********************START OF HEADER******************** This text has been proofread but is not guaranteed to be free from errors. Corrections to the original text have been left in place. Title: 'No Friend Like a Sister,' an electronic edition Author: Carey, Rosa Nouchette, 1840-1909 Publisher: Macmillan and Co. Limited Place published: London Date: 1906 ********************END OF HEADER******************** 'NO FRIEND LIKE A SISTER'Page displaying printer's mark included in the front matter of Rosa Nouchette Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.'No Friend Like a Sister'BYROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY AUTHOR OF 'NELLIE'S MEMORIES,' THE HOUSEHOLD OF PETER,' ETC.For there is no friend like a sisterIn calm or stormy weather;To cheer one on the tedious way,To fetch one if one goes astray,To lift one if one totters down,To strengthen whilst one stands.CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.LondonMACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITEDNEW YORK:THE MACMILLAN COMPANY1906All rights reservedCopyright page for Rosa Nouchette Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.To One Dear MemoryFirst contents page for Rosa Nouchette Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.Second contents page for Rosa Nouchette Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.CHAPTER IST. MONICA'S LODGEStately is Service accepted, but lovelier Service rendered.—CLOUGH.What though our workBe fashioned in despite of their ill-service,Be crippled every way? 'Twere little praiseDid full resources wait on our good-willAt every turn.Browning.WHEN St. Monica's Nursing Home was first opened to the public, it excited a good deal of curiosity and not a little criticism amongst the inhabitants of Maida Vale.From the first it was understood that it was run on unusual lines, and that certain daring innovations had been effected. And as St. Monica's Lodge was also a Home for nurses, sundry old-fashioned conservatives put down their foot in a marked and truculent manner, and declared that in their opinion Miss Gresham permitted herself too much scope, and that such radical changes introduced into a Nursing Home would in the end lead to complete disorganisation.To all such comments Miss Gresham turned a deaf ear. She was not a thin-skinned person, and she bore her neighbours' disapprobation with good-natured tolerance and much secret amusement. She knew that to some minds originality was a sin of the first magnitude. 'If I would only keep in the old ruts,' she said once to a great friend of hers, the matron of Guy's Hospital, where she had trained as a nurse,—'if I would only be nice and groovy, my neighbours would hold out to me the right hand of fellowship, and I should achieve popularity.'St. Monica's Nursing Home had been opened two years previously, and it was on the occasion of Miss Holdsworth's first visit that Frances Gresham had made this speech.Miss Holdsworth had merely smiled at this remark; but being a woman of few words she had held her peace, and beyond an admiring comment or two she had followed Sister Gresham in silence through the various apartments, noting with a keen and practised eye the luxurious appointments of the rooms fitted for the patients; but she raised her finely marked eyebrows in rather a wondering manner when Frances showed her the cubicles for the nurses.'Well, Edith,' she said a little impatiently, when the silence had become somewhat aggressive, 'do you not think my working bees have cosy cells?'Then Miss Holdsworth looked at her with an amused smile. 'I should not mind being one of your nurses, my dear. The question is, will all this pay? The house is a large one—but only two cubicles in this spacious room!''I can't have my nurses crowded,' returned Frances in her quick, crisp manner; 'the poor things work hard, and they must have room to breathe.''Oh, they will not suffer for want of air,' replied her friend a little drily, for the cubicles were light and airy and models of neatness and comfort. Each cubicle had its window, and beside the bed, chest of drawers, and washstand there was also room for an easy-chair and small writing-table and bookcase. 'But, my dear Frances, at this rate you cannot take in a sufficient number of nurses to make the concern profitable,—only six patients, and I suppose the same number of nurses?''You are quite right,' returned Frances; 'without counting the household staff I have only quarters for six. You will find the accommodation of the house nurses is equally comfortable. If you remember, Edith, I told you at Guy's that St. Monica's Nursing Home was to be a sort of pattern and object-lesson for other Homes. I prefer to take fewer patients and fewer nurses, and make it practically a Home.'Then a faint protesting shrug prefaced Miss Holdsworth's reply. 'You are a very complex person, Frances; I have often told you so. You are intensely practical; but there is an underlying vein of romance and softness in your nature that gets the mastery sometimes. Well,' with a little break in her voice, 'it is a beautiful Home, and a grand work, and I wish it all success.' And then the two women grasped hands in full understanding and sympathy.Sister Gresham worked with a good heart. From the first the Home was always full of patients, and she could have taken three times the number if she had had accommodation for them. Young nurses were almost piteous in their appeals to be taken in; for their very soul was sick with envy at the sight of the nurses' sitting-room, with its Chesterfield couch and deep easy-chairs and well-filled bookcase. Then there was the long shady garden that led to the house, and a certain corner hidden behind thick bushes, where there were hammocks swinging. 'It is just the loveliest place in the world,' as one of these outsiders remarked.'Nurse Williams says the food is so good and well cooked, and plenty of vegetables and fruit. Sister Gresham never begrudges anything to her nurses, and they think no end of her. They say she has seven hundred a year of her own, and that she does not care whether she makes profits or not. I believe it covers its expenses, and that is about all; she told Nurse Williams so. They all know that she is very anxious to start a Pension Fund for superannuated or sick nurses whose health has broken down, and it is the general belief that every penny of profit goes towards that Fund.'Sister Gresham's chief offence in her neighbours' eyes was the latitude she permitted her nurses in dress. The working dress at St. Monica's was very suitable and becoming, and the nurses' cap was pronounced charming, but the outdoor dress was left to the discretion of the wearers. A close, neat bonnet and long veil were recommended and generally worn, but the cloak was only for winter use, and the St. Monica nurses had full permission to go out in corn-flower blue cambric dresses, and to carry sunshades and wear gloves. No tired night-nurse, pallid with want of sleep, had to take her daily constitutional impeded and wearied by a heavy and unnecessary cloak. Sister Gresham was far too humane and up-to-date to impose these small official tyrannies. No wonder her nurses loved and appreciated her; and yet with all her indulgence Sister Gresham was a strict disciplinarian. No breach of rule was permitted. The first transgression was treated with mildness, but any repetition of the fault called for a stern reprimand on Sister's part; the third ended in total defeat and disaster, for the offender was banished from St. Monica's.'I will keep no rebellious and disobedient members in my Home,' she would observe. 'You have had warning, Nurse Chambers, and you have chosen to disregard my wishes and orders. I will pay you a full month, but I shall wish you to leave within the week.' Then did the unlucky culprit find herself, like a second Eve, outside the walls of her Paradise.After a time people grew less critical. The St. Monica nurses were found to be so reliable and satisfactory, and were in such request that Sister Gresham had some difficulty in securing them needful rest; and before the first year had passed she was revolving a scheme for taking the adjoining house when the lease was up, and turning it into a Nurses' Home. 'I must have a matron, of course,' she said to Miss Holdsworth, and then she had looked meaningly at her friend, but the latter had shown no sign of taking the hint; nevertheless the seed had dropped into a dark corner of her mind, and might possibly fructify in time.She was forty and had been ten years in her present position, and of late her health had suffered a little from the strain of her office. The work at St. Monica's Nursing Home would be comparatively light and very congenial to her tastes; there would be room for twenty nurses, or even more, if Frances transferred her present nurses to the adjoining premises. In that case St Monica's Lodge would be wholly for paying patients and the nursing staff attached to the Home.'It was not a bad idea,' Edith Holdsworth said to herself; 'and then it would be so delightful to work with Frances. Yes; perhaps in a year or two's time she would be willing to cut herself adrift from Guy's.'There was no doubt that Frances Gresham was intensely happy in the work she had chosen for herself, although she had undertaken it at some cost and a good deal of pain. But she was not the one to shrink from any difficulty when she had once made up her mind that the path was a good one. 'There are always lions in the way,' she had said to herself; 'and if one is to make progress there is the Slough of Despond to cross. I think the hardest part was leaving Elinor—dear old Nora. I wonder if she ever guessed how often I have cried myself to sleep in that dismal room at Guy's?—at least it seemed dismal to me after my big room at the Boltons—just with the longing to be back with her again; but then we all have to pick our way across these miry places in life. It was not exactly a blissful time, but I am glad I did it; at least I was free from Augusta. I think I hate most all the talk there has been about it. If people would only mind their own business. Who was it said, "Defend me from my friends"?' And Frances sighed in an oppressed way, for she knew well how freely her friends' tongues were canvassing the matter.It had been a nine days' wonder in the neighbourhood of the Boltons when Frances Gresham first left her home and her sisters to be a probationer at Guy's, with the view of opening a Nursing Home when she was duly qualified and had obtained her certificate. And though the Home at Maida Vale had been opened two years, the subject had not been wholly dropped.Frances' ears would have burned, and she would have felt annoyed, and not a little indignant, if she could have overheard a conversation between two old friends one February afternoon.Lady Templeton was a very old friend of the Gresham family, and Frances and her sister Elinor were much attached to her, and Mrs. Osborne was also a close acquaintance. She was a good-hearted, well-meaning little woman, but a great talker; and Frances had more than once owned to her favourite sister Elinor that she always dreaded Emma Osborne's tongue. 'Her bump of curiosity is far too well developed,' she would say; 'and her "little member" is never under her control.' And Elinor had assented to this, for she and Frances thought alike on most subjects.Lady Templeton and her next-door neighbour had been having a morning's shopping together, and were now enjoying a late luncheon at the former lady's house. Lady Templeton was advanced in years, and was a soft-mannered, lovable old lady, with pretty white hair, and a complexion that any girl would have envied, it was so pink and clear. She invariably spoke a good word for everybody, but she had also a feminine weakness for discussing other folks' business. And as the younger Gresham girls were special favourites, she interested herself a good deal in their movements, and she had just been observing rather plaintively that Elinor Gresham looked dull and out of spirits.'I am afraid she still misses Frances,' she finished.'Of course she does,' replied Mrs. Osborne decidedly; 'never were two sisters so absolutely devoted to each other. I was always very fond of Frances,' she continued—'she and Elinor were my bridesmaids, as you know—but I cannot help feeling disappointed in her. It is all very well to say that she had a vocation for nursing, and that she and Augusta did not get on well together, but I think it was selfish of her to leave Elinor. I never felt so sorry for any one in my life as I did for poor Nora when Frances first went to Guy's.''Oh, we were all sorry for her,' returned Lady Templeton placidly, 'for we know how trying Augusta is; but Frances talked to me about it. She said it was impossible for them to go on living in the way they led their daily life; that things were so bad that she and Augusta were hardly on speaking terms. "What am I to do, Lady Templeton?" she said to me. "If I contradict or contest her will, there is a stand-up fight between us, and my temper will not bear it. Nora's disposition is milder; she is less pugnacious. It is really best for her that I should go. By-and-by, when I have that Nursing Home, she can leave Augusta and come to me."''Yes, and then Lyall made that unfortunate marriage, and there was poor Bride to complicate matters. Do you know, Lady Templeton, I am afraid, from all I can see, that Augusta leads that girl rather a poor life.''I am afraid so, too,' returned Lady Templeton gravely. 'Augusta is not the sort of woman to understand her sister-in-law; but for Elinor's affection, the poor thing would have a miserable existence. Poor dear Bride, what a mess she has made of her life! She has estranged her husband and spoiled his happiness, and she must have a hard time with Augusta.''I never could understand that marriage,' returned Mrs. Osborne quickly. 'Lyall Gresham always seemed to me such a superior young man. I know Frances and Elinor thought him a perfect saint. In my opinion he was rather too much of a visionary. It was such a pity he refused the nice living the Bishop offered him to rush off to South Africa in that impulsive way, and just when he was going to be married.''Well, you see, the dear boy always had a hankering after missionary work; and when his friend's health broke down, and he was obliged to come home, it was just like Lyall to offer to take his post for three years. He said the work would be good for him; how could he know that Bride would refuse to accompany him?''No one could have guessed that she would behave so,' returned young Mrs. Osborne severely. 'Much as I dislike Augusta Gresham, I think she has some grounds for her displeasure with Bride. In my opinion it was most unwifely conduct. Why did she marry Lyall if she did not love him well enough to cross the seas with him?''Poor child,' observed Lady Templeton in a feeling voice; 'you must not be too hard on her, Emma. I think I blame Lyall more; he ought to have known that Bride's nature was too peculiar to suit his. From the first they pulled different ways. Bride is artistic and highly sensitive, and Lyall is exacting and rather arbitrary; he is a little like Augusta in that. When Bride promised to marry him she thought he was going to take a living in London. She had a perfect horror of going to South Africa.''Perhaps so,' returned Mrs. Osborne rather coldly, for young Mrs. Gresham was not a favourite of hers, 'but a woman is bound to follow her husband "for better, for worse." What do those words mean, my dear Lady Templeton? I don't want to be severe on any one, but I do think—and Robert quite agrees with me—that Bride ought to be ashamed of herself.''I don't like to hear you say that, Emma,' returned her friend mildly; 'as I said before, I am far more inclined to blame Lyall. He knew, oh, he knew well, that Bride was not really in love with him; that she was fascinated and carried away by his devotion to her. I never saw a man more in love; he gave her no peace, he just dominated her; girls make these mis-takes sometimes, and Bride was not twenty. I know she has told Elinor lately that she was too much afraid of him to say no; that more than once, if she had dared, she would have broken off her engagement, but he gave her no opportunity.''She certainly did not look happy on her wedding-day.''That is what we all said; but I never saw a more blissful bridegroom. Oh, poor Lyall, his happiness did not last long! Bride very soon opened his eyes.''Augusta told me that her sister-in-law was in such a state that they feared a nervous breakdown, and that Lyall Gresham was obliged to go alone. I suppose she absolutely refused to accompany him.''I don't think it quite came to that—at least I hope not,' returned Lady Templeton; 'but she certainly did not conceal her repugnance. Lyall is very masterful, but he is proud and sensitive. She hurt him cruelly, but he would not compel her to go. "Perhaps it will be better for me to go first and see what sort of a place it is, and you could follow me later," he said to her, and Bride caught at the reprieve at once. Poor Lyall, he was almost heart-broken when he left her, but nothing would have induced him to shirk his promise. "No man who putteth his hand to the plough and looketh back," he quoted once to Frances. "I have undertaken the work for three years and I will stick to my post." Frances said she nearly burst out crying in his face.''I wonder what sort of a place St. Philip's is,' remarked Mrs. Osborne.'Oh, it is only a mission church just out of Cape Town—very rough; and the Vicarage an ugly wooden building, not at all the place for a woman like Bride. Lyall told her so quite frankly. "If you come you will have to rough it," he wrote to her, "but I will do my best to make you comfortable. A missionary's wife is bound to put up with some amount of hardness, but I would do my level best to smooth things if you will only trust yourself to me." I think that was so touching.''And yet she never went. He has been alone these two years.' Mrs. Osborne spoke in a tone of strong disapproval, but Lady Templeton only sighed again.'No, she has not gone,' she said simply; and then coffee was brought in, and the subject dropped.CHAPTER IISISTER GRESHAMThe honest, earnest man must stand and work,The woman also.E. B. BROWNING.Can I be calm, beholding everywhereDisease and anguish, busy early and late?Can I be silent, nor compassionateThe evils that both soul and body bear?BUCHANAN.A FEW days after this 'biographical conversation,' as Frances was wont to call it, a hansom drove up to the garden gate of St. Monica's Lodge, and a young lady in grey, with a very handsome grey fur stole, stepped out, and lifting down a small, light travelling bag, paid the driver, and then taking a key that hung from her chatelaine, let herself in and walked up the long garden path that led to the house.She was tall and rather slight, and she walked with a little swing that was not ungraceful. Her step was light and buoyant; there was something of repressed eagerness in her manner, and as she looked towards the house, a little smile stole over her face. 'How surprised she will be!' she said to herself, and she laughed for a moment quite audibly. 'I have never done such a thing before, but I know she will be pleased. I will find a hiding-place for my bag, and then I will spring a mine on her'; and here there was another little rippling laugh, much to the alarm of a robin who was performing his toilet in a laurel bush. There was no need to knock or ring, and Elinor Gresham soon found a corner for her bag; then she crossed the large hall, only stopping once to sniff some odour that was distinctly disagreeable to her. 'Anæthetics,' she muttered rather discontentedly; 'there has been an operation and Frances will be too busy to attend to me,' and a worried little frown came to her forehead.Of course it was damping, but she must make the best of it; she had come to an age when one had to take disappointments philosophically. Very likely she would find the Sister's room empty, Frances would be with the patient. 'Oh, I should never do for a nurse,' she thought as she turned down a passage beyond the staircase; 'the smell of ether nearly sickens me. Ah! she is talking to some one; not the surgeon, I hope, or I shall run away—no,' as distinctly feminine tones reached her, 'it is probably only a visitor,' and then she tapped smartly at the door, and a very clear, pleasant voice said, 'Come in.'A tall dark woman in the grey uniform of a nurse was standing in the middle of the room talking to two ladies who had risen to take their leave. As Elinor entered, a quick flush came to Sister Gresham's face, but she spoke very quietly. 'Will you sit down, Nora? I will attend to you directly,' and then she went on with her conversation.Elinor took one of the deep easy-chairs by the fire and drew off her gloves. She was quite content to wait Frances' convenience. The atmosphere of the Sister's room always rested her and made her feel peaceful. Frances' strong individuality permeated it. It was a delightful room, not large, but very cheerful, and its two windows opened on the back garden, a small lawn with a rockery and a miniature pond much frequented by birds. Frances always called it 'The Blackbirds' Bath.'Miss Holdsworth had made more than one critical comment on the luxurious easy-chairs and roomy couch, but Frances had defended herself with a good deal of spirit. 'It is my sanctum and harbour of refuge,' she returned. 'In my opinion no chairs can be too soft for a tired worker. I mean to give you one for your next birthday present,' and after this magnanimous remark Miss Holdsworth's lips were sealed.Elinor loved the Sister's room. She and Frances had planned it together. The bookcases were filled with their favourite books; a handsome cabinet held all Nurse Gresham's stock-in-trade—her medical books and professional appliances; her writing-table was covered with account-books and papers all neatly docketed and arranged; the little round table near the window was for her work-basket and Mudie's books; a vase of flowers and a large photograph of Elinor herself in a massive silver frame always stood on this table.Over the mantelpiece there was a good-sized photo of a young clergyman in a curiously carved oak frame. Elinor's eyes turned to it more than once, for it was the likeness of their dearly loved brother Lyall.It was not a handsome face, and yet there was a singular beauty about it; it looked very young, but bore the marks of a supersensitive and highly strung temperament. It was the sort of face that one sees under a monk's cowl; and the eyes, which were dark and penetrating like his sister Frances', had a deep-seated sadness. Mrs. Osborne had called Lyall Gresham a visionary; and in looking at his stern young face and strongly marked features it was not difficult to realise that he was the sort of man who would fight, not always wisely, but most certainly to grim death for what he deemed the right. It is the worst of these self-sacrificing natures, that they are seldom content with their own immolation and devotion to the cause of duty, but they make exasperating demands on those they love best.Bride once pettishly declared to her sisters-in-law that she thought the lot of a Hindu widow in the dark ages far preferable to that of being Lyall's wife.'They don't burn the poor things in their husbands' lifetime,' she observed; 'and when they light the funeral pile they are so intoxicated with the spirits they give them that I don't believe they suffer much; they are just suffocated. But Lyall insists on the suttee beforehand. He wants me to ascend the funeral pyre every day of my life, and there is no hurry and no beating of drums.' But Frances and Elinor only laughed at this wild speech. Lyall frowned and bit his lip when it was repeated to him. Lyall had many virtues, but he had one great fault in his sisters' eyes—he was sadly deficient in a sense of humour, and no efforts on their part could cure him.'Lyall is always so terribly in earnest,' Elinor once said. 'I know he thinks us very flippant, but I tell him we must be natural. I did so hope that when he married that Bride would teach him to be more human.' But on this point she was doomed to be disappointed. Frances and Elinor were not at all alike, and at first sight it was difficult for strangers to realise that they were sisters.Frances, who was three years older than Elinor, was a plain woman, dark complexioned, and with Lyall's strongly marked features; but her expression was pleasing, and her tall figure in her Sister's uniform was extremely dignified. She had beautiful hair though it was hidden under her cap; but without doubt the nurse's dress became her.Elinor was far better looking, though she could not be called handsome; her hazel eyes were very soft and clear, the large picture-hat she wore suited her admirably, and she looked younger than she really was. Her actual age was seven-and-twenty, and she had an absurd habit of speaking of herself as no longer young. 'Count time by heart-beats,' she would quote in rather a provoking manner when her eldest sister called her a ridiculous child.Augusta never liked to be reminded that she was in her thirty-fifth year. Elinor was a girl in her eyes, and Bride a mere child. 'A woman is as old as she feels, and no older,' she returned sententiously.'That is just what I remarked,' drawled Elinor; 'if I count my age by heart-beats I must be a sort of female Methuselah. Lyall's marriage has aged me. Yesterday I found a grey hair. I have put it up in silver paper to remind me of my latter end; I think I shall keep it in that little silver-and-glass box on my toilet table; it will be like the mummy at the Egyptian feast—my first grey hair. I think I must ask Bride to write a poem on it; she does write poetry so delightfully!But Augusta only said,'Pshaw! how can you waste your time in talking such nonsense, Nora?' and went on with her writing. Augusta Gresham was also deplorably lacking in a sense of humour.When Frances had seen the last of her visitors, she came back into the room and found that Elinor had laid aside her hat and stole, and was making herself very much at home. Frances gave her a warm kiss, and then knelt down on the rug; she looked happy, but extremely tired.'I have done a hard day's work,' she exclaimed, giving herself a luxurious stretch. 'That poor little widow, Mrs. Masters, had a very serious operation early this afternoon, and of course I was with her. We hope it will be successful. I am sorry, Nora, that you should have come to-day, for I shall be obliged to leave you. I shall just have time for a cup of tea, and then I must go upstairs for an hour or so. How late can you stay, dear?'Then Elinor, who had looked rather blank over Frances' speech, grew cheerful again. 'Oh, I am in no hurry; I can stay all the evening if you like. Augusta had a telegram from Mrs. Pelham this morning, asking her to dine and sleep at Fernley; and Bride does not need me, she has her Cape letter to write; and when she has had a good cry over it she will console herself with Chopin and an exciting novel. I think a well-written, thoroughly interesting novel comforts Bride more than anything.''Does it?' returned Frances rather absently, but she was thinking of the little widow upstairs, who was crying in her weakness for the husband who lay in his grave. The sad problems of life often puzzled Frances, and gave her that tired wrinkle across her forehead. It was her fate to see the seamy side of life; her sympathy with her patients often drew tears from her eyes. 'If I could only comfort the poor things and help them to bear their sufferings,' she would say sometimes to Miss Holdsworth. 'Some lives are so terribly sad, Edith. If I were an agnostic I think my pity would drive me mad.' When Frances made these sort of speeches there was a strong resemblance between her and Lyall.'I don't believe you are attending to a word I say,' observed Elinor impatiently. 'You are in one of your thinking moods. You have got your Fra Angelico expression,'—an old joke between the sisters,—'please be mundane for five minutes while I explain the situation. Bride, like the dear she is, has promised not to be dull without me; so I thought, if you have a spare bed, I would stay for the night,—that is, if you would care to have me,' with an arch look. Then was Frances effectually roused.'Want you! Do I ever cease to want you?' she said affectionately. 'You dear old thing. If I had not a spare bed in the house I would sleep on the floor sooner than let you go! Let me see. All our rooms are full, but you shall share mine. There is always an emergency bed that can be used. Oh, this is too delightful; it makes me feel rested at once! I will tell you what we will do, Nora. Jane shall bring up tea at once, and you shall give me a cup; but I cannot stay to talk. There are the new books from Mudie to amuse you, and I will look in on you from time to time, as often as my duties permit. I am afraid I shall not be free until nearly eight; then we will have a cosy little supper by ourselves, and talk to our hearts' content. Will that satisfy you?''Yes,' returned Elinor, a little wistfully; 'if you will only give me your undivided attention then. I have something rather important to tell you.'Then Frances, struck by her unusual seriousness, suddenly put her hands on Elinor's shoulders and turned her towards the light.'One question, Nora. You are not going to be married?' Then Elinor laughed in an amused manner.'Good gracious, have you taken leave of your senses? Do I ever see any one who is likely to fall in love with me, or I with him? The masculine specimens who come to the Boltons are not to my taste, I assure you—German professors, who take snuff and smell of garlic, long-haired spiritualists and poets. I am afraid the British editors are all furnished with wives already. And as for our especial tame cat, Sir Ralph Peyton, it is more than my life is worth to speak half a dozen words to him, or Augusta will be down on me.''Poor Augusta,' returned Frances very gravely; 'I am afraid that she is still devoted to him, but he will never ask her to be Lady Peyton. Here we are, chattering as usual, but I must tear myself away. I will come down again in a quarter of an hour, when I think tea is ready. Ta-ta, my dear!' and Sister Gresham's tall figure whirled through the open door.Elinor drew her chair closer to the fire, for it was a cold, cheerless afternoon. The book she had selected looked interesting, but she was in no hurry to open it. It was pleasanter to bask in the firelight, and let her thoughts wander where they list.Why did Frances always look grave when she mentioned Sir Ralph's name? They none of them liked the man, though even Bride, who hated him most, could not deny that he was handsome and looked an aristocrat to his finger-tips. Bride always declared that his long, well-shaped hands and polished nails inspired her with perfect aversion. 'He is a selfish egotist,' she said once. 'He will never marry, because he is too fond of his own comfort; and a wife would bore him to extinction. He likes to go to his club, and ride in the Row, and drive a four-in-hand when the weather suits him. Of course Augusta thinks him adorable; that is why he likes to come to the Boltons. She gives him all his favourite dishes, and between the entreées he makes pretty speeches to her.'Bride was for ever making these little satirical observations; she and Elinor took a malicious pleasure in criticising the habitueés of Grove House and making merry at their expense. The omnium-gatherums, in which the eldest Miss Gresham's soul delighted, were very distasteful to her sisters.Strangers always admired Augusta Gresham. She was a clever woman and decidedly handsome, although the storm and stress of life and the restlessness of an unsatisfied nature had worn and aged her.She was a singularly unbalanced person, and was apt to take up all sorts of extraordinary people, of whom she speedily grew weary. She had a knack of dropping a person who bored her, which excited Elinor's wonder and admiration.'How does she do it?' she would ask. 'She has a way of turning a cold shoulder in the most natural way possible, and her voice drawls a little and she drops her eyelids. Oh, I saw Fraulein von Oppenheim's face the other evening. The poor thing grew so red and uncomfortable. Augusta is quite sick of the Oppenheims; she does not like the snuff and the garlic any more than we do.'It must be owned that Miss Gresham's 'Fortnightlies,' as Elinor called them, were often composed of very incongruous elements. Augusta, who prided herself on being broad and large minded, and who considered that it was her duty to be all things to all men, would include in her invitation-lists men and women belonging to every school of thought. Lyall, who was once present, found himself, to his disgust, obliged to play the host to a notorious agnostic, who spent his Sunday afternoons trying to undermine the faith of any weak-minded young man who chose to listen to him. And there were several Christian Scientists and half a dozen spiritualists, flanked by an Unitarian minister and an extreme High Churchman. Lyall retired with the last-mentioned guest into a corner, promptly. He was an old college friend, and at that moment he was the very salt of the earth to Lyall.'Did you ever see such an assemblage of cranks, Purley?' he observed. Father Purley, he was commonly called at St. Dunstan's. 'My sister has no right to bring that man inside the house; he does more evil in the week than you and your curates can undo in a month. Of course you know whom I mean—Brandon—Joseph Brandon, that fellow with the bull's neck and long beard. He was holding forth in the Park last Sunday—such a crowd of pale-faced lads round him, and he was filling their ignorant young souls with his poisonous garbage. "Englishmen should love the truth," he was thundering as I passed. "We have emerged from the Dark Ages of superstition. No more smug priests battening in their luxury and devouring their loaves and fishes, and dressed in purple and fine linen."'Poor little Mallard was with me—you know him, Purley; a more hardworking, honest fellow never lived, and he has an invalid wife and six children.''It was his own fault for marrying on a curate's stipend,' returned Father Purley coldly, for he prided himself on his celibacy.'Ah, well, we can't think alike,' returned Lyall quickly, for he had already seen the woman who was to spoil his life. 'But let me finish. When Brandon bellowed out about the purple and fine linen Mallard gave me a queer look. "We don't batten much in luxury up at our place," he said drily. And I found out afterwards that he had not tasted meat for a week, and there was his poor sick wife. I told my sisters about it, and I have reason to know that sundry legs of mutton and rounds of beef were delivered at No. 9 Sugden Street. By-the-bye, Purley, could you not get their boy into St. Dunstan's School? He is a likely little chap, and they are giving him no education.'And then the two men were soon deep in a discussion of ways and means; for in spite of his vagaries Father Purley had a warm heart and loved to minister, both spiritually and physically, to his fellow-creatures. 'One cannot be a priest unless one is ready to live or die for the people entrusted to one's care,' Lyall Gresham once said.CHAPTER IIITHE LAST STRAWHow vainly seekThe selfish for that happiness deniedTo ought but virtue! Blind and burdened theyWho covet power they know not how to use,And sigh for pleasure they refuse to give!Madly they frustrate still their own designs.SHELLEY.IT was long past eight before Frances returned to the Sister's room with the smiling assurance that her day's work was over, and that she would be free from disturbance for the next two hours.The little supper-table was already spread, and as the sisters partook of their simple meal they talked principally of matters connected with the Home.Elinor, who took the keenest interest in her sister's work, and was acquainted with the names and histories of all the nurses, always questioned Frances very minutely on the events of the week or ten days which had elapsed since their last meeting. 'I suppose Miss Holdsworth still comes to you on Sunday afternoons?' she asked presently. There was a slight change in Elinor's tone as she said this that would have been imperceptible to any one but Frances.'Oh yes; it is Edith's only free afternoon,' she returned cheerfully, 'and she always says the walk does her so much good; we both enjoy our hour's chat.''Oh, I daresay,' returned Elinor a little drily; then Frances smiled to herself and rather adroitly changed the subject.She was fully aware that Elinor did not thoroughly appreciate Miss Holdsworth, that the two women were not in touch, though they mutually respected each other; and though Frances would not have hinted at such a thing for worlds, that Elinor was a little jealous of Edith Holdsworth's influence.'I always wonder you can be so fond of her,' Elinor had said to her once. 'Miss Holdsworth is very nice and clever, but she is too strong-minded and undemonstrative for my taste. I like to know what people think, and she is so terribly reserved.''I know what you mean,' returned Frances tolerantly; 'but Edith is really very warm-hearted, though strangers do not always find it out. She has had much to try her in her life; from a girl she has had to stand alone and rely on herself, and then she has had no sister Nora.' And Frances had looked at her affectionately.Elinor did not often make these speeches; she would have considered it unkind to Frances; but there was a lack of spontaneity in her manner, a slight glacial edge to her tone, when any opinion of Edith Holdsworth's was brought forward, which Frances under-stood quite well. ' I wish they knew each other better,' she said to herself once; 'they are both so good; but there is no use talking about it. If I leave them alone, they will soon find each other out, and Nora does try so hard not to let me see what she feels.'When supper was over the sisters drew up by the fireside, and as soon as the table had been cleared, and Jane had carried off the last tray, Frances looked at her sister in a quiet, searching way."Well, Nora,' she said placidly,' you have been very good and patient all these hours. Now, I will be very attentive while you unfold your budget. Has Augusta been behaving unkindly to Bride again?''Oh, that is an old story,' returned Elinor quickly. I consider that Augusta behaves abominably to the poor child; she has no consideration for her, and she sneers at her quite openly before people. But it is not only Bride's grievances. Things have come to such a pass lately, and Augusta has become so despotic, that we can neither of us put up with it any longer. She makes our home life unbearable; and yesterday, after talking it over with Bride, I told Augusta that we could no longer remain at the Boltons, and that Bride and I would make a home together until Lyall came back.''My dear Nora, this is a very grave step on your part! Are you sure that things cannot be remedied? I shall be perfectly willing to try my hand with Augusta. We might manage to frighten her between us and bring her to reason.'But Elinor shook her head. 'No, it has gone too far for talk, and Bride and I have made up our minds. It is useless to try to change Augusta. She is a tyrant by nature and will have her way. Bride is telling Lyall about our plan to-night; he will not object to it. We mean to go down to Meadow Thorpe and settle at Wildcroft. How astonished you look, Frances! Bride and I will love it. We both delight in the country; and think how peaceful our life will be without Augusta and her odious Fortnightlies.'Frances remained silent; she was intensely surprised. Elinor had borne so much all these years, and had so quietly acquiesced in Augusta's despotic sway over the household, that this sudden self-assertion on her part was quite unexpected. She was the last person to find fault with Elinor's decision. Years before she had quarrelled with Augusta and shaken off the dust of Grove House, unable to bear her eldest sister's imperious temper; but Elinor's nature was so soft and pliant. No, she would not judge or even offer an opinion until she had heard more.'I wish you would tell me what brought things to such a climax,' she said slowly. 'If you are fighting Bride's battles there is an easier solution of the difficulty than burying yourselves at Meadow Thorpe. Let Bride do her duty and go to her husband.''Ah, I thought you would say that, Frances,' and Elinor spoke rather sadly; 'but Lyall will not let her go out to him. Oh!' as Frances looked at her in amazement, 'I knew I should surprise you, but Bride would not let me tell you before. She wrote to Lyall three months ago, and told him that she was ready to go out to him. It was such a nice letter; she made me read it, it was so affectionate and wifely. She owned, quite frankly, that she had not done her duty, but she hoped that he would forgive her, and let her try to retrieve the past. These were not her actual words; I am only giving you the sense. Bride wrote very simply, but I thought her letter extremely touching.''And Lyall refused to have her?''Yes; but his answer was very kind, though Bride was excessively hurt and injured. He told her that much as he should love to have her with him he thought it would be best for her to remain with his sisters; that he would probably be home in another year, and that they could then discuss their future plans together; but Bride chose to make herself very unhappy about his letter. She declares that he has lost faith in her, and does not believe that she is really in earnest. "Unless you can tell me that our separation really makes you unhappy," he wrote, "I think it will be better to let things remain as they are at present."''Poor Lyall,' sighed Frances; 'he would have answered Bride very differently if she had written a year or eighteen months ago. She has left him too long in his solitude. One cannot wonder that he is embittered; his very love for Bride makes him hard.''So I told her, but you cannot get Bride to be reasonable; she is rather a spoilt child in some things. She declares that he has ceased to love her, that she has worn him out. Oh, I just want to shake her when she talks in that ridiculous fashion. I tell her, some-times, that I can hardly keep my hands off her, and then she looks at me with such big, mournful eyes. "You are only Lyall's sister, you cannot judge," she says with dignity. "I should think his wife must know him best. "When she makes these speeches I can hardly help laughing in her face.''Oh, there is no use laughing at her,' returned Frances rather impatiently. 'Bride cannot help her temperament; she is far too limited to understand Lyall's intense nature. The fact is, he dare not let her go out to him; he knows that they would both be miserable, and that she would hinder his work. Well, it is a weary subject. Do not let us talk any more about Bride. I am far too anxious to know what caused your rupture with Gussie.''Well, I will try to explain if I can, Frances dear; but for a long time there have been little vexing worries and jars, and unless we have kept in our own upstairs sitting-room, there has really been no peace from all those odious people whom Augusta brings to the house. There is a dreadful woman, Madame Brissac, who comes morning, noon, and night. She calls herself a Theosophist, but Bride and I think she is a little mad. She talks in such a crazy manner that I am quite ashamed of the maids hearing her. We positively loathe her. And Augusta was very angry one night because she said that we did not treat Madame Brissac with sufficient respect; but I told her that if she would only have decent people to the house she would not have to complain of our manner. Oh, she was so offended when I said that.'Frances shrugged her shoulders; she had fought these little battles again and again, and more than once Augusta had had to give in and get rid of some obnoxious acquaintance; but Elinor, who had not her sister's spirit, had not yet achieved a victory.'But it was not Madame Brissac who was our last straw,' went on Elinor. 'You know the life Augusta leads us in Lent, and how she jeers at our little rules. Well, she has got worse lately. She prides herself on being what she calls a Broad Churchwoman, and she is never better pleased than when she is trampling on our feelings. You know, Frances, that with all her faults, Bride is really religious; and being a clergyman's wife, she thinks it her duty to do certain things; and she does so hate Gussie's mocking little speeches before people.Well, the day before yesterday Augusta told me that she was sending out invitations for a large At Home and Musicale, and she hoped to secure Signor Rossini's services. Imagine my horror when I found that the date was the second Friday in Lent, and that at least a hundred and fifty people were to be invited.''My dear Nora!'—and it was evident that Frances was shocked. Augusta had never done anything quite so glaring before. What right had one sister to usurp all the authority and to insist on outraging the feelings of those who lived with her? Surely Elinor had sufficient cause to assert herself if Augusta could forget herself in this way.'I hope you told her that you would not be present at her party,' observed Frances coolly.'I was too much upset to say anything at the moment,' returned Elinor; 'besides, I wanted to talk to Bride. I knew Augusta had an engagement for the afternoon and evening, and that old cat, Madame Brissac, was coming to luncheon—"Madame Mephistopheles," as Bride calls her. I made Bride come out shopping with me, and we lost our train on purpose, and when we returned we found that Hyde had cleared everything away. Augusta had told her to do so, but I made her bring some dishes back. Augusta looked so disgusted when she peeped in and saw us.'"It is a pity you give the servants so much trouble with your unpunctual ways, Nora," she said crossly—and there was Hyde looking as sulky and disagreeable as possible."'It is a pity you ordered her to clear away," was my answer, "when you were quite aware that we should return and want our luncheon—and Augusta was so taken aback at this unexpected retort that she actually held her tongue.'Well, we talked that night until midnight. Bride and I were so sick of things that we made up our minds to leave Grove House for good and all. I was awake half the night worrying about it all and how I should break it to Augusta, and dreading the row that there would be; but there was no use putting things off; it was better to strike while the iron was hot, and I was at fever heat.''My poor dear Nora,' and Frances put out her hand to her sister, 'if I could only fight your battles for you as I used in the old days'—then Elinor's soft eyes looked very sad.'If I could only leave off missing you so horribly,' she returned; 'but I never could find courage to stand up to Augusta before. Even as I turned the handle of the morning-room door yesterday I felt quite sick and cold with apprehension,—it seemed such a dreadful thing to tell one's own sister that one can no longer live with her.''I had to do it, Nora.''Ah! but you were always brave, and Augusta was rather afraid of you. She would never have dared to do this thing if you had been in the house; but she does not care the least little bit for what we think.''That is because you will not assert yourself, Nora.''Oh yes, I know; an easy temper is not always a blessing. I am afraid I have been a peace-at-any-price woman,—but to cut an unpleasant story short. I found Augusta at her writing-table; it was positively strewn with invitation-cards. They were like the proverbial 'red rag to the bull; and for once—just imagine it, Francie dear—I was in a regular temper. Augusta received me with her usual civility; she was excessively busy and hoped that I was not going to interrupt her. She had been hindered already, and she wanted to send off the first batch of cards that afternoon.'"I am afraid you must listen to me for a moment," I replied, but my voice was not quite under control, "as I have something very important to say. As usual, you have not chosen to consult me, and now I wish to tell you that neither Bride nor I will be at the Musicale."'Bravo,' murmured Frances softly.'Augusta stared at me, and then she got very red. "What nonsense are you talking, Nora? I spoke to you about the party yesterday and you made no objection. As the invitations are from the Misses Gresham you can hardly be absent. Bride can do as she likes; her movements do not interest me in the least."'"There is no use discussing the point"—I was getting angry now—"nothing will induce me to appear at the Musicale. You know my views on this subject. Frances, Lyall, Bride, and I think alike on this subject; you have chosen to offend our prejudices. You have gone too far, Augusta; it is a matter of principle, and I will not yield."''That was well said, Nora. How did Augusta take that?''She looked intensely uncomfortable. I am sure from her manner that she felt she had done an unwise thing.'"I hope you are not going to make a fuss now," she said irritably. "You must see for yourself that I cannot alter things now the cards are printed. If I had known that you object so much to Friday I would have fixed another day."'"But it would still be a Lenten party!" Then Augusta was silent. She never fibs; that's one thing in her favour.'"You had better throw those cards in the fire, Gussie," I went on; "you have no right to use my name without my sanction. It is not my party, and I will have nothing to do with it." Then, as she saw I was really in earnest, her temper got the better of her. Oh, the things she said!—but, strange to say, I was more disgusted than frightened. I wondered all the time she was storming at me what some of her dear friends would think if they heard their dignified, smooth-mannered Miss Gresham just then.''Oh, I know what you mean, Nora. She is like another woman; but it is better to pass over that.''I don't think I listened; I had too much on my mind, and then I was in a sort of rage—even a worm will turn. And to think that my name should be used in that mean way. As soon as she stopped to take breath I had my innings.'"For the future," I observed, "it will be Miss, not the Misses Gresham. Bride and I have decided to make a home for ourselves; our life at Grove House is simply unbearable. You do nothing to make us happy, Augusta, and we can no longer put up with your extraordinary friends. It would be far wiser to make the break before things become more strained and impossible. As we both like the country we shall probably stay at Wildcroft. Lyall's tenants left last month. You can tell your acquaintances, if you like, that we prefer a quieter life in the country. We shall be better friends apart, Augusta, and I know you do not really need us."'Frances drew a long breath of relief; she felt she could not have done better herself. 'What did she say?' she asked anxiously.'Oh, she never uttered one word, but I saw that she turned pale. I expect I gave her rather a shock. She motioned with her hand that I should leave her. She was actually writing her notes before I closed the door. I had a good cry in my own room before I went to Bride, and that relieved me, but my head ached so that I could not go down to luncheon; but Lady Templeton was there, and that made things easier for Bride. She told me afterwards that Augusta did not seem herself, though she made a great effort to be agreeable; but she never spoke to Bride or looked at her, and she made no remark when Bride told Lady Templeton that I was upstairs with a headache.''You were quite right, Nora,' observed Frances thoughtfully. 'Augusta has had a very unexpected shock; she will not like your leaving Grove House. She is afraid her friends will guess the true reason; but we will finish our talk, as I must go my rounds for the night. Poor Nora, how tired you look; do not sit up any longer; there is a nice fire in my room and I will soon join you'; and Elinor, worn out with conflicting feelings, acted on this advice.CHAPTER IVA DIVIDED HOUSEHOLDIt is the gradual furnace of the world,In whose hot air our spirits are uncurl'd,Until they crumble, or else grow like steel,which kills in us the bloom, the youth, the spring,which leaves the fierce necessity to feel,But takes away the power.M. ARNOLD.ELINOR had had two wakeful nights, and she was so worn out with the excitement and emotion of the preceding day, that Frances found no difficulty in persuading her to leave any further talk until the next morning, and she had scarcely laid her head upon the pillow before she was asleep.It was Frances who kept vigil that night, who lay wide-awake, gazing at the flickering firelight, and listening to her sister's soft breathing, while her active brain reviewed carefully each point in their conversation.Elinor's coup d'état had taken her completely by surprise, but in her heart she was well pleased that the sadly divided household at Grove House should be broken up. The atmosphere of such a house was not good for either Elinor or Bride, and there was nothing wrong or unreasonable in their contemplated plan, and they had every right, if they chose, to make a home together.When Lyall left his young wife to his sisters' care, he was in reality entrusting her to Elinor, for even then Augusta showed herself antagonistic to her sister-in-law. 'Nora will stick to her,' he had said to Frances; good old Nora, one can always rely on her, and Bride is quite devoted to her. I am afraid she and Augusta will never hit it off, but if things get a little difficult you will give them a helping hand, I know,' for Lyall had an immense respect for Frances' judgment and good sense. Indeed, he wished that Elinor had some of her pluck. 'She lets Augusta sit on her too much,' he would say; 'she never seems to understand that she is quite as much mistress of the house as Augusta.'Frances had often pointed this out to Elinor, and more than once she had advised her very strongly to show fight. 'Gussie is the sort of person that if you give her an inch she is sure to take an ell,' she remarked once. 'You have got into the habit of yielding to her, and you are too indolent to assert yourself,' and Elinor had sadly endorsed this. But of late Frances had ceased to make these speeches; they only worried Elinor, and did no good; and now without any effort on her part the red flag of revolt had been hoisted and a revolution had been declared.Frances was truly thankful that Elinor and Bride had taken this decided step, and she was also sure that Lyall would approve. Recently he had written in rather a displeased manner to Augusta, and had complained of the undesirable people who were invited to Grove House. 'I do not wish my wife to be introduced to Joseph Brandon or any of his disciples,' he wrote, 'and I have desired her to have nothing to do with them.' Augusta had been much offended by her brother's letter, and had answered him in her usual aggressive fashion.'If Bride does not intend to be civil and pleasant to our friends, she can remain in her own sitting-room,' she wrote, 'or make her home elsewhere; for I shall certainly not consult my sister-in-law about the people I choose to invite to the house.'Lyall frowned and sighed heavily as he put the letter aside. ' If it were not for Elinor,' he said to himself, 'I think it would be better for Bride to leave Grove House; but I know that she and Nora would never consent to a separation.' But it did not enter Lyall's head that Elinor would wish to cut herself adrift from her old home and cast in her lot with Bride.Looking at it all round, it was certainly the best thing under the circumstances, and Frances was quite sure that Lyall would most thoroughly approve of the plan; but in her heart she was a little sorry for Augusta; it would be a bitter pill for her to swallow, and her pride would be acutely wounded.With all her glaring faults she was not utterly devoid of affection; and, as they all knew, Elinor was in some respects her favourite; her easy temperament had given Augusta little trouble all these years.Augusta's unhappy nature and morbid restlessness had been aggravated by disappointment. Some years previously she had believed, and not without sufficient reason, that Sir Ralph Peyton was in love with her. He was a striking-looking man of commanding presence and a fascinating manner, and his old family, immense wealth, and undoubted position made him a desirable parti in the eyes of match-making mothers. Augusta Gresham, who was undeniably the beauty of the family, had been a very handsome girl, and friends of the Gresham's thought they were a very well-matched couple.There could be little doubt that Sir Ralph had paid her marked attention. When they met in society he had singled her out on every occasion. During one season they had been together almost daily, and then, before any decisive words had been spoken, he had gone off to shoot tigers in India. Augusta was only seven-and-twenty then, and, as Frances knew she was very much in love, there was nothing to prevent their engagement; and when Sir Ralph left with a careless good-bye, both Augusta's pride and affection were cruelly wounded. She knew that her friends would think that he had treated her badly, and perhaps in her heart she secretly agreed with them. No man had any right to make a woman so conspicuous; his attentions had been lover-like, and he had never tried to disguise his admiration.It is the looker-on who sees most of the game, and it was then that Frances had uttered her warning. 'Sir Ralph is very fascinating, Gussie,' she said gravely, 'but I advise you not to expect too much from him. I feel sure he is not a marrying man.' But Augusta had been very angry at this. Her imperious temper never brooked interference, and though Sir Ralph had inflicted this mortification on her, she was not without hope.Poor Augusta; she had set her heart on being Lady Peyton. No other man had ever found favour in her eyes. Unfortunately her affections were deeply involved, and though on his return from India his attentions had perceptibly cooled, and lie no longer devoted himself wholly to her, he always took pleasure in her society, and after a time they seemed to settle down into an agreeable and steady friendship. Augusta, who was a thorough woman of the world, seemed to acquiesce quite contentedly in this arrangement, and Sir Ralph was always a privileged guest at Grove House; but Frances was well aware that the wound still festered. What woman, desiring love from some cherished object, would rest content with a cool and complacent friendship, interlarded with compliments and an occasional admiring glance from a pair of dark eyes which could be eloquent if their owner chose?If Sir Ralph, who was an egotist by nature, was too much wrapped up in his selfish pleasures and his love of uncontrolled freedom to care to make any woman his wife, he still liked to enjoy their society and bask in their smiles, and in his own fashion he was fond of Augusta, though he told himself that she was losing her beauty and not wearing well. Sir Ralph would not have owned to himself for worlds that it was he who had robbed her of her bloom and youth, who had soured her temper, and had driven her to allay the fever of her restlessness by seeking distraction in excitement. Augusta, who did not care to bring her fading charms into contact with fresh young débutantes in the ball-room, fell back on more mature and intellectual pleasures.She would open a salon, the Grove House Thursdays should become popular. Just lately she had become infatuated with Madame Brissac and a certain Mrs. Oscar Nugent, who was much interested in spiritualism, and both these ladies found an apt pupil in Augusta. If one is debarred from purchasing a trousseau, there is at least a certain distraction to be found in a séance, and some sort of interest can be attached even to a spook.Augusta was never quite sure whether she really believed in the communication of intelligence from a world of spirits, but she liked the sensation of mystery. Now and then the thought crossed her mind that concertinas were hardly the musical instruments for spirits to play; or table-turning or the rapping on wooden surfaces quite the dignified mode of transmitting messages to a broken-hearted mourner. But Augusta, who was just then cultivating tolerance on all shades of opinion, was content to sit in the charmed circle and await developments; at least, it occupied her attention and afforded her amusement, and then Mrs. Oscar Nugent was such a charming woman.'It was Sir Ralph who was to blame,' thought Frances, with a little spasm of pity for her eldest sister's wasted life and misdirected energies; and then as the fire died down her thoughts wandered into another channel—a more practical weighing of ways and means.Although Augusta would be terribly annoyed and hurt by Elinor's desertion, she had sufficient means of her own to enable her to live on at Grove House if she chose to do so, although it was far too large a house for one person. Some years before, an aunt had died and left Augusta Gresham a handsome legacy, and Frances knew that she had at least twelve hundred a year of her own. The house belonged to Lyall, but his sisters had always lived in it rent free. More than once they had offered to pay him a fixed rent, but he had declined to entertain the idea for a moment. He was not mercenary by nature, and never could be made to understand his own interests. He made his wife a good allowance, and by her wish she paid a regular sum to Augusta in return for her maintenance, who took it as a matter of course. The little dinners and luncheons, and the various entertainments in which Augusta's soul delighted, could not be given free of cost; and sometimes, as she made up her quarterly accounts, she wondered at the smallness of her balance.Wildcroft, an old house with a farm attached, had come to Lyall from an eccentric old bachelor cousin who had taken a great fancy to him. Lyall, who was at that time preparing for his ordination, had been a little embarrassed with his new possession. It was very unlikely that he would ever live there; he had no desire to bury himself in a place like Meadow Thorpe. He wished rather to work in crowded cities amongst his fellowmen, and he knew nothing about farming. He went down to Meadow Thorpe as soon as possible, and talked things over with his cousin's solicitor; and by his advice let the land to a young farmer at Tylcote, who had already a small farm of his own there, and was anxious to annex Wildcroft and put in a working bailiff.A tenant was also found for the house. A Mrs. Shepherd, the sister of the vicar of Dewhurst, a small outlying village about a mile from Meadow Thorpe, was anxious to take a furnished house in that neighbourhood until her husband's return from India. Both her boys were at Rugby; and as her only girl was rather delicate, country air had been prescribed for her. Mrs. Shepherd had proved a very satisfactory tenant, but during the last October Colonel Shepherd's return and retirement from the Service had obliged them to have a settled home, and they had fixed on a house at Chislehurst.Neither Frances nor Elinor had ever seen Wildcroft, and Lyall's description of his new property had been rather vague. Frances felt a little doubtful of the whole proceedings. She was afraid such a quiet environment would be too great a change from the gaieties of town. A nice little flat within comfortable reach of St. Monica's Lodge would be far more suitable, in her opinion. 'I must really speak very seriously to Nora to-morrow,' she thought, as she at last composed herself to sleep.It was never Frances' way to beat about the bush, and as she poured out the coffee the next morning she went straight to the point.'I have been thinking over your plan, Nora dear,' she said quietly, 'and I am not quite sure that I approve of it. If you and Bride want to live in the country, there are so many pretty places nearer town—you know how delighted we were with Midhurst and Haslemere. Meadow Thorpe seems so terribly remote. You know Lyall told us that it was four and a half miles from the nearest station.''Oh, of course we must keep some sort of trap,' interposed Elinor.All the same, it will be very dull in winter,' went on Frances, who was determined to have her say. 'Why, there is not even a village—only two cottages belonging to the farm. How are you and Bride going to amuse yourselves when you are snowed up and no one can get to you? I daresay it would be all very well during the summer, but in winter Wildcroft would be impossible.''Not at all,' returned Elinor, impatient at this cold-water douche from her favourite adviser. 'There is no need for you to be so damping, Frances; it will not hurt us to make the experiment, and as Lyall will probably be home in another year or eighteen months, it is only an arrangement pro tem.''Oh, in that case——'observed Frances slowly, but Elinor interrupted her.'It really seems to me the most sensible thing we can do under the circumstances. There is the house all ready for us, and Lyall will let us live in it rent free. I daresay the furniture is a bit shabby and old-fashioned, but we don't mind that in the least. We shall take our books and pretty things and all our little treasures; and with new curtains and cretonnes, and perhaps a carpet or two, we shall look quite smart.''Yes, I see,' in a grudging tone, for Frances felt she was losing ground; 'and if you insist on burying yourselves alive, of course I cannot prevent you from doing so, but I don't much take to the idea of Meadow Thorpe myself. It is so terribly isolated. I remember Lyall telling us that the nearest neighbour lived a mile away. Did he not say, too, something about ruins and a churchyard?'Yes, I think so; it was the only thing that seemed to interest him, but there is no use talking about a place that we have never seen. Look here, Frances dear,' and Elinor's voice became very coaxing, 'I want you to do something nice and sisterly. You know I told you that Bride is going to stay with the Nortons at the end of next week. She will be away for four or five days at least. I could not be left alone with Augusta, and I propose that you and I go down to Meadow Thorpe and lead a picnic sort of life for two or three days. Oh, Frances, think how delicious it will be! it will be the best bit of fun we have had for years, and then we can form some opinion of the place.''It will be looking its worst; we are not at the end of February yet'; but it was evident that in spite of Frances' repressive speech she was strongly tempted. 'I must not decide just now,' she added, a moment later; 'I will let you know in three or four days whether I can possibly be spared from the Home, but it will not be before Monday week, I am afraid. Will that be too late, Nora?''Monday, the first of March; no, that will do very well,' returned Elinor in a satisfied tone. 'I will write to Mrs. Deans and tell her to light fires and air blankets.' Mrs. Deans was the wife of the working bailiff who lived in the cottage adjoining Wildcroft, and who had acted as care-taker since the Shepherds had left.'And I hope she will carry out your instructions,' replied Frances, in a laughing tone, 'for I have no desire to have rheumatisms from sleeping in a damp bed.''I have rather a good idea,' observed Elinor; 'we will take Rachel with us to look after things and make us comfortable.''But I thought Augusta had sent Rachel away?''So she did, and Bride was so vexed that she cried about it. Rachel is such a nice, willing girl, and we both liked her so much; but Augusta would not listen to either of us. She said Rachel had been uncivil to her, and she would not keep her in the house; the poor girl was so unhappy about it. "Miss Gresham spoke to me as though I were the dirt under her feet," she said to us, "and then because I would not put up with it, she told me I was impertinent and could leave at my month, and how am I to get a good place, Miss Elinor, with the character she will give me?" and Rachel burst out crying.''It was too bad of Augusta,' returned Frances, as she took up her bunch of keys, 'but I hope Rachel has found a comfortable situation by this time.''She has not been looking for one just yet,' replied Elinor, 'as her mother was ill; but I had a letter from her yesterday morning to say her mother was better, and that in a day or two she thought of applying to an agency. If we really make up our minds to live at Wildcroft I shall engage Rachel as housemaid—she is a country girl, you know.'Frances nodded; it was growing late. By this time she was usually in the wards. 'I will come over to Grove House in three or four days and let you know about Monday week,' she said, patting her sister's shoulder in a friendly manner. 'I will try not to disappoint you, Nora dear.''Oh, I hope not,' sighed Elinor; 'but in any case Rachel and I will go.' For when Elinor made up her mind about a thing it was a little difficult to move her. Frances knew this very well, for she smiled to herself as she left the room.CHAPTER VBRIDEThere are heartsSo perilously fashion'd, that for themGod's touch alone hath gentleness enoughTo waken—and not break—their thrilling strings.F. HEMANS.Nothing can alter the responsibility which is laid upon each soul.—WESTCOTT.BRIDE GRESHAM was sitting alone in the drawing-room at Grove House. At that hour it was rather a rare occurrence for either her or Elinor to be in the general sitting-room, for they much preferred their upstairs sanctum; but Bride, who was a little heedless in such matters, had let the fire burn too low, and being rather a chilly person she could not resist the pleasure of basking in the delicious warmth of the glorious piled-up logs in the drawing-room grate. Both her sisters-in-law were out. Elinor had a little business to transact at the West End, and Augusta had driven off an hour previously in the smart brougham which she always hired for her own use, and which looked so exactly like a private one. She intended to pay a round of calls—her ordinary afternoon amusement.Bride had a lazy fit. Her novel was interesting and her chair soft and comfortable, and she was disposed to enjoy her solitude.The drawing-room at Grove House was very spacious and lofty, and the furniture was handsome and in good taste. There were some valuable pictures belonging to Lyall, and some beautiful china which was Augusta's special property. People always said that there was no other drawing-room at the Boltons so well proportioned and so thoroughly comfortable. Augusta always smiled well-pleased when she heard this. She prided herself on her good taste, and even her sisters owned that no one could manipulate and arrange furniture to better advantage. 'Augusta has the soul of an upholstress,' Elinor said once, but the compliment was a little doubtful.Mrs. Gresham was a graceful young woman, and most people thought her interesting-looking, though they owned that her style was very unusual; but ninety-nine out of a hundred denied that she was handsome. Only in her husband's eyes she had always been beautiful. Her face was a little thin and her nose rather too long, though it was well shaped. She was generally somewhat pale, but in moments of excitement a vivid colour would rise to her cheeks. At such moments Bride was almost brilliant. But her chief beauty was her hair; it was so dark that most people thought it was black, and it was as glossy as a raven's wing. She wore it in rather an unusual fashion, in low wavy bands that almost touched her eyebrows, but it somehow suited her and gave her a classical look; the thick coil at the back was undoubtedly beautiful, and her eyes, which were also dark, had very long lashes. Bride had a curious trick, though it was quite natural to her, of dropping her eyelids when people addressed her, and then giving them a quick, bright, upward glance, which was very sudden and electrifying. In reality it was shyness, but Augusta's friends agreed with her that young Mrs. Gresham was extremely affected. 'A married woman should get rid of these little mannerisms,' Mrs. Oscar Nugent once observed severely; 'it is such a pity, my dear Augusta, that your sister-in-law should behave like a school-girl,' but Augusta only shrugged her shoulders.'Bride is perfectly impossible; I think her manners get worse, and she is so touchy that one cannot speak to her. I never could see why Lyall fell in love with her. To me she is positively plain,' for Augusta was only too willing to discuss her sister-in-law with her special cronies. Bride was so thoroughly antagonistic to her, that she had seldom a good word for her. 'Elinor spoils her dreadfully,' she would remark fretfully.Bride's existence at Grove House was hardly an enviable one; but for Elinor it would have been simply unbearable. But though she was both frank and outspoken in her denunciation of Augusta's unkindness and want of sympathy, she could not deny that she had placed herself in a false position.Bride's nature was sincere enough to own where the fatal mistake lay which had wrecked, at least temporarily, the happiness of herself and Lyall. How could she be sure that he could ever bring himself to forgive her unnatural desertion of him?' Why had she married him?' Bride was for ever asking herself that question. She was of an age to know her own mind; but his passion had so dominated her that it had seemed as though a whirlwind had carried her off her feet. He had given her no time to question her own heart. Lyall's ardent love-making had dazed and flattered her. He was so good, so kind; his sisters were always telling her so. Why should she be afraid to entrust herself to him? Nevertheless, as Bride had uttered those solemn vows at the altar she had shaken like an aspen in her remorseful fear. 'If I were ever to repent!' she said to herself as they drove off from the church.Alas, before many weeks were over the glamour of that strange love-making was over, and Bride, in the depths of her undisciplined heart, knew that she would have given all she possessed if she could only have regained her freedom. Elinor was her only confidante; but to her she did not say all. How could an unmarried woman understand the difficulties of a wedded wife who respected her husband, and yet knew that her love was a poor, meagre thing compared to his? No; it was clearly impossible that Elinor should understand this.'Lyall is such a dear; he is so good and brave and unselfish,' Elinor had said once to her in those early troubled days. 'Sometimes I think he is almost perfect.' Then Bride had pounced in hawk-like fashion on this last word.'That is just the difficulty, Nora,' she replied, and there was a world of sadness in her voice. Bride had a charming voice. 'Lyall is too perfect for me. How is a poor, little, faulty human creature like myself to live beside him? A dwarf can't keep step with a giant. Do you know, when I am naughty I always feel like the little street boy who asked the tall Grenadier how he felt up there! I want to ask Lyall the same question.''Bride, how can you be so absurd?''Oh, I am quite serious, dearest, only you are so good yourself that you don't understand. Lyall breathes a different and more rarefied air than I do. I am all in the fogs and mists. I want to drag him down to my level, to have him take comfortable, easy, common-place views; but one can't move him. He is dreaming dreams and seeing visions, and one cannot even reach him.' And there was concealed bitterness in Bride's sweet voice.And then had come the crucial test, when Bride had so failed in her wifely duty, when Lyall set off on his crusade of duty alone, leaving his young wife behind him. 'Bride will follow me by-and-by,' was all he said to his sisters, for he was too loyal to his wife to speak of her faults to them. 'You must take care of her for me.'It was a bitter awakening to Lyall, but he was man enough to own the truth. Bride had never really loved him, or she would not have treated him in this fashion. 'It would have been better for both of us if you had been firm in your refusal to marry me,' he had said to her sternly, 'but it is too late now.' And Bride had been too sick with shame and misery to answer him. Bride never tried to defend herself to Lyall. Perhaps if she had spoken out to him, he might have understood her a little better; but she could never muster up courage. It would have angered him more, she thought, if he knew how much she feared him; how even his tenderness failed to reassure her. Bride, who was not a strong woman, had troublesome nerves that sometimes played her false. It was in a moment of unreasoning panic that she had implored Lyall to leave her behind. 'I shall be miserable,' she sobbed; 'how am I to help my nature? If you had told me that you intended to be a missionary I would never have married you. I am not fit for such a life, and you know it, Lyall.'Yes, he knew it now, he told her bitterly, when it was too late to alter things. He had given his word and he must go, but he would not compel her to go too; if she wished to do so, she could remain with his sisters.'Yes,' she had returned eagerly, 'and you can send for me by-and-by. I will come then, Lyall, I will indeed.' But two years had passed since then and Lyall had not summoned her to his side; and when, three months previously, she had suggested coming out to him, he had quietly but decidedly rejected her offer. Strange to say, Bride made herself very unhappy over that letter, and she was still extremely sore on the subject.That afternoon Bride was dreaming dreams too, only her visions were hardly pleasant ones. For once her novel proved flavourless and lay face downward on her lap. A strenuous, eager young face seemed to rise before her; sad, reproachful eyes were gazing at her. 'How could you have the heart to do it?' they seemed to say.Bride sighed restlessly, and then the little black Pomeranian dog, curled up on her dress, gave a shrill bark, and the next moment a tall, well-dressed woman entered the room unannounced.'I hope I am not disturbing you, Bride?' observed a friendly voice; then young Mrs. Gresham sprang from her chair with an exclamation of pleasure.'Is it really you, Frances?' she exclaimed in a tone of relief. 'I was afraid it was Augusta.' Then Frances laughed as she returned Bride's warm embrace.'Poor old Augusta! I suppose she is doing her usual treadmill business. I wonder how many flights of steps she ascends and descends in one afternoon? I hope Nora will not be out long.''I hardly know. Her new hat does not quite suit her, and she has gone to Hobart Place to interview Madame Mersac, but she promised to come straight back. Sit down, Frances, and I will ring for Perry to bring tea. How nice you look, dear'; then Frances, who was standing by the fire taking off her gloves, swept a graceful little curtsy at Bride's pretty speech. 'Bride liked to lay on the butter rather thickly,' her sisters-in-law would say.Sister Gresham always dressed well; she knew exactly the shade which would suit her dark complexion. In winter she usually wore dark red or a warm brown, and she liked the relief of velvet or fur. Most people thought Frances looked best in her Sister's dress, but they could not deny that in her secular garb she was rather a distinguished-looking woman. She had great dignity and ease of manner; and even Augusta, who rarely praised her sisters, was more than once heard to say that Frances knew how to make the best of herself, and would even condescend to consult her on the trimming of a new evening dress.Frances talked on cheerfully as Bride busied herself over the tea-table. Bride's pale cheeks and air of lassitude were very perceptible to her, but she thought it wiser to take no notice. As she drank her tea and fed Scrap with morsels of sponge-cake, she told Bride that her patient was making satisfactory progress, and that she hoped to go down with Nora to Meadow Thorpe the following Monday for three days. 'But I am afraid I shall bring back an evil report of the place,' she finished; then a distressed look came to Bride's face,'Oh, I hope you are going to be nice about it, Frances dear,' she returned plaintively. 'Nora thinks so much of your opinion, and if you do not like Wildcroft she will be half-hearted about the whole thing.''Tell me why you want to go there, Bride?' asked Frances gently, but Bride seemed unwilling to be questioned. 'She was fond of the country,' she said vaguely, and she wanted to be quiet; they were both so sick of all the bustle and gaiety. Augusta would not attempt to follow them down there, they were quite sure of that. 'Gussie hated the country,' she went on; 'she liked a smart up-to-date watering-place, where she could meet her friends,—or to go abroad.' There was some talk of the Engadine for this year, she believed, but both she and Nora had agreed that even Switzerland with Augusta and Madame Brissac would be doubtful pleasure. 'We are so tired of going abroad with Augusta,' went on Bride fretfully. 'It is nothing but a grind from morning to night. She is so strong herself that she never understands why other people should be tired, and she never tries to find out what we wish to do. No, my dear,' concluded Bride, with a curl of her lip, 'a personally-conducted party under Augusta's leadership is certainly not enjoyable.''I daresay you are right,' returned Frances. 'I felt much the same that year we went to Rome; but there are other places, as I told Nora.''Yes, there are other places, of course,' observed Bride, 'but we have a fancy to try Meadow Thorpe.' Bride spoke a little hesitatingly, and her manner suggested that she could say more if she chose. What if she had an odd fancy for living in Lyall's house, that a secret wish to do penance for her unwifely conduct tempted her to bury herself in this quiet country spot? 'Lyall will not think I am amusing myself and leading a gay life while he is working himself to death,' she had said to Nora, and Elinor had understood.Frances would have understood too, if Bride would have taken her into confidence. She was really very fond of her young sister-in-law. She looked at her curiously while Bride talked. 'There are other reasons,' she said to herself; 'in some way she is trying to please Lyall. She thinks he will be glad for her to live at Meadow Thorpe.'Frances had no opportunity of questioning her further, for Scrap barked again rather loudly, and the next minute Augusta came in, followed by Perry.Augusta Gresham always gave herself the airs of the mistress of the house. She was rather exacting with the servants and expected them to wait on her. Perry would have been chid rather sharply if she had not been ready to relieve her mistress of her heavy sealskin. To judge from Perry's machine-like movements it was hardly a labour of love, but Miss Gresham paid good wages and the situation had its advantages.'How do you do, Frances?' observed Augusta coldly, when she had got rid of her heavy coat. In reality she was not pleased to see her sister; things were uncomfortable enough, and Frances was not likely to gloss over matters. Augusta rather dreaded Frances' downright speeches, and then she would be sure to side with Nora and Bride. These reflections added to the ungraciousness of Augusta's manner. She had had a tiresome afternoon—all the people she had wanted to see had been out, and all the bores had been at home. She was already ruffled and weary, and now the evening would be spoiled.'I had no idea Nora and Bride were expecting you,' she continued a little crossly, 'but they might have told me so.''Neither of them expected me,' returned Frances cheerfully, for she had her own reasons for not wishing to quarrel with her eldest sister. 'I found myself with a few hours' leisure, so I thought I would come over. I suppose I may stay to dinner, Gussie? I need not be back until half-past ten.''Oh, you can please yourself,' returned Augusta, but it was evident to both of them that she was somewhat embarrassed by Frances' request. 'We shall not be by ourselves this evening,' flushing slightly, 'for we are expecting Mrs. Oscar Nugent and Sir Ralph Peyton. I was just going to send round a note to Madame Brissac, but'—with a little forced laugh—'if you stay, Frances, our number will be complete.'Frances was about to accept this grudging invitation when Bride interposed; she looked extremely indignant.'Nora has no idea that any one is coming to dinner,' she observed; 'I think you might have informed us of the fact, Augusta.''There is no need for you to be so injured, Bride,' returned Miss Gresham coolly; 'I was just going to mention it at breakfast-time, only something put it out of my head.''But there was luncheon,' persisted Bride.'Oh, I was in a hurry, and after all what did it matter,—two such intimate friends as Laura Nugent and Sir Ralph.' Augusta's manner was sufficiently exasperating.Bride could not trust herself to answer. She rose from her chair with an offended air and tucked Scrap under her arm. 'I will tell Burney to get your room ready, Frances,' she said in a low voice. You will find me upstairs when you want me'—and Bride swept out of the room with the air of a tragedy queen.CHAPTER VI'NO FRIEND LIKE A SISTER''Tis but brother's speech we need,Speech where an accent's change gives eachThe other's soul.BROWNING.Too much love there can be never.BROWNING.The little hearts that know not how to forgive.TENNYSON.THERE was rather an awkward silence between the sisters when the door closed, and then Frances said, very quietly, ' I do not wonder that things have come to such a crisis; you are taking too much upon yourself, Gussie. You remember, I told you so some time ago, when I begged you to show more respect to Bride's feelings. How can you expect that either she or Nora would tamely submit to all you choose to put upon them?'Frances spoke quite calmly, but there was a dangerous spark in her eyes. She was quite aware, as she delivered her straight hit, that Augusta was revenging herself for her sisters' declaration of independence, by planning this deliberate insult. If they chose to shake off the yoke of her authority she would show them how well she could do without them; in a word, she had determined to ignore them and to make herself disagreeable. There is no demon more powerful than the demon of temper and an arrogant will, which for the time seems to crush and deaden the gentler emotions of the nature.Augusta had gone too far, and she knew it; and deep down in her heart she bitterly repented her imprudence in sending out those cards, but her pride would not allow her to own this. She had even seriously considered whether it would not be wise to yield to circumstances and act on Elinor's advice, but in an evil moment she had consulted Mrs. Oscar Nugent, and the result had been that the waste-paper basket remained empty.'What nonsense, my dear Augusta,' her friend had returned. 'Excuse me, my love, but Elinor is a little fool, and you are another if you let her force your hand in this way. You had better go through with it, that is my advice, and when they see you are firm they will just give in. Elinor is far too soft to fight a prolonged campaign; in two or three weeks they will come to their senses and be ready to make terms with you.' And this advice so entirely coincided with Augusta's secret wishes that she tried to believe that dear Laura would be a true prophet. Augusta committed another grievous mistake; she was so deeply offended with her sisters that she made no attempt to conciliate them. On the contrary, she was so stung and exasperated by their steady resistance and quiet avoidance of her society, that the desire of revenge became stronger.Each day the breach widened and Augusta grew more angry and embittered. She was no longer sure that she wished them to remain. They might go if they liked, but they should see that she intended to be mistress.'I was quite sure that you would side with them,' she said coldly, when Frances had uttered her protest, 'so it is useless for us to discuss the matter. Indeed, I should not wonder if you have instigated Nora to behave in this ridiculous fashion.''On the contrary,' returned Frances steadily,—but she spoke without temper,—' I was completely in the dark until Nora came over to St. Monica's Lodge and told me, to my intense surprise, that she and Bride intended to leave Grove House; that they wished for a peaceful home and freedom to live their own lives without bickerings and heart-burnings.''And of course you told Nora how entirely you approved of her unsisterly conduct? Please speak the truth, Frances.''Do I ever do otherwise?' with a smile that added to Augusta's sense of injury, for there is nothing so provoking as seeing another person cool when one is losing one's temper. 'As I told you, Gussie, I was extremely surprised, but when I came to think over matters I felt immensely relieved that the break had been made. I am not sure that I quite approve of the Meadow Thorpe plan, but that is a detail. But, honestly, I do think that you will all three be happier for taking this step.'Augusta was too angry to reply. She walked to the fireplace under pretext of stirring the fire, but her hand was not steady and one of the blazing logs fell into the fender with a crash. At the impatient exclamation that followed the accident Frances quietly went to her sister's aid and took the tongs from her hand. 'Go and sit down, Gussie,' she said with kind peremptoriness, 'you are just tired out, and I love above all things to build up a wood fire,' and actually Augusta took this sensible piece of advice.She was deadly tired, for the inward fever of discontent and baffled desires preyed slowly but surely on her strength. 'There is no rest for the wicked,' says the inspired prophet; but it is also true that there is no real rest for those unhappy natures who refuse to accept their daily cross, with its limitations and denials, its small hourly sacrifices to the shrine of duty; for the egotist walks for ever in his or her own shadow, and to them there is no warmth of real heart sunshine.For those who truly live must be for ever giving out of their abundance, not asking or expecting a return; their hearth-fires may be cold, and they themselves chilled at times as they try vainly to rekindle the dying embers that were once so glowing; but even in their sadness they are ready to stretch out their hands to help some other weary wayfarer, and as they do so, to lo! the fire is kindled and they are no longer comfortless.Augusta Gresham had refused to learn her life-lessons; the leaven of discontent had permeated her nature and made her a lonely and embittered woman.Ten years ago she had been a handsome, high-spirited girl; but the strain and stress of life had robbed her of her bloom and dimmed her brightness; and though at thirty-four she was still a handsome and distinguished-looking woman, a certain hardness of expression and imperiousness of manner deprived her of a great deal of her charm. People began to say that Miss Gresham gave herself airs and laid down the law too much. She was clever,—undoubtedly clever,—but there was something unstable about her. Her restlessness and odd cranks worried her old friends and secretly amused her new ones; they liked her, but they laughed at her all the same. 'The great Augusta,' or 'The august Lady,' they would call her; but to Sir Ralph it was always 'Poor old Augusta,' as he watched her under his eyelids. Poor Augusta, indeed! She was quite aware of those furtive side-glances that followed her as she moved amongst her guests, smiling, well-dressed—the very perfection of a hostess. Perhaps the secret consciousness of the one beloved presence stimulated and inspired her, for there were times when the old brightness came back to her eyes. At such moments Augusta was handsomer than ever.When Frances had manipulated the fire to her own satisfaction she knelt still on the rug, looking thoughtfully at her sister. Augusta had taken off her hat, and was leaning back in her easy-chair. One hand was shielding her face from the flame. She looked unusually pale, and there was a drawn, almost a pained expression round the mouth that moved Frances to pity. She leant forward and touched the hand that lay listlessly in her lap.'Gussie,' she said earnestly, 'you must not think that I do not feel for you, that I would not help you if I could; after all, we are sisters.' But Augusta did not respond to the tenderness in Frances' tone. Like the Egyptian king of old, she had 'hardened her heart.''Sisters!' she said bitterly. 'Yes; that is the pity of it. I wonder why my sisters are so different from other people that they give me so little sympathy that I am obliged to find solace in strangers?''Dear Augusta,' returned Frances gently, 'are you sure that it is all our fault? How often have you repelled our advances and refused your confidence! Again and again, before I left home, I implored you to trust your sisters, and to be a little more loving. But no,' speaking still more earnestly; 'you allowed your self-will and pride to blind your eyes; you took strangers to your heart. Gussie, be honest with yourself for once; you know you have yourself to blame, and that neither I, nor Elinor, nor Bride have wronged you.''I cannot talk,' returned Augusta sullenly, ' my head aches and I must not upset myself, or I shall not be fit for my social duties. I wish you had not come, Frances. I daresay you mean well,' trying to release herself from the strong, warm grasp that kept her prisoner, 'but it only makes things worse to discuss them. In my opinion Elinor and Bride are treating me shamefully. They are leaving me alone in this great house, while they go off to pastures new. They are selfish and heartless, and you may tell them so if you like.''I don't think I will do that, Gussie.''No, I daresay not; for you all hang together like a bundle of fagots"—you three and Lyall. All these years you have left me out in the cold.'But I do not care,' her voice growing thin and sharp; 'you may all leave me if you please. Thank Heaven, I am not without resources and friends. If this house is too large I shall leave it, but for the present I intend to remain. Now, will you please let me go, Frances? I am in no mood for play-acting or for any hypocritical pretence of affection.'It was a bitter speech, but Frances had herself well under control. She took her hands quietly from her sister's wrist, and then stooping, kissed her cheek.'You may be as repellent as you choose, Gussie,' she said quietly, 'but you cannot prevent me from being very sorry for you. Perhaps you will be glad to know this, "A brother is born for adversity,"—oh, that is so true, so sweetly true!—and perhaps some day you will find out for yourself that" There is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather." Now I must go and make myself beautiful for your dinner company,' and Frances moved quickly to the door.Once she turned, thinking Augusta had called her by name; but no, it was only her fancy. Augusta was sitting upright, rubbing the reddened wrist which had suffered a little in Frances' muscular grasp; but as she sat in the big, handsome room, which suddenly felt so empty, Augusta's hard, bright eyes grew suddenly dim and moist.'Oh, I am so miserable,' she sighed, 'a more unhappy, lonely woman never lived.' Then her glance fell on a certain sapphire ring that she always wore on her right hand. Five years ago Sir Ralph had given it to her on her birthday. 'All your friends give you presents, and why should not I do so?' he had said to her. 'We have always been chums, and I should like you to wear it.' And though Augusta had hesitated, and her conscience had told her to give it back to him, the temptation was too strong for her. But she never told any one who had given the ring, only Frances guessed the truth.'Sir Ralph was the donor,' she said to Elinor. 'I am as certain of it as though I saw the ring-case in his hand. Gussie ought never to have accepted it, but on this point she is certainly crazy.'Frances peeped first into the sitting-room, but she was too late and the bird had flown; so she went to her old room, which was always kept ready for her use. Here there was a clear little fire burning, and some pair of thoughtful hands had laid out her dinner dress. Frances always kept a couple of evening-dresses at Grove House. She never needed such things at St. Monica's Lodge, but her visits home were generally paid in the afternoon or evening, and as they were seldom free from Augusta's visitors, a decent garment must be forthcoming.Frances, who was something of a humorist, always classified these two gowns as 'the little Go' and 'Greats,' one being much smarter and more elaborate than the other. 'Bride has fixed on "the little Go,"' she said to herself as she glanced at the bed; 'good child, the other would be far too smart.'Frances always looked well in evening-dress; she generally wore black, but she was also fond of a special shade of amber, softened with black lace. All her gowns were chic and up-to-date, but they also had the stamp of individuality"—'Frances' dresses always seem to belong to her, somehow,' Bride would say.Frances laughed when this remark reached her ears, but she was full of theories on the subject of clothes. One article in her feminine creed was that no woman need consider herself hopelessly unattractive if she dressed well. 'There are very few irredeemably ugly people in the world,' she once observed, 'and even a plain woman can look nice if she only takes a little trouble about her appearance. People do not seem to understand the art of dress,' she went on, waxing eloquent on her favourite theme; 'they have not an idea of the harmony of shades and tints. They are like the school children who choose bright colours for their samplers; they are often terribly crude. Don't we all know the woman who is fond of pink, who adores pink roses and chiffons, and wears them blandly with preposterous shades of green and blue? Well,' as Elinor nodded and laughed, 'I look upon these misguided females as regular dunces, who ought to be sent down to the bottom of the class. With their glaring mixture of tints they are in the same category as the costermonger's young woman who delights in loading her hat with flowers, finished off by long, mangy feathers. She considers it fetching, so does her Jem,' but here a shudder of disgust pointed the moral.Frances had only taken out her long hat-pins, when there was a knock at the door and Elinor entered.'Was it not strange,' she said, rather breathlessly, as she greeted her sister, 'I had a presentiment that I should find you here? The thought came to me as I walked from the station, "Suppose Frances is there."'I expect that was transmission of thought, but you are very late, Nora.'Yes, I know. Madame Mersac kept me so long waiting, and then there was a block on the line, and I got into a regular fidget for fear I should not be in time. You know,' with a sudden change of tone, 'that Mrs. Oscar Nugent and Sir Ralph are coming to dinner!''Yes; Gussie told me so.''Mrs. Oscar Nugent lives here, and so does Madame Brissac,' continued Elinor; 'but of the two, I think Laura Nugent is less objectionable; at least, one has more pleasure in looking at her. But, Frances, would you believe, I never knew until five minutes ago that any one was expected to dinner! Bride has only just told me. Is it not shameful of Augusta? If you had not been here, I think I should have refused to go down.''Then I am very glad I have come to keep the peace. Don't worry about it now; it was extremely discourteous on Augusta's part, but there is no good quarrelling over spilt milk. Gussie wished to be aggravating; but if you take it coolly and as a matter of course, the whole thing will fall flat. There is not a moment to spare, and you must really go and dress. We will try and get a little talk after dinner, and leave Bride to do the polite.''I would so much rather have stayed and talked to you now,' returned Elinor ruefully; but Frances turned a deaf ear to this.'Duty first and pleasure afterwards,' she said with an affectionate glance. 'Remember that I have to make myself nice; one does not meet a Christian Scientist every day in the week, not to mention a real live baronet with a pedigree as long as himself.' And then Frances turned with such a resolute air to the toilet table, that Elinor was forced to beat a retreat.'It is always the way,' she grumbled to herself; 'I never can have Frances in peace when she comes home. There are a hundred things I want to say to her this evening.''Poor Nora, it is really very hard on her,' thought Frances, as she smoothed her roughened hair; 'I wish I could do more for her and Bride.' Frances felt strangely stirred by her talk with Augusta, and her mood was unusually soft and tender. Christina Rossetti's beautiful words again crossed her mind, and half aloud she finished the quotation she had begun to Augusta: '"For there is no friend like a sisterIn calm or stormy weather;To cheer one on the tedious way,To fetch one if one goes astray,To lift one if one totters down,To strengthen whilst one stands."''Those words are so sweet,' she said to herself, 'and very often they are true; but there are sisters and sisters, and certainly Elinor and Augusta are as far apart as the poles.'CHAPTER VIIAN EVENING AT GROVE HOUSEIf we knew the store of men's lives, the hidden loads they are carrying ofttimes for others, the unhealed sore in their heart, we would have most gentle patience with them. Life is hard for most people, certainly hard enough without our adding to its burdens by our censoriousness, our uncharity, our jeering and contempt.—Rev. J. R. MILLAR.FRANCES had been so hindered that when she went downstairs she found the guests had already arrived. Neither Bride nor Elinor had made their appearance, and from the expression on Augusta's face she felt sure that she herself was blamed for their delay. 'My sisters do not add punctuality to their other virtues, 'Augusta had said half-playfully, but Frances knew that there was a secret sting under the words. Augusta never showed temper before Sir Ralph. Frances took no notice; she shook hands quietly with Sir Ralph as she passed him, and then sat down by Mrs. Oscar Nugent and began talking to her.There was no love lost between Frances and Sir Ralph Peyton. From the first she had quietly but steadily repelled any approach to intimacy on his part, and in a polite way had made him understand that his constant visits to Grove House did not meet with her approval. If she could have had her will he should never have crossed the threshold again.In her heart Frances blamed him not only for her sister's marred and wasted life, but she knew that in a great measure the want of harmony in the home and the deplorable lack of sympathy between the sisters were owing to his malign influence; but she was also aware that, like Gallio, Sir Ralph 'cared for none of these things.' She could not deny that he had an attractive personality, and that his manner was seductive and fascinating. He was undoubtedly handsome, and there was a high-bred air about him.He had many social gifts, and though not in the least intellectual, had travelled much, and was a clever and amusing raconteur. Men always said he was a good fellow, and if he had his faults, well, every one had his little weaknesses—and then the ladies encouraged him. They ought to know by this time that Peyton was not a marrying man. In their opinion Sir Ralph's platonic friendships were perfectly harmless, and they were quite ready to whitewash him. It was a far less dangerous pastime than playing unlimited games of bridge or nap at his club. The half-dozen dear friends—married or single—who opened the doors of their boudoirs to him and gave him their sympathy and confidence were only playing a gentle, little, sentimental game with the fascinating baronet. It was a pity, as someone remarked, that Augusta Gresham did not follow their example. It was a mistake to be so much in earnest, it spoiled the pleasure of the game; in some games hearts do not always turn up trumps!More than once Frances glanced across at her sister with a feeling akin to wonderment. The sullen look had vanished from Augusta's face, her eyes were bright, and she was slightly flushed; she looked younger and handsomer, and it angered Frances to see that Sir Ralph was quite conscious of the fact.He was leaning back in his chair and listening to her as Augusta talked with her old animation. 'How well you are looking this evening,' she heard him say in a low vibrating tone, but she lost the remainder of his sentence.Frances rather liked Mrs. Oscar Nugent, though she did not wholly trust her; but she always found her pleasant and amusing, and to a certain limited extent they got on very well together. Mrs. Nugent was a fair, pretty-looking woman; indeed, many of her friends considered her lovely. Augusta, who was simply infatuated with her, thought her perfect. She was always beautifully dressed, and, in spite of a slight languor of manner, she was exceedingly charming, and Frances liked to watch her while she talked. 'She is wonderfully picturesque, 'she said once to Elinor, 'and she actually believes in her amazing creed, at least she thinks she does; but all the same she poses unconsciously.''Oh, she is extremely affected, if you mean that,' returned Elinor, who had grown very tired of Mrs. Oscar Nugent.No, I should not call her affected,' observed Frances; 'she is vapourish and unreal, but she does not know herself that she poses. She is used to an admiring audience, and she enjoys having her disciples at her feet, and she likes sensation and emotion. It would have been better for her if her husband had lived; he would have laughed her out of her Christian Science and spiritualism. He was a sensible man; Lady Templeton had the greatest respect for him.''He was a doctor, was he not?''Yes, and a great authority on nervous diseases. He was twelve or fifteen years older than his wife, and Lady Templeton said he was exceedingly proud of her. If she had only had a child; but a rich and attractive young widow, with plenty of brain power and a lamentable want of ballast, is pretty sure to get into mischief; and so we have the present singular product before us.''Oh, I am sick of her!' returned Elinor impatiently and she refused to discuss Mrs. Oscar Nugent any longer. Frances was so terribly fond of anatomising people: she liked to pick them to pieces, to disintegrate their motives and springs of action. "There was nothing more interesting, she declared, than studying people's characters. 'When I meet with a person who excites my curiosity, or who appears to me an uncommon type, I like to classify him or her in my own mind, and to be sure the label is correct.' But Elinor only laughed at her and called her a moral Paul Pry. There was one bond of sympathy between Frances and Mrs. Oscar Nugent; they neither of them believed in Sir Ralph Peyton.A year or two before Sir Ralph had paid a good deal of attention to the young widow; but Mrs. Oscar showed no desire for a platonic friendship with a man of his calibre. 'He is of the earth earthy,' she said once; but she was very civil to him all the same.The gong sounded just as Bride and Elinor entered the room. Elinor hastily apologised to Mrs. Nugent.'I am so sorry to be late, but there was a break-down on the line, and as I had no idea any one was coming this evening, I did not hurry myself'—Elinor repeated her little speech with a heightened colour.Augusta bit her lip with annoyance as she heard it. 'We may as well go in,' She said hastily to Sir Ralph; 'you know, we never stand on formality.' And Sir Ralph nodded as he followed the ladies.Thanks to Frances, there was no dearth of sensible conversation during dinner. She was determined that no uncomfortable topics should be discussed. She had been reading a very interesting book on India, and she knew Sir Ralph had stayed there for six or seven months. She began questioning him on the subject of Indian gardens, and from that she veered to the dangers and delights of tiger shooting.This was Sir Ralph's hobby; in a moment he became interested and eloquent; he told first a thrilling and then an amusing adventure; by the time dessert had arrived he had landed them in a Buddhist monastery, where a monk in yellow garments with a shaven head had ministered to the weary, half-fainting sportsmen.Frances with her customary tact had set the ball rolling, but both she and Mrs. Oscar Nugent were genuinely interested in the recital. It was much later than usual when they rose from the table, and as Frances had no intention of re-entering the drawing-room, she detained Augusta on the threshold.'I am going to say good-night to you now, Gussie,' she observed, 'for I want to talk to Elinor and I cannot stay much longer; please excuse me to your friends. Come, Nora'; and Frances led the way to the cosy upstairs sitting-room where Elinor and Bride spent most of their time.'That was a grand move of yours!' exclaimed Elinor. 'Oh, I do hope Bride does not mean to join us!''If she does, I shall send her away,' returned Frances; 'Bride has had her innings, and now it is your turn. Now, let us make the most of our half-hour. I shall be able to come with you to Wildcroft on Monday, Nora, and I think I can stay until Friday.''Why not make it Saturday?' in a coaxing voice.'Oh, we will see about that,' returned Frances evasively. 'Nurse Williams is right, and I am certainly a little tired and done up; as you know, Ave have been short-handed and have had some anxious cases. I believe I shall be all the better for a little rest.''You certainly look rather fagged,' observed Elinor. 'And you have been exerting yourself all dinner-time; you never spare yourself, Frances.''Do you think any woman with my physique and constitution ought to spare herself?' replied Frances in her brisk, cheery way. 'You know I have my work and would not be without it for worlds—just compare my life and poor Augusta's.''I am not sure that Gussie would change places with you to-night.''Perhaps not to-night,' returned Frances, a little sadly; 'but to-morrow, when Sir Ralph is no longer with her. Nora, it almost sickened me to watch Gussie this evening—to see her brightening and blushing whenever he spoke to her like the veriest little school-girl. He just hypnotises her. To think that all these years she has suffered herself to be dragged at the chariot wheels of that man's vanity—oh, it is intolerable!' and Frances' dark complexion was suffused with indignant colour. 'How can any woman so forget her dignity as to allow herself to be advertised as the captive of his bow and spear! Platonic friendship indeed!'—and Frances' shapely foot tapped angrily against the floor— 'on his part—yes, there is no doubt of that; but what about Gussie?''I am afraid she is very much in love with him still,' replied Elinor reluctantly.'Ah, you may well say that. Poor dear Augusta!—all her life she has asked for her woman's portion of sweet, wholesome, nourishing bread, and he has smilingly offered her a stone. Can you wonder that she is not satisfied, that she has grown hard and restless, and that her temper is soured? You and Bride must be patient with her, for she needs your pity.''I hope you do not think that we are unkind in leaving her?' asked Elinor, vaguely alarmed by her sister's manner.'Oh no, that was not my meaning at all. I told Gussie that I thought the break would be good for her too. You have no influence with her, Nora, and your gentleness gives her too much scope. And now tell me a little more about our Monday's plan—have you spoken to Rachel?''Yes,' returned Elinor eagerly, 'I had such a nice long talk with her at her aunt's house. If we decide to settle at Wildcroft she will be perfectly willing to undertake the duties of housemaid. And there is something else I must tell you: her cousin Miriam is just leaving her place—her mistress is dead. She is such a nice young woman and a good plain cook, and Rachel and she are such friends.''That sounds very promising.''I thought you would say so. You see Bride and I intend to live very quietly, and as the house is not large we shall only need two maids. Of course we shall have to keep some sort of trap—a smart little cart, not too high, that we can drive ourselves—but we do not mean to be extravagant.''Oh, I think you will be able to afford that,' replied Frances, who was beginning to be really interested in her sister's modest plans. 'You must get some one to find you a good steady horse.''I must make Mr. Keith's acquaintance,' returned Elinor. Hammond Keith was the name of the young farmer who was Lyall's tenant. 'I daresay I shall find him very useful. Bride and I have settled it all: the man who looks after the horse and trap will also be our gardener. Mrs. Deans says the garden has been utterly neglected. By-the-bye, I have written to her and begged her to light big fires in every room. It is a comfort to know that there is a sufficient stock of coal in the cellar and quite a stack of wood in the old granary. Oh, what fun it will be! Bride and I feel like two babies fitting up a shabby old doll-house. You must not expect smart, up-to-date furniture, Frances.''Oh, I have no great expectations and very few illusions on the subject,' replied Frances composedly. 'But now I must get rid of my war-paint and go. How lovely dreamland will be to-night!' and Frances heroically stifled a yawn as she spoke.'You poor dear, how tired you are; and when you get back you will just go the round of the whole place!''Yes, I shall go my rounds,' acquiesced Frances; 'but the sleep of the labouring man is sweet, and so is that of the labouring woman'; and then there was no more talk, and in another quarter of an hour the sisters bade each other good-night.Elinor sat musing by the fire until Bride came upstairs. She had remained at her post bravely, but the latter part of the evening had not proved enjoyable. Mrs. Oscar Nugent had a fine contralto voice which she had cultivated with great success, but she could not play her own accompaniments.Augusta, who was a fair pianist, had generally volunteered her services; but this evening she had excused herself under the plea of fatigue, and Bride had reluctantly taken her place. Bride really played with a good deal of taste and spirit, but on this occasion she did not do herself credit. The accompaniment was difficult and she had not Augusta's facility of reading her notes at first sight; she stumbled more than once and recovered herself so awkwardly that Mrs. Nugent was obliged to stop. Bride grew hot and apologised, but it did not cool her cheeks to hear Augusta laugh in rather an exasperating manner; and though she tried to retrieve the blunder, and Mrs. Oscar Nugent good-naturedly finished the song, she felt put out and humiliated.'What a pity you do not practise more, Bride,' Observed her sister-in-law, in the patronising tone in which she often addressed Bride in public; 'Lyall is so devoted to music; he will be so disappointed if you lose your interest, and you have so much spare time on your hands. Mrs. Lyall is a lady at large,' she continued blandly; 'she has not our incessant occupations and duties, my dear Laura; we are both of us busy people.'Bride made no answer for a moment, she felt too much hurt. Augusta was always making these little speeches before her friends and indirectly accusing her of idleness and waste of time. 'You should have played yourself, Augusta,' she said presently; 'you know very well that I accompany badly from sight.''It was an extremely difficult accompaniment,' interposed Mrs. Oscar Nugent, who was anxious to throw oil on the troubled water. 'We all know how charmingly you play, my dear Mrs. Lyall, and if it is not too late I should like to hear that delightful nocturne you gave us last week.' But Bride was not to be mollified. She begged Mrs. Oscar Nugent to excuse her; she was not in the mood for playing, it was Augusta's turn now; and Bride took up some sketches that were lying on the side-table and pretended to look at them.She well knew that Augusta and Mrs. Oscar had exchanged a meaning glance, but Bride did not care. Of course they thought her proud and disagreeable; neither of them would have believed that she was really too nervous to play. With all her passionate love of music, it was almost impossible for her to do herself justice if her environment was out of harmony—the sweetest chords would have jangled in her brain.'How have you got on, Bride?' asked Elinor cheerfully. 'Frances has been such a dear, and I had quite a lovely time up here.' But Bride only shook her head and sighed; and Elinor, seeing which way the wind lay, prudently asked no more questions.CHAPTER VIIIWILDCROFTThe withered leaves, besmirched and torn,That wild winds toss'd o'er hill and wold—sad relics of a year outworn.Fall thick and fast, ye snowflakes white,To wrap the earth, and hide awayWith loving care from human sightAll sad reminders of decay!HELEN MARION BURNSIDEFEBRUARY was unusually inclement that year, and it was on a raw, cheerless morning that the sisters started for Meadow Thorpe. The air was so cold and nipping that Frances had some grounds for her suggestion that they might probably be snowed up. 'Just imagine our plight,' she observed, as they neared their destination; 'three helpless females shut up in a lonely house, short of provisions and cut off from all contact from the outer world.' But Elinor, who was in high spirits, refused to be alarmed by such dreary prognostications; and even the prospect of driving four and a half miles in the dog-cart that George Deans, the bailiff, had proposed would not have daunted her. She was even disappointed when Frances had insisted that a fly from Maskell should be ordered for their use.The dog-cart would have been such fun,' she observed ruefully, 'and we should have seen the country better, and with our furs we should not have been a bit cold..' But Frances, with her customary good sense, refused flatly to run the risk of catching cold.'At your age you ought to know better,' she continued with pretended severity.Elinor was not sorry for this wise decision when they reached Maskell Station; the air was so keen and bitter that even the shabby old fly seemed a welcome refuge.There was a fourth member of the party—a beautiful reddish-brown retriever, Elinor's special property.'I am going to give Rufus a treat,' she had said to Frances that evening at Grove House; 'I shall take him to Meadow Thorpe'; and Frances, who knew how much her sister's pleasure would be enhanced by the society of her favourite, offered no objection. She was rather fond of Rufus herself.He had been given to Elinor when he was only a puppy—a fat, woolly, reddish-brown ball, who tumbled over himself in the most ridiculous fashion—the most playful, winning, fascinating dog-baby that Elinor had ever seen.Mrs. Oscar Nugent was in delicate health just then, and Augusta had gone abroad with her for two or three months—all the more willingly that Sir Ralph had just started for Canada.Elinor said nothing in her letters about her new pet, and she and Bride devoted themselves to their delightful nursery duties with the utmost zeal and enjoyment.Augusta was absent for three months, and Rufus was a big, bouncing, mischievous puppy when she returned—healthy and full of spirits and devoted to his mistress. But, alas, a bad time was coming for Rufus.Augusta simply refused to tolerate two dogs in the house and there were constant ructions between her and Elinor. In Augusta's opinion it was simply preposterous to keep an animal of that size as a domestic pet. She was not fond of dogs—indeed, she objected to them on principle, and never could be made to understand why pets should be necessary to any one. She had offended Bride more than once by stigmatising Scrap 'as a perfect nuisance and an odious little creature'; but then Scrap, who knew his enemies, generally snarled at Augusta.Elinor was in despair. Rufus was certainly getting very big; he was evidently going to be a beauty; he was just at that stage of puppydom when it was necessary to try his strong young teeth on all desirable objects—a beautiful skin rug was badly mauled. Elinor went to St. Monica's Lodge to consult Frances; she was on the brink of tears as she talked. What was to be done? Frances must help her; she positively could not part with Rufus—he was such a darling, and every one thought him such a beauty. Augusta was making both their lives miserable; Rufus did not dare show himself downstairs; Gussie was determined to get rid of him by some means or other, and so on. Frances considered the matter; she owned it was very perplexing. Of course it was impossible to keep the dog in the teeth of Augusta's opposition; she was not likely to give way—her will was far too strong for that—and she feared that for the sake of peace Elinor would be obliged to give in. 'I wish I could have him here,' she said thoughtfully, 'but I fear that is impossible.''Oh yes, quite impossible,' agreed Elinor; 'I was not thinking of such a thing for a moment—Rufus is far too boisterous for St. Monica's Lodge. But, Frances, I never will consent to part with him; surely there must be some way out of the difficulty.' Then Frances put on her considering cap and at last evolved an idea.'I think it would be best to let him live with Hudson,' she said slowly. Hudson was the owner of the Livery Stables near the Boltons from whom Augusta hired her brougham. 'He is an honest, good-natured man, and has a nice dog of his own; you could pay him well and he would be sure to make Rufus comfortable, and you could see him every day.' And though Elinor did not take very kindly to this advice, and made a good many objections, she was finally induced to follow it; and after the heart-breaking parting had been got through, and Rufus had become accustomed to his new quarters, the arrangements had not worked badly.Elinor missed her troublesome but lovable charge very acutely; but after a time she grew more reconciled to his absence, and there were many compensations. She saw her favourite every day, and kept her memory green in his canine mind by judicious gifts of dainty biscuits dear to his doggish soul; and when her engagements permitted she took him out for long walks; but she always left him with a pang at her heart, and as she walked down the mews she was often afflicted by short barks of anguish that assailed her ears; Rufus was so terribly wounded by his mistress's unnatural desertion that he could not always refrain from expressing his feelings.'There is a good time coming, Rufus,' observed Elinor, when she and Rachel had with some difficulty coaxed him into the cab that was to take them to the station; 'in another month or two we shall be always together.' And Elinor's tones were so cheering and comforting that Rufus felt it incumbent on him to express his affection and gratitude for favours to come by nearly upsetting the cab as it turned sharply round a corner, in his efforts to lick his mistress's face. Rachel uttered a little shriek of terror, and Elinor in a stern voice admonished the culprit to sit still, like a good boy.Rufus behaved rather well in the train, though he sat bolt upright and growled in rather a ridiculous fashion; but when they arrived at Maskell Station he flatly refused to enter the mouldy old fly; so Frances suggested that he should run by the side. 'We can all keep an eye on him,' she finished.As there was nothing else to be done, Elinor consented to try the experiment; but she was so racked with anxiety during the first mile and a half, that she had serious thoughts of finishing the remainder of the journey on foot. Rufus was so wildly exhilarated by his unusual freedom, that he made mad rushes along the road, and then imperilled his life and limbs by tearing round and round the vehicle, startling the steady old horse every time, and then leapt up at the window, with a view of reaching his mistress; and it was not until he had worked off his exuberant spirits that he consented to settle down into his ordinary pace—only now and then jumping a gate, just for the pleasure of the thing. Elinor felt herself at liberty then to investigate her surroundings; but she was obliged to confess to herself that the view was hardly exhilarating. The fields and hedgerows looked dreary under the grey clouded skies, and the keen north wind seemed to have a devastating effect.'We cannot possibly judge of the country to-day,' she said slowly, as Frances shivered and drew her fur stole closer round her; 'it will look very different in April, when the trees are no longer bare. We must content ourselves with just exploring the house.'Frances' answer was slightly enigmatical. 'You may be quite sure that we shall have every opportunity for exploring each hole and corner from garret to basement.' And then with prophetic solemnity, 'We shall certainly have snow before nightfall.''Snow!—you are joking, Frances,' returned Elinor uneasily; 'why, tomorrow will be the first of March.''We have had snow in March before this,' observed her sister composedly. 'I assure you the stationmaster said so, and you remember our driver remarked that he must hurry back, for fear of being stopped.''Oh dear, I do believe you are right,' returned Elinor disconsolately, for the idea of being snowed up was not exactly inviting.'Never mind, it will be a new experience,' returned Frances cheerfully. 'I don't expect time will hang heavily on our hands; if there is nothing else to do, we can go in for the rest cure; that will do neither of us any harm. Do you know, Nora, the four and a half miles seem unusually long,—but we have a slow horse; look at Rufus, he is beginning to have enough of it.' Elinor let down the window and spoke to him. As she drew in her head she said eagerly, 'I do think we must be near Wildcroft, though I don't see any sign of a house; a moment ago we turned into a sort of lane off the main road, and we have just passed a large hayrick; there seems to be a sort of farmyard through that archway, and there is a cottage on the other side. There certainly is a white gate before us; yes, the driver is getting down to open it, and Rufus wants to make friends with him. He is going to lead the horse, so we must be near the house.'Elinor was right in her surmise; the next moment the narrow drive widened, and a fair-sized, comfortable-looking house came in sight, with old-fashioned bay windows and a porch; the walls, which were of a soft yellowish tint, were quite bare and unadorned by creepers.As they drove up the door opened, and a good-looking, dark-eyed young woman greeted them in a smiling manner.'I am glad to see you, Miss Gresham,' as Elinor shook hands with her; 'for the weather is not improving, and my husband says there will be snow before long, and as you were half-an-hour late I was getting anxious. If you will warm yourselves by the fire, I'll go and get you a cup of tea; and Jeffreys can have a cup too,' as the driver deposited the luggage in the hall.'Thank you, Mrs. Deans, that will be very nice, and we had our luncheon on the way. Rachel, you had better go with Mrs. Deans. Isn't this a nice room, Frances?' looking round the comfortable dining-room with its blazing fire. 'The furniture is old-fashioned, of course, but it is very good and massive, and what delightful easy-chairs!'Frances assented to this, as she knelt down to warm her chilled hands at the blaze. 'It is far better than I expected,' she observed; 'it is a very good-sized room, and the pictures are nice, and so is the paper; the sideboard is early Victorian, but I like it somehow.''Oh, it only wants a few finishing touches to make it charming,' returned Elinor joyously; and then she went to the window. On such an afternoon the outlook was somewhat dreary; but Elinor, who refused to be discouraged, tried to imagine how it would appear under blue skies and spring sunshine. 'I am sure it must be very peaceful and beautiful,' she said to herself; 'but the garden has been terribly neglected, and the lawn looks like a field.'A belt of lawn lay beyond the drive; a fine old sycamore-tree with a rockery surrounding it was just opposite the dining-room window; a low fence divided the garden from the meadows; beyond were the wide green uplands spreading as far as eye could see—huge pastures where, during the greater part of the year, the slow-moving cattle browsed, or sought shade under the big walnut-trees; a little gate in the drive opened into a rough little orchard which led, as they discovered later, to a large kitchen-garden; there was also a wild plot of ground near the white gate which was called The Wilderness, and where there was now a fine crop of nettles.'It has capabilities,' remarked Elinor half aloud; and then she went to a side-window near the fireplace, which looked out on a large courtyard. Here there was an old granary with a flight of steps leading to the upper storey. To Elinor's surprise a little wicket-gate evidently opened into the adjoining farmyard, for she could distinctly see a sow routing in a straw-heap. 'Oh, do come here, Frances!' she exclaimed; 'that must be our neighbour's farmyard, though I had no idea that it was quite so close. I suppose those must be the kitchen premises,' pointing to a door and windows overlooking the courtyard. 'Yes, there is Rachel peeping out; she is evidently curious about her new environment.''I rather like this quiet old courtyard,' returned Frances; 'there is something suggestive and picturesque about that old granary. In former times the owners of Wildcroft must have been gentlemen farmers, though from all I can see it is rather a small farmyard.''Oh, it is not a large farm,' returned Elinor; 'I remember Lyall told us so; and I do not suppose that we shall be inconvenienced by our neighbours. I like the look of Mrs. Deans, she is so bright and pleasant.''Hush! here she comes with our tea,' remarked Frances; 'and we had better drink it quickly, if we mean to see anything of the house before darkness invades us.' And as Elinor glanced apprehensively at the heavy, sullen sky, it was impossible not to share this opinion; and as soon as they were warmed and refreshed, Elinor led the way to the drawing-room. Here again they were agreeably surprised.It was a very pleasant room, and the outlook from the low bay-window was the same as from the dining-room; and although the furniture was not modern or up-to-date, and the cretonne was faded almost to extinction, it had an air of old-fashioned comfort. The sisters were especially pleased by a narrow recess with an easy-chair and escritoire; here there was a side-window with a view of a little walk, which seemed to lead to a small gate; the trees which bordered the path were leafless, and in spite of the advancing dusk, they had a glimpse of a ruined arch and two or three tombstones.'That must be the little ruin that Lyall admired,' observed Elinor in rather an awe-struck voice. 'I daresay it is picturesque in summer, and that little shady walk must be nice, but it is rather weird this afternoon. I hope Wildcroft is not haunted, Frances.' And then she carried her off for further exploration; and after a cursory review of a nice little morning-room and a spacious, cheerful kitchen, they went upstairs.'It is really a very comfortable house,' observed Frances, as they looked round the room intended for Elinor's use. Rachel was unpacking her mistress's things and laying them in the wardrobe. 'I see you have two windows; that side one overlooking the entrance must be very pleasant. The opposite room is nearly as large—I suppose Bride will have that Elinor assented to this, but she changed her mind a few minutes later. They had just been looking at the small room which Rachel was to occupy that night, when Frances called her attention to two others opening out of each other. 'Aren't these rooms quaint, now?' she exclaimed. 'The ceilings are rather low, but there are two delightful windows in the outer one; you see one overlooks the courtyard and granary; and they are such good-sized rooms, too.''I believe Bride would like them best,' returned Elinor; 'she does love anything quaint and out of the common. The inner room, which is not so large, would just do for her painting and all her messes. Rachel tells me there are some big attics upstairs, but it is really too dark to see any more. Ah, there comes the snow! Let us get our work and books and make ourselves cosy for the evening.' But in the end they were both so drowsy with fatigue and cold, that when Rachel came to summon them to supper, she found them dozing in the firelight like two blissful tabbies, with Rufus stretched luxuriously on the rug at his mistress's feet.CHAPTER IX'TWO LAME DOGS'Our grand business is, not to see what lies dimly at a distance, but to do what lies clearly at hand.—CARLYLE.Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.—King Henry IV.FRANCES' prophecy had been verified. When Mrs. Deans came through the courtyard to cook the young ladies' supper, she told them that she could not see a yard before her, and had had some difficulty in finding the gate.'I was quite white from head to foot when I landed in the kitchen,' she continued, 'for the air is just thick with driving snow.''You ought not to have troubled to have come across, Mrs. Deans,' observed Elinor; 'Rachel could have cooked the chops as nicely as possible.' But Mrs. Deans only laughed and shook her head.'It is not a handful of snow that would terrify me,' she returned. 'Those chicks of mine won't sleep for the next hour or two, they are so excited. Gilbert is all for sweeping the snow and making a snow-man; but I tell them it may all have gone before the morning—not that I believe it, though.''Rachel will be quite able to do for us,' observed Frances. But Mrs. Deans only smiled pleasantly. 'No indeed, Miss Gresham, you are not going to rob me of my one little bit of pleasure. It is a sight for sore eyes to see a fresh face in this God-forsaken old place of ours. Why, as I tell George, we seem to be living at the world's end. If it were not for Patty Sibley, the waggoner's wife, I should have no one with whom I could exchange a word; but her four boys, and one of them a baby in arms, keep her busy from morning to night.''I should think you find enough to do yourself, Mrs. Deans?''Indeed, Miss Gresham, you are right there,' she returned briskly; 'every season brings its work, but at hay-time and harvest I am fairly beat. There is dinner and tea to carry to George and the men, and as often as not the master is with them.''Do you mean Mr. Keith?''Yes—the boss as George calls him; and a good sort he is too, and never spares his money if he can make folk comfortable. Dear, how my arms do ache sometimes with carrying those heavy baskets, when the sun is blazing on the road, and they are cutting the big meadow, and never a creature to help me, with the children learning their lessons at school, and always for play the moment they are loose. But there, as I tell Mr. Keith, a merry heart goes all the day'; and Mrs. Deans's white teeth gleamed again in a ready smile.To be sure it does,' replied Frances, 'and your sad tires in a mile-a,—at least we have Shakespeare's word for it.''Oh, George has a copy of Shakespeare,' returned Mrs. Deans proudly. 'It belonged to his father, and he would not sell it for its weight in gold; he always keeps it with the Family Bible and the Pilgrim's Progress, and calls them his three good books. He is a bit of a bookworm is George. But there, I must not be keeping you waiting for your supper,' and Mrs. Deans hurried off.'What a bright, good-natured creature she is,' observed Elinor, 'and so good-looking too; she is quite a brunette, with her dark complexion and eyes, and when she laughs and shows her teeth she is quite handsome. I foresee that Mrs. Deans and I will be good friends.''I have not a doubt of it.' And then Frances went to the window. 'It is still snowing, and I believe that it means to continue. What a white, still world! Now I wonder if this will damp your enthusiasm?' But Elinor shook her head.'I think I shall quote Mrs. Deans's words,' she replied merrily—"a handful of snow would not terrify me." I am far too enamoured of my plan to give it up for a trifle.''I don't expect you to give it up,' returned her sister sensibly, 'but I advise you to regard it as an experiment—a sort of arrangement pro tem. Happily there is no need to bind yourselves in the least; Mr. Grayson can easily find another tenant for Wildcroft. I suppose Lyall will quite approve of you and Bride settling here?''Oh yes, we are quite sure of that; he will be only too glad for Bride to live quietly in the country. I will regard it as an experiment if you like, Frances; and of course I know we could give it up any time if it does not answer, but all the same——' But Elinor never finished her sentence, for at that moment the door-bell rang, and the sound was so startling and unexpected that it brought Mrs. Deans out of the kitchen. 'It must be a tramp or some one who has lost his bearings,' she said as she opened the door, while the sisters looked on with expectant curiosity. But they were all taken aback when a young lady stepped into the hall, followed by a good-looking young man. They had evidently tried to rid themselves of the snow, but the young lady's hat and hair, and even her veil, were still thickly powdered. Two bicycles were propped up against the porch.'Oh, I am so sorry,' observed the girl in rather a trembling voice—she looked blue with cold—'we lost our way coming from Maskell, and found ourselves off the road, and then my brother——''Let me explain,' interrupted the young man. 'We had bicycled over to Maskell on business, which detained us so long that it was nearly dark before we started for home, and the snow came on and we had to walk, and somehow we lost our bearings, and my sister was so done up that she could not walk a yard more, and seeing the gate——''Oh, please don't explain any more just now!' exclaimed Frances, who saw that the poor girl was ready to drop with fatigue and over-exertion. 'Come in and warm yourselves; we have a splendid fire. And, Mrs. Deans, I think their bicycles ought to be taken into shelter.' And then she ushered their unexpected guests into the drawing-room.It was always pleasant to see Frances' quiet efficiency in any emergency; she was never fussy or flurried. In a moment an easy-chair was pushed close to the fire, and her deft fingers had removed the wet hat and veil and were helping frozen fingers to get rid of the doeskin gloves; and then she knelt down to unbutton the soaking boots.'Your hands are too cold,' she said in answer to the girl's shamed remonstrance. 'Besides, I am a nurse by profession and used to waiting on people. Now I think I shall take this young lady to my room; her feet are quite wet and I must get them dried. Will you come with me, my dear?' And then she whispered in her sister's ear, 'Send Rachel up with hot water, and tell Mrs. Deans to cook some more chops for supper.'Frances' trained eyes saw very plainly that the girl was on the verge of tears, and that she was quite exhausted with her long walk in the cold. But she was in good hands, and she was soon dry and comfortable, and able to enjoy the cup of hot tea that Elinor had thoughtfully sent up to her.Meanwhile Elinor was busying herself for her other guest's comfort. His feet were all right, he assured her, but as he had had a roll in a ditch, he would be glad of a brush-up and a wash. 'I had to take both the bicycles in tow at last,' he observed, 'as Kathleen got so giddy with the cold.' And then he went off under Rachel's charge; while Elinor interviewed Mrs. Deans in the kitchen.She found that worthy young woman in a high state of excitement. Such an adventure had never come her way before; it would afford her and Mrs. Sibley food for a week.'Tramps indeed!' she exclaimed, as she cut fresh chops off the loin of mutton. 'Well, of all the queer things to happen, and on your first night too, Miss Gresham. Why, that is young Mr. Milner, who is lodging at Crow Farm. I saw him once walking with Mr. Keith, and he passed the time of day as pleasantly as possible. A well-set-up young fellow too. Some one told me his sister was staying with him.''And his name is Milner?' But as a manly foot-step sounded in the passage outside, Elinor did not wait for Mrs. Deans's reply. When she returned to the drawing-room, she found him standing by the fireplace in rapt enjoyment of the logs.'It is too bad to give you all this trouble,' he said, colouring slightly, 'and you do not even know our names; but necessity knows no laws.''That is true,' returned Elinor pleasantly. She saw he was rather embarrassed by the situation, and wished to put him at his ease. 'In an accident one cannot always produce a card-case. But you are mistaken, Mr. Milner; I have been in possession of your name for full five minutes. Mrs. Deans recognised you at once.''Mrs. Deans?' in a puzzled voice. 'Oh, you must mean George Deans's wife; he is Keith's working bailiff. I remember he pointed her out to me one day—a good-looking, dark woman. I recollect he called her Patience.''What a nice, old-fashioned name. Do please take that easy-chair, Mr. Milner, for you must be tired out.''No, only a bit stiff. I had rather an awkward tumble into a big ditch, and one of the bicycles landed on the top of me. Poor Kathleen was so frightened, but I managed to scramble out. I did not mind for myself, but I was bothered about my sister. I ought not to have allowed her to venture all that distance; but I had no idea that we should be detained so long; and then the snow came, and I was at my wit's end how I was to get her to Tylcote.''And then you lost your way?''Yes, we must have got off the main road somehow; and then we came to this gate, and I had an idea that there must be a house near. I cannot tell you how thankful I was to see a gleam of light from the windows; but I never expected such kind hospitality.''It was really providential that we should have come to-day,' returned Elinor, 'for you might have found the house dark and shut up.' And then she explained that they had only arrived that afternoon, and would probably return to London in three or four days. 'We have come down to spy out the land. The house belongs to my brother, who is now in South Africa,' she went oil, 'and we have some idea of coming down in the spring.''You must be Miss Gresham,' returned Mr. Milner. 'Hammond Keith once told me that Wildcroft belonged to the Rev. Lyall Gresham, and that he had taken the farm off Mr. Gresham's hands.'Elinor smiled assent to this. And then she looked at him with friendly curiosity. Although she was not such a keen judge of character as Frances, she had plenty of womanly perception. She had already guessed from the young man's evident embarrassment and want of ease that he had not mixed largely in society, and though he was fairly well dressed in a suitable country fashion, there was a marked difference between him and the young men who came to Grove House.He was undeniably good-looking; his features were well cut and his expression was singularly bright and attractive, and Elinor felt sure that he was clever. He was tall and very athletic-looking, and there was a straightforward simplicity about him that pleased her and made her wish to know more about him.'Mrs. Deans tells me that you are staying at Crow Farm,' she remarked, after a minute's silence.'Yes, I am lodging there,' he replied quickly. 'They call me a paying guest, I believe, but Mrs. Keith makes me awfully comfortable. Do you know her, Miss Gresham?''Oh no,' with a smile, 'I am quite a stranger here; Meadow Thorpe and Tylcote are merely names to me. If we come to live this summer, I shall hope to know something of my neighbours.''There are some awfully nice people at Tylcote,' returned Mr. Milner in an enthusiastic voice, 'and both Kathleen and I have met with plenty of kindness.''Your sister is with you, then?''Yes, but only for a short time; she cannot well leave my father alone, but just now we have a cousin looking after him.' And then he jumped up from his chair as Frances and Miss Milner entered the room. Elinor liked the look that passed between the brother and sister.'Well, Kathleen, do you feel better and more rested?''Oh yes, indeed,' replied the girl brightly. 'Miss Gresham has been so good to me, Hugh; my feet feel quite dry and comfortable, and I shall be able to walk better now.''Oh, we will talk about that after supper,' observed Frances. 'Nora, the coffee is ready and we had better go in.' But the two strangers held back and exchanged questioning glances.'We could not think of trespassing on your hospitality any further,' observed Hugh Milner in rather a troubled tone. 'If you would kindly give our bicycles shelter until the morning——'But Frances checked him with kind peremptoriness. 'We will talk over ways and means as we drink our coffee,' she said, touching his arm lightly. 'You must not refuse to break bread with us.' And after this no further objection could be raised.The warm, bright-looking dining-room must have seemed a pleasant harbourage to the tired wayfarers, and it was evident that they found the excellent coffee and well-cooked chops extremely palatable—Hugh Milner especially, for he was as hungry as a hunter.The brother and sister were very much alike; they had the same dark hair and eyes and the same bright expression. Kathleen Milner was rather a pretty girl, and she had nice, unaffected manners. She seemed to have taken a great fancy to Frances, but then most people trusted her at once. When Frances had knelt down to dry the poor little cold feet, Kathleen in her young impulsiveness could have kissed her for her sweet, womanly charity; but she only managed to whisper shyly, 'Oh, how good you are to me; I shall never forget it, never!' And then one of Frances' beautiful smiles lighted up the plain dark face.'My dear,' she said gently, 'I think it is such a privilege to help people when they are in trouble. I agree with Charles Kingsley that "helping lame dogs over stiles" is one's chief duty in life.''I wonder Hugh is not a lame dog,' observed Kathleen, with a nervous little laugh; 'he might have sprained his ankle in that ditch, and be lying there now. Oh dear, how frightened I was when he suddenly disappeared, and I could not think what had become of him, until I heard a sort of underground voice telling me to stand still; but I had no idea that the bicycle had fallen on him until he told me afterwards.'Both Frances and Elinor had the art of putting shy guests at their case, and they were soon chatting quite happily about the neighbourhood.A chance remark from Elinor led to further particulars on Hugh Milner's part.'I have been at Tylcote for three months,' he observed; 'I have got work there.' And as Elinor looked interested, he continued quietly, 'I am an architect, and by a lucky fluke I have got the commission for repairing Tylcote Church. I suppose you do not know the Rev. Gale Warburton?' And as Elinor shook her head, he went on, 'He is the Vicar of Tylcote—Tylcote Major they call it, to distinguish it from Tylcote Street—he got me the berth, but, as I said, it was only a lucky fluke.''What do you mean, Hugh?' exclaimed his sister indignantly. 'It was nothing of the kind. Mr. Warburton was delighted with your drawings, and thought you would do the work well, and then he talked it over with Mr. Morrell.''The Rector, Rev. Owen Morrell,' explained Hugh, seeing that his hostesses were slightly puzzled. 'St. Philip's, the church I am repairing, is the Parish Church of Tylcote Street, and is two miles from the other Tylcote, where the Rev. Gale Warburton lives.''Oh, I see, there are two Tylcotes,' observed Elinor—'Tylcote Street and Tylcote Major; and I suppose Crow Farm is somewhere near?''Yes, it is in Tylcote Street, and quite close to St. Philip's, so I was very lucky to find such comfortable quarters. I have to thank Mr. Morrell for that recommendation; he introduced me himself to the Keiths.''All this is very interesting,' observed Frances, 'and I know my sister is pleased to hear about her future neighbours—rather distant neighbours, by-the-bye. But, Nora, it is getting late, and we cannot keep Mrs. Deans.' And at this hint Elinor rose from the table.'I expect the snow has ceased by this time,' remarked Hugh Milner cheerfully. 'If you will allow me, Miss Gresham, I will just open the street door.' But as he did so, an exclamation of dismay rose to his lips; the air was still thick with falling snow.'Please shut that door, Mr. Milner,' observed Frances in a brisk, business-like voice. 'Unless you wish to repeat your experience, and to lie in the bottom of some ditch with the snow as your winding-sheet, I advise you to remain in your present quarters. I won't promise that we can make you very comfortable, but we will do the best we can under the circumstances. Now, not another word. Will you take Miss Milner into the drawing-room while my sister and I and good Mrs. Deans hold a council of war together?' and Frances spoke with such authority and decision that Hugh Milner was compelled to obey.CHAPTER XHUGH MILNERThe individual is expressed in character.—BISHOP CREIGHTON.Although in a very humble and apparently confined sphere of action, who can tell the effect which our influence or that of our conduct may have upon others, and its reaction throughout future ages?—W.H. SMITH.'I DON'T know what you think about it, Kitten, but in my opinion we are in a confoundedly awkward position'; and there was such a perturbed expression on Hugh Milner's face that Kathleen forbore to laugh at him.'We must just make the best of it,' she returned soothingly. 'Of course it is rather comical and ridiculous, and neither of us had an idea when we started this morning that we should have such an adventure; but really, Hugh, they are so kind and nice about it, and Miss Gresham is so determined to keep us, that I think we need not make ourselves uncomfortable.''I am sorry that I can't agree with you,' replied her brother impatiently. 'You always take such a one-sided view and never look at a thing all round. I am not saying a word against our hostesses—nothing could be kinder than their reception of two half-frozen tramps—but don't you see, Kitten, that you and I are different people?''I don't quite understand you, dear.''You are not usually so dense,' returned Hugh, rather irritably. 'Don't you see that it is easy for a girl like you to accept kindness and hospitality from your own sex, but a man is in a different category?''Oh, Hugh, I wish you were not so dreadfully proud; such an idea would have never entered my head.''Well, I am quite serious. Look here, Kathleen, I shall be very grateful to these ladies if they will keep you for the night; but if George Deans will lend me a lantern and a strong stick, I can very well make my way to Crow Farm. I know where I am now, and when we get out of this lane—' But Kathleen threw herself on him with a faint shriek.'Oh, Hugh, you dreadful boy, how can you be so cruel! You are not thinking of me one little bit. Do you suppose I could close my eyes all night, after Miss Gresham's speech about your lying in a ditch half-buried in snow? You may as well give up this mad idea, for if you go I should certainly refuse to be left behind.' And Kathleen looked so pale and resolute that Hugh was obliged to give in.'Well, don't make such an outcry, or some one will hear us,' he replied in a ruffled tone. 'We must talk it quietly over and see if we can find some way out of the difficulty.' Then Kathleen, much relieved, planted herself on the rug at her brother's feet.'Do you think Mr. Keith will be organising a search-party for us?' she asked.'Not he! he is far too canny for that. He will think that we are putting up at the inn at Maskell. I expect they are all asleep at Crow Farm.''Oh, that's all right; I do hate making people anxious, I think it is worse than giving them trouble. There seem a good many rooms upstairs, so I don't believe there will be much difficulty.' Kathleen was a born optimist and generally took cheerful views. Hugh, in spite of his powerful muscular development, was of a more nervous and melancholic temperament.'My dear child, you don't a bit grasp the situation. This is not an ordinary household. The younger Miss Gresham explained it all to me. They only arrived from London a few hours ago; they have just come down to see the house and place, and only intend to stay three or four days. I don't believe the rooms and beds are aired, for Wildcroft to my knowledge has been shut up for months.''Oh, I knew all this before,' returned Kathleen quickly. 'Miss Gresham—what a dear she is, I declare I quite love her already!—is the head of a Nursing Home in Maida Vale. St. Monica's Lodge, she called it; and she said she could only spare a few days from her patients, but that her sister needed her so. Hugh, do you know, I think they are a cut above us.''Pshaw!' muttered Hugh. But Kathleen was too absorbed to heed him.'She took me into her sister's room because it was warmer than hers, and there were such lovely silver things on the toilet table. And then did you notice Miss Elinor Gresham's rings—such beautiful sapphires and diamonds?''Kitten, I do wish you would be serious for five minutes. Who wants to hear about rings and silver-backed brushes! Well may father call you "a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles"; he quoted Shakespeare to some purpose there.'Father was very disagreeable, and I was much offended,' returned Kathleen with dignity. 'And now you are behaving just like a bear with a sore head; instead of enjoying our novel adventure, you are worrying yourself and me too. Wait a moment,' interrupting herself, 'I really have a brilliant idea,—I am not as dense as you think me, Hugh, and I quite understand your scruples,—don't you think George Deans could give you a bed?—the farm is quite close.''It is not a bad idea, but,' rather gloomily, 'I am sorry to say not feasible. Hammond Keith told me that it is such a small close cottage, and that lie means to call Mr. Gresham's attention to it; he thinks there ought to be a new house built for the bailiff. Just fancy, there are only two bedrooms and they have a young man lodger! Of course Mr. Gresham ought to build, and if he would only give me the job!''Yes, that would be delightful. So that idea has fallen through—well, what is to be done?''Oh, I shall ask them to let me spend the night in this easy-chair.' Hugh spoke more cheerfully; he was accepting the situation, and was rather ashamed of his unusual irritability with his sister; but lie was stiff and sore, his tumble had bruised him more than Kathleen guessed; and then she was never quick at taking alarm.She gave him an affectionate smile. Kathleen was devoted to her brother; she honoured and respected him from the depths of her warm womanly heart, but she never blinded herself to his faults or considered him perfect.She knew that pride was his great failing, and that on some points he was sensitive to the verge of touchiness. He disliked extremely to be beholden to people for favours unless he could see some way of repaying them. Strangers sometimes thought him haughty and were offended with his want of response to their overtures.Kathleen often told herself that he was a strange contradiction; lie was not in the least proud of his own abilities or cleverness—indeed, in all that concerned himself he was exceedingly modest and unassuming. It was one of those blemishes and littlenesses which often mar an otherwise fine character; but, as Kathleen thought, it was very human. 'I have my faults and Hugh has his,' she once said to a dear friend, 'and we love each other all the better for not pretending that we think each other perfect.''What can have become of our hostesses?' observed Hugh uneasily; 'I heard a clock strike ten some time ago, and I can see that you are getting sleepy, Kitten.' And Kathleen could not deny this; indeed, she had some difficulty in keeping her eyes open. They were both relieved when they heard footsteps approaching, and the next minute Elinor appeared, followed by Rachel. They were each laden with blankets, rugs, and pillows.'Oh, I am so sorry!' exclaimed Elinor breathlessly, 'but we have had such a chapter of accidents. We tried to light a fire in one of the unused rooms, and we were nearly smothered in smoke, and Mrs. Deans thinks that there must be an old bird's-nest in the chimney; so we could do nothing, and the room is perfectly uninhabitable.''If you would kindly let me use this delightful easy-chair by the fire?' began Hugh hurriedly; but Elinor laughed and shook her head.'Oh, we can manage better than that. Will you help Rachel wheel that comfortable-looking couch near the fire? And, Miss Milner, my sister is waiting upstairs to show you your room; you will find it very warm and snug.'Then Kathleen, nothing loath, wished them both good-night and ran off, and then Elinor assisted the maid to transform the big roomy couch into an impromptu bed.There! 'she said triumphantly, 'I think you will be warm and comfortable. But you must keep up a good fire. You must ask Mrs. Deans to refill the coal-scuttle, Rachel.' And as she withdrew Elinor continued kindly, 'It is the best we can do for you under the circumstances.''You are too good,' lie stammered. 'Miss Gresham, there is something I want to say. I meant to have accepted your hospitality most gratefully for my sister, but it was my intention to have borrowed a lantern and stout stick from George Deans and have made my way to Crow Farm.'Elinor looked quite shocked at this. 'I think that would have been a very risky performance, Mr. Milner. Neither my sister nor I would have allowed you to leave our roof on such a night.''Oh, I should have found my way all right,' he returned confidently. 'But Kathleen made herself so unhappy about it, that I was obliged to give up the idea. Miss Gresham, I assure you that I remain most unwillingly. It is not fair that you should be troubled in this way.'Hugh's embarrassment and discomfort made him seem a little abrupt in manner, and for a moment Elinor felt rather hurt; they had received the brother and sister with such frankness and kindness.'Oh, do not mistake me,' returned the young man, full of compunction, as Elinor's soft eyes looked at him rather gravely; 'it was my duty to think of you and not of my own comfort. The idea of putting two ladies to such inconvenience—oh, surely you understand! 'as a fresh access of shyness seized him. Then a sunny smile lit up Elinor's face.'I understand perfectly,' she said gently, 'and I thank you for your kind consideration for us; but indeed your scruples are quite unnecessary. Oh, here comes Rachel with the coals, and I will wish you good-night.' And she shook hands with such cordial good-will that Hugh Milner's misgiving vanished.Happily for his peace of mind, he was not aware that Frances had given up her room to Kathleen and was sharing her sister's; and that Rufus, who was restless in his new quarters, insisted on passing the night there too.Elinor was almost too wide-awake to sleep; she was amused and excited by the evening's adventure, and was anxious to know what Frances thought of their unexpected guests.Frances' opinion was distinctly favourable. 'I like them both, 'she observed. 'Mr. Milner is very good-looking and intelligent, and I think he is a well-bred man—though perhaps not much used to society. I fancy we see him at a disadvantage to-night.'Elinor agreed with this.'He certainly seemed very unwilling to accept our hospitality,' she went on; 'he actually wanted to grope his way through the snow to Crow Farm.''Oh, that was only gentlemanly feeling on his part,' replied Frances, 'and I like him none the worse for that. Miss Milner is a thoroughly nice girl. But, Nora, it is nearly twelve, and I am dreadfully sleepy, and that big bed looks delightfully comfortable'; and then Elinor reluctantly held her peace.Milner, too, was thankful to stretch his tired limbs on the luxurious couch; he was amazed to find how stiff and aching he felt. The bright firelight and the novelty of his present quarters prevented him from sleeping as soon as usual. The quiet reproach in Miss Gresham's eyes rather haunted him. She had drawn herself up with a little air of dignity at his gauche speech.'She is a sweet woman,' he said to himself; I don't know why, but she reminded me a little of mother. I wonder if Kathleen noticed it? but she was so engrossed with the elder one. She is nice too, only not so attractive as her sister.' Then his thoughts wandered to a remark that Kathleen had made.'Kit was right—they are certainly a cut above us. They are evidently people in good position; they had such easy manners,' and here Hugh sighed involuntarily. 'We are not likely to see much of them, I fancy. It seems a bit strange that that elder Miss Gresham should be head of a Nursing Home; only women do these sort of things nowadays—perhaps it is a hobby. I wonder, 'reflected Hugh rather sleepily, 'what they would think of father being only an organist and giving lessons, and then the shabby little house in Acacia Road And Hugh, forgetting his bruises, gave an impatient plunge, disarranging his rugs and blankets. 'And it is not as though mother were alive,' he finished with a groan, as he replaced his disordered coverings.This was the secret root of bitterness that was at the bottom of Hugh Milner's sensitiveness and pride. He was so conscious of his own disadvantages that he failed to realise how the discipline of his limitations, and the very thwarting of his ambition, helped to deepen his character and to make him more self-reliant and full of resource.Hugh had been a clever, promising lad, and as he had undoubted capabilities and took immense pride in the profession he had chosen, his friends and well-wishers prophesied smooth things concerning him.He would make his mark, they said, and would rise in his profession, although there were no influential patrons to pat him on the back and give him a helping hand. 'When a young man has real grit in him,' they said to Mr. Milner, 'he will soon make his way.' This was forcible, though not gracefully expressed; but Mr. Milner found it comforting. Certainly the boy had real grit in him.The organist of St. James's, Bayswater, was exceedingly popular with the vicar and choir, and indeed with all his pupils. He was a quiet, depressed-looking man; but he had been exceedingly good-looking in his youth; his manners were gentle and very pleasing, and he rarely lost patience with the most trying pupil. But the work was not to his taste, and of late he had grown to loathe it.His happiest hours were spent at the organ in St. James's, or in playing his beloved violin. He had a passionate love of music, and Kathleen had been carefully trained to accompany him. He had taught her to play on the organ, and she had become so proficient that the vicar of St. James's had permitted her to take her father's place when he had been prostrated by influenza.It was a great disappointment to Mr. Milner that Hugh did not share these musical tastes, and could not be persuaded to learn any instrument. Even as a boy lie had a will of his own, and could argue out every question to his own satisfaction.'What on earth is the use of wasting my time pounding away at the piano or the violoncello when I have not an ear for music?' he would say. 'Two in a family make quite enough noise, Kit. Father ought to be content to know that I work hard at Euclid and drawing; it is better to do one thing well than to have a smattering of half a dozen.' And Hugh stuck obstinately to his opinion.He and Kathleen were devoted to their father, and the little household had been a most harmonious one; but the loss of the dearly loved wife and mother had been a sore trouble. Mrs. Milner had been the very heart of the home to her children; and Hugh, whose love for his mother amounted almost to a passion, had been for a time crushed with sorrow.From childhood she had been to him the embodiment of womanly grace and beauty. Her fair face and soft voice, even the gentle rustling of her garments, still haunted him at times. He remembered, too, how when he was a little lad he had often wondered why she seemed unhappy, and that more than once he had surprised her in tears. But later on he understood it, when, before her death, she talked to him about her past life. ' I always meant you to know, Hughie,' she said, 'but your dear father was so unwilling for me to speak; but I told him last night that I wanted my boy to know everything.' And then as Hugh rested his head against her pillow, she told him in a low, weak voice the story of her girlhood.CHAPTER XI'I HAVE COME TO SEE YOU, JANET'Oh, how sweet, how painful and sweet, it is to stoop and bend day after day, with weary care, over the common dust-heap of our past experiences, and humming old tunes to ourselves, and thinking of our lost hopes and buried loves, to pick out the little diamonds of memory and put them on our bosoms!—ANON.JANET MILNER, in spite of her gentleness, had been an extremely reserved woman, and she had kept from her children the knowledge of certain facts connected with her early life. Both Hugh and Kathleen had known that their mother's childhood and youth had been spent in a luxurious home in one of the Midland counties, but they had often wondered why she had seemed so reluctant to speak of the past, and why any allusion to old days seemed to give her pain; but they were not aware that her parents were still living, and she was a disowned and disinherited daughter. Very shortly after his mother's death Hugh saw an announcement in the Morning Post, which he pointed out silently to his sister. Kathleen read it with a feeling of awe. ' On September 6th, at Salcott Grange, Erpingham, Sir Walter Vincent, Bart., in the seventy-fifth year of his age.''That was our grandfather, Kathleen,' he said in rather a queer voice.Janet Vincent had been an only daughter, and her parents had idolised her. She was a beautiful girl, at once gentle and high-spirited, but she was unfortunately very impulsive and easily led; she was only seventeen, and her mother, an ambitious woman, was preparing for a brilliant season in town, when the bomb exploded—their spoilt darling had eloped with the handsome young music-master, John Milner.Janet had counted on her parents' doating affection; she had never doubted that after a time she would be forgiven and restored to their favour. Her only brother was ten years younger than herself, and was seven. For many years there had been little hope of an heir, and there had been great joy at his birth.When Janet read her father's letter she nearly fainted with dismay and grief. She had committed the unpardonable sin in her parents' eyes, and had disgraced the family name. From that day they would forget that they had ever had a daughter, she was no longer a Vincent. All her girlish possessions and ornaments were forwarded to John Milner's house, and a registered letter containing a cheque for two thousand pounds was sent with a curt explanation. The money was a legacy from an aunt who had recently died, but Sir Walter wished the young couple to understand that Janet would never receive a penny from her parents. Poor Janet was utterly crushed, but for a long time she refused to abandon all hope of winning her parents' forgiveness. When she became a mother she wrote an appealing and humble letter to Lady Vincent, but no answer was vouchsafed her; and though she made another attempt at Kathleen's birth, there was still the same repellent silence.Once, when Hugh was four years old, Janet was walking with her boy in Hyde Park when she caught sight of the well-remembered Vincent liveries, and the next moment she and her mother were looking into each other's faces. Just then there was a block and the carriage came to a standstill. Janet had time to see the stony stare in Lady Vincent's eyes and the grey set face. It was like a nightmare to Janet. She strove to speak, but the word ' Mother' was scarcely audible, and she could only cling to the railings for support. The next moment the carriage moved on. Janet was almost heart-broken as she sank down on a bench and clutched at her boy. Then, as she became conscious of the curious looks of the loungers near her, she hurried away. 'Come, Hughie,' she said, as the child dragged unwillingly at her hand; 'poor mother is tired and ill, and we must go home.' But when they reached, at last, the little house in Acacia Road, Janet stumbled almost blindly into her husband's arms as he opened the door.'John—oh, John,' she said, with a dry sob that seemed to tear her to pieces, 'I have seen mother, and she looked at me, but there was no recognition in her eyes.' Then John Milner took his wife into the adjoining room and tried to soothe her.' My dearest, you are not much changed, but it is just possible that she did not know you.' But Janet shook her head.'Mother knew me, but she will not know me for a daughter now. She looks so much older and harder, and I think,' continued poor Janet almost hysterically, ' that I have turned her heart to stone.' Then, as John Milner strove vainly to find some word of comfort, she suddenly clasped him round the neck.'Oh, John, we must just love each other; I have been a bad daughter, but to you I have been a good wife.''The dearest and best wife that a man could have,' he murmured, in a voice broken with emotion. 'And it was I who tempted you and abused your parents' confidence. If only I could bear all the punishment!''Hush,' she said tenderly; 'even now I would not undo it if I could. As long as I have you and Hughie and dear Baby I will not murmur.' But though Janet spoke bravely, there was bitterness in her heart for many a long day, and her fair face was often troubled.When Hugh was about fifteen, a strange thing happened to Janet Milner.One afternoon, late in the autumn, Janet was sitting in her little parlour with her mending-basket beside her, when the maid informed her that a gentleman, who declined to give his name, was desirous of speaking to her; and Janet, thinking that it was some business connected with her husband, told the servant that she would see him.The next moment a tall, fresh-coloured, and exceedingly good-looking young man entered the room, and bowed to her in rather an embarrassed manner.'Mr. Milner is out,' began Janet as she offered him a chair, 'and I do not expect him back for some hours; but any information that I can give you——'Thanks,' in an odd, constrained voice, 'but my business is not with Mr. Milner. I—have come to see you, Janet. I am Harry—your brother Harry.' Then Janet, with a little cry of amazement, seized his hands and turned him towards the dim light.'Harry,' she repeated—'my little brother Harry,' and there was a sort of repressed ecstasy in her voice. 'And I did not recognise you—but then it is so dark. Wait a moment, Harry, and I will light the lamp, and then we can see each other's faces.' But Janet's hands trembled so that she could hardly perform her little task.The young man watched her curiously. As a little lad he had heard people tell his mother that Janet was a beautiful girl, but he could see few traces of beauty in the thin, careworn face before him. She was a graceful woman, and her voice and manner recalled his mother, but he would never have guessed that she was a Vincent.'You do not remember me, Harry?' she said, rather sadly; 'but of course it is impossible.''Well, I was such a kid, you see,' he returned with a laugh, 'and children have short memories. I fancy you must find it rather difficult to recognise me.''Oh, but I did not see you clearly,' she returned eagerly; 'you are so big and strong and sunburnt—but you are like father.''That is what every one says.'You were such a fair, delicate little lad when I last saw you; you had had whooping-cough and it had pulled you down so. Harry dear, I want you to tell me something—are mother and father well?''They are perfectly well, Janet. As our old bailiff says—"Sir Walter and Madam enjoy the best of health." ' Harry Vincent spoke lightly, but Janet was too much engrossed with grave thoughts to give him an answering smile.'I am thankful to hear it. Do—do they know that you have come to see me?' Then he shook his head. 'I don't mean to tell them'—and there was some-thing boyish in his manner—'what's the use of having a row if you can avoid it! Loring—you remember old Loring, Janet?'—and as she nodded—'well, he has got a bit doity, and father has given him one of the lodges to live in. He told me a long story about you and Milner the other day. I suppose the old fellow was right in his facts, and that you really ran away?''Yes, I ran away,' and Janet flushed rather proudly. 'It was a foolish and wrong thing to do, Harry; but John and I loved each other so dearly, and we knew father and mother would never have given us permission to marry each other.''Well, you are about right there,' with a tolerant laugh. 'Do you know, Janet, I always thought things were much worse. I don't say that you and John Milner did not do rather a caddish thing, but all the same it was a beastly shame kicking you out of the nest like that.'Then Janet's eyes filled with tears. 'Thank you, my dear brother,' she said simply, as she took his hand and kissed it.'It is awful rot,' he went on, turning very red at this unexpected caress; 'why should a Vincent think himself superior to other people? There's mother always preaching to me that I owe a duty to my ancestors,—a rummy old lot they were too! She has set her heart on my making what she calls a good marriage.''You must try not to disappoint them, dear Harry,' returned Janet with a sigh.'Well, I don't believe the old lady would get over it if I followed your example,' returned her brother with rather brutal frankness. 'There's father too, he has been awfully decent to me lately. He is sending me round the world because he knows I have a craze to go. I wish,' hesitating, 'that I could smooth things a bit for you; but they would be just mad if they knew Loring had talked to me'.'Yes, I see,' and Janet sighed again; 'you and dear old Loring must not get into trouble on my account.' And then Hugh and Kathleen came in, rosy and full of life from their walk, and shortly afterwards, to Janet's great joy, her husband returned unexpectedly.Harry Vincent behaved very well to his brother-in-law, and took a good deal of notice of his unknown nephew and niece. Hugh and Kathleen were charmed with this splendid new uncle, with his handsome face and genial manners and magnificent tips. The sovereign in Hugh's pocket seemed to burn his palm as he fingered it furtively from time to time. 'Uncle Harry is quite the nicest man we have ever seen after Dad,' observed Kathleen enthusiastically.Harry Vincent shared the simple evening meal, and the brother and sister parted very affectionately.'I wish I could do something for you,' he murmured, as he kissed her; but Janet had made no audible response, her heart was too full.'He is a dear fellow,' she said to herself,' but they will be too strong for him; he means well, and he is very lovable and sweet-tempered, but his facile nature is just one to be dominated by a stronger personality—he will be easily moulded by the Vincent will.' And Janet wisely forbore to build any airy structure on the fact of her brother's visit. 'It has been a great joy to me,' she said to her husband, 'but I do not expect Harry will come again'—and she was right.Harry Vincent was absent for more than eighteen months, and twice during that time Janet had proof that he had not forgotten her existence. Some beautiful Indian stuffs and embroideries reached her, and, later on, some Japanese curios. Harry's love was scrawled on a piece of paper, but there was no address.Janet had a faint hope that on his return to England he might find her out again, but she did not really believe it. Two or three years later he wrote from some castle in Scotland, to tell her of his approaching marriage. 'I am engaged to Lady Doreen Glendower,' he wrote; 'my people are delighted, and so am I, for Doreen is an awfully good sort.' Janet put down the letter with a long, strangling sigh. 'Mother will be pleased,' she said, with a pale smile that had the reflex of tears.It was after this that Janet fell ill. From the first she felt a certainty that she was struck for death, and it was then that she told her husband that she wished her children to know everything.Her story had thrilled Hugh. He was of an age to realise keenly the slow martyrdom of his mother's life. So much had been denied her; it had been such a narrow, meagre existence, so utterly monotonous and commonplace, and yet how her love had enriched and fertilised it, how patiently and sweetly she had endured her limitations! But when he had stammered out something of this, she had kissed him fondly.'Hugh dear, when you have lived longer you will understand; when one loves, the hard places seem smoothed somewhat, and one does not think so much of the thorns and flints. I have been very faulty, but I have not failed in love—I dare say so humbly, but I think it is true.''It is true! Oh, mother, mother, how are father and Kathleen and I to live without you?' Then again the feeble, wasted arms drew the poor lad closer. He was her first-born, and from his birth she had gloried in him.'I must leave you to our Father,' she whispered in his ear; ' He knows what a mother's loss means, and He will comfort my dear ones. 'And then she gently bade him leave her, as she could talk no more.A day or two later, when her husband was sitting beside her, he asked her suddenly if he should send for her brother; but to his surprise she begged him not to do so.' It would only distress him, and perhaps it would create an awkwardness between him and his young wife. She may not even know of my existence. He was to bring her to the Grange, you know; they must have been there six months, but he has not answered my letter of congratulation.''Janet, my darling, would you like me to write to Lady Vincent? 'But she shook her head.'No, it is too late, and I am too weary for such a scene; but, John, it was very dear of you to propose it. But I only want my husband and children. God knows that there is no bitterness in my heart now"—that I have forgiven mother.' She paused here from sheer exhaustion; but after she had lain quiet a little she recurred to the subject.'I have written to Harry,' she said; 'you will find the letter in the left-hand drawer of my writing-table, and I should like you to send it to him after my death. I have asked him to give my love to my father and mother.'Janet died peacefully with her hand in her husband's. A few days after this talk, and by some strange coincidence, Sir Walter Vincent was struck down by a paralytic seizure on the very day of his daughter's death.John Milner sent on the letter to Harry Vincent, but unfortunately it never reached him. It was brought to Lady Vincent, and in the darkened room, where the sick man lay stricken and helpless as a log, even her keen eyes had failed to recognise the hand-writing. Harry was in Switzerland with his wife and she had refused to recall them. 'They will be here in ten days, and Dr. Gathorne says there is no immediate danger,' she had said to a young relative who had come to her in the hour of trouble. ' Harry does not want his letters sent on unless they are urgent. You can just put this in the drawer of his bureau where he keeps his business letters, Connie.' But unfortunately Connie dropped poor Janet's letter with its loving messages into an unused drawer, where it lay unread for many a long day.It was of this much-loved mother that Hugh Milner was thinking as lie lay weary and yet unable to sleep. Often and often as he recalled her confidence lie had started up in his bed with the hot blood surging to his temples, sick at heart with the thought of the waste and pain of that sweet life.I hate them,' he would mutter"—'I hate them for making her suffer so, just because in her hot youth she made one false step. And she married a good man too, though his father was a tradesman. But could any one see a finer gentleman than dear old Dad, who never speaks an unkind word to any human creature, and would as soon murder a man as tell a lie?'Hugh wondered vaguely why the memory of his mother haunted him so persistently that night. What was there about the younger Miss Gresham that recalled her so forcibly to his mind? Elinor's soft eyes, her gentle manner and cultured voice, had appealed to him and awakened the old longing for the mother love that had blessed his youth.'Miss Gresham is not beautiful, but somehow, as I told Kathleen, she reminds me of mother,' he said to himself. 'A cut above us, are they? Perhaps so, in one sense; but Kathleen talks a lot of rubbish sometimes. What if we are poor, and father gives music-lessons, we come of a good old stock!' And Hugh reflected with some complacency that the blood of the Vincents was in his veins. ' I am the grandson of Sir Walter Vincent, and my uncle's wife is an earl's daughter, though we do live in that poky little house in Acacia Road,' murmured the young man a little drowsily, as the firelight flickered and burnt low, and a few minutes later he was asleep.CHAPTER XIIA TRANSFORMATION SCENEThe heavens were grey and dull and low,The earth was old and stained and sere,When God outspread His spotless snow,—A carpet for the comings year.ANON.A PALE gleam of wintry sunlight woke Elinor the next morning, and she stole to the window. Her exclamation of delight roused Frances from a dream, and the next moment she had joined her sister.'How beautiful it is!' she said softly; 'it is a perfect transformation scene. Ding Snow is a magician—he just waves his wand and the shabby old world is clothed in this bridal garment.''Oh, that is hackneyed,' laughed Elinor; 'you should rather say that the world is new-born, and that this is her christening robe. Look at the soft folds of whiteness draping those meadows, so pure and unsoiled, not even the tiny print of birds' feet anywhere.'It was certainly a lovely scene. The snow had fallen heavily during the night and covered everything, and the fair white landscape spread as far as eye could see; the branches of the elms and sycamore on the lawn were bowed beneath their heavy weight. A robin, who could find no foothold for his tiny feet, had taken refuge on their window-sill. He was a knowing little fellow, and evidently quite tame; for when Elinor softly opened the window to strew some crumbled biscuit, he did not attempt to fly away, but cocked his bright eye at her and began his breakfast.Rachel came in to light their fire and bring them hot water. She brought a good report of their visitors. Miss Milner had rested well, and Mr. Milner had betaken himself to the dressing-room that had been prepared for him. He had told Mrs. Deans that he felt perfectly fit, and that he would soon walk off his stiffness.'We had better hurry now, for they will want to be off,' observed Frances; and then they dressed themselves with all possible despatch.They found their visitors in the dining-room, talking busily over the fire. Both of them assured their hostesses that they had rested well.'I lay awake for an hour or two,' confessed Hugh, ' but I slept like a top after that. Kathleen beat the record, though; she declares she went to sleep the moment her head touched the pillow, and she did not wake until the maid roused her.''I am so glad,' returned Frances, smiling at her. She was thinking how bright and sonsie the girl's face looked—winsome was the word that expressed it best; though it was rather pretty too, with those dark eyes and long curling lashes, and the clear, healthy colouring in her cheeks. Hugh Milner too improved upon acquaintance; he seemed more at his ease.'There is something rather distinguished about him,' Elinor said afterwards to her sister, 'and he has a nice voice. Do you know, he reminds me of some one, but I cannot recall the name of the person. We know so many people. It is curious, but there is something in his voice and manner that seems familiar to me.'Frances seemed rather amused at this; but Elinor was quite in earnest. It was not Hugh Milner's face, she went on, for she had not seen any one resembling him; it was merely a trick of manner, a certain timbre in the voice, that had struck her; but even now she could not believe it was her fancy.During breakfast, Hugh Milner informed the sisters that George Deans had told him that, though the snow was fairly deep in places, there was every probability of a partial thaw before night.'I have a further favour to ask of you,' he continued, addressing Elinor; 'if you would kindly give shelter to our bicycles in some outhouse, my sister and I can easily make our way to Tylcote. As I have an appointment with Mr. Morrell, Kathleen and I must start at once; and as soon as the roads are better, I will come over and fetch the bicycles.''They will be quite safe here,' returned Elinor, 'and even if the house is shut up, Mrs. Deans will have the key; she is our care-taker at present.' And then, after a little more talk, Kathleen hurried off to put on her hat.'As we expect to be neighbours of yours, I daresay we shall often meet,' observed Elinor, as Hugh rather diffidently tried to express his gratitude for her kind hospitality.'Rather distant neighbours,' he returned, smiling; 'Tylcote Street is four miles from Meadow Thorpe.''Oh, that is nothing in the country,' she replied cheerfully; 'I suppose we shall have some sort of trap.''You will find that a necessity. Come, Kathleen, we must make tracks, and there is no time to lose. "Tread thou in my footsteps boldly,"' he went on, quoting from good King Wenceslaus. And then lifting his hat with a parting smile, Hugh Milner walked quickly down the white drive.Kathleen lingered for a last word with Frances, and then she hurried after him, very proud and happy because that dear Miss Gresham had kissed her. Frances was always caressing in her manner to young girls. 'A nice little girl,' she said as she closed the door. But Elinor did not hear her. She felt vaguely disappointed by the young man's lack of response to her friendly overtures. But when she hinted at this, Frances looked a little surprised.'I am quite sure that Mr. Milner was pleased when you said that, Nora; and I thought he showed a very nice feeling. He does not wish to take advantage of our kindness. Some young men might have presumed under the circumstances; he has behaved all through in a very gentlemanly manner'—and this judicious view of the subject satisfied Elinor.They had an animated argument after this, when Frances was again victorious. Elinor voted for a walk—she thought a tramp through the snow would be fun—but Frances refused to entertain the idea for a moment.'If the snow were crisp and hard, I would be your woman,' she continued; 'but it is melting already; we should get our feet wet and come back draggled and uncomfortable. Why should we not take exercise indoors, and do the hole-and-corner business?' And Elinor rather reluctantly agreed to this.But she soon became interested, and the morning passed rapidly as they went from room to room inspecting beds, blankets, and curtains, and making notes of every deficiency. During luncheon they discussed the situation calmly.'Of course, a good deal of the furniture is rather shabby and the worse for wear,' confessed Elinor, 'but it does not do so badly after all; and as it is only an experiment, and we may not be here for more than a year, it would be throwing money away to get new furniture.''I am quite of your opinion,' returned her sister briskly. But Elinor had not finished.'Lyall will probably return next spring—at least his time will be up then—and of course Bride will have to join him.''Yes, and you could not remain here alone.''Well, I am not so sure about that,' returned Elinor rather dreamily. 'By that time I may have grown so attached to the place, that I may be unwilling to leave it. I shall certainly not return to the Boltons.''I should think not! But you might come to St. Monica's Lodge, Nora. But there, we will not waste time in discussing probabilities. Our future is on the knees of the gods, as Lyall used to say. Revenons à nos moutons. You are right about the furniture. Some new curtains and cretonne and a cushion or two will soon brighten up the drawing-room; and—well, perhaps a new carpet, for I must confess the old one is hideous.''Oh, I am glad you have given in about the carpet, Frances. And you will please remember that Bride and I mean to bring all our books and pictures and pretty things. Bride has her wedding presents—nothing would induce her to leave them behind. As this is her husband's house, I shall expect her to be mistress, and I shall make her take the head of the table.''I don't think Bride will approve of that. But you are quite right, Nora, the child has been too long in her shell. How soon do you mean to make the flitting?''About a week or ten days after Easter,' was the answer; 'that will be the middle of April. There is not the least need to wait for the mail, for Lyall always said that we could use the house if we liked, when the Shepherds left. But there is one hitch. What are we to do about Augusta's reception? Nothing on earth will induce us to be present.'You and Bride must come to me for a day or two,' returned Frances promptly; 'even if we are full, you could share my room, Nora, and I will find a corner for Bride.''If Bride comes, Scrap will come too.''Oh, there will be a corner for Scrap too,' remarked Frances easily; and so the matter was settled.'What a comfortable person you are,' observed Elinor gratefully. 'I do love to see you wind off my tangle of worries and roll them up into a neat ball, all smoothed out,—a week-day and Sabbath blessing, that's what you are, Frances'; and then they both laughed, for this was an old joke that belonged to very ancient history indeed.Elinor was quoting from a speech of an old pensioner of theirs who had just lost his wife. 'I am fair lost without my old woman,' he had observed tearfully; 'a week-day and a Sabbath blessing, that is what she was to me, and I never saw her like for sweeping and washing. I used to have my joke with her, young ladies. "Bet," I says to her, "I often wonder what you will do with yourself when you gets to heaven, and you'll have no more duds to rinse out, and golden floors won't want sweeping, my woman." But, bless you, do you think Bet was beat by that?'"Well, job," she says, a bit soberly, "I will have a talk with one of the wise gentlemen up there; I have a kind of feeling that Adam might give me a hint or two, for he was only a gardening man himself. It stands to reason," she went on, "that I can't sit with my hands before me and sing hymns, and I never could sing because of the husk in my throat, and I don't know but golden floors might be the better for a bit of polishing." But then Bet was always saying droll things.'The afternoon passed pleasantly. Elinor was always content in her sister's society; it was sufficient happiness for her to know that the same roof covered them both; she did not even need to talk, if she could only raise her eyes from her book sometimes and meet Frances' answering smile—the quiet understanding and sympathy between them needed no outward demonstration.How she had suffered when Frances went to Guy's Hospital! Even now, she never cared to think of those dreary weeks. 'When you left me,' she wrote in her first passionate distress, 'you took away all my sunshine with you. I suppose in time I shall learn to live without you, but my life seems very empty and bare.' This letter had wrung Frances' heart.'I miss you too, dearest Nora,' she wrote after a day or two, 'and I should be ashamed to tell you how much; but you must not make it too hard for me, darling. We must do our work, you and I. My vocation is to minister to sick people, I feel this more strongly every day; and your mission is to comfort poor Lyall by taking care of Bride.' But Elinor was not so easily comforted.But after a time the pain lessened; and when she saw how happy Frances was in her work, how her strong sympathies and tact fitted her for her labour of love, she grew more reconciled to the parting. For true love is never selfish; and when Elinor had fully realised that Frances' strong, active nature needed a larger scope for its development, she at once acknowledged, with all sincerity, that her sister had acted wisely.When St. Monica's Nursing Home had been opened Elinor began to reap the reward of her forbearance; her own borders seemed to be enlarged, and the blank margins of her daily life were full of interests. She was able to enjoy Frances' society on less restricted terms. Frances had found her visits to the Boltons somewhat trying, but now Elinor could come to St. Monica's as often as she liked, and those peaceful hours were much prized by both. Elinor used to call it her Fair Haven. 'I don't know how it is,' she would say quite seriously, 'but directly I find myself inside that garden gate, I feel a little like Christian, when his burden fell off—I am a free woman.' And though Frances smiled at this tender flattery, she understood what Elinor meant.There was little doubt that Frances was enjoying her holiday. 'How delicious it is to be idle!' she exclaimed, after a long nap in the twilight; 'only a worker knows how to play properly.'That evening they had another visitor. They had not long finished their tea when Mrs. Deans came in to say that Mr. Keith was over at the farm cottage, and would like, if convenient, to wait on the ladies. Elinor sent back a gracious message, and in a few minutes the young farmer came across to the house. Lyall's description had already prepossessed them in his favour, and they were not disappointed.He was a strongly-built, broad-shouldered young man, quite of the Saxon type, fair-haired and blue-eyed, and much tanned by exposure to the weather, and his frank, open expression and lack of awkwardness impressed them favourably. In his rough suit and knickerbockers he would have passed for some country squire. He spoke, too, as though he were fairly well educated.'Mother thought I ought to pay my respects to you two ladies,' he said with an air of modest assurance, as the sisters shook hands with him; 'she fancied there might be something I could do for you.' He looked at Frances as he spoke.'That was very kind of you and Mrs. Keith,' she returned cordially; 'but there is nothing we need for our few days' visit—unless it be better weather. I am afraid you have had a disagreeable walk,' with a glance at the young man's splashed boots.'It was a bit wet and slushy in places,' he replied, 'but it will freeze again to-night—not that it means to last though. But I am afraid, Miss Gresham, that the roads will be greasy and slippery to-morrow; the sun was a trifle warm at mid-day, and just at the bend of the lane I waded through a regular snow-pond. I doubt I am hardly presentable to appear before ladies—though George managed to clean me up a bit.''Oh, that does not matter, Mr. Keith,' observed Elinor.'Young Mr. Milner and Miss Kathleen begged me to give you their kind regards,' he went on.'I hope Miss Milner is not the worse for her long walk, Mr. Keith?''Not she,' with a pleasant smile that showed his white teeth. 'Miss Kathleen is not one to give in; she just tripped across like a bird. Mother was sorely put about when she heard of all your trouble and inconvenience, Miss Gresham. We had not a doubt but that Mr. Milner and his sister were safe at the Greyhound at Maskell. "You need not be uneasy, old lady," I said to her, "for Milner has a head on his shoulders, and would not care to risk spending the night in a snow-flurry." But we were both as vexed as possible when we heard the truth.''All's well that ends well, Mr. Keith.' Then, after a little more talk and another civil proffer of neighbourly assistance on the young farmer's part, Hammond Keith took his leave.That is what I call a good typical specimen of an English yeoman!' exclaimed Frances—'broadcloth without and a warm heart within. I congratulate you on your neighbours.''Yes, they are a decided improvement on the Brissac, Nugent, and Peyton clique,' replied Elinor with a smile. 'Oh, I want to tell you something, Frances! I have just remembered the name of the person of whom Mr. Milner reminded me. It flashed upon me when you were napping.''Do I know him?''Well, you have met him once or twice at the Boltons, and I remember your telling me that you liked him. It was Sir Harry Vincent.''Sir Harry Vincent? I confess that I cannot see the least resemblance.''Not in face, but in voice and manner,' was the reply. 'Besides, you do not know him as well as we do. Bride and I always say he is our nicest visitor. But Augusta never cared either for him or Lady Doreen; you see, they are neither of them spiritualists or Christian Scientists,' with a meaning laugh.CHAPTER XIII'HE IS NO EVANGELIST'I love knowledge; I love intellect; I love faith,—simple faith yet more. I love God's shadow more than man's light.—MADAME SWETCHINE.Character is an atmosphere rather than a sum of qualities.—BISHOP CREIGHTON.THE next morning the outward aspect was decidedly uninviting; everywhere the snow was melting, and a fine mizzling rain added to the general dampness. Walking was impossible under such unfavourable conditions, and the sisters resolved to spend an industrious morning making out inventories of needful articles. Both of them had provided themselves with needle-work, but Elinor put aside hers cheerfully to help Frances finish some little frocks for a crèche in which she was interested; and with books and work and conversation the day passed pleasantly and profitably.The following day a gleam of sunshine tempted them to brave the muddy roads, and to Rufus's exuberant delight they sallied forth for a walk, returning a couple of hours later, splashed and rosy with exercise and in excellent spirits. They had taken a wrong turning, and found themselves half-way to Maskell Station. They had met a man in a cart who had given them information; only two children and a dog had passed them, and an old horse had whinnied to them over a gate. Frances privately thought that Maida Vale was decidedly preferable, but she kept this opinion to herself.The next day things had improved; the sun shone steadily, and the air was quite soft and balmy. Every vestige of snow had disappeared, and, acting on Mrs. Deans's advice, they walked in the direction of Tylcote.Just as they were about to turn their faces home-ward, something occurred to interest them. They were just passing a detached cottage, when a beautiful little white Pomeranian dog flew down the front garden, barking coquettishly to attract Rufus's attention. She was such an engaging little creature that both Frances and Elinor stopped to admire her. The next moment a lady came to the cottage door and called to her in rather an alarmed voice.'You need not be afraid,' observed Elinor in a reassuring tone, 'Rufus never takes any notice of small dogs.' And then, as the little Pomeranian frisked round her, she picked her up and gave her to her mistress, who had hurried to the gate.'Oh, thank you so much!' exclaimed the lady nervously, as she hugged her pet. 'Fairy is so naughty; she will try and make friends with all the big dogs, and it frightens me so.' But here Fairy poked her black nose in penitent fashion into her mistress's face, thereby hindering any further conversation, and then they, both laughed; and with another word of thanks, the lady re-entered the cottage and the sisters walked on.What a sweet face! I wonder who she is, observed Elinor.'Her voice was nice too,' returned Frances. 'I daresay Mrs. Deans could tell us.' But they had no opportunity of asking her that day, as she had gone over to Tylcote Street with her husband, and the next morning it had slipped from their memory.That afternoon they had unexpected visitors. Just before tea-time the front-door bell rang, and the next minute Hugh Milner and his sister were ushered into the room.They seemed pleased by the sisters' cordial reception, and Mr. Milner explained that they had come to fetch their bicycles. 'I meant to have come over alone,' he observed, 'but Kathleen insisted on accompanying me. The roads are still pretty bad, but I daresay she will get on all right.''You shall have some tea before you go back,' returned Elinor, ringing the bell as she spoke; and though Hugh seemed inclined to negative this, his objections were soon overruled. Elinor was bent on hospitality; she declared laughingly that she and her sister had had enough of each other's society.'Oh, do let us stay, Hugh?' whispered Kathleen naïvely; 'the evening is lighter, and we have our lamps.' And then the young man yielded.Perhaps he was only too willing to linger for a while in such pleasant environment, Elinor Gresham's manner was so soft and gracious. Hugh felt a subtle sensation of warmth and comfort pervading him, as these two women, with their kind faces and gentle, well-bred air, talked to him in so friendly a fashion; and they were soon conversing as happily as though they were old acquaintances. Frances questioned them about their morning walk through the snow; then they talked about Mr. Keith's visit; and finally Elinor asked if Mr. Milner knew the owner of a lovely little white Pomeranian dog named Fairy. It appeared that she had come to the right source for information.'Oh, that was Miss Warburton of Tylcote Hall,' he returned readily—'Miss Agnes, people generally call her; I don't know why, for she has no sister. She and her mother live with the vicar; he is the Rev. Gale Warburton, I told you about. When the old Squire died he left the Vicarage and came to live at the Hall.''I suppose it belongs to him?''Yes, and he never cared for the Vicarage. He has a fine library there—two or three rooms full of books—and he spends most of the day over there. A couple of old servants live there and act as care-takers.''I suppose he does not care to live alone?''I think it is more for Mrs. Warburton's sake,' replied Mr. Milner—'the old Madam, as they call her in the village; though she is not so specially old either. She is a rather handsome little person and remarkably well preserved, and she and her son are devoted to each other.''We thought Miss Warburton had such a sweet face,' observed Elinor; 'but she did not seem to me quite young.''Oh, I am no judge of ladies' ages,' returned Hugh rather shyly; but Kathleen interrupted him.'Oh, I know Miss Agnes's age quite well,' she said eagerly, 'Mrs. Keith told me. She is just thirty. Do you know, Miss Gresham, I think her quite lovely, though she does look so sad. You see, she is so out in the cold, poor thing, and I am afraid she has rather a dull life of it. Mrs. Warburton isn't nice to her; she thinks only of her son.'Now, Kitty,' observed her brother in a remonstrant voice, 'there was no need to launch out into the Warburton's affairs in that reckless fashion; besides, it cannot possibly interest Miss Gresham.''Oh, you arc wrong—quite wrong,' replied Elinor, with unusual animation. 'I have fallen in love with Miss Warburton at first sight, and I am exceedingly interested in all you can tell me about her. I am afraid you will accuse us of gossiping, Mr. Milner, but I should dearly love to hear about my neighbours, and then unhappy people are so much more interesting than happy ones.''Oh, Nora, what a thing to say!' ejaculated her sister.'I have heard you say it yourself, Frances, only in different words. Happiness is generally so exceedingly commonplace, but people who have a sad story in their past——''Oh, I don't think Miss Agnes has any past story,' explained Kathleen, with a very obvious emphasis on the word 'past'; 'but I do think her home-life is dread-fully dull. You see, Mr. Warburton is very learned, and is always shut up in his study, and his mother often shuts herself up with him, and the poor, dear thing is left out in the cold.''I think it is time for me to see after those bicycle lamps,' exclaimed Hugh Milner rather abruptly; 'if you will excuse me, Miss Gresham, I will light up and bring the bicycles round to the front door.' And as he seemed somewhat in a hurry, neither Frances nor Elinor made any demur to this.'That is my fault,' observed Kathleen in a vexed voice, as the door closed. 'Hugh never likes me to talk about the Warburtons. You see, he is grateful to Mr. Warburton for helping him to get all this work, and he never will say a word against him.''And he is not a favourite of yours?''I should think not!' indignantly. 'Not that I know him; I have never spoken a dozen words to him. Of course he is awfully clever. I believe he is a fine oriental scholar, and has written more than one book; but he is not like a clergyman—not like our nice Mr. Morrell—and he is such a stiff, unapproachable, proud sort of man, he is more like an iceberg than a human being.''Dear me! And yet he is devoted to his mother?''So Hugh says, and I suppose he knows. Anyhow, Mrs. Warburton perfectly idolises him. As I have never been invited to the Hall, I know really nothing about their home-life; only sometimes Mrs. Keith tells me things. I really am afraid that neither her mother nor brother are quite kind to Miss Agnes; she gets dreadfully snubbed at times.''I wonder she puts up with it at her age,' remarked Frances, who seemed quite as much interested as Elinor. 'But probably Miss Warburton is one of those gentle-natured women who have not much backbone.''Well, you see she is not specially clever,' returned Kathleen, 'and the other two are such bookworms. Why, Mrs. Keith says that Mrs. Warburton is quite a good Latin and Greek scholar, though of course she does not read Hebrew and Sanskrit and hieroglyphics as her son does. I believe her father educated her—he was a Professor at Oxford.''I think I grasp the situation, observed Frances. 'There is no similarity of taste between the mother and daughter—that is always a pity.''Yes, and then—but no, I must not say a word about that, or Hugh would be down on me. I know what his first question will be when we leave the house: "I hope you have not said anything about——" Oh, there he is,' interrupting herself with a conscious little laugh. 'Are the lamps lighted, Hugh?''Yes, and we had better start, for it is getting dark already.' But as Mr. Milner spoke he looked at her a little keenly.Kathleen was perfectly correct in her surmise, for as Hugh opened the gate for her, he said abruptly, 'I hope you did not say anything about Hammond Keith, Kitten, when you were talking about the Warburtons just now?''No, indeed,' returned Kathleen truthfully, 'I never mentioned his name. But I was very near it once,' she added frankly.'I know you are an awful chatterbox,' he replied good-humouredly. 'I sometimes think women are very unscrupulous on this point; they talk about their neighbours' private affairs in the most barefaced way. What concern is it of ours if the Warburtons are rather a divided household?''I see what you mean, Hugh,' returned his sister humbly; 'and I am afraid you are right and that I am a sad chatterbox'; and with this naïve confession the subject dropped.The weather continued propitious, and Sunday was so bright and sunny that Frances and Elinor decided to walk over to Sweet Hawes for the morning service.The neighbouring villages of Dewhurst and Sweet Hawes were in charge of one vicar, the Rev. Veered Monkton, but Mrs. Deans informed them that, owing to recent illness, he was at present away from home, and that clergymen from the parishes round were taking the services. 'I believe Mr. Morrell,' she added, 'is to take the duty this morning. He is the rector of Mexfield and Tylcote Street, and they say he is a fine preacher.'The sisters enjoyed their walk, and were much pleased with the little church and the service. Mr. Morrell had a good voice and delivery, and preached a simple, eloquent sermon. Both Elinor and Frances were prepossessed by his appearance. He was a good-looking man in middle life, and was evidently an earnest worker; there was something persuasive and tender in his admonitions, and as they left the church Elinor could not help saying that she wished Mr. Morrell were the vicar of Dewhurst.'You may like Mr. Monkton quite as well,' returned Frances. 'Mrs. Deans says that the people are much attached to him, and that Mrs. Monkton is such a nice motherly woman.'As the day continued fine, Elinor proposed that they should go to the evening service at Dewhurst, and take Rachel with them. They had walked there the previous afternoon and would have no difficulty in finding their way, and after a moment's hesitation Frances agreed to this.It was quite a spring-like evening; and as they strolled through the village a carriage passed them and stopped at the church gate, and a tall clergyman jumped out and helped out two ladies. Frances and Elinor recognised the younger one; it was certainly Fairy's mistress, Agnes Warburton. The sisters exchanged a glance of amusement and unconsciously quickened their steps. As they reached the porch they found the two ladies still there. Mr. Warburton had retired to the vestry.A slight accident had occurred in descending from the carriage; Mrs. Warburton had caught her foot in her dress, and quite half a yard of braid was torn. Her daughter was evidently hunting fruitlessly for some pins to repair the damage.Frances, who always carried a little hussif for any possible emergency, at once offered her help.'I can make it quite safe for you in a moment,' she said, and Mrs. Warburton looked at once grateful and relieved.'That is so kind of you,' she returned graciously. 'Agnes, why do you not carry a pin-cushion about with you? Look at this charming little hussif.'Elinor, who was only a spectator at this little scene, looked curiously at the mother and daughter.Mrs. Warburton was a small but exceedingly dignified little woman; she was well dressed and undeniably handsome, but Elinor thought the face was somewhat hard and the expression cold and rather repellent. Her daughter did not resemble her in the least; she had a thin, delicate face, which looked a little worn, and her soft blue eyes had a sad and anxious expression. It was undoubtedly a sweet and attractive face, and any one looking at it would at once have felt that Agnes Warburton was a loving and good woman.When Frances had finished her little task, Mrs. Warburton gave her a brilliant smile and said a few words of thanks; and then they all moved into the church and took their places. Frances and Elinor had seats immediately behind the Warburtons, and both the sisters were edified by Miss Warburton's reverent behaviour and the extreme sweetness of her voice as she joined in the hymns and responses.The Rev. Gale Warburton, who performed the entire service, was a very striking-looking man. He was unusually tall and thin, and looked about forty or a year or two younger. His features were fine; he had a dark moustache and a short, well-trimmed beard which looked almost black, and he was slightly bald; the eyes were keen and brilliant, but a little cold. Frances said afterwards that in her opinion it was the face of a thinker, but not an idealist or an evangelist.Mr. Warburton had a beautiful voice; he read well but without any marked feeling, and both the sisters felt dissatisfied with the sermon.It was well written and well delivered, and in a sense it was perfectly simple, though it bore the traces of hard thinking and scholarship, but there was no attempt to impress this on the hearers. On the contrary, Mr. Warburton had evidently reminded himself that the sermon was to be preached to a village congregation; but there was no sacred fire of zeal burning under these short, concise sentences. The faith once delivered to the saints was preached in all truth and sincerity, but it left them cold.The sisters said little to each other as they walked home, for Rachel was with them; but later on they talked over the sermon and the preacher.Frances was less critical and far more tolerant than Elinor.'I must confess,' she said frankly, 'that Mr. Warburton interested me a good deal. What a fine head he has, and what a voice! He ought to be a Canon in some cathedral; he is almost thrown away in a little village church.'Oh, there I agree with you,' returned Elinor. 'But all the time I was listening to that sermon, I was thinking how glad I was that Mr. Warburton was not my vicar. Oh, I know what you are going to say—that it was clever and well reasoned and original; but it was stone, not bread. Do you suppose that those farmers and that nice reverent old woman near us felt helped and nourished by the spiritual food offered them this evening?''Of course, I know what you mean, Nora—I will even own that Mr. Warburton's simplicity was a little studied; but somehow I think he meant all he said.' But Elinor shrugged her shoulders.'Perhaps so,' she said drily; 'the Evangel was there, but all the same he is no Evangelist. If I dared to say it, I could almost think he is no priest—not, at least, in the sense in which you and I interpret the word.' But to this Frances made no response, probably because she shared the same opinion.CHAPTER XIVPAXYour gentleness shall forceMore than your force move us to gentleness.SHAKESPEARE.Gentleness is invincible.—M. AURELIUS.Gently I took that which ungently came,And without scorn forgave—Do thou the same!COLERIDGE.IT was with some reluctance that Elinor bade good-bye to Wildcroft the next morning. 'I have never enjoyed a holiday more,' she said regretfully, and Frances endorsed this.The few days' rest had refreshed and invigorated her, and she was now keen for work again. Frances was never content to be long away from St. Monica's Lodge, and not Elinor's society, much as she loved and valued it, could satisfy or still the longings for the life-task that was so dear to her heart. The old war-horse neighing at the sound of the trumpet illustrated her feeling as they drove from the station through the crowded streets; but Elinor shrank with sudden distaste from the noisy traffic, and wished herself back at Meadow Thorpe; and Rufus evidently shared this feeling, when with drooping head and dejected tail he endured his mistress's parting caresses,—the delightful freedom of the last few days only made his present existence more irksome.'Patience, old fellow, it will only be for a time,' observed Elinor cheerfully. She had parted with Frances and Rachel, and was now on her way to the Boltons. And as she went up the steps she wondered what sort of reception she would get from Augusta, and her heart sank a little. Bride was on the watch for her; she welcomed her as though she had been absent for a year. Bride was always emotional.Oh, you dear thing, how glad I am to see you!' she exclaimed, as she linked her arm in Elinor's and conducted her almost forcibly into the drawing-room. 'Oh, I have such good news for you! Gussie has gone to the Conways for two nights; she went off this morning. Of course she said nothing about it until breakfast-time. I had quite hard work to conceal my delight. Now we shall have two evenings all to ourselves.''Oh, I am so glad, Bride! Frances wants us to spend to-morrow afternoon at St. Monica's Lodge; she says it is ages since you were there, and she thinks it will be nice to talk over things together.''It will be perfectly delicious,' gushed Bride. 'Nora dear, I hope that you are not tired, for you will have to talk hard all the evening, for there is so much I want to hear.' And as Elinor was quite ready to oblige her, Bride certainly had her innings.They passed the two days happily, and then Augusta returned and the interregnum of peace was over.Augusta had by no means forgotten her wrongs. She was still deeply offended with her sisters. Her manner to Elinor was so chilling and aggressive that it' might almost have been termed hostile. She was not the woman to bear injuries meekly, or to turn the other cheek when a blow had been inflicted, and she was far too proud to pose as a martyr.She took the line of entirely ignoring all the new arrangements. Wildcroft and Meadow Thorpe might have been wiped out of her memory with a sponge; she asked no questions, made no mention of Frances, and only dwelt briefly on her own affairs when the servants were in the room; but as soon as the door closed upon them there was no further attempt at conversation, and Elinor and Bride were obliged to take refuge in their books, or to talk to each other in an undertone.The evenings were the worst time. During the day they were either out or busy in their own sanctum. Shopping had begun in earnest; the new carpet, the cretonne, the piles of fresh muslin curtains had all been selected and were now on their way to Wildcroft. Before long, books and pictures and ornaments were being packed. More than once Augusta came face to face with the carpenters. Elinor once had to explain matters. 'We are obliged to get Cobbett's men to pack the pictures and china——' she began; but Augusta turned on her with a frown.'I have no wish to hear of any of your arrangements,' she said haughtily. 'I quite wash my hands of you both. You are behaving disgracefully. I am ashamed from my heart at having such sisters.' But Elinor, who saw one of the maids approaching them, hurried away; her face was burning. How could Augusta be so blind, so utterly dense? she wondered. Why did she not realise the truth that it was she who was failing in sisterly consideration, who was driving them from their home?There are none so blind as those who refuse to see, and Augusta Gresham, hard, resentful, and embittered with her own grievances, persisted in regarding Elinor and Bride as culprits. One day Augusta, returning from Madame Brissac's, saw Bride's piano—a present from her husband—being carried out to a small van. Bride was at the door watching the men. She flushed apprehensively when she saw her sister-in-law; but Augusta took no notice, she swept past her with a rustle of silken linings. She held her head high and her eyes were a little fierce, but she spoke no words. Bride rushed upstairs to Elinor. She was on the brink of tears. 'She would not speak to me,' she said; 'and oh, Nora, if you had seen her face!''It cannot be helped,' returned Elinor in a tired voice. 'Gussie is impossible just now. I tried to tell her at breakfast that the men were coming about the piano, but she would not listen. I expect she will not speak to either of us during the remainder of the day'—and Elinor was right.The next day she and Bride were going to St. Monica's Lodge. Augusta's unlucky party had been fixed for the following evening, and Elinor thought it would be better for them to be out of the way before the preparations began.As soon as the cab was at the door, Elinor went to the morning-room to bid her sister good-bye. Bride had declined to accompany her. Augusta had treated her with such marked rudeness during breakfast that Bride refused to go near her again. 'She will understand why I do not come,' she said; and Elinor did not dare to press the point.'I have come to say good-bye, Gussie,' she observed with forced cheerfulness. Then Augusta, who was at her writing-table as usual, merely stared at her. Her face wore a hard expression.'Surely you remember that Bride and I are going to St. Monica's Lodge?' continued Elinor. 'Frances wishes us to remain until Monday. I gave you Frances' note to read at luncheon yesterday.''Perhaps so,' returned Augusta drily; 'but all the same I did not read it—other people's notes do not interest me. I see the cab is waiting, so pray do not let me detain you.' Then her temper rising, 'I wonder what our friends will think of your behaviour to-morrow night?'That is of no moment,' returned Elinor with unusual firmness, for Augusta's tone and manner were peculiarly galling. 'Bride and I are quite willing that they should know the truth. You have only yourself to blame, Gussie, if the whole thing is a failure. If you had only put these invitation cards in the fire as I begged you to do; but you would not listen to me.''I am too busy to listen to you now,' replied her sister in the same hard voice. Then Elinor, feeling it was useless to continue the conversation, stooped down and kissed the half-averted cheek. A muttered good-bye was the sole response. Augusta was in one of her blackest moods. She had made a mistake and she knew it, and she would have to pay dearly for her folly. In her present mood she was not sorry to have the house to herself, but all the same it was a bitter thing to her that Elinor had been triumphant.Elinor was rather low and unlike herself for the remainder of the day; but Frances, who understood her thoroughly, asked no questions until Bride had retired to her room, then they quietly talked over things.'Poor dear Nora,' she observed affectionately, 'it is terribly trying for you, and there are still three weeks or more before the flitting.''Yes, three weeks and three days,' returned Elinor in a dreary tone. 'Do you know, Frances, it is getting on my nerves. I am determined not to quarrel, but I feel that one of these days I must speak my mind to Augusta. I have been pretty patient on the whole, but I have come to the end of my tether.'But Frances refused to endorse this; and before they slept that night she had encouraged Elinor to take a more hopeful view of things.The few days spent at St. Monica's Lodge were a time of real refreshment to Elinor and Bride; and when they went back to the Boltons they were both resolved to spend the three weeks as peaceably as possible.Augusta received them coldly, but her temper had mended a little; she had affairs of her own that seemed to engross her, and she took little notice of either of them; but Elinor thought that her manner to Bride was rather more conciliatory. She seemed unwilling to be left alone with them, however, and Madame Brissac or Mrs. Oscar Nugent was generally there; or when their absence was unavoidable, Augusta dined out.Frances, who paid frequent visits, was sure from her manner that she was anxious to avoid any awkward conversations with Elinor, and that she intended to have no special leave-taking. She spent the greater part of Holy Week with Mrs. Nugent, and Bride and Elinor passed Easter Sunday alone. The evening before they were to leave home, Augusta sent down word by the maid that she was tired and that her head ached, and that she would not come down to dinner; she would have a little soup in her own room and go to bed early.'Very well, Perry,' returned Elinor quietly. But when the maid had left the room she said to Bride, 'I am not surprised; I thought Gussie did not look well at luncheon, she had such black lines under her eyes; she has been up late the last two nights, and she does far too much; she is wearing herself out.''She has looked much older lately, 'replied Bride; 'she is losing her good looks; Lady Templeton was saying so yesterday'; and then, as the gong sounded, they went down to the dining-room.As soon as the meal was over, Elinor announced her intention of going up to see Augusta.'I should not advise you to do that,' was Bride's reply; but Elinor only smiled and vanished.She knocked at her sister's door, hardly waiting for permission to enter. 'I have come to see how you are, Gussie,' she said pleasantly Perry tells us that you have a bad headache.''You need not have troubled yourself,' returned Augusta ungraciously; 'my headache is better, but I am tired, and I was just thinking of going to bed; I had very little sleep last night.''No, indeed, it was nearly three when you came home,' returned Elinor. But as she looked at her sister's worn face, Bride's words recurred to her. Augusta was undoubtedly losing her beauty; her face looked older and thinner, and there was a suspicious redness about the eyelids as though she had been weepingߞAugusta, who so rarely shed tears, who was so sternly repressive of any such feminine weakness. Elinor felt a sudden pang of pity as she regarded her. 'Dear Gussie, you look worn out,' she said gently; 'you do far too much for your strength. Do not go to bed just yet, let me stay and talk to you a little'; for some indefinable instinct told her that Augusta was lonely and sick at heart. She was sitting by the fire in an easy-chair, and the rich colour of her handsome tea-gown only accentuated her paleness. It was evident to Elinor that her malady was more mental than physical, that some softer mood of depression was on her to-night.I do not think talking will do a headache good,' she returned, but there was nothing repellent in her manner. Elinor almost fancied that Augusta was not unwilling that she should remain. The headache might safely be ignored, so Elinor, without waiting for any further invitation, drew up a chair beside her sister.Gussie,' she said quietly, and there was something in her voice that soothed Augusta's jarred and tormented nerves, 'I am so glad to have this opportunity of saying a quiet word or two to you before we go away. I want you to know that, though we are taking this step, there is no bitterness or want of kindness in our hearts to you, that we are parting friends; you will believe this, will you not?''I am not sure that I understand,' returned Augusta dubiously. 'You and Bride have peculiar notions on the subject of friendship; perhaps you will tell me next that you are breaking up the household for my good? ' There was a suppressed sneer under Augusta's words, but she spoke without temper; her manner was listless, almost hopeless.'I am not sure that I understand,' returned Augusta dubiously. 'You and Bride have peculiar notions on the subject of friendship; perhaps you will tell me next that you are breaking up the household for my good? ' There was a suppressed sneer under Augusta's words, but she spoke without temper; her manner was listless, almost hopeless.Elinor hesitated a moment.I think it will be for your good as well as ours,' she returned steadily; 'nothing can be more deteriorating to the character than all these bickerings and divisions, or more harassing to the nerves.We have tried to pull together and have failed; we are too unlike, you and I, Gussie, and it is not in your nature to give other people enough scope. Neither I nor Bride have had fair-play,—forgive me if for once I speak plainly.'Augusta was silent. With all her faults, want of truth was not among them, and she could not deny that Elinor was right: she had asserted her own will all these years, and her imperious and arbitrary temper had destroyed the peace and happiness of the household; and now she was to be left alone, and there would be no more conflicting wills or wrangling of incessant arguments.Gussie,' continued Elinor, in her soft, persuasive voice, 'I want you to say some little comforting word to me, that I may go away more happily to-morrow. We have not quarrelled, and we must part like sisters who think it is better to live apart. If you ever need me I shall be ready to come to you at once, and there is nothing that I will not do to help you.''Except stay with me,' and there was deep underlying bitterness beneath Augusta's words.Elinor's eyes filled with tears. 'I cannot do that, Gussie—I have passed my word to Bride.'Augusta turned away her face and stared fixedly into the fire. She was fighting a fierce battle with herself. With all her hardness, she was vulnerable on one point. Elinor was very dear to her. Of her two sisters she had always loved her best; her softness and adaptability, and the placidity of her temperament, had hindered a good deal of friction, and Augusta knew well that it was only her own selfish tyranny that had brought things to this crisis. Augusta Gresham was not a bad woman, but her nature needed the sunshine of happiness to soften and enrich it; it had grown dry and arid with thwarted affection. An angry, embittered woman is not likely to be a wise ruler of a household, or to promote the happiness of a family circle.Augusta's conscience was awake at last, and Elinor's persistent gentleness conquered. A few moments later she turned to her. 'Nora,' she said quietly, 'you are right, and I have not always treated you and Bride well. I never thought to own this, but to-night I feel as though I can speak. I wish'—here her lip trembled a little—'that I had made you both happier, and then you would not have been driven to this. But'—in a still sadder tone—'it is best as it is. I cannot after my nature, and perhaps you are right, and it will be for my good too; and if I am lonely, I have only myself to thank for that.''Dear Gussie, you have so many friends!''Yes,' she returned with a strange smile,' with friends and work, there is no need for loneliness, and I shall do very well. I suppose I shall hear from you sometimes?''I will write to you every week, if you wish!' exclaimed Elinor impulsively. But Augusta shook her head.'No, I shall not need that; only a note now and then to tell me that all is well with you. I have some idea of travelling, but I have not made my arrangements yet. If I do this, I shall give up the house. I have always so longed to see Japan and India. When I have made my plans, I will let you and Lyall know.', Gussie dear, that will be splendid; it will do you so much good to go about and see the world.''Perhaps so, but when I come back I shall be the same Augusta; if one could only change one's personality, drop it overboard in the Pacific'—with a dreary little sigh—'and come up some one else. But there, I am getting light-headed for want of sleep, and I must really send you away. Give my love to Bride—I cannot see her to-night.' And then they kissed each other, and Elinor left the room with a lighter heart.CHAPTER XVIN PASTURES NEWThick green leaves from the soft brown earth,Happy spring-time hath called them forth;First faint promise of summer blownBreathes from the fragrant, sweet perfumeUnder the leaves.ANON.As a countenance is made beautiful by the soul's shining through it, so the world is beautiful by the shining through it of a God.—JACOBI.ELINOR GRESHAM stood in the porch of Wildcroft, looking over the fair prospect that lay before her, bathed in the sweet April sunshine. Since her last visit the Fairy Order had been visibly at work; the garden paths were weeded and rolled and the lawn cut and trimmed. Here and there in the borders a few daffodils reared their golden heads, and in a sheltered nook by the house there was a brave show of colour in a mass of dark red wall-flowers and a fine old rosy ribes.There had been showers earlier in the day, but now the sunshine had regained the mastery; but there was a tender freshness over everything, a vivid colouring that one only sees in spring, and which is the result of 'clear shining after rain.'Everywhere there was a sense of growth and young life. The fresh green leafage that shaded the great trees on the lawn, with their wealth of hidden nests, the busy whirring of bird-wings darting hither and thither, the broad stretch of undulating meadow where the cattle browsed peacefully on the new juicy herbage, or ruminated in slow content, even Rufus basking placidly in a sunny corner of the lawn, with Scrap curled up near him, added to the pleasant idyllic effect.Upstairs Bride was singing as she moved to and fro; the rich full tones floated through the open window. Elinor smiled as she listened.'She is very happy, 'she said to herself; 'Lyall's letter has satisfied her for once. He is so pleased that I have brought her here; he calls it "a masterly move." He was always a little afraid of the social atmosphere of the Boltons for Bride. 'And then Elinor mused with secret content over the remembrance of the letters that had reached them that morning—two from Lyall, and one long chatty letter from Frances, deeply interesting as usual.They had been a week at Meadow Thorpe, and Bride had asserted that very morning that she felt as though they had been settled for months. 'It is a dear place, and I simply love it,' she went on; 'the air is glorious; when I run out in the sunshine, I feel as exhilarated as if I were imbibing some wonderful tonic. And, oh, the peace, Nora, it is like a new life—as though the old, ugly, tiresome past, with its frets and jars, were wiped away, as one sponges a slate. 'And Elinor had assented to this with all her heart.Yes, they had been here a whole week, and how short it had seemed—the days had not been long enough for all they had to do.And yet they had had no lack of willing helpers. For two days Kathleen Milner had cycled over from Tylcote Street quite early in the morning, and had helped them in a hundred ways; and each evening, when her brother had come with the ostensible pretext of escorting her back, he had thrown off his coat and set to work, proving himself a skilful carpenter and picture-hanger; and as on one occasion Hammond Keith had also offered his services, the books were soon unpacked and in their places, and Elinor and Bride were able to turn their attention to the cretonne coverings for the drawing-room.Bride was very clever with her fingers, and often boasted that if evil days should come she was never likely to starve. 'I should set up for a working upholstress,' she would say, 'and earn my dinner and half-a-crown a day. I think it would be rather fun—one would see life under a novel aspect.' And Frances, who had overheard this remark, had applauded the sentiment.It is not a bad idea,' she had returned, 'and I don't see why it should not work out well. Every woman, in my humble opinion, ought to know some trade, which would provide her with a modest independence in any urgent necessity. And I say again that Bride's notion of a working upholstress is rather good.''I should be sure of two square meals in the day,' remarked Bride, who delighted to air original and far-fetched theories; 'and it would be rather pleasant sewing in a warm, sunny bedroom. Only I am afraid an upholstress ought not to sing over her work '—and here Bride made a wry face.The household at Wildcroft consisted of a cook, a Lincolnshire woman who had been strongly recommended by Mrs. Keith, Rachel, and a young girl from Mexfield, Jenny Dunscombe by name, who was to be trained for parlour work. Elinor thought that two servants ought to have been sufficient for their modest ménage, but she had found herself confronted by a difficulty. Rachel, who was an admirable housemaid and needle-woman, objected strongly to table work, and as both she and Bride were loath to part with her, they mutually agreed that another maid should be added to the establishment.Hammond Keith, who had taken upon himself to act as their right hand and adviser, had found them a useful man to work in the garden and take care of the future horse and trap. His name was Joseph Twitchett, and he was a native of Dewhurst.Elinor had not taken to him at first, but she soon found out her mistake; under the somewhat rough and unprepossessing exterior there was real grit and worth. Indeed, Joe Twitchett's character seemed as uncommon as his name. He was a tall, angular young man, rather awkward in manner and hesitating in speech, and his strong-featured face, with its high cheek-bones, was far from handsome, but Elinor thought he had honest eyes. When she made this remark to Hammond Keith, the young farmer had smiled.'Oh, Twitchett's as honest as the day,' he replied, or I should never have recommended him to you ladies. I don't say that he is particularly clever or that he would be likely to suit if you wanted a skilled gardener; but he is a decent chap, and hard-working and industrious.'He has been a bit down on his luck lately through losing his master, and I have been giving him odd jobs about the place. You see, Miss Gresham, when a man has a wife and two children, it is a trifle awkward to be thrown out of work in the winter. Mrs. Twitchett is a respectable, capable little woman, though rather delicate. Joe is tremendously proud of her and his little girls.'I don't doubt that he will do very well for the garden,' returned Elinor, rather hesitatingly; 'but when we have our pony-cart, I don't think lie will look very smart or groom-like.''Wait until you see him in livery,' returned Hammond Keith; 'he won't look so bad as you think. Joe is a good driver, and he is kind to animals. He has done a good bit of carting for me this winter, and I found that his stable-work was quite satisfactory. Well, I must be off now, for I have to meet Farmer Davis in the Hundred Acre field. To-morrow I am going over to Leicester, and I mean to have a look at the cart and mare that Mr. Sedgwick intends to sell.''I am afraid we are giving you a great deal of trouble, Mr. Keith,' observed Elinor. 'What should we have done without you? for neither my sister-in-law nor I know much about horses.''Very few ladies do,' returned the young farmer; 'it is more in my line of business. As for trouble, Miss Gresham, you have no need to mention the word, for it is just in the day's work, and I am over at Leicester most market-days. Well, I will go up to Parkhurst and have a look at the mare. I suppose you will give me a free hand about price, if the terms are reasonable?''Oh yes, I am quite sure that we can rely on your judgment'; and with this understanding they parted.Elinor was expecting Hammond Keith this afternoon; he had sent word by Mrs. Deans that he would look in shortly. On her way to the little wilderness by the gate, where Twitchett was at work, she had seen him ride past on his handsome brown mare, and had admired both horse and rider.'He is like a Viking,' she said to herself—'fair-haired and blue-eyed and debonnaire, and how well he rides. I like him thoroughly; one feels so safe with him—that he will never presume or try to appear anything but what he is—a respectable English yeoman. It is evident that Mr. Milner has a high opinion of him. I hope we shall like his mother equally well'—for Elinor and Bride were to have tea at Crow Farm the following afternoon.Elinor was expecting him now, as she walked up and down the sunny drive. There was a balmy warmth in the air, and now and then the light breeze brought her a fragrant whiff of sweet-brier. In the big elm on the lawn an owl had its nest. The previous night, as Elinor was just sinking into her first sleep, she had been roused by the weird note, as the nocturnal hunter swooped down on some unlucky field-mouse in the meadow. The fierce war-cry seemed to jar on her ears, for it seemed to convey the idea of some subtle danger menacing the innocent.Everywhere the hunter and the hunted! But then a self-respecting owl, with a wife and family to maintain, is bound to provide his larder with good things; and from Mr. Fluffy's point of view, field-mice and young birds, and even a baby rabbit, are dainty eating. But to the trembling, bright-eyed mouse the swoop of those talons was but a death-warrant.The sun was so hot that Elinor turned into the tiny lime walk leading to the ruins, and here she stood leaning on the little gate. It was a favourite spot with her and Bride. Centuries ago, the Croft Church had been the parish church, until Cromwell's Roundheads had destroyed it. Later on, a little graveyard had been made in the ruins. One arch and the font were in good preservation, but so many bricks had been removed that only the foundation of the walls remained, with here and there a broken heap, where in summer tall nettles and rank grass flourished. The graves were few and quite uncared for; but now and then a stranger staying for a passing day at Mexfield, Dewhurst, or Sweet Hawes, would make a pilgrimage to the Croft Church, and take his way through the long grass and nettles to read the well-nigh obliterated inscription of a railed-in tomb in a shady corner, where some vicar had been laid to rest. Elinor had been surprised to hear that now and then there were baptisms in the old ruins, and that not so many years before the marriage service had been read over an elderly pair. The man had lived fifty years in Dewhurst, and the bride, who was not much younger, had spent her life in Sweet Hawes. Neither of them had been further than Tylcote and Mexfield, and Dan Winter had stoutly refused to be wedded 'unless th' ould parson would tie him and Liza up in the Croft Church.'Elinor, lulled by the deep silence, was fast falling into a daydream. It was so still that she could hear the soft crunching of Mr. Keith's Alderneys as they tore at the crisp herbage on the other side of the fence; she could even hear the sharp switch of their tails against the tree-trunks. How blue the sky was, and how unclouded! A little grey moth flitted like a tiny embodied soul between the graves; at the foot of a rubbish-heap the large, handsome leaves of the common dog-violet made a pale green light—the flowers were over—and on a mass of broken masonry one yellow primrose peeped out half timidly.Elinor was about to unlatch the gate when the sound of brisk footsteps roused her, and the next moment Hammond Keith was beside her.'The maid told me you were in the garden, Miss Gresham, so I knew I should find you here. Isn't it a neglected little corner? One can scarcely walk across it for nettles and plantain.''So Mr. Milner tells us,' returned Elinor. 'He has quite a craze for the place, and he seems so vexed to see it left in such a state. We are going to get Twitchett to clear a little when he has time; but there is so much to do in the garden and orchard, and Mrs. Gresham has set her heart on turning the Wilderness into a regular wild garden. We want to plant dozens and dozens of primroses, dog-violets, daffodils, and hyacinths, and all sorts of hardy woodland plants.''The idea is pretty enough, but the Wilderness will want a regular spring clean first,' returned Hammond Keith, smiling. 'Last June I went through it; but I was nearly driven back by a perfect cloud of moths which seem to hold high revels there; and as for the docks and nettles and ground fungus—why, I was nearly tripped up half a dozen times. Not but what good work could be done there with time and patience,''My sister and I both mean to turn our hands to gardening,' returned Elinor cheerfully. 'Our knowledge is limited, I am afraid, but our zeal is great, and we shall not be too proud to learn. But I am hindering you and taking up your time, and you have come to tell me about Mr. Sedgwick's mare.''Well, she is a beauty, Miss Gresham, and no mistake,' and Hammond Keith spoke with enthusiasm; 'small head, clean limbs, and no vice to speak of; just a little skittish and playful, as all young things are, but as gentle as a lamb. I knew as I handled her that the groom had not said a word too much in her praise.''I wonder that Mr. Sedgwick cares to sell such a fine animal.''Well, he seems to regret parting with her, and he is so anxious to get her into good hands, that he would be willing to meet our terms. You see, they are giving up the place for a year or two, as Mrs. Sedgwick is ordered abroad; and as his daughter is married and in town, he has no more need of the cart. He took me into the coach-house; it is a smart little turn-out—a low sort of dog-cart, but roomy and comfortable for ladies, and just suitable for the country; and it is as good as new, and capital harness, and I don't think the figure at all high.' And when Mr. Keith named the sum, Elinor was disposed to agree with him.'I do not see any reason why you should not at once close with Mr. Sedgwick's offer,' observed Elinor. But Mr. Keith demurred to this. Both he and Mr. Sedgwick would prefer her to see the trap.'I am going over to Leicester the day after to-morrow on some business of my own, and I made bold to say, Miss Gresham, that I might possibly, induce you and Mrs. Gresham to accompany me. Parkhurst is only a couple of miles from the station, and Mr. Sedgwick proposes that the cart and mare should meet us, and you should be driven up to Parkhurst. I daresay I shall get a lift, or if not I can easily walk up. They are very hospitable people, and I know they will offer you luncheon and make you comfortable.''That really seems an excellent arrangement,' returned Elinor, 'and I shall be very glad to have my sister-in-law's opinion; for though, as I said before, we know little about horses, Mrs. Lyall Gresham is rather fond of driving. By-the-bye, has the mare a nice name?''Well, they call her Meg—short for Meg Merrilies.' Then, after settling the time of train, Mr. Keith looked at his watch and observed that he must be off.'I shall not let you go without a cup of tea,' returned Elinor in a friendly voice; 'it will probably be ready by this time.'Hammond Keith hesitated, he was evidently tempted. But at that moment there were sounds of carriage wheels on the drive, and the next moment the brown glossy coats of a pair of horses were distinctly visible.'Some kind neighbour has come to call on us,' observed Elinor. 'I wonder who it can be?' She spoke with pleased interest.'It is the ladies from Tylcote Hall,' returned Mr. Keith. His manner had quite changed; he looked perturbed and embarrassed. 'If you will excuse me, Miss Gresham,' he said hurriedly, 'I should prefer to get on. Patience Deans will give me a cup of tea while they saddle Betty'; and there was something in his manner that prevented Elinor from renewing her invitation. Evidently he had no wish to encounter the Hall party, and showed his good taste by declining to obtrude himself.They parted at the porch door; but as Hammond Keith raised his hat, Elinor noticed that he gave a keen, quick glance at the open drawing-room window, and that a scarcely perceptible smile came to his lips as he turned away.CHAPTER XVIAGNESWe love characters in proportion as they are impulsive and spontaneous.—EMERSON.Our anger and impatience often prove much more mischievous than the things about which we are angry and impatient.—MARCUS AURELIUS.MRS. WARBURTON had seated herself on the couch and was talking to Bride; she rose and shook hands with Elinor in quite a friendly manner.'I am so disappointed to hear that I am not to have the pleasure of seeing the owner of the hussif,' she said with a charming smile; 'Mrs. Gresham tells me that she is your sister.''Yes, my sister Frances. But I am sorry to say she no longer lives with us; she has a Nursing Home in Maida Vale.' And then she crossed the room to speak to the other visitor.Miss Warburton was sitting by the open window. She looked a little flushed. Elinor, who had felt singularly drawn to her from the first, was struck afresh by the sweetness and softness of her manner; there was an indefinable charm about her that was far more attractive than mere beauty. Elinor asked at once after her little dog.'How kind of you to remember her,' she replied gratefully. 'Fairy is quite well, and so good and happy. She is my inseparable little companion.''Agnes is devoted to animals,' observed her mother; we are very different in that respect. My son and I think alike on that subject. We like horses, but neither of us can tolerate dogs and cats, and Fairy has to mind her manners in the drawing-room.''I think Gale is more tolerant of Fairy now, mother,' returned Miss Warburton gently; 'she seems quite willing to be friendly with him.''Nevertheless, I advise Fairy for her own sake to keep her distance, and not presume on his good-nature,' observed Mrs. Warburton rather meaningly. 'I don't suppose you have forgotten poor Jock?''Was that another dog?' asked Bride, as she placed herself at the tea-table. Elinor was a little sorry she had asked the question, for she noticed that Miss Warburton coloured deeply and remained silent.'Oh, Jock was Agnes's first love,' returned Mrs. Warburton, with careless good-humour. 'He was a handsome little animal and rather amusing, but he had a temper. One day he forgot himself and bit my son's hand.''Gale provoked him, mother,' observed her daughter in a low voice.'There was nothing to induce him to fly at your brother in such a savage manner,' returned Mrs. Warburton in a quick, decided voice. 'You see, Miss Gresham, that my daughter is a little weak where her pets are concerned. I remember I took my son's part, and I thought he was quite justified in sending Jock away.''Oh dear, how sad,' observed Bride in a feeling voice, as she watched her own little Scrap sitting up with tiny waving black paws in piteous appeal for sponge-cake—in spite of all his mistress's careful training, Scrap was a shameless beggar. But it was the silent sympathy in Elinor's eyes which overcame Miss Warburton's reserve.'Jock behaved very badly,' she said quietly, as Elinor brought her the cake-basket; 'but he was such a dear, faithful little fellow, and we were so fond of each other. But I see him sometimes.''Oh, I am so glad of that.''Yes. I asked Mr. Keith to take him,' went on Miss Warburton, as she held out a piece of the coveted dainty to Scrap. As she did so Elinor noticed the beauty of the long lashes that veiled her eyes, and the fine delicate marking of her eyebrows. 'He is very happy at Crow Farm, and he and Dan, Mr. Keith's dog, get on very well together; but I often miss him.''I should like you to see Rufus,' returned Elinor. 'I expect he is with Joe Twitchett at the present moment. Joe is our out-door factotum, and Rufus has taken a great fancy to him.''I wonder if you would take me to see the ruins of the old Croft Church?' asked Miss Warburton with sudden animation. 'Though I have lived here all my life, I never remember seeing them. I told mother that I would ask you; but she will have it that there is nothing to see.''Well, there is not much. It is just at the end of that little lime walk. After tea, if Mrs. Warburton will excuse me, I will gladly show you the old ruin.'Mrs. Warburton, who seemed somewhat engrossed with Bride's conversation, graciously signified her consent. She was given to take sudden likes and dislikes, and she thought Mrs. Lyall Gresham a very pleasing and graceful person. When Bride was happy and at her ease, she generally attracted people. Mrs Warburton, who was a little inquisitive on the subject of her new neighbours, but who was too well-bred to manifest her curiosity openly, soon found it easy to elicit information. Bride was always perfectly frank about herself and other people; directly she discovered Mrs. Warburton was interested in Frances, she told her all about St. Monica's Lodge.'Frances is a dear creature, and she does so love her work,' she continued enthusiastically.'Miss Gresham struck me as a very superior person and quite out of the common,' returned Mrs. Warburton warmly. 'I am very quick in forming my opinion of people, and rarely change my mind. My son often lectures me on the subject; he is far more deliberate in his judgments. So you have another sister living at the Boltons?''Another sister-in-law, you mean? Yes, the eldest of the family. Augusta is quite a society person, and as she is handsome as well as clever, people generally admire her. Elinor and I are quieter in our tastes, and that is why we have come to live in the country. Perhaps you know already that this house belongs to my husband?''Oh yes, we know that, and he has let the farm to Hammond Keith.' Certainly young Mrs. Gresham was a satisfactory person. Mrs. Warburton, who was a clever woman, and could add two and two together with tolerable accuracy, felt sufficiently enlightened on the subject of the Gresham household. The ladies at Wildcroft would be quite acquisitions to their limited society, and though of the two she preferred Mrs. Lyall Gresham, she was quite ready to admit that her sister-in-law was a lady-like woman. Mrs. Warburton was always moderate in her praise.Meanwhile Miss Warburton was saying in her gentle way, 'What a neglected little nook! Do you know, the sight of those overgrown, uncared-for graves would make me feel quite sad. And then it is such a strange idea—turning a ruined church into a graveyard.''Do you know, I rather like it,' replied Elinor, who had few morbid fancies; 'and Bride and I have made up our minds that it shall not be neglected any longer. I mean to talk to the vicar and get his sanction. When the grass is mown and the graves cleaned and weeded, and all the nettles and docks and plantains pulled up, I expect it will look a different place. I should like to plant some variegated ivy at the foot of that arch, and some creeper amongst the rubbish; then we might have crocuses and daffodils and snowdrops planted in the grass, and a little rustic arch over this gate with a crimson rambler. I wanted to talk it over with Mr. Keith just now, but he was in such a hurry.''Oh yes, I thought I saw Mr. Keith pass the window,' remarked Miss Warburton. She was trying to fasten her glove as she spoke.'Let me do that for you,' returned Elinor, taking the slender grey wrist into her hand; 'those patent fasteners are apt to be troublesome. Yes, we have seen a good deal of Mr. Keith this last week. We like him so much; he has been so kind and helpful. He thinks he has found a nice cart and mare for us, and we are going with him to Leicester the day after to-morrow to look at them. They belong to Mr. Sedgwick at Parkhurst.''Oh, we know the Sedgwicks,' returned Miss Warburton. 'We were lunching at Parkhurst on Monday, and Mr. Sedgwick drove us to the station. I was admiring the mare, and he told me how sorry he was to part with her.''Yes, and Mr. Keith thinks the terms so reasonable. Do you know, Miss Warburton, though I have barely seen him half a dozen times, I already feel such a confidence in Mr. Keith's judgment and good sense. He seems to me, too, so exceedingly intelligent—quite well educated for his station, for he is only a working farmer. We passed Crow Farm the other day, and it seems quite a small place.''The house is not much, certainly,' replied Miss Warburton, 'but Mrs. Keith has lived there all her married life, and nothing would induce her to leave. Some one told me that Mr. Keith has had a little money left him lately from an old cousin, and that he is thinking of buying a pretty old house in Red Thorn Lane. He thinks it will be a good investment, but I doubt if he will ever get his mother to move there, though it is not a quarter of a mile away. Have you seen Mrs. Keith yet, Miss Gresham? 'No, but we are going over to Crow Farm to-morrow afternoon. Is she like her son?''No, there is not much likeness between them, though she has his eyes and smile. She is rather homely in face and manner, but she is thoroughly good and kind-hearted, and she and her son are devoted to each other. She was a Westmorland woman, and all her young life was spent at a little moorland farm near Mallerstang, and I do not fancy she has had many advantages. Mr. Keith reads a great deal, and my brother often lends him books. Oh, there comes the carriage, and we must go back to the house!' Agnes Warburton spoke in rather a regretful voice; she was evidently interested in their conversation.'Agnes,' observed Mrs. Warburton in an animated manner, as they drove out of the gate, ' I have quite taken a fancy to young Mrs. Gresham; she seems to me rather out of the common, and her conversation is delightful—so fresh and natural.''Do you think her handsome, mother?''No, one could hardly say that; but she is rather striking looking, and in an unusual way. Her hair is beautiful, and she has a fine head. She is very naïve and taking, and told me about herself quite simply. We knew her husband was a clergyman, and that he was doing mission work at the Cape; but I never could understand why his wife was not with him. I thought she had bad health.''Did she tell you the reason?''Well, not exactly, not in actual words—one would not expect that on a first cal—but I gathered something from a sentence dropped here and there. I fancy she had a distaste for the life. Of course it is a little odd, but they seem good friends, for she heard from him this morning.''It seems to me more than odd, mother,' observed Agnes gravely, 'if Mrs. Gresham refuses to share her husband's work.' But this remark did not seem to please Mrs. Warburton.'For goodness' sake, Aggie, spare me your high-flown and romantic notions,' she said impatiently. 'As you live in a little world of your own, and never move out of your narrow groove, you are not likely to understand a person like Mrs. Gresham. Miss Elinor Gresham is more your sort.''I daresay you are right, mother,' returned Agnes humbly; but she looked a little pained, for she recognised the slight disparagement in her mother's voice.'She is of a more ordinary type,' went on Mrs. Warburton; 'she is a nice person, even-tempered and placid, but I should imagine not particularly clever; but Mrs. Gresham seems greatly attached to her. By-the-bye, Aggie, you must be careful not to drop any of what I have just said to Gale, or there would be an end of any friendly intimacy. He has a perfect craze on the subject of matrimony. I tell him sometimes that British wives are not slaves. Really, to judge from his talk sometimes, one would think that a wife must not hold a different opinion from her husband.'I am not likely to say anything to Gale, mother'—and there was a touch of sadness in Agnes's voice.'Oh, you often blurt out something at the wrong moment,' remarked her mother drily; 'tact was never your strong point. No, you may leave the description of Airs. Gresham to me. Did you hear me invite them to luncheon next Tuesday? If it is fine they will walk over and we will drive them back.''No, I did not hear you—Scrap was barking so. But, mother, what a pity you fixed on Tuesday. I told you only this morning that I had promised to go with Mrs. Keith to Leicester to buy her black silk dress. We have planned it ever so long, and she is so looking forward to the treat, and she has so few outings. May I write to Miss Gresham and ask them to come another day?''Certainly not returned Mrs. Warburton curtly. 'You are extremely cool, to say the least of it, Agnes. If any one has to be put off, it had better be Mrs. Keith. The good woman can surely appoint some other afternoon.''I do not think it will be quite fair to ask her to do that,' returned Agnes. She spoke in a worried tone, for she knew that her mother would have her way in the end. 'She has no other disengaged afternoon next week, and Mr. Keith was so anxious for her to have the dress for her birthday, and I promised faithfully that I would not disappoint her. I am afraid, under the circumstances, I really ought to go.''What, and leave me to entertain our guests alone?' and Mrs. Warburton looked exceedingly displeased. I must say you are showing a great want of consideration, Agnes. I wonder what Gale would think of such a proposal?''But, mother, surely Wednesday or Thursday would suit Mrs. Gresham and her sister-in-law equally well.' Poor Agnes, she was certainly a little dense and deficient in tact and diplomacy, or she would have known that her persistence only made her mother more determined on carrying her point.Mrs. Warburton had her good qualities, and she could be very charming when she chose, and in her son's eyes she was perfect; but her temper was by no means faultless, as her daughter knew, and she had a hard, despotic nature which was often shown in petty ways. She was perfectly aware that any other day would be quite as suitable for the purpose as Tuesday. Nevertheless, she swept aside her daughter's pleasure and convenience in the most ruthless way.'I tell you what, Agnes,' she said angrily, 'you are perfectly infatuated about those friends of yours, for you half live at Crow Farm. I can't think what you can find to interest you in a homely body like Mrs. Keith, that you should make yourself so ridiculous about her. Why can't the woman choose her black silk dress without my daughter's help?''She has so little taste, and Mr. Keith begged me to do him this favour,' returned Agnes in a pleading voice.'Tut—nonsense; tell him you will go some other day, when it is more convenient to me. There you are, sighing and putting on your martyred look, as though you were an ill-used person—and at your age!''Hush, mother, Hooker will hear you!' for Mrs. Warburton had raised her voice.'Hooker is getting as deaf as a post,' was the sharp answer; 'and it is you who have brought on all this argument. As I said before, you are always at Crow Farm, and I don't half approve of it. One should be neighbourly with those sort of people and show them kindness, but there is no need to be too intimate with them. Perhaps that handsome architect, Mr. Milner, is the attraction?' Mrs. Warburton had certainly lost her temper, or she would not have said this. 'Mother, I think it will be better for us to end this conversation.' Agnes spoke with such unusual dignity that Mrs. Warburton was silenced for a moment. Agnes's fair face was burning, and her eyes were full of repressed tears—she felt hurt, mortified, and strangely wounded, but her mother's last galling remark had roused her to assert herself.'You have no right to say or even to think such a thing of your daughter,' she said, as the carriage turned into the Hall drive; 'you have talked far more to Mr. Milner than I have, and, as a matter of fact, I have never even seen him on my visits to Crow Farm.' And then, as the servant opened the carriage door, she passed quickly into the house. Mrs. Warburton looked after her a little curiously.'Agnes is in her tantrums and no mistake,' she said to herself, as she stepped daintily out. Perhaps she was a little ashamed of herself, for she certainly treated her daughter with more consideration during the remainder of the day.CHAPTER XVIITHE VICAR OF TYLCOTEThe man may teach by Doing, and not otherwise. If he can communicate himself, he can teach, but not by words. He teaches who gives, and he learns who receives.—EMERSON.Add not more trouble to a heart that is vexed.—ECCLESIASTICUS.AGNES WARBURTON was one of those gentle, yielding natures that find it easy to forgive injuries; she was seldom moved to assert herself, but the injustice and utter bad taste of her mother's words had stung her horribly for the moment. It was past endurance that such a thing should be said; and her indignant remonstrance had an unwonted effect, for it reduced Mrs. Warburton to silence. She felt that she had gone too far, and, though she was too proud to apologise, her manner was more conciliatory to her daughter. Agnes did not refuse the olive branch held out to her—indeed, she accepted it with her usual meekness—but she was so depressed and unlike herself that, more than once, Mrs. Warburton thought seriously of putting off the Greshams to another day; but unhappily she repented of this good resolution.'Agnes was absurd'' she said to herself; 'of course any other day would do for Mrs. Keith. She would not trouble her head about it any more. Perhaps it was a mistake making that allusion to Mr. Milner, but when one is vexed one never measures one's words; and of course she had not really meant it—Agnes had far too much self-respect and dignity to condescend to a flirtation.'Mrs. Warburton was not without affection for her daughter, but she did not in the least understand her—their natures were too dissimilar; the clever, keenly intellectual woman felt that her only daughter was a social failure.Mrs. Warburton had been extremely handsome in her youth and lovers had been plentiful; she had married young the man of her choice, and her wedded life had been almost perfect; but Agnes had not followed her mother's example. She was in her thirtieth year, but she was still Agnes Warburton, and, as far as her mother knew, no one had ever paid her marked attention.Many of her friends failed to understand this. They said openly, and to themselves, that Agnes was far too attractive and charming to waste her sweetness in unappreciated loneliness, that no one was more fitted to be a wife and mother, and undoubtedly they were right; but Mrs. Warburton always asserted that it was Agnes's own fault that she had not married.'People would admire her more if she did not entrench herself in a sort of palisade of shyness and stiffness,' she said once. 'When young men are introduced to her she always gives one the impression of trying to peep at them between the palings. There is. no getting at her. Of course, it is shyness; but at her age it is so absurd. Why, there was Reginald Hooper. It was always my opinion, Gale'—for these remarks were made to her son—'that Reginald was really struck with our Agnes. I am sure the parents noticed it; but she was so stiff and quiet that he gave it up at last and married that lively little Gertrude Dale; and Agnes might have been mistress of that fine old manor-house. What are you saying, Gale?' for the vicar was softly repeating to himself a few lines of Hindustani.'It is from the Quatrains of Háli, mother. Shall I translate it for your benefit? Is love a physician for the unhealthy at heart?Or is it in itself the home of thousands of Woes?Of that I know nothing; only this much have I heard,For those without work it is a charming pastime.''Oh, if you begin quoting Háli,' returned his mother, shaking her head and looking at him with pretended severity; but she knew him well enough to change the subject. If there was little sympathy between the mother and daughter, there was still less between the brother and sister.The vicar of Tylcote was a self-centred man, and very much engrossed in his own pursuits. His clerical duties sat lightly on him, and were principally limited to the Sunday services. He took pains with his sermons, though it may be doubted if any one had ever been deeply impressed by them, or had been turned from the error of his ways, moved and wounded by some javelin of priestly eloquence. Sunday after Sunday the little flock gathered in Tylcote Church, listened with cold respect and reverence to their vicar's carefully delivered discourse, and, after browsing on the scanty pasturage provided for their nourishment, went home with perhaps the text still lingering in their memory.'That was a grand text that the vicar gave out this morning,' observed Caleb Strong, the little deformed bootmaker; 'I can't call to mind that I ever heard these words before—"Curse ye Meroz, said the angel of the Lord, curse ye bitterly the inhabitants thereof; because they came not to the help of the Lord, to the help of the Lord against the mighty." My word, Liz, how he rolled out the words—it was like the swell of the organ or a poem; but the queer part is, I haven't a notion what he meant by it.''Nor I,' returned Liz, but she spoke indifferently. It was no new thing for her not to listen to the vicar's sermon. How was a poor, harassed, tired-out woman, with sick babies at home, and conscious of an increasing doctor's bill, to find comfort in the vicar's beautifully worded discourse? '"Curse ye Meroz,"' she muttered drearily; 'how is a poor woman to understand the likes of that?' And it fretted Liz sorely, as she rocked Sal to sleep in her thin arms, that Caleb should spend his Sunday evening hunting vainly through his mother's old brown Bible for the text that had so fired his imagination.'It fairly beats me,' he said at last, wiping his fore-head; 'I have been all through Jeremiah and Ezekiel and all them short prophets, and I have not lighted on it yet.' And it was Agnes Warburton who at last satisfied Caleb's restless curiosity, who read to him in her sweet voice the glorious song of Deborah and Barak, and who described to him that little hidden valley whose inhabitants had not gone to the help of the Lord in the hour of their brethren's need. When Agnes had left the little shop, Caleb put down the boot he was patching and read it over again to himself.Rev. Gale Warburton never visited his people; he had so little to say to them that it was embarrassing on both sides; he was not sufficiently in touch with them to make such visits either pleasant or profitable. He could decipher hieroglyphics and even converse in Hindustani, but the hearts of his parishioners were as a sealed book to him. When they came up to the Hall and asked for help, he was never known to refuse it; and when they sent for him, he would leave his beloved studies to go to the sick and dying; but it may be doubted whether those few beautifully read prayers yielded much comfort.'The vicar is a gradley sort of chap, but he don't heve much to say to a mon,' observed old Richard Fawcett, a North-Country shepherd who had migrated to Tylcote. Richard was nearing the end of his pilgrimage, and he was speaking to his best friend Anna Keith, who was ministering to him, as she ministered to all the ailing bodies and minds in the neighbourhood of Crow Farm. 'He is turribly fine and learned, nae doubt, but the words seem more stone than grit, and fairly chokes me.' And though Mrs. Keith made no special response, she smiled acquiescence, and repeated the words to her son. It was well that old Richard had so kind and faithful a watcher beside his dying bed, for he had had a hard life. Mrs. Keith was holding the cold, shrivelled hand in hers as she said a few simple prayers, and the bleared old eyes had lighted up with sudden tenderness. 'I would never have thought that He would have sent you to fetch me, Jean,' he gasped; and there and then with glad wonder he climbed his way where Up the fair hillside, like a sweet surprise,Waiteth the quiet Fold.Gale Warburton was fully aware that he had mistaken his vocation, and more than once he had expressed his regret that he had ever left Oxford; but his mother was always ready with a word of comfort.'You sacrificed yourself for me, Gale,' she said tenderly; 'you knew how much I needed you after your father's death. You have been a good son to me, my dear.' But though he said no more, his conscience told him that he ought never to have taken upon himself the duties of a parish priest.Gale Warburton's happiest hours were spent in the warm, well-lighted study at the Vicarage. He worked there the greater part of the day, and in the late evenings, when he had finished his usual game of chess or piquet with his mother, he would often retire there to burn the midnight lamp, and sometimes the grey dawn would find him absorbed in his beloved studies. On such occasions he would remain at the Vicarage for a brief sleep, for by his own desire a bedroom was always kept ready for his use; but on these nights Mrs. Warburton never rested well, though she carefully concealed this from her son's knowledge. Gale must have his freedom and independence, she would say to herself; he must never know how his Bohemian ways interfered with her rest, how she had fallen into the habit of lying awake until she heard the sound of his footsteps on the gravel under her window.Mr. Warburton had formulated no special vow of celibacy. He was not averse to matrimony, but he was simply too much engrossed in his own pursuits to have leisure for falling in love, neither had he yet seen the woman whom he would care to make his wife. He had strange theories on this subject, and it might be doubted whether any woman would quite come up to his standard.It was in this uncongenial atmosphere that Agnes had spent her young life, and it could not be denied that, on the whole, it was a meagre, unsatisfying existence to a warm-hearted, loving nature. Agnes knew that she was not necessary to either her mother or brother, that they were neither of them dependent on her for comfort or happiness.Agnes Warburton was not an intellectual woman. She seldom opened a book unless it were a novel or poetry. Her tastes were essentially domestic and feminine. She excelled in all branches of needlework, and housekeeping was a joy to her.Unfortunately, Mrs. Warburton, who was strong and active, and remarkably young for her age, for she was in her sixtieth year, preferred to keep the reins in her own hands. She had early Victorian ideas on such matters, and would not have relegated any of her authority in favour of her daughter though she might be in her thirtieth year.Agnes's few household duties were soon discharged—the dusting of her mother's priceless china, and the arrangement of the drawing-room flowers, and the feeding and cleaning of Cocky, the white cockatoo, the spoiled and noisy pet of the house. When these trifling duties were discharged, Agnes had the rest of the day at her own disposal. No one wanted her, or claimed her assistance; Mrs. Warburton liked to write her own letters. Now and then Agnes would drive or pay calls with her mother, or would be required to pay attention to some passing guest.Agnes would sit in her sunny window, or if it were warm, in some shady corner of the garden, and busy herself with some piece of intricate needlework, that would distract and occupy her, for her thoughts were seldom gay. Latterly, she had a new interest. Mrs. Keith, who was a sensible, shrewd woman, had suggested that she might take the sewing-class at the school and relieve Miss Sullivan, who was somewhat hard-worked. Agnes had acted on this suggestion, and the result had been highly satisfactory, and those two or three hours in the week had been full of interest. Agnes soon took pride in her pupils. She would carry specimens of darning and marking to exhibit to Mrs. Keith—she knew her mother would have been simply bored. 'I am going to give prizes at Christmas,' Agnes said once, and I am sure Mary Masterman will get the first prize. Did you ever see a neater seam, Mrs. Keith? All the stitches are so small and even '—and Agnes's voice was unusually animated.'Mary has had a good teacher, Miss Warburton,' replied Mrs. Keith, smiling. The two women were close friends, although Mrs. Keith was only a homely body, and never pretended to be anything else. But it was an undoubted fact that Agnes Warburton's most peaceful hours were spent in the big roomy kitchen at Crow Farm, which was half kitchen and half dining-room.Agnes would sit and watch Mrs. Keith as she made bread, or kneaded the dough for her fruit-cakes, or trotted backwards and forwards from dairy to larder. On these occasions she would wear a blue bib-apron that covered her dress, and a white sun-bonnet tilted over her plain, strongly marked face, with its high cheek-bones and humorous, tender mouth.'I should like to change places with her,' Agnes would say to herself; 'she is always busy and happy, and she loves her work. How does it feel, I wonder, to be a widow, and to have the best part of one's life gone?' she would muse. 'It sounds sad enough, but then there is always the memory. I think,' she went on, 'if Tennyson had been a woman he would never have written those lines, "That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things." It ought rather to be "a sorrow's crown of gladness is remembering happier things." And, after all, she has had her life, and other women have not had theirs'; and Agnes's soft melancholy was suffused with slight bitterness.A woman's heart is, or should be, holy ground, though ofttimes fools step in where angels fear to tread. Agnes Warburton was now at that age when the instincts of her womanhood demanded most urgently recognition and sympathy. The repression of her home affections only made her hunger more keenly for tenderness. If there were only one human being in God's world who needed her, whose life would be the richer because she lived, who would reckon her affection beyond hid treasure—And then, when she least expected it, and where she would never have looked for it, came the answer. And when Agnes Warburton looked into the face of the messenger, her spirit well-nigh fainted within her; for she knew that the sorest temptation of her life had come to her—to be met and vanquished.CHAPTER XVIIICROW FARMSooner or later a man will shine for all he is worth.—TALMAGE.It is the heart that makes the home, whether the eye rests upon a potato-patch or a flower-garden. Heart makes home precious, and it is the only thing that can.—MARDEN.IT was a lovely afternoon when Elinor and Bride cycled over to Crow Farm. Rufus, who had been specially invited, bounded beside them. A proud and happy dog was Rufus in these days, for morning, noon, and night he was never far from his beloved mistress. As long as the spring daylight lasted she was always in his sight, and at night his tawny length was stretched across the door of her bedroom, and the slightest movement within would rouse him from the soundest sleep. The thick bearskin rug was a delicious bed to Rufus.Bride had verified Elinor's prediction, and she and Scrap had taken possession of the two quaint rooms opening into each other. Bride's originality and good taste had transformed them into a charming, well-appointed bedroom and quite a dainty little boudoir and workshop.Elinor told Frances that she was quite touched by Bride's delight and happiness in her new surroundings. 'She is never dull or idle for a moment,' she wrote later on. 'The day is not half long enough for all we have to do. Gardening is our chief hobby; we are reading up all sorts of books to help us—Miss Jekyll's Home and Garden and Wood and Garden, and Mrs. Earle's Pot-Pourri. And we take in all kinds of gardening magazines; our little morning-room is quite strewn with them. I think Joe Twitchett is amazed at our energy. One day he almost took the spade out of Bride's hand. "It is not for the likes of you, ma'am, to be digging up an awkward bit of ground like that," he said quite indignantly; and poor Bride, who was as red as a turkey-cock, owned afterwards that her back was nearly broken.'Bride filled up all her leisure hours by writing long letters to Lyall. Certainly, as far as correspondence was concerned, Bride was an ideal wife. She would cover sheets with charming descriptions of the neighbourhood and her walks and drives, and tell him all about the friends she had met and the books she had read.'Poor dear child,' thought Lyall, as he thrust the letter into his waistcoat-pocket, where it lay near his heart for many a day, 'she tells me everything except the one thing I want to know. Does she guess how willingly I would sacrifice all those prettily worded pages just for one line written from her heart: "Lyall, I want you—come home as soon as you can"?' But Bride was far too shy to make any such overture; besides, she was not sure that she really did want him back. She and Elinor were so happy together, and really Lyall made her so uncomfortable—wanting her to do such impossible things!Now and then Bride's conscience gave her an uneasy prick. On Sundays especially, she would wear a thoughtful look as they walked across the quiet meadows on their return from evening service.'I was thinking of that poor boy Lyall,' she said one evening in answer to Elinor's question. 'I am afraid I must be wicked to be so contented and happy, when he must be so lonely in that outlandish place. What do you think, Nora?' and there was a wistful look in Bride's dark eyes.'Why do you put such an uncomfortable question, dear?' returned Elinor, half smiling. 'I am quite sure that you don't mean to be wicked, and I am equally sure that, being mortal man, poor Lyall must be both home-sick and wife-sick, and I do not see that we can expect him to be otherwise.''But, Nora, I offered to go out and be with him——' Bride's lip trembled—she was bent on defending herself. A missel-thrush, who was calling to his mate in rather a creaking tone of authority, cocked his bright eye at her with a malicious wink. 'There are wives who are sweethearts, and sweethearts who are wives, but an unmated mate is a scarecrow for all creation to pity,' he seemed to say, with a flirt of his pert tail that settled the question.Bride shut herself up in her room and had a good cry that evening; but she said nothing more to Elinor about Lyall. Perhaps the nesting birds had taught her something, after all. Why did Lyall love her so dearly that every letter of his seemed to convey to her a fresh message of forgiveness? Since those first few stormy interviews, he had never reproached her for her desertion of him; only, when she had made that tardy proposition to go out to him, he had not been able to keep back all the deep-lying bitterness. 'Unless you can tell me that our separation really makes you unhappy,' he wrote, 'I think it would be better to let things remain as they are at present.' And Bride, who was too truthful to prevaricate, had let this pass unanswered.Bride was in a sunshiny mood that afternoon as they rode swiftly along the roads, only commenting now and then to each other on the soft, vivid green of the budding hedgerows. In a few weeks the fresh loveliness of the spring foliage would be dimmed by summer dust; the very hedgerows they were admiring would be powdered with grey particles and disfigured by shreds of straw and fragments of hay as the loaded carts rumbled by.Crow Farm was in a lane leading out of the main street of the village; it was a modest, unpretentious place. Through the gate one passed into a large flagged courtyard; to the left were the farm buildings, and to the right was a comfortable-looking grey dwelling-house.As they propped their bicycles against the wall, a tall and rather portly woman in a blue bib-apron, carefully pinned over her black dress, came out to meet them. A white sun-bonnet covered her flaxen hair, now thickly threaded with grey; the plain, homely features wore a pleasant expression.'You are very welcome, Miss Gresham,' she said, giving Elinor almost a masculine grip of the hand, 'and I am delighted to see you and your sister. Come into the house, for the afternoon sun is always so strong in the courtyard. Or perhaps you might like to take a turn in our little garden, while Emma sets the tea-things?' Mrs. Keith spoke a little broadly and like a Northener; but in spite of a certain ruggedness in her speech, there was something pleasing in her voice. She had kindly blue eyes that at times looked a little sad, but the full, sensitive lips were very ready to smile.'Oh, do let us go to the garden,' observed Bride eagerly, before Elinor could answer; but as they stepped out on the little lawn a girl's face appeared at a back window, and the next moment Kathleen came running out to greet her friends.'I have been out into the road half a dozen times to see if you were coming,' she exclaimed; 'but as Mrs. Keith says, "A watched kettle is slow to boil," so I shut myself up in the parlour and gave myself a task, and in five minutes you came.''Aye, Miss Kathleen, my dear, patience is a fine thing, and always pays best in the long-run. Now, may I ask you to entertain these young ladies for a while, while I get the cakes out of the oven and see to the buttering of the scones? Emma is a good girl, but she is a bit heavy-handed, and an old-fashioned body like myself would sooner do her own business.''Won't you let me help?' asked Kathleen coaxingly; 'I do so love going to the dairy and skimming the cream.' But Mrs. Keith shook her head.'No, bide quiet, my dear; I have no need of helpers to-day.' And then Kathleen pretended to pout as she seated herself beside Elinor on the little iron seat on the lawn, where they could look across the meadows and enjoy the sight of a bed of yellow daffodils waving their golden heads in the bright spring sunshine.It was a small garden, but pretty in its way. To the right was a long, narrow kitchen-garden, with a row of beehives at the bottom of the path. A little later on the borders would be gay with wall-flowers, Canterbury bells, London pride, and early red rhodo-dendrons and German irises; while Guelder roses, lilacs, and laburnums would make a mass of soft, lovely colouring, and under the trees the pale blue hyacinth would nod its delicate head. Mrs. Keith's flower-borders were the pride of her heart, and to go out and gather homely posies of fragrant old-fashioned flowers for her guests was endless joy to her; and she seldom gave one to a young girl or unmarried woman without adding a sprig or two of strongly-smelling southernwood—'lad's love' as she called it—for dear luck's sake. Agnes Warburton always had a double portion of the lucky plant in her bouquet, but she never let her friends know her dislike to the scent.'You must peep in at Hugh's room,' observed Kathleen presently. 'You know that Mrs. Keith has given him the use of her own parlour. It is such a pretty, cosy little room, and there is some lovely old Chelsea china, and an oak chest that she brought from the farmhouse at Mallerstang, where she was born.' And though Elinor seemed afraid of intruding, she yielded at last to Kathleen's persuasions, and they followed her into the house.It was certainly a charming room, and Bride was in ecstasies with it—the quaint old black-framed pictures, the beautiful oak chest, and the mantelpiece filled with gay little china groups—shepherds and shepherdesses with garlands and crooks and waving ribbons, or with a meek-faced lamb tucked under one arm. Then there was a low wooden seat covered with red and green chintz—a delightful place to rest on a summer's afternoon and watch white butterflies and big brown bees moving over the flower-beds.The little square table was strewn with plans and unfinished drawings, and a deal kitchen-table blocked up the second window; it was here that Hugh Milner worked.'Oh, I have never given you Hugh's message!' exclaimed Kathleen as she unrolled a finished sketch that her brother had just completed. 'He was so disappointed when he heard you were coming this afternoon; he has been obliged to go over to Mexfield; Mr. Morrell wants to see him on business—I fancy some other clergyman wishes to meet him—and he is afraid that he will not get back in time to see you.'Elinor expressed polite regret. In reality she was somewhat disappointed, for she found her respect and liking for Hugh Milner increased each time they met. Bride had taken to him from the first; his handsome face and pleasant manners attracted her. Her enthusiasm had amused Elinor, and she made a disparaging remark on purpose.'Gussie would say that we ought not to encourage his visits; his father is an organist, you know, and gives music-lessons.' But this sort of speech always put Bride's back up; she was rather democratic in her views.'Why don't you finish your sentence properly,' she returned scornfully, 'and tell me that Mr. Milner is only an architect and rather poor? I should not deny the fact; but all the same there are architects and architects, and I am convinced Hugh Milner is a gentleman'; and for some esoteric reason this speech had pleased Elinor; she too had made up her mind on this subject. 'One can always recognise a gentleman,' she had once said to Frances, who was alluding to quite a different person; but, strange to say, her thoughts had reverted to Hugh Milner.At this moment Mrs. Keith summoned them to tea. Her son had just come in, she said, and was putting himself tidy for the ladies. And then she led the way into the great, cheerful living-room, with its oak presses and grandfather-clock, and its wide chimney-corner with a comfortable leather-backed chair on each side of the fireplace. A bright little wood fire burnt in the grate, and from the tall mantelpiece almost to the ceiling were suspended rows of shining tins and brass and copper utensils—candlesticks gleaming like silver, huge copper warming-pans reflecting ruddy lights, covers that could mirror the human faces below in their speckless brightness. Next to her flower-borders and her dairy, Mrs. Keith prided herself on what her son always called her tin gallery.Mrs. Keith had divested herself of her sun-bonnet and bib-apron, and her thick wavy hair was uncovered by any cap; the heavy gold chain and handsome cameo brooch that she wore had been her husband's gifts. She gave a satisfied glance at her well-spread table as she invited her guests to seat themselves. Elinor secretly wondered if all farmhouse teas were as substantial. There were home-made bread and a currant loaf, hot buttered scones, jams, preserves, and clotted cream, and even a folded napkin wherein reposed new-laid eggs.'Come away, Hammond,' observed his mother; 'we are waiting for you to serve the ladies.' And then Hammond Keith entered, looking as fresh and ruddy as a young David, and greeted them in an unaffected, cordial manner.The young farmer certainly appeared to his best advantage in his own house, and he and Kathleen appeared to be on excellent terms.'Miss Kathleen leaves us to-morrow,' he said, addressing Elinor, 'and I don't know which of us will miss her most.''And I do so hate going,' returned Kathleen, and her bright face clouded as she spoke. 'I shall miss Hugh so horribly—I always do; but Cousin Ada cannot stay any longer, and I must go back to father. But just fancy Acacia Road after this dear place!''Acacia Road—that is in St. John's Wood, is it not,' asked Elinor, 'and not far from Primrose Hill?''Yes, but it is so dull,' replied Kathleen. 'We have a little garden in the back and front, about the size of a pocket-handkerchief. There is a laburnum over the front gate and a big lilac-bush by the front door, and in the back-garden we have a syringa and a Guelder rose, and a little bed of pansies,—they are father's favourite flowers.''You should have a rose-bush or two and a border of pinks,' observed Mrs. Keith; 'we could give you some of our cuttings. There's a deal can be made of a small garden with a little thought and pains. Pansies are pretty enough, but I like something sweet-smelling. But I am thinking, Miss Kathleen, my dear, that it is a bit contrary that your brother should be away on your last evening!''He is sorry too, Mrs. Keith, but it could not be avoided; and he won't stay longer than he can help.' And then the talk drifted to other subjects. Elinor, who knew that her hostess was a Westmorland woman, began telling her of a pleasant summer holiday that she and her sisters had enjoyed at the English Lakes. 'We stayed one night at Shap Wells, on our way from Hawes Water,' she continued, 'and we passed through Brough. That was not so very far from your old home, Mrs. Keith.''If you start mother on old days, there will be no holding her in,' observed Hammond, smiling; 'she thinks there is no place to beat the dales, and she is proud of being a Mallerstang woman.' And then, a little slyly, 'Did you ever hear of "trashing" and "riding for the riband," Miss Gresham?''Now, Ham, my dear, as though the ladies would care to hear of those queer old customs!' returned his mother chidingly; but her large humorous mouth began to work in a pleased way. It was easy to set her going: the very word 'Mallerstang' seemed like magic.'I assure you, Mrs. Keith, that we should love to hear about them. We heard some funny stories at Shap that amused us hugely.''Did you, my dear?' replied Mrs. Keith, but she was looking at Bride. But to her surprise young Mrs. Gresham blushed deeply and looked embarrassed, and it was Elinor who answered.'My sister-in-law was not with us, Mrs. Keith; she was otherwise engaged. The fact is, she was only just married, and she and my brother were at Clovelly.''Aye, that is in the West Country. But you are wanting me to tell you about "trashing"? It was nought but an old Yorkshire custom of pelting a newly married couple on their way from church with old shoes and sods or such-like rubbish. They did it to an uncle of mine. They do say that the meaning of the custom was to remind the young folk that they would find in their new estate "clogs and hindrances."''What an unpleasant experience for the newly married couple,' observed Elinor, for Bride still remained silent. Perhaps she felt that she too had met her 'clogs and hindrances' in her married life.'I have heard of worse things than that, Miss Gresham; for my grandmother told me once—she was a douce old body, and told famous stories when she was in the mood for them—that in some countries the bride is covered by the matrons with a garland of prickles, and so delivered unto her husband, that he might know that he had tied himself to a thorny pleasure.' Then they all laughed except Bride. The hot flush was still on her face; it was as though she felt that an invisible garland of prickles had rested on her prettily shaped head instead of the bridal wreath that day when she and Lyall had plighted their troth.CHAPTER XIX'THE CHIMNEY-CORNER'But methinksHe knows the scene, who knows the one fair day,One only and no more, which year by yearIn spring-time comes, when lingering winter dies.LEWIS MORRIS.Nature never did betrayThe heart that loved her.WORDSWORTH.ELINOR was aware of the direction in which Bride's thoughts were turning, and to create a diversion she asked Mrs. Keith to tell them about 'riding for the riband,' and her hostess quickly swallowed the bait.'Oh, that was another curious old custom in Mallerstang and Shap,' she observed, 'but I never saw it myself. Father and mother "rode for the riband" on their wedding-day. She was on a pillion behind him, and she wore a grey duffle cloak with capes over her wedding-gown, and they raced from the Black Bull in Nateby. There was a gate leading to the crofts round Wildbore—that was the name of mother's old home—and two of the leading horses actually leaped the gate on their way to the house.They do say that a girl at Shap was nearly scared out of her wits,' continued Mrs. Keith, 'the morning she married Black Baldrick of Rafland Hall; for her bridegroom tore down a steep rough path leading from Rafland Forest at the peril of his life and hers, and she was more dead than alive when he lifted her off the pillion. Mad Baldrick, they called him. Poor lassie, she was a widow before the year was out, for he broke his neck steeplechasing.''Mother has a heap of old tales about burial customs,' observed Hammond Keith. 'Tell the ladies, mother, about that old body Betty Croglin, whom Dr. Drayton went to see when she was dying.''You might tell it yourself, lad, for you have heard it scores of times,' returned Mrs. Keith, 'and I have talked too much already'; but a very little pressing on her guests' part soon drew forth the story.'Dr. Andrew Drayton was the doctor at Mallerstang, and just before I was married he was called to see an old woman over eighty years of age. He found her lying on a four-posted bedstead, the top of which was covered with oak boards, and in a dying state, of which she was perfectly conscious. After some conversation the old woman said, "Aye, aye, I've a mikle to be thankful for; he's been a good son to me, that he has, aye, a varra good son. It's gangen on te ten yeer sen he bout them booards for my coffin" (pointing to those on the top of the bed); "they're yak, that er they, en when lie brout 'em yhom, he put them up theyar to seesen, an' they've been theyar ever sen. It was varra thoutful on him, wasn't it? Byt he allus sed hoo 'at I sud heve a yak coffin as his fudd'r hed when he deet, seeah he bout them boards 'at they wud be ready when they wer wantit." I remember the doctor told us that he was somewhat surprised to hear the old woman talk thus about the boards of her coffin, under which she had slept for nearly ten years, but as she seemed in deep thought, he made no remark. After a few minutes she began again. "Aye! why, I've sometimes thowt he mebbe disappointed hissel' for me, an' put off an' put off, thinking it wadn't be lang, an' it winn't noo, doctor? it winn't be lang noo, an' t' booards'll be well seesened, an' I'se hev a yak coffin, an' he can wed wheeah he will. God bless him, he's been a good son to me iver sen his fadd'r deet, an' that's long, long sen. Doctor, ye think it wayn't be lang noo? neeah, neeah, it'll not be so lang noo nir I gang."''Oh, Mrs. Keith, is that really true?' asked Bride, with a horrified expression.'Yes, Mrs. Gresham, my dear, it is as true as I sit here. I remember as though it were yesterday how father laughed over the story, and then he said it was too good to be lost, and that he should write it down. Father always wrote down anything that took his fancy, and I have an old copy-book locked up in the oak chest, that is just full of queer old stories.''Mother is a rare hand at a tale on a winter's night,' observed Hammond Keith. He was evidently very proud of her; there was an affectionate gleam in his blue eyes, and Mrs. Keith beamed on him across the table.'Aye, he was always the one for tales ever since he was a little lad no higher than the table. But there! I won't be chattering like a daft old magpie any longer; and you have never told these ladies, Ham, my dear, about the bit of good fortune that has come to you.''Mother!' in a remonstrant voice, and the young farmer flushed a little.'Ham's so modest, Miss Gresham,' returned his mother, 'that he never will talk of things that concern himself; but I am quite sure you will be interested to hear that my son has had quite a nice little sum of money left him a few weeks ago by an old cousin of father's who lived at Brough.''Oh yes, Miss Warburton was mentioning it to me,' returned Elinor. Then there was a surprised look in Hammond Keith's eye.'Did Miss Agnes tell you about the house he has bought in Red Thorn Lane?' asked Mrs. Keith, before he could speak. 'I don't hold with it myself, but Ham thinks it will be a fine investment for his money; but I would sooner have put it in the bank myself.''Mother is in mortal terror that I shall want her to leave Crow Farm and live at "The Chimney-Corner," and nothing I can say seems to keep her mind easy,' observed Hammond; but though he smiled, he still seemed somewhat embarrassed.'Oh, it is a pretty enough little place, but the thatched roof and all those trees seem to smother me. You can't teach old dogs new tricks, as I tell my boy; and I would sooner be doing my dairy-work and feeding my chickens and ducklings than be sitting in the parlour at "The Chimney-Corner," with my hands before me, trying to read the newspaper and napping over it.''Mother thinks I want to turn her into a fine lady,' returned Hammond, still gravely, 'because I do not like to see her work so hard at her age. I tell her it is waste of good material, and that mothers are too precious.''Aye, you talk a deal of nonsense, my lad,' returned Mrs. Keith composedly. 'But I take after my mother, you see; she was the woman for work, and work she did, until her limbs and sight failed her. And I would sooner wear out, that I would, than be laid up in lavender, and wear a black silk gown every afternoon expecting visitors. But there, we won't waste the evening in argle-bargling, as they say in Mallerstang. We are just buzzing like two bumble-kites against the window-pane. Now I must wash up the china, for it belonged to my grandmother Fawcett. And as it is so fine and sunny, perhaps the ladies might like to go round to Red Thorn Lane and have a peep at the house?' And as this proposition was received with marked favour, Kathleen ran off to fetch her hat, and Hammond remarked he must go in search of the dogs and the key.He came back in a few minutes, accompanied by a large wire-haired terrier, which Elinor knew was Dan, and a handsome fox-terrier, that she at once guessed was Agnes Warburton's old favourite Jock. He was an intelligent and friendly little animal, evidently thoroughbred and well-trained, and he seemed on excellent terms with his new master.'I should have thought Dan would have been jealous?' she said, as she and Hammond Keith led the way, Bride and Kathleen following; but Mr. Keith shook his head.'Dan and I understand each other too well, Miss Gresham. When I knew Jock was coming to the farm, I took Dan into confidence, and in consequence he has always treated Jock with the utmost consideration. Animals can be as generous as human beings, if you only treat them properly. Jock is still faithful to his mistress. I think he has made up his mind that he is only here on a visit, and that he must be on his best behaviour. That's a fine dog of yours,' with an admiring glance at Rufus, who was just then pacing beside his mistress in rather a majestic fashion, while Jock and Dan skirmished round them. The next moment an ecstatic bark rent the air, and Jock was leaping madly up against the closed door of the little toy-shop and stationer's. His quick ear had detected a familiar voice, and his excitement was so great that Hammond Keith took pity on him and opened the door. As he did so, a lady rose from her seat beside the counter and began fondling the dog. 'Why, Jock, old fellow, how did you discover me?' she observed in surprise; and then, as she saw the little group on the pavement, she advanced with heightened colour, Jock still leaping up at her in his exuberant joy.'Jock heard your voice, Miss Warburton,' replied Mr. Keith, 'and he went nearly wild with excitement, so I had to open the door. I am afraid we have disturbed you.''Oh no, I have made my purchases and I was only chatting with Mrs. Burrell. Are you all taking a walk this lovely evening?''No; we are only going round to Red Thorn Lane. Mother wanted these ladies to see "The Chimney-Corner." You might come with us, Miss Warburton, for you were wishing to see the inside of the house, and I have the key in my pocket?''Another time,' she returned in a low voice; 'I have been out a long time.' But Hammond Keith persisted.'It is only a step back, and I shall be glad to have your opinion,' he returned rather seriously. And to his satisfaction Kathleen chimed in, 'Oh, do come with us, Miss Warburton. And you are not really in a hurry, because you told Hugh that you were not dining until eight to-night, and it is only half-past six. It is my last evening too, so it would only be nice of you.' Then rather reluctantly Agnes yielded. She walked on with Elinor and Kathleen, and Hammond dropped behind. Bride found him a little silent; he seemed listening to the animated talk between the three ladies. They were now in Red Thorn Lane, a pretty secluded road pleasantly shaded by trees. To Elinor's surprise it was only a blind lane leading to some fields; and about a hundred yards down, there was a long white cottage with a thatched roof, and a fine old porch with oak seats black with age. A large garden lay round it, and there was a little orchard, and on every side there stretched green meadows where cattle browsed. In the field immediately behind the house was a large deep pool with a clump of trees beside it, and a little wooden building, evidently a shelter for cattle.'What a sweet old place!' exclaimed Bride; 'this is just the sort of cottage in which I should love to live. That thatched roof is delicious and so is that porch; it looks as though generations of Darbies and Joans had sat there. I like its name too; don't you, Nora? "The Chimney-Corner" has such a cosy sound.''It is very peaceful,' returned Elinor. 'Oh yes, it is a charming old cottage, and those wide low windows under the eaves must be delightful. Look at that dovecot, Miss Warburton, against the yew hedge, did you ever see anything so quaintly pretty? And there is a yew terrace, only it is so untrimmed; and that little dark summer-house in the corner is nearly swallowed in ivy.''It has not been inhabited for some years,' returned Hammond Keith; 'its owner died abroad. When I bought it with cousin Fawcett's money, I thought it would be rather a good investment. I had always had a fancy for the place, and Crow Farm was never to my taste. I have no place for my books, and our living-room is a bit public when one wants a quiet read. Do you see that field with the pond, Miss Gresham? I bought that along with the cottage; I wanted a bit more grazing land. You can see for yourself that the place has been neglected; the kitchen-garden is over-run with weeds, and looks as overgrown as the old Croft Churchyard.''Do you expect your mother will ever take to it?' asked Kathleen, who was glancing round her with bird-like curiosity.'No, Miss Kathleen, I am not so dense as to believe that; and what's more, I shall never distress her dear old heart by asking her to leave Crow Farm. Mother has spent all her married life there, and she would never settle down happily in any other place.''Then what was the good of buying it, Mr. Keith?' exclaimed Kathleen. But Hammond did not at once answer; he was inserting the key in the lock, and it was a little rusty and hard to turn.'It was a good investment,' he said presently, as the door creaked on its hinges, 'and I got it for less than its value. If it comes to the worst, one could always let it; but I hope it will never come to that.' Hammond spoke in an undertone, he was not addressing any one in particular; but Agnes Warburton, who was standing behind him, stepped back and signed to Bride to precede her. Elinor thought she seemed nervous and ill at ease.They stepped into a small square hall, with a sitting-room on either side of it. Both the rooms were long and somewhat narrow, but the wide windows and window-seats gave them a cheerful aspect. The kitchens were good, and there was a small outside dairy.Upstairs, there were three or four good bedrooms, and a whole nest of small rooms, opening out of each other, with tiny lattice windows opening in the thatch. Hammond Keith called it a rabbit-warren of a place, and said it must be hot in summer. 'I think it would be a good plan to throw two small rooms into one, it would give more air and ventilation,' he remarked; 'one would like one's servant to have breathing-space. I am sure you will agree with me, Miss Warburton?' And Agnes said a little hurriedly that it was a good idea, and would be a great improvement.'Milner strongly advised my doing it,' he returned. But at that moment there was a diversion; for Kathleen, who was peeping through a small window in the thatch, exclaimed in a delighted voice that she saw Hugh coming up the lane; and then they all went down the steep, ladder-like staircase to greet him.He had ridden fast from Mexfield, and looked rather heated, but Bride privately thought that she had never seen him look better. 'He is wonderfully handsome,' she said to herself, 'and Nora is right—he certainly has an odd resemblance to Sir Harry Vincent, but it is more in his expression than his features.'They all went into the garden after this. There was a narrow grass terrace at the end, against the yew hedge, where one had a charming view over the meadows. A little gate opened on the field-path. Hugh Milner suggested to Elinor that they should stroll across the meadow, and after a moment's hesitation she consented. Bride and Kathleen accompanied them. It was not until they were retracing their steps that they discovered that Miss Warburton and Hammond Keith were still on the terrace. As they came forward to meet them, Elinor thought that Mr. Keith looked unusually serious, and that Miss Warburton's face wore a worried expression.It was growing late, so Elinor said that they must hurry back to bid Mrs. Keith good-bye. At the end of the lane Agnes took leave of them, and a quarter of an hour later Elinor and Bride mounted their bicycles and rode swiftly down the road in the direction of Meadow Thorpe. Hammond Keith had been called away, but the brother and sister stood at the gate until the cyclists were out of sight. Hugh was telling himself that he had never seen any woman ride more gracefully than Miss Gresham, when Kathleen laid her hand on his arm, with a sigh.'Oh, it has been such a delightful afternoon! If you could only have been with us, Hugh! To think I shall be missing all you dear people to-morrow'—and Kathleen's bright eyes were a little misty.CHAPTER XXA FLASHING SEARCH-LIGHT''I gave thee of my seed to sow—Bringest thou me my hundredfold?'Can I look up with face aglow,And answer, 'Father, here is gold'?LOWELL.It is great folly not to part with your own faults, which is possible; but to try instead to escape from other people's faults, which is impossible.—MARCUS AURELIUS.THE visit to Parkhurst the following day was most successful. The Sedgwicks were pleasant, friendly people, and they insisted on Mr. Keith as well as the ladies remaining to luncheon.Both Elinor and Bride were delighted with the mare and cart. Meg was certainly a pretty creature, and very gentle; she was evidently accustomed to be petted, and thrust her nose into Bride's hand in search of sugar. Before they left the bargain had been completed, and Bride drove her back to the station with much enjoyment and pride. Mr. Sedgwick undertook that both cart and mare should be sent over to Meadow Thorpe in the following week, and Hammond Keith advised them to send Joe Twitchett to Leicester to be measured for his livery.The next two or three days passed quietly. On Tuesday they were to spend the afternoon at Tylcote Hall.Mrs. Warburton had to drive over to Maskell earlier in the day, so she had arranged to call for the Greshams on her way back. Agnes was with her. She was exceedingly friendly in her manner to both of them, but Elinor soon perceived that Bride was the favourite; she made her sit beside her and gave her the greater share of her attention. Agnes was very quiet. Later on, when Elinor knew her better, she discovered that she was always a little silent and subdued in her mother's presence, and that Mrs. Warburton generally monopolised the attention of her guests. Agnes was extremely sensitive, and her mother's quickness of perception, her bright, easy flow of words, and the keen edge of her wit were a little disconcerting to Agnes's gentle denseness; there were times when she felt like an awkward school-girl, as she watched her mother's queenly little airs and graces.'I wish you would talk more when we have friends, Agnes,' Mrs. Warburton had said once in rather an injured voice. 'It seems so odd that a woman of your age should have so little to say. It is all very well for Gale to remark that you are a tête-à-têtetalker, but when I left you alone with Mrs. Lindsay the other day, she seemed quite relieved when I came back to the room.''I am sorry, mother,' returned Agnes, with a sigh. 'I am afraid she did not find me very amusing. I never do know what to say to Mrs. Lindsay; she seems to me to care for nothing but hunting and bridge.''She is a little horsy in her tastes perhaps,' returned Mrs. Warburton, 'but she is not a bad sort of woman, and I rather like her myself. If she had only a nursery to occupy her and keep her out of the stables; but Mortimer Lindsay encourages her in her mannish tastes'—for the Lindsays were distant connections of the Warburtons. 'It is really a pity,' she went on, 'that you have so little savoir-faire and knowledge of the world; in society one must expect to meet all sorts and conditions of men. You are not sufficiently flexible, Aggie; I have often told you so.''I wish for your sake that you had not such a stupid daughter,' returned poor Agnes a little sadly; for these maternal admonitions, however well-meant, only depressed her. 'How was one to help one's nature?' Agnes said to herself. Mrs. Warburton gave her an odd look and slightly shrugged her shoulders; perhaps she too was beginning to feel that it was hopeless.They drove through the village and turned up by the church, and Mrs. Warburton pointed out the Vicarage to Elinor—a large red-brick building, standing a little back from the road. 'That is where my son works,' she observed; 'he has turned the whole of the ground-floor into a library and study, and the books are beginning to overflow into one of the upstairs rooms. Last night it was nearly three o'clock before he came across.' Mrs. Warburton said this in a tolerant tone, for she would not have confessed before her daughter that she had lain awake all those hours until she had heard Gale's footsteps under her window. She had the spirit of an old Spartan in her, and would rather have borne any amount of fatigue and discomfort than own to such maternal weakness.A pleasant carriage-drive led to the Hall, and the soft misty green of the spring foliage on the fine old trees and shrubs was indescribably beautiful. Tylcote Hall was an old red-brick house surrounded by lawns, with an old-fashioned, walled-in kitchen-garden behind. The entrance hall was large and well furnished, and as they crossed it Agnes observed to Elinor that on summer afternoons she often sat there. 'There is such a pleasant view of the meadows, and I like to hear the wood-pigeons cooing in the trees. Mother,' she continued, 'as tea is not ready, we might go into the garden a little.' But Mrs. Warburton was rather tired with her drive, and preferred remaining indoors, and Bride, who knew Elinor's pleasure in Agnes Warburton's society, offered to remain with her hostess. This was unselfish on Bride's part, for she would much rather have been out in the spring sunshine.It was a pretty old garden, and Elinor guessed how delightful it must be in summer-time when the trees were in full leafage. There must be charming little shady nooks, and even now the lawns had a well-kept, velvety look. The kitchen-garden was very sunny and peaceful, and the wide borders were full of spring flowers—daffodils and narcissi and grape hyacinths, and a grand show of border auriculas with their varied colours—pale lilac and rich purple and rosy-pink to deep crimson, now and then toned down by soft, smoky grey. Later on, the delphiniums and oriental poppies would have their turn, and great sheafs of white Madonna lilies. 'You must see it in June,' Agnes said, as they walked down the narrow paths. 'I think the bees and the butterflies love it best then; it is a perfect feast of colour and perfume. I love all flowers, but I think the Madonna lily is my favourite.''Tea-roses are my special delights,' returned Elinor, 'and Bride loves lilies of the valley. There is only one tiny clump at Wildcroft, but next season we are determined to have more. Do you like gardening, Miss Warburton?''I have never tried it, but I am sure it must be interesting,' returned Agnes. But she forbore to add that she had never been encouraged to take up this pursuit. Mrs. Warburton always gave orders to the gardener, and her daughter feared that any attempt on her part in this direction would be regarded as interference. Agnes always gathered the flowers for the drawing-room and morning-room, but she seldom ventured to arrange a gay little bouquet for some poor neighbour. Her mother had seen a bunch of clove carnations in her hand one day, and had not looked quite pleased when she heard they were for old Peggy Stevenson.'Peggy does so love these dark red cloves,' Agnes said pleadingly; 'they used to grow in her old garden at Southwell.''I daresay,' returned her mother drily, for Mrs. Warburton was somewhat limited in her sympathies. 'But I don't see why the carnation-bed is to be robbed of its best blooms for Peggy, especially as it happens to be my favourite flower.' Then Agnes, without a word, placed the carnations in a vase that always stood on her mother's toilet table. But that afternoon she went to Crow Farm and begged Mrs. Keith to give her a few for Peggy.'To be sure I will, Miss Agnes, my dear,' returned her friend kindly; 'but I thought you were telling me the other day that you had such grand show of cloves up at the Hall?' Agnes coloured; she had forgotten that she had said this, and she could not contradict her own words.'Yes, you are right, Mrs. Keith, and our round bed is quite full; but they are mother's favourite flowers, and she does not like to have them picked.' Then Mrs. Keith nodded as though she understood, and put on her sun-bonnet, and Peggy's old heart was gladdened by the brave posy that Agnes laid on her lap. The old woman fairly sobbed as she raised the flowers in the trembling, numbed hands, that could hardly hold them for weakness. 'Dear heart alive, but they are grand flowers, Miss Warburton. They used to grow in faither's pleace when I was a little meed, and faither was terribly proud of them. Mammy would tell him not to crack about them so, but faither would have it that not even t' vicar could beat his cloves; and the smell makes me feel like a little meed again, that it do'—and Peggy wiped away a tear as she spoke.Mrs. Warburton would have been surprised and even a little shocked if she had ever realised how these small acts of unconscious selfishness and tyranny robbed Agnes of many an innocent enjoyment,—it was no pleasure to her to gather flowers, if her mother begrudged them. The only privilege which remained to her that she really prized was the arrangement of the church vases, and her Sunday task in the vestry was always a joy to her.Elinor was in no hurry to return to the house, but Agnes thought that her mother would be expecting them. 'Tea will be ready by this time,' she observed, 'and very likely they will be waiting for us'—and this proved to be the case. As they entered the drawing-room, a tall man in clerical garb, who was standing with his back to the door talking to Bride, turned round, and Elinor at once recognised the fine features and the short curly beard of the preacher they had heard in Dewhurst Church.'Miss Gresham, this is my son,' observed Mrs. Warburton, and there was a soft little thrill in her voice as she spoke. Then Mr. Warburton shook hands with Elinor rather gravely, and his keen, brilliant eyes looked at her in a questioning manner. It was his usual habit when he greeted strangers, but it often made shy people feel uncomfortable. 'Mr. Warburton seems to look through and through one,' remarked a lady once, 'as though he wanted to find out all about one in a moment, and did not care to take much trouble about it.'As Elinor was not the least shy, she bore the vicar's penetrating glance quite calmly. 'If it is a mannerism, it is a disagreeable one,' she said afterwards to Bride; 'one doesn't want a flashing search-light turned on one. But when he smiled and began to talk, he was as pleasant as any ordinary person. He really is a most striking-looking man.''I thought him very stiff and formidable,' returned Bride, 'and I was so thankful when you came in, Nora, and he turned his attention to you. Oh, I daresay he is pleasant enough, but I never felt so stupid and shy in my life.'Elinor laughed. Mr. Warburton was undoubtedly somewhat formidable, and his stately manners were a little chilling at first; but on the whole she had been rather agreeably surprised in the vicar of Tylcote. After the first few minutes lie had visibly thawed and unbent. It was a pity that he so seldom smiled, but he was evidently grave and reserved by nature; but nevertheless he made himself very pleasant to his mother's guests.Elinor could not make up her mind whether the conversation really interested him, and now and then a suspicion crossed her that he was trying to talk down to her level.He was extremely courtly in his manners, and she liked to see him wait on his mother; he paid her little lover-like attentions, and there was evidently a quiet understanding between them, which was close and yet undemonstrative.In her son's presence Mrs. Warburton seldom monopolised the conversation, she was too well pleased to hear him talk; it was one of her secret troubles that so few people interested him, and that he cared so little for society. In her heart she had always recognised the fact that it would be well for him to marry; and it spoke volumes for the depth and reality of her maternal love, that she would have yielded her monopoly of his affection if he had ever told her that his happiness depended on any such marriage.'It would be like signing my own death-warrant,' she had once said to herself, 'for I don't believe that I could be content with the second place in my son's affection; but as long as I lived he should never know this'; and there was little doubt that Mrs. Warburton would have done her best to carry out this heroic resolve, whatever suffering it might involve to her.Now and then she would tell him half playfully and half seriously that he was getting too much in a groove, and he was in danger of becoming a mere book-worm. 'If you could only meet the right woman, Gale, and fall in love with her,' she once said to him; but Mr. Warburton never took the remark in good part.'I am married to my work,' he said once; 'I have no need of a wife while my mother is living.' But though these words had been honey-sweet in Mrs. Warburton's ears, she could not refrain from a note of warning.'My dear,' she said, a little sadly, 'a man is likely to outlive his mother—and Agnes is no companion for you.' But he had made no reply to this, and a moment later had left the room.Mrs. Warburton was fully aware that the right woman had not hitherto crossed Gale's path, and that he had shown no disposition to fall in love. 'I wonder if the woman is living who would satisfy him,' she thought once; 'girls are so independent and outspoken in these days—if they are clever, they are opinionative and self-asserting—and Gale would expect his wife to share his opinions.' But though Mrs. Warburton sighed and shook her head, she was not sorry that no rival for his affections had yet appeared.Gale Warburton could talk well on most subjects if he was in the mood to be agreeable, but unless he were with kindred spirits he never let himself really go. His mother would have been astonished if she could have listened to his conversation with his old Balliol friends, when they were discussing some subject of vital interest; it would have satisfied her maternal pride to see how his clear intellect and undoubted learning dominated his fellows.Gale Warburton was aware of his own deficiencies in general society, and in the presence of ladies he was often very silent, but in his own house he was bound to make himself agreeable.Bride had been too shy to respond at all freely to his remarks, but he found Miss Gresham less difficult.Elinor was not specially clever or intellectual, but she was intelligent and sympathetic, and had read a great deal—and then she was a good listener. She liked people to talk about their special hobbies, and declared quite seriously that it never tired or bored her.'People are always at their best if they talk about the subject that interests them most,' she said once to Frances. 'Oh, you need not smile in that amused way; it is not that I wish to be all things to all men, but I like people to be in earnest. If I had my way, I would talk to an engineer about railways or bridges, or to a schoolmaster about education, or to a member of Parliament about politics,—at least I should like them to talk to me. I daresay I should be often out of my depth, and should have to hold my tongue from sheer ignorance, but all the same I should be interested'—and Elinor really meant what she said.Strange to say, she would even have listened quite patiently if Mr. Warburton had chosen to discourse to her on the latest deciphered hieroglyphics or his favourite Quatrains of Haáli, but of this he was perfectly unconscious. He talked instead of a little volume of Essays that was exciting a good deal of interest just then. Elinor had read them, and her remarks were so intelligent and appreciative, that Mrs. Warburton grew interested and joined the discussion.Bride listened for a short time, then she and Agnes by mutual consent withdrew to the window, to look at a beautiful piece of embroidery that the latter was working, and this was so congenial to both of them that they were soon engrossed. Elinor looked across the room once, and saw their heads nod-nodding happily over the embroidery frame, and then quietly resumed her role of listener. She was enjoying herself thoroughly. Only once there was a little jarring note struck. Mrs. Warburton was telling her that there was one essay that did not entirely meet their approval.'We both think the writer is a little hard and narrow in his views of clerical work. My son has never approved of house-to-house visitation in a country parish.''But I thought——' began Elinor; and then she stopped, for it was growing late and she had no wish to start a discussion. Then Gale Warburton gave her one of his quick, piercing looks.'You agree with the writer of the essay and not with my mother?' he asked, rather abruptly.'I think I do,' she returned bravely. 'I share my brother Lyall's opinion, that a parish priest should know his people individually, and that in this way he often influences them for good. I remember so well one of Lyall's speeches—"Sermons are good for Sundays, but we want week-day religion as well. I often do my best bit of work chatting with a man in his own chimney-corner, or with a woman at her wash-tub."''Your brother and I hold very different views on this subject,' he replied rather drily; and Elinor saw that her speech had not pleased him, for he seemed to stiffen a little. He was about to say more when the sound of carriage wheels checked him. 'Mother,' he said hurriedly, 'I think you have other visitors, and I am expecting Milner on business. I am afraid I must ask the ladies to excuse me.' But as he shook hands with Elinor he said in a low voice, 'To be continued on the next convenient occasion'; but his smile was a little ambiguous.Elinor thought that moment of her speech to Frances that Sunday evening—'The Evangel was there, but all the same he is no Evangelist'—and in her heart she was sorry because she knew those words were true. A moment later two elderly ladies entered the room, and shortly afterwards they took their leave.CHAPTER XXIIN LEAFY JUNEAll the soundsAnd thoughts which still are beautiful, Youth, Song,Dawn, Spring, Renewal, and my soul was gladOf all the freshness, and I felt againThe youth and spring-tide of the world, and thoughtsWhich feigned those fair and gracious fantasies.Epic of Hades.THE weeks passed on only too rapidly; April changed to May, 'the youth, the smile, the music of the year,' and May merged into June, and still Elinor's and Bride's letters spoke in no measured terms of their increasing enjoyment and delight in their environment.Frances' face would brighten as she read. There never were two people so pleased with themselves and their surroundings, she thought.'We are so happy, Francie dear,' Bride wrote one delicious May morning as she sat at the low window of the little morning-room. Before her eyes stretched the green uplands with groups of feeding cattle dotted here and there. The leaves of the great sycamore-tree on the lawn were rustling in the light breeze. Some tiny white cloudlets flecked the soft blue sky. Bride could hear the swish of Joe Twitchett's scythe as he mowed the grass in the little orchard. Then Elinor came up the path with a great yellow basin in her hands, followed by a straggling, waddling train of ducklings. Bride laid down her pen to watch them; their wobbling gait and eager yellow bills always amused her—their hungry protests and frank greediness were so truly infantine. Rufus, who was lying on a sunny patch of grass, opened his eyes and winked at them lazily. The next moment Scrap flew round the corner with a shrill little bark of excitement.Bride gave a long, slow sigh of intense enjoyment, then she went back to her letter.'When one has made a great mistake in one's life, it is such a blessing to have done the right thing at last,' she went on, 'and to know that Lyall approves so thoroughly of the step we have taken. I have just had such a dear letter from him; it is far kinder than I deserve.'I wish you could see Elinor just now, surrounded by baby ducks; it is such a pretty sight. I really think she grows younger and sweeter every day. Do you remember that little anxious pucker in her forehead that she so often had, and how she used to compress her lips as though she were trying to keep back irritable words?—well, I never see either of these things now. Just fancy what it is, dear, to spend the whole lifelong day, from early morning to dewy night, without hearing a cross or jarring word; it is almost peaceful enough for Paradise, only, as Nora sometimes says, it is too good to last—and I am afraid she is right.'And then came Elinor's turn. Her weekly budget to Frances was often written in the form of a journal—each day's events jotted down at night—for she was never content unless that dearest sister shared all her pleasures. Every new acquaintance must be described for Frances' benefit; every new book which had afforded her enjoyment must be discussed between them. When Sister Gresham was busy, she often carried about these letters in her pocket until she could find time to peruse them quietly. Her dark, thoughtful eyes would soften as she read and re-read them. 'Dear Elinor,' she would say to herself, 'she deserves to be happy.' And then Frances would set about her work all the more cheerfully and briskly for the pleasant thoughts that filled her mind.Elinor had no lack of material for her letters; she left Bride to describe their new favourite, Meg. Bride drew such a faithful portrait of her that Frances declared that she could see the pretty creature quite plainly in her mind's-eye, from mane to tail. 'Bride looks so nice in her new driving coat,' Elinor wrote once, 'and Joe Twitchett is quite smart in his livery. The first time he wore his new clothes he said he thought himself "so foine that he was fairly 'shamed to show himsen." "I shall go next ways clean through Dewhurst for t'missus to see me." You have no idea what droll expressions Joe uses. The other day he perplexed us both by talking about a strike of potatoes, but I found out afterwards that lie meant a bushel; and yesterday he told Bride that he was regularly puckered digging the new bed in the kitchen-garden, and when she suggested having Tom Arnitt, the shepherd's son, to help him, he shrugged his shoulders and said he had no mind to work with a shack. Of course, being so very clever, my dear, you know a shack is a worthless fellow! Bride has learnt to drive so nicely. Mr. Keith kindly gave her some hints, and went out with her once or twice. He and Bride are great friends, and she does so love going to Crow Farm. The last time we went Agnes Warburton was there, and as Mr. Milner was working at home that day, he joined us at the tea-table. I don't think I ever spent a pleasanter afternoon in my life,—the Keiths are such thoroughly nice people.'As time went on Elinor and Bride paid frequent visits to Tylcote Hall. Mrs. Warburton was always sending them invitations. She asked people to meet them, and seemed to take great pleasure in their society; and Frances' clear eyes soon discovered that the growing intimacy between Elinor and Agnes Warburton was fast developing into friendship. When Frances playfully taxed her with this, Elinor did not try to deny the fact.'I am certainly becoming much attached to Agnes,' she wrote back; 'she has such a sweet, gentle nature that even Bride cannot help loving her. I daresay you are right in thinking that her character wants strengthening, and that she has not sufficient backbone, but this only makes me long to help her. I do not think I ever felt more sorry for any one in my life. She is so utterly lonely and misunderstood, and then I fancy she has other troubles; perhaps some day, when we know each other better, she will talk to me more about herself.'Frances put down her letter and went on with her breakfast.'I am glad for both their sakes,' she said to herself. 'It will be a fresh interest for Elinor. She has never had any close friendship before, and she will be such a comfort to Miss Warburton. Elinor has such a sunny nature, and her temper is so even and equable, and then she has such healthy views of life that she would be a rock of strength to a person like Agnes Warburton, who is naturally timid and despondent. How good she has been to Bride all this time. And then there is another reason why I am glad,'—and here an amused smile came to Frances' lips,—'perhaps her new friendship will make her more tolerant of Edith Holdsworth.'Agnes Warburton's increasing intimacy with the Greshams brought fresh interests into her starved life. For the first time she tasted the joys of unrestrained freedom of intercourse with congenial and cultivated minds, and sympathy with her tastes and pursuits. Elinor never allowed her to feel her intellectual deficiencies. When Agnes lamented over her inability to discuss some book in which her friend was interested, Elinor generally managed to say something comforting.'We cannot all have the same tastes,' she said once. 'Books are delightful, and they certainly add to one's happiness, but there are other things in life to interest one.''Yes, but you and Bride read so much,' returned Agnes wistfully.'Bride does not read deep books,' replied Elinor. 'She is an inveterate novel-reader, and wastes a good deal of valuable time over them. Don't worry about it, Agnes. You know my sister Frances is my closest friend; when we are together we often talk for the hour together over some book that has interested us, and even now we manage to exchange our opinions pretty freely.'How delightful it must be to have such a sister,' sighed Agnes; but Elinor only smiled quietly in acquiescence.She seldom spoke to any one about her love for Frances. It always seemed to her too sacred for discussion. Besides, there was no need of words, Frances was simply her other self. 'When one's sister is also one's friend, there is nothing more to say,' she had observed once to Lyall, and he had understood her.No, there was no need for Agnes to force herself to take interest in the books Elinor loved. There were other pursuits in which she could gladly join them. She charmed Bride by lending her patterns of embroidery and teaching her new stitches. Bride was anxious to embroider some stoles for Lyall, which should be ready by Easter; and Agnes, who had taken lessons by her own wish in the Kensington School of Art Needlework, at once offered to teach her.It soon became a regular custom for Agnes to cycle or walk over to Meadow Thorpe at least once or twice a week, and to spend a few hours with her friends, helping them garden or working with Bride. As the weather grew warmer, Elinor would have her little tea-table placed under one of the shady trees on the lawn. Hammond Keith, coming over one afternoon on business, found an amazing little group on the lawn; for beside the three dogs, there was a small grey Persian kitten with a blue ribbon round its neck—Bride's latest acquisition—and about a dozen ducklings of all sorts and sizes wobbling round them and dibbling in the grass with their yellow bills; while an Alderney cow, with her calf beside her, watched them over the low paling, and Meg, who had been turned loose for a scamper was rolling with sheer joy in the rough hummocky grass.Hammond was only too willing to take the seat Elinor offered him and avail himself of her kind hospitality; but Agnes, who had been talking quite cheerfully all the afternoon, became suddenly very silent. Elinor was afraid that he noticed it. More than once she saw him looking at her; then his manner changed and he seemed a little thoughtful and abstracted, and by-and-by he made some excuse and took his leave rather hurriedly. Agnes did not recover her former cheerfulness; it seemed as though something had broken that spell of her quiet enjoyment. Perhaps Bride was conscious of it, for she said a little abruptly that she must not waste her time any more chattering, as she wanted to practise her new songs.Elinor had some business with Joe Twitchett, but she promised to be back soon, and as Agnes intended to walk home, she suggested that she and Rufus should accompany her a part of the way. Agnes sat still in her place.When her friends had left her, and as the full rich tones of Bride's voice reached her, the old sad, wistful look came back to her eyes. How sweet the evening light was! A thrush near her was pouring out a perfect stream of liquid melody; the bird-notes seemed to blend with Bride's voice. Flurry, the grey kitten, was playing hide-and-seek with Scrap, in and out between the garden chairs. Meg, who had rolled to her heart's content, and had not yet worked off her exuberant spirits, suddenly kicked up her hoofs and galloped down the meadow, startling a group of young heifers as she passed them, while an old grey horse, who was quietly feeding under the walnut-trees, looked after her a little contemptuously. 'A foolish young thing,' he seemed to be saying to himself.Elinor did not keep her long waiting; and as soon as Agnes had taken leave of Bride, they started for their walk, the dogs accompanying them. A little way up the lane, Elinor thought she heard a faint mew behind her, and there was Flurry, with uplifted tail, trotting after them, in pursuit of her beloved playmates.Elinor picked tip the tiny creature, and it nestled contentedly in her arms until it looked like a grey ball of wool; and then they walked on again. 'I am afraid I must not go far,' she observed presently, 'for I ought to finish my letter to Frances before supper.'Then Agnes assured her that she did not in the least mind a solitary walk. 'Of course I love to have you,' she continued a little hurriedly, as though she feared Elinor would think her ungrateful for her kind attention. But Elinor, who was very quick, perceived that Agnes would feel it a relief to be alone. It was evident that her spirits were oppressed, and that she found it difficult to talk; and after another quarter of a mile, Elinor turned back. She had scarcely walked a dozen yards before she heard the sound of hoofs on the road, and the next moment Hammond Keith rode past. He smiled and raised his hat, but did not stop to speak; then he quickened his pace and was out of sight in a moment.'He has overtaken her,' Elinor said to herself as she walked quietly on, and a perplexed, thoughtful expression came to her face. 'I am afraid she was anxious to avoid this.'Elinor never knew when or how she had guessed Agnes's secret, and even now things were by no means clear to her. Human nature is not always wise, and though it was quite possible that Hammond Keith might presume to set his affections on a woman so far removed from him by the circumstances of her birth and culture, Elinor felt sure that any such attachment would be hopeless. Even if Agnes were tempted by her loneliness to reciprocate such feeling, Elinor knew her well enough by this time to feel certain that her sense of duty would induce her to do her best to stifle it. 'Agnes is not the sort of woman to voluntarily lose caste in the eyes of her family; she would never have the courage to brave her mother's and brother's displeasure,' she said to herself, 'and I can only hope and pray that her feelings are not really touched; but in her place——' But Elinor did not finish her sentence. She and Frances held rather broad views on this subject. In their opinion love—in its highest, truest form—was often a miracle-worker and did strange things.Bride was rather inquisitive on the subject, and had said more than once that Agnes was a little odd in her manner to Mr. Keith. 'I never can make up my mind whether she likes or dislikes him,' she had said; but Elinor had always tried to put her off the scent, and her assumed indifference and want of response had rather surprised Bride. But Elinor was only acting up to Frances' rule.'If you want a person to forget anything,' she had once remarked, 'take my advice, and do not talk about it. You know how quickly an ember dies down if you leave it alone, but if you fan it you have a flame in a moment.' And Elinor had followed this wise counsel.Elinor would not have dropped a hint of her suspicions even to Frances. The sole remark she had ever made was that one brief word in a former letter, that she feared Agnes had other troubles; and Frances would be the last person to ask any awkward question. She finished up her letter as cheerfully as possible that evening, though with some difficulty, as Flurry insisted on sitting close to the blotting-pad and showed a playful desire to pursue the flying pen. Pens had an unholy attraction for Flurry, and more than once her tiny paw had inserted itself in the ink-bottle. Elinor carried her off to the kitchen at last, and finished her letter in peace.'Bride has just told me that she has a new trouble,' she wrote, 'but you need not be alarmed, my dear—it is only that the day is not long enough for all we have to do. I think she is right, and certainly time seems to fly at Meadow Thorpe. There, it is supper-time, and I have not said half that I wanted to say. Good-night. God bless you, as old nurse used to say.—Your devoted sister, ELINOR.'CHAPTER XXII'NICE, WELL-CONDUCTED YOUNG PEOPLE'Soar with the birds and flutter with the leaf;Dance with the seeded grass in fringy play;Sail with the cloud; wave with the dreaming pine,And float with nature all the livelong clay.HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.Imperfection means perfection hid,Reserved in part, to grace the after time.BROWNING.JUNE was unusually warm that year, and people were glad to take advantage of the fine weather. Garden parties, tennis, and croquet were the order of the day; and as the Greshams had frequently to drive five or six miles to some of the houses, it often entailed the loss of the entire afternoon and evening.When Bride looked at her neglected embroidery and thought of the scanty fragment of time devoted to her practising, she felt her complaint was justified, and that there was really no time for everything; but Elinor soon consoled her.'It would be wiser to put it by for wet days,' she said very sensibly, 'for the weather is so lovely that it would be wrong to stay indoors. We have every right to make holiday, as it is our first summer here; besides, our friends are so good to us that it is our duty to respond to their kindness'; and though Bride pretended to grumble, she was in reality charmed with their increasing popularity.Joe Twitchett was soon left to his own devices, for how was a person to garden all the morning when she had to drive half a dozen miles in the afternoon and to play tennis or croquet half the evening? as Bride feelingly observed.Haymaking, too, had begun in earnest; and all the farmers were busy. When the Croft meadows were mown, Hammond Keith rode over daily to superintend and keep the men to their work.Mrs. Deans sometimes complained that she had scarcely time to breathe. 'I am properly tired, Miss Gresham,' she would say. When Elinor went into the little farmyard to speak to her, she generally found her at her usual work, feeding two lambs who had lost their mother. One of them was slightly lame. Billy was a great favourite with Patience and followed her everywhere. Once, when they were starting somewhat late for a drive, they saw Patience, in her white sun-bonnet, walking rather wearily up the lane, weighed down by the baskets and heavy can she was carrying. She looked ready to drop with fatigue.'There wasn't a creature to help me,' she said, as Elinor stopped to remonstrate; 'every man and boy are in the field, for they want to get in some of the hay to-night. I am taking the master his tea along with George's and the other men's.' Then Elinor made Joe Twitchett get down, and Patience and her baskets were taken up in his place. Bride peeped into the basket. She thought the fresh lettuces, and hard-boiled eggs, and thick bread and butter must have been delicious viands to the hot, hungry men. Patience thanked them gratefully for the lift. 'I feel quite peert, and thank you kindly, Miss Gresham,' she said, as she turned into the field where Hammond Keith was working with his men.The great hay-carts went to and fro all the next day, and the large rick in the yard soon rose above the garden wall at Wildcroft. From the little lime walk leading to the ruined churchyard, Elinor and Bride could watch the men at their work—morning, noon, and night the sweet fragrant scent permeated the air.After their early supper they would often stroll down the lane towards the rickyard. The men worked late; the solemn-faced Sibley boys would be playing with Jessie and Gilbert Deans, the farm dogs barking and scampering about the place. Patience, with tired face and aching limbs, would be redding-up the house place. 'I am fairly puckered,' she said one evening, with a weary little smile, 'and George is so done that he won't even look at his victuals.''I think he would enjoy some of our cold lamb and salad,' returned Elinor kindly. 'I will go back to the house and send jenny across with it; there will be plenty for both, Mrs. Deans.' And that night the tired workers fared sumptuously on the good things Elinor had so thoughtfully provided. George Deans and Patience never forgot that act of homely kindness.Elinor and Bride generally met Hugh Milner when they went to Dewhurst Vicarage or to the Rectory at Mexfield—he was a very good tennis and croquet player—but he was rarely at the Hall. Elinor soon discovered that he was never at his ease in Mrs. Warburton's presence, although he was on excellent terms with the vicar, and she shrewdly suspected that he secretly resented the patronising manner of his hostess. She once spoke of it to Bride.'I don't think Mr. Milner likes coming to the Hall,' she said. 'I am sure Mrs. Warburton means to be kind, but she seems to keep him so at a distance, and I am certain he dislikes her little patronising manner. Why cannot she treat him in the same way that she does Mr. Pennington and other young men?' But Bride only shrugged her shoulders and pursed up her lips, as though she could say plenty if she liked. Bride did not in her heart care much for Mrs. Warburton, in spite of all her flattering little attentions.But one afternoon a light was thrown on the subject. Elinor and Bride had been invited to tea and croquet at the Hall, and Elinor, who was rather a good player, had just finished a game with Mr. Milner as her partner. It was an unusually warm evening and Elinor felt a little tired, so Mr. Milner found her a comfortable seat in a shady nook, and threw himself down on the grass beside her. They had been good friends from the first, but of late Hugh Milner showed a decided preference for her society, and would talk to her about his work as though he felt sure of her sympathy. She had just been asking after Kathleen, and in reply he had handed her a letter from his sister which he had received that morning. 'There is a very lengthy message in it for you,' he said smiling; but as he looked up at her there was a quick gleam of admiration in his dark eyes that made Elinor take the letter a little hastily.Elinor was looking her best that afternoon; the soft cloudy-grey voile and large picture-hat just suited her. The mingled gentleness and bright intelligence of her expression always charmed people, but this afternoon she was more than usually attractive; Hugh Milner thought he had never seen a face which pleased him so well.At this moment both of them were conscious of voices on the other side of the hedge. Mrs. Warburton was talking to an old friend of hers who had come to stay with them. She and Mrs. Venables had been school-fellows. She was a delightful old lady but rather deaf; this compelled Mrs. Warburton to speak rather loudly.'A distinguished young man? I am sure I do not know of whom you are speaking, Gertrude. Edgar Pennington is not at all good-looking, and Captain Morley is not here,—besides, he is red-haired.''But the young man I mean is very dark,' returned Mrs. Venables, 'and he is extremely handsome, and his features are clear-cut.''Oh, that must be our clever young architect, Mr. Milner, who is repairing the church,' replied Mrs. Warburton rather coldly. 'Gale thinks so much of him—he will have it that he has great talent—and he has asked me to show him a little attention. He lives with the Keiths at the Crow Farm. He and his sister are very nice, well-conducted young people, but their father is only a teacher of music, and of course——''Shall we walk on—I am quite rested now,' observed Elinor; but she did not look at Hugh as she spoke. Something in Mrs. Warburton's bland explanation made her feel hot and uncomfortable. But before she could recover herself, Hugh's voice broke the awkward silence.'Listeners seldom hear any good of themselves, Miss Gresham; but it is a blessing to know that Kathleen and I are nice, well-conducted young people—if our hostess had only added that we were quite respectable!' and the young man gave a mirthless little laugh which jarred on Elinor's nerves.'Oh, it was too bad!' she returned indignantly. 'It was not so much Mrs. Warburton's words as her tone which was so galling. But do not think any more of it. She is excessively proud and gives her tongue too much licence; I have often heard her say things to her daughter which made me feel inwardly angry.''Mrs. Warburton is not prouder than I am,' returned Hugh in a hurt voice; 'besides, she has every right to tell the truth to her friends, and I am a fool to mind it. It is absolute truth that my father teaches music; but if you could see him——' and here some strong feeling checked his speech.'I hope to have the pleasure of seeing him some day,' returned Elinor quietly, and her voice was so sweet and sympathetic that the young man's wounded feelings were mollified.'Thank you—you are very kind,' he said simply, and the cloud vanished from his brow. 'Shall we sit down here? As there is no hedge, we need not be afraid of eavesdropping, and there is something I meant to tell you.' Then Elinor at once seated herself.'I had a letter from my dear old dad yesterday,' he continued. 'He quite hopes to spend his vacation at Tylcote, and Kathleen will come with him; they will be here all August.'Elinor looked pleased. 'That is indeed good news. How delightful for you to have your father and sister together.''It will be his first visit,' replied Hugh, 'and he does so love the country; he will be like a child out of school. Mrs. Keith and I have been discussing matters; I shall give up my own quarters to them, and find a room in the village.''Why should not Kathleen come to us, Mr. Milner?' asked Elinor kindly. 'It is true that I am hoping to have my sister Frances in August, but we have two spare rooms.''You are very good,' he returned gratefully, 'and Kathleen will be much touched by your invitation; but I think it would be better for her to remain at Crow Farm. You see, I shall be much taken up with business, and we should neither of us like to leave father alone. It is his only holiday in the year, and we want him to enjoy it thoroughly.'Then Elinor assured him that she perfectly understood him. In reality, it was only kindness of heart that had prompted her to give the invitation, for she would much rather have no other visitor while Frances was with her. Frances quite hoped to spend the whole of August at Wildcroft. Things were in such excellent working order, and she had such an efficient staff, that she thought that she might safely take a good holiday.Hugh seemed to have forgotten the painful little episode by this time; he began talking about his father. 'I think he is the kindest-hearted and most unselfish man I have ever known,' he observed, 'I never heard him say a harsh or uncharitable word in my life; and he is generous to a fault, he would give the coat off his back if he thought another man wanted it. Kathleen and I have to look pretty sharply after him, for he is so simple that he will believe any plausible story.'Elinor smiled; she thought Hugh's father must have a very lovable nature, and hardly wondered that his children were so devoted to him.'What selfish little brats children are,' went on Hugh; 'they take everything as a matter of course. It never entered my head that I had any special reason for feeling grateful because my father was good to me; it is only since I have grown up and come to man's estate that I realise the sacrifice he must have made to give me so good an education. When I think of the difficulty he must have had with his small means, I feel that nothing I can do in return will ever adequately repay him.''Parents do not expect to be repaid,' observed Elinor.'I was once thoughtless enough to express my regret in his presence that it had been impossible for him to send me to a public school, and I cannot forgive myself even now for the pain that remark caused him. "I did my best for you, Hughie lad," he said so sadly; "but, as your mother knew, such a thing was not in my power."''I should not remember that speech, Mr. Milner; one sometimes says a thoughtless word, which one repents as soon as it is uttered.''Ah, but he has never forgotten it, neither have I. And do you know, Miss Gresham, at times the old regret crops up afresh. When I hear my clerical friends talking about their schools—Mr. Morrell is an old Etonian, and Mr. Warburton was at Harrow, and Mr. Monkton at Rugby—when two of them get together they are always back in old playing fields. "It was when I was prefect we had the best team for football," and so on. All their interests and friendships seem to date from their school or college days. A day-boarder at a private school is rather out of it.' Then Elinor regarded the young man very kindly.'I know so well how you feel about it,' she said gently. 'My brother Lyall was at Harrow, and he always says his school-days were the happiest time of his life, and that his most lasting friendships were formed there; but he had plenty of friends at Lincoln. One can understand how much you have missed.''It only proves what an important factor in life money can be,' returned Hugh, 'since the want of it has prevented my enjoying other boys' advantages.' But Elinor interrupted him.'That is true; but at the same time I expect your severer training taught you self-reliance, and you worked all the harder because you knew that you had to depend on your own exertions. Oh, there comes my sister-in-law; she evidently thinks I am lost!' But they both rose a little reluctantly.The conversation had interested Elinor deeply. Hugh Milner had never been so unreserved with her before; she felt that she understood him better than she had ever done before. He was proud and thin-skinned to a fault, but his nature was essentially manly, and he was very warm-hearted. There had been something winsome and boyish in the way he had expressed his contrition for his thoughtless words. Altogether Elinor had thoroughly enjoyed her talk, but some instinct made her forbear to repeat Mrs. Warburton's speech to Bride. 'Mr. Milner and I had a long talk,' she said, as they drove back in the coolness of the evening; 'he tells me that his father and Kathleen are coming to Crow Farm for August,' and this piece of news seemed very welcome to Bride.Elinor's acquaintance with the vicar of Tylcote had not made much progress; she saw him frequently, and he was always very civil and pleasant in his manner, but after a long conversation which had taken place between them in the garden of Dewhurst, he had rather retired into his shell again.On that occasion he had come up to her and rather abruptly announced his intention of resuming the argument about the duties of a parish priest, and the advantages or disadvantages of indiscriminate house-to-house visitation. Elinor, who knew that she had a dangerous adversary, would willingly have shirked the discussion, but Mr. Warburton was peremptory.There was nothing for it but to stand up for her colours manfully and fight her best; but in the heat of the argument she said a little more than she intended; but, as she told Frances afterwards, the vicar had been so aggressive and overbearing, and seemed so determined to make her speak, that it was impossible to take refuge in silence. 'It will be my own fault if I ever let myself be drawn into a discussion with him again,' she observed. 'He really was excessively provoking, and his cool, satirical manner was so exasperating; but I had my say, and told him Lyall's opinion on the subject, and then I left him to have the last word; but though the conversation took place three weeks ago, I can see he has not forgiven me.'Elinor had gone up to St. Monica's Lodge for a week-end, and she and Frances were enjoying one of their old confabs in the Sister's room.'I suppose Mr. Warburton was not pleased when he found that he could not convert you to his opinion?'Yes, I am afraid he thought me very obstinate and illogical, only he was too polite to say so; but just at the last he gave me rather a withering glance.'"All women talk alike," he observed; "they let feeling guide them, they never argue out a thing on a calm, reasonable basis. Well, Miss Gresham, you know the old saying, 'A man convinced against his will, is but an unbeliever still,' and with all respect for your brother's opinion, I am afraid I still maintain my own." And then he gave a dry little laugh, and just then Agnes brought him a message from her mother and he left me. I could not help feeling a little injured, for he had forced the discussion on me, and had no right to be offended because I told him the truth.' And Frances had fully agreed with her.The whole thing had made Elinor feel a little uncomfortable. Though the vicar was always civil to her, he seldom showed any desire to converse with her; but more than once, when she was talking to his mother on some subject that interested her, he seemed taking quiet stock of her words.'I wonder why Mr. Warburton watches you so, Nora?' Bride once said. 'The other evening, when we dined at the Hall, and you were talking to Mr. Morrell about Lyall's passion for mission work, I saw him shaking his head and looking at you in such an odd way, rather like Fluff, our old owl, when he wanted to pounce on that little rabbit.''Bride, how can you be so ridiculous!' returned Elinor calmly. But she had been quite aware that the conversation had not pleased Mr. Warburton; he had been very silent that evening, and as soon as possible had carried off Mr. Morrell to his study. 'We have those plans to look over, before Milner comes round in the morning,' he had said to him; and though Mrs. Warburton had scolded him for breaking up the party, she had spoken to deaf ears, and the ladies had to amuse themselves for the remainder of the evening.CHAPTER XXIIIGAD'S BARNWe'll keep our aims sublime, our eyes erect,Although our women-hands should shake and fail.BROWNING.I'll bind myself to that which once being right,Will not be less right when I shrink from it.KINGSLEY.DURING Elinor's brief stay at St. Monica's Lodge she and Frances had called at Grove House. Augusta had received them very graciously, and her manner to Elinor was more affectionate than usual. She insisted on their remaining to tea, and told Perry not to admit any visitor while her sisters were with her. She asked after Bride, and seemed interested in all that Elinor told her about their life at Meadow Thorpe; she even promised to come down for a couple of days before she left town. Bride made a naughty little grimace when Elinor gave her this latter item of news.Augusta had made all her plans, and seemed in excellent spirits—evidently solitude suited her. In July she intended joining some friends in a trip to Norway, and seemed to be looking forward to it with much pleasure. Frances told Elinor afterwards that she was certain that Sir Ralph Peyton would be one of the party. It was true that his name had not been mentioned amongst the other people, but something in Augusta's manner convinced her that he would not be far off.Augusta did not expect to return to the Boltons until early in September, and then she would be busy breaking up her household and preparing for her Eastern journey. She and Mrs. Oscar Nugent fully intended carrying out their long-cherished plan. They would start for India in October, and be probably absent from England six or eight months, both of them having set their hearts on seeing Japan; and it was possible that they might extend their visit a little.As Lyall did not wish Grove House to be dismantled, and would prefer things to remain as they were until his return in April, Augusta intended to leave it in charge of an old servant. She and her husband were thoroughly reliable people, and any member of the family desiring a day or two's accommodation could always have a room ready for them. Mrs. Huntley was a good cook, and as her husband had been a butler, he was quite capable of table service, although his health would not allow him to remain in service or to do any continuous work.Elinor thought this an excellent arrangement; it would be a great convenience to her and Bride when they came up for their Christmas shopping. It would be a pleasant change for them to spend a week or two in town, and they could easily bring Rachel up with them to assist Mrs. Huntley.Augusta paid her promised visit to Wildcroft towards the end of June, and she actually remained three days; and Elinor, and even Bride, was surprised to find how well it passed off. Augusta could always make herself charming if she liked, and on this occasion she laid herself out to be agreeable. She thought the house extremely comfortable, and seemed struck with the beauty of the view, though she could not disguise from them that the intense stillness and isolation almost appalled her.'I could not endure it for three weeks' she said afterwards to Frances. 'At night the thought of that little churchyard seemed to get on my nerves. I used to wonder at Bride and Nora. They seemed to think it bliss to wander over those big meadows, hatless and without a sunshade. One evening they wanted some new-laid eggs, and they took me to some farm a little way out. Bride was bareheaded as usual. I never was so tired in my life—walking on those rough field-paths; and there was Bride positively running like a little school-girl, with all the dogs after her. I don't believe Lyall would have known his wife if he had seen her.'Augusta was better pleased when they drove her over to Tylcote Hall. The Warburtons seemed to impress her most favourably. Elinor felt rather proud of her sister that day. Augusta was undeniably handsome, and she was always well dressed, and then she had such good manners, and Mrs. Warburton seemed immensely struck with her, and even Mr. Warburton showed her a great deal of attention.'I wonder your sister has never married,' observed Mrs. Warburton to Elinor, as Augusta and the vicar came slowly up the avenue towards them—he had taken her to see the church. 'She is exceedingly good-looking, and must have been greatly admired in her youth.' And Elinor quietly assented to this.'I do not think she will marry now,' was all she said.'I think Mrs. Warburton and her son delightful people,' observed Augusta graciously, as they drove down the village; 'but Miss Warburton seems to me rather a colourless sort of young woman. I can't say I took to her much.''Oh, Gussie, she is such a friend of Nora's,' exclaimed Bride. 'We are both so fond of Agnes, and she is really a dear creature. Oh, there is Mr. Milner coming out of the Perrins', Nora. Why don't you stop to speak to him?' for Elinor was driving that day. But she shoot her head; and Hugh Milner only lifted his hat with a pleasant 'Good evening' as they passed him.Augusta looked at him rather curiously. 'Who is Mr. Milner?' she asked. And Elinor coloured slightly as she explained. 'He is a very good-looking young man,' returned Augusta; but her interest had cooled a little, and she asked no more questions.Augusta's visit had been a great success; nevertheless, Elinor was sensible of something like relief when she waved her good-bye from Maskell Station. There had been no jarring word from first to last. Augusta had been perfectly kind, agreeable, and conciliatory; and yet Elinor had been conscious of a sense of effort on her own part, and she was surprised to find that Bride shared this feeling.'Haven't I been a good little girl? 'were Bride's first words when Elinor joined her under the sycamore. 'Gussie has been quite decent these three days; but oh, Nora, it is just lovely to be by our own two selves again. I feel like Patience Deans—" I am properly tired."' And though Elinor laughed in an amused way, she owned afterwards that she was properly tired too.About a week after Augusta's visit Bride announced her intention of going over to Crow Farm. Elinor tried in vain to dissuade her. It was a close, thundery afternoon, and hardly fit weather for bicycling; but Bride persisted in her resolution, so Elinor said no more. Bride often had a restless fit when she had received one of Lyall's letters, and any electricity in the air seemed to set her nerves on edge. Elinor knew that a thunder-storm always alarmed her, so she had good reasons for advising her to remain at home; but when Bride was in one of her contrary moods she was apt to disregard any wise counsel, being rather a perverse young person.'I wonder what dear old Lyall has written to vex her?' Elinor said to herself; for, contrary to her usual custom, Bride had not shown her the letter. 'Perhaps he has said something about April, and that has upset her; for I am sure she is dreading his coming home, and yet sometimes I fancy that she longs to see him. Well, as Frances says, they are an oddly matched pair, and must fight out their own battle'.Elinor never bore a grudge against people when they refused to take her advice, so she walked to the gate to see Bride start. 'Of course I think you a little goose,' she said tolerantly. 'You had better go very slowly, unless you want to work yourself into a fever. Perhaps, if it gets cooler in the evening and the storm passes off, I may come a little way to meet you.''Don't trouble about me,' returned Bride quickly. 'If there is a storm I shall certainly stay at Crow Farm until it is over; nothing would induce me to be out in it alone. But Joe says he reckons that I need not be anxious, for he thinks it will all blow over.' And then Bride rode off.Elinor had letters to write. Then she ensconced herself in a hammock-chair under the elm-tree, and set herself to finish her book; and it absorbed her so entirely that she quite started when the grandfather's clock in the hall chimed six.Bride would soon be starting on her return journey, and if she wished to meet her it would be as well to put on her hat. She rose hastily and summoned the dogs; then she looked a little dubiously at the sky.It still looked somewhat unpromising, and there was a feeling of heaviness in the atmosphere. Elinor was convinced that a storm was brewing, though it might not break before night. She left word with Patience that the mare was to be brought into her stable, for Meg had plenty of liberty given to her, and often wandered at her sweet will over the Croft meadows.No, it was not the weather for walking, she thought; and Rufus and Scrap evidently shared this opinion, for they kept close beside her, and showed no intention of quickening their pace. 'I shall not go far, Scrap,' she said, as the little animal looked up at her in a beseeching way, 'and if it rains I will promise to carry you.' For Scrap was a spoiled doggie, and she hated discomfort of any sort—being a very dainty and self-indulgent little person.Elinor picked her up presently, and then she was more content. Elinor's thoughts were busy with August plans. She wanted Frances to have a real holiday. The garden had been so utterly neglected that it was impossible to get the croquet lawn in order this year, so she had no entertainment to offer her friends; 'but she could ask a few nice people each week, and give them tea on the lawn, people always enjoyed that.' Frances christened them afterwards 'Sycamore Teas.'Elinor was so occupied by these pleasant thoughts that she was quite unaware that she was more than half-way to Tylcote, until an ominous drop of rain wetted her cheek, which was immediately followed by another, and roused her to the fact that a heavy thunder-shower was threatening her. Elinor was sufficiently town-bred to dread a wetting, and she immediately looked round for a place of refuge. To her relief it was close at hand.She had just reached a corner of the road where a little blind lane led to some farm buildings. Here there was a disused rickyard with an old barn, which from age and want of repair was almost a ruin. The place had a bad name, ever since a man had hanged himself there, and not the boldest and the most courageous of the farm-helpers would have ventured near Gad's Barn after dark.Elinor had heard the story, but as it was daylight she did not hesitate to seek shelter there. She was far more afraid of tramps than ghosts, but she knew that Rufus would allow no one to molest her; when Rufus showed his teeth, the most audacious beggar would have shuffled off in alarm.Elinor had no time to lose, for each moment the drops fell faster. The gate had been torn from its hinges and lay on the ground, and the yard itself was full of useless lumber—disused cart-wheels, broken axle-poles, old tin cans with their sides battered in, broken flower-pots, rabbit-skins, and other miscellaneous rubbish—through which she picked her way somewhat gingerly. The door of the barn had long since been used for firewood, and part of the outer wall had a wide gap in it, but a pile of brushwood filled up the aperture. Elinor entered so hurriedly that she did not for a moment perceive that two other people had taken shelter there also. The barn was large and the huge piles of brushwood shut out the light; but Rufus, whose scent was never at fault, suddenly uttered a short bark of delighted welcome—lie had recognised some friends. The next moment a man's figure started up from a dim corner and came forward. To Elinor's intense surprise, it was Hammond Keith. Yes, and surely she knew that grey dress? But if it were Agnes, she could not see her face, for she had turned her head aside, and Elinor felt sure she was crying.'Oh, I am so sorry to have startled you!' she exclaimed; 'but it is raining so fast.' Elinor spoke a little nervously, for she was afraid that she had intruded at an awkward moment. Something had evidently happened. Hammond Keith did not look like himself; he was very pale, and his expression was set and stern, and there was an angry light in his blue eyes that made him look more like a Viking than ever.'I wanted to meet my sister-in-law—she has been spending the afternoon at Crow Farm,' she continued hurriedly, for she thought it better to take no notice of Agnes, but to give her time to recover herself; 'but now I am afraid we shall miss each other.''I will go out and look for her,' returned Hammond.'Oh no, it is raining so fast—why should I interrupt you and Miss Warburton?' Elinor hardly knew what to say; Mr. Keith's manner was so strange that she felt more uncomfortable every minute.'We have finished our talk—I was just going,' he said rather shortly; 'so I may as well look for Mrs. Gresham and send her to you here. Good-afternoon, Miss Warburton; the rain will not last long, I believe, it is only a thunder-shower.' And then he walked out, kicking aside the lumber that lay in his path in rather an impatient way.'Oh, Elinor, dear Elinor, do call him back!' exclaimed Agnes excitedly. 'I cannot let him go like this; he is so angry with me, and I cannot bear it. But no'—checking herself with a faint sob—'it would be no use; he would not come back.'Elinor felt shocked. Agnes's fair face was swollen with weeping, and as far as any one so gentle could be, she seemed almost distraught. She was trembling from head to foot with some uncontrollable emotion. Elinor sat down beside her on the heap of brushwood and put her arm round her.'Dear Agnes, do not cry so; you are making yourself ill, and how are you to go home in this state?' Elinor said this purposely, for she wanted to rouse her, for there was something hysterical in her agitation.'Gale will not notice,' she returned, but she was evidently trying to control herself. 'Mother is away, and will not be back until to-morrow night.' Elinor felt somewhat relieved when she heard that.'Agnes dearest,' she said very tenderly, 'would you like me to come to you to-morrow, and then we can have a long talk about this trouble? I have long felt that there is something between you and Mr. Keith, though I do not pretend to understand it.' But Agnes's answer a little surprised her, it was so frank and straightforward.'It is very simple, Elinor; but I hope the truth will not shock you. Hammond Keith has asked me to marry him three times, and three times I have refused him; and now he says he is disappointed in me, and that he will never ask me again—and I want him so!' And Agnes began to sob again in the same hopeless way.'Hush, dear—there is one other question I want to ask, and Bride will be here directly. Why did you refuse Mr. Keith if you really loved him?' Then Agnes looked at her in astonishment.'Have I no sense of duty? Nora, surely you have not forgotten mother? Neither she nor Gale would tolerate such a marriage. They would say I was a disgrace to the Warburtons—that Hammond Keith is not a gentleman.''Then they are wrong,' returned Elinor indignantly, 'for a finer and truer gentleman never walked God's earth.' And as Agnes looked at her as though she were unable to believe her ears, she continued hastily, 'But we must not talk any more, for I am sure I hear Bride's voice in the lane. I will drive over to the Hall quite early and you shall tell me everything. I want to help you if I can, my poor dear, and perhaps it may comfort you to talk it all out.''Nora,' exclaimed Bride's voice outside, 'where have you hidden yourself? The rain has stopped, and Mr. Keith says we must hurry home, as it will come down again.''Go—go to her,' whispered Agnes; 'I would not have her see me for the world. I shall go home too, for I dare not stay here alone; and I shall see you to-morrow.' And then Elinor joined Bride.'What a time you have been, and why did you not answer when I called?' And Bride glanced at her rather inquisitively. 'You look as though you have seen a ghost, Nora. They say that Josiah Gad still walks on summer nights. I don't know what is the matter with everybody this evening,' she continued, as Elinor remained silent. 'Mrs. Keith is worried and has a headache; she says that it always aches when there is thunder in the air. And Mr. Keith looks as though he had swallowed a poker and it had disagreed with him.''Bride, how can you say such absurd things!' But Elinor did not answer as brightly as usual. Happily Bride was too busy talking herself to notice her lack of response. The little change had done her good, and she had recovered her spirits. She had been helping Mrs. Keith with her patchwork quilt. 'It will be quite beautiful when it is finished,' observed Bride enthusiastically; 'and I am going to write to Miss Felkin and ask her to send me any little snippets of silk and satin that she can spare.'CHAPTER XXIV'YOU DO NOT KNOW MOTHER'Sincerity, a deep, great, genuine Sincerity, is the first characteristic of all men in any way heroic.—CARLYLE.Is there no stoning save with flint and rock?TENNYSON.ELINOR was tired and indisposed for talk that evening, so after supper she begged Bride to sing to her, while she rested in the easy-chair beside the little side-window overlooking the lime walk leading to the ruined churchyard. It was a wet evening, and the splash of raindrops was audible every now and then. The two candles Bride had lighted only irradiated the space round the piano, the rest of the room was in shadow. Elinor was glad of the soft dimness. Now and then she closed her eyes, as Bride's rich deep tone broke on her ear, but more than once she opened them with a start as the little scene in Gad's Barn came again before her—Agnes's agonised face and the look of stern repression and suffering on Hammond Keith's. She had sent him away, although she loved him. Even now, she could hear the sad, vibrating tones of Agnes's voice, when she had ventured to ask her the reason. 'Have I no sense of duty? Nora, surely you have not forgotten mother?' Ah, here lay the difficulty, and Elinor sighed as she thought the path of duty might be a thorny one for Agnes.'I had better put it all out of my mind until to-morrow,' she said to herself, ' for how am I to judge until I know more? It would be a difficult position for any woman, but for Agnes it must be sheer martyrdom.'Bride looked somewhat surprised when Elinor announced her intention the next morning of driving over to the Hall. 'I hear Mrs. Warburton is away, and I shall be rather glad to get Agnes to myself for an hour or two,' she observed with such well-assumed carelessness that Bride suspected nothing.'Why don't you bring her back to luncheon?' returned Bride cheerfully, 'and then we could have a nice afternoon together.' But Elinor hesitated.'I was thinking of remaining there to luncheon,' she returned. 'Suppose we leave it open, Bride. You might turn your morning to account by having a good long practice and writing to Frances; it is quite three weeks since you sent her a line; she told me in her last letter that you were getting dreadfully lazy.''Well, I shall see,' returned Bride dubiously. 'My workshop wants tidying, and I might spend a profitable morning putting things tidy; and if you really prefer to remain to luncheon at the Hall, I will write to Frances in the afternoon.' And this programme was fully approved by Elinor. Bride would not miss her if she were busy, and she would be free to devote herself to Agnes. She would start quite early, so as to ensure a long morning without interruption.On her arrival at the Hall, she found Agnes in a little upstairs sitting-room which Mrs. Warburton had given her for her own use. It was very small and not at all well furnished, as odds and ends from other rooms had found their way there; but Agnes did not find fault with it. It overlooked the pleasant kitchen-garden and one of the side lawns, and she could keep her canary and her books there; and she liked to sew by the open window and listen to the doves cooing in the trees. Agnes was looking white and ill, Elinor thought, but she had recovered herself a little, and as she kissed her friend with her wonted affection, she said in a low voice, ' Oh, Elinor, what must you have thought of me yesterday?''That is a question that need never be asked between you and me,' returned Elinor with assumed cheerfulness; 'you may be sure that I never think anything but good of you under any circumstances. Now, would you like me to take off my hat? I am quite willing to stay as long as you would like to keep me.' Then a little smile crossed Agnes's worn face; she had slept little, and the long wakeful hours had been full of concentrated misery, and now Elinor's kind face brought her some degree of comfort.'Oh yes—please stay,' was her reply. 'Gale will be glad to have some one to whom he can tall: during luncheon, and I do not expect that mother will be back until nearly eight.' Then Elinor needed no further invitation. A few minutes later they were comfortably settled.'And now you are going to tell me all that I want to know,' she began softly. Agnes had taken up her work, but it dropped from her hands when Elinor said this.'You mean about Mr. Keith?''Yes, about him and yourself—and everything you care to tell me,' replied Elinor. 'I want to understand how such a thing can have happened. Perhaps if I know everything from the beginning, I might be able to help you.' But Agnes shook her head.'It is not in human power to help me, I fear. But I know how good you are, and I feel I can trust you. Once or twice lately I have tried to speak to you about him, but I could never bring myself to say the words. Elinor, you know what a lonely life I lead?''I know it well, dear.''I have sometimes wondered why I was brought into the world, for there seems no place for me anywhere. I have this lovely home, but it is not really a home to me—neither mother nor Gale need me.''You must not say that.''Why should I not say it if it be true?' returned Agnes sadly. 'Oh, I know that they do not mean to be unkind, or to hurt my feelings. But just think what it means to me, Elinor, to live here under Gale's roof, and to feel that I am nothing to him—that if anything happened to me I should hardly be missed.''I am sorry to hear you say this of your brother,' replied Elinor rather gravely. She wondered if Agnes was not taking a morbid view of things.'It has been so all my life,' she went on; 'we have not a thought in common. Gale is very different from other men, and only mother understands him—those two are everything to each other.''And you are left out in the cold?''Yes,' with a tired sigh. 'You see, I am not clever, and if I ever venture to assert my opinion, Gale looks surprised, and mother takes me to task for interfering in a matter that I do not understand. Neither of them ever takes the trouble to explain things to me. Don't look so indignant, Elinor. Mother really means to be kind, but she is so quick and clever herself that she gets impatient with my slowness. I think,' continued Agnes, with simple pathos, 'if they had been more patient with me and made me happier, I should have got on better.'Elinor was silent; she could not trust herself to speak. No, there might be no active unkindness, but years of repression and heart-loneliness had robbed Agnes of her youth. She was like some delicate musical instrument left out to the mercy of the weather—some of the sweetest notes were dumb or jangled.'I used to be so unhappy,' went on Agnes, 'and then it was that I began going to Crow Farm. Mother seldom asked me where I had been, and she never seemed to object when I told her I had been with Mrs. Keith. She would shrug her shoulders and say sometimes " there was no accounting for tastes," and she would wonder what I could see in that good woman; but she never tried to put a stop to my visits.'I am afraid, Elinor'—in a low voice—'that she had no idea how often I went in those days. Mrs. Keith was my chief comfort. I cannot tell you how good she was to me.''Bride has taken a great fancy to her—she always says she has such a big heart,' observed Elinor.'Yes, indeed. When I was with her I used to realise what a mother should be. It was beautiful to see her with her son. Just fancy, Elinor, though those two are so happy together, Mrs. Keith has never got over the death of her only daughter. Nellie was only a child when she died, about six or seven, I believe, but Hammond—Mr. Keith, I mean—tells me not a day passes without his mother talking about Nellie.''She has spoken of her once or twice to Bride. She opened a drawer once and showed her a pile of little frocks belonging to Nellie. There was a doll and a doll's tea-set as well.''Yes, I know,' returned Agnes; 'she has often told me that she never could bring herself to part with Nellie's things. "It was a heavy cross," she once said, "when the Good Shepherd took my Lammie home, but I know Nellie is safe. But, Miss Agnes, my dear, it was cruel hard, for I always did so long for a daughter to fend for me when I got old. But there, I ought not to complain when my Ham is such a good son."'Agnes seemed losing herself in these pathetic recollections, but Elinor recalled her to the point.'Of course, during these frequent visits at Crow Farm, you were often in Mr. Keith's company?' Then a little flush came to Agnes's cheek.'Yes, but I was seldom alone with him. He would come in and out and say a word or two, but if he were busy he would only stay a moment. He used to think himself in the way, but after a time we began to know each other better. He used to talk quite freely to me, and I would get Gale to lend him books, because he was so fond of reading.''That was kind of you.''It was nothing to what he did for me,' returned Agnes. 'He found out that I was not happy at home—I suppose his mother told him—and he was always thinking of little things to please me. He would bring me such beautiful flowers—rare hot-house flowers—and that little canary was his gift. He told me once that I ought to have a bird, and next time I saw him lie came into the room with the bird-cage in his hand. "I know a man in Leicester who breeds canaries," he said, "and I took a fancy to this knowing little fellow. Isn't he like a ball of gold? He is quite young and you can tame him easily."' And as though to verify these words, Agnes put her face to the cage, and the canary flew down from his perch and pecked at her lovingly. 'Sometimes he takes hemp-seed from my lips,' she went on, 'and when I open his cage he will often fly straight to me and perch on my shoulder. Goldie is such a dear little companion to me.''Agnes dear,' observed Elinor quietly, 'did you never suspect that Mr. Keith was falling in love with you?'Never,' returned Agnes, with such an air of sincerity that Elinor could not doubt her. 'Such a thought never entered my head. He just seemed a kind, good friend. I used to be so happy talking to him and Mrs. Keith. It was always so homely and comfortable and cheerful at Crow Farm. The atmosphere suited me perfectly, no one seemed to expect me to say clever things, or found fault with my denseness and slowness. I never felt in the way with either of there. And then one day I had a shock, and everything was spoilt.'Elinor drew a long breath. Agnes was coming to the point now.'I had been detained at Crow Farm by a heavy storm, and Mrs. Keith was very busy and had been obliged to leave me. I was unusually low that day. Mother had been finding fault with me and had said things which were hard to bear, and I was just thinking of them and trying to keep the tears back when Mr. Keith came in. He seemed surprised to see me, but his face lighted up as though he were pleased; but the next minute his manner changed, and he sat down beside me and asked me to tell him what grieved me. His tone was so kind that I could not help crying; but he made me tell him everything. And then—and then—oh, Elinor, can you conceive my feelings?—he suddenly turned to me and asked me to marry him. I was so frightened that I absolutely could not speak.'"You need not answer me now," he said, "for I see my abruptness has given you a shock. I never meant to have said this to you, though I have loved you as a man can only love once in his life. I think it has grown out of pity and the longing I had to make your life happier."'Elinor, I wanted to silence him, but he was not to be repressed.'He told me that he had cared for me from the first, but that he never intended me to know it. "What right had I, a working farmer, a mere yeoman, to presume to love one so much above me?" And then he went on to say that it was only my evident unhappiness that gave him courage to speak.'"Miss Agnes," he said, "I know what sort of a life you lead at the Hall. It is not life at all—you are just eating your heart out with the dulness. Neither your mother nor brother really need you. If you could accept the love of an honest man, who has never been untrue to man or woman in his life, I would work for you, and you should never be lonely again." And then he held out his hand to me, but I did not take it—I dared not. I was not even sure that I cared for him, except as a friend. You see, it had come upon me like a thunder-clap, and I was always a little slow. I think he understood how I felt, for he looked a little sad and downcast; and then he said in his old kind way that he did not wish to trouble me, only he could not take back his words. And then he begged me very earnestly to look upon him still as a faithful friend, and not to punish his presumption by staying away from the farm. I was so thankful when he said that, for how could I have borne to lose my friend!''And then he asked you again to marry him'Yes, but not for a long time—not until nearly a year afterwards. I knew that I was beginning to care for him too much, but I always hoped that he would not find it out. But one day—I was not well, I had influenza, and I was still rather weak—Mrs. Keith asked me to go over one afternoon, as she thought the little change would do me good. I wish I had not gone, for before I left he had spoken to me again.''And you could not stop him?''Oh no, with all his even temper he has a very strong will. He told me that he was very unhappy about me—that I was ill, and that my life was killing me. "You are sacrificing yourself and me too," were his words. And then'—here Agnes flushed almost painfully—'he told me that he knew, though I would not own it, that I had grown to care for him. And, Elinor, I could not deny it. I had hard work with him that day, for I was weak and he was very masterful.''But he was not angry with you?''No, he was very gentle with me, but he was firm and would have his say; but we parted friends. Then that afternoon at "The Chimney-Corner" I was afraid that he would find an opportunity to speak to me again. When you were all in the meadow, one thing he did say, that he had bought the cottage in the hope that I might one day consent to live in it; but I made him no answer. And then there was yesterday, when his anger nearly broke my heart.''I am not sure that he had any right to be angry,' observed Elinor doubtfully.'Oh, but he is of a different opinion. He thinks when two people love each other, and there is nothing radically wrong on either side, that no power on earth ought to separate them. "The choice lies with you and you only," he said you are not a young girl, and it is for you to decide whether you could be happy as my wife." Elinor, how was I to deceive him? To be with him in that cottage, just we two, leading our simple life, and all the rest of the world outside, why, it would be Paradise! What was that you said yesterday?—that he was the finest and the truest gentleman that ever lived. How I blessed you for those words. And they are true, absolutely true; if it were not so, I could never have loved him.''And yet you had the courage to refuse him?''Yes, and now he will never ask me again. He says that I am breaking his heart as well as my own, and he is angry, because he declares I have no right to do it. He will not understand that I am trying to do my duty.''Are you sure that, under the circumstances, it is your duty, Agnes?' Then Agnes fixed her troubled gaze on her friend's face.'Hush, don't tempt me! Mother would never forgive me, or Gale either; they would rather let me suffer all my life long than do such a thing. Mother would be hard and pitiless. They are both so proud, and how am I to fight against them? Gale would be bad enough, but mother would be the worst. Oh, you do not know mother, Elinor; when her will is opposed, she can be hard like flint, and it is not easy for her to forgive'—and Agnes buried her face in her hands with a long, hopeless sigh. CHAPTER XXV'THERE IS ALWAYS A WAY'I only saw how I had missedA thousand things from blindness;How all that I had done appearedScarce better than unkindness.FABER.To be weak is to be miserable, doing or suffering.—MILTON.AT this moment the gong summoned them to luncheon. As they entered the dining-room they found Mr. Warburton had taken his usual place, but he was too much engrossed with some paper he was reading to be aware of their entrance. Agnes paused beside him a moment. 'We have a visitor, Gale,' she said rather timidly. Then he looked up hastily, and the next moment started up from his chair with an apology. Elinor thought he seemed pleased to see her, for he shook hands more cordially than usual, and during luncheon he made himself exceedingly pleasant.Once he looked at his sister rather curiously. 'I am afraid you have a headache, Agnes,' he said, and it struck Elinor that his tone was kind. And as Agnes quietly owned the fact, he advised her to lie down a little. Then he turned to their guest.'I do not know if you propose to drive back this evening,' he observed courteously, 'but the carriage will be going to Maskell Station to meet the 7.10 train for my mother, and you could easily be put down at Wildcroft.''Many thanks,' returned Elinor, 'but I told my sister-in-law that I should walk back, and I know she intends to meet me half-way. I told her that I should probably start about half-past fix.''Then in that case I can offer myself as an escort for the first mile or so,' he returned, 'for I have some business at Dewhurst, and as your time just suits me, I shall be at your service.'Then Elinor thanked him. She was not sure that the prospect of a tête-à-tête walk with the vicar especially appealed to her, but she could hardly refuse his civility.'I think you are rather a favourite with Gale,' observed Agnes, as they went upstairs together; 'he seldom troubles himself to talk to people unless he is pleased with their society, but he can make himself agreeable when he likes.'Elinor merely smiled at this. She was glad, for Agnes's sake, that her brother should treat her with civility; but the more she was brought into contact with the master of Tylcote Hall, the less she seemed in touch with him. She felt there was nothing in common between them. Lately, the quiet watchfulness of his manner had slightly embarrassed her. It sometimes appeared to her that every word she spoke was silently weighed in the balance. Now and then she would dismiss this idea as an absurd fancy. 'I am not so vain as to suppose that my words have any importance in the eyes of a man like Mr. Warburton,' she would say to herself; for Elinor had no illusions about herself, and was rather humble-minded on the subject of her own merits. But the next time she looked up and met Gale Warburton's fixed, inscrutable glance she was conscious of an uneasy feeling. 'He is not the sort of man that I understand,' she had said in her last letter to Frances, 'and yet I have seen all sorts and conditions in my day.'They went back to the old subject after this. Elinor said little; she felt that it would not be right to offer advice on such a subject. Agnes could be sure of her sympathy, but the decision must rest with her own conscience. At her age it would be hardly possible for her to judge amiss. But the very vagueness of this speech seemed to confuse Agnes, and she begged, nay, implored her to speak more plainly.'I never was in such need of help,' she said piteously, 'and if you fail me, Elinor!''I shall not fail you, dear,' returned her friend tenderly; 'but all the same I dare not take such a responsibility on myself. The circumstances are so unusual that one cannot treat it as an ordinary case. Oh, if I had only Frances' clear head and wise judgment—I am too impulsive to weigh things calmly and dispassionately. It is a terrible thing to go against one's own people—especially one's mother—and yet——''Oh, Elinor, what can you mean? Surely you are not taking Hammond Keith's part?'I am taking no one's part,' she returned hastily, 'but I confess lie has my sympathy. You have not meant to do wrong, Agnes—your very ignorance of the world has made you unconscious—but it seems to me that all these years you must have tempted him,—your loneliness and unhappiness, and the freedom of your intercourse. Mr. Keith is a strong man, but even the strongest man may be too sorely tried.''Oh, Elinor, you are making it out to be all my fault'—Agnes spoke in a wounded tone.'I would not hurt you if I could help it, dear,' she returned, 'but I think it is only right to say the truth. In my opinion you made a grievous mistake in going so much to Crow Farm, when you were aware of Mr. Keith's feelings towards you. If you had broken off the intimacy then, things would never have come to their present pass.''Yes—yes, I see you are right,' exclaimed Agnes penitently, 'and the blame lies at my door. But for my weakness I should never have betrayed my feeling to Hammond, and given him the opportunity of asking me again. Oh, if it were only my unhappiness; but to feel that I have spoiled his life!'Elinor was silent. She had determined that nothing would induce her to plead Hammond Keith's cause. Since last evening she had hardly had time to make up her own mind on the subject. She was the last person in the world to encourage a daughter to act in opposition to a parent. But, as she had just said to herself, the circumstances were too unusual to allow of it being treated as an ordinary case. Agnes was, if not an unloved daughter, an unappreciated one; her life was peculiarly lonely; her nearest relations did not need her; she was wasting all the sweetness and graces of her womanhood in a cold, ungenial atmosphere. And now a good, honest, upright man had offered her his love and protection, and wished to transplant her to a more peaceful environment, and she knew how gladly and willingly Agnes would have gone to him. There is little doubt she would be happy with him,' Elinor said to herself. 'She is so simple in her tastes, and so little would content her. In her case, I think—that is, I am almost sure—that I should have done it—if—if—I cared for the man.' And there was a little flush on Elinor's cheek.Elinor's silence—a silence that evidently covered strong feeling—seemed to trouble Agnes.'You have made me uncomfortable and now you will say no more,' she observed; 'this is hardly fair. You will take no one's part, you say, neither his nor mine; but, at least, you might tell me the right thing to do!''I tell you?' in quite a shocked voice. 'Dear Agnes, you are not a child—surely you know that this is for your own conscience to decide.''But if I cannot decide?' in an agitated voice. 'Oh, do be patient with me a moment. You know my wishes. I can never be happy without Hammond, and he knows it.''Then why should not your mother know it too?' returned Elinor quietly. 'Why should you not tell her all that you are telling me now? Make her understand plainly that it is for your happiness to marry Mr. Keith.''Tell mother all that! Oh, Elinor, how can you ask me to do anything so impossible? Do you suppose she would listen? Before the first sentences were spoken, she would be crushing me with her scorn and her hard speeches. She would tell me I had disgraced myself—that I was unworthy to be her daughter and Gale's sister; and between them both I should have no peace, day or night. Oh, you do not know them, Elinor—their pride and their hardness. They would never forgive me, unless I promised them faithfully never to speak to him again.''There is no need for you to give such a promise.''Oh, there is no need for that or for many things. Most people would say there is no need for me to lead such a narrow, loveless life.''I might even bring myself to say that too.''There we are of one mind. But all the same I must dree my weird. If I were like you or Bride it might be different. You are both stronger than I. You would neither of you submit tamely to my situation.''Agnes, you know my opinion on this subject. If you would assert yourself more, it would be far better. You are too submissive and yielding. At your age it is hardly right. Your brother has simply no right to dominate you as he does.'Agnes sighed. 'Gale has been better lately. His manner has been far kinder, and he has done little things to please me. But you are right. Do you think that I do not know, and realise every day, that if I had more courage, some way could be found even out of this?''There is always a way,' returned Elinor; and then she hesitated for a moment. 'If you are so afraid of your mother, how would it do for Mr. Keith to speak to your brother?''To Gale? Oh no, that would never do. Gale would at once go to my mother—he never does anything without her—and they would insult him so. I know just the things they would say to him. Gale would be outwardly civil, but lie would be so cold and sarcastic; and mother——''Well, Agnes?''I hardly like to say it, but mother would be absolutely cruel to him. She would accuse both him and me of being underhand. She would say just the things he would find hardest to bear, and between them they will make him angry.''I am not sure that that will do him any harm. He is a strong man, and he will be fighting the battle for you as well as himself. He will be playing for a high stake, and he will not lose his temper. I think you could trust him, Agnes.''I could trust him with my life and everything I hold sacred,' she returned in a trembling voice but I cannot bear that he should be hurt by my own people.''I think myself that it would be best for you to speak to your mother first,' returned Elinor. 'I fear that, after all, this is the only way. You are not the sort of woman who would lend herself to a clandestine marriage—you have far too high a sense of duty. It remains that you must either give up Mr. Keith and try to live your life without him—for you could not possibly go on visiting at Crow Farm—or you must summon up your courage and make a clean breast to your mother. Tell her in plain language that your whole happiness is involved, and that it is your wish to marry Mr. Keith.''And then, Elinor?''And then for a time, no doubt, things will be very terrible, and you will have to be brave and patient. It may be that, after a time, you and Mr. Keith will be compelled to take things into your own hands, and that one day you may walk out of your brother's house openly and in the light of day, with the fixed intention of becoming Hammond Keith's wife. I am no prophet and have no gift of second-sight, so I cannot say that such a thing will happen.''No, indeed. But, Elinor, you almost take my breath away, for you seem to make impossible things appear possible. I must think over all this.''Yes, dear, think—and pray that you may make no mistake.'Then, as Elinor almost whispered this, a sweet expression came in Agnes's face. 'I never forget that,' she returned in a low voice. And after this they said no more.It was a lovely evening when Elinor started for her homeward walk with the vicar. The long strain of her talk with Agnes had wearied her, and the delightful freshness of the air, cooled by the thunder-showers of the previous night, seemed to revive her.'How beautiful everything looks,' she said, as they walked down the village street. The vicar assented, but without enthusiasm. He was not a man to be sensibly affected by the sights and sounds of Nature. He was glad when the day was fine and the sun shone pleasantly, for such things added to his material comfort; but he seldom paused to admire the effect of sunset clouds, or to gather a wild-flower that peeped at him from the hedgerow. In Wordsworth's words—A primrose by a river's brimA yellow primrose was to him,And it was nothing more.Not that there was any deficiency of imagination about Gale Warburton; he was simply a man of one idea—his studies claimed all his interest and enthusiasms. The beauty of a Hindoo poem would thrill him to instant response, and the discovery of some new monument would kindle in him a perfect fire of eagerness, but his eyes and ears were sealed to the small everyday pleasures of life.As they turned into the road, Mr. Warburton began speaking of his sister. 'Agnes does not seem like herself to-day,' he observed. But Elinor was spared a reply, for at that moment Hugh Milner passed them on his bicycle. She thought he looked at them a little intently as he rode by, but did not attempt to stop. The vicar nodded to him and resumed the subject. 'I was saying something of the kind the other day to my mother—that I thought she did not seem in her usual spirits.''Did your mother agree to this?''I am not sure—I think she only remarked that Agnes had her moods like other people.''I fancy your sister leads too quiet a life, Mr. Warburton,' returned Elinor bravely, for she felt that this was an opportunity not to be lost. 'Agnes has so few interests, and she is so much alone.''There is no need for her to be alone, with my mother in the house,' he returned quickly; 'but unfortunately Agnes is not much of a companion to her. You see, Agnes is a good creature, but she is a little dense; she has all the virtues of a German Hausfrau, but what interests us simply bores her.'There was no use denying the truth, so Elinor let this pass. 'Agnes is very simple,' she went on, 'but in her own way she has plenty of ability. It is not possible for us all to be alike, Mr. Warburton. Your mother is a clever woman, and you and she are close companions and friends, but it seems sad that Agnes should be lonely.''She is not more lonely than other girls of her age,' he replied rather brusquely. 'Pshaw! I always forget she is hardly a girl now. What is it she wants? She has a good home and plenty of friends, her time is her own and no one interferes with her, and she has just enough money to supply her own wants—surely these things are to be reckoned as blessings?''Without doubt. But in my opinion Agnes would be happier in a home of her own—she is very domestic in her tastes.''That is exactly what I said, Miss Gresham,' he returned triumphantly, 'that Agnes has the soul of a German Hausfrau. As a wife of some plodding, honest squire she would be in her right sphere and do excellently; but I am afraid from what my mother tells me that she has missed all her chances.''Oh, I hope not. But surely it is not necessary that her husband should be a country squire.''No, of course not'—with a short laugh. 'But she must marry some one decent, or I should certainly refuse to give her away. We have no democratic ideas at Tylcote Hall. In fact, my mother has often found fault with Agnes because she is rather fond of mixing with people below her. And if you will allow me to say so'—turning to her with a pleasant smile—'this is why we so fully approve of her friendship with the ladies of Wildcroft.''You are very kind,' returned Elinor, colouring a little; for, in spite of his ingratiating manner, there was a touch of condescension in the vicar's tone.What more he would have said remained unspoken, for at that moment, to her great relief, she saw Bride coming towards them.'There comes your sister-in-law, and here is the road that I must take for Dewhurst,' he observed, and then Rufus dashed up to them. But perhaps the vicar was not in a hurry to keep his appointment, for he walked on with them for another half-mile before he took his leave.CHAPTER XXVIHAMMOND KEITHThe rank is but the guinea's stamp,The man's the gowd for a' that.BURNS.Princes and lords are but the breath of kings.An honest man's the noblest work of God.BURNS.THINGS seemed to move rather rapidly after this.When, later on, Elinor looked back at this period of her life, she always spoke of it as 'the eventful year,' or 'the year of surprises.' 'One thing seemed to happen after another,' she said once to Frances. 'There were first our flitting from Grove House and our settling down at Wildcroft, and then there was poor Agnes's love affair, and Bride's difficulties, and——'but Elinor did not finish her speech.It was certainly strange that the very afternoon after her visit to the Hall she should accidentally come across Hammond Keith.She and Bride had passed a pleasant, peaceful day, working and either talking or reading aloud in their little encampment under the sycamore. The July day had been somewhat sultry, and neither of them had felt disposed for exertion; but when it grew cooler, Bride, who was expecting a parcel of work materials from London, was anxious to drive to Maskell to fetch them, though Elinor could not be induced to accompany her.'Why don't you let Joe Twitchett fetch them on Monday?' she objected; but Bride refused to wait.'If you are lazy, there is no reason why I should be lazy too,' she remarked virtuously; 'it is quite cool now, and a little exercise will be good for Meg.' And then she went off singing so blithely that any one would have thought that she had not a care in the world.Elinor smiled half tenderly and half sadly as Bride's graceful figure disappeared into the house. 'What a child she is, she said to herself; 'she can never wait for her good things. Joe is going to the station on Monday and she knows that, but she would rather drive all those miles there and have her parcel to-night,—that is so like Bride.'The garden felt a little dull without her companion, so she summoned Rufus for a stroll up the lane; and she had just reached the point where it branched off into the main road when some one cleared the five-barred gate beside her and almost lighted at her feet. To her surprise it was Mr. Keith. He seemed rather taken aback when he saw her.'I hope I have not startled you, Miss Gresham; I had no idea that there was any one the other side of the hedge. I generally take my gates in that fashion.' Elinor glanced at him rather anxiously. He was a little flushed and red from his day's work, but there was a heaviness in his aspect and a constraint in his manner that was foreign to him; he looked to her as though lie had slept badly. It was quite evident that he had not yet recovered from the shock of Agnes's refusal, though probably his first outburst of anger had died out.'You were at Tylcote Hall the greater part of the day yesterday?' he said abruptly.Elinor looked at him in some amazement. 'How could you guess that?' she asked.'I saw you pass, when I was in the long meadow with George Deans, quite early in the morning, and as I knew Madam was away, I made up my mind that you were going to the Hall; and then in the evening Milner told me that he had just passed you and the vicar.''Our roads lay together for a mile or so, and I was expecting to meet my sister-in-law.' Elinor never knew why she offered this explanation—perhaps the surprised expression on Hugh Milner's face recurred to her memory. 'Yes, I spent quite a long day with Miss Warburton.' And then she paused as though uncertain how she should proceed; but she was rather astonished when Hammond Keith placed himself beside her.'May I walk a little way with you?' he said very gravely. 'You were in Gad's Barn that evening—I left her with you—and I am sure that she told you everything. Am I right?''Yes, you are right,' she returned reluctantly, for it was impossible for her to evade the truth; 'but she did not tell it all that evening, she was far too upset. That is why I went over yesterday, Mr. Keith, because I was so concerned about her.''Will you tell me how she is?' he asked in a low voice; but he did not look at her as he spoke.'She looks ill, and is very unhappy,' returned Elinor.'And it is my fault!' with a sudden vehemence that startled her. 'Miss Gresham, for two nights I have hardly slept. I cannot forgive myself for my anger. I was harsh and rough with her; I forgot myself and told her that I wished that I had never seen her face—that she had spoiled both our lives; and now I feel that I could go out and hang myself.''There is no need for your saying such things,' returned Elinor gently, and her whole woman's heart seemed to go out to him as she spoke. 'Miss Warburton bears you no ill-will for your hard speeches. On the contrary, she blames herself for much that has happened. She certainly thinks that her weakness and imprudence have placed you both in a false position; and, Mr. Keith, I think she is right.''No,' he almost shouted—'a hundred times no! I will not allow you to say this. It is true that all these years she has honoured me with her friendship, but she has never said a word to encourage my presumption—no child could have been more innocent and unconscious.'Miss Gresham, will you tell her this? Thank God, she has at last found a friend who can be a comfort to her.''I wish I could comfort you and her too,' replied Elinor kindly. 'Mr. Keith, what is to be done? for this state of things is terrible.''I do not know,' he returned gloomily; 'I have done all I can, but my hands are tied. I said my last word in Gad's Barn that evening.''Oh no, not your last word'I mean, that I said all that I could say to induce her to change her mind. I told her the truth, Miss Gresham—that she was breaking her own heart and mine too, that she was losing her youth and would lose her health too, and all from a mistaken sense of duty. If her people needed her—but they do not; but she is so afraid of them that she dare not speak.''And she will not allow you to speak for her?'Then he suddenly faced round at her, and she was astonished at the change in his expression. It was as though her words had given him a gleam of hope.'If she would only give me the right to do so,' he said with suppressed eagerness, 'I would go to the vicar to-morrow. I am afraid of no man,' drawing himself up proudly. 'Miss Gresham,' standing still in the road as he spoke, 'will you do this thing for me?—will you persuade her to let me tell her brother the truth?'Elinor looked at him as he stood before her. Not a creature was in sight—the long country road stretched before them in its still emptiness. He was in his working dress, and his face was a little haggard and weary from sleeplessness and the strain and stress of trouble, but as she looked up at him silently she thought that she had never seen a manlier or more honest face, or one that any woman could more absolutely trust. 'The man's the gowd for a' that,' as Burns said, and few country squires could have compared with Hammond Keith.'Will you do this thing for me?' he repeated.'There is no need, I have already suggested it,' she returned slowly; 'but Agnes seems more afraid of that than anything. She says her mother and brother will insult you and say just the things that you will find it hard to bear.' Then for the first time a smile crossed his face.'Hard words break no bones,' he replied composedly. 'They may say what they will, but I should refuse to quarrel with them. Miss Gresham, you do not know what a man feels when he is in a position like mine. There is the longing to do something—to fight if needs be. Anything—anything but to sit down and mope until one is desperate.''Yes, I know.' But here Elinor looked round her with a little dismay; the road seemed strange to her—surely they had wandered far. 'We must turn back, for I seem a long way from home.''No, it is not far,' lie replied. 'But I have no right to tire you in this way; but I was so full of my own troubles. You will let me see you to the head of the lane? and then I fear I must leave you, or my mother will be anxious.'Mr. Keith, that was one question I wanted to ask you—does your mother know about all this?''She knows it now,' he replied gravely. 'That evening I got back from Gad's Barn I was so upset that there was no hiding it from her. It seems she had guessed at things pretty correctly, but she had thought it best not to speak to me until I told her of my own accord. Mother is like that. She can keep a still tongue when she likes, but when it comes to comforting a man there is no woman on earth to beat her.'Elinor smiled; she was glad to hear him say that.'She told me not to lose heart, for she knew Miss Warburton would not long hold out; and she wanted me to set about doing up "The Chimney-Corner" and furnishing it. She said so again last night; but it seems a strange thing to do while affairs are in this muddle. But mother says if things come to the worst it can easily be let.''I think it is rather a good idea.' And then again his face lighted up.'There's a deal to be done to it, and it would take off my thoughts a bit to get things ship-shape. And then it would be ready for her if she makes up her mind to take me. I can't help hoping, Miss Gresham, although I am so down at times, and this talk with you has done me a world of good.''I am so thankful to hear you say that. I only wish I could do more for you.''If you would only tell her how sorry I am that I was so rough and impatient, you will do me another kindness. And tell her—please tell her—how ready I am to go to the vicar.''I am not sure that I can tell her that.''Well, well, you know best,' with a sigh; 'but it seems to me the most straightforward, honest thing to do. They need not fear that I should bring her to poverty, Miss Gresham. I have Crow Farm and "The Chimney-Corner" and a clear five thousand at the bank. I could give her her little comforts.''I suppose you know Miss Warburton has a little money of her own?''It is not much,' was the answer—'just sufficient for her clothes and her pocket-money; but as far as I am concerned, I wish she had not a penny piece. Good heavens, what is money, or even rank, that they should separate two people who love each other and are willing to face the world together? When will there be an end to all this sham and humbug? But here we are at the head of the lane.''And you have all that long walk to Crow Farm?''Oh, I shall sleep all the better for it. Good-night, Miss Gresham, and thank you a hundred times for all your patient sympathy.' And then he wrung her hand and turned away, and Elinor walked quickly in the direction of Wildcroft.Bride had already returned, and was deep in the contents of her parcel. The drawing-room chairs were strewn with patterns, silks, and strips of canvas. 'It is the most delightful parcel,' she observed rapturously, 'and the shades of silks are just delicious! You look tired, Elinor, but I am far too busy to sing to you to-night.'Elinor had plenty of food for her thoughts that evening. Her conversation with Hammond Keith had greatly interested her. With all her sound common sense and equable temperament, there was an unsuspected substratum of romance in her nature. Probably Frances was the only one who guessed this. She once declared playfully that she never knew any one out of her teens who tool. such interest in a love-story, whether it were truth or fiction, and Elinor had not attempted to defend herself; any human life-story appealed strongly to her, and she knew it, and a lover always came to her in the light of a hero.The next day was Sunday, and they spent it as happily as usual. Bride always declared that Sundays at Meadow Thorpe were different from any others.It was their custom to go over to the early service at Dewhurst. The walk over the dewy fields in the morning freshness was undescribably beautiful. Now and then they breakfasted at the Vicarage; but they generally preferred returning to Wildcroft and spending the sultry hours of the day under the shady trees on the lawn. In the evening they would walk over to Dewhurst again for evensong.Elinor had fully expected that a note from Agnes would be on the breakfast-table on Monday morning, and she was much disappointed not to see her hand-writing—until Bride suggested that she might probably come over later in the day. But when evening came there was still no word or sign of her. Elinor felt vaguely uneasy. She could not well go over again to the Hall, as a second visit so soon might cause a little surprise; besides, Mrs. Warburton would be there, and she might find it difficult to get any quiet time with Agnes.'I expect I shall have a letter to-morrow,' she observed, as she rose from the supper-table. 'If I do not hear, I shall send Twitchett over with a note in the afternoon, and ask Agnes to spend a long day with us on Wednesday.' And Bride fully approved of this. She wanted to show Agnes her new patterns, she remarked, and ask her advice about a special shade. 'Besides, she has not been over to see us for the last ten days'—and Bride spoke in quite an injured voice.The note was written and sent over to Tylcote Hall, and late in the afternoon Elinor had her reply. Joe had had several errands to discharge, and had been detained a long time at the farrier's.'Well?' exclaimed Bride a little impatiently, as Elinor folded up her note and remained silent. Her expression was a little troubled.'Agnes is not well,' she returned hurriedly; 'she cannot possibly come. She has written very hurriedly; she wants to know if I could go over early to-morrow afternoon—about three if convenient, as she will probably be alone. Mrs. Warburton and her son will be lunching at Mexfield Rectory.''Oh, you will go, of course,' returned Bride; 'you had better let Joe drive you over, for it is far too hot for you to bicycle'; and Elinor agreed to do this. But when Bride had left the room she read her note again, and there was still a troubled look in her eyes.Dear' Elinor,' Agnes wrote, 'I cannot possibly come. On Monday I was quite ill; it was a dreadful day' (underlined), 'and I am still quite a wreck, and fit for nothing but bed. I dare not keep the messenger waiting, so cannot explain. Do you think you could possibly come to-morrow early in the afternoon, not later than three? Mother and Gale are going to a luncheon party at the Morrells' to meet the Bishop, and they will not be back until after five. Do come if you can.—Your loving but most unhappy friend,AGNES.'CHAPTER XXVII'I INSIST ON KNOWING THE TRUTH'Truth is our only armour in all passages of life or death.—EMERSON.Unless you are deliberately kind to every creature, you will often be cruel to many.—RUSKIN.AGNES'S hurried and somewhat incoherent note disturbed and puzzled Elinor. She had left her on Friday in a most unhappy and vacillating state of mind, unable to see her way, and too utterly unnerved and shaken to decide on any definite line of action. She could neither accept nor reject advice, every obstacle seemed magnified a hundredfold by her fears. The course Elinor had ventured to suggest, a frank unburdening of her mind to her mother, seemed so utterly impossible that the very thought paled her cheek, and yet it was equally impossible to give up her lover! Under these circumstances, it was inconceivable that in these few days Agnes should have summoned up resolution to do the very thing which she had declared to be beyond her strength, and that she had spoken to her mother; and yet the underlined words certainly gave that impression. 'On Monday I was quite ill; it was a dreadful day.' Surely Agnes would never have used such strong language for any ordinary disagreement with her people. Something unforeseen must have happened to force her hand. And when Elinor arrived at this point she very wisely determined to put it out of her mind as much as possible.As it was best to occupy herself, she proposed to Bride that they should walk over to Sweet Hawes to see Mrs. Twitchett and the new baby; and as Bride seemed delighted with the idea, Elinor filled a basket with good things, while Bride made up a parcel of small garments that she and Elinor had made in their leisure moments.The walk over the fields was always pleasant on summer evenings, and Elinor felt insensibly refreshed by the calm stillness and beauty of the scene. Sibley the waggoner was bringing up his team, and Elinor stood still for a moment to watch him as he opened the gate for the great cart horses to enter the meadow. Two or three young colts came to meet them, whinnying with joy and welcome. All day they had basked or frolicked in the sunshine while the older horses had been at work, and now for them also was rest, and the enjoyment of cropping the sweet, juicy grass. One old white horse with shaggy hoofs suddenly lay down and began rolling solemnly; then he staggered up and commenced feeding with the absorbed fixity of purpose peculiar to quadrupeds.When they reached the Twitchett's neat cottage at Sweet Hawes, they found Joe working in the little front garden. His eldest child, a round-faced mite of three, was filling her little pail with weeds and stones by way of helping 'feyther'; the other little girl was in her cot.'How is your wife this evening, Joe?' asked Elinor, as he rose to his feet and took the basket from her hand.'Well, the missis is but nesh this evening, Miss Gresham; the heat has tried her.''And the boy?''Oh, the boy's foine'; and Joe smiled broadly, for he was immensely proud of his son and heir. 'Don't you trouble about the basket, I will help it home'—a speech which made Bride give a suppressed chuckle of enjoyment.They found the pale another a little languid from the warm sultriness of the day, but full of shy eagerness to show the ladies 'Joe's boy.' 'My man had set his heart on a boy,' she said, as she drew the covering from the little dark head that nestled beside her. The wrinkled red face, puckered like an old man's, and the bright slits of eyes rather amused Elinor; but Bride, who was a baby-lover, had the infant in her arms in a trice, and was rocking him as though nursing babies was her daily occupation. Bride had always such deft, clever ways with children; she could keep them happy for hours. Elinor stifled a sigh as she watched her. If she could only see Bride with a child of her own, she thought, what a mother she would be, how her whole nature would enlarge and develop under the fuller life! Bride never looked sweeter than she did that evening. 'Look at this little crumpled fist, Elinor!' exclaimed Bride suddenly. 'He is a very intelligent little fellow really, he is trying to hold my finger. Mrs. Twitchett, I wonder if you and Joe would let me stand godmother for him?''Dear heart alive, ma'am, Joe will be just cockered up with pride—he do think so much of the ladies up at Wildcroft'; and Mrs. Twitchett beamed. She was rather a pretty-looking young woman, but extremely delicate; but she made Joe a good wife.'I hope you will choose a nice name,' continued Bride, as she rocked the infant on her lap.'Well, ma'am, my master has set his heart on calling him John, after his feyther. Joe always thought a deal of his parents.''John,' repeated Bride, rather dubiously. Then her expression brightened. 'Well, you can always call him Jack,' she observed.And then, as Elinor announced that they would be late for supper, Bride unwillingly parted with her future godson; and all the way home she talked about the christening frock, upon which she meant to set to work the very next day. Happily, Bride never minded laying aside one sort of work for another. Sometimes she had at least a dozen pieces of work in hand at once, but they generally got finished some time.Elinor set out the next day for the Hall as early as possible. The parlour-maid who admitted her told her that Miss Warburton was lying down in her bedroom; she had intended coming down to luncheon, but had turned a little faint while dressing, and had lain down again.'I never saw Miss Agnes look so bad,' she continued; 'but my mistress said it was the heat and that there was no need to send for Dr. Gibson.'Arnold had been some years at the Hall, and was a reliable and valued servant. Elinor always liked her honest, good-tempered face. She had a kind heart, and Agnes had often spoken of little voluntary services and acts of thoughtfulness on Arnold's part. When she went home for her summer holidays, she would bring her back some lovely flowers. Her father was a nurseryman in Rugby. Agnes was much attached to her, and had once nursed her through an illness—the Arnolds had never forgotten this. Arnold's tone conveyed to Elinor that she had not shared her mistress's opinion with regard to the doctor, but she knew her place too well to dissent openly.Agnes's room was at the back of the house, and overlooked the kitchen-garden. It was a large, pleasant room, and very prettily furnished; only the previous year Mrs. Warburton had fitted it up afresh to suit her daughter's taste.Agnes was lying on the bed in her white dressing-gown, propped up with pillows, that the faint breeze could reach her. She looked extremely ill, but Elinor at once saw that Mrs. Warburton was right; it was not a doctor she needed, her malady was of the mind.She looked at Elinor, without speaking, for a moment, but the silent pressure of her friend's hand was eloquent enough.'Dear Agnes,' observed Elinor in a low voice, 'I am grieved to see you like this. Your letter made me very anxious. I was sure something had happened, but of course I could not understand what it could be.''No, for I could not explain'—rather faintly. 'I was afraid it would trouble you, but I did so want to see you, and to tell you everything. Oh, Elinor, such an unexpected thing happened!—Hammond Keith wrote to me.'Her manner rather surprised Elinor. 'Has he never written to you before this?''Never, never—not a line or note has ever reached me before; and when I saw his handwriting, for the moment I did not recognise it, though I have read more than one letter of his to Mrs. Keith. But I see you do not understand all the difficulty; neither did he, poor fellow, or he never would have done such a thing. Wait a moment, I shall be better directly, and I must speak.' Elinor gave her some water, and sat beside her silently until the brief weakness passed.'It is this stupid faintness,' she went on; 'but it has passed again, and I do not want to lose time. Perhaps you do not know that we have a private post-bag at the Hall, and mother, who is always down first, generally opens it and sorts the letters. Gale's correspondence is very large, and his letters are always placed ready for him. He was unusually late on Monday morning, and mother and I breakfasted alone. I thought she looked a little curiously at my letter as she handed it to me.'"I don't think I have seen that handwriting before; it is very good," she observed, "and it has the local postmark." And then she set herself to read her own letters. Oh, Elinor, when I opened it and saw his name, I felt as though I could sink through the floor. If I could only leave it unread until I was safe in my own room; but I knew there was no escape for me. Mother was already a little curious on the subject and would be sure to question me. I read it hastily and almost without taking in the sense; it was hours before I really realised the contents. Oh, it was such a dear letter, Elinor. He asked me to forgive him his harshness to me that evening in Gad's Barn, but that he could never forgive himself for hurting me so; and then he implored me to give him the right to speak to my brother. But I cannot tell you half he said. It was my first love-letter and it may be my last, but I shall treasure it as long as I live'—and Agnes's soft eyes were full of tears.'And you read that letter in your mother's presence?' asked Elinor in a dismayed voice.'I attempted to read it, but I had to give it up at last and put it into my pocket, while I pretended to go on with my breakfast. Oh, if only Gale would come in, I thought, and make a diversion! But at that moment mother pushed aside her letters and looked across at me. "Do you want some more coffee, Agnes? Why are you not eating your breakfast properly? By-the-bye, who was your correspondent?—you are very unentertaining this morning."'"It was from Mr. Keith." Oh, Elinor, I don't know how I managed to say the words! My answer seemed to surprise her.'"Hammond Keith," her lip curling, and speaking in a dry, displeased tone. "I was not aware that you carried your friendship for the Keiths to this extraordinary extent. May I ask how long you have corresponded with this young man?" Her manner made me so indignant that it gave me spirit to answer.'"I have never had a letter from Mr. Keith before, and have never written to him in my life."'"Then I presume you have no objection to tell me why he has written now?"'"He thought he had offended me," I stammered, "and was anxious to apologise," for this was literally all I had mastered of the contents. "It is a private letter, mother, so I cannot show it to you," for I saw plainly that she was expecting this.'Elinor, I am sure now that this explanation, lame as it was, would have satisfied her, if my manner had not aroused her suspicion. My heart was beating so that I could hardly speak, and I expect this made me rather pale, and mother's eyes are very sharp.'"Agnes," she said quickly, "there is more in this than meets the eye; you are as white as a sheet, and your hands are shaking. I have long disapproved of these constant visits to Crow Farm—I cannot conceive how a daughter of mine can have so little self-respect—but now I am determined that they shall cease. Tell me—for I insist on knowing the truth—has this young man Hammond Keith dared to make love to you?'"'Oh, poor Agnes, poor Agnes,' murmured Elinor pityingly, 'your hand was indeed forced.''You may well say so; I wonder I did not die with shame and misery. Of course it all came out. I had never told a lie in my life; besides, it was no use hiding the truth any longer. I do not know what I said, but I must have been utterly reckless, and all the time mother's cruel speeches seemed to goad me on. I remember telling her that no one loved or wanted me at home, and that I could not endure my loneliness any longer; that I loved Hammond Keith, and that he was the only man I wished to marry; and although they might not consider him a gentleman, that he was the truest and noblest man that I had ever met.'Elinor, can you believe that I could ever have had the courage to say such things before them both; for Gale heard me, he had entered the room a few minutes before. I saw the look that passed between them; they seemed to think that I was beside myself. I think mother was rather frightened, for she came up to me and put her hand on my arm.'"We will not talk about it any more just now, Agnes," she said, "you are not fit. You had better go and lie down in your room, while I give Gale his breakfast."'I suppose she meant to be kind; and as I saw they wanted to get rid of me, and I could scarcely stand, I took her advice; but at the door I flung them a parting word—" Whatever Gale may say or think, I cannot change my mind," and then I left them.'Elinor listened to this in a sort of nightmare. She had known herself the keen pain of disunion and the strife of wills; but in comparison with Agnes's trouble, Augusta, with all her high-handed ways and temperamental difficulties, had given them little to bear. Here a deeper and more tragic note was struck—a woman's timid nature was trying to fight a losing battle against the strong forces of pride and a despotic will. Elinor sighed a little hopelessly; the few words of comfort that she tried to utter seemed so inadequate and futile.Agnes went on to tell her that she had been so shaken by the scene through which she had passed, that she had had a sort of hysterical attack as soon as she reached her room; but she had not summoned any one to her aid, and after a time it had passed, and later on she fell into an exhausted sleep.When she woke she found Arnold beside her with a tempting little tea-tray. 'I was afraid to let you sleep any longer, Miss Agnes,' she said, 'for you have been fasting since breakfast, and it is nearly five now.' And then as she turned her pillows and made her comfortable, she told her that her mistress had been in more than once to look after her, and that she had desired her to wake her and induce her to take some food. But when Elinor suggested that this showed motherly consideration on Mrs. Warburton's part, Agnes shook her head with a faint smile. 'Mother was frightened because I looked so white and still—like a corpse, as Arnold expressed it—but when she knew I had taken the food she seemed relieved. But she did not come near me again that evening. Oh, Elinor, those long, weary hours! Later on Arnold helped me to bed, and coaxed me to take some fruit and jelly, for I was so weak I could hardly stand. I had read Hammond's letter more than once, and after a time it comforted me a little; and soon after the church clock struck twelve I fell asleep and did not wake for a few hours. The birds were just stirring in the grey dawn, I could hear their familiar twitterings—the new day and its troubles were before me!' And here Agnes broke off as though she were weary. 'There is more to tell, but it must wait a little,' she said with a tired smile; and then for a time they were both silent.CHAPTER XXVIIIIS THIS YOUR LAST WORD, MOTHER?The woes of life are lessened by a friend,In all the cares of life, we by a friendAssistance find; who'd be without a friend?ANON.Be patient! Time will reinstate thy health and fortune.—ANON.IN a short time Elinor was put in possession of the few remaining facts. Agnes had battled with her weakness after breakfast, and had succeeded in dressing herself, and was just resting after her exertions on her sitting-room couch, when her mother entered the room. She greeted her rather coldly, and after a curt inquiry about her health, sat down beside her.'You had better lie still,' she observed, as Agnes attempted to rise; 'your excitement yesterday has, of course, made you ill, and you must expect to suffer for it. I was never so shocked in my life, and have hardly slept all night; but I will not enter upon that, neither will I expose myself to a repetition of yesterday's scene. I am here by Gale's desire to tell you what we have decided to do.' And then in the same frigid, hostile manner she informed Agnes that a note had been sent round to Crow Farm, asking Mr. Keith to call that afternoon, as the vicar wished to speak to him.'But, mother, why has Gale sent for him?'' exclaimed Agnes.'Because your brother thinks, and I fully agree with him, that it is our duty to bring this young man to reason, and to check any further presumption on his part. He has taken an unwarrantable liberty in daring to make love to you, and if you have so utterly forgotten yourself as to encourage his impertinence, your nearest relations must protect you. Now, Agnes, I will not have any more ridiculous arguments—you made us fully aware of your sentiments yesterday. Nothing on earth will induce us to countenance such a marriage, and Gale will tell Mr. Keith so plainly. He will do so as civilly as possible, so you need not be afraid; we only wish to put a stop to the affair as soon as possible.''But, Agnes, this was treating you like a child!' exclaimed Elinor.'So I told mother,' and a burning flush came to her cheek as she spoke. 'Dear Elinor, you must not think me more of a coward than I really am. It is true that mother's temper always frightens me, but on this occasion she had it under her control. Neither she nor Gale treated me with any active unkindness, and in spite of their anger, they were trying to do what they thought best, and were willing to spare my feelings as much as possible. Oh, I will do them justice there.''But all the same, Agnes, they had no right to decide for you as though you had been a school-girl.''No, of course not, and I assure you that I did not tamely submit to such treatment. I spoke my mind to mother as I had never spoken it in my life. The night had given me strength and courage, and when I woke in the grey dawn my resolution was taken that whatever happened I would be faithful to Hammond.''And you told her this?''I think I told her everything. I made her listen to me. I said to her that if she refused to hear me, I would go to Gale. I know that I surprised her, but after a minute she said that if I would not excite myself, she would hear what I chose to tell her. It was then I knew that my manner the previous day had really frightened her.''Thank God, you had courage to speak, Agnes.''It would be impossible to tell you half I said—I should not wish to do so. I know that I told her that no one had the right to decide such a question for a woman of my age, that one had only one life, and that not even a parent had the power to mar the happiness of that life. I saw a satirical smile cross her lips when I said this.'"It is the age of revolting daughters," she observed grimly. "In my young days we were taught our filial duty in a very different manner. I should not have dared to have spoken to my mother in the way you are speaking now; she would have ordered me to my room."'"And yet you and Gale are treating me, a woman of thirty, as though I were a child!" I exclaimed.'"If a woman of thirty is a fool and acts like one, it is our duty to protect her from the consequences of her own folly," she continued coldly. "You are in an unhealthy, hysterical state of mind. You imagine yourself in love with this young man, but if you were mad enough to think of marrying him, you would repent bitterly every day you lived. Have you no sense of shame, Agnes—no regard for your brother's name? How can you think it possible that you, a refined, cultured woman, could ever be content with the society of a yeoman farmer and his mother?"'Elinor, if you had heard the contempt in her tone as she said this. But I was not shaken.'"I am quite aware that Mr. Keith comes of a race of yeoman," I returned, "but he is not a poor man, and his pedigree is older than the Warburtons', and in heart and mind he is as truly a gentleman as Gale himself. Mother, it is no use. I shall be grieved indeed to act in opposition to your wishes, but if I marry any one it will be Hammond Keith."'"Then you must remain unmarried, Agnes. And if you will only give us your word of honour to cease all intercourse with Crow Farm, I will promise that no further word be said to you on the subject. We will go abroad until you have got over the affair, and both Gale and I will try to make your life happier." And then she begged me to be reasonable. "If you will only be guided by us in this matter, I can assure you that 'Mr. Keith shall be treated with the utmost consideration and courtesy. We shall, of course, decline any future acquaintance with him, and as I fear that it is necessary to use plain words with these people, Gale must put the matter forcibly before him, but his dignity shall not be hurt. Of course, if you prefer to take it into your own hands, and write yourself to Mr.Keith, and will allow us to see the letter——" But I shook my head.'"Then in that case your brother must act for you." But I would not let her go on.'"And if, after a time, I make up my mind to marry Mr. Keith?" I observed. Then mother's manner changed, and a hard look came to her eyes."If you ever walk out of this house to do such a thing," she said sternly, "you will certainly never cross its threshold again. Do not deceive yourself, Agnes; neither Gale nor I are the persons to forgive such an action as that. I have never yet been on visiting terms with the mistress of Crow Farm, and I never shall be."'"Is this your last word, mother?" I asked. "Have you no pity or compassion in your heart for your only daughter?"'"I have no pity or compassion for a fool," she returned coldly, for her temper was roused at this opposition. "Well, I see it is no use wasting my time and breath over you—you are utterly wrong-headed and contumacious. We must take our line." And then, without looking at me, mother left the room.''And did Mr. Keith come to the Hall?''Yes, he came. When Arnold took away my luncheon-tray, she told me that she had just opened the door to him. He was here a long time; I knew that, for I saw him leave the house; I was watching from the passage window. I could see lie was flushed; but he was holding his shoulders squarely, and his head was higher than usual. But he never looked up.''But did you not hear what passed between Mr. Keith and your brother?''No. Mother only came to my room to wish me good-night; but she did not kiss me, and said that she could not stay a moment, as Gale was waiting for his game. When I questioned her, she merely drew herself up in an offended way, and remarked that she had no intention of saying anything further on such a distasteful subject.'"The young man's ignorance of the world was so gross and his presumption so insufferable. that Gale was utterly disgusted, and he had hard work to keep his temper. But as far as we are concerned the matter is settled; Mr. Keith will certainly not enter this house again."'"I should think not, mother!" I exclaimed. But she only shrugged her shoulders, and then curtly wished me good-night. Oh, Elinor, why are you looking at your watch? It is surely not half-past four yet?''It is just past the half-hour, dear.''Then Arnold will be here with the tea directly. You must not think of leaving me yet.''You know I would rather not see your mother,' observed Elinor in a low voice, for Arnold's footsteps were audible in the passage outside.'Mother will not be here until half-past five,' returned Agnes; 'you need not leave for another half-hour. Arnold will tell her that you have been, so you can leave a civil message with her.' And then Elinor, a little reluctantly, sat down again. She was very unwilling to run the risk—a meeting with Mrs. Warburton and her son would be extremely awkward under the circumstances—but she hardly liked to refuse Agnes this little pleasure. But as she handed her a cup of tea she said, 'Dear Agnes, the time is so short, and I have not said anything to help you, but you know how deeply I feel for you. I cannot think what you will do next.''Oh, that was the question I was asking myself last night,' returned Agnes with a sigh, 'but I had to give it up at last. I am too weak at present to think out any connected plan. I must just wait until I am stronger.''I am so glad to hear you say that!''If I could only know what passed yesterday! My one fear is that he may write to me again, and that mother will refuse to give me the letter.''Do you mean that she would destroy it?''If she did so she would tell me so quite openly, and glory in the act; she would think she was doing her duty. Elinor, there is one thing you can do for me—if you see Hammond you could tell him that I do not wish him to write; if you mention about the locked post-bag he will understand.' And after this Elinor took her leave.'If I could only have done more for you,' she said wistfully, but Agnes gave her a loving smile.'You are my one comfort. Think, if I had had to bear all this by myself—if there had been no one whom I could trust. You have done more for me than you know, Elinor. There, I will not keep you, though it is only just five. God bless you, dear!'Elinor breathed freely the moment she found herself outside the bedroom door. But she was not to escape so easily. As she crossed the hall she heard the sound of carriage wheels. It was too late, Arnold had already perceived her; she must just face the situation with as good a grace as possible.Mrs. Warburton was alone in the carriage. She got out slowly, as though she were tired. She seemed somewhat surprised when she saw Elinor, and looked at her a little suspiciously.Elinor tried to speak in her old natural manner. 'I have been sitting with Agnes, Mrs. Warburton, and she has given me some tea. I drove over this afternoon, but I am going to walk back.''Indeed,' returned Mrs. Warburton stiffly; 'if I had had any idea of your kind intention, I should have asked you to defer your visit for a few days. Agnes is not well enough to have visitors; she is quite unfit for much talk.''She is looking very ill,' returned Elinor gravely. She was arrested by some subtle change in Mrs. Warburton's appearance. She was beautifully dressed as usual, but she looked older and extremely tired, and the brightness and animation of manner which were her chief charm had entirely gone. Instead, there was a hardness and severity in her expression which boded ill for Agnes.'Surely there is no need for you to hurry, Miss Gresham,' she said drily. 'As you have been here all the afternoon with Agnes, you can scarcely refuse to spare me ten minutes.'Then Elinor with some sinking of heart followed her into the drawing-room. 'It can only be ten minutes,' she observed with assumed cheerfulness, 'for Bride will be expecting me.' But Mrs. Warburton waved aside this excuse as though it were not of the least consequence; her manner became a little stern.'I believe that I am right in thinking that you are in my daughter's confidence, Miss Gresham?'Elinor hesitated; it was a difficult question to answer. 'If you mean that I am acquainted with the cause of Agnes's present unhappiness,' she said slowly, 'you are certainly right; but I have only been put in possession of the facts a few days ago. I am very sorry for all that has happened, Mrs. Warburton, but I think it would be much wiser for us not to discuss it.''Nothing was further from my intention,' returned Mrs. Warburton in a hard, metallic voice. 'As the matter is settled, and my son has spoken his mind to this presumptuous young man, there is not the slightest need for discussion. Agnes must pay the penalty of her own folly. If she is ill, she has only to thank herself.''It grieves me to see her so unhappy,' observed Elinor; but this speech evidently did not please Mrs. Warburton.'People who refuse to do their duty ought to be unhappy,' she returned inflexibly. 'I hope you do not intend to take Agnes's part and encourage her in her opposition to her relatives. Gale and I trusted that you were too sensible to pander to this lamentable weakness, and that you would be a true friend to her.''Mrs. Warburton,' replied Elinor with quiet dignity, 'do not let us misunderstand each other on this subject. I love Agnes, and her troubles touch me very closely, but she is older than I, and our friendship is too recent to warrant my interference with a matter so entirely personal. One piece of advice I did give her—that she should tell her mother everything.'A dark flush covered Mrs. Warburton's face, and the sternness of her manner relaxed a little. 'I can thank you at least for that. If you had also advised her to be guided by her mother's counsel and knowledge of the world, I should have been indeed grateful. Agnes, in spite of her thirty years, is wonderfully ignorant for her age; she knows as little of life as a nun behind the grille.'Elinor was silent; she knew that there was partial truth in this statement. But she was unwilling to prolong the discussion, so she rose from her seat.'My time is up, I fear, and you are very tired. May I come again and see how Agnes is?' But she regretted her question when Mrs. Warburton stiffened again.'I think it would be better to leave her quiet for a few days; talking only excites her. If she does not pick up, I will have Dr. Gibson; but I do not think it will be necessary. Agnes shall send you a note in a day or two to tell you how she is.' And then Elinor thanked her somewhat gravely and took her leave.It was evident to her that Mrs. Warburton did not wholly trust her, and that she was disappointed in not securing her as an ally, but that at the same time she was unwilling to quarrel with her. For the present she was desirous of keeping the friends apart; and Elinor, who knew that any free communication would be impossible under such circumstances, could only acquiesce in this temporary separation. As she went quickly down the drive, she saw the vicar's tall figure coming towards her from the Vicarage. The next moment they came face to face. He lifted his hat, but did not shake hands.'I am rather in a hurry,' he said curtly, 'I have to write a letter for the Bishop before post-time. I suppose you have seen my mother?''Oh yes, I have just left her.' And then he gave her one of his quick, inscrutable looks, and left her with a brief 'Good evening.'Elinor thought that his manner was less genial than usual.'I suppose lie distrusts me too,' she said to herself, as she walked on.As she passed through the village she saw Hammond Keith standing in the doorway of a low white house across the road. He was talking to some one, and she did not think that he had seen her. She longed to retrace her steps and wait for him—for the opportunity of giving him Agnes's message was almost too tempting to be resisted—but her natural prudence prevailed.She was in close vicinity to Tylcote Hall, and even in Tylcote Street there were curious eyes and gossiping tongues—it would hardly do for her to walk through the village with Hammond Keith; so she repressed her impatience. If it came to the worst she could send him a brief note. She made up her mind that she would do this. As she turned into the quiet country road, the next moment, she was conscious that she was followed. The rapid footsteps gained on her, and a well-known voice spoke her name. It was Hammond Keith!CHAPTER XXIX'A MAN HAS BROAD SHOULDERS'How can love lose doing of its kindEven to the uttermost!E.ARNOLD.Scorn no man's Love, though of a mean degree.Love is a present for a mighty king.HERBERT.THERE was unmistakable pleasure on Elinor's face as she held out her hand to the young man. 'I had no idea that it was you,' she said a little breathlessly; but there was no answering smile on Mr. Keith's part.'I saw you pass while I was talking to Wat Telford,' he said gravely, 'and I made up my mind that I would follow you every step of the way to Meadow Thorpe for the chance of getting a word with you. Will you tell me how she is, Miss Gresham?' And his manner betrayed such intense though repressed anxiety that Elinor did her best to relieve his mind.Agnes was certainly not at all well, she told him. The heat had tried her, and she had slept badly; but she hoped that in a few days she would be more like herself. And then she gave him Agnes's message. She saw at once that the idea of the locked post-bag had never occurred to him.'Who would have thought of that?' she heard him say under his breath. 'Well, forewarned is forearmed, I must find some other way. Miss Gresham, I am afraid that letter of mine is at the bottom of all this trouble!''I am not sure that you need regret that,' returned Elinor slowly. 'It is quite true that Mrs. Warburton's suspicions at the sight of your handwriting compelled Agnes to own the truth, but in my opinion even that was better than going on day after day in useless concealment and misery. Now she has spoken out her whole mind to her mother, and this must be a relief.' But he shook his head.'They have made her ill between them, you cannot deny that,' he said gloomily; and there was a fierce expression in his sea-blue eyes that made him look more like a Viking than ever.'Agnes assured me that they were not really unkind to her, and she seemed far more anxious on your account than on her own. I am afraid you had rather a trying time yesterday, Mr. Keith!'He shrugged his shoulders. 'It was pretty bad,' he returned drily; 'but a man has broad shoulders and can bear a good deal, and I had made up my mind that nothing should induce me to quarrel with her mother and brother. But they did not spare me.''I am afraid not.''I did not answer them for a long time, and then I said a queer thing. "Mr. Warburton," I remarked, "I am thankful that you are not my vicar, for I could never have listened to a sermon of yours after this." I must have hit him there, for I saw him turn very red and look suddenly confused. But his mother put her hand on his arm. "Never mind, Gale, a disappointed man is not likely to measure his words." And yet all this time they had been loading me with insults.'Such an odd idea came to me, Miss Gresham. I could not help thinking what a cruel death stoning must have been, unless a stone soon found the vital part, and yet what a lot of people willingly took part in the game. For it stunned me a bit that Christian gentlefolk should be talking in this hard fashion'ߞand Mr. Keith's voice was so full of concentrated pain that the tears rose to Elinor's eyes. Ah, they had made him suffer, and it hurt still; it was well that Agnes should be spared this. But when she hinted at this, he assured her that he had refused to tell his own mother what had passed between him and the Warburtons.'Least said is soonest mended, and there is no good in inflaming an angry wound. I am not denying that they hurt me cruelly, but they could not induce me to yield an inch.'I told them that this was a free country, and that Miss Warburton was of an age to judge for herself; that I would take no answer from any one but her; that there was but one woman in the world for me, and I would be faithful to her as long as I lived; the rest is for her to decide. And then I wished them good-morning. I could not have trusted myself in that room another moment.''And now you will wait and try to be patient?''Needs must when the devil drives,' he said hopelessly; 'but I am not sure about the patience.''Mr. Keith, Agnes told her mother that nothing would induce her to give you up.' Elinor had not intended to say this, but the sight of his wretchedness was too much for her soft heart.Then there was a sudden gleam of renewed hope in his eyes.'Did she say that, the darling?' he murmured in a broken voice. 'It was not that I distrusted her affection, but I thought those two would be too strong for her—that they would force her to give me up. Thank you a thousand times for telling me this, Miss Gresham; now I will have more heart for the day's work. Mother has been at me to do up "The Chimney-Corner," and next week we are to begin alterations. She thinks it will take off my mind a little. When a man's down, there is nothing like a mother for comforting. My dear good old mother, I wonder if there is a lady in the land to beat her! Well, I must be going back.' And then with a warm grasp of his hand he was leaving her, when a sudden thought occurred to him. 'You will be going to the Hall again in a day or two?''I am afraid not. Mrs. Warburton does not seem willing for me to be with Agnes just now, and she asked me not to come for a few days.''I feared this'—in a low tone. But he said no more, and Elinor hastened home. No, there was nothing to be done; he must dree his weird with what patience he could find, and Agnes must fight her battle unaided.'Why, how tired you look, Nora!' exclaimed Bride.'You ought to have told Joe to call for you; it is too hot for these long walks. And how did you find poor Agnes?''I found her complaining of faintness and looking extremely ill,' returned Elinor truthfully. 'I saw Mrs. Warburton for a quarter of an hour, and she was not as gracious as usual. She said Agnes was not fit for talking, and that she thought it would be better for her to be quiet for a few days; so I shall not go again until I am invited.''Well, I do call that too bad,' returned Bride indignantly; 'as though she does not know that your visits are Agnes's chief pleasures! Why should the poor thing be dull because the heat has upset her?' But Elinor had no answer for this, so she went off to change her dress for the evening.Bride went to Crow Farm a day or two afterwards, but for the first time she did not enjoy her visit.'Mrs. Keith had seemed out of spirits,' she told Elinor on her return, 'and had owned frankly that she was very much worried, but she had offered no further explanation. "The world would be a paradise, Mrs. Gresham, my dear," she had remarked vaguely, as she brought in a jug of yellow cream from the dairy, "if it weren't for the men and women that live in it. Human nature is terribly aggravating at times, and always has been, since the day Cain murdered that sweet-tempered brother of his; and as for thorns and briers and crosses, they are ready to every one's hands. When people begin to practise what they preach, and to learn what charity means, there may be some hope of improvement. But there, as I tell my Ham, it is a stiff-necked generation, each one trying to be first, and the devil take the hindmost; and it is a haughty spirit that goes before a fall, my dear." Really,' continued Bride, 'the dear old thing was a little complex and difficult to understand.''I suppose you saw Mr. Keith?''Yes, he came in for tea; but he certainly did not add to the cheerfulness, for he scarcely spoke a dozen sentences, and looked unusually glum. So I am afraid he is worried too; for Mrs. Keith was fussing round him as though he were a sick chick. "Isn't there some sort of text, Ham," she said in her funny way, "that he that doth not eat, neither must he work?" and that did bring a smile to his face.'"I think you have got it the wrong way up, mother," he said drily; 'but he took another sandwich, though I believe Jock got half of it.'Two or three evenings after this, Elinor encountered Hugh Milner.She and Bride had been spending the afternoon at Sowerby with the Thurstons. They were pleasant people, and they lived in an old-fashioned red-brick house that was known as Marley Grange. It was about a stone's throw from the Vicarage. One of the daughters had just become engaged to the vicar, Rev. Neville Brooke, and it was understood that the young couple would soon be married.Bride had decided to go home by way of Sweet Hawes, as she was anxious to see her godson. But Elinor, who had been playing croquet all the afternoon, felt too tired for the long walk. So they parted company, and a little later she met Hugh Milner. He jumped off his bicycle at once, and they went on together.'I have not seen you for an age,' he said, looking at her as though her fair comeliness were a pleasant sight. There was always something so harmonious and attractive to him in Elinor's personality. 'I heard Mrs. Gresham was at Crow Farm the other evening, but I was at Mexfield.' And then his voice changed. 'You have not been there lately?''No, not for some time, I think; we have been so very gay.''You will be gayer next month, I expect. By-the-bye, I wanted to tell you that my father and Kathleen are to arrive the day after tomorrow.''And you have to turn out?''Oh, I have found very snug quarters close by. I want the dear old man to have a good time. Kathleen says that he is like a schoolboy looking forward to the holidays; he has begun to pack already.' And there was a tender, humorous look on Hugh's face. 'That is just his way; he likes to begin packing a week beforehand. He says anticipation is half the pleasure in life, and that a true epicure will always prolong his pleasure in this way.''I hope you intend to bring him to see us—Kathleen needs no special invitation.' There was a faint touch of reproach in Elinor's voice that brought a quick flush to the young man's face.'You are very good,' he returned. 'Yes, Kitty and I will certainly bring him to Wildcroft; he is most anxious to make your acquaintance.''I think I told you when we last met that my sister Frances is to arrive next Tuesday. I am going to have a series of "Sycamore Teas," as we call them, on Thursdays during August, and I should like to have you all for the first one.''I accept with pleasure for the Milner trio,' he returned frankly; 'but I expect Kathleen will be over before that. Miss Gresham, have you heard that we are going to start the alterations at "The Chimney-Corner" next week?''Yes, Mr. Keith told me.' Then rather a serious look came to Hugh Milner's face.'I am afraid Keith has some trouble bothering him just now; he has been very down and unlike himself the last week, and I can see Mrs. Keith is a bit anxious.''I am very sorry,' returned Elinor, and then she stopped, for Hugh was looking at her a little keenly, and she was unwilling to give Hammond Keith away. He and Hugh Milner were such chums, surely he must have some suspicion of the truth!'I see you know all about it,' observed Hugh quietly; 'but you need not be afraid, I am not going to ask any troublesome questions. When Keith needs my help, he will find me ready; we quite understand each other on that point. I would as soon pick a lock as try to force another man's confidence.''I think you are right,' was the low answer. It was not the first time that Elinor had been struck with the straightforward, honourable feeling that Hugh Milner always showed. He seemed to have a finer code of honour than most young men of his age. If he had guessed Hammond Keith's secret, he would give her no hint or sign that he had done so. Presently he drifted off to another subject.'I saw your friend Miss Warburton yesterday,' he observed; 'she was driving in the direction of Mexfield. Mrs. Warburton was with her. Keith had just joined me, and she bowed to us both. I thought she looked extremely delicate, as though she had been through some illness.''I am afraid she is very far from strong,' returned Elinor. 'Mr. Keith was with you, I think you said?''Yes, we were just going to "The Chimney-Corner." 'But Hugh forbore to add a few trifling incidents which had not escaped him.He had noticed that Mrs. Warburton had turned her head aside that she might not see them, but that her daughter had bent forward almost eagerly, and had looked full at his companion; and that Hammond Keith's face had turned quite pale beneath its tan as he lifted his straw hat, and that for some minutes he had spoken no word.Elinor was thankful for even this crumb of information, for no news had reached her from the Hall. She was glad that Agnes should have had that momentary pleasure. It was something to know that she was well enough to drive, and she felt grateful to Hugh for telling her. Somehow she felt more cheerful than usual this evening. She had had a pleasant afternoon, and though she was tired, the walk seemed to refresh her. Perhaps it was Hugh Milner's congenial society; for after a time they grew quite merry, and Elinor's charming laugh was heard more than once.Hugh accompanied her to Wildcroft, and Elinor insisted that he should come in and wait for Bride. They could sit on the lawn and watch for her, as she would certainly take the field path home.Hugh Milner could not refuse so tempting an invitation, and the half-hour that followed was one of intense enjoyment to him.Elinor's sweet personality had never been so alluring to him. Her sunny temperament and gentle placidity had never been so apparent. 'If she had only known my mother! If my darling mother had only known her!' he said to himself, and a sigh rose to his lips.Elinor turned her face to him. 'Why do you sigh?' she said gently; 'one ought not to have sad thoughts on such a heavenly evening. Look, do you see that gleam of white?—that is Mrs. Gresham's gown. Shall we go to meet her?' But Hugh rose reluctantly from his chair.The charm was broken—they were no longer alone. But Elinor, unconscious of his feelings, talked on cheerfully.Bride was charmed to see Hugh. 'Now you have come at last to see us, you must stay to supper,' she said, in quite a peremptory voice. And Hugh was in no mood to refuse.After supper, they went out into the garden again. The moonlight was shining on the meadows. They sauntered to the little churchyard, and stood for some time leaning against the gate. Hugh was talking of his old life—of the little home in Acacia Road that was so shabby and yet so full of love, of his father's struggles, and then of his mother—and the two women listened to him with breathless interest. Was it the moonlight, or were there tears in Bride's dark eyes? Bride was always emotional. Once Hugh, as he talked, put his hand on the gate and inadvertently rested it on Elinor's.'I beg your pardon!' he exclaimed, ashamed of his awkwardness. But Elinor only smiled and coloured a little. That warm, strong young hand that touched hers seemed to affect her strangely. A little thrill seemed to pass through her. Her companion noticed it.'It is time for you ladies to go in,' he observed seriously; 'the dews are heavy to-night. I have kept you too long already with my thoughtless chattering.' But Bride would not hear of this for a moment.'I think it was so nice your telling us about your mother,' she said in her friendly way; 'she must have been such a dear, sweet woman. I never had the happiness of knowing mine'—and Bride's voice was full of emotion.Hugh took his leave after this, and Elinor went soon after to her room. But she was strangely wakeful that night. 'I wonder why I felt so happy this evening?' she said to herself. 'Was it the thought of next Tuesday and my dear Frances? But life seemed so full of interest all at once, and the world such a good place after all. And I think he was happy too. I wonder——' Elinor never finished her sentence, but her cheek burned in the darkness. Some subtle intuition told her that if Hugh Milner came rarely to 'Wildcroft, it was because he feared to come often—that already his young heart was turning to her as the magnet turns to the pole. This was what the inward voice whispered to her, but she refused to listen. 'I am too old for these ridiculous fancies,' she said to herself severely, as she composed herself to sleep.CHAPTER XXX'WHERE THERE'S A WILL——Blending their soul's sublimest needsWith tasks of every day,They went about their gravest deedsAs noble boys at play.HOUGHTONThe weak thing, weaker than a child, becomes strong one day, if it be a True Thing.—CARLYLE.IT was in the midst of all these under-currents of human interests and mingled pleasure and pain that Frances Gresham arrived at Wildcroft for her much-needed summer holiday. Bride had, by her own wish, driven over to Maskell to meet her; but long before the appointed time Elinor and Rufus were at the white gate.A flush of pleasure came to Frances' dark face at the sight of the tall, slim figure in grey; but Bride refused to stop, so she could only wave her hand in greeting as they drove past. But as she sprang to the ground at the porch door, Elinor was beside her.The usual warm kisses passed between them; then Elinor slipped her hand through her sister's arm.'You are tired, Frances—do not dare to deny it; you must come up to your room and rest.' But Frances pleaded for a moment's delay.'Yes, I am tired,' she returned frankly; 'the heat has been excessive in town the last two days, and I have been envying Gussie her trip among the Norwegian fiords. But I cannot tear myself away from that view. How sweet and peaceful it looks, and oh, Nora, what a change in the garden! It really looks beautiful!' And Frances' eyes rested first on the bright flower-borders and smooth turf, and then at the gay little encampment under the sycamore tree. 'Think of a whole month at Wildcroft, with nothing to do but to talk to you two dears, morning, noon, and night!' And Frances stretched out her arms with a luxuriant movement of weariness and pleasure. Then she patted Rufus's shaggy head, and picking up Scrap, who was whining in ecstasy at her feet, she signified her readiness to follow Elinor.The room was sweet with flowers, and the sun-blind kept it comparatively cool, but Frances flatly refused to take possession of the comfortable couch by the window. 'She would get rid of the dust of her journey,' she said, 'and then she would join them on the lawn. Yes, she would be glad of a cup of tea, but she had had a good luncheon at Rugby.' And then Elinor withdrew.'Frances looks very thin,' she observed to Bride; 'I can see that she has been overworking again. She has got ink-stains under her eyes '—a favourite Gresham expression.'Oh yes, she owned that she was awfully tired,' returned Bride, 'and that it was high time for her to have a rest. She had a hard day yesterday, and has been up since four this morning. I think we had better have supper half an hour earlier, and then she can go to bed.''Yes, and Rachel shall unpack for her.' And then Elinor went to the house to tell Jenny to bring out tea.The day before she and Bride had an unexpected pleasure. Jenny was just setting the tea-table under the sycamore when the white gate swung back, and two figures appeared leading their bicycles—a girl in a mauve cambric, and a grey-haired, delicate-looking man in a broad-brimmed hat.'Why, there is Kathleen!' exclaimed Bride joyfully, for she was a friendly little soul and loved to welcome her friends. 'And oh, how like Mr. Milner is to his son!'And as Kathleen proudly introduced her father, Elinor certainly echoed Bride's words, for it seemed to her that she was looking at Hugh Milner suddenly grown old.'I should have recognised you if we had met in the road,' she assured him seriously; but she was a little startled when Hugh's boyish laugh answered her.'Am I so like my boy as all that, in spite of grey hairs and wrinkles? Kitty, I hope you heard Miss Gresham's compliment; but we must not tell Hugh.''Why not, father? Hugh would be quite proud to hear it; he is always pleased when people say he is like you.' But Mr. Milner shook his head with a smile. Elinor looked at him with quiet pleasure; she had fully expected to like Hugh's father, but the reality certainly exceeded her anticipations.It was evident to her that in his youth Mr. Milner must have been handsomer than his son, for even now it was a beautiful face, though prematurely aged and worn by the storm and stress of life.The thick grey hair was as fine and soft as a child's, and there was an expression of mingled gentleness and refinement which strongly appealed to her. He was not tall, and he stooped a little, and there was a slight carelessness apparent in his dress, but no one could have failed to see that he was a gentleman. He had evidently the impulsiveness which so often accompanies the artistic temperament, and though possibly his nature was not a strong one, it was certainly lovable.If Elinor was so favourably impressed with Hugh's father, it was soon evident that her liking was reciprocated.'Miss Gresham is my ideal of an English gentle-woman,' observed John Milner to his daughter, as they rode slowly up the lane. But to himself he said a strange thing. 'She is the first woman who has reminded me of Janet; they are not in the least alike, but she has the same restful, harmonious way with her that my darling Janet had.'It had been a very happy little tea-party. 'If only my dear Miss Frances were here!' Kathleen had exclaimed once, 'it would be simply perfect. But I shall see her on Thursday.' And then Bride began talking about Crow Farm.'Father says he was never so comfortable in his life,' remarked Kathleen; 'he and Mrs. Keith are like old friends already. He does so delight in her stories. He calls her a humorist.''I never met nicer people,' returned Mr. Milner enthusiastically. 'Hugh is in clover, as I tell him. Keith is a bit grave for his age, but he is a fine fellow; he works harder than most men, but he does not neglect his reading. I have had two or three nice talks with him, and he seems very well informed. Now, I never could read Carlyle myself, but he tells me that he has read most of his books.''Oh yes, Mr. Keith is a great admirer of Carlyle and Ruskin,' returned Elinor, smiling; 'but he likes Thackeray and Dickens too.'Mr. Milner rubbed up his grey hair in a boyish way. 'Well, he is a wonderful fellow. Never heard of a farmer finding time for all that hard reading. If I take up a book in the evening, I always fall asleep over it—Kitty would tell you that.''Father's so dead tired, you see,' returned Kathleen, 'and he is not as young as Mr. Keith, and the choir boys at St. James's take so much out of him. But he is going to have a good time now, Miss Gresham. Tomorrow Mr. Keith is going to drive us all over to Leathwaite; you know Hugh has some new work over there, and he wants father to see the church and the town. Mr. Keith has business there too, but we are all to meet at the Three Anchors for dinner. We are both looking forward to it, and it will be so delightful to have Hugh with us.''It is not so bad getting old after all,' returned Mr. Milner whimsically, 'when one has good children. But, my little girl, Hugh will be looking out for us; you know, he is coming back early.' And at this hint Kathleen rather reluctantly rose to take leave.That evening, as they sat at supper, Bride said suddenly, 'Nora, doesn't it seem strange that Mr. Keith has not fallen in love with Kathleen? She is such a nice-looking girl, and so exactly suited for a farmer's wife.''I don't think the idea has occurred to either of them,' returned Elinor sedately. She knew Bride had no suspicion of the truth, that Agnes's fair face was Hammond Keith's ideal of womanly loveliness. Pretty dark-eyed Kathleen had never excited more than a momentary admiration in the young farmer's breast. He liked her; she was a favourite of his mother's, and she was Hugh Milner's sister, so he was always pleased to welcome her to Crow Farm.'Well, it is very provoking,' went on Bride, 'for he is certainly standing in his own light. Some one ought to give him a hint'; for, in spite of her own matrimonial troubles, Bride was an inveterate matchmaker.Elinor was recalling this speech with some amusement when she was roused by a hand on her shoulder, and there was Frances, renovated and brushed and smiling, but still with a heaviness in the deep-set eyes which spoke of long fatigue and strain patiently and bravely borne.'There, I have changed my frock and feel clean and tidy,' she exclaimed; 'and now I am going to drink my tea, while Bride and you talk to me, and tomorrow I will have my innings.' And this little speech told Elinor more than anything how sorely Frances needed rest. But she took the hint, and Bride and she vied with each other in telling pleasant little bits of news. How Joe Twitchett's boy was to be baptized in the ruins 'the very next Sunday that ever was'; and how Bride had made the sweetest christening robe for the occasion. And then they told Frances about the 'Sycamore Teas,' and how they were all invited the following week to a garden party at Marley Grange, and various other items of general interest, until Elinor gave Bride an amused look—Frances was asleep!But she was very wide-awake at supper, and talked with her usual animation.'Nora,' she said that night, as Elinor followed her to her room to see after her little comforts, 'I wonder what you have been doing with yourself, for you look years younger. I have been thinking so all the evening. Why, I look a middle-aged woman beside you.''You will have to consult our new physician, Dr. Greenfield,' remarked Elinor quaintly; 'the rest-cure is what you require,' and she stroked Frances' thin cheek caressingly. 'But there, I am not going to deprive you of your beauty sleep,' and Elinor with Spartan-like firmness tore herself away. But every time she woke in the stillness of the summer night she smiled at the thought that only the passage separated her from Frances. But the next morning, when Elinor entered the dining-room, her face was a little clouded.'Oh, Frances,' she said in a vexed voice, 'is it not provoking? I have just had a note from Agnes, asking me to go over to luncheon. She has no idea that you have arrived and that this is your first day.''But you can easily explain things,' observed Bride. Tell her that it is quite impossible for you to leave Frances and ask her to fix another day. Joe can easily ride over with your note.' But Elinor shook her head.'I am afraid I must go,' she returned in a worried voice. 'Agnes tells me that she is going away almost directly, and that this is the only chance of our meeting for months. She wants me to be at the Hall by twelve, that we may get a little talk before luncheon. She says she has so much to tell me.''Oh dear, what a worriment, as Mrs. Keith would say'—and Bride shrugged her shoulders. 'I don't see how you can get out of it, Nora.'Then Frances, who was shrewd enough to see that there was more than met the eye, and that Elinor was more serious than usual, interposed in her cheerful way.'Certainly you must go and see your friend, Nora. Miss Warburton has been ill, you told me. Of course I should love to have your company, but Bride and I will be perfectly happy for a few hours. I want to begin my new piece of fancy-work, and Bride shall sit and gossip to me of all the affairs of the neighbourhood. And after luncheon I intend to put myself into that delicious hammock and pretend to read; but the midges and the gnats and all the little humming creatures will know better than that. So you see I am going to act on Dr. Greenfield's advice,' and Frances gave a knowing little nod of her head. Even in this short time she looked more like herself, for her long night's rest had refreshed her.'Well, I suppose I must go,' returned Elinor, stifling a sigh; 'and as it is so hot, Bride, I must get Joe to drive me over. Mrs. Warburton will not expect me to remain to tea—they always have coffee after luncheon—so I shall tell him to fetch me at half-past three. I shall probably be home before Frances has finished her siesta.'Frances smiled approval, and Bride exclaimed, 'Why, that will just fit in nicely, for after tea I am going over to Sweet Hawes to take little Jack his things, and Mrs. Twitchett is expecting me. Now don't pretend you are not pleased, Nora, for I know you are dying to get Frances to yourself, and two's company and three's none, mesdames.' And Bride dropped a low curtsy, and then went off singing in her bright, girlish way.'Dear Bride, how sweet she looks!' murmured Frances, as the deep rich voice rang through the passage; 'but she is as much a child as ever.''Yes, but as good as gold,' returned Elinor; and then for a little while they talked of Lyall; and Frances, who had just received a long letter from him, had a good many interesting things to tell her sister.When Elinor reached the Hall, Arnold received her with a pleased expression, and took her up at once to her young mistress's sitting-room.Agnes was working by the open window. She welcomed Elinor as affectionately as ever. She was looking a little less drawn and ill, but she was still very thin, and there were dark shadows under her eyes.'It was good of you to come so early. Mother has promised to leave us alone until luncheon. She knew I would much rather tell you about things myself.''You are going away, Agnes—tell me, are you glad or sorry?' Elinor put the question with some abruptness, but Agnes hesitated for a moment.'I can hardly tell you. I think I am glad for some reasons; only I wish I were not going so far. Life is not very enjoyable at present. I have a feeling that I am a sort of prisoner. Mother never seems to like my going out alone. I think she is afraid that I might meet Hammond. Do you know, I saw him one day'—and Agnes's eyes brightened as she related that little episode.'But you could not speak to him?''No, but we could see each other. And oh, Elinor, such a strange thing happened a few nights afterwards. You know on hot nights I always sleep with my window wide open, and on that Thursday night I had thrown it up as usual. Just about midnight—I had not been asleep—I thought I heard a faint sound on the gravel path, and then something white or grey seemed to fly into the room. I thought it was some night-bird; only there was a sudden little thud on the floor. I lay for a few minutes, then my curiosity was too much for me. There was no sign of anything outside, but I could plainly see a small white object on the carpet. I lighted a candle and examined it. There was a folded handkerchief with a smooth pebble inside as though to weight it, and in the fold was a letter from Hammond'—and here Agnes suddenly blushed and dimpled like a girl. 'Such a dear letter—so strong and comforting and loving. He told me that he had found out which was my bedroom window, and that he knew that I slept with it open, and that he meant to take his opportunity to throw his letter in. Wasn't it clever of him, Elinor?'—and it was evident that this boyish feat had given Agnes great pleasure.CHAPTER XXXICOUSIN BETHThe true strength of every human soul is to be dependent on as many nobler as it can discern, and to be depended upon by as many inferior as it can reach.—RUSKIN.What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?—GEORGE ELIOTAGNES seemed overcome by the tender remembrance. In all her quiet virginal life nothing so exciting or romantic had ever happened to her; but the next moment she roused herself.'I must not waste time, for I have so much to tell you. Elinor, did I ever mention to you a cousin of ours—Beth Warburton?''No, I think not. I certainly do not seem to remember the name.''She was my father's first cousin, and mother and she are great friends, and she generally stays with us when she comes to England. She has a flat in Florence, where she always spends the winter; and she has also a charming villa near Spezzia, amongst the olive woods and vineyards, where she passes the summer months. She is very rich, rather eccentric, and extremely strong-minded, but she is a kind-hearted woman in her way. Mother delights in her; she says she is so amusing.''I suppose she is not young?''No; Cousin Beth is about fifty, and has never had a week's illness in her life. Mother and I stayed with her about three years ago. She is rather odd and original, but she is very good to the peasants. I believe the poor people adore her.''Do you really mean that you are going to stay with her?' Then Agnes nodded gravely.'I have not been well, Elinor, and mother sent for Dr. Gibson, and they put their heads together and mutually agreed that a change would do me good. Mother and Gale are going to Wales soon, but for several reasons they did not wish me to accompany them, so mother wrote to Cousin Beth.''I suppose she told her about things?''Oh, that I cannot tell you, but I strongly suspect that she has done so. I know Cousin Beth's answer came by return of post. She sent me a very kind little note, and asked me to come at once, and said that she would take every care of me. It really was a very nice letter, and mother said that she wished me to go, and that settled it.''Dear Agnes, I really think the change will do you good. Anything will be better than moping yourself to death in this way.''Oh, there I fully agree with you,' returned Agnes;' and I think that, for a time at least, I shall be thankful to get away. You see, mother and Gale do not get over things easily, and their manner always conveys the impression that I am in disgrace, and that they cannot trust me. Mother tries not to let me see this, but she keeps a sort of strict surveillance over my movements. She asks me to drive with her nearly every afternoon. Of course, I understand her motives. She is afraid that Hammond will contrive to see me, and that is why she wants me to go away. Elinor, I shall have one comfort at Spezzia—I shall be able to write to him, and to have his letters.''Are you sure of that, dear?''Quite sure,' returned Agnes with unexpected firmness. 'I shall submit to no interference or surveillance on Cousin Beth's part. If there is any such attempt on her side, I shall refuse to stay. But of course I shall manage things myself. I shall always take my letters to the post office, and I shall tell Hammond that his are to be left until called for, and that he must not write oftener than once a week. How I shall live on those letters, Elinor!''And you will get strong and not fret? How long will you be away?''I am afraid for three months at least. We shall go to Florence at the beginning of October, and as Cousin Beth has to come to England early in November, mother wants me to return with her. They have found me a travelling-companion for most of the way, and Gale will take me to London on Thursday and see me off. Elinor, I have written to Hammond to tell him all about this, and I shall manage to post my letter at Victoria—that will be soon enough.'Elinor listened to all this with secret surprise. It was evident to her that Agnes had no intention of giving up her lover—that she was only waiting until she was stronger to mature her plans. She was also convinced in her own mind that 'Mrs. Warburton, who was an extremely clever woman, would have confided the whole truth to her cousin, and implored her help in averting this disastrous mésalliance; and that if Miss Warburton were the strong-minded sort of person Agnes represented her to be, it might be difficult to elude her vigilance. Even at the Villa St. Lucia poor Agnes might find herself subject to espionage and suspicion. But when Elinor tried to hint this, Agnes became quite excited.'I hope not, Elinor,' she said quickly, 'or I am afraid Cousin Beth and I will not be good friends long. Of course she will side with mother and Gale, and will think me a poor, weak fool. Beth has no tolerance for what she calls love scrapes. She is a man-hater—at least, she professes to be so—and she is extremely unsympathetic on such matters. I shall simply refuse to discuss anything with her; and if she persists, for she is very obstinate, I shall leave the room.'They talked a little more, and then Agnes sent some messages to Bride. She seemed rather taken aback when she heard Frances was at Wildcroft.'Oh, Elinor,' she exclaimed in a distressed voice,' and I have spoilt your first day with her! But I had no idea you were expecting her so soon. But it was dear of you to come to me.''Do you think I should have refused——' and then the luncheon gong startled them before Elinor could finish her sentence.Gale Warburton met them in the hall; Mrs. Warburton was already in the dining-room. She welcomed Elinor as cordially as ever, and seemed determined to make herself pleasant to her guest. Mr. Warburton was in an absent mood, and took less notice of her than usual.Mrs. Warburton darted a keen look at her daughter as they sat down.'I suppose Agnes has told you all her delightful plans for the next three months,' she observed. 'My cousin's villa at Spezzia is simply perfect. It stands very high, and has a lovely view of the sea and the wooded mountains. Agnes, do you remember our drive three years ago, on our way to St. Lucia, through olive forests and avenues of acacia-trees, chestnut woods?—oh, such scenes!''Oh yes, I remember it well,' returned Agnes; but she spoke without enthusiasm.But Mrs. Warburton was not to be damped. She launched into vivid descriptions of the life at the Villa St. Lucia; she told droll stories of Cousin Beth's eccentric ways.'I do not know a more delightful companion than Beth Warburton,' she went on. 'It is impossible to feel dull in her company—she has such a sense of humour. She will say droll things with the gravest face; and yet she is the most level-headed, sensible woman I know. I tell Agnes she is in luck's way.'As Mrs. Warburton uttered this bland speech, Gale Warburton gave his sister a long, searching look.'It is to be hoped that Agnes properly appreciates her blessings,' he said drily. Agnes coloured perceptibly at his tone.After luncheon they adjourned to a shady corner in the garden to take their coffee, and Gale invited Elinor to look at his mother's new fernery. Elinor accompanied him a little reluctantly. It was strange, even to herself, how she objected to a tête-à-tête with the vicar; but he seemed, as usual, unaware of her unwillingness as he stalked rather solemnly beside her.'My mother rather amused me during luncheon,' he said abruptly, as they stood in front of the fernery; 'she has made a masterly move, and is exceedingly proud of herself, but I cannot help wondering myself how a clever women like Miss Warburton will get on for three whole months with a person of such limited intelligence as Agnes.'It was the old disparaging tone in which he always spoke of his sister, and Elinor felt indignant.'I cannot endorse this, Mr. Warburton,' she returned. 'In my opinion Agnes is far from limited; she is simply rather timid and retiring, and so quiet that people have to discover her excellences.''Still waters run deep,' he remarked. 'You are good at defending your friends, Miss Gresham, and Agnes ought to be grateful to you for whitewashing her so thoroughly, but I am afraid that my mother and I hold very different opinions.''I do not want to discuss your sister with you, Mr. Warburton!' exclaimed Elinor, stung by the hard, satirical tone, which seemed to convey to her without audible language that he considered Agnes far from straightforward, and indeed guilty of weak duplicity. 'I am thankful to see her a little better, and I sincerely hope that her visit will re-establish her health. Oh, there comes Peggy,' in a tone of relief; 'I had no idea that it was half-past three'; and then they walked slowly back.Mr. Warburton had made no response to Elinor's little outburst of indignation, but his face wore an expression of quiet amusement. The vicar was always a little amused as well as surprised if any one presumed to differ from him. Probably he was thinking that Miss Gresham was looking exceedingly well, and that her indignant flush was rather becoming than otherwise, for he took no umbrage at her sudden petulance.It was well that Elinor and Agnes had had that quiet hour before luncheon, for their leave-taking was a brief one.'I hope you will write to me sometimes, Agnes,' Elinor said, as they exchanged a parting kiss. But she was sorry that she made that remark when Mrs. Warburton's crisp voice interposed.'I hope Agnes will not write more letters than she can help, Miss Gresham; I want her to be out in the air as much as possible. I have begged Miss Warburton not to encourage her to mope indoors.'Perhaps there was a warning note in Mrs. Warburton's smooth voice that only her daughter detected, for Agnes said rather quickly—'I shall certainly find time to write to Elinor—one does not generally neglect one's friends when one is away.' And then Mrs. Warburton said no more.Agnes did not stay to see her friend drive off; she went slowly back into the house.'How absurd of Mrs. Warburton to try and control Agnes as though she were a child!' thought Elinor. 'I see that she is unwilling for us to correspond much. I am certain from her manner and from Mr. Warburton's also that they intend Miss Warburton to mount guard over her.' And here Elinor shrugged her shoulders with an air of disgust; the whole thing was too mediæval for her taste, too dramatic and intolerant for modern up-to-date society.Frances had finished her siesta and looked as fresh as a daisy when Elinor joined them at the little tea-table.'Now I have done my duty and am going to enjoy myself,' she observed brightly; and then until Bride left them she contented herself with giving them an account of all Agnes's plans for the autumn. 'I really think it will do her a world of good,' she continued seriously; 'and if only Miss Warburton is nice to her, she ought to enjoy such a lovely place.'As soon as Bride had vanished into the house and Rachel had carried off the tea-tray, Frances looked at her sister expectantly. 'Well, Nora,' she said quietly, 'we have no one but the midges to attend to us, and they are by no means curious, so you can unfold your Tylcote Hall budget'—a speech which rather surprised Elinor and made her open her eyes somewhat widely.'How do you know I have a budget, Frances?' she asked; but her sister laughed in an amused way.'Your allusions to Agnes have been rather mysterious of late, and you have taken no notice of my very straightforward questions; you have hinted vaguely at some trouble, now I hope you are going to enlighten me fully.' And thus encouraged, Elinor started with her story from the very beginning.It was Frances' turn to be surprised now. A look of amazement came to her face, and once or twice an ejaculation escaped her—'Well, if ever I heard the likes of that,' a familiar expression dating from their nursery days—but it was evident that she listened with absorbed interest to all Elinor told her, and when she had finished Frances seemed in no hurry to break the silence.'Now, Frances, I have talked myself hoarse, and it is your turn now'; but Frances shook her head.'My dear, I am in a nebulous condition. The glamour of your eloquence is still over me; I must pinch myself awake. Anything more romantic or worthy of a good old-fashioned three-volume novel never met my ears. Really, Elinor, you told it very prettily; you are a vrai raconteur.' But Elinor was too much in earnest to enjoy her sister's badinage.'Frances, you really must be serious. All these weeks I have been dying to know your opinion and longing to talk it over with you. I cannot tell how the whole thing strikes you, but I have come to the conclusion myself that it will be a good thing, after all, for Agnes to marry Hammond Keith.'Frances looked at her thoughtfully. 'I have only seen him once, you must remember that; but I recollect we were both very much taken with him. He is a splendid specimen of an English yeoman, and his manners are extremely good. It is rather difficult for me to judge, but he certainly seems to me to have real grit in him, and to be every inch a man.''Oh, you are right there.''I think on the whole that you have acted very wisely,' went on Frances; 'you did not refuse your sympathy to either of them, but at the same time you declined to take any responsibility. The longer I live, Elinor, the more clearly I see that we must not interfere or tamper too much with human lives. If we had the power of second-sight and could read the future, we might not fear the awful responsibility so much. But, my dear, we are as ignorant as one of those midges, and how shall we poor purblind insects dare to presume to play minor Providence in our neighbours' destinies!''Dear Frances, we think alike on that point.''I have come to one conclusion,' went on Frances, 'that the blame rests wholly and solely with Agnes Warburton. I hope this will not hurt you, Nora, but I should like to tell you exactly what I think.''You may speak as frankly as you like.''Thank you—then I will do so. It seems to me that Miss Warburton had the opportunity of silencing Mr. Keith the first time he spoke to her, and that if she had done so, he would never have presumed to make her a second offer.''That is exactly what I told Agnes.''Of course; but her weakness and vacillation gave him encouragement. It was the old, old story, Nora—"the woman beguiled me, and I did eat"; and your friend Agnes has most surely beguiled Hammond Keith. After all, he is only human and he loves her, and for my part I don't see how he could have acted otherwise.''Oh, I am so glad you exonerate him.''I think he has acted uncommonly well. But I am not so sure, Nora, that I can condone Agnes's weakness quite so easily. I think she deserves to suffer a little. But you need not trouble about her. She has gone too far, and she will not dare to wreck both their lives; she is simply biding her time, but all the same she will marry Hammond Keith.'Elinor looked at her doubtfully. Frances' words were very comforting, but there was still a lurking fear at the bottom of her heart. 'If only she were not so poor-spirited and timid,' she sighed.'My dear, it is the first stumbling-block that seems so impassable. Even a coward will sometimes shut his eyes and take a header into deep water. Do you remember the stepping-stone over that foaming beck near Pitlowrie, and how terrified you were? And certainly there was noise and fury enough to try the strongest nerves. But when you landed on your first boulder you were obliged to go on, and I followed you closely.''Oh yes, I remember; I was never so frightened in my life. But where's the analogy, Frances?''Why, that is as plain as A B C. Agnes Warburton has landed on her first boulder, and she will very soon cross the stream.''You mean that she will marry Mr. Keith?''Yes, my dear, that is exactly what I do mean. But she will know better than to ask you to the wedding. There, cheer up, Elinor, I hate to see that worried pucker on your forehead. "All's well that ends well," and now you and I are going to enjoy ourselves.' And then the quiet sisterly talk flowed on, until Bride returned and hurried them into the house to prepare for supper.CHAPTER XXXII'WHY NOT COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS?'The roses have faded—the wilful wild roses,They sleep with the violets that blossomed in Spring;The midsummer glory has gone from the hedges,Where only the blackberries cluster and cling.We measure the flight of the year by its seasons.'It fell in the haytime, or harvest,' we say,'At the fall of the leaf, or when primroses blossom,'Or else, 'when the berries are red on the spray.'HELEN MARION BURNSIDE.THE August days passed only too quickly, and every hour was fraught with enjoyment to the sisterhood at Wildcroft. Before the first week had ended Frances' tired eyes had regained their old clearness and her voice was as full and animated as ever.'I think I never enjoyed a holiday so much in all my thirty-one years,' she remarked quite seriously, one morning. 'The weather has been perfect, you and Bride have been as good as gold, and the people have been so nice and friendly that I have been quite spoilt. Well, Nora, why has my pretty little speech made you look so grave?''Because I have just remembered that there is only another week before you go back to St. Monica's,' returned Elinor rather sadly, for already the shadow of the parting had dimmed the brightness. 'Oh dear, why will everything nice come to an end!' But Frances took her to task for this discontented little speech.'You ungrateful person,' she said, 'why not count your blessings, instead of talking in that heathenish fashion? Here we have had a lovely time, and stored up a hiveful of honey-sweet memories on which we can feast on dark days! Is it nothing that in these three weeks I have grown strong and rested and as full of energy as ever, and would you have me turn into a drone at the very moment I am proving my armour?'Then Elinor looked at her very tenderly. 'Dear Frances, I am so glad to hear you say that, and indeed I never saw you look better in my life; but you know I never was a philosopher like you, and I do so hate anything coming to an end. But you are right and we will just make the most of this last week.' And Elinor kept her word.In truth, they had had a very happy three weeks. The 'Sycamore Thursdays' had been exceedingly popular, and by some tacit agreement the Milners had been always among the guests. Frances had been attracted by the brother and sister from the first, but she quite lost her heart when she saw John Milner. 'You are right,' she said to Elinor, 'Mr. Milner is an old dear and it is quite a pleasure to look at him. As for Mr. Hugh, he improves very much upon acquaintance; he has lost that stiff, reserved manner. It is really delightful to see him and his father together; they are a most united little family'; and Elinor had assented quietly to this.As soon as Frances had felt more rested they had spent a long afternoon at Crow Farm, which they had greatly enjoyed. Mr. Keith seemed more like his old self, and his mother had been as talkative and cheerful as ever. Kathleen and her father had joined them at tea-time and Hugh came in later, and before they left the whole party went to 'The Chimney-Corner' to give their opinion on the alterations, and Frances had been greatly taken with the pretty secluded cottage. On their way back to the farm, Elinor found herself alone with Hammond Keith. Hugh Milner had been about to join them and had suddenly changed his mind. Elinor fancied that Mr. Keith had given him a hint that he wanted to speak to her.'The Tylcote Hall people went off yesterday,' he said a little abruptly. 'I believe they are to be away six or seven weeks.''Yes, Mrs. Warburton told us so when she drove over to see my sister and to bid us good-bye. We both thought she was looking extremely jaded and in need of a change.''Yes, I daresay,' but Hammond Keith's voice was a little indifferent. But the next moment it changed. 'Miss Gresham, I wanted to tell you something—I have heard from Spezzia. Miss Warburton seems better and stronger already; her cousin takes good care of her, and she says her life is far more cheerful than it is at home.''That is exactly what she told me,' returned Elinor, smiling, 'for I had my first letter from her yesterday. She says Miss Warburton is extremely kind to her, and is a most pleasant companion, and that they have all their meals in a sort of alcove at one corner of the terrace that adjoins the house; it is prettily festooned with vines, and overlooks a wild little ravine, with olive-trees covering the hillside—it really sounds charming.''I am glad she is there,' returned Hammond gravely. 'It is a load off my mind to know that there is no one to trouble her and say cruel things. You know'—with a shy flush—'that we are able to write to each other regularly?''And that is why you are looking better and happier?' Then the old sunny smile came to his face.'Well, I won't deny that I am more hopeful, and that I have a sort of faith that things will come right in time. But there, I see the trap is waiting for you, and Mrs. Gresham is beckoning to us.' And then they hurried on.When Elinor repeated Hammond Keith's speech to her sister, Frances nodded in a knowing manner.'They are virtually engaged, Nora, you may depend on that. Mr. Keith is a sensible, practical man, and you may be sure that he has good foundation for his hope; he sees plainly that she is going to stick to him. Yes, he is a fine fellow, and I am not sure that Agnes Warburton will not be a wiser as well as a happier woman when she is his wife.' And Elinor thought the speech extremely satisfactory.Agnes's second letter was a shade less cheerful.'I have had my first skirmish with Cousin Beth,' she wrote, 'and I am afraid she is not at all pleased with me. On Wednesday I was just starting for the village, with my letter for Hammond safely in my pocket, as I meant to post it myself, when Cousin Beth came round the corner.'"It is far too hot for you to go out yet, Agnes," she said in her brisk, managing way; "it is such a steep climb back from the village, and you will be far better on the terrace. If you have letters to post, you can give them to me, for I shall be going down there a little later," and she actually held out her hand for them. But I shook my head. "You are very good, Cousin Beth, but I prefer to post my letters myself, and the little stroll will do me good," and I walked past her. I confess I felt rather hot, and that my voice was not quite steady, but I felt I must put my foot down; but I am certain from her manner that Cousin Beth was offended.'The next day I felt sure that there would be a letter from Hammond, and though I had nothing to post, I was determined to call at the little post office. But, to my annoyance, I was just opening the garden gate when I heard Cousin Beth's voice calling to me. She had been gardening, and came hurrying after me with her trowel still in her hand.'"Why, Agnes," she remonstrated, "you have surely no letters to post to-day? and you really ought not to fatigue yourself in this way. If you must go to the village, I will fetch my sunshade and walk with you." And in another moment she would have done so, but I stopped her.'"Cousin Beth," I said, "I hope you will not think me rude or uncivil, if I say that I would prefer to go alone. At Tylcote Hall I am so much accustomed to my own company, and spend so many solitary hours, that constant companionship would be irksome to me. Do not mistake me, my dear cousin," I continued, as she drew herself up with an affronted air, "I am here for so long that you must not treat me as a visitor, and certainly not as an invalid; I must be free to take my little strolls and do my odds and ends of business in my own way." Oh, I was quite brave; you would hardly have known me, Elinor, for I nodded and smiled at her when I had finished. But all the time I was as angry as possible; for I saw then that you had been right in giving me that hint, and that Cousin Beth had been advised to keep a strict watch over my movements.'Frances looked a little amused when Elinor read this part of Agnes's letter.'Miss Warburton is a little dense,' she remarked; she is one of those people who do not see things until their eyes are forcibly opened. Now there will be ructions.' And they both waited rather anxiously for the next letter.'As usual, you are right, Frances,' observed Elinor, as she laid down the closely-written sheet. Come into the garden after breakfast and I will read Agnes's letter.'We have not been very comfortable the last few days,' wrote Agnes there was an oppression in the air as though a storm was brewing, and Cousin Beth was decidedly on her dignity. Yesterday I had a letter from mother. It was rather curt and angry. "Your Cousin Beth seems very much put out," she wrote; "she complains of your unsociable and morose ways. I see plainly that, unless you are a little more circumspect in your behaviour, and show her more consideration, she will not be willing to keep you until November." But I will spare you the rest; when mother is excited she never measures her words. Well, Elinor, what do you think I did? I went straight to Cousin Beth and insisted on her reading the letter. "I do not know what you have said to mother," I remarked, "but if it is true that I have hurt your feelings so deeply, and that you no longer care for my society, you have only to tell me so frankly and I will go home." And then we had it out. You must know that Cousin Beth is rather hot-tempered, and does not bear contradiction easily. She is a sort of queen at the Villa Lucia, and all the people round adore her, because she is so good to them when the vintage is bad and they are in trouble. She was on her high horse at first, and said a good many disagreeable things. She said I was insular and peculiar, and more like a hermit crab than a civilised Englishwoman, and then she quieted down." Don't be a fool, Agnes," she said brusquely; "I am not going to let you go home and mope yourself to death; you will just stay here until we go to Florence. I shall write to your mother to-day and tell her that for the future I intend to wash my hands of you; that if you like to tramp to the village a dozen times a day, no one will say a word. You are not a child, my dear Agnes, and I thank Heaven devoutly that I am not your natural guardian." And then we shook hands, and ever since then we have been the best of friends. I really do like Cousin Beth, and I am in no hurry to leave her.'Elinor and Bride had concocted all sorts of delightful plans for Frances' last week—the Finals, as they termed it. There was not only the last Sycamore Tea, but the following day there was to be a picnic to Lavington, to which the Milners and Hammond Keith and his mother were invited. Neither Elinor nor Bride had been there before, but Hugh Milner had told them that Lavington Hall and its gardens and woods were certainly worth a visit. The family was abroad, and on Fridays people were admitted to see the place. They were to eat their luncheon in the woods, and tea was to be provided at an old farmhouse near; and the long drive back by moonlight would be charming. Hugh had undertaken to make arrangements with Mrs. Godwin, the mistress of Lavington Farm, and as she and Mrs. Keith were old friends and school-fellows, Bride had coaxed Mrs. Keith to come too. 'I don't think we will ask any more people,' she said; 'we shall be far cosier with just the Milners and the Keiths.' And as Elinor and Frances agreed to this, the picnic was kept a profound secret from the large gathering that assembled at Wildcroft for the last Sycamore Tea.The Thurstons were there en masse and the Milners, and Rev. Neville Brooke, the Graydons from Tylcote Street and the Morrells from Mexfield, and last but not least, the Rev. Everard Moulton and his chatty little wife from Dewhurst. Bride said afterwards that she must have been fey, for she was in wild spirits that afternoon. It was she who proposed dancing on the tennis lawn, and suggested the daring feat of carrying out the piano bodily, under the skilled supervision of John Milner.Frances thought it was the prettiest little tableau she had ever seen. Bride and Kathleen and the Thurston girls and Jessie Graydon were all so young and fresh, and their bright faces and crisp muslin frocks looked charming against the background of green meadows. The elder people sat under the shade of the sycamore and watched them, and Frances kept them company. When Hugh Milner asked Elinor for the first valse, a slight colour came to Frances' face and she leaned forward a little eagerly. John Milner was playing the 'Blue Danube.' Elinor's white dress and brown hair shone in the warm evening light. 'How well Hugh Milner dances,' thought Frances. His handsome face was a little flushed, but Elinor was smiling happily.John Milner tossed his silvery hair from his forehead as he played, and then his eyes met Frances'. 'My boy dances well,' he murmured. 'It is quite an enjoyment to me to see him and your sister together. She is so graceful, so unconscious—it is the very poetry of motion.' And then he sighed, for at such times he would think of his Janet.Frances was a little thoughtful for the remainder of the evening. It seemed to her that Hugh Milner was never long absent from Elinor's side.When the young people were weary of dancing, they grouped themselves round the piano and sang glees and madrigals, startling the old grey owl who lived in the elm, until he flew across the meadow with a weird cry of alarm. How sweet the young voices sounded in the soft dusk! Mrs. Deans and her husband and the Sibleys with their solemn-faced boys were all at the white gate listening in rapture. Every now and then a faint clapping of hands sounded in the distance. When John Milner struck the first chords of 'God save the King' they all started to their feet. In a few minutes there were leave-takings—a chorus of jubilant voices, as the young folk trooped off across the meadows. 'What a delightful evening!' they exclaimed. Even the Rector of Mexfield and Mr. Graydon, the solicitor from Tylcote Street, had a word of praise as they drove off. When the last guest had gone, Elinor and Frances stood in the porch looking out in the moonlight, waiting until Bride was ready for supper.'I am so glad it has been such a success!' exclaimed Elinor, but her voice was a little tired. 'We really ought to go in and rest, for we have a long day's work before us to-morrow.''Just a moment, dear,' and Frances' hand rested lightly on her arm. 'Bride will be here directly, and it is no use our beginning without her. What a darling she looked this evening, and how prettily she dances!''Yes, and that dress suited her so well. The people here admire Bride so much, they say she is so extremely graceful.''I am not surprised to hear that.' And then Frances hesitated. There was something she wanted to say; it had been on her lips more than once lately, but she had not found the courage to say it.'Let us go and have a peep at the old churchyard,' she said suddenly. And as they leant on the little gate a moment, Frances managed to say her word.'Elinor,' she whispered, 'are you sure that it is quite wise and kind to encourage Hugh Milner to come so often?' But before Elinor could reply, they heard Bride's voice calling to them to come in at once; but as they walked back to the house Elinor made no response to Frances' remark.CHAPTER XXXIIITHE LAVINGTON WOODSWherever power of any kind is given, there is responsibility attached.—RUSKIN.Love does not spring up and grow great and perfect all at once, but requires time and nourishment of thoughts.—DANTE.THE next day was perfect, the sky cloudless, while a delicious breeze tempered the heat. The Wildcroft party had arranged to start early, the three ladies driving, Joe Twitchett and the hampers in a light farm-cart having preceded them. The meeting-place was to be the East Lodge, which faced the Lavington woods; and as Bride brought Peggy to a standstill at the lodge gate, they found themselves at once surrounded by the Crow Farm party. Hammond Keith went to the mare's head and Hugh and his father helped the ladies to alight, while Mrs. Keith and Kathleen awaited them in the lodge porch.'You need not trouble to hold Peggy, Mr. Keith,' observed Elinor; 'we passed Joe in the road just now, and he will be here directly. Don't you think Peggy is in good condition? She brought us at such a pace, Mrs. Gresham could hardly hold her in.''She is as skittish as a foal,' returned Hammond, patting the mare's sleek side. 'Why, it is over ten miles, and she has not turned a hair. Oh, there comes Twitchett. I will stay and give him a hand with those hampers while Milner takes you up to the house—there is a short cut through the woods—and as soon as I have given Twitchett his orders, I will join you there.'The stroll through the shady woods was delightful, and the beautiful old house and gardens interested them greatly. There were some fine old portraits in the picture gallery—a Gainsborough, two or three by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and one by Angelica Kauffmann.Frances, who had a perfect mania for old houses, would have enjoyed herself intensely but for one anxious thought which haunted her constantly. Had she been wrong and tactless to utter that warning word? Why had Elinor made no reply? Could it be that even from her she resented the interference? Frances fancied that she was a little quieter than usual, and once or twice she was sure that she tried to avoid Hugh Milner. Once, when he had proposed to show them the gardens, and Elinor found him beside her as usual, she had stopped and held out her hand to her sister. 'Come, Frances,' she said, 'why are you always in the rear?' And then she had turned to Hugh with a charming smile. 'You know, my sister is to leave us on Tuesday, and we have only three more whole days together, so I don't mean to let her out of my sight,' and she tucked her hand through Frances' arm.Frances almost said 'Bravo' under her breath; it was done with such ease and cleverness, the most sensitive person could not have been hurt, and Hugh Milner accepted the unwelcome third with the best grace in the world.When the gardens had been admired and Mrs. Keith had finished her chat with the housekeeper, Hugh piloted them through the woods to a certain little green glade which he and Hammond Keith had selected for the banqueting-hall. It was a charming spot. Just below there was a little shimmering pool where water-lilies grew, and a soft springy bed of moss stretched underneath the trees.Soon they were all exceedingly busy. While Kathleen and Bride laid the cloth, Mrs. Keith and Frances and Elinor mixed the salad and arranged the dishes to the best advantage, and the gentlemen fetched and carried as they were ordered.Mrs. Keith opened her eyes rather widely at the sumptuous feast, and even Frances pretended to be shocked at the sight of the champagne bottles cooling at the edge of the pool. But Elinor whispered in her ear that Bride had insisted on the champagne, and had ordered it herself. But even Bride seemed a little ashamed of her extravagance when both Hammond Keith and Hugh Milner declared they would prefer lager-beer; only John Milner joined the ladies and drank their health in the famous beverage. They were a very merry party, and Mrs. Keith told some of her best Westmorland stories as they enjoyed their dessert. Joe Twitchett, who sat a little apart with his back against a tree and a goodly consignment of the luncheon dishes beside him, was seen to shake with silent laughter from time to time.By-and-by there were plates and dishes to wash; but many hands made light work, and soon Joe Twitchett and the hampers were left behind, and they were strolling through the woods again in the direction of Lavington farmhouse, where Mrs. Godwin and tea awaited them.There was a general exclamation of delight at the sight of the old red-brick house with its gable windows and wide porch nearly smothered in traveller's joy and roses. Tea was laid on the long table in the great cool kitchen, with its red-brick floor and heavy cross-beamed ceiling, white and pink roses peeping in at the open lattice windows.The table almost groaned under its good things, and Elinor and Frances looked at each other in dismay at the sight of the hot buttered scones and cakes; but they were somewhat comforted when Hugh and Mr. Keith assured them that they were quite ready for another meal, and that they meant to do their level best, but that they had their doubts about Joe Twitchett.'You see, he finished that pigeon pie and at least half a chicken,' observed Hugh gloomily; 'but I will try, him with that plate of buttered scones when Mrs. Godwin has gone out of the room.' And ten minutes later he had the satisfaction of informing Elinor that the plate was empty. 'There is an old collie barking on the grass just by,' lie continued; 'I rather think he would enjoy a slice or two of that currant loaf.' And in this shameless way they got rid of some of the provisions, and spared the feelings of their hospitable hostess.'Who eats pays, who eats not still pays,' observed Hugh sententiously—'a shilling a head all round.' But here he stopped to pour out a saucer of cream for a small black kitten who was clawing him in infantine hunger.After this they went out into the pleasant old-fashioned garden, and here Frances witnessed another little episode; for the eyes of sisterly love are very keen and long-sighted and even trifles do not escape them.Elinor had worn all day a little cluster of tea-roses in her grey voile dress, but in stooping over a bush of Michaelmas daisies to look at an empty nest in the hedge, one or two roses had become detached and had fallen on the path. Elinor was unconscious of her loss and had presently moved on, but Hugh had not at once followed them. Through a little gap in the bush Frances saw him pick up the roses and put them quickly in his breast-pocket.'I am glad I said it,' thought Frances; 'it has gone deep with him, I am sure of that; Elinor will see it for herself soon.' And then, as she looked at her sister's sweet face, a pang of pity crossed her heart for the eager, infatuated young man. 'Elinor is too humble-minded,' she said to herself, 'she has no idea of her own attraction'; and then she wondered for the twentieth time that day if she were really as unconscious as she looked.'I shall not dare to repeat my warning,' she went on, as Elinor paused before a row of bee-hives; 'Nora is very gentle, but there are limits to her forbearance. It would be too painful to see her draw into her shell.' But Frances need not have disquieted herself. Elinor had quite understood that warning word—in fact, it had kept her awake for hours; but not even to her beloved Frances could she have spoken of Hugh Milner.A few minutes later Elinor put up her hand to her throat. 'I must have dropped my roses,' she said rather regretfully.'Shall I go back and look for them?' asked Hugh; but he had the grace to flush over this mendacious remark.'Oh no, it does not matter,' she returned hastily; 'but I had better throw the rest away,' and she tossed the blossoms over the hedge.Before they left, Hugh brought her a spray almost similar to those she had worn. 'Mrs. Godwin allowed me to pick these,' he said as he handed them to her. It struck Frances that Elinor accepted them a little reluctantly, and that she did not at once pin them in her dress. 'They are finer than our Wildcroft roses,' she observed, as she inhaled their fragrance; and they were still in her hand when they drove off and laughing adieus passed between them and the Crow Farm party.'Good-bye,' exclaimed Elinor gaily, as Bride flourished her whip over Peggy's brown mane as a reminder that she was to behave herself prettily; 'I expect we shall meet after service on Sunday evening?' It was Kathleen she was addressing, but at that moment her eyes met Hugh's.Elinor was very quiet for some time after they started, and Frances, who was tired, was quite willing to be silent; but after a time she roused herself and they had one of their old talks.It was arranged that on Sunday afternoon they were to drive over to Mexfield, have tea at the Rectory, and attend service afterwards. Mr. Morrell had informed Elinor on Thursday that he was expecting an old college friend to spend the week-end with him, and that he was to preach at Mexfield Church in the evening. 'You may know his name,' he continued, 'for his mission services at Stepney and the Isle of Dogs were very freely canvassed in the papers—Forbes Rutherford, the rector of St. James's, Haggerston.' Elinor started, for this was the very man of whom Lyall had once spoken to them. He had heard him preach at Bethnal Green, and on his return to Grove House had held forth to them in his enthusiastic way.'Such men are the salt of the earth,' he had said; 'Forbes Rutherford is a name to conjure with. As I listened to him preaching to that squalid, rough congregation, I kept thinking of the Pentecostal tongues, when thousands were converted; and it seemed to me as though I were listening to a second Isaiah, and that "the live coal from the altar" must have been laid on his lips too. Such burning eloquence, such convincing, persuasive depth of argument! yet so simple that a child could have understood him. I would have given worlds to have spoken to him, to have shaken his hand and asked for his blessing; but it was impossible to get near him—they were crowding round him, men and women, when I left.'Elinor had always remembered these words when she saw Forbes Rutherford's name in the Church Times; but before she could reply to Mr. Morrell, Frances had leant forward with unusual eagerness.'Oh, Nora,' she exclaimed, 'Forbes Rutherford—that is the missioner who did that wonderful work at Stepney and Limehouse! Edith Holdsworth and I have been planning for months to go over to Haggerston to hear him, but we never could get a free Sunday; and he is actually coming to Mexfield!''Yes,' returned Mr. Morrell, smiling, 'and you had better all come over to hear him. Dorothy'—addressing his wife, who sat near him talking to Bride—'these two ladies are anxious to hear our good friend Rutherford preach on Sunday evening, so you may as well invite them to tea. We can house the mare and trap, Miss Gresham, and your man can attend the service too. The drive back in the moonlight will be very pleasant.' And so it was arranged.But as Frances and Elinor accepted the invitation with delight, and even Bride seemed quite excited, the rector gave them a warning word. 'You shall have all the hospitality that we can offer you, but you must not expect to see much of Rutherford. He is a bit eccentric, and never likes being introduced to strangers before service. Very likely he will insist on having tea by himself in my study, so as not to distract his mind.''Then, in that case, would it not be better to drive straight to the church?' observed Elinor. But Mr. Morrell and his wife would not hear of this.'In all probability, whether any one was there or not, Mr. Rutherford would shut himself up in the study until it was time to go across to the church. We never take any notice of his little ways—that is why he lilies coming to us,' observed Mrs. Morrell, smiling.'Frances had been much excited at the prospect of hearing the famed missioner, and her one regret seemed to be that her friend Edith Holdsworth could not participate in her pleasure. And both Elinor and Bride congratulated each other that Frances' last Sunday at Meadow Thorpe should hold this crowning enjoyment.'I do think the last week has been the most delightful time of all!' exclaimed Bride in her impulsive way.Elinor assented to this with all her heart. She was delighted beyond measure that Frances should have her wish fulfilled. Surely that last Sunday would be a feast of good things! There would be strong meat to strengthen them for many a long day. Elinor thought how pleased Lyall would be to know they had heard his favourite missioner. Poor Elinor, how little she guessed what Forbes Rutherford's sermon was to cost her!By common consent, Saturday was spent in perfect quiet. Even Frances owned that she was tired, and declared that nothing short of absolute necessity would induce her to go farther than the garden. 'We drove more than twenty miles yesterday,' she declared, 'and I am quite sure we must have walked three miles at least through those woods, without counting the fatigue of packing and unpacking hampers.' And as Elinor was of the same mind, they spent the morning talking and working in a shady corner of the lawn. And after luncheon all three ladies retired to their hammocks until tea-time; and the evening was passed chiefly in listening to Bride's singing.This judicious rest-cure was so beneficial that Frances and Elinor were able to walk over the fields to early service at Dewhurst. But Bride, who overslept herself, was full of apologies on their return.'It was all Rachel's fault,' she grumbled; 'she forgot to wind up my alarum. Now I shall have to do penance for my laziness, and go over to Sweet Hawes, in spite of the heat.' But Frances promptly put her foot down.'You will do nothing of the kind, my dear,' she said hastily. 'Besides, I don't hold with self-imposed penances. You can read your Psalms and Lessons in the churchyard if you like; but as we shall start for Mexfield at half-past three, it would be very unwise for you to overheat yourself walking to Sweet Hawes.' And as usual Bride was docile.CHAPTER XXXIV'AN ARROW AT A VENTURE'Let all creatures be silent in Thy sight; speak Thou alone to me.—THOMAS À KEMPIS.Of all acts, is not for man Repentance the most divine?—CARLYLE.Shall we wear our palms and pay no price for them?—H. HAMILTON KING.IT was a lovely afternoon when the Wildcroft party drove up to Mexfield Rectory. Mrs. Morrell, who was in the pretty glass-covered porch, which formed a charming little conservatory, came down to meet them.'You are in such good time,' she exclaimed; 'my husband has only just come in from the Sunday School, and tea will be ready in five minutes. You know, we always have it in the dining-room, because we like to have our children with us on Sunday.' And then, as she led the way with Frances, she continued, 'Owen was right in what he said on Thursday. Mr. Rutherford asked me at luncheon to send a cup of tea into the study. He has been resting all the afternoon, and he wishes to be quiet until service. I am afraid he is very tired; he has had a very hard week's work at Leicester.'As Frances had been prepared for this, she was not much disappointed, though it was certainly rather tantalising to know that Forbes Rutherford was under the same roof with them, but invisible. But later on she had an unexpected glimpse of the famous preacher. After tea, the youngest boy, a chubby little fellow of five, insisted on dragging her into the hall to show her his new rocking-horse, that was stabled pro tem. by the study door. As they crossed the passage, the study door suddenly opened and a tall man in a cassock came towards them.'Can you tell me if Morrell is in the vestry yet?' he asked there is something I must ask him.' Then, as he saw Frances' face more clearly, 'I beg your pardon, I thought I was speaking to Mrs. Morrell. The passage is a little dark.''I am here, Mr. Rutherford,' observed Mrs. Morrell, who had followed them. 'I will send one of the boys across to the church to fetch Owen.' And then he thanked her and went back to the study, while Frances contemplated the rocking-horse somewhat absently.She was wondering how she could describe Forbes Rutherford to her friend Edith Holdsworth. She had seldom seen a more marked and peculiar face. At first sight it might almost have been termed ugly; but the eyes were wonderful in their depth and clearness, and the smile that came to his lips when he discovered his mistake had seemed to light up his whole face. His voice, too, had sounded very pleasantly in Frances' cars. But as she went back to the dining-room with the child still clinging to her hand, she was surprised to find that Bride had also had a glimpse of him.'Oh, Francie,' she whispered, 'I am so disappointed. Mr. Rutherford is such a dreadfully ugly man!''Not when he speaks, dear,' returned Frances, 'and he has a beautiful smile.' But Bride received this rather incredulously.'Anyhow, it gave me a shock,' she went on. 'But we must not stand here talking. Mrs. Morrell wants us to go over to the church, as she is sure it will be very full; but Martin is asking the churchwarden to reserve seats for us.' And then Elinor was summoned, and they went across.Early as it was, the church was nearly full. Before another half-hour had passed it was literally packed. A small pew by a pillar had been reserved for them; and when Elinor had seated herself, she saw the Keiths and Milners were two or three seats before them. Even Mrs. Keith, who rarely attended evening service, was there. Joe Twitchett, too, was near them, with the Rectory servants.Frances had never before attended the service at Mexfield Church, and she was much struck with the reverent behaviour of the congregation, and the heartiness of the singing and the responses. The rector read most of the Service, but Mr. Rutherford took the first lesson. But when he entered the pulpit and gave out his text, even in that crowded edifice, with people standing in the aisles, one could have heard a pin drop. 'Whosoever will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.' When the preacher had read these words twice, he stood silent for a moment with his hand lifted, while an expectant hush seemed to pervade the congregation.Bride was sitting by the pillar and Frances was next her. Then came Elinor and an old man in a white smock, with work-worn hands, crippled and distorted by rheumatism.At first the preacher's delivery was a little slow and halting. The brief, terse sentences seemed singularly abrupt. It was as though some mountain rivulet was forcing its way over rough boulders and through blocked-up channels. Then it flowed more smoothly, until the mighty tide of eloquence carried his hearers along with resistless force. He might truly have said, 'While I was musing the fire burned: then spoke I with my tongue.' And as that wonderful voice rang through the church, with its marvellous changes of tone—its deep rich timbre, its alternate sternness and tenderness—every soul seemed stirred to new emotion. The gnarled old hands that grasped the stick were shaking, and the slow tears of old age were running down the furrowed cheeks. 'Mercy on us, but it is turrible!' Elinor heard him mutter, as Gaffer Mort pulled out his blue-checked handkerchief with some difficulty.The sunset glow was fading, and the church was growing dusky and full of shadow; only one hanging lamp above the preacher's head threw into strong relief the rugged, impassioned face.Frances had long been aware that Bride was weeping silently in her corner, but she dare not look at her. Only when a low sob reached her ear, her hand closed over Bride's; it was cold and trembling.'Was it an arrow at a venture,' she asked herself, 'or had a Fatherly Providence sent this message through the lips of His evangelist to His wayward and wandering child?' It seemed to Frances as though every word must have been a fresh dagger-thrust to poor Bride; and she was sure from one or two restless movements on Elinor's part that she was growing very uncomfortable.'He who neglects the duty that lies before him,' went on the solemn tones, ' who hears a voice behind him saying, " This is the way, walk ye in it," and yet turns his back and declines to take it—it is such a one who refuses to take up the cross held out to him by the pierced hands. The cross refused—oh, dear people, think of it—the false disciple refusing to follow the Master. No cross for me on earth, Lord'; and dropping his voice—' no crown for that weak soul in heaven.'Frances clasped Bride's hand more closely. Her eyes were smarting with repressed tears. Ah, what was he saying now? He seemed narrating some anecdote or story. She had always heard that Forbes Rutherford often introduced some narrative of real life—some little episode that had struck him during some mission.'I was speaking of a faithless soul just now,' he went on—'of one who refused his Master's cross. Let me show you the other side of the picture.'The other night, during my Leicester mission, I had the great happiness of seeing an old college friend from whom I had been long parted. He had worked long and successfully in his dear Master's service in South Africa. Then in the heat of the day his strength had failed, and they told him that if he wished to live he must go home and rest—that for two or three years he would not be fit to work. His heart was nearly broken, for he had no one to take his place, and before he could return he felt that all the work of these years would be lost. But they were very urgent with him, and almost forced him away.'To a certain extent the voyage had benefited him, but he was still very low and sad at heart at the thought of his poor people. He had to stay in London for a day or two before going down to his old home; and Fate—or shall we not say a loving Providence?—brought the very man across his path who could help him—one whom he had known in old days. Dear people, I do not know the name of that brave and heroic soul who offered that Sunday evening to go over and save those few sheep in the wilderness from wandering again into outer darkness, who promised for three years to hold that mission fort; I only know just one or two things about this faithful servant. He was young, and just on the eve of marriage, and life to him was fragrant with promise, but for some reason unknown to my friend his wife was unable to accompany him. For two and a half years this heroic priest has laboured patiently at this rough mission work, with the ocean dividing him from all he loved; but he will not be there much longer, for, thank God for His mercies, my friend's health is now restored.'Dear people, bear with me a moment, though I have spoken long, I fear. Here, in this instance, we have the cross accepted, and yet how heavy that cross must have been to that ardent young soul! But what saith the Master?—"Every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for My name's sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life."' The mighty, vibrating voice sunk to silence, then rose again jubilant with solemn gladness. 'Therefore shall they (these faithful ones) receive a glorious kingdom, and a beautiful crown from the Lord's hand; for with His right hand shall He cover them, and with His arm shall He protect them. Even so. Amen.'The evening hymn followed, and Bride sat still in her place. But after the benediction, as the people began to move, Frances felt a hot hand clutching at her wrist.'Frances, you must help me. I must speak to him—to Mr. Rutherford; and then we must go home—I cannot go back to the Rectory.''Yes, dear, I understand; I will do my best for you.' And Frances, always quietly alert in an emergency, at once made up her mind what to do. 'Nora,' she whispered, as old Gaffer Mort hobbled with difficulty down the aisle, 'Bride wishes to speak to Mr. Rutherford, and I am going to the vestry. Will you tell Joe to bring round the trap to the churchyard gate as soon as possible; and ask Mrs. Morrell to excuse us, as Bride is not very well?' And then, when the Milners and Keiths had passed their seat, Frances made her way to the vestry.Elinor glanced at Bride, who was still kneeling with her face hidden, and a sudden lump came into her throat. Bride had been her special charge, and now she must leave her to Frances; but the next moment she crushed the throb of jealousy, and rose to carry out her sister's directions. On her way to the Rectory, she followed Hugh Milner and Kathleen, who were walking very slowly, as though they were waiting for some one; but she was bent on avoiding them, and took a little side-path to the Rectory.Frances was not long gone. The church was empty by this time, and she came swiftly down the long aisle.'Bride,' she said quietly, 'the vestry is very full, and Mr. Rutherford cannot see you there. He will come to you in the porch; it is lighter there than in the church, and the people will be all gone directly.'Then Bride followed her. But when they had reached the door, she took hold of Frances' hand.'Do not leave me just yet,' she faltered, 'or I shall have no courage to speak to him.' Then Frances soothed her with grave tenderness.Mr. Rutherford did not keep them long waiting. Bride shrank back into her corner as she saw the tall form striding towards them; but as he extended his hand, she looked up in his face piteously.'You would not shake hands with me if you knew who I am,' she said with a little sob. 'The story you told was about my husband. I was that unworthy wife who refused to go with him to the work.' Then a great light came into the clear, steadfast eyes of the missioner.'You are that young man's wife?''Yes; his name is Lyall Gresham, and he is out there still, and I——'and here, as Bride broke into sudden weeping, Frances gently disengaged herself and went outside. But as she did so, she heard Mr. Rutherford say, 'Poor child—my poor dear child,' in a tone of loving pity.Frances never knew how long she stood there in the cool evening light. Joe Twitchett drove up to the gate, and presently she saw Elinor and Mr. Morrell walking down from the Rectory, but she did not join them. She felt that any speech would jar on her to-night—when a human soul so dear to her was in bitter travail and pain. Her great loving heart was stirred within her. 'God moves in a mysterious way,' she said to herself, as she looked up at a little star twinkling near a luminous cloud. 'How true it is that "we are led by paths that we have not known"! He may well call her a child, for she has never been a woman—Lyall has found that out, poor fellow.' And then, as she remembered the preacher's closing words, a smile came to her lips. 'Dear Lyall,' she whispered, 'you have been faithful—Heaven grant your patience may be rewarded!' Then at the sound of footsteps on the flagged path Frances turned. Bride was coming towards her. Mr. Rutherford was still with her. No one spoke for a moment, but just before they reached the gate, he said to Frances in a low voice, 'You must take her home and make her rest; she is quite worn out.' Then he put out both hands to Bride. 'God bless you! I will pray for you and him too'—and then he went back to the church.Mr. Morrell put them into the trap. Elinor, after a moment's hesitation, had taken the front seat, leaving Frances with Bride; but it was a silent drive, and they were all thankful when they reached Wildcroft.Frances detained Elinor for a moment in the passage. 'I am going to get Bride to bed,' she said—'she is so worn out that she is trembling from head to foot with exhaustion—then we must coax her to take some food.' And Elinor at once undertook to bring up the necessary refreshments. But on seeking admittance to Bride's room a little later, she was somewhat surprised when Frances took the tray from her hand. 'Dear Nora,' she said, 'I think it will be wiser to leave her to me for a little; I know just what to do for her, and I shall not come down until she is calmer.' Then again Elinor swallowed a difficult lump; she had never been shut out of Bride's room before.'In that case you must have some food,' she returned; but her voice was a little dry and she was turning away. But a hand on her shoulder detained her.'Yes, you shall bring me some—or rather let Rachel bring it. Nora'—and something appealing in Frances' voice compelled Elinor to look at her—'I know exactly what you are feeling, and how strange and hard it is; but, darling, surely you can trust your child to Sister Gresham for a few hours?' Then, as their eyes met, the little spasm of jealousy passed from Elinor's breast.'Oh, Frances,' she whispered, 'don't I know the comfort you will be to her! Only promise to come to me as soon as she can spare you.' And Frances faithfully promised this.CHAPTER XXXV'I UNDERSTAND YOU PERFECTLY'Show me the path! I had forgotten TheeWhen I was happy and free,Walking down here in the gladsome light of the sun;But now I come and mourn; oh, set my feetIn the road to Thy blest seat!J.INGELOW.ANOTHER hour passed. The household had long since retired to rest, and Elinor, depressed and wearied by the emotions and fatigues of the evening, was sitting in an easy-chair by her bedroom window looking out into the moonlight, when Frances entered the room. She had a small lamp in her hand, which she set down on the table.'I have been a long time, I am afraid,' she said in rather a concerned voice. 'Oh, Nora, how tired you look! Bride wants you to go and bid her good-night.' Then, as Elinor got up at once, she continued, 'She has talked too much already; I think it would be better for you to say as little as possible. I will wait here until you come back.' And then Elinor nodded and took up the hand-lamp, for the passage leading to Bride's room was generally dark.Bride was sitting up in bed with her beautiful hair streaming over the pillows. Her face was swollen with weeping, but her expression was more peaceful. She stretched out her arms to Elinor.'Dear Nora, I could not sleep without bidding you good-night.' Then, as she held her close, she whispered, You are not vexed with me for wanting Frances to-night?''My dear child—no'; but Elinor felt a guilty little twinge as she remembered her momentary jealousy. 'I am only too thankful that she should be a comfort to you.''Oh, she is so good—I never knew before what she could be in trouble—but you are my own dear sister too!' But Elinor, mindful of Frances' words, refused to let her say more, and, kissing her affectionately, withdrew.She found Frances still standing by the window. 'You have been very quick, Nora. Now you will go to bed and try to rest. I have promised Bride that I will sit by her until she is asleep.''Oh, Frances, and you are quite as tired as I am!''It will rest me, dear, to sit quietly in the dark a little, and she is so exhausted that I am sure she will soon fall asleep. I shall not come in again, Nora, our talk must wait for the morning,' and Elinor rather reluctantly assented to this.The next morning, as Elinor was enjoying the cup of tea Rachel had brought her, Frances entered the room, fully dressed. She brought a good report of Bride; she had slept well. Frances had stolen down the passage once in the night, and had been relieved to find her sleeping as placidly as a child. But when Elinor peeped in on her way downstairs, she thought Bride was looking very white and exhausted. Frances was just placing the breakfast-tray in a more comfortable position; she gave Elinor a sign not to linger.'Please begin your breakfast, I shall be down directly,' she continued; 'I expect I shall find a budget awaiting me.' And she was right, for a pile of letters occupied her all the time she ate her breakfast, and as Elinor had her own share of correspondence, very few words passed between them; only, as she gathered up her letters and took her key-basket, Frances looked up.'Nora, if you will be disengaged in half-an-hour, will you come with me into the little churchyard? I want a quiet talk where no one will be likely to interrupt us.''Yes, certainly, I shall have given all my orders by then, and the rest of the morning will be at your disposal'; and Frances thanked her and went on with her letter.The little churchyard was certainly a peaceful spot that morning, and as the sisters seated themselves on a jutting-out mass of broken masonry, with the few scattered graves at their feet, and the wide, quiet pastures surrounding them, Frances gave an involuntary sigh.'I don't wonder that you and Bride love this place so much,' she said; 'I don't like the idea of leaving it myself to-morrow. But we have had a glorious time, have we not, Nora?''Yes, but to-morrow evening I shall be missing you badly.''And I you. But we will not talk of that now. I have made up my posy of honey-sweet memories, and I shall just smell hard at it all the way home, as the old women sniff at their southernwood and rosemary during the sermon.'Elinor smiled faintly; but Frances' face was graver than usual as she went on. 'Last night, as I sat in Bride's room in the dark, I told myself that the age of miracles had not passed—that the effect of that sermon on the dear child was nothing short of miraculous. Elinor, I believe last evening was the crucial moment of Bride's life—the turning-point on which depends her own and Lyall's future happiness. But we must be very gentle with her—she is so sore that she can only bear a very tender touch.''I think she looks very ill this morning, Frances.''No, not bodily ill. Bride has a splendid constitution and her health is perfect, but for the first time in her life her conscience is fully awake, and she is suffering horribly. Bride never does things by halves. Last night she saw her past life illumined by a sudden search-light—all disguise was rent asunder, all false glamour had melted away. In that lightning-flash she saw the true proportion of things, and the thought of all her wifely neglect and selfish waywardness was hideous in her eyes.''But she has repented, Frances. I know Bride well enough to be sure that she will strive to the utmost of her power to atone to Lyall for all these years.''Without doubt; but all the same she will suffer. Every penitent soul has in some sense to work out his or her redemption. I think it would have broken your heart to have heard her last night saying over and over to herself, "The cross refused—the cross refused; no crown for that weak soul," in a tone almost of despair. Oh, it was so sad!' But Elinor could not trust herself to reply. There was a moment's silence, as though Frances found it difficult to proceed. 'Nora,' she said gently, 'I am afraid what I have to say will give you pain—great pain. Bride wishes to come to St. Monica's. She told Mr. Rutherford so; it is her own idea, and he approved.''What do you mean?' in an incredulous tone, for Elinor could not believe her ears—'that Bride thinks of leaving me to live at St. Monica's?''No, not to live, dear, only to stay until Lyall comes home, and we do not know how soon that may be.''He is to come in April; there are nearly seven months until then, and Bride would leave me here alone until then! Oh, Frances, was it not enough to lose you and have my life spoiled for years, and now Bride will forsake me too!' And Elinor's voice was so hurt and full of pain that Frances' deep-set eyes filled with tears.'Don't, Nora—don't say such things, for I would rather suffer anything than see you so troubled. When Bride told me this last night, I tried hard to combat the notion for your sake. I told her that she ought to think of you. But after a time I did not dare to say another word—it would have been too great a responsibility.''I do not understand.''No, dear, and I am not surprised; but I will try to make it plain to you. Bride thinks she has committed a great sin, and she wants in some way to show her repentance. She has got it firmly into her mind that Lyall has lost all faith in her, and that he does not believe that she is in earnest. Her words to me were these: "Lyall is so good that he will forgive me at the first word, but he will not really trust or believe in me. I must do something to prove to him that I am truly in earnest. Let me come to you, Frances, and learn how to nurse those poor sick people? Don't let Lyall find me living just a comfortable, ordinary life. Oh, we have been so happy, Nora and I, but if I stayed now I should only make her miserable." Elinor, much as I hate to grieve you, I fear that even your happiness must give way to this, if Bride is to recover her self-respect and peace of mind. Let her carry out her self-imposed penance; you know she has always had a fancy for nursing people, and in her present state of mind the change of scene and occupation will be beneficial.'Elinor sat silent for a moment. Her heart was heavy with disappointment, but her sweet, reasonable nature owned the truth of Frances' words. "She must not refuse her share of self-sacrifice. Better to be dull and lonely than to place a stumbling-block in Bride's path. Poor, weak, childish Bride! who would be so strong a prop, so tender and yet so bracing, as Frances? And as these salutary reflections came to her, the pained tension of her face relaxed and softened.'I will not be selfish, Frances—Bride shall go with you. But surely you will wait for her a day or two?' Then the old humorous smile came to Frances' lips.'Dear Nora, you surely did not think that Bride meant to leave you in this hurry. I shall go up alone to-morrow, and make arrangements for her, and my idea is this—that you should bring her up in a fortnight. I can take you both in then, and I know you want to see Augusta before she starts for the other end of the world.' And the thought of this reprieve comforted Elinor a good deal.They talked a little more; then Frances begged her to go to Bride. 'She will not get up until she has seen you,' she went on; 'she is so afraid that you may be hurt with her. I shall do my packing while you are with her, and then we can sit in the garden a little.'But though Frances went up to her room, she did not at once settle to her business, for her mind was occupied by a perplexing question. 'Circumstances alter cases,' she said to herself; 'would it be wrong to give Nora a hint? It would reconcile her more to things. 'But no'—dismissing the temptation with a sigh—'I must not betray his confidence.'Frances' perplexity arose from a passage in Lyall's last letter, in which he threw out a strong hint that he might possibly be home much earlier than April. 'Pownall is quite strong again,' he wrote; 'he says he is as fit as possible, and longing to be back at work. I should not be surprised if I were to get back before Christmas. But please say nothing about this to Bride or Elinor, for of course things are not settled.''If Nora knew this, it would make such a difference to her,' she thought regretfully, 'but I dare not say a word.'When Elinor sat down by the bed, Bride looked at her very wistfully. 'Nora,' she whispered, 'you are not angry with me? I am not ungrateful, am I? It does seem so cruel to leave you all alone, but you understand, do you not?' Then Elinor took the small hot hand in hers. Bride was so pathetic, so like a child in her unhappiness and helplessness.'Dear, I understand you perfectly,' returned Elinor's kind voice; 'there is nothing for you to explain, Frances has made it all clear to me. We have had a very happy summer together; but if you stayed on now, feeling as you do, I fear things would be spoiled for both of us. Of course I shall miss you; but if God has put it into your heart to do a little work for Him, do you think I would say a word to hinder you?''Dear, dear Elinor, how good you are! but you must not think too well of me. I am afraid I am thinking most of Lyall.''I know what you mean, dearest; but when we have sinned against a fellow-creature, and do all in our power to atone for our wrong-doing, we must surely be doing what is pleasing in the eyes of our Heavenly Father. You will be in the path of duty, and I do not think you need fear even if you are thinking at first most of Lyall.'Bride drew a long oppressed sigh, and her eyes looked very sad. 'I have behaved so badly to him, and he has been so patient. Oh, Elinor, do you think that he will ever trust me again?''I am sure of it, darling.''That is what Frances says—you two think so much alike. But there is something I must tell you. Mr. Rutherford has promised to come and see me at St. Monica's. Oh, he was so kind and fatherly! He wants me to write to him, for he says he is sure that he can help me. He told me that I must be very brave and bear these unhappy feelings patiently. "In sinning against your husband, you have sinned against God," he said, so solemnly, "for you should not have married him unless you meant to share his work. But now, if he comes back to you, you will try to be a more loving wife to him, will you not?" But I could not answer, I was so broken-hearted; and then he said some beautiful things to comfort me.''Dear Bride, if you will only make Lyall happy, we shall have nothing more to ask.'And then they talked for some time very quietly over future plans. Bride, who was always impulsive, would far rather have begun her work at once, but Frances had been very firm on this point. Elinor must be considered, she had said. There was no reason for undue haste. In a fortnight her room should be ready for her, but not before. And Bride had been obliged to submit to this.Later in the day Elinor found herself alone with Frances, and they discussed the events of the previous evening more fully. In the afternoon Kathleen and her father had called to say good-bye, but Bride had not appeared; and they had not stayed long, knowing that it was Frances' last day at Meadow Thorpe.'Do you think you will be able to stay here alone, Nora?' asked Frances, as they took a parting stroll across the meadows in the sunset.Elinor looked away and her colour rose a little.'I think so. I have so many interests, and I have grown so attached to the place. But if I am dull, I can always come up to Grove House and be near you and Bride. You must not trouble about me, Frances.''No, but all the same you will he heavily on my mind.'But Frances thought it wiser to say no more on that subject. It was not for her to interfere with Elinor's plans. She must await further developments. After all, things were very simple. If Elinor really found her solitary life at Wildcroft too trying, she could easily take up her quarters at Grove House. 'After all, it may not be for long,' she thought, as she remembered Lyall's letter.CHAPTER XXXVI'ONE GETS USED TO EVERYTHING'It is not what we do, but why we do it, that is of consequence. How often we say to ourselves, speaking of things of the world, 'It does not signify, it is all in the day's work.' And so neither does it signify in the concerns of another world whether we are called upon to rule a kingdom or break stones on the road, if only what we do is work; work that shall turn to account in the reckoning up of the long day of life; work for Him to whom nothing is great and therefore nothing can be small.—ELIZABETH SEWELL.THE following day Frances left Wildcroft. Elinor drove with her to Maskell. As they paced up and down the little platform, Frances spoke a few parting words of advice.'Don't be too anxious about Bride. Give her plenty of scope. She is likely to be depressed at times; occupy and interest her as much as you can. But I do not think she will give you much trouble.' And, as usual, Frances was right.The fortnight passed very peacefully. Bride strove bravely to battle with her occasional moods of despondency and deep dejection, and would rouse herself with an effort if she thought Elinor looked dull or anxious. More than once Elinor longed to tell her that her sweetness and loving ways would only make her miss her more, but she wisely left the words unspoken.They were very quiet, for Bride shrank from seeing people; but by her own wish they spent one afternoon at Crow Farm, and that day she seemed more like her old self. Hammond Keith had asked Elinor to go round to 'The Chimney-Corner' with him to see some new wall-papers he had chosen. He was looking well, and in excellent spirits, though he told her that he feared that Agnes would be unable to return until quite the end of November.'They are going to Florence early next month,' he continued, 'and Miss Warburton is afraid that her cousin cannot arrange to come to England earlier; it may even be the first week in December.' "Then he added a little shyly, 'It is rather trying for both of us, but I ought to be thankful that she is so well.'On their return to the farm, Elinor was surprised to find bride in close conversation with Hugh Milner; but she had no opportunity of joining them, as Mrs. Keith wanted to speak to her.But later in the evening, when they were all in the garden together, Hugh asked her to look at a drawing he had just finished, and which Bride had already seen, and she accompanied him to the room that he used as his workshop. It was a beautifully executed plan for the exterior of the new schools at Leathwaite, and Elinor greatly admired the design. As he put it back in the portfolio, he said quietly, 'Mrs. Gresham has been telling me that she is going up to town next Tuesday, to stay with your sister at St. Monica's Home.''Yes,' returned Elinor, striving ineffectually to stifle a sigh; 'we are both going, but I do not intend to remain more than two or three days.''But surely you will be very dull here alone?' And there was unmistakable anxiety in Hugh's voice.'I shall miss her, of course. My sister-in-law is the sort of person one cannot help missing. Hers is such a bright personality, that I am afraid the house will feel very empty at first; but one gets used to everything.'Hugh looked at her gravely. He was evidently not satisfied.'But it hardly seems right. Forgive me if I am saying more than I ought, but my father and Kathleen will be so sorry when they hear it. Wildcroft is so isolated—your nearest neighbour is a mile away.''I do not think I shall mind it when I get used to it,' returned Elinor, much touched by this anxiety on her behalf. 'You see my brother will soon be home, so I could not expect to keep Mrs. Gresham to myself much longer. She will have to be with her husband.''Yes, of course I see that.' And Hugh hesitated a moment.'We are only anticipating matters a little,' went on Elinor hastily. 'And really there is no need for me to be dull. If I find my solitude at: Meadow Thorpe irksome, I can always run up to town and take up my quarters in our old home at the Boltons. I shall be near both my sisters then. I think I told you that my eldest sister is going to India; but, as the house belongs to my brother, I can always make use of it when I wish to do so.''But you will be alone there,' he objected, and something in Hugh's tone brought a little lump to Elinor's throat. But she went on bravely.'Oh, but that will be a very different loneliness, for I can spend most of my time at St. Monica's if I like, and I have all my old friends round me. Very probably I shall go backwards and forwards a good deal.' And then she added, with a bright smile, 'In that case I shall hope to see something of Kathleen. Perhaps she will come and stay with me at the Boltons—at least for a day or two, if your father can spare her.''You are very good,' returned Hugh gravely, but he did not look at her as he spoke. 'I am sure Kathleen will be very pleased to do so. Now I must not keep you longer, as I expect Mrs. Gresham is waiting for you.' And then he opened the door for her to precede him; and shortly afterwards they took their leave.When Elinor and Bride reached St. Monica's the following Thursday, they received a warm welcome from Frances. Bride seemed much pleased with the cosy cubicle that had been arranged so thoughtfully for her comfort, and while she was settling in to her new quarters the sisters had a little talk together. Frances was much disappointed when she heard that Elinor meant to return home early on Saturday morning.'I quite hoped that you would have stayed at least a week or ten days,' she said rather reproachfully.'I fully intended doing so,' returned Elinor, 'and I have only changed my mind because I feel sure that Bride will not be able to settle down comfortably to her work while I am here. It will be far wiser for me to come up later to Grove House and do my winter shopping; I may possibly spend some weeks in town.' And Frances seemed satisfied with this arrangement and raised no further objection.On Thursday Elinor and Bride had luncheon at Grove House, and Frances joined them later in the afternoon. Augusta seemed very pleased to see them. She looked well and bright and had grown a little stouter. She seemed looking forward to her trip with much zest. Elinor and Frances agreed afterwards that she looked handsomer than ever; the discontented lines round the mouth were not so visible; in some respects she seemed happier.Just before they left, Augusta asked Elinor to come into her room for a moment, and then she placed a small case in her hand. 'I have not forgotten that your birthday will be on the thirtieth of October,' she said, 'so I have got ready my gift beforehand.' Then, as Elinor opened the case, she gave a little exclamation of pleasure.'Oh, Gussie, how can you part with it—your own lovely little sapphire and diamond brooch?''I knew how much you always admired it,' replied Augusta, smiling, 'and I have more jewellery than I care to use. I am so glad you are pleased, Nora; I wanted you to have it'; and there was a softened look in Augusta's brilliant eyes.Frances seemed both surprised and touched when Elinor showed her the brooch. 'It is a peace-offering as well as a birthday gift,' she said. 'Augusta once told me that it was her favourite ornament. It is very generous of her. Gussie is a strange mixture. She has fine points in her character. She seems to me very much improved.' And both Elinor and Bride endorsed this.Elinor took leave of her sisters on Saturday with outward cheerfulness, but her heart sank a little when she drove up to Wildcroft and there was no graceful figure in the porch to welcome her. Rufus did all in his power to console his mistress. His joy had been almost too exuberant at first, but he quieted down and sat with his tawny head in her lap and his beautiful eyes full of adoring worship. Bride had taken Scrap with her to St. Monica's, but Flurry was purring and rubbing herself against her mistress's dress in her old caressing way, and Elinor found the sympathy of her dumb friends very comforting.The next week Elinor settled down bravely to her solitary life. Nearly every morning a letter from Bride or Frances greeted her. Frances was too busy a woman to write lengthy epistles, but even her shortest note seemed helpful. She gave a good report of Bride. She was certainly interested in her work, and the regular employment gave her no time for brooding. 'I am very careful not to let her overtire herself,' Frances wrote once. 'As I have often told you, Bride does nothing by halves, and she would work far too hard if we would let her. You will be surprised to hear that we are going up to St. James's, Stepney, next Sunday afternoon. Mr. Rutherford proposed it, and Bride is so pleased.'From the first Bride had insisted that Lyall should be kept in ignorance of her real motive for coming to St. Monica's, and she had begged Frances and Elinor to say as little as possible about her in their letters.'He will think I have grown tired of my quiet country life, and that I have come to Frances for a change, and I do not want you to undeceive him'; and Bride took a childish delight in this innocent little deception. Elinor occupied herself as much as possible, and she accepted all her friends' invitations. She spent several afternoons at Marley Grange, and she also frequently went to Mexfield Rectory. On her way there she generally called at Crow Farm and had an hour's chat with Mrs. Keith, but she had always an excuse ready for not staying to a meal.She saw Hammond Keith when his business brought him to Meadow Thorpe, but she rarely came across Hugh Milner. Once she met him at a garden-party at Marley Grange, and a week later she encountered him at Rugby and they travelled back to Maskell together. Elinor thought, as she sat opposite to him, that he seemed depressed and unlike himself; but when she hinted at this, he said hastily that he was a little over-worked, and thought that he needed a change and rest. 'Not that I can take it for the next two months,' he continued, 'for I have never been so busy as I am at present.' And then he asked her if she were very dull without her sister-in-law.Elinor answered with well-assumed cheerfulness. 'The evenings were certainly a little quiet,' she said, 'but she was getting used to them, and she was seldom without an engagement for the afternoon.''That is why you come so seldom to Crow Farm?' he observed. Then Elinor coloured a little and evaded the question, but Hugh did not press the point.Elinor had no idea of the pain those visits had cost him. More than once he had been in his workshop and had heard her voice, but when he had come to the tea-table expecting to find her, Mrs. Keith told him she had gone to Mexfield Rectory, and the bitterness of the disappointment had spoilt his evening. Elinor wondered why he was so silent and ill at ease, but she was conscious herself of secret embarrassment. It was almost a relief when Maskell was reached and she found Joe Twitchett and Peggy awaiting her.'You will come with us as far as Meadow Thorpe?' she observed as Hugh folded the rug round her, for the October evenings were growing chilly. But he thanked her and said his bicycle was in the station, and then he lifted his hat and walked away. That evening Elinor's thoughts were not cheerful.In the middle of October the Warburtons returned home, and Elinor felt constrained to pay a duty visit to Tylcote Hall.To her relief the vicar was absent, but Mrs. Warburton received her with her old cordiality. She looked remarkably well and seemed in her usual spirits, and talked a good deal of her daughter. 'My cousin says Agnes is growing quite strong,' she observed; 'her appetite is good and she walks well. They do a good deal of sight-seeing together, and Agnes seems to enjoy the life. But I am sorry to say that Miss Warburton's engagements will not allow them to leave Florence before the first week in December.'Mrs. Warburton seemed disposed to resume her old friendly habits for a few days after this. She drove over to Wildcroft, and a week later Elinor received an invitation to a dinner-party. The formal card was accompanied by a friendly little note.'We are expecting some old friends to stay with us,' Mrs. Warburton wrote, 'and we wish to introduce some of our neighbours to them. As Mr. and Mrs. Thurston have accepted, they will probably be able to bring you in their carriage,' and Elinor felt pleased by this consideration. Indeed, Mrs. Thurston herself proposed it a day or two later. 'It will be rather a smart affair,' she observed, when they had talked comfortably over the arrangements for the evening;' I expect the best county people will be there. Mrs. Warburton knows how to do things, and of course, as you are alone, it will be far pleasanter to go with us,' and Elinor accepted this neighbourly kindness with gratitude.She was amused to find how much her thoughts were occupied with the coming festivity. In the old days at the Boltons, dinner-parties, receptions, and balls had been considered by her as ordinary events, and regarded as part of the day's routine; but at Meadow Thorpe the dinner-party at Tylcote Hall appeared quite a formidable and imposing function.'If it is to be such a smart affair as Mrs. Thurston thinks,' she said to herself, 'I suppose I must wear my cream satin. Bride always says no other dress suits me so well.' And so subtle is feminine vanity even in a superior nature, that the thought of wearing her favourite dress gave Elinor a passing feeling of pleasure.The evening fixed for the dinner-party was not very propitious as regards weather. It had been a typical November day—raw, cold, damp, with a slight mistiness—and as Elinor looked from the window at the somewhat depressing prospect, she wondered if Maida Vale was veiled in fog.It so happened that Hugh Milner had been obliged to go to town the previous day on important business, and as it detained him until late in the evening, he had slept at Acacia Road, to the great joy of his father and Kathleen.Kathleen, who was clever with her fingers, had just finished painting a very pretty piece of pottery which she had intended for Elinor's birthday, but ten days had passed since then and she had found no means of conveying it safely. It was a great relief, then, when Hugh volunteered to leave it at Wildcroft on his way home.He almost repented his promise when he found how late it was before he left the station. 'It will be half-past six before I get to Wildcroft,' he said to himself, 'but of course I shall not stay many minutes; I shall just give Kathleen's message, and see for myself that the vase has sustained no injury.' Nevertheless, the thought of those few minutes made Hugh's heart beat more quickly than usual.CHAPTER XXXVIIELINOR MEETS SOME OLD FRIENDSFor this fair lady who affects thee thus,Hath in so great degree transformed thy life,That thou dust fear,—so mean art thou become.But look how modest and how kind is she,And in her greatness wise and courteous.DANTETHE brightly lighted drawing-room at Wildcroft was a very pleasant sight to Hugh's eyes after the dark roads and the raw cold of the atmosphere, and he was glad to warm his hands at the fire. The maid had told him that her mistress was dressing, but would be down directly. But almost before she had closed the door, it was opened again and Elinor stood on the threshold.'I was just ready,' she said, panting a little with the haste she had made; 'but the carriage will not be here for a quarter of an hour.' But Hugh could hardly summon up breath to reply—for the moment, he felt giddy.Could this dazzling figure be really Elinor Gresham! As he took her hand with a muttered apology for his late visit, he was only conscious of a dull feeling of despair settling down like a leaden weight on his heart. How beautiful she looked! How queenly and graceful in the gleaming satin! The pearls that clasped her throat scarcely showed against its whiteness; only the sapphire and diamond brooch fastening the lace at her bosom shone brilliantly. Elinor flushed under his gaze, and turned aside to lay down her fan and gloves on the table; and then she caught sight of the parcel.'That is Kathleen's handwriting,' she said eagerly. 'I expect it is the little vase that she has been painting for me, and you have been kind enough to bring it this evening.'Elinor's frank, clear tones broke the spell and Hugh pulled himself together.'I was detained in town last evening,' he replied, 'so I paid a surprise visit to Acacia Road, and Kathleen begged me to convey this safely to you. May I open it to see that it is all right?'Then Elinor nodded, and drew on her gloves as she watched him. Was it because his hands were cold that he bungled so long with the knots? But when the little vase was at last uncovered, Elinor was charmed with it.'It is quite lovely,' she said; 'I had no idea that Kathleen could paint so beautifully. There, I wonder if you could fasten this bracelet for me, or shall I ring for Rachel; for I never can do it myself—the clasp is so hard.' But Elinor wished she had not asked his assistance when she saw how pale he turned.'I think I can manage it,' he said almost inaudibly; 'let me try.' But not all his efforts at self-control could steady his hands. By the time the bracelet was clasped, Elinor was almost as pale as he was.'Thank you,' she said hurriedly. 'Oh, there is the carriage, and I must not keep it a moment waiting,' and she caught up her fur-lined cloak.Hugh mechanically took it from her and put it over her shoulders. 'No, you must not be late,' he said, but he had never asked her where she was going. 'I hope you will have a pleasant evening.' And then as Elinor gathered up her train, he put her in the carriage. He had no idea whose carriage it was. As he closed the door Elinor let down the glass.'Good-night,' she said gently. 'Thank you so much for bringing me the vase. I will write to Kathleen.' But he only bowed and drew back into the porch.Elinor's eyes smarted with unshed tears as she leaned against the cushions. Hugh's face haunted her at intervals during the evening. How white and drawn it had looked! She could feel the touch of his shaking hands through her glove. Why, when she had bidden him good-night, had he made no response, except by that long, sad look?' 'It was as though he were bidding me good-bye for ever,' she said to herself. 'Oh, what can he mean?' pressing her hands together in the darkness. 'But I must not think of it. I will not, or I shall not be fit for my social duties.' And Elinor summoned up all her resolution and womanly self-command, and by the time Marley Grange was reached she had regained outward calmness.Most of the guests had arrived, and when the Thurstons and Elinor entered the long drawing-room at Tylcote Hall they found themselves in the midst of a brilliant circle. Mrs. Warburton, who looked exceedingly handsome in black velvet and point lace, received them graciously. She gave Elinor a quick, appreciative look. 'I want to introduce you to my old friends,' she was beginning; but she was a little taken aback when Elinor smiled and held out her hand with a pleased expression to a tall, fresh-coloured man standing by them.'Sir Harry Vincent and I are old friends already,' she continued; 'he and Lady Doreen have often been at Grove House. Oh, there she is, and I must go and speak to her.' And Elinor crossed the room with easy grace to the couch where a fair-haired woman was talking to the vicar.Lady Doreen had never been good-looking even in her youth. Indeed, her features were somewhat plain. But her expression was so pleasing, and her smile so sweet, that people seldom remembered it. Harry Vincent had once told his sister in a letter that his future wife was a good sort, and he had certainly not changed his opinion on this point, for they were the happiest couple in the world.Elinor had only time for a hurried word of greeting before dinner was announced and her attention claimed by the gentleman allotted to her. Mr. Sinclair, who was also staying at the Hall, was an old college friend of Mr. Warburton's. He was a clever barrister, in the prime of life and still unmarried, and under other circumstances Elinor would have much enjoyed his conversation; but in spite of all her efforts, her thoughts wandered occasionally. But as Mr. Sinclair seemed perfectly satisfied with his companion, her attempts to be agreeable were not thrown away.Once or twice, when her attention was called to the end of the table where Mr. Warburton sat, her eyes encountered the vicar's, as though he were watching her, and the strange, fixed glance made her uncomfortable. But during the rest of the evening he did not once approach her, and seemed absorbed in paying attention to the other guests. When dinner was over Elinor had a nice little talk with Lady Doreen, and presently Sir Harry joined them. They both expressed their regret that their engagements and the shortness of their visit would not allow them to call at Wildcroft.A few minutes later, when Lady Doreen had been carried off by her hostess, Sir Harry said confidentially, 'Do you know, I have just unearthed a nephew in this neighbourhood, Miss Gresham. I wonder if you have ever come across him?—his name is Hugh Milner.'The quick colour rose to Elinor's face. 'Your nephew?' she said in great surprise. 'Oh yes, we know all about him. He is staying at Crow Farm, and is superintending the renovation of the church at Tylcote Street. He is very clever.''So they say. But how astonished you look! As we are old friends and you seem interested, I may as well tell you about it, though it is ancient history now. My poor mother'—and here Sir Harry's good-natured face grew suddenly grave, for Lady Vincent had died the previous year—'and the pater, bless their old hearts! were a little mediæval in their views, and when my sister Janet took it into her head to elope with her handsome young music-master, there were ructions.''Do you mean that your parents never forgave her?''Well, it looks like it,' returned Sir Harry. 'But I know the mater was awfully cut up when she heard of her death; in fact, she never seemed like the same woman afterwards.'I was only a youngster when Janet left home, but when I grew up I took it into my head to pay her a visit. I found her, poor girl, in a poky little house in St. John's Wood; but she seemed tolerably happy and delighted to see me. I thought Hugh a fine fellow, and quite a Vincent, and the girl, Kathleen, a taking little creature. My brother-in-law, too, seemed a decent sort of chap.' And then Sir Harry went on to tell Elinor that he had fully intended to repeat his visit, but going abroad, and then his engagement and marriage, had occupied him.He had been much upset to hear of his sister's death, and had at once written a letter of condolence to his brother-in-law. And then he went on to relate how Janet's letter to him had never reached him; that it was only a few weeks ago, in turning out his mother's writing-table, that he had come upon it.'Poor Janet, and she asked me for her sake to be kind to her boy Hugh, and if possible to give him a helping hand; and all these years I have done nothing.''Yes, I see. How sad it all seems. But you will see your nephew now?''Yes, I have made an attempt already. But when I called at Crow Farm, he had gone to London and was not expected back until this evening. Mrs. Warburton has kindly asked him to dinner to-morrow, and I can get him for a talk then. From all accounts I am not likely to be ashamed of my nephew. Warburton says he is a very good-looking fellow.''Yes, and Kathleen is charming too. I think you will be very pleased with them both, Sir Harry'—an undefinable feeling of shyness prevented Elinor from saying more.'I shall have him to stay with me,' returned Sir Harry, 'and very likely I can find a way of helping him. And Doreen says we must take some notice of the girl. She seems very much interested about them.' But at this point they, were interrupted. Lady Doreen was going to sing, and she wanted her husband to accompany her.A little later Elinor found herself beside Mrs. Warburton.'You and Sir Harry have had a long conversation,' she said graciously. 'I suppose he has told you the news about Mr. Milner?''Oh yes, and I confess I was very much surprised.' Elinor tried to speak naturally.'Of course we were very much surprised too,' replied Mrs. Warburton; 'the Milners have kept things so quiet. One sees now from whom Hugh Milner has inherited that air of distinction. He is very like his grandfather, Sir Walter. Of course such an idea never entered my head before, but when I have been speaking to Mr. Milner I have been puzzled by some vague likeness to some one I knew.''Sir Harry seems quite eager to make his acquaintance,' observed Elinor.'Yes. He and Lady Doreen rushed off to Crow Farm directly, but Mr. Milner had gone to town. We are asking him to dinner to-morrow. Oh, the Thurstons are going, and I must not keep you.'But Elinor was not sorry to break off the conversation. Mrs. Warburton's patronising tone always vexed her. Hugh had never been invited to Tylcote Hall before. It would not be so easy to snub him now. Hugh Milner, a struggling, hard-working young architect, was one person; Sir Walter Vincent's grandson and the nephew of the rich, prosperous Sir Harry, the master of Salcott Grange, was a very different and far more desirable individual.Elinor had plenty of food for her thoughts that night. 'If I could only see him and tell him how glad I am,' she said to herself. And then as she laid her head on the pillow, 'I think I could fired something to say that would make him look less sad.'The following morning was wet, and Elinor, who felt unusually restless, tried to occupy herself by writing long letters to Lyall and Frances.The rain cleared after luncheon, but the soaking paths offered no inducement to go out. She therefore settled down by the fireside for a quiet afternoon's reading. She was so sure that no visitor would invade her privacy, that she was quite startled when the door-bell rang and the next moment Jenny announced Mr. Warburton.Elinor was intensely surprised, though she tried to hide it. Mr. Warburton had only once called on them, and then his mother had been with him. But to come alone on such a day! Elinor felt vaguely uneasy. His manner, too, was hardly reassuring.'You are very much surprised to see me,' he said, giving her one of his piercing looks; 'but I have come on rather important business—I may say very important business,' with a singular emphasis on the last two words.'But you will sit down?' returned Elinor hurriedly; 'and if it is not too early, I will ring for tea.' And she was moving to the fireplace, but he put up his hand to stop her.'I would rather not. It is not nearly four, and five o'clock is my hour. We are all creatures of habit, Miss Gresham.' Then, as Elinor sat down, he did not at once follow her example, though she mutely pointed to the chair opposite to her.'Thanks, I would rather stand for a little, while I unfold my business.' But Elinor interrupted him.'I hope your mother is none the worse for all her fatigue last night,' she said rather nervously.'She is perfectly well, thanks. My mother is very sociable by nature, and she is never happier than when her friends are gathered round her. I am afraid I have been remiss; I ought to have asked you if you reached home comfortably.''Oh yes, the Thurstons took such good care of me. I think we all enjoyed ourselves, and it was so delightful to meet our old friends the Vincents again.' But Mr. Warburton waved aside the subject with a gesture of impatience.'Pardon me, but we will not discuss that now—my mind is too full of other matters. Miss Gresham, I don't wish to startle you, but I think you will be prepared for what I have to say. I have come this afternoon to ask you to be my wife.'CHAPTER XXXVIIIGALE WARBURTON'S WOOINGWhy should a man, whose blood is warm within,Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?The Merchant of Venice.Truth is our only armour in all passages of life and death.—EMERSON.ELINOR turned very pale; for a moment she could not speak—she felt as though some nightmare oppressed her. The room was growing dark and shadowy; only the blazing logs made a circle of brightness, partially obscured by the tall black figure that seemed to tower over her like some stern, inexorable Fate. If she had only rung for lights—if he would sit down and give her room to breathe. She wanted to ask him to stop, to say no more, but she could not utter the words.'I am afraid, after all, I have taken you somewhat by surprise,' went on the smooth, measured voice; 'but I beg you not to agitate yourself, for there is no need to answer me at present. There is much that I have to say to you—that I want to explain to you carefully.' But Elinor looked at him appealingly; she had regained her breath.'Please do not say any more, Mr. Warburton; it would not be right for me to listen.' But she might as well have spoken to the wind.'Pardon me if I differ from you there,' he returned calmly; 'I owe it to myself to offer you some explanation of my change of purpose, and I must request you to listen to me for a few moments. Miss Gresham, I have never regarded myself as a marrying man; the idea that a wife was necessary to my happiness had never occurred to me. I doubt whether it ever would have done so if you had not come to Meadow Thorpe.''Oh stop—please stop!' implored Elinor. But he only looked at her with his grave, inscrutable smile and went on.'Do not be afraid; one is bound to be gentle with a woman, and I have no intention of agitating you. I will sit down and we will talk over the matter quietly.' But to Elinor's dismay he took a seat beside her where the firelight played upon her face. She would have drawn back if she could, but her chair was heavy, so she took up a little hand-screen that lay near her.'I was saying that the idea of matrimony had never seriously entered my thoughts,' continued Mr. Warburton. 'It seemed that my work and my mother's society were sufficient for my happiness. Miss Gresham, it is impossible for me to say this now. The last few months I have held counsel with myself. I have told myself that a man is bound in the course of nature to outlive his mother, and that if I lost her my life would be very lonely, and that, though my work would remain, even books could not wholly replace the comfort of human companionship. Will you allow me to tell you that you are responsible for these thoughts?''I—I—oh, you are making a grievous mistake, Mr. Warburton; for your own sake and mine, I beg you to say no more.' But she might as well have tried to check a torrent, for the deep musical tones went on.'When I saw you, the whole plan and purpose of my life seemed changed; for it seemed to me that Providence had sent to me the only woman whom I could male my wife. Your gentleness and intelligence and good sense appealed irresistibly to me. I have watched you carefully, and I think I may say that your virtues and failings are alike known to me, and as far as a man can promise to love and cherish a woman——' But Elinor could bear no more.'Mr. Warburton, it is not right for me to listen to all this, but I have begged you more than once to stop. I thank you most gratefully for the honour you have done me, but it is impossible—I cannot marry you. I have never for one moment given you any encouragement to think I would do so.''I have not looked for any encouragement,' he returned quietly; 'I preferred to wait until the time came for speaking. Last night I felt it had come, but I would not trust myself to approach you then; besides, my guests claimed all my attention. Miss Gresham, I have much to offer. My wife will have all she needs for comfort and luxury; and as for my mother, she will be prepared to welcome you as a daughter.'Elinor rose from her chair; her position was simply intolerable to her.'She is very good,' she returned coldly, 'but she will never be asked to receive me in that capacity. Mr. Warburton, you must excuse me, but this conversation must end. Nothing on earth would induce me to be your wife. Forgive me if I speak brusquely, but you will not take my answer.''I do not think that you know your own mind, Miss Gresham, but I am willing to give you time to think over it—a week, a month, even three months, if you will.''A year would make no difference,' returned Elinor, indignant at this persistence. Mr. Warburton, why are you so blind? Do we think alike on one single point? Your thoughts, your tastes are not mine; they never could be. I could never be anything to you but an acquaintance or friend. If I ever marry, it will be because I love and honour some one with my whole heart.''You are perfectly right,' he returned calmly, 'and I do not at all despair of winning your affections. You must forgive me if I say one word more—that I cannot accept your answer as final; your mind is too disturbed and agitated to do me full justice; I will speak to you again.''No—no, you must never do that!' But his only answer was to take her hand in his firm grasp.'Good-bye,' was all he said, and the next moment he had left the room. A minute later she heard the sound of the closing door, and to her relief Jenny entered with the lamp.It was long before Elinor could regain her calmness, her nerves felt so shaken and disturbed. She knew now that this was why she had been afraid to trust herself alone with him, and why her heart had sunk when he had entered the room. No man had ever affected her so strangely. She did not absolutely dislike him, but she certainly feared him more than any one she had ever met. Any other man would have taken her answer as final, but Mr. Warburton had simply refused to accept it; he had waved aside all her objections as though they were futile and womanish. 'I have much to offer you,' he had said to her, and in some respects the words were true.'He will not open his eyes to see the truth,' she told herself that evening. 'He has nothing, nothing that I should care to take. Gale Warburton's wife! Heaven forgive me, I would rather die!' And then Elinor broke down and cried a little, because she was so lonely and she wanted some one to comfort her; but before the evening had ended she had made up her mind that she must seek safety in flight.The solitary life at Wildcroft was impossible under the circumstances. She must be near Frances and Bride. Before she slept that night she wrote two notes—one to Mrs. Huntley, to tell her that she was coming up to town for some weeks, and would probably arrive at Grove House on Thursday, and that Rachel would accompany her; and also a short note to Frances:'I find that my solitude is beginning to depress me,' she wrote, 'so I have made up my mind rather suddenly to take up my quarters for the present at Grove House; and this time I shall bring Rufus with me, the poor dear fellow was so unhappy when I left him behind. If I can possibly get all my business settled, I shall hope to turn up at the Boltons the day after to-morrow, and of course I shall come to St. Monica's the very next day. Oh dear, how I do want you both!—Your loving but excessively sleepy sister, NORA.''Now, I wonder what has happened,' Frances said to herself as she read Elinor's hurried note; 'her last letter was written in such good spirits.' But for more reasons than one Frances was relieved to know that Elinor proposed to take up her quarters at Grove House.Elinor worked feverishly at her preparations the next day. There was much to be done; for besides her packing, she had to arrange for her household during her absence. And when everything was settled to the best of her ability, and the evening closed in, she wrote three letters. The first, which was very brief, was to Mrs. Warburton, to express her regret that sudden business obliged her to go to town, and that she would be unable to call at Tylcote Hall. Elinor felt a little twinge of conscience as she framed this Machiavelian sentence, but she told herself that business was a comprehensive term, and included dressmakers and milliners as well as dentists or lawyers. Then she wrote a friendly little note to Mrs. Thurston to the same purpose.Her last was a longer one, to Mrs. Keith, but even to her it was impossible to be more explicit; but she could express her regret, with more freedom, that she had been far too busy all day to drive over to Crow Farm to say good-bye. And then she sent messages to Hammond Keith and Hugh Milner. 'Will you tell Mr. Milner, with my kindest regards,' she wrote, 'that I congratulate him on his new relations? And please tell him that Sir Harry Vincent and Lady Doreen are quite old friends of ours, and that I was delighted to meet them at Tylcote Hall that night, and that I hope he means to cultivate their acquaintance.' Here Elinor paused, hesitated, and then wrote on hurriedly. 'I little thought that evening when he was kind enough to bring me Kathleen's parcel, that I should be starting off to town in this hurry, and even now I have no idea how long I shall remain.'Elinor felt easier when this letter was written, but nothing could still that dull ache at her heart. If she could only have seen Hugh before she left Meadow Thorpe; if she could only have carried away a happier remembrance of him! Her one comfort was that she would see Kathleen frequently. Kathleen corresponded constantly with her brother, and always told him every scrap of news that was likely to interest him, and in this way she would hear of him constantly. 'Even if I could brave things out and stay on here,' she said to herself, 'it would be no use, for he would not come near me, and I could hardly go to Crow Farm.' And then Elinor sighed again, and thought how difficult and tiresome life had suddenly become; even Wildcroft was no longer a haven of peace. 'I don't think I shall ever dare to be here alone,' she went on; and a shiver passed through her, as the memory of Gale Warburton occurred to her.The following afternoon Elinor arrived at Grove House, and found the rooms ready for her.The upstairs sitting-room which she and Bride had occupied was too dismantled for use, but Mrs. Huntley had prepared the dining-room and the morning-room for her occupation. The latter was a very comfortable, well-furnished apartment—only Augusta had monopolised it.The room looked homely and inviting with its blazing fire and little tea-table. On the tray was a note from Bride.It was full of regret that she had been unable to receive her, and to help her settle in. 'It would have been so delicious to have spent the first evening with you,' she wrote; 'but we are short-handed to-day, and I did not like to inconvenience Frances. She sends her love, and expects that you will spend a long day at St. Monica's to-morrow, and she quite hopes to be free all the afternoon.' And then Bride concluded with a few more loving words.Elinor, who knew the ways of St. Monica's Lodge by this time, thought it better to have a hasty luncheon and arrive early in the afternoon. And she had her reward, for she found Frances all ready and waiting for her. Bride was on duty, but would be down to tea.Frances, who thought that Elinor looked pale and worried and unlike herself, could not rest until she was in possession of the whole story. She was intensely surprised, but full of sympathy for her sister.'Poor dear Nora,' she said, caressing her sister's hand, 'no wonder you were scared out of your wits. Of course, Mr. Warburton is paying you a very high compliment in asking you to be his wife and the mistress of Tylcote Hall, but I agree with you that nothing could be more unsuitable or less to be desired. Indeed, I can go further than that, for I should pity the woman from my heart who could bring herself to marry him.''Oh, Frances, how thankful I am to hear you say that.''He is a man who ought never to marry,' continued Frances severely, 'for he could not make his wife happy. I should think his ideas of love are extremely elementary. Now don't look so miserable, Nora. It is no fault of yours that this thing has happened. You have given Mr. Warburton no encouragement, and you cannot help it if he considers himself in love with you. He must take his answer as any other man would, and any persistence on his part will be simply futile. You have done a wise thing to come away at once—if anything will open his eyes, that will do so.''If I were only not so afraid of him,' sighed Elinor; but he seems to affect me in such a strange way.' But Frances would not listen to this.'Your nerves have been a little unhinged,' she said sensibly, 'but you must try and put all this out of your mind. Don't you remember what Shakespeare says, "Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love"? I do not think Mr. Warburton is likely to suffer long or very greatly.' And then for the first time a smile came to Elinor's anxious face.No one was so comforting as Frances, she thought; and after a little more talk she grew more cheerful, and consented to take a less tragical view of the matter.'You can tell Bride when I have gone,' she said presently, and the words had hardly passed her lips when Bride entered and broke up the tête-à-tête. It was a happy evening, and Elinor forgot her troubles in the society of such dear companions. Bride looked sweet in her nurse's dress. She was a little graver than usual, and Elinor thought that her face had a softer and more womanly expression.'Even in these few weeks Bride has grown,' she said later, to Frances, when she was putting on her hat.'Oh yes, she has grown,' returned Frances softly. 'When Lyall comes home, he will find his child-wife a woman.'CHAPTER XXXIXTHE UNEXPECTED HAPPENSI bow before the noble mindThat freely some great wrong forgives;Yet nobler is the one forgivenwho bears that burden well and lives.A. A. PROCTER.As one lamp lights another, nor grows less,So nobleness enkindles nobleness.LOWELL.AFTER a few days, Elinor settled down comfortably in the old home. She found plenty of occupation at first in renovating her winter wardrobe and in giving Rufus exercise. She also looked up her old friends, especially Lady Templeton. Indeed, the days hardly seemed long enough for all she had to do. Frances and Bride often spent the evening with her, and she went frequently to St. Monica's Lodge. One of her first expeditions was to Acacia Road, where she received a warm welcome from Kathleen and her father.It must be confessed that Elinor felt a slight shock when she first caught sight of the shabby little house, which in its outward aspect spoke so forcibly of a life-time of poverty and struggle. It was for this poor home that Janet Vincent had exchanged the luxury and refinement of her life at Salcott Grange, and for love's dear sake had never repented the sacrifice. After a time, however, Elinor lost this impression, and became quite attached to the little house. In spite of its shabbiness and worn furniture, there was an air of homeliness and comfort that appealed to her. Kathleen was evidently a clever little housekeeper, and her capable hands had done wonders. She had just finished covering the two easy-chairs and couch in the sitting-room with some tapestry she had picked up as a bargain, and which she proudly pointed out to her friend.'Hugh was so pleased with my industry,' she said laughingly, 'that he has promised to give me stuff for a pair of curtains. I think I shall have dark blue plushette, that will match the tapestry nicely, and then we shall look quite smart.'A few days later Elinor carried off Kathleen to the Boltons, and a blissful ten days followed.Kathleen wrote rapturous descriptions of her visit to Hugh. 'Dear Elinor had been so good to her; she had actually taken her twice to the theatre, and to a splendid concert at St. James's Hall, and they had dined with Lady Templeton, and spent an evening at St. Monica's Lodge, and she had never had such a good time in her life.'Kathleen had more than one interesting scrap of information to retail to her friend, as they sat at their cosy breakfast-table at the Boltons.'Hugh has spent a week-end at Salcott Grange,' she exclaimed one morning, 'and he is in love with the place. He says the Grange itself is one of the most picturesque and beautiful old buildings that he has ever seen, and that the gardens are lovely. Wait a moment, I will read you the next bit. "Sir Harry is a rattling good fellow, and we are getting quite chums. And I like Lady Doreen immensely; she is thoroughly kind-hearted and free from nonsense. And the kids—they have three boys—are jolly little chaps. I am to go for a longer visit when I can get off work. And, by-the-bye, Kitten, Lady Doreen insists that you are to come too, so you had better look sharp and attend to your toggery. I——" Oh, well, I had better not go on, as Hugh might not like it.' But a little gentle pressing on Elinor's part elicited the fact that Hugh, dear fellow, was going to send her some money for a new winter dress and hat, and a frock for the evening.'Just listen to this, Elinor,' and Kathleen's face dimpled with amusement. "I want you to get the sort of thing Miss Gresham wears"—I suppose he means your tailor-made tweed—" something good and well cut—I daresay Miss Gresham will advise you. And you will want some strong new boots for the country, Lady Doreen is a great walker." Oh, the next is private. And then he sends his kindest regards to you, and that's all.''I can certainly help you,' returned Elinor, but she coloured slightly as she spoke, 'for I know a very good dressmaker whose charges are wonderfully moderate, and we might speak to her about your frocks when I do my shopping.'Elinor was as good as her word, and matters were soon set in train, and she took advantage of their increasing intimacy to make a few additions on her own account. The dainty little muff and umbrella and the gloves and handkerchiefs were offered timidly and accepted with girlish gratitude.'How could I refuse when she is so dear and good!' wrote Kathleen. 'If she had been my own sister, she could not have been kinder.'A dark flush came to Hugh Milner's face when he read this. 'How can she help being kind, it is her nature!' he said to himself. And then, as he remembered the queenly figure in the gleaming satin, he bit his lip, but there was a mist before his eyes. And yet the thought that Kathleen was with her gave him a feeling of comfort.Elinor would have kept her longer if it had been possible, but Kathleen could not leave her father for more than ten days. And the house felt very dull when she had gone.It was now the end of the second week in December, and she was expecting a letter from Agnes Warburton to tell her of her arrival at Tylcote Hall; but more than once Miss Warburton had delayed their return, and Elinor was afraid there had been some further postponement. She hoped that this was not the case, as she was aware that Agnes was anxious to be home before Christmas.Elinor had promised to spend the afternoon at St. Monica's Lodge, and she was walking up Maida Vale thinking of poor Agnes and all her troubles, when her attention was attracted by a hansom which had just stopped at the gate of St. Monica's Lodge, and a gentleman, evidently a clergyman, alighted. Elinor knew that the young wife of a country clergyman had arrived a few days previously to undergo rather a serious operation. She knew also that it had taken place, and that, as far as they could judge, the patient was doing well. This was doubtless Mrs. Cuthbert's husband, and Elinor felt a little movement of sympathetic curiosity. He had paid the driver, and was evidently searching for a bell. 'You will find the gate open,' she observed in her clear quiet tones, and at the sound of her voice the clergyman turned round. And then Elinor gave an exclamation which made two passers-by stare at her.Lyall, Lyall—oh, my dear Lyall!' And Elinor put out her hand as though to assure herself that she was not dreaming, and that it was actually her brother in flesh and blood who stood before her.'You don't mean to say it is dear old Elinor!' he returned in equal astonishment. 'Why, what luck, when I only expected to find Frances!''Hush, we cannot talk here,' observed Elinor, becoming aware of some grinning street boys who were watching them; and still keeping her hand on his arm, she opened the gate and closed it behind them. Here they were in comparative privacy as far as passers-by were concerned. And then, heedless of the many windows of St. Monica's Lodge, Elinor threw her arms round her brother's neck.'Dear old fellow,' she said tenderly, 'what happiness to see your face again! But I cannot understand what it means.'Then Lyall laughed and kissed her again. 'I thought I would take you all by surprise,' he returned; 'but I shall repent if you are going to look so pale over it. Have I startled you too much, my dear?' watching her anxiously. For it was evident that Elinor was so agitated that she could scarcely keep the tears back.'It was such a surprise,' she said unsteadily; 'I thought it was a strange clergyman, and then you turned round. Let me look at you, Lyall. You are thinner and a little older, but you are looking well.''Yes, the voyage rested me, and I am so glad to be home, Nora. I don't believe Frances will be very much surprised; I gave her a hint that I might be home before Christmas.''Did you, dear?' but Elinor answered absently, for she was gazing at him with her heart in her eyes.No, he was not changed. It was the same dear face, a little worn and ascetic-looking, with the frank deep-set eyes so like Frances', and the sweetness of expression which marks one whose thoughts are habitually high and noble. It was still the face of the enthusiast and dreamer, but the dreams had become reality.They were walking towards the house, but she was still holding his arm. 'Nora,' he said abruptly, 'you do not tell me how Bride is, and I have missed the last snail. Have you left her alone at Meadow Thorpe?'Bride is here, Lyall.''Here—in this house!' and now it was Lyall's turn to change colour. 'I thought by this time her visit would have ended.''No, she is still at St. Monica's, and I am at Grove House. Lyall dear, do not let us stand here, the wind is so cold. I will take you to Frances, and she will explain.'Then he followed her into the house like a man in a dream. It had not entered into his thoughts that Bride would be at St. Monica's. Now he began to repent his boyish impulsiveness. If the surprise had upset Elinor, would not the shock of his sudden return startle Bride, whose nature was so emotional?'I meant to write to her from here,' he said to himself, as he walked down the corridor leading to Sister Gresham's room.Elinor waved him back a moment as she opened the door. Frances, who was at her writing-table, gave a pleased little exclamation. 'I was not expecting you for another half-hour,' she said. And then something in Elinor's face made her lay down her pen and rise hastily.'I have a great surprise for you, Frances; I have brought an unexpected visitor.' Then Frances put her aside unceremoniously.'It is Lyall,' she said quite calmly; 'let me go to him.' And then a great brightness came into her eyes, as she caught sight of him. He was their only brother, and they dearly loved him, and they had not seen his face for nearly three years; was it any wonder that even Sister Gresham's eyes were somewhat moist?Frances soon recovered herself, and then she spoke of Bride. She did not say much, but in a few quiet words she made Lyall understand that some wonderful change had come to Bride. 'She has been making herself very unhappy about her unwifely conduct, and she is so afraid that you will not trust her or believe in her good resolutions. And so she thought,' went on Frances, 'that she would like to do something to prove to you that she was in earnest; and that if you found her here, nursing sick people and trying to comfort them, you might in time believe in her again. Bride is still the same dear child, you see.'But Lyall could not answer; his hands were before his face, and his inward cry, 'Oh, my God, can this be true?' reached no human ear. Had he come home to this!It was at this crucial moment, when the sisters were both silent, awed by the sight of a strong man's emotion, that the door opened, and Bride, in her nursing dress, and her face as bright as a spring morning, came quickly into the room. At the sight of the figure in clerical attire, she hesitated and drew back. Like Elinor she believed it was Mrs. Cuthbert's husband. 'Please excuse me, Frances,' she said. 'I thought——' but Bride's sweet voice faltered and a frightened look came into her eyes as Lyall sprang to his feet.'Bride! Oh, my darling—my darling, do not look so scared!' Lyall's arms were round her, and he was pressing the white, startled face closely to him. Then Frances touched Elinor, and they noiselessly left the room. But Frances' quick ear caught the sound of a stifled sob as she closed the door.'Come up to my room, Elinor, there is a fire there,' she said quickly; 'no one must interrupt them—Lyall must have his wife to himself.' And then Frances went away to give her orders that no one was to go near the Sister's room; and on her return the two sisters talked together of the wonderful thing that had happened. 'And they say there are no miracles nowadays,' observed Frances softly.One hour passed, and then a second, before Frances announced her intention of interrupting the tête-à-tête.'I daresay the fire will be out, and they will be talking in the darkness; Lyall will be in too exalted a state of mind to think of creature comforts. If you will come down in a few minutes, Elinor, I will ring for lights and tea; I don't 'feel myself as though I have seen the dear boy yet.'Things were pretty much as Frances had surmised. The fire had burnt down, and as she groped her way to the bell, she could only dimly distinguish Bride's white cap and light cotton dress. She was evidently sitting on the rug at her husband's feet, but at the first gleam of the lamplight she sprang up and would have run away, but Lyall held her fast.'Don't be afraid, love, I will screen you.' But Frances took no notice. She pretended to scold them playfully as she put on wood and stirred the dull embers into a flame. 'Bring the tea quickly, Myra,' she said briskly, as the maid placed the lamp on the table. And then she pulled down the blinds and closed the curtains, so that the Sister's room looked like a nest of warm cosiness. Only, Bride's swollen eyes and dark dishevelled hair spoke volumes.Frances looked at her brother smilingly. 'Dear Lyall,' she said brightly, 'you must not keep Bride a prisoner in that corner; let her go and bathe her poor eyes and smooth her hair, and then she will be more comfortable.' And then Bride gave her a grateful look and escaped; but all the time Lyall talked to his sisters his eyes wandered to the door.There was no need for questions; the deep joy in Lyall's eyes was sufficiently eloquent. Evidently the reconciliation was complete. With all his shortcomings and his mistakes, he had been faithful, and had given his services ungrudgingly to his Master's work. What those years had been to Lyall only his wife could ever know, and not even to her, dearly as she learnt to love him, did he ever reveal those hours of deadly home and heart sickness, when his whole soul cried out passionately for his wife's love.'Through much tribulation we must enter into the kingdom of Heaven,—those were the Apostle's words,' he said, long after, to her; 'but in those days I understood what the crucifixion of self meant, and oh, the pain of it!''And it was all my fault,' Bride answered penitently; but he would not allow her to finish the sentence. If Lyall's sensitive nature made him suffer more than most men, he knew how to forgive nobly, and as far as he was concerned, the memory of Bride's unwifely desertion was utterly blotted out.CHAPTER XL'THE CALL HAS COME'Life is only bright, when it proceedethTowards a truer, deeper Life above;Human Love is sweetest when it leadethTo a more divine and perfect Love.A. A. PROCTERSuccess and happiness are only to be had in giving up our own will.—GENERAL GORDON.IT would have been difficult to find four happier people than those gathered round Sister Gresham's little tea-table that evening.Bride was the only silent one; her heart was too full for speech. Lyall had forgiven her, and she was going to be good—so good; but if she could only run away somewhere and hide herself!—that was what she was saying to herself, as the food lay untasted on her plate. Only when a few low-toned words from Lyall reached her ears, Bride gave him one of her shy upward glances. Perhaps Lyall understood her, for he talked mostly to his sisters, and when tea was over they gathered round the fire. Frances shaded the lamp and Bride crept like a little mouse into her corner, with her hand in Lyall's, listening as he narrated some of his experiences—touching little stories of hardship and poverty and suffering, and parting scenes between him and the people to whom he had ministered. Now and then as Bride listened her cheek rested for a moment against his coat-sleeve with a mute caress. Oh, how good he was, how true and noble! Why had she never realised it before? Long afterwards Bride said to Elinor in her frank, childlike way:'Of course I was very stupid and dense, but I never really knew how much I cared for Lyall until he startled me that day at St. Monica's Lodge, and then a veil seemed to fall from my eyes. But is it not strange, Nora?—he will have it that I must have cared for him a little all the time.' And Bride looked delightfully happy when Elinor assured her that Lyall was probably right.By-and-by, when Sister Gresham had to go on her rounds, Elinor went with her, and the wife and husband were left alone. Then Lyall drew Bride out of her dark corner, and taking the pale little face between his hands, looked at it long and fondly.'Sweetheart,' he said tenderly, 'I thought you promised me this afternoon that you would never be afraid of me again.''I don't think I am so very much afraid,' stammered Bride, with a lovely flush, 'only I cannot talk.' Then Lyall pressed her closer to him.'Darling, you need not tell me, I quite understand; you know, I always could read your thoughts. Bride, have you any idea how I hate to leave you to-night, for I have to go to Grove House with Elinor; but Frances says I may come quite early to-morrow, and then I shall insist on carrying you off.''But, Lyall,' with a shy, startled look, 'ought I not to go on nursing for a little? I am afraid Frances will miss me.''Frances and I will settle all that to-morrow,' returned Lyall in a masterful voice, that proved that in spite of his goodness he had a will of his own. Bride had heard that tone once or twice before in her life, and her head drooped a little. Then he gave a boyish laugh and kissed her.'What a child you are still, my darling! But Frances is as sensible woman and will give us no trouble.' And then his voice changed a little. 'I don't think our first honeymoon was quite a success, sweet one, but our second on shall make up for it.' But what more Lyall would have said was known only to himself, for at that moment Frances came back to say that she was likely to be detained some time, and as it was growing very late, she must really send him and Elinor away, as they wanted to close the house.'You can come as early as you like to-morrow,' she continued, 'and Bridge shall be all ready for you.'—and then a look full of significance passed between the brother and sister—'but Bridge is utterly spent and weary with all this excitement, and must go to bed.' And as Lyall felt the force of this reasoning, his leave-taking was a brief one.In spite of her other duties, Frances never left Bridge until the poor little tired head was on the pillow; then she told her in a bracing voice that the must leave all thoughts for the morning and go to sleep. 'Lyall must see your eyes without red rims round them to-morrow,' she said severely; and then she would have left the room, but Bridge held her fast.'Don't be gampish, Francie. Home could I help crying when Lyall was so dear and good to me? Oh, I am so happy! I feel like Christian when his burden rolled off—as though I could sing for sheer joy, only I am so very, very tired.' But Frances took no notice of this speech.'I am going to turn out the gas,' she said calmly, 'and in half-an-hour I shall peep in on you; and if you are not asleep, I shall have a scolding ready.' But though Bride protested that she was far too excited to close her eyes, Frances had the satisfaction of finding her at the allotted half-hour sleeping as placidly as an infant—the hand with the wedding-ring pressed under her cheek.Frances kept her word nobly. When Lyall appeared the next morning, Bride came down to him in her ordinary dress, with her beautiful hair uncovered. To Lyall's delight she told him that Frances had insisted on her packing her things, and had absolutely refused to keep her a day longer. She had even said good-bye to the patients and nurses.'Good old Frances, I knew she would turn up trumps!' was Lyall's somewhat unclerical remark to this.So, after luncheon, Lyall carried off his wife; but on their way to the Boltons he told her that he had had quite an argument with Elinor.'Will you believe it, Bride, Nora actually wanted to pack up and be off to Meadow Thorpe, because she was sure that she would be in our way, and that we should be far happier without her?''Oh, Lyall, but you will not let her go?' exclaimed Bride in much distress. 'Dear Elinor, as though she could ever be in any one's way!''I told her you would say that, and that I would not hear of it for a moment, and that she ought not to talk such nonsense to old married people. Why, we have been married over three years. She had to give in at last, when she saw I was in earnest. I told her that by-and-by we would all go down to Wildcroft together, as I wanted to have a look at the old place. So that's settled.' And then Lyall gave himself up to enjoyment.Elinor was not sorry to be allowed to remain at Grove House, but she took care that her presence should not become irksome, and Lyall and Bride spent most of the day in each other's society. Elinor was so full of engagements. She explained to them carefully that she had her Christmas shopping to do, and that Frances would expect her to spend at least two afternoons a week at St. Monica's Lodge; and then there were Kathleen and Lady Templeton and half a dozen other intimate friends with whom she must have luncheon or afternoon tea. And so it was that the trio were seldom together except at breakfast and late dinner; indeed, if Lyall had not been very firm and put his foot down, Elinor would have absented herself from the drawing-room of an evening on the pretext of having letters to write. But on the one occasion on which she tried this, Bride was so hurt that she nearly cried; and Lyall, feeling that strong measures were advisable, simply took his refractory sister by the shoulders and marched her into the deserted drawing-room.'There you are,' he said triumphantly, 'and there you will remain, if I have to tie you to your chair with the curtain-cords! And now you will please hold your tongue, as Bride is going to sing me to sleep.' And Lyall threw himself down on the couch. But there was no sleep in the deep-set eyes that were gazing so thoughtfully into the clear blaze. How could he lose one of those deep rich notes that were stirring his heart chords? Indeed, Lyall was singing too a silent Magnificat.On Christmas day Mr. Milner and Kathleen dined with them, and Frances was there also, and they spent the evening singing Christmas carols and telling stories round the fire. Bride was looking happier than ever that evening. In the afternoon she had found courage to ask Lyall a question that had been secretly troubling; her. She had come into the room and found him alone in the twilight.'Lyall,' she said, putting her hand on his shoulder as she stood beside him, 'I have wanted to ask you something the last few days. We have talked of everything except the future, and I have wondered once or twice at your silence.' Then he drew her down beside him.'And you were too shy to ask me? But if I have been silent, little wife, it is because I have not been able to make up my mind.''But, Lyall, surely you are going out somewhere as a missionary, and of course you will take me with you?' Then a strong pressure of his arm answered this appeal.'Wherever I go, I shall certainly not leave you behind,' he returned after a moment's silence; 'but I do not intend to leave England again.' Then Bride flashed one of her quick looks at him.'Are you saying this for my sake?' she asked anxiously. 'Dear Lyall, you promised so faithfully that you would never doubt me again. You know I am ready to go with you to South Africa or any other place. Of course I shall not be much help, but I will do my best.' And Bride's expression was so lovely in its sweet humility that Lyall caught her to him with a murmured blessing.'I know it, darling, and thank God for it every moment of my life. But the sacrifice will not be needed. There is missionary work to be done in England, and room for scores of workers. Do you think, Bride, that you could be happy if we had to live among the slums?''I don't think slums nice places,' returned Bride, wrinkling her forehead, 'but one can put up with anything, and our home can be nice and clean.' Then Lyall broke into one of his boyish laughs.'Nice and clean—I should think so, and comfortable too, before I allow my wife to live in it! Oh, you dear child!' And then, as Frances entered the room, lie repeated Bride's naive speech, and they laughed, and Bride with them. But all the evening she was like an embodied sunbeam at the thought that Lyall meant to stay in England. 'And what do slums matter,' she said to herself bravely, 'if one has a nice cosy home as a refuge!'On the first Sunday in the new year Lyall and Bride went to St. James's, Stepney, to hear Forbes Rutherford preach, and afterwards they had luncheon at the Clergy House. It was a day of intense happiness to both of them, and Lyall felt strengthened in his resolution to find mission work in his own country when he found Forbes Rutherford entirely approved.'I think you have decided wisely,' were his parting words. 'Your wife is ready to follow you to the world's end if you will, but the life would not suit her. She is one of the little ones of the Kingdom that need tender guidance. There, God bless you, and her too!' And some strong feeling dimmed his eyes as he grasped the young man's hand.A few days after this Lyall, who had gone up to town on business, came into the morning-room where Elinor and Bride were sitting. There was suppressed excitement in his manner, and as soon as he had greeted them, he put his hands on his wife's shoulders and looked straight into her eyes.'Bride,' he said slowly, 'the call has come. I have had some work offered me.''Yes, dear.' And then a little timidly, as though awed by the solemnity of his manner, 'Are the slums so very dreadful?' Then Lyall gave a low laugh of enjoyment.'Oh, Nora, isn't she delicious? No, darling; there are slums, of course, but they are not London slums. But let me tell you about it. They have just built a new mission church in one of the suburbs of Croydon—St. Mathias. It is rather a new struggling neighbourhood, and one part of it is inhabited by a rough set of people—hop-pickers, organ-grinders, even gipsies and pedlars; but there are decent folk mixed up with them—labourers and painters and a few factory people. But it is a neglected corner of the vineyard, and from all accounts there will be enough work to do.'Bride nodded gravely. 'Are the houses very dirty, Lyall?' Then again a smile of amusement crossed his face.'I cannot tell you anything about the inside of the houses, for Stanton, the present vicar, only gave me a cursory view of the place. We walked through the worst street—Fox Lane they call it—and it was not much like our London slums—wide street and decent houses, with little plots of garden, good air, and plenty of space and water.' But his voice changing a little, 'A God-forsaken place, I fear—unbaptized men, women, and children, practically heathen, and as for morality——' but here Lyall said no more on that subject.Bride was silent a moment, then she said quietly, 'If the people are not nice, they will want you all the more, Lyall.''Yes, love, you are right. But let me turn to the bright side of the picture. Fox Lane and Bradley Green are only part of the parish. There are roads full of nice little houses, where clerks and small trades-men and the better class artizans live. And I believe there are a few houses near St. Mathias inhabited by gentle-people, whose means are not large and who have been tempted by the low rents.''But why is Mr. Stanton giving up the work?' asked Elinor, who had been hitherto silent.'Oh, that is the sad part. He is such an earnest worker, but his wife is very delicate, and one of his children is causing him anxiety, and he thinks it his duty to accept a small living that has been offered him in Devonshire. Bride, do you think you could be happy there?—I confess that the work appeals to me.''Then we will go, Lyall'—and Bride spoke bravely and cheerfully.'Wait a moment, I have not told you all yet. There is no vicarage—I think our first duty will be to build one.' Then Bride's eyes brightened and she clapped her hands joyously.'Oh, Lyall, how delightful—I have always so longed to build a house of one's own! You must get Hugh Milner to design the plans. He is so clever, and he has such charming ideas about ingle-nooks and gable windows. If you leave it to him, we shall have a lovely vicarage.''Dear Bride,' returned Lyall, looking at her fondly, 'I have quite made up my mind that our new home is to be worthy of my wife. We will not be extravagant, but within due limits you and Mr. Milner shall have your way. And I foresee that you and Elinor will find plenty of occupation when the time comes for furnishing St. Mathias Vicarage.'Bride hugged herself in a silent ecstasy. Fox Lane and Bradley Green were already forgotten.'Will there be a garden?' she asked presently.'Yes, indeed, and a tennis lawn; the site is ready, and we can begin building at once. But we shall have to take a furnished house pro tem. as near the church as possible. Stanton thinks there is one where we can be very comfortable. The people are away just now, but he wants us to go down next week and look at it.''I suppose the stipend is very small?' observed Elinor.'Yes, indeed, but happily I have a good income of my own. If Bride does not object, I thought we might use my small stipend in paying the school-mistress and a parish nurse and Bible-reader. The nurse is a crying need, Stanton says. Does my wife approve?''She approves of everything,' returned Bride, with a loving look. 'But there is one thing that you have not yet told us—when are we to go, Lyall?''That I can hardly tell you—probably at the end of May. Stanton wants to be free as soon as possible for his wife's sake. Well, Bride, it is settled then, and I am to be vicar of the little ugly red-brick church of St. Mathias?'But Bride's answer was only a quiet, steady 'Yes.' But later, when Elinor left them to dress for dinner, she crept to her husband's side in the twilight and laid her head on his shoulder.'You are happy, Lyall?—you are sure you are happy and satisfied?' But his answer entirely contented her.'Dear,' she whispered, nestling closer to him, 'all the time you were talking, those words were on my lips and in my heart, "Whither thou goest, I will go"—oh, you know the rest! Only help me to be good; I do so long to be fit to share your work.' And then Bride shed a few tears over her own unworthiness, but they were soon kissed away; and that evening Bride was her enchanting, sunny self.CHAPTER XLIANOTHER SURPRISEHe who for love has undergoneThe worst that can befall,I happier thousandfold than oneWho never loved at all.A grace within his soul has reignedWhich nothing else can bring—Thank God for all that I have gainedBy that high suffering!HOUGHTON.MATTERS were speedily settled, and the following week Lyall Gresham took his wife and sister down to Croydon to inspect the furnished house.Both Bride and Elinor owned themselves agreeably surprised by the neighbourhood of St. Mathias. It was certainly some distance from the town and station, being only an outlying suburb; and St. Mathias itself was rather an ugly edifice. But, as Lyall pointed out to them, a good deal could be done to improve the inside of the building. Everything—pulpit, lectern, and altar—were of the cheapest materials, and there had been no attempt to beautify or decorate the interior. The hymnals and psalters for the choir, and the altar vessels and linen, bore witness to the grip of stern poverty.'We must alter all this by degrees, Bride,' observed Lyall, as they walked down the aisle together. And as he spoke with his old impetuosity, he threw back his head and his eyes brightened at the thought of the work that lay before him.The house proved a success. It was roomy and comfortable, and tolerably well furnished, and there was a pleasant garden attached to it, and Lyall decided to take it for eighteen months.'We must alter all this by degrees, Bride,' observed Lyall, as they walked down the aisle together. And as he spoke with his old impetuosity, he threw back his head and his eyes brightened at the thought of the work that lay before him.The house proved a success. It was roomy and comfortable, and tolerably well furnished, and there was a pleasant garden attached to it, and Lyall decided to take it for eighteen months.'Are you sure that you will be happy here, dearest?' he asked as he and Bride stood together in the cheerful, sunny room which they had already decided should be Lyall's study. His tone was a little anxious, but there was no hesitation in Bride's answer.'Lyall, what a question! Why, I love it already. Think how delightful it will be to watch our dear vicarage being built. And then we have the church to beautify, and this nice, comfortable home; and as for slums, oh, you bad boy, how could you deceive me so! Slums indeed! all these wide streets and really good houses. And then,' she continued eagerly, 'though it is rather far from that nice old High Street, well, there are compensations for that, for Mrs. Stanton says there are such pleasant country walks quite near. Think of that for summer evenings!' And then Lyall smiled, well pleased, and his last doubt was set at rest.That very morning Elinor had received a hurried note from Agnes Warburton. She and her cousin had arrived at Tylcote Hall, and she was anxious to know when Elinor intended to return to Meadow Thorpe. 'I had really quite a nice welcome home,' she wrote, 'and mother was as kind as possible. But how long will this last, Elinor, when I tell her that I am never going to give Hammond up?'Agnes's return made Elinor anxious to go back to Wildcroft. For more than one reason she longed to be there; but when she suggested that they should go down for a week or two, Lyall shook his head and made many objections. 'It would not be convenient for him to leave town at present; besides, Meadow Thorpe would be so cold.''What is the use of our being snowed up in that dismal hole?' he continued. 'Oh,' as Elinor looked at him indignantly, 'I daresay it is pretty enough in summer, but in my opinion we are far better off in our present quarters'; and Lyall looked approvingly at the cosy morning-room, which was now appropriated to his use. Elinor had taken possession of the upstairs sitting-room again, and another servant had been added to the household, and it could not be denied that they were extremely comfortable, and that Lyall's view was quite reasonable. So Elinor with her usual tact said no more.It was clearly impossible for her to go to Wildcroft alone, and certainly in the present condition of the weather Meadow Thorpe would be hardly a desirable locality. Then Kathleen and her brother were staying at Salcott Grange, although they were expected back in a few days,—it would be far better to remain quietly at Grove House.Bride had suggested that Agnes should be asked to stay with them, and Lyall had cordially seconded this. 'The house is big enough for any number of friends,' he observed, with that fine masculine carelessness of detail peculiar to his sex.'By-the-bye, Bride, if we don't go down to Meadow Thorpe until after Easter, I think we shall have to ask Milner to come up here for a night or so, to talk over plans. I must take him down to St. Mathias to see the site.'Bride eagerly assented to this, and begged that Lyall would write and arrange it as soon as possible. Elinor said nothing—perhaps the light was bad, for she moved her chair a little closer to the window and busied herself with her embroidery—but she heard every word of Lyall's answer.'He would write direct to Salcott Grange, and ask Milner to fix an early date for his visit. I shall tell him that lie must promise us two nights,' he continued, 'for there will be a lot of business to discuss. I suppose you have no objection, Nora?' slightly raising his voice, for he would persist in regarding himself and Bride as visitors to Grove House, and treating Elinor as its mistress.No, Elinor had no objections. On the contrary, she thought it a very good arrangement, and the letter might as well be written at once. And then Elinor folded up her work and quietly left the room. But as she sat down by her fire, her face was a little pale and there was a strange light in her eyes. lie would come here, and after all these weeks she would see him again!Poor Elinor was doomed to disappointment. Hugh Milner wrote by return of post, but in her opinion his answer was a little damping. He was bringing his sister back to town early the following week, and could place Wednesday entirely at Mr. Gresham's disposal. There would be ample time to go down to Croydon and see the site, and talk over matters with him and Mr. Stanton, and he would still be able to take the last train to Meadow Thorpe. 'Many thanks for your and Mrs. Gresham's kind invitation,' he wrote, 'but I am sure you will understand that my one night in town must be spent with my father. I will be with you as early as you like on Wednesday morning.'When Lyall showed Elinor Hugh's note, she merely remarked that he seemed very busy, and that no doubt his father and Kathleen wanted him. And then she wished them good-bye, and set off for St. Monica's Lodge. But Frances thought her a little more silent than usual, and not quite in her usual spirits.As far as Elinor's pleasure was concerned, Hugh's visit was a complete failure. He arrived punctual to a moment, looking well and handsomer than ever, but only a word or two passed between him and Elinor. A kind inquiry on her part, how he and Kathleen had enjoyed their visit, rather hurriedly answered, and then Lyall took possession of him and carried him off to the morning-room, where they remained for a couple of hours. By-and-by Lyall came up to his sister's room to say that they were going to start at once and would have luncheon with the Stantons. 'Milner will not have time to come back,' he observed, 'for of course he has to catch his train, so you may as well go down and bid him good-bye.' And Elinor at once rose.Hugh was evidently expecting her.'This is a short visit,' she said quietly. 'I hoped to have heard a good deal about your stay at the Grange, and I have not even asked after my old friends.''No, I am sorry,' stammered Hugh. He seemed somewhat embarrassed at finding himself alone with Elinor. They are very well, and Lady Doreen sent her love. We had an awfully jolly time, and Kathleen was as happy as possible.' Then he stopped and added apologetically, 'You see, we have only time for business to-day.''Yes, I see.' Elinor's manner was gentle and dignified. Hugh gave her a quick, keen glance.'Shall you be coming back to Meadow Thorpe?' he asked rather abruptly.'Some time—oh yes,' with a little laugh; 'but Lyall wants us to stay here until after Easter; he does not much like the idea of the country in winter.''I daresay you are more comfortable here,' returned Hugh, 'but Miss Warburton will miss you.' And then Lyall and Bride came into the room, and Lyall said quickly that they had only time to catch their train.'I will say good-bye then,' returned Hugh hurriedly; and as he shoot: hands with Elinor his face was rather white, but Elinor said nothing.'So that is all!' she thought, as she sat down to her work again, but the dull ache at her heart was almost unendurable. Why had he been so distant, so constrained, so unlike himself? and Elinor's soft eyes were very sad.Lyall was full of Hugh's praise all the evening. He was one of the nicest fellows he had ever met, and Stanton had been immensely struck with him.'There is no doubt of his cleverness,' he continued, 'and I am pretty well sure he will make his mark. He told me that his uncle's influence would be a great thing for him; that he had introduced him to one of his friends, who was likely to give him rather a big order. I wonder if you have ever heard of Sir Richard Mallinger of Mallinger Court?' But Elinor shook her head. 'Well, there has been a fire in the east wing, and the place is so badly damaged that Sir Richard has decided to have some extensive alterations made. It seems that Milner is likely to get the job. And then he is working for that competition for the new church that is to be built at West Kensington.''I hope he will not work himself to death,' observed Bride; but Elinor only looked at her brother silently. How could they guess how all this interested her? But if only she had heard it from Hugh himself!But Lyall was still talking. 'I don't think he means to stay much longer down there,' he went on; he says he will be obliged to have an office in town if he is to undertake all this work, and of course he is right.' Then Elinor felt a little twinge of pain. Would life at Meadow Thorpe be quite the same when Hugh Milner was no longer at Crow Farm?A few days after this, Elinor had a great surprise. Lyall and Bride had gone down to Croydon for the day, and were not expected back until early in the evening. Elinor had gone over to St. Monica's Lodge for an hour, but had refused to remain for luncheon, and she was sitting in the drawing-room trying to amuse herself with some fancy-work, when Huntley, who had taken upon him his old duties as butler, opened the door and announced Miss Warburton.Elinor uttered an exclamation of delighted surprise. 'Oh, Agnes,' she said, 'what does this mean? How charming! Lyall and Bride are out and I shall have you all to myself.' Then Agnes put up her veil with a gentle little smile.'I am glad of that, dear,' she returned in a low voice, 'for I wanted to talk to you, and I was afraid we might be interrupted.''But surely you have not come up to town just to see me?' asked Elinor in rather a perplexed voice, for Agnes's manner was a little baffling. She looked well, and had gained flesh and colour, but there was the old worried look in her eyes.'Oh no,' she said quickly; 'Cousin Beth had to come up to see some old friends who are leaving for India, and she insisted on my accompanying her. We are at the Langham Hotel, Elinor. I was very glad to come, for things have been worse than ever at home, and Cousin Beth positively refused to leave me behind. Oh, she has been so good to me! But I think I had better tell you about things from the beginning, and then you will understand.' Then Elinor relieved her of her furs, and placed the glass screen between her and the fire, and then she drew up a chair beside her, and Agnes began her story.'I told you how kind mother was at first, and for two or three days we were very comfortable. Even Gale seemed pleased to have me back, but I did not think he was looking in his usual spirits. And there was something else that troubled me. When I spoke of you, mother did not respond, and drew herself tip a little stiffly. Have you offended her in any way?'Elinor coloured and looked embarrassed. 'I could not call before I left Meadow Thorpe,' she said hesitatingly, 'but I wrote to her. Never mind all that, Agnes; I want to hear about you and Mr. Keith.''Well, three days after our return, mother and Cousin Beth went over to have luncheon at Mexfield Rectory, and Gale had gone up to town for the day. So I took advantage of my solitude to spend two or three hours at Crow Farm. I had not yet seen Hammond, and it was necessary to talk over our future plans, and I was so anxious to see Mrs. Keith. Oh, it was such a lovely time, Elinor! Hammond took me to "The Chimney-Corner." It is all ready, and furnished so beautifully. Hugh Milner had helped him, and everything is so tasteful—but I will not dwell on that now.'Of course I was back at the Hall long before they returned from Mexfield. I was working in the drawing-room when they came in. But I saw mother look at me a little suspiciously, and a few minutes later she asked me what I had been doing with myself. I hesitated for a moment, though I had meant to tell her, because Cousin Beth was in the room. But she did not give me time to answer; her face changed.'"Don't attempt to deceive me, Agnes," she said angrily, "you have been at Crow Farm." Then I told her, as calmly as I could, that I had no intention of deceiving her, and that I had been there for some time.'"Do you hear that, Beth?" she said passionately—"all our pains and trouble thrown away." Then, turning to me, "Do you mean to tell me that you are still persisting in this disgraceful conduct, and that you refuse to give up this man?"'"Mother," I said quite firmly, for somehow Cousin Beth's presence gave me courage, "it is no use speaking to me like this. My mind is quite made up. I love Hammond, and—and we are engaged, and I have promised to marry him at Easter." I don't know how I got the words out, but Hammond had begged me to say them. And then—oh, Elinor, the storm that broke over my unlucky head!' And Agnes shivered and turned white at the mere remembrance.'Oh, you poor thing—and before your cousin?''Yes, it was dreadful. In all my life I have never seen mother in such a passion. She was simply beside herself, and Cousin Beth was so shocked. She tried to stop her once. "You have no right to speak to your daughter like that, Teresa," she said; "she is not in the nursery or school-room now. Agnes is surely old enough to know her own mind, and if she chooses to be a fool——" for, with all her kindness and wish to protect me, Cousin Beth thinks I am doing a very mad and risky thing. Mother quieted down a little after this, but it was only the ominous stillness before another outburst."'If you marry this man," she said slowly, "I shall disown you as a daughter, and I will never willingly speak to you again. You are a witness to my words, Beth. Agnes must choose between her mother and this yeoman lover of hers."Then for the last time I tried to plead with her. I told her that I had given my word to Hammond to marry him, and that I could not give him up. And I begged and prayed her not to treat me so cruelly. But I might as well have tried to soften a block of granite.She asked me in an icy tone what plans I had made, and I told her quite openly all our arrangements. To spare her pain, Ave had settled to be married in London. Mr. Milner had kindly invited me to stay at his house, as I had nowhere else to go. Then at the mention of the Milners, mother's lip curled in a disagreeable way.'"I wonder Elinor Gresham did not offer you hospitality," she returned. But I told her that it would place you in a very awkward position, and that Kathleen and I had already settled things.''That was kind of you, Agnes,' observed Elinor gratefully; 'but of course I would have helped you.' But Agnes shook her head.'No, it is best as it is. Mother and Gale would never have forgiven you, and Kathleen will make me very comfortable. Hammond will take a lodging near and will go backwards and forwards. Then when mother had heard me out, she uttered her final speech. Oh, I cannot repeat her words, but it was to this effect—that the sooner I left Tylcote Hall the better; that I was no longer to regard it as my home; that as far as she was concerned, I might go the very next day. But Cousin Beth would not let her go on. She came up to me and begged me to leave the room. "I will come to you presently, Agnes," she said, "I am just going to talk to your mother a little." But it was quite an hour before she came to my room, and then she looked almost tired out.'"How long shall you take to pack all your belongings?" she asked abruptly. And as I stared at her, she said, in her decided way, that this sort of thing could not go on; that it was impossible for me to remain under such circumstances. "This is Monday," she continued, "and I have to go up to town on Thursday, and I will not leave you here to be bullied into a nervous fever. If you are a fool, Agnes, there is no reason why you should be driven out of your senses. You will just pack up all your goods and chattels, and I will help you. The occupation will do us both good, and I will write for another room at the Langham." And actually she brought me round to her opinion, and I wrote a note to Hammond that night. Elinor,' and here Agnes's eyes filled with tears, 'yesterday, I left Tylcote Hall, my home for over thirty years, for ever, and mother and Gale refused to bid me good-bye.''My dear Agnes!''An hour before the carriage was to come round for us, mother went across to the Vicarage; but when Arnold was sent with a message from Cousin Beth, neither she nor Gale was there, and no one knew in which direction they were gone. They had started half-an-hour previously, and Mrs. Warburton had walked out of the house rather quickly, as though she were in a hurry. Cousin Beth said nothing, but she looked rather angry. Oh, Elinor, one's own mother; was it not cruel?'And Agnes cried a little, and Elinor felt inclined to keep her company.'But it is over now,'she whispered soothingly; 'and perhaps, who knows, she will forgive you some day. And, after all, there is no crime in marrying a good man.'And then after a time Agnes allowed herself to be comforted.CHAPTER XLIILOVE THE FULFILLERWhen first I saw your face a year ago,I knew my Life's good.BROWNING.Now I have tasted her sweet soul to the core—All other depths are shallow.KEATS.AGNES'S unexpected arrival in town reconciled Elinor to her prolonged stay at Grove House. At the end of a week Miss Warburton returned to Tylcote, and Agnes gratefully accepted Elinor's pressing invitation to stay with them until it was necessary for her to go to Acacia Road.Agnes made very simple preparations for her wedding. Elinor and Bride both helped her an took an immense interest in her purchases. Her modest outfit would have surprised her mother.The wedding was to take place at an early hour, and Agnes intended to wear a dress suitable for travelling, as they would drive straight from the church to the station. They had already decided to go to Devonshire for three weeks before settling down at 'The Chimney-Corner.'So one sunny April morning a little group of friends gathered in the church porch to wish the bridal couple God speed. Agnes, who had looked very pale during the ceremony, had a soft flush on her cheek as she came towards them leaning on her husband's arm, and Hammond Keith's eyes were shining with happiness.Mrs. Keith shed a few tears as she embraced her son. ' If you are only as good to your wife, lad, as your father was to me, she will be a happy woman,' she said to him.Then Agnes gave her a smile that was almost pathetic in its trusting sweetness.It had been arranged that Lyall and Hugh Milner should go down to Croydon for a few hours, and Bride would accompany them, and on their way they would see Mrs. Keith into her train. Hugh, who would remain in town for the night, had promised to dine at Grove House. And perhaps the knowledge of this fact reconciled Elinor to her long solitary day.Weddings are always unsettling, and Elinor found it a little difficult to dispose of her time. She went first to Acacia Road and had a chat with Kathleen, and then she walked over to St. Monica's Lodge to give Frances an account of the wedding, but she would not remain to luncheon. They would probably be back early in the afternoon, and she wished to be there to receive them. `Besides, I shall see you to-morrow,' she added hurriedly, 'for you know you are coming to spend the evening.' And Frances smiled assent and let her go.Elinor ate her solitary luncheon, then she arranged the drawing-room flowers and put a few little finishing touches to the room. She rather hoped that they would come back to tea, and she had told Mrs. Huntley to send up a liberal supply of hot cakes. The day had seemed endless to her, and she could settle to nothing properly. When she took up her book, Hugh Milner's face seemed to rise between her and the page. He had been Hammond Keith's best man, and she had wondered as he stood there why his face had looked so pale and rigid, and why in the porch he had seemed to avoid her. These thoughts absorbed her. Then Huntley came in with the tea-table, and she was just going to tell him that she would wait a little, when the door-bell rang, and the next moment, to her surprise, Hugh Milner entered alone.'Why, where are Bride and Lyall?' she asked, as she rose to welcome him.'Your brother quite forgot an engagement he had made,' returned Hugh, 'and he and Mrs. Gresham have gone off to Portman Square, but they begged me to assure you that they would be back in good time for dinner. I hope I shall not be in your way, Miss Gresham, but your sister-in-law insisted on my coming?' Hugh's manner was a little nervous. Then Elinor gave him a bright smile.'I am very glad you have come,' she said simply, 'for I was getting tired of my solitude. Now I am going to give you some tea, and then I want you to tell me all your news about Salcott Grange and Tylcote and your business, for I have heard nothing for an age.''That is a large order,' he returned, smiling. But her manner had evidently set him at his ease, and they were soon talking in the old friendly way. He told her all about their visit to the Grange, and Lady Doreen's kindness to Kathleen. Then a quiet question or two on Elinor's part brought a detailed account of his uncle's kind introduction, and the new work that was awaiting him. 'I think I have my foot on the first rung of the ladder,' he said joyously.Elinor's face flushed a little. 'Lyall told us,' she said rather hesitatingly, that you thought of taking an office in town, and that you might possibly leave Tylcote.' Then his manner changed and he looked at her a little strangely. ' I suppose it will be necessary for your business,' she continued timidly, as he did not at once reply.'Do you mean about the office? Yes, certainly, it is absolutely necessary for me to be in a more central position. Besides, my Tylcote work will soon be finished. But I have made up my mind for some time that I have been long enough at Crow Farm.''Oh, why?' she asked, starting a little at his tone. ' I thought you were so happy and comfortable there, and all your friends will miss you so,'and Elinor's voice was full of soft regret.'Not more than I shall miss them,'returned Hugh abruptly. 'You are right, Miss Gresham, I had never been so comfortable or happy in my life. Happy! I was living in a fool's paradise; but it was time that it should end and I should come to my senses. No, the thing has become impossible; it is better, far better that I should go——' Hugh's face was very white, and he seemed unable to finish his sentence.Poor fellow, he was fast losing his self-control. To be sitting here alone with her in the soft evening light, to have that dear voice questioning him, and those lovely eyes meeting his with their old kindliness, how was he to bear it without disgracing himself and breaking down utterly? In vain had he nerved himself for this, the ordeal was beyond his strength.Elinor did not spare him. She leant forward a little. 'Why is it better for you to go?' she asked in a voice that was almost pitiless in its sweetness.Then Hugh started to his feet.'Why will you force me to speak?' he said almost roughly. 'It is not like you; you are always so kind, so thoughtful, you might spare me this!' But her soft eyes still appealed to him.'I thought we were friends?' she half whispered.'No, we are not friends,' he returned in a voice broken with strong emotion. 'The thing is impossible, I told you so before. I cannot stay at Tylcote, because I can no longer trust myself to be near you, because in my madness I have dared to love you, and must love you till I die.''Oh, Hugh, I am so glad!' And Elinor held out her hand with a touching smile to the bewildered young man. 'But why were you afraid to tell me that?' Was it her look, for he could hardly grasp the sense of her words, but the next moment he was kneeling at her feet and both her hands were in his.'What does this mean?' he gasped. 'Miss Gresham—Elinor, is it possible—is it really possible that you could care for me enough to marry me? No, don't speak until you are sure—I cannot believe it.''I am quite sure,' was the quiet answer. And as he folded her tenderly and reverently in his arms, Elinor rested her face against his shoulder. 'Hugh,' she whispered softly, 'we have both been unhappy, but it was your fault; you ought not to have been afraid to tell me.' But Hugh's answer to this was a silent one.It was long before Hugh regained his calmness—before he seemed able to realise the extent and solidity of his happiness. 'I thought it was all your kindness,' he kept saying over and over again; 'I never believed for one moment that you really cared.''That was rather dense of you, dear,' she returned, smiling. But some painful recollection seemed to hold him.'Do you remember that evening of the Tylcote Hall party,' he asked her presently, 'when you came down in your satin gown, looking, oh, so lovely, and I could not speak to you? Oh, my darling, I was nearly broken-hearted that night.''I believe it, Hugh, and I was unhappy too. For I knew how you felt, and I did so long to comfort you. You see,' with a charming smile, 'I cared for you then, though I had no idea that you were Sir Walter Vincent's grandson; and when I saw the little house in Acacia Road, I said to myself that your mother was a happy woman in spite of her poverty, and that I would do the same gladly for the man I loved, and it was you I meant, dear.' And then indeed Hugh Milner's doubts and fears were set at rest.They were still talking when the door opened rather suddenly, and Lyall and Bride came in. It was Lyall who grasped the situation, as Hugh started up from his seat and Elinor looked up shyly at her brother.There was quite a delightful little scene, for Lyall was unfeignedly pleased, and as for Bride, she fairly cried for joy.'I always knew he had fallen in love with you, and so did Frances,' she said, as she followed Elinor to her room. 'Frances won't be a bit surprised, I am certain of that.''What makes you think so?' asked Elinor, rather abruptly. But Bride had no information to give. She did not know—she was not quite sure. Of course it might be her fancy, but she had said something at Wildcroft and Frances had not responded, but she had looked a little queer. Frances was never one to talk about things of that kind. 'But oh, Nora darling,' she exclaimed, in her warm-hearted, impulsive way, 'if you only knew how glad I am about this! Hugh is such a dear fellow and I am so fond of him, and then Lyall thinks so much of him. Did you see how his face beamed when you told him?' And it was evident from Bride's triumphant tone that Lyall's opinion was conclusive.And so it was that, when Frances went to Grove House the next evening in the guilelessness of her heart to spend a happy evening in the bosom of her family, she found this mine sprung upon her. First, Bride in rather a mysterious voice told her that Elinor was in her room, and had desired that she would go to her at once; and then, on the top of the staircase, a tall bride-like figure in white was standing smiling at her. Elinor always looked well in white, but Frances glanced a little suspiciously at the soft silk. 'If you have a dinner-party,' she said severely,' I shall go back to St. Monica's.' But Elinor only laughed and drew her into the room.'There is only one person beside ourselves,' she returned. 'But, Frances, how late you are, and I have been wanting you so. I have something to tell you, dearest'—and here Elinor faltered and blushed like a girl in her first season. And then Frances knew.'You need not tell me,' she replied. And then she put her hands on Elinor's shoulders, and her voice was not quite as clear as usual. 'You are engaged to Hugh Milner?''Yes,' returned Elinor simply, 'we came to an understanding last evening. Frances dear, I do hope you will be glad about this, for we are so happy.' And then she flung her arms round the neck of her sister-friend.'God bless you, dearest!' was the answer, and now there were tears in the deep-set eyes. 'If only he were worthy of you!' Then Elinor looked a little grave.'Oh, Frances, surely you like him?' For how could Elinor guess in her unconscious humility that in Frances' opinion there was no man living who seemed to her worthy of this sweet sister?'Oh yes, I like him,' she returned quickly; 'he is good and straight and has a finer sense of honour than most men of his age. Do not be afraid, Nora, I shall be able to respect as well as love my new brother. And, dearest, I rejoice with all my heart that you will not be lonely any longer.' Then Elinor was satisfied, and the talk that followed was very precious to both of them.Elinor had had a happy day. Hugh had consented to remain two more nights in town, and he had turned up at Grove House, as soon as breakfast was over, to carry Elinor off to Acacia Road to receive his father's blessing, and then he had brought her back in the afternoon, and after tea Bride had accompanied Lyall to the study and the lovers were left alone.Hugh would have to go back to his work the next day, but Elinor told him that Lyall had consented to go down to Wildcroft the following week, though it would be impossible for him and Bride to remain more than a fortnight; 'and,' she added regretfully, 'I am afraid I must go back to Grove House with him, until they leave for Croydon. I must help to settle them in comfortably, and then I should like a summer at Wildcroft—only Lyall thinks I ought not to be alone.''Then Kathleen must come to you, and we must induce Cousin Ada to look after my father'; and Hugh spoke with the decision and impetuosity of a young lover. Elinor was quite willing to be guided by Hugh's opinion. The idea of separation was as distasteful to her as to him—to be together, to see each other, if only for a few minutes, each day, to have Hugh riding over at all hours, that would be delightful! Of course Kathleen must come to her, and in August she would have Frances, and after that—well, that could be settled later.The gong had sounded before Frances and Elinor entered the drawing-room. Hugh's dark eyes glowed when he saw his lady-love in her white gown. Frances walked up to him with outstretched hands. 'I hear I am to have a new brother,' she said, smiling at him, 'and I am quite sure that you and I will be good friends.''I hope so,' was Hugh's answer. And then, as they went into the dining-room together, Frances said another word or two that made the young man colour with pleasure.The man whom Elinor loved would be very near to Frances' heart.'Did you put on that beautiful shiny white gown to please me?' asked Hugh, when later that evening he found himself alone with his beloved.'Yes, of course, Hugh—I shall always dress to please you.' But Elinor blushed under Hugh's ardent gaze.'You look as you did that night at Wildcroft,' he continued, 'and those are the same pearls. Elinor, have you any idea how lovely you are in my eyes!' But Elinor refused to have anything to say on that subject. Hugh loved her and thought well of her, and what could any woman want more!CHAPTER XLIIIPICKING UP THREADS AND FINISHave I done worthy work? Be love's the praise.Set free my love, and see what love can do.Shown in my life—what work will spring from that!BROWNING.Happiness should be a prayer.—AMIEL.A FEW days after their arrival at Meadow Thorpe, Elinor drove over to Tylcote Hall with her brother and Bride. To her great relief Mrs. Warburton was alone. She received the young couple very graciously, and expressed her regret to Lyall that her son had gone to Rugby for the afternoon, but to Elinor she was rather cold and distant. Her manner gave Elinor the impression that she was in her son's confidence and that she resented her refusal of his offer. She certainly said as little as possible to her. Elinor thought her looking worn and jaded and far from well, and there were lines round her mouth that she had never noticed before.Just before they left, Bride said in her pretty, impulsive way, 'I do not believe you have heard our grand piece of news, Mrs. Warburton—our dear Elinor's engagement to Hugh Milner?' Then Mrs. Warburton started and changed colour.'No indeed,' with rather a steely glance at Elinor's embarrassed face, 'and I am very, very much surprised.' And then she rather stiffly uttered a few conventional words of congratulation, which only made Elinor feel more uncomfortable.'I think Mrs. Warburton might have said something nice,' observed Bride indignantly, as they drove away; 'she had such a very disagreeble expression on her face when she congratulated you.' But Elinor said quietly that she was no longer in her good graces. 'I am Agnes's friend, not hers,' she went on; but in her secret heart Elinor blessed Bride for her impulsive speech. 'She will tell her son and then there will be no more trouble,' she said to herself.The following afternoon Bride coaxed her husband to walk over to Sweet Hawes with her, but Elinor, who was rather expecting Hugh, preferred to remain at home. But she repented of her decision when, a quarter of an hour later, she saw Gale Warburton's tall figure coming up the drive.It was the first time they had met since that unlucky afternoon, and poor Elinor felt both conscious and awkward.'I am come to return your brother's visit,' he said as he took her hand. Then his manner suddenly changed and he added abruptly, 'Is this true what Mrs. Gresham told my mother—I mean about your engagement?' as Elinor only coloured and remained silent.'Yes, it is true,' she replied in a low voice, 'I am engaged to Mr. Milner.' Then, as she raised her eyes, she saw a greyish pallor overspread his face.'Then there is no more to be said—I suppose you are the best judge of your own happiness.' His voice was a little dry and harsh. 'Will you tell your brother that I am sorry to have missed him again?' And then, barely touching her hand, Gale Warburton took up his hat and left the room.When Hugh arrived half-an-hour later, he found Elinor considerably distressed in mind, but he soon persuaded her to tell him her trouble.'Oh, Hugh, do you really think he cares so much after all?' she asked rather piteously; for Elinor was so tender-hearted that she hated to inflict pain.'Well, it looks like it, dearest,' he returned reluctantly. 'He certainly cares in his own way; but I fancy his nature is too phlegmatic and cold-blooded to let him suffer as some men would. He will get over it, darling, never fear.''Oh, I hope so—I hope so fervently.''His work will save him; he will bury himself in his books and soon forget his disappointment. When his mother dies he will look out for some ladylike, sensible woman who will marry him and superintend his household, and save him worry and discomfort.' And, strange to say, Hugh Milner's words came true.When the brief visit to Wildcroft was over, Elinor went back with Lyall and Bride to Grove House, and a busy time ensued; and as soon as she had seen them comfortably settled in their temporary home, she and Kathleen returned to Meadow Thorpe. A great deal of her time was spent at 'The Chimney-Corner.'There was no doubt that Agnes Keith was a happy woman. Her husband, who idolised her, thought privately that she grew younger and prettier every day. 'Hammond spoils me dreadfully,' Agnes would say, with her low musical laugh.The one bitter drop in Agnes's cup of happiness was her mother's persistent refusal to forgive her.'Mother cut me in the street this morning,' she said once rather tearfully to Elinor. 'I know she saw me coming, for she turned away her head and looked another way; and actually Fairy ran to her feet and barked at her.'And another time she told her friend that she had encountered her mother face to face in the drawing-room of a mutual acquaintance. But Mrs. Warburton had been quite equal to the occasion. She had nodded coolly to her daughter. 'I hope you are well, Agnes?' she had observed with frigid politeness, as she took her seat by her hostess.'I don't know how I got out of the room,' continued poor Agnes. 'Mrs. Mowbray was so sorry for me; she came and told me so afterwards. Hammond is so angry; he declares I shall never go there again.'It was a very happy summer to Elinor, but she enjoyed most the month that she and Frances spent together.In September there was a general migration. Hugh Milner had finished his work at Tylcote, and was to take possession of his new office. He had taken rooms near Baker Street, where he intended to remain until his marriage.Augusta had just returned from her long wanderings, and she gave Elinor a pressing invitation to remain at Grove House until the wedding, which was to take place early in the new year.Augusta's plans were rather nebulous, and she was a little reticent about her future intentions, but she fully agreed with Lyall that Grove House should be sold after Elinor's marriage.'It is a sort of white elephant,' he observed, 'and we had better dispose of it; and you and Elinor may as well divide the furniture between you. The books and pictures shall be my share.'One afternoon in October Elinor arrived at St. Monica's Lodge brimful of news.'Do you know that Gussie and Mrs. Oscar Nugent are going to Cairo for the winter,' she exclaimed breathlessly, 'and that in all probability she will not be at our wedding?''That seems hardly kind, Nora.' Evidently Frances was not pleased with this.'She does not mean it for unkindness,' returned Elinor; 'and she really likes Hugh, and they get on so well together. But Gussie does so hate weddings—they make her quite ill. No—wait a moment,' as Frances was about to speak, 'I have something else to tell you. Lady Templeton says that Sir Ralph Peyton is going to winter there too.''Oh, I see daylight,' remarked Frances drily.'He is not well, and Lady Templeton says she is sure that his health is breaking down. And then she said rather an odd thing: "Our dear Augusta is not without her faults, but she has one great virtue—she is very faithful, and when she cares for a person she never changes. Perhaps one day she will have her reward." Now, what could Lady Templeton mean by that?''I think I understand,' returned Frances thoughtfully. 'If Sir Ralph's health has broken down, and he can no longer lead his present life, he will need a nurse and companion, and very probably he will ask Augusta to marry him. And if he does, Gussie will not say no.'And, as it proved, Frances was a true prophet, and the marriage really did take place in the following spring; and Lady Peyton was a far happier woman in ministering to an invalid husband than ever Augusta Gresham had been.Hugh and Elinor had fixed on a pretty, old-fashioned house in old Kensington. It was not large, but it had a small garden attached to it, and Elinor had fallen in love with it.'It's so delightfully cosy,' she said, 'and I know we can make it pretty. And when you are rich, Hugh, you shall build me a house with all the latest improvements; but we will wait for that.'Lyall's wedding present almost took Elinor's breath away; for he gave her Wildcroft for her absolute use, keeping the farm and the surrounding land in his own possession. The house and furniture were to be hers.'Oh, Hugh, isn't it lovely of him?' she said, with tears in her eyes. 'I do so love Meadow Thorpe; and it will be so nice to have a holiday-house where we can go down for the week-end and have a breath of country air, when my dear boy has overworked himself.' And she pushed back the wave of dark hair from his forehead, until Hugh caught the soft hand and pressed it to his lips.'And it shall be a holiday-house for other people too,' she continued presently. 'Your father and Kathleen shall make use of it when they like, and Frances and Bride, and any one who wants rest and change. And I shall make it pretty too, for now Gussie has made over her share of the furniture at Grove House to me, we shall have enough for Wildcroft and St. Olave's too'—the name of their new house.'I really think I have more than my fair share of happiness,' she said a day or two later to Frances. But the latter only smiled in rather an inscrutable fashion.Sister Gresham always maintained stoutly that she would not have exchanged her own lot with any living woman.Her work had prospered. She had taken the house she coveted on a long lease, and 'St. Monica's Home for Nurses' was inscribed on the brass plate. Edith Holdsworth had given up her work at Guy's and was installed as matron and head of the Nurses' Home, while St. Monica's was reserved solely for sick people.No one who saw Frances Gresham in her daily life could doubt that she was a contented woman. Everything was going well with her dear ones, she had health, strength, a good conscience, and she loved her work. 'To me, too, the lines have fallen in pleasant places,' she murmured softly. And then she thought of the rapt and wondering expression on Lyall's face when his first-born son was laid in his arms, and of the pale mother's speechless happiness. And then her thoughts travelled to Elinor's sweet face. 'We all have our good things,' she whispered—'our precious talents and our sacred gifts. May our Heavenly Father help us to use them rightly!' And there was a deep, unutterable content in Sister Gresham's eyes.Advertisement included in the back of Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.Advertisement included in the back of Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.Advertisement included in the back of Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.Advertisement included in the back of Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.Advertisement included in the back of Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.Advertisement included in the back of Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.Advertisement included in the back of Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.Advertisement included in the back of Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.Advertisement included in the back of Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.Advertisement included in the back of Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.Advertisement included in the back of Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.Advertisement included in the back of Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.Advertisement included in the back of Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.Advertisement included in the back of Carey's 'No Friend Like a Sister'.