inEthel not to bear the sight?

'My poor Daisy, ' she said, 'yours is not all the burden! I ought notto have taken up such a giddy company, or else I should have kept theboy under my hand. But he is so discreet and independent, that it ismore like having a gentleman staying in the house, than a child underone's charge; and one forgets how little he is; and I was as much offmy balance with spirits as you. It was the flightiness of us all; andwe have only to be thankful, and to be sobered for another time. I amafraid the pride about being reproved is really the worse fault. '

'And what do you want me to do?--to go and tell papa all about it? Imean to do that, of course; it is the only way to get comforted. '

'Of course it is; but--'

'You horrid creature, Ethel! I'll never say you aren't a bother again. You really do want me to go and tell Charles Cheviot that he was quiteright, and Mary that I'm ready to be trampled on by all mybrothers-in-law in a row! Well, there won't be any more. You'll nevergive me one--that's one comfort!' said Gertrude, wriggling herself up, and flinging an arm round Ethel's neck. 'As long as you don't do that, I'll do anything for you. '

'Not for me. '

'Well, you know that, you old thing! only you might take it as apersonal compliment. I really will do it; for, of course, one couldnot keep one's Christmas otherwise!' It was rather too business-like;but elders are often surprised to find what was a hard achievement intheir time a matter of course to their pupils--almost lightly passedover. 

Dickie slept till morning, when he was found very pale, but lively andgood-humoured as ever. Mr. Wright, coming up to see him, found thehurt going on well, and told Ethel, that if she could keep him in bedand undisturbed for the day, it would be better and safer; but that ifhe became restless and fretful, there would be no great risk in takinghim to a sofa. Restless and fretful! Mr. Wright little knew thediscretion, or the happy power of accommodation to circumstances, thathad descended to Meta's firstborn. 

He was quite resigned as soon as the explanation had beenmade--perhaps, indeed, there was an instinctive sense, that to bedressed and moved would be fatiguing; but he had plenty of smiles andanimation for his visitors, and, when propped up in bed, was full ofdevices for occupation. Moreover he acquired a slave; he made aregular appropriation of Leonard, whom he quickly perceived to be themost likely person to assist in his great design of constructing amodel of the clock in the Minster tower, for the edification of hislittle brother Harry. Leonard worked away at the table by the bed-sidewith interest nearly equal to the child's; and when wire and cardboardwere wanting, he put aside all his dislike to facing the Stoneboroughstreets and tradesmen in open day, and, at Dickie's request, salliedforth in quest of the materials. And when the bookseller madeinquiries after the boy, Leonard, in the fulness of his heart, repliedfreely and in detail--nay, he was so happy in the little man'swell-doing, that he was by no means disconcerted even by a fullencounter of Mrs. Harvey Anderson in the street, but answered all herinquiries, in entire oblivion of all but the general rejoicing inlittle Dickie's wonderful escape. 

'Well, ' said Aubrey to his sisters, after a visit to his nephew's room, 'Dickie has the best right to him, certainly, to-day. It is anabsolute appropriation! They were talking away with all their mightwhen I came up, but came to a stop when I went in, and Master Dick sentme to the right-about. '

The truth was, that Dickie, who, with eyes and ears all alive, hadgathered up some fragments of Leonard's history, had taken thisopportunity of catechizing him upon it in a manner that it wasimpossible to elude, and which the child's pretty tact carried off, asit did many things which would not have been tolerated if done rudelyand abruptly. Step by step, in the way of question and remark, he ledLeonard to tell him all that had happened; and when once fairlyembarked in the reminiscence, there was in it a kind of peace andpleasure. The fresh, loving, wondering sympathy of the little boy wasunspeakably comforting; and besides, the bringing the facts in theirsimple form to the grasp of the childish mind, restored theirproportion, which their terrible consequences had a good dealdisturbed. They seemed to pass from the present to the historical, andto assume the balance that they took in the child's mind, coming newlyupon them. It was like bathing in a clear limpid stream, that washedaway the remains of morbid oppression. 

'I wish mamma was here, ' said the little friend, at last. 

'Do you want her? Are you missing her, my dear?'

'I miss her always, ' said Dickie. 'But it was not that--only mammaalways makes everybody so happy; and she would be so fond of you, because you have had so much trouble. '

'But, Dickie, don't you think I am happy to be with your grandfatherand aunt, and hoping to see my own sisters very soon--your aunt, whotaught me what bore me through it all?'

'Aunt Ethel?' cried Dickie, considering. 'I like Aunt Ethel very much;but then she is not like mamma!'

There could be no doubt that Leonard was much better and happier afterthis adventure. Reluctantly, Dickie let him go back to Cocksmoor, where his services in church-decking and in singing had been too muchdepended on to be dispensed with; but he was to come back with Richardfor the family assembly on Christmas evening. 

Moreover, Gertrude, who was quite herself again, having made her peacewith the Cheviots, and endured the reception of her apologies, seizedon him to lay plots for a Christmas-tree, for the delectation of Dickieon his sofa, and likewise of Margaret Rivers, and of the elite of theCocksmoor schools. He gave in to it heartily, and on the appointed dayworked with great spirit at the arrangements in the dining-room, whereGertrude, favoured by the captive state of the little boy, conductedher preparations, relegating the family meals to the schoolroom. 

This tree was made the occasion for furnishing Leonard with all thelittle appliances of personal property that had been swept away fromhim; and, after all, he was the most delighted of the party. The smallCharlie Cheviot had to be carried off shrieking; Margaret Rivers wascritical; even Cocksmoor was experienced in Christmas-trees; andDickie, when placed in the best situation, and asked if such trees grewin New Zealand, made answer that he helped mamma to make one every yearfor the Maori children. It was very kind in Aunt Daisy, he added, withunfailing courtesy; but he was too zealous for his colony to bedazzled--too utilitarian to be much gratified by any of his gifts, excepting a knife of perilous excellence, which Aubrey, in contempt ofStoneborough productions, had sacrificed from his own pocket at thelast moment. 

Leonard and Dickie together were in a state of great delight at thelittle packets handed to the former; studs, purse, pencil-case, writingmaterials; from Hector Ernescliffe, a watch, with the entreaty that hisgifts might not be regarded as unlucky; from Ethel, a photographicbook, with the cartes of his own family, whose old negatives had beenhunted up for the purpose; also a recent one of Dr. May with hisgrandson on his knee, the duplicate of which was gone to New Zealand, with the Doctor's inscription, 'The modern Cyropaedia, Astyagesconfounded. ' There was Richard, very good, young and pretty; there wasEthel, exactly like the Doctor, 'only more so;' there was Gertrude, like nobody, not even herself, and her brothers much in the samepredicament, there was the latest of Mr. Rivers's many likenesses, withthe cockatoo on his wrist, and there was the least truculent andwitchlike of the numerous attempts on Flora; there was Mrs. Cheviot, broad-faced and smiling over her son, and Mr. And Mrs. Ernescliffe, pinioning the limbs of their offspring, as in preparation for a familyholocaust; there was Dickie's mamma, unspoilable in her loveliness evenby photography, and his papa grown very bald and archidiaconal; therewas Ethel's great achievement of influence, Dr. Spencer, beautiful inhis white hair; there were the vicar and the late and presenthead-masters. The pleasure excited by all these gifts far exceeded theanticipations of their donors, it seemed as if they had fallen on thevery moment when they would convey a sense of home, welcome, andrestoration. He did not say much, but looked up with liquid lustrouseyes, and earnest 'thank you's, ' and caressingly handled and examinedthe treasures over and over again, as they lay round him on Dickie'scouch. 'I suppose, ' said the child to him, 'it is like Job, when allhis friends came to see him, and every one gave him a piece of money. '

'He could hardly have enjoyed it more, ' murmured Leonard, feeling therestful capacity of happiness in the new possession of the child'sardent love, and of the kind looks of all around, above all, of the onepresence that still gave him his chief sense of sunshine. The boyishand romantic touch of passion had, as Ethel had long seen, been burntand seared away, and yet there was something left, something that, ason this evening she felt, made his voice softer, his eye moredeferential, to her than to any one else. Perhaps she had once beenhis guiding star; and if in the wild tempests of the night he hadlearnt instead to direct his course by the "Brightest and best of thesons of the morning, " still the star would be prized and distinguished, as the first and most honoured among inferior constellations. 

CHAPTER XXIX

 Till now the dark was worn, and overhead The lights of sunset and of sunrise mixed. --TENNYSON

At New York, Tom wrote a short letter to announce his safe arrival, andthen pushed on by railway into Indiana. Winter had completely set in;and when he at length arrived at Winiamac, he found that a sleigh was afar readier mode of conveyance to Massissauga than the wagons used insummer. His drive, through the white cathedral-like arcades of forest, hung with transparent icicles, and with the deep blue sky above, becoming orange towards the west, was enjoyable; and even Massissaugaitself, when its skeleton trees were like their neighbours, embellishedby the pure snowy covering, looked less forlorn than when their deathcontrasted with the exuberant life around. He stopped at the hotel, left his baggage there, and after undergoing a catechism on hispersonal affairs, was directed to Mr. Muller's house, and made his wayup its hard-trodden path of snow, towards the green door, at which heknocked two or three times before it was opened by a woman, whose hairand freckled skin were tinted nowhere but in Ireland. 

He made a step forward out of the cutting blast into the narrow entry, and began to ask, 'Is Miss Ward here? I mean, can I see Miss Warden?'when, as if at the sound of his voice, there rang from within the doorclose by a shriek--one of the hoarse hysterical cries he had heard uponthe day of the inquest. Without a moment's hesitation, he pushed openthe door, and beheld a young lady in speechless terror hanging over thestiffened figure on the couch--the eyes wide open, the limbs straightand rigid. He sprang forward, and lifted her into a more favourableposture, hastily asking for simple remedies likely to be at hand, andproducing a certain amount of revival for a few moments, though thestiffness was not passing--nor was there evidence of consciousness. 

'Are you Leonard?' said Cora Muller, under her breath, in this briefinterval, gazing into his face with frightened puzzled eyes. 

'No; but I am come to tell her that he is free!' But the words werecut short by another terrible access, of that most distressing kindthat stimulates convulsion; and again the terrified women instinctivelyrendered obedience to the stranger in the measures he rapidly took, andhis words, 'hysteria--a form of hysteria, ' were forced from him by thenecessity of lessening Cora's intense alarm, so as to enable her to beeffective. 'We must send for Dr. Laidlaw, ' she began in the firstbreathing moment, and again he looked up and said, 'I am a physician!'

'Mr. Tom?' she asked with the faintest shadow of a smile; he bent hishead, and that was their introduction, broken again by anotherfrightful attack; and when quiescence, if not consciousness, wasregained, Tom knelt by the sofa, gazing with a sense of heart-rendingdespair at the wasted features and thin hands, the waxen whiteness ofthe cheek, and the tokens in which he clearly read long and consumingillness as well as the overthrow of the sudden shock. 

'What is this?' he asked, looking up to Cora's beautiful anxious face. 

'Oh, she has been very sick, very sick, ' she answered; 'it was anattack of pleurisy; but she is getting better at last, though she willnot think so, and this news will make all well. Does she hear? Say itagain!'

Tom shook his head, afraid of the sound of the name as yet, andscarcely durst even utter the word 'Ella' above his breath. 

'She is gone out with Cousin Deborah to an apple bee, ' was thereassuring answer. 'She wanted change, poor child! Is she gettingbetter?'

Averil was roused by a cough, the sound which tore Tom's heart by itsimport, but he drew back out of her sight, and let Cora raise her, andgive her drink, in a soothing tender manner, that was evidentrestoration. 'Cora dear, is it you?' she said, faintly; 'didn't I hearsome one else's voice? Didn't they say--?' and the shiver that creptover her was almost a return of the hysteric fit. 

'We said he was free, ' said Cora, holding her in her arms. 

'Free--yes, I know what that means--free among the dead, ' said Averil, calmly, smoothing Cora's hair, and looking in her face. 'Don't beafraid to let me hear. I shall be there with him and Minna soon. Didn't somebody come to tell me? Please let him in, I'll be quiet now. '

And as she made gestures of arranging her hair and dress, Tom guardedlypresented himself, saying in a voice that trembled with his endeavourto render it calm, 'Did you think I should have come if I had nothingbetter to tell you?' and as she put out her hand in greeting, he tookit in both his own, and met her eyes looking at him wide open, in thefirst dawning of the hope of an impossible gladness. 'Yes, ' he said, 'the truth is come out--he is cleared--he is at home--at Stoneborongh!'

The hot fingers closed convulsively on his own, then she raisedherself, pressed her hands together, and gasped and struggled fearfullyfor breath. The joy and effort for self-command were more than theenfeebled frame could support, and there was a terrible and prolongedrenewal of those agonizing paroxysms, driving away every thought fromthe other two except of the immediate needs. At last, when theviolence of the attack had subsided, and left what was either faintingor stupor, they judged it best to carry her to her bed, and trust that, reviving without the associations of the other room, the agitationwould be less likely to return, and that she might sleep under theinfluence of an anodyne. Poor Tom! it was not the reception he hadfigured to himself, and after he had laid her down, and left her toCora and to Katty to be undressed, he returned to the parlour, andstood over the sinking wood-fire in dejection and dreariness ofheart--wrung by the sufferings he had witnessed, with the bitter words(too late) echoing in his brain, and with the still more cruelthought--had it been his father or one of his brothers--any one towhose kindness she could trust, the shock had not been so great, andthere would have been more sense of soothing and comfort! And then hetried to collect his impressions of her condition, and judge what wouldserve for her relief, but all his senses seemed to be scattered;dismay, compassion, and sympathy, had driven away all power of forminga conclusion--he was no longer the doctor--he was only the anxiouslistener for the faintest sound from the room above, but none reachedhim save the creaking of the floor under Katty's heavy tread. 

The gay tinkle of sleigh-bells was the next noise he heard, andpresently the door was opened, and two muffled hooded figures lookedinto the room, now only lighted by the red embers of the fire. 

'Where's Cora? where's Ave?' said the bright tone of the lesser. 'Itis all dark!' and she was raising her voice to call, when Tominstinctively uttered a 'Hush, ' and moved forward; 'hush, Ella, yoursister has been ill. '

The little muffled figure started at the first sound of his voice, butas he stepped nearer recoiled for a second, then with a low cry, almosta sob of recognition, exclaimed, 'Mr. Tom! Oh, Mr. Tom! I knew youwould come! Cousin Deborah, it's Mr. Tom!' and she flew into his arms, and clung with an ecstasy of joy, unknowing the why or how, but with asense that light had shone, and that her troubles were over. She askedno questions, she only leant against him with, 'Mr. Tom! Mr. Tom!'under her breath. 

'But what is it, stranger? Do tell! Where are the girls? What's thisabout Avy's being sick? Do you know the stranger, Ella?'

'It's Mr. Tom, ' she cried, holding his arm round her neck, looking upin a rapturous restfulness. 

'I brought Miss Ward-en some good news that I fear has been too muchfor her, ' said he; 'I am--only waiting to--hear how she is. '

By way of answer, Deborah opened another door which threw more light onthe scene from the cooking stove in the kitchen, and at the same momentCora with a candle came down the stairs. 

'O, Dr. May, ' she said, 'you have been too long left alone in the dark. I think she is asleep now. You will stay. We will have tea directly. '

Tom faltered something about the hotel, and began to look at CousinDeborah, and to consider the proprieties of life; but Cousin Deborah, Cora, and Ella began declaring with one voice that he must remain forthe evening meal, and a bustle of cheerful preparation commenced, whileElla still hung on his hand. 

'But, Ella, you've never asked my good news. '

'Oh dear! I was too glad! Are we going home then?'

'Yes, I trust so, I hope so, my dear; for Leonard's innocence has cometo light, and he is free. '

'Then Henry won't mind--and we may be called by our proper nameagain--and Ave will be well, ' cried the child, as the ideas came morefully on her comprehension. 'O, Cora! O, Cousin Deborah, do you hear?Does Ave know? May I run up and tell Ave?'

This of course was checked, but next Ella impetuously tore off herwraps for the convenience of spinning up and down wildly about thekitchen and parlour. Leonard himself did not seem to have great partin her joy; Henry's policy had really nearly rooted out the thought ofhim personally, and there was a veil of confusion over the painfulperiod of his trial, which at the time she had only partiallycomprehended. But she did understand that his liberation would be theterm of exile; and though his name was to her connected with amysterious shudder that made her shrink from uttering or hearingdetails, she had a security that Mr. Tom would set all right, and sheloved him so heartily, that his presence was sunshine enough for her. 

A little discomfited at the trouble he was causing, Tom was obliged towait while not only Cousin Deborah, but Cora busied herself in thekitchen, and Ella in her restless joy came backwards and forwards toreport their preparations, and at times to tarry a short space by hisside, and tell of the recent troubles. Ave had been very ill, shesaid, very ill indeed about a month ago, and Henry had come home to seeher, but had been obliged to go away to the siege of Charleston whenshe was better. They had all been ill ever since they came there, butnow Mr. Tom was come, should not they all go home to dear Stoneborough, away from this miserable place? If they could only take Cora with them!

It was still a childish tongue; but Ella had outgrown all her plumproundness, and was so tall and pale that Tom would hardly have knownher. Her welcome was relief and comfort, and she almost inspired herown belief that now all would be well. His English ideas were ratherset at rest by finding that Mrs. Deborah was to preside at thetea-table, and that he was not to be almost tete-a-tete with MissMuller. Deborah having concluded her hospitable cares, catechized himto her full content, and satisfied herself on the mystery of theWardens' life. 

And now what brought himself out? She guessed he could not find anopening in the old country. Tom smiled, explained his opening at home, and mentioned his charge of his late friend's book. 

'So you are come out about the book, and just come a few hundred milesout of the way to bring this bit of news, that you could havetelegraphed, ' said the Yankee dame, looking at him with her keen eyes. 'Well, if you were coming, it was a pity you were not sooner. She haspined away ever since she came here; and to such a worn-down conditionas hers, poor child, I doubt joy's kinder more upsetting than trouble, when one is used to it. There; I'll fix the things, and go up and sitwith Avy. She'll be less likely to work herself into a flight again ifshe sees me than one of you. '

So Tom--less embarrassed now--found himself sitting by the fire, withElla roasting her favourite nuts for him, and Miss Muller opposite. Hewas taken by surprise by her beautiful face, elegant figure, andlady-like manner, and far more by her evidently earnest affection forAveril. 

She told him that ever since the fatal turn of little Minna's illness, Averil had been subject to distressing attacks of gasping and rigidity, often passing into faintness; and though at the moment of emotion sheoften showed composure and self-command, yet that nature always thusrevenged herself. Suspense--letters from home or from Henry--evenverses, or times connected with the past, would almost certainly bringon the affection; and the heat of the summer had relaxed her frame, soas to render it even more unable to resist. There had been hope in thebracing of winter, but the first frosts had brought a chill, and aterrible attack of pleurisy, so dangerous that her brother had beensummoned; she had struggled through, however, and recovered to acertain point, but there had stopped short, often suffering pain in theside, and never without panting breath and recurring cough. This hadbeen a slightly better day, and she had been lying on the sofa, counting the days to Leonard's next letter, when the well-known voicefell on her ears, and the one strong effort to control herself hadresulted in the frightful spasms, which had been worse than any Corahad yet witnessed. 

'But she will get well, and we shall go home, ' said Ella, looking upwistfully into Tom's mournful face. 

'And I shall lose you, ' said Cora; 'but indeed I have long seen it wasthe only thing. If I had only known, she never should have come here. '

'No, indeed, I feel that you would have led her to nothing that was notfor her good and comfort. '

'Ah! but I did not know, ' said Cora; 'I had not been here--and I onlythought of my own pleasure in having her. But if there is any way offreeing her from this unfortunate speculation without a dead loss, Iwill make father tell me. '

This--from Cora's pretty mouth--though only honest and prudent, ratherjarred upon Tom in the midst of his present fears; and he began toprepare for his departure to the inn, after having sent up Ella to askfor her sister, and hearing that she still slept soundly under theinfluence of the opiate. 

When Averil awoke it was already morning, and Cora was standing by herbed, with her eyes smiling with congratulation, like veronicas on asunny day. 

'Cora, is it true?' she said, looking up. 

Cora bent down and kissed her, and whispered, 'I wish you joy, my dear. '

'Then it is, ' she said; 'it is not all a dream?'

'No dream, dearest. '

'Who said it?' she asked. 'O, Cora, that could not be true!' and thecolour rose in her cheek. 

'That! yes, Averil, if you mean that we had a visitor last evening. Itook him for Leonard, do you know! Only I thought his eyes and hairdid not quite answer the description. '

'He is a very gentleman-like person. Did you not think so?' saidAveril. 

'Ah! Ave, I've heard a great deal. Don't you think you had better tellme some more?'

'No, no!' exclaimed Averil; 'you are not to think of folly, ' ascoughing cut her short. 

'I'll not think of any more than I can help, except what you tell me. '

'Never think at all, Cora. Oh! what has brought him here? I don'tknow how I can dare to see him again; and yet he is not gone, is he?'

'Oh no, he is only at the inn. He is coming back again. '

'I must be up. Let me get up, ' said Averil, raising herself, butpausing from weakness and breathlessness. 

And when they had forced some food upon her, she carried out herresolution, though twice absolutely fainting in the course of dressing;and at length crept softly, leaning on Cora's arm, into the parlour. Though Tom was waiting there, he neither spoke nor came forward tillshe was safely placed upon the sofa, and then gathering breath, shesought him with her eager eyes, shining, large, lustrous, and wistful, as they looked out of the white thin face, where the once glowingcolour had dwindled to two burning carnation spots. It was so piteousa change that as he took her hand he was silent, from sheer inabilityto speak calmly. 

'You have come to tell me, ' she said. 'I am afraid I could not thankyou last night. ' How different that soft pleading languid voice fromthe old half defiant tone!

'I did not know you had been so unwell, ' he forced himself to say, 'orI would not have come so suddenly. '

'I am grown so silly' she said, trying to smile. 'I hardly evenunderstood last night;' and the voice died away in the intense desireto hear. 

'I--I was coming on business, and I thought you would not turn from thegood tidings, though I was the bearer, ' he said, in a broken, agitated, apologetic way. 

'Only let me hear it again, ' she said. 'Did you say he was free?'

'Yes, free as you are, or I. At home. My father was gone to fetchhim. '

She put her hands over her face, and looked up with the sweetest smilehe had ever seen, and whispered, 'Now I can sing my Nunc dimittis. '

He could not at once speak; and before he had done more than make onedeprecatory gesture, she asked, 'You have seen him?'

'Not since this--not since September. '

'I know. You have been very good; and he is at home--ah! not home--butDr. May's. Was he well? Was he very glad?'

'I have not seen him; I have not heard; you will hear soon. I came atonce with the tidings. '

'Thank you;' and she clasped her hands together. 'Have you seen Henry?does he know?'

'Could I? Had not you the first right?'

'Leonard! Oh, dear Leonard!' She lay back for a few moments, pantingunder the gust of exceeding joy; while he was silent, and tried not toseem to observe her with his anxious eyes. Then she recovered a littleand said, 'The truth come out! Did you say so? What was the truth?'

'He paused a moment, afraid of the shock, and remembering that thesuspicion had been all unknown to her. She recalled probabilities, andsaid, 'Was it from a confession? Is it known who--who was the real unhappyperson?'

'Yes. Had you no suspicion?'

'No--none, ' said Averil, shuddering, 'unless it was some robber. Whowas it?'

'You had never thought of the other nephew?'

'You don't mean Samuel Axworthy! Oh! no. Why the last thing Leonardbade me, was always to pray for him. '

'Ah!' said Tom, with bent head, and colouring cheeks; 'but who arethose for whom such as Leonard would feel bound to pray?'

There was a moment's silence, and then she said, 'His enemy! Is thatwhat you mean? But then he would have known it was he. '

'He was entirely convinced that so it must have been, but there was noproof, and an unsupported accusation would only have made his own caseworse. '

'And has he confessed? has he been touched and cleared Leonard at last?'

'No; he had no space granted him. It was the receipt in your brother'swriting that was found upon him. '

'The receipt? Yes, Leonard always said the receipt would clear him!But oh, how dreadful! He must have had it all the time. How could hebe so cruel! Oh! I never felt before that such wickedness could be;'and she lay, looking appalled and overpowered. 

'Think of your brother knowing it all, and bidding--and giving you thatinjunction--' said Tom, feeling the necessity of overcoming evil withgood. 

'Oh! if I had known it, I could not--I could not have been likeLeonard! And where--what has become of him?' she asked, breathlessly. 'You speak as if he was dead. '

'Yes. He was killed in a fray at a gaming-house!'

There was a long silence, first of awe, then of thankfulness plainlybeaming in her upraised eyes and transparent countenance, which Tomwatched, filled with sensations, mournful but not wholly wretched. Shattered as she was, sinking away from her new-found happiness, it wasa precious privilege to be holding to her the longed--for draught ofjoy. 

'Tell me about it, please, ' she presently said. 'Where--how did thereceipt come to light? Were the police told to watch for it? I wantto know whom I have to thank. '

His heart beat high, but there was a spirit within him that could notbrook any attempt to recall the promise he had pursued her with, thepromise that he would not rest till he had proved her brother'sinnocence. He dreaded her even guessing any allusion to it, orfancying he had brought the proffered price in his hand; and when hebegan with, 'Can you bear to hear of the most shocking scene I everwitnessed?' he gave no hint of his true motive in residing at Paris, ofthe clue that Bilson's draft had given him in thither pursuingAxworthy, nor of his severe struggle in relinquishing the quest. Hethrew over all the completest accidental air, and scarcely made itevident that it was he who had recognized the writing, and all thatturned on it. Averil listened to the narration, was silent for somespace, then having gone over it in her own mind, looked up and said--

'Then all this came of your being at that hospital;' and a burningblush spread over the pale cheek, and made Tom shrink, start, and feelguilty of having touched the chord of obligation, connected with thatobtrusive pledge of his. Above all, however, to repress emotion washis prime object; and he calmly answered, 'It was a good Providencethat brought any one there who knew the circumstances. '

She was silent; and he was about to rise and relieve her from the senseof his presuming on her gratitude, when a cough, accompanied with apressure of her hand on her side, betrayed an access of suffering, thatdrew him on to his other purpose of endeavouring to learn hercondition, and to do what he could for her relief. His manner, curiously like his father's, and all the home associations connectedwith it, easily drew from her what he wanted to ascertain, and sheperfectly understood its purport, and was calm and even bright. 

'I was glad to be better when Henry went away, ' she said; 'he had somuch to do, and we thought I was getting well then. You must notfrighten him and hurry him here, if you please, ' she said, earnestly, 'for he must not be wasting his time here, and you think it will last amonth or two, don't you?'

'I want to persuade Henry to bring you all home, and enter intopartnership with Mr. Wright, ' said Tom. 'The voyage would--might--itwould be the best thing for you. '

'Could I ever be well enough again? Oh, don't tell me to think aboutit! The one thing I asked for before I die has been given me, and nowI know he is free, I will--will not set my mind on anything else. '

There was a look so near heaven on her face, as she spoke, that Tomdurst not say any more of home, or earthly schemes; but, quiet, grave, and awe-stricken, left her to the repose she needed, and betook himselfto the other room, where Ella, of course, flew on him, having beenhardly detained by Cora from breaking in before. His object was to goto see the medical man who had been attending Averil; and Cora assuringhim the horse had nothing to do in the frost, and telling him the timesof the day when he would be most likely to find Dr. Laidlaw, he setforth. 

Averil meantime lay on her sofa calmly happy, and thankful, the wornand wearied spirit full of rest and gladness unspeakable, in thefulness of gratitude for the answered prayer that she might know herbrother free before her death. If she had ever doubted of her ownstate, she had read full confirmation in her physician's saddened eyes, and the absence of all hopeful auguries, except the single hint thatshe might survive a voyage to England; and that she wished unsaid. Life, for the last five years, had been mournful work; there had beenone year of blind self-will, discord, and bitterness, then a crushingstroke, and the rest exhausted submission and hopeless bending tosorrow after sorrow, with self-reproach running through all. Weariedout, she was glad to lay down the burthen, and accept the evening gleamas sunset radiance, without energy to believe it as the dawn of abrighter day. She shrank from being made even to wish to see Leonard. If once she began to think it possible, it would be a hard sacrifice togive it up; and on one point her resolution was fixed, that she wouldnot be made a cause for bringing him to share their wretchedness inAmerica. Life and things of life were over with her, and she wouldonly be thankful for the softening blessings that came at its close, without stirring up vain longings for more. That kindness of Tom May, for instance, how soothing it was after her long self-reproach for herpetulant and cutting unjust reply to his generous affection--generousabove all at such a moment!

And after all, it was he--it was he and no other who had clearedLeonard--he had fulfilled the pledge he had given when he did not knowwhat he was talking of. How she hated the blush that the suddenremembrance had called up on her face! It was quite plain that he hadbeen disgusted by her unkind, undignified, improper tone of rejection;and though out of humanity he had brought her the tidings, he would notlet her approach to thanking him, she was ashamed that he should havetraced an allusion, the most distant, to the scene he had, doubtless, loathed in remembrance. He would, no doubt, go away to-day orto-morrow, and then these foolish thoughts would subside, and sheshould be left alone with Cora and her thankfulness, to think again ofthe great change before her!

But Tom was not gone. Indeed Averil was much more ill before the nextmorning, partly from hysteria, the reaction of the morning'sexcitement, and partly from an aggravation of the more seriouspulmonary affection. It was a temporary matter, and one that made hisremaining the merest act of common humanity, since he had found Dr. Laidlaw a very third-rate specimen, and her brother was too far off tohave arrived in time to be of use. The fresh science and skill of theyoung physician were indeed of the highest value, and under his careAveril rallied after a few days of prostration and suffering, duringwhich she had watched and observed a good deal, and especially the goodunderstanding between her doctor and Cora Muller. When Cousin Deborahwas sitting with her, they always seemed to be talking in thedrawing-room; nay, there were reports of his joining in the fabricationof some of the delicacies that were triumphantly brought to her room;and Ella was in a state of impatient pique at being slighted by 'Mr. Tom, ' who, she complained, was always fighting with Cora about theirpolitics; and Cora herself used to bring what Dr. May had said, as thechoicest entertainment to her sick friend; while to herself he wasmerely the physician, kind and gentle to the utmost degree; but keepinghis distance so scrupulously, that the pang awoke that he absolutelydisliked her, and only attended her from common compassion; and, itmight be, found consolation in being thus brought in contact with Cora. Oh, if it were only possible to own her wrongs, and ask his pardonwithout a compromise of maidenliness! Perhaps--perhaps she might, whenshe was still nearer death, and when she was supposed to know how itwas between him and Cora. Dear Cora, it would be a beautiful rewardfor them both, and they would take care of Ella. Cora would be happierthan ever yet among the Mays--and--Oh! why, why was there so muchunkind selfish jealousy left, that instead of being glad, the notionleft her so very miserable? Why did the prospect of such happiness forher self-devoted friend and nurse make her feel full of bitterness, andhardly able to bear it patiently, when she heard her speak the name ofDr. May?

Averil had again left her bed, and resumed her place on the sofa beforeletters arrived. There was Leonard's from Cocksmoor Parsonage, thefirst real letter she had had from him since his term of servitude hadbegun. It was a grave and thankful letter, very short, doing littlemore than mention every one's kindness, and express a hope of soonmeeting her and Ella, however and wherever Henry should think best. Brief as it was, it made her more thoroughly realize his liberty, andfeel that the yearning towards him in her heart was growing more andmore ardent, in spite of her strivings not to let it awaken. 

The same post brought Henry's answer to Tom May's representation. Itwas decisive. He had broken off his whole connection with England, anddid not wish to return to a neighbourhood so full of painfulrecollections. He was making his way rapidly upwards in his presentposition, and it would be folly to give up the advantages it offered;moreover, he had no fears of the future well-doing of the MassissaugaCompany. As soon as the weather permitted it, he hoped to remove hissister to a healthier locality for change of air, but she could not befit for a journey in the winter. There were plenty of acknowledgmentsto the Mays for their kindness to Leonard, from whom Henry said he hadheard, as well as from Dr. May, and others at Stoneborough. He shouldadvise Leonard by all means to close with Mr. Bramshaw's offer, for hesaw no opening for him in the United States at present, although theultimate triumph over rebellion, &c. &c. &c. --in the most inflatedstyle of Henry's truly adopted country. No one who had not known thewhole affair would ever enter into Leonard's entire innocence, thestigma of conviction would cleave to him, and create an impressionagainst him and his family among strangers, and it was highly desirablethat he should remain among friends. In fact, it was plain that Henrywas still ashamed of him, and wished to be free of a dangerousappendage. Tom was so savagely angry at this letter that he could onlywork off his wrath by a wild expedition in the snow, in the course ofwhich he lost his way, wandered till the adventure began to growperilous, came at last upon a squatter, with great difficulty inducedhim to indicate the track sufficiently for his English density, andarrived at Massissauga at nine o'clock at night. Averil was still onher sofa, quite calm and quiet, all but her two red spots; butafterwards, in her own room, she had one of her worst fits of spasms. 

However, she was up and dressed by the middle of the next day, and, contrary to her wont since the first time, she sent Ella out of theroom when her doctor came to see her. 

'I wanted to speak to you, ' she said, 'I have a great favour to ask ofyou. You will soon be going home. Would you, could you take Ella withyou? I know it is a great, a too great thing to ask. But I would nothave her in any one's way. I am going to write to Mrs. Wills, at theschool where I was, and Ella's means are quite enough to keep herthere, holidays and all, till Leonard can give her a home. It will bemuch better for her, and a relief to Henry; and it will be giving backone--one to Leonard! It will be one thing more that I shall be happyabout. '

Tom had let her go on with her short gentle sentences, because he knewnot how to answer; but at last she said, 'Forgive me, and do not thinkof it, if I have asked what I ought not, or would be troublesome. '

Troublesome! no, indeed! I was only thinking--if it might not bebetter managed, ' he answered, rather by way of giving himself time todebate whether the utterance of the one thought in his heart would leadto his being driven away. 

'Pray do not propose Leonard's coming for her! He must come to thisfeverish place in spring. And if he came, and I were not here, andHenry not wanting him! Oh no, no; do not let me think of his coming!'

'Averil, ' he said, kneeling on one knee so as to be nearer, and to beable to speak lower, 'you are so unearthly in your unselfishness, thatI dare the less to put before you the one way in which I could takeElla home to him. It is if you would overlook the past, and give me abrother's right in them both. '

She turned in amazement to see if she had heard aright. He had removedhis glasses, and the deep blue expressive eyes so seldom plainlyvisible were wistfully, pleadingly, fixed on her, brimming over withthe dew of earnestness. Her face of inquiry gave him courage to go on, 'If you would only let me, I think I could bring you home to see him;and if you would believe it and try, I believe I could make youhappier, ' and with an uncontrollable shake in his voice he ceased--andonly looked. 

She sat upright, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes shut, trying tocollect her thoughts; and the silence lasted for several seconds. Atlast she said, opening her eyes, but gazing straight before her, not athim, 'I do not think I ought. Do you really know what you are saying?You know I cannot get well. '

'I know, ' he said. 'All I ask is, to tend and watch over you while Imay, to bring you home to Leonard, and to be Ella's brother. '

His voice was still and low, and he laid his hand on her folded oneswith reverent solemnity; but though it did not tremble, its touch wascold as marble, and conveyed to Averil an instant sense of the force ofhis repressed emotion. She started under it, and exclaimed with thefirst agitation she had shown, 'No, no; it would cost you too much. You, young, beginning life--you must not take a sorrow upon you. '

'Is it not there already?' he said, almost inaudibly. 'Would it lessenit to be kept away from you?'

'Oh, do not go on, do not tempt me, ' she cried. 'Think of your father. '

'Nay, think what he is yourself. Or rather look here, ' and he took outa part of a letter from Ethel, and laid it before her. 

'As to papa not guessing your object, ' she said, 'that was a vaindelusion if you ever entertained it, so you must not mind my havingexplained. He said if he had been you, it was just what he should havedone himself, and he is quite ready to throw his heart into it if youwill only trust to his kindness. I do so want you really to try whatthat is. '

'And you came for this, ' faltered Averil, leaning back, almost overcome. 

'I did not come meaning to hurry the subject on you. I hoped to haveinduced Henry to have brought you all home, and then, when I had donemy best to efface the recollection of that unpardonable behaviour, tohave tried whether you could look on me differently. '

'I don't like you to say that, ' said Averil, simply but earnestly; 'Ihave felt over and over again how wrong I was--how ungrateful--to haveutterly missed all the nobleness and generosity of your behaviour, andanswered in that unjust, ill-tempered way. '

'Nothing was ever more deserved, ' he answered; 'I have hated myselfever since, and I hope I am not as obnoxious now. '

'It was I!' she said; 'I have lived every bit of the winter over again, and seen that I was always ready to be offended, and somehow I couldnot help caring so much for what you said, that lesser things from youhurt and cut as other people's did not. '

'Do you know what that proves?' said Tom, with an arch subsmilelighting on his eyes and mouth; and as a glow awoke on her pale cheek, he added, 'and won't you believe, too, that my propensity to"contemptuous irony" was all from my instinctive fear of what you coulddo to me!'

'Oh, don't repeat that! I have been so bitterly ashamed of it!'

'I am sure I have. '

'And I have longed so to ask your pardon. I thought I would leave aletter or message with Ella that you would understand. '

'You can do better than that now. You can forgive me. '

'Oh!' said Averil, her hands suddenly joined over her face, 'this isone joy more! I cannot think why it is all growing so bright just atlast--at last. It is all come now! How good it is!'

He saw that she could bear no more. He pressed no more for a decisiveanswer; he did not return to the subject; but from that time he treatedher as what belonged to him, as if it was his business to think, act, and judge for her, and to watch over her; and her acquiescence wasabsolute. 

There was not much speaking between them; there were chiefly skirmishesbetween him and Cora, to which she listened in smiling passiveamusement; and even when alone together they said little--actuallynothing at all about the future. He had written to Ethel on his firstarrival, and on the reply, as well as on Averil's state, all mustdepend. Meanwhile such a look of satisfied repose and peace shone uponAveril's face as was most sweet to look upon; and though extremelyfeeble, and not essentially better, she was less suffering, and couldin great languor, but in calm enjoyment, pass through day by day of theprecious present that had come to crown her long trial. 

CHAPTER XXX

 Oh, when its flower seems fain to die, The full heart grudges smile or sigh To aught beside, though fair and dear; Like a bruised leaf, at touch of fear, Its hidden fragrance love gives out. --Lyra Innocentum

'The letters at last! One to Ethel, and three to Leonard! Now for it, Ethel!'

Ethel opened--read--ran out of the room without a word, and sought herfather in his study, where she laid before him Tom's letter, writtenfrom Massissauga the day after his arrival. 

'Dear Ethel, 'I have found my darling, but too late to arrest the disease--the workof her brother's perverseness and wrong-headedness. I have no hope ofsaving her; though it will probably be a matter of several months--thatis, with care, and removal from this vile spot. 

'I am writing to Henry, but I imagine that he is too much charmed withhis present prospects to give them up; and in her angelicself-sacrifice she insists on Leonard's not coming out. Indeed, therewould be no use in his doing so unless she leaves this place; butshould no unforeseen complication supervene, it is my full persuasionthat she could be removed, safely make the voyage, and even be sparedfor this summer among us. Surely my father will not object! It willbe but a short time; and she has suffered so much, so piteously needslove and cherishing, that it is not in him to refuse. He, whoconsented to Margaret's engagement, cannot but feel for us. I wouldwork for him all my life! I would never cast a thought beyond home, ifonly once hallowed by this dear presence for ever so short a time. Onlylet the answers be so cordial as to remove all doubts or scruples; andwhen they are sent prepare for her. I would bring her as quickly asher health permits. No time must be lost in taking her from hence; andI wait only for the letters to obtain her consent to an immediatemarriage. Furnish the house at once; I will repay you on my return. There is £200 for the first floor, sitting, and bedrooms; for the restthe old will do. Only regard the making these perfect; colouringpink--all as cheerful and pleasant as money can accomplish. If Florawill bear with me, get her to help you; or else Mary, if Cheviotforgives me. Only don't spare cost. I will make it up some way, ifyou find more wanted. I saw an invalid sofa, an improvement onMargaret's, which I will write to Gaspard to send from Paris. If youcould only see the desolateness of the house where she has wasted awaythese three years, you would long to make a bower of bliss for her. Itrust to you. I find I must trust everything to you. I cannot writeto my father; I have made nine beginnings, and must leave it to you. He has comforted her, he knows her sorrows; he could not see her andbid me leave her. Only there must be no hesitation. That, or evenremonstrance, would prevent her from consenting; and as to theobjections, I cannot know them better than I do. Indeed, all this maybe in vain; she is so near Heaven, that I dare not talk to her of this;but I have written to Leonard, dwelling chiefly on the chance ofbringing her to him. Her desire to keep him from attempting to comeout will I trust be an inducement; but if you could only see her, youwould know how irreverent it seems to persecute one so nearly an angelwith such matters. If I may only tend her to the last! I trust toyou. This is for my father. 

 'Ever yours, 'THOMAS MAY. '

The last sentence referred to a brief medical summary of her symptoms, on a separate paper. 

'Can this be Tom?' was the Doctor's exclamation. 'Poor boy! it isgoing very hard with him!'

'This would soften it more than anything else could, ' said Ethel. 

'Oh yes! You write. Yes, and I'll write, and tell him he is free totake his own way. Poor child! she would have been a good girl if shehad known how. Well, of all my eleven children that Tom should be theone to go on in this way!'

'Poor dear Tom! What do you think of his statement of her case? Isshe so very ill?'

Dr. May screwed up his face. 'A sad variety of mischief, ' he said; 'ifall be as he thinks, I doubt his getting her home; but he is young, andhas his heart in it. I have seen her mother in a state like this--onlywithout the diseased lungs. You can't remember it; but poor Ward neverthought he could be grateful enough after she was pulled through. However, this is an aggravated case, and looks bad--very bad! It is amournful ending for that poor boy's patience--it will sink very deep, and he will be a sadder man all his days, but I would not hinder hislaying up a treasure that will brighten as he grows older. '

'Thank you, papa. I shall tell him what you say. '

'I shall write--to her I think. I owe him something for not provingthat it is all as a study of pneumonia. I say, Ethel, what is becomeof the "Diseases of Climate?"' he added, with a twinkle in his eye. 

'In the nine beginnings. '

'And how about the Massissauga Company?'

'You heartless old worldly-minded father!' said Ethel. 'When you taketo prudence for Tom, what is the world coming to?'

'Into order, ' said the Doctor, shaking himself into the coat she heldfor him. 'Tom surrendered to a pet patient of mine. Now for poorLeonard! Good-bye, young people! I am off to Cocksmoor!'

'Please take me, grandpapa, ' cried Dickie, hopping into the hall. 

'You, you one-legged manikin! I'm going over all the world; and howare you to get home?'

'On Leonard's back, ' said the undaunted Dickie. 

'Not so, master: poor Leonard has news here that will take the taste ofnonsense out of his mouth. '

'I am his friend, ' said Dickie, with dignity. 

'Then your friendship must not disturb him over his letters. And canyou sit in the carriage and twirl your thumbs while I am at Fordham?'

'I shall not twirl my thumbs. I shall make out a problem on my shipchess-board. '

'That's the boy who was sent from the Antipodes, that he might not bespoilt!' quoth Aubrey, as the Doctor followed the child into thecarriage. 

'Granting reasonable wishes is not spoiling, ' said Ethel. 

'May the system succeed as well with Dickie as with--' and Aubrey inone flourish indicated Gertrude and himself. 

'Ay, we shall judge by the reception of Ethel's tidings!' criedGertrude. 'Now for it, Ethel. Read us Tom's letter, confute theengineer, hoist with his own petard. '

'Now, Ethel, confute the Daisy, the green field daisy--the simpleinnocent daisy, deluded by "Diseases of Climate. "'

'Ethel looks as concerned as if it were fatal truth, ' added Gertrude. 

'What is it?' asked Aubrey. 'If Henry Ward has gone down in a monitorat Charleston, I'll forgive him. '

'Not that, ' said Ethel; 'but we little thought how ill poor Ave is. '

'Dangerously?' said Aubrey, gravely. 

'Not perhaps immediately so; but Tom means to marry at once, that hemay have a chance of bringing her home to see Leonard. '

'Another shock for Leonard, ' said Aubrey, quite subdued, 'why can't hehave a little respite?'

'May they at least meet once more!' said Ethel; 'there will be somecomfort in looking to that!'

'And what a fellow Tom is to have thought of it, ' added Aubrey. 'Nobodywill ever dare to say again that he is not the best of the kit of us!I must be off now to the meet: but if you are writing, Ethel, I wishyou would give her my love, or whatever he would like, and tell him heis a credit to the family. I say, may I tell George Rivers?'

'Oh yes; it will soon be in the air; and Charles Cheviot will be downon us!'

Away went Aubrey to mount the hunter that George Rivers placed at hisservice. 

Gertrude, who had been struck dumb, looked up to ask, 'Then it isreally so?'

'Indeed it is. '

'Then, ' cried Gertrude, vehemently, 'you and he have been deceiving usall this time!'

'No, Gertrude, there was nothing to tell. I did not really know, and Icould not gossip about him. '

'You might have hinted. '

'I tried, but I was clumsy. '

'I hate hints!' exclaimed the impetuous young lady; 'one can'tunderstand them, and gets the credit of neglecting them. If peoplehave a secret attachment, they ought to let all their family know!'

'Perhaps they do in Ireland. '

'You don't feel one grain for me, Ethel, ' said Gertrude, with tears inher eyes. 'Only think how Tom led me on to say horrid things about theWards; and now to recollect them, when she is so ill too--and he--' Sheburst into sobs. 

'My poor Daisy! I dare say it was half my fault. '

Gertrude gave an impatient leap. 'There you go again! calling it yourfault is worse than Charles's improving the circumstance. It was myfault, and it shall be my fault, and nobody else's fault, except Tom's, and he will hate me, and never let me come near her to show that I amnot a nasty spiteful thing!'

'I think that if you are quiet and kind, and not flighty, he willforget all that, and be glad to let you be a sister to her. '

'A sister to Ave Ward! Pretty preferment!' muttered Gertrude. 

'Poor Ave! After the way she has borne her troubles, we shall feel itan honour to be sisters to her. '

'And that chair!' broke out Gertrude. 'O, Ethel, you did out of maliceprepense make me vow it should be for Mrs. Thomas May. '

'Well, Daisy, if you won't suspect me of improving the circumstance, Ishould say that finishing it for her would be capital discipline. '

'Horrid mockery, I should say, ' returned Gertrude, sadly; 'a gaudyrose-coloured chair, all over white fox-gloves, for a person in thatstate--'

'Poor Tom's great wish is to have her drawing-room made as charming aspossible; and it would be a real welcome to her. '

'Luckily, ' said Gertrude, breaking into laughter again, 'they don'tknow when it began; how in a weak moment I admired the pattern, andBlanche inflicted it and all its appurtenances on me, hoping to convertme to a fancy-work-woman! Dear me, pride has a fall! I loved toanswer "Three stitches, " when Mrs. Blanche asked after my progress. '

'Ah, Daisy, if you did but respect any one!'

'If they would not all be tiresome! Seriously, I know I must finishthe thing, because of my word. '

'Yes, and I believe keeping a light word that has turned out heavy, isthe best help in bridling the tongue. '

'And, Ethel, I will really try to be seen and not heard while I amabout the work, ' said Gertrude, with an earnestness which proved thatshe was more sorry than her manner conveyed. 

Her resolution stood the trying test of a visit from the elder marriedsisters; for, as Ethel said, the scent of the tidings attracted bothFlora and the Cheviots; and the head-master endeavoured to institute akind of family committee, to represent to the Doctor how undesirablethe match would be, entailing inconveniences that would not end withthe poor bride's life, and bringing at once upon Tom a crushing anxietyand sorrow. Ethel's opinion was of course set aside by Mr. Cheviot, but he did expect concurrence from Mrs. Rivers and from Richard, andFlora assented to all his objections, but she was not to be induced tosay she would remonstrate with her father or with Tom; and sheintimated the uselessness thereof so plainly, that she almost hopedthat Charles Cheviot would be less eager to assail the Doctor with hisarguments. 

'No hope of that, ' said Ethel, when he had taken leave. 'He willdisburthen his conscience; but then papa is well able to take care ofhimself! Flora, I am so thankful you don't object. '

'No indeed, ' said Flora. 'We all know it is a pity; but it would be afar greater pity to break it off now--and do Tom an infinity of harm. Now tell me all. '

And she threw herself into the subject in the homelike manner that hadgrown on her, almost in proportion to Mary's guest-like ways andabsorption in her own affairs. 

Six weeks from that time, another hasty note announced that Dr. AndMrs. Thomas May and Ella were at Liverpool; adding that Averil had beenexceedingly ill throughout the voyage, though on being carried ashore, she had so far revived, that Tom hoped to bring her home the next day;but emotion was so dangerous, that he begged not to be met at thestation, and above all, that Leonard would not show himself tillsummoned. 

Dr. May being unavoidably absent, Ethel alone repaired to thenewly-furnished house for this strange sad bridal welcome. 

The first person to appear when the carriage door was opened was ayoung girl, pale, tall, thin, only to be recognized by her black eyes. With a rapid kiss and greeting, Ethel handed her on to the furtherdoor, where she might satisfy the eager embrace of the brother whothere awaited her; while Tom almost lifted out the veiled muffledfigure of his bride, and led her up-stairs to the sitting-room, where, divesting her of hat, cloak, muff, and respirator, he laid her on thesofa, and looked anxiously for her reassuring smile before he evenseemed to perceive his sister or left room for her greeting. 

The squarely-made, high-complexioned, handsome Averil Ward was entirelygone. In Averil May, Ethel saw delicately refined and sharpenedfeatures, dark beautiful eyes, enlarged, softened, and beaming withperilous lustre, a transparently white blue-veined skin, with a lovelyroseate tint, deepening or fading with every word, look, or movement, and a smile painfully sweet and touching, as first of the three, theinvalid found voice for thanks and inquiries for all. 

'Quite well, ' said Ethel. 'But papa has been most unluckily sent forto Whitford, and can't get home till the last train. '

'It may be as well, ' said Tom: 'we must have perfect quiet till afterthe night's rest. '

'May I see one else to-night?' she wistfully asked. 

'Let us see how you are when you have had some coffee and are rested. '

'Very well, ' she said, with a gentle submission, that was as new asight as Tom's tenderness; 'but indeed I am not tired; and it is sopretty and pleasant. Is this really Dr. Spencer's old house? Canthere be such a charming room in it?'

'I did not think so, ' said Tom, looking in amazement at the effectproduced by the bright modern grate with its cheerful fire, the warmdelicate tints of the furniture, the appliances for comfort andornament already giving a home look. 

'I know this is in the main your doing, Ethel; but who was the hand?'

'All of us were hands, ' said Ethel; 'but Flora was the moving spring. She went to London for a week about it. '

'Mrs. Rivers! Oh, how good!' said Averil, flushing with surprise; thenraising herself, as her coffee was brought in a dainty little service, she exclaimed, 'And oh, if it were possible, I should say that was mydear old piano!'

'Yes, ' said Ethel, 'we thought you would like it; and HectorErnescliffe gave Mrs. Wright a new one for it. '

This was almost too much. Averil's lip trembled, but she looked upinto her husband's face, and made an answer, which would have been oddhad she not been speaking to his thought. 

'Never mind! It is only happiness and the kindness. ' And she drank thecoffee with an effort, and smiled at him again, as she asked, 'Where isElla?'

'At our house, ' said Ethel; 'we mean her to be there for the present. '

Knowing with whom Ella must be, and fearing to show discontent with themandate of patience, Averil again began to admire. 'What a beautifulchair! Look, Tom! is it not exquisite? Whose work is it?'

'Gertrude's. '

'That is the most fabulous thing of all, ' said Tom, walking round it. 'Daisy! Her present, not her work?'

'Her work, every stitch. It has been a race with time. ' Thegratification of Averil's flush and smile was laid up by Ethel forGertrude's reward; but it was plain that Tom wanted complete rest forhis wife, and Ethel only waited to install her in the adjoiningbed-room, which was as delightfully fitted up as the first apartment. Averil clung to her for the instant they were alone together, andwhispered, 'Oh, it is all so sweet! Don't think I don't feel it! Butyou see it is all I can do for him to be as quiet as I can! Say so, please!'

Ethel felt the throb of the heart, and knew to whom she was to say so;but Tom's restless approaching step made Averil detach herself, andsink into an arm-chair. Ethel left her, feeling that the short claspof their arms had sealed their sisterhood here and for ever. 

'It is too sad, too beautiful to be talked about, ' she said toGertrude, who was anxiously on the watch for tidings. 

Obedient as Averil was, she had not understood her husband's desirethat she should seek her pillow at once. She was feeling brisk andfresh, and by no means ready for captivity, and she presently cameforth again with her soft, feeble, noiseless step; but she had nearlyretreated again, feeling herself mistaken and bewildered, for in thedrawing-room stood neither Tom nor his sisters, but a stranger--a dark, grave, thoughtful man of a singularly resolute and settled cast ofcountenance. The rustle of her dress made him look up as she turned. 'Ave!' he exclaimed; and as their eyes met, the light in those browndepths restored the whole past. She durst not trust herself to speak, as her head rested on his shoulder, his arms were round her; only asher husband came on the scene with a gesture of surprise, she said, 'Indeed, I did not mean it! I did not know he was here. '

'I might have known you could not be kept apart if I once let Leonardin, ' he said, as he arranged her on the sofa, and satisfied himselfthat there were no tokens of the repressed agitation that left suchdangerous effects. 'Will you both be very good if I leave you to behappy together?' he presently added, after a few indifferent words hadpassed. 

Averil looked wistfully after him, as if he were wanted to completefull felicity even in Leonard's presence. How little would they oncehave thought that her first words to her brother would be, 'Oh, wasthere ever any one like him?'

'We owe it all to him, ' said Leonard. 

'So kind, ' added Averil, 'not to be vexed, though he dreaded ourmeeting so much; and you see I could not grieve him by making a fuss. But this is nice!' she added, with a sigh going far beyond the effectof the homely word. 

'You are better. Ella said so. '

'I am feeling well to-night. Come, let me look at you, and learn yourface. '

He knelt down beside her, and she stroked back the hair, which hadfulfilled his wish that she should find it as long, though much darkerthan of old. Posture and action recalled that meeting, when her couchhad been his prison bed, and the cold white prison walls had frowned onthem; yet even in the rosy light of the cheerful room there was on themthe solemnity of an approaching doom. 

'Where is the old face?' Averil said. 'You look as you did in thefever. Your smile brings back something of yourself. But, oh, thosehollow eyes!'

'Count Ugolino is Dr. May's name for me: but, indeed, Ave, I have triedto fatten for your inspection. '

'It is not thinness, ' she said, 'but I had carried about with me thebright daring open face of my own boy. I shall learn to like thisbetter now. '

'Nay, it is you and Ella that are changed. O, Ave, you never let meknow what a place you were in. '

'There were many things better than you fancy, ' she answered; 'and itis over--it is all gladness now. '

'I see that in your face, ' he said, gazing his fill. 'You do look illindeed; but, Ave, I never saw you so content. '

'I can't help it, ' she said, smiling. 'Every moment comes some freshkindness from him. The more trouble I give him the kinder he is. Isit not as if the tempest was over, and we had been driven into thesmoothest little sunshiny bay?'

'To rest and refit, ' he said, thoughtfully. 

'For me, "the last long wave;" and a most gentle smooth one it is, 'said Averil; 'for you to refit for a fresh voyage. Dear Leonard, Ihave often guessed what you would do. '

'What have you guessed?'

'Only what we used to plan, in the old times after you had been atCoombe, Leonard. '

'Dear sister! And you would let me go!'

'Our parting is near, any way, ' she said, her eye turning to the printfrom Ary Scheffer's St. Augustine and Monica. 'Whoever gave us that, divined how we ought to feel in these last days together. '

'It was Richard May's gift, ' said Leonard. 'Ave, there was nothingwanting but your liking this. '

'Then so it is?' she asked. 

'Unless the past disqualifies me, ' he said. 'I have spoken to no oneyet, except little Dickie. When I thought I ought to find some presentemployment, and wanted to take a clerkship at Bramshaw's, Dr. May mademe promise to wait till I had seen you before I fixed on anything; butmy mind is made up, and I shall speak now--with your blessing on it, Ave. '

'I knew it!' she said. 

He saw it was safer to quit this subject, and asked for Henry. 

'He sent his love. He met us at New York. He is grown so soldierly, with such a black beard, that he is more grown out of knowledge thanany of us, but I scarcely saw him, for he was quite overset at myappearance, and Tom thought it did me harm. I wish our new sisterwould have come to see me. 

'Sister!'

'Oh, did you not know? I thought Tom had written! She is a Virginianlady, whose first husband was a doctor, who died of camp-fever early inthe war. A Federal, of course. And they are to be married as soon asCharleston has fallen. '

Leonard smiled. And Averil expressed her certainty that it had fallenby that time. 

'And he is quite Americanized?' asked Leonard. 'Does he return to ourown name! No? Then I do not wonder he did not wish for me. Perhaps hemay yet bear to meet me, some day when we are grown old. '

'At least we can pray to be altogether, where one is gone already' saidAveril. 'That was the one comfort in parting with the dear Cora--myblessing through all the worst! Leonard, she would not go to live inthe fine house her father has taken at New York, but she is gone to beone of the nurses in the midst of all the hospital miseries. And, oh, what comfort she will carry with her!'

Here Tom returned, but made no objection to her brother's stay, perceiving that his aspect and voice were like fulness to the hungryheart that had pined so long--but keeping all the others away; and theymeanwhile were much entertained by Ella, who was in joyous spirits; alittle subdued, indeed, by the unknown brother, but in his absence verycommunicative. Gertrude was greatly amused with her account of themarriage, in the sitting-room at Massissauga, and of Tom's being sounprepared for the brevity of the American form, that he never knewwhere he was in the Service, and completed it with a puzzled 'Is thatall?'

Averil had, according to Ella, been infinitely more calm and composed. 'She does nothing but watch his eyes, ' said Ella; 'and ever since weparted from Cora, I have had no one to speak to! In the cabin he neverstirred from sitting by her; and if she could speak at all, it was solow that I could not hear. School will be quite lively. '

'Are you going to school?'

'Oh yes! where Ave was. That is quite fixed; and I have had enough ofplaying third person, ' said Ella, with her precocious Western manner. 'You know I have all my own property, so I shall be on no one's hands!Oh, and Cora made her father buy all Ave's Massissauga shares--at adead loss to us of course. '

'Well, ' said Gertrude, 'I am sorry Tom is not an American share-holder. It was such fun!'

'He wanted to have made them all over to Henry; but Cora wasdetermined; and her father is making heaps of money as a commissary, soI am sure he could afford it. Some day, when the rebellion is subdued, I mean to go and see Cora and Henry and his wife, ' added Ella, whosetinge of Americanism formed an amusing contrast with Dickie's colonialease--especially when she began to detail the discomforts ofMassissauga, and he made practical suggestions for the remedies ofeach--describing how mamma and he himself managed. 

The younger ones had all gone to bed, Richard had returned home, andEthel was waiting to let her father in, when Leonard came back with thenew arrivals. 

'I did not think you would be allowed to stay so late, ' said Ethel. 

'We did not talk much. I was playing chants most of the time; andafter she went to bed, I stayed with Tom. '

'What do you think of her?'

'I cannot think. I can only feel a sort of awe. End as it may, itwill have been a blessed thing to have had her among us like this. '

'Yes, it ought to do us all good. And I think she is full ofenjoyment. '

'Perfect enjoyment!' repeated Leonard. 'Thank God for that!'

After some pause, during which he turned over his pocket-book, as ifseeking for something, he came to her, and said, 'Miss May, Averil hasassented to a purpose that has long been growing up within me--and thatI had rather consult you about than any one, because you first inspiredit. '

'I think I know the purpose you mean, ' said Ethel, her heart beatinghigh. 

'The first best purpose of my boyhood, ' he said. 'If only it may begiven back to me! Will you be kind enough to look over this roughcopy?'

It was the draught of a letter to the Missionary Bishop, Mr. Seaford'sdiocesan, briefly setting forth Leonard's early history, hisconviction, and his pardon, referring to Archdeacon May as a witness tothe truth of his narrative. 

'After this statement, ' he proceeded, 'it appears to me little short ofeffrontery to offer myself for any share of the sacred labour in whichyour Lordship is engaged; and though it had been the wish of the bestdays of my youth, I should not have ventured on the thought but for theencouragement I received from Mr. Seaford, your Lordship's chaplain. Ihave a small income of my own, so that I should not be a burthen on themission, and understanding that mechanical arts are found useful, Iwill mention that I learnt shoemaking at Milbank, and carpentry atPortland, and I would gladly undertake any manual occupation needed ina mission. Latterly I was employed in the schoolmaster's department;and I have some knowledge of music. My education is of course, imperfect, but I am endeavouring to improve myself. My age istwenty-one; I have good health, and I believe I can bring power ofendurance and willingness to be employed in any manner that may beserviceable, whether as artisan or catechist. '

'I don't think they will make a shoemaker of you, ' said Ethel, with herheart full. 

'Will they have me at all? There will always be a sort ofticket-of-leave flavour about me, ' said Leonard, speaking simply, straight-forwardly, but without dejection; 'and I might be doubtfulmaterial for a mission. '

'Your brother put that in your head. '

'He implied that my case half known would be a discredit to him, and Iam prepared for others thinking so. If so, I can get a situation atPortland, and I know I can be useful there; but when such a hope asthis was opened to me again, I could not help making an attempt. Do youthink I may show that letter to Dr. May?'

'O, Leonard, this is one of the best days of one's life!'

'But what, ' he asked, as she looked over the letter, 'what shall Ialter?'

'I do not know, only you are so business-like; you do not seem to careenough. '

'If I let myself out, it would look like unbecoming pressing of myself, considering what I am; but if you think I ought, I will say more. Ihave become so much used to writing letters under constraint, that Iknow I am very dry. '

'Let papa see it first, ' said Ethel. 'After all, earnestness is bestout of sight. '

'Mr. Wilmot and he shall decide whether I may send it, ' he said; 'andin the meantime I would go to St. Augustine's, if they will have me. '

'I see you have thought it all over. '

'Yes. I only waited to have spoken with my sister, and she--dear, dearAve--had separately thought of such a destination for me. It was morethan acquiescence, more than I dared to hope!'

'Her spirit will be with you, wherever she is! And, ' with a suddensmile, 'Leonard, was not this the secret between you and Dickie?'

'Yes, ' said Leonard, smiling too; 'the dear little fellow is so freshand loving, as well as so wise and discreet, that he draws out all thatis in one's heart. It has been a new life to me ever since he took tome! Do you know, I believe he has been writing a letter ofrecommendation of me on his own account to the Bishop; I told him hemust enclose it to his father if he presumed to send it, though heclaims the Bishop as his intimate friend. '

'Ah, ' said Ethel, 'papa is always telling him that they can't get on inNew Zealand for want of the small archdeacon, and that, I really think, abashes him more than anything else. '

'He is not forward, he is only sensible, ' said Leonard, on whose heartDickie had far too fast a hold for even this slight disparagement notto be rebutted. 'I had forgotten what a child could be till I was withhim; I felt like a stock or a stone among you all. '

Ethel smiled. 'I was nearly giving you "Marmion", in remembrance ofold times, on the night of the Christmas-tree, ' she said; 'but I didnot then feel as if the "giving double" for all your care and troublehad begun. '

'The heart to feel it so was not come, ' said Leonard; 'now since I havegrasped this hope of making known to others the way to that Grace thatheld me up, '--he paused with excess of feeling--'all has been joy, evenin the recollection of the darkest days. Mr. Wilmot's words come backnow, that it may all have been training for my Master's work. Even themanual labour may have been my preparation!' His eyes brightened, andhe was indeed more like the eager, hopeful youth she remembered thanshe had ever hoped to see him; but this brightness was the flash ofsteel, tried, strengthened, and refined in the fire--a brightness thatmight well be trusted. 

'One knew it must be so, ' was all she could say. 

'Yes, yes, ' he said, eagerly. 'You sent me words of greeting that heldup my faith; and, above all, when we read those books at Coombe, youput the key of comfort in my hand, and I never quite lost it. MissMay, ' he added, as Dr. May's latch-key was heard in the front door, 'ifever I come to any good, I owe it to you!'

And that was the result of the boy's romance. The first tidings of thetravellers next morning were brought near the end of breakfast by Tom, who came in looking thin, worn, and anxious, saying that Averil hadcalled herself too happy to sleep till morning, when a short doze hadonly rendered her feeble, exhausted, and depressed. 

'I shall go and see her, ' said Dr. May; 'I like my patients best inthat mood. '

Nor would the Doctor let his restless, anxious son do more than makethe introduction, but despatched him to the Hospital; whence returningto find himself still excluded, he could endure nothing but pacing upand down the lawn in sight of his father's head in the window, andseeking as usual Ethel's sympathy. 

There was some truth in what Charles Cheviot had said. Wedlock didenhance the grief and loss, and Tom found the privilege of these monthsof tendance more heart-wringing than he had anticipated, though ofcourse more precious and inestimable. Moreover, Averil's depressionhad been a phase of her illness which had not before revealed itself insuch a degree. 

'Generally, ' he said, 'she has talked as if what she looks to were allsuch pure hope and joy, that though it broke one's heart to hear it, one saw it made her happy, and could stand it. Fancy, Ethel, not anhour after we were married, I found her trying the ring on this finger, and saying I should be able to wear it like my father! It seemed as ifshe would regret nothing but my sorrow, and that my keeping it out ofsight was all that was needful to her happiness. But to-day she hasbeen blaming herself for--for grieving to leave all so soon, just asher happiness might have been beginning! Think, Ethel! Reproachingherself for unthankfulness even to tears! It might have been more forher peace to have remained with her where she had no revival of theseassociations, if they are only pain to her. '

'Oh no, no, Tom. It only proves the pleasure they do give her. Youknow, better than I do, that there must be ups and downs, failures ofspirits from fatigue when the will is peaceful and resigned. '

'I know it. I know it with my understanding, Ethel, but as toreasoning about her as if she was anybody else, the thing is meremockery. What can my father be about?' he added, for the twentiethtime. 'Talking to her in the morning always knocks her up. If he hadonly let me warn him; but he hurried me off in his inconsiderate way. '

At last, however, the head disappeared, and Tom rushed indoors. 

'So, Tom, you have made shorter work of twenty-five patients than I ofone. '

'I'll go again, ' said poor Tom, in the desperation of resolutemeekness, 'only let me see how she is. '

'Let Ethel go up now. She is very cheery except for a little headache. '

While Ethel obeyed, Dr. May began a minute interrogation of his son, solengthened that Tom could hardly restrain sharp impatient replies tosuch apparent trifling with his agony to learn how long his fatherthought he could keep his treasure, and how much suffering might bespared to her. 

At last Dr. May said, 'I may be wrong. Your science is fresher thanmine; but to me there seem indications that the organic disease is inthe way of being arrested. Good health of course she cannot have; butif she weathers another winter, I think you may look for as many yearsof happiness with her as in an ordinary case. '

It was the first accent of hope since the hysteric scream that had beenhis greeting, and all his reserve and dread of emotion: could notprevent his covering his face with his hands, and sobbing aloud. 'Father, father, ' he said, 'you cannot tell what this is to me!'

'I can in part, my boy, ' said the Doctor, sadly. 

'And, ' he started up and walked about the room, 'you shall have thewhole treatment. I will only follow your measures. No one at New Yorksaw the slightest hope of checking it. '

'They had your account, and you hardly allowed enough for thehysterical affection. I do not say it is certainty--far less, health. '

'Any way, any way, if I may only have her to lie and look at me, it ishappiness unlooked for! You don't think I could have treated herotherwise?'

'No. Under His blessing you saved her yourself. You would haveperceived the change if she had been an indifferent person. '

Tom made another turn to the door, and came back still half wild, andlaid his face on his arms upon the table. 'You tell her, ' he said, 'Ishall never be able--'

Knocking at Averil's door, Dr. May was answered by a call of 'Tom. '

'Not this time, my dear. He is coming, but we have been talking youover. Ave, you have a very young doctor, and rather too muchinterested. '

'Indeed!' she said, indignantly; 'he has made me much better. '

'Exactly so, my dear; so much better that he agrees with me that heexpressed a strong opinion prematurely. '

'They thought the same at New York, ' she said, still resolved on hisdefence. 

'My dear, unless you are bent on growing worse in order to justify hisfirst opinion, I think you will prove that which he now holds. And, Ave, it was, under Providence, skill that we may be proud of by whichhe has subdued the really fatal disorder. You may have much toundergo, and must submit to a sofa life and much nursing, but I thinkyou will not leave him so soon. '

There was a long pause; at last she said, 'O, Dr. May, I beg yourpardon. If I had known, I would never--'

'Never what, my dear?'

'Never have consented! It is such a grievous thing for a professionalman to have a sick wife. '

'It is exactly what he wanted, my dear, if you will not fly at me forsaying so. Nothing else could teach him that patients are not casesbut persons; and here he comes to tell you what he thinks of thetrouble of a sick wife. '

'Well, ' said Dr. May, as he and Ethel walked away together, 'poor youngthings, they have a chequered time before them. Pretty well for thedoctor who hated sick people, Wards, and Stoneborough; but, after all, I have liked none of our weddings better. I like people to rub oneanother brighter. '

'And I am proud when the least unselfish nature has from first to lastdone the most unselfish things. No one of us has ever given up so muchas Tom, and I am sure he will be happy in it. '

More can hardly be said without straying into the realms of prediction;yet such of our readers as are bent on carrying on their knowledge ofthe Daisies beyond the last sentence, may be told that, to the best ofour belief, Leonard's shoemaking is not his foremost office in themission, where he finds that fulness of hopeful gladness whichexperience shows is literally often vouchsafed to those who have givenup home, land, and friends, for the Gospel's sake. His letters are thedelight of more than one at Stoneborough; and his sister, upon hersofa, is that home member of a mission without whom nothing can bedone--the copier of letters, the depot of gifts, the purveyor ofcommissions, the maker of clothes, the collector of books, the keeperof accounts--so that the house still merits the name of the S. P. G. Office, as it used to be called in the Spenserian era. But Mrs. ThomasMay is a good deal more than this. Her sofa is almost a renewal of thefamily centre that once Margaret's was; the region where all tidingsare brought fresh for discussion, all joys and sorrows poured out, theexternal influence that above all has tended to soften Gertrude intothe bright grace of womanhood. Mary Cheviot and Blanche Ernescliffecannot be cured of a pitying 'poor Tom'--as they speak of 'theProfessor'--in which title the awkward sound of Dr. Tom has been mergedsince an appointment subsequent to the appearance of the "Diseases ofClimate". But every one else holds that not his honours as ascientific physician, his discoveries, and ably-written papers--noteven his father's full and loving confidence and gratitude, giveProfessor May as much happiness as that bright-eyed delicate wife, withwhom all his thoughts seem to begin and end.