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Title: Modern Broods

Author: Charlotte Mary Yonge

Release Date: December, 2004  [EBook #7191]
[This file was first posted on March 26, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, MODERN BROODS ***




Transcribed from the 1900 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price,
email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk




MODERN BROODS, or DEVELOPMENTS UNLOOKED FOR




CHAPTER I--TORTOISES AND HARES



"Whate'er is good to wish, ask that of Heaven,
Though it be what thou canst not hope to see."
- HARTLEY COLERIDGE.


The scene was a drawing-room, with old-fashioned heavy sash windows
opening on a narrow brick-walled town-garden sloping down to a river,
and neatly kept.  The same might be said of the room, where heavy
old-fashioned furniture, handsome but not new, was concealed by
various flimsy modernisms, knicknacks, fans, brackets, china
photographs and water-colours, a canary singing loud in the window in
the winter sunshine.

"Miss Prescott," announced the maid; but, finding no auditor save the
canary, she retreated, and Miss Prescott looked round her with a half
sigh of recognition of the surroundings.  She was herself a quiet-
looking, gentle lady, rather small, with a sweet mouth and eyes of
hazel, in a rather worn face, dressed in a soft woollen and grey fur,
with headgear to suit, and there was an air of glad expectation, a
little flush, that did not look permanent, on her thin cheeks.

"Is it you, my dear Miss Prescott?" was the greeting of the older
hostess as she entered, her grey hair rough and uncovered, and her
dress of well-used black silk, her complexion of the red that shows
wear and care.  "Then it is true?" she asked, as the kiss and double
shake of the hand was exchanged.

"May I ask?  Is it true?  May I congratulate you?"

"Oh, yes, it is true!" said Miss Prescott, breathlessly.  "I suppose
the girls are at the High School?"

"Yes, they will be at home at one.  Or shall I send for them?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Best.  I shall like to have a little time with
you first.  I can stay till a quarter-past three."

"Then come and take off your things.  I do not know when I have been
so glad!"

"Do the girls know?" asked Miss Prescott, following upstairs to a
comfortable bedroom, evidently serving also the purposes of a private
room, for writing table and account books stood near the fire.

"They know something; Kate Bell heard a report from her cousins, and
they have been watching anxiously for news from you."

"I would not write till I knew more.  I hope they have not raised
their expectations too high; for though it is enough to be an immense
relief, it is not exactly affluence.  I have been with Mr. Bell going
into the matter and seeing the place," said Miss Prescott, sitting
comfortably down in the arm-chair Mrs. Best placed for her, while she
herself sat down in another, disposing themselves for a talk over the
fire.

"Mr. Bell reckons it at about 600 pounds a year."

"And an estate?"

"A very pretty cottage in a Devonshire valley, with the furniture and
three acres of land."

"Oh!  I believe the girls fancy that it is at least as large as Lord
Coldhurst's."

"Yes, I was in hopes that they would have heard nothing about it."

"It came through some of their schoolfellows; one cannot help things
getting into the air."

"And there getting inflated like bubbles," said Miss Prescott,
smiling.  "Well, their expectations will have a fall, poor dears!"

"And it does not come from their side of the family," said Mrs. Best.
"Of course not!  And it was wholly unexpected, was it not?"

"Yes, I had my name of Magdalen from my great aunt Tremlett; but she
had never really forgiven my mother's marriage, though she consented
to be my godmother.  She offered to adopt me on my mother's death,
and once when my father married again, and when we lost him, she
wrote to propose my coming to live with her; but there would have
been no payment, and so--"

"Yes, you dear good thing, you thought it your duty to go and work
for your poor little stepmother and her children!"

"What else was my education good for, which has been a costly thing
to poor father?  And then the old lady was affronted for good, and
never took any more notice of me, nor answered my letters.  I did not
even know she was dead, till I heard from Mr. Bell, who had learnt it
from his lawyers!"

"It was quite right of her.  Dear Magdalen, I am so glad," said Mrs.
Best, crossing over to kiss her; for the first stiffness had worn
off, and they were together again, as had been the solicitor's
daughter and the chemist's daughter, who went to the same school till
Magdalen had been sent away to be finished in Germany.

"Dear Sophy, I wish you had the good fortune, too!"

"Oh! my galleons are coming when George has prospered a little more
in Queensland, and comes to fetch me.  Sophia and he say they shall
fight for me," said Mrs. Best, who had been bravely presiding over a
high-school boarding-house ever since her husband, a railway
engineer, had been killed by an accident, and left her with two
children to bring up.  "Dear children, they are very good to me."

"I am sure you have been goodness itself to us," said Magdalen, "in
taking the care of these poor little ones when their mother died.  I
don't know how to be thankful enough to you and for all the blessings
we have had!  And that this should have come just now, especially
when my life with Lady Milsom is coming to an end."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, the little boys are old enough for school, and the Colonel is
going to take a house at Shrewsbury, where his mother will live with
them, and want me no longer."

"You have been there seven years."

"Yes, and very happy.  When Fanny married, Lady Milsom was left
alone, and would not part with me, and then came the two little boys
from India, so that she had an excuse for retaining me; but that is
over now, or will be in a few weeks time.  I had been trying for an
engagement, and finding that beside your high-school diploma young
ladies I am considered quite passee--"

"My dear!  With your art, and music, and all!"

"Too true!  And while I was digesting a polite hint that my terms
were too high, and therewith Agatha's earnest appeal to be sent to
Girton, there comes this inheritance!  Taking my burthen off my back,
and making me ready to throw up my heels like a young colt."

"Ah! you will be taking another burthen, perhaps."

"No doubt, I suppose so, but let me find it out by degrees.  I can
only think as yet of having my dear girls to myself, moi, as the
French would say, after having seen so little of them."

"It has been very unfortunate.  Epidemics have been strangely
inconvenient."

"Yes.  First there was whooping cough here to destroy the summer
holidays; then came the Milsoms' measles, and I could not go and
carry infection.  Oh! and then Freddy broke his leg, and his
grandmother was too nervous to be left with him.  And by and by some
one told her the scarlatina was in the town."

"It really was, you know."

"Any way, it would have been sheer selfish inhumanity to leave her,
and then she had a real illness, which frightened us all very much.
Next came influenza to every one.  And these last holidays!  What
should the newly-come little one from India do, but catch a fever in
the Red Sea, and I had to keep guard over the brothers at Weymouth
till she was reported safe, and I don't believe it was infectious
after all!  Still, I am tired of 'other people's stairs.'"

"It is nearly five years since you have been with them, except for
that one peep you took at Weston."

"And that is a great deal at their age.  Agatha was a vehement
reader; she would hardly look at me, so absorbed was she in 'The York
and Lancaster Rose' which I had brought her."

"She is rather like that now.  I conclude that you will wish to take
them away?"

"Not this time, at any rate till the house is fit to put over their
heads.  Besides, you have so mothered them, dear Sophy, that I could
not bear to make a sudden parting."

"There will be pain, especially over little Thekla and Polly.  But if
George comes home this spring, and I go out to Queensland with him,
perhaps I should have asked you to take this house off my hands.  May
be it would be prudent in you to do so even now, considering all
things; only I believe that transplanting would be good for them
all."

"I am glad you think so, for I have a perfect longing for that little
house of my own."

"You will be able to give them a superior kind of society to what
they have had access to here.  There is a good deal that I should
like to talk over with you before they come in."

"Agatha seems to be in despair at her failure."

"So is all the house, for we were very proud of her, and, of course,
we all thought it a fad of the examiners, but perhaps our
headmistress might not say the same.  She is a good, hardworking girl
though, and ambitious, and quite worth further training."

"I am glad of being able to secure it to her at least, and by the
time her course is finished I shall be able to judge about the
others."

"You thought of taking them in hand yourself?"

"Certainly; how nice it will be to teach my own kin, and not endless
strangers, lovable as they have been!"

"It will be very good for them all to see something of life and
manners superior to what I can give them here.  You will take them
into a fresh sphere, and--as things were--besides that, I could not--
I did not know whether their lives would not lie among our people
here."

"Dear Sophy, don't concern yourself.  I am quite certain you would
never let them fall in with anything hurtful."

"Why, no!  I hope not; but if I had known what was coming, I don't
think I should have asked you to consent to Vera and Thekla's
spending their holidays at Mr. Waring's country house."

"Very worthy people, you said.  I remember Tom Waring, a very nice
boy; and Jessie Dale went to school with us--I liked her.  Fancy them
having a country house."

"Waring Grange they call it.  He has got on wonderfully as
upholsterer, decorator, and auctioneer.  It is a very handsome one,
with a garden that gets the prizes at the horticultural shows.  They
are thoroughly good people, but I was afraid afterwards that there
had been a good deal of noisiness among the young folks at Christmas.
Hubert Delrio was there, and I fancy there was some nonsense going
on."

"Ah, the Delrios!  Are they here?"

"Yes, poor Fred did not make his art succeed when he had a family to
provide for, and he is the head of the Art School here.  His son has
a good deal of talent, and very prudently has got taken on by the
firm of Eccles and Co., who do a great deal of architectural
decoration.  The boy is doing very well, but there have been giggles
and whispers that make me rejoice that Vera should be out of the
neighbourhood."

"Is she not very pretty?"

"You will be very much struck with her, I think; and Paulina is
pretty too, and more thoughtful.  She would not go with Thekla,
because Waring Grange is far from church, and she would not disturb
her Christmas and Epiphany.  She is the most religious of them all,
and puts me in mind of our old missionary castles in the air."

"Ah, what castles they were!  And they seem further off than ever!
Or perhaps you will fulfil them, and go and teach the Australian
blacks!"

"A very unpromising field," said Mrs. Best, "though I hear there is a
Sister Angela at the station who does wonders with them.  I hear the
quarter striking--they will be back directly."

"Ah! before they come, we ought to talk over means!  Something is
owing for these last holidays.  Oh! Sophy, I cannot find words to say
how thankful I am to you for having helped me through this time, even
to your own loss!  It has made our life possible."

"Indeed, I was most thankful to do all I could for poor Agnes'
children; and though I did not gain by them like my other boarders, I
never LOST, and they have been a great joy to me, yes, and a help, by
giving my house a character."

"When I recollect how utterly crushed down I felt, seven years ago,
when their mother died, and Aunt Magdalen refused help, and how
despairingly I prayed, I feel all the more that there is an answer to
even feeble almost worldly prayer."

"That it could not be when it was that you might be enabled to do the
duty that was laid on you, my dear."

And with the exchange of a kiss, the two good women set themselves to
practical pounds, shillings, and pence, which was just concluded when
the patter of feet up the stone steps and voices in the hall
announced the return of Mrs. Best's boarders.

Just as Magdalen was opening the door, there darted up, with the air
of a privileged favourite, a little person of ten years old, with
flying brown hair and round rosy cheeks, exclaiming breathlessly, "Is
she come?"

The answer was to take her up with a motherly hug, and "My dear
little Thekla!"  There was not time for more than a hurried glance
and embrace of the three on the steps of the stair, in their sailor
hats and blue serge; but when in ten minutes more, the whole party,
twenty in number, were seated round the dining table, observation was
possible.  Agatha, as senior scholar, sat at the foot of the table,
fully occupied in dispensing Irish stew.  She had a sensible face, to
which projecting teeth gave a character, and a brow that would have
shown itself finer but for the overhanging mass of hair.  Vera and
Paulina were so much alike and so nearly of the same age that they
were often taken for twins, but on closer inspection Vera proved to
be the prettiest, with a more delicately cut nose, clearer
complexion, and bluer eyes; but Paulina, with paler cheeks, had
softer eyes, and more pencilled brows, as well as a prettier lip and
chin, though she would not strike the eye so much as her sister.
Little Thekla was a round-faced, rosy little thing, childish for her
nearly eleven years, smiling broadly and displaying enough white
teeth to make Magdalen forebode that they would need much attention
if they were not to be a desight like Agatha's.

She sat between Mrs. Best and Magdalen; and in the first pause, when
the first course had just been distributed, she looked up with a
great pair of grey eyes, and asked, in a shrill, clear little voice,
"Sister, may I have a bicycle?"

"We will see about it, my dear," returned Magdalen, unwilling to
pledge herself.

"But haven't you got a fortune?" undauntedly demanded Thekla.

"Something like it, Thekla.  You shall hear about it after dinner."
And Magdalen felt her colour flushing up under all those young eyes.

"Kitty Best said--"

But here Mrs. Best interposed.  "We don't talk over such things at
table, Thekla.  Take care with the gravy.  Did Mr. Jones give a
lesson, this morning?"

"Yes, a very long one," said Vera.

"It was about the exact force of the words in the Revised Version,"
added Agatha, "compared with the Greek."

"That must have been very interesting!" said Magdalen.

Vera and her neighbour looked at one another and shrugged their
shoulders; while some one else broke in with the news that another
girl had not come back because she was down with influenza; and
Magdalen, suspecting that "shop" was not talked at table, and also
that the Scripture passage could not well be discussed there, saw
that it was wise to let the conversation drift off, by Mrs. Best's
leading, into anecdotes of the influenza.

All were glad when grace was chanted, and the five sisters could
retreat into the drawing-room, which Mrs. Best let them have to
themselves for the half hour before Magdalen's train, and the young
ones' return to the High School.  She was at once established with
Thekla on her lap, and the others perched round on chairs and
footstools.  Of course the first question was, "And is it really
true?"

"It is true, my dears, that my old great aunt has left me a house and
some money; but you must not flatter yourselves that it is a great
estate."

"Only mayn't I have a bicycle?" began Thekla again.

"Child, I believe you have bicycles on the brain," said Agatha.
"But, sister, you do mean that we shall be better off, and I shall be
able to go on with my education?"

"Yes, my dear, I think I can promise you so much," said Magdalen,
caressing the serge shoulder.

"O thanks!  Girton?" cried Agatha.

"There is much that I must inquire about before I decide--"

Again came, "Elsie Warner has a bicycle, and she is no older than me!
Please, sister!"

"Hush now, my little Thekla," said the sister kindly; "I will talk to
Mrs. Best, and see whether she thinks it will be good for you."

Thekla subsided with a pout, and Magdalen was able to explain her
circumstances and plans a little more in detail; seeing however that
the girls had no idea of the value of money, Paulina asked whether it
meant being as well off as the Colonel and Lady Mary -

"Who keep a carriage and pair, and a butler," interposed Vera.

"Oh no, my dear.  If I keep any kind of carriage it will be only a
basket or governess cart, and a pony or donkey."

"That's all right," said Agatha.  "I would not be rich and stupid for
the world."

"Small fear of that!" said Magdalen, laughing.  "Our home, the Goyle,
is not more than a cottage, in a beautiful Devonshire valley--"

"What's the name of it?"

"The Goyle.  I believe it is a diminutive of Gully, a narrow ravine.
It is lovely even now, and will be delightful when you come to me in
April--"

"Shall I leave school?" asked Vera.  "I shall be seventeen in May."

"You will all leave school.  Mrs. Best has made it easy to me by her
wonderful goodness in keeping you on cheaper terms; but if Agatha
goes to the University you must be content to work for a time with
me."

"Oh!" cried Thekla.  "Shall I have always holidays?  My bicycle!"

Everybody burst out laughing at this--not a very trained
cachinnation, but more of the giggle, even in Agatha; and Magdalen
answered:

"You will have plenty of time for bicycling if the hills are not too
steep, but I hope to make your lessons pleasant to you."  She did not
know whether to mention Mrs. Best's intention of soon giving up her
house, which would have much increased her difficulties but for her
legacy; and Agatha said, "You know, I think, that Vera and Polly both
ought to make a real study of music.  They both have talent, and
cultivation would do a great deal for it."

Agatha spoke in a dogmatic way that amused Magdalen, and she said,
"Well, I shall be able to judge when we are at the Goyle.  Vera, I
think you sing--"

Vera looked shy, and Agatha said, "She has a good voice, and Madame
Lardner thinks it would answer to send her to some superior
Conservatoire in process of time."

Vera did not commit herself as to her wishes, and Mrs. Best returned
to say that if Miss Prescott wished to see the headmistress it was
time to set out for the school; and accordingly the whole party
walked up together to the school, Magdalen with Agatha, who was
chiefly occupied in explaining how entirely it was owing to the one-
sidedness of the examiners that she had not gained the scholarship.
Magdalen had heard of such examiners before from the mothers of her
pupils.

She had to wish her sisters good-bye for the next three months, not
having gathered very much about them, except their personal
appearance.  She administered a sovereign to each of them as they
parted.  Agatha thanked her in a tone as if afraid to betray what a
boon it was; Vera, with an eager kiss, asking if she could spend it
as she liked; Paulina, with a certain grave propriety; and Thekla, of
course, wanted to know whether it would buy a bicycle, or, if not,
how many rides could be purchased from it.

When they were absorbed in the routine of the day, the interview with
the head mistress disclosed, what Magdalen had expected, that Agatha,
was an industrious, ambitious girl, with very good abilities quite
worth cultivating, though not extraordinary; that Vera had a certain
sort of cleverness, but no application and not much taste for
anything but music; and that Paulina was a good, dutiful, plodding
girl, who surpassed brighter powers by dint of diligence.  The little
one was a mere child, who had not yet come much under notice from the
higher authorities.

On the whole, Magdalen went away with pleasant hopes, and the
affectionate impulses of kindred blood rising within her, to complete
her term with Lady Milsom, by whom she could not well be spared till
towards Easter; while, in the meantime, her house was being repaired.



CHAPTER II--THE GOYLE



"A poor thing, but mine own."--SHAKESPEARE.

"Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns."
--T. HUGHES, Scouring of the White Horse.

Magdalen Prescott stood on her own little terrace.  Her house was,
like many Devonian ones, built high on the slope of a steep hill,
running down into a narrow valley, and her abode was almost at the
narrowest part, where a little lively brawling stream descended from
the moor amid rocks and brushwood.  If the history of the place were
told, it had been built for a shooting box, then inherited by a
lawyer who had embellished and spent his holidays there, and
afterwards, his youngest daughter, a lonely and retiring woman, had
spent her latter years there.

The house was low, stone built, and roofed with rough slate, with a
narrow verandah in front, and creepers in bud covering it.  Then came
a terrace just wide enough for a carriage to drive up; and below,
flower-beds bordered with stones found what vantage ground they could
between the steep slopes of grass that led almost precipitously down
to the stream, where the ground rose equally rapidly on the other
side.  Moss, ivy, rhododendrons, primroses, anemones, and the promise
of ferns were there, and the adjacent beds had their full share of
hepaticas and all the early daffodil kinds.  Behind and on the
southern side, lay the kitchen garden, also a succession of steps,
and beyond as the ravine widened were small meadows, each with a big
stone in the midst.  The gulley, (or goyle) narrowed as it rose, and
there was a disused limestone quarry, all wreathed over with creeping
plants, a birch tree growing up all white and silvery in the middle,
and above the house and garden was wood, not of fine trees, and
interspersed with rocks, but giving shade and shelter.  The opposite
side had likewise fields below, with one grey farm house peeping in
sight, and red cattle feeding in one, and above the same rocky
woodland, meeting the other at the quarry; and then after a little
cascade had tumbled down from the steeper ground, giving place to the
heathery peaty moor, which ended, more than two miles off in a torr
like a small sphinx.  This could not be seen from Magdalen's
territory, but from the highest walk in her kitchen garden, she could
see the square tower of Arnscombe, her parish church; and on a clear
day, the glittering water of Rockstone bay.

To Magdalen it was a delightful view, and delightful too had been the
arranging of her house, and preparing for her sisters.  All the
furniture and contents of the abode had been left to her.  It was
solid and handsome of its kind, belonging to the days of the retired
Q.C., and some of it would have been displaced for what was more
fresh and tasteful if Magdalen had not consulted economy.  So she
depended on basket-chairs, screens, brackets and drapery to enliven
the ancient mahagony and rosewood, and she had accumulated a good
many water colours, vases and knick-knacks.  The old grand piano was
found to be past its work, so that she went the length of purchasing
a cottage one for the drawing-room, and another for the sitting-room
that was to be the girls' own property, and on which she expended
much care and contrivance.  It opened into the drawing-room, and like
it, had glass doors into the verandah, as well as another door into
the little hall.  The drawing-room had a bow window looking over the
fields towards the South, and this way too looked the dining-room, in
which Magdalen bestowed whatever was least interesting, such as the
"Hume and Smollett" and "Gibbon" of her grandfather's library and her
own school books, from which she hoped to teach Thekla.

Her upstairs arrangements had for the moment been rather disturbed by
Mrs. Best's wishing to come with her pupils; but she decided that
Agatha should at once take possession of her own pretty room, and the
two next sisters of theirs, while she herself would sleep in the
dressing room which she destined to Thekla, giving up her own chamber
to Mrs. Best for these few days, and sending Thekla's little bed to
Agatha's room.

And there she stood, on the little terrace, thinking how lovely the
purple light on the moor was, and how all the newcomers would enjoy
such a treat.

She had abstained from meeting them at the station, having respect to
the capacities of the horse, even upon his native hills, and she had
hired a farmer's cart to meet them and bring their luggage.  Already
she had a glimpse of the carriage, toiling up one hill, then
disappearing between the hedges, and it was long before her gate,
already open, was reached, and at her own OWN door, she received her
little sister, followed by the others.  And the first word she heard
even before she had time to pay the driver was, "My dear Magdalen,
what a road!"

Poor Mrs. Best! as the payment was put into the man's hand, Magdalen
looked round and saw she looked quite worn out.

"Yes," said Paulina, "bumped to pieces and tired to death."

"I was afraid they had been mending the roads," said Magdalen.

"Mending!  Strewing them with rocks, if you please," said Agatha.

"And such a distance!" added Paulina.

"Not quite three miles," replied Magdalen.  "Here is some tea to
repair you."

"My dear Magdalen"--in a chorus--"that really is quite impossible.
It must be five, at least."

"Your nearest town ten miles off!" sighed Vera.

"Your nearest church," cried Paulina.

"Up in the wilds," said Agatha.

Magdalen felt as if these speeches were so many drops of water in her
face and that of her beautiful Goyle, but she rose in its defence.

"It actually is less than three miles," she said.  "I have walked it
several times, and the cabs only charge three."

"That is testimony," said Mrs. Best, smiling; "but hills, perhaps,
reckon for miles in one's feelings!"

"Particularly before you are rested," said Magdalen, setting her down
in a comfortable wicker chair.  "You will think little of it on your
own feet, Vera, and the church is much nearer, Paulina, only on the
other side of the hill."

"May I have a bicycle of my own?" burst in Thekla, again; while every
one began laughing, and Agatha told her that Sister would think her
brains were cycling.


"With centric and concentric scribbled o'er
Cycle and epicycle orb in orb."


"Epicycle?" cried Vera.  "I saw it advertised in the Queen.  A
splendid one."

"Ah!  Magdalen, you will think I have not taught them their Milton,"
said Mrs. Best, as both elders burst out laughing; and Agatha said,
in an undertone, "Don't make yourself such a goose, Vera."

"I should think it rather rough sailing for bikes," said Paulina.

"I should have thought so, myself," returned Magdalen; "but the
Clipstone girls do not seem to think so.  I see them sailing merrily
into Rockstone."

"You have neighbours, then?" said Vera.

"Certainly.  Rockstone supplies a good deal.  Here are various cards
of people whose visits are yet to be returned.  Clipstone is further
off; but the daughters will be nice friends for you.  I met one of
them before, when she was staying at Lord Rotherwood's.  But I am
afraid your boxes are hardly come yet.  Still, you will like to take
off your things before dinner, even if you cannot unpack."

She led the way, and disposed of each girl in her new quarters,
explaining to Agatha that her's and her little lodger were only
temporary; but it struck upon her rather painfully that the only word
of approbation or comfort came from Mrs. Best, and there were no
notes at all of admiration of the scenery.

"Well," she said to herself, "much is not to be expected from people
who have been tired and shaken up in a station cab over newly-mended
roads!  Were they as bad when I came?  But then I could look out, and
did not hear poor Sophy's groans all the way.  I rather wish she had
not come with them, though I am glad to see her again for this last
time."

Meantime the four girls had congregated in the room appropriated to
Vera and Paulina.  "Here are the necessaries of life," said Agatha,
handing out a brush and comb.  "That slow wain may roll its course in
utter darkness before it comes here."

"To the other end of nowhere," said Vera.

"And I am so tired," whined Thekla.  "These tight boots do hurt me
so!  I want to go to bed."

Paulina was already on her knees, removing the boots and
accommodating a pair of slippers to the little feet.

"We might as well be in a desert island," continued Vera, "shut up
from everything with an old frump."

"Take care," said Agatha, in warning, signing towards Thekla.

"I am sure she looks jolly and good-natured," said Paulina.

"But did you hear what Elsie Lee always calls her, 'our maiden
aunt'?"

All three laughed, and Vera added, "All the girls say she can't be
less than fifty."

"Topsy!  You know she is only sixteen years older than I am."

"Well, that's half a hundred!"

"Sixteen and nineteen, what do they make?"

"Oh, never mind your sums.  She has got the face and look of half a
hundred!"

"Now, I thought her face and her dress like a girl's," said Paulina.

"Yes," said Vera, "that's just the way with old maids.  They dress
themselves up youthfully and affect girlish airs, and are all the
more horrid."

"That's your experience!" said Agatha.  "But there's the waggon
creeping up at a snail's pace.  "Let us run down and see after our
things."



CHAPTER III--THE FIRST SUNDAY



"Speed on, speed on, the footpath way,
   And merrily hunt the stile-a;
A merry heart goes all the way,
   A sad tires in a mile-a."
- SHAKESPEARE.


Sunday morning rose with new and bright hopes.  The girls looked out
at their window, and saw that it was a beautiful morning, and that
the spring sunshine glowed upon the purple summits of the hills.
Agatha supposed there would be a pleasant walk to church; Paulina
said she had heard good accounts of the services in that part of the
country; Vera hoped that they would see what their neighbours were
like, and Thekla was delighted with the jolly garden and places to
scramble in.

On this first Sunday they were let alone to explore the garden before
the walk to church, which Magdalen foresaw would be a long affair
with Mrs. Best.  After their decorous stillness at breakfast, it was
a contrast to hear the merry voices and laughter outside, but it
subsided as soon as she approached, though she did not hear the
murmured ripple, "Here comes maiden aunt!  Behold--Quite a spicy
hat!"

In truth, Magdalen's hat was a pretty new one, not by any means
unsuitable to her age and appearance, and altogether her air was more
stylish than the country town breeding was accustomed to; her dress
perfectly plain, but well made.

Vera was perhaps the most sensible of the perfection of the turn-out;
Agatha chiefly felt that her more decorated skirt and mantle had
their inconveniences in walking through the red mud of the lanes,
impeded by books and umbrella, which left no leisure to admire the
primroses that studded the deep banks and which delighted Thekla in
the freedom of short skirts.

Magdalen herself had enough to do in steering along such a
substantial craft as poor Mrs. Best, used to church-going along a
street, and shrouded under a squirrel mantle of many pounds weight.

Barely in time was the convoy when at last the exhausted lady was
helped over the stone stile that led to the churchyard.  Highly
picturesque was the grey structure outside, but within modernism had
not done much; the chancel was feebly fitted after the ideas of the
"fifties," but the faded woodwork of the nave was intact, and
Magdalen still had to sit in the grim pew of her predecessors.

The girls' looks at each other might have suited the entrance to a
condemned cell, and the pulpit towered above them with a faded green
cushion, that seemed in danger of tumbling down over their heads.

The service was a plain one, but reverent and careful; the music had
a considerable element of harmonium mixed with schoolchild voices,
and the sermon from an elderly man was a good one; but when the move
to go out was made, and the young ones were beyond ear-shot of their
elders, the exclamations were, "Well, I never thought to have gone
back to Georgian era."

"Exactly the element of our maiden aunt."

"And nobody to be seen."

"Naggie, why do they shut one up in boxes?"

"Just to daunt Flapsy's roving eye, Tickle, my dear."

"Don't, Polly.  There was nobody to be seen if we hadn't been in a
box.  Of course no one comes there but stately old farmers and their
smart daughters.  I saw one with a Gainsborough hat, and a bunch of
cock's feathers, with a scarlet cactus cocking it up behind."

"Flapsy made use of her opportunities, you see.  Being 'emparocked in
a pew' cannot daunt her spirit of research."

"Now, Nag, I only meant to show you what impossible people they are."

"Natives who will repay the study perhaps," continued Agatha, reading
as though from a book of travels.  "We were able to observe a group
of the aborigines at their devotions.  Conspicuous was a not
ungraceful young female, whose head, ornamented with a plume of
feathers, towered above the enclosure in which she was secluded,
while an aged fakir, hakem or medicine man pronounced from a loftier
structure resembling a sentry box."

"Children, children, that's the wrong way," came Magdalen's voice
from behind.  "You must turn into that lane.  Wait a moment."

They waited till Mrs. Best's lagging steps allowed Magdalen to come
up with them, but dead silence fell on them when Mrs. Best observed,
"You were very merry."  They could not speak of the cause.  Perhaps
Magdalen divined something, for she said, "We hope to make some
improvements, and so indeed does Mr. Earl, but he is very poor.
Besides, newcomers must work slowly."

The doubt whether she had heard Agatha's speech made the girls
conscious enough to keep from responding, as she meant them to do, by
cheerful criticisms, and indeed the task of cheering and dragging on
Mrs. Best was quite enough to occupy her.  There was only three years
difference in their ages, but this seemed to have made a great
interval between one whose metier had been to be youthful and active,
and her who had to be staid and dignified.

The early dinner passed in all demureness and formality, and the poor
visitor was too much tired for any more services to be thought of for
her.  Magdalen explained that when the days would be longer, she
thought of walking to Rockstone for evensong, but now the best way
was to go to the chapel at Clipstone, which was nearer than either of
the others.

"There is a lovely little chapel there, beautifully fitted up by Lord
Rotherwood and Sir Jasper Merrifield, for the hamlet," she said.

"How far?" asked Mrs. Best.

"About a mile and a half across the fields; further by the road.  You
will find your bicycles available when you know the way."

"Don't we go to Rockstone?" asked Paulina.  "I am sure there is a
really satisfactory church there."

"St. Kenelm's, do you mean?  That is not so near as St. Andrew's
Church, but that is very satisfactory, and I go to one or other of
them on week-days.  It is too late to come back on these spring
Sundays."

"I should not like to live among so many churches," said Mrs. Best,
"and so far from them all!"

"You love your old parish church, like a faithful old churchwoman,"
said Magdalen.  "Well, you see, I am faithful enough to go to my
parish in the morning, but I think we may be discursive afterwards.
There is a Sunday school in which I was waiting to offer help till
our party was made up."

Magdalen had looked twice for a responding smile, first from Agatha,
and then from Paulina, but none was awakened.  The girls clustered
together in the bedroom, and the word "Goody" passed between them.

"Tempered by respect for my Lord and Sir Jasper," added Agatha.

"And avoiding St. Kenelm's because it is the real correct church,"
said Paulina.

"Oh, yes!" cried Vera.  "Mr. Hubert Delrio went to see it in case
Eccles and Beamster should have an order.  We must go there."

"Of course," said Paulina, with a sympathetic nod.

"But," said Agatha, "there will be an embargo on all acquaintance
except the grandees at Clipstone."

"I shall never drop old friends," cried Vera.  "I am a rock of
crystal as regards them, whatever swells may require, if they burst
themselves like the frog and the ox."

"Well done, crystal rock; but suppose the old friends slide off and
drop you?" laughed Agatha.

Vera tossed her head; and Thekla ran in to say that Sister was ready.

The walk was shorter and pleasanter than that in the morning, over
moorland, but with a good road; but all Magdalen discovered on the
walk was that though the girls had attended botanical classes, they
did not recognise spear-wort when they saw it, and Agatha thought the
old catalogue fashions of botany were quite exploded.  This was a
sentiment, and it gave hopes of something like an argument and a
conversation, but they were at that moment overtaken by the
neighbouring farmer's wife, who wanted to give Miss Prescott some
information about a setting of eggs, which she did at some length,
and with a rapid utterance of dialect that amused, while it puzzled,
Magdalen, and her inquiries and comments were decided to be
"thoroughly good-wife" by all save Thekla, who hailed the possible
ownership of a hen and chicken as almost equal to that of a bicycle.

Magdalen further discovered that Thekla's name in common use was
"Tickle," or else "Tick-tick"; Paulina was, of course, Paula or
Polly; Vera had her old baby title of Flapsy, which somehow suited
her restless nervous motions, and Agatha had become Nag.  Well, it
was the fashion of the day, though not a pretty one; but Magdalen
recollected, with some pain, her father's pleasure in the selection
of saintly names for his little daughters, and she wondered how he
would have liked to hear them thus transmuted.  There had been
something bordering on sentiment in her father's character, and
something in Paulina's expression made her hope to see it repeated by
inheritance.  She saw the countenance brighten out of the morning's
antagonistic air when they entered the little chapel at Clipstone,
and saw the altar adorned and carefully decked with white narcissus
and golden daffodils.

The little chapel was old and plain, very small, but reverently cared
for.  There was no choir, but the chairs of those who could sing were
placed near the harmonium, which was played by one of the young
ladies from the large gabled house to which the chapel was attached,
and the singing had the refined tones that belong to the music of
cultivated people.  The congregation was evidently of poor folks from
the hamlet, dependants of the great house, and the family itself, a
grey-haired, fine-looking general, a tall dark-eyed lady, a tall
youth, a schoolboy, and four girls--one of whom was musician, and the
other presided over the school children.  The service was reverent,
the catechising good and effective, the sermon brief, and summing up
in a spiritual and devotional manner; Magdalen was happy, and trusted
that Paulina was so likewise.

She expected to hear some commendation as they walked home, but Vera
alone kept with her, to examine her on the names and standing of the
persons she had seen, on which there was as yet little to tell, for
the first move towards acquaintance had not yet been made.  All that
was known was that there were Sir Jasper and Lady Merrifield,
connections of Lord Rotherwood, who owned most of the Rockstone
property, and who with his family had once been staying in the
country house where Magdalen had been governess; but it was a long
time ago, and she only recollected that there were some nice little
girls.  At least she said no more, but her friend thought the more.

"I suppose they will call?" said Vera.

"Most likely they will."

"Has nobody called?"

"Mr. Earl, the Vicar of Arnscombe.  He has promised to tell me how we
can be of use here.  I believe there is great want of a lady at the
Sunday school."

This did not interest Vera--and she went on asking questions about
the neighbourhood, and whether any of the Rockstone people had left
cards, and whether there were any parties, garden or evening, at
Rockstone--more than Magdalen could yet answer, though she was glad
to promote any sort of conversation with either of the girls who did
not stand aloof from her.

"I say, the M.A. (maiden aunt) knows nobody but that old clergyman,
who wants her to teach his Sunday school."

"I'm out of that, thank goodness," said Agatha.

"And Sunday schools are a delusion, only hindering the children from
going to church with their parents," said Paulina.

"And if nobody calls, and they all think her no better than an old
governess, how awfully slow it will be," continued Vera.

"I do not suppose that will last," said Agatha.  "There is Rockstone,
remember."

"Ten miles off," said Vera disconsolately.  "Oh, Nag, Nag, isn't it
horrid!  We shall be just smart enough to be taken for swells, and
know nobody; and the swells won't have us because she is a governess.
We might as well be upon a desert island at once."

Agatha could not help laughing and repeating -


"I am out of humanity's reach,
   I must finish my journey alone -
Never hear the sweet music of speech,
   I start at the sound of my own."


"But really, Nag," broke in Paulina, "it is horrid.  Here we are
equidistant from three or four churches, and condemned to the most
behind the world of them all, and then to the one where there is this
distant fragrance of swells, instead of the only Catholic one."

Agatha had a little more common sense than the other two, and she
responded -

"After all, you know, you are better off than if you were still at
school; and the M.A. is a good old soul at the bottom, and you may
manage her, depend on it.  Though I wish she had let me go to
Girton."

Magdalen and Mrs. Best meantime were going over future prospects and
old times.  Mrs. Best's destination was Albertstown, in Queensland,
where her son George had a good practice as a doctor, and where he
assured her she would find church privileges--even a cathedral, so-
called, and a bishop--though Bishop Fulmort was always out on some
expedition among the colonists or the natives, but among his clergy
there was always Sunday service.  In fact, Magdalen thought the good
old lady expected to find a town more like Filsted than the Goyle.
There was a sisterhood located there too, which tried, mostly in
vain, to train the wild native women--an attempt at which George Best
laughed, though he allowed that the sisters were splendid nurses,
especially Sister Angela, who had a wonderful way of bringing cases
round.

Magdalen could feel secure that her old friend would be near kind
people; and presently Mrs. Best, returning to the actual
neighbourhood, observed -

"Merrifield!  It is not a common name."

"No; but I do not think this is the same family.  This is a retired
general, living in a house of Lord Rotherwood's.  I once met one of
his little girls, who came to Castle Towers with the Rotherwood
party, and though she had a brother of the name, he was evidently not
the same person."

Mrs. Best asked no more, for tell-tale colour had arisen in
Magdalen's cheeks; and she had been the confidante of an engagement
with a certain Henry Merrifield, who had been employed in the bank at
Filsted when Magdalen was a very young girl.  His father had come
down suddenly, had found debt and dissipation, had broken all off
decidedly, and no more had been heard of the young man.  It was many
years previously; but those cheeks and the tone of the reply made her
suspect that there was still poignancy in the remembrance.



CHAPTER IV--CYCLES



"What flowers grow in my field wherewith to dress thee."
- E. BARRETT BROWNING.

Mrs. Best departed early the next morning.  It was probably a parting
for life between the two old friends; and Magdalen keenly felt the
severance from the one person whom she had always known, and on whose
sympathy she could rely.  Their conversations had been very precious
to her, and she felt desolate without the entire companionship.  Yet,
on the other hand, she felt as if she could have begun better with
her sisters if Sophy Best had not come with them, to hand them over,
as it were, when she wanted to start on the same level with them, and
be more like their contemporary than their authority.

They all stood on the terrace, watching the fly go down the hill, and
she turned to them and said -

"We will all settle ourselves this morning, and you will see how the
land lies, so that to-morrow we can arrange our day and see what work
to do.  Thekla, when you have had a run round the garden, you might
bring your books to the dining-room and let me see how far you have
gone."

"Oh, sister, it is holidays!"

"Well, my dear, you have had a week, and your holiday time cannot
last for ever.  Looking at your books cannot spoil it."

"Yes, it will; they are so nasty."

"Perhaps you will not always think so; but now you had better put on
your hat and your thick boots, for the grass is still very wet, and
explore the country.  The same advice to you," she added, turning to
the others; "it is warm here, but the dew lies long on the slopes."

"We have got a great deal too much to do," said Agatha, "for dawdling
about just now."

Really, she was chiefly prompted by the satisfaction of not being
ordered about; and the other two followed suit, while Magdalen turned
away to her household business.

They found the housemaid in possession of the bedrooms, so that the
unpacking plans could not conveniently be begun; and while Agatha was
struggling with the straps of a book box, Thekla burst in upon them.

"Oh, Nag, Nag, there is the loveliest angel of a bicycle in the
stable, and a dear little pony besides!  'New tyre wheels,' he says."

"A bicycle!  Well, if she has got it for us, she is an angel indeed,"
said Vera.

"It is a big one," said Thekla, "but the pony is a dear little thing;
Pixy is his name, and I can ride him!  Do come, Flapsy, and see!
Earwaker will show you.  It is he that does the oiling of Pixy and
harnessing the bicycle.  I mean--"

"Tick, Tick, which does he oil and which does he harness?" said
Paula.

"That little tongue wants both," said Agatha.

"But do, do come and see," said Thekla, not at all disconcerted by
being laughed at; and Vera came, only asserting her independence by
not putting on either hat or boots.

Thekla led the way to the stable, tucked under the hill at the back,
and presiding over a linhay, as she had already learnt to call the
tiny farm-court, containing accommodation for two cows, a pig, and
sundry fowls.  There was a shed attached with a wicker pony carriage
and the bicycle, a handsome modern one, with all the newest
appendages, including the "Nevertires," as Thekla had translated
them.

But disappointment was in store for Vera.  Magdalen came out during
the inspection, and was received with -

"Sister, you never told us of this beauty."

"It was a parting present from General Mansell," she said, "and he
took great pains to get me a very good one."

"And you bike!"

"Oh, yes; I learnt to go out with the Colvins.  But I do not venture
to use it much here, unless the road is good.  Those rocks, freshly
laid towards Rockstone, would make regular havoc of the pneumatic
tyres."

Vera saw that this was prohibitive, and felt too much vexed to
mention Thekla's version of the same; but Magdalen asked, "Have you
learnt?"

"They were always going to teach me at Warner Grange, but it always
snowed, or rained, or skated, I mean we skated, or something,
whenever Hubert had time; but I am perfectly dying to learn."

"Well, before you expire, we may teach you a little on these smoother
paths; and hire one perhaps, by the time the stones are passable.
Just at present, I think our own legs and Pixy's are safer for that
descent."

Vera was pacified enough to look on with a certain degree of
complacency, while Thekla was enraptured at being set to take out the
eggs from the hens' nests.

But the conclave in the sitting-room on Vera's report decided,
"Selfish old thing, it is only an excuse!  Of course we should take
care not to spoil it.  It shows what will be the way with
everything."

No one knew of a still more secret conclave within Magdalen's own
breast, one of those held at times by many an elder, between the
claims of loyalty to the keepsakes of affection and old association
and the gratification of present desires.  Magdalen thought of the
rules of convents forbidding the appropriation of personal trifles,
and wondered if it were wise, if stern; but for the present she
decided that it could not be her duty to risk what had been carefully
and kindly selected for her in unpractised and careless hands; and
she further compromised the matter by reckoning whether her funds,
which were not excessive, would admit of the hire or purchase of
machines that might allay the burning aspirations of her young
people.

The upshot of her reckoning was that when they all met at the early
dinner, she announced, "I think we might go to Rock Quay this
afternoon, between the pony carriage and Shanks's mare.  I want to
ask about some lessons, and we could see about the hire of a bicycle
for you to learn upon."

It was only Agatha who answered, "Thank you, but it is not worth
while for me, I shall be away so soon."

Thekla cried out, "Me too!"--and Paulina mumbled something.  In
truth, besides the thought of the bicycle in the stable, the other
two had lived enough in the country-town atmosphere to be foolishly
disgusted at being obliged to dine early.  That they had always been
used to it made them only think it beneath their age as well as their
dignity, and, "What a horrid nuisance!" had been on their tongues
when the bell was ringing.

Moreover, they had enough of silly prejudice about them to feel
aggrieved at the sight of hash, nice as it was with fresh vegetables,
and they were not disposed to good temper when they sat down to their
meal.  "They" perhaps properly means the middle pair, for Agatha had
more notion of manners and of respect, and Thekla had an endless
store of chatter about her discoveries.

The pony-carriage was brought round in due time, but just then
another vehicle of the same kind, only prettier and with two ponies,
was seen at the gate, too late for the barbarian instinct of rushing
away to hide from morning visitors to be carried out, before Lady
Merrifield and a daughter, were up the slope and on the levelled road
before the verandah.

"I think this is an old acquaintance," said Lady Merrifield as she
shook hands, "though perhaps Mysie is grown out of remembrance."

"Oh, yes," said an honest open-faced maiden, eagerly putting out her
hand.  "Don't you remember, Miss Prescott, our all staying at Castle
Towers?  I came with Phyllis Devereux, and she and I took poor Betty
Bernard out after blackberries, and she thought it was a mad bull
when it was a railway whistle, and ran into a cow-pond, and Cousin
Rotherwood came and Captain Grantley and got her out."

Magdalen was smiling and nodding recollection, and added, "It was
really one of the boys."

"Oh, yes."


"I thought it was a crazy bull
   Firing a blunderbuss--"


She paused for recollection, and Magdalen went on -


"I thought it was a crazy bull
   Firing a blunderbuss;
I looked again, and, lo, it was
   A water polypus.
'Oh, guard my life,' I said, 'for she
   Will make an awful fuss.'"


"Ah! do you remember that?" cried Mysie.  "I have so often tried to
recollect what it really was when she looked again.  Captain Grantley
made it, you know, when we were trying to comfort Betty."

"I remember you and Lady Phyllis said you would go and confess to
Mrs. Bernard and take all the blame, and Lord Rotherwood said he
would escort you!"

"Yes, and Betty said it was no good, for if her mother forgave her
ten times over, still that spiteful French maid would put her to bed
and say she had no robe convenable," went on Mysie.  "But then you
took her to your own room, and washed her and mended her, so that she
came out all right at luncheon, and nobody knew anything, but she
thought that horrid woman guessed and tweaked her hair all the harder
for it."

"Poor child, she looked as if she were under a tyranny."

"Have you seen her since?"

"No; but Phyllis tells me she has burst forth into liberty, bicycles,
and wild doings that would drive her parents to distraction if she
dreamt of them."

"How is Lady Phyllis?  Did I not hear that the family had gone abroad
for her health?"

"Oh yes, and I went with them.  They all had influenza, and were
frightened, but it ended in our meeting with Franceska Vanderkist,
the very most charming looking being I ever did see; and Ivinghoe had
fallen in love with her when she was Miranda, and he married her like
a real old hero.  Do you remember Ivinghoe?"

"No; I suppose he was one of an indistinguishable troop of
schoolboys."

"I remember Lord Rotherwood's good nature and fun when he met the
bedraggled party," said Magdalen, smiling.

"That is what every one remembers about him," said Lady Merrifield,
smiling.  "You have imported a large party of youth, Miss Prescott."

"My young sisters," responded Magdalen; "but I shall soon part with
Agatha; she is going to Oxford."

"Indeed!  To which College?  I have a daughter at Oxford, and a niece
just leaving Cambridge.  Such is our lot in these days.  No, not this
one, but her elder sister Gillian is at Lady Catharine's."

"I am going to St. Robert's," said Agatha, abruptly.

"Close to Lady Catharine's!  Gillian will be glad to tell her
anything she would like to ask about it.  You had better come over to
tea some afternoon."

The time was fixed, and then Magdalen showed some of the
advertisements of tuition in art, music, languages, and everything
imaginable, which had begun to pour in upon her, and was very glad of
a little counsel on the reputation of each professor.  Lady
Merrifield saying, however, that her experience was small, as her
young people in general were not musical, with the single exception
of her son Wilfred, who was at home, reading to go up for the Civil
Service, and recreating himself with the Choral Society and lessons
on the violin.  "My youngest is fifteen," she said, "and we provide
for her lessons amongst us, except for the School of Art, and
calisthenics at the High School, which is under superior management
now, and very much improved."

Mysie echoed, "Oh, calisthenics are such fun!" and took the reins to
drive away.

"Oh! she is very nice," exclaimed Mysie, as they drove down the hill.

"Yes, there is something very charming about her.  I wonder whether
Sam made a great mistake."

"Mamma, what do you mean?"

"Have I been meditating aloud?  You said when you met her at Castle
Towers, she asked you whether you had a brother Harry."

"Yes, she did.  I only said yes, but he was going to be a clergyman,
and when she heard his age, she said he was not the one she had
known; I did not speak of cousin Henry because you said we were not
to mention him.  What was it, if I may know, mamma?"

"There is no reason that you should not, except that it is a painful
matter to mention to Bessie or any of the Stokesley cousins.  Harry
was never like the rest, I believe, but I had never seen him since he
was almost a baby.  He never would work, and was not fit for any
examination."

"Our Harry used to say that Bessie and David had carried off all the
brains of the family."

"The others have sense and principle, though.  Well, they put their
Hal into a Bank at Filsted, and by and by they found he was in a
great scrape, with gambling debts; and I believe that but for the
forbearance of the partners, he might have been prosecuted for
embezzling a sum--or at least he was very near it; besides which he
had engaged himself to an attorney's daughter, very young, and with a
very disagreeable mother or stepmother.  The Admiral came down in
great indignation, thought these Prescotts had inveigled poor Henry,
broke everything hastily off, and shipped him off to Canada to his
brothers, George and John.  They found some employment for him, but
Susan and Bessie doubt whether they were very kind to him, and in a
few years more he was in fresh scrapes, and with worse stains and
questions of his integrity.  It ended in his running away to the
States, and no trace has been found of him since.  I am afraid he
took away money of his brothers."

"How long ago was it, mamma?"

"At least twenty years.  It was while we were in Malta."

"Who would have thought of those dear Stokesley cousins having such a
skeleton in their cupboard?"

"Ah! my dear, no one knows the secrets of others' hearts."

"And you really think that this Miss Prescott was his love?"

"I know it was the same name, and Bessie told me that he used to talk
to her of his Magdalen, or Maidie; and when I heard of your meeting
her at Castle Towers I wondered if it were the same.  And now I see
what she is, and what she is undertaking for these young sisters; I
have wondered whether your uncle was wise to insist on the utter
break, and whether she might not have been an anchor to hold him fast
to his moorings."

"Only," said Mysie, "if he had really cared, would he have let his
father break it off so entirely?"

"I think your uncle expected implicit obedience."

"But--," said Mysie, and left the rest unsaid, while both she and her
mother went off into meditations on different lines on the exigencies
of parental discipline and of the requirements of full-grown hearts.

And, on the whole, the younger one was the most for strict obedience,
the experienced parent in favour of liberty.  But then Mysie was old-
fashioned and dutiful.



CHAPTER V--CLIPSTONE FRIENDS



"What idle progeny succeed
To chase the rolling circle's speed,
Or urge the flying ball."--GRAY.


The afternoon at Clipstone was a success.  Gillian was at home, and
every one found congeners.  Lady Merrifield's sister, Miss Mohun,
pounced upon Miss Prescott as a coadjutor in the alphabet of good
works needed in the neglected district of Arnscombe, where Mr. Earl
was wifeless, and the farm ladies heedless; but they were interrupted
by Mysie running up to claim Miss Prescott for a game at croquet.
"Uncle Redgie was so glad to see the hoops come into fashion again,"
and Vera and Paula hardly knew the game, they had always played at
lawn tennis; but they were delighted to learn, for Uncle Redgie
proved to be a very fine-looking retired General, and there was a lad
besides, grown to manly height; and one boy, at home for Easter, who,
caring not for croquet, went with Primrose to exhibit to Thekla the
tame menagerie, where a mungoose, called of course Raki raki, was the
last acquisition.  She was also shown the kittens of the beloved
Begum, and presented with Phoebus, a tabby with a wise face and a
head marked like a Greek lyre, to be transplanted to the Goyle in due
time.

"If Sister will let me have it," said Thekla.

"Of course she will," said Primrose.  "Mysie says she is so jolly."

"Dear me! all the girls at our school said she was a regular Old
Maid."

"What shocking bad form!" exclaimed Primrose.  "Just like cads of
girls," muttered Fergus, unheard; for Thekla continued--"Why, they
said she must be our maiden aunt, instead of our sister."

"The best thing going!" said Fergus.

"Maiden aunts in books are always horrid," said Thekla.

"Then the books ought to be hung, drawn, and quartered, and
spifflicated besides," said Fergus.

"Fergus doesn't like anybody so well as Aunt Jane," said Primrose,
"because nobody else understands his machines."

Thekla made a grimace.

"Ah!" said Primrose.  "I see it is just as mamma and Mysie said when
they came home, that Miss Prescott was very nice indeed, and it was
famous that she should make a home for you all, only they were afraid
you seemed as if--you might be--tiresome," ended Primrose, looking
for a word.

"Well, you know she wants to be our governess," said Thekla.

"Well?" repeated Primrose.

"And of course no one ever likes their governess."

This aphorism, so uttered by Thekla, provoked a yell from Primrose,
echoed by Fergus; and Primrose, getting her breath, declared that
dear Miss Winter was a great darling, and since she had gone away,
more's the pity, mamma was real governess to herself, Valetta, and
Mysie, and she always looked at their translations and heard their
reading if Gillian was not at home.

"And they are quite grown-up young ladies!"

"Mysie is; but I don't know about Val.  Only I don't see why any one
should be silly and do nothing if one is grown up ever so much," said
Primrose.

"As the Eiffel Tower," put in Fergus.

"Nonsense!" said Primrose, bent on being improving.  "Don't you know
what that old book of mamma's says, 'When will Miss Rosamond's
education be finished?'  She answered 'Never.'"

Thekla gave a groan, whether of pity for Rosamond or for herself
might be doubted; and a lop-eared rabbit was a favourable diversion.

There was a triad who seemed to be of Rosamond's opinion regarding
education, for Agatha was eagerly availing herself of the counsel of
Gillian, and the books shown to her; with the further assistance of
the cousin, Dolores Mohun, now an accredited lecturer in technical
classes, though making her home and headquarters at Clipstone.

Thekla's views of young ladyhood were a good deal more fulfilled by
the lessons on cycling which were going on among the other young
people after the game of croquet had ended.  Every size and variety
seemed to exist among the Clipstone population, under certain
regulations of not coasting down the hills, the girls not going out
alone, and never into the town, but always "putting up" at Aunt
Jane's.

Vera and Paulina were in ecstasy, and there was a continual mounting,
attempting and nearly falling, or turning anywhere but the right,
little screams, and much laughter, Jasper attending upon Vera, who,
in spite of her failures, looked remarkably pretty and graceful upon
Valetta's machine; while Paula, whom Mysie and Valetta were both
assisting, learnt more easily and steadily, but looked on with a few
qualms as to the entire crystal rock constancy that Vera had
professed, more especially when Jasper volunteered to come over to
the Goyle and give another lesson.

Magdalen, after her game at croquet, had spent a very pleasant time
with Lady Merrifield and her brother and sister, till they were
imperiously summoned by Primrose to come and give consent to the
transfer of Phoebus, or to choose between him and the Mufti, to whom
Thekla had begun to incline.

The whole party adjourned to the back settlements, where Magdalen was
edified by the antics of the mungoose, and admired the Begum and her
progeny with a heartiness that would have won Thekla's heart, save
that she remembered hearing Vera say, over the domestic cat in the
morning, that M.A.'s were always devoted to cats.  But, on the whole,
the visit had done much to reconcile the young sisters to their new
surroundings; books, bicycles, and kitten had reconciled them even to
the intimacy with "swells."

The hired bicycle and tricycle had arrived in their absence, and the
moment breakfast was over the next morning, the three younger ones
all rushed off to the enjoyment, and, at ten minutes past the
appointed hour for the early reading and study, Agatha felt obliged
to go out and tell them that the M.A. was sitting like Patience on a
monument, waiting for them; on which three tongues said "Bother," and
"She ought to let us off till the proper end of the holidays."

"Then you should have propitiated her by asking leave after the
Scripture was done," said Agatha; "you might have known she would not
let you off that."

"Bother," said Vera again; "just like an M.A."

"I did forget," said Paula; "and you know it was only just going
through a lesson for form's sake, like the old superlative."

They had, in fact, read the day before; when Thekla had made such
frightful work of every unaccustomed word, and the elders by one or
two observations had betrayed so much ignorance alike of Samuel's
history and of the Gospel of St. Luke, that she had resolved to
endeavour at a thorough teaching of the Old and New Testaments for
the first hour on alternate days, giving one day in the week to
Catechism and Prayer Book.

She asked what they had done before.

"Mrs. Best always read something at prayers."

"Something?"

"Something out of the Bible."

"No, the Testament."

"I am sure it was the Bible, it was so fat."

"And Saul was in it, and we had him yesterday."

"That was St. Paul before he was converted," said Paula.

There their knowledge seemed to end, and it further appeared that
Mrs. Best heard the Catechism and Collect on Sundays from the
unconfirmed, and had tried to get the Gospel repeated by heart, but
had not succeeded.

"We did not think it fair," said Vera.  "None of the other houses
did."

"Yes," said Agatha, "Miss Ferris's did."

"Oh, she is a regular old Prot," said Paula, "almost a Dissenter, and
it is not the Gospel either, only texts out of her own head."

"Polly!" said Agatha.  "Texts out of her own head!"

"It is Bible, of course, only what she fancies; and they have to work
out the sermon, and if they can't do the sermon, a text.  They might
as well be Dissenters at once!" said Paula.

"Janet M'Leod is," said Vera.  "It was really Dissentish."

Magdalen could not help saying, "So you would not learn the Gospel
because Dissenters learnt pieces of Scripture!  You seem to me like
the Roman Catholic child, who said there were five sacraments, there
ought to be seven, but the Protestants had got two of them."

She was sorry she had said it, for though Agatha laughed, the other
two drew into themselves, as if their feelings were hurt.  "These are
the boarding-house habits," she said.  "What is done at the High
School itself?"

"The Vicar comes when he has time, and gives a lecture on an
Epistle," said Agatha, "or a curate, if he doesn't; but I was working
for the exam., and didn't go this last term.  What was it, Polly?"

"On the--on the Apollonians," answered Paulina, hesitating.

"My dear, where did he find it?"

"I know it was something about Apollo," said Vera.

"It was Corinthians," said Paula.  "I ought to have recollected, but
the lectures are very dull and disjointed; you said so yourself, Nag,
and the Rector is very low church."

"So you could not learn from him!"

"Really, sister," said Agatha, "the lectures are not well managed,
they are in too many hands, and too uncertain, and it is not easy to
learn much from them."

"Well, that being the case, I think we had better begin at the
beginning.  Suppose I ask you to say the first answer in the
Catechism."

On which Vera said they had all been confirmed except Thekla, and
passed it on to her.

However, the endeavours of that half-hour need not be recounted, and
the moment half-past ten chimed out the young ladies jumped up, and
would have been off to the bicycles, if Magdalen had not felt that
the time was come for asserting authority, and said, "Not yet, if you
please.  We cannot waste whole days.  You know Herr Gnadiger is
coming to-morrow, and it would be well to practise that sonata
beforehand; you ought each to practise it; Paula, you had better
begin, and Vera, you prepare this first scene of Marie Stuart to read
with me when Thekla's lessons are over.  Change over when Paula has
done."

"It is of no use my doing anything while anyone is playing," said
Vera.

"Nonsense," Agatha muttered; but Magdalen said, "You can sit in the
drawing-room or your own room.  Come, Tick-tick, where's your slate?
Come along."

"Don't sulk, Flapsy," said the elder sister, "it is of no use.  The
M.A. means to be minded, and will be, and you know it is all for your
good."

"I hate my good," said naughty Vera.

"So does every one when it is against the grain," said Agatha; "but
remember it is a preparation for a free life of our own."

"It is our cross," said Paula, as she placed herself on the music
stool with a look of resignation almost comical.

Nor did her performance interfere with the equations which Agatha was
diligently working out; but Vera, though refusing to take refuge from
the piano, to which, in fact, she was perfectly inured, worried her
elder as much as she durst, by inquiries after the meaning of words,
or what horrid verb to look out in the dictionary; and it was a
pleasing change when Paula proceeded to work the same scene out for
herself without having recourse to explanations, so that Agatha was
undisturbed except by the careless notes, which almost equally
worried Magdalen in the more distant dining-room.

This was really the crisis of the battle of study.  As the girls were
accustomed to it, and knew that they were of an age to be ground
down, they followed Agatha's advice, and submitted without further
open struggle, though there was a good deal of low murmur, and the
foreman's work was not essentially disagreeable, even while Vera
maintained, what she believed to be an axiom, that governesses were
detestable, and that the M.A. must incur the penalty of acting as
such.

Very soon after luncheon appeared three figures on bicycles.  Wilfred
Merrifield, with Mysie and Valetta, come to give another lesson on
the "flying circle's speed."

Magdalen came out with her young people to enjoy their amusement, as
well as to watch over her own precious machine, as Vera said.  It was
admired, as became connoisseurs in the article; and she soon saw that
Wilfred was to be trusted with the care of it, so she consented to
its being ridden in the practice, provided it was not taken out into
the lanes.

Mysie turned off from the practising, where she was not wanted, and
joined Miss Prescott in walking through the garden terraces, and
planning what would best adorn them, talking over favourite books,
and enjoying themselves very much; then going on to the quarry, where
Mysie looked about with a critical eye to see if it displayed any
fresh geological treasures to send Fergus in quest of.  She began
eagerly to pour forth the sister's never-ending tale of her brother's
cleverness, and thus they came down the outside lane to the lower
gate, seeing beforehand the sparkle of bicycles in its immediate
proximity.

It was not open, but Vera might be seen standing with one hand on the
latch, the other on Magdalen's bicycle, her face lifted with
imploring, enticing smiles to Wilfred, who had fallen a little back,
while Paula had decidedly drawn away.

None of them had seen Magdalen and Mysie till they were round the low
stone wall and close upon them.  There was a general start, and Vera
exclaimed, "We haven't been outside!  No, we haven't!  And it is not
the Rockquay Road either, sister!  I only wanted a run down that lane
up above."

Wilfred laughed a little oddly.  It was quite plain that he had been
withstanding the temptress, only how long would the resistance have
lasted?

Downright Mysie exclaimed, "It would have been a great shame if you
had, and I am glad Wilfred hindered you."

"Thank you," said Magdalen, smiling to him.  "You know better than my
sisters what Devon lanes and pneumatic tyres are!"

Perhaps Wilfred was a little vexed, though he had resisted, for he
was ready to agree with Mysie that they could not stay and drink tea.

But he did not escape his sister's displeasure, for Mysie began at
once, "How lucky it was that we came in time.  I do believe that
naughty little thing was just going to talk you over into doing what
her sister had forbidden."

"A savage, old, selfish bear.  It was only the lane."

"Full of crystals as sharp as needles, enough to cut any tyre in
two," said Mysie.

"Like your tongue, eh, Mysie?"

"Well, you did not do it!  That is a comfort.  You would not let her
transgress, and ruin her sister's good bicycle."

"She is an uncommonly pretty little sprite, and the selfish hag of a
sister only left orders that I was to take care of the bike!  I could
see where there was a stone as well as anybody else."

"Hag!" angrily cried Mysie, "she is the only nice one of the whole
lot.  Vera is a nasty little thing, or she would never think of
meddling with what does not belong to her, or trying to persuade you
to allow it."

"I call it abominable selfishness, dog in the mangerish, to shut up
such a machine as that, and condemn her sisters to one great
lumbering one."

"That's one account," said Valetta.  "Paula said it was only till
they had learnt to ride properly, and till the stones have a little
worn in."

"Yes," said Mysie, "I could see Vera is an exaggerating monkey, just
talking over and deluding Will, just as men like when they get a
silly fit."

By this time Wilfred had thought it expedient to put his bicycle to
greater speed, and indulge in a long whistle to show how contemptible
he thought his sisters as he went out of hearing.

"Paulina is nice and good," said Valetta, "she has heard all about
St. Kenelm's, and wants to go there.  Yes, and she means to be a
Sister of Charity, only she is afraid her sister is narrow and low
church."

"That is stuff and nonsense," said Mysie.  "I have had a great deal
of talk with Miss Prescott.  She loves all the same books that we do.
She is going to have G. F. S. and Mothers' Union, and all at poor
Arnscombe, and she told me to call her Magdalen."

With which proofs of congeniality Valetta could not choose but be
impressed.



CHAPTER VI--THE FRESCOES OF ST. KENELM'S



Earn well the thrifty months, nor wed
Raw Haste, half-sister to Delay.--TENNYSON.


The deferred expedition to Rockquay also began, Magdalen driving Vera
and Thekla.  She was pleased with her visitors, and hoped that the
girls would feel the same, but Vera began by declaring that THAT Miss
Merrifield was not pretty.

"Not exactly, but it is an honest, winning face."

"So broad, and such a wide mouth, and no style at all, as I should
have expected after all that about lords and ladies!  An old blue
serge and sailor hat!"

"You don't expect people to drive about the country in silk attire?"

"Well, perhaps she is not out!  Sister, do you know I am seventeen?"

"Yes, my dear, certainly."

"Oh, look, look, there's a dear little calf!" broke in Thekla, "and,
oh! what horns the cows have.  I shall be afraid to go near them!
Was it only a sham mad bull when the little girl ran into the pond?"

"It was the railway whistle, and she had never heard it in the
fields.  She rushed away in a great fright and ran into the pond,
full of horrible black mud.  The gentlemen heard the scream and
dragged her out, and it would have all been fun and a good story if
she had not been so much afraid of the French lady's maid.  It is
curious how the sight of those brown eyes brought the whole scene
back to me.  We all grew so fond of Mysie Merrifield in the few days
we spent together, and she is very little altered."

"Is she out?" asked Vera once more.

"Oh, yes, she cannot be less than twenty."

"And I am seventeen," said Vera, returning to the charge.  "I ought
to be out."

"If there are nice invitations, I shall be quite ready to accept them
for you."

"But I am too old for the schoolroom and lessons and masters."

"Too old or too wise?" said Magdalen laughing.

"I have got into the highest form in everything.  Every one at
Filston of my age is leaving off all the bother."

"Not Agatha."

"Oh, but Agatha is--!"

"Is what?

"Agatha is awfully clever, and wants to be something!"

"Something?  But do you want to evaporate?  To be nothing at all, I
mean," said Magdalen, seeing her first word was bewildering, and
Thekla put in -

"Flapsy couldn't go off in steam, could she?  Isn't that
evaporating?"

"I think what she wants is to be a young lady at large!  Eh, Vera?
Only I don't quite see how that is to be managed, even if it is quite
a worthy ambition.  But we will talk that over another time.  Do you
see how pretty those sails are crossing the bay?"

Neither girl seemed to have eyes for the lovely blue of the sea in
the spring sunshine, nor the striking forms of ruddy peaks of rock
that enclosed it.  Uneducated eyes, she thought, as she slowly
manoeuvred the pony down the steep hill before coming to the
Rockstone Cliff Road.  The other two girls were following her
direction across field and road, and making their observations.

"A dose of lords and ladies," said Agatha.

"I thought they were rather nice," said Paula.

"I see how it will be," said Agatha.  "They will patronise the M.A.
as Lady Somebody's old governess, and she will fawn upon them and run
after them, and we shall be on those terms."

"But I thought you meant to be a governess?"

"I shall make my own line.  I know how swells look on a governess of
the ancien regime, and how they will introduce her as the kindly old
goody who mends my little lady's frock!"

"The girl had not any airs," said Paula.  "She told me about the
churches down there in the town--not the ones we went to on Sunday;
but there's one that is very low indeed, and St. Andrew's, which is
their parish church, was suiting the moderate high church folk; and
there is St. Kenelm's, very high indeed, Mr. Flight's, I think I have
heard of him, and it is just the right thing, I am sure."

"Don't flatter yourself that the M.A. will let you have much pleasure
in it.  It is just what people of her sort think dangerous."

"But do you know, Nag, I do believe that it is the church that Hubert
Delrio was sent down to study and make a design for."

"Whew!  There will be a pretty kettle of fish if he comes down about
it!  That is, if he and Flapsy have not forgotten all about the ice
and the forfeits at Warner's Grange, as is devoutly to be hoped."

"Do you hope it really, Nag, for Flapsy really was very much--did
care very much."

"I have no great faith in Flapsy's affections surviving the contact
with greater swells."

"Poor Hubert!"

"Perhaps his will not survive common sense.  I am sure I hope not for
both their sakes."

"But, Nag, it would be very horrid of them if they had no constancy,"
declared the more romantic Paula.

"It will be a regular mess if they do have it, and bring on horrid
scrapes with the M.A.  Just think.  It is all very well to say she
has known Hubert all his life; but she can't treat him as a
gentleman, or she won't.  She has a position to keep up with all
these swells, and he will be only the man who paints the church!  I
only hope he will not come.  There will be nothing but bother if he
does, unless they both have more sense and less constancy than you
expect.  Well, this really is a splendid view.  Old Mr. Delrio would
be wild about it."

Here the steep and stony hill brought them into contact with the pony
carriage, nor were there any more confidential conversations.  The
pony was put up at the top of the hill leading from Rockstone to
Rockquay, and thence the party walked down for Miss Prescott to make
a few purchases, and, moreover, to begin by gratifying Thekla's
reiterated entreaty for a bicycle, though, as she was unpractised and
growing so fast, it was decided to be better to hire a tricycle for
practice, and one bicycle on which Vera and Paula might learn the
art.

The choice was a long one, and left only just time for a peep into
the two churches and a study of the hours of their services.  St.
Kenelm's was decided to be a "perfect gem," ornaments, beauty, and
all, a little overdone, perhaps, in Magdalen's opinion, but perfectly
"the thing" in her sisters'.

This St. Andrew's fulfilled to her mind, being handsome, reverent,
and decorous in all the arrangements, while to the younger folk it
was "all very well," but quite of the old times.  Little did they
know of "old times" beyond the quarter century of their birth!  Poor
old Arnscombe might feebly represent them, but even that had
struggled out of the modern "dark ages."  Magdalen had decided on
talking to Agatha and seeing how far she understood the situation,
and she came to her room to put her in possession now that Mrs. Best
had left the guest chamber free.

"This is your home when you are here.  You must put up any belongings
that you do not want to take to St. Robert's."

"Thank you; it is a nice pleasant room."

"And, my dear, may I stay a few minutes?  I think we had better have
a talk, and quite understand one another."

"Very well."

It was not quite encouraging, but Agatha really wished to hear, and
she advanced a wicker chair for her elder sister, and sat down on the
window seat.

"Thank you, my dear; I do not know how much Mrs. Best has told you."

"She told us that you had always been very good to us, and that you
had been our guardian ever since we lost our mother."

"Did she tell you what we have of our own that our father could leave
us?"

"No."

"What amounts to about 40 pounds a year apiece.  Mrs. Best in her
very great goodness has taken you four for that amount, though her
proper charge is eighty."

"And she never let any one guess it," said Agatha, more warmly, "for
fear we might feel the difference.  How very good of her."

She seemed more impressed by Mrs. Best's bounty than by Magdalen's,
but probably she took the latter as a matter of course and
obligation; besides, the sense of it involved a sum in subtraction.
However, this was not observed by her sister, who did not want to
feel obliged.

"Now that this property has come in," continued Magdalen, "we can
live comfortably together upon it for the present, and your expenses
at Oxford can be paid, as well as masters in what may be needful for
the others, and an allowance for dress.  I suppose you will want the
40 pounds while you are at St. Robert's, besides the regular
expenses?"

"Thank you," warmly said.

"But I want you to understand, as I think you do, about the future,
for you must be prepared to be independent."

"I should have wished for a career if I had been a millionaire," said
Agatha.

"I believe you would, and it is well that you should have every
advantage.  But the others.  If I left you all this property, it
would not be a comfortable maintenance divided among four; and you
would not like to be dependent, or to leave the last who might not
marry to a pittance alone."

"Certainly not," said Agatha, with flashing eyes.

"Then you see that it is needful that you should be able to do
something for yourselves.  I can give one of you at a time the power
of going to the University."

"I don't think Vera or Polly would wish for that," said Agatha.

"Well, what would they wish for?  I can do something towards
preparing them, and I can teach Thekla, but I should like to know
what you think would be best for them."

"Vera's strong point is music," said Agatha.  "She cares for that
more than anything else, and Mr. Selby thought she had talent and
might sing, only she must not strain her voice.  I don't believe she
will do much in any other line.  And Polly--she is very good, and
always does her best because it is right, but I don't think anything
is any particular pleasure to her, except needlework.  She is always
wanting to make things for the church.  She really has a better voice
than Flapsy, and can play better, but that is because she is so much
steadier."

"Seventeen and sixteen, are they not?"

"Yes; but Polly seems ever so much older than Flapsy."

"Mrs. Best showed me that she had higher marks.  She must be a
thoroughly good girl."

"That she is," cried Agatha, warmly.  "She never had any task for
getting into mischief."

"Well, they are both so young that a little study with me will be
good for them, and there will be time to judge what they are fit for.
In art I think they are not much interested."

"Paula draws pretty well, but Vera hates it.  Old Mr. Delrio is
always cross to her now; but--" Agatha stopped short, remembering
that there might be a reason why the drawing master no longer made
her a favourite pupil.

"Do you think him a good judge?"

"Yes; Mrs. Best thinks much of him.  He had an artist's education,
and sometimes has a picture in the Water Colour Exhibition; but I
believe he did not find it answer, and so he took our school of art."

Agatha had talked sensibly throughout the conference, but not
confidentially; much, in fact, as she would have discussed her
sisters with Mrs. Best.  She was glad that at the moment the sound of
the piano set them listening.  She did not feel bound to mention to
"sister" any more than she would to the head mistress, that when
staying at Mr. Waring's country house a sort of semi-flirtation had
begun with Hubert Delrio, a young man to whose education his father
had sacrificed a great deal, and who was a well-informed and
intelligent gentleman in all his ways.  He had engaged himself to the
great firm of Eccles and Beamster, ecclesiastical decorators, and
might be employed upon the intended frescoes of St. Kenelm's Church.

Ought "Sister" to be told?

But Agatha thought it would be betraying confidence to "set on the
dragon"; and besides nobody ever could tell how much Vera's
descriptions meant.  She knew already that the sweetest countenance
in the world and the loveliest dark eyes belonged to a fairly good-
looking young man, and she could also suspect that the "squeeze of my
hand" might be an ordinary shake, and the kneeling before the one he
loved best might have been only the customary forfeit.  On the whole,
it would be better to let things take their course; it was not likely
that either was seriously smitten, and it was more than probable that
Hubert Delrio would be too busy to look after a young lady now in a
different stratum, and that Vera would have found another sweetest
countenance in the world.

All this passed through her mind while Magdalen listened, and
pronounced -

"That is brilliant--a clever touch--only--"

"Yes, that is Vera--I know what you are noticing, but this is only
amusement; she is not taking pains."

"It is very clever--especially as probably she has no music.  But
there--"

"Polly's?  Oh, yes; she is really steady-going.  That is just what
you will find her.  This is a charming room, sister; thank you very
much."

"Make it your home, my dear."

But in reality they were not much nearer together than before the
conference.



CHAPTER VII--SISTER AND SISTERS



"Have we not all, amid earth's petty strife,
Some pure ideal of a nobler life?
We lost it in the daily jar and fact,
And now live idly in a vain regret."
ADELAIDE PROCTER.


Agatha was so much absorbed in her preparation for St. Robert's that
she did not pay very much heed to her younger sisters or their
relations with Magdalen.  She had induced them to submit to the
regulation of their studies with her pretty much as if she had been
Mrs. Best, looking upon her, however, as something out of date, and
hardly up to recent opinions, not realising that, of late, Magdalen's
world had been a wide one.

Perhaps, in Agatha's feelings, there was an undercurrent inherited
from her mother, who had always felt the better connected, better
educated step-daughter, a sort of alien element, exciting jealousy by
her companionship to her father, and after his death, apt to be
regarded as a scarcely willing, and perhaps censorious pay-master.

"Your sister might call it too expensive."  "I must ask your sister."
"No, your sister does not think she can afford it.  I am sure she
might.  Her expenses must be nothing."  All this had been no
preparation for full sisterly confidence with "Sister," even when a
sort of grudging gratitude was extracted, and Agatha had been quite
old enough to imbibe an undefined antagonism, though, being a
sensible girl, she repressed the manifestations, kept her sisters in
order and taught them not to love but to submit, and herself remained
in a state of civil coolness, without an approach beyond formal signs
of affection, and such confidence.

It was the more disappointing to Magdalen, because Agatha and Paulina
both showed so much unconscious likeness to their father, not only in
features, but in little touches of gesture and manner.  She longed to
pet them, and say, "Oh, my dears, how like papa!" but the only time
she attempted it, she was met by a severe, uncomprehending look and
manner.

And Agatha went away to Oxford without any thawing on her part.

The only real ground that had been gained was with little Thekla, who
was soon very fond of "Sister," and depended on her more and more for
sympathy and amusement.  Girls of seventeen and sixteen do not
delight in the sports of nine-year-olds, except in the case of
special pets and protegees, and Thekla was snubbed when a partner was
required to assist in doll's dramas, or in evening games.  Only
"Sister" would play unreservedly with her, unaware or unheeding that
this was looked on as keeping up the metier of governess.  Indeed,
Thekla's reports of schoolroom murmurs and sneers about the M.A. had
to be silenced.  Peace and good will could best be guarded by closed
ears.  Yet, even then, Thekla missed child companionship, and, even
more, competition, the lack of which rendered her dull and listless
over her lessons, and when reproved, she would beg to be sent to
school, or, at least, to attend the High School on her bicycle.  Not
admiring the manners or the attainments of the specimens before her,
Magdalen felt bound to refuse, and the sisters' pity kept alive the
grievance.

She had, however, decided on granting the bicycles.  She had found
plenty of use for her own, for it was possible with prudent use of
it, avoiding the worst parts of the road, to be at early celebration
at St. Andrew's, and get to the Sunday school at Arnscombe
afterwards; and Paulina, with a little demur, decided on giving her
assistance there.

At a Propagation of the Gospel meeting at the town hall, the Misses
Prescott were introduced to the Reverend Augustine Flight, of St.
Kenelm's, and his mother, Lady Flight, who sat next to Magdalen, and
began to talk eagerly of the designs for the ceiling of their church,
and the very promising young artist who was coming down from Eccles
and Beamster to undertake the work.

The church had not yet been seen, and the conversation ended in the
sisters coming back to tea, at which Paula was very happy, for the
talk had something of the rather exclusive High Church tone that was
her ideal.  She had seen it in books, but had never heard it before
in real life, and Vera was in a restless state, longing to hear
whether the promising young artist was really Hubert Delrio, and
hoping, while she believed that she feared, that she should blush
when she heard his name.  However, she did not, though Mr. Flight
unfolded his rough plans for the frescoes, which were to be of virgin
and child martyrs, Magdalen hesitating a little over those that
seemed too legendary; while old Lady Flight, portly and sentimental,
declared them so sweet and touching.  After tea, they went on to the
church.  Just at the entrance of the porch, Vera clutched at Paula,
with the whisper, "Wasn't that Wilfred Merrifield?  There, crossing?"

"Nonsense," was Paula's reply, as she lingered over the illuminated
list of the hours of services displayed at the door, and feeling as
if she had attained dreamland, as she saw two fully habited Sisters
enter, and bend low as they did so.

The church was very elaborately ornamented, small, but showing that
no expense had been spared, though there was something that did not
quite accord with Magdalen's ideas of the best taste; so that when
they went out she answered Paula's raptures of admiration somewhat
coldly, or what so appeared to the enthusiastic girl.

The next day, meeting Miss Mohun over cutting out for a working
party, Magdalen asked her about the Flights and St. Kenelm's.

"He is an excellent good man," said Jane Mohun, "and has laid out
immense sums on the church and parish."

"All his own?  Not subscription?"

"No.  He is the only son of a very rich City man, a brewer, and came
here with his mother as a curate, as a good place for health.  They
found a miserable little corrugated-iron place, called the Kennel
Chapel, and worked it up, raising the people, and doing no end of
good till it came to be a district, as St. Kenelm's."

"Very ornamental?"

"Oh, very," said Jane, warming out of caution, as she felt she might
venture showing city gorgeousness all over.  "But it is infinitely to
his credit.  He had a Fortunatus' purse, and was a spoilt child--not
in the bad sense--but with an utterly idolising mother, and he tried
a good many experiments that made our hair stand on end; but he has
sobered down, and is a much wiser man now--though I would not be
bound to admire all he does."

"I see there are Sisters?  Do they belong to his arrangements?"

"Yes.  They are what my brother calls Cousins of Mercy.  The elder
one has tried two or three Sisterhoods, and being dissatisfied with
all the rules, I fancy she has some notion of trying to set up one on
her own account at Mr. Flight's.  They are both relations of his
mother, and are really one of his experiments--fancy names and fancy
rules, of course.  I believe the young one wanted to call herself
Sister Philomena, but that he could not stand.  So they act as parish
women here, and they do it very well.  I liked Sister Beata when I
have come in contact with her, and I am sure she is an excellent
nurse.  They will do your nieces no harm, though I don't like the
irregular."

Of this assurance Magdalen felt very glad, when at the door of the
parish room, where the ladies were to hold a working party for the
missions, Carrigaboola Missions at Albertstown, she and her nieces
were introduced to the two ladies in hoods and veils; and Paula's
eyes sparkled with delight as she settled into a chair next to Sister
Mena.  She looked as happy as Vera looked bored!  Conversation was
not possible while a missionary memoir was being read aloud, but the
history of Mother Constance, once Lady Herbert Somerville, but then
head at Dearport, and founder of the Daughter Sisterhood at
Carrigaboola.  To the Merrifields it was intensely interesting, and
also to Magdalen; but all the time she could see demonstrations
passing between Paula and Sister Mena, a nice-looking girl, much
embellished by the setting of the hood and veil, as if the lending of
a pair of scissors or the turning of a hem were an act of tender
admiration.  So sweet a look came out on Paula's face that she longed
to awaken the like.  Vera meantime looked as if her only consolation
lay in the neighbourhood of a window, whence she could see up the
street, as soon as she had found whispers to Mysie Merrifield treated
as impossible.

The party at the Goyle had begun to fall into regular habits, and
struggles were infrequent.  There was study in the forenoon, walks or
cycle expeditions in the afternoon, varied by the lessons in music
and in art, which Vera and Paula attended on Wednesdays and Fridays,
the one in the morning, the other after dinner.  It was possible to
go to St. Andrew's matins at ten o'clock before the drawing class,
and to St. Kenelm's at five, after the music was over.  Magdalen,
whenever it was possible, went with her sisters on their bicycles to
St. Andrew's, and sometimes devised errands that she might join them
at St. Kenelm's, but neither could always be done by the head of the
household.  And she could perceive that her company was not specially
welcome.

Valetta, the only one of the Clipstone family whose drawing was worth
cultivating, used to ride into Rockstone, escorted by her brother
Wilfred, who was in course of "cramming" with a curate on his way to
his tutor, and Vera found in casual but well-cultivated meetings and
partings, abundant excitement in "nods and becks and wreathed
smiles," and now and then in the gift of a flower.

Paula on the other hand found equal interest and delight in meetings
with Sister Mena, especially after a thunderstorm had driven the two
to take refuge at what the Sisters called "the cell of St. Kenelm,"
and tea had unfolded their young simple hearts to one another!
Magdalen had called on the Sisters and asked them to tea at the
Goyle, and there had come to the conclusion that Sister Beata was an
admirable, religious, hardworking woman, of strong opinions, and not
much cultivated, with a certain provincial twang in her voice.  She
had a vehement desire for self-devotion and consecration, but perhaps
not the same for obedience.  She sharply criticised all the
regulations of the Sisterhoods with which she was acquainted, wore a
dress of her own device, and with Sister Mena, a young cousin of her
own, meant to make St. Kenelm's a nucleus for a Sisterhood of her own
invention.

Sister Mena had been bred up in a Sisterhood's school, from five
years old and upwards, and had no near relatives.  Mr. Flight was
Saint, Pope and hero to both, and Mena knew little beyond the horizon
of St. Kenelm's, but she and Paula were fascinated with one another;
and Magdalen saw more danger in interfering than in acquiescing,
though she gave no consent to Paulina's aspirations after admission
into the perfect Sisterhood that was to be.



CHAPTER VIII--SNOBBISHNESS



"Why then should vain repinings rise,
That to thy lover fate denies
A nobler name, a wide domain?"--SCOTT.


The friendship with the Sisters was about three weeks old when, one
morning, scaffold poles were being erected in the new side aisle of
St. Kenelm's Church, and superintending them was a tall dark-haired
young man.  There was a start of mutual recognition; and by and by he
met Paula and Vera in the porch, and there were eager hand-clasps and
greetings, as befitted old friends meeting in a strange place.

"Mr. Hubert!  I heard you were coming!"

"Miss Vera!  Miss Paula!  This is a pleasure."

Then followed an introduction of Sister Mena, whose elder companion
was away, attending a sick person.

"May I ask whether you are living here?"

"Two miles off at the Goyle, at Arnscombe, with our sister."

"So I heard!  I shall see you again."  And he turned aside to give an
order, bowing as he did so.

"Is he the artist of those sweet designs?" asked Sister Mena.

"Did we not tell you?"

"And now he is going to execute them?  How delicious!"

"I trust so!  We must see him again.  We have not heard of Edie and
Nellie, nor any one."

"He will call on you?" said Sister Mena.

"I do not think so," said Paula.  "At least his father is really an
artist, but he is drawing-master at the High School, and Hubert works
for this firm.  They are not what you call in society, and our sister
is all for getting in with Lady Merrifield and General Mohun and all
the swells, so it would never do for him to call."

"She would first be stiff and stuck up," said Vera, "and I could not
stand that."

"I thought she was so kind," said Mena.

"You don't understand," said Vera.  "She would be kind to a workman
in a fever; but this sort--oh, no."

"To be on an equality with the man painting the church?" said Paula.
"No, indeed! not if he were Fra Angelico and Ary Scheffer and
Michelangelo rolled into one."

At that moment the subject referred to in that mighty conglomeration
reappeared.  He was a handsome young man, his touch of Italian blood
showing just enough to give him a romantic air; and Sister Philomena
listened, much impressed by the interchange of question and answer
about "Edie and Nellie," and the dear Warings, and the happy
Christmas at the Grange; and Vera blushed again, and Paula coloured
in sympathy, as it appeared that Mr. Delrio had never had such a
splendid time.

The colloquy was ended by Mr. Flight being descried, approaching with
his mother, whereupon the two girls fled away like guilty creatures.

Presently Vera exclaimed, "Oh, Polly dear, what a complication!  Poor
dear fellow! he cares for me as much as ever."

"And you will be staunch to him in spite of all the worldly
allurements," said Paula.

"Well, I mean Mr. Wilfred Merrifield is not half so handsome,"
returned Vera.

"Nor is he engaged in sacred work; only bent on frivolity," said
Paula; "yet see how the M.A. encourages him with tennis and games and
nonsense."

Poor M.A., when the encouragement had only been some general
merriment, and a few games on the lawn Paulina, who had heard many
confidences when Vera returned from Waring Grange, believed
altogether in the true love of the damsel and Hubert Delrio, who had
been wont to single out the prettiest of the girls at Filstead, and
she was resolved to do all she could in their cause, being schoolgirl
enough to have no scruple as to secrecy towards Magdalen, though on
the next opportunity she poured out all to Sister Philomena's by no
means unwilling ears.

Lovers had never fallen within the young Sister's experience, either
personally or through friends; and they had only been revealed to her
in a few very carefully-selected tales, where they were more the
necessary machinery than the main interest, for she had been bred up
in an orphanage by Sister Beata, and had never seen beyond it.  So to
her Paula's story, little as there was of it, was a perfect romance,
and it gained in colour when she related it to her senior.

Sister Beata hesitated a little, having rather more knowledge of the
world, remembering that Vera Prescott was not eighteen years old, and
doubting whether an underhand intimacy ought to be encouraged; but
then Mr. Flight had spoken of Mr. Delrio as a highly praiseworthy
young man, of decided Catholic principles; he was regular at Church
services, and had dined or supped at the Vicarage.  The intercourse,
as the girls had explained, had been sanctioned by Mrs. Best in their
native town, where all parties were well known, and thus there could
be no harm in letting it continue.  While as to the elder Miss
Prescott, she was understood to be unduly bent on county and titled
society, and to be exclusive towards inferiors.  Moreover, she was an
attendant at St. Andrew's Church, and thus regarded as out of the
pale of sympathy of the St. Kenelm's flock.

So no obstacle was put in the way of the gossips, for they were
really nothing more, except that there was admiration of the designs
for the side chapel, which were of the Scripture children on one
side, and on the other of child martyrs.  Now and then there was a
reference to the chilliness and hardship of living with an
unsympathising sister, and being obliged to go to churches of which
they did not approve.  Sometimes too there were airy castles of a
distant future to be shared by the magnificent architect, together
with Vera, while Paula nursed in the convent with Mother Beata and
Sister Philomena.

But all this did not prevent an excitement and eager laughter and
chatter whenever Wilfred Merrifield came in the way, and he certainly
was enough attracted by Vera's pretty face and lively graces to make
his sisters think him very absurd; but his mother had seen so many
passing fancies among her elder sons as to hold that blindness was
better than serious treatment.

There was the further effect that Magdalen had no suspicion that the
vehement attraction to St. Kenelm's went beyond the harmless quarter
of the two nursing Sisters and some hero worship of Mr. Flight.  Miss
Mohun, who knew everything, had indeed hinted that something foolish
might be going on there; but Magdalen had not decided on the mutual
fairness of the two congregations, and deferred investigation till
Agatha should come home, when she would have a reasonable, if cold,
person to deal with.  Nor did Thekla's chatter excite any suspicion;
for the only time when she had been present at a meeting with Mr.
Delrio, she had been half bribed, half threatened into silence, and
she was quite schoolgirl enough to feel that such was the natural
treatment of authority, though she had become really fond of
"sister."



CHAPTER IX--GONE OVER TO THE ENEMY



"Can I teach thee, my beloved? can I teach thee?"
E. B. BROWNING.


Agatha came home in due time, and Magdalen sent her sister to meet
her at the station, where they found a merry Clipstone party in the
waggonette waiting for Gillian, who was to come home at the same
time.  There was so much discussion of the new golf ground, that Vera
had hardly a hand or a glance to bestow on Mr. Delrio, who jumped out
of the same train, shook hands with Agatha, and bestirred himself in
finding her luggage and calling a cab.

"How he is improved!  What a pleasing, gentlemanly fellow he looks!"
she exclaimed, as she waved her thanks, while driving off in the cab.

"Is he not?" said Paula, while Vera bridled and blushed.  "You will
be delighted with his work.  I never saw anything more lovely than
little St. Cyriac the martyr."

"He is taken from Mrs. Henderson's little boy," added Vera; "such a
dear little darling."

"And his mother is to be done; indeed, he has sketched her for St.
Juliet."

"Flapsy!  St. Romeo, too, I suppose?"

"Nonsense, Nag!  There really was a St. Juliet or Julitta, and she
was his mother, and they both were martyrs.  I will tell you all the
history," began Paula; but Agatha interposed.

"You must like having him down here.  Sister must be much pleased
with him.  She used to like old Mr. Delrio."

"Well, we have not said much about him," owned Paula.  "He does not
seem to wish it, or expect to be in with swells."

"We could not stand his being treated like a common house-painter and
upholsterer," added Vera.

"Surely no one does so," said Agatha.

"Not exactly," said Paula; "at least, he has had supper at St.
Kenelm's Vicarage with Lady Flight, and luncheon at Carrara with
Captain and Mrs. Henderson."

"Because he was DOING the child," interposed Vera; "and Thekla says
that Primrose Merrifield says that her Aunt Jane--that is, old Miss
Mohun--says that Lady Flight is not a gentlewoman."

"What has that to do with Magdalen?"

"Why, she is so taken up with those swells of hers, especially now
that there is a talk of Lord Somebody's yacht coming in, that she
would never treat him as on equal terms, but just keep him at a
distance, like a mere decorator."

"That seemed to me just what you were doing," said Agatha, "when he
was so kind and helpful about my box."

"Oh, THEY were all there, and we did not want to be talked of," said
Vera, blushing.  "He understands."

"He understands," repeated Paula.  "We do see him at the church and
at the Sisters'.  Those dear Sisters!  There is no nonsense about
them.  You will love them, Nag."

"Well, it does not seem to me to be treating our own sister Magdalen
fairly."

"The M.A.!" said Vera, in a tone of wonder.

"No; not to be intimate with a person you do not introduce to her,
because you do not think she would consider him as on equal terms."

"Sister Beata quite approves," added Paula, sincerely, not guessing
how little Sister Beata knew of the situation, of which she only
heard through the medium of her own representations to Sister Mena.

The two girls rushed into the charms of these two Sisters, and the
plan for an entertainment for the maidens of the Guild of St.
Milburgha, at which they were to assist.  It lasted up to the gate of
the Goyle, where Magdalen and Thekla were ready to meet them; and
they trooped merrily up the hill, Agatha keeping to Magdalen's side
in a way that struck her as friendly and affectionate.  It seemed to
be more truly coming HOME than the elder sister had dared to
anticipate; nor, indeed, did she feel the veiled antagonism to
herself that had previously disappointed her.

The talk was about St. Robert's, about Oxford in general, the new
friends, the principal, the games, the debates, the lectures, the
sermons, the celebrities, the undergraduates, the concerts, the
chapels, the boats, the architecture; all were touched on for further
discussion by and by as they sat at the evening meal, and then on the
chairs and cushions in the verandah; and through all there was no
exclusion of the elder sister, but rather she was the one who could
appreciate the interest of what Agatha had seen and heard; and even
she was allowed to enter into the amusement of an Oxford bon mot,
sometimes, indeed, when it was far beyond Paula and Vera.

There was no doubt that the term had much improved Agatha even in
appearance and manner.  She held herself better, pronounced better,
uttered no slangish expressions, and twice she repressed little
discourtesies on the part of her sisters, and neglects such as were
not the offspring of tender familiarity, but of an indifference akin
to rudeness.  Magdalen had endured, knowing how bad it was for their
manners, but unwilling to become more of an annoyance than could be
helped.  The indescribable difference in Agatha's whole manner sent
Magdalen to bed happier than she had been since the arrival of her
sisters, and feeling as if Agatha had come to her own side of a
barrier.

Perhaps it was quite true; for the last two months had been a time of
growth with the maiden, changing her from a schoolgirl to a student,
from the "brook to the river."  She had, indeed, studied hard, but
that she had always done, as being clever, intellectual and
ambitious.  The difference had been from her intercourse with persons
slightly her elders, but who did not look on authorities as natural
enemies, to be tolerated for one's own good.  There had been a
development of the conscience and soul even in this first term that
made her regard her elder sister not merely with a sense of
compulsory gratitude and duty, but with sympathy and fellow feeling,
which were the more excited when she saw her own chilliness of last
spring carried further by the two young girls.

So breakfast went off merrily; and after the round of the garden and
the pets, Agatha promised to come, when summoned, to hear how well
Thekla could read French.  In the meantime she waited in the morning-
room, looking at her sisters' books; Vera pushed aside the Venetian
blind.

"Don't come in that way, Flapsy!" called Paula.  "You'll be heard in
the dining-room, and the M.A. will tremble at your dusty feet."

"They aren't dusty," said Vera, pulling up the blind with a clatter.

"Aren't they?" laughed Paula, pointing.

"You had better go and wipe them," said Agatha.

"I don't believe in M.A.'s fidgets," returned Vera.

"But I do, in proper deference to the head of the house," said
Agatha, gravely.

"Murder in Irish!" cried Vera, bouncing away, while Paula argued,
"Really, Nag, life is not long enough to attend to all the M.A.'s
little worries."

"Polly, dear, I am afraid we have been on a wrong tack with our
sister.  I don't like calling her by that name."

"You began it!" exclaimed Vera, dashing in by the door as she spoke.

"I could not have meant it as a nickname to be always in use."

"Oh yes, you did, I remember"--and an argument was beginning, which
Agatha cut short by saying, "Any way, it is bad taste."

"Nag has been so much among the real M.A. that she is tender about
their title."

"She wants to be one herself," said Vera; "and so she will if she
goes on getting learned and faddy."

"In both senses?" said Paula.

Agatha laughed a little, but added, "No, Polly, the thing is that it
is hardly kind or right to put that sort of label upon a person like
Magdalen--who has done so much for us--and--"

The perverse young hearts could not bear a touch on the chord of
gratitude; and Paula burst in, "Label or libel, do you mean?"

"It becomes a libel as you use it."

"Do you want us to call her sister or Magdalen, the whole scriptural
mouthful at once?"

"I believe that to call her Magdalen or Maidie, as my father did,
would make her feel nearer to us than the formal way of saying
'Sister.'"

"I don't mind about changing," said Paula.  "She can never be the
same to us as dear Sister Mena."

"She is so tiresome," added Vera.  "She bothers so over my music;
calling out if I make ever so small a slip, and making me go over all
again."

"Well she may," said Paula.  "She is making little Tick play so
nicely.  Just listen!  But I can't bear her dragging us off to that
horrid old Arnscombe Church and the nasty stuffy Sunday school."

"That reminds me," said Agatha; "Gillian Merrifield met a relation of
Mr. Earl's, who said that Miss Prescott had brought quite new life
and spirit to the poor old man, who had been getting quite out of
heart for want of any one to help and sympathise with him."

"Then he ought to make his services more Catholic," said Paula.  "But
nothing will wean her from the old parochial idea.  Why, she would
not let me give my winter stockings to Sister Beata's poor girls, but
made me darn them and put them by."

"Yes, and mine, which were bad enough to give away, she made me darn
first," cried Vera.  "She is ever so much worse than the superlative
about mending one's clothes."

"There ought to be another degree of comparison," said Paula,--
"Botheratissima!"

"For, only think!" said Vera.  "She won't let us have new hats, but
only did up the old ones, and not with feathers, though there is such
a love at Tebbitts's at Rockstone."

"She says it is cruel," said Paula.

"Cruel to me, I am sure; and what difference does it make when the
birds are once killed?"

"Well, she did give us those lovely wreaths of lilies," said Paula.

"Of course, but nothing to make them stylish!  What's the good of
being out if one is to have nothing chic?  And she won't let me have
a hockey outfit.  She says she must see more of it to be able to
judge whether to let us play!"

"That just means seeing whether her dear Merrifields do," said Paula.

"Gillian did at St. Catherine's.  But you will know soon.  Did I not
hear something about a garden party?"

"Oh, yes; she is talking of one, but it will be all swells and
croquet, and deadly dull."

"I thought you seemed to be getting on well with the swells, if you
mean the Merrifields, especially Wilfred, if that is his name."

"Bil--Bil!  Oh, he is all very well," said Vera, "if he would not be
always so silly and come after me!  As if I cared!"

"And only think," said Paula, "that she was going to have it on the
very day that St. Milburga's Guild has their festival!  Just as if it
was on purpose!"

"Did you ask her to keep clear of your engagements?"

"I told her, but I don't think she listened."  And as another
grievance suggested itself to Vera, she declared, "And she won't let
us join the Girls' Magazine Club, because she saw one she didn't like
on somebody's table.  As if we were little babies!"

"She won't let us order books at the library, but gets such awfully
slow ones," chimed in Paula, "or only baby stories fit for Thekla.
She made me return that book dear Sister Mena lent me, because she
said it was Roman Catholic."

"And hasn't she got Thomas a Kempis on her table? and I'm sure he was
Roman Catholic.  There's consistency!"

"You don't understand," began Agatha.  "He was a great Saint before
the Catholics became so Roman."

"Oh, never mind!  It is anything to thwart us," cried Vera.  "It is
ever so much worse than school."

"But," began Agatha, and the tone of consideration to that one
conjunction caused an outburst.  "Oh, Nag, Nag, if you are gone over
to the enemy, what will life be worth?"

As that terrible question was propounded, in burst Thekla with, "Oh,
Nag, Nag, they are cutting the hay in the high torr field, and sister
says we may go and see them before I read my French."

"Oh!" cried Vera, with a prolongation into a groan, "is she going to
be tiresome?"

"She has come to be quite a don," said Paula; "but never mind, we
will soon make her all right again."

The two sisters had to go to their different classes in the
afternoon, and wanted Agatha to go with them; but it was a very warm
day, and she preferred resting in the garden, and, to Magdalen's
surprise and pleasure, conversation with her.  At first it was about
Oxford matters, very interesting, but public and external to the
home, and it did not draw the cords materially closer; but when
Thekla had privately decided that even hanging upon the newly
recovered Nag was not worth the endurance of anything so tedious, and
had gone off to assist her beloved old gardener in gathering green
gooseberries, Magdalen observed that she was a very pleasant little
pupil, and was getting on very well, especially with arithmetic.

"That was the strong point in the junior classes," said Agatha;
"better taught than it was in my time."

"I wish she could have more playfellows," said Magdalen.  "She would
like to go to the High School at Rockquay, but there are foundations
I should wish to lay before having her out of my own hands."

"I should think you were her best playfellow.  She seems very fond of
you, and very happy."

"Yes," said Magdalen, rather wistfully.  "I think she generally is
so."

"Maidie! may I call you by the old home name?"  And as Magdalen
answered with a kiss and tearful smile, "Do tell me, please, if Polly
and Flapsy are nice to you?"

Magdalen was taken by surprise at the pressure of the hand and the
eyes that gazed into her face full of expression.

She could not keep the drops from rushing to her own eyes, though she
smiled through them and said, "As nice as they know how."

"I am afraid I know what that means," said Agatha.

"If I only knew how to prevent their looking on me as their
governess," continued Magdalen; "but I must have got into the groove,
and I suppose I do not always remember how much must be tolerated if
love has to be won; and Paula is a thoroughly good girl."

"Yes, I am sure she wishes to be," said Agatha.  "Are those Sisters
nice that she talks of so eagerly?"

"They are very excellent women, but somehow I should have had more
confidence in them if they were not unattached, or belonged to some
regular Sisterhood.  I wish she had taken instead to Mysie
Merrifield, who is more of my sort; but no one can control those
likings."

"I don't think Gillian very attractive; she is so wrapped up in her
work," confessed Agatha.

"You will see them all, I hope, for I am giving a garden party next
week, perhaps.  Have not they told you?"

"Oh, yes; but Polly seemed bent on its not clashing with some
festival at St. Kenelm's."

"Therefore I had not fixed the day till I had heard what is settled.
I have invited people for Thursday, which will hardly interfere."

"Did you know that the young man who is painting the ceiling at St.
Kenelm's Church is old Mr. Delrio's son Hubert?"

"Indeed!  Is he staying here?  We must ask him to come up to luncheon
or to tea.  I am glad he is doing so well.  I heard Eccles and
Beamster were to do the decorations; I suppose they employ him.  I
should think it was a very good line to get into."

This was on a Friday; and the next day Magdalen proposed driving down
in the cool of the evening to see the decorations at St. Kenelm's and
their artist; but it turned out that he was gone to spend Sunday at
the Cathedral city, and all that could be done was to admire the
designs, and listen to Paula's enthusiastic explanation.

Magdalen consulted Agatha whether to send young Delrio a card for the
garden party; but they decided that it was too late for an invitation
to be sent, though a spoken one might have been possible.  Besides,
it was not likely to be pleasant to a stranger who knew no one but
the Flights and Hendersons, and those professionally.  Agatha told
her sisters, and with one voice they declared that they would not see
him patronised; while Agatha's acute senses doubted whether Vera's
objection was not secretly based on the embarrassment of a double
flirtation with him and with Wilfred Merrifield.

Indeed, Vera told her gaily:  "Only think, Nag, I did have a jolly
ride on the M.A.'s bike after all."

"Indeed!  Then she lent it to you."

"Not she!  But she and the little kid were safe gone to Avoncester,
and Paula was with her dear Sisters, so Will and I took a jolly spin
along the cliff road; and it was such screaming fun.  Only once we
thought we saw old Sir Jasper coming, and we got behind a barn, but
it turned out to be only a tripper, and we had such a laugh."

"Paula does not know?"

"What would be the good of telling her, with her little nun's
schoolgirl mind?  She would only make no end of a fuss about a mere
bit of fun and nonsense."

"I think if Wilfred Merrifield was afraid to meet his father, it
showed a sense of wrong."

"Sir Jasper is a horrid old martineau, who never gives them any peace
at home, but is always after them."

"A martinet, I suppose you mean.  I don't think that makes it any
better.  I should not be happy till Magdalen knew."

"Why, no harm was done!  There's her precious machine all safe!  It
was just for the fun of the thing, and to try how it goes.  One can't
be kept in like a blessed baby!  She never has guessed it.  That's
the fun of it."

"I would not return her kindness in such an unladylike way when she
is trusting you, Vera."

Did Magdalen know what had been done?  She did guess, for there was a
mark on the wheel that she did not remember to have known before, and
it cost her a bitter pang of mistrust; but she abstained from
inquiries, thinking that they might only do harm.  But she bought a
chain for her bicycle; and Agatha felt more shame than did Vera, who
tried to believe herself amused by her tacit sense of emancipation.



CHAPTER X--FLOWN



"Till now thy soul hath been all glad and gay,
Bid it arise and look on grief to-day."
ADELAIDE PROCTOR.


There was a Guild at St. Kenelm's which was considered by the
promoters to be superior to the Girls' Friendly Society, and which
comprised about a dozen young women, who attended classes held by
Sister Beata, and occasional modest entertainments given by Lady
Flight.

One of these was to take place the day before Miss Prescott's garden
party.  It was to be given at Carrara, the very pretty grounds on the
top of the cliff, belonging to Captain Henderson, the managing
partner in the extensive marble works of Mr. White, who lived at
Rocca Marina, in the Riviera.  Mrs. Henderson had resided in Mr.
Flight's parish, and been a member of his congregation, and while he
was absent for a day or two she had put her garden at the service of
the Guild of St. Milburga's for the day.

Of course Vera and Paula were delighted to assist; but Thekla was too
young for the amusements of grown-up maidens, and was much better
pleased to help her two elder sisters in preparations for the next
day, placing tennis nets, arranging croquet hoops, mustering chairs
by the verandah, and adorning tables with flowers.  Agatha's
assistance was heartily given, as making it her own concern, and, for
that reason above all others, it was a happy day, though a very
tiring one, to Magdalen, in spite of the sultry atmosphere and the
sight of lurid-looking clouds over the moors, which did not augur
well for the next day's weather, and caused all the arrangement of
chairs and rugs to be prudently broken up and deposited under the
verandah.

This was done, and the evening meal had been taken, and Thekla had
gone to bed before some flashes of lightning made the two sisters
wish to see the other pair at home, especially as Vera was much
afraid of lightning, and Paula apt to be made quite ill by it.

The storm rolled on, bringing violent gusts of wind and hail, though
not at the very nearest, and such a hurricane of wind and rain ensued
that the two watchers concluded that the two girls must have been
housed for the night by some of the friends at Rock Quay, and it was
near midnight, when just as they had gone to their rooms, a carriage
was heard ascending the hill, and they had reached the door before
Paulina sprang out with the cry, "Is she come home?"  Then at sight
of the blank faces of dismay, she seized hold of Agatha's hands and
began to sob.  Mr. Flight had stepped out of the car at the same
moment, and answered the incoherent questions and exclamations.

"Young Delrio offered to take photographs of the party, and that was
the last time she was seen."

"Yes," sobbed Paula, "Sister Mena saw her there.  We were trying to
get up croquet, and then I missed her.  I tried to find her when the
lightning began, but I could not find her anywhere, though I looked
in all the summer-houses!"

"At Mrs. Henderson's? or Miss Mohun's? or the Sisters'?" asked
Magdalen, catching alarm from each denial.  "She might have gone home
with one of the girls."

"She would be wild in such a storm," said Agatha, "and not know what
she was about."

"Sister Beata and I have gone to each house," said Mr. Flight.

"When did you say you saw her last?"

"I saw her when we were grouped," said Paula; "Sister Mena, when she
was helping him to put up his photos."

"The strange thing is," said Mr. Flight, "though no doubt it will be
explained, that Delrio is missing too."

"Hubert Delrio!" exclaimed Agatha.  "Impossible!  He must have taken
her into the church to be out of the storm."

"We have tried," said the clergyman.  And as the round of suggestions
began to be despairingly reiterated, he said, hesitating, "Miss Mohun
told me that she thought she had seen a boat, Captain Henderson's,
she believed, in the cave with some one rocking in it; and certainly
that little boat was there, when on the hope, if it can be called a
hope, I ran down the steps to look."

"Would it not have been put into the boathouse out of the rain?" said
Agatha.

"The gardener was gone home, out of reach round the point, but we
shall know to-morrow."

"He thinks they may have rowed out and been caught in the storm,"
cried Paula, bursting into fresh weeping; and Magdalen saw the
conjecture confirmed by Mr. Flight's countenance.

"I am afraid it is the least distressing--the least unsatisfactory
idea," said he, in much agitation.  "I thought Mr. Delrio an
excellent young man; and she," indicating his companion, "tells me
you know him and his family well."

"Oh, yes," said Agatha and Magdalen in one breath.  "We have known
his father all our lives.  Nothing can be more respectable."

"And Hubert is as steady and good as possible," continued Agatha.
"His mother used to come to Mrs. Best and praise him, till we were
quite tired of his name; I am sure he is all right."

"Or I should be much deceived in him," said the clergyman.

Yet there was an idea in Paulina's mind.  Could Vera have poured out
such an exaggerated tale of oppression and unhappiness as to have
induced her old playfellow to carry her off to his mother at Filsted?
She had given some such hint to Mr. Flight on the way; but he had not
seemed to hear or attend, and he was now promising to let the sisters
know as soon as possible in the morning whether anything had been
discovered, and to telegraph to Filsted and to the office in London
if he should see occasion.

Then he drove off, in what would have been almost daylight but for
the pelting of the storm; and after a vain attempt to make Paula
swallow some nourishment, Magdalen thought it kinder to let Agatha
carry her off to bed, and then she confessed, what really gave a
certain hope, that the pair had been in the habit of murmuring
against "sister" so much that, considering poor Vera's propensity to
strong language, it was quite possible that Hubert might think her
cruelly oppressed, and for a freak carry her off to his mother to be
consoled.

Agatha tried to believe it, for the sake of hushing the exhausted
Paula, who almost went into hysterics, as she laughed at the notion
of to-morrow's telegram that Vera was safe at Filsted; and then
allowed herself to be calmed enough to sleep, while Agatha revolved
the notion, but found herself unable seriously to believe, that
sufficient grievance could be brought against sister to induce any
man in his senses to take such a step.  But then Paula had inferred
that he was a lover, and Agatha did not know of what lovers might be
capable, and she could not but blame herself for not having given
more importance to the semi-confidences of her sisters on the first
day of her arrival.  It was all misery; and the two poor girls could
find no solace in the morning, save in talking to Magdalen, though
that involved the confession of all the murmurs against her, the
distrust of her kindness, and the explanation of the interviews,
which, as far as Paula had ever witnessed them, were absolutely
harmless, the only pity being in their concealment.

Magdalen was manifestly as wretched as they, or even more so, being
convinced of her own shortcoming in not having won the affection or
confidence that would have made all open between them.  She could not
understand why Hubert Delrio should not have been made known to her.

"We thought," said Paula, "we thought you might not think him enough-
-enough--of a gentleman for your sort of society."

"I think you might have trusted me to know what was due to an old
friend," said Magdalen "but, oh, I ought to have made you feel that
we could think together."

"Perhaps," said Agatha, "there was a little consciousness on poor
dear Vera's part that she did not want you to know the terms she was
on."

They had tried only to let Thekla know that they were much alarmed
because Vera had gone out in a boat and not returned.  It was
observable that, on the principle that where there is life there is
hope, Paula clung to the notion that Vera's having fled to Filsted;
while the two elder sisters, perhaps because they better knew what
such a flight might seem to others, would almost have preferred to
suppose there had been a fatal accident in the midst of youthful,
innocent sport.

The two were lingering sadly over their uneaten breakfast, talking
more freely when they had sent Thekla to feed her pets, when Mr.
Flight came up on his bicycle; but it was plain at the first moment
that he had no good news.

Nothing had been heard.  It only appeared that one of the young
gardeners at Carrara had taken Captain Henderson's boat without
leave, to fetch one of the girls, but on entering the cove had found
the boathouse locked.  He had moored the boat to a stake for want of
the ring that secured it within.  When the storm threatened he ran
down to recover it, but it was gone, and he had concluded that the
gardeners had put it into the boathouse.  It now appeared that they
had not seen it, and were very angry at its having been meddled with.
An oar had drifted up with the morning tide, and had been recognised
as belonging to the boat; but such a gale was blowing that it was
impossible to put out to sea or make any search round the coast.
Words could hardly describe the distress of Mr. Flight or of his
ladies at not having better looked after the young girl; Sister Beata
for never having thoroughly attended to the matter; and Sister Mena
for having accepted confidences which, if she had only guessed it,
told her more than there really was to be known.  Both these two were
inclined to the elopement idea, partly because it was the least
shocking, and partly because they had looked at Vera's grievances
through her own spectacles, and partly from their unlimited notions
of young men's wickedness.  Their vicar was not of the same opinion,
knowing Hubert better, and besides having found his work, his orders
to his subordinates, and the belongings at the lodgings in a state
that showed that whatever he had done had been unpremeditated.
Sending off notes to stop the garden party was a sort of occupation,
broken by many signs, much listening, and much sorrowful discussion,
not quite vain, since it made Paulina more one with Magdalen than
ever before.  Poor old Mr. Delrio arrived in the afternoon, a thin,
grey-haired and bearded old man, who could only make it too certain
that Paula's theory of the innocent flight to Filsted was impossible.
Moreover, he was as certain as a father could be, intimate with, and
therefore confident of, his eldest son, that though Hubert might
indulge in a little lively flirtation, it could never be otherwise
than perfectly harmless.  In the terrible suspense and restlessness,
he went vibrating about in the torrents of moorland rain between Rock
Quay and the Goyle, on the watch for telegrams from the office in
London or his wife at home, or for the discovery of anything from the
sea, or searching in his son's lodgings, where nothing was found that
did not show him to have been a pure-hearted young man, devoted to
his art, and fond of poetry.  Sundry compositions were in the
blotting-book, one, indeed, to Vera's name, under the supposition (a
wrong one) {100} that it meant "true," but mostly rough copies of a
poem about the Saints Julitta and her child Cyriac.  Hope sank as
another stormy day rose; and still the poor old artist lingered in
hopes of news by some returning craft which might have picked up the
derelict.  His chief comfort was in walking about between the showers
with Magdalen, as an old friend, and trying to think of the two as
innocent creatures, engulfed like mayflies in the stream.

Sister Mena came over, wanting to join Paula in bewailing entreaties;
but Paula, in youthful hard-hearted wilfulness, declared that it was
impossible to see her; and it fell to Magdalen to try to discuss the
grief with her.

It turned out that Mr. Flight had spoken severely to her and to the
far less implicated Sister Beata, declaring his confidence in them
destroyed, so that they had begun to consider of throwing up their
work in his parish.  "And it was all my fault," said Mena; "Sister
Beata really knew nothing, or hardly anything of what Vera told me."

"Indeed, I can quite understand that you had hardly experience enough
to know that it might be wiser not to encourage what was not quite
open."

"But I thought,--I thought you--"

"That I was unkind and unsympathising."

"Oh, you never could have been--"

"Indeed I never meant to be, but I am afraid it seemed so to my young
sisters.  I can quite see how you thought you were acting kindly."

"Oh, that is so good of you."

"And perhaps I, being only an elder sister, you would not feel that I
was the only authority the poor girls have to look to; and that it
would have been kinder to help them to be content with me."

"I did not know what you could be," said Mena, greatly soothed and
surprised by her caresses.

"We often do go on in ignorance, and get on a wrong tack; but you
know God pardons our mistakes, and I do believe that you will be
wiser for all this sorrow, and better able to rise to your work.  I
am sure, however it ends, that is the reason that such blows are sent
to us."

Mena went back sorrowful and chastened, but tenderly hopeful.  If
Miss Prescott could forgive, surely Mr. Flight could, and One still
greater.



CHAPTER XI--ADRIFT



"She splashed, and she dashed, and she turned herself round,
And heartily wished herself safe on the ground."
JANE TAYLOR.


And where were the missing pair?

Vera had lingered about, fancying she was helping to pack the
photographic apparatus, while the others dispersed.  Presently,
seeing no one near, Hubert Delrio said, in a gentle diffident voice,
"It would be a great pleasure to me if I might ask you to listen to
the verses on St. Cyriac and his mother that the design brought with
it."

"I should love it better than anything," said Vera, highly flattered.

"If you would come down this way, there is a charming secluded cove,
where we should be free from interruption."

"How deliciously romantic!  Quite stunning!" cried Vera, as her
cavalier conducted her down a steep path along the side of the cliff
to the stony beach, where a few red rocks had been manipulated into a
tiny harbour, with a boathouse for the little skiff in which Captain
Henderson was wont to go round to the marble works on the other side
of the headland.  The boat looked very inviting as it lay swinging
gently in the sluggish waves in the advancing shade of the tall
cliff; and Vera exclaimed with delight as she was assisted into it,
and placed herself comfortably on the cushion, with one hand dabbling
in the cool translucent wave.  Hubert Delrio opened his manuscript
and began to read his ballad, if so it was to be called, being the
history of the little boy of four years old, who, being taken with
his mother before the tribunal at Tarsus, was lifted on the
propraetor's knee, but struggled, crying out, "I am a Christian!"
till the propraetor, in a rage, hurled him down.  His skull was
fractured on the marble pavement, and his mother gave thanks for his
soul's safety, when she too was sentenced to be beheaded.  Great
pains had been taken with the noble-minded tale; and the verses had
considerable merit, more, perhaps, than Vera could appreciate.  But
to read such a production of his own, in such surroundings, to the
auditor whom youthful fancy most preferred, was such luxury to both
that it was no wonder that under the broad shady hat with the lily
wreath she was nodding in the gentle breeze, the lapping of the
waves, and the soft cadence of the poetry, till at an effective
passage on the mother's death, the poet looked up, expecting to
receive a responsive glance from those blue eyes.

Not only were they hidden, but the cliff was farther off.  The
mooring rope and the stake were dragging behind in the water.  The
tide had turned, and the boat was already out of reach of the rock
where it had been drawn up.  His exclamation of dismay awoke Vera,
who would have started up with a little shriek, but for his, "Don't!
Don't!  I'll row back."

But he was a landsman, whose only knowledge of the water was in an
occasional bathe, or in a river steamer; and his first attempt at
placing the oars in the rowlocks resulted in one falling overboard,
while he helplessly grasped the other; and Vera screamed again.

"Don't be frightened, my dear!  Dearest, don't!  We must be seen.
Some one will come out and help us."

"Can't you get on with one oar?  They do in pictures."

"Punting?  Yes, but there must be a bottom.  No, don't move, whatever
you do.  There can't be any danger.  Fishermen must be about.  Or we
shall be seen from the cliffs."

"They are getting farther off!  Can't you shout?"

Hubert shouted, and Vera added her shriller cries; but all in vain,
and the outgoing tide was carrying them, not towards the quay and
marble rocks, but farther to sea.  The waves grew rougher and had
crests of foam, and discomfort began.  Once the feather of a steamer
was seen on the horizon.  They waved handkerchiefs and redoubled
their shouts, and Hubert had to hold his companion to prevent her
from leaping up; but they never were within the vessel's ken, and she
went on her way, while the sea bore them farther and farther.

The shore was growing dim and indistinct, the sun was sinking, and
the cloud, that had at first shown only a golden border, was lifting
tall perpendicular masses, while the tossing of the little boat
became more and more distressing.  Anxiety and sense of
responsibility kept Hubert from feeling physical discomfort; but Vera
began to cry, and to declare that it would be the death of her if she
were not landed immediately.

"If it were only possible!" sighed Delrio.

"There must be some way!  You are so stupid!  Oh!  There was a flash
of lightning."

"Summer lightning."

"No such thing!  There will be a storm, and we shall be drowned.  Oh,
I wish I had never listened to your nonsense, and got into this
horrible boat."  She was in a state for scolding, and scold she did,
as the clouds rose higher, and sheets of lightning more decided.
"How could you?  You, who know nothing about boats, and going on, on,
with those horrid tiresome verses--not minding anything--I wish I had
never come near you!"

Vainly the poor young fellow tried to get in a word of consolation;
it only made her scold the more, till there was no question that the
storm was raging overhead; the hail rattled and splashed, the waves
raised them to a height, then subsided into endless depths; the
thunder pealed, and she clung to Hubert, too frightened for
screaming.  His fear was that the cockleshell of a boat should fill
and founder; he tried to bale out the water with his hat, and to make
her assist, but she seemed incapable, and he could only devise laying
her down in the bottom of the boat with his coat over her, hiding her
face in terror.  Her hat had long ago been blown away, and her hair
was flapping about.  Ejaculations were in his heart, if not on his
lips, and once or twice she cried out something like, "Save me!" but
in general it was, "We are sinking!  Hold me!  We are going!  Paula!
Nag!" clutching at his legs, so as to hamper him in the baling out
the water.

The hail passed, but there was a solid sheet of rain descending on
them, undistinguishable from the foam that rushed over them as they
went down, down, down.  Vera was silenced; and Hubert, drenched and
nearly beaten out of life, almost welcomed every downward plunge as
the last, tried to commend his spirit, and was amazed to find his
little boat lifted up again, and the black darkness not so absolute.



CHAPTER XII--"THE KITTIWAKE"



"Good luck to your fishing!  Whom watch ye to-night?
A man of mean, or a man of might?"--SCOTT.


Something black was before the tossed boat!  Yes, and light, not
lightning.  A human voice seemed to be on the blast.  Hubert Delrio
essayed to shout, but his voice was gone, or was blown away.  He
understood that a vessel must be above him.  Would it finish all by
running him down?  He perceived that he was bidden to catch
something.  A rope!  His benumbed hands and the heaving of the boat
made him fail once, twice, and he was being swept away as at last he
did grasp a rope, and was drawn, as it ground his hands, close to the
dark wall that rose above, with lights visible.

"Cheer up! cheer up!" he cried to Vera.  "Thank God, we are saved!"

Response from her there was none; but he could hear the yell of
inquiry from ahead, and answered, "Here!  Two!  A woman!"

A second rope was lowered.  "Lash her to it."  But as it was evident
that Delrio could do nothing but hold on, and that his companion was
helpless, a sailor descended from no great elevation, and, in another
moment, the senseless girl was hoisted up and received on deck; and,
with some assistance, Hubert was also on board, thinking of nothing
but the breathless question, "Is she safe?"

"Oh, yes!  She will soon come round!  Here!  They will see to her."
As she was carried away, and Hubert had a perception that she was
received by female hands, but he was utterly exhausted, and unable to
see or speak, till some stimulant had been poured down his throat,
and even then he could hardly ask, "Is she safe?

"Yes, yes!  All right!  Reviving fast!  Here!  Take some more!  Bed
is ready!  Get rid of those clothes!"  It was an elderly, grey-haired
man who spoke, and Hubert was in no condition to resist, as the yacht
was pitching considerably, though after the boat the motion was
almost rest.  He instinctively shook his head at the glass, but
swallowed what was forced upon him, and managed to say, "Thanks--
sitting in boat--drifted off--Rock Quay."

"All right!  Never mind.  Take him down.  My berth, Ivy--Jephson.
Tuck him in.  Don't let him speak!  Never mind, my lad!  We will hear
all about it to-morrow!"

Meantime, Vera, though reviving, was conscious of very little, save a
soft pillow, tender hands, and warm drink that choked her; and then
she fell asleep, though still she was aware of a strange tossing
going on all night, and by and by she found herself secured into a
sort of narrow shelf, and murmuring female voices were at hand.  As
she moved, she heard, "There, you are better now.  You can take this,
then you will be more comfortable."

Her eyes had opened to a curious sort of twilight, and there was a
fair girlish head over her, with a sweet smiling face.  An elderly
weather-beaten face in a hood next appeared, and a brown hand holding
a cup closed over the top, in invalid fashion, and a kind strong arm
slightly raised her with, "There, there, poor dear!  The spirit, my
lady dear, the spirit!  That's right, now then."

"You MUST be a baby;" and a merry reassuring smile broke out as the
draught was administered.  Vera tasted, thanked, swallowed, felt
giddy, and lay down, hearing a lively bit of self-gratulation.
"There, Mrs. Griggs, I'm getting my sea legs!" followed by an
ignominious stumble as Mrs. Griggs caught the cup in good time as the
vessel gave a lurch which completed Vera's awakening in the fear of
being shaken out on the floor.

She looked round to find herself in a tiny room, cushioned
throughout, with strange dancing confused light coming in, and the
few articles of furniture carefully secured.  Two young figures were
there, both dressed in stout blue serge, with white trimmings; one,
the darker, beside her bed, had a face full of kindness and
solicitude, yet of fun dimpling over continually; the other, even in
that dim light, striking Vera as something out of the loveliest
visions of romance, so fair and beautiful was the countenance.

A man's voice was at the door.  "Fly!  Francie!  How is she?"

"Much better!  Nearly well!  Good morning, Papa dear.  Is he all
right?"

"As sound as a bell!  Ha!"  As the door escaped, the curtain over it
shook, and he nearly fell against it, saving himself with his hands.
"That was exercise!"  As the young girls came tumbling up and
disappeared behind the curtain, where, however, the voices could be
plainly heard, "Had any sleep to-night or this morning?"

"Between whiles!  O yes!  All our bones are still whole, as I hope
yours and Ivy's are."

"Come and see.  Griggs is getting breakfast under difficulties
insurmountable to any one but a sea-grasshopper!  I came to call you
damsels, and present my inquiries to Miss Prescott."

"She will soon be all right!  Francie and I are so proud of having
had a real downright adventure."

"I trust she will not be the worse, and will--excuse me, and regard
me as incognito."

This was said as another lurch drove the grizzled head into the
cabin; and recovering in another upheaval they all disappeared,
leaving Vera in a dreaming state, whence she was only half roused
when Mrs. Griggs returned to administer breakfast, so far as she
could taste it, under exhortations, pettings, and scoldings; and she
very soon fell asleep again, and was thus left, sensible all the time
of tossings and buffetings, but so worn out by the five hours of the
boat, and so liable to be made ill by the motion of the vessel, that
it was thought best to leave her to sleep in her berth.

She was only aware of voices above talking and laughing, or sailor
calls being shouted out, or now and then of some one coming to look
at her, and insisting on her taking food.

It was not till late in the afternoon that she awoke from what seemed
like a strange long uneasy dream, and found one of the girls sitting
by her and telling her she was better now.

"Yes," said Vera, trying to raise herself, finding something over her
head, and falling back on the pillow; "but what is it?  Where is
this?"

"THIS is somewhere out in the Channel, near off Guernsey, Griggs
says, but we cannot put in anywhere till the gale goes down."

"What is it?  Is it a ship, then?"

"O yes," said the girl, laughing; "a yacht, the Kittiwake.  Sir
Robert Audley has lent it to my brother, and we are all going to see
the Hebrides and Staffa and Iona."

"Not to take me all up there?" groaned poor Vera, in horror.  "Can't
you put me out somewhere, anywhere?"

"Don't be afraid," was the much-amused reply.  "As soon as ever we
can put in anywhere, we can telegraph to Rock Quay and put you ashore
to go home; but we can only run before the wind while the sea is so
high.  I wish you could come on deck, it is so jolly!"

"Oh! it was too dreadful!"

"Beating about in the boat!  It must have been, Mr. Delrio told us."

"It was so stupid in him never to see that we had got loose, and were
drifting off," said Vera, who had never thought of inquiring after
him.

"My father and Griggs think he behaved quite like a hero," was the
answer.  "He must have managed very well to keep you afloat, and
saved you all this time."

"I suppose so," said Vera.  "We always did know him, or I should not
have let him get me into that boat, when he minded nothing but his
verses."

"Those verses, they came all limp and wet out of his pocket, and
Francie made him let her dry them and copy them out; and she is so
delighted with them.  It really is well it is too late to call the
baby Cyriac."

"The baby?"

"Oh, yes.  We had to leave him behind, though Francie was ready to
break her heart over it; but they said that nothing would do for
Ivinghoe--after this second influenza--but a sea voyage, so she had
to make up her mind to leave him to my mother."

Vera was in a state of bewilderment, caring a great deal more for
herself and her own sensations than for any of her surroundings; and
her next question was, "When do you think we shall be out of this?"

"We shall put into harbour somewhere as soon as the wind lulls.  We
cannot venture yet, though we do steam; and then we can telegraph.  I
am longing to relieve Miss Prescott.  We can take you home all the
way.  We were on our way into Rock Quay to take up Mysie Merrifield
if she can go.  It really was a wonderful and most merciful thing
that we made you out just as it was getting light before running you
down.  My father saw you first, and old Griggs would hardly believe
it, but then we heard Mr. Delrio's hail!  But it was a terrible
business getting you up the ship's side."

"I did not know anything about it.  It was so dreadful in the
lightning.  And my new hat was blown away.  And what is become of all
my clothes?"

"Mrs. Griggs has them, and is drying them.  We will lend you a hat to
land in."

"Oh, when we do!  I wish I had never got into that boat, but Hubert
Delrio did persuade me so."

"And he is an old friend?"

"Yes, he is come to paint the roof of St. Kenelm's Church, and we
want to be attentive to him because my eldest sister would be sure to
be cross and keep him at a distance, being only that sort of wall
painter, you know, and his father a drawing master."

"My father is very much pleased with him, and thinks him a very
superior young man.  They have been sitting on deck together, talking
as much as they could about architecture and Italy, with their breath
all blown away every moment.  There!  You are really getting better!
If you would eat something and come on deck you would be well!  I
will call the sea gnat, and see what we have."

It was all very wonderful to Vera; and she began to be interested and
to forget her troubles.  A slice of very salt ham was brought to her
and a glass of something, she did not know what, and asked if she
could have some tea.

"You could have tea if you like, but there's no milk.  You see, we
ought to have been in at Rock Quay yesterday evening, and our stores
were not adapted to hold out any longer!  We shall have another
curious experience, though Mrs. Griggs says it won't be so bad as
once when they were off the coast of Ireland, and when they put into
a bay with a queer name, all Kill and Bally, they could get nothing
but potatoes and goat's milk."

"Who is Mrs. Griggs?"

"She is wife to the sailing master; and, like the Norsemen, her home
is on the wave, at least in the yacht, for she always lives in it,
and her cabin is quite a sight; she is great fun, she cooks when
there is anything to cook, and is stewardess and everything.  Francie
and I knew a maid would be a vain encumbrance, so we are taking care
of ourselves, and, if you will let me, I will try and set your hair
to rights."

It was in a fearful tangle, after five hours at sea, and many more in
the berth in the cabin; but Vera was able to sit up in a dainty
dressing-gown, and submit to treatment not quite that of a
hairdresser, but made as lively as could be by little jokes and
kindly apologies at any extra hard pull at the knots, which really
seemed "as if a witch had twined them;" and the two began to feel
well acquainted with each other over the operation, though Vera was
somewhat impressed when she observed that the brush was ivory
handled.

Her bicycling skirt was in tolerable condition, but her once delicate
blue blouse was past renovation, so she was invested with a borrowed
white one, and led in triumph to the saloon, just as the beautiful
"Francie" came to call "Phyllis," and give a helping hand.  There
were two gentlemen besides Hubert Delrio, and there was a general
rejoicing welcome; but Vera did not think Hubert made half enough
inquiries or apologies, before she was seated at the table, where
everything was secured, and the fare was not very sumptuous or
various, being chiefly some concoction of rice and scraps of salt
beef, which Francie said was a shame, eating up the poor sailors'
fare; also there was potted meat, and cheese, but all the fresh bread
was gone, and they praised Mrs. Griggs' construction of ham and rice
with all the warmth and drollery each could contribute.  Vera began
to be puzzled as to who every one was, for no names except Phyl, Fly,
Francie and Ivy were heard, and the merry grey-haired head of the
family was "Father" or "Papa" to every one, except of course Mr.
Delrio, who, however, seemed at his ease, and took a fair share in
the talk, and once or twice Vera thought he said, "my lord," but she
did not believe it.

"I find you are a friend of a special pet of mine, Mysie Merrifield,"
said the father.

"I know her a little," stammered Vera, "but Primrose best."

"Nearer your age, eh?  But Mysie is our gem!  It looks fit for going
on deck."

After the apology for a dinner, the young married pair went their
way, he to endeavour to add a fish to their provisions, she to look
on; the father and Delrio went where the latter could best study the
wonderful tints of sunset over the purple retreating clouds, and the
still agitated foaming sea,--sights that seemed to be filling him
with enchantment, and revealing effects in colour, while his delight
was evidently a new pleasure to his companion.

Vera was afraid to move, and sat on a deck chair, with her back to
the sunset, while Phyllis, who perhaps would have liked to share in
the admiration, sat by her, so that Vera began to accept her as a
special friend, and to pour out the explanation of how she came to be
tossing in an open boat with this one companion.

"You see, poor fellow," she said, simpering, "he has been always so
devoted to me.  Everybody observed it, and I could not help just
gratifying him a little."

"He does seem to be very full of promise," said Phyllis.  "I suppose
Miss Prescott is much pleased with him."

"My sister Magdalen, do you mean?  Well, we have not introduced him
to her yet.  You see, he is ONLY painting the church, and she is so
devoted to swells, and makes such a fuss about our manners."

"Indeed!  But surely you could not go out with him without her
knowing it."

"She was not at this St. Milburgha's Guild, you know, and Sisters
Beata and Mena knew all about it.  Oh, yes, she lets us go to them at
St. Kenelm's, but they are not swells enough for her."

"Mr. Flight's Sisterhood, are not they?"

"And Primrose Merrifield says that Wilfred declares that they are not
ladies; but that's all jealousy, you know, because Will doesn't like
my friends, and Magdalen is altogether gone upon grandees."

"Fancy!" was all that Phyllis managed to say.

"She doesn't want us to be friends with anybody who don't belong to
some one with a handle to her name.  So foolish and stuck up!  So we
knew she would not be kind to Hubert."

"I think you had better have tried.  I thought her one of the kindest
people in the world."

"Ah! but, you know, unfortunately she has been a governess, and that
teaches toadying."

At that moment "Phyl" was called to see the first star over the sea,
and ran up to her father, so as to conceal how nearly she was
laughing.  Hubert Delrio came towards Vera.

"Can you forgive me, Vera?" he said.  "I shall speak to your sister
as soon as I am at home, and ask her forgiveness, and--"

"Oh, yes! yes!  But do tell me who these people are."

"Did you not know?  That most kind of men, is Lord Rotherwood.  Those
are Lord and Lady Ivinghoe, and--"

"Lady Phyllis!  Oh!"



CHAPTER XIII--CHIMERAS DIRE



"Qu'allait-il faire dans cette galere?"
FRENCH COMEDY.


Vera's first thorough awakening the next morning was to hear outside
the door, "Are you up, Fly?"

"I shall be in a minute or two.  Do you want me?"

"You are a dab at parlez-vous.  I want you to come ashore with me and
cater for the starving crew."

"What fun!  Anon, anon, Sir!"

Vera then perceived that she had been bestowed in Lady Phyllis'
cabin, and that the proper owner was dressing herself in haste before
the little shelf of a toilette table.  So great had been the
confusion of last night's discovery that the poor silly child had
only thought of hurrying out of sight and tumbling into bed without
speaking to any one, and she had not distinctly known, when Lady
Phyllis came down a good deal later and disposed of herself on the
sofa, that Mrs. Griggs had made ready for her.  And now the only
thing she could think of was to say, "Oh!  Lady Phyllis, I didn't
know."

"Take care!  Don't knock your head!  We ought to have remembered that
Boreas, or whichever it was, was hardly a sufficient introduction.
Are you all right now?  You had better go to sleep again till I bring
something to eat.  We are lying to off some little Breton fishing
village, and I am going with my brother to get some provisions, and
telegraph if we can."

It was long before they came back.  Vera had another nap, dressed
herself, grew very hungry, and came out to find Lord Rotherwood
fishing, and his daughter-in-law watching for the boat to put out
from the white houses with grey roofs, which, clustered round their
church-tower, seemed descending to the water's edge.  They were
equally famished, though Mrs. Griggs stewed up the poor remnants of
last night's banquet; but at last the little boat appeared, gaily
dancing over the waves, and Phyllis making signals of success.

"Oh, yes, you may be thankful, you poor starving beings!  Here, Mrs.
Griggs!  Accept, and do all you can!  Here are eggs, and some milk
and fresh water, four poulets, such as they are, and a huge monster
of a crab; but all the bread is leavened, and you little guess what
Ivy and I had to go through before we were allowed to buy anything.
We were had up to the Mayor, and had to constater all manner of
things about our ship, to prove that we were no smugglers."

"I thought the fat old rogue would have come out to visit the yacht
before he would have allowed us a morsel," said Lord Ivinghoe.

"In which case you might have been found a skeleton, father, like Sir
Hugh Willoughby!  And as to our telegrams, they won't go till the
diligence gets to St. Malo, and what they will make of them there is
another question.  I did not dare to send more than one, for fear
they should get mixed up.

Vera heard the joyous chaff as it fluttered round her, not half
understanding it any more than if it had been a strange tongue, and
not always guessing the cause of the fits of laughter, chiefly at
Lord Ivinghoe's misadventures, over which his little sister and his
father were well pleased to tease his correctness, and his young wife
looked a little hurt at his being tormented.  He could not remember
that braconnier was a poacher by land, not by sea, and very
unnecessarily disclaimed to the Maire being such a thing.  His
father, he said, "was gentilhomme anglais en--what's a yacht?--yac.
(Nonsense! that's a long-haired ox.  No!)  Non point contrabandiste,
mais galerien dans galere."  "And there I interposed," said Phyllis,
"for fear we should be boarded as escaped galeriens."

"Why, galley was a pleasure-boat sometimes," said Ivinghoe, and his
wife supported him with "Cleopatra's galley."

"Well done, Francie!  To your oars for Ivy's defence," said Lord
Rotherwood.  "How did you defend us, Fly, from being towed into
harbour at Brest as runaway convicts?"

"She gabbled away most eloquently to the Maire, almost as fluently as
a born French-woman," said Ivinghoe, "and persuaded him at last that
it was not necessary to come on board to inspect us, nor even to
detain us till he had sent for instructions to St. Malo."

"As Ivy managed matters, I thought we might be kept as hostages,"
said Phyllis.

"But, thanks to her blandishments, the solemn official vouchsafed to
send off a messenger for us with a telegram."

"I do not think he sent directions to pursue our suspicious galere,"
added Phyllis; "but I own I shall be glad to be under the lee of old
England again."

"What was your telegram?"

"Brevity was safest, nor had we money enough for two; so all I
attempted was, 'Delrio to Flight, Rock Quay.  Both safe.  Picked up
by Kittiwake.'  I thought that would be the quickest means of
relieving anxiety, as we were not sure of other addresses; and as to
'home,' Mamma probably hardly was aware of the storm, or, if she
were, she knew the capabilities of yachts and of Griggs."

"Right!" returned his father.  "Poor Miss Prescott! she must have
given you up for lost.  Have you been improving your mind with French
telegrams?" he added, turning to Delrio.

"No, my lord, I found my way to the church, a wonderful piece of old
Norman!--if it may so be called."

"I see you have been sketching."

Griggs here interposed with tidings that eggs and coffee were ready
in the saloon, the worthy pair having had respect to the general
famine, and prepared what could be made ready in haste.  Those who
had eaten ashore sat by, making an amusing account of their
reception, and difficulties with language and peasants, for, this not
being an ordinary place of call, nothing was ready for sale.

Vera, finding herself for the first time in distinguished company,
which desired to set her at ease, began to be at ease, and to desire
to shine, so she giggled whenever she perceived the slightest excuse,
even when Lord Ivinghoe handed her the eggs, and, hoped she had not
too British an appetite for French eggs; and Lady Ivinghoe asked if
she had seen the fowls, and whether their feathers were ruffled up
like a hen's that had been given to Aunt Cherry.  Her little sister
Joan, she added, had asked whether eating the eggs would make her
hair curl.

"Or stand on end," said Phyllis.

"As I am afraid Miss Prescott's is doing till your telegram reaches
her.  Did you say it was to go from St. Malo?"

"Yes.  I thought that the safest place to have a comprehensible
message copied."

"To whom did you say?" asked Lady Ivinghoe.

"'Delrio to Flight.'  Oh, they will know his name and address fast
enough when it gets to Rock Quay."

"He is the clergyman at St. Kenelm's," put in Vera, in explanation;
"very very advanced Ritualist, you know."

"Indeed!" was the answer.

"Oh, yes, that he is.  My sister Polly is perfectly devoted to him;
but we don't go to his church, except now and then, because my eldest
sister is just one of those very old-fashioned people, you know, who
want everything horrid and dull."

"That is hardly what our cousins think of Miss Prescott," said
Phyllis.  "I am so sorry for her anxiety!  But I was not sure of the
name of her place."

"The Goyle!  Isn't it frightful?" said Vera.

"You say she was unprepared for your adventure?"

"Oh, yes, quite.  Her notions are so dreadfully proper and old
fashioned.  She hasn't got any sympathy, has she, Hubert?"

"I don't know," he said gravely.  "I have always had the greatest
respect for her."

"Respect!  So you ought.  That's just the thing one has for a slow
dear old fogey," she said, laughing, "Oh, Hubert!"  There was a
silence, and Lord Rotherwood made an observation upon the wind.

Vera perceived an awkwardness, and, by way of repairing it,
afterwards thought it expedient to communicate to Lady Phyllis that
it might be a pity she had said "Hubert."  It was so awkward, only he
was such an old acquaintance.

"I should have thought the awkwardness was incurred long ago," said
Lady Phyllis.  "Come, you will have no more concealments from Miss
Prescott, will you?  You will be ever so much more comfortable, and
find out how kind she is."

"Oh, but!--" Vera wanted to talk over all her grievances for the
pleasure of talking, saying very much what she had said before, and
Phyllis tried to endure and put in as much sense as she could,
without lecturing the girl, who struck her as the very silliest she
had ever encountered; but she was continually called off to admire
the receding French coast, or to look at the creatures brought up by
dredging.  She always took care to call Vera, and not let her feel
herself left out; but Vera, if in solitude for a moment, reflected on
the neglect shown of little people by great ones; and when called up
to see uncanny slimy creatures, or even transparent balls like watery
umbrellas, only was disgusted and horrified.

She began to guess, rather truly, that Lady Phyllis wanted to hinder
a tete-a-tete between her and Hubert Delrio.  In fact, Lord
Rotherwood, who was much more of a sympathetic, confidence-inviting
personage than his stiffer, much older seeming son, had said to his
daughter, "Don't let that poor lad and the girl get together alone,
Fly; the boy thinks he is bound to make her an offer."

"Oh, father!  Surely not!"

"No more than if they had been two babies in a walnut shell.  So I
told him, but people don't see what infants they are themselves, and
I want to hinder him from putting his foot in it before he has seen
her aunt--cousin--sister, or whoever it is that has the charge of
her; and she has depicted to him a Gorgon, with Medusa's hair, claws
and all--a fancy sketch, isn't it?"

"Of course, sentimental schoolgirl colours!  Mysie thinks her
delightful."

"At any rate, let him get a dose of common sense before committing
himself.  He is a capital fellow, sure to rise; has the soul and head
and hands for it, but he ought not to weight himself with a drag."

"Do you think he is really in love with her?"

Lord Rotherwood waved his hands.  "He thinks so, but nobody knows
with those boys!  I had to tell him at last that I would not have any
philandering on board MY ship; and whatever he might think it his
duty to say, must be put off for aunt--sister--Gorgon--Medusa or what
not.  And I don't think he's very bad, Fly, for he modestly asked
permission to sketch Francie's head for St. Mildred, or Milburg, or
somebody; and was ready to run crazy about the tints on that dogfish.
The young fellow is in the queerest state between the artist and the
lover! delight and shame!  I should like to take him north with us;
the colours of the cliffs in the Isles would soon drive out Miss
Victoria--what's her name?"

"You don't think him like Stephen in the Mill on the Floss, who ought
to have married Maggie Tulliver."

"I believe that is his precedent--but it is sheer stuff--pure
accident--as a respectable old householder like me is ready to
testify to the Gorgons and Chimeras dire--Grundys and all.  We must
encounter Rock Quay, Fly, if it is only to rescue this unlucky
youth."

"What is he doing now?  Oh, I see; drawing Francie, who sits as stiff
as a Saint of Burne-Jones!  Well, I'll have an eye to them!  Vera!
Have you finished Rudder Grange?"

"Not quite.  I can't make out who Lord Edward was."

"Why, the big dog!  Did you think he was Pomona's hero?"

"I don't know.  Wasn't Pomona very silly?"

"If life was to be taken from story-books," said Phyllis, in a very
didactic mood; "but you see she imbibed the best side, what they
really taught her of good."

"I thought, when you gave me the book, it was to be an adventure like
mine, not all standing still in an old river.  What do you think
Hubert Delrio ought to do after persuading me into such an awful
predicament?"

"Tell your sister he is very sorry that you two foolish children got
into such a scrape, and very thankful that you were saved."

"We are very thankful to Lord Rotherwood."

"I didn't mean to him.  To some One else," said Phyllis, reverently.

"Oh, of course," said Vera.  "But what DO you think, Lady Phyllis?"
(Since her discovery of the title she made a liberal use of it.)
"What do you think people will say?"

"That a little girl has had a dangerous adventure and a happy
escape."

"I am seventeen, Lady Phyllis!"

"One is nothing like grown up at seventeen!  I declare there's a big
steamer coming into sight.  I wonder if it belongs to the Channel
Fleet!"

Nothing more sentimental could be extracted for the rest of the
voyage.



CHAPTER XIV--PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED



"I marry without more ado,
My dear Dick Red Cap, what say you?"
COWPER.


The telegram had been received about mid-day; and Mr. Flight rushed
up with it to the Goyle, just in time to prevent poor old Mr. Delrio
from starting hopelessly home.  It had suffered a good deal in
spelling and precision, in spite of Lady Phyllis's precautions; but
"both safe" was understood, as it was known in Rock Quay that "Lord
Rotherwood and family," as the papers had it, were yachting in the
Kittiwake and might be expected in the bay.

Agatha and Paula threw their arms round one another and cried;
Magdalen, with a choke in her voice, struggled to ask Mr. Flight to
lead them in a few words of thanksgiving; and as soon as these were
over, Thekla expressed her hopes that they had been cast on a desert
island and would bring home Man Friday.

The Goyle ladies walked over to Clipstone with the good news, and the
whole party went down afterwards to Rockstone to look out for yachts,
and inquire about possibilities.  The Kittiwake being a steamer,
light and swift, might be expected in harbour in the course of the
night, and Mr. Delrio meant to wait for her at his son's lodgings.
The ladies wished they could do the same; and Paula was allowed to
accept Sister Beata's humble entreaty to house her.  But they did not
know how long before the telegraph from St. Malo the Kittiwake from
St. Cadoc had spread her wings and hoisted her feather, for, happily,
her coals had held out better than her provisions.  So, as they were
looking their last look from the cliffs of Beechcroft Miss Mohun
exclaimed, "A steamer! a yacht!  Kittiwake!"

Glasses were rushed for, and unaccustomed eyes could trace the
graceful course through the gentle evening waves towards the quay.

Every one was on the quay in time to receive the boat, which, rowed
by four smart sailors, was seen with the party of six, two sailor
hats, and one red cap being at once spied out among the female
figures.  Then two hats were waved and answered by cheers of welcome;
and the figures were recognised, and unnecessarily numerous hands
stretched out to assist the landing from the plank extended to the
boat.

Vera was put first by her kind rescuers, Lord Rotherwood's hand
guiding her to the rail, and, after an insecure step or so, she found
herself in the arms of Paulina, sobbing for joy; and the little
cluster of sisters seemed to know nothing else, except Thekla, who
presently, in the confusion of the greetings, was found by Lord
Rotherwood looking about vaguely, and saying, "But where's their man
Friday?"

"You must accept me for him," said he.  "'Tis Friday, unless we have
lost our reckoning!  I hope you think me something promising in the
way of savages!"

Young Delrio's first proceeding, even while his father was wringing
his hand in speechless welcome and thankfulness, was to turn to
Captain Henderson.  "Sir, your boat is safe, it will be brought in
to-morrow.  I am much concerned, and beg your forgiveness, but I had
no idea that it was yours till Griggs found your name.  Only one oar
is lost, and a cushion, which I will replace."

"Say no more, pray," said Captain Henderson.  "The fault was my
servant's, who took it without leave, and left it out.  He must
repair the very slight damage."

Miss Mohun wanted the whole troop to come up to Beechcroft to drink
tea, and her relations consented; but the hearts of the Prescotts
were a great deal too full for them not to wish to be alone together;
and after Magdalen had given her hand to Lord Rotherwood with a
fervent, "You know what I would say, my lord--beyond all words," they
turned homewards; but Mr. Flight ran after them to say in a low
voice, "Can we meet to-morrow at eight for a service of
thanksgiving?"  And this was gladly accepted.

Hubert was dragged off by his father.

"Nonsense! they don't want your apologies and explanations.  It would
only be besetting them.  Come home with me, and don't be a fool!  But
write a few lines to your poor mother, after the intolerable fright
you have given her; meddling and presuming where you had no business.
A Providence it is that you are not half across the Atlantic, if not
at the bottom of it."

Of course this was the reaction of great anxiety; but however meekly
Hubert submitted to the queer outpouring of affection, and however
thankful they both were, and glad and content over the particulars of
the youth's work and progress, still he was not to be withheld from
laying hand and heart at Vera Prescott's feet, as he insisted was due
to her and her family after the compromising situation in which he
had placed her.  His father said it was talking novels and folly; but
he was a man of three and twenty, and could not well be stopped, as
he was earning his own livelihood, and had always been
irreproachable.  So Mr. Delrio had to leave the matter, only
expressing discouragement, and insisting that it must be no more than
an engagement.

The thanksgiving took place as arranged, and Lord Rotherwood, his
daughter, and Mysie were there.  For indeed there had been danger
enough during the thunderstorm to make the safety of the Kittiwake a
matter of thankfulness, though the rescue of the boat had caused it
to be almost forgotten in the history of the night.

Lady Flight had begged that all would come to breakfast with her, and
this was accepted by the Goyle party; but the Clipstone pony-carriage
was waiting for the others, and they could not accede to Lady
Flight's impromptu, and rather nervous, invitation.  But before they
started Lord Rotherwood managed to say a few words aside to Miss
Prescott of the impression he had divined from his voyage with Hubert
Delrio, whom he thought a young man of great ability and promise, and
of excellent principles, but with a chivalry it was quite refreshing
to see in youth, perhaps ready to strain honourable scruples almost
too far for his own good or that of others.

Magdalen thought she perceived what had been in the marquis's mind
when, immediately after her return home, Hubert and Vera came up,
hand in hand, and he informed her of their mutual attachment.

"I am afraid, Miss Prescott," he said, "that we may not have acted
rightly or squarely by you; and this last adventure was a most
unhappy result of my careless awkwardness and preoccupation."

"It was the merest accident.  We all quite understand.  It is not to
be thought of."

"You are very good to say so, but--"

Both he and Magdalen wished that Vera had not been present, blushing
and smiling, or rather simpering; and as Hubert hesitated over his
"but," Magdalen said:

"Vera, my dear, Hubert and I can talk over this better without you.
You had better go and find Paula."

"Only, sister, please do understand that I care for Hubert with all
my heart," said Vera, much less childishly than Magdalen had
expected.

However, she went, while Magdalen succeeded in saying what she had
intended--that Hubert must not consider himself in the smallest
degree bound by what had been accident, entirely unintentional and
innocent.

"You are generous, Miss Prescott.  You understand!  But the world!
It was public."

"Never mind the world.  You see what sensible people think."

"But, indeed, Miss Prescott, I cannot leave you to suppose I am only
actuated by the fact of that awkward situation.  Of course that would
never have been if I did not deeply, entirely love your sister.  It
has only precipitated matters.  I entreat of you to give her to me,
as one who is--who is devoted to her!  If my station is inferior I
will work--"

"That is not the point.  Vera is too young for such things.  What
does your father say?"

"My father sees that I am right."

"I see what that means," said Magdalen, smiling.  "But where is he?
I should like to talk to him."

Mr. Delrio, pretty well knowing what was going on, was found
endeavouring to distract his mind by sketching the Goyle.  He and
Magdalen walked up and down the drive together, perfectly agreeing
that it would be senseless cruelty to permit an early marriage
between these two young people, and that it was a pity there should
be an engagement; but this could hardly be prevented, since Mr.
Delrio could only give advice, and leave a self-supporting worthy son
to judge for himself; but the elder sister and the trustee could
stipulate for delay till Vera should be of age.

So Hubert was called, and acquiesced, cheerfully observing that he
trusted that four years would make him able to render Vera's life an
easy and pleasant one; and after heartily thanking both Miss Prescott
and his father, he went off to rejoice the heart of the maiden, who
was sitting under the pear-tree, watching with anxious eyes.



CHAPTER XV--BROODS ASTRAY



"But ill for him who, bettering not with time,
Corrupts the strength of Heaven-descended will,
And ever weaker grows through acted crime,
Or seeming genial venial fault."
- TENNYSON.


"Man Friday hope piccaniny live well--bring her buckra fish from
sea!"  Such was the greeting from Lord Rotherwood to Thekla when the
whole party walked over in time for tea on the lawn, before church at
Clipstone, as he presented her with a facsimile oyster which he had
hunted up in a sweet shop, making an absurd bow and scrape.

Poor Thekla coloured, and mumbled a shy, "Thank you, my--my--" having
had a lecture from Vera on treating a marquis with over familiarity
and it was left to Primrose to ask where Friday learnt nigger
language.  "By nature, Missy buckra," he responded; "all same nigger
everywhere."  And he repeated his bow so drolly that Primrose's laugh
carried Thekla's along with it, as Lady Phyllis walked up with,
"Come, father, you are wanted to congratulate."

"Eh!  Am I?  So they have perpetrated it, have they?  More's the pity
is what I should say in the Palace of Truth; but the maiden has
landed a better fish than she knows--that is, if she have landed
him."

"There! take care, don't be tiresome, Papa!" admonished Lady Phyllis,
drawing him on, when he met Vera with a courtly manner, and, "I hope
I see you recovered, Miss Prescott, and able to rejoice in the
pleasant consequences of your adventure."

Vera blushed, and looked very pretty and modest, making not much
answer as she retreated among her contemporaries to show them her
ring, a hoop of pearls, which Wilfred insisted were Roman pearls,
fishes' eyes, most appropriate; but Flapsy felt immeasurably older
than Wilfred to-day, and able to despise his teasing, though Hubert
Delrio was not present, and indeed Wilfred was not disposed to bestow
much of his attention upon her, having much more inclination to beset
his cousin, Lady Phyllis, who surely ought to perceive that he had
attained at least the same height as his brother Jasper, and could,
in his absence, pose as the young man of the household.

Phyllis had not much to say to him, nor after the first to Vera,
though she duly admired the ring so exultantly shown, and accepted
the assurance that Hubert was the dearest fellow in the world.  But
there was no getting any condolence out of her upon the misery of
having to wait four whole years.  She said, "It was a very good
thing!  There was her cousin Gillian, who had insisted on waiting
three years to finish her education."

"Oh, but dear Hubert likes me as I am," simpered Vera.

"You might wish that he should find more in you to like.  Gillian,"
said Phyllis, coming up to her and Agatha, "I want you to assure Vera
that four years is not such a great trial in waiting."

"It is what I have been trying to persuade her," said Agatha; "she is
hardly seventeen."

"And I would not have been married at seventeen for anything," said
Gillian to the pouting Vera.  "I want to be more worth having."

Vera did not like it, she had heard the like at home, and she fell
back upon Valetta, while the others walked on.  "Poor little Flapsy!"
said Agatha, "I do hope this engagement may make more of a woman of
her."

"My father was very much struck by Mr. Delrio," said Phyllis, "both
as artist and personally."

"You must be glad of the time for putting her up to his level," said
Gillian.

"Do you think such things are to be done?" asked Agatha.

"Yes," said Phyllis stoutly.  "You may not make her able to be a
Senior Wrangler--(Oh you are Oxford!)--or capable of it, like this
Gillyflower; but you can get the stuff into her that makes a sound
sensible wife."

Gillian caught a little hopeless sigh of "CAN," and answered it with,
"When all this effervescence is blown off, then will be the time for
working at the substance, and she may be all the better wife--
especially for the artist temperament, if she is of the homely sort."

"How angry she would be if she heard you say so!" returned Agatha.
"Yet certainly I do feel relieved that wifehood is to be my poor
Flapsy's portion, for she is not of the sort that can stand alone and
make her own way."

"There will always be plenty of such women in the world," said
Gillian.

"So much the better for the world," retorted Phyllis, who had never
shown any symptoms of exclusive devotion to any one of the other sex,
except her father.

One thing Agatha wanted to know, and dared not ask, namely, what
impression Vera had made in the Kittiwake and what Hubert had said
about her; for she and Paula had begun to remark that, lover as he
was, not a word about her heroism had escaped him.  And it was as
well that she did not hear what the extra plain spoken Primrose did
not spare the boasting Thekla.  "Cousin Rotherwood and Fly both say
they can't think how Mr. Delrio got on with such a silly little
hysterical goose upon his hands; and that it is a foolish romantic
unlucky notion that he ought to be engaged to her.  I think Mamma
will tell Miss Prescott so."

The Kittiwake, having arrived three days later than had been
expected, there had been an amount of revolution in the general
arrangements.  The break up of the High School was to be on an early
day of the next week.  It had become a much more extensive and public
matter than in the days of Valetta and Maura, though these were not
so very long ago, and there was a great day of exhibitions and
speeches to the parents and neighbourhood generally.  Two ladies had
been secured for the purpose, Elizabeth Merrifield and Miss Arthuret,
and the former arrived on the Saturday afternoon, but as the
Rotherwood party almost overflowed Clipstone, she was transferred to
Miss Mohun.

After the death of their parents, about three years previously, Susan
and Elizabeth had gone to live at Coalham, and to be useful to their
brother David's parish; Susan betaking herself to the poor, and
Bessie finding herself specially available in the various forms of
improvement undertaken by ladies in modern days.  To her own
surprise, and her sister's discomfiture, her talent as a public
speaker had become developed.  With a little assistance from her
sister-in-law Agnes's unwilling stage experience, and entreaties, not
easily to be withstood, came from various quarters that she would
come and advocate the good cause.

Of course she was ever welcome at Clipstone, and she walked up
thither with General Mohun, arriving just after the others from the
Goyle; and in the general confusion of greetings, and the Babel of
cousinly tongues, there were no introductions nor naming of names.
Bessie declared herself delighted with the chance of seeing Lady
Ivinghoe, whom she considered more to realise the beauty of women
than any one she had hitherto beheld, and the fair face had not lost
its simplicity, but rather gained in loveliness by the sweetness of
early motherhood, as she and Phyllis sat by Mysie, regaling her with
tales of what they regarded as the remarkable precocity of the infant
Claude, reluctantly left to his grandmother.

"But where's Dolores?" asked Bessie.  "I miss her among the swarm of
mice!"

"Dolores is at Vale Leston," answered Gillian.  "She has been a long
time making up her mind to go there, to Gerald's home; and now she is
there, they will not let her go till some birthday is over."

"Uncle Felix's!" whispered Franceska to Mysie.  "You know it was dear
Gerald's place.  She had never seen it."

Another voice was now raised, asking, "What had become of Miss
Arthuret?"

"She only comes down on Monday," said Bessie.  "Just in time for the
meeting.  She is too valuable to come for more than one meeting."

"But who is she?"

"Arthurine Arthuret?  She is a girl, or rather woman, who has some
property at Stokesley.  In fact, she is one of those magnets that
seem to attract inheritance without effort--like the Hapsburgs,
though happily she makes a most beneficent, though, sometimes,
original use of them."

"Is not that very dangerous?" said Aunt Lily.

"The first came to her early, and coming into it very young, and
overflowing with new ideas, she began rather grotesquely; but she has
tamed down a good deal since, and really has done an immense deal of
good in finding employment for people, making improvements and the
like, though she is Sam's pet aversion, a tremendous Liberal, almost
a Socialist.  They are so like cat and dog that Susan and I were
really glad to be away from Stokesley, especially at election times;
but altogether she is an admirable person."

Lady Merrifield thought she detected a start of Miss Prescott at the
name Stokesley, and that her eyes looked anxiously at the speaker.
Bessie was not of the sandy part of the family.  Was the unattractive
schoolboy, once seen, like his sisters?  All that was observable was
startling similitudes to her own children, though in them the
elements of the handsome dark Mohun generally predominated.

But by and by, in a quiet moment, Bessie suddenly asked, "Did you say
her name was Magdalen?"

Lady Merrifield laughed.  "Four years MAY do a good deal at that time
of life," she said.  "I suppose no time ever so changes--changes--
what shall I say?--eyes--views--characters.  Only constancy in
absence is the dangerous thing.  There are distinguished examples of-
-of the mischief of being constant without knowing what one is
constant to.  Virulent constancy, as Mrs. Malaprop has it."

Magdalen thanked and smiled.  Perhaps there was a certain virulent
constancy in a remote corner of her heart which had been revived by a
certain indescribable look in the eyes and contour of Bessie
Merrifield.

And Bessie herself, while sitting under the verandah with Lady
Merrifield, while all the others were walking down to embark Lord and
Lady Ivinghoe in the yacht, suddenly repeated, "Did you say that her
name was Magdalen?"

"Yes; I saw it startled you, my dear."

"It revived an old, old story.  I do not know whether there was
anything in it.  Who or what is she, Aunt Lily?  I only know her as
the sister of the girl that the Ivinghoes picked up."

"She is the owner of a little property at Arnscombe, and has taken
home her four young half-sisters to live with her, after having
slaved for them as a governess till she came into this inheritance.
She is an excellent person."

"Ah!  Was her house at Filsted?"

"I am not sure.  Yes, I think the young ones were at school there.
You think--"

"I feel certain.  May I tell you, Aunt Lily?  Some of the others
cannot bear to mention my poor Hal; but to me the worst of the sting
is gone, since I know he repented."

"My dear, I should be very glad to hear.  Your father and mother
never mention your brother, and we were away at the time."

"Poor Hal!  I am afraid there was a weakness in him.  He never had
that determination that carried all the others on.  He never could
get through an examination, and my father put him into a bank at
Filsted.  By and by, after some years, came a letter telling my
father he was gambling very seriously, getting into temptation, and
engaging himself to an attorney's daughter.  It was while I was
living with grandmamma, and he used sometimes to look in on me, and
talk to me about this Magdalen.  Once he showed me her photograph and
I thought I knew her face again.  But my father went off, very angry.
I have always feared he found poor Hal on the verge of tampering with
the bank money, but he never would say a word.  He broke everything
up, put an end to the engagement if there was one, and sent Hal off
to John and George, who had just got their farm in Manitoba, and were
getting on by dint of hard work."

"They have done very well, have they not?"

"Yes, by working and living harder than any day labourer at
Stokesley.  Hal could not stand it, and--and I'm afraid the boys were
not very merciful to him, poor fellow, and he got something to do in
Winnipeg.  There he fell in with a speculator called Golding, they
all did in fact; he was a plausible man, whom they all liked, and
used to put up at his house when they took waggons in with their
produce.  He had a daughter, and Johnnie got engaged to her, or
thought he was.  They all were persuaded to put money into a horrid
building speculation,--Henry, what he had brought out, the other two
what they had realised.  Well, suddenly it all ended.  They were all
gone, Golding, daughter, Hal and all--yes, all--the money the other
boys had put in the thing, off to the States, as we suppose!  No
trace ever found."

"Really no trace?"

"None!  The poor boys lost all they had, and were obliged to begin
over again."

"And has really nothing been heard of this unfortunate Hal?"

"There is one thing that does give me a hope.  There did come to
Stokesley a letter from a Brisbane bank, addressed to J. and G.
Merrifield, to the care of Rear-Admiral Merrifield, and in it were
bank bills up to the value of what the boys had been robbed of, about
two hundred and fifty pounds.  Poor Henry must have repented, and
wished to make restitution."

"Was there no name, no clue?"

"None at all.  We know no more."

"But was there no inquiry made at Brisbane?"

"It was when my father was very ill.  The parcel was not opened at
first.  I have been always sorry he never heard of it; but after all
there was no asking of forgiveness, nor anything that could be
answered.  The boys got it with the tidings of our dear father's
death.  John came home to see about things, George stayed to look
after his Stokesley.  They were well over their troubles by that
time, and they gave the restored money to David for his churches."

"And no more was done, not even by David?" said Lady Merrifield,
thinking over what she had heard from Geraldine Grinstead, and how
the Underwoods would have accepted such a token from their lost
sheep.

"David did write to Brisbane to the bank, but there never was any
answer.  There is no knowing how it might have been, if any one had
gone out and done his best; but you see we were all much taken up
with home duties and cares, and I am afraid we have not dwelt enough
upon our poor boy, and he had much against him.  The discipline from
my dear father, that all the elders responded to with a sort of loyal
exultation, only frightened him and made him shifty.  They despised
him, and I do not think any of us were as kind to him as we ought to
have been; though on the whole he liked me the best, for he cared for
books and quiet pursuits, such as all laughed at, except David.  I
wish he could have seen more of David."

"Did your mother hear of this ray of hope?"

"Susan thought it best not to tell her.  We used to hear her
murmuring his name among all ours in her prayers, Susie, Sam, Hal,
Bessie, and so on; but she never was herself enough to understand,
and they thought it might only stir her up to expect to see him.  Oh,
Aunt Lily, I don't think you--any of you--would have gone on so; but
you are all much more affectionate and demonstrative than our branch
of the family."

"Ah, my dear, I am sure there was a pang in your mother's heart that
she never durst mention," said Lady Merrifield, her imagination
dwelling in terror on her Wilfred, the one child in whom she could
not help detecting the weakness of character of his unhappy cousin.
"Depend upon it, Bessie, her prayers were hovering round him all the
time, and bringing that act of restitution, though she was not
allowed to hear of it."

"I had not thought of that," said Bessie, in a low tone, "though I
think David has.  I have heard his voice choke over an intercession
for the absent."

"Think of it now, my dear, and do not let habitual reserve hinder you
from speaking of it to Susan and David, though most likely they have
the habit already.  Who knows what united prayer may do with Him who
deviseth means to bring home His banished?"

Steps returning, Bessie wiped away her tears in haste, actually the
first she had shed for the lost Hal, though there was a heartache too
deep for tears.



CHAPTER XVI--THE REGIMENT OF WOMEN



"And happier than the merriest games
Is the joy of our new and nobler aims."
F. R. HAVERGAL.


Miss Mohun and Miss Merrifield encountered Miss Prescott and Agatha
among a perfect herd of cycles, making Bessie laugh over the
recollections of the horror caused at Stokesley by the arrival of
Arthurine Arthuret on a tricycle twelve years previously.

The place was the Town Hall, the High School having proved too small
for the number of the intended audience, and Lord Rotherwood having
been captured, in spite of the Kittiwake being pronounced ready to
sail, and all the younger passengers being actually on board,
entertaining a party from Clipstone.  There he sat enthroned on the
platform, with portraits of himself, his Elizabethan ancestor, and
the Prince of Wales overhead, and, in propria persona on either side,
the Mayor of Rockstone, Captain Henderson, and a sprinkling of the
committee, Jane, of course, being one; while in the space beneath was
a sea of hats, more or less beflowered and befeathered.

Lord Rotherwood began by complaining of an act of piracy!  After
being exposed to a tempest and forced to put in for supplies, here he
was captured, and called upon to distribute prizes!  He perceived
that it was a new act of aggression on the part of the ladies,
proving to what lengths they were coming.  Tyrants they had always
been, but to find them wreckers to boot was a novelty.  However,
prizes were the natural sequence of a maritime exploit, and he was
happy to distribute them to the maidens about to start on the voyage
of life, hoping that these dainty logbooks would prove a stimulus and
a compass to steer by even into unexplored seas, such as he believed
the better-informed ladies were about to describe to them.

Rockstone was used to its Marquis's speeches, and always enjoyed
them; and he handed the prize-books to the recipients with a shake of
the hand, and a word or two of congratulation appropriate to each,
especially when he knew their names; and then he declared that they
were about to hear what education was good for, much better than from
himself, from such noted examples as Miss Arthuret and Miss
Merrifield, better known to them as Mesa.  Wherewith he waved forward
Miss Arthuret, a slight, youthful-looking lady, fashionably attired,
and made his escape with rapid foot and hasty nods, almost furtively,
while the audience were clapping her.

She spoke with voice and utterance notably superior to his well-known
halting periods, scarcely saved by long training and use from being a
stutter.  The female population eagerly listened, while she painted
in vivid colours the aim of education, in raising the status of
women, and extending their spheres not only of influence in the
occult manner which had hitherto been their way of working through
others, but in an open manner, which compelled attention; and she
dwelt on certain brilliant achievements of women, and of others which
stood before them, and towards which their education, passing out of
the old grooves, was preparing them to take their place among men,
and temper their harshness and indifference to suffering with the
laws of mercy and humanity, speaking with an authority and equality
such as should ensure attention, no longer in home and nursery
whispering alone, but with open face asserting and claiming justice
for the weakest.

It was a powerful and effective speech; and Agatha's eye lighted with
enthusiasm, as did those of several others of the elder scholars and
younger teachers, as these high aims were unfolded to them.

Then followed Elizabeth Merrifield, not contradictory, but
recognising what wide fields had been opened to womanhood, dwelling
on such being the work of Christianity, which had always tended to
repress the power of brute animal strength and jealousy, and to give
preponderance to the force of character and the just influence of
sweet homely affection.  Exceptional flashes, even in heathen lands,
and still more under the Divine guidance of the Israelites, showed
what women were capable of; and ever since a woman had been the
chosen instrument of the mystery of the Incarnation, the Church, the
chosen emblem of the union of humanity with her Lord, had gradually
purified and exalted the sex by training them through the duties of
mercy, of wifehood and motherhood, to be capable of undertaking and
fulfilling higher and more extensive tasks, always by the appointment
and with the help of Him who had increased their outside powers, for
the sake of the weaker ones of His flock.  What might, by His will,
in the government and politics of the country, be put into their
hands, no one could tell; but it was right to be prepared for it, by
extending their intellectual ability and knowledge of the past, as
well as of the laws of physical nature--all, in short, that modern
education aimed at opening young minds to pursue with growing
faculties.  This was what made her rejoice in the studies here
followed with good success, as the prizes testified so pleasantly;
and she trusted that the cultivation, which here went on so
prosperously, was leading--if she might use old well-accustomed
words--to the advancement of God's glory, the good of His Church,
aye! and to the safety, honour, and welfare of our Sovereign and her
dominions.

The words brought tears of feeling into the eyes of some; but Jane
Mohun could not help observing, "Ah!  I was afraid you were going to
hold up to us the example of the ants and bees, where the old maids
do all the working and fighting and governing!  Don't make Gillian
regret that she is falling away from the spinsterhood."

"Come, Aunt Jane, Bessie never did make it the praise of spinsters.
I am sure married women can do as much as spinsters, and have more
weight," said Gillian, facing round gallantly, and winning the
approval of her aunt and of Bessie.  There was no doubt but that
since her engagement she had been much quieter and less opinionative.

With what different sensations the same occasion may be attended!  To
Bessie Merrifield, the primary object was, as ever, woman's work,
especially her own, for the Church; and the actual business absorbed
her.  In spite of her evenings' talk to her Aunt Lilias, and the sad
and painful recollections it had aroused, still her only look at
Magdalen Prescott's face was one half of curiosity half of sorrow, as
of the object of the brief calf-love of one of many brothers, and who
had been now lost sight of, with the passing wonder whether, if the
affection had survived and been encouraged, it might have led him to
better things.

While Magdalen felt the poignant renewal of the one romance of a
lifetime, as she caught tones, watched little gestures and recognised
those indescribable hereditary similarities which more and more bore
in upon her the fraternal connection of the bright earnest woman with
the lively pleasant young man who had brought the attraction of a
higher tone of manners and cultivation into the country town.  No
more had been heard of him since his promise to write, a promise that
had been only once remembered, so that she had tried to take refuge
in the supposition, unlikely as it was, that her stepmother had
confiscated his letters.  All was a blank since that last stolen
kiss; and the wonder whether she could by any means discover anything
further from Lady Merrifield or Gillian, so occupied her that she
hardly heard the tenor of the two speeches, and did not observe
Agatha's glowing cheeks and burning eyes, which might have told her
that this was one of the moments which direct the current of life.

When Hubert Delrio came up in the evening he was curious to hear
about the meeting.  His young landlady, who had been a High School
girl for a short time, thought Miss Arthuret's speech the most
beautiful discourse that ever was spoken; while other reports said
that Lady Flight and Miss Mohun were very much shocked, and thought
it unwholesome, not to say dangerous; and he wanted to know the
meaning of it.  Magdalen was quite dismayed to find how entirely her
attention had been absent, and how little account she could give of
what had passed by her like the wind; but she need not have been at a
loss, for Agatha, with sparkling eyes and clasped hands, burst out
into a very able and spirited abstract of the speech, and the future
it portrayed, showing perhaps more enthusiasm than the practised
public speaker thought it prudent to manifest.

"I see," said Hubert with something of a smile, "you ladies are
charmed with the great future opened to you."

"I'm sure," said Vera, perhaps a little nettled by attention paid so
long to Agatha, "I can't see the sense of it all; I think a woman is
made just to love her husband, and be his pet, without all that fuss
about societies, and speeches and learning and fuss!"  And she gave a
little caress to Hubert's hand, which was returned, as he said, "She
may well be loved, but, without publicly coming forward, she may
become the more valuable to her home."

"Of course she may, at home or abroad.  She ought --" began Agatha,
but Vera snapped her off.  "Well, it only comes to being one of a lot
of horrid old maids; and you don't want me to be one of them, do you,
darling?  Come and look at my doves!"

"What do you think of it all, sister?" asked Paulina.

"So far as I grasp the subject," said Magdalen, to whom, of course,
this was not new, "I think that if a larger scope is to be given to
women, it is for the sake and under the direction of the Church that
it can be rightly and safely used."

She knew she was speaking by rote, and was not surprised that Agatha
said, "That is just what one has heard so often, and what Miss
Merrifield harped upon!  I want to breathe in a fresh atmosphere
beyond the old traditions, and know which are Divine and which are
only the superstructure of those who have always had the dominion and
justified it in their own way!"

"Who gave them that dominion?" said Magdalen.

"Brute strength," began Agatha.

"Nag, Nag!" cried Paula.  "Surely you believe--"

"I did not say--I did not mean--I only meant to think it out, and
understand what is Divine and what is in the eternal fitness of
things."

Here came an interruption, leaving Magdalen conscious of the want of
preparation for guiding the thought of these young things, and of
self-reproach too, for having let herself be so absorbed in the
thought of "her broken reed of earth beneath," as not to have dwelt
on what might be the deep impressions of the young sisters under her
charge.

A few days later, as Agatha sat reading in the garden, two figures
appeared on the drive, wheeling up their bicycles.  One was Gillian,
the other had a general air of the family, but much darker, and not
one of the old acquaintances.  Advancing to meet them, she said, "I
am the only one at home.  My sisters are all at lessons or in the
village."

"I'll leave a message," said Gillian.  "My mother wants you all to
come up to picnic tea to see the foxgloves in the dell, on Monday,
and to bring Mr. Delrio--"

"Oh! thank you."

"I forgot, you had not seen my cousin Dolores Mohun before.  Mysie
calls her a cousin-twin, if you know what that is."

Agatha thought the newcomer's great pensive dark eyes and overhanging
brow under very black hair made her look older than Mysie, or indeed
than Gillian herself; and when the message had been disposed of, the
latter continued, "Dolores wanted to know about Miss Arthuret's
lecture, being rather in that line herself.  She could not get home
in time for it, and I was seeing the Kittiwake party on board, and
only crept in at the other end of the hall in time for Bessie's faint
echoes."

"I was in the very antipodes," said Dolores, "in a haunt of ancient
peace, whence they would not let me come away soon enough."

"And, Agatha, Aunt Jane says she saw you devouring Miss Arthuret with
your eyes," said Gillian.

"It gave one a sense of new life," said Agatha; and she related again
Miss Arthuret's speech, broken only by appreciative questions and
comments from Dolores' auditor, to whom, in the true fashion of
nineteen, Agatha straightway lost her heart.  Dolores, who had seen
much more of the outer world than her cousins, and had had besides a
deeply felt inward experience which might well render her far more
responsive, and able to comprehend the questions working in the
girl's mind, and which found expression in, "I went to St. Robert's
only wanting to get my education carried on so that I might be a
better governess; but I see now there are much farther on, much
greater things to aim at, than I ever thought of."

"Alps on Alps arise!" said Dolores.  "Yes--till they lose themselves-
-and where?"

"Miss Merrifield would say in Heaven, by way of the Church."

"The all things in earth or under the earth rising up in circles of
praise to the Cherubim and the Great White Throne," said Dolores, her
dark eyes raised in a moment's contemplation.

"Ah!  One knows.  But is that thought the one to be brought home to
every one, as if they could bear it always?  Are not we to do
something--something--for the helping people here in this life, not
always going on to the other life--"

"Temporal or spiritual?" said Dolores; "or spiritual through
temporal?"

"And our part in helping," said Agatha.

"There is an immense deal to be thought out," said Dolores.  "I feel
only at the beginning of the questions, and there is study and
experience to go to them."

"You mean what one gets at Oxford?"

"Partly.  Thorough--at least, as thorough as one can--of the physical
and material nature of things, then of the precedent which then
results, also of reasoning."

"Metaphysical, do you mean, or logical?"

"That comes in; but I was thinking of mathematical in the indirect
training of the mind.  It all works into needful equipment, and so
does actual life."

"It takes one's breath away."

"Well, we have begun our training," said Dolores, with a sweet sad
smile.  "At least, I hope so."

"At St. Robert's, you mean?"

"You have, I think.  But I believe my aunt will be expecting us."

"Oh!  And then they talk about modesty and womanliness and retiring!
What do you think about all that?"

"That we never shall do any good without it."

They were interrupted by the hasty rushing up of Paula, who had
committed her bicycle to Vera, and came dashing up the steep slope,
crying, "O Nag, Nag, they are going away!"

The announcement was interrupted as she perceived the presence of the
visitor, and they rose to meet her, but saw that there were tears in
her eyes, and she had rushed up so fast that she was panting and
could hardly speak, though she gave her hand, as Agatha, after naming
the two cousins, asked, "Who are going?"

"The Sisters--Sister Mena--" with another overflow of tears which
made Dolores and Gillian think they had better retreat and leave her
to her sister's consolation; so they took leave hastily, Agatha
however, coming as far as their machines, and confiding to them,
"Poor Polly, it is a great blow to her, but I believe it is very good
for her."

"There's stuff in that girl," said Dolores, as soon as they were out
of reach.  "She has the faculty of hearkening as well as of hearing."

"You would say so if you saw her at a lecture; and she is also
gaining power of expressing and reproducing," said Gillian.

"She will be a power by and by, unless some blight comes across her."

"Will me, will me, it seems as if we HAD to do it.  Even Mamma, whose
ideal was chivalry, Church and home, has to be drawn out to take a
certain public part; Aunt Jane, who only wished to live to potter
about among neighbours, poor and rich, must needs come out of her
traditional conventions, and relate her experiences, and you--"

"Oh, I am only trying to do the work Gerald aimed at!"

"Any way we have our work before us, whether we call it for the
Church or mankind."

"Charity or Altruism," said Dolores.

"May not altruism lead to charity?" said Gillian.

"Sometimes, but sometimes disappointment leads only to intolerance of
those whose methods differ.  Altruism will not stand without a
foundation," said Dolores.

"Mysie has been impressing on me, with what she heard from Phyllis
Devereux, of the work Sister Angela has been doing at Albertstown--
the most utter self-abnegation, through bitter disappointment in her
most promising pupils--only the charity that is rooted could endure.
It is just the old difference Tennyson points out between Wisdom and
Knowledge."

"And with wisdom come those feminine attributes that Agatha began
asking about."

"Yes, softening, gentleness, tact.  If people have not grown up to
them, they must be taught as parts of wisdom."

Gillian sighed.  "I wonder what Ernley Armitage will say when he
comes home?"

"He won't want you to throw up everything."

"I don't think he will!  But if he did--No, I think he will be a
staff to guide a silly, priggish heart to the deeper wisdom."



CHAPTER XVII--FOXGLOVES AND FLIRTATIONS



"With her venturous climbings, and tumbles, and childish escapes."
TENNYSON.


Hubert Delrio, pleased and gratified, but very shy, joined the ladies
from the Goyle in their walk to Clipstone, expecting perhaps a good
deal of stiffness and constraint, since every one at St. Kenelm's
told him what a severe and formidable person Sir Jasper Merrifield
was, and that all Lady Merrifield's surroundings were "so very
clever."  "They did want SUCH books ordered in the library."

Magdalen laughed, and said her only chance of seeing a book she
wanted was that Lady Merrifield should have asked for it.  At
Clipstone, they were directed to the dell where the foxgloves were
unusually fine that year, covering one of the banks of the ravine
with a perfect cloud of close-grown spikes, nodding with thick
clustered bells, spotted withinside, and without, of that
indescribable light crimson or purple, enchanting in reality but
impossible to reproduce.  It was like a dream of fairy land to Hubert
to wander thither with his Vera, count the tiers of bells, admire the
rings of purple and the crooked stamens, measure the height of the
tall ones, some almost equal to himself in stature, and recall the
fairy lore and poetry connected with them, while Vera listened and
thought she enjoyed, but kept herself entertained by surreptitiously
popping the blossoms, and trying to wreath her hat with wild roses.

Thekla meantime admired from the opposite bank, in a state of much
elevation at acquiring a dear delicious brother-in-law, and insisted
on Primrose sharing her sentiments till her boasting at last provoked
the exclamation, "I wouldn't be so cocky!  I don't make such a fuss
if my sisters do go and fall in love.  I have two brothers-in-law out
in India, and Gillian has a captain, an Egyptian hero, with a medal,
a post captain out at sea in the Nivelle.  You shall see his
photograph coloured in his lovely uniform, with his sword and all!
Your Flapsy's man isn't even an officer!"

"He is a poet, and that's better!"

"Better! why, if you WILL have it, Wilfred and Fergus always call him
that 'painter cad,'" broke out Primrose, who had not outgrown her
childish power of rudeness, especially out of hearing of her elders.

"Then it is very wicked of them," exclaimed Thekla, "when the Marquis
of Rotherwood himself said that Hubert Delrio is a very superior
young man" (each syllable triumphantly rounded off).

Primrose was equal to the occasion.  "Oh, they all laugh at Cousin
Rotherwood; and, besides, a superior young man does not mean a
gentleman."

Thekla burst into angry tears and sobs, which brought Gillian, and a
grave, dark young lady from the other side of a rock to inquire what
was the matter--there was a confession on the two tongues of "she
did," and "I didn't" of "painter cad, superior young man and no
gentleman," but at last it cleared itself into Primrose allowing
that, to take down Thekla's conceit, she had declared that a very
superior young man did not mean a gentleman.

"I could not have believed that you could have been so abominably
ill-mannered," said Gillian gravely; "you ought to apologise to
Thekla."

"Oh, never mind," began Thekla ashamed; and at that moment a frantic
barking was heard in the depths, and Valetta, Wilfred, Fergus and a
dog or two darted headlong past, calling out, "Hedgehogs, hedgehogs!
Run! come!"  And Primrose, giving a hand to Thekla, joined in the
general rush down the glade.

"A situation relieved!" said the newcomer.


"For all ran to see,
For they took him to be
   An Egyptian porcupig,"


quoted Gillian.  "They have wanted such a beast for some time for
their menagerie; but really Primrose is getting much too old to
indulge in such babyish incivility to a guest, true though the speech
was, 'a superior young man,' not necessarily a gentleman."

"I am colonial enough to like him the better for the absence of a
hall mark."

"Should you have missed it?  He is very good looking, and has a
sensible refined countenance, poor man!"

"He is a little too point device, too obviously got up for the
occasion!"

"Too like the best electroplate!  No; that is not fair, for it is not
pretence, at least, I should think there was sound material below,
and that never would brighten instead of dimming it."

"According to Mysie and Fly, there is plenty of good taste; and his
principle is vouched for.  Mysie is quite furious at any lady-love
having gone to sleep to the sound of original verses from a lover!"

"Dear old Mysie!  No, she would not.  She has a practical vein in
her!  Would you?"

"I'm not likely to be tried!" said Gillian merrily.  "Catch Ernley
either practising or not minding his boat!  But come!  Mamma will
want me, I feel only deputy daughter, with Mysie away."

The two girls rose from the mossy bank, and proceeded across the
paddock to the opening of the glade.

On the turf Lady Merrifield sat enthroned; making a nucleus to the
festivities and delicacies of all sorts, from sandwiches and cakes
down to strawberries, cherries and Devonshire cream, were displayed
before her; and the others drifted up gradually, Miss Mohun first.
"I am later than I meant to be," she said, "but I was delayed by a
talk with Sister Beata.  I never saw a woman more knocked down than
she is by that adventure of Vera's."

"I know," said Magdalen, rousing herself.  "It has made her look ten
years older, and she could not talk it over or let a word be said to
comfort her.  She says it was all her fault, and I should have
thought it was that silly little Sister Mena's, if that is her name.

"She considers it her fault for objecting to strict discipline in
things of which she did not see the use," said Jane Mohun, "and so
getting absorbed in her own work, and having no fixed rule by which
to train Mena."

"I see," said Lady Merrifield; "it reminds me of a story told in
Madame de Chantal's life, how, when, par mortification, a Sister
quietly ate up a rotten apple without complaint and another made
signs of amusement, a rule was made that no one should raise her eyes
at meals.  It shows that some rules which seem unreasonable may have
a foundation."

"It is an unnatural life altogether," said Dolores.  "Why should the
rotten apple have been swallowed? or, if it was, I should think a
joke over it might have been wholesome."

"Hindering priggishness in the mortified Sister," said Gillian.

"The fact is," said Lady Merrifield, "that if you vow yourself to an
unnatural life, so to speak, you must submit to the rules that have
been found best to work for it."

"And poor Sister Beata did neither the one nor the other, by her own
account," said Jane.  "She called herself a Sister, but disliked each
rule, and chose to go her own way, like any other benevolent woman,
doing very admirable work herself, but letting little Mena have the
prestige of a Sister, while too busy to look after her, and without
rules to restrain her."

"But surely there has been no harm!" exclaimed Lady Merrifield.

"No harm, only a little incipient flirtation with the organist,
nothing in any one else, but not quite like a convent maid."

"Ah!  I rather suspected," said Agatha.

"I should think the best thing for Sister Mena would be to go to a
good school, leave off her veil, in which she looks so pretty, and be
treated like an ordinary girl," said Lady Merrifield.

"That is just what Sister Beata intends," said Miss Mohun.  "She is
to sink down into Miss Marian Jenkins, to wear a straw hat and blue
frock, and go to school with the other girls, the pupils, while
Sister Beata begins life as a probationer at Dearport."

"Poor Sister Beata!"

"She says she has experienced that it is best to learn to obey before
one begins to rule.  It is most touching to see how humble she is.
Such a real good woman too!  I doubt whether she gets a night's rest
three days in a week, and she looks quite haggard with this
distress," said Jane.

"She will be a great power by and by!  But what will Mr. Flight and
St. Kenelm's do without her?"

"He is promised relays of Sisters from Dearport, which has stood so
many years that they have a supply.  You see, he, like Sister Beata,
tried a little too much to be original and stand aloof."

"Ah!" said Lady Merrifield, "that is the benefit of institutions.
They hinder works from dying away with the original clergyman or the
wonderful woman."

"But, Aunt Lily," put in Dolores, "institutions get slack?"

"They have their DOWNS, but they also have their ups.  There is
something to fall back upon with public schools."

"Yes, like croquet," laughed Aunt Jane.  "We saw it rise and saw it
fall; and here come all the players, the revival.  Well, how went the
game?"

So the party collected, and the two Generals came in from some vanity
of inspection to grumble a little merrily at the open air banquet,
but to take their places in all good humour, and the lively meal
began with all the home witticisms, yet not such as to exclude
strangers.  Indeed, Hubert Delrio was treated with something like
distinction, and was evidently very happy, with Vera by his side.
Perhaps Magdalen perceived that there was not the perfect ease of
absolute equality and familiarity; but his poetical and chivalrous
nature was gratified by the notice of a Crimean hero, and he
infinitely admired the dignity and courtesy of Lady Merrifield, and
the grace and ease of her daughters, finding himself in a new world
of exquisite charm for him.

And before they broke up, Magdalen had a quiet time with Lady
Merrifield, in which she was able, not without a tell-tale blush even
at her years, to ascertain that there were two Henry Merrifields, and
that, alas! there was nothing good known of the son of Stokesley,
except that anonymous attempt at restitution which gave hopes of
repentance.



CHAPTER XVIII--PALACES OR CHURCHES



"And if I leave the thing that lieth next,
To go and do the thing that is afar,
I take the very strength out of my deed."
- MACDONALD.


Those were happy days that succeeded Vera's engagement.  It had made
her more womanly, or at least less childish; and the intercourse with
Hubert Delrio became an increasing delight to her sisters, who had
never known anything so like a brother.

He was at first shy and not at ease with Magdalen, who, on her side,
perceived the lack of public school and university training; but in
grain he was so completely a good man, a churchman, and a gentleman,
and had so much right sense as well as talent, that she liked him
thoroughly and began to rely on him, as a woman with unaccustomed
property is glad to do with a male relation.

And to him, the society of the Goyle was a new charm.  He had been
brought up to the technicalities and the business relations of art,
and had a cultivated taste; but to be with a thoughtful, highly
educated lady, able to enter into its higher and deeper associations,
was an unspeakable delight and improvement to him.  Vera was fairly
satisfied as long as he sketched her in various attitudes, and held
her hand while he talked; though she did grudge having so much time
spent on "taste, Shakespeare and the musical glasses."  Paula had
various ecclesiastical interests in common with him, and began to
expand and enter more into realities, while Thekla had in him a dear
delightful delicious brother, who petted her, bantered her, mended
her rabbit hutch, caught her hedgehog, taught her to guide her
bicycle, drew picture games for her, and taught her to sketch.

Agatha had endless discussions with him on his various aspirations,
in some of which Magdalen took her share, sometimes thinking with a
pang of regret and self-reproach that that brief time of intercourse
with Hal Merrifield had been spent in youthful nonsense that could
have left no permanent influence for good.

In fact, whether through Hubert or through Agatha, a certain
intellectual waft had breathed upon the Goyle.  Hubert was eager for
assistance in learning German and Italian, and read and discussed
books of interest; and even when he had left Rockstone, and his work
at St. Kenelm's being finished, the stimulus was kept up by his
letters, comments and questions; and the younger girls had entirely
ceased to form an opposite camp, or to view "sister" as a
taskmistress, even when Agatha had returned to St. Robert's.

Mysie had come home, very brown, fuller of Scott than ever for her
mother, and of Hugh Miller for Fergus, for whom she had brought so
many specimens that Cousin Rotherwood declared that she would sink
the Kittiwake.  Over the sketches and photographs of Iona, she and
Paulina became great friends, and Paula was admitted to hear accounts
of the modern missions that had come from the other Harry Merrifield
among the Karens in Burmah, or again through Franciska Ivinghoe, of
her Aunt Angela Underwood, who was considered to have a peculiar
faculty for dealing with those very unpromising natives, the
Australian gins.  Franciska remembered her tender nursing and bright
manner in the days of fever at Vale Leston, and had a longing hope
that she would take a holiday and come home; but at present she was
bound to the couch of her slowly declining old friend, Sister
Constance, the Mother of Dearport.  It was another bond of interest
with Magdalen, to whom missions to the heathens had always been a
dream.

Thus had passed a year uneventful and peaceable, with visits from
Hubert whenever he had a day or two to spare.  They were looked
forward to with delight; but if there were a drawback it was in
Vera's viewing him partly as one who held her in a sort of chain, and
partly as one whom it was pleasant to tease by allowing little casual
civilities from Wilfred Merrifield.

For Wilfred was an embarrassment to his family.  He had never been
strong, his public school career had been shortened by failure in
health, and headaches in the summer, and coughs in the winter made it
needful to keep him at home, and trust to cramming at Rockstone,
enforced by his father's stern discipline and his mother's
authoritative influence.

Thus he was always within reach of the mild social gaieties in which
each family indulged, and Vera was not quite so ready as were his
sisters to contrast unfavourably his hatred of all self-improvement
with Hubert Delrio's eagerness to pick up every crumb of information,
thus deservedly getting on well in his profession.

One morning, at breakfast, Hubert opened a letter and made a sudden
exclamation; and in answer to Vera's vehement inquiry said, "It seems
that the great millionaire swell, Pettifer--is that his name?"

"Oh, yes, he was at Rock Quay."

"Well, he went to see St. Kenelm's, fell in love with the ceiling,
and offered Pratt and Pavis any sum they like to decorate a huge new
hall he is building in the same style.  So they write to propose to
me to come and do it, with a promise of future work, at any terms I
like to ask."

"Oh! but that's jolly," cried Vera.  "Can't you?"

"No," he said; "this is immediate, and I have two churches, reredos
and walls, on my hands, enough to last me all the year.  Nor could I
throw over Eccles and Beamster."

"Is there an agreement with them?" asked Magdalen.

"Not regularly; but Mr. Eccles has been very kind to me, and promised
me employment for four years to come; in fact, he has made
engagements on that understanding."

"I see," said Magdalen.  "You could not break with them."

"Certainly not.  Nor do I entirely like the line of this other house.
It is a good deal more secular."

"And you have dedicated your talents to the Church!" cried Paulina.

"Not that exactly, Paula," he said, smiling; "but I had rather work
for the Church, so I am glad the matter is definitely settled for
me."

To that he kept, though he had a very kind letter from Mr. Eccles,
who had evidently been applied to, wishing not to stand in his light,
especially as he was engaged to be married, and telling him how it
might be possible to fairly compensate for the loss to the firm.
Between the lines, however, it was plain that it would be a great
blow, only possible because the agreement had been neglected; and
Hubert was only the more determined, out of gratitude for the
generosity, not to break what he felt to be an implied pledge; and
all the sisters sympathised with his determination.

He adhered to it even after his return to London, though his father
thought it a pity to lose the chance, if it could be accepted without
discourtesy to Mr. Eccles; and he had been interviewed by various
parties concerned, and there had been an attempt to dazzle him by the
prospects held out to him by an enthusiastic young member of the
firm.  Perhaps he was too shrewd entirely to trust them, but at any
rate he felt his good faith to Eccles and Beamster a bond to hold him
fast from the temptation; and his heart was really set on the
consecration of the higher uses of his art; so that regard to the
simple rule of honour was an absolute relief to him.

So he wrote to Vera, who, if there were a secret wish on her part,
did not dare to give it shape; while all her sisters, to whom she
showed the letters that she scarcely comprehended, were open-mouthed
in their admiration.  Thekla, who had been seized with a fit of
hagiology, went the length of comparing him to St. Barbara; even
Paula pronounced it a far-fetched resemblance.

It was some months later that Sir Ferdinand Travis Underwood had
decided on building a magnificent cathedral-like church for the
population rising around him in the Rocky Mountains; and meeting Lord
Rotherwood in London heard of the work at St. Kenelm's, and resorted
to Eccles and Beamster as the employers of young Delrio.  There would
be plenty of varieties of beautiful material to be found near at hand
in the mountains; but Hubert was sent first for a short journey in
Italy to study the effect of the old mosaics as well as the frescoes,
and then to go out to America to the work that would last a
considerable time.

Vera was much excited by the notion of the Italian journey, and
thought she ought to have been married at once and have shared it,
including as it did a short visit to Rocca Marina.  But she was
scarcely eighteen, and neither her trustee nor her elder sister
thought it advisable to dispense with the decision that her twenty-
first birthday must be waited for, at which she pouted.  Hubert came
for two nights on his return, and was exceedingly full of his tour,
talking over Italian scenes and churches with Magdalen, who had never
seen them, but had the descriptions and the history at her fingers'
ends, and listened with delight to all the impressions of a mind full
of feeling and poetry.  The time was only too short to discuss or
look out everything, and much was left to be copied and sent after
him, with many promises on Vera's part of writing everything for him,
and translating the books that Magdalen would refer to.  He was
allowed to take Vera and Paulina to Filsted for a hurried visit to
his parents.  When they came home again, it soon became plain that it
had not been a success.  "I am glad to be at home again," said Paula,
as the pony carriage turned up the steep drive, and the girls jumped
out to walk.  "I am quite glad to feel the stones under my feet
again!"

Magdalen laughed.  "A new sentiment!" she said.

"I don't like the stones," said Vera, "but I did not know Filsted was
such a poky place."

"A dead flat!" added Paula.  "No sea, no torrs! one wanted something
to look at! and SUCH a church!"

"Did you see Minnie Maitland?" put in Thekla.

"I saw all the Maitlands in a hurry," said Vera.  "I don't remember
which was which.  They were all dressed alike in horrid colours.
Hubert said they set his teeth on edge!"

"How was old Mrs. Delrio?"

"Just the same as ever, lean and pinched."

"But so kind!" added Paula.  "She could not make enough of Flapsy."

"I should think not!" ejaculated Vera.  "Enough! aye, and too much!
just fancy, no dinner napkins! and Edith went away and made the
scones herself!"

"Very praiseworthy," said Magdalen.  "Don't you know how Hubert
always tells us what a dear devoted good girl she is?"

"Well, I only hope Hubert does not expect me to live in that way,"
said Vera.  "His mother looks like a half-starved hare, and Edith is
giving lessons as a daily governess!

"Edith is very nice," said Paula; "and I never understood before how
excellent old Mr. Delrio's pictures are!  Do you remember his
'Country Lane'?  What a pity it did not sell!"

"Poor man!" said Magdalen.  "He married too soon, and that has kept
him down."

"It is beautiful to see how proud they are of Hubert," said Paula,
"and his pretty gentle attention and deference to them both.  Mr.
Delrio is really a gentleman, I am sure; but, Maidie," she said,
falling back with her, while Vera and Thekla mounted faster, "it was
very odd to see how different things looked to us from what they
seemed when we were at Mrs. Best's.  Filsted High Street has grown so
small, and one could hardly breathe in Mrs. Delrio's stuffy drawing-
room.  And as to Waring Grange, which we used to think just perfect,
it was all so pretentious and in such bad taste.  Hubert saw it as
much as we did, but I could see he was on thorns to hinder Flapsy
from making observations."

Certainly the visit had not done much good, except in making the
girls appreciate the refinement of their surroundings at the Goyle.

And when letters arrived from Hubert at the American Vale Leston,
asking questions requiring some research in books, either Magdalen's
or at the Rock Quay library, Vera dawdled and sighed over them; and
when the more zealous Magdalen or Paula took all the trouble, and
left nothing for her to do but to copy their notes, and write the
letters, she grew cross.  "It was for Hubert, and she did not want
any one else to meddle!  So stupid!  If he had only taken Pratt and
Pavis's offer, there would not have been all this bother!"

That, of course, she only ventured to utter before Paula and Thekla,
and it made them both so furious that she declared she was only in
joke, and did not mean it.

She was indulging in reflections on the general dulness of her lot,
and the lack of sympathy in her sisters, as she lingered by the
confectioner's window, with her eyes fixed on a gorgeous combination
of coloured bonbons, when Wilfred Merrifield sauntered out.  "Fresh
from Paris!" he said.  "Going to choose some?"

"Oh no, I haven't got any cash.  M. A. keeps us horribly short."

"As usual with governors!  But look here!  Pocket this.  Sweets to
the sweet, from an old chum!"

"Oh, Will, how jolly!  Such a love of a box."

"Make haste!  Some of the girls are lurking about, and if there is
any mischief to be made, trust Gill for doing it."

"Mischief!--" but before the words were out of her mouth, Gillian and
Mysie appeared from the next shop, a bootmaker's, and Mysie stood
aghast with, "What ARE you doing?  Buying goodies!  How very
ridiculous!"

"The proper thing between chums, isn't it, Vera?" said Wilfred, with
an indifferent air.  "We aren't unlucky Sunday scholars, Mysie, to be
jumped upon!  Good-bye, Vera, au revoir!"

He sauntered away with his hands in his pockets; while Gillian, from
her eldership of two years, and her engagement, gravely said, "Vera,
perhaps you do not fully know, but I should say this is not quite the
thing."

"He told you we are just chums!" exclaimed Vera.  "As if there were
any harm in it!  You've not got a sweet tooth yourself, so you need
not grudge me just a few goodies."

Gillian saw that it was of no use to prolong the dispute either for
the place or the time, and she hushed Mysie, who was about to
expostulate farther, and made her go away with a brief parting, such
as she hoped would impress on Vera that the sisters thought very
badly of her discretion and loyalty.  They could not hear the
reflection, "They need not be so particular and so cross.  Hubert
never thought of giving me anything nice like this.  Why should not
my chum?  Such a sweet little box too, with a dear girl's head on it!
Would Polly fuss about it, and set on Sister?  I shall put it into my
own drawer, and then if they notice it, they may think somebody at
Filsted gave it!  No one has any business to worry me about Hubert,
and Wilfred being civil to me.  He IS a gentleman."

The gentleman had been overtaken by his sisters.  He was walking his
bicycle up the hill rather breathlessly and slowly.  Mysie
indignantly began, "Of all the stupid things to do, to give goodies
to that girl, like a baby!"

"I have been wishing to speak to you," said Gillian.  "You are going
the way to get that foolish girl into a scrape."

"Oh, yes, of course.  Sisters uniformly object to a little civility
to a pretty girl," carelessly answered Wilfred.

"Nonsense!" returned Mysie, hotly.  "We don't care! only it is not
fair on Mr. Delrio."

"The painter cad!  A very good thing too!  The sacrifice ought to be
prevented.  Is not that the general sentiment?"

"Wilfred!" cried the scandalised Mysie, "when it is all the other
way, and he is ever so much too good for her."

"Consummate prig!  The cheek of him pretending to a lady!"

"But, Wilfred," went on downright Mysie, "is it only mischief, or do
you want to marry her yourself?"

"Draw your own conclusions," responded Wilfred, mounting his machine,
and spinning down the hill faster than they could follow on foot.

"What is to be done, Gill?" sighed Mysie.  "Ought we to get mamma to
speak to him?"

"Better not," said Gillian, with more experience.  "It would only
make it worse to take it seriously.  Half of it is play--and half to
tease you."

"And," said Mysie, with due deference to the engaged sister, "how
about Mr. Delrio?  Will it make him unhappy?"

"If he finds out in time what a horrid little thing it is, I should
say it would be very well for him; but I don't want Will to be the
means."

"Oh! when his examination is over, and he gets an appointment, he
will go away, and it will be safe."

"I have not much hopes of his getting in!"

"Oh, Gill, none of us ever failed before."

On the side of the Goyle not much was known or cared about Wilfred's
little attentions, which were generally out of sight of Magdalen, and
did not amount to much; but Paula saw enough of them to consult
Agatha on, and to observe that Flapsy was going on just as she used
to at Filsted, and she thought Hubert would not like it.

"I believe Flapsy can't live without it," sighed Agatha.

"But would you speak to her?  I don't think she ought to let him give
her boxes of bonbons--to keep up in her room, and never give a hint
to Maidie."

Agatha did speak but the effect was to set Vera into crying out at
every one being so intolerably cross about such a trifle, Gillian
Merrifield and all!

"Did Gillian speak to you?"

"Yes, as if she had any business to do so!"

"I am sure it is not the way she would treat Captain Armitage."

"I don't believe she cares for Captain Armitage one bit!  You said
yourself that all the girls at Oxford thought she cared much more for
her horrid examination!  I wouldn't be a dry, cold-hearted,
insensible stick like her for the world."

"Perhaps she is the more quietly in earnest," said Agatha, repenting
a little that she had told before Vera the college jokes over what
had leaked out of Gillian's reception of Ernley Armitage when he had
hastened up to Oxford as soon as his ship was paid off, and she had
been called down to him in the Lady Principal's room.  Report said
that she had only prayed him to keep out of the way, and not to upset
her brain, and that he had meekly obeyed--as one who knew what it was
to have promotion depending on it.

It was a half truth, exaggerated, but it had not a happy effect on
Vera.  Nevertheless, the finishing push of preparation brought on
such a succession of violent headaches as quite to disable the really
delicate boy.  Moreover, the tutor declared that there had been
little chance of his success, and Dr.  Dagger said that he had much
better not try again.  The best hope for his health, and even for his
life, was to keep him at home for a few years, and give him light
work.

He had never been the pleasantest element in the household; and if
his parents were glad of the avoidance of the risk of a launch into
the world, and his mother's love rejoiced in the power of watching
over him, there were others who felt his temper a continual trial,
while his career was a perplexity.

However, Captain Henderson offered a clerkship at the Marble Works,
subject to Mr. White's approval; and this was gratefully accepted.
Nor did Agatha come home again at the Long Vacation for more than two
days, in which there was no time for consultation with her sisters on
matters of uncertain import.

Miss Arthuret and Elizabeth Merrifield had arranged together to take
the old roomy farmhouse on Penbeacon for three or four months, and
there receive parties of young women in need of rest, fresh air, and,
in some cases, of classes, or time for study.  It was to be a sort of
Holiday House, though not altogether of idleness; and Dolores
undertook to be a kind of vice-president, with Agatha to pursue her
reading under her superintendence, and to assist in helping others,
governesses, students, schoolmistresses from Coalham, in whose behalf
indeed the scheme had been first started, and it was extremely
delightful to Agatha, among many others.



CHAPTER XIX--TWO WEDDINGS



"How happy by my mother's side
When some dear friend became a bride!
To shine beyond the rest I was
   In gay embroidery drest.
Vain of my drapery's rich brocade,
I held my flowing locks to braid."
ANSTICE (from the Greek).


"Epidemics of marriage set in from time to time," said Jane Mohun.
"Gillian has set the fashion."

For the Rock Quay neighbourhood was in a state of excitement over a
letter from Mrs. White, of Rocca Marina, announcing the approaching
marriage of Mr. White's niece, Maura, with Lord Roger Grey, a nephew
of dear Emily's husband, and heir to the Dukedom.  The White family
were coming home for the wedding, and the interest entirely eclipsed
that of Gillian Merrifield's.  In fact, though that young lady
somewhat justified the Oxford stories, she was in a state of much
inward agitation between real love for Ernley, and pain in leaving
home, so she put on an absolutely imperturbable demeanour.  Her
reserve and dread of comments made her so undemonstrative and
repressive to her Captain that there were those who doubted whether
she cared for him at all, or only looked on her wedding as a
mediaeval maiden might have done, as coming naturally a few years
after she had grown up.  Ernley Armytage knew better, and so did her
parents.  The wedding was hurried on by Captain Armytage's
appointment to a frigate on the coast of Southern America, where he
had to join at once, in lieu of a captain invalided home; and Gillian
accepted the arrangements, which would take her to Rio, "as much a
matter of course," said her aunt, "as if she had been a wife for ten
years."  Her uncle, Mr. Mohun, was anxious that the marriage of his
sister Lily's daughter should take place at the family home,
Beechcroft.  If there had been scruples, chiefly founded on the
largeness of the party, and the trouble to Mrs. Mohun, these were
forgotten in the convenience of being out of the way of Rockstone
gossip, as well as for other reasons.

"I should certainly have escaped," said General Mohun.  "I have no
notion of meeting that unmitigated scamp."

"Mr. White ought to be warned," said Jane.

"You'll do so, I suppose; and much good it will be."

"I do not imagine that it will.  It will be too charming to surpass
Franciska and Ivinghoe; but if neither you nor Jasper will speak to
old Tom, I shall deliver my conscience to Ada."

"And be advised to mind your own business."

Nevertheless, Jane Mohun did deliver her conscience, when, on the day
after the arrival, there had been loud lamentations over the intended
absence of the Merrifield family.  "It would have looked well to make
it a double wedding, all in the family," said Mr. White.

To which Miss Mohun only answered by a silence which Mrs. White was
unwilling to break, but Maura exclaimed -

"But I thought Valetta would be sure to be my bridesmaid.  Such
friends as we were at the High School!"

It did not strike Miss Mohun that the friendship had been very close
or very beneficial; but Adeline added, "We thought she would pair so
well with Vera Prescott, and then uncle will give all the dresses--
white silk with cerise trimmings.  We ordered them in Paris."

"Uncle Tom is so generous!" said Maura.  "There is no end to his
kindness.  I'll go and unpack some of the patterns, that Miss Mohun
may see them."

She tripped out of the room, and Jane exclaimed, "Poor child!  Has
Emily written to you, Ada?"

"Yes, rather stiffly.  Mr. White thinks it aristocratic pride."

"Ada, you know it is not that."

"Well, I suppose the Greys are hardly gratified by the connection,
though Mr. White will make it worth their while.  You see the Duke
leaves everything in his power to his daughters, so poor Roger will
be very badly off."

"But--"  There was so much expressed in that "but" that Adeline began
to answer one of the sentiments she supposed it to convey.  "He can
do it easily--for all the rest are provided for by the Marble Works--
except the two eldest brothers.  Richard has gone away, and Alexis--
oh, you know he has notions of his own that Mr. White does not like."

"Does Mr. White know all about Lord Roger, or why the Duke should cut
him off as far as possible?"

"My dear Jane, it is not charitable to bring things up against young
men's follies."

"It is a pretty considerable folly to have done what compelled him to
retire.  Reginald was called in at the inquiry, and knows all about
it."

"But that was ages ago, and he has been quite distinguished in the
Turkish army."

"Yes; and I also know that English gentlemen have associated with him
as little as possible.  I should call it a fatal thing to let Maura
marry him.  What does Captain Henderson say?"

"Mr. White thinks that it is all jealousy.  And really, Jenny, I do
not in the least believe that he will make her unhappy.  He is old
enough to have quite outgrown all his wild ways, and he has quite
gentlemanly manners and ways.  Besides, Maura likes him, and is quite
bent upon it."

Still there was a dissatisfied look on Jane's face, and Adeline went
on answering it, with tears in her eyes.  "My dear Jane, I know what
you would say, and what Reginald and all the rest feel, that it is
not what we should like!  But, my dear, don't let the whole family
rise up in arms!  It would be of no use, only make it painful for me.
Maura is quite bent upon it, and she has arrived at turning her uncle
round her finger so much that I am sometimes hardly mistress of the
house!  Oh, I don't tell any one, not Lily nor any one, but it will
really be a relief to me when she is gone, with her Greek coaxing
ways.  Her uncle is wrapped up in her, and so proud of her being a
Duchess that he would condone anything.  Indeed, I am always afraid
of her putting it into his head to suppose that her disappointment
about Ivinghoe was in any way owing to my family pride."

Jane was sorry for Adeline, and able to perceive how the wifely
feelings, which she had taken on herself, by choosing a man of
inferior breeding and nature clashed with her hereditary character
and principles.

"You are absolutely relieved that the Beechcroft wedding takes all of
us out of the way naturally and without offence," she said so kindly
that Ada laid her head on her sisterly shoulder, and allowed herself
to shed a few tears.

"Yes, yes," she said; "I am glad to have so good a reason to mention.
Only I do hope Jasper will not object to Valetta's coming back to be
bridesmaid.  That would really be a blow and give offence, and it
would make difficulties with others--even James Henderson, who swears
by Jasper.  I have often wished they would have done as I advised,
and have had this wedding at Rocca Marina, out of the way of
everybody!  I sometimes think it will be the death of me.  Do come
home to help me through it."

She spoke so like the Ada of old that it went to Jane's heart.

She promised that she would return in time to give the very
substantial assistance in which all believed, and the more
sentimental support in which nobody believed, though her distaste
arose tenfold after seeing the bridegroom, who looked like an old
satyr, all the more because Maura was like a Greek nymph.  Mrs.
Henderson was much grieved, and had tried remonstrance with her
sister, but found her quite impervious.

Glad were all the Merrifields to escape to the quiet atmosphere of
Beechcroft, where the relations were able to congregate between the
Court, the Vicarage, and the more-distant Rotherwood; and the wedding
was an ideal one in ecclesiastical beauty, and the festivities of
those who had known and loved Lady Merrifield as Miss Lily in early
youth, grandmothers who had been her schoolchildren, and were pleased
to hear that she was a grandmother herself, and hoped in a year or
two to welcome her grandchildren.

Alethea and her little Somervilles she had seen en route to Canada,
and Phyllis was to come in due time when Bernard Underwood could be
spared from the bank in Colombo, and they would bring their little
pair.

In the matter of bridesmaids Gillian certainly had the advantage, for
she was amply provided with sisters and cousins, Dolores coming for a
few days for the wedding; whereas the six whom Maura had provided for
beforehand in Paris were only, as Miss Jane said, "scraped up" with
difficulty from former schoolfellows.  Lord Roger's nieces would not
hear of being present.  Paulina was unwillingly pressed into the
service, as well as the more willing Vera; but Mysie Merrifield was
not to be persuaded to give up her visit to Lady Phyllis, and Aunt
Jane could only carry home Valetta, who held the whole as "capital
fun," and liked the acquisition of the white silk and lace and cerise
ribbons.  Dolores had negotiated that No. 6 of the Vanderkist girls
should spend a year with Miss Mohun for a final polish at the High
School at Rock Quay, so as to be with her brother Adrian, who was
completing his term at the preparatory school before his launch at
Winchester.

Wilfred also returned, father and uncle having decided that he did
not merit a game licence, nor to attack the partridges of Beechcroft,
and the prospect of the gaieties of Cliffe House consoled him.

Adeline had to endure her husband's mortification at other
disappointments.  The Ducal family was wholly unrepresented.  Even
Emily, the connecting link, would not venture on the journey; and the
clerical nephew was not sufficiently gratified by Lord Roger's
intention to se ranger to undertake to officiate; and a Bishop, who
had enjoyed the hospitality of Rocca Marina, proved to have other
engagements.  No clergyman could be imported except Maura's brother
Alexis, who had been two years at work at Coalham under Mr. Richard
Burnet, and had just been appointed by the newly-chosen Bishop of
Onomootka, and both were to go out with him as chaplains.  In the
meantime, while the Bishop was preparing, by tours in England, Alexis
undertook the duties of Mr. Flight's curate, rejoicing in the
opportunity of seeing his elder sister, and the old friends with whom
he had never been since his unlucky troubles with Gillian Merrifield,
now no more.

The delight of receiving him compensated to Kalliope Henderson for
much that was distressing to both in Maura's choice.  The seven years
that had passed had made him into a noble-looking man, with a
handsome classical countenance, lighted up by earnestness and
devotion, a fine voice and much musical skill, together with a bright
attractive manner that, all unconsciously on his part, had turned the
heads of half the young womanhood of Coalham, and soon had the same
effect at Rock Quay.

Vera and Paulina were in a state of much excitement over their white
silks, in which the three other sisters took great pleasure in
arraying them, and Thekla only wished that Hubert could see them.
She should send him out a photograph, buying it herself with her own
money.

She was, of course, to see the wedding, in her Sunday white and broad
pink sash, of the appropriateness of which she was satisfied when, at
Beechcroft, they met Miss Mohun's young friend, Miss Vanderkist, in
the same garb.  She and her brother had been put under Magdalen's
protection, as Miss Mohun was too much wanted at Cliffe House to look
after them; but Sir Adrian, a big boy of twelve, wanted to go his own
way, and only handed her over with "Hallo, Miss Prescott! you'll look
after this pussy-cat of ours while Aunt Jane is dosing Aunt Ada with
salts and sal volatile.  She--I'll introduce you!  Miss Prescott,
Miss Felicia Vanderkist!  She wants to be looked after, she is a
little kitten that has never seen anything!  I'm off to Martin's."

The stranger did look very shy.  She was a slight creature, not yet
seventeen, with an abundant mass of long golden silk hair tied
loosely, and a very lovely face and complexion, so small that she was
a miniature edition of Lady Ivinghoe.

Her name was Wilmet Felicia, but the latter half had been always used
in the family, and there was something in the kitten grace that
suited the arbitrary contractions well.  In fact, Jane Mohun had been
rather startled to find that she had the charge of such a little
beauty, when she saw how people turned around at the station to look,
certainly not at Valetta, who was a dark bright damsel of no special
mark.

At church, however, every one was in much too anxious a state to gaze
at the coming procession to have any eyes to spare for a childish
girl in a quiet white frock.  St. Andrew's had never seen such a
crowded congregation, for it was a wedding after Mr. White's own
heart, in which nobody dared to interfere, not even his wife,
whatever her good taste might think.  So the church was filled, and
more than filled, by all who considered a wedding as legitimate gape
seed, and themselves as not bound to fit behaviour in church.  On
such an occasion Magdalen, being a regular attendant, and connected
with the bridesmaids, was marshalled by a churchwarden into a
reserved seat; but there they were dismayed by the voices and the
scrambling behind them, which, in the long waiting, the Vicar from
the vestry vainly tried to subdue by severe looks; and Felicia, whose
notions of wedding behaviour were moulded on Vale Lecton and
Beechcroft, looked as if she thought she had got into the house of
Duessa, amid all Pride's procession, as in the prints in the large-
volumed "Faerie Queene."

And when, on the sounds of an arrival, the bridegroom stood forth,
the resemblance to Sans Foy was only too striking, while the party
swept up the church, the bride in the glories of cobweb veil, white
satin, &c., becomingly drooping on her uncle's arm, while he beamed
forth, expansive in figure and countenance, with delight.  Little
Jasper Henderson, anxious and patronising to his tiny brother Alexis,
both in white pages' dresses picked out with cerise, did his best to
support the endless glistening train.

The bridesmaids' costumes taxed the descriptive powers of the
milliners in splendour and were scarcely eclipsed by the rich brocade
and lace of Mrs. White, as she sailed in on Captain Henderson's arm;
but her elaborate veil and feathery bonnet hardly concealed the weary
tedium of her face, though to the shame, well nigh horror, of her
sister, she was rouged.  "I must, I must," she said; "he would be
vexed if I looked pale."

It was true that "he" loved her heartily, and that he put all the
world at her service; but she had learnt where he must not be
offended, and was on her guard.  Hers had been the last wedding that
Jane had attended in St. Andrew's.  "Did she repent?" was Jane's
thought.  No, probably not.  She had the outward luxuries she had
craved for, and her husband was essentially a good man, though not of
the caste to which her instincts belonged--very superior in nature
and conscience to him to whom his blinded vanity was now giving his
beautiful niece, a willing sacrifice.

It was over!  More indecorous whispering and thronging; and the
procession came down the aisle, to be greeted outside by a hail of
confetti and rice; the schoolboys, profiting by the dinner interval,
and headed by Adrian, had jostled themselves into the foreground, and
they ran headlong to the portico of Cliffe House to renew the shower.

And there, unluckily, Mr. White recognised the boy, and, pleased to
have anything with a title to show, turned him round to the
bridegroom, with, "Here, Lord Roger, let me introduce a guest, Sir
Adrian Vanderkist."

"Ha, I didn't know poor Van had left a son.  I knew your father, my
boy.  Where was it I saw him last?  Poor old chap!"

"You must come in to taste the cake, my boy," began Mr. White.

"Thank you, Mr. White, I must get back to Edgar's.  Late already.
The others are off."

"Not a holiday!  For shame!  He'll excuse you.  I'll send a note down
to say you must stay to drink the health of your father's old
friend."

Those words settled the matter with Adrian.  The holiday was
enticing, and might have overpowered the chances of a scholarship,
for which he was working; but he had begun to know that there were
perplexities from which it was safer to retreat; and that he had
never transgressed his Uncle Clement's warning might be read in the
clear open face that showed already the benefits, not only of
discipline, but of self-control.  So obedience answered the question;
though, as he again thanked and refused, he looked so dogged as he
turned and walked off, that Ethel Varney whispered to Vera that at
school he was called, "the Dutchman, if not the Boer."

Nor did he ever mention the temptation or his own resistance.  Only
Mr. White asked Miss Mohun to bring him to the dance which was to be
given in the evening, telling her of his refusal of the invitation to
wedding cake and champagne and she--mindful of her duty to her charge
as hinted by Clement Underwood--had not granted the honour of his
presence on the score of his school obligations.

The afternoon was spent in desultory wanderings about the gardens,
Magdalen and her sisters being invited guests, and Vera in a
continual state of agitated expectation.  Had not Wilfred Merrifield
always been a cavalier of her own?  And here he was, paying no
attention to her, with all the embellishment of her bridesmaid's
adornments, and squiring instead that little insignificant Felicia,
in a simple hat, and hair still on her shoulders; whilst she had to
put up with nothing better than a young Varney, who was very shy, and
had never probably mastered croquet.

She was an ill-used mortal; and why had she not Hubert to show how
superior she was to them all, in having a piece of property of her
own to show off?

There was Paula, too, playing animated tennis with that clerical
brother of the bride, who had been talking to Magdalen about the
frescoes of St. Kenelm's (as if she, Vera, had not the greatest right
to know all about those frescoes!).  Even little Thekla was better
off, for she was reigning over a merry party of the little ones,
which had been got up for the benefit of the small Hendersons, and of
which Theodore White had constituted himself the leader, being a
young man passionately devoted to little children.

So when the guests dispersed to eat their dinner at their homes and
dress for the dance, Vera was extremely cross.  Each of the other
three had some delightful experiences to talk over; but whether it
was Mr. Theodore's fun in acting ogre behind the great aloe, or Mr.
Alexis's achievements with the croquet ball, or his information about
the Red Indians and Onomootka, she was equally ungracious to all; she
scolded Thekla for crumpling her skirt, and was quite sure that Paula
had on the wrong fichu that was meant for her.  Each bridesmaid had
been presented with a bracelet, like a snake with ruby eyes; but
Vera, fingering hers with fidgeting petulance, seemed to have managed
to loosen the clasp, and when arranging her dress for the evening
thought that her snake had escaped.

Upstairs and downstairs she rushed in hopes of finding it.  The cab
in which they had returned was gone home to come again, and there was
the chance that it might be there or in the Cliffe House gardens; and
then the others tried to console her, but they were not able to
hinder a violent burst of crying, which scandalised Thekla.

"I am sure you couldn't cry more if you had lost Hubert's, and that
would be something worth crying about."

Hubert's was an ingeniously worked circle of scales of Californian
gold, the first ornament that Vera had ever possessed, and that all
the sisters had set great store by.  But with an outcry of joy Vera
exclaimed, "Here's the snake all safe!  I pushed the other up my arm
because it looked so plain and dull, and it was that which came off."

"That is a great deal worse than losing the snake," said Thekla.  "He
has a nasty face, and I don't like him, with his red eyes."

"Don't be silly," returned Vera; "this is a great deal more
valuable."

"Surely the value is in the giver," said Paula; to which Vera
returned in the same vein, "Don't be silly and sentimental, Polly."

She was so much cheered by the recovery of the snake that they
brought her off to the evening dance without a fresh fit of ill-
humour, and she sprang out under the portico of Cliffe House, with
her spirits raised to expectation pitch.

But disappointment was in store for her.  It was not disappointment
in other eyes.  Paula had all the attention she expected or desired,
she danced almost every time and did not reckon greatly on who might
be her partner.  What pleased and honoured her most was being asked
to dance by Captain Henderson himself.

What was it to Vera, however, that partners came to her, young men of
Rock Quay whom she knew already and did not care about?  And she
never once had the pleasure of saying that she was keeping the next
dance for Wilfred Merrifield!  To her perceptions, he was always
figuring away with Felicia Vanderkist, her golden hair seemed always
gleaming with him; and though this was not always the case, as the
nephew of the house was one of those who had duties to guests and was
not allowed by his aunts to be remiss, yet whenever he was not
ordered about by them, he was sure to be found by Felicia's side.

Vera's one consolation was that Alexis White took her to supper.  To
be sure he was a clergyman, and had stood talking to Lady Flight half
the time, and his conversation turned at once to Hubert Delrio's
frescoes; but then he was very handsome, and graceful in manner, and
he sympathised with her on the loss of her bracelet, and promised to
have a search for it by daylight in the gardens.



CHAPTER XX--FLEETING



"And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made."
- SCOTT.


The bracelet came to light in the gardens of Cliffe House the next
morning, and Alexis White walked over to the Goyle to return it
safely, little guessing, when he set forth to enjoy the sight of the
purple moors, and to renew old recollections, what a flutter of
gratified vanity would be excited in one silly little breast, though
he only stayed ten minutes, and casually asked whether the sisters
were coming to Lady Flight's garden party.  Everybody was going
there.  Miss Mohun even took Felicia, as it was on a Saturday's
holiday; and, unwittingly, she renewed all the agitation caused by
Wilfred's admiration, and that of others, to the all-unconscious
girl.  Vera could no longer think herself the reigning belle of Rock
Quay, though she talked of Felicia as a schoolgirl or a baby, or a
horrid little forward chit!  Her excitement was, however, divided
between Wilfred and Mr. Alexis White, who could not look in her
direction without putting her in a state of eagerness.

In this, however, she was not alone.  Half the ladies were interested
about him; his manners were charming, his voice in church beautiful,
and his destination as chaplain to a missionary bishop made him
doubly interesting; while he himself, even though his mind was set on
higher things, was really enjoying his brief holiday, and his sister,
Mrs. Henderson, was delighted to promote his pleasure, and garden
parties and the like flourished as long as weather permitted; and as
Vera was a champion player, she was sure to be asked to the
tournaments, and to have to practise for them.

Inopportunely there arrived a letter from Hubert, requiring an answer
about the form of ornament in the moulding of the fourteenth century!
Paula dutifully went to the library, looked out and traced two or
three examples, French and English.  Nothing remained but for Vera to
write the letter after the early dinner.  However, she went to sleep
in a hammock, and only roused herself to recollect that there was to
be tea and lawn tennis at Carrara.

"Won't you just write to Hubert first?"

"Oh, bother, how can I now?  Don't worry so!"

"But, Flapsy, he really needs it without loss of time."

"I'm sure he has no right to make me his clerk in that horrid
peremptory way, as if one had nothing else to do but wait on his
fads."

"Flapsy, how can you?" broke out even Thekla.

"Surely it is the greatest honour," said Paula.

"Well, do it yourself then, I'm not going to be bothered for ever."

Thekla went off, in great indignation, to beg "sister" to speak to
Flapsy, and beg her not to use dear Hubert so very very badly, which
of course Magdalen refused to do, and Thekla had her first lesson on
the futility of interfering with engaged folk; Paula meanwhile sent
off the despatch, with one line to say that Vera was too busy to
write that day.

There had been two or three letters from Hubert, over which Vera had
looked cross, but had said nothing; and at last she came down from
her own room, and announced passionately, "There!  I have done with
Mr. Hubert Delrio, and have written to tell him so!"

"Vera, what have you done?"

"Written to tell him I have no notion of a man being so tiresome and
dictatorial!  I don't want a schoolmaster to lecture me, and expect
me to drudge over his work as if I was his clerk."

"My dear," said Magdalen, "have you had a letter that vexed you?  Had
you not better wait a little to think it over?"

"No!  Nonsense, Maidie!  He has been provoking ever so long, and I
won't bear it any longer!" and she flounced into a chair.

"Provoking!  Hubert!" was all Paulina could utter, in her amazement
and horror.

"Oh, I daresay you would like it well enough!  Always at me to slave
for him with stupid architectural drawings and stuff, as if I was
only a sort of clerk or fag!  And boring me to read great dull books,
and preaching to me about them, expecting to know what I think!  Dear
me!"

"Those nice letters!" sighed Paula.

"Nice!  As if any one that was one bit in love would write such as
that!  No, I don't want to marry a schoolmaster or a tyrant!"

"How can you, Flapsy?" went on Paula, so vehemently that Magdalen
left the defence thus far to her; "when he only wishes for your
sympathy and improvement."

The worst plea she could have used, thought the elder sister, as Vera
broke out with, "Improvement, indeed!  If he cared for me, he would
not think I wanted any IMPROVING!  But he never did!  Or he would
have taken Pratt and Povis' offer, and I should have been living in
London and keeping my carriage!  Or he would have taken me to Italy!
But that horrid home of his, and his mother just like a half-starved
hare!  I might have seen then it was not fit for me; but I was a
child, and over-persuaded among you all!  But I know better now, and
I know my own mind, as I didn't then.  So you need not talk!  I have
done with him."

"Oh, Flapsy, Flapsy, how can you grieve him so?  You don't know what
you are throwing away!" incoherently cried Paula, collapsing in a
burst of tears.  "Maidie, Maidie, why don't you speak to her, and
tell her how wicked it is--and--and--and--"

The rest was cut short by sobs.

"No, Paula, authority or reasoning of mine would not touch such a
mood as this.  We must leave it to Hubert himself.  If she really
cares for him, she will have recovered from her fit of temper by the
time his letter can come, and it may have an effect upon her, if our
tongues have not increased her spirit of opposition.  I strongly
advise you to say nothing."

Paula tried to take her sister's advice, and would have adhered to
it, but that Vera would talk and try to make her declare the rupture
to have been justified; and this produced an amount of wrangling
which did good to no one.  Magdalen really rejoiced when the frequent
golf and tennis parties carried Vera on her bicycle out of reach of
arguing, even if it took her into the alternative of flirtation.

Thekla cried bitterly, and declared that she should never speak to
Flapsy again; but in half an hour's time was heard chattering about
the hedgehog's meal of cockroaches.  In another week the excitement
was over.  The Bishop of Onomootka had come and gone, after holding
meetings and preaching sermons at Rock Quay and all the villages
round, and had carried off Alexis White with him.

Nothing had come of the intercourse of the latter with his rich
uncle, nor of the varieties of encounters with the damsels of Rock
Quay, except that society was declared by more than one to have
become horridly flat and slow.

Vera was one of these, and the letters received from Hubert Delrio
did not stir up a fresh excitement.  There were no persuasions to
revoke her decision, no urgent entreaties, no declaration of being
heart-broken.  He acquiesced in her assurance that the engagement had
been a mistake; and he wrote at more length to Magdalen, avowing that
he had for some time past traced discontent in Vera's letters, and
fearing that he had been too didactic and peremptory in writing to
her.  He relinquished the engagement with much regret, and should
always regard it as having been a fair summer dream--but, though
undeserving, he hoped still to retain Miss Prescott's kindness and
friendship, which had been of untold value to him.

A little more zeal and distress would have been much more pleasing to
Vera; and she began to be what Agatha and Thekla called cross, and
Paula called drooping, and even excited alarm in her, lest Flapsy
should be going into a decline.  But a note came to the Goyle which
Magdalen read alone, and likewise she cycled alone to Rockstone.

"Miss Mohun, can you give me a few minutes?" said she, as the trim
little figure emerged from beneath the copper beeches, basket in
hand.

"By all means; I shall not be due at the cutting-out meeting till
three o'clock."

"I wanted to consult you about an invitation that Mrs. White has been
so very kind as to give my little sister, Vera."

"Oh!" quoth Jane Mohun, in a dry sort of tone.

"I know that she had wished to take out one of her own nieces to
Rocca Marina, but that Sir Jasper did not wish it, and I thought
perhaps it would be easier for you than for Lady Merrifield to tell
me whether there is any objection that would apply to Vera."

"I suppose Vera wishes to go?"

"She is so wild with delight that it would be a serious thing to
disappoint her.  Mrs. White is very kind and good, and has thought
that she has flagged of late, and has supposed it might be due to
poor Hubert Delrio, but, indeed, it was no fault of his."

"None at all, except for out-growing her."

"The offer was hinted at to go with Valetta even before we knew it
was declined at Clipstone, and that made me anxious to know whether
it would be well for me to send Vera.  I suppose she would pick up
pronunciation of languages, which would be a great advantage, as she
will have to earn her own living, and Mrs. White is so good as to
promise lessons in arts and music.  I hear, too, it is quite an
English colony, with a church and schools."

"Oh, yes, Mr. White is a very good and careful man about his workmen.
I have been there at the Henderson's wedding, and it is a charming
place, a castle fit for Mrs. Radclyffe, with English comforts, and an
Italian garden and an English village on the mountain side.  My
sister would do all that she promises, and would look after any young
girl very well; you may quite trust her."

"Then is there any fear of Italian society?--not that poor Vera has
any attraction OF THAT KIND," hesitated Magdalen.

"None at all.  All the society they have is of English travellers
coming with introductions.  I fancy it is very dull at times, and
that Adeline wants a young person about her.  You need have no fears.
Ah!  I see you still want to know why the Merrifields don't consent.
It is not their way.  They would not let the Rotherwoods have Mysie
to bring up with Phyllis, and--and Val is just the being that needs a
mother's eye over her.  But I really and honestly think that your
Vera may quite safely be put under Adeline's care, and that she is
likely to be all the better for it."

"One thing more, added Magdalen, with a little hesitation; "is your
nephew, Wilfred, likely to be one of the party?"

"None at all.  His father wants to keep him under his own eye, and
his mother is anxious about his health; nor do I think Mr. White
wants him, having his own two nephews, who are useful, so he will
remain under Captain Henderson here."

"Thank you!  That settles it in my mind.  I am sure the change to a
fresh home will be an excellent thing for my poor Vera, and that the
training of imitation of one to whom she looks up is what she most
needs."

"Very true," said Miss Mohun.

And as she afterwards said to Lady Merrifield, "It was in all
sincerity and honesty that I gave the advice to Magdalen, who is very
sensible in the matter.  In plain English, Ada can't do without a
lady in waiting, and Vera probably fancies that Lords, young or old,
start from every wave like the spirits of our fathers, at Rocca
Marina, in which she will probably be disappointed; but Ada will be a
very dragon as to her manners and discretion, and not being his own
niece, old Tom White will not be deluded by his ambition and any
blandishments of hers.  As people go, they are very safe guardians,
and Vera--Flapsy as they call her--is just of the composition to be
improved, and not disimproved, by living with Ada."

"Probably, though I do not like the foolish little puss to be
rewarded for throwing over young Delrio."

"He was so much too good for her that I am more inclined to reward
her for doing so!"

Agatha, however, came home somewhat annoyed by the whole arrangement.
She supposed the rupture with Hubert might have been inevitable; but
she was very sorry for it, thinking that Vera might have grown up to
him, and regretting the losing him as a brother.  Nor did she like
the atmosphere of the Whites and Rocca Marina for her feather-brained
young sister.  "Dolores had no great opinion of her Aunt Adeline,"
she said.

"My dear," said Magdalen, as they sat over their early fire, "I have
talked it over with Lady Merrifield and Miss Mohun, and they both
tell me that Mrs. White is very sensible, and sure to be discreet for
any girl in her charge--probably better for Flapsy than a more
intellectual woman."

"But--!  Such a marriage as this one!" said Agatha.

"It was Mr. White's own niece, and taken out of Mrs. White's hands,"
said Magdalen.  "Besides," as Agatha still looked unconvinced, "one
thing that made me think the invitation desirable was that it would
break off any foolishness with Wilfred Merrifield--I think it was in
their minds too."

"Wilfred!  Oh, there was a little nonsense."

"Less on his side, since Felicia Vanderkist has been here; but I
think Vera has been all the more disposed to--to--"

"Run after him," said Agatha.  "I could fancy it in Flapsy; but he is
such a boy, and not half so nice-looking as the rest of them either."

"My dear Agatha, I must tell you he reminds me strangely of a young
Mr. Merrifield whom I knew at Filsted when I was younger than you."

"A brother of Bessie?"

"Even so.  He got into some kind of trouble at Filsted, his father
came and broke it off, and sent him out to Canada, where I fear he
did not do well, and nothing has been heard of him since, except -

She spoke with a catch in her voice which made Agatha look up at her,
and detect a rising colour.

"Nothing!" she repeated.

"Except an anonymous parcel, returning to the brothers in Canada the
sum he had taken with him.  Strangely, the clue was not followed up,
and he is lost sight of!  But Wilfred's air, and still more his
manner, is always recalling his cousin to me, and, Nag, dear, I could
not bear to see Vera go through the same trial by my exposing her to
the intercourse.  Not that I know any harm of Wilfred, but his
parents could not like anything of the kind."

"Certainly not!  Yes, I suppose you are right, dear old Maidie."  But
Agatha pondered over those words that had slipped out, "the same
trial."



CHAPTER XXI--THE ELECTRICIANS



   "Thou shalt have the air
Of freedom.  Follow and do me service."
- "THE TEMPEST."

"Is Agatha in?" asked Dolores Mohun, jumping off her bicycle as she
saw Magdalen, on a frosty day the next Christmas vacation, in her
garden.

"She is doing scientific arithmetic with Thekla; giving me a holiday,
in fact!  You University maidens quite take the shine out of us poor
old teachers."

"Ah! if we can give shine we can't give substance.  But I want to
borrow Nag, if you have no objection."

"Borrow her! I am sure it is something she will like."

"It is in the way of business, but she will like it all the same.
They want me to give a course of lectures on electricity at Bexley to
the Institute and the two High Schools, and I particularly want a
skilled assistant, whom I can depend upon; not masters, nor boys!
Now Nag is just what I should like.  We should stay at Lancelot
Underwood's, a very charming place to be at."

"Isn't he some connection?"

"Connection all round.  Phyllis Merrifield married his brother,
banking in Ceylon, and may come home any day on a visit; and
Ivinghoe's pretty wife is Lancelot's niece.  He edits what is really
the crack newspaper of the county, in spite of its being true blue
Conservative, Church and all."

"The Pursuivant?  It has such good literary articles."

"Oh, yes!  Mrs. Grinstead and Canon Harewood write them.  His wife is
a daughter of old Dr. May--rather a peculiar person, but very jolly
in her way."

"But would they like to have Agatha imposed upon them?"

"Certainly; they are just the people to like nothing better, and it
will only be for a fortnight.  I have settled it all with them."

At which Magdalen looked a little doubtful, but Dolores reiterated
that there need be no scruple, she might ask Aunt Lily if she liked;
but Lance Underwood was Mayor, and member of all the committees, and
the most open-hearted man in the world besides, and it was all right.

To the further demur as to safety, Dolores answered that to light a
candle or sit by the fire might be dangerous, but as long as people
were careful, it was all right, and Agatha had already assisted in
some experiments at Rock Quay, which had shown her to be thoroughly
understanding and trustworthy, and capable of keeping off the
amateur--the great bugbear.

So Magdalen consented, after rapturous desires on the part of Agatha,
and assurances from General Mohun that Dolores had it in her by
inheritance and by training to meddle with the lightning as safely as
human being might; and Lady Merrifield owned with a sigh that she
must accept as a fact that what even the heathens owned as a Divine
mystery and awful attribute, had come to be treated as a commonplace
business messenger and scientific toy, though (as Mrs. Gatty puts it)
the mystery had only gone deeper.  So much for the peril; and for the
other scruple, it was set at rest by a hospitable letter from Mrs.
Underwood, heartily inviting Miss Agatha Prescott, as an Oxford
friend of Gillian.

So off the two electricians set, and after two days of business and
sight-seeing in London, went down to Bexley.  In the third-class
carriage in which they travelled they were struck by the sight of a
tall lady in mourning--a sort of compromise between a conventual and
a secular bonnet over short fair hair, and holding on her lap a tiny
little girl of about six years old, with a small, pinched, delicate
face and slightly red hair, to whom she pointed out by name each spot
they passed, herself wearing an earnest absorbed look of recognition
as she pointed out familiar landmark after landmark till the darkness
came down.  Also there were two cages--one with a small pink
cockatoo, and another with two budgerigars.

As the train began slackening Dolores exclaimed:

"There he is!  Lance--!"

"Lance!  Oh, Lance!" was echoed; and setting the child down, her
companion almost fell across Agatha, and was at the window as the
train stopped.

What happened in the next moment no one could quite tell; but as the
door was torn open there was a mingled cry of "Angel!" and of
"Lance!" and the traveller was in his arms, turning the next moment
to lift out the frightened little girl, who clung tight round her
neck; while Lance held out his hand with, "Dolores!  Yes.  This is
Dolores, Angel, whom you have never seen."

Each knew who the other was in a moment, and clasped hands in
greeting, as well as they could with the one, and the other receiving
bird-cages, handbags, umbrellas, and rugs from Agatha, whom, however,
Lance relieved of them with a courteous, "Miss Prescott!  You have
come in for the arrival of my Australian sister!  What luggage have
you?"  Wherewith all was absorbed in the recognition of boxes, and
therewith a word or two to an old railway official, "My sister
Angela."

"Miss Angela! this is an unexpected pleasure!"

"Tom Lightfoot! is it you?  You are not much altered.  Mr. Dane, I
should have known you anywhere!" with corresponding shakes of the
hand.

"Yes, that's ours.  Oh, the birds!  There they are!  All right!  Oh!
not the omnibus, Lance!  Let the traps go in that!  Then Lena will
like to stretch her legs, and I must revel in the old street."

Dolores and Agatha felt it advisable to squeeze themselves with the
bird-cages into the omnibus, and leave the brother and sister to walk
down together, though the little girl still adhered closely to her
protector's hand.

"Poor Field's little one?  Yes, of course."

"But tell me! tell me of them all!"

"All well! all right!  But how--"

"The Mozambique was out of coal and had to put in at Falmouth.  You
know, I came by her because they said the long sea voyage would be
best for this child, and it was so long since I had heard of any one
that I durst not send anywhere till I knew--and I knew Froggatt's
would be in its own place.  Oh! there's the new hotel! the gas looks
just the same!  There's the tower of St. Oswald's, all shadowy
against the sky.  Look, Lena!  Oh! this is home!  I know the lamps.
I've dreamt of them!  Tired, Lena, dear? cold?  Shall I carry you?"

"No, no; let me!" and he lifted her up, not unwillingly on her part,
though she did not speak.  "You are a light weight," he said.

"I am afraid so," answered Angel.  "Oh! there's the bus stopping at
Mr. Pratt's door."

"Mine, now.  We have annexed it."

"But let me go in by the dear old shop.  The window is as of old, I
see.  Ernest Lamb! don't you know me?" as a respectable tradesman
came forward.  "And Achille, is it?  You are as much changed as this
old shop is transmogrified!  And they are all well?  Do you mean
Bernard?"

"Bernard and Phyllis may come home any day to deposit a child.  They
lost their boy, and hope to save the elder one.  But come, Angel! if
you have taken in enough we must go up to those electrical girls.
Dolores is come to give a lecture, with the other girl to assist,
Miss Prescott."

"Dolores!  Yes, poor Gerald's love!  They are almost myths to me.
Ah!" as Lancelot opened his office-door, "now I know where I am!  And
there's the old staircase!  This is the real thing, and no mistake."

"Angel, Angel, come to tea!"  And Gertrude, comfortable and
substantial, in loving greeting threw arms round the new comers,
Lance still carrying the child, who clung round his neck as he
brought her into the room, full of his late fellow travellers, and
also of a group of children.

"It is as if we had gone back thirty years or more," was Angela's
cry, as she looked forth on what had been as little altered as
possible from the old family centre; and Lance, setting down the
child, spoke as the pretty little blue-eyed girls advanced to
exchange kisses with their new aunt.

"Margaret, or Pearl, whom you knew as a baby; Etheldred, or Awdrey,
and Dickie!  Fely is at Marlborough.  There, take little Lena--is
that her name--to your table, and give her some tea."

"Her name is Magdalen," said Angela, removing the little black hat
and smoothing the hair; but Lena backed against her, and let her hand
hang limp in Pearl's patronising clasp.  Nor would she amalgamate
with the children, nor even eat or drink except still beside
"Sister," as she called Angela.  In fact, she was so thoroughly worn
out and tired, as well as shy and frightened, that Angela's attention
was wholly given to her and she could only be put to bed, but not in
the nursery, which, as Angel said, seemed to her like a den of little
wild beasts.  So she was deposited in the chamber and bed hastily
prepared for the unexpected guest; and even there, being wakeful and
feverish from over-fatigue, there was no leaving her alone, and
Gertrude, after seeing her safely installed, could only go down with
the hope that she would be able to spare her slave or nurse, which
was it? by dinner-time.

"Who is that child so like?" said Dolores, in their own room.

"Very like somebody, but I can't tell whom," said Agatha.  "Who did
you say she is?"

"I cannot say I exactly know," said Dolores.  "I believe she is the
daughter of Fulbert Underwood's mate, on a sheep-farm in Queensland,
and that as her mother died when she was born, she has been always
under the care of this Angela, living in the Sisterhood there."

"Not a Sister?"

"Not under vows, certainly.  I never saw her before, but I believe
she is rather a funny flighty person, and that Fulbert was afraid at
one time that she would marry this child's father."

"Is he alive?"

"Which?  Fulbert died four or five years ago, and I think the little
girl's father must be dead, for she is in mourning."

"There's something very charming about her--Miss Underwood."

"Yes there is.  They all seem to be very fond of her, and yet to
laugh about her, and never to be quite sure what she will do next."

"Did I not hear of her being so useful among the Australian black
women?"

"No one has ever managed those very queer gins so well; and she is an
admirable nurse too, they say.  I am very glad to have come in her
way."

They did not, however, see much of her that evening.  The head master
of the Grammar School and his wife, the head mistress of the High
School, and a few others had been invited to meet them; and Angela
could only just appear at dinner, trusting to a slumber of her
charge, but, on coming out of the dining-room, a wail summoned her
upstairs at once, and she was seen no more that night.

However, with morning freshness, Lena showed herself much less
farouche, and willing to accept the attentions of Mr. Underwood
first, and, later, of his little daughter Pearl--a gentle, elder
sisterly person, who knew how to avert the too rough advances of
Dick--and made warm friends over the pink cockatoo; while Awdrey was
entranced by the beauties of the budgerigars.

Robina had been informed by telegram, and came up from Minsterham
with her husband, looking just like his own father, and grown very
broad.  He was greatly interested in the lecture, and went off to it,
to consider whether it would be desirable for the Choristers' School.
Lancelot had, of course, to go, and Angela declared that she must be
brought up to date, and rejoiced that Lena was able to submit to be
left with the other children under the protection of Mrs. Underwood,
who averred that she abhorred electricity in all its forms, and that
if Lance were induced to light the town, or even the shop by that
means, he must begin by disposing of her by a shock.

It was an excellent lecture, only the two sisters hardly heard it.
They could think of nothing but that they were once more sitting side
by side in the old hall, where they had heard and shared in so many
concerts, on the gala days of their home life.

The two lecturers, as well as the rest of the party, were urgently
entreated to stay to tea at the High School; but when the interest of
the new arrival was explained, the sisters and brother were released
to go home, Canon Harewood remaining to content their hostesses.



CHAPTER XXII--ANGEL AND BEAR



"Enough of science and of art!
   Close up those barren leaves,
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
   That watches and receives."
- WORDSWORTH.

A telegram had been handed to Mr. Mayor, which he kept to himself,
smiling over it, and he--at least--was not taken utterly by surprise
at the sight of a tall handsome man, who stepped forward with
something like a shout.

"Angel!  Lance!  Why, is it Robin, too?"

"Bear, Bear, old Bear, how did you come?"

"I couldn't stop when I heard at Clipstone that Angel was here, so I
left Phyllis and the kid with her mother.  Oh, Angel, Angel, to meet
at Bexley after all!"

They clung together almost as they had done when they were the
riotous elements of the household, while Lance opened the front door,
and Robina, mindful of appearances, impelled them into the hall,
Bernard exclaiming, "Pratt's room!  Whose teeth is it?"

"Don't you want Wilmet to hold your hands and make you open your
mouth?" said Lance, laughing.

Gertrude, who had already received the Indian arrival, met Angela,
who was bounding up to see to her charge, with, "Not come in yet!
She is gone out with the children quite happily, with Awdrey's doll
in her arms.  Come and enjoy each other in peace."

"In the office, please," said Angela.  "That is home.  We shall be
our four old selves."

Lance opened the office door, and gave a hint to Mr. Lamb, while they
looked at each other by the fire.

Bernard was by far the most altered.  The others were slightly
changed, but still their "old selves," while he was a grave
responsible man, looking older than Lancelot, partly from the effects
of climate; but Angela saw enough to make her exclaim, "Here we are!
Don't you feel as if we were had down to Felix to be blown up?"

"Not a bit altered," said Bernard, looking at the desks and shelves
of ledgers, with the photographs over the mantelpiece--Felix, Mr.
Froggatt, the old foreman, and a print of Garofalo's Vision of St.
Augustine, hung up long ago by Felix, as Lance explained, as a token
of the faith to which all human science and learning should be
subordinated.

"A declaration of the Pursuivant," said Angela.  "How Fulbert did
look out for Pur!  I believe it was his only literature."

"Phyllis declares," said Bernard, "that nothing so upsets me as a
failure in Pur's arrival."

"And this is Pur's heart and centre!" said Robina.

"Only," added Angela, "I miss the smell of burnt clay that used to
pervade the place, and that Alda so hated."

"Happily the clay is used up," said Lance.  "I could not have brought
Gertrude and the children here if the ceramic art, as they call it,
had not departed.  Cherry was so delighted at our coming to live
here.  She loved the old struggling days."

"Fulbert said he never felt as if he had been at home till he came
here.  He never TOOK to Vale Leston."

"Clement and Cherry have settled in very happily," said Robina, "with
convalescent clergy in the Vicarage."

"I say, Angel, let us have a run over there," cried Bernard, "you and
I together, for a bit of mischief."

"Do, DO let us!  Though this is real home, our first waking to
perception and naughtiness, it is more than Vale Leston.  We seem to
have been up in a balloon all those five happy years."

"A balloon?" said Bernard.  "Nay, it seems to me that till they were
over, I never thought at all except how to get the most rollicking
and the finest rowing out of life.  It seems to me that I had about
as much sense as a green monkey."

"Something sank in, though," said Lance; "you did not drift off like
poor Edgar."

"Some one must have done so," said Angela.  "I wanted to ask you,
Lancey, about advertising for my little Lena's people; the Bishop
said I ought."

"I say," exclaimed Bernard, "was it her father that was Fulbert's
mate?  I thought he was afraid of your taking up with him.  You
didn't?"

"No, no.  Let me tell you, I want you to know.  Field and a little
wife came over from Melbourne prospecting for a place to sit down in.
They had capital, but the poor wife was worn out and ill, and after
taking them in for a night, Fulbert liked them.  Field was an
educated man and a gentleman, and Ful offered them to stay there in
partnership.  So they stayed, and by and by this child was born, and
the poor mother died.  The two great bearded men came galloping over
to Albertstown from Carrigaboola, with this new born baby, smaller
than even Theodore was, and I had the care of her from the very
first, and Field used to ride over and see the little thing."

"And--?" said Bernard, in a rather teasing voice, as his eyes
actually looked at Angela's left hand.

"I'll own it DID tempt me.  I had had some great disappointments with
my native women, running wild again, and I could not bear my child
having a horrid stepmother; and there was the glorious free bush
life, and the horses and the sheep!  But then I thought of you all
saying Angel had broken out again; and by and by Fulbert came and
told me that he was sure there was some ugly mystery, and spoke to
Mother Constance, and they made me promise not to take him unless it
was cleared up.  Then, as you know, dear Ful's horse fell with him;
Field came and fetched me to their hut, and I was there to the last.
Ful told each of us again that all must be plain and explained before
we thought of anything in the future.  He, Henry Field, said he had
great hopes that he should be able to set it right.  Then, as you
know, there was no saving dear Fulbert, and after that Mother
Constance's illness began.  Oh! Bear, do you recollect her coming in
and mothering us in the little sitting-room?  I could not stir from
her, of course, while she was with us.  And after that, Harry Field
came and said he had written a letter to England, and when the answer
came, he would tell me all, and I should judge!  But I don't think
the answer ever did come, and he went to Brisbane to see if it was at
the bank; and there he caught a delirious fever, and there was an end
of it

At that moment something between a whine or a call of "sister" was
heard.  Up leapt Angela and hurried away, while Lance observed,
"Well!  That's averted, but I am sorry for her."

"It was not love," said Robina.

"Or only for the child," said Bernard; "and that would have been a
dangerous speculation."

"The child or something else has been very good for her," said Lance;
"I never saw her so gentle and quiet."

"And with the same charm about her as ever," said Bernard.  "I don't
wonder that all the fellows fall in love with her.  I hope she won't
make havoc among Clement's sick clergy."

"I suppose we ought to go up and fulfil the duties of society," said
Robina, rising.  "But first, Bear, tell me how is Phyllis?"

"Pretty fair," he answered.  "Resting with her mother, but she has
never been quite the thing of late.  I almost hope Sir Ferdinand will
see his way to keeping us at home, or we shall have to leave our
little Lily."

Interruption occurred as a necessary summons to "Mr. Mayor," and the
paternal conclave was broken up, and had to adjourn to Gertrude's tea
in the old sitting-room.

"I see!" exclaimed Agatha, as she looked at the party of children at
their supplementary table.  "I see what the likeness is in that
child.  Don't you, Dolores?  Is it not to Wilfred Merrifield?"

"There is very apt to be a likeness between sandy people, begging
your pardon, Angel," said Gertrude.

"Yes, the carroty strain is apt to crop up in families," said Lance,
"like golden tabbies, as you ladies call your stable cats."

"All the Mohuns are dark," said Dolores, "and all Aunt Lily's
children, except Wilfred; and is not your Phyllis of that colour?"

"Phyllis's hair is not red, but dark auburn," said Bernard, in a tone
like offence.

"I never saw Phyllis," said dark-browed Dolores, "but I have heard
the aunts talk over the source of the--the fair variety, and trace it
to the Merrifields.  Uncle Jasper is brown, and so is Bessie; but
Susan is, to put it politely, just a golden tabby, and David's baby
promises to be, to her great delight, as she says he will be a real
Merrifield.  So much for family feeling!"

"Sister, Sister!" came in a bright tone, "may I go with Pearl and get
a stick for Ben?  He wants something to play with!  He is eating his
perch."

Ben, it appeared, was the pink cockatoo, who was biting his perch
with his hooked beak.  The children had finished their meal, and
consent was given.  "Only, Lena, come here," said Angela, fastening a
silk handkerchief round her neck, and adding, "Don't let Lena go on
the dew, Pearl; she is not used to early English autumn, I must get
her a pair of thicker boots."

"What is her name?" asked Agatha, catching the sound.

"Magdalen Susanna.  Her father made a point of it, instead of his
wife's name, which, I think, was Caroline."

"I don't think I ever knew a Magdalen except my own elder sister,"
said Agatha, "and Susanna!  Did you say Miss Merrifield had a sister
Susan?"

"An excellent, sober-sided, dear old Susan!  Yes, Susanna was their
mother's name," said Dolores "and now that you have put it into my
head, little Lena, when she is animated, puts me more in mind of
Bessie than even of Wilfred, though the colouring is different.
Why?"

"Did you never hear," said Agatha, "that there was one of the
brothers who was a bad lot, and ran away.  My sister says Wilfred is
like him.  I believe," she added, "that he was her romance!"

"Ha!" exclaimed Bernard, "that's queer!  We had a clerk in the bank
who gave his name as Meriton, and who cut and ran the very day he
heard that Sir Jasper Merrifield was coming out as Commandant.  Yes,
he was carroty.  I rarely saw Wilfred at Clipstone, but this might
very well have been the fellow, afraid to face his uncle."

Angela did not look delighted.  "She is not destitute, you know," she
said, "I am her guardian, and she will have about two hundred a
year."

"Is there a will?" asked Lance.

"Oh, yes, I have it upstairs!  It is all right.  It was at the bank
at Brisbane, and they kept a copy.  I brought her because the Bishop
said it was my duty to find out whether there were any relations."

"Certainly," said Bernard.  "In our own case, remember what joy
Travis's letter was!"

Angela was silent, and presently said, "You shall see the will when I
have unpacked it, but there is no doubt about my being guardian."

"Probably not," said Bernard, rather drily.

"If it be a valid will, signed by his proper name," said Lance.

Whereupon the two brothers fell into a discussion on points of law,
not unlike the editor of the Pursuivant, as he had become known to
his family, but most unlike the Bernard they had known before his
departure for the East.  At any rate it dissipated the emotional tone
of the party; and by and by, when Bernard and Angela had agreed to
make a bicycle rush to Minsterham the next day, "that is," said
Angela "if Lena is happy enough to spare me," the Harewoods took
leave.

When the children had gone to bed, and Angela had stayed upstairs so
long that Gertrude augured that she was waiting till her charge had
gone to sleep, and that they should have no more of her henceforth
but "Lena's baulked stepmother," she came down, bringing a document
with her, which she displayed before her brothers.

There was no question but that it was a will drawn up in due form,
and very short, bequeathing his property at Carrigaboola, Queensland,
to his daughter, Magdalen Susanna, and appointing Fulbert Underwood
and Angela Margaret Underwood and "my brother Samuel" her guardian.
It was dated the year after his daughter's birth, and was signed
Henry Field, with a word interposed, which, as Lance said, might be
anything, but was certainly the right length for the first syllables
of Merrifield.  Bernard looked at it, and declared it was, to the
best of his belief, the same signature as his former clerk used to
write.

"And this," he said, looking at the seal, "is the crest of the
Merrifield's--the demi lion.  I know it well on Sir Jasper's seal
ring."

"Have you nothing else, Angel?" asked Lance.

"Here is the certificate of her baptism, but that will tell you
nothing."

No more it did, it only called the child the daughter of Henry and
Caroline Field, and the surname was omitted in the bequest.

"Who was the mother?" asked Lance.

"I never exactly knew.  Fulbert thought she had been a person whom
Field had met in America or somewhere, and married in a hurry.
Fulbert said she was rather pretty, but she was a poor helpless,
bewildered thing, and very poorly.  He wanted to bring her to
Albertstown for fit help and nursing; but she cried so much at the
idea of either horse or wagon over the-no-roads, that it was put off
and off and she had only his shepherd's housekeeper, so it was no
wonder she did not live!  Field was dreadfully cut up, and blamed
himself extremely for having given way to her; but it is as likely as
not the journey would have been just as fatal."

"Poor thing!"

"You never heard her surname?"

"No, it did not signify."

"He did not name his child after her?"

"No.  I remember Fulbert saying he supposed she should be called
Caroline; and he exclaimed, 'No, no, I always said it should be
Magdalen and Susanna.'"

"My sister's name," repeated Agatha.

"And Susan Merrifield," added Dolores.

"But she is mine, mine!" cried Angela, with a tone like herself, of a
sort of triumphant jealousy.  "They can't take her away from me!"

"Gently, Angela, my dear," said Lance, in a tone so like Felix of
old, that it almost startled her.  "Tell me what arrangement is this
about the property.  Your share of Fulbert's has never been taken
out, I think?"

"No, Macpherson, the purchaser, you know, of Fulbert's share, pays me
my amount out of it, and agreed to do the same by Lena.  I don't
think the value is quite what it used to be.  It rather went down
under Field; but Macpherson is all there, and it has been a better
season.  I could sell it all to him, hers and mine both; but I have
thought how it would be, as it is her native country, and I have not
parted with my own to go out again to Carrigaboola, and bring her up
there.  I assure you I am up to it," she added, meeting an amused
look.  "I know a good deal more about sheep farming than either of
you gentlemen.  I can ride anything but a buckjumper, and boss the
shepherds, and I do love the life, no stifling in fields and copses!
I only wish you would come too, Bear; it would do you ever so much
good to get a little red paint on those white banker's hands of
yours."

"Well done, sister Angel!"  And the brothers both burst out laughing.

"But really," proceeded Angela, "it is by far the best hope of
keeping up Christianity among those hands.  Fulbert had a sort of
little hut for a chapel, and once a month one of the clergy from
Albertstown came over there; I used to ride with him when I could,
and if I were there, I could keep a good deal going till the place is
more peopled, and we can get a cleric.  It is a great opportunity,
not to be thrown away.  I can catch those cockatoos better than a
parson.  And there are the blacks."

The brothers had not the least doubt of it.  Angela was Angela still,
for better or for worse.  Or was it for worse?  Yet she went up to
bed chanting -


"His sister she went beyond the seas,
And died an old maid among black savagees."



CHAPTER XXIII--WILLOW WIDOWS



   "Set your heart at rest.
The fairyland buys not that child of me.
- "MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM."

An expedition to Minsterham finished the visit of Dolores and her
faithful "Nag," whose abilities as an assistant were highly
appreciated, and who came home brilliantly happy to keep her
remaining holiday with Magdalen; while Dolores repaired to Clipstone.
Bernard had been obliged to go to London, to report himself to Sir
Ferdinand Travis Underwood, but his wife and little girl were the
reigning joy at Clipstone.  Phyllis looked very white, much changed
from the buxom girl who had gone out with her father two years ago.
She had never recovered the loss of the little boy, and suffered the
more from her husband's inability to bear expression, and it was an
immense comfort to her to speak freely of her little one to her
mother.

The little Lilias looked frail, but was healthy, happy, and as
advanced as a well-trained companion child of six could well be, and
the darling of the young aunts, who expected Dolores to echo their
raptures, and declare the infinite superiority of the Ceylonese to
"that little cornstalk," as Valetta said.

"There's no difficulty as to that," said Dolores, laughing.  "The
poor little cornstalk looks as if she had grown up under a blight."

"It is a grand romance though," said Mysie; "only I wish that Cousin
Harry had had any constancy in him."

"I wonder if Magdalen will adopt her!" was Valetta's bold suggestion.

"Poor Magdalen has had quite adopting enough to do," said Mysie.

"Besides," said Dolores, "Sister Angela will never let her go.  And
certainly I never saw any one more TAKING than Sister Angela.  She is
so full of life, and of a certain unexpectedness, and one knows she
has done such noble work.  I want to see more of her."

"You will," said Mysie.  "Mamma is going to ask her to come, for
Phyllis says there is no one that Bernard cares for so much.  She was
his own companion sister."

"Magdalen might have the little cornstalk," said Valetta.

"Well," said Mysie, "it is rather funny to have two--what shall I
say?--willow widows, and a child that is neither of theirs!  How will
they settle it?"

Magdalen had heard from Agatha on the first evening of the arrival of
the sister, and the probability of the identification of little
Lena's father with the Henry Merrifield of her former years, and she
was deeply touched by the bestowal of her name--so much that Nag
avoided saying more, but only kissed her and went to bed.

The Merrifields discussed the subject dispassionately.

Sir Jasper recollected what his brother had written to him of his
anxieties and disappointment in his son Henry, and of his absconding
from Manitoba, since which time all trace of him had been lost,
except in the restoration to the two brothers in Canada.  To the
surprise and indignation of Sir Jasper, there had been no attempt to
follow it up.

"If my poor brother Edgar had done anything of the kind," said
Bernard, "none of us would have rested."

So far as they could put recollections together this act of
restitution must have been made soon after the connection with
Fulbert Underwood began, perhaps at the time of the wife's death.  If
there had been another letter, as Sister Angela thought, it was more
recent, certainly within the last two years.

Captain Samuel Merrifield, of Stokesley, had been on a voyage for
four years, and had not long been at home.  His wife had been charged
with the forwarding of the letters that she thought of immediate
interest, and there was an accumulation of those that had been left
for his return, as yet not looked over.

Of course, Sir Jasper impelled him to plunge into these, and by and
by one came to light, which Mrs. Merrifield had taken "for only some
Australian gold mines," and left to wait, especially as it was
directed to his father instead of himself.

It was a letter full of repentance, and entreaties for forgiveness,
describing in part poor Henry's past life, and adding that the best
thing that had ever befallen him was his association with "such a
fellow as Underwood."

It was to be gathered that Fulbert's uprightness of mind had led him
to the first impulse of restitution, and he went on to mention his
first hasty marriage and the loss of his wife, with the kindness of
the Carrigaboola Sisterhood; above all, of Sister Angela, and
declaring his love and admiration for her, and his sense that she was
the one person who could keep him straight now that her brother was
gone.

He had more than once offered to her, but he found that her brother
had solemnly charged her not to accept him till he had made all his
past clear before her, and could show her that he was acknowledged by
his family, and had his father's forgiveness, and for this he humbly
craved, as one deeply sensible of his own demerits.

It was piteous to think of the poor fellow waiting and hoping for an
answer to such a letter as this, and dying without one, while all the
time it was lying unread in the Captain's desk, and no one even knew
of the changed life and fresh hopes.  Sir Jasper was much moved by
it; but Sam said, "Ay, ay! poor Harry always was a plausible fellow!"
and his wife was chiefly concerned to show that the suppression was
not by her fault.  Sir Jasper had brought the will with him, and the
certificate of the child's baptism.

Both were met with a little hesitation.  So little had been said in
the letter about the marriage that the Captain wanted to know more,
and also whether the will had been properly proved in Australia, and
whether it had force in England.  In that case he was surely the
right person to have the custody of his brother's child.  His wife,
who had been bred up in a different school, was not by any means
satisfied that she should be consigned to a member of a Sisterhood.

David came to Stokesley, saw the letter, and agreed with his brother
on the expediency of obtaining full proof of the validity of the will
in both Queensland and England, and put in hand the writing of
inquiries for the purpose, from the legal authorities at Brisbane,
for which purpose Angela had to be consulted.

She had been (having left the budgerigars to the delight of Pearl and
Awdrey), in the meantime, at Vale Leston, enjoying the atmosphere of
peace that prevailed wherever were Clement and Geraldine, and hailed
with delight by all her old village friends, as well as Lady
Vanderkist and her somewhat thinned flock.

She won Adrian's heart by skating or golfing with him, and even, on
one or two hunting days, joining in his pursuit of the chase, being
altogether, as he said, ever so much better a fellow than even his
youngest sister Joan, and entrancing them all with tales of
kangaroos.  Lena had really a tame kangaroo at Carrigaboola.  Oh, why
did they not bring it home as well as Ben, the polly?  She quite
pined for it, and had tears in her eyes when it was spoken of.

Indeed the joyous young Vanderkists were too much for the delicate
little girl, and sorry as Angela was to leave Vale Leston, she was
not ungrateful for an invitation to the Goyle, where there was more
room for them than at Clipstone in the holidays, and with the Bernard
Underwoods making it their headquarters.

Lena and she were much better and happier with "Sister" always at her
service, and Paula and Thekla were delighted to amuse her.  Paula was
in a state of delight with Sister Angela, only a little puzzled by
the irregularity of her course, though it was carefully explained
that she had never been under any vows.  To hear of her doings among
the Australian women was a romance, often as there had been
disappointment.  "Paula is a born Sister," said Angela, "a much truer
one than I have ever been, for there does not seem to be any demon of
waywardness to drive her wild."

These talks with Magdalen, often prolonged hours after the young
people had gone to bed, were a great solace to both the elders.
Girls like Mysie Merrifield and Phyllis Devereux thought sitting up
to converse a propensity peculiar to themselves, and to their own
age, of new experiences and speculations; but the two "old girls,"
whose experiences were not new, and whose speculations had a certain
material foundation, they were equally fascinating.

There were no small jealousies in either of them--"willow widows"--
though Mysie's name stuck.  There was nothing but comfort to Magdalen
in the certainty of the ultimate "coming home" of one who had
finished a delusive dream of her younger days, and been yearned after
with a heartache now quenched; and Angela, who had never been the
least in love with Henry Merrifield, could quite afford her interest
in the scanty records of his younger days, and fill up all she knew
of the measure of the latter and better days.  There was another
bond, for Mrs. Best's daughter was, "as distances go," a neighbour to
Carrigaboola, and resorted thither on great occasions.

Angela's vision began to be, to take Magdalen and her sisters out to
Carrigaboola, where a superior school for colonists' daughters was
much needed, and where Paula might enter the Sisterhood.  She longed
all the more when she saw how much better Magdalen could deal with
Lena as to teaching and restraint than she could.  The child was very
backward, and could hardly read words of one syllable, though she
knew any amount of Scripture history and legends of Saints, and was
very fairly intelligent; but though she was devoted to "Sister,"
always hanging on her, and never quite happy when out of sight of
her, she had hardly any notion of prompt obedience or of giving up
her own way.

Angela's visit to Vale Leston had been partly spoilt by the little
girl's fretful worry at the elder children, and by the somewhat
uncalled for fears that all the Vanderkists were hard on the poor
little colonial damsel; but whether it was the air of Rock Quay, or
the quiet influence of Miss Prescott, Lena certainly improved in
health at the Goyle, and was much more amenable, and less rudely shy.
But her guardian trembled at hearing that, pending Captain
Merrifield's correspondence with Brisbane, the sisters, Susan and
Elizabeth, were coming to Miss Mohun's to see their niece, there
being no room for them at Clipstone.

They came--Susan, plump, comfortable and good-natured looking, as
like an apricot as ever, with an air many years more than three above
her sister Bessie, who as ever was brisk and bright, scarcely middle
aged in face, dress or demeanour.  They arrived too late for
visiting, and only dined at Clipstone to be introduced to Bernard
Underwood, and see their cousin Phyllis, whom they had once met when
all were small children.  Dolores was much amused, as she told her
Aunt Jane, to see how gratified they were at the "sanguine" colouring
of Phyllis and Wilfred, quite Merrifields, they said, though Phyllis
with auburn eyes and hair was far handsomer than any other of the
clan had ever been; and Wilfred had simply commonplace carrots and
freckles.

"The fun is," said Jane, "to remember how some of us Mohuns have
sighed at Lily's having any yellow children, and, till we saw
Stokesley specimens, wondering where the strain came from!  As if it
signified!"

"It does in some degree," said Dolores; "something hereditary goes
with the complexion."

"I don't know," said Jane.  "I believe too much is made in these days
of heredity, and by those who believe least in the Bible indications
on the effect, forgetting the counteracting grace."

"Well," said Dolores, "Wilfred was always a bete noire to me--no, not
noire--in my younger days, and I can't help being glad he is not of
our strain!  Though you know the likeness was the first step to
identifying that poor little girl."

"Poor child!  I am afraid she will be a bone of contention."

The two aunts were at Clipstone early; and might be satisfied with
the true Merrifield tints of Magdalen Susanna, but perhaps she had
been over much warned to be gracious, for the very contrary was the
effect.  She had been very civil to her great-aunt Lilias, and had
allowed both her uncles to take her up in their arms; but she
retreated upon Angela, planted an elbow on the well-known lap, turned
her back, and put a skinny little finger in her mouth by way of
answer to Susan's advances, advances which had hardly ever before
been repelled even by the most untamable of infants.

Angela tried to coax, lift her up and turn her round; but this only
led to the shoulder being the hiding-place, and it might be suspected
that there was a lurking perception that these strangers asserted a
closer claim than the beloved "Sister."  She would not even respond
to Susan's doll or Bessie's picture book; and Bessie advised leaving
her alone, and turned to the window with Agatha, who was nothing loth
to tell of her Bexley and Minsterham experiences.

Angela tried to talk about the voyage, or any thing that might save
the child from being discussed or courted; but Susan's heart was in
the subject, and she had not enough tact or knowledge of the world to
turn away from it.  Regret for the past was strong within her, and
she could not keep from asking how much "little Magdalen" (at full
length) remembered of her father, how much she had been with him,
whether he had much altered, whether there were a photograph of him,
and a great deal more, with tears in her eyes and a trembling in her
voice which made Angela feel much for her, even while vexed at her
pertinacity, for the child was by no means the baby she looked like,
but perfectly well able to listen and understand, and this
consciousness made her own communications much briefer and more
reserved than otherwise they would have been.

Bessie, with more perception, saw the embarrassment, turned round
from Agatha, went up to the cockatoo in his cage, and asked in a
pleasant voice if Magdalen would show him to her, and tell her his
name.  Angela was glad enough to break off poor Susan's questioning,
and come forward, with the child still clinging, to incite the bird
to display the rose colour under his crest, put up a grey claw to
shake hands, and show off his vocabulary, laughing herself and acting
merriment as she did so, in hopes to inspire Lena.

"Come, Ben, tell how you were picked up under a gum tree, quite a
baby, a little grey ball, and brought over in the shepherd's pocket
for a present to the little Boss, and how we fed you and nursed you
till you turned all rose-colour and lovely!  There! put up your crest
and make red revelations.  Can't you speak?  Fetch him a banana,
Lena.  That will open his mouth."

At sight of the banana, the bird put his head on one side and croaked
in a hoarse whisper, "Yo ho!"

"No, you need not be afraid of any more sailors' language," said
Angela.  "They were as careful as possible on board.  I overheard
once, 'Hold hard, Tom, Polly Pink is up there, and she's a regular
lady born!

Whereupon Polly indulged in a ridiculous chuckle, holding the banana
cleverly in one foot, while Angela laughed and chattered more and
more nervously, but only succeeded in disgusting the visitors by what
Susan at least took for unbecoming flippancy.

"THAT Sister," said Susan, as they drove away, "does not seem to me
at all the person to have the charge of Henry's poor little girl!"

"I wish she had not thrust herself in," said Bessie, "to prevent me
from getting on with the child over the cockatoo."

"She calls herself a Sister!  I don't understand it, for she seems to
have been bent on marrying poor Henry."

"She never took any vows."

"Then why does she wear a ridiculous cap over all that hair?"

By and by they were met by Bernard Underwood striding along.
"Holloa! have you seen Angel and her darling?  She is a perfect slave
to the little thing, and one only gets fragments of her."

"She seems very fond of her," said Bessie.

"Just kept her alive, you see.  Poor old Angel!  She is all for one
thing at a time!  Are you going up to Clipstone?"

"I think we shall find Phyllis at Beechcroft."

"Yes, she is driving there to lunch, and Angel is to bring the little
cornstalk over to make friends with our Lily!  I trust the creature
goes to sleep now, and I may get a word out of Angel!"  Wherewith he
dashed on, and the two ladies agreed that "those Underwoods seemed to
be curiously impulsive."

They were, however, much better satisfied with the Ceylonese Lily,
who was a very well trained civilised specimen, conversing very
prettily over one of Aunt Jane's picture books, which Bessie looked
at with her, and showing herself fully able to read the titles
beneath, a feat of which Lena was quite incapable, though she was
less on the defensive than she had shown herself at the Goyle, and
Angela was far more at her ease than when she was conscious that
"Field's" original love was watching the introduction to his sisters.
Besides, Bernard's presence was sunshine to her, and the two expanded
into bright reminiscences and merry comparisons of their two lives,
absolutely delightful to themselves, and to Phyllis and her Aunt
Jane, and which would have been the same to Elizabeth, if she had not
been worried at Susan's evident misunderstanding of--and displeasure
at--the quips and cranks of the happy brother and sister; also she
was bent on promoting an intercourse between Lily and Lena, over the
doll she had brought for the former.  She was a little hurt that Lena
had not been accompanied by the blue-eyed article with preposterously
long eyelashes that had been bestowed on her at the Goyle; but the
little Australian had no opinion of dolls, and had let the one bought
for her at Sydney be thrown overboard by the ship's monkey.

"That was cruel!" said Lily, fondling her black-eyed specimen.

"She could not feel," reasoned Lena, with contempt.

"I don't know," said Lily, knitting her brows.  "It's not ALL make
believe!  I do love my Rosamunda Rowena, and she loves me, and I
shall tell her not to be jealous of this dear Betsinda.  For, do you
know, when Rosamunda was ill in the Red Sea, father carried her up
and down on deck, and made her a dear little deck chair."

"But she is not alive.  She COULDN'T be," sighed Lena.  "I like my
Ben and my kangaroo!  Oh, I do want to go back to my kangaroo!"

"And does Lily want to go back to her riki-tiki?" asked Lily's
father, lifting a little girl on each knee, so that they might be
vis-a-vis, when certainly his own had the advantage in beauty, as she
answered, leaning against him, "Granny's better than riki-tiki!"

For which pretty speech some of the ladies gave her much credit; but
her father, with a tender arm round her, said, "Ah! you are a
sentimental little pussy-cat!  Is anything here as good as
Carrigaboola?  Eh, Lena?"

But Lena resolutely shook her carrots; but kept silence, while
Bernard turned over the leaves of a great book of natural history,
till as a page was displayed with a large kangaroo under a blue-gum
tree, with a yellow wattle tree beside him, her lips quivered, her
face puckered, and she burst into an uncontrollable fit of crying;
"Oh!  I want to go home, home!  Sister, Sister, take me home!"

Angela was in a minute beside her, took her within loving arms, and
carried her off.



CHAPTER XXIV--CRUEL LAWYERS



"Tender companions of our serious days,
   Who colour with your kisses, smiles and tears,
Life's worn web woven over wasted ways."
- LOWELL.

There was a good deal of worry and anxiety for some little time,
while correspondence was going on about Henry Merrifield's will, and
in the meantime Angela decided to board with Miss Prescott, since her
charge was certainly much better in health there; and besides, as
Mrs. Bernard Merrifield was naturally at Clipstone, it became the
head quarters of her husband, though he made many excursions to his
own people, and on business affairs to Sir Ferdinand Travis Underwood
in London.

And Clipstone suited him well for his holiday.  Sir Jasper had, of
course, a certain amount of intercourse with the garrison at
Avoncester, and the officers stationed there at present had already
some acquaintance with Bernard Underwood, who was known to be a
champion in Ceylon in all athletic sports, especially polo and
cricket.  Tall and well made, he had been devoted to all such games
in his youth, and they had kept up his health in his sedentary
occupation.  Now, in his leisure time, his prowess did much to efface
the fame of the much younger and slighter Alexis White, and, so far
as might be, Angela enjoyed the games with him, keeping well within
bounds, but always feeling activity a wholesome outlet for her
superfluous strength, and, above all, delighting in an interval of
being a child again with her Bear of old times; and her superabundant
life, energy, and fun amazed all, especially by the contrast with her
poor little languid charge, who seemed, as Jane Mohun said, centuries
older.

The Merrifield lads were also devoted to him.  Even Fergus was
somewhat distracted from his allegiance to Dolores and her
experiments, and in the very few days that Christmas afforded for
skating, could think of nothing else.

And as to Wilfred, his whole mind seemed to be set on sports, and
marble works to be only an incident thrown in.  Bernard, whom he
followed assiduously, and who took him to Avoncester, and introduced
him to young officers, began to have doubts whether he had done
wisely.  Bernard had, in his time, vexed Felix's soul by idleness and
amusement, but he had been one betted upon, not himself given to
betting.  He loved football and cricket for their bodily excitement,
not the fictitious one of a looker on, or reader of papers, and it
struck him that Wilfred knew a good deal too much about this more
dangerous side of races and athletics.

He said so to Angela, and she answered, "Oh, nonsense!  Young men are
out of it if they don't know the winning horse.  Even Pur had to be
up to the Derby."

And Angela had her own bitter trial in the decision of the lawyers.
Not only was the signature of the will unsatisfactory, from the
confusion between Field and Merrifield, but the two witnesses failed
to be traced, John Shepherd and George Jones were not to be
identified, and though Brisbane might accept wills easily, an English
court of law required more certainty.  The little daughter being the
only child and natural heiress, this was not felt to be doing her any
injury; but the decision deprived her of the guardian her father had
chosen, and Angela was in despair.  She was ready to write to the
Pursuivant, to the Bishop of Albertstown, to the Lord Chancellor,
with an exposition of the wicked injustice and hardness of heart of
lawyers, and the inexpedience of taking the poor child from her
earliest motherly friend, expressly chosen by her father.  All
Bernard's common sense and Magdalen's soothing were needed to make
her hold her peace, when correspondence made it plain that the
guardianship being assumed by the uncles, Captain Merrifield would
not hear for a moment of the scheme of taking the child out to
Carrigaboola.  In his opinion, and his sister Susan's, the only fit
thing to be done with her was to place her with the two aunts at
Coalham to be educated.  He came down to Rock Quay to inspect her.
It was a cold, raw day, with the moors wrapped in mist, and the poor
little maid looked small, peaky and pinched.  He was sure that the
dry winds of the north were what she needed, wanted to carry her off
immediately, and looked regardless of Angela's opinion, though backed
by Miss Prescott, that it would be highly dangerous to take the
delicate child of a semi-tropical climate off in the depth of winter
to a northerly town.  Angela walked off to ask Dr. Dagger to inspect
the child and give his opinion, while Captain Sam repaired to
Clipstone to visit his relations and lunch with them.

He did not meet with all the sympathy he expected.  Lady Merrifield
said that Coalham had not agreed with her own son Harry, and that
little Lena ought not to be taken there till after the cold winds of
spring were over; and her daughters all chimed in with a declaration
that Angela Underwood was perfectly devoted to the little one, and
that no one else could make her happy.

"Petting her! spoiling her!" scoffed the Captain.  "Why, Susan and
Bessie were full of the contrast with your little girl."

"Health," began Phyllis.

"An Indian child too!" he went on.  "Just showing what a little good
sense in the training can do!  No, indeed!  Since I am to be her
guardian, I have no notion of swerving from my duty, and letting poor
Hal's child be bred up to Sisterhoods and all that flummery."

"It will just break Angela's heart," cried Valetta, with tears in her
eyes, at which the Captain looked contemptuous.

"I must say," added Bernard, "that I should think it little short of
murderous to take that unlucky child from the one woman who
understands her up into the bleak north at this time of year."

"Decidedly!" added Sir Jasper.  "Miss Underwood deserves every
consideration in dealing with the child who has been always her sole
charge."

Wherewith he changed the conversation by a question about Stokesley;
but he held to his dictum when alone with his nephew, and as he was
the only person for whose opinion Captain Sam had any respect, it had
its effect, though there was a sense that he might be biassed by his
son-in-law and his herd of womanfolk, and that he did not partake
Mrs. Samuel Merrifield's dislike to the very name of Sister or of
anything not commonplace.

Angela obtained Dr. Dagger's opinion to reinforce her own and Lady
Merrifield's, and the Captain was obliged to give way so far as to
consent to Magdalen, as he insisted on calling her, being allowed to
remain at Arnscombe till after Easter, when her aunts were to fetch
her to Coalham, there to send her to the kindergarten.

After Angela's period of raging against law and lawyers and all the
Stokesley family, and being on the verge of impertinence to Captain
Merrifield, she submitted to the prospect more quietly than her
friends had dared to hope.  Lance had almost expected her to deport
her charge, parrot and all, suddenly and secretly by an Australian
liner, and had advised Bernard, on a fleeting meeting at Bexley, to
be on his guard if she hinted at anything so preposterous; but
Bernard shook his head, and said Angel was more to be trusted than
her elders thought.  "Waves and storms don't go over us for nothing,
I hope," he said.

And he found himself right on his return.  Angela had bowed her head
to the inevitable, and was quietly trying to prepare her little
charge for the change, accustoming her to more discipline and less
petting.  When Angela proposed to walk over to Clipstone with her
brother on his return, and the whine was set up, "Let me go, Sister,"
it was answered, "No, my dear, it is too far for you.  You must stay
and walk with Paula."

"I want to go with Sister."

"You must be a good child, and do as Sister tells you.  No, I can't
have any fretting.  Paula will show you how to drive your hoop.  Keep
her moving fast, Paula, don't let her fret and get cold."

And Angela actually detached the clinging hand, and put it into
Paulina's, and, holding up her finger, silenced the burst of weeping,
though tears sprang to her own eyes as she resolutely turned away,
and, after running out and shutting the back gate after her, put her
arm with a clinging gesture into Bernard's.

"That's right!" he said, pressing her hand.

"Cruel," she said, "but better by and by for her.  Oh, Bear, if one
could but learn to lie still and say, 'Thou didst it,' when it is
human agency that takes away the desire of one's eyes with a stroke."

"The desire of thine eyes!" repeated Bernard.  "How often I thought
of that last February."

It was the only time he had referred to the loss of his little boy.
His wife had told her mother that he could not bear to mention it,
and had poured out all her own feelings of sorrow and her struggle
for cheerfulness and resignation alone with her or with Mysie; but he
had shrunk from the least allusion to the little two year old Felix,
who slept beneath a palm tree at Colombo.

Now, however, still holding his sister's hand, he drifted into all
the particulars of the little ways, the baby language, the dawning
understanding, and the very sudden sharp illness carrying the
beautiful boy away almost before they were aware of danger; and he
took out the photograph from his breast, and showed her the little
face, so recalling old fond remembrances.  "Forbear to cry, make no
mourning for the dead," he repeated.  "Yes, the boy is saved the wear
and tear and heat and burthen of the day, but it is very hard to be
thankful."

"Ah, and it is all the harder if you have to leave your Lily."

"If--yes; but Travis MAY so arrange that we can stay, or I make only
one voyage out to settle matters and then come home for good.  If you
are still bent on Carrigaboola you might come as far as Frisco with
me.  I may have to go there about the Californian affairs."

"That would be jolly.  Yes, I think it will clench the matter, for I
believe I am of more good at Carriga than anywhere else, though the
heart of it is taken out of it for me; but one lives on and gets on
somehow without a heart, or a heart set where I suppose it ought not
to be entirely at least!  And, indeed, I think that little one taught
me better than ever before how to love."

"That's what the creatures are sent us for," said Bernard, in a low
voice.  "And here are, looming in the distance, all the posse of
girls to meet us."

"Ah-h!" breathed Angela, withdrawing her arm.  "Well, Bear, you have
given me something to look forward to, whether it comes to anything
or not.  It will help me to be thankful.  I know they are good
people, and the child will do well when once the pining and bracing
are over.  They are her own people, and it is right."

"Right you are, Angel!" said Bernard, with a fresh squeeze of the
hand, as he resumed his own cheerful, resolute voice ere joining his
sisters-in-law.

"What!  Angela without her satellite!" cried Primrose.

"Too far," murmured Angela; but Mysie tried to hush her sister,
perceiving the weaning process, and respecting Angela for it.

And the next moment Angela was challenging Bernard to a game at golf.



CHAPTER XXV--BEAR AS ADVISER



"Weary soul and burthened sore
Labouring with thy secret load."
- KEBLE.

The early spring brought a new development.  Thekla, who attended
classes at the High School, came home with unmistakable tokens of
measles, and Primrose did the same, in common with most of their
contemporaries at Rockstone.  Nor was there any chance that either
Lily Underwood at Clipstone or Lena Merrifield at the Goyle would
escape; indeed, they both showed an amount of discomfort that made it
safer to keep them where they were, than to try to escape in the
sharp east wind and frost.

No one was much dismayed at what all regarded as a trifling ailment,
even if dignified as German.  Angela owned that she regarded it as a
relief, since infection might last till the summer, and the only
person who was--as he owned--trying to laugh at himself with Angela,
was Bernard, who could not keep out of his mind's eye a little grave
at Colombo.  As he walked home, at the turning he saw a figure
wearily toiling upwards, which proved to be Wilfred.  "Holloa! you
are at home early!"

"I had an intolerable headache!"

"Measles, eh?"

"No such thing!  Once when I was a kid in Malta.  But I say, Bear,"
he added, coming up with quickened pace, "you could do me no end of a
favour if you would advance me twenty pounds."

"Whew!" Bernard whistled.

"There is Lady Day coming, and I can pay you then--most assuredly."
And an asseveration or two was beginning.

"Twenty pounds don't fly promiscuously about the country," muttered
Bernard, chiefly for the sake of giving himself time.

"But I tell you I shall have a quarter from the works, and a quarter
from my father (with his hand to his head).  That's--that's--.  Awful
skinflints both of them!  How is a man to do, so cramped up as that?"

"Oh! and how is a man to do if he spends it all beforehand?"

"I tell you, Bernard, I must have it, or--or it will break my
mother's heart!  And as to my father, I'd--I'd cut my throat--I'd go
to sea before he knew!  Advance it to me, Bear!  You know what it is
to be in an awful scrape.  Get me through this once and I'll never--"

Bernard did not observe that the scrape of his boyhood over the
drowned Stingo had hardly been of the magnitude that besought for
twenty pounds.  He waived the personal appeal, and asked, "What is
the scrape?"

"Why, that intolerable swindler and ruffian, Hart, deceived me about
Racket, and--"

"A horse at Avoncester?" said Bernard, light beginning to dawn on
him.

"I made sure it was the only way out of it all, and they said Racket
was as sure as death, and now the brute has come in third.  Hart
swears there was foul play, but what's that to me?  I'm done for
unless you will help me over."

"If it is a betting debt, the only safe way is to have it out with
your father, and have done with it."

"You don't know what my father is!  Just made of iron.  You might as
well put your hand under a Nasmyth's hammer."  And as he saw that his
hearer was unconvinced, "Besides, it is ever so much more than what I
put upon Racket!  That was only the way out of it!  It is all up with
me if he hears of it.  You might as well pitch me over the cliff at
once!"

"Well, what is it then?"

Incoherently, Wilfred stammered out what Bernard understood at last
to mean that he had got into the habit of betting at the billiard
table, surreptitiously kept up in Ivinghoe Terrace in a house of
Richard White's, not for any excessive sums, and with luck at first
on his side than otherwise; but at last he had become involved for a
sum not in itself very terrible to elder years, and his creditor was
in great dread of pressure from his employers, and insisted on
payment.  Wilfred, who seemed to have a mortal terror of his father,
beyond what Bernard could understand, had been unable to believe that
the offence for so slight a sum might be forgiven if voluntarily
confessed, had done the worst thing he could, he had paid the debt
with a cheque which had, unfortunately, passed through his hands at
the office, trusting in a few days to recover the amount by a bet
upon the horse, in full security of success!  And now!

Before the predicament was made clear, Wilfred reeled, and would have
fallen if Bernard had not supported him, and he mumbled something
about giddiness and dazzling, insisting at the same time that it was
nothing but the miserable pickle, and that if Bernard would not see
him out of it, he might as well let him lie there and have done with
it.

Happily they were in the immediate neighbourhood of the house, and it
was possible to get him into the hall before he entirely collapsed
upon a chair; but seeming to recover fresh vigour from alarm at the
sound of voices, he rushed at the stairs and dashed up rapidly the
two flights to his own room, only throwing back the words, "Dead
secret, mind!"

Bernard was glad to have made no promise, and, indeed, Wilfred's
physical condition chiefly occupied him at the moment, for one or two
of the girls were hurrying in, asking what was the matter, and at the
answer, "He is gone up to his room with a bad headache," Valetta
declared with satisfaction, "Then he has got it!  We told him so!
But he would go to the office! and, Bernard, so has Lily."

"Pleasing information!" said Bernard, nettled and amused at the tone
of triumph, while Mysie, throwing behind her the words, "It may be
nothing," went off to call Mrs. Halfpenny, who was in a state of
importance and something very like pleasure.  Bernard strode up to
his wife's room, leaving Valetta half-way in her exposition that when
all the family had been laid low by measles at Malta, Wilfred had
been a very young infant, and it had always been doubtful whether he
had been franked or not; and how he had been reproached with looking
ill in the morning, but had fiercely insisted on going down to the
office, which he was usually glad to avoid on any excuse.

By the time the household met at dinner, it was plain that they had
to resign themselves to being an infected family, though there were
not many probable victims, and they were likely only to have the
disorder favourably, with the exception of Wilfred, who had evidently
got a severe chill, and could only be reported as very ill, though
still he vehemently resented any suspicion of being subject to such a
babyish complaint.  But when the break up for the night was just
over, Lady Merrifield came in search of Bernard, entreating him to
come to speak to Wilfred, who was more and more feverish, almost
light-headed, and insisting that he must speak to Bear, "Bear had not
promised," reiterating the summons, so that there was no choice but
to comply with it.

He found Wilfred flushed with fever, and violently restless, starting
up in bed as he entered, and crying out, "Bear, Bear, will you? will
you?  You did not promise!"

"I will see about it!  Lie down now!  There's nothing to be done to-
night."

"But promise! promise!  And not a word!"

All this was reiterated till Wilfred at last was exhausted for the
time, and to a certain degree pacified by the reassuring voice in
which Bernard soothed him and undertook to take the matter in hand,
hardly knowing what he undertook, and only feeling the necessity of
quieting the perilous excitement, and of helping the mother to bring
a certain amount of tranquillity.

His own little girl was going on well, and quite capable of being
amused in the morning by being compared to a lobster or a tiger lily;
and Primrose was reported in an equally satisfactory state, ready
either for sleep or continuous reading by her sisters.  Only Wilfred
was in the same, or a more anxious, state of fever; and as soon as
Bernard had satisfied himself that there was no special use in his
remaining in the house, he set out for the marble works office,
having made up his mind as to one part of what he had expressed as
"seeing about it."

He had hardly turned into the Cliffe road before he met Captain
Henderson walking up, and they exchanged distant inquiries and
answers as to whether each might be thought dangerous to the other's
home; after which they forgathered, and compared notes as to
invalids.  The Captain had heard of Wilfred's going home ill, and was
coming, he said, to inquire.

"He seems very seriously ill," was the answer.  "I imagine there has
been a chill, and a check.  I was coming to speak to you about him."

"He has spoken to you?"

Both could now consult freely.  "It is a very anxious matter--not so
much for the actual amount as for the habits that it shows."

"The amount?  Oh, I have made up that as regards the firm.  I could
not let it come before Sir Jasper, especially in the present state of
things!  I meant to give the young chap a desperate fright and
rowing, but that will have to be deferred."

"You must let me take it!"

"No, no.  Remember, Sir Jasper was my commanding officer, and I and
my wife owe everything to him.  I could supply the amount, so that no
one would guess from the accounts that anything had been amiss."

Bernard could hardly allow himself to be thus relieved, but there was
the comfort of knowing that Wilfred's name was safe, and that the
unstained family honour would not have to suffer shame.  Still the
other debts remained, of which Captain Henderson had been only
vaguely suspicious, till the two took counsel on them.  Wilfred had
not given up the name of the person for whom he had meant to borrow
from the office; but Captain Henderson had very little doubt who it
was, and it was agreed that he should receive the amount through a
cheque of Bernard on Brown and Travis Underwood, from Captain
Henderson's hands, with a scathing rebuke and peremptory assurance of
exposure to Mr. White, and consequent dismissal, if anything more of
the same kind among the younger men were detected.  The man was a
clever artist in his first youth, and had always been something of a
favourite with the authorities, and had a highly respectable father;
so Captain Henderson meant to spare him as much as possible, and
endeavour to ascertain how far the mischief had gone among the young
men connected with the marble works, also to consult Mr. White on the
amount of stringency in the measures used to put a stop to it.  All
this, of course, passed out of Bernard Underwood's hands and
knowledge, but a sad and anxious day was before him.  All the young
girls were going on well, but Wilfred was increasingly ill all day,
and continually calling for Bernard.  Being told, "I have settled the
matter" did not satisfy him.  He looked eagerly about the room to
find whether his mother were present, and fancying she was absent
demanded, "Does he know?  Do they know?" reiterating again and again.
It was necessary to tell Lady Merrifield that there was an
entanglement about money matters on his mind, which had been settled;
but towards evening he grew worse and more light-headed, apparently
under the impression that only Bernard could guard him from something
unknown, or conceal, whenever he was conscious of the presence of his
mother; and on his father's entrance he hid his face in the pillows
and trembled, of course to their exceeding distress and perplexity;
and when he believed no one present but Bernard and Mrs. Halfpenny,
he became more and more rambling, sometimes insisting that his father
must not know, sometimes abusing all connected with the racing bet,
and more often fancying that he was going to be arrested for robbing
the firm, the enormity of the sum and of the danger increasing with
the fever, and therewith his horror of his father's knowing.  It was
of no use for his mother to hang over him, hold his hands, and assure
him that she knew (as, in fact, she did, for Bernard had been obliged
to make a cursory explanation), and that nothing could hinder her
loving him still; he forgot it in the next interruption, and turned
from her with terror and dismay, and once he nearly flung himself out
of bed, fancying that the policeman was coming.

Bernard held him on this occasion, and told him, "Nothing will do you
good, Willie, but to tell your father, and he will keep all from you.
Let him know, and it will be all right."

It only seemed to add to his misery and terror.  Something that
passed in his hearing, gave him the impression that he was in great
danger, if not actually dying; but his cry was still for Bernard, who
had not ventured to go to bed; but it was still, "Oh, Bear, save me!
Don't let me die with this upon my name!  I can't go to God!"

"There's nothing for it, Wilfred, but to tell your father.  He will
pardon you.  Your mother has, you see.  Tell him, and when he
forgives, you will know that God does.  It will come right.  Let me
call him!"

"Let me bring him, my boy, my dear boy!" entreated his mother.  "You
know he will."

Wilfred seemed as if he did not know, but still held fast by
Bernard's strong hands, as though there were support in them; and
when in a few moments Sir Jasper entered the room, there was the same
clinging gesture and endeavour to hide, in spite of the gentle
sweetness of the tone of, "Well, my poor boy."

It was Bernard who was obliged to say, turning the poor flushed face
towards him, "Wilfred wishes to say--"

"Father," it came with a gasp at last, "I've done it.  I've disgraced
us all.  Forgive!"

He was repeating his own exaggerated ideas of what his crime had
been, and what Sir Jasper would have said to him if all had been
discovered in any other way.

"Do not think of it now, my boy.  I forgive you, whatever it is."

Thereupon Dr. Dagger entered.  He turned every one out except Mrs.
Halfpenny, and gave a draught, which silenced the patient and put him
to sleep in a few minutes.  While Bernard hastily satisfied the
parents that a good deal was exaggerated feeling, and that an old
soldier must have known of a good many worse things in his time,
though not so near home.

There was a general sense of relief in the morning, for Wilfred's
attack had become an ordinary, though severe one, and the other cases
were going on well.  But Sir Jasper, who had not been able to grasp
the extent of Wilfred's delinquency, and had been persuaded by his
despair that it was much more serious than it really was, called his
son-in-law into council, and demanded whether the whole could have
been told.

Bernard was certain that it was so, and related his transactions with
Captain Henderson, much of course to the father's relief, so far as
the outer world was concerned; but what principally grieved him,
besides the habits thus discovered, was his son's abject terror of
him, not only in the exaggeration of illness, but in his mode of
speaking of him.

It had never been thus with any of his sons before.

Claude, the soldier, had always been satisfactory, so had Harry the
clergyman, though often widely separated from the parents in their
wandering life; but the bond of confidence had never been broken.
Jasper had never teased any one but his sisters.  Fergus, too, the
youngest of all the sons, and of an individual, rather peculiar
nature, was growing up in straight grooves of his own; but Wilfred,
who from delicate health, had been the most at home, had never seemed
to open to his father.  The family discipline of the General seemed
only to oppress and terrify him, and the irregularities and
subterfuges that had from time to time been detected had been met
with just anger, never received in such a manner as to call forth the
tenderness of forgiveness.  Each discovery of a misdemeanour had only
been the prelude to fresh and worse concealments and hardening.

And experience of mankind did not give any decided hope that even the
last day's agony of repentance would be the turning over of a new
leaf, when convalescence should bring the same surroundings and
temptations, and perhaps the like disproportionate indignation and
impatience in dealing with errors and constitutional weakness.  "And
the example of my brother's poor son is not encouraging," he added.
"He who seems to have owed everything to your brother and sister."

"Yet poor Fulbert and I were to our homes, perhaps not the black
sheep, but at any rate the vagrant ones."

"And what made a difference to you, may I ask?"

"Strong infusion by character and example of principle," said Bernard
thoughtfully; "then, real life, and having to be one's own safeguard,
with nothing to fall back on.  As my brother told me at his last, I
should swim when my plank was gone."

"Yes, but, plainly, you were never weak," and as Bernard did not
answer at once, "Old-fashioned severity used to be the rule with
lads, but it seems only to alienate them now and make them think
themselves unjustly treated.  What is one to do with these boys?"

A question which Bernard could not answer, though it carried him back
with a strange yearning, yet resignation, to the little figure that
had curled round on his knee, and the hopes connected with the hands
that had caressed his cheek.

He thought over it the more the next week, when he was called to sit
by Wilfred, who was getting better and anxious to talk.

"My father is very kind," he said.  "Oh, yes, very kind now; but it
will be all the same when I get well.  You see, Bear, how can a man
be always dawdling about with a lot of girls?  There's Dolores
bothering with her science, and Fergus every bit as bad; and Mysie
after her disgusting schoolchildren; and Val and Prim horrid little
empty chatterboxes; and if one does turn to a jolly girl for a bit of
fun, their tongues all go to work, so that you would think the skies
were going to fall; and if one goes in for a bit of a spree, down
comes the General like a sledge-hammer!  I wish you would take me out
with you, Bear."

The same idea had already been undeveloped in Bernard's mind, and
ever on his tongue when alone with his wife; but he kept it to
himself, and only committed himself to, "You would not find an office
in Colombo much more enlivening."

"There would be something to see--something to do.  It would not be
all as dull as ditch-water--just driving one to do something to get
away from the girls and their fads."

This was nearly a fortnight from the night of crisis, when Wilfred,
very weak, was still in bed; when Primrose and Lily were up and
about, but threatened with whooping cough.  Thekla much in the same
case, and very cross; and little Lena weak, caressing and dependant,
but angelically good and patient, so much so that Magdalen and Angela
were quite anxious about her.



CHAPTER XXVI--NEW PATHS



"I'll put a girdle round the earth
In forty minutes."
- SHAKESPEARE.

The visitation had not been confined to the High School.  The little
cheaply-built rows for workmen and fishermen had suffered much more
severely, owing chiefly to the parents' callous indifference to
infection.  "Kismet," as they think it, said Jane Mohun, and still
more to their want of care.  Chills were caught, fevers and
diphtheria ensued, and there was an actual mortality among the
children at the works and at Arnscombe.  Mr. Flight begged for help
from the Nursing Sisterhood at Dearport, and, to her great joy,
Sister Beata was sent down to him, with another who was of the same
standing as Angela, and delighted to have a glimpse of her; though
Angela thought it due to her delicate charge, and the Merrifields,
not to plunge into actual nursing while Lena needed her hourly
attention, and was not yet in a state for the training to do without
it to continue.  Paulina, however, being regarded as infection proof,
was permitted to be an attendant and messenger of her dear Sister
Beata, to her own great joy.  She was now nineteen, and her desire to
devote herself to a Sisterhood had never wavered, and intercourse
with Sister Angela had only strengthened it.

"Oh, Maidie!" she said, "I do not think there can be any life so good
or so happy as being really given up to our Lord and His work among
the sick and poor."

"My dear, He can be served if you are in the world, provided you are
not OF the world, and if you keep yourself from the evil."

"Yes; but why should I run into the world?  It is not evil, I know,
so far as you and all your friends can manage; but it stirs up the
evil in one's self."

"And so would a Sisterhood.  That is a world, too."

"I suppose it is, and that there would be temptation; but there is a
great deal to help one to keep right.  And, oh! to have one's work in
real good to Christ's poor, or in missions, instead of in all these
outside silly nonsensical diversions that one doubts about all the
time.  If you would only let me go back with dear Sister Beata and
Sister Elfleda as a probationer!"

"You could not be any more yet," said Magdalen; "but I will think
about it, and talk it over with Sister Angela.  You know your friend
Sister Mena, as she called herself, does not mean to be a Sister, but
a governess."

"Yes; she wrote to me.  She has never seen or known anything outside
the Convent, and it is all new and turns her head," said Paulina,
wisely.  "I know she helped me to be all the more silly about Vera
and poor Hubert Delrio."

Magdalen promised to talk the matter over with Sister Angela.

"I should call it a vocation," said Angela.  "I have watched her ever
since I have been here, and I am sure her soul is set on these best
things, in a steady, earnest way."

"She has always been an exceedingly good girl ever since I have had
to do with her," said Magdalen.  "I have hardly had a fault to find
with her, except a little exaggeration in the direction of St.
Kenelm's."

"A steady, not a fitful flame," said Angela.

"But she is so young."

"If you will believe me, Magdalen, such a home as that Dearport
Sisterhood is a precious thing--I have not been worthy of it.  I have
been a wild colt, carried about by all manner of passing excitements.
Oh, dear! love of sheer fun and daring enterprise, and amusement, in
shocking every one, even my very dearest, whom I loved best.  I have
done things too dreadful to think of, and been utterly unreasonable
and unmanageable, and proud of it; but always that Sisterhood has
been like a cord drawing me!  I never quite got free of it, even when
I sent back my medal, and fancied it had been playing at
superstition.  I was there for a month as almost a baby, and the
atmosphere has brought peace ever since.  That, and my brother, and
Sister Constance, and Bishop Fulmort, have been the saving of me, if
anything has.  I mean, if they will have me, to spend a little time
at Dearport after all this perplexity is over, and I know how it is
with Lena, and I could see how it is with Paula if you liked."

Magdalen accepted the suggestion, perhaps the more readily because of
a fleeting visit from Hubert Delrio, who had finished his frescoes at
the American Vale Leston, and came for a day or two to Mr. Flight's.
She had sometimes doubted whether the supposed love of Vera had not
been a good deal diffused among the young ladies, and might not so
far awaken in Paulina as to render her vocation doubtful; but there
were no such symptoms.  Paula was quiet and cheerful, with a friendly
welcome, but no excitement; but it was Thekla, now fifteen, who was
all blushes whenever Hubert looked or spoke to her, all her
forwardness gone; and shyness, or decidedly awkwardness, set in,
resulting chiefly in giggle.

Hubert looked more manly and substantial, and he had just had an
order for an important London church, which pleased him much, and
involved another journey to Italy to study some of the designs in the
Lombardic churches.

Not that there was any chance of meeting Vera.  Mr. and Mrs. White
had spent the last summer at Baden; and Vera, who had many pretty
little drawing-room talents, and was always obliging, had been very
acceptable there.  This winter an attack of rheumatism had made them
decide on trying Algiers, with a view to the Atlas marbles, and then
German baths again might claim them for the summer.

In fact, the fear of infection had rendered Rock Quay a deserted
place during the Easter vacation.  Fergus Merrifield might not come
near Primrose and Lily, and was charmed to accept an invitation from
his friend and admirer, Adrian Vanderkist, to Vale Leston, where he
would be able to explore the geology of Penbeacon, to say nothing of
the coast; while his sister Felicia, who had been one of the victims,
remained to be disinfected with Miss Mohun.  Dolores was at Vale
Leston Priory, and Agatha Prescott with her, so as to have a clean
bill of health for her return to Oxford for her last term.

The Holy Week was calm and grave; and the two girls, with Anna
Vanderkist and her little sisters, were very happy over their
primroses and anemones on Easter Eve, with the beautiful Altar Cross
that no one could manage like Aunt Cherry, whose work was confined to
that, and to the two crosses on the graves.

Another notion soon occupied them.  There was a vague idea that a
sort of convalescent or children's hospital might be established for
the training of women intending to study medicine or nursing, chiefly
at Miss Arthuret's expense, and Dolores was anxious to consider the
possibility of placing it in the sweet mountain air, tempered by the
sea breezes of Penbeacon.

It was an idea to make Mrs. Grinstead shudder; but neither she nor
her niece, Anna Vanderkist, could forget Gerald's view that Penbeacon
was not only to be the playground of Vale Leston, and they always
felt as if Dolores had a certain widow's right to influence any
decision.  So she cheerfully acquiesced in what, in her secret heart,
seemed only a feeble echo of the past, though, to the young
generations it was a very happy hopeful present when all the youthful
party, under the steerage of Mary and Anna, and the escort of Sir
Adrian and Fergus, started off with ponies, donkeys, cycles and
sturdy feet to picnic on Penbeacon, if possible in the March winds--
well out of the way of the clay works.

How Fergus divided his cares between the strata and Dolores' kodak,
how even his photography could not spoil Aunt Alda; how charming a
group of sisters Dolores contrived to produce; how Adrian was the
proud pioneer into a coach adorned with stalactites and antediluvian
bones; how Anna collected milkwort and violets for Aunt Cherry; how a
sly push sent little Joan in a headlong career down a slope that
might have resulted in a terrible fall, but did only cause a tumble
and great fright, and a severe reprimand from the elder sisters; how
Agatha was entranced by the glorious view in the clearness of spring,
how they ate their sandwiches and tried to think it was not cold; how
grey east wind mist came over the distance and warned them it was
time to trot down,--all this must belong to the annals of later Vale
Leston; and of those years of youth which in each generation leave
impressions as of sunbeams for life.  And on their return, Dolores
found a letter which filled her with a fresh idea.  It was from her
father in New Zealand, telling her that there was an opening for her
to come and give a course of lectures on electricity at Canterbury,
Auckland and the other towns, and proposing to her to come out with
her lady assistant, when she might very probably extend her tour to
Australia.

"Would you come, Naggie?" asked Dolores.

"Oh!  I should like nothing half so well.  If you could only wait
till my turn is over, and the exam!"

"Of course!  Why, we shall not have finished the correspondence till
after the examination!  How capital it will be!  My father will like
your bright face, and you will think him like Fergus grown older.
Will your sister consent?"

"Oh!  Magdalen will be glad enough to have me off on a career.  We
will write and prepare her mind.  I believe I am not to go home, so
as to bring a clean bill of health to St. Robert's."

"I really think," added Dolores, "that Magdalen would make an
admirable head matron, or whatever you call it!"

"Dear old thing!  She is very fond of her Goyle."

"True, but Sophy's engineer husband tells us that a new line is
projected to Rock Quay, through the very heart of the Goyle, Act of
Parliament, compulsory sale and all."

"Well! work might console her for being uprooted, and she is quite
youthful enough to take to it with spirit."

"Besides that she would greatly console Clement and Cherry for the
profanation of their Penbeacon.  I declare I will suggest it to
Arthurine!"

So the two young people resolved, not without a consciousness that
what was to them a fresh and inspiring gale, to the elder generation
was "winds have rent thy sheltering bowers."



CHAPTER XXVII--A SENTENCE



"What should we give for our beloved?"
- E. B. BROWNING.

No sooner had the visitors departed than the others now out of
quarantine appeared at Vale Leston.  Angela was anxious to spend a
little time there, and likewise to have Lena overhauled by Tom May.
The child had never really recovered, and was always weakly; and
whereas on the journey, Lily, now in high health, was delighted with
all she saw, though she could not compare Penbeacon to Adam's Peak,
Lena lay back in Sister Angela's arms, almost a dead weight, hardly
enduring the bustle of the train, though she tried not to whine, as
long as she saw her pink Ben looking happy in his cage.

Angela was an experienced nurse, and was alarmed at some of the
symptoms that others made light of.  Mrs. Grinstead had thought
things might be made easier to her if the Miss Merrifields came to
meet her and hear the doctor's opinion; and Elizabeth accepted her
invitation, arriving to see the lovely peaceful world in the sweet
blossoming of an early May, the hedges spangled with primroses, and
the hawthorns showing sheets of snow; while the pear trees lifted
their snowy pyramids, and Lily in her white frock darted about the
lawn in joyous play with her father under the tree, and the grey
cloister was gay with wisteria.

Angela was sitting in the boat, safely moored, with a book in her
hand, the pink cockatoo on the gunwale, nibbling at a stick, and the
girl lying on a rug, partly on her lap.  Phyllis and Anna, who had
come out on the lawn, made Elizabeth pause.

"That's the way they go on!" said Phyllis.  "All day long Angela is
reading to the child either the 'Water Babies' or the history of
Joseph."

"Or crooning to her the story of the Cross," said Anna; "and as soon
as one is ended she begins it again, and Lena will not let her miss
or alter a single word."

"They go on more than half the night," added Phyllis.  "Bear sat up
long over his letters and accounts, and as he went up he heard the
crooning, and looked in; and the very moment Angela paused, there
came the little plaintive voice, 'Go on, please.'  'Women are
following'--"

"But is not that spoiling her?" asked Bessie.

A look of sad meaning passed between her two companions.  Phyllis
shook her head slightly, and, instead of answering, conducted Bessie
on to the bank, when Angela looked up and made a sign that she could
not move or speak, for the child was asleep.  The yellow head was
shaded by Angela's parasol, the thin hair lying ruffled on the black
dress, and the small face looked more pinched than when the aunt had
last seen it, nearly a year previously.  She had watched the decay of
aged folks, but she was unused to the illnesses of children; and she
recoiled with a little shock, as she looked down at the little wasted
face, with a slight flush of sleep.  "Recovery from measles," she
said.

Phyllis smiled a little pitifully as her own little girl, all radiant
with health and joy, came skipping up, performing antics over her
father's hand.  "Take care, Lily, don't wake poor little Lena," was
murmured quietly.

"Northern breezes--" began Bessie, but the voices had broken the
light slumber; and as Angela began, "See, Lena, here is Aunt Bessie,"
the effect was to make her throw herself over Angela's shoulder and
hide her face; and when her protector tried to turn her round and
reason her into courtesy, she began to cry in a feeble manner.

"She has had a bad night," said motherly Phyllis; "let her alone."

"May not I get down into the boat?" asked Lily.  "I'll be very good."

There would have been a little hesitation, but at the voice Lena
looked up and called "Lily, Lily!"  Bernard lifted his small daughter
down, Elizabeth was not sorry to be led away for the present, and
when, after a turn in the rose garden, she came back, the two
children were sitting with arms round one another, holding a
conversation with Ben, the cockatoo, and making him dance on one of
the benches of the boat, under Angela's supervision, lest he should
end by dancing overboard.  The rich fair hair, shining dark blue
eyes, and plump glowing cheeks of Lily were a contrast to the wan
wasted colouring of her little cousin; but Lena was more herself now
than when just awake, and let Lily lead her up and introduce her, as
it might be called, to Cousin Bessie as Lily called her, a less
formidable sound than "Aunt Elizabeth."  They were both kissed, and
she endured it.  Angela was, as her brothers and sisters said, "very
good," and scrupulously abstained from absorbing the child all the
evening, letting Elizabeth show her pictures and tell her stories, to
which, by Lily's example, she listened quietly enough and with
interest.

When the two children went off, hand in hand, to their beds,
Elizabeth said, "Really, Magdalen is improved.  If you leave Lily
with her, Phyllis, I think we should get on beautifully.  The bracing
air will do wonders for them both."

"Thank you," said poor Phyllis forbearingly; "we have not made our
plans about Lily yet."

But Elizabeth thought out a beautiful scheme of discipline and study
in the long light hours of the morning, and began to feel herself
drawn towards her delicate little niece, feeling sure that the little
thing would soon be Susan's darling, if Susan could be brought to
endure the cockatoo walking loose about the house.

Early in the day Professor May appeared, and was hailed as an old
friend by all the Underwoods.  He rejoiced to see Clement looking
well and active; and "as to this fellow," he said, looking at
Bernard, "it shows what development will do."

"Not quite the young Bear of Stoneborough," said Clement, leaning
affectionately on his broad shoulder; "our skittish pair are grown
very sober-minded.  But you have not told us of your father."

"My father is very well.  He walks down every day to sit with my
wife, and visits a selection of his old patients, who are getting few
enough now.  This is not my patient, I suppose?"

"Unless you are ready to prescribe only laughing and good Jersey
cows' milk," said Bernard, pulling the long silky brown hair.
"Where's mother, little one?"

"Mother sent me to say Aunt Angel is ready, if Dr. May will come up
to Aunt Cherry's room.  Lena is frightened, and they did not like to
leave her."

It was a long visit, after Phyllis had come down; and, walking up and
down the cloister with Bessie Merrifield, listened to her schemes of
education for the little maidens.  Lily she liked and admired, and
she was convinced that Magdalen's weak health and spirits were the
result of the spoiling system.  Phyllis trembled a little as she
heard of the knocking about, out-of-doors ways that had certainly
produced fine strong healthy frames and upright characters, but she
forbore to say that if her little girl had to be left, it would be to
her mother and Mysie.

By and by Tom came down, and finding Geraldine alone in the drawing-
room, he answered her inquiry with a very grave look.  "Poor little
thing!  You do not think well of her!  Is it as Angel feared?"

"Confirmed disease, from original want of development of heart.
Measles accelerated it.  I doubt her lasting six months, though it
may be longer or less."

"Have you told Angel?"

"She knew it, more or less.  She is ready to bear it, though one can
see how her soul is wrapped up in the child, and the child in her."

"One thing, Tom, will you tell Miss Merrifield yourself, and alone,
and make her feel that it is an independent opinion?  It may save
both the poor child and Angel a great deal."

"Are you prepared to keep her here?"

"Of course we are.  It is Angel's natural home.  Clement and I could
think of nothing else"

"I knew you would say so.  If I understand rightly there is something
like a jealousy of her case in the Merrifields, prompted greatly by
their wish to expiate any neglect of her father."

"That is what I gather from what Phyllis tells me."

"What a lovely countenance hers is in expression!  No wonder Bernard
has softened down.  There is strength and solidity as well as
sweetness in her face.  Ah, there they are!"

"I will call Phyllis in.  Bessie Merrifield has almost walked her to
death by this time."

So Phyllis was called and told.  What she said was, "I only hope he
will make her understand that it could not be helped, and it was not
Angela's fault."

Tom May had wisdom enough to make this clear in what was a greater
shock to Elizabeth than it was to Angela, who had suspected enough to
be prepared for the sentence, and had besides a good deal of hospital
experience, which enabled her thoroughly to understand the
Professor's explanations.  So, indeed, did it seem to Elizabeth at
the time he was speaking; but she had lived a good deal in London,
and had a great idea that a London physician must be superior to a
man who had lived in the country, and, moreover, whom all the
household called Tom, and she asked Mrs. Grinstead if he were really
so clever.

"Indeed, I think he is; and I have seen a great deal of his
treatment.  You may quite trust him.  He lives down here at
Stoneborough for his father's sake, or he would be quite at the head
of his profession."

"Superior to the two Doctors Brownlow?"

"I should not say superior, but quite equal."

"The Brownlows," said Clement, looking up from his paper, "helped me
through an ordinary malarial fever.  John Lucas is a brilliant
specialist in such cases, but certifying an affection of the heart.
Tom May latterly has treated me better.  As far as I understand the
case of your little niece, I should say both that it was more in the
line of Tom May, and likewise that it would be very hurtful to her to
take her about and subject her to more examinations."

"Poor little thing! no doubt it would be a terrible distress,"
acquiesced Bessie; "but still, if it is bracing that she needs--
northern air might make all the difference."

Clement sighed a little hopelessly over making a woman understand or
give way, and returned to his newspaper; while Geraldine tried to
argue that air could not make much difference, speaking in the
interest of the child herself and of her sister.  Elizabeth listened
and agreed; but there was in the Merrifield family a fervour of
almost jealous expiation of their neglect of Henry, inattention to
his daughter, and desire to appropriate her, and to restore her to
health, strength, and wisdom, in spite of her would-be stepmother.

"They hate me as much as if I were her stepmother!" cried Angela.  "I
wish I was, to have a right to protect her!  No, Clem; I'll not break
out, if I can help it, as long as they don't worry her; and I think
Bessie does see the rights of it."

Yes; the peaceful, thoughtful atmosphere of Vale Leston, unlike the
active bustle of Coalham, had an insensible influence on Elizabeth's
mind; and she saw that Angela's treatment of the child, always
cheerful though tender, was right, and that it would be sheer cruelty
to separate them.  She promised to use all her power to prevent any
such step, and finally left Vale Leston, perfectly satisfied that it
was impossible to take Lena with her.

But her family did not see it thus, especially Mrs. Samuel
Merrifield, the child's guardian.  She insisted that it was her
husband's duty to bring the little one to London for advice, and to
remove her from all the weakening, morbid influences of Vale Leston.



CHAPTER XXVIII--SUMMONED



"What would we give to our beloved?"
- E. B. BROWNING.

"I wish they all would not go so very fast," said little Lena, hiding
her face against him from the whirl of cabs and omnibuses.

"They bewilder us savages," said Angela, smiling.  "Remember we are
from the wilds."

"She shall have her tea, and a good rest," said Marilda; "and then I
have asked her uncle and aunts to meet you at dinner, and Fernan
hopes to bring home another old friend.  Whom do you think, Angel?"

"Oh!  Not our Bishop?"

"Yes, the Bishop of Albertstown!  He is actually in town; Fernan saw
him yesterday at the Church House."

"Oh! that is joy!" cried Angela; and Lena raised her head, with, "Is
it mine--mine own Bishop?"

"Mine own, mine own Bishop and godfather, my sweet!" said Angela;
"more to us in our own way than any one else.  Oh! it is joy!  How
happy Clement will be!"

It was with much feeling, almost akin to shame, that Bessie wrote to
Angela this decision of her brother, that a London authority must be
consulted--not Dr. Brownlow, but one whom Mrs. Sam had heard highly
spoken of.

"That man!" cried Angela.  "I have heard of him!  He is a regular
mealy-mouthed old woman of a doctor!  And she is so well just now!
How horrid to shake her up again!  Oh, Bear! if I could only sail
away with her to Queensland!"

"You would if it was ten years ago," said Bernard.

"Yes!  Is it the way of the world, or learning resignation, that
makes one know one must submit?  Giving up an idol is a worse thing
when the idol is made of flesh and blood."

Bernard wanted to see Sir Ferdinand, so made it an excuse for helping
his sister on the way; and he did so effectively, for his knee and
broad breast were Lena's great resting-place; and his stories of
monkeys and elephants were almost as good as kangaroos.  Was there
not a kangaroo to be seen in London, which she apparently thought
would be a place of about the size of Albertstown?

Lady Underwood had insisted on receiving the travellers from Vale
Leston in her house in Kensington; and there was her broad, kindly
face looking out for them at the station, and her likewise broad and
kindly carriage ready to carry them from it.  How natural all looked
to Angela, with all her associations of being a naughty, wild,
mischievous schoolgirl, the general plague and problem!

"But always a dear," said Marilda, with her habit of forgetting
everybody's faults.  "Why didn't you bring your wife, Bernard, and
your little girl for this darling's playfellow?"

"She is her best playfellow," said Angela; "Adela's Joan is too
rough, and fitter for Adrian's companion."

"She is my playfellow," said Bernard, holding her up.  "Look out,
Lena.  Here's Father Thames to go over."

"And Fernan is so glad," added Marilda.

For Bishop Robert Fulmort had, when Vicar of St. Wulstan's, been the
guide and helper of Ferdinand Travis's time of trial and
disappointment, as well as the spiritual father of Clement Underwood;
he had known and dealt with Angela in her wayward girlhood, and aided
her bitter repentance; and in these later days in Australia had been
her true fatherly friend, counsellor and comforter in the trials and
perplexities that had befallen her.  Bernard read, in her lifted head
and brightened eye, that she felt the meeting him almost a
compensation for the distress and perplexity of this journey to
London.

Bernard carried the little girl up to the room and laid her down to
sleep off her fatigue, while Marilda waited on her and Angela with
her wonted bustling affection, extremely happy to have two of her
best beloved cousins under her roof.

Bernard went off to find Sir Ferdinand at his office, and quiet
prevailed till nearly dinner time, when Lena awoke and would not be
denied one sight of her godfather.  So Angela dressed her in her
white frock, and smoothed her thin yellow hair, and took her down to
the great stiff handsome room that all Emilia's efforts had never
made to look liveable.  Emilia Brown was there, very fashionably
attired, but eager for news of Vale Leston, and the Merrifields soon
arrived with, "Oh! here she is!" from the Captain, "Well! she looks
better than I expected!"

"Poor little dear!" observed his wife, dressed in a low dress and
thin fringe on her forehead in honour of what, to the country mind,
was a grand dinner party, at which Angela's plain black dress and
tight white cap were an unbecoming sight.  Elizabeth was there,
kissing Angela with real sympathy; and Lena, who had grown a good
deal more accustomed to strange relations, endured the various
embraces without discourtesy.

But when the door opened and the grey-headed Bishop came in there was
a low half scream of "Oh! oh!" and with one leap she was in his arms,
as he knelt on one knee, and clasped her, holding out a hand to
Angela, whose eyes were full of tears of relief and trust.  Marilda
gave a glad welcome, but they were startled by perceiving that the
joy of meeting had brought on a spasm of choking on Lena, who was
gasping in a strange sort of agony.  Angela took her in her arms and
carried her out of the room.  Marilda presently following, came back
reporting that the little girl had been relieved by a shower of
tears, but was still faint and agitated, and that Angela could not
leave her, but begged that they would not wait dinner.

"Such sensitiveness needs anxious care," said Elizabeth.

"If it be not the effect of spoiling.  Just affectation!" replied the
sister-in-law in a decided voice, which made Bessie glad that the
poor child's home was not to be among the rough boys at Stokesley,
who were not credited with any particular feelings.

Angela's absence gave the Bishop the opportunity of telling what she
had been during her years at Albertstown, what a wonderful power
among the natives, though not without disappointment, and she had
been still more effective among the settlers and their daughters.
Carrigaboola, Fulbert's farm, had been an oasis of hope and rest to
the few clergy of his scanty staff, and Fulbert himself had been a
tower of strength for influence over the settlers who had fallen in
his way, by his unswerving uprightness and honour, with the deeper
principles of religion, little talked of but never belied.  Even
after his death, the power he had been told over all with whom he had
come in contact.

Bernard heard it with immense pleasure, as did the faithful Ferdinand
and Marilda; while Elizabeth felt more and more that Sister Angela
was not to be treated, as she feared Sam and his wife were inclined
to do, as a mere interloper in their family affairs, but as one to be
not merely considered with gratitude, but even reverenced.

Indeed, Sam began to feel it, as he saw how the other men, both
practical business men, listened, and were impressed; but it was not
quite the case with his wife, who did not particularly esteem
colonial Bishops, and still less Sisterhoods or devotion to
missionary efforts, especially among the Australian blacks, whom her
old geography book had told her were the most degraded and hopeless
of natives, scarcely removed from mere animals.

When Angela appeared half through dinner time and said that Lena was
safely asleep, and Marilda sat her down to be happy in exchange of
Carrigaboola tidings with her Bishop, Fernando greeted her with a
reverence not undeserved, though perhaps all the more from the
contrast to the mischievous little sprite who used to disturb the
days of his philandering with Alda.

How much shocked Mrs. Samuel was, when the magnificent Sir Ferdinand,
whom she regarded with awe as a millionaire, was flippantly answered
by this extraordinary Sister, "Thank you, Fernan, I should like to
have a sight of the old office.  I hope you have a descendant of the
old cat, Betty.  Didn't she come from your grandmother, Marilda?  Do
you remember her being found playing tricks with the nugget, just
come from Victoria?"

"That was in her kitten days," said Ferdinand.

"Is that personal, Fernan?"

"A compliment, Angel," said the Bishop.  "Kittens alter a good deal."

"Not much for the better," said Angela.  "If you only could see Mrs.
Lamb, who used to be the very moral of a kitten, scratchiness and
all!"

"I thought her very much improved," said Lady Underwood gravely.

"Oh, yes; grown into a sleek and personable tabby, able to wave her
tail at the tip and tuck her paws--her velvet paws--well under her;
and lick her lips over the--oh, dear!--what do you call it?--your
menu is quite too much for us poor savages, Marilda.  A bit of damper
is quite enough for us, isn't it, Bishop?"

"Varied with opossum and fern root," he said smiling; "but that's
only when we have lost our way."

The talk drifted off to the history of a shepherd's child, who had
strayed into the bush, and after much searching, in which the Bishop
and Fulbert had been half starved, had finally been found and carried
home by Angela's "crack gin," as she told it to Bernard; and as
Marilda thought the poor child was in a trap, it had to be translated
into "favourite pupil," though Bernard carried on the joke by asking
Marilda if she thought the natives cannibals given to the snaring of
mankind.

Altogether it was a thoroughly merry evening, such as comes to pass
in the meeting of old friends and comrades in too large numbers for
grave discourse, but with habits of close intercourse and
associations of all kinds.  Emilia and her husband tried in all
courtesy not to let the Merrifields feel themselves neglected; and
indeed Bessie was only too glad to listen and join at times in the
talk; but it all went outside Mrs. Sam, who was on the whole
scandalised at the laughter of a Bishop, and a Sister.  Indeed, it
was true that Bishop Fulmort, naturally a grave man, very much so in
his early days, comported himself on this occasion as if he realised
Southey's wish -


"That in mine age as cheerful I might be,
Like the green winter of the holly tree."


At any rate, that evening was long a bright remembrance.  Lena slept
all night, and was so fresh and well in the morning that Angela
foreboded that the examination might not detect her delicacy.  They
met Mrs. Merrifield, and took her with them to the doctor's, Lady
Underwood Travis having placed her carriages at their disposal.

It was very much as Angela had expected, knowing by hospital
reputation what the doctor was supposed to be to old ladies and
fanciful mothers, while perhaps he had also heard of her fracas long
ago at the hospital.  For he was not more courteous to her than could
be helped, treating her much as if she were only the nursery maid,
and hardly looking at the opinion which she had made Professor May
write out for him.

To her mind, it was a very cursory examination that he made; and the
upshot of his opinion, triumphantly accepted by Mrs. Merrifield, was
that there was nothing seriously amiss with the child, that she only
needed care, regularity and bracing, and that the stifling, gasping
spasms were simply the effect of hysteria.

Hysteria!  Angela felt as if she should run wild as she heard Mrs.
Merrifield's complacent remarks on having always thought so, and
being sure that a few weeks of good air and good management would
make an immense difference.  The need of not alarming or prejudicing
the poor little victim was all that kept Angela in any restraint; and
Mrs. Merrifield went on to say that she had promised her youngest
boy, who was with her in London, to take him to the Zoological
Gardens, and it would be a good opportunity for Magdalen to see them.

"Is that where there is a kangaroo?" asked Lena, so eagerly that
Angela, though thinking that morning's work enough for the feeble
strength, could not withstand her.  Besides, if the Merrifields were
to have her wholly in another day, what was the use of standing out
for one afternoon?  One comfort was that Elizabeth, who would really
have the charge of the child, had much more good sense and knowledge
of the world than her sister-in-law.

Still Angela felt the only way of bearing it was that after setting
Mrs. Merrifield down, she stopped the carriage at a church she knew
to have a noon-tide Litany, knelt there, with the little girl beside
her, and tried to say, "Thy will be done!  To Thy keeping I commit
her."  Her "hours" came to help her.


"Quench Thou the fires of hate and strife,
   The wasting fever of the heart,
From perils guard her feeble life,
   And to our souls Thy help impart."


She was able to be calm, and to utter none of her rage when they came
back to luncheon; and Marilda, declaring she liked nothing so well as
seeing children at the Zoo, wished to go with the party.  All, save
Mrs. Merrifield and her boy, had gone different ways in London, so
there was plenty of room in the barouche.

The boy's mind was set on riding on the elephant, and they walked on
that way, turning aside, however, to the yard where towered the
kangaroo, tall, gentle, graceful and gracious.  Lena sprang forward
with a cry of joy, and clasped her hands; but in one moment the same
spasm, at first of ecstasy then of overpowering feeling, becoming
agony, came over her, and gasping and choking, Angela held her in her
arms and carried her to a seat, holding her up, loosening her
clothes; but still she did not come round.  Her aunt tried to say,
"hysteric."  Some one brought water, but it was of no use--there were
still the labouring gasps, and the convulsive motion.  "Let us take
her home," Marilda said.

"Nothing but hysterics!" repeated the aunt.  "I will stay with
Jackie."

Marilda found her servant and the carriage, and in the long drive, a
few drops of strong stimulant at a chemist's brought a little relief
though scarcely consciousness; and when Angela had carried her up to
her room, there was a blueness about the lips, a coldness about the
fingers, that told much.  Marilda had at once sent for Dr. Brownlow
as the nearest, and he was at home; but he could only look and do
nothing, but attempt to revive circulation, all in vain; and with
Marilda standing by, with one convulsive clutch of Angela's hand, the
true mother of her orphaned life, little Lena sank to a peaceful rest
from the tribulations that awaited her here.



CHAPTER XXIX--SAFE



"Rest beyond all grief and pain,
Death to thee is truest gain."
KEBLE.

Angela's nearest and best friends had anticipated that the peaceful
climax of all her cares would be a relief to her; and so indeed in
the long run it would be to her higher sense, and she would be
thankful.  But even those who knew her most thoroughly had not
estimated the pangs of personal affection and deprivation of the
child she had fostered with a mother's tenderness for seven years,
and the absolute suffering of the sudden parting, even though it was
to security of bliss, instead of doubt and uneasiness.

She was quite broken and really ill with neuralgia and exhaustion,
unable to attend the funeral, which the Merrifields wished to have at
Stokesley, and unfit for anything but lying still with the pink
parrot on the rail below, kindly watched over by good Marilda.  The
strain of many disturbed nights, the perplexities, the struggle for
resignation, all coming after a succession of trying events in
Australia, had told heavily upon her.  Indeed, no one guessed how
much she had undergone, physically as well as spiritually, till
Marilda would not be denied the consulting Dr. Brownlow, who
questioned her closely, and extorted confessions of the long
continued strain of exertion.  Rest was all she needed; and Marilda
took care that she had it, bringing Robina up from Minsterham to make
it more effectual, and letting her have visits from her Bishop and
from Bernard as they could afford the time, both being very and
variously busy.

Angela had made up her mind to go out to Australia again, and to make
Carrigaboola an endowment for the Sisterhood; but the means of doing
this could best be arranged there, and she intended to go out when
her Bishop should return in the autumn, feeling that her vocation was
there, though there was a blank in all she had most cared for on
earth in that home.

As soon as she had recovered, she wished to spend a fortnight at
Dearport, beginning with a retreat that was held there.  Remembering
her old career there, and the abrupt close of her novitiate, she felt
and spoke as if she was to be received as in penitence, but to the
Sisters who surrounded her it was more as if they were receiving a
saint.

When she came back to Vale Leston, she had recovered cheerfulness,
more equable than it had ever been, and Cherry and Alda found her a
charming companion.  There was much going on at Vale Leston just
then.  Miss Arthuret and Dolores were at Penbeacon, seriously
considering of the scheme of converting the old farm house into a
kind of place of study for girls who wanted to work at various
technicalities, and to fit themselves for usefulness or for self-
maintenance.  There was to be more or less of the Convalescent Home
or House of Rest in combination, and it had occurred to Dolores that
there could hardly be a better head of such an establishment than
Magdalen Prescott.

Magdalen had been asked to the Priory to meet Angela, to whom it was
now a comfort and pleasure to talk of her treasure, so much less lost
to her than in the uncongenial surroundings threatened at Coalham.
And the invitation, followed by the proposal, came at a not
unpropitious moment.  A railway company, after much surveying, much
disputing, and many heartburnings, were actually obtaining an Act of
Parliament, empowering it to lay its cruel hands upon the Goyle,
running its viaducts down the ravine of Arnscombe, and destroy all
the peace and privacy!  It did much, as Agatha had said, to make the
new scheme of Penbeacon acceptable though.

"That comes of making one's nest," she sighed, "and thinking one's
self secure in it for life!  Oh! it is worse and more changeable in
this latter century than in any other!  Does the world go round
faster?"

"Of course it does," said Geraldine.  "Think how many fashions, how
many styles, how many ways of thinking, have passed away, even in our
own time."

"And what have they left behind them?"

"Something good, I trust.  Coral cells, stones for the next
generation of zoophytes to stand upon to reach up higher."

"Is it higher?"

"In one sense, I hope.  The same foundation, remember, and each cell
forms a rock for the future--a white and beautiful cell, remember, as
it grows unconsciously, beneath this creature."

Magdalen smiled, delighted with the illustration.

"It forms into the rocks, the strong foundations of the earth," she
said.

"When it has undergone its baptism beneath the sea," added Geraldine.
"But practically and unpoetically, perhaps--how the young folk mount
upon all our little achievements in Church matters, and think them
nearly as old-fashioned and despicable as we did pews and black
gowns!  Or how attempts like the schools that brought up Robina and
Angela have shot out into High Schools, colleges, professions, and I
know not what besides."

"Ah! we come to my old notions for my sisters.  I thought they would
have been governesses like myself, but they married; and now tell me,
what do you think of this scheme of Miss Mohun and Agatha?"

"You know Dolores is going to her father first.  I never saw him, but
Lady Merrifield and Jane tell me he is a very wise, highly-principled
person, perfectly to be trusted; and they like all that they have
heard of his young wife.  I should think if Agatha is to become a
scientific lecturer, she could not begin her career under better
training."

"Career, exactly!  People used not to talk of careers."

"Life and career!  Tortoise and hare, eh?  But the hare may and ought
still to reach the goal, and have her cell built, even if she does
have her wander yahr, like the young barnacles, before becoming
attached!  No! she need not become the barnacle goose.  That is
fabulous," said Mrs. Grinstead, laughing off a little of her
seriousness, and adding, "Tell me of the other girls.  I think Vera
did not come home last year."

"No; nor the year before.  She has a good many pretty little talents,
and is very obliging.  Mrs. White seems to be very fond of her, and
did not want to spare her when they went to Gastein for the summer.
And this year, when there was so much infection about, I could not
press it."

"Is it true that there is anything between her and Petros White?"

"I know Miss Mohun--Jane--infers it, but I don't like to build upon
it."

"I should build on most inferences that Jane Mohun ventured to make
known," said Geraldine, smiling; "and Paulina's fate is pretty well
fixed, I suppose!"

"Dear child, she has never had any other purpose since I first knew
her thoroughly, and I do not think her present stay at Dearport will
disenchant her.  I think she is really devoted, not to the
theoretical romance of a Sisterhood, but to the deeper full purpose
of self-devotion."

"I can fully believe it of her.  Hers have not been the ups and downs
of my Angela, though indeed, after all she has gone through, there is
something in her face that brings to my mind, 'After that ye have
suffered awhile, stablish, strengthen, settle you.'"

"It is a lovely countenance--so patient, and yet so bright."

"I do not think anything in all her life has tried her so much as the
distress about little Lena; and after knowing her wildness--to use a
weak word for it--under other troubles, I see what grace and self-
control have done for her.  You still keep your Thekla!" she added,
as the girl flashed by, in company with a coeval Vanderkist.

"For a few years to come, though I am beginning to feel like the old
hens who do but bring their children up to launch them on the
waters."

"Well, it is happy if the launch can be made with hope present as
well as faith; and to see what Angel has become after many
vicissitudes, not confined to her first years of youth, is an immense
encouragement."

To Angela's great delight, the affairs of Brown and Underwood were
found to require inspection at San Francisco, as well as at Colombo,
where Bernard was to put the firm into the hands of one of the
Browns, who was to meet him there, and he would then be able to come
home to the central office in England.

It was not expedient for Phyllis to make the voyage for so brief a
stay, so it was decided that she should remain with her mother, and
she declared that she should be happy about Bernard being taken care
of if Angela, before settling in at Carrigaboola, would go and stay
with him at Ceylon.  "No one can tell the pleasure it is," she said
to Magdalen, "to borrow one's own especial brother from his wife for
a little while.  Oh, yes, I know it goes against the grain with him,
and it is right it should; but the poor old sister enjoys her treat
nevertheless and notwithstanding."

There was a great family gathering at Vale Leston, including both the
Harewoods; and the Bishop of Albertstown came to spend that last
fortnight in England with Clement, the boy who had been committed to
him as a chorister, then trained as a young deacon, and almost driven
out in his inexperience to the critical charge of the neglected
parish and the old squire, only to be recalled after seven years to
the more important charge in London on the Bishop's appointment,
there to serve till strength gave way, and he must perforce return to
his former home.  There was a farewell picnic of the elders at
Penbeacon, merry and yet wistful in its hopeful auguries that the
loved play place would be a glad and beneficial home.

It was a strange retrospect, talked over by the two old friends in
deep thankfulness, yet humility over their own shortcomings and
failures, and no less strange were the recollections of the wild
noisy insubordinate schoolgirl whom the Bishop's sister had failed to
tame, and who had to both seemed to live only on sensation, whether
religious or secular, and who had been one continual care and
perplexity to each.  By turns they had thought that the full Church
system acted as a hotbed on her peculiar temperament, and at others
they had thought it only an alternative to the amusements of vanity
and flirtation.  Each had felt himself a failure with regard to her,
and had hoped for a fresh start from each crisis of repentance,
notably, from the death of Felix, only to be disappointed by some
fresh aberration.

However, in Queensland, her work had been noble, and thoroughly
effective in many cases; it had involved much self-denial and even
danger, and though these might agree with her native spirit of
adventure, there had likewise been not fitful, but steadily earnest
devotion in her convent life, as well as the tenderest reverent care
of Mother Constance in a long and painful decline, and therewith a
steady cheerful influence which had immensely assisted the growth of
Fulbert's character.  For some years past, Sister Angela had been not
a care, but a trusty helper to the Bishop; and the later trials and
difficulties, especially the sore rending of the tie with the being
she had come to love with all the force of her strong nature, had
been borne in a manner that bore witness to the subduing of that
over-rebellious and vehement spirit.

And, as she said to Geraldine on the last evening as they bade good-
night, "This has been the very happiest time I ever spent here--yes,
happier than in those exultant days of new possession and liberty.
Oh, yes, all experiments, as it were, bold ventures, self-reproach
and failure, defiance and fun, and then--oh, the ache I would not
confess, the glory of being provoking, and, oh, the final anguish I
brought on myself and on you all; and I went on, when it began to
wear away, still stifling the sting which revived whenever I came
home, and all was renewed!  Really, whenever I shammed it was only
remorse.  I don't think that real repentance, and the peace after it,
began till those quiet days with dear Mother Constance."

"And is it peace now?"

"Yes, I think so.  Even the parting with my child has not torn me up.
I can say it is well--far better than leaving her, far better,
indeed!  And Felix is what he meant to be, my treasure, not my
accuser.  Oh, I am glad to have been at home, and made it all up, to
bear away--and leave with you the sense of Peace."

All who had loved and feared for her were very happy over her when
all joined in that farewell service on her own birthday, St. Michael
and All Angels' Day.

The party were joined by Dolores and Wilfred at Liverpool; Bernard
having undertaken to establish the latter at Colombo in hands as safe
as might be.



CHAPTER XXX--THE MAIDEN ROCKS



"What need we more if hearts be true,
Our voyage safe, our port in view."
- KEBLE.

A telegram that a steamer had been wrecked on the Maiden Rocks filled
three homes with dismay.  The rocks were sought out in maps, and
found to be specks lying between County Antrim and Scotland--no doubt
terrible in their reality.

Another day brought something more definite.  It WAS the Afra,--
"wrecked in the fog of October 11th.  Boats got off."

That was all; but a day's post brought letters, of which the fullest
was from Dolores:


"CORNCASTLE, LARNE, CO.  ANTRIM, IRELAND,
October 12.

"DEAREST AUNT LILY, -

"I trust Phyllis has by this time heard from Bernard, as I heard him
called on, as a good oarsman, to go in the first boat, and we saw
Angela's bonnet.  We--that is Wilfred, Nag, and the Bishop--are all
safe here, with eight or nine others.  Will will do well, I trust.
He quite owes his life to Nag.  This is how it was:  We had not long
been out of the Mersey before an impenetrable fog came down upon us,
and we could not see across the deck; but on we went, on what proved
to be our blind way, till, after a night and day, just as we were
getting up from dinner, there came a hideous shock and concussion,
throwing us all about the room; and in less than a minute it was
repeated, with horrible crackings, tearings, yells and shouts.  No
one needed to tell us what it meant, and down came the call, 'Don't
wait to save your things, only wraps, ladies!  Up on deck!  Life-
belts if you can!'  I remember Bernard standing at the top of the
ladder, helping us up, and somehow, I understand from him, that we
were on a reef, and might either remain there, and sink, or be washed
off.  The fog was clearing, and there was a dim light up high,
somewhere, one of the lighthouses, I believe.  I don't quite know how
it all went; I think we kept in the background, round the Bishop, and
that a boat full of emigrant women was put off.  I know there were
only about half a dozen women left, who had been crying and refusing
to leave their husbands; and about thirty altogether, men and women,
were somehow got into our boat with the chief mate; the Bishop all
consolation and prayer; poor Wilfred limp, cold and trembling, for he
had been very seasick till the last moment, when Bernard pulled him
out of his berth, and put him into a lifebelt.  The sea was not very
rough, with an east wind; but the mate said the current was so strong
he could make no way against it.  It would bring us on to the Irish
cliffs, and then, God help us!  Knowing what that coast is, I thought
there was no hope; and as it was beginning to grow light there rose
an awful wall, all black and white, ready to close upon us; but just
as I set my teeth and tried to recollect prayers, or follow the
Bishop's, but I could only squeeze Agatha harder and harder, there
was a fresh shouting among the men, and the boat was heaved up in a
fearful way, then down.  It was tide, and we were near upon breakers;
but there were answering shouts, or so they said--I believe a line
was thrown, and a light shown.  But as the boat rose again, Nag and I
expected to be hurled on the rocks the next moment, and clung
together.  But instead--though the waves had almost torn us asunder--
we were lying on a stony beach, and human hands were dragging at us--
voices calling and shouting about our not being dead.  God had helped
us!  We had been carried into a clift where there is a coastguard
station; and the good men had come down and were helping us on shore.
But before I well knew anything, Agatha was on her feet; I heard her
cry 'Wilfred, Wilfred!' and then I saw her dragging him, quite like a
dead thing, out of the surf, just in time before another great wave
rushed in which would have washed them both back, if a man had not
grappled her at the very moment, calling out, 'Let go, let go, he's a
dead man!'  She did not let go; when the wave broke, happily, just
short of them, and another came to help, and saved them from being
sucked back.  Then the Bishop came and assured us that he was alive,
and got the men to carry him up to the coastguard cottages; indeed,
it was an awful escape; for of our boatload most were lost
altogether, three lie dead, dashed against the rock, and two more,
the mate one of them, have broken limbs.  Wilfred was unconscious for
a long time, at least an hour; but by the help of spoonfuls of
whiskey he came round to a dreamy kind of state, and he does not seem
to suffer much; and the Bishop, the Preventive man and Nag all are
sure no limbs are broken, but he seems incapable of movement except
his hands.  It may be only jar upon the spine, and go off in another
day or two; but we do not dare to send for a doctor, or anything
else, indeed, till we have some money; for we all of us have lost
everything except five shillings in my pocket and two in Nag's.  Even
our wraps were washed off--I believe Agatha gave hers to a shivering
woman in the boat.  The Bishop, too, gave away his coat, forgetting
to secure his purse.  But the people are very kind to us--North, or
Scotch Irish Presbyterians, I think--for they don't seem to know what
to make of his being a Bishop when they found he was not R.C., though
they call him His Reverence.  Please send us an order to get cashed,
at Larne, six miles off, where this is posted.  Wilfred lies on the
good Preventive woman's bed, clean and fairly comfortable, and they
have made a shake-down in their parlour for Nag and me.  The Bishop
SAYS he is well off, but I believe he is always looking after the
mate and the other man in the other house, and sleeps, if at all, in
a chair.  Nag is THE nurse.  She had ambulance lessons, you know,
when at the High School, and profited by them more than I ever did,
and Wilfred likes to have her about him, and when he is dazed, as he
always is at first waking, he calls her Vera.  But don't be uneasy
about him, dear Aunt Lily.  Deadly sea-sickness, a night of tossing
and cold, and then this terrible landing may well upset him, and
probably he will be on his legs by the time you get this letter.

"I find our disaster was on the Maiden Rocks, a horrible group, I
only wonder that any one gets past them.  There are five of them, the
wicked Sirens, and three have lighthouses, but not very efficient
ones, and apt to disappear in the fog, and there are reefs beneath on
one of which we came to grief.  The folk here think a wreck on these
Maidens absolutely fatal, so we cannot be but most thankful for being
alive, though it is a worse experience than the Rotuma earthquake.

"Fergus would think the place worth all we have undergone.  The crags
are wonderful, chalk at the bottom, basalt above, and of course all
round to the Giant's Causeway it is finer still.  Well may we, as the
Bishop is always doing, give thanks that we were taken, by the Divine
Hand guiding tide and current, to this milder and less inhospitable
opening.

"We can afford to dispense with less majesty, for one of those finer
cliffs would have been our destruction.

"This is going to Larne, where there is a railway station and
something of a town, and the Bishop has written to the doctor of the
place.  I will write again when he has been here.  I hope to send you
another and more cheery account to-morrow, or whenever post goes.

"Nag is writing to her sister.  I trust you will have heard of
Bernard and Angela.  Their boat was a better one than ours, and
certainly got off safely.  Let us know as soon you can.

"Your most loving niece,

"D. M. MOHUN."


Agatha had also written to Magdalen, very briefly, to assure her of
her safety and thankfulness, and to say she could not leave Wilfred
till more efficient care arrived, or till she had means to come back
with.  She was evidently too busy over her patient to have much
possibility of writing, even if she had paper, which seemed to be
scarce at Corncastle.

The Bishop also wrote to Clement, and to Sir Jasper and others; but
he also could say little, only that he trusted that Angela and
Bernard were safe elsewhere, having heard them called, and, as he
believed, seen them off in the first boat, so that probably they had
been already heard of before these letters arrived.  Their own party
had been spared from being dashed against the rocks almost by a
miracle; and Agatha Prescott's courage and readiness, as now her
nursing faculties, were beyond all praise, as indeed was the brave
patience of Miss Mohun.  He could only look on and be thankful, and
hope for tidings of those who were as his own children.  The next
day's letters spoke of the doctor as so much perplexed about Wilfred,
and nothing had been heard at Larne of the other boats.

But no tidings came; there was too much cause to fear that the first
boat had been borne away by the currents and swamped.  Lady
Merrifield could not leave Phyllis in such a crisis of suspense, and
Sir Jasper was hardly fit for such a journey, so that his wife was
much relieved when her brother, General Mohun, came to Clipstone, and
undertook to hasten out to Corncastle, with money and appliances,
including a nurse.

"Oh, Reggie, always good at need!  I hardly dare to send my good old
Halfpenny--!"

"No, Mamma, send me.  You know I had the ambulance lessons with Nag,"
said Mysie, "and we could get a real nurse from Belfast or Dublin, if
it was wanted."

So it was arranged, and uncle and niece started, but hope faded more
and more!  Were those two precious young lives so early quenched?



CHAPTER XXXI--THE WRECK



"How purer were earth, if all its martyrdoms,
If all its struggling sighs of sacrifice
Were swept away!"
E. HAMILTON KING.

No tidings of Bernard and Angela.  The suspense began to diminish
into "wanhope" or despair; and the brothers and sisters continued to
say that they were sorry above all for Phyllis, whose gentle
sweetness had made her one with them.

But at last, one forenoon, a telegram was put into Clement's hand,
dated from Ewmouth:


Muriel Ellen, Ewmouth Harbour, October 14th.  Blaine to Rev.
Underwood.  Brother here.  Come to infirmary.


Clement and Geraldine lost no time in driving to the infirmary, too
anxious to speak to one another.  Blaine's name was known to them as
a Gwenworth lad, who had gone to sea, and risen to be sailing master
of the Muriel Ellen, a trader plying between Londonderry and Bristol.
He, with another, who proved to be the American captain of the Afra,
were at the gate of the hospital, where an ambulance had just
entered.

"Oh!  Sir," as Clement held out his hand, "I could not save her.  I'd
have given my life!"

"My brother?" as Clement returned his grasp fervently.

"We've just got him in here, Sir.  I hope!  I hope!  And here's the
doctor."

The house surgeon, who, of course, knew the Rector of Vale Leston,
met him with, "Best see him before we touch him, it will set his mind
at rest--You must be prepared, Sir--No, better not you, Mrs.
Grinstead."

Clement followed in silence, leaving Geraldine to the care of the
matron.  All he was allowed to see was a ghastly, death-like face and
form, covered with rugs, lying prostrate on a mattress; but as he
came in, at the sound of his step, there was a quiver of recognition,
the eyes opened and looked up, the lips moved, and as Clement bent
down with a kiss, there was a faint sound gasped out, "Telegraph to
Clipstone."

"I will, I will at once."

"It was noble!"  Then was added, "She gave herself for the Bishop,
for me."  Then the eyes closed, and unconsciousness seemed to
prevail.  Some one came and put Clement aside, saying -

"Go now, Sir; you shall hear!"

Clement, who thought it might be death, would have stayed at hand;
but he was turned away, and could only murmur an inarticulate
blessing and prayer, as he meant to fulfil the earnest desire that
was thought to have been conned over and over again by Bernard, as
these half sentences recurred again and again in semi-consciousness.
His telegram despatched, Clement returned to his sister, to hear from
the two masters all they had to tell.  Captain Miller, of the Afra,
had slight hurts, which had been looked to before he should take the
train for London; and Blaine had waited to tell his story before
pursuing his voyage to Bristol, both, indeed, to hear the report of
the patient, and likewise to collect the news of the few who had been
landed at Corncastle, to the great relief of Captain Miller; but of
the first boat there were no tidings, and Blaine thought there was
little probability that it had not sunk or been dashed against the
crags of the savage coast.

Captain Miller's account was, that not long after leaving the Mersey,
there had set in an impenetrable fog, lasting for a night and a day.
There was perhaps some confusion as to charts, and the scarcely
visible lights upon the Maidens.  At any rate, the Afra had suddenly
struck on a reef, and, shifting at once, had been hopelessly rent, so
as to leave no hope save in the boats.  Every one seemed to have
behaved with the resolute fortitude and unselfishness generally shown
by English and Americans in the like circumstances.  The sea was not
in a dangerous state, and there was a steady east wind, so that the
boats were lowered without much difficulty, and most of the women
disposed of in the first.

Before the second could be put off however, the water had reached the
fires; there was a violent lurch, the ship had heeled completely
over, washing many overboard, and of course causing a great confusion
among those who had been steady before, and making the deck almost
perpendicular.  The captain, however, succeeded in lowering another
boat, and putting into it, as he trusted, the few remaining women,
the Bishop, and most of the men.  This was, of course, that which had
safely reached Corncastle, and of which he only now heard.  The last
boat was so overcrowded that he, with three of his crew, had thought
it best to remain for the almost desperate chance of being picked up
before they sank.

He had supposed Mr. Underwood had been washed overboard in the
heeling over of the ship, and that his sister had been put into the
first boat; but presently he heard a call.

"Oh, help me, please!"  And he became aware that Sister Angela was
hanging over her brother, who lay crushed by a heavy chest which had
fallen on him, and thrown him against the gunwale, though a moan or
two showed him to be still alive.  The remaining sailors removed the
weight, lifted him, and laid him in the best place and position they
could, while his sister hung over him and supported his head.  To
Miller's dismayed exclamation at finding a woman still on board, she
replied -

"It was no fault of yours.  I hid below.  Other lives--the Bishop's--
were what mattered!  I am glad to be here!"

He believed that Mr. Underwood had revived enough to know his sister,
for he had heard her voice talking to him.  Yes, and singing; but it
was not for very long.  The wreck was in motion, being carried by
current and tide along the Channel, and if it did not sink, might be
perceived now that daylight had come, and a signal of distress might
be seen by some passing vessel.

Seen it was, in fact, and that there were persons to be rescued; and
Blaine, who was on his way from Londonderry to Bristol, in the Muriel
Ellen, a cattle-boat, possessed a boat in which to attempt a rescue.

All that experienced sailors could do in transferring the helpless
and unconscious form to the boat first, and then to the sloop had
been done; but it was no wonder that in the transit Angela, more
heedful of her brother's safety than her own, had fallen between, and
been lost in the waves, to the extreme grief of Tom Blaine, who had
been one of her scholars, and devoted to her, as all the boys of Vale
Leston were.

The cattle-boat had few facilities for comfort, and all he could do
was to let Mr. Bernard Underwood lie, as softly as could be
contrived, on deck, and make sail for Ewmouth, so as to land him as
near home as possible.  How far he had been conscious it was
impossible to say, though once he had asked for Angela, but had
seemed to understand from an evasion, that she was missing, and had
said no more, but muttered parts of these requests, as if afraid of
not being capable of them.

All this had been told or implied, while messages came down that the
surgeons did not think the injuries need be mortal, provided the
exhaustion and exposure had not fatal consequences.  The left arm,
two ribs, and the leg had been broken, and were reduced before the
doctors ventured on a hopeful report with which to send home the
brother and sister.  One sight, Clement was allowed of a more
unconscious, but much less distressed face, and one murmur, "Noble!
Phyllis!" and he was promised a telegram later in the day.  The two
hardly knew which to feel most; grief or thankfulness, the loss or
the mercy, and yet--and yet--after the fitful, wayward, yet always
devout life, with all its strains, there was a sense of wistful
acceptance of such a close.

They felt it all the more deeply when, a day or two later, Bernard
was able to say, at intervals, for the injury rendered speech
difficult and almost dangerous, as Clement leant over him -

"Yes!  I woke to see her face over me, all bright in wavy hair just
as when we were children, and she said, 'Bear!  Bear! we are going
together!'  Then somehow she tried to help me to trust for Phyllis
and Lily."

Then his voice sank, but presently he added, "There was more, but it
is like a dream.  She was singing in her own, own voice.  There was
'Lead, kindly Light!' and when it came to 'Angel faces smile' there
was a cry--quite glad--'There! there on the water!  Felix!  Coming
for us!  Oh! and another One!  Lord, into Thy hands.'  That is all I
know--a kiss here, and 'Yes! thanks!  For me!'  But the lifting hurt
so much that I lost all sense, when she must have fallen between the
wreck and the boat.  You are glad for her!  Mine own! mine Angel!"

"Safe home!" said Clement.  "Oh, thankworthy!"



CHAPTER XXXII--ANCHORED



"Safe home, safe home in port,
   Rent cordage, shattered deck;
Torn sails, provision short,
   And only not a wreck;
But all the joy upon the shore,
To tell our voyage the perils o'er!"

Safe home!  It might be said in another sense for Bernard, for he was
naturally so strong and healthy that the effects of exposure and
exhaustion were not long in passing off, the injury to the chest
proved to be only temporary; and having cased him like a statue in
plaster of Paris, the surgeons decided, to the joy of his family,
that the more serious injuries would be better recovered from in the
fresh air of Vale Leston, than in the fishy, muddy atmosphere of
Ewmouth.

So he was transported thither, and installed in Felix's study, among
the familiar sights and sounds, and where another joy awaited him,
and where he lay in happy stillness.

Phyllis had borne up bravely through the suspense, never
relinquishing a strong assurance of hope; but when that hope was
actually crowned by the first telegram, the reaction set in, and she
had broken down so entirely that her mother durst not let her move at
first, and indeed accompanied her and her little girl as far as the
junction, being herself on the way to Larne.

And Geraldine's heart was at peace when she saw Phyllis sitting by
the bed, her hand in his, content to see and not to speak.  Another
visitor appeared the following day, namely, the Bishop of
Albertstown, who had remained at Larne till he could see his fellow
passengers in safe hands.  Then he had crossed to Bristol, and before
his hurried visit to his sisters he could not but come to see his
beloved old pupil, Clement, and share with him those reminiscences of
her, who, as he had only now learnt, had given her young
superabundant life for him, a man growing into age, whose work might
be nearly done.

He only saw Bernard in silence, but heard from Clement the account of
those last moments, which showed how entirely Angela had been
conscious of what she was doing, and how willingly she had devoted
herself to save those whom she loved and valued.

While yet they talked, there was a fresh arrival.  Sir Ferdinand
Travis Underwood, who could not forbear the running down to hear
perfectly all that was to be heard, and to make arrangements that
might relieve Bernard's mind, if he were indeed on the way of
recovery.

In fact, almost the first thought after that of the wife and child
had been the security of the drenched, stained, and soiled pocket-
book; nor would the patient be satisfied till he had been allowed
himself to hand it over to the head of his firm, with, "There,
Fernan, safe, though smashed with me.  Tell Brown."

"Never mind Brown or anything else but getting well, Bernard.  I have
taken our passage for next week.  I shall get things arranged so that
you need not think of being wanted again out there.  We will find a
berth for you in the office in town, as soon as you are about again."

Bernard's eye lightened.  "I hope--"

But Ferdinand would not let him either thank or hope, scarcely even
allow any words from Phyllis, who could not be grateful enough for
the relief.  To Alda, who had received her old companion, since
Marilda seemed unable to let her husband out of her sight; it was
explained that she was going too, happen what would.  Oh, yes, it was
true she was a shocking bad sailor, but she was not going to have
Fernan's ships running upon rocks or getting on fire, or anything of
that sort, without her.  She wanted to see about Ludmilla
Schmetterling, who was reported to have found a lover while studying
at a class in the States, and she also meant to settle her own
especial niece Emilia, whose husband was to take Bernard's place in
Ceylon and who had become heartily tired of London's second-rate
gaieties.

Those thus concerned met at the memorial service in the morning
before the Bishop quitted them, where many parishioners gathered who
had been spellbound in Angela's freakish days of early girlhood, and
who were greatly touched when the committal to the deep was inserted
from the Forms of Prayer to be used at Sea.

It brought a deep sense of awe and thankfulness to those who had
feared and wondered through the stormy uncertain life, and now could
exult in what was almost a martyrdom, and had brought their beloved
one to the great pure grave, as her Baptism for eternity.

Some months later, while Bernard still lay on his couch, but could
speak and be glad, he rejoiced indeed, for a sore in his heart was
healed, when two fair babes were brought to him,--a boy who would be
as another firstborn son, and a little maiden who would bear that
name which had become dear and saintly in the peculiar calendar of
Vale Leston.



CHAPTER XXXIII--FAREWELL



"Nay, your pardon!  Cry you, 'Forward.'  Yours are youth, we hope--
but I?"
- BROWNING.

The visit of the Bishop of Albertstown had, in fact, been deferred
till he could quit his fellow-sufferers, especially Wilfred, who
could not well be left to the charge of the two girls, with the Larne
doctor evidently in difficulty about his case.

It was with great joy that a telegram was received with tidings that
General Mohun and Mysie were on the way, and also Magdalen Prescott,
who met them at Liverpool, being unable to stay away from Agatha
under such circumstances.  At Belfast they obtained a trained nurse,
and a doctor was to follow them.

The joy of the meeting between Magdalen and Agatha was almost that of
mother and daughter, and nothing could be more entirely convincing
that they were one.

Indeed, Agatha was thoroughly worn out; for the main strain of
attendance had fallen upon her, since the Bishop was fully occupied
with some of the seriously hurt in other cottages; and though Dolores
tried to be helpful, it was chiefly in outside work, and attempts at
sick cookery, in which she was rather too scientific, and found the
lack of appliances very inconvenient.  Besides, cousin though she
was, or perhaps for that very reason, Wilfred was far less amenable
to her voice than Agatha's; and if she attempted authority it was
sure to rouse all the resistance left in him.  Agatha had been
constantly on the alert, liable to be called on every half-hour, to
soothe fretful distress over impossible impatience at delay, anger at
want of comforts, and dolefulness over the chances of improvements,
and abuse, whether just or not, of the only accessible doctor.

In fact, Magdalen, on seeing how utterly worn out she was, and how
little space the cottages afforded, thought it best, now that the
patient was in the hands of sister, uncle, and nurse, to carry her
off at once by the return car to Larne; and Dolores thought it best
to accompany them, after Mysie had hung on her as one restored from
death.  But Mysie was absorbed in her brother, and Dolores had a
strong yearning to be with her father, so strong that she decided not
to return to England, but to procure a second outfit at Belfast, and
to set forth again from thence, nothing daunted, for, as she said
(not carelessly), such things did not happen immediately after, in a
second voyage.  In fact, though thankful and impressed by the loss of
the others, she had gone through the crisis of the life of her heart
and affections, and she had likewise been once in imminent peril
through a convulsion of nature.  Thus she was inclined to look on the
wreck and the Irish cliffs as an experience in the way of business,
so she was resolved to see the Giant's Causeway, and to make notes
upon it for her lectures.

But it was a different thing with Agatha.  She had been brought face
to face with death; and though the actual time had been spent in
hurry and bustle, and even the subsequent tossing in the boat had
been not so much waiting and thinking as attending to others more
terrified and injured than herself, and there followed the incessant
waiting on Wilfred; still the experiences had worked in.  She rested
very silently, dwelling little to Magdalen on her thoughts; but each
word she said, and her very countenance, showed that she had made a
great step in life and realised the spiritual world, which hitherto
had been outside her life--not disbelieved, but almost matter of
speculation and study.

She was not at all desirous of falling back from Dolores, whose grave
steadiness and fortitude, the result of a truly brave and deep trust,
had given her a sense of confidence and protection.  So they wrote,
and arranged for their passage, and, with Magdalen, spent the
intermediate time in needful preparations at Belfast, and in an
expedition to the Causeway, where they laid in a stock of notes and
observations, all in a spirit that made Magdalen feel that she knew
both in a manner she had never done before, and loved them with a
deep value and confidence.

Wilfred meanwhile made very slow, if any, progress.

They took him to Belfast as soon as it was possible, and his mother
came to him.  He was gentle and quiet, with little power of movement,
and scarcely any of thought; and in a consultation of doctors, the
verdict was given that he must be carefully tended for months, if not
for years to come; and though there might finally be full recovery,
yet it would depend on the most tender and careful treatment of body
and mind.  London doctors, when he could be moved thither, confirmed
the decision, and he began a helpless invalid life, in which a
certain indifference and dulness made him a much less peevish and
trying patient than would have been anticipated.  Mysie was his
willing, but intelligent slave; and his mother was not only thankful
to have him brought back to her at any price, but really--though she
would not have confessed it even to herself--was less troubled and
anxious about him than she had been since he had begun to "roam in
youth's uncertain wilds."  Indeed, there were hopes that slow
recovery might find him a much changed person in character.

He had become so uninterested in his former predilections that he
heard with little emotion that Vera was to marry Petros White.

"I thought she would take up with some cad," he said.  But his family
were really glad that this wedding was to take place at Rocca Marina,
whither the two sisters and Magdalen were invited.

Paulina would not go.  She still resented the treatment of Hubert
Delrio, and she was devoted to her study of nursing at the Dearport
Sisterhood; but Magdalen thought it right to take Thekla, and give
her the advantages of improvement in languages, and the sight of fine
scenery.

And certainly Rocca Marina was a wonderful place for marriages.
Vera, handsome and happy and likely to turn into a fairly good
commonplace wife, had no sooner been sent off on a honeymoon tour to
Greece and Egypt, and Mrs. White had begged the other two to prolong
their visit, considering, perhaps, if one or the other aunt or niece
could not be promoted to the vacant post of lady-in-waiting, than
Hubert Delrio came to secure specimens of marble for some mosaic work
on which he was engaged.  He was fast becoming a man of mark, whom
the Whites were delighted to receive and entertain, and who was
delighted to be with the old friends who had had so great an
influence on his life.  And was it Magdalen alone to whom he chiefly
looked up as his helper and guide?  So he thought; but before the
time of separation had come, he had found out that Thekla was far
prettier than ever Vera had been, and with a mind and principle--no
Flapsy, but a real sympathetic and poetic nature, which had grown up
in these years.  Young as she was, their destinies were fixed.

And Magdalen?  The railroad had obtained authority to pass through
the Goyle, and thus break up her home and shelter.  Still she was not
tempted by Adeline White's desire to make her a companion; but rather
she accepted the plan on which Dolores had first started, and on
which Elizabeth Merrifield and Miss Arthuret were set, of making her
the head of their home at Penbeacon, partly a convalescent home, and
partly a training college for young women in need of technical
instruction in nursing or other possible feminine avocations.  Tom
May was delighted with all it might set on foot, and Clement saw in
her leading the hopes that a high and pure spirit might inspire it.



Footnotes:

{100}  It is Russian, and means Faith.




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