COLLECTION

OF

BRITISH AUTHORS

TAUCHNITZ EDITION. 

VOL. 1810. 

VIXEN BY M. E. BRADDON

IN THREE VOLUMES. 

VOL. II. 

VIXEN

A NOVEL

BY

M. E. BRADDON, AUTHOR OF "LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET, " ETC. ETC. 

_COPYRIGHT EDITION_. 

IN THREE VOLUMES. 

VOL. II. 

LEIPZIG

BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ

1879. 

_The Right of Translation is reserved_. 

CONTENTS

OF VOLUME II. 

CHAPTER I. "Shall I tell you the Secret?"

CHAPTER II. Wedding Garments

CHAPTER III. "I shall look like the wicked Fairy"

CHAPTER IV. The Vow is vowed

CHAPTER V. War to the Knife

CHAPTER VI. At the Kennels

CHAPTER VII. A bad Beginning

CHAPTER VIII. On Half Rations

CHAPTER IX. The Owner of Bullfinch

CHAPTER X. Something like a Ride

CHAPTER XI. Rorie objects to Duets

CHAPTER XII. "Fading in Music"

CHAPTER XIII. Crying for the Moon

CHAPTER XIV. "Kurz ist der Schmerz und ewig ist die Freude"

CHAPTER XV. A Midsummer Night's Dream

CHAPTER XVI. "That must end at once"

VIXEN. 

CHAPTER I. 

"Shall I tell you the Secret?"

For the rest of the way Violet walked with Mrs. Scobel, and at thegarden-gate of the Vicarage Roderick Vawdrey wished them bothgood-night, and tramped off, with his basket on his back and his rod onhis shoulder, for the long walk to Briarwood. 

Here the children separated, and ran off to their scattered homes, dropping grateful bob-curtsies to the last--"louting, " as they calledit in their Forest dialect. 

"You must come in and have some tea, Violet, " said Mrs. Scobel. "Youmust be very tired. "

"I am rather tired; but I think it's too late for tea. I had better gethome at once. "

"Ignatius shall see you home, my dear, " cried Mrs. Scobel. At which theindefatigable Vicar, who had shouted himself hoarse in leading hischoir, protested himself delighted to escort Miss Tempest. 

The church clock struck ten as they went along the narrow forest-pathbetween Beechdale and the Abbey House. 

"Oh, " cried Vixen, "I do hope mamma's people will have gone home. "

A carriage rolled past them as they came out into the road. 

"That's Mrs. Carteret's landau, " said Vixen. "I breathe more freely. And there goes Mrs. Horwood's brougham; so I suppose everything isover. How nice it is when one's friends are so unanimous in theirleave-taking. "

"I shall try to remember that the next time I dine at the Abbey House, "said Mr. Scobel laughing. 

"Oh, please don't!" cried Violet. "You and Mrs. Scobel are different. Idon't mind you; but those dreadful stiff old ladies mamma cultivates, who think of nothing but their dress and their own importance--a littleof them goes a very long way. "

"But, my dear Miss Tempest, the Carterets and the Horwoods are some ofthe best people in the neighbourhood. "

"Of course they are, " answered Vixen. "If they were not they wouldhardly venture to be so stupid. They take the full license of theiracres and their quarterings. People with a coat-of-arms foundyesterday, and no land to speak of, are obliged to make themselvesagreeable. "

"Like Captain Winstanley, " suggested Mr. Scobel. "I don't suppose hehas land enough to sod a lark. But he is excellent company. "

"Very, " assented Vixen, "for the people who like him. "

They were at the gate by this time. 

"You shan't come any further unless you are coming in to see mamma, "protested Vixen. 

"Thanks, no; it's too late to think of that. "

"Then go home immediately, and have some supper, " said Vixenimperatively. "You've had nothing but a cup of weak tea since twoo'clock this afternoon. You must be worn out. "

"On such an occasion as to-day a man must not think of himself, " saidthe Vicar. 

"I wonder when you ever do think of yourself, " said Vixen. 

And indeed Mr. Scobel, like many another Anglican pastor of moderntimes, led a life which, save for its liberty to go where he listed, and to talk as much as he liked, was but little less severe in itsexactions upon the flesh and the spirit than that of the monks of LaTrappe. 

The Abby House looked very quiet when Vixen went into the hall, whosedoors stood open to the soft spring night. The servants were all atsupper, treating themselves to some extra comforts on the strength of adinner-party, and talking over the evening's entertainment and itsbearings on their mistress's life. There was a feeling in the servants'hall that these little dinners, however seeming harmless, had a certainbent and tendency inimical to the household, and household peace. 

"He was more particular in his manner to-night than hever, " said thebutler, as he dismembered a duck which had been "hotted up" afterremoval from the dining-room. "He feels hisself master of the whole lotof us already. I could see it in his hi. 'Is that the cabinet 'ock, Forbes?' he says to me, when I was a-filling round after the bait. 'No, ' says I, 'it is not. We ain't got so much of our cabinet 'ocksthat we can afford to trifle with 'em. ' Of course I said it in ahundertone, confidential like; but I wanted him to know who was masterof the cellar. "

"There'll be nobody master but him when once he gets his foot insidethese doors, " said Mrs. Trimmer, the housekeeper, mournful shake of herhead. "No, Porline, I'll have a noo pertater. Them canister peas ain'tgot no flaviour with them. "

While they were enjoying themselves, with a certain chastening touch ofprophetic melancholy, in the servants' hall, Violet was going slowlyupstairs and along the corridor which led past her mother's rooms. 

"I must go in and wish mamma good-night, " she thought; "though I ampretty sure of a lecture for my pains. "

Just at this moment a door opened, and a soft voice called "Violet, "pleadingly. 

"Dear mamma, I was just coming in to say good-night. "

"Were you, darling? I heard your footstep, and I was afraid you weregoing by. And I want very particularly to see you to-night, Violet. "

"Do you, mamma? I hope not to scold me for going with theschool-children. They had such a happy afternoon; and ate! it was likea miracle. Not so little serving for so many, but so few devouring somuch. "

Pamela Tempest put her arm round her daughter, and kissed her, withmore warmth of affection than she had shown since the sad days afterthe Squire's death. Violet looked at her mother wonderingly. She couldhardly see the widow's fair delicate face in the dimly-lighted room. Itwas one of the prettiest rooms in the house--half boudoir halfdressing-room, crowded with elegant luxuries and modern inventions, gipsy tables, book-stands, toy-cabinets of egg-shell china, a toilettable _à la_ Pompadour, a writing-desk _à la_ Sevigné. Such smallthings had made the small joys of Mrs. Tempest's life. When she mournedher kind husband, she lamented him as the someone who had bought hereverything she wanted. 

She had taken off her dinner-dress, and looked particularly fair andyouthful in her soft muslin dressing-gown, trimmed with Mechlin lacewhich had cost as much as a small holding on the outskirts of theForest. Even in that subdued light Violet could see that her mother'scheeks were pinker than usual, that her eyes were clouded with tears, and her manner anxiously agitated. 

"Mamma, " cried the girl, "there is something wrong, I know. Somethinghas happened. "

"There is nothing wrong, love. Bat something has happened. Somethingwhich I hope will not make you unhappy--for it has made me very happy. "

"You are talking in enigmas, mamma, and I am too tired to be good atguessing riddles, just now, " said Violet, becoming suddenly cold as ice. 

A few moments ago she had been all gentleness and love, responding tothe unwonted affection of her mother's caresses. Now she drew herselfaway and stood aloof, with her heart beating fast and furiously. Shedivined what was coming. She had guessed the riddle already. 

"Come and sit by the fire, Violet, and I will tell you--everything, "said Mrs. Tempest coaxingly, seating herself in the low semi-circularchair which was her especial delight. 

"I can hear what you have to tell just as well where I am, " answeredViolet curtly, walking to the latticed window, which was open to thenight. The moon was shining over the rise and fall of the woods; thescent of the flowers came stealing up from the garden. Without, all wascalm and sweetness, within, fever and smothered wrath. "I can't thinkhow you can endure a fire on such a night. The room is positivelystifling. "

"Ah Violet, you have not my sad susceptibility to cold. "

"No, mamma. I don't keep myself shut up like an unset diamond in ajeweller's strong-box. "

"I don't think I can tell you--the little secret I have to tell, Violet, unless you come over to me and sit by my side, and give me yourhand, and let me feel as if you were really fond of me, " pleaded Mrs. Tempest, with a little gush of piteousness. "You seem like an enemy, standing over there with your back to me, looking out at the sky. "

"Perhaps there is no need for you to tell me anything, mamma, " answeredViolet, in a tone which, to that tremulous listener in the low seat bythe fire, sounded as severe as the voice of a judge pronouncingsentence. "Shall I tell you the secret?"

There was no answer. 

"Shall I, mamma?"

"I don't think you can, my love. "

"Yes, I am afraid I can. The secret--which is no secret to me or toanyone else in the world, any more than the place where the ostrich hasput his head is a secret when his body is sticking up out of thesand--the secret is that, after being for seventeen happy honourableyears the wife of the best and tiniest of men--the kindest, mostdevoted, and most generous of husbands--you are going to take anotherhusband, who comes to you with no better credentials than a smoothtongue and a carefully-drilled figure, and who will punish your want offaith and constancy to my dead father by making the rest of your lifemiserable--as you will deserve that it shall be. Yes, mother, I, youronly child, say so. You will deserve to be wretched if you marryCaptain Winstanley. "

The widow gave a faint scream, half indignation, half terror. For themoment she felt as if some prophetic curse had been hurled upon her. The tall straight figure in the white gown, standing in the full floodof moonlight, looked awful as Cassandra, prophesying death and doom inthe wicked house at Argos. 

"It is too bad, " sobbed Mrs. Tempest; "it is cruel, undutiful, disrespectful, positively wicked for a daughter to talk to a mother asyou have talked to me to-night. How can Miss McCroke have brought youup, I wonder, that you are capable of using such language? Have youforgotten the Fifth Commandment?"

"No. It tells me to honour my father and my mother. I honour my deadfather, I honour you, when I try to save you from the perdition of asecond marriage. "

"Perdition!" echoed Mrs. Tempest faintly, "what language!"

"I knew when that adventurer came here, that he intended to makehimself master of this house--to steal my dead father's place, " criedVixen passionately. 

"You have no right to call him an adventurer. He is an officer and agentleman. You offer him a cruel, an unprovoked insult. You insult mestill more deeply by your abuse of him. Am I so old, or so ugly, or soaltogether horrid, that a man cannot love me for my own sake?"

"Not such a man as Captain Winstanley. He does not know what lovemeans. He would have made me marry him if he could, because I am tohave the estate by-and-bye. Failing that, he has made you accept himfor your husband. Yes, he has conquered you, as a cat conquers a bird, fascinating the poor wretch with its hateful green eyes. You are quiteyoung enough and pretty enough to win a good man's regard, if you werea penniless unprotected widow, needing a husband to shelter you andprovide for you. But you are the natural victim of such a man asCaptain Winstanley. "

"You are altogether unjust and unreasonable, " exclaimed Mrs. Tempest, weeping copiously. "Your poor dear father spoiled you. No one but aspoiled child would talk as you are talking. Who made you a judge ofCaptain Winstanley? It is not true that he ever wanted to marry you. Idon't believe it for an instant. "

"Very well, mother. If you are wilfully blind----"

"I am not blind. I have lived twice as long as you have. I am a betterjudge of human nature than you can be. "

"Not of your admirer's, your flatterer's nature, " cried Vixen. "He hasslavered you with pretty speeches and soft words, as the cobra slavershis victim, and he will devour you, as the cobra does. He will swallowup your peace of mind, your self-respect, your independence, yourmoney--all good things you possess. He will make you contemptible inthe eyes of all who know you. He will make you base in your own eyes. "

"It is not true. You are blinded by prejudice. "

"I want to save you from yourself, if I can. "

"You are too late to save me, as you call it. Captain Winstanley hastouched my heart by his patient devotion, I have not been so easily wonas you seem to imagine. I have refused him three times. He knows that Ihad made up my mind never to marry again. Nothing was farther from mythoughts than a second marriage. I liked him as a companion and friend. That he knew. But I never intended that he should be more to me than afriend. He knew that. His patience has conquered me. Such devotion ashe has given me has not often been offered to a woman. I do not thinkany woman living could resist it. He is all that is good and noble, andI am assured, Violet, that as a second father----"

Vixen interrupted her with a cry of horror. 

"For God's sake, mamma, do not utter the word 'father' in conjunctionwith his name. He may become your husband--I have no power to preventthat evil--but he shall never call himself my father. "

"What happiness can there be for any of us, Violet, when you start withsuch prejudices?" whimpered Mrs. Tempest. 

"I do not expect there will be much, " said Vixen. "Good-night, mamma. "

"You are very unkind. You won't even stop to hear how it cameabout--how Conrad persuaded me to forego my determination. "

"No, mamma. I don't want to hear the details. The fact is enough forme. If it would be any use for me to go down upon my knees and entreatyou to give up this man, I would gladly do it; but I fear it would beno use. "

"It would not. Violet, " answered the widow, with modest resoluteness. "I have given Conrad my word. I cannot withdraw it. "

"Then I have nothing more to say, " replied Vixen, with her hand uponthe door, "except good-night. "

"You will not even kiss me?"

"Excuse me, mamma; I am not in a kissing humour. "

And so Vixen left her. 

Mrs. Tempest sat by the fading fire, and cried herself into a gentleslumber. It was very hard. She had longed to pour the story of thissecond courtship--its thrilling, unexpected joys, its wondroussurprises--into a sympathetic ear. And Violet, the natural recipient ofthese gentle confidences, had treated her so cruelly. 

 She felt herself sorely ill-used; and then came soothingthoughts about her _trousseau_, her wedding-dress, the dress in whichshe should start for her wedding-tour. All things would of course bechastened and subdued. No woman can be a bride twice in her life; butMrs. Tempest meant that the _trousseau_ should, in its way, be perfect. There should be no rush or excitement in the preparation; nothingshould be scamped or hurried. Calmness, deliberation, and a faultlesstaste should pervade all things. 

"I will have no trimming but Valenciennes for my under-linen, " shedecided; "it is the only lace that never offends. And I will have oldEnglish monograms in satin-stitch upon everything. My _peignoirs_ willrequire a good deal of study; they admit of so much variety. I willhave only a few dresses, but those shall be from Paris. Theodore mustgo over and get them from Worth. She knows what suits me better than Ido myself. I am not going to be extravagant, but Conrad so appreciateselegance and taste; and of course he will wish me to be well dressed. "

And so, comforted by these reflections, Mrs. Tempest sank into a gentleslumber, from which she was awakened by Pauline, who had discussed hermistress's foolishness over a hearty supper, and now came to performthe duties of the evening toilet. 

"Oh Pauline, " cried the widow, with a shiver, "I'm glad you awoke me. I've just had such an awful dream. "

"Lor', ma'am! What about?"

"Oh, an awful dream. I thought Madame Theodore sent me home a_trousseau_ and that there was not a single thing that would fit. Ilooked an object in every one of the dresses. "

CHAPTER II. 

Wedding Garments. 

After that night Vixen held her peace. There were no more bitter wordsbetween Mrs. Tempest and her daughter, but the mother knew that therewas a wellspring of bitterness--a Marah whose waters wereinexhaustible--in her daughter's heart; and that domestic happiness, under one roof, was henceforth impossible for these two. 

There were very few words of any kind between Violet and Mrs. Tempestat this time. The girl kept herself as much a possible apart from hermother. The widow lived her languid drawing-room life, dawdling awaylong slow days that left no more impression behind them than the driftof rose-leaves across the velvet lawn before her windows. A littlepoint-lace, deftly worked by slim white fingers flashing with gems; alittle Tennyson; a little Owen Meredith; a little Browning--only halfunderstood at best; a little scandal; a great deal of orange pekoe, sipped out of old Worcester teacups of royal blue or flowered Swansea;an hour's letter-writing on the last fashionable note-paper;elegantly-worded inanity, delicately penned in a flowing Italian hand, with long loops to the Y's and G's, and a serpentine curve at the endof every word. 

No life could well have been more useless or vapid. Even Mrs. Tempest'scharities--those doles of wine and soup, bread and clothing, which arelooked for naturally from the mistress of a fine old mansion--werevicarious. Trimmer, the housekeeper, did everything. Indeed, in theeyes of the surrounding poor, Mrs. Trimmer was mistress of the AbbeyHouse. It was to her they looked for relief; it was her reproof theyfeared; and to her they louted lowest. The faded beauty, reclining inher barouche, wrapped in white raiment of softest China crape, andwhirling past them in a cloud of dust, was as remote as a goddess. Theycould hardly have realised that she was fashioned out of the same claythat made themselves. 

Upon so smooth and eventless an existence Captain Winstanley's presencecame like a gust of north wind across the sultry languor of an Augustnoontide. His energy, his prompt, resolute manner of thinking andacting upon all occasions, impressed Mrs. Tempest with an extraordinarysense of his strength of mind and manliness. It seemed to her that shemust always be safe where he was. No danger, no difficulty could assailher while his strong arm was there to ward it off. She felt very muchas Mary Stuart may have done about Bothwell; when, moved to scornfulaversion by the silken boy-profligate Darnley, her heart acknowledgedits master in the dark freebooter who had slain him. There had been noDarnley in Pamela Tempest's life; but this resolute, clear-brainedsoldier was her Bothwell. She had the Mary Stuart temperament, the loveof compliments and fine dresses, dainty needlework and luxuriousliving, without the Stuart craft. In Conrad Winstanley she had foundher master, and she was content to be so mastered; willing to lay downher little sum of power at his feet, and live henceforward like a tamefalcon at the end of a string. Her position, as a widow, was anexcellent one. The Squire's will had been dictated in fullestconfidence in his wife's goodness and discretion; and doubtless alsowith the soothing idea common to most hale and healthy men, that itmust be a long time before their testamentary arrangements can comeinto effect. It was a holograph will, and the Squire's own compositionthroughout. "He would have no lawyer's finger in that pie, " he hadsaid. The disposal of his estate had cost him many hours of painfulthought before he rang the bell for his bailiff and his butler, andexecuted it in their presence. 

Mrs. Tempest was mistress of the Abbey House for her life; and at herdeath it was to become Violet's property. Violet was not to come of ageuntil she was twenty-five, and in the meantime her mother was to be hersole guardian, and absolute mistress of everything. There was noquestion of an allowance for the maintenance of the heiress, noquestion as to the accumulation of income. Everything was to belong toMrs. Tempest till Violet came of age. She had only to educate andmaintain her daughter in whatever manner she might think fit. AtViolet's majority the estate was to pass into her possession, chargedwith an income of fifteen hundred a year, to be paid to the widow forher lifetime. Until her twenty-fifth birthday, therefore, Violet was inthe position of a child, entirely dependent on her mother's liberality, and bound to obey her mother as her natural and only guardian. Therewas no court of appeal nearer than the Court of Chancery. There was noone to whom the two women could make their complaints or refer theirdifferences. 

Naturally, Captain Winstanley had long before this made himselfacquainted with the particulars of the Squire's will. For six years hesaw himself sole master of a very fine estate, and at the end of sixyears reduced to an income which seemed, comparatively, a pittance, andaltogether inadequate for the maintenance of such a place as the AbbeyHouse. Still, fifteen hundred a year and the Abbey House were a longway on the right side of nothing: and Captain Winstanley felt that hehad fallen on his feet. 

That was a dreary June for Vixen. She hugged her sorrow, and lived in amental solitude which was almost awful in so young a soul. She made aconfidante of no one, not even of kind-hearted Mrs. Scobel, who wasquite ready to pity her and condole with her, and who was secretlyindignant at the widow's folly. 

The fact of Mrs. Tempest's intended marriage had become known to allher friends and neighbours, with the usual effect of such intelligence. Society said sweet things to her; and praised Captain Winstanley; andhoped the wedding would be soon; and opined that it would be quite anice thing for Miss Tempest to have such an agreeable stepfather, withwhom she could ride to hounds as she had done with the dear Squire. Andthe same society, driving away from the Abbey House in its landaus andpony-carriages, after half-an-hour's pleasant gossip and a cup ofdelicately flavoured tea, called Mrs. Tempest a fool, and her intendedhusband an adventurer. 

Vixen kept aloof from all the gossip and tea-drinking. She did not evengo near her old friends the Scobels, in these days of smothered wrathand slow consuming indignation. She deserted the schools, her oldpensioners, even the little village children, to whom she had loved tocarry baskets of good things, and pocketfuls of halfpence, and whosequeer country dialect had seemed as sweet to her as the carolling offinches and blackbirds in the woods. Everything in the way of charitywas left to Mrs. Trimmer now. Vixen took her long solitary rides in theForest, roaming wherever there was a footway for her horse under thedarkening beeches, dangerously near the swampy ground where the wetgrass shone in the sunlight, the green reedy patches that meant peril;into the calm unfathomable depths of Mark Ash, or Queen's Bower; up tothe wild heathy crest of Boldrewood; wherever there was loneliness andbeauty. 

Roderick had gone to London for the season, and was riding with LadyMabel in the Row, or dancing attendance at garden-parties, exhibitions, and flower-shows. 

"I wonder how he likes the dusty days, and the crowded rooms, theclassical music, and high-art exhibitions?" thought Vixen savagely. "Iwonder how he likes being led about like a Pomeranian terrier? I don'tthink I could endure it if I were a man. But I suppose when one is inlove----"

And then Vixen thought of their last talk together, and how little ofthe lover's enthusiasm there was in Roderick's mention of his cousin. 

"In the bottom of my heart I know that he is going to marry her for thesake of her estate, or because his mother wished it and urged it, andhe was too weak-minded to go on saying No. I would not say it for theworld, or let anyone else say it in my hearing, but, in my heart ofhearts, I know he does not love her. "

And then, after a thoughtful silence, she cried to the muteunresponsive woods:

"Oh, it is wicked, abominable, mad, to marry without love!"

The woods spoke to her of Roderick Vawdrey. How often she had ridden byhis side beneath these spreading beech-boughs, dipping her childishhead, just as she dipped it to-day, under the low branches, steeringher pony carefully between the prickly holly-bushes, plunging deep intothe hollows where the dry leaves crackled under his hoofs. 

"I fancied Rorie and I were to spend our lives together--somehow, " shesaid to herself. "It seems very strange for us to be quite parted. "

She saw Mr. Vawdrey's name in the fashionable newspapers, in the listsof guests at dinners and drums. London life suited him very well, nodoubt. She heard that he was a member of the Four-in-hand Club, andturned out in splendid style at Hyde Park Corner. There was no talk yetof his going into Parliament. That was an affair of the future. 

Since that evening on which Mrs. Tempest announced her intention oftaking a second husband, Violet and Captain Winstanley had only met inthe presence of other people. The Captain had tried to infuse a certainfatherly familiarity into his manner; but Vixen had met every attemptat friendliness with a sullen disdain, which kept even CaptainWinstanley at arm's length. 

"We shall understand each other better by-and-by, " he said to himself, galled by this coldness. "It would be a pity to disturb these halcyondays by anything in the way of a scene. I shall know how to manage MissTempest--afterwards. "

He spoke of her, and to her, always as Miss Tempest. He had nevercalled her Violet since that night in the Pavilion garden. 

These days before her wedding were indeed a halcyon season for Mrs. Tempest. She existed in an atmosphere of millinery and pretty speeches. Her attention was called away from a ribbon by the sweet distraction ofa compliment, and oscillated between tender whispers and honiton lace. Conrad Winstanley was a delightful lover. His enemies would have saidthat he had done the same kind of thing so often, that it would havebeen strange if he had not done it well. His was assuredly no 'prenticehand in the art. Poor Mrs. Tempest lived in a state of mildintoxication, as dreamily delicious as the effects of opium. She wasenchanted with her lover, and still better pleased with herself. Atnine-and-thirty it was very sweet to find herself exercising so potentan influence over the Captain's strong nature. She could not helpcomparing herself to Cleopatra, and her lover to Antony. If he had notthrown away a world for her sake, he was at least ready to abandon thebusy career which a man loves, and to devote his future existence torural domesticity. He confessed that he had been hardened by muchcontact with the world, that he did not love now for the first time;but he told his betrothed that her influence had awakened feelingswhich had never before been called into life, that this love which hefelt for her was to all intents and purposes a first love, the firstpure and perfect affection that had subjugated and elevated his soul. 

After that night in Mrs. Tempest's boudoir, it was only by tacitavoidance of her mother that Vixen showed the intensity of herdisapproval. If she could have done any good by reproof or entreaty, bypleading or exhortation, she would assuredly have spoken; but she sawthe Captain and her mother together every day, and she knew that, opposed to his influence, her words were like the idle wind whichbloweth where it listeth. So she held her peace, and looked on with anaching angry heart, and hated the intruder who had come to steal herdead father's place. To take her father's place; that in Violet's mindwas the unpardonable wrong. That any man should enter that house asmaster, and sit in the Squire's seat, and rule the Squire's servants, and ride the Squire's horses, was an outrage beyond endurance. Shemight have looked more leniently on her mother's folly, had the widowchosen a second husband with a house and home of his own, who wouldhave carried off his wife to reign over his own belongings, and leftthe Abbey House desolate--a temple dedicated to the dead. 

Mrs. Tempest's manner towards her daughter during this period was atonce conciliatory and reproachful. She felt it a hard thing that Violetshould have taken up such an obnoxious position. This complaint sherepeated piteously, with many variations, when she discussed Violet'sunkindness with her lover. She had no secrets from the Captain, and shetold him all the bitter things Violet had said about him. 

He heard her with firmly-set lips and an angry sparkle in his darkeyes, but his tone was full of paternal indulgence presently, when Mrs. Tempest had poured out all her woes. 

"Is it not hard upon me, Conrad?" she asked in conclusion. 

"My dear Pamela, I hope you are too strong-minded to distress yourselfseriously about a wilful girl's foolishness. Your daughter has a noblenature, but she has been spoiled by too much indulgence. Even arace-horse--the noblest thing in creation--has to be broken in; notalways without severe punishment. Miss Tempest and I will come tounderstand each other perfectly by-and-by. "

"I know you will be a second father to her, " said Mrs. Tempesttearfully. 

"I will do my duty to her, dearest, be assured. "

Still Mrs. Tempest went on harping upon the cruelty of her daughter'sconduct. The consciousness of Violet's displeasure weighed heavily uponher. 

"I dare not even show her my _trousseau_, " she complained, "allconfidence is at an end between us. I should like to have had heropinion about my dresses--though she is sadly deficient in taste, poorchild! and has never even learnt to put on her gloves perfectly. "

"And your own taste is faultless, love, " replied the Captainsoothingly. "What can you want with advice from an inexperienced girl, whose mind is in the stable?"

"It is not her advice I want, Conrad; but her sympathy. Fanny Scobel iscoming this afternoon. I can show her my things. I really feel quitenervous about talking to Violet of her own dress. She must have a newdress for the wedding, you know; though she cannot be a bridesmaid. Ithink that is really unfair. Don't you, Conrad?"

"What is unfair, dearest?" asked the Captain, whose mind had scarcelyfollowed the harmless meanderings of his lady's speech. 

"That a widow is not allowed to have bridesmaids or orange-blossoms. Itseems like taking the poetry out of a wedding, does it not?"

"Not to my mind, Pamela. The poetry of wedlock does not lie in thesedetails--a sugared cake, and satin favours; a string of carriages, anda Brussels veil. The true poetry of marriage is in the devotion andfidelity of the two hearts it binds together. "

Mrs Tempest sighed gently, and was almost resigned to be marriedwithout bridesmaids or orange-blossoms. 

It was now within a month of the wedding, which was to be solemnised onthe last day of August--a convenient season for a honeymoon tour inScotland. Mrs. Tempest liked to travel when other people travelled. Mountain and flood would have had scarcely any charm for her "out ofthe season. " The time had come when Violet's dress must be talkedabout, as Mrs. Tempest told the Vicar's wife solemnly. She had confidedthe secret of her daughter's unkindness to Mrs. Scobel, in the friendlyhour of afternoon tea. 

"It is very hard upon me, " she repeated--"very hard that the onlydrawback to my happiness should come from my own child. "

"Violet was so fond of her father, " said Mrs. Scobel excusingly. 

"But is that any reason she should treat me unkindly? Who could havebeen fonder of dear Edward than I was? I studied his happiness ineverything. There never was an unkind word between us. I do not thinkanyone could expect me to go down to my grave a widow, in order toprove my affection for my dearest Edward. That was proved by every actof my married life. I have nothing to regret, nothing to atone for. Ifeel myself free to reward Captain Winstanley's devotion. He hasfollowed me from place to place for the last two years; and hasremained constant, in spite of every rebuff. He proposed to me threetimes before I accepted him. "

Mrs. Scobel had been favoured with the history of these three separateoffers more than once. 

"I know, dear Mrs. Tempest, " she said somewhat hurriedly, lest herfriend should recapitulate the details. "He certainly seems verydevoted. But, of course, from a worldly point of view, you are anexcellent match for him. "

"Do you think I would marry him if I thought that consideration had anyweight with him?" demanded Mrs. Tempest indignantly. And Mrs. Scobelcould say no more. 

There are cases of physical blindness past the skill of surgery, butthere is no blindness more incurable than that of a woman on the vergeof forty who fancies herself beloved. 

"But Violet's dress for the wedding, " said Mrs. Scobel, anxious to getthe conversation upon safer ground. "Have you really said nothing toher about it?"

"No. She is so headstrong and self-willed. I have been absolutelyafraid to speak. But it must be settled immediately. Theodore is alwaysso busy. It will be quite a favour to get the dress made at so short anotice, I daresay. "

"Why not speak to Violet this afternoon?"

"While you are here? Yes, I might do that, " replied Mrs. Tempesteagerly. 

She felt she could approach the subject more comfortably in Mrs. Scobel's presence. There would be a kind of protection in a thirdperson. She rang the bell. 

"Has Miss Tempest come home from her ride?"

"Yes, ma'am. She has just come in. "

"Send her to me at once then. Ask her not to stop to change her dress. "

Mrs. Tempest and Mrs. Scobel were in the drawing-room, sitting at agipsy table before an open window; the widow wrapped in a China-crapeshawl, lest even the summer breeze should be too chill for her delicateframe, the Worcester cups and saucers, and antique silver tea pot andcaddy and kettle set out before her, like a child's toys. 

Violet came running in, flushed after her ride, her habit muddy. 

"Bogged again!" cried Mrs. Tempest, with ineffable disgust. "That horsewill be the death of you some day. "

"I think not, mamma. How do you do, Mrs. Scobel?"

"Violet, " said the Vicar's wife gravely, "why do you never come to ourweek-day services now?"

"I--I--don't know. I have not felt in the humour for coming to church. It's no use to come and kneel in a holy place with rebellious thoughtsin my heart. I come on Sundays for decency's sake; but I think it isbetter to keep away from the week-day services till I am in a bettertemper. "

"I don't think that's quite the way to recover your temper, dear. "

Violet was silent, and there was a rather awkward pause. 

"Will you have a cup of tea, dear?" asked Mrs. Tempest. 

"No, thanks, mamma. I think, unless you have something very particularto say to me, I had better take my muddy habit off your carpet. I feelrather warm and dusty. I shall be glad to change my dress. "

"But I have something very particular to say, Violet. I won't detainyou long. You'd better have a cup of tea. "

"Just as you please, mamma. "

And forgetful of her clay-bespattered habit, Violet sank into one ofthe satin-covered chairs, and made a wreck of an antimacassar worked increwels by Mrs. Tempest's own hands. 

"I am going to write to Madame Theodore by this evening's post, Violet, " said her mother, handing her a cup of tea, and making believenot to see the destruction of that exquisite antimacassar; "and Ishould like to order your dress--for--the wedding. I have been thinkingthat cream-colour and pale blue would suit you to perfection. Acream-coloured hat--the Vandyck shape--with a long blue ostrich----"

"Please don't take any trouble about it, mamma, " said Vixen, whosecheek had paled at the word "wedding, " and who now sat very erect inher chair, holding her cup and saucer firmly. "I am not going to bepresent at your wedding, so I shall not want a dress. "

"Violet!" cried Mrs. Tempest, beginning to tremble. "You cannot meanwhat you say. You have been very unkind, very undutiful. You have mademe perfectly miserable for the last seven weeks; but I cannot believethat you would--grossly insult me--by refusing to be present at mywedding. "

"I do not wish to insult you, mamma. I am very sorry if I have painedyou; but I cannot and will not be present at a marriage the very ideaof which is hateful to me. If my presence could give any sanction tothis madness of yours, that sanction shall not be given. "

"Violet, have you thought what you are doing? Have you considered whatwill be said--by the world?"

"I think the world--our world--must have made up its mind about yoursecond marriage already, mamma, " Vixen answered quietly. "My absencefrom your wedding can make very little difference. "

"It will make a very great difference; and you know it!" cried Mrs. Tempest, roused to as much passion as she was capable of feeling. "People will say that my daughter sets her face against my marriage--mydaughter, who ought to sympathise with me, and rejoice that I havefound a true friend and protector. "

"I cannot either sympathise or rejoice, mamma. It is much better that Ishould stop away from your wedding. I should look miserable, and makeother people uncomfortable. "

"Your absence will humiliate and lower me in the sight of my friends. It will be a disgrace. And yet you take this course on purpose to woundand injure me. You are a wicked undutiful daughter. "

"Oh, mamma!" cried Vixen, with grave voice and reproachful eyes--eyesbefore whose steady gaze the tearful widow drooped and trembled, "isduty so one-sided? Do I owe all to you, and you nothing to me? Myfather left us together, mother and daughter, to be all the world toeach other. He left us mistresses of the dear old home we had sharedwith him. Do you think he meant a stranger to come and sit in hisplace--to be master over all he loved? Do you think it ever entered hismind that in three little years his place would be filled by thefirst-comer--his daughter asked to call another man father?"

"The first-comer!" whimpered Mrs. Tempest. "Oh, this it too cruel!"

"Violet!" exclaimed Mrs. Scobel reprovingly, "when you are calmer youwill be sorry for having spoken so unkindly to your dear mamma. "

"I shall not be sorry for having spoken the truth, " said Violet. "Mammahas heard the truth too seldom in her life. She will not hear it fromCaptain Winstanley--yet awhile. "

And after flinging this last poisoned dart, Vixen took up the muddyskirt of her habit and left the room. 

"It was rather a pity that Arion and I did not go to the bottom of thatbog and stay there, " she reflected. "I don't think anybody wants usabove ground. "

"Did you ever know anything so humiliating, so shameful, so undutiful?"demanded Mrs. Tempest piteously, as the door closed on her rebelliousdaughter. "What will people say if Violet is not at my wedding?"

"It would be awkward, certainly; unless there were some good reason forher absence. "

"People are so ill-natured. Nobody would believe in any excuse that wasmade. That cruel girl will disgrace me. "

"She seems strongly prejudiced against Captain Winstanley. It is agreat pity. But I daresay she will relent in time. If I were you, dearMrs. Tempest, I should order the dress. "

"Would you really, Fanny?"

"Yes; I should order the dress, and trust in Providence for the result. You may be able to bring her round somehow between now and the wedding. "

"But I am not going to humiliate myself. I am not going to be trampledon by my daughter. "

"Of course not; but you must have her at your wedding. "

"If I were to tell Captain Winstanley what she has said thisafternoon----"

"He would be very angry, no doubt. But I would not tell him if I wereyou. "

"No, I shall not say anything about it. "

Yet, before night, Captain Winstanley had heard every syllable thatVixen had said; with some trifling and unconscious exaggerations, hardly to be avoided by a woman of Mrs. Tempest's character, in thenarration of her own wrongs. 

CHAPTER III. 

"I shall look like the wicked Fairy. "

Nothing in Captain Winstanley's manner during the sultry summer dayswhich went before his marriage betrayed his knowledge of VioletTempest's rebellious spirit. He would not see that he was obnoxious toher. He spoke to her and looked at her as sweetly as if there had beenthe friendliest understanding between them. In all his conduct, in anyact of his which approached the assumption of authority, he went towork with supreme gentleness. Yet he had his grip upon everythingalready, and was extending his arms in every direction, like anoctopus. There were alterations being made in the garden which Violetknew were his, although Mrs. Tempest was supposed to have originatedthem. He had, in some measure, assumed dominion over the stables. Histwo hunters were already quartered there. Vixen saw them when she wenther morning round with a basket of bread. They were long-bodied, hungry-looking animals; and the grooms reported them ravenous andinsatiable in their feeding. 

"When they've eat their corn they eats their 'ay, and when they've eattheir 'ay they eats their bed, and then they takes and gnaws the woodenpartitions. They'll eat up all the woodwork in the stable, beforethey've done. I never see such brutes, " complained Bates, thehead-groom. 

Vixen fancied these animals were in some wise typical of their owner. 

One morning when Vixen was leaning upon the half-door of Arion'sloose-box, giving herself up to a quarter of an hour's petting of thatmuch-beloved animal, Captain Winstanley came into the stable. 

"Good-morning, Miss Tempest. Petting that pretty little bay of yours?I'm afraid you'll spoil him. You ought to hunt him next October. "

"I shall never hunt again. "

"Pshaw! At your age there's no such word as never. He's the neatestlittle hunter in the Forest. And on his by-days you might ride one ofmine. "

"Thanks, " said Vixen, with a supercilious glance at the most leggy ofthe two hunters, "I shouldn't care to be up there. I should feel myselfout of everything. "

"Oh, by-the-way, " said Captain Winstanley, opening the door of anotherloose-box, "what are we to do with this fellow?"

"This fellow" was a grand-looking bay, with herculean quarters, shortlegs, and a head like a war-horse. He snorted indignantly as theCaptain slapped his flank, and reared his splendid crest, and seemed asif he said "Ha, ha!"

"I don't quite know of whom you are speaking when you say 'we, '" saidVixen, with an unsmiling countenance. 

"Naturally of your mother and myself. I should like to include you inall our family arrangements, present or future; but you seem to preferbeing left outside. "

"Yes, " replied Vixen, "I prefer to stand alone. "

"Very well then. I repeat my question--though, as you decline to haveany voice in our arrangements, it's hardly worth while to trouble youabout it--what are we to do with this fellow?"

"Do with him? My father's horse!" exclaimed Vixen; "the horse he rodeto his dying day! Why, keep him, of course!"

"Don't you think that is rather foolish? Nobody rides or drives him. Ittakes all one man's time to groom him and exercise him. You might justas well keep a white elephant in the stables. "

"He was my father's favourite horse, " said Vixen, with indignant tearsclouding the bright hazel of her eyes; "I cannot imagine mamma capableof parting with him. Yet I ought not to say that, after my experienceof the last few months, " she added in an undertone. 

"Well, my dear Miss Tempest, family affection is a very charmingsentiment, and I can quite understand that you and your mamma would beanxious to secure your father's horse a good home and a kind master;but I cannot comprehend your mamma being so foolish as to keep a horsewhich is of no use to any member of her family. If the brute were of alittle lighter build, I wouldn't mind riding him myself, and sellingone of mine. But he's too much of a weight-carrier for me. "

Vixen gave Arion a final hug, drying her angry tears upon his softneck, and left the stable without another word. She went straight toher mother's morning-room, where the widow was sitting at a tablecovered with handkerchiefs-cases and glove-boxes, deeply absorbed inthe study of their contents, assisted by the faithful Pauline, otherwise Polly, who had been wearing smarter gowns and caps ever sinceher mistress's engagement, and who was getting up a _trousseau_ on herown account, in order to enter upon her new phase of existence with duedignity. 

"We shall keep more company, I make no doubt, with such a gay youngmaster as the Captain, " she had observed in the confidences of Mrs. Trimmer's comfortable parlour. 

"I can never bring myself to think Swedish gloves pretty, " said Mrs. Tempest, as Vixen burst into the room, "but they are the fashion, andone must wear them. "

"Mamma, " cried Vixen, "Captain Winstanley wants you to sell Bullfinch. If you let him be sold, you will be the meanest of women. "

And with this startling address Vixen left the room as suddenly as shehad entered it, banging the door behind her. 

Time, which brings all things, brought the eve of Mrs. Tempest'swedding. The small but perfect _trousseau_, subject of such anxiousthoughts, so much study, was completed. The travelling-dresses werepacked in two large oilskin-covered baskets, ready for the Scottishtour. The new travelling-bag, with monograms in pink coral onsilver-gilt, a wedding present from Captain Winstanley, occupied theplace of honour in Mrs. Tempest's dressing-room. The wedding-dress, ofcream-coloured brocade and old point-lace, with a bonnet of lace andwater-lilies, was spread upon the sofa. Everything in Mrs. Tempest'sapartment bore witness to the impending change in the lady's life. Mostof all, the swollen eyelids and pale cheeks of the lady, who, on thisvigil of her wedding-day, had given herself up to weeping. 

"Oh mum, your eyes will be so red to-morrow, " remonstrated Pauline, coming into the room with another dainty little box, newly-arrived fromthe nearest railway-station, and surprising her mistress in tears. "Dohave some red lavender. Or let me make you a cup of tea. "

Mrs. Tempest had been sustaining nature with cups of tea all throughthe agitating day. It was a kind of drama drinking, and she was as mucha slave of the teapot as the forlorn drunken drab of St. Giles's is aslave of the gin-bottle. 

"Yes, you may get me another cup of tea, Pauline. I feel awfully lowto-night. "

"You seem so, mum. I'm sure if I didn't want to marry him, I wouldn't, if I was you. It's never too late for a woman to change her mind, noteven when she's inside the church. I've known it done. I wouldn't havehim, mum, if you feel your mind turn against him at the last, "concluded the lady's-maid energetically. 

"Not marry him, Pauline, when he is so good and noble, so devoted, sounselfish!"

Mrs. Tempest might have extended this list of virtues indefinitely, ifher old servant had not pulled her up rather sharply. 

"Well, mum, if he's so good and you're so fond of him, why cry?"

"You don't understand, Pauline. At such a time there are many painfulfeelings. I have been thinking, naturally, of my dear Edward, the bestand most generous of husbands. Twenty years last June since we weremarried. What a child I was, Pauline, knowing nothing of the world. Ihad a lovely _trousseau;_ but I daresay if we could see the dresses nowwe should think them absolutely ridiculous. And one's ideas ofunder-linen in those days were very limited. Those lovely satin-stitchmonograms only came in when the Princess of Wales was married. DearEdward! He was one of the handsomest men I ever saw. How could Violetbelieve that I should sell his favourite horse?"

"Well, mum, hearing Captain Winstanley talk about it, she naturally----"

"Captain Winstanley would never wish me to do anything I did not like. "

The Captain had not said a word about Bullfinch since that morning inthe stable. The noble brute still occupied his loose-box, and was fedand petted daily by Vixen, and was taken for gallops in the dry gladesof the Forest, or among the gorse and heath of Boldrewood. 

Mrs. Tempest had dined--or rather had not dined--in her own room onthis last day of her widowhood. Captain Winstanley had business inLondon, and was coming back to Hampshire by the last train. There hadbeen no settlements. The Captain had nothing to settle, and Mrs. Tempest confided in her lover too completely to desire to fence herselfround with legal protections and precautions. Having only a lifeinterest in the estate, she had nothing to leave, except themultifarious ornaments, frivolities, and luxuries which the Squire hadpresented to her in the course of their wedded life. 

It had been altogether a trying day, Mrs. Tempest complained: in spiteof the diversion to painful thought which was continually being offeredby the arrival of some interesting item of the _trousseau_, eleganttrifles, ordered ever so long ago, which kept dropping in at the lastmoment. Violet and her mother had not met during the day, and now nightwas hurrying on. The owls were hooting in the Forest. Their monotonouscry sounded every now and then through the evening silence like aprophesy of evil. In less than twelve hours the wedding was to takeplace; and as yet Vixen had shown no sign of relenting. 

The dress had come from Madame Theodore's. Pauline had thrown it over achair, with an artistic carelessness which displayed the tastefulcombination of cream colour and pale azure. 

Mrs. Tempest contemplated it with a pathetic countenance. 

"It is simply perfect!" she exclaimed. "Theodore has a most delicatemind. There is not an atom too much blue. And how exquisitely thedrapery falls! It looks as if it had been blown together. The Vandykehat too! Violet would look lovely in it. I do not think if I were awicked mother I should take so much pains to select an elegant costumefor her. But I have always studied her dress. Even when she was inpinafores I took care that she should be picturesque. And she rewardsmy care by refusing to be present at my wedding. It is very cruel. "

The clock struck twelve. The obscure bird clamoured a little louder inhis woodland haunt. The patient Pauline, who had packed everything andarranged everything, and borne with her mistress's dolefulness all daylong, began to yawn piteously. 

"If you'd let me brush your hair now, ma'am, " she suggested at last, "Icould get to bed. I should like to be fresh to-morrow morning. "

"Are you tired?" exclaimed Mrs. Tempest, wonderingly. 

"Well, mum, stooping over them dress-baskets is rather tiring, and it'spast twelve. "

"You can go. I'll brush my hair myself. "

"No, mum, I wouldn't allow that anyhow. It would make your arms ache. You ought to get to bed as soon as ever you can, or you'll look tiredand 'aggard to-morrow. "

That word haggard alarmed Mrs. Tempest. She would not have objected tolook pale and interesting on her wedding-day, like one who had spentthe previous night in tears; but haggardness suggested age; and shewanted to look her youngest when uniting herself to a husband who washer junior by some years. 

So Pauline was allowed to hurry on the evening toilet. The soft prettyhair, not so abundant as it used to be, was carefully brushed; thenight-lamp was lighted; and Pauline left her mistress sitting by herdressing-table in her flowing white raiment, pale, graceful, subdued incolouring, like a classic figure in a faded fresco. 

She sat with fixed eyes, deep in thought, for some time after Paulinehad left her, then looked uneasily at the little gem of a watchdangling on its ormolu and jasper stand. A quarter to one. Violet musthave gone to bed hours ago; unless, indeed, Violet were like hermother, too unhappy to be able to sleep. Mrs. Tempest was seized with asudden desire to see her daughter. 

"How unkind of her never to come near me to say good-night, on thisnight of all others!" she thought, "What has she been doing all day, Iwonder? Riding about the Forest, I suppose, like a wild girl, makingfriends of dogs and horses, and gipsies, and fox-cubs, andcharcoal-burners, and all kinds of savage creatures. "

And then, after a pause, she asked herself, fretfully:

"What will people say if my own daughter is not at my wedding?"

The idea of possible slander stung her sharply. She got up and walkedup and down the room, inwardly complaining against Providence for usingher so badly. To have such a rebellious daughter! It was sharper than aserpent's tooth. 

The time had not been allowed to go by without some endeavour beingmade to bring Violet to a better state of feeling. That was the tonetaken about her by Mrs. Tempest and the Vicar's wife in theirconferences. The headstrong misguided girl was to be brought to abetter state of mind. Mrs. Scobel tackled her, bringing all herdiplomacy to bear, but without avail. Vixen was rock. Then Mr. Scobelundertook the duty, and, with all the authority of his holy office, called upon Violet to put aside her unchristian prejudices, and behaveas a meek and dutiful daughter. 

"Is it unchristian to hate the man who has usurped my father's place?"Violet asked curtly. 

"It is unchristian to hate anyone. And you have no right to callCaptain Winstanley a usurper. You have no reason to take your mother'smarriage so much to heart. There is nothing sinful, or even radicallyobjectionable in a second marriage; though I admit that, to my mind, awoman is worthier in remaining faithful to her first love; like Annathe prophetess, who had been a widow fourscore-and-four years. Whoshall say that her exceptional gift of prophecy may not have been areward for the purity and fidelity of her life?"

Mr. Scobel's arguments were of no more effect than his wife'spersuasion. His heart was secretly on Violet's side. He had loved theSquire, and he thought this marriage of Mrs. Tempest's a foolish, ifnot a shameful thing. There was no heartiness in the feeling with whichhe supervised the decoration of his pretty tittle church for thewedding. 

"If she were only awake, " thought Mrs. Tempest, "I would make a lastappeal to her feelings, late as it is. Her heart cannot be stone. "

She took her candle, and went through the dark silent house to Violet'sroom, and knocked gently. 

"Come in, " said the girl's clear voice with a wakeful sound. 

"Ah!" thought Mrs. Tempest triumphantly, "obstinate as she is, sheknows she is doing wrong. Conscience won't let her sleep. "

Vixen was standing at her window, leaning with folded arms upon thebroad wooden ledge, looking out at the dim garden, over which the palestars were shining. There was a moon, but it was hidden by driftingclouds. 

"Not in bed, Violet?" said her mother sweetly. 

"No, mamma. "

"What have you been doing all these hours?"

"I don't know--thinking, "

"And you never came to wish me good-night. "

"I did not think you would want me. I thought you would be busypacking--for your honeymoon. "

"That was not kind, Violet. You must have known that I should have manypainful thoughts to-night. "

"I did not know it. And if it is so I can only say it is a pity thepainful thoughts did not come a little sooner. "

"Violet, you are as hard as iron, as cold as ice!" cried Mrs. Tempest, with passionate fretfulness. 

"No, I am not, mamma; I can love very warmly, where I love deeply. Ihave given this night to thoughts of my dead father, whose place is tobe usurped in this house from to-morrow. "

"I never knew anyone so obstinately unkind. I could not have believe itpossible in my own daughter. I thought you had a good heart, Violet;and yet you do not mind making me intensely wretched on my wedding-day. "

"Why should you be wretched, mamma, because I prefer not to be presentat your wedding? If I were there, I should be like the bad fairy at theprincess's christening. I should look at everything with a malevolenteye. "

Mrs. Tempest flung herself into a chair and burst into tears. 

The storm of grief which had been brooding over her troubled mind allday, broke suddenly in a tempest of weeping. She could have given noreason for her distress; but all at once, on the eve of that day whichwas to give a new colour to her life, panic seized her, and shetrembled at the step she was about to take. 

"You are very cruel to me, Violet, " she sobbed. "I am a most miserablewoman. "

Violet knelt beside her and gently took her hand, moved to pity bywretchedness so abject. 

"Dear mamma, why miserable?" she asked. "This thing which you are doingis your own choice. Or, if it is not--if you have yielded weakly toover-persuasion--it is not too late to draw back. No, dear mother, evennow it is not too late. Indeed, it is not. Let us run away as soon asit is light, you and I, and go off to Spain, or Italy, anywhere, leaving a letter for Captain Winstanley, to say you have changed yourmind. He could not do anything to us. You have a right to draw back, even at the last. "

"Don't talk nonsense, Violet, " cried Mrs. Tempest peevishly. "Who saidI had changed my mind? I am as devoted to Conrad as he is to me. Ishould be a heartless wretch if I could throw him over at the lastmoment. But this has been a most agitating day. Your unkindness isbreaking my heart. "

"Indeed, mamma, I have no wish to be unkind--not to you. But mypresence at your wedding would be a lie. It would seem to give myapproval to an act I hate. I cannot bring myself to do that. "

"And you will disgrace me by your absence? You do not care what peoplemay say of me. "

"Nobody will care about my absence. You will be the queen of the day. "

"Everybody will care--everybody will talk. I know how malicious peopleare, even one's most intimate friends. They will say my own daughterturned her back upon me on my wedding-day. "

"They can hardly say that, when I shall be here in your house!"

Mrs. Tempest went on weeping. She had reduced herself to a condition inwhich it was much easier to cry than to leave off crying. The fountainof her tears seemed inexhaustible. 

"A pretty object I shall look to-morrow!" she murmured plaintively, andthis was all she said for some time. 

Violet walked up and down the room, sorely distressed, sorelyperplexed. To see her mother's grief, and to be able to give comfort, and to refuse. That must be undutiful, undaughterly, rebellious. Buthad not her mother forfeited all right to her obedience? Were not theirhearts and lives completely sundered by this marriage of to-morrow? ToViolet's stronger nature it seemed as if she were the mother--offended, outraged by a child's folly and weakness. There sat the child, weepingpiteously, yearning to be forgiven. It was a complete reversal of theirpositions. 

Her heart was touched by the spectacle of her mother's weakness, by themute appeal of those tears. 

"What does it matter to me, after all, whether I am absent or present?"she argued at last. "I cannot prevent this man coming to takepossession of my father's house. I cannot hinder the outrage to myfather's memory. Mamma has been very kind to me--and I have no one elsein the world to love. "

She took a few more turns, and then stopped by her mother's chair. 

"Will it really make you happier, mamma, if I am at your wedding?"

"It will make me quite happy. "

"Very well then; it shall be as you please. But, remember, I shall looklike the wicked fairy. I can't help that. "

"You will look lovely. Theodore has sent you home the most exquisitedress. Come to my room and try it on, " said Mrs. Tempest, drying hertears, and as quickly comforted as a child who has obtained its desireby means of copious weeping. 

"No, dear mamma; not to-night, I'm too tired, " sighed Violet. 

"Never mind, dear. Theodore always fits you to perfection. Go to bed atonce, love. The dress will be a pleasant surprise for you in themorning. Good-night, pet. You have made me so happy. "

"I am glad of that, mamma. "

"I wish you were going to Scotland with us. " (Vixen shuddered. ) "I'mafraid you'll be dreadfully dull here. "

"No, mamma; I shall have the dogs and horses. I shall get on very well. "

"You are such a curious girl. Well, good-night, darling. You are my ownViolet again. "

And with this they parted; Mrs. Tempest going back to her room withrestored peace of mind. 

She looked at the reflection of her tear-blotted face anxiously as shepaused before the glass. 

"I'm afraid I shall look an object to-morrow, " she said, "The morningsunshine is so searching. "

CHAPTER IV. 

The Vow is vowed. 

Only a chosen few had been bidden to Mrs. Tempest's wedding. She hadtold all her friends that she meant everything to be done very quietly. 

"There is so much that is saddening in my position, " she saidpensively. But she was resolved that those guests who were asked tolend their countenance to her espousals should be the very best people. 

Lord and Lady Ellangowan had been asked, and had accepted, and theirpresence alone would lend dignity to the occasion. Colonel and Mrs. Carteret, from Copse Hall; the Chopnells, of Chopnell Park; and abouthalf-a-dozen other representative landowners and commoners made up thelist. 

"There is such a satisfaction in knowing they are all the best people, "Mrs. Tempest said to Captain Winstanley, when they went over the listtogether. 

His own friends were but two, Major Pontorson, his best man, and aclerical cousin, with a portly figure and a portwiney nose, who was toassist Mr. Scobel in the marriage service. 

It was a very pretty wedding, the neighbourhood declared unanimously;despite the absence of that most attractive feature in more youthfulbridals--a string of girlish bridesmaids. The little church atBeechdale was a bower of summer flowers. The Abbey House conservatorieshad been emptied--the Ellangowans had sent a waggon-load of ferns andexotics. The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of yellow roses andstephanotis. 

Violet stood among the guests, no gleam of colour on her cheeks exceptthe wavering hues reflected from the painted windows in the low Gothicchancel--the ruddy gold of her hair shining under the Vandyke hat withits sweeping azure feather. She was the loveliest thing in that crowdedchurch, whither people had come from ten miles off to see SquireTempest's widow married; but she had a spectral look in the faint lightof the chancel, and seemed as strange an image at this wedding as theghost of Don Ramiro at Donna Clara's bridal dance, in Heine's ghastlyballad. 

Violet did not look like the malevolent fairy in the old story, but shehad a look and air which told everyone that this marriage wasdistasteful to her. 

When all was over, and the register had been signed in the vestry, Captain Winstanley came up to her, with both hands extended, before allthe company. 

"My dear Violet, I am your father now, " he said. "You shall not find mewanting in my duty. "

She drew back involuntarily; and then, seeing herself the focus of somany eyes, suffered him to touch the tips of her fingers. 

"You are very kind, " she said. "A daughter can have but one father, andmine is dead. I hope you will be a good husband to my mother. That isall I can desire of you. "

All the best people heard this speech, which was spoken deliberately, in a low clear voice, and they decided inwardly that whatever kind ofwife Captain Winstanley might have won for himself, he had found hismatch in his stepdaughter. 

Now came the ride to the Abbey House, which had put on a festive air, and where smartly-dressed servants were lending their smiles to a daywhich they all felt to be the end of a peaceful and comfortable era, and the beginning of an age of uncertainty. It was like that day atVersailles when the Third Estate adjourned to the Tennis Court, and theFrench Revolution began. People smiled, and were pleased at the newmovement and expectancy in their lives, knowing not what was coming. 

"We are bound to be livelier, anyhow, with a military master, " saidPauline. 

"A little more company in the house wouldn't come amiss, certainly, "said Mrs. Trimmer. 

"I should like to see our champagne cellar better stocked, " remarkedForbes the butler. "We're behind the times in our sparkling wines. "

Captain Winstanley entered the old oak-panelled hall with his wife onhis arm, and felt himself master of such a house as a man might dreamof all his life and never attain. Money could not have bought it. Tastecould not have created it. The mellowing hand of time, the birth anddeath of many generations, had made it beautiful. 

The wedding breakfast was as other wedding feasts. People ate and drankand made believe to be intensely glad, and drank more sparkling winethan was good for them at that abnormal hour, and began to feel sleepybefore the speeches, brief as they were, had come to an end. The Augustsun shone in upon the banquet, the creams and jellies languished andcollapsed in the sultry air. The wedding-cake was felt to be anuisance. The cracker-cake exploded faintly in the languid hands of theyounger guests, and those ridiculous mottoes, which could hardly amuseanyone out of Earlswood Asylum, were looked at a shade morecontemptuously than usual. The weather was too warm for enthusiasm. AndViolet's pale set face was almost as disheartening as the skeleton atan Egyptian banquet. When Mrs. Tempest retired to put on hertravelling-dress Violet went with her, a filial attention the motherhad in no wise expected. 

"Dear girl, " she said, squeezing her daughter's hand, "to-day is not tomake the slightest difference. "

"I hope not, mamma, " answered Violet gravely; "but one can never tellwhat is in the future. God grant you may be happy!"

"I'm sure it will be my own fault if I am not happy with Conrad, " saidthe wife of an hour, "and oh, Violet! my constant prayer will be to seeyou more attached to him. "

Violet made no reply, and here happily Pauline brought thefawn-coloured travelling-dress, embroidered with poppies andcornflowers in their natural colours, after the style of SouthKensington, a dress so distractingly lovely that it instantly put anend to serious conversation. The whole costume had been carefullythought out, a fawn-coloured parasol, edged with ostrich feathers, afawn-coloured bonnet, fawn-coloured Hessian boots, fawn-colouredSwedish gloves with ten buttons--all prepared for the edification ofrailway guards and porters, and Scotch innkeepers and their_valetaille_. 

Verily there are some games which seem hardly worth the candle thatlights the players. And there was once upon a time an eccentricnobleman who was accounted maddest in that he made his wife dressherself from head to foot in one colour. Other times, other manners. 

Violet stayed with her mother to the last, receiving the lastembrace--a fond and tearful one--and watched the carriage drive awayfrom the porch amidst a shower of rice. And then all was over. The bestpeople were bidding her a kindly good-bye. Carriages drove up quickly, and in a quarter of an hour everyone was gone except the Vicar and hiswife. Vixen found herself standing between Mr. And Mrs. Scobel, lookingblankly at the hearth, where an artistic group of ferns and scarletgeraniums replaced the friendly winter fire. 

"Come and spend the evening with us, dear, " said Mrs. Scobel kindly;"it will be so lonely for you here. "

But Violet pleaded a headache, a plea which was confirmed by her palecheeks and the dark rings round her eyes. 

"I shall be better at home, " she said. "I'll come and see you in a dayor two, if I may. "

"Come whenever you like, dear. I wish you would come and stay with usaltogether. Ignatius and I have been so pleased with your conductto-day; and we have felt for you deeply, knowing what a conquest youhave made over yourself. "

The Reverend Ignatius murmured his acquiescence. 

"Poor mamma!" sighed Violet, "I am afraid I have been very unkind. "

And then she looked absently round the old familiar hall, and her eyelighted on the Squire's favourite chair, which still stood in its placeby the hearth. Her eyes filled with sudden tears. She fancied she couldsee a shadowy figure sitting there. The Squire in his red coat, hislong hunting whip across his knee, his honest loving face smiling ather. 

She squeezed Mrs. Scobel's friendly hand, bade her and the Vicar ahurried good-bye, and ran out of the room, leaving them looking afterher pityingly. 

"Poor girl, " said the Vicar's wife, "how keenly she feels it!"

"Ah!" sighed the Vicar, "I have never been in favour of secondmarriages. I can but think with St. Paul that the widow is happy if sheso abide. "

Vixen called Argus and went up to her room, followed by that faithfulcompanion. When she had shut and locked the door, she flung herself onthe ground, regardless of Madame Theodore's masterpiece, and claspedher arms round the dog's thick neck, and buried her face in his softhide. 

"Oh, Argus, I have not a friend in the world but you!" she sobbed. 

CHAPTER V. 

War to the Knife. 

A strange stillness came upon the Abbey House after Mrs. Tempest'swedding. Violet received a few invitations and morning calls fromfriends who pitied her solitude; but the best people were for the mostpart away from home in August and Septernber; some no farther thanBournemouth or Weymouth; others roaming the mountainous districts ofEurope in search of the picturesque or the fashionable. 

Violet did not want society. She made excuses for refusing allinvitations. The solitude of her life did not afflict her. If it couldhave continued for ever, if Captain Winstanley and her mother couldhave wandered about the earth, and left her in peaceful possession ofthe Abbey House, with the old servants, old horses, old dogs, allthings undisturbed as in her father's time, she would have been happy. It was the idea of change, a new and upstart master in her father'splace, which tortured her. Any delay which kept off that evil hour wasa blessed relief; but alas! the evil hour was close at hand, inevitable. That autumn proved exceptionally fine. Scotland cast asideher mantle of mist and cloud, and dressed herself in sunshine. TheTrosachs blossomed as the rose. Gloomy gray glens and mountains put onan apparel of light. Mrs. Tempest wrote her daughter rapturous lettersabout the tour. 

"We move about very slowly, " she said, "so as not to fatigue me. Conrad's attention is more than words can describe. I can see that eventhe waiters are touched by it. He telegraphs beforehand to all thehotels, so that we have always the best rooms. He thinks nothing toogood for me. It is quite saddening to see a herd of travellers sentaway, houseless, every evening. The fine weather is bringing crowds tothe Highlands. We could not have travelled at a more favourable time. We have had only a few showers, but in one, on Loch Katrine, my poorfawn-coloured dress suffered. The scarlet of the poppies ran into theblue of the cornflowers. Is it not a pity? I was quite unconscious ofwhat was going on at the time; and afterwards, when I discovered it, Icould have shed tears. 

"I hope when you marry, darling, you will come to Scotland for yourhoneymoon. The mountains seem to appeal to one's highest feelings. There are ponies, too, for the ascent; which is a great comfort if oneis wearing pretty boots. And you know, Violet, my idea that a womanshould be essentially feminine in every detail. I never could bringmyself to wear the horrid clump-soles which some women delight in. Theyseem to me to indicate that strong-minded and masculine character whichI detest. Such women would want the suffrage, and to have the learnedprofessions thrown open to them. I meet ladies or, at least, personscalling themselves such--in horrid waterproof costumes and with coarsecloth hats. Hideousness could go no farther. And though I regret thewreck of my fawn-colour, I can but remember with satisfaction whatTheodore always says to me when she shows me one of her_chef-d'oeuvres:_ 'Mrs. Tempest, it is a dress fit for a _lady_. ' Thereare ill-natured people who declare that Theodore began life askitchen-maid in an Irish inn, but I, for one, will never believe it. Such taste as hers indicates a refined progeniture. "

With such letters as these did Mrs. Winstanley comfort her absentdaughter. Vixen replied as best she might, with scraps of news aboutthe neighbours, rich and poor, the dogs, horses, and gardens. It washateful to her to have to direct her letters to Mrs. Winstanley. 

The days went on. Vixen rode from early morning till noon, and rambledin the Forest for the best part of the afternoon. She used to take herbooks there, and sit for hours reading on a mossy bank under one of theboughy beeches, with Argus at her feet. The dog was company enough forher. She wanted no one better. At home the old servants were more orless--their faces always pleasant to see. Some of them had lived withher grandfather; most of them had served her father from the time hehad inherited his estate. The Squire had been the most conservative andindulgent of masters; always liking to see the old faces. The butlerwas old, and even on his underling's bullet-head the gray hairs werebeginning to show. Mrs. Trimmer was at least sixty, and had beengetting annually bulkier for the last twenty years. The kitchen-maidwas a comfortable-looking person of forty. There was an atmosphere ofdomestic peace in the offices of the Abbey House which made everybodyfat. It was only by watchfulness and tight-lacing that Paulinepreserved to herself that grace of outline which she spoke of in ageneral way as "figure. "

"And what a mite of a waist I had when I first went out to service, "she would say pathetically. 

But Pauline was now in Scotland, harassed by unceasing cares abouttravelling-bags, bonnet-boxes, and extra wraps, and under-valuing BenNevis as not worth half the trouble that was taken to go and look athim. 

The gardeners were gray-headed, and remembered potting the firstfuchsia-slips that ever came to the Forest. They had no gusto fornew-fangled ideas about cordon fruit-trees or root-pruning. They likedto go their own way, as their fathers and grandfathers had done beforethem; and, with unlimited supplies of manure, they were able to produceexcellent cucumbers by the first of May, or a fair dish of asparagus byabout the same time. If their produce was late it was because naturewent against them. They could not command the winds, or tell the sunthat he must shine. The gardens at the Abbey House were beautiful, butnature had done more for them than the Squire's old gardeners. The samerose-trees budded and bloomed year after year; the same rhododendronsand azaleas opened their big bunches of bloom. Eden could have hardlyowed less to culture. The noble old cedars, the mediaeval yews, neededno gardener's hand. There was a good deal of weeding, and mowing, androlling done from week's end to week's end; and the borders werebeautified by banks of geranium and golden calceolaria, and a few otherold-fashioned flowers; but scientific horticulture there was none. Somealterations had been begun under Captain Winstanley's directions; butthe work languished in his absence. 

It was the twentieth of September, and the travellers were expected toreturn within a few days--the exact date of their arrival not beingannounced. The weather was glorious, warmer than it had been allthrough the summer; and Vixen spent her life out of doors. Sad thoughtshaunted her less cruelly in the great wood. There was a brightness andlife in the Forest which cheered her. It was pleasant to see Argus'senjoyment of the fair weather; his wild rushes in among the underwood;his pursuit of invisible vermin under the thick holly-bushes, thebrambles, and bracken; his rapturous rolling in the dewy grass, wherehe flung himself at full length, and rolled over and over, and leapedas if he had been revelling in a bath of freshest water; pleasant tosee him race up to a serious-minded hog, and scrutinise that stolidanimal closely, and then leave him to his sordid researches afteredible roots, with open contempt, as who should say: "Can the samescheme of creation include me and that vulgar brute?"

All things had been set in order for the return of the newly-marriedcouple. Mrs. Trimmer had her dinner arranged and ready to be put inhand at a moment's notice. Violet felt that the end of her peacefullife was very near. How would she bear the change? How would she beable to behave herself decently? Well, she would try her best, Heavengiving her strength. That was her last resolve. She would not make thepoor frivolous mother unhappy. 

"Forgive me, beloved father, if I am civil to the usurper. " she said. "It will be for my mother's sake. You were always tender and indulgentto her; you would not like to see her unhappy. "

These were Vixen's thoughts this bright September morning, as she satat her lonely little breakfast-table in the sunny window of her den, with Argus by her side, intensely watchful of every morsel ofbread-and-butter she ate, though he had already been accommodated withhalf the loaf. 

She was more amiably disposed than usual this morning. She had made upher mind to make the best of a painful position. 

"I shall always hate him, " she told herself, meaning CaptainWinstanley; "but I will begin a career of Christianlike hypocrisy, andtry to make other people believe that I like him. No, Argus, " as thebig paw tugged her arm pleadingly, "no; now really this is sheergreediness. You can't be hungry. "

A piteous whine, as of a dog on the brink of starvation, seemed togainsay her. Just then the door opened, and the middle-aged footmanentered. 

"Oh, if you please, miss, Bates says would you like to see Bullfinch?"

"To see Bullfinch, " echoed Vixen. "What's the matter? Is he ill? Is hehurt?"

"No, miss; but Bates thought as how maybe you'd like to see 'un beforehe goes away. He's sold. "

Vixen turned very pale. She started up, and stood for a few momentssilent, with her strong young hands clenched, just as she gripped themon the reins sometimes when Arion was running away with her and therewere bogs in front. 

"I'll come, " she said in a half-suffocated voice. 

"He has sold my father's horse, after all, " she said to herself, as shewent towards the stables. "Then I shall hate him openly all my life. Yes, everybody shall know that I hate him. "

She found the stables in some commotion. There were two strangers, groomy-looking men, standing in front of Bullfinch's loose-box, and allthe stablemen had come out of their various holes, and were standingabout. 

Bates looked grave and indignant. 

"There isn't a finer horse in the county, " he muttered; "it's a shameto send him out of it. "

Vixen walked straight up to the strange men, who touched their caps, and looked at her admiringly; her dark blue cloth dress fitted her likea riding-habit, her long white throat was bare, her linen collar tiedloosely with a black ribbon, her chestnut hair wound into a crown ofplaits at the top of her head. The severe simplicity of her dress setoff her fresh young beauty. 

"She's the prettiest chestnut filly I've seen for a long time. " one ofthe grooms said of her afterwards. "Thoroughbred to the tips of herears. "

"Who has bought this horse?" she asked authoritatively. 

"My master, Lord Mallow, miss, " answered the superior of the men. "Youneedn't be anxious about him; he'll have a rare good home. "

"Will you let me see the order for taking him away?"

"Your groom has got it, miss. "

Bates showed her a sheet of paper on which Captain Winstanley hadwritten:

"Trosachs Hotel, September 12. 

"The bay horse, Bullfinch, is to be delivered, with clothing, &c. , toLord Mallow's groom. 

"C. WINSTANLEY. "

Vixen perused this paper with a countenance full of suppressed rage. 

"Does your master give much money for this horse?" she asked, turningto the strange groom. 

"I haven't heard how much, miss. " Of course the man knew the sum to apenny. "But I believe it's a tidyish lot. "

"I don't suppose I have as much money in the world, " said Vixen, "orI'd buy my father's horse of Captain Winstanley, since he is so badlyin want of money, and keep him at a farm. "

"I beg your pardon, miss, " said the groom, "but the hoss is sold. Mymaster has paid his money. He is a friend of Captain Winstanley's. Theymet somewhere in Scotland the other day and my lord bought the hoss onhearsay; and I must say I don't think he'll be disappointed in him. "

"Where are you going to take him?"

"Well, it's rather an awkward journey across country. We're going toMelton. My lord is going to hunt the hoss in October, if he turns outto my lord's satisfaction. "

"You are going to take him by rail?"

"Yes, miss. "

"He has never been by rail in his life. It will kill him!" cried Vixen, alarmed. 

"Oh no it won't, miss. Don't be frightened about him. We shall have apadded box, and everything tip-top. He'll be as snug and as tight as asardine in its case. We'll get him to Leicestershire as fresh as paint. "

Vixen went into the loose-box, where Bullfinch, all regardless of hisdoom, was idly munching a mouthful of upland meadow hay. She pulleddown his noble head, and laid her cheek against his broad forehead, andlet her tears rain on him unheeded. There was no one to see her in thatdusky loose-box. The grooms were clustered at the stable-door, talkingtogether. She was free to linger over her parting with the horse thather father had loved. She wound her arms about his arched neck, andkissed his velvet nose. 

"Oh, Bullfinch, have you a memory? Will you be sorry to find yourselfin a strange stable?" she asked, looking into the animal's full softeyes with a pathetic earnestness in her own. 

She dried her tears presently; she was not going to make herself aspectacle for the scornful pity of stablemen. She came out of theloose-box with a serene countenance, and went up to Lord Mallow'sgroom. "Please be kind to him, " she said, dropping a sovereign into theman's ready hand. 

"No fear of that, miss, " he said; "there are very few Christians thathave as good a time of it as our hosses. "

That sovereign, taken in conjunction with the donor's beauty, quitevanquished Lord Mallow's stud-groom, and very nearly bought VioletTempest a coronet. 

Bullfinch was led out presently, looking like a king; but Violet didnot stop to see him go away. She could hardly have borne that. She ranback to the house, put on her hat and jacket, called Argus, and set outfor along ramble, to walk down, if possible, the angry devil within her. 

No; this she would never forgive--this sale of her father's favouritehorse. It was as if some creature of her own flesh and blood had beensold into slavery. Her mother was rich, would squander hundreds on finedresses, and would allow her dead husband's horse to be sold. 

"Is Captain Winstanley such a tyrant that mamma can not prevent thisshameful thing?" she asked herself. "She talks about his attention, hisdevotion, as if he were at her feet; and yet she suffers him todisgrace her by this unparalleled meanness!"

CHAPTER VI. 

At the Kennels. 

It was a fresh sunny morning, a soft west wind blowing up all thesweetness of the woods and leas. The cattle were grouped in lazystillness on the dewy grass; the year's pigs, grown to the hobbledehoystage of existence, were grubbing about contentedly among thefurze-bushes; by the roadside, a matronly sow lay stretched flat uponher side in the sunshine, just where carriage-wheels must pass over herwere carriages frequent in those parts. 

Even the brightness of the morning had no charm for Vixen. There was nodelight for her in the green solemnity of the forest glades, where thebeechen pillars led the eye away into innumerable vistas, each grandlymysterious as a cathedral aisle. The sun shot golden arrows throughdark boughs, patching the moss with translucent lights, vivid and clearas the lustre of emeralds. The gentle plash of the forest stream, rippling over its pebbly bed, made a tender music that was wont to seempassing sweet to Violet Tempest's ear. To-day she heard nothing, sawnothing. Her brain was clouded with angry thoughts. 

She left the Forest by-and-by, following one of the familiarcart-tracks, and came out into the peaceful little colony of Beechdale, where it was a chance if the noonday traveller saw anything aliveexcept a youthful family of pigs enjoying an oasis of mud in a dryland, or an intrusive dog rushing out of a cottage to salute thewayfarer with an inquiring bark. The children were still in school. Thehum or their voices was wafted from the open windows. The church doorstood open. The village graves upon the sunward-fronting slope werebright with common flowers; the dead lying with their feet to the west, ready to stand up and see their Lord at the resurrection morning. 

Vixen hurried through the little village, not wanting to see Mrs. Scobel, or anyone she knew, this morning. There was a long rustic laneopposite the church, that led straight to the kennels. 

"I will go and see the foxhounds, " said Vixen. "They are true andfaithful. But perhaps all those I love best have been sold, or are deadby this time. "

It seemed to her ages since she had been to the kennels with herfather. It had been his favourite walk, out of the hunting season, andhe had rarely suffered a week to pass without making his visit ofinspection. Since her return Violet had carefully avoided thewell-known spot; but to-day, out of the very bitterness of her heart, came a desire to renew past associations. Bullfinch was gone for ever, but the hounds at least remained; and her father had loved them almostas well as he had loved Bullfinch. 

Nothing was changed at the kennels. The same feeder in corduroy andfustian came out of the cooking-house when Vixen opened the five-barredgate. The same groom was lounging in front of the stables, where thehorses were kept for the huntsman and his underlings. The whole placehad the same slumberous out-of-season look she remembered so well ofold in the days when hunting was over. 

The men touched their caps to Miss Tempest as she passed them. She wentstraight to the kennels. There were the three wooden doors, openinginto three square stone-paved yards, each door provided with a smallround eye-hole, through which the authorities might scrutinise theassembly within. A loud yelping arose as Vixen's footsteps drew near. Then there were frantic snuffings under the doors, and a generalagitation. She looked through the little eye-hole into the middle yard. Yes; there they were, fourteen or fifteen couple, tumultuously excited, as if they knew she was there: white and black and tan, pointed noses, beautiful intelligent eyes, bright tan spots upon marked brows, somewith a streak of white running down the long sharp noses, some heavy inthe jowl, some with muzzles sharp as a greyhound's, thirty tails erectand agitated. 

The feeder remembered Miss Tempest perfectly, though it was more thanthree years since her last visit. 

"Would you like to go in and see 'em, miss?" he said. 

"Yes, if you please, Dawson. You have Gauntlet still, I see. That isGauntlet, isn't it? And Dart, and Juno, and Ringlet, and Artful?"

"Yes, miss. There ain't many gone since you was here. But there's a loto' poppies. You'd like to see the poppies, wouldn't you, miss? They bein the next kennel, if you'll just wait five minutes. "

Cleanliness was the order of the day at the kennels, but to do the latemaster's daughter more honour, Dawson the feeder called abright-looking lad, his subordinate, and divers pails of water werefetched, and the three little yards washed out vigorously before MissTempest was invited to enter. When she did go in, the yard was emptyand clean as a new pin. The hounds had been sent into their house, where they were all grouped picturesquely on a bench littered withstraw, looking as grave as a human parliament, and much wiser. Nothingcould be more beautiful than their attitudes, or more intelligent thantheir countenances. 

Vixen looked in at them through the barred window. 

"Dear things, " she exclaimed; "they are as lovely as ever. How fondpapa was of them. "

And then the kennel-huntsman, who had appeared on the scene by thistime, opened the door and smacked his whip; and the fifteen couple cameleaping helter-skelter out into the little yard, and made a rush atVixen, and surrounded her, and fawned upon her, and caressed her as iftheir recognition of her after long years was perfect, and as if theyhad been breaking their hearts for her in the interval. Perhaps theywould have been just as affectionate to the next comer, having a largesurplus stock of love always on hand ready to be lavished on the humanrace; but Vixen took these demonstrations as expressive of a peculiarattachment, and was moved to tears by the warmth of this caninegreeting. 

"Thank God! there are some living things that love me, " she exclaimed. 

"Something that loves you!" cried a voice from the door of the yard. "Does not everything noble or worthy love you, as it loves all that isbeautiful?"

Turning quickly, with a scared look, Violet saw Roderick Vawdreystanding in the doorway. 

He stood quietly watching her, his dark eyes softened with a look oftender admiration. There could hardly have been a prettier picture thanthe tall girlish figure and bright chestnut head, the fair face bendingover the upturned noses of the hounds as they clustered round her, somestanding up with their strong white paws upon her shoulder, somenestling at her knees. Her hat had fallen off, and was being trampledunder a multitude of restless feet. 

Rorie came into the little yard. The huntsman cracked his whip, and thehounds went tumbling one over the other into their house, where theyleaped upon their straw bed, and grouped themselves as if they had beensitting for their portraits to Sir Edwin Landseer. Two inquisitivefellows stood up with their paws upon the ledge of the barred window, and looked out at Violet and the new master. 

"I did not know you were at Briarwood, " she said, as they shook hands. 

"I only came home last night. My first visit was naturally here. Iwanted to see if everything was in good order. "

"When do you begin to hunt?"

"On the first of October. You are going to be amongst us this year, ofcourse. "

"No. I have never followed the hounds since papa's death. I don'tsuppose I ever shall again. "

"What, not with your stepfather?"

"Certainly not with Captain Winstanley. "

"Then you must marry a hunting-man, " said Rorie gaily. "We can't affordto lose the straightest rider in the Forest. "

"I am not particularly in love with hunting--for a woman. There seemssomething bloodthirsty in it. And Bates says that if ladies only knewhow their horses' backs get wrung in the hunting season, they wouldhardly have the heart to hunt. It was very nice to ride by papa's sidewhen I was a little girl. I would have gone anywhere with him--throughan Indian jungle after tigers--but I don't care about it now. "

"Well, perhaps you are right; though I should hardly have expected suchmature wisdom from my old playfellow, whose flowing locks used once tobe the cynosure of the hunting-field. And now, Violet--I may call youViolet, may I not, as I did in the old days?--at least, when I did notcall you Vixen. "

"That was papa's name, " she said quickly. "Nobody ever calls me thatnow. "

"I understand; I am to call you Violet. And we are to be good friendsalways, are we not, with a true and loyal friendship?"

"I have not so many friends that I can afford to give up one who isstanch and true, " answered Violet sadly. 

"And I mean to be stanch and true, believe me; and I hope, by-and-by, when you come to know Mabel, you and she will be fast friends. You maynot cotton to her very easily at first, because, you see, she readsGreek, and goes in for natural science, and has a good many queer ways. But she is all that is pure-minded and noble. She has been brought upin an atmosphere of adulation, and that has made her a littleself-opinionated. It is the only fault she has. "

"I shall be very glad if she will let me like her, " Violet said meekly. 

They had strolled away from the kennels into the surrounding forest, where the free horses of the soil were roaming from pasture to pasture, and a few vagabond pigs were stealing a march on their brethren, forwhom the joys of pannage-time had not yet begun. They walked alongidly, following a cart-track that led into the woody deeps where theearliest autumn leaves were dropping gently in the soft west wind. By-and-by they came to a fallen oak, lying by the side of the track, ready for barking, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world tosit down side by side on this rustic seat, and talk of days gone by, lazily watching the flickering shadows and darting sunrays in theopposite thicket, or along the slanting stretch of open turf--thatsmooth emerald grass, so inviting to the eye, so perilous to the footof man or beast. 

"And now, Violet, tell me all about yourself, and about this secondmarriage of your mother's, " Roderick began earnestly; "I hope you havequite reconciled yourself to the idea of it by this time. "

"I have not reconciled myself; I never shall, " answered Violet, withrestrained anger. "I know that mamma has heaped up sorrow for herselfin the days to come, and I pity her too much to be angry with her. Yes;I, who ought to look up to and respect my mother, can only look downupon her and pity her. That is a hard thing, is it not, Rorie? She hasmarried a bad man--mean, and false--and tyrannical. Shall I tell youwhat he has done within these last few days?"

"Do. I hope it is not anything very bad. "

Violet told how Bullfinch had been sold. 

"It looks mean, certainly, " said Mr. Vawdrey; "but I daresay to CaptainWinstanley, as a man of the world, it might seem a foolish thing tokeep a horse nobody rode; especially such a valuable horse asBullfinch. Your father gave two hundred and fifty for him at Andover, Iremember. And you really have too many horses at the Abbey House. "

"Arion will be the next to be sold, I daresay. "

"Oh, no, no. He could not be such an insolent scoundrel as to sell yourhorse. That would be too much. Besides, you will be of age in a year ortwo, and your own mistress. "

"I shall not be of age for the next seven years. I am not to come ofage till I am five-and-twenty. "

"Phew!" whistled Rorie, "That's a long shot off. How is that?"

"Papa left it so in his will. It was his care of me, no doubt. He neverwould have believed that mamma would marry again. "

"And for the next seven years you are to be in a state of tutelage, dependent on your mother for everything?"

"For everything. And that will really mean dependent upon CaptainWinstanley; because I am very sure that as long as he lets mamma wearpretty dresses and drink orange pekoe out of old china, she will bequite contented to let him be master of everything else. "

"But if you were to marry----"

"I suppose that would entangle or disentangle matters somehow. But I amnot likely to marry. "

"I don't see that, " said Rorie. "I should think nothing was morelikely. "

"Allow me to be the best judge of my own business, " exclaimed Vixen, looking desperately angry. "I will go so far as to say that I nevershall marry. "

"Oh, very well, if you insist upon it, let it be understood so. Andnow, Vix----Violet, don't you think if you could bring yourself toconciliate Captain Winstanley--to resign yourself, in fact, to theinevitable, and take things pleasantly, it would make your life happierfor the next seven years? I really would try to do it, if I were you. "

"I had made up my mind to an existence of hypocrisy before he soldBullfinch, " replied Vixen, "but now I shall hate him frankly. "

"But, Violet, don't you see that unless you can bring yourself to livepleasantly with that man your life will be made miserable? Fatecondemns you to live under the same roof with him. "

"I am not sure about that. I could go out as a governess. I am not atall clever, but I think I could teach as much as would be good valuefor twenty pounds a year; or at the worst I might give my services inexchange for a comfortable home, as the advertisements say. How I wishI could read Greek and play Chopin, like Lady Mabel Ashbourne. I'llwrite to dear old McCroke, and ask her to get me a place. "

"My dear Violet, how can you talk so absurdly. You, the future mistressof the Abbey House--you, with your youth and beauty and high spirit--togo meandering about the world teaching buttermen's or tea-dealers'children to spell B a, ba, and A b, ab?"

"It might be better than sitting at meat with a man I detest, " saidVixen. "Am I to value the flesh-pots of Egypt more than, my liberty andindependence of mind?"

"You have your mother to think of, " urged Roderick. "You owe duty andobedience to her, even if she has offended you by this foolishmarriage. If you have so bad an opinion of Captain Winstanley, you areall the more bound to stand by your mother. "

"That is an argument worth listening to, " said Vixen. "It might becruel to leave poor mamma quite at his mercy. I don't suppose he wouldactually ill-treat her. He knows his own interest too well for that. Hewould not lock her up in a cellar, or beat, or starve her. He will becontent with making himself her master. She will have no more will ofher own than if she were a prettily dressed doll placed at the head ofthe table for show. She will be lulled into a state of childish bliss, and go smiling through life, believing she has not a wish ungratified. Everybody will think her the happiest of women, and Captain Winstanleythe best of husbands. "

Vixen said all this with prophetic earnestness, looking straightforward into the green glade before her, where the beech-nuts andacorns were dropping in a gentle rain of plenty. 

"I hope things won't be quite so bad as you anticipate. I hope you willbe able to make yourself happy, in spite of Captain Winstanley. And weshall see each other pretty often, I hope, Violet, as we used in oldtimes. The Dovedales are at Wiesbaden; the Duke only holds existence onthe condition of deluging himself with German waters once a year; butthey are to be back early in November. I shall make the Duchess call onMrs. Winstanley directly she returns. "

"Thanks; mamma will be very pleased. I wonder you are not with them. "

"Oh, I had to begin my duties as M. F. H. I wouldn't have been away forthe world. "

Violet looked at her watch. It was a good deal later than she hadsupposed. Time goes quickly when one is talking over a new grievancewith an old friend. She was a long way from the Abbey House. 

"I must go home, " she said; "mamma and Captain Winstanley may arrive atany moment. There is no time named in mamma's last telegram; she saidonly that they are moving gently homewards. "

"Let us go then, " said Rorie, rising from his rugged seat. 

"But I am not going to take you out of your way. Every step of myjourney home takes you further from Briarwood. "

"Never mind if it does. I mean to walk to the Abbey House with you. Idaresay, if I were very tired, Bates would lend me a mount home. "

"You can have Arion, if you like. "

"No, thanks. Arion shall not have my thirteen stone; I want a littlemore timber under me. "

"You ought to have had Bullfinch, " said Vixen regretfully. 

"I would have had him, if I had known he was in the market. The writingof a figure or so more or less on a cheque should not have hindered me. "

CHAPTER VII. 

A Bad Beginning. 

That walk through the Forest was very pleasant to Violet. It was a dayon which mere existence was a privilege; and now that her spirits hadbeen soothed by her confidential talk with Rorie, Vixen could enjoythose sights and sounds and sweet wild scents of the woodland that hadever been a rapture to her. 

This Forest-born girl loved her native woods as Wordsworth loved hislakes and mountains, as Byron loved the bleak bare landscape round thecity of Aberdeen. Their poetry and beauty filled her heart with a deepcontentment. To walk or ride alone through pathless forest glades, orin the scented darkness of fir plantations, was enough for happiness. But it was comforting to-day--on this day when her heart had been socruelly wounded--to have Roderick Vawdrey by her side. It was like aleaf out of the closed volume of the past. 

They talked freely and happily during that long homewards walk, andtheir conversation was chiefly of bygone days. Almost every speechbegan with "Do you remember?" Vixen was gayer than she had been for along time, save once or twice, when a pang shot through her heart atthe idea that Bullfinch was being shaken about in a railway-box, oscillating helplessly with every vibration of the train, andpanic-stricken in every tunnel. 

The sun had declined from his meridian; he had put on his soberafternoon glory, and was sending shafts of mellower gold along thegreen forest aisles, when Miss Tempest and her companion drew near theAbbey House. They went in at the gate by the keeper's cottage, the gatewhich Titmouse had jumped so often in the days when he carried hischildish mistress. They went through the wood of rhododendrons, andpast the old archway leading to the stables, and round by the shrubberyto the porch. The door stood open as usual, and the Squire's oldpointer was lying on the threshold; but within all was commotion. Dress-baskets, hat-cases, bonnet-boxes, gun-cases, travelling-bags, carriage-rugs, were lying about in every direction. Mrs. Winstanley wasleaning back in the large chair by the fireplace, fanning herself withher big black fan; Pauline was standing by in attendance; and thesilver tray, with the Swansee tea-set, was being brought in by Forbesthe butler, whose honest old face wore a troubled aspect. 

Captain Winstanley was standing with his back to the hearth, hiscountenance and whole figure wearing the unmistakable air of the masterof a house who has returned to his domicile in an execrable temper. 

Violet ran to Mrs. Winstanley, every other thought forgotten in thepleasure of seeing her mother again. These three weeks were the longestparting mother and daughter had ever known; and after all, blood isthicker than water; and there is a natural leaning in a child's mindeven to the weakest of parents. 

Mr. Vawdrey stood in the background, waiting till those affectionategreetings natural to such an occasion should be over. 

But to his surprise there were no such greetings. Mrs. Winstanley wenton fanning herself vehemently, with a vexed expression of countenance, while Violet bent over and kissed her. Captain Winstanley swayedhimself slowly backwards and forwards upon the heels of his boots, andwhistled to himself sotto voce, with his eyes fixed upon some loftyregion of empty air. He vouchsafed not the faintest notice of hisstepdaughter or Mr. Vawdrey. 

"It's really too bad of you, Violet, " the mother exclaimed at last. 

"Dear mamma, " cried Vixen, in blank amazement, "what have I done?"

"To go roaming about the country, " pursued Mrs. Winstanley plaintively, "for hours at a stretch, nobody knowing where to find you or what hadbecome of you. And my telegram lying there unattended to. "

"Did you telegraph, mamma?"

"Did I telegraph? Should I come home without telegraphing? Should I beso mad as to expose myself knowingly to the outrage which has beenoffered to me to-day?"

"Dearest mamma, you alarm me. What has happened?"

"One of the deepest humiliations I ever had to endure. But you wereroaming about the Forest. You were following the instincts of your wildnature. What do you care for my mortification? If I had telegraphed tomy housekeeper, it would not have happened. But I trusted in mydaughter. "

"Dear mamma, " pleaded Vixen, looking anxious and bewildered, "if youwould only explain. You make me miserable. What has happened?"

"Violet, your stepfather and I had to drive home from the station in afly!"

"Oh, mamma!" cried Vixen, with a gasp. "Is that all?"

"Is that all? Do you think that is not enough? Do you understand, child?--a fly--a common innkeeper's fly--that anybody may have forhalf-a-guinea; a fly with a mouldy lining, smelling of--other people!And on such an occasion, when every eye was upon us! No; I was never sodegraded. And we had to wait--yes, a quarter of an hour, at least, andit seemed ages, while Pycroft's fly was got ready for us; yes, while arough forest pony was dragged out of his wretched stable, and a man, whose face had not been washed for a week, shuffled himself into an oldcoachman's coat. And there were all the porters staring at me, andlaughing inwardly, I know. And, as a last drop in the cup, ColonelCarteret drove up in his phaeton to catch the up-train just as we weregetting into that disgraceful looking vehicle, and would stop to shakehands with us both, and insisted upon handing me into the horrid thing. "

"Dear mamma, I am more sorry than I can say, " said Vixen gently; "but Iwas afraid it was something much worse. "

"Nothing could be worse, Vixen. "

"Then the telegram was to order the carriage to meet you, I suppose?"

"Of course. We telegraphed from the Grosvenor at nine o'clock thismorning. Who would imagine that you would be out of doors at such anhour?"

"I am not often out so early. But something happened this morning toput me out of temper, and I went for a ramble. "

"A ramble lasting from ten in the morning till half-past four in theafternoon, " remarked Captain Winstanley, with his gaze still fixed uponempty space. "Rather a long walk for a solitary young lady. "

Vixen appeared unconscious that anyone had spoken. Roderick Vawdreyfelt a burning desire to kick the new master of the Abbey House. 

"Shall I pour out your tea, mamma?" asked Vixen meekly. 

"If you like. I am utterly prostrate. To have no carriage to meet me onsuch an occasion! I daresay everybody in the Forest knows all about itby this time. When I came home from my honeymoon with your poor papa, the joy-bells rang all the afternoon, and the road was lined withpeople waiting to get a glimpse of us, and there were floral arches----"

"Ah, mamma, those things cannot happen twice in a lifetime, " saidVixen, with irrepressible bitterness. "One happy marriage is as much asany woman can expect. "

"A woman has the right to expect her own carriage, " said CaptainWinstanley. 

"I am afraid I have paid my visit at rather at unfortunate moment, "said Roderick, coming forward and addressing himself solely to Mrs. Winstanley; "but I could not go without saying How do you do? I hopeyou had a pleasant journey from Scotland--bar the fly. "

"How do you do, Roderick? Yes; it was all pleasant except that lastcontretemps. Imagine the Duchess of Dovedale's feelings if she arrivedat the station adjoining her own estate, and found no carriage to meether!"

"My aunt would tuck up her petticoats and trudge home, " answeredRoderick, smiling. "She's a plucky little woman. "

"Yes, perhaps on an ordinary occasion. But to-day it was so different. Everybody will talk about our return. "

"Most people are still away, " suggested Rorie, with a view to comfort. 

"Oh, but their servants will hear it, and they will tell their mastersand mistresses. All gossip begins that way. Besides, Colonel Carteretsaw us, and what he knows everybody knows. "

After this, Roderick felt that all attempts at consolation werehopeless. He would have liked to put Mrs. Winstanley into a bettertemper, for Violet's sake. It was not a pleasant home atmosphere inwhich he was obliged to leave his old playfellow on this the first dayof her new life. Captain Winstanley maintained a forbidding silence;Mrs. Winstanley did not even ask anyone to have a cup of tea; Violetsat on the opposite side of the hearth, pale and quiet, with Argus ather knee, and one arm wound caressingly round his honest head. 

"I've been inspecting the kennels this morning, " said Roderick, lookingat the new master of the Abbey House with a cheerful assumption thateverything was going on pleasantly. "We shall begin business on thefirst. You'll hunt, of course?"

"Well, yes; I suppose I shall give myself a day occasionally. "

"I shall not have a happy moment while you are out, " said Mrs. Winstanley. "I used to be miserable about poor dear Edward. "

Vixen winced. These careless references to the dead hurt her more thanthe silence of complete oblivion. To remember, and to be able to speakso lightly. That seemed horrible. 

"I doubt if I shall hunt much this season, " pursued Captain Winstanley, as much as to say that he was not going to be grateful to the newmaster of the foxhounds as a public benefactor, however many hundredsthat gentleman might disburse in order to make up the shortcomings of ascanty subscription. "I shall have a great deal to occupy me. Thisplace has been much neglected--naturally--within the last few years. There is no end of work to be done. "

"Are you going to pull down the Abbey House and build an Italian villaon its site?" asked Vixen, her upper lip curling angrily. "That wouldbe rather a pity. Some people think it a fine old place, and it hasbeen in my father's family since the reign of Henry the Eighth. "

To the Captain's ear this speech had a covert insolence. The AbbeyHouse was to belong to Violet in the future. Neither he nor his wifehad a right to touch a stone of it. Indeed, it was by no means clear tohim that there might not be ground for a Chancery suit in his cuttingdown a tree. 

"I hope I shall do nothing injudicious, " he said politely. 

"My aunt will be back in a week or two, Mrs. Winstanley, " saidRoderick. "I shall bring her over to see you directly she settles downat Ashbourne. And now I think I'd better be off; I've a long walk home, and you must be too tired to care about talking or being talked to. "

"I am very tired, " answered Mrs. Winstanley languidly; "but I shouldhave liked to hear all your news. "

"I'm afraid that's not much. I only came home last night; I have beenshooting grouse in Renfrew. "

"Plenty of birds this year?" inquired the Captain, with a languidinterest. 

"Pretty fair. The rainy spring killed a good many of the young birds. "

"Do you remember any year in which that complaint was not made?"retorted Captain Winstanley. 

Rorie took his departure after this, and contrived to give Violet'shand an encouraging squeeze at parting, accompanied with a straightsteady look, which said as plainly as words: "You have one friend whowill be stanch and true, come what may. "

Vixen understood him, and sudden tears welled up to her eyes--the firstthat had clouded them since her parting with Bullfinch. She brushedthem away hurriedly, but not so quickly as to escape CaptainWinstanley's observation. 

"If you'll excuse me, mamma. I'll run and dress for dinner, " she said, "unless there is anything I can do for you. Your rooms are quite ready. "

"I'm glad of that, " replied Mrs. Winstanley fretfully; "for reallyafter our reception at the railway-station, I expected to findeverything at sixes and sevens. "

"Dear mamma, you must know that was quite an accident. "

"An accident very likely to occur when a young lady indulges intête-à-tête forest rambles with an old friend, instead of waiting athome for her mother's letters and telegrams, " remarked CaptainWinstanley, caressing his neat whisker with his irreproachable hand. 

"What do you mean?" said Vixen, turning sharply upon him. "I went outalone this morning. Mr. Vawdrey and I met at the kennels by accident. "

"A chapter of accidents, " sneered the Captain. "I have no objection tomake, Miss Tempest, if your mamma has none. But I am rather sorry forthe young lady Mr. Vawdrey is going to marry. "

"Mr. Vawdrey was my father's friend, and will never cease to be mine, "said Vixen, with flashing eyes. "There can be nothing offensive to LadyMabel Ashbourne in our friendship. "

She was gone before her stepfather could reply, or her mother reproveher want of respect for that new relative. 

"I suppose I had better go and dress too, " said Mrs. Winstanley, "andin the evening we can talk about our first dinner-party. I daresay weshall have a great many people calling to-morrow afternoon. It will berather trying. There is such a painful feeling in being a bride and nota bride, as it were. People's congratulations hardly sound hearty. "

"I daresay they have rather a vapid flavour, like a warmed-up dinner, "said the Captain. "That is the result of living in a neighbourhoodwhere your first husband was known and popular. If we went amongstrangers, their congratulations would be a great deal heartier. But Ihope you don't begin to repent already, my dear Pamela. "

"Conrad! How can you imagine such a thing?--after your delicateattentions, your devoted care of me during our tour. What dress shall Iwear this evening? Do you like me best in blue or amber?"

"To my eye all colours suit you. But I think a woman"--he was going tosay "of your age, " but checked himself and substituted--"in thematurity of her beauty looks best in velvet, or some rich and heavymaterial that falls in massive folds, like the drapery in a portrait byVelasquez. A border of fur, too, is an artistic introduction in awoman's dress--you see it often in Velasquez. Heavy old laces are, ofcourse, always admirable. And for colour I like the warmer huesbest--wine-dark purples or deep glowing reds; rich ruddy browns, with aknot of amber now and then for relief. "

"How beautifully you talk, " cried Mrs. Winstanley, delighted. "I onlywish Theodore could hear you. It would give her new ideas; for, afterall, the best dressmakers are _bornées_. It is too early in the yearfor velvet. I shall put on my dark green brocade with the old Flanderslace. I am so glad you like lace. It is my chief weakness. Even dearEdward, who was so generous, thought me a little extravagant in thematter of lace. But when one once begins to collect, the study is sointeresting. One is led on. "

"Good Heavens! is my wife a collector?" thought Captain Winstanley, horrified. "That must be put a stop to, or she will ruin me. "

And then he wont off to his dressing-room rather wearily, to put onfull-dress for a home dinner, a sacrifice to his new state of existencewhich he found very irksome. He would have liked to dine in ashooting-jacket, and smoke all the evening. But his smoking now, instead of pervading the whole house, as it had done in his snugbachelor quarters, was an indulgence to be taken out of doors, or in aroom appointed for the purpose. He was not even to smoke in the fineold hall, for it was one of the family sitting-rooms, and Mrs. Winstanley could not endure smoke. 

"I am not at all fanciful or capricious, " she told her husband early inthe honeymoon, "but smoking is one of my horrors. I hope, dear Conrad, it is not too much to ask you never to smoke in any room I use. "

Captain Winstanley pledged himself to respect this and every other wishof his wife's. It was his policy to be subservient in small matters, inorder to be master in essentials. But that daily dressing for dinnerwas something of a bore; and the dinners themselves--_tête-à-tête_dinners, in which he had to take as much trouble to be amusing as at adinner-party, had been apt to hang heavily upon him. He had evenproposed dining at the _table-d'hôte_, while they were on their Scotchtravels, but this idea Mrs. Winstanley rejected with horror. 

"I have never dined at a _table-d'hôte_ in my life, Conrad, " sheexclaimed, "and I certainly should not begin during my wedding tour. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

On Half Rations. 

Captain Winstanley entered upon his new position with a fixeddetermination to make the best of it, and with a very clear view of itsadvantages and disadvantages. For seven years he was to be master ofeverything--or his wife was to be mistress, which, in his mind, wasexactly the same. No one could question his use of the entire incomearising from Squire Tempest's estates during that period. When Violetcame of age--on her twenty-fifth birthday--the estates were to bepassed over to her _in toto;_ but there was not a word in the Squire'swill as to the income arising during her minority. Nor had the Squiremade any provision in the event of his daughter's marriage. If Violetwere to marry to-morrow, she would go to her husband penniless. Hewould not touch a sixpence of her fortune until she was twenty-five. Ifshe were to die during her minority the estate would revert to hermother. 

It was a very nice estate, taken as a sample of a country squire'spossessions. Besides the New Forest property, there were farms inWiltshire and Dorsetshire; the whole yielding an income of between fiveand six thousand a year. With such a revenue, and the Abbey House andall its belongings rent free, Captain Winstanley felt himself in a landof Canaan. But then there was the edict that seven years hence he wasto go forth from this land of milk and honey; or, at any rate, was tofind himself living at the Abbey House on a sorely restricted income. Fifteen hundred a year in such a house would mean genteel beggary, hetold himself despondently. And even this genteel beggary would becontingent on his wife's life. Her death would rob him of everything. 

 He had a mind given to calculation, and he entered upon theclosest calculations as to his future. He meant to enjoy life, ofcourse. He had always done that to the best of his ability. But he sawthat the chief duty he owed to himself was to save money; and to lay byagainst the evil inevitable day when Violet Tempest would despoil himof power and wealth. The only way to do this was by the cutting down ofpresent expenses, and an immediate narrowing of the lines on which theAbbey House was being conducted; for the Captain had discovered thathis wife, who was the most careless and incompetent of women as regardsmoney matters, had been spending the whole of her income since herhusband's death. If she had not spent her money on society, she hadspent it on travelling, on lace, on old china, on dress, on hothouseflowers, on a stable which was three times larger than she couldpossibly require, on a household in which there were a good many morecats than were wanted to catch mice, on bounties and charities thatwere given upon no principle, not even from inclination, but onlybecause Squire Tempest's widow had never been able to say No. 

Captain Winstanley's first retrenchment had been the sale of Bullfinch, for which noble animal Lord Mallow, a young Irish viscount, had given acheque for three hundred guineas. This money the Captain put on depositat his banker's, by way of a nest-egg. He meant his deposit account togrow into something worth investing before those seven fat years werehalf gone. 

He told his wife his views on the financial question one morning whenthey were breakfasting _tête-à-tête_ in the library, where the Squireand his family had always dined when there was no company. Captain andMrs. Winstanley generally had the privilege of breakfasting alone, asViolet was up and away before her mother appeared. The Captain also wasan early riser, and had done half his day's work before he sat down tothe luxurious nine-o'clock breakfast with his wife. 

"I have been thinking of your ponies, pet, " he said, in a pleasantvoice, half careless, half caressing, as he helped himself to a salmoncutlet. "Don't you think it would be a very wise thing to get rid ofthem?"

"Oh, Conrad!" cried his wife, letting the water from the urn overflowthe teapot in her astonishment; "you can't mean that! Part with myponies?"

"My dear love, how often do you drive them in a twelvemonth?"

"Not very often, perhaps. I have felt rather nervous drivinglately--carts and great waggon-loads of hay come out upon one sosuddenly from cross-roads. I don't think the waggoners would care a bitif one were killed. But I am very fond of my gray ponies. They are sopretty. They have quite Arabian heads. Colonel Carteret says so, and hehas been in Arabia. "

"But, my dear Pamela, do you think it worth while keeping a pair ofponies because they are pretty, and because Colonel Carteret, who knowsabout as much of a horse as I do of a megalosaurus says they haveArabian heads? Have you ever calculated what those ponies cost you?"

"No, Conrad; I should hate myself if I were always calculating the costof things. "

"Yes, that's all very well in the abstract. But if you are inclined towaste money, it's just as well to know how much you are wasting. Thoseponies are costing yon at the least one hundred and fifty pounds ayear, for you could manage with a man less in the stables if you hadn'tgot them. "

"That's a good deal of money certainly, " said Mrs. Winstanley, whohated driving, and had only driven her ponies because other people inher position drove ponies, and she felt it was a right thing to do. 

Still the idea of parting with anything that appertained to her statewounded her deeply. 

"I can't see why we should worry ourselves about the cost of thestables, " she said; "they have gone on in the same way ever since I wasmarried. Why should things be different now?"

"Don't you see that you have the future to consider, Pamela. Thishandsome income which you are spending so lavishly----"

"Edward never accused me of extravagance, " interjected Mrs. Winstanleytearfully, "except in lace. He did hint that I was a little extravagantin lace. "

"This fine income is to be reduced seven years hence to fifteen hundreda year an income upon which--with mine added to it--you could notexpect to be able to carry on life decently in such a house as this. Soyou see, Pamela, unless we contrive between us to put by a considerablesum of money before your daughter's majority, we shall be obliged toleave the Abbey House, and live in a much smaller way than we areliving now. "

"Leave the Abbey House!" cried Mrs. Winstanley with a horrified look. "Conrad, I have lived in this house ever since I was married. "

"Am I not aware of that, my dear love? But, all the same, you wouldhave to let this place, and live in a much smaller house, if you hadonly fifteen hundred a year to live upon. "

"It would be too humiliating! At the end of one's life. I should neversurvive such a degradation. "

"It may be prevented if we exercise reasonable economy during the nextseven years. "

"Sell my ponies, then, Conrad; sell them immediately. Why should weallow them to eat us out of house and home. Frisky shies abominably ifshe is in the least bit fresh, and Peter has gone so far as to lie downin the road when he has had one of his lazy fits. "

"But if they are really a source of pleasure to you, my dear Pamela, Ishould hate myself for selling them, " said the Captain, seeing he hadgained his point. 

"They are not a source of pleasure. They have given me some awfulfrights. "

"Then we'll send them up to Tattersall's immediately, with thecarriage. "

"Violet uses the carriage with Titmouse. " objected Mrs. Winstanley. "Wecould hardly spare the carriage. "

"My love, if I part with your ponies from motives of economy, do yousuppose I would keep a pony for your daughter?" said the Captain with agrand air. "No; Titmouse must go, of course. That will dispose of a manand a boy in the stables. Violet spends so much of her life onhorseback, that she cannot possibly want a pony to drive. "

"She is very fond of Titmouse, " pleaded the mother. 

"She has a tendency to lavish her affection on quadrupeds--a weaknesswhich hardly needs fostering. I shall write to Tattersall about thethree ponies this morning; and I shall send up that great raking brownhorse Bates rides at the same time. Bates can ride one of my hunters. That will bring down the stable to five horses--my two hunters, Arion, and your pair of carriage-horses. "

"Five horses, " sighed Mrs. Winstanley pensively; "I shall hardly knowthose great stables with only five horses in them. The dear old placeused to look so pretty and so full of life when I was first married, and when the Squire used to coax me to go with him on his morningrounds. The horses used to move on one side, and turn their heads soprettily at the sound of his voice--such lovely, sleek, shiningcreatures, with big intelligent eyes. "

"You would be a richer woman if it had not been for those lovely, sleek, shining creatures, " said Captain Winstanley. "And now, love, letus go round the gardens, and you will see the difference that youngable-bodied gardeners are making in the appearance of the place. "

Mrs. Winstanley gave a plaintive little sigh as she rose and rang thebell for Pauline. The good old gray-haired gardeners--the men who hadseemed to her as much a part of the gardens as the trees that grew inthem--these hoary and faithful servants had been cashiered, to makeroom for two brawny young Scotchmen, whose dialect was as Greek to themistress of the Abbey House. It wounded her not a little to see thesestrangers at work in her grounds. It gave an aspect of strangeness toher very life out of doors. She hardly cared to go into herconservatories, or to loiter on her lawn, with those hard unfamiliareyes looking at her. And it wrung her heart to think of the Squire'sold servants thrust out in their old age, unpensioned, uncared for. Yetthis was a change that had come about with her knowledge, and, seemingly, with her consent. That is to say, the Captain had argued herinto a corner, where she stood, like the last forlorn king in a game ofdraughts, fenced round and hemmed in by opponent kings. She had not thestrength of mind to assert herself boldly, and say: "I will not have itso. This injustice shall not be. "

A change had come over the spirit of the Abbey House kitchen, which wassorely felt in Beechdale and those half-dozen clusters of cottageswithin a two-mile radius, which called themselves villages, and all ofwhich had turned to the Abbey House for light and comfort, as thesunflower turns to the sun. Captain Winstanley had set his face againstwhat he called miscellaneous charity. Such things should be done and noother. His wife should subscribe liberally to all properly organisedinstitutions--schools, Dorcas societies, maternity societies, soup-kitchens, regulated dole of bread or coals, every form of reliefthat was given systematically and by line and rule; but the goodSamaritan business--the picking up stray travellers, and paying fortheir maintenance at inns--was not in the Captain's view of charity. Henceforward Mrs. Winstanley's name was to appear with due honour uponall printed subscription-lists, just as it had done when she was Mrs. Tempest; but the glory of the Abbey House kitchen had departed. Thebeggar and the cadger were no longer sure of a meal. The villagers wereno longer to come boldly asking for what they wanted in time oftrouble--broth, wine, jelly, for the sick, allowances of new milk, adaily loaf when father was out of work, broken victuals at all times. It was all over. The kitchen-doors were to be closed against allintruders. 

"My love, I do not wonder that you have spent every sixpence of yourincome, " said Captain Winstanley. "You have been keeping an Irishhousehold. I can fancy an O'Donoghue or a Knight of Glyn living in thiskind of way; but I should hardly have expected such utter riot andrecklessness in an English gentleman's house. "

"I am afraid Trimmer has been rather extravagant, " assented Mrs. Winstanley. "I have trusted everything to her entirely, knowing thatshe is quite devoted to us, poor dear soul. "

"She is so devoted, that I should think in another year or so, at therate she was going, she would have landed you in the bankruptcy court. Her books for the last ten years--I have gone through themcarefully--show an expenditure that is positively ruinous. However, Ithink I have let her see that her housekeeping must be done upon verydifferent lines in future. "

"You made her cry very bitterly, poor thing, " said his wife. "Her eyeswere quite red when she came out of your study. "

"Made her cry!" echoed the Captain contemptuously. "She is so fat thatthe slightest emotion liquefies her. It isn't water, but oil that shesheds when she makes believe to weep. "

"She has been a faithful servant to me for the last twenty years, "moaned Mrs. Winstanley. 

"And she will be a much more faithful servant to you for the nexttwenty years, if she lives so long. I am not going to send her away. She is an admirable cook, and now she knows that she is not to let yoursubstance run out at the back door. I daresay she will be a fairly goodmanager. I shall look after her rather sharply, I assure you. I wascaterer for our mess three years, and I know pretty well what ahousehold ought to cost per head. "

"Oh, Conrad!" cried his wife piteously, "you talk as if we were aninstitution, or a workhouse, or something horrid. "

"My love, a man of sense ought to be able to regulate a privateestablishment at least as well as a board of thick-headed guardians canregulate a workhouse. "

Poor Mrs. Trimmer had left her new master's presence sorely bowed downin spirit. She was so abased that she could only retire to her own snugsitting-room, a panelled parlour, with an ancient ivy-wreathed casementlooking into the stable-yard, and indulge herself with what she called"a good cry. " It was not until later that she felt equal tocommunicating her grief to Forbes and Pauline, over the one-o'clockdinner. 

She had had a passage of arms, which she denominated "a stand further, "with the Captain; but it appeared that her own stand had been feeble. He had been going over the housekeeping accounts for the last tenyears--accounts which neither the Squire nor his wife had ever takenthe trouble to examine--accounts honestly, but somewhat carelessly andunskillfully made out. There had been an expenditure that waspositively scandalous, Captain Winstanley told Mrs. Trimmer. 

"If you're dissatisfied, sir, perhaps I'd better go, " the old womansaid, tremulous with indignation. "If you think there's anythingdishonest in my accounts, I wouldn't sleep under this roof anothernight, though it's been my home near upon forty year--I waskitchen-maid in old Squire Tempest's time--no, I wouldn't stay anotherhour--not to be doubted. "

"I have not questioned your honesty, Trimmer. The accounts are honestenough, I have no doubt, but they show a most unjustifiable waste ofmoney. "

"If there's dissatisfaction in your mind, sir, we'd better part. It'salways best for both parties. I'm ready to go at an hour's notice, orto stay my month, if it's more convenient to my mistress. "

"You are a silly old woman, " said the Captain. "I don't want you to go. I am not dissatisfied with you, but with the whole system ofhousekeeping. There has been a great deal too much given away. "

"Not a loaf of bread without my mistress's knowledge, " cried Trimmer. "I always told Mrs. Tempest every morning who'd been for soup, or wine, or bread--yes, even to broken victuals--the day before. I had her leaveand license for all I did. 'I'm not strong enough to see to the poorthings myself, Trimmer, ' she used to say, 'but I want them cared for. Ileave it all to you. '"

"Very well, Trimmer. That kind of thing must cease from this very hour. Your mistress will contribute to all the local charities. She will givethe Vicar an allowance of wine to be distributed by him in urgentcases; but this house will no longer be the village larder--no one isto come to this kitchen for anything. 

"What, sir?--not in case of sickness?"

"No. Poor people are always sick. It is their normal state, when thereis anything to be got by sickness. There are hospitals and infirmariesfor such cases. My house is not to be an infirmary. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir; I understand that everything is to be different from what itwas in my late master's time. "

"Precisely. Expenses are to be kept within a certain limit. They arenot to fluctuate, as they do in these books of yours. You must get ridof two or three women-servants. There are at least three too many. I amalways seeing strange faces about upstairs. One might as well live in ahotel. Think it over, Trimmer, and make up your mind as to which youcan best spare, and give them a month's wages, and pack them off. Idon't care to have servants about me who are under notice to quit. Theyalways look sulky. "

"Is that all, sir?" inquired the housekeeper, drying her angry tearsupon her linen apron. 

"Well, yes, that is all at present. Stay. What wages has my wife givenyou?"

"Sixty pounds a year, " replied Trimmer, quite prepared to be told thather stipend was to be reduced. 

"Then I shall give you seventy. "

At this unexpected grace Trimmer began to tremble with an excess ofindignation. She saw in this bounty a bribe to meanness. 

"Thank you, sir; but I have never asked to have my wages raised, and Iam quite contented to remain as I am, " she answered with dignity. "Perhaps, if the ways of the house are to be so much altered, I may notfeel myself comfortable enough to stay. "

"Oh, very well, my good soul; please yourself, " replied the Captaincarelessly; "but remember what I have told you about cadgers andinterlopers; and get rid of two or three of those idle young women. Ishall examine your housekeeping accounts weekly, and pay all thetradespeople weekly. "

"They have not been used to it, sir. "

"Then they must get used to it. I shall pay every accountweekly--corn-merchant, and all of them. Bring me up your book onSaturday morning at ten, and let me have all other accounts at the sametime. "

Here was a revolution. Trimmer and Forbes and Pauline sat long overtheir dinner, talking about the shipwreck of a fine old house. 

"I knew that things would be different, " said Pauline, "but I didn'tthink it would be so bad as this. I thought it would be all the otherway, and that there'd be grand doings and lots of company. What awfulmeanness! Not a drop of soup to be given to a poor family; and Isuppose, if I ask my aunt and uncle to stop to tea and supper, anywhenthat they call to ask how I am, it will be against the rules. "

"From what I gather, there's not a bit nor a sup to be given tomortal, " said Mrs. Trimmer solemnly. 

"Well, thank Providence, I can afford to buy a bit of tea and sugar anda quart loaf when a friend drops in, " said Pauline, "but the meannessisn't any less disgusting. He'll want her to sell her cast-off dressesto the secondhand dealers, I shouldn't wonder. "

"And he'll be asking for the keys of the cellars, perhaps, " saidForbes, "after I've kept them for five-and-twenty years. "

CHAPTER IX. 

The Owner of Bullfinch. 

Captain Winstanley had been master of the Abbey House three months, andthere had been no open quarrel between him and Violet Tempest. Vixenhad been cold as marble, but she had been civil. For her mother's sakeshe had held her peace. She remembered what Roderick Vawdrey had saidabout her duty, and had tried to do it, difficult as that duty was tothe girl's undisciplined nature. She had even taken the loss ofTitmouse very quietly--her father's first gift, the pony that hadcarried her when she was a seven-year-old huntress with tawny hairflowing loose under her little velvet _toque_. She gave no expressionto her indignation at the sale of this old favourite, as she had donein the case of Bullfinch. If she wept for him, her tears were shed insecret. She took the sale of her pet almost as a matter of course. 

"The Captain thinks we have too many horses and ponies, dear; and youknow dear papa was a little extravagant about his stables, " said hermother apologetically, when she announced the fate of Titmouse; "but ofcourse Arion will always be kept for you. "

"I am glad of that, mamma, " Vixen answered gravely. "I should be sorryto part with the last horse papa gave me as well as with the first. "

To the Captain himself Vixen said no word about her pony, and he madeno apology for or explanation of his conduct, He acted as if Heaven hadmade him lord of the Abbey House and all its belongings in his cradle, and as if his wife and her daughter were accidental and subordinatefigures in the scene of his life. 

Despite the era of retrenchment which the new master had inaugurated, things at the Abbey House had never been done with so much dignity andgood style. There had been a slipshod ease, an old-fashioned liberalityin the housekeeping during the Squire's reign, which had in somemeasure approximated to the popular idea of an Irish household. Now allwas done by line and rule, and according to the latest standard ofperfection. There was no new fashion in Belgravia--from a brand ofchampagne to the shape of a menu-holder--which Captain Winstanley hadnot at his finger's ends. The old-style expensive heavy dinners at theAbbey House: the monster salmon under whose weight the serving manstaggered; the sprawling gigantic turbot, arabesqued with sliced lemonand barberries; the prize turkey, too big for anything but a poultryshow; these leviathans and megatheria of the market were seen no more. In their stead came the subdued grace of the _dîner à la Russe_, awell-chosen menu, before composing which Captain Winstanley studiedGouffé's artistic cookery-book as carefully as a pious Israelitestudies the Talmud. The new style was as much more economical than theold as it was more elegant. The table, with the Squire's old silver, and fine dark blue and gold Worcester china, and the Captain'spicturesque grouping of hothouse flowers and ferns, was a study worthyof a painter of still life. People exclaimed at the beauty of thepicture. The grave old dining-room was transformed from its heavysplendour to a modern grace that delighted everybody. Mrs. Winstanley'sbosom thrilled with a gentle pride as she sat opposite her husband--heand she facing each other across the centre of the oval table--at theirfirst dinner-party. 

"My love, I am delighted that you are pleased, " he said afterwards, when she praised his arrangements. "I think I shall be able to show youthat economy does not always mean shabbiness. Our dinners shall not betoo frequent, but they shall be perfect after their kind. "

The Captain made another innovation in his wife's mode of existence. Instead of a daily dropping in of her acquaintance for tea and gossip, she was to have her afternoon, like Lady Ellangowan. A neatcopper-plate inscription on her visiting-card told her friends that shewas at home on Tuesdays from three to six, and implied that she was notat home on any other day. Mrs. Winstanley felt her dignity enhanced bythis arrangement, and the Captain hoped thereby to put a stop to a gooddeal of twaddling talk, and to lessen the consumption of five-shillingtea, pound-cake, and cream. 

The Duke and Duchess returned to Ashbourne with Lady Mabel a short timebefore Christmas, and the Duchess and her daughter came to one of Mrs. Winstanley's Tuesday afternoons, attended by Roderick Vawdrey. Theycame with an evident intention of being friendly, and the Duchess wascharmed with the old oak hall, the wide hearth and Christmas fire ofbeech-logs, the light flashing upon the men in armour, and reflectedhere and there on the beeswaxed panels as on dark water. In this wintrydusk the hall looked its best, dim gleams of colour from the oldpainted glass mixing with the changeful glow of the fire. 

"It reminds me a little of our place in Scotland, " said the Duchess, "only this is prettier. It has a warmer homelier air. All things inScotland have an all-pervading stoniness. It is a country overgrownwith granite. "

Mrs. Winstanley was delighted to be told that her house resembled oneof the ducal abodes. 

"I daresay your Scotch castle is much older than this, " she saiddeprecatingly. "We only date from Henry the Eighth. There was an abbey, built in the time of Henry the First; but I am afraid there is nothingleft of that hut the archway leading into the stables. "

"Oh, we are dreadfully ancient at Dundromond; almost as old as themountains, I should think, " answered the Duchess. "Our walls are tenfeet thick, and we have an avenue of yew trees said to be a thousandyears old. But all that does not prevent the Duke getting bronchitisevery time he goes there. "

Vixen was in attendance upon her mother, dressed in dark green cloth. Very much the same kind of gown she had on that day at the kennels, Rorie thought, remembering how she looked as she stood with quickenedbreath and tumbled hair, encircled by those eager boisterous hounds. 

"If Landseer could have lived to paint her, I would have given a smallfortune for the picture, " he thought regretfully. 

Lady Mabel was particularly gracious to Violet. She talked about dogsand horses even, in her desire to let herself down to Miss Tempest'slevel; praised the Forest; made a tentative remark about point lace;and asked Violet if she was fond of Chopin. 

"I'm afraid I'm not enlightened enough to care so much for him as Iought. " Vixen answered frankly. 

"Really! Who is your favourite composer?"

Violet felt as if she were seated before one of those awful books whichsome young ladies keep instead of albums, in which the sorely-tormentedcontributor is catechised as to his or her particular tastes, distastes, and failings. 

"I think I like Mozart best. "

"Do you, really?" inquired Lady Mabel, looking as if Violet had sunkfathoms lower in her estimation by this avowal. "Don't you think thathe is dreadfully tuney?"

"I like tunes, " retorted Vixen, determined not to be put down. "I'drather have written '_Voi che sapete_, ' and '_Batti, batti_, ' than allChopin's nocturnes and mazurkas. "

"I think you would hardly say that if you knew Chopin better, " saidLady Mabel gravely, as if she had been gently reproving some one forthe utterance of infidel opinions. "When are you coming to see ourorchids?" she asked graciously. "Mamma is at home on Thursdays. I hopeyou and Mrs. Winstanley will drive over and look at my neworchid-house. Papa had it built for me with all the latestimprovements. I'm sure you must be fond of orchids, even if you don'tappreciate Chopin. "

Violet blushed. Rorie was looking on with a malicious grin. He wassitting a little way off in a low Glastonbury chair, with his knees upto his chin, making himself an image of awkwardness. 

"I don't believe Violet cares twopence for the best orchid you couldshow her, " he said. "I don't believe your _Dendrobium Formosum_ wouldhave any more effect upon her than it has upon me. "

"Oh, but I do admire them; or, at least, I should admire themimmensely, " remonstrated Vixen, "if I could see them in their nativecountry. But I don't know that I have ever thoroughly appreciated themin a hothouse, hanging from the roof, and tumbling on to one's nose, orshooting off their long sprays at a tangent into awkward corners. I'mafraid I like the bluebells and foxgloves in our enclosures ever somuch better. I have seen the banks in New Park one sheet of vivid bluewith hyacinths, one blaze of crimson with foxgloves; and then there arethe long green swamps, where millions of marsh marigolds shine likepools of liquid gold. If I could see orchids blooming like that Ishould be charmed with them. "

"You paint of course, " said Lady Mabel. "Wild flowers make delightfulstudies, do they not?"

Vixen blushed violently. 

"I can't paint a little bit, " she said. "I am a dreadfullyunaccomplished person. "

"That's not true, " remonstrated Rorie. "She sketches capitally in penand ink--dogs, horses, trees, you and me, everything, dashed off withno end of spirit. "

Here the Duchess, who had been describing the most conspicuous costumesat the German baths, to the delight of Mrs. Winstanley, rose to go, andLady Mabel, with her graceful, well-drilled air, rose immediately. 

"We shall be so glad to see you at Ashbourne, " she murmured sweetly, giving Violet her slim little hand in its pearl-gray glove. 

 She was dressed from head to foot in artistically blendedshades of gray--a most unpretending toilet. But to Violet's mind thevery modesty of her attire seemed to say: "I am a duke's only daughter, but I don't want to crush you. "

Vixen acknowledged her graciousness politely, but without any warmth;and it would hardly have done for Lady Mabel to have known what MissTempest said to herself when the Dovedale barouche had driven round thecurve of the shrubbery, with Roderick smiling at her from his place asit vanished. 

"I am afraid I have a wicked tendency to detest people, " said Vixeninwardly. "I feel almost as bad about Lady Mabel as I do about CaptainWinstanley. "

"Are they not nice?" asked Mrs. Winstanley gushingly, when she andViolet were alone. 

"Trimmer's drop-cakes?" said Vixen, who was standing by the tea-tablemunching a dainty little biscuit. "Yes, they are always capital. "

"Nonsense, Violet; I mean the Duchess and her daughter. "

Vixen yawned audibly. 

"I'm glad you do not find the Duchess insupportably dreary, " she said. "Lady Mabel weighed me down like a nightmare. "

"Oh Violet! when she behaved so sweetly--quite caressingly, I thought. You really ought to cultivate her friendship. It would be so nice foryou to visit at Ashbourne. You would have such opportunities----"

"Of doing what, mamma? Heading polonaises and mazurkas in seven doubleflats; or seeing orchids with names as long as a German compoundadjective. "

"Opportunities of being seen and admired by young men of position, Violet. Sooner or later the time must come for you to think ofmarrying. "

"That time will never come, mamma. I shall stay at home with you tillyou are tired of me, and when you turn me out I will have a cottage inthe heart of the Forest--upon some wild ridge topped with a hat offirs--and good old McCroke to take care of me; and I will spend my daysbotanising and fern-hunting, riding and walking, and perhaps learn topaint my favourite trees, and live as happily and as remote frommankind as the herons in their nests at the top of the tall beeches onVinny Ridge. "

"I am very glad there is no one present to hear you talk like that, Violet, " Mrs. Winstanley said gravely. 

"Why, mamma?'

"Because anybody hearing you might suppose you were not quite right inyour mind. "

The Duchess's visit put Mrs. Winstanley in good-humour with all theworld, but especially with Roderick Vawdrey. She sent him an invitationto her next dinner, and when her husband seemed inclined to strike hisname out of her list, she defended her right of selection with acourage that was almost heroic. 

"I can't understand your motive for asking this fellow, " the Captainsaid, with a blacker look than his wife had ever before seen on hiscountenance. 

"Why should I not ask him, Conrad? I have known him ever since he wasat Eton, and the dear Squire was very fond of him. "

"If you are going to choose your acquaintance in accordance with thetaste of your first husband, it will be rather a bad look out for yoursecond, " said the Captain. 

"What objection can you have to Roderick?"

"I can have, and I have, a very strong objection to him. But I am notgoing to talk about it yet awhile. "

"But, Conrad, if there is anything I ought to know----" began Mrs. Winstanley, alarmed. 

"When I think you ought to know it you will be told, my dear Pamela. Inthe meantime, allow me to have my own opinion about Mr. Vawdrey. "

"But, Conrad, in dear Edward's time he used to come to this housewhenever he liked, as if he had been a near relation. And he is theDuchess's nephew, remember; and when he marries Lady Mabel, and theDuke dies, he will be one of the largest landowners in South Hampshire. "

"Very well, let him come to your dinner. It can make very littledifference. "

"Now you are offended, Conrad, " said Mrs. Winstanley, with adeprecating air. 

"No, I am not offended; but I have my own opinion as to your wisdom ingiving any encouragement to Mr. Vawdrey. "

This sounded mysterious, and made Mrs. Winstanley uncomfortable. Butshe was determined not to offend the Duchess, who had been soparticularly gracious, and who had sent Captain and Mrs. Winstanleya card for a dinner to be given on the last day of the year. 

So Roderick got his invitation, and accepted it with friendlypromptitude. He was master of the hounds now, and a good many of hisdays were given up to the pleasures of the hunting-field. He was animportant person in his way, full of business; but he generally foundtime to drop in for an hour on Mrs. Winstanley's Tuesday afternoons, tolounge with his back against the massive oaken chimney-breast and talkto Violet, or pat Argus, while the lady-visitors gossiped and titteredover their tea-cups. 

This last dinner of Mrs. Winstanley was to take place a few days beforeChristmas, and was to be given in honour of a guest who was coming tospend the holidays at the Abbey House. The guest was CaptainWinstanley's Irish friend, Lord Mallow, the owner of Bullfinch. 

Vixen's heart gave an indignant bound when she heard that he was coming. 

"Another person for me to hate, " she said to herself, almostdespairingly. "I am becoming a mass of envy, hatred, and malice, andall uncharitableness. "

Lord Mallow had spent the early morning of life in the army, itappeared, with no particular expectations. He and Captain Winstanleyhad been brother-officers. But the fell sergeant Death had promotedPatrick Hay to his elder brother's heritage, and he had surrendered asubaltern's place in a line regiment to become Viscount Mallow, and theowner of a fine stretch of fertile hill and valley in County Cork. Hehad set up at once as the model landlord, eager for his tenantry'swelfare, full of advanced ideas, a violent politician, liberal to theverge of radicalism. If the Irish Church had not been disestablishedbefore Lord Mallow went into Parliament, he would have gripped hisdestructive axe and had a chop or two at the root of that fine oldtree. Protestant, and loyal to the Church of England in his ownperson--so far as such loyalty may be testified by regular attendanceat divine service every Sunday morning, and a gentlemanlike reverencefor bishops--it seemed to him not the less an injustice that his nativeland should be taxed with the maintenance of an alien clergy. 

The late Lord Mallow had been a violent Tory, Orange to the marrow ofhis bones. The new Lord Mallow was violently progressive, enthusiasticin his belief in Hibernian virtues, and his indignation at Hibernianwrongs. He wanted to disestablish everything. He saw his country as sheappears in the eyes of her poets and song-writers--a fair dishevelledfemale, oppressed by the cruel Sassenach, a lovely sufferer for whoserescue all true men and leal would fight to the death. He quoted theoutrages of Elizabeth's reign, the cruelties of Cromwell's soldiery, the savagery of Ginkell, as if those wrongs had been inflictedyesterday, and the House of Commons of to-day were answerable for them. He made fiery speeches which were reported at length in the Irishnewspapers. He was a fine speaker, after a florid pattern, and had agreat command of voice, and a certain rugged eloquence that carried hishearers along with him, even when he was harping upon so hackneyed astring as the wrongs of "Ould Ireland. "

Lord Mallow was not thirty, and he looked younger than his years. Hewas tall and broad-shouldered, robust, and a trifle clumsy in figure, and rode fourteen stone. He had a good-looking Irish face, smiling blueeyes, black hair, white teeth, bushy whiskers, and a complexioninclining to rosiness. 

"He is the perfection of a commonplace young man, " Vixen said, when shetalked him over with her mother on the day of his arrival at the AbbeyHouse. 

"Come, Violet, you must admit that he is very handsome, " remonstratedMrs. Winstanley, who was sitting before her dressing-room fire, withher feet on a fender-stool of her own crewel-work, waiting for Paulineto commence the important ceremony of dressing for dinner. "I think Inever saw a finer set of teeth, and of course at his age they must allbe real. "

"Unless he has had a few of the original ones knocked out in thehunting-field, mamma. They go over a good many stone walls in Ireland, you know, and he may have come to grief. "

"If you would only leave off talking in that horrid way, Violet. He isa very agreeable young man. How he enjoyed a cup of tea after hisjourney, instead of wanting soda-water and brandy. Conrad tells me hehas a lovely place near Mallow--on the slope of a hill, sheltered onthe north with pine woods; and I believe it is one of the prettiestparts of Ireland--so green, and fertile, and sweet, and such a happypeasantry. "

"I think I'd better leave you to dress for dinner, mamma. You like aclear hour, and it's nearly half-past six. "

"True, love; you may ring for Pauline. I have been wavering between myblack and maize and my amethyst velvet, but I think I shall decide uponthe velvet. What are you going to wear?"

"I? oh, anything. The dress I wore last night. "

"My love, it is positively dowdy. Pray wear something better in honourof Lord Mallow. There is the gown you had for my wedding, " suggestedMrs. Winstanley, blushing. "You look lovely in that. "

"Mamma, do you think I'm going to make a secondhand bridesmaid ofmyself to oblige Lord Mallow? No; that dress too painfully bears thestamp of what it was made for. I'm afraid it will have to rot in thewardrobe where it hangs. If it were woolen, the moths would inevitablyhave it; but, I suppose, as it is silk it will survive the changes oftime; and some clay it will be made into chair-covers, and futuregenerations of Tempests will point to it as a relic of my great-auntViolet. "

"I never heard anything so absurd, " cried Mrs. Winstanley fretfully. "It was Theodore's _chef-d'oeuvre_, and no doubt I shall have to pay anawful price for it. "

"Ah, mamma, we are continually doing things for which we have to pay anawful price, " said Vixen, with one of her involuntary bursts of bittersadness. 

CHAPTER X. 

Something like a Ride. 

It was impossible to go on hating Lord Mallow for ever. He was a manwhose overflowing good-nature would have conciliated the direst foe, could that enemy have been exposed long enough to its softeninginfluence. He came upon the dull daily life of the Abbey House like aburst of sudden sunshine on a gloomy plain. The long winter evenings, when there was no company, had been sorely oppressive to Vixen. Out ofrespect to her mother she had kept her place in the drawing-room, reading, or working at some uninteresting strip of point-lace, whichshe had no hope of ever finishing, though it had been promised to Mr. Scobel for his church. Captain Winstanley read the newspapers or thequarterlies, and paced the room thoughtfully at intervals. He talked tohis wife just enough to escape the charge of neglect, but rarely spoketo or noticed Violet. Sometimes Mrs. Winstanley asked for a littlemusic; whereupon Violet went to the piano and played her scantyrecollections of Mozart or Beethoven--all "tuney" bits, remembered outof the sonatas or symphonies Miss McCroke had taught her; or, if askedto sing, the girl sang a ballad or two, to order, in her full roundmezzo-soprano, which had a thrilling expression at times, when feelinggot the better of her proud reserve, and all the pent-up sorrow of herheart broke loose into her song. But Captain Winstanley took no noticeof these efforts, and even her mother's praises were not enthusiastic. 

"Very sweet, very nice, " was the most Vixen ever heard from thosematernal lips as she closed the piano. 

But here was Lord Mallow, passionately fond of music and singing, andthe beauties of nature, and all things that appeal to the sensitiveHibernian character. It seemed a new thing to Violet to have someonestanding by the piano, turning over the leaves, applauding rapturously, and entreating for another and yet another Irish melody. When she sang"The Minstrel Boy, " he joined in with a rich baritone that harmonisedfinely with her full ripe notes. The old room vibrated with the stronggush of melody, and even Captain Winstanley was impelled to praise. 

"How well your voices harmonise, " he said. "You ought to try someduets. I remember that fine baritone of yours in days of old, Mallow. "

Thereupon Lord Mallow asked Miss Tempest if she had any duets, andVixen produced her small stock of vocal music. They tried one or two ofMendelssohn's, "I would that my love, " and "Greeting, " and discoveredthat they got on wonderfully well together. Vixen fell asleep thatnight wondering at her own amiability. 

"To think that I should sing sentimental duets with him, " she said toherself. "The man who has Bullfinch!"

Lord Mallow's presence at the Abbey House had a marked effect uponCaptain Winstanley's treatment of his stepdaughter. Hitherto there hadbeen a veiled bitterness in all his speeches, a constrained civility inhis manners. Now he was all kindness, all expansion. Even his wife, whoadmired him always, and thought him the soul of wisdom in all he did, could not be blind to the change, and a new sense of peacefulness stoleinto her feeble mind. It was so pleasant to see dear Conrad so sweetlykind to Violet. 

"What are we going to do with Lord Mallow this morning, Violet?" askedthe Captain at breakfast, the day after the Irishman's arrival. "Wemust try to amuse him somehow. "

"I don't think I have much to do with it, " Vixen answered coldly. "Youwill find plenty of amusement. I daresay, in the billiard-room, in thestables, or in showing Lord Mallow your improvements. "

"That would do very well for a wet morning, but it would be aprofligate waste of fine weather. No; I propose that you should showMallow some of the prettiest bits in the Forest. I am not half soaccomplished a guide as you; but we'll all go. I'll order the horses atonce if you like my plan, Mallow, " said Captain Winstanley, turning tohis friend, and taking Violet's consent for granted. 

"I shall be quite too delighted, if Miss Tempest will honour us withher company, " replied the Irishman, with a pleasant look at Vixen'sfresh morning face, rosy-red with vexation. 

It was the first time her stepfather had ever asked her to ride withhim, and she hated doing it. It was the first time she had ever beenasked to ride with anyone but her father or Roderick Vawdrey. Yet torefuse would have been impossible, without absolute discourtesy to hermother's husband and her mother's guest. So she sat in her place andsaid nothing; and Lord Mallow mistook the angry carnation for the warmred of happy girlhood, which blushes it knows not wherefore. 

Captain Winstanley ordered the horses to be at the door inhalf-an-hour: and then he took Lord Mallow off to look at the stables, while Violet went upstairs to put on her habit. Why was the Captain sounusually amiable? she speculated. Was his little soul so mean that heput on better manners to do honour to an Irish peer?

She came tripping down the wide old staircase at the end of thehalf-hour, in habit and hat of Lincoln green, with a cock's feather inthe neat little hat, and a formidable hooked hunting-crop for openinggates, little feet daintily shod in patent leather, but no spur. Sheloved her horse too well to run a needle into his sleek hide at theslightest provocation. 

There were three horses, held by Bates and Lord Mallow's groom. Bullfinch, looking as if he had just taken a prize at Islington and wasinclined to be bumptious about it. Arion, tossing his delicatelymodelled Greek head, and peering furtively after bogies in the adjacentshrubbery. Captain Winstanley's well-seasoned hunter, Mosstrooper, nodding his long bony head, and swaying his fine-drawn neck up and downin a half-savage half-scornful manner, as if he were at war withsociety in general, like the Miller of Dee. 

Vixen, who had looked the picture of vexation at the breakfast-table, was now all gaiety. Her hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. Lord Mallowstood in the porch, watching her as she came down the shining oakstaircase, glorious in the winter sunlight. He thought her theperfection of a woman--nay, more than a woman, a goddess. Diana, thedivine huntress, must have looked so, he fancied. He ran forward tomount her on the fidgety Arion; but honest old Bates was too quick forhim; and she was looking down at Lord Mallow graciously from her perchon the well-worn doeskin saddle before he had time to offer hisservices. 

She leaned over to pat Bullfinch's massive crest. 

"Dear old horse, " she murmured tenderly, remembering those wintermornings of old when he had stood before the porch as he stood to-day, waiting for the noble rider who was never more to mount him. 

"Yet life goes on somehow without our beloved dead, " thought Violet. 

Her changeful face saddened at the idea, and she rode along theshrubberied drive in silence. 

"Where are you going to take us?" asked the Captain, when they hademerged from the Abbey House grounds, crossed the coach-road, and madetheir plunge into the first cart-track that offered itself. 

"Everywhere, " answered Vixen, with a mischievous laugh. "You havechosen me for your guide, and all you have to do is to follow. "

And she gave Arion a light touch with her hunting-crop, and canteredgaily down the gently sloping track to a green lawn, which looked, toCaptain Winstanley's experienced eye, very much like a quaggy bog. 

"Steer towards your left!" he cried anxiously to Lord Mallow. 

If there was danger near Vixen managed to avoid it; she made a sweepingcurve, skirted the treacherous-looking lawn, and disappeared in anothercart-track, between silvery trunks of veteran beeches, self-sown in thedark ages, with here and there a gnarled old oak, rugged andlichen-mantled, with feathery tufts of fern nestling in the hollowplaces between his gaunt limbs. 

That was a ride! Lord Mallow could remember nothing like it, and he wasdestined to carry this in his memory for a lifetime. The ghostly trees;the silver-shining bark of the beeches, varying with a hundredindescribable shades of green, and purple, and warmest umber; therugged gray of the grand old oaks; the lichens and mosses, themysterious wintry growths of toadstool and weed and berry; that awfulair of unearthliness which pervaded the thicker portions of the wood, as of some mystic underworld--half shadow and half dream. No, LordMallow could never forget it; nor yet the way that flying figure inLincoln green led them by bog and swamp, over clay and gravel--throughas many varieties of soil as if she had been trying to give them apractical lesson in geology; across snaky ditches and pebbly fords;through furze-bushes and thickets of holly; through everything likelyto prove aggravating to the temper of a wellbred horse; and finally, before giving them breathing-time, she led them up the clayey side of ahill, as steep as a house, on the top of which she drew rein, andcommanded them to admire the view. 

"This is Acres Down, and there are the Needles, " she said, pointing herwhip at the dim blue horizon. "If it were a clear day, and your sightwere long enough, I daresay you would see Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney, and Sark. But, I think, to-day you must be content with the Needles. Can you see them?" she asked Lord Mallow. 

"See them!" exclaimed the Irishman. "I can see well enough to threadone of them if I wanted. "

"Now, you've seen the Isle of Wight, " said Vixen. "That's a pointaccomplished. The ardent desire of everyone in the Forest is to see theIsle of Wight. They are continually mounting hills and gazing intospace, in order to get a glimpse at that chalky little island. It seemsthe main object of everybody's existence. "

"They might as well go and live there at once, if they're so fond ofit, " suggested Lord Mallon. 

"Yes; and then they would be straining their eyes in the endeavour tosee the Great Horse--that's a group of firs on the top of a hill, andone of our Forest seamarks. That frantic desire to behold distantobjects has always seemed to me to be one of the feeblest tendencies ofthe human mind. Now you have seen the Needles, we have accomplished asolemn duty, and I may show you our woods. "

Vixen shook her rein and trotted recklessly down a slippery path, jumped a broad black ditch, and plunged into the recesses of the wood, Bullfinch and Mosstrooper following meekly. 

They went a wonderful round, winding in and out of Bratley Wood, piercing deep into the wintry glories of Mark Ash; through mud and mossand soft pitfalls, where the horses sank up to their hocks in witheredleaves; avoiding bogs by a margin of a yard or so; up and down, underspreading branches, where the cattle line but just cleared the heads ofthe riders; across the blackened bracken; by shining hollies, whosesilvery trunks stood up like obelisks out of a thicket of dwarf bushes:through groves, where the tall beech-trunks had a solemn look like thecolumns of some gigantic temple; then into wondrous plantations ofScotch firs, where the air was balmy as in summer, and no breath of theDecember wind penetrated the dense wall of foliage. Then to higherground, where the wintry air blew keen again, and where there were asoft green lawn, studded with graceful conifers--cypress, deodora, Douglas fir--tall with a growth of thirty years; the elegantimportations of an advanced civilisation. Anon by the gray lichenedwalls of a deserted garden, which had a strangely-romantic look, andwas as suggestive of a dreamy idyllic world as a poem by Tennyson; andso down into the green-and-gray depths of Mark Ash again, but neverreturning over the same ground; and then up the hill to Vinny Ridge andthe Heronry, where Captain Winstanley cracked his whip to scare theherons, and had the satisfaction of scaring his own and the other twohorses, while the herons laughed him to scorn from their cradles in thetree-tops, and would not stir a feather for his gratification. Then bya long plantation to a wild stretch of common, where Vixen told hercompanions that they were safe for a good while, and set them anexample by starting Arion across the short smooth turf at ahand-gallop. They pulled up just in time to escape a small gulf of mossand general sponginess, waded a stream or two, splashed through a gooddeal of spewy ground, and came to Queen's Bower; thence into the oakplantations of New Park; then across Gretnam Wood; and then at a smarttrot along the road towards home. 

"I hope I haven't kept you out too long?" said Vixen politely. 

"We've only been five hours, " answered the Captain with grim civility;"but if Mallow is not tired, I shall not complain. "

"I never enjoyed anything so much in my life, never, " protested LordMallow. 

"Well, to-morrow we can shoot the pheasants. It will be a rest for usafter this. "

"It will be dull work after the enchantments of to-day, " said theIrishman. 

Captain Winstanley rode homewards a few paces in the rear of the othertwo, smiling to himself grimly, and humming a little song of Heine's:

 "Es ist eine alte Geschichte, Doch bleibt sie immer neu. "

CHAPTER XI. 

Rorie objects to Duets. 

Mrs. Winstanley's little dinner went off smoothly and pleasantly, asall such entertainments had done under the new _régime_. The Captainknew how to select his guests, as well as he knew how to compose a_menu_. People felt pleased with themselves and with their neighboursat his table. There was nothing heavy in the dinner or in theconversation; there were no long sittings over old port or particularclaret. The wines were of the first quality; but there was no fuss madeabout them. Colonel Carteret remembered how he and the Squire had satprosing over their port or Château Lafitte, and felt as if he wereliving in a new world--a world in which full-blooded friendship andboisterous hospitality were out of fashion. People whose talk hadhitherto been intensely local--confined, for the most part to pettysessions, commoners' rights, hunting, and the parish church andschools--found themselves discussing the widest range of topics, fromthe prospect of a European war--that European war which has beenimpending more or less distinctly for the last twenty years--to thelatest social scandal in the upper currents of London society. Captainand Mrs. Winstanley's country friends, inspired by one or two cleveryoung men just imported from the London clubs, were surprised todiscover how well they were able to criticise the latest productions inliterature, art, and the drama; the newest results of scientificinvestigation; or the last record of African or Central Asianexploration. It was quite delightful to quiet country people, who wentto London on an average once in three years, to find themselves talkingso easily about the last famous picture, the latest action for libel inartistic circles, or the promised adaptation of Sardou's last comedy ata West End theatre, just as glibly as if they knew all about art, andhad read every play of Sardou's. 

Roderick Vawdrey enjoyed himself wonderfully at this particulardinner-party, so long as the dinner lasted; for Captain Winstanley, byan oversight which made him inwardly savage all dinner-time, had placedMr. Vawdrey and Miss Tempest side by side. There had been someconfusion in his mind as he finished his plan of the table; hisattention having been called away at the last moment, or this thingcould not have happened--for nothing was farther from CaptainWinstanley's intention than that Violet and her old playfellow shouldbe happy in each other's society. And there they sat, smiling andsparkling at each other in the exuberance of youth and high spirits, interchanging little confidential remarks that were doubtless to thedisparagement of some person or persons in the assembly. If darkelectric glances shot from the covert of bent brows could have slainthose two happy triflers, assuredly neither of them would have lived tothe end of that dinner. 

"How do you like him?" asked Rorie, stooping to sniff at the bigMaréchal Niel bud, in the specimen glass by his plate. 

"Whom?"

"The man who has Bullfinch. "

Lord Mallow was in the place of honour next his hostess. InvoluntarilyViolet glanced in that direction, and was startled to find theIrishman's good-humoured gaze meeting hers, just as if he had beenwatching her for the last half-hour. 

"How do I like him? Well, he seems very good-natured. "

"Seems good-natured. You ought to be able to give me a more definiteanswer by this time. You have lived in the same house with him--let mesee, is it three or four days since he came?"

"He has been here nearly a week. "

"A week! Why then you must know him as well as if he were your brother. There is no man living who could keep himself dark for a week. No; Idon't believe the most inscrutable of men, born and bred in diplomaticcircles, could keep the secret of a solitary failing from the eyes ofthose who live under the same roof with him for seven days. It wouldleak out somehow--if not at breakfast, at dinner. Man is acommunicative animal, and so loves talking of himself that if he hascommitted murder he must tell somebody about it sooner or later. And asto that man, " continued Rorie, with a contemptuous glance at thesingle-minded Lord Mallow, "he is a creature whom the merest beginnerin the study of humanity would know by heart in half-an-hour. "

"What do you know about him?" asked Vixen laughing. "You have had morethan half-an-hour for the study of his character. "

"I know ever so much more than I want to know. "

"Answered like a Greek oracle. "

"What, have you taken to reading Greek?"

"No; but I know the oracles were a provoking set of creatures whoanswered every inquiry with an enigma. But I won't have you abuse LordMallow. He has been very kind to Bullfinch, and has promised me that hewill never part with him. The dear old horse is to have a comfortablestable and kindly treatment to his dying day--not to be sent out tograss in his old age, to shiver in a dreary solitude, or to be scorchedby the sun and tormented by the flies. "

"He has promised all that, has he? He would promise a good deal more, Idaresay, " muttered Rorie, stooping over his rosebud. "Do you think himhandsome? Do women admire a fresh complexion and black whiskers, andthat unmistakable air of a hairdresser's wax model endowed withanimation?"

"I see you consider him an idiot, " said Vixen laughing. "But I assureyou he is rather clever. He talks wonderfully about Ireland, and thereforms he is going to bring about for her. "

"Of course. Burke, and Curran, and Castlereagh, and O'Connell, andfifty more have failed to steer that lumbering old vessel off themudbank on which she stranded at some time in the dark ages; in fact, nobody except Oliver Cromwell ever did understand how to make Irelandprosperous and respectable, and he began by depopulating her. And hereis a fresh-coloured young man, with whiskers _à la côtelette demouton_, who thinks he was born to be her pilot, and to navigate herinto a peaceful haven. He is the sort of man who will begin by beingthe idol of a happy tenantry, and end by being shot from behind one ofhis own hedges. "

"I hope not, " said Vixen, "for I am sure he means well. And I shouldlike him to outlive Bullfinch. "

Roderick had been very happy all dinner-time. From the soups to theice-puddings the moments had flown for him. It seemed the briefestdinner he had ever been at; and yet when the ladies rose to depart thesilvery chime of the clock struck the half-hour after nine. But LordMallow's hour came later, in the drawing-room, where he contrived tohover over Violet, and fence her round from all other admirers for therest of the evening. They sang their favourite duets together, to thedelight of everyone except Rorie, who felt curiously savage at "I wouldthat my love, " and icily disapproving at "Greeting;" but vindictive tothe verge of homicidal mania at "Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast!"

"His 'plaidie, ' indeed, " he ejaculated inwardly. "The creature neverpossessed anything so comfortable or civilised. How preposterous it isto hear an Irishman sing Scotch songs. If an Irishman had a plaidie, hewould pawn it for a dhrop o' the cratur. "

Later Violet and Lord Mallow sang a little duet by Masini, "_O, que lamer est belle!_" the daintiest, most bewitching music--such a melody asthe Loreley might have sung when the Rhine flowed peacefully onwardbelow mountain-peaks shining in the evening light, luring foolishfishermen to their doom. Everybody was delighted. It was just the kindof music to please the unlearned in the art. Mrs. Carteret came to thepiano to compliment Violet. 

"I had no idea you could sing so sweetly, " she said. "Why have younever sung to us before?"

"Nobody ever asked me, " Vixen answered frankly. "But indeed I am nosinger. "

"You have one of the freshest, brightest voices I ever had thehappiness of hearing, " Lord Mallow exclaimed enthusiastically. 

He would have liked to go on singing duets for an indefinite period. Hefelt lifted into some strange and delightful region--a sphere of loveand harmony--while he was mingling his voice with Violet's. It made thepopular idea of heaven, as a place where there is nothing butsinging--an eternal, untiring choir--clearer and more possible to himthan it had ever seemed before. Paradise would be quite endurable if heand Violet might stand side by side in the serried ranks of choristers. There was quite a little crowd round the piano, shutting in Violet andLord Hallow, and Roderick Vawdrey was not in it. He felt himselfexcluded, and held himself gloomingly apart, talking hunting talk witha man for whom he did not care twopence. Directly his carriage wasannounced--_sotto voce_ by the considerate Forbes, so as not to woundanybody's feelings by the suggestion that the festivity was on its lastlegs--Mr. Vawdrey went up to Mrs. Winstanley and took leave. He wouldnot wait to say good-night to Violet. He only cast one glance in thedirection of the piano, where the noble breadth of Mrs. Carteret'sbrocaded amber back obscured every remoter object, and then went awaymoodily, denouncing duet-singing as an abomination. 

When Lady Mabel asked him next day what kind of an evening he had hadat the Abbey House, in a tone which implied that any entertainmentthere must be on a distinctly lower level as compared with thehospitalities of Ashbourne, he told her that it had been uncommonlyslow. 

"How was that? You had some stupid person to take into dinner, perhaps?"

"No; I went in with Violet. "

"And you and she are such old friends. You ought to get on very welltogether. "

Rorie reddened furiously. Happily he was standing with his back to thelight in one of the orchid-houses, enjoying the drowsy warmth of theatmosphere, and Mabel was engrossed with the contemplation of a finezygopetalum, which was just making up its mind to bloom. 

"Oh, yes, that was well enough; but the evening was disgustingly slow. There was too much music. "

"Classical?"

"Lord knows. It was mostly French and German. I consider it an insultto people to ask them to your house, and then stick them down in theirchairs, and say h--sh--h! every time they open their months. If peoplewant to give amateur concerts, let them say so when they send out theirinvitations, and then one would know what one has to expect. "

"I am afraid the music must have been very bad to make you so cross, "said Lady Mabel, rather pleased that the evening at the Abbey Houseshould have been a failure. "Who were the performers?"

"Violet, and an Irish friend of Captain Winstanley's--a man with a rosycomplexion and black whiskers--Lord Mallow. "

"Lord Mallow! I think I danced with him once or twice last season. Heis rather distinguished as a politician, I believe, among the youngIreland party. Dreadfully radical. "

"He looks it, " answered Rorie. "He has a loud voice and a loud laugh, and they seem to be making a great deal of him at the Abbey House. "

"'Tommy loves a lord, '" says Lady Mabel brightly. Rorie hadn't thefaintest idea whence the quotation came. "I daresay the Winstanleys arerather glad to have Lord Mallow staying with them. "

"The Squire would have kicked him out of doors, " muttered Roriesavagely. 

"But why? Is he so very objectionable? He waltzes beautifully, if Iremember right; and I thought him rather a well-meaning young man. "

"Oh, there's nothing serious against him that I know of; only I don'tthink Squire Tempest would have liked a singing man any more than hewould have liked a singing mouse. "

"I didn't know Miss Tempest sang, " said Lady Mabel. "I thought shecould do nothing but ride. "

"Oh, she has a very pretty voice, but one may have too much of a goodthing, you know. One doesn't go out to dinner to hear people singduets. "

"I'm afraid they must have given you a very bad dinner, or you wouldhardly be so cross. I know that is the way with papa. If the dinner isbad he abuses everything, and declares the ladies were all ugly. "

"Oh, the dinner was excellent, I believe. I'm not a connoisseur, likemy uncle. People might give me the most wonderful dinner in the world, and I would hardly be the wiser; or they might give me a wretched one, and I should not feel particularly angry with them. "

The next day was Tuesday, and, as the Duchess and her daughter happenedto be driving within a mile or so of the Abbey House, Lady Mabelsuggested that they should call upon Mrs. Winstanley. 

"I am rather anxious to see the wild Irishman they have capturedlately--Lord Mallow. We met him at Lady Dumdrum's, if you remember, mamma. I danced with him twice. "

"My dear Mabel, do you think I can remember all your partners?"

"But Lord Mallow is rather celebrated. He makes very good speeches. Papa read one of them to us the other day when there was a great debategoing on upon the Irish land question. "

The Duchess remembered being read to one evening after dinner, but thedebates, as delivered by the Duke, had generally a somnolent effectupon his wife. She had a faint idea of the beginning, and struggledheroically to discover what the speakers were talking about; then camea soft confusion of sound, like the falling of waters; and the middleand end of the debate was dreamland. Lady Mabel was of a more energetictemper, and was interested in everything that could enlarge her sphereof knowledge, from a parliamentary debate to a Greek play. 

The Duchess had never in her life refused compliance with any wish ofher daughter's, so the horses' heads were turned towards the AbbeyHouse, along a smooth hard road through a pine wood, then through alodge-gate into a forest of rhododendrons. 

"This is really a nicer place than Ashbourne, mamma, " remarked LadyMabel disapprovingly. 

It appeared to her quite a mistake in the arrangement of the universethat Violet Tempest should be heiress to a more picturesque estate thanthat which she, the Duke of Dovedale's only daughter, was to inherit. 

"My dear, Ashbourne is perfect. Everyone says so. The stables, theoffices, the way the house is lighted and heated, the ventilation. "

"Yes, mamma; but those are details which nobody thinks about except anarchitect or a house-agent. Ashbourne is so revoltingly modern. Itsmells of stucco. It will take a century to tone it down. Now this fineold place is like a dream of the past; it is a poem in wood and stone. Ashbourne would be very well for a hunting-box for anyone who had threeor four other places, as my father has; but when my time comes, and Ihave only Ashbourne, I'm afraid I shall hate it. "

"But you will have a choice of places by-and-by, " said the Duchessconsolingly "You will have Briarwood. "

"Briarwood is a degree uglier than Ashbourne, " sighed Lady Mabel, leaning back in the carriage, wrapped to the chin in Russian sable, theimage of discontent. 

There are moments in every life, as in Solomon's, when all seemsvanity. Lady Mabel Ashbourne's life had been cloudless--a continualsummer, an unchangeable Italian sky; and yet there were times when shewas weary of it, when some voice within her murmured, "This is notenough. " She was pretty, she was graceful, accomplished, gifted with aself-confidence that generally passed for wit; all the blood in herveins was the bluest of the blue, everybody bowed down to her, more orless, and paid her homage; the man she liked best in the world, and hadso preferred from her childhood, was to be her husband; nobody had evercontradicted her, or hinted that she was less than perfect; and yetthat mysterious and rebellious voice sometimes repeated, "It is notenough. " She was like the woman in the German fairy tale, who, beginning as the wife of a half-starved fisherman, came, by fairypower, to be king, and then emperor, and then pope: and still was notcontented, but languished for something more, aye, even to have theordering of the sun and moon. 

The rebellious voice expostulated loudly this winter afternoon, as LadyMabel's languid eyes scanned the dark shining rhododendron bushes, rising bank above bank, a veritable jungle, backed by tall beeches andtowerlike Douglas firs. A blackbird was whistling joyously amongst thegreenery, and a robin was singing on the other side of the drive. Thesunlit sky was soft and pearly. It was one of those mild winters inwhich Christmas steals unawares upon the footprints of a lovely autumn. The legendary oak was doubtless in full bud at Cadenham, like itsmiraculous brother, the Glastonbury thorn. 

"I don't think any of my father's places can compare with this, " LadyMabel said irritably. 

She would not have minded the beauty of the grounds so much had theybeen the heritage of any other heiress than Violet Tempest. 

The old hall was full of people and voices when the Duchess and herdaughter were announced. There was a momentary hush at their entrance, as at the advent of someone of importance, and Mrs. Winstanley camesmiling put of the firelight to welcome them, in Theodore's lastinvention, which was a kind of skirt that necessitated a peculiargliding motion in the wearer, and was built upon the lines of amermaid's tail. 

"How good of you!" exclaimed Mrs. Winstanley. 

"We were coming through Lyndhurst, and could not resist the temptationof coming in to see you, " said the Duchess graciously. "How do you do, Miss Tempest? Were you out with the hounds this morning? We met somepeople riding home. "

"I have never hunted since my father's death, " Violet answered gravely;and the Duchess was charmed with the answer and the seriously tenderlook that accompanied it. 

Lord Mallow was standing before the hearth, looking remarkably handsomein full hunting costume. The well-worn scarlet coat and high blackboots became him. He had enjoyed his first day with the Forest hounds, had escaped the bogs, and had avoided making an Absalom of himselfamong the spreading beechen boughs. Bullfinch had behaved superbly overhis old ground. 

Mr. And Mrs. Scobel were among those dusky figures grouped around thewide firelit hearth, where the piled-up logs testified to the Tempestcommon of estovers. Mr. Scobel was talking about the last advancemovement of the Ritualists, and expatiating learnedly upon theOrnaments Rubric of 1559, and its bearing upon the Advertisements of1566, with a great deal more about King Edward's first Prayer-book, andthe Act of Uniformity, to Colonel Carteret, who, from an antiqueconservative standpoint, regarded Ritualists, Spirit-rappers, andShakers in about the same category; while Mrs. Scobel twitteredcheerily about the parish and the schools to the Colonel's bulky wife, who was a liberal patroness of all philanthropic institutions in herneighbourhood. 

Lord Mallow came eagerly forward to recall himself to the memories ofLady Mabel and her mother. 

"I hope your grace has not forgotten me, " he said; and the Duchess, whohad not the faintest recollection of his face or figure, knew that thismust be Lord Mallow. "I had the honour of being introduced to you atLady Dumdrum's delightful ball. "

The Duchess said something gracious, and left Lord Mallow free to talkto Lady Mabel. He reminded her of that never to be, by him, forgottenwaltz, and talked, in his low-pitched Irish voice, as if he had livedupon nothing but the recollection of it ever since. 

It was idiosyncratic of Lord Mallow that he could not talk to any youngwoman without seeming to adore her. At this very moment he thoughtViolet Tempest the one lovable and soul-entrancing woman the world heldfor him; yet at sight of Lady Mabel he behaved as if she and no otherwas his one particular star. 

"It was a nice dance, wasn't it? but there were too many people for therooms, " said Lady Mabel easily; "and I don't think the flowers were soprettily arranged as the year before. Do you?"

"I was not there the year before. "

"No? I must confess to having been at three balls at Lady Dumdrum's. That makes me seem very old, does it not? Some young ladies in Londonmake believe to be always in their first season. They put on ahoydenish freshness, and pretend to be delighted with everything, as ifthey were just out of the nursery. "

"That's a very good idea up to thirty, " said Lord Mallow. "I shouldthink it would hardly answer after. "

"Oh, after thirty they begin to be fond of horses and take to betting. I believe young ladies after thirty are the most desperate--what isthat dreadful slang word?--plungers in society. How do you like ourhunting?"

"I like riding about the Forest amazingly; but I should hardly call ithunting, after Leicestershire. Of course that depends in a measure uponwhat you mean by hunting. If you only mean hounds pottering about aftera fox, this might pass muster; but if your idea of hunting includeshard riding and five-barred gates, I should call the kind of thing youdo here by another name. "

"Was my cousin, Mr. Vawdrey, out to-day?"

"The M. F. H. ? In the first flight. May I get you some tea?"

"If you please. Mrs. Winstanley's tea is always so good. "

Mrs. Winstanley was supremely happy in officiating at her gipsy table, where the silver tea-kettle of Queen Anne's time was going through itsusual sputtering performances. To sit in a fashionable gown--howeverdifficult the gown might be to sit in--and dispense tea to a localduchess, was Mrs. Winstanley's loftiest idea of earthly happiness. Ofcourse there might be a superior kind of happiness beyond earth; but toappreciate that the weak human soul would have to go through atroublesome ordeal in the way of preparation, as the gray cloth atHoyle's printing-works is dashed about in gigantic vats, and whirledround upon mighty wheels, before it is ready for the reception ofparticular patterns and dyes. 

Lady Mabel and Lord Mallow had a longish chat in the deep-set windowwhere Vixen watched for Rorie on his twenty-first birthday. Theconversation came round to Irish politics somehow, and Lord Mallow wasenraptured at discovering that Lady Mabel had read his speeches, or hadheard them read. He had met many young ladies who professed to beinterested in his Irish politics; but never before had he encounteredone who seemed to know what she was talking about. Lord Mallow wasenchanted. He had found his host's lively step-daughter stonilyindifferent to the Hibernian cause. She had said "Poor things" once ortwice, when he dilated on the wrongs of an oppressed people; but herideas upon all Hibernian subjects were narrow. She seemed to imagineIreland a vast expanse of bog chiefly inhabited by pigs. 

"There are mountains, are there not?" she remarked once; "and touristsgo there? But people don't live there, do they?'

"My dear Miss Tempest, there are charming country seats; if you were tosee the outskirts of Waterford, or the hills above Cork, you would findalmost as many fine mansions as in England. "

"Really?" exclaimed Vixen, with most bewitching incredulity; "butpeople don't live in them? Now I'm sure you cannot tell me honestlythat anyone lives in Ireland. You, for instance, you talk mostenthusiastically about your beautiful country, but you don't live init. "

"I go there every year for the fishing. "

"Yes; but gentlemen will go to the most uncomfortable places forfishing--Norway, for example. You go to Ireland just as you go toNorway. "

"I admit that the fishing in Connemara is rather remote fromcivilisation----"

"Of course. It is at the other end of everything. And then you go intothe House of Commons, and rave about Ireland, just as if you loved heras I love the Forest, where I hope to live and die. I think all thiswild enthusiasm about Ireland is the silliest thing in the world whenit comes from the lips of landowners who won't pay their belovedcountry the compliment of six months' residence out of the twelve. "

After this Lord Mallow gave up all hope of sympathy from Miss Tempest. What could be expected from a young lady who could not understandpatriotism in the abstract, but wanted to pin a man down for life tothe spot of ground for which his soul burned with the ardour of anorator and a poet? Imagine Tom Moore compelled to live in a humble cotin the Vale of Avoca! He infinitely preferred his humdrum cottage inWiltshire. Indeed, I believe it has been proved against him that he hadnever seen the Meeting of the Waters, and wrote about that famous scenefrom hearsay. Ireland has never had a poet as Irish as Burns and Scottwere Scottish. Her whole-hearted, single-minded national bard has yetto be born. 

It was a relief, therefore, to Lord Mallow's active mind to findhimself in conversation with a young lady who really cared for hissubject and understood him. He could have talked to Lady Mabel forever. The limits of five-o'clock tea were far too narrow. He wasdelighted when the Duchess paused as she was going away, and said:

"I hope you will come and see us at Ashbourne, Lord Mallow; the Dukewill be very pleased to know you. "

Lord Mallow murmured something expressive of a mild ecstasy, and theDuchess swept onward, like an Australian clipper with all sails set, Lady Mabel gliding like a neat little pinnace in her wake. 

Lord Mallow was glad when the next day's post brought him a card ofinvitation to the ducal dinner on December the 31st. He fancied that hewas indebted to Lady Mabel for this civility. 

"You are going, of course, " he said to Violet, twisting the cardbetween his fingers meditatively. 

"I believe I am asked. "

"She is, " answered Mrs. Winstanley, from her seat behind the urn; "andI consider, under the circumstances, it is extremely kind of theDuchess to invite her. "

"Why?" asked Lord Mallow, intensely mystified. 

"Why, the truth is, my dear Lord Mallow, that Violet is in an anomalousposition. She has been to Lady Southminster's ball, and a great manyparties about here. She is out and yet not out, if you understand. "

Lord Mallow looked as if he was very far from understanding. 

"She has never been presented, " explained Mrs. Winstanley. "It is toodreadful to think of. People would call me the most neglectful ofmothers. But the season before last seemed too soon alter dear Edward'sdeath, and last season, well"--blushing and hesitating a little--"mymind was so much occupied, and Violet herself was so indifferent aboutit, that somehow or other the time slipped by and the thing was notdone. I feel myself awfully to blame--almost as much so as if I hadneglected her confirmation. But early next season--at the very firstdrawing-room, if possible--she must be presented, and then I shall feela great deal more comfortable in my mind. "

"I don't think it matters one little bit, " said Lord Mallow, withappalling recklessness. 

"It would matter immensely if we were travelling. Violet could not bepresented at any foreign court, or invited to any court ball. She wouldbe an outcast. I shall have to be presented myself, on my marriage withCaptain Winstanley. We shall go to London early in the spring. Conradwill take a small house in Mayfair. "

"If I can get one, " said the captain doubtfully. "Small houses inMayfair are as hard to get nowadays as black pearls--and as dear. "

"I am charmed to think you will be in town, " exclaimed Lord Mallow;"and, perhaps, some night when there is an Irish question on, you andMiss Tempest might be induced to come to the Ladies' Gallery. Someladies rather enjoy a spirited debate. "

"I should like it amazingly, " cried Violet. "You are awfully rude toone another, are you not? And you imitate cocks and hens; and do allmanner of dreadful things. It must be capital fun. "

This was not at all the kind of appreciation Lord Mallow desired. 

"Oh, yes; we are excruciatingly funny sometimes, I daresay, withoutknowing it, " he said, with a mortified air. 

He was getting on the friendliest terms with Violet. He was almost asmuch at home with her as Rorie was, except that she never called him byhis christian-name, nor flashed at him those lovely mirth-provokingglances which he surprised sometimes on their way to Mr. Vawdrey. Thosetwo had a hundred small jokes and secrets that dated back to Vixen'schildhood. How could a new-comer hope to be on such delightful termswith her? Lord Mallow felt this, and hated Roderick Vawdrey asintensely as it was possible for a nature radically good and generousto hate even a favoured rival. That Roderick was his rival, and wasfavoured, were two ideas of which Lord Mallow could not dispossesshimself, notwithstanding the established fact of Mr. Vawdrey'sengagement to his cousin. 

"A good many men begin life by being engaged to their cousins, "reflected Lord Mallow. "A man's relations take it into their heads tokeep an estate in the family, and he is forthwith set at his cousinlike an unwilling terrier at a rat. I don't at all feel as if thisyoung man were permanently disposed of, in spite of all their talk; andI'm very sure Miss Tempest likes him better than I should approve ofwere I the cousin. "

While he loitered over his second cup of coffee, with the ducal card ofinvitation in his hand, it seemed to him a good opportunity for talkingabout Lady Mabel. 

"A very elegant girl, Lady Mabel, " he said; "and remarkably clever. Inever talked to a young woman, or an old one either, who knew so muchabout Ireland. She's engaged to that gawky cousin, isn't she?"

Vixen shot an indignant look at him, and pouted her rosy underlip. 

"You mean young Vawdrey. Yes; it is quite an old engagement. They wereaffianced to each other in their cradles, I believe, " answered CaptainWinstanley. 

"Just what I should have imagined, " said Lord Mallow. 

"Why?"

"Because they seem to care so little for each other now. "

"Oh but, dear Lord Mallow, remember Lady Mabel Ashbourne is toowell-bred to go about the world advertising her affection for herfuture husband, " remonstrated Mrs. Winstanley. "I'm sure, if you hadseen us before our marriage, you would never have guessed from ourmanner to each other that Conrad and I were engaged. You would not havea lady behave like a housemaid with her 'young man. ' I believe in thatclass of life they always sit with their arms round each other's waistsat evening parties. "

"I would have a lady show that she has a heart, and is not ashamed toacknowledge its master, " said Lord Mallow, with his eyes on Vixen, whosat stolidly silent, pale with anger. "However, we will put down LadyMabel's seeming coldness to good-breeding. But as to Mr. Vawdrey, all Ican say about him is, that he may be in love with his cousin's estate, but he is certainly not in love with his cousin. "

This was more than Vixen could brook. 

"Mr. Vawdrey is a gentleman, with a fine estate of his own!" she cried. "How dare you impute such meanness to him?"

"It may be mean, but it is the commonest thing in life. "

"Yes, among adventurers who have no other road to fortune than bymarrying for money; but do you suppose it can matter to Roderickwhether he has a thousand acres less or more, or two houses instead ofone? He is going to marry Lady Mabel because it was the dearest wish ofhis mother's heart, and because she is perfect, and proper, andaccomplished, and wonderfully clever--you said as much yourself--andexactly the kind of wife that a young man would be proud of. There arereasons enough, I should hope, " concluded Vixen indignantly. 

She had spoken breathlessly, in gasps of a few words at a time, and hereyes flashed their angriest light upon the astounded Irishman. 

"Not half a reason if he does not love her, " he answered boldly. "But Ibelieve young Englishmen of the present day marry for reason and notfor love. Cupid has been cashiered in favour of Minerva. Foolishmarriages are out of fashion. Nobody ever thinks of love in a cottage. First, there are no more cottages; and secondly, there is no more love. "

Christmas was close at hand: a trying time for Vixen, who rememberedthe jolly old Christmas of days gone by, when the poor from all thesurrounding villages came to receive the Squire's lavish bounty, andnot even the tramp or the cadger was sent empty-handed away. Under thenew master all was done by line and rule. The distribution of coals andblankets took place down in Beechdale under Mr. And Mrs. Scobel'smanagement. Vixen went about from cottage to cottage, in the wintrydusk, giving her small offerings out of her scanty allowance ofpocket-money, which Captain Winstanley had put at the lowest figure hedecently could. 

"What can Violet want with pocket-money?" he asked, when he discussedthe subject with his wife. "Your dressmaker supplies all her gowns, andbonnets, and hats. You give her gloves--everything. Nobody calls uponher for anything. "

"Her papa always gave her a good deal of money, " pleaded Mrs. Winstanley. "I think she gave it almost all away to the poor. "

"Naturally. She went about pauperising honest people because she hadmore money than she knew what to do with. Let her have ten pounds aquarter to buy gloves and eau-de-cologne, writing-paper, andpostage-stamps, and trifles of that kind. She can't do much harm withthat, and it is quite as much as you can afford, since we have bothmade up our minds to live within our incomes. "

Mrs. Winstanley sighed and assented, as she was wont to do. It seemedhard that there should be this need of economy, but it was in a mannerViolet's fault that they were all thus restricted, since she was totake so much, and to reduce her mother almost to penury by-and-by. 

"I don't know what would become of me without Conrad's care, " thoughtthe dutiful wife. 

Going among her poor this Christmas, with almost empty hands, VioletTempest discovered what it was to be really loved. Honest eyesbrightened none the less at her coming, the little children flocked asfondly to her knee. The changes at the Abbey House were very wellunderstood. They were all put down to Captain Winstanley's account; andmany a simple heart burned with indignation at the idea that theSquire's golden-haired daughter was being "put upon. "

One bright afternoon in the Christmas holidays Vixen consented, halfreluctantly, to let Lord Mallow accompany her in her visits among thefamiliar faces. That was a rare day for the Squire's old pensioners. The Irishman's pockets were full of half-crowns and florins andsixpences for the rosy-faced, bare-footed, dirty, happy children. 

"It puts me in mind of the old country, " he said, when he had madeacquaintance with the interior of half-a-dozen cottages. "The peopleseem just as kind and friendly, and improvident, and idle, andhappy-go-lucky as my friends at home. That old Sassenach Forester, now, that we saw sitting in the winter sun, drinking his noon-day pint, on abench outside a rustic beer-shop, looking the very image of rusticenjoyment--what Irishman could take life more lightly or seem betterpleased with himself? a freeborn child of the sun and wind, ready toearn his living anyhow, except by the work of his hands. Yes, MissTempest, I feel a national affinity to your children of the Forest. Iwish I were Mr. Vawdrey, and bound to spend my life here. "

"Why, what would life be to you if you had not Ould Ireland to fightfor?" cried Vixen, smiling at him. 

"Life would be simply perfect for me if I had----"

"What?" asked Vixen, as he came to a sudden stop. 

"The dearest wish of my heart. But I dare not tell you what that is yetawhile. "

Vixen felt very sorry she had asked the question. She looked wildlyround for another cottage. They had just done the last habitation in astraggling village in the heart of the woods. There was nothing humanin sight by which the conversation might be diverted from theuncomfortable turn it had just taken. Yes; yonder under the beechenboughs Vixen descried a small child with red legs, like a Jerseypartridge, dragging a smaller child by the arm, ankle-deep in thesodden leaves. To see them, and to dart across the wet grass towardsthem were almost simultaneous. 

"Tommy, " cried Vixen, seizing the red-legged child, "why do you nevercome to the Abbey House?"

"Because Mrs. Trimmer says there's nothing for me, " lisped the infant. "The new master sells the milk up in Lunnun. "

"Laudable economy, " exclaimed Vixen to Lord Mallow, who had followedher into the damp woodland and heard the boy's answer. "The poor oldAbbey House can hardly know itself under such admirable management. "

"There is as big a house where you might do what you liked; yes, andgive away the cows as well as the milk, if you pleased, and none shouldsay you nay, " said Lord Mallow in a low voice, full of unaffectedtenderness. 

"Oh, please don't!" cried Vixen; "don't speak too kindly. I feelsometimes as if one little kind word too much would make me cry like achild. It's the last straw, you know, that crushes the camel; and Ihate myself for being so weak and foolish. "

After this Vixen walked home as if she had been winning a match, andLord Mallow, for his life, dared not say another tender word. 

This was their last _tête-à-tête_ for some time. Christmas came withits festivities, all of a placid and eminently well-bred character, andthen came the last day of the year and the dinner at Ashbourne. 

CHAPTER XII. 

"Fading in Music. "

"Mrs. Winstanley, on her marriage, by the Duchess of Dovedale. "

That was the sentence that went on repeating itself like a cabalisticformula in Pamela Winstanley's mind, as her carriage drove through thedark silent woods to Ashbourne on the last night of the year. 

A small idea had taken possession of her small mind. The Duchess wasthe fittest person to present her to her gracious mistress, or hergracious mistress's representative, at the first drawing-room of thecoming season. Mrs. Winstanley had old friends, friends who had knownher in her girlhood, who would have been happy to undertake the office. Captain Winstanley had an ancient female relative, living in a fossilstate at Hampton Court, and vaguely spoken of as "a connection, " whowould willingly emerge from her aristocratic hermitage to present herkinsman's bride to her sovereign, and whom the Captain deemed theproper sponsor for his wife on that solemn occasion. But what socialvalue had a fossilised Lady Susan Winstanley, of whom an outside worldknew nothing, when weighed in the balance with the Duchess of Dovedale?No; Mrs. Winstanley felt that to be presented by the Duchess was theone thing needful to her happiness. 

It was a dinner of thirty people; quite a state dinner. The finest andnewest orchids had been brought out of their houses, and thedinner-table looked like a tropical forest in little. Vixen went in todinner with Lord Ellangowan, which was an unappreciated honour, as thatnobleman had very little to say for himself, except under extremepressure, and in his normal state could only smile and lookgood-natured. Roderick Vawdrey was ever so far away, between hisbetrothed and an enormous dowager in sky-blue velvet and diamonds. 

After dinner there was music. Lady Mabel played a dreary minor melody, chiefly remarkable for its delicate modulation from sharps to flats andback again. A large gentleman sang an Italian buffo song, at which thecompany smiled tepidly; a small young lady sighed and languishedthrough "Non e ver;" and then Miss Tempest and Lord Mallow sang a duet. 

This was the success of the evening. They were asked to sing again andagain. They were allowed to monopolise the piano; and before theevening was over everyone had decided that Lord Mallow and Miss Tempestwere engaged. Only the voices of plighted lovers could be expected toharmonise as well as that. 

"They must have sung very often together, " said the Duchess to Mrs. Winstanley. 

"Only within the last fortnight. Lord Mallow never stayed with usbefore, you know. He is my husband's friend. They werebrother-officers, and have known each other a long time. Lord Mallowinsists upon Violet singing every evening. He is passionately fond ofmusic. "

"Very pleasant, " murmured the Duchess approvingly: and then she glidedon to shed the sunshine of her presence upon another group of guests. 

Carriages began to be announced at eleven--that is to say, abouthalf-an-hour after the gentlemen had left the dining-room--but the Dukeinsisted that people should stop till twelve. 

"We must see the old year out, " he said. "It is a lovely night. We cango out on the terrace and hear the Ringwood bells. "

This is how Violet and Lord Mallow happened to sing so many duets. There was plenty of time for music during the hour before midnight. After the singing, a rash young gentleman, pining to distinguishhimself somehow--a young man with a pimply complexion, who had saidwith Don Carlos, "Three-and-twenty years of age, and nothing done forimmortality"--recited Tennyson's "Farewell to the Old Year, " in a voicewhich was like anything but a trumpet, and with gesticulation painfullysuggestive of Saint Vitus. 

The long suite of rooms terminated in the orangery, a substantial stonebuilding with tesselated pavement, and wide windows opening on theterrace. The night was wondrously mild. The full moon shed her tenderlight upon the dark Forest, the shining water-pools, the distantblackness of a group of ancient yew-trees on the crest of a hill. Ashbourne stood high, and the view from the terrace was at all timesmagnificent, but perhaps finest of all in the moonlight. 

The younger guests wandered softly in and out of the rooms, and lookedat the golden oranges glimmering against their dark leaves, and putthemselves into positions that suggested the possibility of flirtation. Young ladies whose study of German literature had never gone beyondOllendorff gazed pensively at the oranges, and murmured the song ofMignon. Couples of maturer growth whispered the details of unsavouryscandals behind perfumed fans. 

Vixen and Rorie were among these roving couples. Violet had left thepiano, and Roderick was off duty. Lady Mabel and Lord Mallow were deepin the wrongs of Ireland. Captain Winstanley was talking agriculturewith the Duke, whose mind was sorely exercised about guano. 

"My dear sir, in a few years we shall have used up all the guano, andthen what can become of us?" demanded the Duke. "Talk about ourexhausting our coal! What is that compared with the exhaustion ofguano? We may learn to exist without fires. Our winters are becomingmilder; our young men are going in for athletics; they can keepthemselves warm upon bicycles. And then we have the giganticcoal-fields of America, the vast basin of the Mississippi to fall backupon, with ever-increasing facilities in the mode of transport. Butcivilisation must come to a deadlock when we have no more guano. Ourgrass, our turnips, our mangel, must deteriorate, We shall have no moreprize cattle. It is too awful to contemplate. "

"But do you really consider such a calamity at all probable, Duke?"asked the Captain. 

"Probable, sir? It is inevitable. In 1868 the Chincha Islands wereestimated to contain about six million tons of guano. The rate ofexportation had at that time risen to four hundred thousand tons perannum. At this rate the three islands will be completely exhausted bythe year 1888, and England will have to exist without guano. The gloryof the English people, as breeders of prize oxen, will have departed. "

"Chemistry will have discovered new fertilisers by that time, "suggested the Captain, in a comforting tone. 

"Sir, " replied the Duke severely, "the discoveries of modern sciencetend to the chimerical rather than the practical. Your modernscientists can liquefy oxygen, they can light a city with electricity, but they cannot give me anything to increase the size and succulence ofmy turnips. Virgil knew as much about agriculture as your modernchemist. "

While the Duke was holding forth about guano, Vixen and Rorie were onthe terrace, in the stillness and moonlight. There was hardly a breathof wind. It might have been a summer evening. Vixen was shrouded fromhead to foot in a white cloak which Rorie had fetched from the roomwhere the ladies had left their wraps. She looked all white and solemnin the moonlight, like a sheeted ghost. 

Although Mr. Vawdrey had been civil enough to go in quest of Violet'scloak, and had seemed especially desirous of bringing her to theterrace, he was by no means delightful now he had got her there. Theytook a turn or two in silence, broken only by a brief remark about thebeauty of the night, and the extent of the prospect. 

"I think it is the finest view in the Forest, " said Vixen, dwelling onthe subject for lack of anything else to say. "You must be very fond ofAshbourne. "

"I don't exactly recognise the necessity. The view is superb, no doubt;but the house is frightfully commonplace. It is a little better thanBriarwood. That is about all which an enthusiastic admirer couldadvance in its favour. How much longer does Lord Mallow mean to take uphis abode with you?"

Vixen shrugged her cloaked shoulders with an action that seemed toexpress contemptuous carelessness. 

"I haven't the least idea. That is no business of mine, you know. "

"I don't know anything of the kind, " retorted Rorie captiously. "Ishould have thought it was very much your business. "

"Should you, really?" said Vixen mockingly. 

If the gentleman's temper was execrable, the lady's mood was not tooamiable. 

"Yes. Are not you the load-star? It is your presence that makes theAbbey House pleasant to him. Who can wonder that he protracts his stay?"

"He has been with us a little more than a fortnight. "

"He has been with you an age. Mortals who are taken up to Paradiseseldom stay so long. Sweet dreams are not so long. A fortnight in thesame house with you, meeting with you at breakfast, parting with you atmidnight, seeing you at noontide and afternoon, walking with you, riding with you, singing with you, kneeling down to family prayer atyour side, mixing his 'Amen' with yours; why he might as well be yourhusband at once. He has as much delight in your society. "

"You forget the hours in which he is shooting pheasants and playingbilliards. "

"Glimpses of purgatory, which make his heaven all the more divine, "said Rorie. "Well, it is none of my business, as you said just now. There are people born to be happy, I suppose; creatures that come intothe world under a lucky star. "

"Undoubtedly, and among them notably Mr. Vawdrey, who has everythingthat the heart of a reasonable man can desire. "

"So had Solomon, and yet he made his moan. "

"Oh, there is always a crumpled rose-leaf in everybody's bed. And ifthe rose-leaves were all smooth, a man would crumple one on purpose, inorder to have something to grumble about. Hark, Rorie!" cried Vixen, with a sudden change of tone, as the first silvery chime of Ringwoodbells came floating over the woodland distance--the low moon-lit hills;"don't be cross. The old year is dying. Remember the dear days that aregone, when you and I used to think a new year a thing to be glad about. And now, what can the new years bring us half so good as that which theold ones have taken away?"

She had slipped her little gloved hand through his arm, and drawn verynear to him, moved by tender thoughts of the past. He looked clown ather with eyes from which all anger had vanished. There was only love inthem--deep love; love such as a very affectionate brother mightperchance give his only sister--but it must be owned that brotherscapable of such love are rare. 

"No, child, " he murmured sadly. "Years to come can bring us nothing sogood or so dear as the past. Every new year will drift us farther. "

They were standing at the end of the terrace farthest from the orangerywindows, out of which the Duchess and her visitors came trooping tohear the Ringwood chimes. Rorie and Vixen kept quite apart from therest. They stood silent, arm-in-arm, looking across the landscapetowards the winding Avon and the quiet market-town, hidden from them byintervening hill. Yonder, nestling among those grassy hills, liesMoyles Court, the good old English manor-house where noble Alice Lislesheltered the fugitives from Sedgemoor; paying for that one act ofwomanly hospitality with her life. Farther away, on the banks of theAvon, is the quiet churchyard where that gentle martyr of Jeffreys'slust for blood takes her long rest. The creeping spicenwort thrivesamidst the gray stones of her tomb. To Vixen these things were sofamiliar, that it was as if she could see them with her bodily eyes, asshe looked across the distance, with its mysterious shadows, itspatches of silver light. 

The bells chimed on with their tender cadence, half joyous, halfsorrowful. The shallower spirits among the guests chattered about thebeauty of the night, and the sweetness of the bells. Deeper souls weresilent, full of saddest thoughts. Who is there who has not lostsomething in the years gone by, which earth's longest future cannotrestore? Only eternity can give back the ravished treasures of the deadyears. 

Violet's lips trembled and were dumb. Roderick saw the tears rollingdown her pale cheeks, and offered no word of consolation. He knew thatshe was thinking of her father. 

"Dear old Squire, " he murmured gently, after an interval of silence. "How good he was to me, and how fondly I loved him. "

That speech was the sweetest comfort he could have offered. Vixen gavehis arm a grateful hug. 

"Thank God there is someone who remembers him, besides his dogs andme!" she exclaimed; and then she hastily dried her tears, and madeherself ready to meet Lord Mallow and Lady Mabel Ashbourne, who werecoming along the terrace towards them, talking gaily. Lord Mallow had amuch wider range of subjects than Mr. Vawdrey. He had read more, andcould keep pace with Lady Mabel in her highest flights; science, literature, politics, were all as one to him. He had crammed hisvigorous young mind with everything which it behoved a man panting forparliamentary distinction to know. 

"Where have you two people been hiding yourselves for the last halfhour?" asked Lady Mabel. "You were wanted badly just now for 'Blow, Gentle Gales. ' I know you can manage the bass, Rorie, when you like. "

"'Lo, behold a pennant waving!'" sang Rorie in deep full tones. "Yes, Ican manage that much, at a push. You seem music mad to-night, Mabel. The old year is making a swan-like end--fading in music. "

Rorie and Vixen were still standing arm-in-arm; rather too much as ifthey belonged to each other, Lady Mabel thought. The attitude washardly in good taste, according to Lady Mabel's law of taste, which wasa code as strict as Draco's. 

The bells rang on. 

"The new year has come!" cried the Duke. "Let us all shake hands in thefriendly German fashion. "

On this there was a general shaking of hands, which appeared to last along time. It seemed rather as if the young people of opposite sexesshook hands with each other more than once. Lord Mallow would hardlylet Violet's hand go, once having got it in his hearty grasp. 

"Hail to the first new year we greet together, " he said softly. "May itnot be the last. I feel that it must not, cannot be the last. "

"You are wiser than I, then, " Vixen answered coldly; "for my feelingstell me nothing about the future--except"--and here her face beamed athim with a lovely smile--"except that you will be kind to Bullfinch. "

"If I were an emperor I would make him a consul, " answered the Irishman. 

He had contrived to separate Roderick and Vixen. The young man hadreturned to his allegiance, and was escorting Lady Mabel back to thehouse. Everybody began to feel chilly, now that the bells were silent, and there was a general hurrying off to the carriages, which werestanding in an oval ring round a group of deodoras in front of theporch on the other side of the house. 

Rorie and Vixen met no more that night. Lord Mallow took her to hercarriage, and sat opposite her and talked to her during the homewardsdrive. Captain Winstanley was smoking a cigar on the box. His wifeslumbered peacefully. 

"I think I may be satisfied with Theodore, " she said, as she composedherself for sleep; "my dress was not quite the worst in the room, wasit, Violet?"

"It was lovely, mamma. You can make yourself quite happy, " answeredVixen truthfully; whereupon the matron breathed a gentle sigh ofcontent, and lapsed into slumber. 

They had the Boldrewood Road before them, a long hilly road cleavingthe very heart of the Forest; a road full of ghosts at the best oftimes, but offering a Walpurgis revel of phantoms on such a night asthis to the eye of the belated wanderer. How ghostly the deer were, asthey skimmed across the road and flitted away into dim distances, mixing with and melting into the shadows of the trees. The little grayrabbits, sitting up on end, were like circles of hobgoblins thatdispersed and vanished at the approach of mortals. The leafless oldhawthorns, rugged and crooked, silvered by the moonlight, were mostghostlike of all. They took every form, from the most unearthly to themost grotesquely human. 

Violet sat wrapped in her furred white mantle, watching the road asintently as if she had never seen it before. She never could grow tiredof these things. She loved them with a love which was part of hernature. 

"What a delightful evening, was it not?" asked Lord Mallow. 

"I suppose it was very nice, " answered Violet coolly; "but I have nostandard of comparison. It was my first dinner at Ashbourne. "

"What a remarkably clever girl Lady Mabel is. Mr. Vawdrey ought toconsider himself extremely fortunate. "

"I have never heard him say that he does not so consider himself. "

"Naturally. But I think he might be a little more enthusiastic. He isthe coolest lover I ever saw. "

"Perhaps you judge him by comparison with Irish lovers. Your nation ismore demonstrative than ours. "

"Oh, an Irish girl would cashier such a fellow as Mr. Vawdrey. But Imay possibly misjudge him. You ought to know more about him than I. Youhave known him----"

"All my life, " said Violet simply. "I know that he is good, and stanchand true, that he honoured his mother, and that he will make Lady MabelAshbourne a very good husband. Perhaps if she were a little less cleverand a little more human, he might be happier with her; but no doubtthat will all come right in time. "

"Any way it will be all the same in a century or so, " assented LordMallow. "We are going to have lovely weather as long as this moonlasts, I believe. Will you go for a long ride to-morrow--like thatfirst ride of ours?"

"When I took you all over the world for sport?" said Vixen laughing. "Iwonder you are inclined to trust me, after that. If Captain Winstanleylikes I don't mind being your guide again to-morrow. "

"Captain Winstanley shall like. I'll answer for that. I would make hislife unendurable if he were to refuse. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

Crying for the moon. 

Despite the glorious moonlight night which ushered in the new-bornyear, the first day of that year was abominable; a day of hopeless, incessant rain, falling from a leaden sky in which there was never abreak, not a stray gleam of sunshine from morn till eve. 

"The new year is like Shakespeare's Richard, " said Lord Mallow, when hestood in the porch after breakfast, surveying the horizon. "'Tetchy andwayward was his infancy. ' I never experienced anything so provoking. Iwas dreaming all night of our ride. "

"Were you not afraid of being like that dreadful man in 'LocksleyHall'?--

 Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, "

asked Vixen mockingly. 

She was standing on the threshold, playing with Argus, looking thepicture of healthful beauty, in her dark green cloth dress and plainlinen collar. All Vixen's morning costumes were of the simplest andneatest; a compact style of dress which interfered with none of herrural amusements. She could romp with her dog, make her round of thestables, work in the garden, ramble in the Forest, without fear ofdilapidated flounces or dishevelled laces and ribbons. 

"Violet's morning-dresses are so dreadfully strong-minded, " complainedMrs. Winstanley. "To look at her, one would almost think that she wasthe kind of girl to go round the country lecturing upon woman's rights. "

"No ride this morning, " said Captain Winstanley, coming into the hall, with a bundle of letters in his hand. "I shall go to my den, and do amorning's letter-writing and accountancy--unless you want me for a shyat the pheasants, Mallow?"

"Let the pheasants be at rest for the first day of the year, " answeredLord Mallow. "I am sure you would rather be fetching up your arrears ofcorrespondence than shooting at dejected birds in a damp plantation;and I am luxurious enough to prefer staying indoors, if the ladies willhave me. I can help Miss Tempest to wind her wools. "

"Thanks, but I never do any wool-work. Mamma is the artist in thatline. "

"Then I place myself unreservedly at Mrs. Winstanley's feet. "

"You are too good, " sighed the fair matron, from her arm-chair by thehearth; "but I shall not touch my crewels to-day. I have one of mynervous headaches. It is a penalty I too often have to pay for thepleasures of society. I'm afraid I shall have to lie down for an houror two. "

And with a languid sigh Mrs. Winstanley wrapped her China crape shawlround her, and went slowly upstairs, leaving Violet and Lord Mallow insole possession of the great oak-panelled hall; the lady looking at therain from her favourite perch in the deep window-seat, the gentlemancontemplating the same prospect from the open door. It was one of thosemild winter mornings when a huge wood fire is a cheerful feature in thescene, but hardly essential to comfort. 

Vixen thought of that long rainy day, years ago, the day on whichRoderick Vawdrey came of age. How well she remembered sitting in thatvery window, watching the ceaseless rain, with a chilly sense of havingbeen forgotten and neglected by her old companion. And then, in thegloaming, just when she had lost all hope of seeing him, he had comeleaping in out of the wet night, like a lion from his lair, and hadtaken her in his arms and kissed her before she knew what he was doing. 

Her cheeks crimsoned even to-day at the memory of that kiss. It hadseemed a small thing then. Now it seemed awful--a burning spot of shameupon the whiteness of her youth. 

"He must have thought I was very fond of him, or he would not havedared to treat me so, " she told herself. "But then we had beenplayfellows so long. I had teased him, and he had plagued me; and wehad been really like brother and sister. Poor Rorie! If we could havealways been young we should have been better friends. "

"How thoughtful you seem this morning, Miss Tempest, " said a voicebehind Vixen's shoulder. 

"Do I?" she asked, turning quickly round. "New Year's Day is a time tomake one thoughtful. It is like beginning a new chapter in the volumeof life, and one cannot help speculating as to what the chapter is tobe about. "

"For you it ought to be a story full of happiness. "

"Ah, but you don't know my history. I had such a happy childhood. Idrained my cup of bliss before I was a woman, and there is nothing leftfor me but the dregs, and they--they are dust and ashes. "

There was an intensity of bitterness in her tone that moved him beyondhis power of self-control. That she--so fair, so lovely, so deeply dearto him already; she for whom life should be one summer-day of uncloudedgladness--that she should give expression to a rooted sorrow was morethan his patience could bear. 

"Violet, you must not speak thus; you wound me to the heart. Oh, mylove, my love, you were born to be the giver of gladness, the centre ofjoy and delight. Grief should never touch you; sorrow and pain shouldnever come near you. You are a creature of happiness and light. "

"Don't!" cried Vixen vehemently. "Oh, pray don't. It is allvain--useless. My life is marked out for me. No one can alter it. Praydo not lower yourself by one word more. You will be sorry--angry withyourself and me--afterwards. "

"Violet, I must speak. "

"To what end? My fate is as fixed as the stars. No one can change it. "

"No mortal perhaps, Violet. But Love can. Love is a god. Oh, mydarling, I have learnt to love you dearly and fondly in this littlewhile, and I mean to win you. It shall go hard with me if I do notsucceed. Dear love, if truth and constancy can conquer fate, I ought tobe able to win you. There is no one else, is there, Violet?" he askedfalteringly, with his eyes upon her downcast face. 

A burning spot glowed and faded on her cheek before she answered him. 

"Can you not see how empty my life is?" she asked with a bitter laugh. "No; there is no one else. I stand quite alone. Death took my fatherfrom me; your friend has robbed me of my mother. My old playfellow, Roderick Vawdrey, belongs to his cousin. I belong to nobody. "

"Let me have you then, Violet. Ah, if you knew how I would cherish you!You should be loved so well that you would fancy yourself the centre ofthe universe, and that all the planets revolved in the skies only toplease you. Love, let me have you--priceless treasure that others knownot how to value. Let me keep and guard you. "

"I would not wrong you so much as to marry you without loving you, andI shall never love any more, " said Vixen, with a sad steadfastness thatwas more dispiriting than the most vehement protestation. 

"Why not?"

"Because I spent all my store of love while I was a child. I loved myfather--ah, I cannot tell you how fondly. I do not think there are manyfathers who are loved as he was. I poured out all my treasures ofaffection at his feet. I have no love left for a husband. "

"What, Violet, not if your old friend Roderick Vawdrey were pleading?"asked Lord Mallow. 

It was an unlucky speech. If Lord Mallow had had a chance which he hadnot, that speech would have spoiled it. Violet started to her feet, hercheeks crimson, her eyes flashing. 

"It is shameful, abominable of you to say such a thing!" she cried, hervoice tremulous with indignation. "I will never forgive you for thatdastardly speech. Come, Argus. "

She had mounted the broad oak stairs with light swift foot before LordMallow could apologise. He was terribly crestfallen. 

"I was a brute, " he muttered to himself. "But I hit the bull's-eye. Itis that fellow she loves. Hard upon me, when I ask for nothing but tobe her slave and adore her all the days of my life. And I know thatWinstanley would have been pleased. How lovely she looked when she wasangry--her tawny hair gleaming in the firelight, her great brown eyesflashing. Yes, it's the Hampshire squire she cares for, and I'm out ofit. I'll go and shoot the pheasants, " concluded Lord Mallow savagely;"those beggars shall not have it all their own way to-day. "

He went off to get his gun, in the worst humour he had ever been insince he was a child and cried for the moon. 

He spent the whole day in a young oak plantation, ankle-deep in oozymud, moss, and dead fern, making havoc among the innocent birds. He wasin so bloodthirsty a temper, that he felt as if he could have shot acovey of young children, had they come in his way, with all theferocity of a modern Herod. 

"I think I've spoiled Winstanley's coverts for this year, at any rate, "he said to himself, as he tramped homewards in the early darkness, withno small hazard of losing himself in one of those ghostly plantations, which were all exactly alike, and in which a man might walk all daylong without meeting anything nearer humanity than a trespassing forestpony that had leapt a fence in quest of more sufficing food than thescanty herbage of the open woods. 

Lord Mallow got on better than might have been expected. He went eastwhen he ought to have gone west, and found himself in Queen's Bowerwhen he fancied himself in Gretnam Wood; but he did not walk more thanhalf-a-dozen miles out of his way, and he got home somehow at last, which was much for a stranger to the ground. 

The stable clock was chiming the quarter before six when he went intothe hall, where Vixen had left him in anger that morning. The greatwood fire was burning gaily, and Captain Winstanley was sitting in aGlastonbury chair in front of it. "Went for the birds after all, oldfellow, " he said, without looking round, recognising the tread of LordMallow's shooting-boots. "You found it too dismal in the house, Isuppose? Consistently abominable weather, isn't it? You must be soakedto the skin. "

"I suppose I am, " answered the other carelessly. "But I've been soakeda good many times before, and it hasn't done me much harm. Thanks tothe modern inventions of the waterproof-makers, the soaking beginsinside instead of out. I should call myself parboiled. "

"Take off your oilskins and come and talk. You'll have a nip, won'tyou?" added Captain Winstanley, ringing the bell. "Kirschenwasser, curaçoa, Glenlivat--which shall it be?"

"Glenlivat, " answered Lord Mallow, "and plenty of it. I'm in the humourin which a man must either drink inordinately or cut his throat. "

"Were the birds unapproachable?" asked Captain Winstanley, laughing;"or were the dogs troublesome?"

"Birds and dogs were perfect; but---- Well, I suppose I'd better make aclean breast of it. I've had a capital time here---- Oh, here comes thewhisky. Hold your hand, old fellow!" cried Lord Mallow, as his hostpoured the Glenlivat somewhat recklessly into a soda-water tumbler. "You mustn't take me too literally. Just moisten the bottom of theglass with whisky before you put in the soda. That's as much as I careabout. "

"All right. You were saying----"

"That my visit here has been simply delightful, and that I must go toLondon by an early train to-morrow. "

"Paradoxical!" remarked the Captain. "That sounds like your well-bredservant, who tells you that he has nothing to say against thesituation, but he wishes to leave you at the end of his month. What'sthe matter, dear boy? Do you find our Forest hermitage too dull?"

"I should ask nothing kinder from Fate than to be allowed to spend mydays in your Forest. Yes, I would say good-bye to the green hills andvales of County Cork, and become that detestable being, an absentee, if--if--Fortune smiled on me. But she doesn't, you see, and I must go. Perhaps you may have perceived, Winstanley--perhaps you may not havebeen altogether averse from the idea--in a word, I have fallen overhead and ears in love with your bewitching stepdaughter. "

"My dear fellow, I'm delighted. It is the thing I would have wished, had I been bold enough to wish for anything so good. And of courseViolet is charmed. You are the very man for her. "

"Am I? So I thought myself till this morning. Unfortunately the younglady is of a different opinion. She has refused me. "

"Refused you! Pshaw, they all begin that way. It's one of the smalldiplomacies of the sex. They think they enhance their value by anassumed reluctance. Nonsense, man, try again. She can't help likingyou. "

"I would try again, every day for a twelvemonth, if there were ascintilla of hope. My life should be a series of offers. But the thingis decided. I know from her manner, from her face, that I have nochance. I have been in the habit of thinking myself rather a nice kindof fellow, and the women have encouraged the idea. But I don't answerhere, Winstanley. Miss Tempest will have nothing to say to me. "

"She's a fool, " said Captain Winstanley, with his teeth set, and thatdark look of his which meant harm to somebody. "I'll talk to her. "

"My dear Winstanley, understand I'll have no coercion. If I win her, Imust do it off my own bat. Dearly as I love her, if you were to bringher to me conquered and submissive, like Iphigenia at the altar, Iwould not have her. I love her much too well to ask any sacrifice ofinclination from her. I love her too well to accept anything less thanher free unfettered heart. She cannot give me that, and I must go. Ihad much rather you should say nothing about me, either to her or hermother. "

"But I shall say a great deal to both, " exclaimed the Captain, desperately angry. "I am indignant. I am outraged by her conduct. Whatin Heaven's name does this wilful girl want in a husband? You haveyouth, good looks, good temper, talent, tastes that harmonise with herown. You can give her a finer position than she has any right toexpect. And she refuses you. She is a spoiled child, who doesn't knowher own mind or her own advantage. She has a diabolical temper, and isas wild as a hawk. Egad, I congratulate you on your escape, Mallow. Shewas not born to make any man happy. "

"Small thanks for your congratulations, " retorted the Irishman. "Shemight have made me happy if she had chosen. I would have forgiven hertempers, and loved her for her wildness. She is the sweetest woman Iever knew; as fresh and fair as your furzy hill-tops. But she is notfor me. Fate never meant me to be so blessed. "

"She will change her mind before she is many months older, " saidCaptain Winstanley. "Her father and mother have spoilt her. She is acreature of whims and fancies, and must be ridden on the curb. "

"I would ride her with the lightest snaffle-bit that ever was made, "protested Lord Mallow. "But there's no use in talking about it. Youwon't think me discourteous or ungrateful if I clear out of thisto-morrow morning, will you, Winstanley?"

"Certainly not, " answered his host; "but I shall think you a confoundedass. Why not wait and try your luck again?"

"Simply because I know it would be useless. Truth and candour shine inthat girl's eyes. She has a soul above the petty trickeries of her sex. No from her lips means No, between this and eternity. Oh, thriceblessed will that man be to whom she answers Yes; for she will give himthe tenderest, truest, most generous heart in creation. "

"You answer boldly for her on so short an acquaintance. "

"I answer as a man who loves her, and who has looked into her soul, "replied Lord Mallow. "You and she don't hit it over well, I fancy. "

"No. We began by disliking each other, and we have been wonderfullyconstant to our first opinions. "

"I can't understand----"

"Can't you? You will, perhaps, some day: if you ever have a handsomestepdaughter who sets up her back against you from the beginning ofthings. Have you ever seen a sleek handsome tabby put herself on thedefensive at the approach of a terrier, her back arched, her eyesflashing green lightnings, her tail lashing itself, her whiskersbristling? That's my stepdaughter's attitude towards me, and I daresaybefore long I hall feel her claws. There goes the gong, and we must gotoo. I'm sorry Miss Tempest has been such a fool, Mallow; but I mustrepeat my congratulations, even at the risk of offending you. "

There were no duets that evening. Vixen was as cold as ice, and assilent as a statue. She sat in the shadow of her mother's arm-chairafter dinner, turning over the leaves of Doré's "Tennyson, " pausing tocontemplate Elaine with a half-contemptuous pity--a curious feelingthat hurt her like a physical pain. 

"Poor wretch!" she mused. "Are there women in our days so weak as tolove where they can never be loved again, I wonder? It is foolishenough in a man; but he cures himself as quickly as the mungoose thatgets bitten by a snake, and runs away to find the herb which is anantidote to the venom, and comes back ready to fight the snake again. "

"Are we not going to have any music?" asked Mrs. Winstanley languidly, more interested in the _picots_ her clever needle was executing on apiece of Italian point than in the reply. "Lord Mallow, cannot youpersuade Violet to join you in one of those sweet duets ofMendelssohn's?"

"Indeed, mamma, I couldn't sing a note. I'm as husky as a raven. "

"I'm not surprised to hear it, " said the Captain, looking up from hisstudy of _The Gardener's Chronicle_. "No doubt you managed to catchcold last night, while you were mooning upon the terrace with youngVawdrey. "

"How very incautious of you, Violet!" exclaimed Mrs. Winstanley, in hercomplaining tone. 

"I was not cold, mamma; I had my warm cloak. "

"But you confess you have caught cold. I detest colds; they always gothrough a house. I shall be the next victim, I daresay; and with me acold is martyrdom. I'm afraid you must find us very dull, Lord Mallow, for New Year's Day, when people expect to be lively. We ought to havehad a dinner-party. "

"My dear Mrs. Winstanley, I don't care a straw about New Year's Day, and I am not in a lively vein. This quiet evening suits me much betterthan high jinks, I assure you. "

"It's very good of you to say so. "

"Come and play a game of billiards, " said Captain Winstanley, throwingdown his paper. 

"Upon my honour, I'd rather sit by the fire and watch Mrs. Winstanleyat her point-lace. I'm in an abominably lazy mood after my tramp inthose soppy plantations. " answered Lord Mallow, who felt a foolishpleasure--mingled with bitterest regrets--in being in the same roomwith the girl he loved. 

She was hidden from him in her shadowy corner; shrouded on one side bythe velvet drapery of the fireplace, on the other by her mother'schair. He could only catch a glimpse of her auburn plaits now and thenas her head bent over her open book. He never heard her voice, or mether eyes. And yet it was sweet to him to sit in the same room with her. 

"Come, Mallow, you can sing us something, at any rate, " said theCaptain, suppressing a yawn. "I know you can play your ownaccompaniment, when you please. You can't be too idle to give us one ofMoore's melodies. "

"I'll sing, if you like, Mrs. Winstanley, " assented Lord Mallow, "butI'm afraid you must be tired of my songs. My _répertoire_ is ratherlimited. "

"Your songs are charming, " said Mrs. Winstanley. 

The Irishman seated himself at the distant piano, struck a chord ortwo, and began the old melody, with its familiar refrain:

 Oh, there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream. 

Before his song was finished Violet had kissed her mother and glidedsilently from the room, Lord Mallow saw her go, and there was a suddenbreak in his voice as the door closed upon her, a break that soundedalmost like a suppressed sob. 

When Vixen came down to breakfast next morning she found the table laidonly for three. 

"What has become of Lord Mallow, " she asked Forbes, when he brought inthe urn. 

"He left by an early train, ma'am. Captain Winstanley drove him toLyndhurst. "

The old servants of the Abbey House had not yet brought themselves tospeak of their new lord as "master. " He was always "Captain Winstanley. "

The Captain came in while Violet knelt by the fire playing with Argus, whom even the new rule had not banished wholly from the familysitting-rooms. 

The servants filed in for morning prayers, which Captain Winstanleydelivered in a cold hard voice. His manual of family worship was ofconcise and businesslike form, and the whole ceremony lasted aboutseven minutes. Then the household dispersed quickly, and Forbes broughtin his tray of covered dishes. 

"You can pour out the tea, Violet. Your mother is feeling a littletired, and will breakfast in her room. "

"Then I think, if you'll excuse me, I'll have my breakfast with her, "said Vixen. "She'll be glad of my company, I daresay. "

"She has a headache and will be better alone. Stop where you are, ifyou please, Violet. I have something serious to say to you. "

Vixen left off pouring out the tea, clasped her hands in her lap, andlooked at Captain Winstanley with the most resolute expression he hadever seen in a woman's face. 

"Are you going to talk to me about Lord Mallow?" she asked. 

"Yes. "

"Then spare yourself the trouble. It would be useless. "

"I cannot conceive that you should be so besotted as to refuse a manwho offers so much. A man who has wealth, rank, youth, good looks----"

"Spare me the catalogue of your friend's merits. I think him a mostestimable person. I acknowledge his rank and wealth. But I have refusedhim. "

"You will change your mind. "

"I never change my mind. "

"You will live to repent your folly then, Miss Tempest: and all I hopeis that your remorse may be keen. It is not one woman in a thousand whogets such a chance. What are you that you should throw it away?"

"I am a woman who would sooner cut my throat than marry a man I cannothonestly love, " answered Vixen, with unblenching firmness. 

"I think I understand your motive, " said Captain Winstanley. "LordMallow never had a chance with you. The ground waft occupied before hecame. You are a very foolish girl to reject so good an offer for thesake of another woman's sweetheart. "

"How dare you say that to me?" cried Vixen. "You have usurped myfather's place; you have robbed me of my mother's heart. Is not thatcause enough for me to hate you? I have only one friend left in theworld, Roderick Vawdrey. And you would slander me because I cling tothat old friendship, the last remnant of my happy childhood. "

"You might have a dozen such friends, if friendship is all you want, and be Lady Mallow into the bargain, " retorted Captain Winstanleyscornfully. "You are a simpleton to send such a man away despairing. But I suppose it is idle to ask you to hear reason. I am not yourfather, and even if I were, I daresay you would take your own way inspite of me. "

"My father would not have asked me to marry a man I did not love, "answered Vixen proudly, her eyes clouding with tears even at thethought of her beloved dead; "and he would have valued Lord Mallow'srank and fortune no more than I do. But you are so fond of a bargain, "she added, her eye kindling and her lip curving with bitterest scorn. "You sold Bullfinch, and now you want to sell me. "

"By Heaven, madam, I pity the man who may be fool enough to buy you!"cried the Captain, starting up from his untasted breakfast, and leavingVixen mistress of the field. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

"Kurz ist der Schmerz und ewig ist die Freude. "

Captain Winstanley said no more about Lord Mallow; but Violet had tolisten to much plaintive bemoaning from her mother, who could notunderstand how any well-brought-up young woman could refuse an Irishpeer with a fine estate, and the delights of a _trousseau_ made by therenowned Theodore. Upon this latter detail Mrs. Winstanley dwelt atmore length than upon that minor circumstance in a marriage--thebridegroom. 

"It would have been such a pleasure to me to plan your _trousseau_, darling, " she said; "such an occupation for my mind in these wretchedwinter afternoons when there is no possibility of driving or makingcalls. I should have attended to everything myself. Theodore's generalway is to make a list of what she thinks necessary, allowing hercustomer to correct it; but I should not have been satisfied with that, even from Theodore, though I admit that her taste is perfect. And then, you know, she is hand in glove with Worth, and that alone is a liberaleducation, as somebody says somewhere about something. No, dear, Iwould have done it all myself. I know the exact shades that suit yourcomplexion, the dashes of colour that contrast with and light up yourhair, the style that sets off your figure. Your _trousseau_ should betalked about in society, and even described in the fashion magazines. And then Lord Mallow is really so very nice--and has such a charmingbaritone--what more can you want?"

"Only to love him, mamma dearest, which I do not, and never shall. Thatfrank loud voice of his does not stir a fibre of my heart. I like himextremely, and so I do Mr. Scobel, and Bates the groom. Lord Mallow isno more to me than either of those. Indeed, Bates is much nearer anddearer, for he loved my father. "

"My dear Violet, you have the most republican ideas. Imagine anyoneputting Bates on a level with Lord Mallow!"

"I don't, mamma. I only say he is more to me than Lord Mallow couldever be. "

"Your travelling-dress, " murmured Mrs. Winstanley, her mind stilldwelling on the _trousseau;_ "that affords more scope for taste thanthe wedding-gown. Velvet suits your style, but is too heavy for yourage. A soft clinging cashmere, now, one of those delicious neutraltints that have been so fashionable lately, over an underskirt of awarmer colour in _poult de soie_, a picturesque costume that wouldfaintly recall Lely's portraits at Hampton Court. "

"Dear mamma, what is the use of talking about dresses I am never goingto require? Not for all the finery that Theodore ever made would Imarry Lord Mallow, or anybody else. I am happy enough with you, and myhorse, and my dog, and all the dear old things, animal and vegetable, that belong to this dear old place. I shall never leave you, or theForest. Can you not be content to know this and let me alone?"

"You are a very wilful girl, Violet, and ridiculously blind to your owninterests, " remarked Mrs. Winstanley, throwing herself back in herchair with a fretful look, "and you put me in an absurd position. Theduchess quite congratulated me about your brilliant prospects, when wewere chatting together on New Year's Eve. Anybody could see how devotedLord Mallow was, she said, and what a splendid match it would be foryou. "

"Let the Duchess marry her own daughter, and leave me alone, " criedVixen scornfully. 

This was the kind of thing she had to endure continually during thechill winter months that followed Lord Mallow's departure. Even her oldfriends the Scobels worried her about the Irish peer, and lamented herinability to perceive his merits. It was known throughout herparticular circle that she had been idiotic enough to refuse LordMallow. Mrs. Winstanley had whispered the fact to all her friends, under the seal of strictest secrecy. Of all Vixen's acquaintance, Roderick Vawdrey was the only one who said no word to her about LordMallow; but he was much kinder to her after the Irishman's departurethan he had shown himself during his visit. 

Spring put on her green mantle; and when the woods were starred withprimroses, and the banks lovely with heaven-hued dog-violets, everyoneof any pretension to importance in the social scale began to flee fromthe Forest as from a loathsome place. Lord Ellangowan's train of vansand waggons set out for the railway-station with their load of chestsand baskets. Julius Caesar's baggage was as nothing to the Saratogatrunks and bonnet-boxes of Lady Ellangowan. The departure of theIsraelites from Egypt was hardly a mightier business than thisemigration of the Ellangowan household. The Duke and Duchess, and LadyMabel Ashbourne, left for the Queen Anne house at Kensington, whereatthe fashionable London papers broke out in paragraphs of rejoicing, andthe local journals bewailed the extinction of their sun. 

The London season had begun, and only the nobodies stayed in the Forestto watch the rosy sunsets glow and fade behind the yellow oaks; to seethe purple of the beech-boughs change mysteriously to brightest green;and the bluebells burst into blossom in the untrodden glades andbottoms. Captain Winstanley found a small house in Mayfair, which hehired for six weeks, at a rent which he pronounced exorbitant. Hesacrificed his own ideas of prudence to the gratification of his wife;who had made up her mind that she had scarcely the right to exist untilshe had been presented to her sovereign in her new name. But when Mrs. Winstanley ventured to suggest the Duchess of Dovedale, as her sponsoron this solemn occasion, her husband sternly tabooed the notion. 

"My aunt, Lady Susan Winstanley, is the proper person to present you, "he said authoritatively. 

"But is she really your aunt, Conrad? You never mentioned her before wewere married?"

"She is my father's third cousin by marriage; but we have always calledher Aunt. She is the widow or Major-General Winstanley, whodistinguished himself in the last war with Tippoo Saïb, and had a placeat Court in the reign of William the Fourth. "

"She must be dreadfully old and dowdy, " sighed Mrs. Winstanley, whoseonly historical idea of the Sailor King's reign was as a period ofshort waists and beaver bonnets. 

"She is not a chicken, and she does not spend eight hundred a year onher dressmaker, " retorted the Captain. "But she is a very worthy woman, and highly respected by her friends. Why should you ask a favour of theDuchess of Dovedale?"

"Her name would look so well in the papers, " pleaded Mrs. Winstanley. 

"The name of your husband's kinswoman will look much more respectable, "answered the Captain; and in this, as in most matters, he had his ownway. 

Lady Susan Winstanley was brought from her palatial retirement to spenda fortnight in Mayfair. She was bony, wiggy, and snuffy; wore falseteeth and seedy apparel; but she was well-bred and well-informed, andVixen got on with her much better than with the accomplished Captain. Lady Susan took to Vixen; and these two went out for early walkstogether in the adjacent Green Park, and perambulated thepicture-galleries, before Mrs. Winstanley had braced herself up for thefatigues of a fashionable afternoon. 

Sometimes they came across Mr. Vawdrey at a picture-gallery or in thePark; and at the first of these chance meetings, struck by the obviousdelight with which the two young people greeted each other, Lady Susanjumped to a conclusion. 

"That's your young man, I suppose, my dear, " she said bluntly, whenRorie had left them. 

"Oh, Lady Susan!"

"It's a vulgar expression, I know, my dear, but it comes natural to me;I hear it so often from our housemaids. I fancied that you and thathandsome young fellow must be engaged. "

"Oh no. We are only old friends. He is engaged to Lady MabelAshbourne--a very grand match. "

"That's a pity, " said Lady Susan. 

"Why?"

"Well, my dear, " answered the old lady hesitatingly, "because when onehears of a grand match, it generally means that a young man is marryingfor the sake of money, and that young old friend of yours looks toogood to throw himself away like that. "

"Oh, but indeed, Lady Susan, it is not so in Rorie's case. He hasplenty of money of his own. "

The important day came; and Lady Susan, Mrs. Winstanley, and Violetpacked themselves and their finery into a capacious carriage, and setoff for St. James's. The fair Pamela's costume was an elaborate exampleof Theodore's highest art; colours, design, all of the newest--adelicate harmony of half-tints, an indescribable interblending offeathers, lace, and flowers. Violet was simply and elegantly dressed bythe same great artist. Lady Susan wore a petticoat and train that musthave been made in the time of Queen Adelaide. Yes, the faded andunknown hue of the substantial brocade, the skimpiness of the satin, the quaint devices in piping-cord and feather-stitch--must assuredlyhave been coeval with that good woman's famous hat and spencer. 

Poor Mrs. Winstanley was horrified when she saw her husband's kinswomanattired for the ceremony, not a whit less wiggy and snuffy than usual, and with three lean ostrich feathers starting erect from her back hair, like the ladies in the proscenium boxes of Skelt's Theatre, whose gailypainted effigies were so dear to our childhood. 

Poor Pamela felt inclined to shed tears. Even her confidence in theperfection of her own toilet could hardly sustain her against thehorror of being presented by such a scarecrow. 

The ceremony went off satisfactorily, in spite of Lady Susan'santiquated garments. Nobody laughed. Perhaps the _habitués_ of St. James's were accustomed to scarecrows. Violet's fresh young beautyattracted some little notice as she waited among the crowd of_débutantes;_ but, on its being ascertained that she was nobody inparticular, curiosity languished and died. 

Mrs. Winstanley wanted to exhibit her court-dress at the opera thatevening, but her husband protested against this display as bad style. Vixen was only too glad to throw off her finery, the tulle puffings andfestoonings, and floral wreaths and bouquets, which made movementdifficult and sitting down almost impossible. 

Those six weeks in town were chiefly devoted to gaiety. Mrs. Winstanley's Hampshire friends called on her, and followed up theircalls by invitations to dinner, and at the dinners she generally metpeople who were on the eve of giving a garden-party, or a concert, or adance, and who begged to be allowed to send her a card for thatentertainment, spoken of modestly as a thing of no account. And thenthere was a hurried interchange of calls, and Violet found herselfmeandering about an unknown croquet-lawn, amongst unknown nobodies, under a burning sun, looking at other girls, dressed like herself indresses à la Theodore, with the last thing in sleeves, and the last cutin trains, all pretending to be amused by the vapid and languidobservations of the cavalier told off to them, paired like companionsof the chain at Toulon, and as almost as joyous. 

Violet Tempest attended no less than eight private concerts duringthose six weeks, and heard the same new ballad, and the same latestgavotte in C minor, at everyone of them. She was taken to pianoforterecitals in fashionable squares and streets, and heard Bach andBeethoven till her heart ached with pity for the patient labour of theperformers, knowing how poorly she and the majority of mankindappreciated their efforts. She went to a few dances that were ratheramusing, and waltzed to her heart's content. She rode Arion in the Row, and horse and rider were admired as perfect after then kind. Once shemet Lord Mallow, riding beside Lady Mabel Ashbourne and the Duke ofDovedale. His florid cheek paled a little at the sight of her. Theypassed each other with a friendly bow, and this was their only meeting. Lord Mallow left cards at the house in Mayfair a week before theWinstanleys went back to Hampshire. He had been working hard at hissenatorial duties, and had made some telling speeches upon the Irishland question. People talked of him as a rising politician; and, whenever his name appeared in the morning papers, Mrs. Winstanleyuplifted her voice at the breakfast-table, and made her wail aboutViolet's folly in refusing such an excellent young man. 

"It would have been so nice to be able to talk about my daughter, LadyMallow, and Castle Mallow, " said Pamela in confidence to her husband. 

"No doubt, my dear, " he answered coolly; "but when you bring up a youngwoman to have her own way in everything, you must take theconsequences. "

"It is very ungrateful of Violet, " sighed the afflicted mother, "afterthe pains I have taken to dress her prettily, ever since she was ababy. It is a very poor return for my care. "

CHAPTER XV. 

A Midsummer Night's Dream. 

They were all back at the Abbey House again early in June, and Vixenbreathed more freely in her sweet native air. How dear, how doublybeautiful, everything seemed to her after even so brief an exile. Butit was a grief to have missed the apple-bloom and the bluebells. Thewoods were putting on their ripe summer beauty; the beeches had lostthe first freshness of their tender green, the amber glory of the youngoak-leaves was over, the last of the primroses had paled and fadedamong the spreading bracken; masses of snowy hawthorn bloom gleamedwhite amidst the woodland shadows; bean-fields in full bloom filled theair with delicate odours; the summer winds swept across the long lushgrass in the meadows, beautiful with ever-varying lights and shadows;families of sturdy black piglings were grubbing on the waste turfbeside every road, and the forest-fly was getting strong upon the wing. The depths of Mark Ash were dark at noontide under their roof offoliage. 

Vixen revelled in the summer weather. She was out from morning tillevening, on foot or on horseback, sketching or reading a novel, in somesolitary corner of the woods, with Argus for her companion andguardian. It was an idle purposeless existence for a young woman tolead, no doubt; but Violet Tempest knew of no better thing that lifeoffered her to do. 

Neither her mother nor Captain Winstanley interfered with her liberty. The Captain had his own occupations and amusements, and his wife wasgiven up to frivolities which left no room in her mind for anxietyabout her only daughter. So long as Violet looked fresh and pretty atthe breakfast-table, and was nicely dressed in the evening, Mrs. Winstanley thought that all was well; or at least as well as it evercould be with a girl who had been so besotted as to refuse a wealthyyoung nobleman. So Vixen went her own way, and nobody cared. She seemedto have a passion for solitude, and avoided even her old friends, theScobels, who had made themselves odious by their championship of LordMallow. 

The London season was at its height when the Winstanleys went back toHampshire. The Dovedales were to be at Kensington till the beginning ofJuly, with Mr. Vawdrey in attendance upon them. He had rooms in EburyStreet, and had assumed an urban air which in Vixen's opinion made himexecrable. 

"I can't tell you how hateful you look in lavender gloves and a highhat, " she said to him one day in Clarges Street. 

"I daresay I look more natural dressed like a gamekeeper, " he answeredlightly; "I was born so. As for the high hat, you can't hate it morethan I do; and I have always considered gloves a foolishness on a levelwith pigtails and hair-powder. "

Vixen had been wandering in her old haunts for something less than afortnight, when, on one especially fine morning, she mounted Ariondirectly after breakfast and started on one of her rambles, with thefaithful Bates in attendance, to open gates or to pull her out of bogsif needful. Upon this point Mrs. Winstanley was strict. Violet mightride when and where she pleased--since these meanderings in the Forestwere so great a pleasure to her--but she must never ride without agroom. 

Old Bates liked the duty. He adored his mistress, and had spent thegreater part of his life in the saddle. There was no more enjoyablekind of idleness possible for him than to jog along in the sunshine onone of the Captain's old hunters; called upon for no greater exertionthan to flick an occasional fly off his horse's haunch, or to bend downand hook open the gate of a plantation with his stout hunting-crop. Bates had many a brief snatch of slumber in those warm enclosures, where the air was heavy with the scent of the pines, and the buzzing ofsummer flies made a perpetual lullaby. There was a delicious sense ofrepose in such a sleep, but it was not quite so pleasant to be jerkedsuddenly into the waking world by a savage plunge of the aggravatedhunter's hindlegs, goaded to madness by a lively specimen of theforest-fly. 

On this particular morning Vixen was in a thoughtful mood, and Arionwas lazy. She let him walk at a leisurely pace under the beeches ofGretnam Wood, and through the quiet paths of the New Park plantations. He came slowly out into Queen's Bower, tossing his delicate head andsniffing the summer air. The streamlets were rippling gaily in thenoontide sun; far off on the yellow common a solitary angler waswhipping the stream--quite an unusual figure in the lonely landscape. Adelicious slumberous quiet reigned over all the scene. Vixen was lostin thought, Bates was dreaming, when a horse's hoofs came up stealthilybeside Arion, and a manly voice startled the sultry stillness. 

"I've got rid of the high hat for this year, and I'm my own man again, "said the voice; and then a strong brown hand was laid upon Vixen'sglove, and swallowed up her slender fingers in its warm grasp. 

"When did you come back?" she asked, as soon as their friendlygreetings were over, and Arion had reconciled himself to thecompanionship of Mr. Vawdrey's hack. 

"Late last night. "

"And have the Duchess and her people come back to Ashbourne?"

"_Pas si bête_. The Duchess and her people--meaning Mabel--haveengagements six deep for the next month--breakfasts, lawn-parties, music, art, science, horticulture, dancing, archery, every form oflabourious amusement that the genius of man has invented. One of ourmodern sages has said that life would be tolerable but for itsamusements. I am of that wise man's opinion. Fashionable festivitiesare my aversion. So I told Mabel frankly that I found my good spiritsbeing crushed out of me by the weight of too much pleasure, and that Imust come home to look after my farm. The dear old Duke recognised thatduty immediately, and gave me all sorts of messages and admonitions forhis bailiff. "

"And you are really free to do what you like for a month?" exclaimedVixen naïvely. "Poor Rorie! How glad you must be!"

"My liberty is of even greater extent. I am free till the middle ofAugust, when I am to join the Dovedales in Scotland. Later, I suppose, the Duke will go to Baden, or to some newly-discovered fountain in theBlack Forest. He could not exist for a twelvemonth without Germanwaters. "

"And after that there will be a wedding, I suppose?" said Violet. 

She felt as if called upon to say something of this kind. She wantedRorie to know that she recognised his position as an engaged man. Shehated talking about the business, but she felt somehow that this wasincumbent upon her. 

"I suppose so, " answered Rorie; "a man must be married once in hislife. The sooner he gets the ceremony over the better. My engagementhas hung fire rather. There is always a kind of flatness about thething between cousins, I daresay. Neither of us is in a hurry. Mabelhas so many ideas and occupations, from orchids to Greek choruses. "

"She is very clever, " said Vixen. 

"She is clever and good, and I am very proud of her, " answered Rorieloyally. 

He felt as if he were walking on the brink of a precipice, and that itneeded all his care to steer clear of the edge. 

After this there was no more said about Lady Mabel. Vixen and Rorierode on happily side by side, as wholly absorbed in each other asLauncelot and Guinevere--when the knight brought the lady home throughthe smiling land, in the glad boyhood of the year, by tinkling rivuletand shadowy covert, and twisted ivy and spreading chestnut fans--andwith no more thought of Lady Mabel than those two had of King Arthur. 

It was the first of many such rides in the fair June weather. Vixen andRorie were always meeting in that sweet pathless entanglement of oakand beech and holly, where the cattle-line of the spreading brancheswere just high enough to clear Vixen's coquettish little hat, or in thelong straight fir plantations, where the light was darkened even atnoonday, and where the slumberous stillness was broken only by the humof summer flies. It was hardly possible, it seemed to Violet, for twopeople to be always riding in the Forest without meeting each othervery often. Various as the paths are they all cross somewhere: and whatmore natural than to see Rorie's brown horse trotting calmly along thegrass by the wayside, at the first bend of the road? They made noappointments, or were not conscious of making any; but they always met. There was a fatality about it: yet neither Rorie nor Violet ever seemedsurprised at this persistence of fate. They were always glad to seeeach other; they had always a world to tell each other. If the earthhad been newly made every day, with a new set of beings to people it, those two could hardly have had more to say. 

"Darned if I can tell what our young Miss and Muster Vawdrey can findto talk about, " said honest old Bates, over his dish of tea in theservants' hall; "but their tongues ha' never done wagging. "

Sometimes Miss Tempest and Mr. Vawdrey went to the kennels together, and idled away an hour with the hounds; while their horses stood atease with their bridles looped round the five-barred gate, their headshanging lazily over the topmost bar, and their big soft eyes dreamilycontemplating the opposite pine wood, with that large capacity forperfect idleness common to their species. Bates was chewing a straw andswinging his hunting-crop somewhere in attendance. He went with hisyoung mistress everywhere, and played the part of the "dragon ofprudery placed within call;" but he was a very amiable dragon, andnobody minded him. Had it come into the minds of Rorie and Vixen toelope, Bates would not have barred their way. Indeed he would have beenvery glad to elope with them himself. The restricted license of theAbbey House had no charm for him. 

Whither were those two drifting in the happy summer weather, lulled bythe whisper of forest leaves faintly stirred by the soft south wind, orby the low murmur of the forest river, stealing on its stealthy courseunder overarching boughs, mysterious as that wondrous river in KublaKhan's dream, and anon breaking suddenly out into a clamour loud enoughto startle Arion as the waters came leaping and brawling over theshining moss-green boulders? Where were these happy comrades going asthey rode side by side under the glancing lights and wavering shadows?Everybody knows what became of Launcelot and Guinevere after thatfamous ride of theirs. What of these two, who rode together day afterday in sun and shower, who loitered and lingered in every loveliestnook in the Forest, who had the same tastes, the same ideas, the sameloves, the same dislikes? Neither dared ask that question. They tookthe happiness fate gave them, and sought not to lift the veil of thefuture. Each was utterly and unreasonably happy, and each knew verywell that this deep and entire happiness was to last no longer than thelong summer days and the dangling balls of blossom on the beechenboughs. Before the new tufts on the fir-branches had lost their earlygreen, this midsummer dream would be over. It was to be brief as aschoolboy's holiday. 

What was the good of being so happy, only to be so much more miserableafterwards? A sensible young woman might have asked herself thatquestion, but Violet Tempest did not. Her intentions were pure as theinnocent light shining out of her hazel eyes--a gaze frank, direct, andfearless as a child's. She had no idea of tempting Roderick to be falseto his vows. Had Lady Mabel, with her orchids and Greek plays, beenalone in question, Violet might have thought of the matter morelightly: but filial duty was involved in Rorie's fidelity to hisbetrothed. He had promised his mother on her death-bed. That was apromise not to be broken. 

One day--a day for ever to be remembered by Vixen and Rorie--a day thatstood out in the foreground of memory's picture awfully distinct fromthe dreamy happiness that went before it, these two old friendsprolonged their ride even later than usual. The weather was theloveliest that had ever blessed their journeyings--the sky Italian, thewest wind just fresh enough to fan their cheeks, and faintly stir thegreen feathers of the ferns that grew breast-high on each side of thenarrow track. The earth gave forth her subtlest perfumes under the fireof the midsummer sun. From Boldrewood the distant heights and valleyshad an Alpine look in the clear bright air, the woods rising line aboveline in the far distance, in every shade of colour, from deepest umberto emerald green, from the darkest purple to translucent azure, yonder, where the farthest line of verdure met the sunlit sky. From Stony Crossthe vast stretch of wood and moor lay basking in the warm vivid light, the yellow of the dwarf furze flashing in golden patches amidst thefirst bloom of the crimson heather. This southern corner of Hampshirewas a glorious world to live in on such a day as this. Violet and hercavalier thought so, as their horses cantered up and down the smoothstretch of turf in front of The Forester's Inn. 

"I don't know what has come to Arion, " said Vixen, as she checked hereager horse in his endeavour to break into a mad gallop. "I think hemust be what Scotch people call 'fey. '"

"And pray what may that mean?" asked Rorie, who was like the young ladymade famous by Sydney Smith: what he did not know would have made a bigbook. 

"Why, I believe it means that in certain moments of life, just beforethe coming of a great sorrow, people are wildly gay. Sometimes a manwho is doomed to die breaks out into uproarious mirth, till his friendswonder at him. Haven't you noticed that sometimes in the accounts ofsuicides, the suicide's friends declare that he was in excellentspirits the night before he blew out his brains?"

"Then I hope I'm not 'fey, '" said Rorie, "for I feel uncommonly jolly. "

"It's only the earth and sky that make us feel happy, " sighed Violet, with a sudden touch of seriousness. "It is but an outside happinessafter all. "

"Perhaps not; but it's very good of its kind. "

They went far afield that day; as far as the yews of Sloden; and thesun was low in the west when Vixen wished her knight good-bye, andwalked her horse down the last long glade that led to the Abbey House. She was very serious now, and felt that she had transgressed a littleby the length of her ride. Poor Bates had gone without his dinner, andthat dismal yawn of his just now doubtless indicated a painful vacuityof the inner man. Rorie and she were able to live upon air andsunshine, the scent of the clover, and the freshness of the earth; butBates was of the lower type of humanity, which requires to be sustainedby beef and beer; and for Bates this day of sylvan bliss had beenperhaps a period of deprivation and suffering. 

Violet had been accustomed to be at home, and freshly dressed, in timefor Mrs. Winstanley's afternoon tea. She had to listen to theaccumulated gossip of the day--complaints about the servants, praisesof Conrad, speculations upon impending changes of fashion, whichthreatened to convulse the world over which Theodore presided; for theworld of fashion seems ever on the verge of a crisis awful as thatwhich periodically disrupts the French Chamber. 

To have been absent from afternoon tea was a breach of filial dutywhich the mild Pamela would assuredly resent. Violet felt herselfdoomed to one of those gentle lectures, which were worrying as theperpetual dropping of rain. She was very late--dreadfully late--thedressing-bell rang as she rode into the stable-yard. Not caring to showherself at the porch, lest her mother and the Captain should be sittingin the hall, ready to pronounce judgment upon her misconduct, she ranquickly up to her dressing-room, plunged her face into cold water, shook out her bright hair, brushed and plaited the long tresses withdeft swift fingers, put on her pretty dinner-dress of pale blue muslin, fluttering all over with pale blue bows, and went smiling down to thedrawing-room like a new Hebe, dressed in an azure cloud. 

Mrs. Winstanley was sitting by an open window, while the Captain stoodoutside and talked to her in a low confidential voice. His face had adark look which Vixen knew and hated, and his wife was listening withtrouble in her air and countenance. Vixen, who meant to have marchedstraight up to her mother and made her apologies, drew backinvoluntarily at the sight of those two faces. 

Just at this moment the dinner-bell rang. The Captain gave his wife hisarm, and the two passed Vixen without a word. She followed them to thedining-room, wondering what was coming. 

The dinner began in silence, and then Mrs. Winstanley began to falterforth small remarks, feeble as the twitterings of birds before thecoming storm. How very warm it had been all day, almost oppressive: andyet it had been a remarkably fine day. There was a fair at EmeryDown--at least not exactly a fair, but a barrow of nuts and some horridpistols, and a swing. Violet answered, as in duty bound; but theCaptain maintained his ominous silence. Not a word was said aboutViolet's long ride. It seemed hardly necessary to apologise for herabsence, since her mother made no complaint. Yet she felt that therewas a storm coming. 

"Perhaps he is going to sell Arion, " she thought, "and that's why thedear thing was 'fey. '"

And then that rebellious spirit of hers arose within her, ready for war. 

"No, I would not endure that. I would not part with my father's lastgift. I shall be rich seven years hence, if I live so long. I'll dowhat the young spendthrifts do. I'll go to the Jews. I will not beCaptain Winstanley's helot. One slave is enough for him, I shouldthink. He has enslaved poor mamma. Look at her now, poor soul; she sitsin bodily fear of him, crumbling her bread with her pretty fingers, shining and sparkling with rings. Poor mamma! it is a bad day for herwhen fine dresses and handsome jewels cannot make her happy. "

It was a miserable dinner. Those three were not wont to be gay whenthey sat at meat together; but the dinner of to-day was of a gloomierpattern than usual. The strawberries and cherries were carried roundsolemnly, the Captain filled his glass with claret, Mrs. Winstanleydipped the ends of her fingers into the turquois-coloured glass, anddisseminated a faint odour of roses. 

"I think I'll go and sit in the garden, Conrad, " she said, when she haddried those tapering fingers on her fringed doiley. "It's so warm inthe house. "

"Do, dear. I'll come and smoke my cigar on the lawn presently, "answered the Captain. 

"Can't you come at once, love?"

"I've a little bit of business to settle first. I won't be long!"

Mrs. Winstanley kissed her hand to her husband, and left the room, followed by Vixen. 

"Violet, " she said, when they were outside, "how could you stay out solong? Conrad is dreadfully angry. "

"Your husband angry because I rode a few miles farther to-day thanusual? Dear mother, that is too absurd. I was sorry not to be at homein time to give you your afternoon tea, and I apologise to you with allmy heart; but what can it matter to Captain Winstanley?"

"My dearest Violet, when will you understand that Conrad stands in theplace of your dear father?"

"Never, mamma, for that is not true. God gave me one father, and Iloved and honoured him with all my heart. There is no sacrifice hecould have asked of me that I would not have made; no command of his, however difficult, that I would not have obeyed. But I will obey nospurious father. I recognise no duty that I owe to Captain Winstanley. "

"You are a very cruel girl, " wailed Pamela, "and your obstinacy ismaking my life miserable. "

"Dear mother, how do I interfere with your happiness? You live yourlife, and I mine. You and Captain Winstanley take your own way, I mine. Is it a crime to be out riding a little longer than usual, that youshould look so pale and the Captain so black when I come home?"

"It is worse than a crime, Violet; it is an impropriety. "

Vixen blushed crimson, and turned upon her mother with an expressionthat was half startled, half indignant. 

"What do you mean, mamma?"

"Had you been riding about the Forest all those hours alone, it wouldhave been eccentric--unladylike--masculine even. You know that yourhabit of passing half your existence on horseback has always been agrief to me. But you were not alone. "

"No, mamma, I was not alone. I had my oldest friend with me; one of thefew people in this big world who care for me. "

"You were riding about with Roderick Vawdrey, Lady Mabel Ashbourne'sfuture husband. "

"Why do you remind me of his engagement, mamma? Do you think thatRoderick and I have even forgotten it? Can he not be my friend as wellas Lady Mabel's husband? Am I to forget that he and I played togetheras children, that we have always thought of each other and cared foreach other as brother and sister, only because he is engaged to LadyMabel Ashbourne?"

"Violet, you must know that all talk about brother and sister is sheernonsense. Suppose I had set up brother and sister with CaptainWinstanley! What would you--what would the world have thought?"

"That would have been different, " said Vixen. "You did not know eachother as babies. In fact you couldn't have done so, for you had leftoff being a baby before he was born, " added Vixen naïvely. 

"You will have to put a stop to these rides with Roderick. Everybody inthe neighbourhood is talking about you. "

"Which everybody?"

"Colonel Carteret to begin with. "

"Colonel Carteret slanders everybody. It is his only intellectualresource. Dearest mother, be your own sweet easy-tempered self, not aspeaking-tube for Captain Winstanley. Pray leave me my liberty. I amnot particularly happy. You might at least let me be free. "

Violet left her mother with these words. They had reached the lawnbefore the drawing-room windows. Mrs. Winstanley sank into a lowbasket-chair, like a hall-porter's, which a friend had sent her fromthe sands of Trouville; and Vixen ran off to the stables to see ifArion was in any way the worse for his long round. 

The horses had been littered down for the night, and the stable-yardwas empty. The faithful Bates, who was usually to be found at this hoursmoking his evening pipe on a stone bench beside the stable pump, wasnowhere in sight. Vixen went into Arion's loose-box, where that animalwas nibbling clover lazily, standing knee-deep in freshly-spread straw, his fine legs carefully bandaged. He gave his mistress the usual gruntof friendly greeting, allowed her to feed him with the choicest bits ofclover, and licked her hands in token of gratitude. 

"I don't think you're any the worse for our canter over the grass, oldpet, " she cried cheerily, as she caressed his sleek head, "and CaptainWinstanley's black looks can't hurt you. "

As she left the stable she saw Bates, who was walking slowly across thecourt-yard, wiping his honest old eyes with the cuff of her drab coat, and hanging his grizzled head dejectedly. 

Vixen ran to him with her cheeks aflame, divining mischief. The Captainhad been wreaking his spite upon this lowly head. 

"What's the matter, Bates?"

"I've lived in this house, Miss Voylet, man and boy, forty year comeMichaelmas, and I've never wronged my master by so much as the worth ofa handful o' wuts or a carriage candle. I was stable-boy in yourgrandfeyther's time, miss, as is well-beknown to you; and I rememberyour feyther when he was the finest and handsomest young squire withinfifty mile. I've loved you and yours better than I ever loved my ownflesh and blood: and to go and pluck me up by the roots and chuck meout amongst strangers in my old age, is crueller than it would be totear up the old cedar on the lawn, which I've heard Joe the gardenersay be as old as the days when such-like trees was fust beknown inEngland. It's crueller, Miss Voylet, for the cedar ain't got nofeelings--but I feel it down to the deepest fibres in me. The lawn 'udlook ugly and empty without the cedar, and mayhap nobody'll missme--but I've got the heart of a man, miss, and it bleeds. "

Poor Bates relieved his wounded feelings with this burst of eloquence. He was a man who, although silent in his normal condition, had a greatdeal to say when he felt aggrieved. In his present state of mind hisonly solace was in many words. 

"I don't know what you mean, Bates, " cried Vixen, very pale now, divining the truth in part, if not wholly. "Don't cry, dear old fellow, it's too dreadful to see you. You don't mean--you can't mean--that--mymother has sent you away?"

"Not your ma, miss, bless her heart. She wouldn't sack the servant thatsaddled her husband's horse, fair weather and foul, for twenty years. No, Miss Voylet, it's Captain Winstanley that's given me the sack. He'smaster here, now, you know, miss. "

"But for what reason? What have you done to offend him?"

"Ah, miss, there's the hardship of it! He's turned me off at a minute'snotice, and without a character too. That's hard, ain't it, miss? Fortyyears in one service, and to leave without a character at last! That docut a old feller to the quick. "

"Why don't you tell me the reason, Bates? Captain Winstanley must havegiven you his reason for such a cruel act. "

"He did, miss; but I ain't going to tell you. "

"Why not, in goodness' name?"

"Because it's an insult to you, Miss Voylet; and I'm not going toinsult my old master's granddaughter. If I didn't love you for your ownsake--and I do dearly love you, miss, if you'll excuse the liberty--I'mbound to love you for the sake of your grandfeyther. He was my firstmaster, and a kind one. He gave me my first pair o' tops. Lor, miss, Ican call to mind the day as well as if it was yesterday. Didn't I fancymyself a buck in 'em. "

Bates grinned and sparkled at the thought of those first top-boots. Hispoor old eyes, dim with years of long service, twinkled with the memoryof those departed vanities. 

"Bates, " cried Vixen, looking at him resolutely, "I insist upon knowingwhat reason Captain Winstanley alleged for sending you away. "

"He didn't allege nothing, miss: and I ain't agoing to tell you what hesaid. "

"But you must. I order you to tell me. You are still my servant, remember. You have always been a faithful servant, and I am sure youwon't disobey me at the last. I insist upon knowing what CaptainWinstanley said; however insulting his words may have been to me, theywill not surprise or wound me much. There is no love lost between himand me. I think everybody knows that. Don't be afraid of giving mepain, Bates. Nothing the Captain could say would do that. I despise himtoo much. "

"I'm right down glad 'o that, miss. Go on a-despising of him. You can'tgive it him as thick as he deserves. "

"Now, Bates, what did he say?"

"He said I was a old fool, miss, or a old rogue, he weren't quite clearin his mind which. I'd been actin' as go-between with you and Mr. Vawdrey, encouragin' of you to meet the young gentleman in your rides, and never givin' the Cap'en warnin', as your stepfeather, of what wasgoin' on behind his back. He said it was shameful, and you were makin'yourself the talk of the county, and I was no better than I should befor aidin' and abettin' of you in disgracin' yourself. And then Iblazed up a bit, miss, and maybe I cheeked him: and then he turned uponme sharp and short and told me to get out of the house this night, bagand baggage, and never to apply to him for a character; and then hecounted out my wages on the table, miss, up to this evening, exact to ahalfpenny, by way of showing me that he meant business, perhaps. But Icame away and left his brass upon the table, staring at him in theface. I ain't no pauper, praise be to God! I've had a good place andI've saved money: and I needn't lower myself by taking his dirtyhalf-pence. "

"And you're going away, Bates, to-night?" exclaimed Vixen, hardly ableto realise this calamity. 

That Captain Winstanley should have spoken insultingly of her and ofRorie touched her but lightly. She had spoken truly just now when shesaid that she scorned him too much to be easily wounded by hisinsolence. But that he should dismiss her father's old servant as hehad sold her father's old horse; that this good old man, who had grownfrom boyhood to age under her ancestral roof, who remembered her fatherin the bloom and glory of early youth; that this faithful servantshould be thrust out at the bidding of an interloper--a paltry schemer, who, in Vixen's estimation, had been actuated by the basest and mostmercenary motives when he married her mother;--that these things shouldbe, moved Violet Tempest with an overwhelming anger. 

She kept her passion under, so far as to speak very calmly to Bates. Her face was white with suppressed rage, her great brown eyes shonewith angry fire, her lips quivered as she spoke, and the rings on oneclinched hand were ground into the flesh of the slender fingers. 

"Never mind, Bates, " she said very gently; "I'll get you a good placebefore ten o'clock to-night. Pack up your clothes, and be ready to gowhere I tell you two hours hence. But first saddle Arion. "

"Bless yer heart, Miss Voylet, you're not going out riding thisevening? Arion's done a long day's work. "

"I know that; but he's fresh enough to do as much more--I've just beenlooking at him. Saddle him at once, and keep him ready in his stabletill I come for him. Don't argue, Bates. If I knew that I were going toride him to death I should ride him to-night all the same. You aredismissed without a character, are you?" cried Vixen, laughingbitterly. "Never mind, Bates, I'll give you a character; and I'll getyou a place. "

She ran lightly off and was gone, while Bates stood stock stillwondering at her. There never was such a young lady. What was there inlife that he would not have done for her--were it to the shedding ofblood? And to think he was no more to serve and follow her; no longerto jog contentedly through the pine-scented Forest--watching themeteoric course of that graceful figure in front of him, the livelyyoung horse curbed by the light and dexterous hand, the ruddy brownhair glittering in the sunlight, the flexible form moving in unisonwith every motion of the horse that carried it! There could be nodeeper image of desolation in Bates's mind than the idea that thisrider and this horse were to be henceforth severed from his existence. What had he in life save the familiar things and faces among which hehad grown from youth to age? Separate him from these belovedsurroundings, and he had no standpoint in the universe. The reason ofhis being would be gone. Bates was as strictly local in his ideas asthe zoophyte which has clung all its life to one rock. 

He went to the harness-room for Miss Tempest's well-worn saddle, andbrought Arion out of his snug box, and wisped him and combed him, andblacked his shoes, and made him altogether lovely--a process to whichthe intelligent animal was inclined to take objection, the hour beingunseemly and unusual. Poor Bates sighed over his task, and brushed awaymore than one silent tear with the back of the dandy-brush. It was kindof Miss Violet to think about getting him a place; but he had no heartfor going into a new service. He would rather have taken a room in oneof the Beechdale cottages, and have dragged out the remnant of his dayswithin sight of the chimney-stacks beneath which he had slept for fortyyears. He had money in the bank that would last until his lees of lifewere spilt, and then he would be buried in the churchyard he hadcrossed every Sunday of his life on his way to morning service. Hiskindred were all dead or distant--the nearest, a married niece, settledat Romsey, which good old humdrum market-town was--except once a weekor so by carrier's cart--almost as unapproachable as the Bermudas. Hewas not going to migrate to Romsey for the sake of a married niece;when he could stop at Beechdale, and see the gables and chimneys of thehome from which stern fate had banished him. 

He had scarcely finished Arion's toilet when Miss Tempest opened thestable-door and looked, in ready to mount. She had her hunting-crop, with the strong horn hook for opening gates, her short habit, andlooked altogether ready for business. 

"Hadn't I better come with you, miss?" Bates asked, as he lifted herinto her saddle. 

"No, Bates. You are dismissed, you know. It wouldn't do for you to takeone of Captain Winstanley's horses. He might have you sent to prisonfor horse-stealing. "

"Lord, miss, so he might!" said Bates, grinning. "I reckon he's capableof it. But I cheeked him pretty strong, Miss Voylet. The thought o'that'll always be a comfort to me. You wouldn't ha' knowed me for yourfeyther's old sarvant if you'd heard me. I felt as if Satan had gothold o' my tongue, and was wagging it for me. The words came so pat. Itseemed as if I'd got all the dictionary at the tip of my poor oldtongue. "

"Open the gate, " said Vixen. "I am going out by the wilderness. "

Bates opened the gate under the old brick archway, and Vixen rodeslowly away, by unfrequented thickets of rhododendron and arbutus, holly and laurel, with a tall mountain-ash, or a stately deodora, rising up among them, here and there, dark against the opal evening sky. 

It was a lovely evening. The crescent moon rode high above thetree-tops; the sunset was still red in the west. The secret depths ofthe wood gave forth their subtle perfume in the cool, calm air. Thebirds were singing in suppressed and secret tones among the lowbranches. Now and then a bat skimmed across the open glade, and meltedinto the woodland darkness, or a rabbit flitted past, gray andghostlike. It was an hour when the woods assumed an awful beauty. Notto meet ghosts seemed stranger than to meet them. The shadows of thedead would have been in harmony with the mystic loveliness of thisgreen solitude--a world remote from the track of men. 

Even to-night, though her heart was swelling with indignant pain, Violet felt all the beauty of these familiar scenes. They were a partof her life, and so long as she lived she must love and rejoice inthem. To-night as she rode quietly along, careful not to hurry Arionafter his long day's work, she looked around her with eyes full of deeplove and melancholy yearning. It seemed to her to-night that out of allthat had been sweet and lovely in her life only these forest scenesremained. Humanity had not been kind to her. The dear father had beensnatched away: just when she had grown to the height of his stoutheart, and had fullest comprehension of his love, and greatest need ofhis protection. Her mother was a gentle, smiling puppet, to whom itwere vain to appeal in her necessities. Her mother's husband was animplacable enemy. Rorie, the friend of her childhood--who might havebeen so much--had given himself to another. She was quite alone. 

"The charcoal-burner in Mark Ash is not so solitary as I am, " thoughtVixen bitterly. "Charcoal-burning is only part of his life. He has hiswife and children in his cottage at home. "

By-and-by she came out of the winding forest ways into the straighthigh-road that led to Briarwood, and now she put her horse at a smarttrot, for it was growing dark already, and she calculated that it mustbe nearly eleven o'clock before she could accomplish what she had to doand get back to the Abbey House. And at eleven doors were locked forthe night, and Captain Winstanley made a circuit of inspection, asseverely as the keeper of a prison. What would be said if she shouldnot get home till after the gates were locked, and the keys deliveredover to that stern janitor?

At last Briarwood came in sight above the dark clumps of beach and oak, a white portico, shining lamplit windows. The lodge-gate stoodhospitably open, and Violet rode in without question, and up to thepillared porch. 

Roderick Vawdrey was standing in the porch smoking. He threw away hiscigar as Vixen rode up, and ran down the steps to receive her. 

"Why, Violet, what has happened?" he asked, with an alarmed look. 

It seemed to him, that only sudden death or dire calamity could bringher to him thus, in the late gloaming, pale, and deeply moved. Her lipstrembled faintly as she looked at him, and for the moment she couldfind no words to tell her trouble. 

"What is it, Violet?" he asked again, holding her gloved hand in his, and looking up at her, full of sympathy and concern. 

"Not very much, perhaps, in your idea of things: but it seems a greatdeal to me. And it has put me into a tremendous passion. I have come toask you to do me a favour. "

"A thousand favours if you like; and when they are all granted, theobligation shall be still on my side. But come into the drawing-roomand rest--and let me get you some tea--lemonade--wine--something torefresh you after your long ride. "

"Nothing, thanks. I am not going to get off my horse. I must not lose amoment. Why it must be long after nine already, and Captain Winstanleylocks up the house at eleven. "

Rorie did not care to tell her that it was on the stroke of ten. Hecalled in a stentorian voice for a servant, and told the man to getBlue Peter saddled that instant. 

"Where's your groom, Violet?" he asked, wondering to see her unattended. 

"I have no groom. That's just what I came to tell you. CaptainWinstanley has dismissed Bates, at a minute's warning, without acharacter. "

"Dismissed old Bates, your father's faithful servant! But in Heaven'sname what for?"

"I would rather not tell you that. The alleged reason is an insult tome. I can tell you that it is not for dishonesty, or lying, ordrunkenness, or insolence, or any act that a good servant need beashamed of. The poor old man is cast off for a fault of mine; or for anact of mine, which Captain Winstanley pleases to condemn. He is thrustout of doors, homeless, without a character, after forty years offaithful service. He was with my grandfather, you know. Now, Rorie, Iwant you to take Bates into your service. He is not so ornamental as ayoung man, perhaps; but he is ever so much more useful. He is faithfuland industrious, honest and true. He is a capital nurse for sickhorses; and I have heard my dear father say that he knows more than thecommon run of veterinary surgeons. I don't think you would find him anincumbrance. Now, dear Rorie, " she concluded coaxingly, with innocentchildish entreaty, almost as if they had still been children andplayfellows, "I want you to do this for me--I want you to take Bates. "

"Why, you dear simple-minded baby, I would take a regiment of Batesesfor your sake. Why this is not a favour----"

"''Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, '" cried Vixen, quotingDesdemona's speech to her general. 

Rorie's ready promise had revived her spirit. She felt that, after all, there was such a thing as friendship in the world. Life was notaltogether blank and dreary. She forgot that her old friend had givenhimself away to another woman. She had a knack of forgetting thatlittle fact when she and Rorie were together. It was only in her hoursof solitude that the circumstance presented itself distinctly to hermind. 

"I am so grateful to you for this, Rorie, " she cried. "I cannot tellyou what a load you have taken off my mind. I felt sure you would do methis favour. And yet, if you had said No----! It would have been toodreadful to think of. Poor old Bates loafing about Beechdale, livingupon his savings! I shall be able to pension him by-and-by, when I amof age; but now I have only a few pounds in the world, the remains of aquarter's pocket-money, according to the view and allowance of theforester, " added Vixen, quoting the Forest law, with a little mockinglaugh. "And now good-night; I must go home as fast as I can. "

"So you must, but I am coming with you, " answered Rorie; and then heroared again in his stentorian voice in the direction of the stables, "Where's that Blue Peter?"

"Indeed, there is no reason for you to come, " cried Vixen. "I knowevery inch of the Forest. "

"Very likely; but I am coming with you all the same. "

A groom led out Blue Peter, a strong useful-looking hack, which Mr. Vawdrey kept to do his dirty work, hunting in bad weather, night-work, and extra journeys of all kinds. Rorie was in the saddle and by Vixen'sside without a minute's lost time, and they were riding out of thegrounds into the straight road. 

They rode for a considerable time in silence. Vixen had seldom seen herold friend so thoughtful. The night deepened, the stars shone out ofthe clear heaven, at first one by one: and then, suddenly in amultitude that no tongue could number. The leaves whispered and rustledwith faint mysterious noises, as Violet and her companion rode slowlydown the long steep hill. 

"What a beast that Winstanley is!" said Rorie, when they got to thebottom of the hill, as if he had been all this time arriving at anopinion about Violet's stepfather. "I'm afraid he must make your lifemiserable. "

"He doesn't make it particularly happy, " answered Vixen quietly; "but Inever expected to be happy after mamma married. I did not think therewas much happiness left for me after my father's death; but there wasat least peace. Captain Winstanley has made an end of that. "

"He is a wretch, and I should like to shoot him, " said Rorievindictively. "Dear little Vixen--yes, I must call you by the old petname--to think that you should be miserable, you whom I remember sobright and happy, you who were born for happiness! But you are notalways wretched, dear, " he said, leaning over to speak to her incloser, more confidential tones, as if the sleepy birds and thewhispering forest leaves could hear and betray him. "You were happy--wewere happy--this morning. "

He had laid his hand on hers. That useful Blue Peter needed noguidance. They were just leaving the road, and entering a long gladethat led through a newly-opened fir plantation, a straight ride of amile and a half or so. The young moon was gleaming cool and clear abovethe feathering points of the firs. 

"Yes, " she answered recklessly, involuntarily, with a stifled sob, "Iam always happy with you. You are all that remains to me of my oldlife. "

"My dearest, my loveliest, then be happy for ever!" he cried, windinghis arm round her slim waist, and leaning over her till his head almostrested on her shoulder. Their horses were close together, walking at afoot-pace, Blue Peter in nowise disconcerted by this extraordinarybehaviour of his rider. 

"My love, if you can be happy at so small a price, be happy always!"said Rorie, his lips close to the girl's pale cheek, his arm feelingevery beat of the passionate heart. "I will break the toils that bindme. I will be yours, and yours only. I have never truly loved anyonebut you, and I have loved you all my life--I never knew how dearly tillof late. No, dearest love, never did I know how utterly I loved youtill these last summer days which we have lived together, alone andsupremely happy, in the forest that is our native land. My Violet, Iwill break with Mabel to-morrow. She and I were never made for oneother. You and I were. Yes, love, yes: we have grown up together sideby side, like the primroses and violets in the woods. It is my secondnature to love you. Why should we be parted? Why should I go on actinga dismal farce, pretending love to Mabel, pretending a friendship toyou--alike false to both? There is no reason, Violet, none--except----"

"Except your promise to your dying mother, " said Violet, escaping fromhis arm, and looking at him steadily, bravely, through the dim light. "You shall not break that for my sake--you ought not, were I ten timesa better woman than I am. No, Rorie, you are to do your duty, and keepyour word. You are to marry Lady Mabel, and be happy ever after, likethe prince in a fairy tale. Depend upon it, happiness always comes inthe long run to the man who does his duty. "

"I don't believe it, " cried Roderick passionately; "I have seen men whohave done right ail through life--men who have sacrificed feeling tohonour, and been miserable. Why should I imitate them? I love you. Iloved you always; but my mother worried and teased me, vaunting Mabel'sperfections, trying to lessen you in my esteem. And then, when she wasdying, and it seemed a hard thing to oppose her wishes, or to refuseher anything, were it even the happiness of my life, I was weak, andlet myself be persuaded, and sold myself into bondage. But it is nottoo late, Violet. I will write Mabel an honest letter to-morrow, andtell her the truth for the first time in my life. "

"You will do nothing of the kind!" cried Violet resolutely. "What, doyou think I have no pride--no sense of honour? Do you think I would letit be said of me, that I, knowing you to be engaged to your cousin, setmyself to lure you away from her; that we rode together, and were seentogether, happy in each other's company, and as careless of slander asif we had been brother and sister; and that the end of all was that youbroke your faith to your promised wife in order to marry me? No, Rorie, that shall never be said. If I could stoop so low I should be worthy ofthe worst word my mother's husband could say of me. "

"What does it matter what people say--your mother's husband above all?Malice can always find something evil to say of us, let us shape ourlives how we may. What really matters is that we should be happy: and Ican be happy with no one but you, Violet. I know that now. I will nevermarry Mabel Ashbourne. "

"And you will never marry me, " answered Vixen, giving Arion a lighttouch of her whip which sent him flying along the shadowy ride. 

Blue Peter followed as swiftly. Rorie was by Violet's side again in aminute, with his hand grasping hers. 

"You mean that you don't love me?" he exclaimed angrily. "Why could younot have said so at the first; why have you let me live in a fool'sparadise?"

"The paradise was of your own making, " she answered. "I love you alittle for the past, because my father loved you--because you are allthat remains to me of my happy childhood. Yes, if it were not for you, I might look back and think those dear old days were only a dream. ButI hear your voice, I look at you, and know that you are real, and thatI once was very happy. Yes, Rorie, I do love you--love you--yes, withall my heart, dearer, better than I have ever loved anyone upon thisearth, since my father was laid in the ground. Yes, dear. " Their horseswere walking slowly now; and her hand was locked in his as they rodeside by side. "Yes, dear, I love you too well, and you and I must part. I had schooled myself to believe that I loved you only as I might haveloved a brother; that you could be Lady Mabel's husband and my truefriend. But that was a delusion--that can never be. You and I mustpart, Rorie. This night-ride in the Forest must be our last. Never anymore, by sun or moon, must you and I ride together. It is all over, Rorie, the old childish friendship. I mean to do my duty, and you mustdo yours. "

"I will never marry a woman I do not love. "

"You will keep your promise to your mother; you will act as a man ofhonour should. Think, Rorie, what a shameful thing it would be to do, to break off an engagement which has been so long publicly known, towound and grieve your good aunt and uncle. "

"They have been very kind to me, " sighed Rorie. "It would hurt me togive them pain. "

His conscience told him she was right, but he was angry with her forbeing so much wiser than himself. 

Then, in a moment, love--that had slumbered long, idly happy in thecompany of the beloved, and had suddenly awakened to know that thissummer-day idlesse meant a passion stronger than death--love got thebetter of conscience, and he cried vehemently:

"What need I care for the Duke and Duchess! They can have their choiceof husbands for their daughter; an heiress like Mabel has only tosmile, and a man is at her feet. Why should I sacrifice myself, love, truth, all that makes life worth having? Do you think I would do it forthe sake of Ashbourne, and the honour of being a duke's son-in-law?"

"No, Rorie, but for the sake of your promise. And now look, there isLyndhurst steeple above the woods. I am near home, and we must saygood-night. "

"Not till you are at your own gate. "

"No one must see you. I want to ride in quietly by the stables. Don'tthink I am ashamed of my errand to-night. I am not; but I want to savemy mother trouble, and if Captain Winstanley and I were to discuss thematter there would be a disturbance. "

Roderick Vawdrey seized Arion by the bridle. 

"I shall not let you go so easily, " he said resolutely. "Vixen, I haveloved you ever since I can remember you. Will you be my wife?"

"No. "

"Why did you say that you loved me?"

"Because I cannot tell a lie. Yes, I love you, Rorie; but I love yourhonour, and my own, better than the chance of a happiness that mightfade and wither before we could grasp it. I know that your mother had avery poor opinion of me while she was alive; I should like her to know, if the dead know anything, that she was mistaken, and that I am notquite unworthy of her respect. You will marry Lady Mabel Ashbourne, Rorie: and ten years hence, when we are sober middle-aged people, weshall be firm friends once again, and you will thank and praise me forhaving counselled you to cleave to the right. Let go the bridle, Rorie, there's no time to lose. There's a glorious gallop from Queen's Bowerto the Christchurch Road. "

It was a long grassy ride, safe only for those who knew the countrywell, for it was bordered on each side by treacherous bogs. Violet knewevery inch of the way. Arion scented his stable afar off, and went likethe wind; Blue Peter stretched his muscular limbs in pursuit. It was awild ride along the grassy track, beside watery marshes and reedy poolsthat gleamed in the dim light of a new moon. The distant woods showedblack against the sky. There was no light to mark a human habitationwithin ken. There was nothing but night and loneliness and the solemnbeauty of an unpeopled waste. A forest pony stood here andthere--pastern-deep in the sedges--and gazed at those two wild riders, grave and gay, like a ghost. A silvery snake glided across the track; awater-rat plunged, with a heavy splash, into a black pool as the horsesgalloped by. It was a glorious ride. Miserable as both riders were, they could not but enjoy that wild rush through the sweet soft air, under the silent stars. 

Vixen gave a long sigh presently, when they pulled up their horses onthe hard road. 

"I think I am 'fey' now, " she said. "I wonder what is going to happento me?"

"Whatever misfortunes come to you henceforth will be your own fault, "protested Rorie savagely. "You won't be happy, or make me so. "

"Don't be angry with me, Rorie, " she answered quite meekly. "I wouldrather be miserable in my own way than happy in yours. "

Arion, having galloped for his own pleasure, would now have liked tocrawl. He was beginning to feel the effects of unusual toil, and hunghis head despondently; but Vixen urged him into a sharp trot, feelingthat matters were growing desperate. 

Ten minutes later they were at the lodge leading to the stables. Thegate was locked, the cottage wrapped in darkness. 

"I must go in by the carriage-drive, " said Vixen. "It's rather a bore, as I am pretty sure to meet Captain Winstanley. But it can't be helped. "

"Let me go in with you. "

"No, Rorie; that would do no good. If he insulted me before you, hisinsolence would pain me. "

"And I believe I should pain him, " said Rorie. "I should give him thesweetest horsewhipping he ever had in his life. "

"That is to say you would bring disgrace upon me, and make my mothermiserable. That's a man's idea of kindness. No, Rorie, we part here. Good-night, and--good-bye. "

"Fiddlesticks!" cried Rorie. "I shall wait for you all to-morrowmorning at the kennels. "

Vixen had ridden past the open gate. The lodge-keeper stood at his doorwaiting for her. Roderick respected her wishes and stayed outside. 

"Good-night, " she cried again, looking back at him; "Bates shall cometo you to-morrow morning. "

The hall-door was wide open, and Captain Winstanley stood on thethreshold, waiting for his stepdaughter. One of the underlings from thestable was ready to take her horse. She dismounted unaided, flung thereins to the groom, and walked up to the Captain with her firmest step. When she was in the hall he shut the door, and bolted and locked itwith a somewhat ostentatious care. She seemed to breathe less freelywhen that great door had shut out the cool night. She felt as if shewere in a jail. 

"I should like half-a-dozen words with you in the drawing-room beforeyou go upstairs, " Captain Winstanley said stiffly. 

"A hundred, if you choose, " answered Vixen, with supreme coolness. 

She was utterly fearless. What risks or hazards had life that she needdread? She hoped nothing--feared nothing. She had just made thegreatest sacrifice that fate could require of her: she had rejected theman she fondly loved. What were the slings and arrows of herstepfather's petty malice compared with such a wrench as that?

She followed Captain Winstanley to the drawing-room. Here there wasmore air; one long window was open, and the lace curtains were faintlystirred by the night winds. A large moderator lamp burned upon Mrs. Winstanley's favourite table--her books and basket of crewels werethere, but the lady of the house had retired. 

"My mother has gone to bed, I suppose?" inquired Vixen. 

"She has gone to her room, but I fear she is too much agitated to getany rest. I would not allow her to wait here any longer for you. "

"Is it so very late?" asked Vixen, with the most innocent air. 

Her heart was beating violently, and her temper was not at its best. She stood looking at the Captain, with a mischievous sparkle in hereyes, and her whip tightly clenched. 

She was thinking of that speech of Rorie's about the "sweetesthorsewhipping. " She wondered whether Captain Winstanley had ever beenhorsewhipped; whether that kind of chastisement was numbered in the sumof his experiences. She opined not. The Captain was too astute a man tobring himself in the way of such punishment. He would do things thatdeserved horsewhipping, and get off scot free. 

"It is a quarter-past eleven. I don't know whether you think that arespectable hour for a young lady's evening ride. May I ask the motiveof this nocturnal expedition?"

"Certainly. You deprived Bates of a comfortable place--he has only beenin the situation forty years--and I went to get him another. I am happyto say that I succeeded. "

"And pray who is the chivalrous employer willing to receive mydismissed servant without a character?"

"A very old friend of my father's--Mr. Vawdrey. "

"I thought as much, " retorted the Captain. "And it is to Mr. Vawdreyyou have been, late at night, unattended?"

"It is your fault that I went unattended. You have taken upon yourselfto dismiss my groom--the man who broke my first pony, the man my fathergave me for an attendant and protector, just as he gave me my horse. You will take upon yourself to sell my horse next, I suppose?"

"I shall take a great deal more upon myself, before you and I have donewith each other, Miss Tempest, " answered the Captain, pale with passion. 

Never had Vixen seen him so strongly moved. The purple veins stood outdarkly upon his pale forehead, his eyes had a haggard look; he was likea man consumed inwardly by some evil passion that was stronger thanhimself, like a man possessed by devils. Vixen looked at him withwonder. They stood facing each other, with the lamplit table betweenthem, the light shining on both their faces. 

"Why do you look at me with that provoking smile?" he asked. "Do youwant to exasperate me? You must know that I hate you. "

"I do, " answered Vixen; "but God only knows why you should do so. "

 "Do you know no reason?"

"No. "

"Can't you guess one?"

"No; unless it is because my father's fortune will belong to meby-and-by, if I live to be five-and-twenty, and your position here willbe lessened. "

"That is not the reason; no, I am not so base as that. That its not whyI hate you, Violet. If you had been some dumpy, homely, country lass, with thick features and a clumsy figure, you and I might have got ondecently enough. I would have made you obey me; but I would have beenkind to you. But you are something very different. You are the girl Iwould have perilled my soul to win--the girl who rejected me withcareless scorn. Have you forgotten that night in the Pavilion Garden atBrighton? I have not. I never look up at the stars without rememberingit; and I can never forgive you while that memory lives in my mind. Ifyou had been my wife, Violet, I would have been your slave. You forcedme to make myself your stepfather; and I will be master instead ofslave. I will make your life bitter to you if you thwart me. I will puta stop to your running after another woman's sweetheart. I will comebetween you and your lover, Roderick Vawdrey. Your secret meetings, your clandestine love-making, shall be stopped. Such conduct as youhave been carrying on of late is a shame and disgrace to your sex. "

"How dare you say that?" cried Vixen, beside herself with anger. 

She grasped the lamp with both her hands, as if she would have hurledit at her foe. It was a large moon-shaped globe upon a bronzepedestal--a fearful thing to fling at one's adversary. A great wave ofblood surged up into the girl's brain. What she was going to do sheknew not; but her whole being was convulsed by the passion of thatmoment. The room reeled before her eyes, the heavy pedestal swayed inher hands, and then she saw the big moonlike globe roll on to thecarpet, and after it, and darting beyond it, a stream of liquid firethat ran, and ran, quicker than thought, towards the open window. 

Before she could speak or move, the flame had run up the lace curtain, like a living thing, swift as the flight of a bird or the glidingmotion of a lizard. The wide casement was wreathed with light. Theytwo--Vixen and her foe--seemed to be standing in an atmosphere of fire. 

Captain Winstanley was confounded by the suddenness of the catastrophe. While he stood dumb, bewildered, Vixen sprang through the narrow spacebetween the flaming curtains, as if she had plunged into a gulf offire. He heard her strong clear voice calling to the stablemen andgardeners. It rang like a clarion in the still summer night. 

There was not a moment lost. The stablemen rushed with pails of water, and directly after them the Scotch gardener with his garden-engine, which held several gallons. His hose did some damage to thedrawing-room carpet and upholstery, but the strong jet of waterspeedily quenched the flames. In ten minutes the window stood blank, and black, and bare, with Vixen standing on the lawn outside, contemplating the damage she had done. 

Mrs. Winstanley rushed in at the drawing-room door, ghostlike, in herwhite _peignoir_, pale and scared. 

"Oh, Conrad, what has happened?" she cried distractedly, just able todistinguish her husband's figure standing in the midst of thedisordered room. 

"Your beautiful daughter has been trying to set the house on fire, " heanswered. "That is all. "

CHAPTER XVI. 

"That must end at once. "

A quarter of an hour later, when all the confusion was over, Violet waskneeling by her mother's chair, trying to restore tranquillity to Mrs. Winstanley's fluttered spirits. Mother and daughter were alone togetherin the elder lady's dressing-room, the disconsolate Pamela sitting, like Niobe, amidst her scattered fineries, her pomade-pots andpowder-boxes, fan-cases and jewel-caskets, and all the arsenal ofwaning beauty. 

"Dear mother, " pleaded Violet, with unusual gentleness, "pray don'tgive way to this unnecessary grief. You cannot surely believe that Itried to set this dear old home on fire--that I could be sofoolish--granting even that I were wicked enough to do it--as todestroy a place I love--the house in which my father was born! Youcan't believe such a thing, mother. "

"I know that you are making my life miserable, " sobbed Mrs. Winstanley, feebly dabbing her forehead with a flimsy Valenciennes borderedhandkerchief, steeped in eau-de-cologne, "and I am sure Conrad wouldnot tell a falsehood. "

"Perhaps not, " said Vixen with a gloomy look. "We will take it forgranted that he is perfection and could not do wrong. But in this casehe is mistaken. I felt quite capable of killing him, but not of settingfire to this house. "

"Oh, " wailed Pamela distractedly, "this is too dreadful! To think thatI should have a daughter who confesses herself at heart a murderess. "

"Unhappily it is true, mother, " said Vixen, moodily contrite. "For justthat one moment of my life I felt a murderous impulse--and from theimpulse to the execution is a very short step. I don't feel myself verysuperior to the people who are hanged at Newgate, I assure you. "

"What is to become of me?" inquired Mrs. Winstanley in abjectlamentation. "It is too hard that my own daughter should be a source ofmisery in my married life, that she should harden her heart against thebest of stepfathers, and try, yes, actually try, to bring discordbetween me and the husband I love. I don't know what I have done that Ishould be so miserable. "

"Dear mother, only be calm and listen to me, " urged Violet, who wasvery calm herself, with a coldly resolute air which presently obtainedascendency over her agitated parent. "If I have been the source ofmisery, that misery cannot too soon come to an end. I have long feltthat I have no place in this house--that I am one too many in our smallfamily. I feel now--yes, mamma, I feel and know that the same roofcannot cover me and Captain Winstanley. He and I can no longer sit atthe same board, or live in the same house. That must end at once. "

"What complaint can you have to make against him, Violet?" cried hermother hysterically, and with a good deal more dabbing of the perfumedhandkerchief upon her fevered brow. "I am sure no father could bekinder than Conrad would be to you if you would only let him. But youhave set yourself against him from the very first. It seems as if yougrudged me my happiness. "

"It shall seem so no longer, mamma. I will cease to be a thorn in yourgarland of roses, " replied Vixen, with exceeding bitterness. "I willleave the Abbey House directly any other home can be found for me. Ifdear old McCroke would take care of me I should like to go abroad, somewhere very far, to some strange place, where all things would bedifferent and new to me, " continued Vixen, unconsciously betraying thataching desire for forgetfulness natural to a wounded heart. "Sweden, orNorway, for instance. I think I should like to spend a year in one ofthose cold strange lands, with good old McCroke for my companion. Therewould be nothing to remind me of the Forest, " she concluded with astifled sob. 

"My dear Violet, you have such wild ideas, " exclaimed her mother withan injured air. "It is just as Conrad says. You have no notion of theproprieties. Sweden or Norway, indeed! Was there ever anything sooutlandish? What would people say, I wonder?"

"Ah, what indeed, mamma. Perhaps, they might for once say what is true:that I could not get on with Captain Winstanley, and so was forced tofind another home. "

"And what a reproach that would be to me, " cried her mother. "You areso selfish, Violet; you think of no one but yourself. "

"Perhaps that is because nobody else thinks of me, mother. "

"How can you say such abominable things, Violet? Am I not thinking ofyou this moment? I am sure I have thought of you this evening until myhead aches. You force one to think about you, when you behave in such adisgraceful manner. "

"What have I done that is disgraceful, mamma? I have ridden out at anunusual hour to get a place for an old servant--a man who has served inthis house faithfully for forty years. That is what I have done, and Ishould not be ashamed if it were known to everybody in Hampshire. Yes, even to Lady Mabel Ashbourne, that pattern of chilly propriety. Thedisgrace is Captain Winstanley's. It is he who ought to be ashamed ofturning off my father and grandfather's old servant. What you have tobe sorry for, mamma, is that you have married a man capable of such anaction. "

"How dare you speak against him!" cried the offended wife. "He has doneeverything for the best. It was your own foolish conduct that obligedhim to dismiss Bates. To think that a daughter of mine should have solittle self-respect as to go roaming about the Forest with an engagedman! It is too dreadful. "

"You need not make yourself unhappy about the engaged man, mamma, " saidVixen scornfully. "He is out of danger. Rorie and I need never see eachother again. I should be more than content that it should be so. Onlyarrange with Captain Winstanley for some allowance to be made me--justmoney enough to enable me to live abroad with dear old McCroke. I wantno gaieties, I want no fine dresses, The simplest mode of life, in astrange country, will suit me best. "

"I can't bear the idea of your going away, " whimpered Mrs. Winstanley. "People will talk so. A stepfather's is such a delicate position. People are sure to say cruel things about Conrad. And it is all yourfault, Violet. We might have lived so happily together if you hadliked. "

"We might, perhaps, mamma; but I don't think any of us knew the way. Captain Winstanley could hardly expect that to sell my father'sfavourite horse was the shortest way to my liking; and that's how hebegan his reign in this house. Don't let us talk any more, my dearmother. Words are useless to heal such wounds as ours. Good-night. Sleep well, and forget all about me. To-morrow you and the Captain cangive me my liberty. "

"I thought you were so fond of the Abbey House, " moaned her mother. 

"So I was when it was home. It has ceased to be my home, and I shall beglad to leave it. "

"Oh, Violet, you have a hard heart. "

"Good-night, mamma. "

She was gone, leaving Mrs. Winstanley feebly moaning, and vaguelydabbing her forehead, feeling that the Fates had not been kind to her. Life seemed to have gone all askew. It was as if Theodore had taken tosending home misfits. Nothing was smooth or pleasant in an existencewhose halcyon calm had once been undisturbed by so much as a crumpledrose-leaf. 

Vixen went straight to her room, accompanied by Argus, who had followedher from the hall to the door of her mother's dressing-room, and hadwaited patiently for her in the corridor, with his head leaning againstthe closed door, as if he scented trouble within. 

When girl and dog were alone together, Violet flung herself on theground, threw her arms round the mastiff's thick neck, and let hertears flow freely against that faithful head. 

"Oh, Argus, " she cried piteously, "you are the only friend left me inthis wide world!"

END OF VOL. II. 

Transcriber's note: Typographical errors silently corrected:

volume 2 chapter 11: =sighed Mabel= replaced by =sighed Lady Mabel=

chapter 12: =We many learn= replaced by =We may learn=

chapter 12: =drift us farther. = replaced by =drift us farther. "=

chapter 15: =outside, "How= replaced by =outside, "how=

chapter 15: =in your grandfather's time= replaced by =in your grandfeyther's time=

chapter 15: =as your stepfather= replaced by =as your stepfeather=