NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS

BY

ROSA N. CAREY

AUTHOR OF

"Aunt Diana, " "Averil, " "Lover or Friend, " "Merle's Crusade, ""Esther, " "Mary St. John, " "Queenie's Whim, " "We Wifie, " Etc. , Etc. 

CHICAGO

M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY

407-429 Dearborn Street

[Illustration]

M. A. DONOHUE & CO. CHICAGO. 

CONTENTS

 CHAPTER PAGE I. Five-o'clock Tea. 7 II. Dick objects to the Mountains. 14 III. Mr. Mayne makes Himself Disagreeable. 22 IV. Dick's Fête. 28 V. "I am Quite Sure of Him. " 35 VI. Mr. Trinder's Visit. 41 VII. Phillis's Catechism. 48 VIII. "We should have to carry Parcels. " 55 IX. A Long Day. 62 X. The Friary. 68 XI. "Tell us all about it, Nan. " 77 XII. "Laddie" puts in an Appearance. 85 XIII. "I must have Grace. " 91 XIV. "You can dare to tell me These Things. " 99 XV. A Van in the Braidwood Road. 108 XVI. A Visit to the White House. 118 XVII. "A Friend in Need. " 124 XVIII. Dorothy brings in the Best China. 132 XIX. Archie is in a Bad Humor. 139 XX. "You are Romantic. " 147 XXI. Breaking the Peace. 154 XXII. "Trimmings, not Squails. " 162 XXIII. "Bravo, Atalanta!" 167 XXIV. Mothers are Mothers. 174 XXV. Mattie's New Dress. 181 XXVI. "Oh, You are Proud!" 189 XXVII. A Dark Hour. 196 XXVIII. The Mysterious Stranger. 202 XXIX. Mrs. Williams's Lodger. 210 XXX. "Now we understand Each Other. " 219 XXXI. Dick thinks of the City. 226 XXXII. "Dick is to be our Real Brother. " 232 XXXIII. "This is Life and Death to Me. " 240 XXXIV. Miss Mewlstone has an Interruption. 248 XXXV. "Barby, don't You recollect Me?" 255 XXXVI. Motes in the Sunshine. 262 XXXVII. "A Man has a Right to His Own Thoughts. " 268 XXXVIII. About Nothing Particular. 277 XXXIX. "How do you do, Aunt Catherine?" 283 XL. Alcides. 292 XLI. Sir Harry Bides his Time. 299 XLII. "Come, now, I call that Hard. " 307 XLIII. "I will write no such Letter. " 315 XLIV. Mr. Mayne orders a Basin of Gruel. 321 XLV. An Uninvited Guest. 328 XLVI. A New Invasion of the Goths. 336 XLVII. "It was so Good of You to ask me Here. " 343 XLVIII. Mrs. Sparsit's Poodle. 349 XLIX. Mattie in a New Character. 356 L. Phillis's Favorite Month. 362

NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS

CHAPTER I. 

FIVE-O'CLOCK TEA. 

Five-o'clock tea was a great institution in Oldfield. 

It was a form of refreshment to which the female inhabitants of thatdelightful place were strongly addicted. In vain did Dr. Weatherby, the great authority in all that concerned the health of theneighborhood, lift up his voice against the mild femininedram-drinking of these modern days, denouncing it in no measuredterms: the ladies of Oldfield listened incredulously, and, softlyquoting Cowper's lines as to the "cup that cheers and not inebriates, "still presided over their dainty little tea-tables, and vied with oneanother in the beauty of their china and the flavor of theirhighly-scented Pekoe. 

In spite of Dr. Weatherby's sneers and innuendoes, a great deal ofvaluable time was spent in lingering in one or another of the pleasantdrawing-rooms of the place. As the magic hour approached, peopledropped in casually. The elder ladies sipped their tea and gossipedsoftly; the younger ones, if it were summer-time, strolled out throughthe open windows into the garden. Most of the houses hadtennis-grounds, and it was quite an understood thing that a gameshould be played before they separated. 

With some few exceptions, the inhabitants of Oldfield were wealthypeople. Handsome houses standing in their own grounds were dotted hereand there among the lanes and country roads. Some of the big housesbelonged to very big people indeed; but these were aristocrats whoonly lived in their country houses a few months in the year, and whosepresence added more to the dignity than to the hilarity of theneighborhood. 

With these exceptions, the Oldfield people were highly gregarious andhospitable; in spite of a few peculiarities, they had their goodpoints; a great deal of gossip prevailed, but it was in the mainharmless and good-natured. There was a wonderful simplicity of dress, too, which in these days might be termed a cardinal virtue. The girlswore their fresh cambrics and plain straw hats: no one seemed tothink it necessary to put on smart clothing when they wished to visittheir friends. People said this Arcadian simplicity was just asstudied: nevertheless, it showed perfection of taste and a justappreciation of things. 

The house that was considered the most attractive in Oldfield, andwhere, on summer afternoons, the sound of youthful voices and laughterwere the loudest, was Glen Cottage, a small white house adjoining thelong village street, belonging to a certain Mrs. Challoner, who livedhere with her three daughters. 

This may be accounted strange in the first instance, since theChalloners were people of the most limited income, --an income so smallthat nothing but the most modest of entertainments could be furnishedto their friends; very different from their neighbors at Longmead, thelarge white house adjoining, where sumptuous dinners and regularevening parties were given in the dark days when pleasures were fewand tennis impossible. 

People said it was very good-natured of the Maynes; but then whenthere is an only child in the case, an honest, pleasure-loving, gayyoung fellow, on whom his parents dote, what is it they will not do toplease their own flesh and blood? and, as young Richard Mayne--orDick, as he was always called--loved all such festive gatherings, Mrs. Mayne loved them too; and her husband tried to persuade himself thathis tastes lay in the same direction, only reserving certain groansfor private use, that Dick could not be happy without a houseful ofyoung people. 

But no such entertainments were possible at Glen Cottage:nevertheless, the youth of the neighborhood flocked eagerly into thepleasant drawing-room where Mrs. Challoner sat tranquilly summer andwinter to welcome her friends, or betook themselves through the openFrench windows into the old-fashioned garden, in which mother anddaughters took such pride. 

On hot afternoons the tea-table was spread under an acacia-tree, lowwicker-chairs were brought out, and rugs spread on the lawn, and Nanand her sisters dispensed strawberries and cream, with the delicioushome-made bread and butter; while Mrs. Challoner sat among a fewchosen spirits knitting and talking in her pleasant low-toned voice, quite content that the burden of responsibility should rest upon herdaughters. 

Mrs. Challoner always smiled when people told her that she ought to beproud of her girls. No daughters were ever so much to their mother ashers; she simply lived in and for them; she saw with their eyes, thought with their thoughts, --was hardly herself at all, but Nan andPhillis and Dulce, each by turns. 

Long ago they had grown up to her growth. Mrs. Challoner's nature washardly a self-sufficing one. During her husband's lifetime she hadbeen braced by his influence and cheered by his example, and hadsought to guide her children according to his directions; in a word, his manly strength had so supported her that no one, not even hershrewd young daughters, guessed at the interior weakness. 

When her stay was removed, Mrs. Challoner ceased to guide, and camedown to her children's level. She was more like their sister thantheir mother, people said; and yet no mother was more cherished thanshe. 

Her very weakness made her sacred in her daughters' eyes; herwidowhood, and a certain failure of health, made her the subject oftheir choicest care. 

It could not be said that there was much amiss, but years ago a doctorwhom Mrs. Challoner had consulted had looked grave, and mentioned thename of a disease of which certain symptoms reminded him. There was noground for present apprehension; the whole thing was very shadowy andunsubstantial, --a mere hint, --a question of care; nevertheless theword had been said, and the mischief done. 

From that time Mrs. Challoner was wont to speak gloomily of herhealth, as of one doomed. She was by nature languid and lymphatic, butnow her languor increased; always averse to effort, she now left allaction to her daughters. It was they who decided and regulated theaffairs of their modest household, and rarely were such wise youngrulers to be found in girls of their age. Mrs. Challoner merelyacquiesced, for in Glen Cottage there was seldom a dissentient voice, unless it were that of Dorothy, who had been Dulce's nurse, and tookupon herself the airs of an old servant who could not be replaced. 

They were all pretty girls, the three Misses Challoner, but Nan was_par excellence_ the prettiest. No one could deny that fact who sawthem together. Her features were more regular than her sisters', andher color more transparent. She was tall too, and her figure had acertain willowy grace that was most uncommon; but what attractedpeople most was a frankness and unconsciousness of manner that wasperfectly charming. 

Phillis, the second sister, was not absolutely pretty, perhaps, butshe was nice-looking, and there was something in her expression thatmade people say she was clever; she could talk on occasions with afluency that was quite surprising, and that would cast Nan into theshade. "If I were only as clever as Phillis!" Nan would sigh. 

Then there was Dulce, who was only just eighteen, and whom her sisterstreated as the family pet; who was light and small and nimble in hermovements, and looked even younger than she really was. 

Nobody ever noticed if Dulce were pretty; and one questioned if herfeatures were regular or not, or cared to do such a thing. Only whenshe smiled, the prettiest dimple came into her cheek, and her eyes hada fearless child-like look in them; for the rest, she was just Dulce. 

The good-looking daughters of a good-looking mother, as somebodycalled them; and there was no denying Mrs. Challoner was stillwonderfully well preserved, and, in spite of her languor and invalidairs, a very pretty woman. 

Five-o'clock tea had long been over at the cottage this afternoon, anda somewhat lengthy game of tennis had followed; after which thevisitors had dispersed as usual, and the girls had come in to preparefor the half-past seven-o'clock dinner; for Glen Cottage followed thefashion of its richer neighbors, and set out its frugal meal with aproper accompaniment of flower-vases and evening toilet. 

The three sisters came up the lawn together, but Nan carried herracquet a little languidly; she looked a trifle grave. 

Mrs. Challoner laid down her knitting and looked at them, and then sheregarded her watch plaintively. 

"Is it late, mother?" asked Nan, who never missed any of her mother'smovements. "Ten minutes past seven! No wonder the afternoon seemedlong. "

"No one found it long but Nan, " observed Dulce, with an arch glance ather sister at which Nan slightly colored, but took no further notice. "By the bye, " she continued, as though struck by a suddenrecollection, "what can have become of Dick this afternoon? he soseldom fails us without telling us beforehand. "

"That will soon be explained, " observed Phillis, oracularly, as thegate-bell sounded, and was immediately followed by sharp footsteps onthe gravel and the unceremonious entrance of a young man through theopen window. 

"Better late than never, " exclaimed two of the girls. Nan said, "Why, what has made you play truant, Dick?" in a slightly injured voice. ButMrs. Challoner merely smiled at him, and said nothing; young men wereher natural enemies, and she knew it. She was civil to them andendured their company, and that was all. 

Dick Mayne was not a formidable-looking individual; he was a strong, thick-set young fellow, with broad shoulders, not much above middleheight, and decidedly plain, except in his mother's eyes; and shethought even Dick's sandy hair beautiful. 

But in spite of his plainness he was a pleasant, well-bred youngfellow, with a fund of good humor and drollery, and a pair of honesteyes that people learned to trust. Every one liked him, and no oneever said a word in his dispraise; and for the rest, he couldtyrannize as royally as any other young man who is his family's soleblessing. 

"It was all my ill luck, " grumbled Dick. "Trevanion of Exeter cameover to our place, and of course the mater pressed him to stay forluncheon, and then nothing would do but a long walk over HillberryDowns. "

"Why did you not bring him here?" interrupted Dulce, with a pout. "Youtiresome Dick, when you must know what a godsend a strange young manis in these wilds!"

"My dear!" reproved her mother. 

"Oh, but it is true, mamma, " persisted the outspoken Dulce. "Think howpleased Carrie and Sophy Paine would have been at the sight of a freshface! it was horrid of you, sir!"

"I wanted him to come, " returned the young man, in a deprecatingvoice. "I told him how awfully jolly it always is here, and that hewould be sure to meet a lot of nice people, but there was nopersuading him: he wanted a walk and a talk about our fellows. That isthe worst of Trevanion, he always will have his own way. "

"Never mind, " returned Nan, pleasantly; she seemed to have recoveredher sprightliness all at once. "It is very good of you to come sooften; and we had Mr. Parker and his cousin to look after thePaines. "

"Oh, yes! we did very well, " observed Phillis, tranquilly. "Mother, now Dick has come so late, he had better stay. "

"If I only may do so?" returned Dick; but his inquiry was directed toNan. 

"Oh, yes, you may stay, " she remarked, carelessly, as she moved away;but there was a little pleased smile on her face that he failed tosee. She nodded pleasantly to him as he darted forward to open thedoor. It was Nan who always dispensed the hospitalities of the house, whose decision was unalterable. Dick had learned what it was to besent about his business; only once had he dared to remain without hersovereign permission, and on that occasion he had been treated by herwith such dignified politeness that he would rather have been sent toCoventry. 

This evening the fates were propitious, and Dick understood that thesceptre of favor was to be extended to him. When the girls had flittedinto the little dusky hall he closed the door, and sat down happilybedside Mrs. Challoner, to whom he descanted eloquently of thebeauties of Hilberry and the virtues of Ned Trevanion. 

Mrs. Challoner listened placidly as the knitting-needles flashedbetween her long white fingers. She was very fond of Dick, after hertemperate fashion; she had known him from a child, and had seen himgrow up among them until he had become like a son of the house. Dick, who had no brothers and sisters of his own, and whose parents had notmarried until they were long past youth, had adopted brotherly airswith the Challoner girls; they called each other by their Christiannames, and he reposed in them the confidences that young men are wontto give to their belongings. 

With Nan this easy familiarity had of late merged into somethingdifferent: a reserve, a timidity, a subtile suspicion of change hadcrept into their intimacy. Nan felt that Dick's manner had altered, but somehow she liked it better: his was always a sweet bountifulnature, but now it seemed to have deepened into greater manliness. Dick was growing older; Oxford training was polishing him. After eachone of his brief absences Nan saw a greater change, a more markeddeference, and secretly hoped that no one else noticed it. When theyoung undergraduate wrote dutiful letters home the longest messageswere always for Nan; when he carried little offerings of flowers tohis young neighbors, Nan's bouquet was always the choicest; hedistinguished her, too, on all occasions by those small namelessattentions which never fail to please. 

Nan kept her own counsel, and never spoke of these things. She saidopenly that Dick was very nice and very much improved, and that theyalways missed him sadly during the Oxford terms; but she neverbreathed a syllable that might make people suspect that this veryordinary young man with the sandy hair was more to her than otheryoung men. Nevertheless Phillis and Dulce knew that such was the case, and Mrs. Challoner understood that the most dangerous enemy to herpeace was this lively-spoken Dick. 

Dick was very amusing, for he was an eloquent young fellow:nevertheless Mrs. Challoner sighed more than once, and her attentionvisibly wandered; seeing which, Dick good-humoredly left off talking, and began inspecting the different articles in Nan's work-basket. 

"I am afraid I have given your mother a headache, " he said when theywere sitting round the circular table in the low, oddly-shapeddining-room. There was a corner cut off, and the windows were inunexpected places, which made it unlike other rooms; but Dick loved itbetter than the great dining-room at Longmead; and somehow it neverhad looked cosier to him than it did this evening. It was somewhatdark, owing to the shade of the veranda: so the lamp was lighted, andthe pleasant scent of roses and lilies came through the open windows. A belated wasp hovered round the specimen glasses that Nan had filled;Dick tried to make havoc of the enemy with his table-napkin. Thegirls' white dresses suited their fresh young faces. Nan had fasteneda crimson rose in her gown; Phillis and Dulce had knots of blueribbon. "Trevanion does not know what he lost by his obstinacy, "thought Dick, as he glanced round the table. 

"What were you and the mother discussing?" asked Dulce, curiously. 

"Dick was telling me about his friend. He seemed a very superior youngman, " returned Mrs. Challoner. "I suppose you have asked him for yourparty next week?"

Dick turned very red at this question. "Mater asked him, you may trusther for that. If it were not for father, I think she would turn thewhole house out of the windows: every day some one fresh is invited. "

"How delightful! and all in your honor, " exclaimed Dulce, mischievously. 

"That spoils the whole thing, " grumbled the heir of the Maynes: "itis a perfect shame that a fellow cannot come of age quietly, withouthis people making this fuss. I begin to think I was a fool for mypains to refuse the ball. "

"Yes, indeed; just because you were afraid of the supper speeches, "laughed Dulce, "when we all wanted it so. "

"New mind, " returned Dick, sturdily; "the mater shall give us one inthe winter, and we will have Godfrey's band, and I will get all ourfellows to come. "

"That will be delightful, " observed Nan, and her eyes sparkled, --alreadyshe saw herself led out for the first dance by the son of the house, --butDulce interrupted her:

"But all the same I wish Dick had not been so stupid about it. No oneknows what may happen before the winter. I hate put-off things. "

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, --eh, Miss Dulce?"

"Yes, indeed; that proverb is truer than people think, " she replied, with a wise nod of her head. "Don't you remember, Nan, when theParkers' dance was put off, and then old Mr. Parker died; and nearlythe same thing happened with the Normatons, only it was an uncle inthat case. "

"Moral: never put off a dance, in case somebody dies. "

"Oh, hush, please!" groaned Nan, in a shocked voice; "I don't like tohear you talk about such dreadful things. After all, it is suchdelicious weather that I am not sure a garden-party will not be moreenjoyable; and you know, Dulce, that we are to dance on the lawn if welike. "

"And supposing it should rain, " put in that extremely troublesomeyoung person, at which suggestion Dick looked very gloomy. 

"In that case I think we must persuade Mrs. Mayne to clear a room forus, " returned Nan, cheerfully. "If your mother consults me, " shecontinued, addressing Dick, who visibly brightened at this, "I shallrecommend her to empty the front drawing-room as much as possible. There is the grand piano, or the band might come in-doors; there willbe plenty of room for the young people, and the non-dancers can bedrafted off into the inner drawing-room and conservatory. "

"What a head you have!" exclaimed Dick, admiringly; and Phillis, whohad not joined in the argument, was pleased to observe that she wasquite of Nan's opinion: dancing was imperative, and if the lawns werewet they must manage in-doors somehow. "It would never do for peopleto be bored and listless, " finished the young lady, sententiously, andsuch was Phillis's cleverness that it was understood at once that theoracle had spoken; but then it was never known for Nan and Phillis todiffer. 

Things being thus amicably arranged, the rest of the conversationflowed evenly on every other point, such as the arrangements of thetennis-matches in the large meadow, and the exact position of themarquees; but just as they were leaving the table Dick said anotherword to Nan in a somewhat low voice:

"It is all very well, but this sort of thing does make a fellow feelsuch a conceited fool. "

"If I were you I would not think about it at all, " she returned, inher sensible way. "The neighborhood will expect something of the kind, and we owe a little to other people; then it pleases your mother tomake a fuss, as you call it, and it would be too ungrateful todisappoint her. "

"Well, perhaps you are right, " he returned, in a slightly mollifiedtone, for he was a modest young fellow, and the whole business hadoccasioned him some soreness of spirit. "Take it all in all, one hasan awful lot to go through in life: there are the measles, you know, and whooping cough, and the dentist, and one's examination, and no endof unpleasant things; but to be made by one's own mother to feel likean idiot for a whole afternoon! Never mind; it can be got throughsomehow, " finished the young philosopher, with a sigh that sent Naninto a fit of laughter. 

CHAPTER II. 

DICK OBJECTS TO THE MOUNTAINS. 

"Shall we have our usual stroll?" asked Phillis, as Nan and Dickjoined her at the window. 

This was one of the customs at Glen Cottage. When any such fittingescort offered itself, the three girls would put on their hats, and, regardless of the evening dews and their crisp white dresses, wouldsaunter, under Dick's guidance through the quiet village, or down andup the country roads "just for a breath of air, " as they would say. 

It is only fair to Mrs. Challoner's views of propriety to say that shewould have trusted her three pretty daughters to no other young manbut Dick; and of late certain prudential doubts had crossed her mind. It was all very well for Phillis to say Dick was Dick, and there wasan end of it. After all, he belonged to the phalanx of her enemies, those shadowy invaders of her hearth that threatened her maternalpeace. Dick was not a boy any longer; he had outgrown his hobbledehoyways; the slight sandy moustache that he so proudly caressed was not agreater proof of his manhood than the undefinable change that hadpassed over his manners. 

Mrs. Challoner began to distrust these evening strolls, and to turnover in her own mind various wary pretexts for detaining Nan on thenext occasion. 

"Just this once, perhaps, it does not matter, " she murmured toherself, as she composed herself to her usual nap. 

"We shall not be long, little mother; so you must not be dull, " Dulcehad said, kissing her lightly over her eyes. This was just one of thepleasant fictions at the cottage, --one of those graceful littledeceptions that are so harmless in families. 

Dulce knew of those placid after-dinner naps. She knew her mother'seyes would only unclose when Dorothy brought in the tea-tray; but shewas also conscious that nothing would displease her mother more thanto notice this habit. When they lingered in-doors, and talked inwhispers so as not to disturb her, Mrs. Challoner had an extraordinaryfacility for striking into the conversation in a way that was somewhatconfusing. 

"I don't agree with you at all, " she would say, in a drowsy voice. "Isit not time for Dorothy to bring in the tea? I wish you would all talklouder. I must be getting a little deaf, I think, for I don't hearhalf you say. "

"Oh, it was only nonsense talk, mammie, " Dulce would answer; and thesisterly chit-chat would recommence, and her mother's head nid-noddedon the cushions until the next interruption. 

"We shall not have many more of these strolls, " observed Dick, regretfully, as they all walked together through the village, and thenbranched off into a long country road, where the air blew freshly intheir faces and low mists hung over the meadow land. Though it was notquite dark, there was a tiny moon, and the glimmer of a star or two;and there was a pleasant fragrance as of new-mown grass. 

They were all walking abreast, and keeping step, and Dick was in themiddle, with Nan beside him. Dulce was hanging on to her arm, andevery now and then breaking into little snatches of song. 

"How I envy you!" exclaimed Phillis. "Think of spending three wholemonths in Switzerland. Oh, you lucky Dick!"

For the Maynes had decided to pass the long vacation in the Engadine. Some hints had been dropped that Nan should accompany them, but Mrs. Challoner had regarded the invitation with some disfavor, and Mrs. Mayne had not pressed the point. If only Nan had known! but her motherhad in this matter kept her own counsel. 

"I don't know about that, " dissented Dick; he was rather given toargue from the mere pleasure of opposition. "Mountains and glaciersare all very well in their way; but I think, on the whole, I would assoon be here. You see, I am so accustomed to mix with a lot offellows, that I am afraid of finding the pater's sole company ratherslow. "

"For shame!" remarked his usual monitress. But she spoke gently: inher heart she knew why Dick failed to find the mountains alluring. 

"Why could not one of you girls join us?" he continued, wrathfully. The rogue had fairly bullied the unwilling Mrs. Mayne into giving thatinvitation. 

"Do ask her, mother; she will be such a nice companion for you whenthe pater and I are doing our climbing; do, there's a dear good soul!"he had coaxed. And the dear good soul, who was secretly jealous ofNan, and loved her about as much as mothers usually love an only son'schoice, had bewailed her hard fate in secret; and had then steppedover to the cottage with a bland and cheerful exterior, which grewmore cheerful as Mrs. Challoner's reluctance made itself felt. 

"It is not wise; it will throw them so much together, " Nan's motherhad said. "If it were only Phillis or Dulce; but you must havenoticed----"

"Oh, yes, I have noticed!" returned Mrs. Mayne, hastily. She was astout, comely-looking woman, but beside Mrs. Challoner she looked likea housekeeper dressed in her mistress's smart clothes. Mrs. Mayne'sdresses never seemed to belong to her; it could not be said that theyfitted her ill, but there was a want of adaptability, --a lack of tastethat failed to accord with her florid style of beauty. 

She had been a handsome woman when Richard Mayne married her, but acertain deepening of tints and broadening of contour had not improvedthe mistress of Longmead. Her husband was a decided contrast: he was asmall, wiry man, with sharp features that expressed a great deal ofshrewdness. Dick had got his sandy hair; but Richard Mayne the elderhad not his son's honest, kindly eyes. Mr. Mayne's were small andtwinkling; he had a way of looking at people between his half-closedlids, in a manner half sharp and half jocular. 

He was not vulgar, far from it; but he had a homely air about him thatspoke of the self-made man. He was rather fond of telling people thathis father had been in trade in a small way and that he himself hadbeen the sole architect of his fortune. "Look at Dick, " he would say;"he would never have a penny, that fellow, unless I made it for him:he has come into the world to find his bread ready buttered. I had tobe content with a crust as I could earn it. The lad's a cut above usboth, though he has the good taste to try and hide it. "

This sagacious speech was very true. Dick would never have succeededas a business man; he was too full of crotchets and speculations to becontent to run in narrow grooves. The notion of money-making wasabhorrent to him; the idea of a city life, with its hard rubs anddrudgery, was utterly distasteful to him. "One would have to mix withsuch a lot of cads, " he would say. "English, pure and undefiled, isnot always spoken. If I must work, I would rather have a turn at lawor divinity; the three old women with the eye between them knowswhich. "

It could not be denied that Dick winced a little at his father'shomely speeches; but in his heart he was both proud and fond of him, and was given to assert to a few of his closest friends "that, take itall in all, and looking at other fellows' fathers, he was a rattlinggood sort, and no mistake. "

When Mrs. Challoner had entered her little protest against herdaughter's acceptance of the invitation, Mrs. Mayne had risen andkissed her with some effusion as she took her leave. 

"It is so nice of you to say this to me; of course I should have beenpleased, delighted to have had Nan with us" (oh, Mrs. Mayne, fie forshame! when you want your boy to yourself), "but all the same I thinkyou are so wise. "

"Poor child! I am afraid I am refusing her a great treat, " returnedMrs. Challoner, in a tone of regret. It was the first time since herhusband's death that she had ever decided anything without referenceto her daughters; but for once her maternal fears were up in arms, anddrove her to sudden resolution. 

"Yes, but, as you observed, it would throw them so entirely together;and Dick is so young. Richard was only saying the other night that hehoped the boy would not fancy himself in love for the next two years, as he did not approve of such early engagements. "

"Neither do I, " returned Mrs. Challoner, quickly. "Nothing would annoyme more than for one of my daughters to entangle herself with so younga man. We know the world too well for that, Mrs. Mayne. Why, Dick mayfall in and out of love half a dozen times before he really makes uphis mind. "

"Ah, that is what Richard says, " returned Dick's mother, with a sigh;in her heart she was not quite of her husband's opinion. Sheremembered how that long waiting wasted her own youth, --waiting forwhat? For comforts that she would gladly have done without, --for awell-furnished house, when she would have lived happily in the poorestlodging with the Richard Mayne who had won her heart, --for whom shewould have toiled and slaved with the self-abnegating devotion of aloving woman; only he feared to have it so. 

"'When poverty enters the door, love flies out of the window:' we hadbetter make up our minds to wait, Bessie. I can better work in singlethan double harness just now. " That was what he said to her, andBessie waited, --not till she grew thin, but stout, and the spirit ofher youth was gone; and it was a sober, middle-aged woman who tookpossession of the long-expected home. 

Mrs. Mayne loved her husband, but during that tedious engagement herardor had a little cooled, and it may be doubted whether the youngerRichard was not dearer to her than his father; which was ungrateful, to say the least of it, as Mr. Mayne doted on his comely wife, andthought Bessie as handsome now as in the days when she came outsmiling to welcome him, a slim young creature with youthful roses inher cheeks. 

From this brief conversation it may be seen that none of the eldersquite approved of this budding affection. Mrs. Challoner, whobelonged to a good old family, found it hard to forgive the Maynes'lowliness of birth; and though she liked Dick, she thought Nan coulddo better for herself. Mr. Mayne pooh-poohed the whole thing soentirely that the women could only speak of it among themselves. 

"Dick is a clever fellow; he ought to marry money, " he would say. "Iam not a millionaire, and a little more would be acceptable;" andthough he was always kind to Nan and her sisters, he was foreverdealing sly hits at her. "Phillis has the brains of the family, " hewould say: "that is the girl for my money. I call her a vast dealbetter looking than Nan, though people make such a fuss about theother one;" a speech he was never tired of repeating in his son'spresence, and at which Dick snapped his fingers metaphorically andsaid nothing. 

When Dick wished that one of them were going to Switzerland, Nansighed furtively. Dick was going away for three months, for theremainder of the long vacation. After next week they would not see himuntil Christmas, --nearly six months. A sense of dreariness, as new asit was strange, swept momentarily over Nan as she pondered this. Thesummer months would be grievously clouded. Dick had been the movingspirit of all the fun; the tennis-parties, the pleasant dawdlingafternoons, would lose their zest when he was away. 

She remembered how persistently he had haunted their footsteps. Whenthey paid visits to the Manor House, or Gardenhurst, or Fitzroy Lodge, Dick was sure to put in an appearance. People had nicknamed him the"Challoners' Squire;" but now Nan must go squireless for the rest ofthe summer, unless she took compassion on Stanley Parker, or thatdreadful chatterbox his cousin. 

The male population was somewhat sparse at Oldfield. There were a fewEton boys, and one or two in that delightful transition age when youthis most bashful and uninteresting, --a sort of unfledged manhood, whenthe smooth boyish cheek contradicts the deepened bass of thevoice, --an age that has not ceased to blush, and which is full ofaggravating idosyncrasies and unexpected angles. 

To be sure, Lord Fitzroy was a splendid specimen of a young guardsman, but he had lately taken to himself a wife; and Sir Alfred Mostyn, whowas also somewhat attractive and a very pleasant fellow, andunattached at present, had a tiresome habit of rushing off to Norway, or St. Petersburg, or Niagara, or the Rocky Mountains, for what hetermed sport, or a lark. 

"It seems we are very stupid this evening, " observed Phillis for Dickhad waxed almost as silent as Nan. "I think the mother must nearlyhave finished her nap, so I propose we go back and have some tea;"and, as Nan languidly acquiesced they turned their faces towards thevillage again, Dulce still holding firmly to Nan's arm. By and by Dickstruck out in a fresh direction. 

"I say, don't you wish we could have last week over again?"

"Yes! oh, yes! was it not too delicious?" from the three girls; andNan added, "I never enjoyed anything so much in my life, " in a tone sofervent that Dick was delighted. 

"What a brick your mother was, to be sure, to spare you all!"

"Yes; and she was so dull, poor dear, all the time we were away. Dorothy gave us quite a pitiful account when we got home. "

"It was a treat one ought to remember all one's life, " observedPhillis, quite solemnly; and then ensued a most animated discussion. 

The treat to which Phillis alluded had been simply perfect in thethree girls' eyes. Dick, who never forgot his friends, had so workedupon his mother that she had consented to chaperon the three sistersduring Commemoration; and a consent being fairly coaxed out of Mrs. Challoner, the plan was put into execution. 

Dick, who was in the seventh heaven of delight, found roomy lodgingsin the High Street, in which he installed his enraptured guests. 

The five days that followed were simply hours snatched out offairyland to these four happy young creatures. No wonder envious lookswere cast at Dick as he walked in Christ Church Meadows with Nan andDulce, Phillis bringing up the rear somewhat soberly with Mrs. Mayne. 

"One pretty face would content most fellows, " his friends grumbled;"but when you come to three, and not his own sisters either, why, itisn't fair on other folk. " And to Dick they said, "Come, it is no usebeing so awfully close. Of course we see what's up: you are a luckydog. Which is it, Mayne?--the pretty one with the pink and whitecomplexion or the quiet one in gray, or the one with the mischievouseyes?"

"Faix, they are all darlints and jewels, bless their purty faces!"drawled one young rogue, in his favorite brogue. "Here's the top ofthe morning to ye, Mayne; and it is mavourneen with the brown eyes andthe trick of the smile like the sunshine's glint that has stolen poorPaddy's heart. "

"Oh, shut up, you fellows!" returned Dick, in a disgusted voice. "Whatis the good of your pretending to be Irish, Hamilton, when you are acanny Scotchman?"

"Hoots, man, mind your clavers! You need not grizzle at a creaturebecause he admires a wee gairl that is just beyond the lave, --a sonsiewee thing with a glint in her een like diamonds. "

"Hamilton, will you leave off this foolery?"

"Nae doubt, nae doubt; would his honor pe axing if he pe wrang in thehead, puir thing? Never mind that, put pe giving me the skene-dhu, orI will fight with proud-swords like a gentleman for the bit lassie;"but here a wary movement on Dick's part extinguished the torrent ofHighland eloquence, and brought the canny Scotchman to the ground. 

Perfectly oblivious of all these compliments, the Challoners enjoyedthemselves with the zest of healthy, happy English girls. They weresimply indefatigable: poor Mrs. Mayne succumbed utterly before thefine days were over. 

They saw the procession of boats; they were at the flower-show atWorcester; Sunday afternoon found them in the Broad Walk; and the nextnight they were dancing at the University ball. 

They raved about the beauty of Magdalen cloisters; they looked downadmiringly into the deer-park; Addison's Walk became known to them, and the gardens of St. John's. Phillis talked learnedly about CardinalWolsey as she stood in Christ Church hall: and in the theatre "theyoung ladies in pink" invoked the most continuous cheers. 

"Can they mean us?" whispered Dulce, rather alarmed, to their faithfulescort Dick. "I don't see any other pink dresses!"

And Dick said, calmly, --

"Well, I suppose so. Some of those fellows up there are such atrumpery lot. "

So Dulce grew more reassured. 

But the greatest fun of all was the afternoon spent in Dick's room, when all his special friends were bidden to five o'clock tea, overwhich Nan, in her white gown, presided so gracefully. 

What a dear, shabby old room it was, with old-fashioned window-seats, where one could look down into the quadrangle. Dick was an Oriel man, and thought his college superior even to Magdalen. 

It became almost too hot and crowded at last, so many were theinvitations given; but then, as Dick said afterwards, "he was such asoft-hearted beggar that he could not refuse the fellows that pesteredhim for invitations. "

Mrs. Mayne, looking very proud and happy, sat fanning herself in oneof these windows. Phillis and Dulce were in the other attended by thatrogue Hamilton and half a dozen more. Nan was the centre of anotherclique, who hemmed her and the tea-table in so closely that Dick hadto wander disconsolately round the outskirts: there was no getting alook from Nan that afternoon. 

How hot it was! It was a grand _coup_ when the door opened and thescout made his appearance carrying a tray of ices. 

"It is well to be Mayne!" half grumbled young Hamilton, as Dulce tookone gratefully from his hand. "He is treating us like a prince, instead of the thin bread-and-butter entertainment he led us toexpect. Put down that tea, Miss Challoner. I see iced claret-cup andstrawberries in the corner. There is nothing like being an only child;doting parents are extremely useful articles. I am one of ten; wouldyou believe it?" continued the garrulous youth. "When one has sixbrothers older than one's self, I will leave you to imagine theconsequences. "

"How nice!" returned Dulce, innocently; "I have always so longed for abrother. If it had not been for Dick, we should have had no one to dothings for us. "

"Oh, indeed! Mayne is a sort of adopted brother!" observed hercompanion, looking at her rather sharply. 

"We have always looked upon him as one. We do just as we like withhim, --scold and tease him, and send him on our errands;" whichintelligence fairly convinced the envious Hamilton that the youngestMiss Challoner was not his friend's fancy. 

Dick always recalled that evening with a sense of pride. How well andgracefully Nan had fulfilled her duties! how pretty she had looked, inspite of her flushed cheeks! He had never seen a girl to compare withher, --not he!

They were so full of these delightful reminiscences that they were atthe cottage gate before they knew it; and then Dick astonished them byrefusing to come in. He had quite forgotten, he said, but his motherhad asked him to come home early, as she was not feeling just thething. 

"Quite right; you must do as she wishes, " returned Nan, dismissing himfar too readily, as he thought; but she said "Good-night!" with sokind a smile after that, that the foolish young fellow felt his pulsesquicken. 

Dick lingered at the corner until the cottage door was closed, andthen he raced down the Longmead shrubbery and set the house-bellpealing. 

"They are in the library, I suppose?" he asked of the butler whoadmitted him; and, on receiving an answer in the affirmative, hedashed unceremoniously into the room, while his mother held up herfinger and smiled at the truant. 

"You naughty boy, to be so late; and now you have spoiled you father'snap!" she said, pretending to scold him. 

"Tut! tut! what nonsense you talk sometimes!" said Mr. Mayne, rathercrossly, as he stood on the hearth-rug rubbing his eyes. "I was notasleep, I will take my oath of that; only I wish Dick could sometimesenter a room without making people jump;" by which Dick knew that hisfather was in one of his contrary moods, when he could be verycross, --very cross indeed!

CHAPTER III. 

MR. MAYNE MAKES HIMSELF DISAGREEABLE. 

The library at Longmead was a very pleasant room, and it was thecustom of the family to retire thither on occasions when guests werenot forthcoming, and Mr. Mayne could indulge in his favorite napwithout fear of interruption. 

A certain simplicity, not to say homeliness, of manners prevailed inthe house. It was understood among them that the dining-room was fartoo gorgeous for anything but occasions of ceremony. Mrs. Mayne, indeed, had had the good taste to cover the satin couches with pretty, fresh-looking cretonne, and had had arranged hanging cupboards of oldchina until it had been transformed into a charming apartment, notwithstanding which the library was declared to be the family-room, where the usual masculine assortment of litter could be regarded withindulgent eyes, and where papers and pamphlets lay in delightfulconfusion. 

Longmead was not a pretentious house--it was a moderate-sizedresidence, adapted to a gentleman of moderate means; but in summer noplace could be more charming. The broad gravel walk before the househad a background of roses; hundreds of roses climbed up the railingsor twined themselves about the steps: a tiny miniature lake, garnishedwith water-lilies, lay in the centre of the lawn; a group of oldelm-trees was beside it; behind the house lay another lawn, and beyondwere meadows where a few sheep were quietly grazing. Mr. Mayne, whofound time hang a little heavily on his hands, prided himself a gooddeal on his poultry-yard and kitchen-garden. A great deal of his sparetime was spent among his favorite Bantams and Dorkings, and insuperintending his opinionated old gardener--on summer mornings hewould be out among the dews in his old coat and planter's hat, weedingamong the gooseberry-bushes. 

"It is the early bird that finds the worm, " he would say, when Dicksauntered into the breakfast-room later on; for, in common with theyouth of his generation, he had a wholesome horror of early rising, which he averred was one of the barbarous usages of the dark ages inwhich his elders had been bred. 

"I never took any interest in worms, sir, " returned Dick, helpinghimself to a tempting rasher that had just been brought in hot for thepampered youth. "By the bye, have you seen Darwin's work on 'TheFormation of Vegetable Mould'? he declares that worms have played amore important part in the history of the world than most peoplewould at first suppose: they were our earliest ploughmen. "

"Oh, ah! indeed, very interesting!" observed his father, dryly; "butall the same, I beg to observe, no one succeeded in life who was notan early riser. "

"A sweeping assertion, and one I might be tempted to argue, if it werenot for taking up your valuable time, " retorted Dick, lazily, but witha twinkle in his eye. "I know my constitution better than to trustmyself out before the world is properly aired and dried. I am thinkingit is less a case of worms than of rheumatism some early birds will becatching;" to which Mr. Mayne merely returned an ungracious "Pshaw!"and marched off, leaving his son to enjoy his breakfast in peace. 

When Dick entered the library on the evening in question, Mr. Mayne'squerulous observation as to the noisiness of his entrance convincedhim at once that his father was in a very bad humor indeed, and thaton this account it behooved him to be exceedingly cool. 

So he kissed his mother, who looked at him a little anxiously, andthen sat down and turned out her work-basket, as he had done Nan's twoor three hours ago. 

"You are late after all, Dick, " she said, with a little reproach inher voice. It was hardly a safe observation, to judge by her husband'scloudy countenance; but the poor thing sometimes felt her evenings atrifle dull when Dick was away. Mr. Mayne would take up his paper, buthis eyes soon closed over it; that habit of seeking for the early wormrather disposed him to somnolent evenings, during which his wifeknitted and felt herself nodding off out of sheer _ennui_ and dulness. These were not the hours she had planned during those years ofwaiting; she had told herself that Richard would read to her or talkto her as she sat over her work, that they would have so much to sayto each other; but now, as she regarded his sleeping countenanceevening after evening, it may be doubted whether matrimony was quitewhat she expected, since its bliss was so temperate and so stronglyinfused with drowsiness. 

Dick looked up innocently. "Am I late, mother?"

"Oh, of course not, " returned his father, with a sneer; "it is notquite time to ring for Nicholson to bring our candles. Bessie, I thinkI should like some hot water to-night; I feel a little chilly. " AndBessie rang the bell obediently, and without any surprise in hermanner. Mr. Mayne often woke up chilly from his long nap. 

"Are you going to have a 'drap of the cratur'?" asked his son, withalacrity. "Well, I don't mind joining you, and that's the truth, forwe have been dawdling about, and I am a trifle chilly myself. "

"You know I object to spirits for young men, " returned Mr. Mayne, severely: nevertheless he pushed the whiskey to Dick as soon as hehad mixed his own glass, and his son followed his example. 

"I am quite of your opinion, father, " he observed, as he regarded thehandsome cut-glass decanter somewhat critically; "but there areexceptions to every rule, and when one is chilly----"

"I wish you would make an exception and stay away from the cottagesometimes, " returned Mr. Mayne, with ill-suppressed impatience. "Itwas all very well when you were all young things together, but it ishigh time matters should be different. "

Dick executed a low whistle of surprise and dismay. He had no idea hisfather's irritability had arisen from any definite cause. What a foolhe had been to be so late! it might lead to some unpleasantdiscussion. Well, after all, if his father chose to be so disagreeableit was not his fault; and he was no longer a boy, to be chidden, ormade to do this or that against his own will. 

Mr. Mayne was sufficiently shrewd to see that his son was somewhattaken aback by this sudden onslaught, and he was not slow to press hisadvantage. He had wanted to give Dick a bit of his mind for some time, and after all there is no time like the present. 

"Yes, it was all very well when you were a lot of children together, "he continued. "Of course, it is hard on you, Dick, having no brothersand sisters to keep you company; your mother and I were always sorryabout that for your sake. "

"Oh, don't mention it, " interrupted Dick: "on the whole, I am bestpleased as it is. "

"But it would have been better for you, " returned his father, sharply:"we should not have had all this fooling and humbug if you had hadsisters of your own. "

"Fooling and humbug!" repeated Dick, hotly; "I confess, sir, I don'tquite understand to what you are referring. " He was growing veryangry, but his mother flung herself between the combatants. 

"Don't, my boy, don't; you must not answer your father in that way. Richard, what makes you so hard on him to-night? It must be the gout, Dick: we had better send for Dr. Weatherby in the morning, " continuedthe anxious woman, with tears in her eyes, "for your dear father wouldnever be so cross to you as this unless he were going to be ill. "

"Stuff and nonsense, Bessie! Dr. Weatherby indeed!" but his voice wasless wrathful. "What is it but fooling, I should like to know, forDick to be daundering his time away with a parcel of girls as he doeswith these Challoners!"

"I suppose you were never a young man yourself, sir. "

"Oh, yes, I was, my boy, " and the corners of Mr. Mayne's mouth relaxedin spite of his efforts to keep serious. "I fell in love with yourmother, and stuck to her for seven or eight years; but I did not makebelieve that I was brother to a lot of pretty girls, and waste all mytime dancing attendance on them and running about on their errands. "

"You ought to have taken a lesson out of my book, " returned his son, readily. 

"No, I ought to have done no such thing, sir!" shouted back Mr. Mayne, waxing irate again. It could not be denied that Dick could beexcessively provoking when he liked. "Don't I tell you it is time thissort of thing was stopped? Why, people will begin to talk, and say youare making up to one of them, it is not right, Dick; it is not, indeed, " with an attempted pathos. 

"I don't care that for what people say, " returned the young fellow, snapping his fingers. "Is it not a pity you are saying all this to mejust when I am going away and am not likely to see any of them for thenext six months? You are very hard on me to-night, father; and I can'tthink what it is all about. "

Mr. Mayne was silent a moment, revolving his son's pathetic speech. Itwas true he had been cross, and had said more than he had meant tosay. He had not wished to hinder Dick's innocent enjoyments; but if hewere unknowingly picking flowers at the edge of a precipice, was itnot his duty as a father to warn him?

"I think I have been a little hard, my lad, " he said, candidly, "butthere, you and your mother know my bark is worse than my bite. I onlywanted to warn you; that's all, Dick. "

"Warn me!--against what, sir?" asked the young man, quickly. 

"Against falling in love, really, with one of the Challoner girls!"returned Mr. Mayne, trying to evade the fire of Dick's eyes, andblustering a little in consequence. "Why, they have not a penny, oneof them, and, if report be true, Mrs. Challoner's money is veryshakily invested. Paine told me so the other day. He said he shouldnever wonder if a sudden crash came any minute. "

"Is this true, Richard?"

"Paine declares it is; and think of Dick saddling himself with thesupport of a whole family!"

"It strikes me you are taking things very much for granted, " returnedhis son, trying to speak coolly, but flushing like a girl over hiswords. "I think you might wait, father, until I proposed bringing youhome a daughter-in-law. "

"I am only warning you, Dick, that the Challoner connection would bedistasteful to me, " replied Mr. Mayne, feeling that he had gone alittle too far. "If you had brothers and sisters it would not matterhalf so much; but it would be too hard if my only son were to cross mywishes. "

"Should you disinherit me, father?" observed Dick, cheerfully. He hadrecovered his coolness and pluck, and began to feel more equal to theoccasion. 

"We should see about that, but I hardly think it would be for youradvantage to oppose me too much, " returned his father with an ominouspucker of his eyebrows, which warned Dick, that it was hardly safe tochaff the old boy too much to-night. 

"I think I will go to bed, Richard, " put in poor Mrs. Mayne. She hadwisely forborne to mix in the discussion, fearing that it would bringupon her the vials of her husband's wrath. Mr. Mayne was as cholericas a Welshman, and had a reserve force of sharp cynical sayings thatwere somewhat hard to bear. He was disposed to turn upon her on suchoccasions, and to accuse her of spoiling Dick and taking his partagainst his father; between the two Richards she sometimes had a verybad time indeed. 

Dick lighted his mother's candle, and bade her good-night; but all thesame she knew she had not seen the last of him. A few minutesafterwards there was a hasty tap at the bedroom door, and Dick thrustin his head. 

"Come in, my dear; I have been expecting you, " she said, with apleased smile. He always came to her when he was ruffled or put out, and brought her all his grievances; surely this was the very meaningand essence of her motherhood, --this healing and comfort that lay inher power of sympathy. 

When he was a little fellow, had she not extracted many a thorn andbound up many a cut finger? and now he was a man, would she be lesshelpful to him when he wanted a different kind of comfort?

"Come in, my son, " she said, beckoning him to the low chair besideher, into which Dick threw himself with a petulant yawn. 

"Mother, what made the pater so hard on me to-night? he cut up asrough as though I had committed some crime. "

"I don't think he is quite himself to-night, " returned Mrs. Mayne, inher soft, motherly voice. "I fancy he misses you, Dick, and is halfjealous of the Challoners for monopolizing you. You are all we have, that's where it is, " she finished, stroking the sandy head with herplump hand; but Dick jerked away from her with a little impatience. 

"I think it rather hard that a fellow is to be bullied for doingnothing at all, " replied Dick, with a touch of sullenness. "When thepater is in this humor it is no use saying anything to him; but youmay as well tell him, mother, that I mean to choose my wife formyself. "

"Oh, my dear, I dare not tell him anything of the kind, " returned Mrs. Mayne, in an alarmed voice; and then, as she glanced at her son, herterror merged into amusement. There was something so absurdly boyishin Dick's appearance, such a ludicrous contrast between the manlinessof his speech and his smooth cheek; the little fringe of hirsuteornament, of which Dick was so proud, was hardly visible in the dimlight; his youthful figure, more clumsy than graceful, had anunfledged air about it, nevertheless, the boldness of his words tookaway her breath. 

"Every man has a right to his own choice in such a matter, " continuedDick, loftily. "You may as well tell him, mother, that I intend toselect my own wife. "

"My dear, I dare not for worlds----" she began; and then she stopped, and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Why do you say this to me? thereis plenty of time, " she went on hastily; "that is what your fathersays, and I think he is right. You are too young for this sort ofthing yet. You must see the world; you must look about you; you musthave plenty of choice, " continued the anxious mother. "I shall be hardto please, Dick, for I shall think no one good enough for my boy; thatis the worst of having only one, and he the best son that ever lived, "finished Mrs. Mayne, with maternal pride in her voice. 

Dick took this effusion very coolly. He was quite used to all thissort of worship; he did not think badly of himself; he was notparticularly humble-minded or given to troublesome introspection; onthe whole, he thought himself a good fellow, and was not at allsurprised that people appreciated him. 

"There are such a lot of cads in the world, one is always glad to fallin with a different sort, " he would say to himself. He was quite ofhis mother's opinion, that an honest, God-fearing young fellow, whospoke the truth and shamed the devil, who had no special vices but adislike for early rising, who had tolerable brains, and more than hisshare of muscle, who was in the Oxford eleven, and who had earned hisblue ribbon, --that such a one might be considered to set an example tohis generation. 

When his mother told him she would be hard to please, Dick looked alittle wicked, and thought of Nan; but the name was not mentionedbetween them. Nevertheless, Mrs. Mayne felt with unerring maternalinstinct that, in spite of his youth, Dick's choice was made, andsighed to herself at the thought of the evil days that were to come. 

Poor woman, she was to have little peace that night! Hardly had Dickfinished his grumble and sauntered away, before her husband's step washeard in his dressing-room. 

"Bessie, " he called out to her, "why do you allow that boy to keep youup so late at night? Do you know that it is eleven, and you are stillfully dressed?"

"Is it so late, Richard?"

"Yes, of course, " he snapped; "but that is the care you take of yourhealth; and the way you cosset and spoil that boy is dreadful. "

"I don't think Dick is easily spoiled, " plucking up a little spirit toanswer him. 

"That shows how little you understand boys, " returned her husband. Evidently the whiskey, though it was the best Glenlivat, had failed tomollify him. It might be dangerous to go too far with Dick, for he hada way of turning around and defending himself that somewhatembarrassed Mr. Mayne, but with his wife there would be no suchdanger. He would dominate her by his sharp speeches, and reduce her toabject submission in a moment, for Bessie was the meekest of wives. "Take care how you side with him, " he continued, in a threateningvoice. "He thinks that I am not serious in what I said just now, andis for carrying it off with a high hand; but I tell you, and you hadbetter tell him, that I was never more in earnest in my life. I won'thave one of those Challoner girls for a daughter-in-law!"

"Oh, Richard! and Nan is such a sweet girl!" returned his wife, withtears in her eyes. She was awfully jealous of Nan, at times she almostdreaded her; but for her boy's sake she would have taken her now toher heart and defied even her formidable husband. "She is such apretty creature, too; no one can help loving her. "

"Pshaw!" returned her husband; "pretty creature indeed! that is justyour soft-hearted nonsense. Phillis is ten times prettier, and hasheaps more sense. Why couldn't Dick have taken a fancy to her?"

"Because I am afraid he cares for the other one, " returned Mrs. Mayne, sadly. She had no wish to deceive her husband and she knew that thegolden apple had rolled to Nan's feet. 

"Stuff and rubbish!" he responded, wrathfully. "What is a boy of hisage to know about such things? Tell him from me to put this nonsenseout of his head for the next year or two; there is plenty of time tolook out for a wife after that. But I won't have him making up hismind until he has left Oxford. " And Mrs. Mayne, knowing that herhusband had spoken his last word, thankfully withdrew, feeling that inher heart she secretly agreed with him. 

CHAPTER IV. 

DICK'S FÊTE. 

As Mr. Mayne's wrath soon evaporated, and Dick was a sweet-temperedfellow and bore no malice, this slight altercation produced no lastingeffect, except that Dick, for the next few days, hurried home to hisdinner, talked a good deal about Switzerland, and never mentioned aChalloner in his father's hearing. 

"We must keep him in a good temper for the 25th, " he said to hismother, with a touch of the Mayne shrewdness. 

That day was rapidly approaching, and all sorts of festivepreparations were going on at Longmead. Dick himself gravelysuperintended the rolling of the tennis-ground in the large meadow, and daubed himself plentifully with lime in marking out the courts, while Mr. Mayne stood with his hands in the pockets of hisshooting-coat watching him. The two were a great deal together justthen: Dick rather stuck to his father during one or two mornings; thewily young fellow knew that Nan was closeted with his mother, helpingher with all sorts of feminine arrangements, and he was determined tokeep them apart. Nan wondered a great deal why Dick did not come tointerrupt or tease them as usual, and grew a little absent over Mrs. Mayne's rambling explanations. When the gong sounded, no one asked herto stay to luncheon. Mrs. Mayne saw her put on her hat withoututtering a single protest. 

"It is so good of you to help me, dear, " she said, taking the girlinto her embrace. "You are quite sure people won't expect a sit-downsupper?"

"Oh no; the buffet system is best, " returned Nan, decidedly. "Half thepeople will not stay, and you need not make a fuss about the rest. Itis an afternoon party, you must remember that; only people who arevery intimate will remain for the fun of the thing. Tell Nicholson tohave plenty of ices going; people care most for that sort ofrefreshment. "

"Yes, dear; I will be sure to remember, " returned her friend, meekly. 

She was very grateful to Nan for these hints, and was quite willing tofollow her guidance in all such matters; but when Nan proposed oncesending for Dick to ask his opinion on some knotty point that baffledtheir women's wits, Mrs. Mayne demurred. 

"It is a pity to disturb him; he is with his father; and we can settlethese things by ourselves, " she replied, not venturing to mar thepresent tranquillity by sending such a message to Dick. Mr. Maynewould have accompanied his son, and the consultation would hardly haveended peaceably. "Men have their hobbies. We had better settle allthis together, you and I, " she said hurriedly. 

Nan merely nodded, and cut the Gordian knot through somewhatruthlessly; but on that occasion she put on her hat before the gongsounded. 

"You must be very busy, for one never has a glimpse of you in themorning, " she could not help saying to Dick, as he came in thatafternoon to escort them to Fitzroy Lodge. 

"Well, yes, I am tolerably busy, " he drawled. "I am never free to dothings in the afternoons, "--a fact that Nan felt was unanswerable. 

When Nan and her sisters woke on the morning of the memorable day, thebright sunshine of a cloudless June day set all their fears at rest. If the sun smiled on Dick's fête, all would be well. If Nan'sdevotions were longer than usual that morning, no one was the wiser;if she added a little clause, calling down a blessing on a certainhead, no one would be the poorer for such pure prayers; indeed, itwere well if many such were uttered for the young men who go forthmorning after morning into the temptations of life. 

Such prayers might stretch like an invisible shield before thecountless foes that environ such a one; fiery darts may be caught uponit; a deadly thrust may be turned away. What if the blessing wouldnever reach the ear of the loved one, who goes out unconscious ofsympathy? His guardian angel has heard it, and perchance it hasreached the very gate of heaven. 

Nan came down, smiling and radiant, to find Dick waiting for her inthe veranda and chattering to Phillis and Dulce. 

"Why, Dick!" she cried, blushing with surprise and pleasure, "to thinkof your being here on your birthday morning!"

"I only came to thank you and the girls for your lovely presents, "returned Dick, becoming rather incoherent and red at the sight ofNan's blush. "It was so awfully good of you all, to work all thosethings for me;" for Nan had taken secret measurements in Dick's room, and had embroidered a most exquisite mantelpiece valance, and Phillisand Dulce had worked the corners of a green cloth with wonderfuldaffodils and bulrushes to cover Dick's shabby table: and Dick's soulhad been filled with ravishment at the sight of these gifts. 

Nan would not let him go on, but all the same his happy face delightedher. 

"No, don't thank us, we liked doing it, " she returned, rather coolly. "You know we owed you something after all your splendid hospitality, and work is never any trouble to us. "

"But I never saw anything I liked better, " blurted out Dick. "All thefellows will be jealous of me. I am sure I don't know what Hamiltonwill say. It was awfully good of you, Nan, and so it was of theothers: and if I don't make it up to you somehow, my name is notDick:" and he smiled round at them as he spoke. "Fancy putting in allthose stitches for me!" he thought to himself. 

"We are so glad you are pleased, " returned Nan, with one of her sweet, straightforward looks; "that is what we wanted to give you, --a littlesurprise on your birthday. Now you must tell us about your otherpresents. " And Dick, nothing loath, launched into eloquentdescriptions of the silver-fitted dressing-case from his mother, andthe gun and thorough-bred collie that had been his father's gifts. 

"He is such a fine fellow; I must show him to you this afternoon, "went on Dick, eagerly. "His name is Vigo, and he has such a superbhead. Was it not good of the pater? he knew I had a fancy for acollie, and he has been in treaty for one ever so long. Is he not adear old boy?" cried Dick, rapturously. But he did not tell hisfriends of the crisp bundle of bank-notes with which Mr. Mayne hadenriched his son; only as Dick fingered them lovingly, he wonderedwhat pretty foreign thing he could buy for Nan, and whether her motherwould allow her to accept it. 

After this Nan dismissed him somewhat peremptorily; he must go back tohis breakfast, and allow them to do the same. 

"Mind you come early, " were Dick's last words as he waved his strawhat to them. How often the memory of that morning recurred to him ashe stood solitarily and thoughtful, contemplating some grand sketch ofAlpine scenery!

The snow peaks and blue glaciers melted away before his eyes; in theirplace rose unbidden a picture framed in green trellis-work, over whichroses were climbing. 

Fresh girlish faces smiled back at him; the brightest and kindest ofglances met his. "Good-bye, Dick; a thousand good wishes from us all. "A slim white hand had gathered a rose-bud for him; how proudly he hadworn it all that day! Stop, he had it still; it lay all crushed andwithered in his pocket-book. He had written the date under it; one dayhe meant to show it to her. Oh, foolish days of youth, so prodigal ofminor memories and small deeds of gifts, when a withered flower canhold the rarest scent, and in a crumpled roseleaf there is a wholevolume of ecstatic meaning! Oh, golden days of youth, never to besurpassed!

Never in the memory of Oldfield had there been a more delicious day. 

The sky was cloudless; long purple shadows lay under the elm-trees; aconcert of bird-music sounded from the shrubberies: in the greenmeadows flags were waving, tent-draperies fluttering; the house-doorsstood open, showing a flower-decked hall and vista of cool shadowyrooms. 

Dick, looking bright and trim, wandering restlessly over the place, and Mr. Mayne fidgeted after him; while Mrs. Mayne sat fanning herselfunder the elm-trees and hoping the band would not be late. 

No there it was turning in now at the stable-entrance, and playing"The girl I left behind me;" and there at the same moment was Nancoming up the lawn in her white gown, closely followed by her motherand sisters. 

"Are we the first?" she asked, as Dick darted across the grass to meether. "That is nice; we shall see all the people arrive. Howinspiriting that music is, and how beautiful everything looks!"

"It is awfully jolly of you to be the first, " whispered Dick; "and hownice you look, Nan! You always do, you know, but to-day you arefirst-rate. Is this a new gown?" casting an approving look over Nan'scostume, which was certainly very fresh and pretty. 

"Oh, yes; we have all new dresses in your honor, and we made themourselves, " returned Nan, carelessly. "Mother has got her old silk, but for her it does not so much matter; at least that is what shesays. "

"And she is quite right. She is always real splendid, as the Yankeessay, whatever she wears, " returned Dick, wishing secretly that hismother in her new satin dress looked half so well as Mrs. Challoner inher old one. But it was no use. Mrs. Mayne never set off her handsomedresses; with her flushed, good-natured face and homely ways, sheshowed to marked disadvantage beside Mrs. Challoner's faded beauty. Mrs. Challoner's gown might be antique, but nothing could surpass thequiet grace of her carriage, or the low pleasant modulations of hervoice. Her figure was almost as slim as her daughters', and she couldeasily have passed for their elder sister. 

Lady Fitzroy, who was a Burgoyne by birth, --and every one knows thatfor haughtiness and a certain exclusive intoleration none could matchthe Burgoynes, --always distinguished Mrs. Challoner by the markedattention she paid her. 

"A very lady-like woman, Percival. Certainly the most lady-like personin the neighborhood, " she would say to her husband, who was not quiteso exclusive, and always made himself pleasant to his neighbors; andshe would ask very graciously after her brother-in-law, Sir FrancisChalloner. "He is still in India, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes; he is still in India, " Mrs. Challoner would reply, rathercurtly. She had not the faintest interest in her husband's brother, whom she had never seen more than twice in her life, and who wasunderstood to be small credit to his family. The aforesaid Sir FrancisChalloner had been the poorest of English baronets. His property haddwindled down until it consisted simply of a half ruined residence inthe north of England. 

In his young days Sir Francis had been a prodigal, and, like theprodigal in the parable, he had betaken himself into far countries, not to waste his substance, for he had none, but if possible to gleansome of the Eastern riches. 

Whether he had been successful or not Mrs. Challoner hardly knew. Thathe had married and settled in Calcutta, --that he had a son namedHarry, who had once written to her in round hand and subscribedhimself as her affectionate nephew, Henry Ford Challoner--this sheknew; but what manner of person Lady Challoner might be, or what sortof home her brother-in-law had made for himself, those points wereenveloped in mystery. 

"I suppose she is so civil to me because of your uncle Francis, " sheused to say to her girls, which was attributing to Lady Fitzroy adegree of snobbishness that was quite undeserved. Lady Fitzroy reallyliked Mrs. Challoner and found intercourse with her very pleasant andrefreshing. When one is perfectly well-bred, there is a subtile charmin harmony of voice and manner. Mrs. Challoner might have dressed inrags if she liked, and the young countess would still have aired herchoicest smiles for her. 

It was lucky Nan had those few words from Dick, for they fell apartafter this, and were separated the greater portion of the afternoon. 

Carriages began to drive in at the gates; groups of well-dressedpeople thronged the lawn, and were drafted off to the field where theband was playing. 

Nan and her sisters had their work cut out for them; they kneweverybody and they were free of the house. It was they who helped Dickarrange the tennis-matches, who pointed out to the young men of theparty which was the tea-tent, and where the ices and claret-cup wereto be found. They marshalled the elder ladies into pleasant nooks, where they could be sheltered from the sun and see all that was goingon. 

"No, thank you; I shall not play tennis this afternoon; there are toomany of us, and I am so busy, " Nan said, dismissing one after anotherwho came up to her. "If you want a partner, there is Carrie Paine, whois dying for a game. "

Dick, who was passing with Lady Fitzroy on his arm, whom he washurrying somewhat unceremoniously across the field, threw her agrateful glance as he went by. 

"What a sweet-looking girl that is!" said Lady Fitzroy, graciously, asshe panted a little over her exertion. 

"Who?--Nan? Yes; isn't she a brick?--and the others too?" for Phillisand Dulce were just as self-denying in their labors. As Mr. Mayne saidafterwards, "They were just everywhere, those Challoners, like a hiveof swarming bees;" which, as it was said in a grumbling tone, wasungrateful, to say the least of it. 

Dick worked like a horse too; he looked all the afternoon as though hehad a tough job in hand that required the utmost gravity and despatch. He was forever hurrying elderly ladies across the field towards therefreshment-tent, where he deposited them, panting and heated, in allsorts of corners. 

"Are you quite comfortable? May I leave you now? or shall I wait andtake you back again?" asked Dick, who was eager for a fresh convoy. 

"No, no; I would rather stay here a little, " returned Mrs. Paine, whowas not desirous of another promenade with the hero of the day. "Goand fetch some one else, Dick: I am very well off where I am, "exchanging an amused glance with one of her friends, as Dick, hot andbreathless, started off on another voyage of discovery. 

Dick's behavior had been simply perfect all the afternoon in hisfather's eyes; but later on, when the band struck up a set ofquadrilles, he committed his first solecism in manners: instead ofasking Lady Fitzroy to dance with him, he hurried after Nan. 

"This is our dance; come along, " he said, taking her unwilling hand;but she held back a moment. 

"Are you sure? Is there not some one else you ought to choose?--LadyFitzroy, for example?" questioned Nan, with admirable forethought. 

"Bother Lady Fitzroy!" exclaimed Dick, under his breath; he had hadquite enough of that lady. "Why are you holding back, Nan, in thisfashion?" a cloud coming over his face. "Haven't you promised weeksago to give me the first dance?" And Nan, seeing the cloud on hisface, yielded without another word. Dick always managed to have hisown way somehow. 

"Dick! Dick!" cried his father, in a voice of agony, as they passedhim. 

"All in good time; coming presently, " returned the scapegrace, cheerfully. "Now, Nan, this is our place. We will have Hamilton andDulce for our _vis-a-vis_. What a jolly day; and isn't thisfirst-rate?" exclaimed Dick, rubbing his hands, and feeling as thoughhe were only just beginning to enjoy himself. 

Nan was not quite so easy in her mind. 

"Your father does not look very pleased. I am afraid, after all, youought to have asked Lady Fitzroy, " she said, in a low voice; but Dickturned a deaf ear. He showed her the rose in his buttonhole; and whenNan told him it was withered, and wanted him to take it out, he gaveher a reproachful look that made her blush. 

They were very happy after this; and, when the dance was over, Dickgave her his arm, and carried her off to see Vigo, who was howling adeep mournful bass at the back of the gardener's cottage. 

Nan made friends with him, and stroked his black curly head, andlooked lovingly into his deep melancholy eyes; and then, as herflowers were fading, they strolled off into the conservatory, whereDick gathered her a fresh bouquet and then sat down and watched herarrange it. 

"What clever fingers you have got!" he said, looking at themadmiringly, as Nan sorted the flowers in her lap; and at this unluckymoment they were discovered by Mr. Mayne, who was bringing LadyFitzroy to see a favorite orchid. 

He shot an angry suspicious glance at his son. 

"Dick, your mother is asking for you, " he said, rather abruptly; butDick growled something in an undertone, and did not move. 

Nan gave him a frightened nudge. Why was he so imprudent?

"I cannot move, because of my flowers; do go, Dick. You must indeed, if your mother wants you;" and she looked at him in such a pleadingway that Dick dared not refuse. It was just like his father to comeand disturb his first happy moments and to order him off to go and dosomething disagreeable. He had almost a mind to brave it out, andremain in spite of him; but there was Nan looking at him in afrightened, imploring way. 

"Oh, do go, Dick, " giving him a little impatient push in heragitation; "if your mother wants you, you must not keep her waiting. "But Nan in her heart knew, as Dick did in his, that the message wasonly a subterfuge to separate them. 

CHAPTER V. 

"I AM QUITE SURE OF HIM. "

Nan would willingly have effected her escape too, but she was detainedby the flowers that Dick had tossed so lightly into her lap. She wasrather dismayed at her position, and her fingers trembled a littleover their work. There was a breath--a sudden entering current--ofantagonism and prejudice that daunted her. Lady Fitzroy cast anadmiring look at the girl as she sat there with glowing cheeks anddowncast lids. 

"How pretty she is!" she said, in a low voice, as Mr. Mayne pointedout his favorite orchid. "She is like her mother; there is just thesame quiet style, only I suspect Mrs. Challoner was even betterlooking in her time. "

"Humph! yes, I suppose so, " returned her host, in a dissatisfied tone. He had not brought Lady Fitzroy there to talk of the Challoners, butto admire his orchids. Then he shot another glance at Nan between hishalf-closed eyes, and a little spice of malice flavored his nextwords. 

"Shall we sit here a moment? Let me see: you were asking me, LadyFitzroy, about Dick's prospects. I was talking to his mother aboutthem the other day. I said to her then, Dick must settle in life well;he must marry money. "

"Indeed?" replied Lady Fitzroy, somewhat absently; she even indulgedin a slight yawn behind her fan. She liked Dick well enough, as everyone else did, but she was not partial to his father. How tiresome itwas of Fitzroy to insist so much on their neighborly duties!

Mr. Mayne was not "one of them, " as she would have phrased it; he didnot speak their language or lead their life; their manners andcustoms, their little tricks and turns of thought were hieroglyphicsto him. 

A man who had never had a grandfather, --at least a grandfather worthknowing, --whose father's hands had dabbled in trade, --actuallytrade, --such a one might be a very worthy man, an excellent citizen, an exemplary husband and father, but it behooved a woman in herposition not to descend too freely to his level. 

"Percival is such a sad Radical, " she would say to herself; "he doesnot make sufficient distinction between people. I should wish to beneighborly, but I cannot bring myself to be familiar with theseMaynes;" which was perhaps the reason why Lady Fitzroy was not aspopular at Longmead and in other places as her good-natured husband. 

"Oh, indeed?" she said, with difficulty repressing another slight yawnbehind her fan, but speaking in a fatigued voice: but Mr. Mayne wastoo intent on his purpose to notice it. 

"If Dick had brothers and sisters it would not matter so much; butwhen one has only a single hope--eh, Lady Fitzroy?--things must be alittle different then. "

"He will have plenty of choice, " she returned, with an effort atgraciousness. "Oldfield is rich in pretty girls:" and she cast anotherapproving glance at poor Nan, but Mr. Mayne interrupted her almostrudely. 

"Ah, as to that, " he returned, with a sneer, "we want no such nonsensefor Dick. Here are the facts of the case. Here is an honest, good-tempered young fellow, but with no particular push in him; he hasmoney, you say, --yes, but not enough to give him the standing I wanthim to have. I am ambitious for Dick. I want him to settle in lifewell. Why, he might be called to the bar; he might enter Parliament;there is no limit to a man's career nowadays. I will do what I can forhim, but he must meet me half-way. "

"You mean, " observed Lady Fitzroy, with a little perplexity in hertone, "that he must look out for an heiress. " She was not in thesecret, and she could not understand why her host was treating her tothis outburst of confidence. "It was so disagreeable to be mixed upwith this sort of thing, " as she told her husband afterwards. "I neverknew him quite so odious before; and there was that pretty MissChalloner sitting near us, and he never let me address a word toher. "

Nan began to feel she had had enough of it. She started up hastily asLady Fitzroy said the last words, but the entrance of some more youngpeople compelled her to stand inside a moment, and she heard Mr. Mayne's answer distinctly: "Well, not an heiress exactly; but the girlI have in view for him has a pretty little sum of money, and theconnection is all that could be wished; she is nice-looking, too, andis a bright, talking little body----" But here Nan made such aresolute effort to pass, that the rest of the sentence was lost uponher. 

Dick, who was strolling up and down the lawn rather discontentedly, hurried up to her as she came out. 

"They are playing a valse; come, Nan, " he said, holding out his handto her with his usual eagerness; but she shook her head. 

"I cannot dance; I am too tired: there are others you ought to ask. "She spoke a little ungraciously, and Dick's face wore a look ofdismay, as she walked away from him with quick even footsteps. 

Tired! Nan tired! he had never heard of such a thing. What had put herout? The sweet brightness had died out of her eyes, and her cheekswere flaming. Should he follow her and have it out with her, there andthen? But, as he hesitated, young Hamilton came over the grass andlinked his arm in his. 

"Come and introduce me to that girl in blue gauze, or whatever youcall that flimsy manufacture. Come along, there's a good fellow, " hesaid, coaxingly; and Dick's opportunity was lost. 

But he was wrong; for once in her life Nan was tired; the poor girlfelt a sudden quenching of her bright elasticity that amounted toabsolute fatigue. 

She had spoken to Dick sharply; but that was to get rid of him and torecall him to a sense of his duty. Not for worlds would she be seendancing with him, or even talking to him, again!

She sat down on a stump of a tree in the shrubbery, and wonderedwearily what had taken it out of her so much. And then she recalled, sentence by sentence, everything that had passed in the conservatory. 

She had found out quite lately that Mr. Mayne did not approve of herintimacy with Dick. His manner had somewhat changed to her, andseveral times he had spoken to her in a carping, fault-findingway, --little cut-and-dried sentences of elderly wisdom that she hadnot understood at the time. 

She had not pleased him of late, somehow, and all her little effortsand overtures had been lost upon him. Nan had been quite aware ofthis, but it had not troubled her much: it was a way he had, and hemeant nothing by it. Most men had humors that must be respected, andDick's father had his. So she bore herself very sweetly towards him, treating his caustic remarks as jokes, and laughing pleasantly atthem, never taking his hints in earnest; he would know better someday, that was all; but she had no idea of any deeply-laid plan againsttheir happiness. She felt as though some one had struck her hard; shehad received a blow that set all her nerves tingling. It was veryfunny, what he said; it was so droll that it almost made her laugh;and yet her eyes smarted, and her cheeks felt on fire. 

"'Dick must marry money. ' Why must he?--that was so droll. 'Well, notan heiress exactly, but a pretty little sum of money, and a bright, taking little body. ' Who was this mysterious person whom he had inview, whose connections were so desirable, who was to be Dick's futurewife? Dick's future wife!" repeated Nan, with an odd little quiver ofher lip. "And was it not droll, settling it all for him like that?"

Nan fell into a brown study, and then woke up with a little gasp. Itwas all clear to her now, all these cut-and-dried sentences, --allthose veiled sneers and innuendoes. 

They were poor, --poor as church-mice, --and Dick must marry money. Mr. Mayne had laid his plans for his son, and was watching their growingintimacy with disapproving eyes. Perhaps "the bright, taking littlebody" might accompany them to Switzerland; perhaps among the mountainsDick would forget her, and lend a ready acquiescence to his father'splans. Who was she? Had Nan ever seen her? Could she be here thisafternoon, this future rival and enemy of her peace?

"Ah, what nonsense I am thinking!" she exclaimed to herself, startingup with a little shame and impatience at her own thoughts. "What hasthis all got to do with me? Let them settle it betweenthem, --money-bags and all. Dick is Dick, and after all, I am notafraid!" And Nan marched back to the company, with her head higher, and a great assumption of cheerfulness, and a little gnawing feelingof discomfort at her heart, to which she would not have owned forworlds. 

Nan was the gayest of the gay that evening, but she would not danceagain with Dick: she sent the poor boy away from her with a decisionand peremptoriness that struck him with fresh dismay. 

"You are not tired now, Nan; and have been waltzing ever so long withCathcart and Hamilton. "

"Never mind about me to-night: you must go and ask Lady Fitzroy. No, Iam not cross. Do you think I would be cross to you on your birthday?but all the same I will not have you neglect your duties. Go and askher this moment, sir!" And Nan smiled in his face in the mostbewitching way, and gave a little flutter to her fan. She accepted Mr. Hamilton's invitation to a valse under Dick's very eyes, and whirledaway on his arm, while Dick stood looking at her ruefully. 

Just at the very last moment Nan's heart relented. 

"Walk down to the gate with us, " she whispered, as she passed him onher way to the cloak-room. 

Dick, who was by this time in a somewhat surly humor, make no sort ofresponse; nevertheless Nan found him out on the gravel path waitingfor them in company with Cathcart and Hamilton. 

Nan shook off the latter rather cleverly, and took Dick's arm, incheerful unconsciousness of his ill-humor. 

"It is so good of you to come with us. I wanted to get you a moment tomyself, to congratulate you on the success of the evening. It wasadmirably managed; every one says so: even Lady Fitzroy was pleased, and her ladyship is a trifle fastidious. Have the band in-doors, andset them to dancing, --that is what I said; and it has turned out acomplete success, " finished Nan, with a little gush of enthusiasm; butshe did not find Dick responsive. 

"Oh! bother the success and all that!" returned that very misguidedyoung man; "it was the slowest affair to me, I assure you, and I amthankful it is over. You have spoiled the evening to me, and that iswhat you have done, " grumbled Dick, in his most ominous voice. 

"I spoiled your evening, you ungrateful boy!" replied Nan, innocently;but she smiled to herself in the darkness, and the reproach was sweetto her. They had entered the garden of Glen Cottage by this time, andDick was fiercely marching her down a side-path that led to thekitchen. The hall door stood open. Cathcart and Hamilton werechattering with the girls in the porch, while Mrs. Challoner wentinside. They peered curiously into the summer dusk, as Dick'simpatient footsteps grated on the gravel path. 

"I spoiled your evening!" repeated Nan, lifting her bright eyes withthe gleam of fun still in them. 

"Yes, " blurted out Dick. "Why have you kept me at such a distance allthe evening? Why would you not dance with me? and you gave Hamiltonthree valses. It was not like you, Nan, to treat me so, --and on mybirthday too, " went on the poor fellow, with a pathos that broughtanother sort of gleam to Nan's eyes, only she still laughed. 

"Ah, you foolish boy!" she said, and gave his coat-sleeve a coaxinglittle pat. "I would rather have danced with you than Mr. Hamilton, though he does reverse beautifully, and I never knew any one whowaltzed more perfectly. "

"Oh, I do not presume to rival Hamilton, " began Dick hotly, but shesilenced him. 

"Listen to me, you foolish Dick! I would have danced with you, andwillingly, but I knew my duty better, or rather I knew yours. You werea public man to-day; the eyes of the county were upon you. You had topay court to the big ladies, and to take no notice of poor little me. I sent you away for your own good, and because I valued your dutyabove my pleasure, " continued this heroic young person, in a perfectlysatisfied tone. 

"And you wanted to dance with me, Nan, and not with that goose of aHamilton?" in a wheedling voice. 

"Yes, Dick; but he is not a goose for all that: he is more of a swanin my opinion. "

"He is a conceited ass!" was the very unexpected reply, which was alittle hard on Dick's chum, who was in many ways a most estimableyoung man and vastly his superior. "Why are you laughing, when youknow I hate prigs? and Hamilton is about the biggest I ever knew. " Butthis did not mend matters, and Nan's laugh still rang merrily in thedarkness. 

"What are those two doing?" asked Phillis, trying to peep between thelilac-bushes, but failing to discover more than the white glimmer ofNan's shawl. 

Nan's laugh, though it was full of sweet triumph, only irritated Dick;the lord of the evening was still too sore and humiliated by all theserebuffs and repulses to take the fun in good part. 

"What is it that amuses you so?" he asked, rather crossly. "That isthe worst of you girls; you are always so ready to make merry at afellow's expense. You are taking Hamilton's part against me, Nan, --I, who am your oldest friend, who have always been faithful to you eversince you were a child, " continued the young man, with a growing senseof aggravation. 

"Oh, Dick!" and Nan's voice faltered a little; she was rather touchedat this. 

Dick took instant note of the change of key, and went on in the sameinjured voice:

"Why should I look after all the big people and take no notice of you?Have I not made it my first duty to look after you as long as I canremember? Though the whole world were about us, would you not be thefirst and the principal to me?"

"Don't, Dick, " she said, faintly, trying to repress him; "you must nottalk in that way, and I must not listen to you; your father would notlike it. " The words were sweet to her, --precious beyondeverything, --but she must not have him speak them. But Dick, in hisangry excitement, was not to be repressed. 

"What does it matter what he likes? This is between you and me, Nan;no one shall meddle between us two. " But what imprudent speech Dickwas about to add was suddenly quenched in light-pealing laughter. Atthis critical moment they were met and surrounded; before them was thered glow of Cathcart's cigar, the whiteness of Phillis's gown; behindwere two more advancing figures. In another second the young peoplehad joined hands: a dusky ring formed round the startled pair. 

"Fairly caught!" cried Dulce's sunshiny voice; the mischievous littlemonkey had no idea of the sport she was spoiling. None of the youngpeople thought of anything but fun; Dick was just Dick, and he and Nanwere always together. 

Dick muttered something inaudible under his breath; but Nan was quiteequal to the occasion; she was still palpitating a little with thepleasure Dick's words had given her, but she confronted her tormentorsboldly. 

"You absurd creatures, " she said, "to steal a march on us like that!Dick and I were having a quarrel; we were fighting so hard that we didnot hear you. "

"I enjoy a good fight above everything, " exclaimed Cathcart, throwingaway his cigar. He was a handsome dark-eyed boy, with no specialindividuality, except an overweening sense of fun. "What's the odds, Mayne? and who is likely to be the winner?"

"Oh, Nan, of course, " returned Dick, trying to recover himself. "I amthe captive of her spear and of her bow: she is in possession ofeverything, myself included. "

The rest laughed at Dick's jest, as they thought it; and Mr. Hamiltonsaid, "Bravo, Miss Challoner! we will help to drag him at yourchariot-wheels. " But Nan changed color in the darkness. 

They went in after this, and the young men took their leave in theporch. Dick's strong grip of the hand conveyed his meaning fully toNan: "Remember, I meant it all, " it seemed to say to her. 

"What did it matter? I am quite sure of him. Dick is Dick, " thoughtNan, as she laid her head happily on the pillow. 

As for Dick, he had a long ordeal before him ere he could make hisescape to the smoking-room, where his friends awaited him. Mr. Maynehad a great deal to say to him about the day, and Dick had to listenand try to look interested. 

"I am sure Dick behaved beautifully, " observed Mrs. Mayne, when theson and heir had at last lounged off to his companions. 

"Well, yes; he did very well on the whole, " was the grudging response;"but I must say those Challoner girls made themselves far tooconspicuous for my taste;" but to this his wife prudently made noreply. 

CHAPTER VI. 

MR. TRINDER'S VISIT. 

The next few days passed far too quickly for Nan's pleasure, andDick's last morning arrived. The very next day the Maynes were tostart for Switzerland, and Longmead was to stand empty for theremainder of the summer. It was a dreary prospect for Nan, and inspite of her high spirits her courage grew somewhat low. Six months!who could know what might happen before they met again? Nan was notthe least bit superstitious, neither was it her wont to indulge inuseless speculations or forebodings; but she could not shake off thismorning a strange uncanny feeling that haunted her in spite ofherself--a presentiment that things were not going to be just as shewould have them, --that Dick and she would not meet again in exactlythe same manner. 

"How silly I am!" she thought, for the twentieth time, as she brushedout her glossy brown hair and arranged it in her usual simplefashion. 

Nan and her sisters were a little behind the times in some ways; theyhad never thought fit to curl their hair _en garcon_, or to mount apyramid of tangled curls in imitation of a poodle; no pruning scissorshad touched the light-springing locks that grew so prettily abouttheir temples; in this, as in much else, they were unlike other girls, for they dared to put individuality before fashion, and good taste anda sense of beauty against the specious arguments of the multitude. 

"How silly I am!" again repeated Nan. "What can happen, what shouldhappen, except that I shall have a dull summer, and shall be very gladwhen Christmas and Dick come together;" and then she shook her littlebasket of housekeeping keys until they jingled merrily, and randownstairs with a countenance she meant to keep bright for the rest ofthe day. 

They were to play tennis at the Paines' that afternoon, and afterwardsthe three girls were to dine at Longmead. Mrs. Challoner had beeninvited also; but she had made some excuse, and pleaded for a quietevening. She was never very ready to accept these invitations; therewas nothing in common between her and Mrs. Mayne; and in her heart sheagreed with Lady Fitzroy in thinking the master of Longmead odious. 

It was Mr. Mayne who had tendered this parting hospitality to hisneighbors, and he chose to be much offended at Mrs. Challoner'srefusal. 

"I think it is very unfriendly of your mother, when we are such oldneighbors, and on our last evening, too, " he said to Nan, as sheentered the drawing-room that evening bringing her mother's excuseswrapped up in the prettiest words she could find. 

"Mother is not quite well; she does not feel up to the exertion ofdining out to-night, " returned Nan, trying to put a good face on it, but feeling as though things were too much for her this evening. Itwas bad enough for Mr. Mayne to insist on them all coming up to a longformal dinner, and spoiling their chances of a twilight stroll; but itwas still worse for her mother to abandon them after this fashion. 

The new novel must have had something to do with this suddenindisposition; but when Mrs. Challoner had wrapped herself up in herwhite shawl, always a bad sign with her, and had declared herselfunfit for any exertion, what could a dutiful daughter do but deliverher excuses as gracefully as she could? Nevertheless, Mr. Maynefrowned and expressed himself ill pleased. 

"I should have thought an effort could have been made on such anoccasion, " was his final thrust, as he gave his arm ungraciously toNan, and conducted her with ominous solemnity to the table. 

It was not a festive meal, in spite of all Mrs. Mayne's efforts. Dicklooked glum. He was separated from Nan by a vast silver epergne, thatfully screened her from view. Another time she would have peepedmerrily round at him and given him a sprightly nod or two; but how wasshe to do it when Mr. Mayne never relaxed his gloomy muscles, and whenhe insisted on keeping up a ceremonious flow of conversation with heron the subjects of the day?

When Dick tried to strike into their talk, he got so visibly snubbedthat he was obliged to take refuge with Phillis. 

"You young fellows never know what you are talking about, " observedMr. Mayne, sharply, when Dick had hazarded a remark about thePremier's policy; "you are a Radical one day, and a Conservativeanother. That comes of your debating societies. You take contrarysides, and mix up a balderdash of ideas, until you don't know whetheryou are standing on your head or your heels;" and it was after thisthat Dick found his refuge with Phillis. 

It was little better when they were all in the drawing-room together. If Mr. Mayne had invited them there for the purpose of keeping themall under his own eyes and making them uncomfortable, he could nothave managed better. When Dick suggested a stroll in the garden, hesaid, --

"Pshaw! what nonsense proposing such a thing, when the dews are heavyand the girls will catch their deaths of cold!"

"We do it every evening of our life, " observed Nan, hardily; but evenshe dared not persevere in the face of this protest, though sheexchanged a rebellious look with Dick that did him good and put him ina better humor. 

They found their way into the conservatory after that, but were huntedout on pretence of having a little music; at least Nan would have itthat it was pretence. 

"Your father does not care much for music, I know, " she whispered, asshe placed herself at the grand piano, while Dick leaned against itand watched her. It was naughty of Nan, but there was no denying thatshe found Mr. Mayne more aggravating than usual this evening. 

"Come, come, Miss Nancy!" he called out, --he always called her thatwhen he wished to annoy her, for Nan had a special dislike to herquaint, old-fashioned name; it had been her mother's and grandmother'sname; in every generation there had been a Nancy Challoner, --"come, come, Miss Nancy! we cannot have you playing at hide-and-seek in thisfashion. We want some music. Give us something rousing, to keep us allawake. " And Nan had reluctantly placed herself at the piano. 

She did her little best according to orders, for she dared not offendDick's father. None of the Challoners were accomplished girls. Dulcesang a little, and so did Nan, but Phillis could not play the simplestpiece without bungling and her uncertain little warblings, which weresweet but hardly true, were reserved for church. 

Dulce sang very prettily, but she could only manage her ownaccompaniments or a sprightly valse. Nan, who did most of theexecution of the family, was a very fair performer from a young lady'spoint of view, and that is not saying much. She always had her pieceready if people wanted her to play. She sat down without nervousnessand rose without haste. She had a choice little repertory of old songsand ballads, that she could produce without hesitation frommemory, --"My mother bids me bind my hair, " or "Bid your faithful Arielfly, " and such-like old songs, in which there is more melody than in ahundred new ones, and which she sang in a simple, artless fashion thatpleased the elder people greatly. Dulce could do more than this, buther voice had never been properly tutored, and she sang her bird-musicin bird-fashion, rather wildly and shrilly, with small respect torule and art, nevertheless making a pleasing noise, a young foreigneronce told her. 

When Nan had exhausted her little stock, Mr. Mayne peremptorilyinvited them to a round game; and the rest of the evening was spent intrying to master the mysteries of a new game, over the involved rulesof which Mr. Mayne as usual, wrangled fiercely with everybody, whileDick shrugged his shoulders and shuffled his cards with such evidentill-humor that Nan hurried her sisters away half an hour before theusual time, in terror of an outbreak. 

It was an utterly disappointing evening; and, to make matters worse, Mr. Mayne actually lit his cigar and strolled down the garden-paths, keeping quite close to Nan, and showing such obvious intention ofaccompanying them to the very gate of the cottage that there could beno thought of any sweet lingering in the dusk. 

"I will be even with him, " growled Dick, who was in a state ofsuppressed irritation under this unexpected surveillance; and in thedarkest part of the road he twitched Nan's sleeve to attract herattention, and whispered, in so low a voice that his father could nothear him, "This is not good-bye. I will be round at the cottageto-morrow morning;" and Nan nodded hurriedly, and then turned her headto answer Mr. Mayne's last question. 

If Dick had put all his feelings in his hand-shake, it could not havespoken to Nan more eloquently of the young man's wrath and chagrin andconcealed tenderness. Nan shot him one of her swift straightforwardlooks in answer. 

"Nevermind, " it seemed to say; "we shall have to-morrow;" and then shebade them cheerfully good-night. 

Dorothy met her in the hall, and put down her chamber-candlestick. 

"Has the mother gone to bed yet, Dorothy?" questioned the youngmistress, speaking still with that enforced cheerfulness. 

"No, Miss Nan; she is still in there, " jerking her head in thedirection of the drawing-room. "Mr. Trinder called, and was with her along time. I thought she seemed a bit poorly when I took in thelamp. "

"Mamsie is never fit for anything when that old ogre has been, " brokein Dulce, impatiently. "He always comes and tells her some nightmaretale or other to prevent her sleeping. Now we shall not have the newgowns we set our hearts on, Nan. "

"Oh, never mind the gowns, " returned Nan, rather wearily. 

What did it matter if they had to wear their old ones when Dick wouldnot be there to see them? And Dorothy, who was contemplating herfavorite nursling with the privileged tenderness of an old servant, chimed in with the utmost cheerfulness:

"It does not matter what she wears; does it, Miss Nan? She looks justas nice in an old gown as a new one; that is what I say of all myyoung ladies; dress does not matter a bit to them. "

"How long are you all going to stand chattering with Dorothy?"interrupted Phillis, in her clear decided voice. "Mother will wonderwhat conspiracy we are hatching, and why we leave her so long alone. "And then Dorothy took up her candlestick, grumbling a little, as sheoften did, over Miss Phillis's masterful ways, and the girls wentlaughingly into their mother's presence. 

Though it was summer-time, Mrs. Challoner's easy-chair was drawn up infront of the rug, and she sat wrapped in her white shawl, with hereyes fixed on the pretty painted fire-screen that hid the blackness ofthe coals. She did not turn her head or move as her daughters entered;indeed, so motionless was her attitude that Dulce thought she wasasleep, and went on tiptoe round her chair to steal a kiss. But Nan, who had caught sight of her mother's face, put her quickly aside. 

"Don't, Dulce; mother is not well. What is the matter, mammie, darling?" kneeling down and bringing her bright face on a level withher mother's. She would have taken her into her vigorous young arms, but Mrs. Challoner almost pushed her away. 

"Hush, children! Do be quiet, Nan; I cannot talk to you. I cannotanswer questions to-night. " And then she shivered, and drew her shawlcloser round her, and put away Nan's caressing hands, and looked atthem all with a face that seemed to have grown pinched and old all atonce, and eyes full of misery. 

"Mammie, you must speak to us, " returned Nan, not a whit daunted bythis rebuff, but horribly frightened all the time. "Of course, Dorothytold us that Mr. Trinder has been here, and of course we know that itis some trouble about money. " Then, at the mention of Mr. Trinder'sname, Mrs. Challoner shivered again. 

Nan waited a moment for an answer: but, as none came, she went on incoaxing voice:

"Don't be afraid to tell us, mother darling; we can all bear a littletrouble, I hope. We have had such happy lives, and we cannot go onbeing happy always, " continued the girl, with the painful convictioncoming suddenly into her mind that the brightness of these days wasover. "Money is very nice, and one cannot do without it, I suppose;but as long as we are together and love each other----"

Then Mrs. Challoner fixed her heavy eyes on her daughter and took upthe unfinished sentence:

"Ah, if we could only be together!--if I were not to be separated frommy children! it is that--that is crushing me!" and then she pressedher dry lips together, and folded her hands with a gesture of despair;"but I know that it must be, for Mr. Trinder has told me everything. It is no use shutting our eyes and struggling on any longer; for weare ruined--ruined!" her voice sinking into indistinctness. 

Nan grew a little pale. If they were ruined, how would it be with herand Dick! And then she thought of Mr. Mayne, and her heart felt faintwithin her. Nan, who had Dick added to her perplexities, was hardlyequal to the emergency; but it was Phillis who took the domestic helmas it fell from her sister's hand. 

"If we be ruined, mother, " she said, briskly, "it is not half so badas having you ill. Nan, why don't you rub her hands! she is shiveringwith cold, or with the bad news, or something. I mean to set Dorothyat defiance, and to light a nice little fire, in spite of the cleanmuslin curtains. When one is ill or unhappy, there is nothing sosoothing as a fire, " continued Phillis as she removed the screen andkindled the dry wood, not heeding Mrs. Challoner's feebleremonstrances. 

"Don't, Phillis: we shall not be able to afford fires now;" and thenshe became a little hysterical. But Phillis persisted, and the redglow was soon coaxed into a cheerful blaze. 

"That looks more comfortable. I feel chilly myself; these summernights are sometimes deceptive. I wonder what Dorothy will say to us;I mean to ask her to make us all some tea. No, mamma, you are not tointerfere; it will do you good, and we don't mean to have you ill ifwe can help it. " And then she looked meaningly at Nan, and withdrew. 

There was no boiling water, of course, and the kitchen fire was rakedout; and Dorothy was sitting in solitary state, looking very grim. 

"It is time for folks to be in their beds, Miss Phillis, " she said, very crossly. "I don't hold with tea myself so late: it excitespeople, and keeps them awake. "

"Mother is not just the thing, and a cup of tea will do her good. Don't let us keep you up, Dorothy, " replied Phillis, blandly. "I havelighted the drawing-room-fire, and I can boil the kettle in there. Ifmother has got a chill, I would not answer for the consequences. "

Dorothy grew huffy at the mention of the fire, and would not aid orabet her young lady's "fad, " as she called it. 

"If you don't want me, I think I will go to bed, Miss Phillis. Susanwent off a long time ago. " And, as Phillis cheerfully acquiesced inthis arrangement, Dorothy decamped with a frown on her brow, and leftPhillis mistress of the situation. 

"There, now, I have got rid of the cross old thing, " she observed, ina tone of relief, as she filled the kettle and arranged the littletea-tray. 

She carried them both into the room, poising the tray skilfully in herhand. Nan looked up in a relieved way as she entered. Mrs. Challonerwas stretching out her chilled hands to the blaze. Her face had lostits pinched unnatural expression; it was as though the presence ofher girls fenced her in securely, and her misfortune grew more shadowyand faded into the background. She drank the tea when it was given toher, and even begged Nan to follow her example. Nan took a little toplease her, though she hardly believed its solace would be great; butPhillis and Dulce drank theirs in a business-like way, as though theyneeded support and were not ashamed to own it. It was Nan who put downher cup first, and leaned her cheek against her mother's hand. 

"Now, mother dear, we want to hear all about it. Does Mr. Trinder saywe are really so dreadfully poor?"

"We have been getting poorer for along time, " returned her mother, mournfully; "but if we had only a little left us I would not complain. You see, your father would persist in these investments in spite ofall Mr. Trinder could say, and now his words have come true. " But thisvague statement did not satisfy Nan; and patiently, and withdifficulty, she drew from her mother all that the lawyer had toldher. 

Mr. Challoner had been called to the bar early in life, but his careerhad hardly been a successful one. He had held few briefs, and, thoughhe worked hard, and had good capabilities, he had never achievedfortune; and as he lived up to his income, and was rather fond of thegood things of this life, he got through most of his wife's money, and, contrary to the advice of older and wiser heads, invested theremainder in the business of a connection who only wanted capital tomake his fortune and Mr. Challoner's too. 

It was a grievous error; and yet, if Mr. Challoner had lived, thosefew thousands would hardly have been so sorely missed. He was young inhis profession, and if he had been spared, success would have come tohim as to other men; but he was cut off unexpectedly in the prime oflife, and Mrs. Challoner gave up her large house at Kensington, andsettled at Glen Cottage with her three daughters, understanding thatlife was changed for her, and that they should have to be content withsmall means and few wants. 

Hitherto they had had sufficient; but of late there had been darkwhispers concerning that invested money; things were not quite squareand above-board; the integrity of the firm was doubted. Mr. Trinder, almost with tears in his eyes, begged Mrs. Challoner to be prudent andspend less. The crash which he had foreseen, and had vainly tried toavert, had come to-night. Gardiner & Fowler were bankrupt, and theirgreatest creditor, Mrs. Challoner, was ruined. 

"We cannot get our money. Mr. Trinder says we never shall. They havebeen paying their dividends correctly, keeping it up as a sort ofblind, he says: but all the capital is eaten away. George Gardiner, too, your father's cousin, the man he trusted above every one, --he todefraud the widow and the fatherless, to take our money--my children'sonly portion--and to leave us beggared. " And Mrs. Challoner, madetragical by this great blow, clasped her hands and looked at her girlswith two large tears rolling down her face. 

"Mother, are you sure? is it quite as bad as that?" asked Nan; andthen she kissed away the tears, and said something rather brokenlyabout having faith, and trying not to lose courage; then her voicefailed her, and they all sat quiet together. 

CHAPTER VII. 

PHILLIS'S CATECHISM. 

A veil of silence fell over the little party. After the first fewmoments of dismay, conjecture, and exclamation, there did not seem tobe much that any one could say. Each girl was busy with her ownthoughts and private interpretation of a most sorrowful enigma. Whatwere they to do? How were they to live without separation, and withouttaking a solitary plunge into an unknown and most terrifying world?

Nan's frame of mind was slightly monotonous. What would Dick say, andhow would this affect certain vague hopes she had lately cherished?Then she thought of Mr. Mayne, and shivered, and a sense of coldnessand remote fear stole over her. 

One could hardly blame her for this sweet dual selfishness, that wasnot selfishness. She was thinking less of herself than of a certainvigorous young life that was becoming strongly entwined with hers. Itwas all very well to say that Dick was Dick; but what could the mostobstinate will of even that most obstinate young man avail againstsuch a miserable combination of adverse influences, --"when the starsin their courses fought against Sisera"? And at this juncture of herthoughts she could feel Phillis's hand folding softly over hers with amost sisterly pressure of full understanding and sympathy. Phillis hadno Dick to stand sentinel over her private thoughts; she was free tobe alert and vigilant for others. Nevertheless, her forehead waspuckered up with hard thinking, and her silence was so very expressivethat Dulce sat and looked at her with grave unsmiling eyes, theinnocent child-look in them growing very pathetic at thespeechlessness that had overtaken them. As for Mrs. Challoner, shestill moaned feebly from time to time, as she stretched her numb handstowards the comforting warmth. They were fine delicate hands, with thepolished look of old ivory, and there were diamond rings on them thattwinkled and shone as she moved them in her restlessness. 

"They shall all go; I will keep nothing, " she said, regarding themplaintively; for they were heirlooms, and highly valued as relics of awealthy past. "It is not this sort of thing that I mind. I would liveon a crust thankfully, if I could only keep my children with me. " Andshe looked round at the blooming faces of her girls with eyes brimmingover with maternal fondness. 

Poor Dulce's lips quivered, and she made a horrified gesture. 

"Oh, mamsie, don't talk so. I never could bear crusts, unless theywere well buttered. I like everything to be nice, and to have plentyof it, --plenty of sunshine, and fun, and holiday-making, and friends;and--and now you are talking as though we must starve, and never haveanything to wear, and go nowhere and be miserable forever?" And hereDulce broke into actual sobs; for was she not the petted darling? andhad she not had a life so gilded by sunshine that she had never seenthe dark edge of a single cloud? So that even Nan forgot Dick for amoment, and looked at her young sister pityingly; but Phillisinterposed with bracing severity:

"Don't talk such nonsense, Dulce. Of course we must eat to live, andof course we must have clothes to wear. Aren't Nan and I thinkingourselves into headaches by trying to contrive how even the crusts youso despise are to be bought?" which was hardly true as far as Nan wasconcerned, for she blushed guiltily over this telling point inPhillis's eloquence. "It only upsets mother to talk like this. " Andthen she touched the coals skilfully, till they spluttered and blazedinto fury. "There is the Friary, you know, " she continued, lookingcalmly round on them, as though she felt herself full of resources. "If Dulce chooses to make herself miserable about the crusts, we have, at least, a roof to shelter us. "

"I forgot the Friary, " murmured Nan, looking at her sister withadmiration; and, though Mrs. Challoner said nothing, she started alittle as though she had forgotten it too. But Dulce was not to becomforted. 

"That horrid, dismal, pokey old cottage!" she returned, with a shrillrendering of each adjective. "You would have us go and live in thatdamp, musty, fusty place?"

Phillis gave a succession of quick little nods. 

"I don't think it particularly dismal, or Nan either, " she returned, in her brisk way. Phillis always answered for Nan, and was nevercontradicted. "It is not dear Glen Cottage, of course, but we couldnot begin munching our crusts here, " she continued, with a certaingrim humor. Things were apparently at their worst; but at leastshe, --Phillis, --the clever one, as she had heard herself called, woulddo her best to keep the heads of the little family above water. "It isa nice little place enough if we were only humble enough to see it;and it is not damp, and it is our own, " running up the advantages aswell as she could. 

"The Friary!" commented her mother, in some surprise: "to think ofthat queer old cottage coming into your head! And it so seldom lets. And people say it is dear at forty pounds a year; and it is so dullthat they do not care to stay. "

"Never mind all that, mammy, " returned Phillis, with a gravebusiness-like face. "A cottage, rent-free, that will hold us, is notto be despised; and Hadleigh is a nice place, and the sea always suitsyou. There is the house, and the furniture, that belongs to us; and wehave plenty of clothes for the present. How much did Mr. Trinder thinkwe should have in hand?"

Then her mother told her, but still mournfully, that they mightpossibly have about a hundred pounds. "But there are my rings and thatpiece of point-lace that Lady Fitzroy admired so----" but Philliswaved away that proposition with an impatient frown. 

"There is plenty of time for that when we have got through all themoney. Not that a hundred pounds would last long, with moving, andpaying off the servants, and all that sort of thing. "

Then Nan, who had worn all along an expression of admiring confidencein Phillis's resources, originated an idea of her own. 

"The mother might write to Uncle Francis, perhaps;" but at thisproposition Mrs. Challoner sat upright and looked almost offended. 

"My dear Nan, what a preposterous idea! Your uncle Francis!"

"Well, mammy, he is our uncle; and I am sure he would be sorry if hisonly brother's children were to starve. "

"You are too young to know any better, " returned Mrs. Challoner, relapsing into alarmed feebleness; "you are not able to judge. But Inever liked my brother-in-law, --never; he was not a good man. He wasnot a person whom one could trust, " continued the poor lady, trying tosoften down certain facts to her innocent young daughters. 

Sir Francis Challoner had been a black sheep, --a very black sheepindeed: one who had dyed himself certainly to a most sable hue; andthough, for such prodigals, there may be a late repentance and muchkilling of fatted calves, still Mrs. Challoner was right in refusingto intrust herself and her children to the uncertain mercies of such asinner. 

Now, Nan knew nothing about the sin; but she did think that an unclewho was a baronet threw a certain reflected glory or brightness overthem. Sir Francis might be that very suspicious character, a blacksheep; he might be landless, with the exception of that ruinedtenement in the North; nevertheless, Nan loved to know that he was oftheir kith and kin. It seemed to settle their claims torespectability, and held Mr. Mayne in some degree of awe; and he knewthat his own progenitors had not the faintest trace of blue blood, andnumbered more aldermen than baronets. 

It would have surprised and grieved Nan, especially just now, if shehad known that no such glory remained to her, --that Sir FrancisChalloner had long filled the cup of his iniquities, and lay in hiswife's tomb in some distant cemetery, leaving a certain red-headed SirHarry to reign in his stead. 

"I don't think we had better talk anymore, " observed Phillis, somewhatbrusquely: and then she exchanged meaning looks with Nan. The twogirls were somewhat dismayed at their mother's wan looks; herfeebleness and uncertainty of speech, the very vagueness of herlamentations, filled them with sad forebodings for the future. Howwere they to leave her, when they commenced that little fight with theworld? She had leaned on them so long that her helplessness had becomea matter of habit. 

Nan understood her sister's warning glance, and she made no furtherallusion to Sir Francis; she only rose with assumed briskness, andtook her mother in charge. 

"Now I am going to help you to bed, mammy darling, " she said, cheerfully. "Phillis is quite right: we will not talk any moreto-night; we shall want all our strength for to-morrow. We will justsay our prayers, and try and go to sleep, and hope that things mayturn out better than we expect. " And, as Mrs. Challoner was tooutterly spent to resist this wise counsel, Nan achieved her piousmission with some success. She sat down by the bedside and leaned herhead against her mother's pillow, and soon had the satisfaction ofhearing the even breathing that proved that the sleeper had forgottenher troubles for a little while. 

"Poor dear mother! how exhausted she must have been!" thought Nan, asshe closed the door softly. She was far too anxious and wide awakeherself to dream of retiring to rest. She was somewhat surprised tofind her sisters' room dark and empty as she passed. They must bestill downstairs, talking over things in the firelight: they were aslittle inclined for sleep as she was. Phillis's carefully decocted teamust have stimulated them to wakefulness. 

The room was still bright with firelight. Dulce was curled up in hermother's chair, and had evidently been indulging in what she called "agood cry. " Phillis, sombre and thoughtful, was pacing the room, withher hands clasped behind her head, --a favorite attitude of hers whenshe was in any perplexity. She stopped short as Nan regarded her withsome astonishment from the threshold. 

"Oh, come in, Nan: it will be such a relief to talk to a sensibleperson. Dulce is so silly, she does nothing but cry. "

"I can't help it, " returned Dulce, with another sob; "everything is sohorrible, and Phillis will say such dreadful things. "

"Poor little soul!" said Nan, in a sympathetic voice, sitting down onthe arm of the chair and stroking Dulce's hair; "it is very hard forher and for us all, " with a pent-up sigh. 

"Of course it is hard, " retorted Phillis, confronting them ratherimpatiently from the hearth-rug; "it is bitterly hard. But it is notworse for Dulce than for the rest of us. Crying will not mend matters, and it is a sheer waste of tears. As I tell her, what we have to donow is to make the best of things, and see what is to be done underthe circumstances. "

"Yes, indeed, " repeated Nan, meekly; but she put her arm round Dulce, and drew her head against her shoulder. The action comforted Dulce, and her tears soon ceased to flow. 

"I am thinking about mother, " went on Phillis, pondering her wordsslowly as she spoke; "she does look so ill and weak. I do not see howwe are to leave her. "

Mrs. Challoner's moral helplessness and dread of responsibility wereso sacred in her daughters' eyes that they rarely alluded to themexcept in this vague fashion. For years they had shielded and pettedher, and given way to her little fads and fancies, until she haddeveloped into a sort of gentle hypochondriac. 

"Mother cannot bear this; we always keep these little worries fromher, " Nan had been accustomed to say; and the others had followed herexample. 

The unspoken thought lay heavy upon them now. How were they to preventthe rough winds of adversity from blowing too roughly upon theircherished charge? The roof, and perhaps the crust, might be theirs;but how were they to contrive that she should not miss her littlecomforts? They would gladly work; but how, and after what fashion?

Phillis was the first to plunge into the unwelcome topic, for Nan feltalmost as helpless and bewildered as Dulce. 

"We must go into the thing thoroughly, " began Phillis, drawing a chairopposite to her sisters. She was very pale, but her eyes had a certainbrightness of determination. She looked too young for that quietcare-worn look that had come so suddenly to her; but one felt shecould be equal to any emergency. "We are down-hearted, of course; butwe have plenty of time for all that sort of thing. The question is, how are we to live?"

"Just so, " observed Nan, rather dubiously; and Dulce gave a littlegasp. 

"There is the Friary standing empty; and there is the furniture; andthere will be about fifty pounds, perhaps less, when every thing issettled. And we have clothes enough to last some time, and----" hereDulce put her hands together pleadingly, but Phillis looked at herseverely, and went on: "Forty or fifty pounds will soon be spent, andthen we shall be absolutely penniless; we have no one to help us. Mother will not hear of writing to Uncle Francis; we must workourselves or starve. "

"Couldn't we let lodgings?" hazarded Dulce, with quavering voice; butPhillis smiled grimly. 

"Let lodgings at the Friary! why, it is only big enough to hold us. Wemight get a larger house in Hadleigh; but no, it would be ruinous tofail, and perhaps we should not make it answer. I cannot fancy motherliving in the basement story; she would make herself wretched over it. We are too young. I don't think that would answer, Nan: do you?"

Nan replied faintly that she did not think it would. The mereproposition took her breath away. What would Mr. Mayne say to that?Then she plucked up spirit and went into the question vigorously. 

There were too many lodging-houses in Hadleigh now; it would be ahazardous speculation, and one likely to fail; they had not sufficientfurniture for such a purpose, and they dare not use up their littlecapital too quickly. They were too young, too, to carry out such athing, Nan did not add "and too pretty, " though she colored andhesitated here. Their mother could not help them; she was not strongenough for housework or cooking. She thought that plan must be givenup. 

"We might be daily governesses, and live at home, " suggested Dulce, who found a sort of relief in throwing out feelers in every direction. Nan brightened up visibly at this, but Phillis's moody brow did notrelax for a moment. 

"That would be nice, " acquiesced Nan, "and then mother would not findthe day so long if we came home in the evening; she could busy herselfabout the house, and we could leave her little things to do, and shewould not find the hours so heavy. I like that idea of yours, Dulce;and we are all so fond of children. "

"The idea is as nice as possible, " replied Phillis, with an ominousstress on the noun, "if we could only make it practicable. "

"Phil is going to find fault, " pouted Dulce, who knew every inflectionof Phillis's voice. 

"Oh, dear, no, nothing of the kind!" she retorted, briskly. "Nan isquite right: we all dote on children. I should dearly like to be agoverness myself; it would be more play than work; but I am onlywondering who would engage us. "

"Who?--oh, anybody!" returned Nan, feeling puzzled by the smotheredsatire of Phillis's speech. "Of course we are not certificated, and Ifor one could only teach young children; but----" here Phillisinterrupted her:

"Don't think me horrid if I ask you and Dulce some questions, butdo--do answer me just as though I were going through the Catechism: weare only girls, but we must sift the whole thing thoroughly. Are wefit for governesses? what can you and I and Dulce teach?"

"Oh, anything!" returned Nan, still more vaguely. 

"My dear Nanny, anything won't do. Come, I am really in earnest; Imean to catechise you both thoroughly. "

"Very well, " returned Nan, in a resigned voice; but Dulce looked alittle frightened. As for Phillis, she sat erect, with her fingerpointed at them in a severely ominous fashion. 

"How about history, Nan? I thought you could never remember dates; youused to jumble facts in the most marvellous manner. I remember yourinsisting that Anne of Cleves was Louis XII. 's second wife; and youshocked Miss Martin dreadfully by declaring that one of Marlborough'svictories was fought at Cressy. "

"I never could remember historical facts, " returned Nan, humbly. "Dulce always did better than I; and so did you, Phillis. When I teachthe children I can have the book before me. " But Phillis only shookher head at this, and went on:

"Dulce was a shade better, but I don't believe she could tell me thenames of the English sovereigns in proper sequence;" but Dulcedisdained to answer. "You were better at arithmetic, Nan. Dulce nevergot through her rule of three; but you were not very advanced even atthat. You write a pretty hand, and you used to talk French veryfluently. "

"Oh, I have forgotten my French!" exclaimed Nan, in a panic-strickenvoice. "Dulce, don't you remember me quite settled to talk in Frenchover our work three times a week, and we have always forgotten it; andwe were reading Madame de Sevigne's 'Letters' together, and I foundthe book the other day quite covered with dust. "

"I hate French, " retuned Dulce, rebelliously. "I began German withPhillis, and like it much better. "

"True, but we are only beginners, " returned the remorseless Phillis:"it was very nice, of course, and the Taugenichts' was delicious; butthink how many words in every sentence you had to hunt out in thedictionary. I am glad you feel so competent, Dulce; but I could notteach German myself, or French either. I don't remember enough of thegrammar; and I do not believe Nan does either, though she used tochatter so to Miss Martin. "

"Did I not say she would pick our idea to pieces?" returned Dulce, with tears in her eyes. 

"My dear little sister don't look so dreadfully pathetic. I am quiteas disheartened and disappointed as you are. Nan says she hasforgotten her French, and she will have to teach history with an openbook before her; we none of us draw--no, Dulce please let me finishour scanty stock of accomplishments. I only know my notes, --for no onecares to hear me lumber through my pieces, --and I sing at church. Youhave the sweetest voice Dulce, but it is not trained; and I cannotcompliment you on your playing. Nan sings and plays very nicely, andit is a pleasure to listen to her; but I am afraid she knows littleabout the theory of music, harmony and thorough-bass: you never didanything in that way, did you, Nan?"

Nan shook her head sadly. She was too discomfited for speech. Phillislooked at them both thoughtfully; her trouble was very real, but shecould not help a triumphant inflection in her voice. 

"Dear Nan, please do not look so unhappy. Dulce, you shall not beginto cry again. Don't you remember what mother was reading to us theother day, about the country being flooded with incompetentgovernesses, --half-educated girls turned loose on the world to earntheir living? I can remember one sentence of that writer, word forword: 'The standard of education is so high at the present day, andthe number of certificated reliable teachers so much increased, thatwe can afford to discourage the crude efforts to teach, or un-teach, our children. ' And then he goes on to ask, 'What has become of womanlyconscientiousness, when such ignorance presses forward to assume suchsacred responsibilities? Better the competent nurse than theincompetent governess. ' 'Why do not these girls, ' he asks, 'who, through their own fault or the fault of circumstances, are notsufficiently advanced to educate others--why do they not ratherdischarge the exquisitely feminine duties of the nursery? What anadvantage to parents to have their little ones brought into theearliest contact with refined speech and cultivated manners, --theirinfant ears not inoculated by barbarous English!'" but here Philliswas arrested in her torrent of reflected wisdom by an impatientexclamation from Dulce. 

"Oh, Nan, do ask her to be quiet! She never stops when she oncebegins. How can we listen to such rubbish, when we are so wretched?You may talk for hours, Phil, but I never, never will be a nurse!" AndDulce hid her face on Nan's shoulder in such undisguised distress thather sisters had much ado to comfort her. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

"WE SHOULD HAVE TO CARRY PARCELS. "

It was hard work to tranquillize Dulce. 

"I never, never will be a nurse!" she sobbed out at intervals. 

"You little goose, who ever thought of such a thing? Why will youmisunderstand me so?" sighed Phillis, almost in despair at hersister's impracticability. "I am only trying to prove to you and Nanthat we are not fit for governesses. "

"No, indeed; I fear you are right there, " replied poor Nan, who hadnever realized her deficiences before. They were all bright, takinggirls, with plenty to say for themselves, lady-like, and well-bred. Who would have thought that, when weighed in the balance, they wouldhave been found so wanting? "I always knew I was a very stupid person;but you are different, --you are so clever, Phil. "

"Nonsense, Nanny! It is a sort of cleverness for which there is nomarket. I am fond of reading. I remember things, and do a great dealof thinking; but I am destitute of accomplishments: my knowledge oflanguages is purely superficial. We are equal to other girls, --justyoung ladies, and nothing more; but when it comes to earning ourbread-and-butter----" Here Phillis paused, and threw out her handswith a little gesture of despair. 

"But you work so beautifully; and so does Nan, " interrupted Dulce, whowas a little comforted, now she knew Phillis had no prospectivenurse-maid theory in view. "I am good at it myself, " she continued, modestly, feeling that, in this case, self-praise was allowable. "Wemight be companions, --some nice old lady who wants her caps made, andrequires some one to read to her, " faltered Dulce, with her child-likepleading look. 

Nan gave her a little hug; but she left the answer to Phillis, whowent at once into a brown study, and only woke up after a longinterval. 

"I am looking at it all round, " she said, when Nan at last pressed forher opinion; "it is not a bad idea. I think it very possible thateither you or I, Nan, --or both, perhaps, --might find something in thatline to suit us. There are old ladies everywhere; and some of them arerich and lonely and want companions. "

"You have forgotten me?" exclaimed Dulce, with natural jealousy, and adislike to be overlooked, inherent in most young people. "And it is Iwho have always made mammy's caps and you know how Lady Fitzroypraised the last one. "

"Yes, yes; we know all that, " returned Phillis, impatiently. "You areas clever as possible with your fingers; but one of us must stop withmother, and you are the youngest, Dulce; that is what I meant bylooking at it all round. If Nan and I were away, it would never do foryou and mother to live at the Friary. We could not afford a servant, and we should want the forty pounds a year to pay for barenecessaries; for our salary would not be very great. You would have tolive in lodgings, --two little rooms, that is all; and even then I amafraid you and mother would be dreadfully pinched, for we should haveto dress ourselves properly in other people's houses. "

"Oh, Phillis, that would not do at all!" exclaimed Nan, in a voice ofdespair. She was very pale by this time: full realization of all thistrouble was coming to her, as it had come to Phillis. "What shall wedo? Who will help us to any decision? How are you and I to go away andlive luxuriously in other people's houses, and leave mother and Dulcepining in two shabby little rooms, with nothing to do, and perhaps notenough to eat, and mother fretting herself ill, and Dulce losing herbloom? I could not rest; I could not sleep for thinking of it. I wouldrather take in plain needlework, and live on dry bread if we couldonly be together, and help each other. "

"So would I, " returned Phillis, in an odd, muffled voice. 

"And I too, " rather hesitatingly from Dulce. 

"If we could only live at the Friary, and have Dorothy to do all therough work, " sighed Nan, with a sudden yearning towards even that veryshabby ark of refuge: "if we could only be together, and see eachother every day, things would not be quite so dreadful. "

"I am quite of your opinion, " was Phillis's curt observation: butthere was a sudden gleam in her eyes. 

"I have heard of ladies working for fancy-shops; do you think we coulddo something of that kind?" asked Nan, anxiously. "Even mother couldhelp us in that; and Dulce does work so beautifully. It is all verywell to say we have no accomplishments, " went on Nan, with apatheticlittle laugh, "but you know that no other girls work as we do. We havealways made our own dresses. And Lady Fitzroy asked me once who wasour dressmaker, because she fitted us so exquisitely; and I was soproud of telling her that we always did our own, with Dorothy tohelp----"

"Nan, " interrupted Phillis, eagerly, and there was a great softness inher whole mien, and her eyes were glistening, --"dear Nan, do you loveus all so that you could give up the whole world for our sakes, --forthe sake of living together, I mean?"

Nan hesitated. Did the whole world involve Dick, and could even herlove for her sisters induce her voluntarily to give him up? Phillis, who was quick-witted, read the doubt in a moment, and hastened toqualify her words:

"The outside world, I mean, --mere conventional acquaintances, notfriends. Do you think you could bear to set society at defiance, tosubmit to be sent to Coventry for our sakes; to do without it, in factto live in a little world of our own and make ourselves happy in it?"

"Ah, Phillis, you are so clever, and I don't understand you, " falteredNan. It was not Dick she was to give up; but what could Phillis mean?"We are all fond of society; we are like other girls, I suppose. Butif we are to be poor and work for our living, I dare say people willgive us up. "

"I am not meaning that, " returned her sister, earnestly; "it issomething far harder, something far more difficult, something thatwill be a great sacrifice and cost us all tremendous efforts. But ifwe are to keep a roof over our heads, if we are to live together inanything like comfort, I don't see what else we can do, unless we goout as companions and leave mother and Dulce in lodgings. "

"Oh, no, no; pray don't leave us!" implored Dulce, feeling that allher strength and comfort lay near Nan. 

"I will not leave you, dear, if I can possibly help it, " returned Nan, gently. "Tell us what you mean, Phillis, for I see you have some sortof plan in your head. There is nothing, --nothing, " she continued, morefirmly, "that I would not do to make mother and Dulce happy. Speakout; you are half afraid that I shall prove a coward, but you shallsee. "

"Dear Nan, no; you are as brave as possible. I am rather a cowardmyself. Yes; I have a plan; but you have yourself put it into my headby saying what you did about Lady Fitzroy. "

"About Lady Fitzroy?"

"Yes; your telling her about our making our own dresses. Nan, you areright: needlework is our forte; nothing is a trouble to us. Few girlshave such clever fingers, I believe; and then you and Dulce have suchtaste. Mrs. Paine once told me that we were the best-dressed girls inthe neighborhood, and she wished Carrie looked half as well. I amtelling you this, not from vanity, but because I do believe we canturn our one talent to account. We should be miserable governesses; wedo not want to separate and seek situations as lady helps orcompanions; we do not mean to fail in letting lodgings; but if we donot succeed as good dressmakers, never believe me again. "

"Dressmakers!" almost shrieked Dulce. But Nan, who had expressedherself willing to take in plain needlework, only looked at her sisterwith mute gravity; her little world was turned so completely upsidedown, everything was so unreal, that nothing at this moment could havesurprised her. 

"Dressmakers!" she repeated, vaguely. 

"Yes, yes, " replied Phillis, still more eagerly. The inspiration hadcome to her in a moment, full-fledged and grown up, like Minerva fromthe head of Jupiter. Just from those chance words of Nan's she hadgrasped the whole thing in a moment. Now, indeed she felt that she wasclever; here at least was something striking and original; she took nonotice of Dulce's shocked exclamation; she fixed her eyes solemnly onNan. "Yes, yes; what does it matter what the outside world says? Weare not like other girls; we never were; people always said we were sooriginal. Necessity strikes out strange paths some times. We could notdo such a thing here; no, no, I never could submit to that myself, " asNan involuntarily shuddered; "but at Hadleigh, where no one knows us, where we shall be among strangers. And then, you see, Miss Monks isdead. "

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! what does she mean?" cried Dulce, despairingly;"and what do we care about Miss Monks, if the creature be dead, orabout Miss Anybody, if we have got to do such dreadful things?"

"My dear, " returned Phillis, with compassionate irony, "if we had todepend upon you for ideas----" and here she made an eloquent pause. "Our last tenant for the Friary was Miss Monks, and Miss Monks was adressmaker; and, though perhaps I ought not to say it, it does seem adirect leading of Providence, putting such a thought into my head. "

"I am afraid Dulce and I are very slow and stupid, " returned Nan, putting her hair rather wearily from her face: her pretty color hadquite faded during the last half-hour. "I think if you would tell usplainly, exactly what you mean, Phillis, we should be able tounderstand everything better. "

"My notion is this, " began Phillis, slowly: "remember, I have notthought it quite out, but I will give you my ideas just as they occurto me. We will not say anything to mother just yet, until we havethoroughly digested our plan. You and I, Nan, will run down to theFriary, and reconnoitre the place, judge of its capabilities, and soforth; and when we come back we will hold a family council. "

"That will be best, " agreed Nan, who remembered, with sudden feelingsof relief, that Dick and his belongings would be safe in the Engadineby that time. "But, Phillis, do you really and truly believe that wecould carry out such a scheme?"

"Why not?" was the bold answer. "If we can work for ourselves, we canfor other people. I have a presentiment that we shall achieve astriking success. We will make the old Friary as comfortable aspossible, " she continued, cheerfully. "The good folk of Hadleigh willbe rather surprised when they see our pretty rooms. No horse-hairsofa; no crochet antimacassars or hideous wax flowers; none of theusual stock-in-trade. Dorothy will manage the house for us; and wewill all sit and work together, and mother will help us, and read tous. Aren't you glad, Nan, that we all saved up for that splendidsewing-machine?"

"I do believe there is something, after all, in what you say, " wasNan's response; but Dulce was not so easily won over. 

"Do you mean to say that we shall put up a brass plate on the door, with 'Challoner, dressmaker, ' on it?" she observed, indignantly. A redglow mounted to Nan's forehead; and even Phillis looked disconcerted. 

"I never thought of that: well, perhaps not. We might advertise at theLibrary, or put cards in the shops. I do not think mother would evercross the threshold if she saw a brass plate. "

"No, no; I could not bear that, " said Nan, faintly. A dim vision ofDick standing at the gate, ruefully contemplating their name--hername--in juxtaposition with "dressmaker, " crossed her mind directly. 

"But we should have to carry parcels, and stand in people's halls, andperhaps fit Mrs. Squails, the grocer's wife, --that fat old thing, youknow. How would you like to make a dress for Mrs. Squails, Phil?"asked Dulce, with the malevolent desire of making Phillis asuncomfortable as possible; but Phillis, who had rallied from hermomentary discomfiture, was not to be again worsted. 

"Dulce, you talk like a child; you are really a very silly littlething. Do you think any work can degrade us or that we shall not be asmuch gentlewomen at Hadleigh as we are here?"

"But the parcels?" persisted Dulce. 

"I do not intend to carry any, " was the imperturbable reply, "Dorothywill do that; or we will hire a boy. As for waiting in halls, I don'tthink any one will ask me to do that, as I should desire to be showninto a room at once; and as for Mrs. Squails, if the poor old womanhonors me with her custom, I will turn her out a gown that shall bethe envy of Hadleigh. "

Dulce did not answer this, but the droop of her lip was piteous; itmelted Phillis at once. 

"Oh, do cheer up, you silly girl!" she said, with a coaxing face. "What is the good of making ourselves more miserable than we need? Ifyou prefer the two little rooms with mother, say so; and Nan and Iwill look out for old ladies at once. "

"No! no! Oh, pray don't leave me!" still more piteously. 

"Well, what will you have us do? we cannot starve; and we don't meanto beg. Pluck up a little spirit, Dulce; see how good Nan is! You haveno idea how comfortable we should be!" she went on, with judiciousword-painting. "We should all be together, --that is the great thing. Then we could talk over our work; and in the afternoon, when we feltdreary, mother could read some interesting novel to us, "--a tremuloussigh from Nan at this point. 

What a contrast to the afternoons at Glen Cottage, --tennis, andfive-o'clock tea, and the company of their young friends! Phillisunderstood the sigh, and hurried on. 

"It will not be always work. We will have long country walks in theevening; and then, there will be the garden and the sea-shore. Ofcourse we must have exercise and recreation, I am afraid we shall haveto do without society, for no one will visit ladies under suchcircumstances; but I would rather do without people than without eachother, and so would Nan. "

"Yes, indeed!" broke in Nan; and now the tears were in her eyes. 

Dulce grew suddenly ashamed of herself. She got up in a little flurry, and kissed them both. 

"I was very naughty; but I did not mean to be unkind. I would rathercarry parcels, and stand in halls, --yes, and even make gowns for Mrs. Squails, --than lose you both. I will be good. I will not worry you anymore, Phil, with my nonsense; and I will work; you will see how I willwork, " finished Dulce, breathlessly. 

"There's a darling!" said Nan; and then she added, in a tired voice, "But it is two o'clock; and Dick is coming this morning to saygood-bye; and I want to ask you both particularly not to say a word tohim about this. Let him go away and enjoy himself, and think we aregoing on as usual; it would spoil his holiday; and there is alwaystime enough for bad news, " went on Nan, with a little tremble of herlip. 

"Dear Nan, we understand, " returned Phillis, gently; "and you areright, as you always are. And now to bed, --to bed, " she continued, ina voice of enforced cheerfulness; and then they all kissed each othervery quietly and solemnly, and crept up as noiselessly as possible totheir rooms. 

Phillis and Dulce shared the same room; but Nan had a little chamberto herself very near her mother's: a door connected the two rooms. Nanclosed this carefully, when she had ascertained that Mrs. Challonerwas still sleeping, and then sat down by the window, and looked outinto the gray glimmering light that preceded the dawn. 

Sleep; how could she sleep with all these thoughts surging through hermind, and knowing that in a few hours Dick would come and saygood-bye? and here Nan broke down, and had such a fit of crying as shehad not had since her father died, --nervous, uncontrollable tears, that it was useless to stem in her tired, overwrought state. 

They exhausted her, and disposed her for sleep. She was so chilled andweary that she was glad to lie down in bed at last and close her eyes;and she had scarcely done so before drowsiness crept over her, and sheknew no more until she found the sunshine flooding her little room, and Dorothy standing by her bed asking rather crossly why no oneseemed disposed to wake this beautiful morning. 

"Am I late? Oh, I hope I am not late!" exclaimed Nan, springing up ina moment. She dressed herself in quite a flurry, for fear she shouldkeep any one waiting. It was only at the last moment she rememberedthe outburst of the previous night, and wondered with some dismay whatDick would think of her pale cheeks and the reddened lines round hereyes, and only hoped that he would not attribute them to his goingaway. Nan was only just in time, for as she entered the breakfast-roomDick came through the veranda and put in his head at the window. 

"Not at breakfast yet? and where are the others?" he asked in somesurprise, for the Challoners were early people, and very regular intheir habits. 

"We sat up rather late last night, talking, " returned Nan, giving himher hand without looking at him, and yet Dick showed to advantage thismorning in his new tweed travelling suit. 

"Well, I have only got ten minutes. I managed to give the pater theslip: he will be coming after me, I believe, if I stay longer. This isfirst-rate, having you all to myself this last morning. But what's up, Nan? you don't seem quite up to the mark. You are palish, you know, and----" here Dick paused in pained embarrassment. Were those tracesof tears? had Nan really been crying? was she sorry about his goingaway? And now there was an odd lump in Dick's throat. 

Nan understood the pause and got frightened. 

"It is nothing. I have a slight headache; there was a little domesticworry that wanted putting to right, " stammered Nan; "it worried me, for I am stupid at such things, you know. "

She was explaining herself somewhat lamely, and to no purpose, forDick did not believe her in the least. "Domestic worry!" as though shecared for such rubbish as that; as though any amount could make hercry, --her, his bright, high spirited Nan! No; she had been frettingabout their long separation, and his father's unkindness, and thedifficulties ahead of them. 

"I want you to give me a rose, " he said, suddenly, _a propos_ ofnothing, as it seemed; but looking up, Nan caught a wistful gleam inhis eyes, and hesitated. Was it not Dick who had told her thatanecdote about the queen, or was it Lothair? and did not a certainmeaning attach to this gift? Dick was forever picking roses for her;but he had never given her one, except with that meaning look on hisface. 

"You are hesitating, " he said, reproachfully; "and on my last morning, when we shall not see each other for months;" And Nan moved towardsthe veranda slowly, and gathered a crimson one without a word, and putit in his hand. 

"Thank you, " he said, quite quietly; but he detained the hand as wellas the rose for a moment. "One day I will show you this again, andtell you what it means if you do not know; and then we shall see, ah, Nan, my----" He paused as Phillis's step entered the room, and saidhurriedly, in a low voice, "Good-bye; I will not go in again. I don'twant to see any of them, only you, --only you. Good-bye: take care ofyourself for my sake, Nan. " And Dick looked at her wistfully, anddropped her hand. 

"Has he gone?" asked Phillis, looking up in surprise as her sistercame through the open window; "has he gone without finding anythingout?"

"Yes, he has gone, and he does not know anything, " replied Nan, in asubdued voice, as she seated herself behind the urn. It was over now, and she was ready for anything. "Take care of yourself for my sake, Nan!"--that was ringing in her ears; but she had not said a word inreply. Only the rose lay in his hand, --her parting gift, and perhapsher parting pledge. 

CHAPTER IX. 

A LONG DAY. 

Nan never recalled the memory of that "long gray day, " as she inwardlytermed it, without a shiver of discomfort. 

Never but once in her bright young life had she known such a day, andthat was when her dead father lay in the darkened house, and herwidowed mother had crept weeping into her arms as to her onlyremaining refuge; but that stretched so far back into the past that ithad grown into a vague remembrance. 

It was not only that Dick was gone, though the pain of that separationwas far greater than she would have believed possible, but a moralearthquake had shattered their little world, involving them in utterchaos. 

It was only yesterday that she was singing ballads in the Longmeaddrawing-room, --only yesterday; but to-day everything was changed. Thesun shone, the birds sang, every one ate and drank and moved about asusual. Nan talked and smiled, and no stranger would have guessed thatmuch was amiss; nevertheless, a weight lay heavy on her spirits, andNan knew in her secret heart that she could never be again the samelight-hearted, easy-going creature that she was yesterday. 

Later on, the sisters confessed to each other that the day had beenperfectly interminable; the hours dragged on slowly; the sun seemed asthough it never meant to set; and to add to their trouble, theirmother looked so ill when she came downstairs, wrapped in her softwhite shawl in spite of the heat, that Nan thought of sending for adoctor, and only refrained at the remembrance that they had no rightto such luxuries now except in cases of necessity. 

Then Dorothy was in one of her impracticable moods, throwing coldwater on all her young mistress's suggestions, and doing her best todisarrange the domestic machinery. Dorothy suspected a mysterysomewhere; her young ladies had sat up half the night, and looked paleand owlish in the morning. If they chose to keep her in the dark andnot take her into their confidence, it was their affair; but she meantto show them what she thought of their conduct. So she contradictedand snapped, until Nan told her wearily that she was a disagreeableold thing, and left her and Susan to do as they liked. She knew Mr. Trinder was waiting for her in the dining-room, and, as Mrs. Challonerwas not well enough to see him, she and Phillis must entertain him. 

He had slept at a friend's house a few miles from Oldfield, and was tolunch at Glen Cottage and take the afternoon train to London. 

He was not sorry when he heard that Mrs. Challoner was too indisposedto receive him. In spite of his polite expressions of regret, he hadfound the poor lady terribly trying on the previous evening. She was abad manager, and had muddled her affairs, and she did not seem tounderstand half of what he told her; and her tears and lamentationswhen she had realized the truth had been too much for the soft heartedold bachelor, though people did call him a woman-hater. 

"But I never could bear to see a woman cry; it is as bad as watchingan animal in pain, " he half growled, as he drew out his redpocket-handkerchief and used it rather noisily. 

It was easier work to explain everything to these two bright, sensiblegirls. Phillis listened and asked judicious questions; but Nan satwith downcast face, plaiting the table-cloth between her restlessfingers, and thinking of Dick at odd intervals. 

She took it all in, however, and roused up in earnest when Mr. Trinderhad finished his explanations, and Phillis began to talk in her turn;she was actually taking the old lawyer into her confidence, anddetailing their scheme in the most business-like way. 

"The mother does not know yet, --this is all in confidence; but Nan andI have made up our minds to take this step, " finished the youngphilosopher, calmly. 

"Bless my soul, " ejaculated Mr. Trinder, --he had given vent to thisexpression at various intervals, but had not further interrupted her. "Bless my soul! my dear young ladies, I think--but excuse me if I amtoo abrupt, but you must be dreaming. "

Phillis shook her head smilingly; and as Dorothy came into the roomthat moment to lay the luncheon, she proposed a turn in the garden, and fetched Mr. Trinder's hat herself, and guided him to a side-walk, where they could not be seen from the drawing-room windows. Nanfollowed them, and tried to keep step with Mr. Trinder's shamblingfootsteps, as he walked between the girls with a hot perplexed face, and still muttering to himself at intervals. 

"It is all in confidence, " repeated Phillis, in the same calm voice. 

"And you are actually serious? you are not joking?"

"Do your clients generally joke when they are ruined?" returnedPhillis, with natural exasperation. "Do you think Nan and I are insuch excellent spirits that we could originate such a piece ofdrollery? Excuse me, Mr. Trinder, but I must say I do not think yourremark quite well timed. " And Phillis turned away with a littledignity. 

"No, no! now you are put out, and no wonder!" returned Mr. Trinder, soothingly; and he stood quite still on the gravel path, and fixed hiskeen little eyes on the two young creatures before him, --Nan, with herpale cheeks and sad eyes, and Phillis, alert, irritated, full ofrepressed energy. "Dear, dear! what a pity!" groaned the old man; "twosuch bonnie lasses and to think a little management and listening tomy advice would have kept the house over your heads, if only yourmother would have hearkened to me!"

"It is too late for all that now, Mr. Trinder, " replied Phillis, impatiently: "isn't it waste of time crying over spilt milk when wemust be taking our goods to market? We must make the best of ourlittle commodities, " sighed the girl. "If we were only clever andaccomplished, we might do better; but now----" and Phillis left hersentence unfinished, which was a way she had, and which people thoughtvery telling. 

"But, my dear young lady, with all your advantages, and----" HerePhillis interrupted him rather brusquely. 

"What advantages? do you mean we had a governess? Well, we had three, one after the other; and they were none of them likely to turn outfirst-rate pupils. Oh, we are well enough, compared to other girls: ifwe had not to earn our own living, we should not be so much amiss. But, Nan, why don't you speak? why do you leave me all the hard work?Did you not tell us last night that you were not fit for agoverness?"

Nan felt rather ashamed of her silence after this. It was true thatshe was leaving all the onus of their plan on Phillis, and it wascertainly time for her to come to her rescue. So she quietly butrather shyly endorsed her sister's speech, and assured Mr. Trinderthat they had carefully considered the matter from every point ofview, and, though it was a very poor prospect and involved a greatdeal of work and self-sacrifice, she, Nan, thought that Phillis wasright, and that it was the best--indeed the only--thing they could dounder the circumstances. 

"For myself, I prefer it infinitely to letting lodgings, " finishedNan: and Phillis looked at her gratefully. 

But Mr. Trinder was obstinate and had old-fashioned views, and arguedthe whole thing in his dictatorial masculine way. They sat down toluncheon, and presently sent Dorothy away, --a piece of independencethat bitterly offended that crabbed but faithful individual, --andwrangled busily through the whole of the meal. 

Mr. Trinder never could remember afterwards whether it was lamb ormutton he had eaten; he had a vague idea that Dulce had handed him themint-sauce, and that he had declined it and helped himself to salad. The doubt disturbed him for the first twenty miles of his homewardjourney. "Good gracious! for a man not to know whether he is eatinglamb or mutton!" he soliloquized, as he vainly tried to enjoy hisusual nap; "but then I never was so upset in my life. Those prettycreatures, and Challoners too, --bless my soul!" And here the lawyer'scogitations became confused and misty. 

Nan, who had more than once seen tears in the lawyer's shrewd littlegray eyes, had been very gentle and tolerant over the old man'sirritability; but Phillis had resented his caustic speeches somewhathotly. Dulce, who was on her best behavior, was determined not tointerfere or say a word to thwart her sisters: she even went so far asto explain to Mr. Trinder that they would not have to carry parcels, as Phillis meant to hire a boy. She had no idea that this magnanimousspeech was in a figurative manner the last straw that broke thecamel's back. Mr. Trinder pushed back his chair hastily, made someexcuse that his train must be due, and beat a retreat an hour beforethe time, unable to pursue such a painful subject any longer. 

Nan rose, with a sigh of relief, as soon as the door closed upon theirvisitors, and took refuge in the shady drawing-room with her mother, whom she found in a very tearful, querulous state, requiring a greatdeal of soothing. They had decided that no visitors were to beadmitted that afternoon. 

"You may say your mistress is indisposed with a bad headache, Dorothy, and that we are keeping the house quiet, " Nan remarked, with a littledignity, with the remembrance of that late passage of arms. 

"Very well, Miss Nan, " returned the old servant. However, she was alittle cowed by Nan's manner: such an order had never before beengiven in the cottage. Mrs. Challoner's headaches were common events inevery-day life, and had never been known before to interfere withtheir afternoon receptions. A little eau de Cologne and extra petting, a stronger cup of tea served up to her in her bedroom, had been theonly remedies; the girls had always had their tennis as usual, and thesound of their voices and laughter had been as music in their mother'sears. 

"Very well, Miss Nan, " was all Dorothy ventured to answer; but shewithdrew with a face puckered up with anxiety. She took in thetea-tray unbidden at an earlier hour than usual; there were Dulce'sfavorite hot cakes, and some rounds of delicately-buttered toast, "forthe young ladies have not eaten above a morsel at luncheon, " saidDorothy in explanation to her mistress. 

"Never mind us, " returned Nan, with a friendly nod at the old woman:"it has been so hot to-day, " And then she coaxed her mother to eat, and made believe herself to enjoy the repast while she wondered howmany more evenings they would spend in the pretty drawing-room onwhich they had expended so much labor. 

Nan had countermanded the late dinner, which they all felt would be apretence and mockery; and as Mrs. Challoner's headache refused toyield to the usual remedies, she was obliged to retire to bed as soonas the sun set, and the three girls went out in the garden, and walkedup and down the lawn with their arms interlaced, while Dorothy watchedthem from the pantry window, and wiped away a tear or two, as shewashed up the tea-things. 

"How I should like a long walk?" exclaimed Dulce, impatiently. "It isso narrow and confined here; but it would never do: we should meetpeople. "

"No, it would never do, " agreed her sisters, feeling a fresh pang thatsuch avoidance was necessary. They had never hidden anything before, and the thought that this mystery lay between them and their friendswas exquisitely painful. 

"I feel as though I never cared to see one of them again!" sighed poorNan, for which speech she was rather sharply rebuked by Phillis. 

They settled a fair amount of business before they went to bed thatnight; and when Dorothy brought in the supper-tray, bearing a littlecovered dish in triumph, which she set down before Nan, Nan looked ather with grave, reproachful eyes, in there was a great deal ofkindness. 

"You should not do this, Dorothy, " she said, very gently: "we cannotafford such delicacies now. "

"It is your favorite dish, Miss Nan, " returned Dorothy, quite ignoringthis remark. "Susan has cooked it to a nicety; but it will be spoiledif it is not eaten hot. " And she stood over them, while Nan dispensedthe dainty. "You must eat it while it is hot, " she kept saying, as shefidgeted about the room, taking up things and putting them down again. Phillis looked at Nan with a comical expression of dismay. 

"Dorothy, come here, " she exclaimed, at last, pushing away her plate. "Don't you see that Susan is wasting all her talents on us, and thatwe can't eat to-day?"

"Every one can eat if they try, Miss Phillis, " replied Dorothy, oracularly. "But a thing like that must be hot, or it is spoiled. "

"Oh, never mind about it being hot, " returned Phillis, beginning tolaugh. She was so tired, and Dorothy was such a droll old thing; andhow were even stewed pigeons to be appetizing under thecircumstances?

"Oh, you may laugh, " began Dorothy, in an offended tone; but Phillistook hold of her and nearly shook her. 

"Oh, what a stupid old thing you are! Don't you know what a silly, aggravating old creature you can be when you like? If I laugh, it isbecause everything is so ludicrous and wretched. Nan and Dulce are notlaughing. "

"No, indeed, " put in Dulce; "we are far, far too unhappy!"

"What is it, Miss Nan?" asked Dorothy, sidling up to her in a coaxingmanner. "I am only an old servant, but it was me that put Miss Dulcein her father's arms, --'the pretty lamb, ' as he called her, and shewith a skin like a lily. If there is trouble, you would not keep itfrom her old nurse, surely?"

"No, indeed, Dorothy: we want to tell you, " returned Nan touched bythis appeal; and then she quietly recapitulated the main points thatconcerned their difficulties, --their mother's loss, their futurepoverty, the necessity for leaving Glen Cottage and settling down atthe Friary. 

"We shall all have to work, " finished Nan, with prudent vagueness, notdaring to intrust their plan to Dorothy: "the cottage is small, and, of course, we can only keep one servant. "

"I dare say I shall be able to manage if you will help me a little, "returned Dorothy, drying her old eyes with the corner of her apron. "Dear, dear! to think of such an affliction coming upon my mistressand the dear young ladies! It is like an earthquake or a flood, orsomething sudden and unexpected, --Lord deliver us! And to think of myspeaking crossly to you Miss Nan, and you with all this worry on yourmind!"

"We will not think of that, " returned Nan, soothingly. "Susan'squarter will be up shortly, and we must get her away as soon aspossible. My great fear is that the work may be too much for you, poorDorothy; and that--that--we may have to keep you waiting sometimes foryour wages, " she added, rather hesitatingly fearing to offendDorothy's touchy temper, and yet determined to put the whole matterclearly before her. 

"I don't think we need talk about that, " returned Dorothy, withdignity. "I have not saved up my wages for nineteen years withouthaving a nest-egg laid up for rainy days. Wages, --when I mention theword, Miss Nan, " went on Dorothy, waxing somewhat irate, "it will betime enough to enter upon that subject. I haven't deserved such aspeech; no, that I haven't, " went on Dorothy, with a sob. "Wages, indeed!"

"Now, nursey, you shan't be cross with Nan, " cried Dulce, throwing herarms round the old woman; for, in spite of her eighteen years, she wasstill Dorothy's special charge. "She's quite right; it may be anunpleasant subject, but we will not have you working for us fornothing. "

"Very well, Miss Dulce, " returned Dorothy, in a choked voice preparingto withdraw; but Nan caught hold of the hard work-worn hand, and heldher fast. 

"Oh, Dorothy, you would not add to our trouble now, when we are soterribly unhappy! I never meant to hurt your feelings by what I said. If you will only go to the Friary and help us to make the dear mothercomfortable, I, for one, will be deeply grateful. "

"And you will not talk of wages?" asked Dorothy, mollified by Nan'ssweet, pleading tones. 

"Not until we can afford to do so, " returned Nan, hastily, feelingthat this was a safe compromise, and that they should be eked outsomehow. And then, the stewed pigeons being regarded as a failure, Dorothy consented to remove the supper tray, and the long day wasdeclared at an end. 

CHAPTER X. 

THE FRIARY. 

Oldfield was rather mystified by the Challoners' movements. There wereabsolutely three afternoons during which Nan and her sisters wereinvisible. There was a tennis-party at the Paines' on one of thesedays, but at the last minute they had excused themselves. Nan'sprettily-worded note was declared very vague and unsatisfactory, andon the following afternoon there was a regular invasion of thecottage, --Carrie Paine, and two of the Twentyman girls, and AdelaideSartoris and her young brother Albert. 

They found Dulce alone, looking very sad and forlorn. 

Nan and Phillis had gone down to Hadleigh that morning, she explainedin rather a confused way: they were not expected back until thefollowing evening. 

On being pressed by Miss Sartoris as to the reason of this suddentrip, she added, rather awkwardly, that it was on business; her motherwas not well, --oh, very far from well; and they had to look at a housethat belonged to them, as the tenant had lately died. 

This was all very plausible; but Dulce's manner was so constrained, and she spoke with such hesitation, that Miss Sartoris was convincedthat something lay behind. They went out in the garden, however, andchose sides for their game of tennis; and, though Dulce had neverplayed so badly in her life, the fresh air and exercise did her good, and at the end of the afternoon she looked a little less drooping. 

It was felt to be a failure, however, by the whole party; and when teawas over, there was no mention of a second game. "No, we will not stayany longer, " observed Isabella Twentyman, kissing the girl with muchaffection. "Of course we understand that you will be wanting to sitwith your mother. "

"Yes, and if you do not come in to-morrow we shall quite know how itis, " added Miss Sartoris, good-naturedly, for which Dulce thanked herand looked relieved. 

She stood at the hall door watching them as they walked down thevillage street, swinging their racquets and talking merrily. 

"What happy girls!" she thought, with a sigh. Miss Sartoris was anheiress, and the Twentymans were rich, and every one knew that Carrieand Sophy Paine would have money. "None of them will have to work, "said poor Dulce sorrowfully to herself: "they can go on playing tennisand driving and riding and dancing as long as they like. " And then shewent up to her mother's room with lagging footsteps and a cloudybrow. 

"You may depend upon it there is something amiss with thoseChalloners, " said Miss Sartoris, as soon as they were out of sight ofthe cottage; "no one has seen anything of them for the last three orfour days, and I never saw Dulce so unlike herself. "

"Oh, I hope not, " returned Carrie, gravely, who had heard enough fromher father to guess that there was pecuniary embarrassment at thebottom. "Poor little thing, she did seem rather subdued. How manypeople do you expect to muster to-morrow, Adelaide?" and then MissSartoris understood that the subject was to be changed. 

While Dulce was trying to entertain her friends, Nan and Phillis werereconnoitring the Friary. 

They had taken an early train to London, and had contrived to reachHadleigh a little before three. They went first to Beach House, --asmall unpretending house on the Parade, kept by a certain Mrs. Mozley, with whom they had once lodged after Dulce had the measles. 

The good woman received them with the utmost cordiality. Her place waspretty nearly filled, she told them proudly; the drawing-room had beentaken for three months, and an elderly couple were in thedining-room. 

"But there is a bedroom I could let you have for one night, " finishedMrs. Mozley, "and there is the little side parlor where you could haveyour tea and breakfast. " And when Nan had thanked her, and suggestedthe addition of chops to their evening meal, they left their modestluggage and set out for the Friary. 

Phillis would have gone direct to their destination, but Nan pleadedfor one turn on the Parade. She wanted a glimpse of the sea, and itwas such a beautiful afternoon. 

The tide was out, and the long black breakwaters were uncovered; thesun was shining on the wet shingles and narrow strip of yellow sand. The sea looked blue and unruffled, with little sparkles and gleams oflight, and white sails glimmered on the horizon. Some boatmen weredragging a boat down the beach; it grated noisily over the pebbles. Amerry party were about to embark, --a tall man in a straw hat, and twoboys in knickerbockers. Their sisters were watching them. "Oh, Reggie, do be careful!" Nan heard one of the girls say, as he waded knee-deepinto the water. 

"Come, Nan, we ought not to dawdle like this!" exclaimed Phillis, impatiently; and they went on quickly, past the long row ofold-fashioned white houses with the green before them and that sweetSussex border of soft feathery tamarisk, and then past thecricket-field, and down to the whitewashed cottage of the PreventiveStation; and then they turned back and walked towards the Steyne, andafter that Nan declared herself satisfied. 

There were plenty of people on the Parade, and most of them lookedafter the two girls as they passed. Nan's sweet bloom and gracefulcarriage always attracted notice; and Phillis, although she generallysuffered from comparison with her sister, was still veryuncommon-looking. 

"I should like to know who those young ladies are, " observed amilitary-looking man with a white moustache, who was standing at theLibrary door waiting for his daughter to make some purchases. "Look atthem, Elizabeth: one of them is such a pretty girl, and they walk sowell. "

"Dear father, I suppose they are only some new-comers: we shall seetheir names down in the visitors' list by and by;" and Miss Middletonsmiled as she took her father's arm, for she was slightly lame. Sheknew strangers always interested him, and that he would make it hisbusiness for the next few days to find out everything about them. 

"Did you see that nice-looking woman?" asked Phillis, when they hadpassed. "She was quite young, only her hair was gray: fancy, agray-haired girl!"

"Oh, she must be older than she looks, " returned Nan, indifferently. 

She was not looking at people: she was far too busily engagedidentifying each well-remembered spot. 

There was the shabby little cottage, where she and her mother had oncestayed after an illness of Mrs. Challoner's. What odd little roomsthey had occupied, looking over a strip of garden-ground full ofmarigolds! "Marigolds-all-in-a-row Cottage, " she had named it in herhome letters. It was nearly opposite the White House where Mrs. Cheynelived. Nan remembered her, --a handsome, sad-looking woman, who alwayswore black, and drove out in such handsome carriages. 

"Always alone; how sad!" Nan thought; and she wondered, as they walkedpast the low stone walls with grassy mounds slopping from them, and abelt of shrubbery shutting out views of the house, whether Mrs. Cheynelived there still. 

They had reached a quiet country corner now; there was a clump oftrees, guarded by posts and chains; a white house stood far back. There were two or three other houses, and a cottage dotted down hereand there. The road looked shady and inviting. Nan began to look abouther more cheerfully. 

"I am glad it is so quiet, and so far away from the town, and that ourneighbors will not be able to overlook us. "

"I was just thinking of that as a disadvantage, " returned Phillis, with placid opposition. "It is a pity, under the circumstances, thatwe are not nearer the town. " And after that Nan held her peace. 

They were passing an old-fashioned house with a green door in thewall, when it suddenly opened, and a tall, grave looking young man, inclerical attire, came out quickly upon them, and then drew back to letthem pass. 

"I suppose that is the new vicar?" whispered Phillis, when they hadgone a few steps. "You know poor old Dr. Musgrave is dead, and mostlikely that is his successor. "

"I forgot that was the vicarage, " returned Nan. But happily she didnot turn round to look at it again; if she had done so, she would haveseen the young clergyman still standing by the green door watchingthem. "It is a shabby, dull old house in front; but I remember thatwhen mother and I returned Mrs. Musgrave's call we were shown intosuch a dear old-fashioned drawing-room, with windows looking out onsuch a pleasant garden. I quite fell in love with it. "

"Well, we shall be near neighbors, " observed Phillis, somewhatshortly, as she paused before another green door, set in a long blankwall; "for here we are at the Friary, and I had better just run overthe way and get the key from Mrs. Crump. "

Nan nodded, and then stood like an image of patience before theshabby green door. Would it open and let them into a new untried life?What sort of fading hopes, of dim regrets, would be left outside whenthey crossed the threshold? The thought of the empty rooms, not yetswept and garnished, made her shiver: the upper windows looked blanklyat her, like blind, unrecognizing eyes. She was quite glad whenPhillis joined her again, swinging the key on her little finger, andhumming a tune in forced cheerfulness. 

"What a dull, shut-in place! I think the name of Friary suits itexactly, " observed Nan, disconsolately, as they went up the littleflagged path, bordered with lilac-bushes. "It feels like a miniatureconvent or prison: we might have a grating in the door, and answer alloutsiders through it. "

"Nonsense!" returned Phillis, who was determined to take a bright viewof things. "Don't go into the house just yet, I want to see thegarden. " And she led the way down a gloomy side-path, with unclippedbox and yews, that made it dark and decidedly damp. This brought themto a little lawn, with tall, rank grass that might have been mown forhay, and some side-beds full of old fashioned flowers, such as lupinsand monkshood, pinks and small pansies; a dreary little greenhouse, with a few empty flower-pots and a turned-up box was in one corner, and an attempt at a rockery, with a periwinkle climbing over it, andan undesirable number of oyster-shells. 

An old medlar tree, very warped and gnarled, was at the bottom of thelawn, and beyond this a small kitchen-garden, with abundance ofgooseberry and currant-bushes, and vast resources in the shape ofmint, marjoram, and lavender. 

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! what a wretched little place after our dear oldGlen Cottage garden!" And in spite of her good resolutions, Nan's eyesgrew misty. 

"Comparisons are odious, " retorted Phillis, briskly. "We have just tomake the best of things, --and I don't deny they are horrid, --and putall the rest away, between lavender, on the shelves of our memory. "And she smiled grimly as she picked one of the gray spiky flowers. 

And then, as they walked round the weedy paths, she pointed out howdifferent it would look when the lawn was mown, and all the weeds andoyster-shells removed, and the box and yews clipped, and a littlepaint put on the greenhouse. 

"And look at that splendid passion-flower, growing like a weed overthe back of the cottage, " she remarked, with a wave of her hand: "itonly wants training and nailing up. Poor Miss Monks has neglected thegarden shamefully; but then she was always ailing. "

They went into the cottage after this. The entry was rather small anddark. The kitchen came first: it was a tolerable-sized apartment, withtwo windows looking out on the lilacs and the green door and the blankwall. 

"I am afraid Dorothy will find it a little dull, " Nan observed, rather ruefully. And again she thought the name of Friary was wellgiven to this gruesome cottage; but she cheered up when Phillis openedcupboards and showed her a light little scullery, and thought thatperhaps they could make it comfortable for Dorothy. 

The other two rooms looked upon the garden: one had three windows, andwas really a very pleasant parlor. 

"This must be our work-room, " began Phillis, solemnly, as she stood inthe centre of the empty room, looking round her with bright knowingglances. "Oh, what an ugly paper, Nan! but we can easily put up aprettier one. The smaller room must be where we live and take ourmeals: it is not quite so cheerful as this. It is so nice having thisside-window; it will give us more light, and we shall be able to seewho comes in at the door. "

"Yes, that is an advantage, " assented Nan. She was agreeably surprisedto find such a good-sized room in the cottage; it was decidedly low, and the windows were not plate-glass, but she thought that on summermornings they might sit there very comfortably looking out at the lawnand the medlar-tree. 

"We shall be glad of these cupboards, " she suggested, after a pause, while Phillis, took out sundry pieces of tape from her pocket andcommenced making measurements in a business-like manner. "Our workwill make such a litter, and I should like things to be as tidy aspossible. I am thinking, " she continued, "we might have mother's greatcarved wardrobe in the recess behind the door. It is really amagnificent piece of furniture, and in a work-room it would not be soout of place; we could hang up the finished and unfinished dresses init out of the dust. And we could have the little drawing-roomchiffonnier between the windows for our pieces, and odds and ends inthe cupboards. It is a pity our table is round; but perhaps it willlook all the more comfortable. The sewing-machine must be in theside-window, " added Nan, who was quite in her element now, for sheloved all housewifely arrangements; "and mother's easy-chair andlittle table must stand by the fireplace. My davenport will be usefulfor papers and accounts. "

"It is really a very convenient room, " returned Phillis, in asatisfied voice, when they had exhausted its capabilities; and, thoughthe second parlor was small and dull in comparison, even Nan droppedno disparaging word. 

Both of them agreed it would do very well. There was a place for thelarge roomy couch that their mother so much affected, and theirfavorite chairs and knick-knacks would soon make it look cosey: andafter this they went upstairs hand in hand. 

There were only four bedrooms, and two of these were not large; themost cheerful one was, of course, allotted to their mother, and thenext in size must be for Phillis and Dulce. Nan was to have a smallone next to her mother. 

The evening was drawing on by the time they had finished theirmeasurements and left the cottage. Nan, who was tired and wanted hertea, was for hurrying on to Beach House; but Phillis insisted oncalling at the Library. She wanted to put some questions to MissMilner. To-morrow they would have the paper-hanger, and look out for agardener, and there was Mrs. Crump to interview about cleaning downthe cottage. 

"Oh, very well, " returned Nan, wearily, and she followed Phillis intothe shop, where good-natured bustling Miss Milner came to them atonce. 

Phillis put the question to her in a low voice, for there were othercustomers exchanging books over the counter. The same young clergymanthey had before noticed had just bought a local paper, and was waitingevidently for a young lady who was turning over some magazines quiteclose to them. 

"Do we know of a good dressmaker in the place?" repeated Miss Milner, in her loud cheerful voice, very much to Nan's discomfort, for theclergyman looked up from his paper at once. "Miss Monks was atolerable fit, but, poor thing! she died a few weeks ago; and Mrs. Slasher, who lives over Viner's the haberdasher's, cannot hold acandle to her. Miss Masham there, "--pointing to a smart ringletedyoung person, evidently her assistant, --"had her gown ruined by her:hadn't you, Miss Masham?"

Miss Masham simpered, but her reply was inaudible; but the young ladywho was standing near them suddenly turned round:

"There is Mrs. Langley, who lives just by. I shall be very happy togive these ladies her address, for she is a widow with littlechildren, and I am anxious to procure her work--" and then she lookedat Nan, and hesitated; "that is, if you are not very particular, " sheadded, with sudden embarrassment, for even in her morning dress therewas a certain style about Nan that distinguished her from otherpeople. 

"Thank you, Miss Drummond, " returned Miss Milner, gratefully. "Shall Iwrite down the address for you, ma'am?"

"Yes, --no, --thank you very much, but perhaps it does not matter, "returned Nan, hurriedly, feeling awkward for the first time in herlife. But Phillis, who realized all the humor of the situation, interposed:

"The address will do us no harm, and we may as well have it, althoughwe should not trouble Mrs. Langley. I will call in again, Miss Milner, to-morrow morning, and then I will explain what it is we really want. We are in a hurry now, " continued Phillis, loftily, turning away witha dignified inclination of her head toward the officious stranger. 

Phillis was not prepossessed in her favor. She was a dark, wiry littleperson, not exactly plain, but with an odd, comical face; and she wasdressed so dowdily and with such utter disregard of taste that Phillisinstinctively felt Mrs. Langley was not to be dreaded. 

"What a queer little body! Do you think she belongs to him?" she askedNan, as they walked rapidly toward Beach House. 

"What in the world made you strike in after that fashion?" demandedthe young man, as he and his companion followed more slowly in thestrangers' footsteps. "That is just your way, Mattie, interfering andmeddling in other folks' affairs. Why cannot you mind your ownbusiness sometimes, " he continued, irritably, "instead of putting yourfoot into other people's?"

"You are as cross as two sticks this afternoon, Archie, " returned hissister, composedly. She had a sharp little pecking voice that seemedto match her, somehow; for she was not unlike a bright-eyed bird, andhad quick pouncing movements. "Wait a moment: my braid has got torn, and is dragging. "

"I wish you would think a little more of my position, and take greaterpains with your appearance, " returned her brother, in an annoyedvoice. "What would Grace say to see what a fright you make ofyourself? It is a sin and a shame for a woman to be untidy or carelessin her dress; it is unfeminine! it is unlady-like!" hurling eachseparate epithet at her. 

Perhaps Miss Drummond was used to these compliments, for she merelypinned her braid without seeming the least put out. 

"I think I am a little shabby, " she remarked, tranquilly, as they atlast walked on. "Perhaps Mrs. Langley had better make me a dress too, "with a laugh, for, in spite of her sharp voice, she was aneven-tempered little body; but this last remark only added fuel to hiswrath. 

"You really have less sense than a child. The idea of recommending aperson like Mrs. Langley to those young ladies, --a woman who works forMiss Masham!"

"They were very plainly dressed, Archie, " returned poor Mattie, whofelt this last snub acutely; for, if there was one thing upon whichshe prided herself, it was her good sense. "They had dark printdresses, --not as good as the one I have on, --and nothing could bequieter. "

"Oh, you absurd little goose!" exclaimed her brother, and he burstinto a laugh, for the drollery of the comparison restored him toinstant good humor. "If you cannot see the difference between thatfrumpish gown of yours, with its little bobtails and fringes, andthose pretty dresses before us, I must say you are as blind as a bat, Mattie. "

"Oh, never mind my gown, " returned Mattie, with a sigh. 

She had had these home-thrusts to meet and parry nearly every day, ever since she had come to keep house for this fastidious brother. Shewas a very active, bustling little person, who had done a great dealof tough work in her day, but she never could be made to see thatunless a woman add the graces of life to the cardinal virtues she is, comparatively speaking, a failure in the eyes of the other sex. 

So, though Mattie was a frugal housekeeper, and worked from morning tonight in his service, --the veriest little drudge that was everseen, --she was a perpetual eyesore to her brother, who loved femininegrace and repose, --whose tastes were fastidious and somewhatarbitrary. And so it was poor Mattie had more censure than praise, andwrote home piteous letters complaining that nothing she did seemed tosatisfy Archie, and that her mother had made a great mistake insending her, and not Grace, to preside over his bachelorestablishment. 

"Oh, Phillis, how shall we have courage to publish our plan?"exclaimed Nan, when they were at last discussing the much-needed teaand chops in the little parlor at Beach House. 

The window was wide open. The returning tide was coming in with apleasant ripple and wash over the shingle. The Parade was nearlyempty; but some children's voices sounded from the green space beforethe houses. The brown sail of a fishing craft dipped into the horizon. It was so cool, so quiet, so restful; but Nan's eyes were weary, andshe put the question wistfully. 

Phillis looked into the teapot to gain a moment's reprieve; thecorners of her mouth had an odd pucker in them. 

"I never said it was not hard, " she burst out at last. "I felt like afool myself while I was speaking to Miss Milner; but then thatclergyman was peeping at us between the folds of his paper. He seemeda nice-looking, gentlemanly sort of man. Do you think that queerlittle lady in the plaid dress could be his wife? Oh, no; I rememberMiss Milner addressed her as Miss Drummond. Then she must be hissister: how odd!"

"Why should it be odd?" remarked Nan, absently, who had notparticularly noticed them. 

"Oh, she was such a dowdy little thing, not a bit nice-looking, and hewas quite handsome, and looked rather distinguished. You know I alwaystake stock of people, and make up my mind about them at once. And thenwe are to be such close neighbors. "

"I don't suppose we shall see much of them, " was Nan's somewhatdepressed reply; and then, as they had finished their tea they placedthemselves at the open window, and began to talk about the business ofnext day; and, in discussing cupboards and new papers, Nan forgot herfatigue, and grew so interested that it was quite late before theythought of retiring to rest. 

CHAPTER XI. 

"TELL US ALL ABOUT IT, NAN. "

Nan overslept herself, and was rather late the next morning; but asshe entered the parlor, with an exclamation of penitence for hertardiness, she found her little speech was addressed to the emptywalls. A moment after, a shadow crossed the window, and Phillis camein. 

She went up to Nan and kissed her, and there was a gleam of fun in hereyes. 

"Oh, you lazy girl!" she said; "leaving me all the hard work to do. Doyou know, I have been around to the Library, and have had it all outwith Miss Milner; and in the Steyne I met the clergyman again, and--would you believe it; he looked quite disappointed because youwere not there!"

"Nonsense!" returned Nan, sharply. She never liked this sort of jokingspeeches: they seemed treasonable to Dick. 

"Oh, but he did, " persisted Phillis, who was a little excited andreckless after her morning's work. "He threw me a disparaging glance, which said, as plainly as possible, 'Why are you not the other one?'That comes from having a sister handsomer than one's self. "

"Oh, Phillis! when people always think you so nice, and when you areso clever!"

Phillis got up and executed a little courtesy in the prettiest way, and then she sank down upon her chair in pretended exhaustion. 

"What I have been through! But I have come out of it alive. Confess, now, there's a dear, that you could not have done it!"

"No; indeed, " with an alarmed air. "Do you really mean to say that youactually told Miss Milner what we meant to do?"

"I told her everything. There, sit down and begin your breakfast, Nan, or we shall never be ready. I found her alone in the shop. Thankgoodness, that Miss Masham was not there. I have taken a dislike tothat simpering young person, and would rather make a dress for Mrs. Squails any day than for her. I told her the truth, without a bit ofdisguise. Would you believe it, the good creature actually cried aboutit! she quite upset me too. 'Such young ladies! dear, dear: one doesnot often see such, ' she kept saying over and over again. And then sheput out her hand and stroked my dress, and said, 'Such a beautifulfit, too; and to think you have made it yourself! such a clever younglady! Oh, dear! whatever will Mr. Drummond and Miss Mattie say?'Stupid old thing! as though we cared what he said!"

"Oh, Phillis! and she cried over it?"

"She did indeed. I am not exaggerating. Two big round tears rolleddown her cheeks. I could have kissed her for them. And then she mademe sit down in the little room behind the shop, where she was havingher breakfast, and poured me out a cup of tea and----" But here Naninterrupted her, and there was a trace of anxiety in her manner. 

"Poured you out a cup of tea! Miss Milner! And you drank it!"

"Of course I drank it; it was very good, and I was thirsty. "

But here Nan pounced upon her unexpectedly, and dragged her to thewindow. 

"Your fun is only make-believe: there is no true ring about it. Let mesee your eyes. Oh, Phil, Phil! I thought so! You have been crying, too!"

Phillis looked a little taken aback. Nan was too sharp for her. Shetried to shake herself free a little pettishly. 

"Well, if I choose to make a fool of myself for once in my life, youneed not be silly about it; the old thing was so upsetting, and--andit was so hard to get it out. " Phillis would not have told for worldshow utterly she had broken down over that task of hers; how thestranger's sympathy had touched so painful a chord that, before sheknew what she was doing, she had laid her head down on the counter andwas crying like a baby, --all the more that she had so bravely pent upher feelings all these days that she might not dishearten hersisters. 

But, as Nan petted and praised her, she did tell how good Miss Milnerhad been to her. 

"Fancy a fat old thing like that having such fine feelings, " she said, with an attempt to recover her sprightliness. "She was as good as amother to me, --made me sit in the easy-chair, and brought me someelder-flower water to bathe my eyes, and tried to cheer me up bysaying that we should have plenty of work. She has promised not totell any one just yet about us; but when we are really in the Friaryshe will speak to people and recommend us: and--" here Phillis gave alittle laugh--"we are to make up a new black silk for her that herbrother has just sent her. Oh, dear, what will mother say to us, Nan?"And Phillis looked at her in an alarmed, beseeching way, as though insore need of comfort. 

Nan looked grave; but there was no hesitation in her answer:

"I am afraid it is too late to think of that now, Phil: it has to bedone, and we must just go through with it. "

"You are right, Nanny darling, we must just go through with it, "agreed Phillis; and then they went on with their unfinished breakfast, and after that the business of the day began. 

It was late in the evening when they reached home. Dulce who was atthe gate looking out for them, nearly smothered them with kisses. 

"Oh, you dear things! how glad I am to get you back, " she said, holding them both. "Have you really only been away since yesterdaymorning? It seems a week at least. "

"You ridiculous child! as though we believe that! But how is mother?"

"Oh, pretty well: but she will be better now you are back. Do youknow, " eying them both very gravely, "I think it was a wise thing ofyou to go away like that? it has shown me that mother and I could notdo without you at all: we should have pined away in those lodgings; ithas quite reconciled me to the plan, " finished Dulce, in a loudwhisper that reached her mother's ears. 

"What plan? What are you talking about, Dulce? and why do you keepyour sisters standing in the hall?" asked Mrs. Challoner, a littleirritably. But her brief nervousness vanished at the sight of theirfaces: she wanted nothing more, she told herself, but to see themround her, and hear their voices. 

She grew quite cheerful when Phillis told her about the new papers, and how Mrs. Crump was to clean down the cottage, and how Crump hadpromised to mow the grass and paint the greenhouse, and Jack andBobbie were to weed the garden-paths. 

"It is a perfect wilderness now, mother: you never saw such a place. "

"Never mind, so that it will hold us, and that we shall all betogether, " she returned, with a smile. "But Dulce talked of some plan:you must let me hear it, my dears; you must not keep me in the darkabout anything. I know we shall all have to work, " continued the poorlady; "but if we be all together, if you will promise not to leave me, I think I could bear anything. "

"Are we to tell her!" motioned Nan with her lips to Phillis; and asPhillis nodded, "Yes, " Nan gently and quietly began unfolding theirplan. 

But, with all her care and all Phillis's promptings, the revelationwas a great shock to Mrs. Challoner; in her weakened state she seemedhardly able to bear it. 

Dulce repented bitterly her incautious whisper when she saw hersisters' tired faces, and their fruitless attempts to soften theeffects of such a blow. For a little while, Mrs. Challoner seemed onthe brink of despair; she would not listen; she abandoned herself tolamentations; she became so hysterical at last that Dorothy wassummoned from the kitchen and taken into confidence. 

"Mother, you are breaking our hearts, " Nan said, at last. She waskneeling at her feet, chafing her hands, and Phillis was fanning her;but she pushed them both away from her with weak violence. 

"It is I whose heart is breaking! Why must I live to see such things?Dorothy, do you know my daughters are going to be dressmakers?--mydaughters, who are Challoners, --who have been delicatelynurtured, --who might hold up their heads with any one?"

"Dorothy, hold your tongue!" exclaimed Phillis, peremptorily. "You arenot to speak; this is for us to decide, and no one else. Mammy, youare making Nan look quite pale: she is dreadfully tired, and so am I. Why need we decide anything to-night? Every one is upset and excited, and when that is the case one can never arrive at any properconclusion. Let us talk about it to-morrow, when we are rested. " And, though Mrs. Challoner would not allow herself to be comforted, Nan'sfatigue and paleness were so visible to her maternal eyes that theywere more eloquent than Phillis's words. 

"I must not think only of myself. Yes, yes, I will do as you wish. There will be time enough for this sort of talk to-morrow. Dorothy, will you help me? The young ladies are tired; they have had a longjourney. No, my dear, no, " as Dulce pressed forward; "I would ratherhave Dorothy. " And, as the old servant gave them a warning glance, they were obliged to let her have her way. 

"Mammy has never been like this before, " pouted Dulce, when they wereleft alone. "She drives us away from her as though we had donesomething purposely to vex her. "

"It is because she cannot bear the sight of us to-night, " returnedPhillis, solemnly. "It is worse for her than for us; a mother feelsthings for her children more than for herself; it is nature, that iswhat it is, " she finished philosophically; "but she will be betterto-morrow. " And after this the miserable little conclave broke up. 

Mrs. Challoner passed a sleepless night, and her pillow was sown withthorns. To think of the Challoners falling so low as this! To think ofher pretty Nan, her clever, bright Phillis, her pet Dulce coming tothis; "oh, the pity of it!" she cried in the dark hours, when vitalityruns lowest, and thoughts seem to flow involuntarily towards a darkcentre. 

But with the morning came sunshine, and her girl's faces, --a littlegraver than usual, perhaps, but still full of youth and the brightnessof energy; and the sluggish nightmare of yesterday's grief began tofade a little. 

"Now, mammy, you are not going to be naughty to-day!" was Dulce'smorning salutation as she seated herself on the bed. 

Mrs. Challoner smiled faintly:

"Was I very naughty last night, Dulce?"

"Oh, as bad as possible. You pushed poor Nan and Phillis away, andwould not let any one come near you but that cross old Dorothy, andyou never bade us good-night; but if you promise to be good, I willforgive you and make it up, " finished Dulce, with those lightbutterfly kisses to which she was addicted. 

"Now, Chatterbox, it is my turn, " interrupted Phillis; and then shebegan a carefully concocted little speech, very carefully drawn out tosuit her mother's sensitive peculiarities. 

She went over the old ground patiently point by point. Mrs. Challonershuddered at the idea of letting lodgings. 

"I knew you would agree with us, " returned Phillis, with a convincingnod; and then she went on to the next clause. 

Mrs. Challoner argued a great deal about the governess scheme. She wasquite angry with Phillis, and seemed to suffer a great deal ofself-reproach, when the girl spoke of their defective education andlack of accomplishments. Nan had to come to her sister's rescue; butthe mother was slow to yield the point:

"I don't know what you mean. My girls are not different from othergirls. What would your poor father say if he were alive? It is cruelto say this to me, when I stinted myself to give you every possibleadvantage, and I paid Miss Martin eighty pounds a year, " sheconcluded, tearfully, feeling as though she were the victim of afraud. 

She was far more easily convinced that going out as companions wouldbe impracticable under the circumstances. "Oh, no, that will neverdo!" she cried, when the two little rooms with Dulce were proposed;and after this Phillis found her task less difficult. She talked hermother over at last to reluctant acquiescence. "I never knew how Icame to consent, " she said, afterwards, "but they were too much forme. "

"We cannot starve. I suppose I must give in to you, " she said, atlast; "but I shall never hold up my head again. " And she reallybelieved what she said. 

"Mother, you must trust us, " replied Phillis, touched by this victoryshe had won. "Do you know what I said to Dulce? Work cannot degradeus. Though we are dressmakers, we are still Challoners. Nothing canmake us lose our dignity and self-respect as gentlewomen. "

"Other people will not recognize it, " returned her mother, with asigh. "You will lose caste. No one will visit you. Among your equalsyou will be treated as inferiors. It is this that bows me to the earthwith shame. "

"Mother, how can you talk so?" cried Nan, in a clear, indignant voice. "What does it matter if people do not visit us? We must have a worldof our own, and be sufficient for ourselves, if we can only keeptogether. Is not that what you have said to us over and over again?Well, we shall be together, we shall have each other. What does theoutside world matter to us after all?"

"Oh, you are young; you do not know what complications may arise, "replied Mrs. Challoner, with the gloomy forethought of middle age. She thought she knew the world better than they, but in reality shewas almost as guileless and ignorant as her daughters. "Until youbegin, you do not know the difficulties that will beset you, " she wenton. 

But notwithstanding this foreboding speech, she was some whatcomforted by Nan's words: "they would be together!" Well, ifProvidence chose to inflict this humiliation and afflictivedispensation on her, it could be borne as long as she had her childrenaround her. 

Nan made one more speech, --a somewhat stern one for her. 

"Our trouble will be a furnace to try our friends. We shall know thetrue from the false. Only those who are really worth the name will befaithful to us. "

Nan was thinking of Dick; but her mother misunderstood her, and grewalarmed. 

"You will not tell the Paines and the other people about here what youintend to do, surely? I could not bear that! no, indeed, I could notbear that!"

"Do not be afraid, dear mother, " returned Nan, sadly, "we are far toogreat cowards to do such a thing, and, after all, there is no need toput ourselves to needless pain. If the Maynes were here we might notbe able to keep it from them, perhaps, and so I am thankful they areaway. "

Nan said this quite calmly, though her mother fixed her eyes upon herin a most tenderly mournful fashion. She had quite forgotten theirLongmead neighbors, but now, as Nan recalled them to her mind, sheremembered Mr. Mayne, and her look had become compassionate. 

"It will be all over with those poor children, " she thought toherself: "the father will never allow it, --never; and I cannot wonderat him. " And then her heart softened to the memory of Dick, whom shehad never thought good enough for Nan, for she remembered now with asore pang that her pride was laid low in the dust, and that she couldnot hope now that her daughters would make splendid matches: even Dickwould be above them, though his father had been in trade, and thoughhe had no grandfather worth mentioning. 

A few days after their return from Hadleigh, there was an other longbusiness interview with Mr. Trinder, in which every thing was settled. A tenant had already been found for the cottage. A young couple, onthe eve of their marriage, who had long been looking for a suitablehouse in the neighborhood had closed at once with Mr. Trinder's offer, and had taken the lease off their hands. The gentleman was a cousin ofthe Paines and, partly for the convenience of the in-coming tenants, and partly because the Challoners wished to move as soon as possible, there was only a delay of a few weeks before the actual flitting. 

It would be impossible to describe the dismay of the neighborhood whenthe news was circulated. 

Immediately after their return from Hadleigh, Nan and Phillis tookcounsel together, and, summoning up their courage, went from one toanother of their friends and quietly announced their approachingdeparture. 

"Mother has had losses, and we are now dreadfully poor, and we aregoing to leave Glen Cottage and go down to a small house we have atHadleigh, " said Nan, who by virtue of an additional year of age wasspokeswoman on this occasion. She had fully rehearsed this littlespeech, which she intended to say at every house in due rotation. "Wewill not disguise the truth; we will let people know that we are poor, and then they will not expect impossibilities, " she said, as theywalked down the shady roads towards the Paines' house, --for the Paineswere their most intimate friends and had a claim to the firstconfidence. 

"I think that will be sufficient; no one has any right to know more, "she continued, decidedly, fully determined that no amount of coaxingand cross-examination should wring from her one unnecessary word. 

But she little knew how difficult it would be to keep their owncounsel. The Paines were not alone: they very seldom were. AdelaideSartoris was there, and the younger Miss Twentyman, and a young widow, a Mrs. Forbes, who was a distant connection of Mrs. Paine. 

Nan was convinced that they had all been talking about them, for therewas rather an embarrassed pause as she and Phillis entered the room. Carrie looked a little confused as she greeted them. 

Nan sat down by Mrs. Paine, who was rather deaf, and in due time madeher little speech. She was rather pale with the effort, and her voicefaltered a little, but every word was heard at the other end of theroom. 

"Leave Glen Cottage, my dear? I can't have heard you rightly. I amvery deaf, to-day, --very. I think I must have caught cold. " And Mrs. Paine turned a mild face of perplexity on Nan; but, before she couldreiterate her words, Carrie was on the footstool at her feet, and MissSartoris, with a grave look of concern on her handsome features, wasstanding beside her:

"Oh, Nan! tell us all about it! Of course we saw something was thematter. Dulce was so strange that afternoon; and you have all beenkeeping yourselves invisible for ever so long. "

"There is very little to tell, " returned Nan, trying to speakcheerfully. "Mother has had bad news. Mr. Gardiner is bankrupt, andall our invested money is gone. Of course we could not go on living atGlen Cottage. There is some talk, Carrie, of your cousin, Mr. Ibbetson, coming to look at it: it will be nice for us if he couldtake the lease off our hands, and then we should go down to theFriary. "

"How I shall hate to see Ralph there!--not but what it will suit himand Louisa well enough, I dare say. But never mind him: I want toknow all about yourselves, " continued Carrie, affectionately. "This isdreadful, Nan! I can hardly believe it. What are we to do without you?and where is the Friary? and what is it like? and what will you dowith yourselves when you get there?"

"Yes, indeed, that is what we want to know, " agreed Miss Sartoris, putting her delicately-gloved hand on Nan's shoulder; and then SophyPaine joined the little group, and Mrs. Forbes and Miss Twentyman leftoff talking to Phillis, and began listening; with all their might. Nowit was that Nan began to foresee difficulties. 

"The Friary is very small, " she went on, "but it will just hold us andDorothy. Dorothy is coming with us, of course. She is old, but sheworks better than some of the young ones. She is a faithfulcreature----"

But Carrie interrupted her impatiently:

"But, Nan, what will you do with yourselves? Hadleigh is a nice place, I believe. Mamma, we must all go down there next summer, and staythere, --you shall come with us, Adelaide, --and then we shall be ableto cheer these poor things up; and Nan, you and Phillis must come andstay with us. We don't mean to give you up like this. What does itmatter about being poor? We are all old friends together. You shallgive us tea at the Friary; and I dare say there are tennis-grounds atHadleigh, and we will have nice times together. "

"Of course we will come and see you, " added Miss Sartoris, with afriendly pressure of Nan's shoulder; but the poor girl only colored upand looked embarrassed, and then it was that Phillis, who was watchingher opportunity, struck in:

"You are all very good; but, Carrie, I don't believe you understandNan one bit. When people lose their money they have to work. We shallall have to put our shoulder to the wheel. We would give you tea, ofcourse, but as for paying visits and playing tennis, it is only idlegirls like yourselves who have time for that sort of thing. It will bework and not play, I fear, with us. "

"Oh, Phillis!" exclaimed poor Carrie, with tears in her eyes, and MissSartoris looked horrified, for she had West-Indian blood in her veinsand was by nature somewhat indolent and pleasure-loving. 

"Do you mean you will have to be governesses?" she asked, with a touchof dismay in her voice. 

"We shall have to work, " returned Phillis, vaguely. "When we aresettled at the Friary we must look round us and do the best we can. "This was felt to be vague by the whole party; but Phillis's manner wasso bold and well assured that no one suspected that anything laybeyond the margin of her speech. They had not made up their minds, perhaps; Sir Francis Challoner would assist them; or there were othersources of help: they must move into the new house first, and then seewhat was to be done. It was so plausible, so sensible, that every onewas deceived. 

"Of course you cannot decide in such a hurry: you must have so much todo just now, " observed Carrie. "You must write and tell us all yourplans, Phillis, and if there be anything we can do to help you. Mamma, we might have Mrs. Challoner here while the cottage is dismantled. Dospare her to us, Nan, and we will take such care of her!" And theywere still discussing this point, and trying to overrule Nan'sobjections, --who knew nothing would induce her mother to leavethem, --when other visitors were announced, and in the confusion theywere allowed to make their escape. 

CHAPTER XII. 

"LADDIE" PUTS IN AN APPEARANCE. 

"I think we have managed that as well as possible!" exclaimed Phillis, when they found themselves outside the gates. "What a good thingAdelaide and Mrs. Forbes and Lily were there! Now we need only call atthose three houses to say good-bye. How hot you look, Nan! and howthey all hemmed you in! I was obliged to come to your rescue, you wereso beset; but I think I have put them off the scent. "

"Yes, for the present; but think, Phil, if Carrie really carries outher intention, and all the Paine tribe and Adelaide come down toHadleigh next summer! No wonder I am hot; the bare idea suffocatesme. "

"Something may turn up before then; it is no good looking so farahead, " was the philosophical rejoinder. "Adelaide is ratherformidable, certainly, and, in spite of her good nature, one does notfeel at home with her. There is a flavor of money about her, I think;she dresses, talks, and lives in such a gilded way one finds herheavy; but she may get married before then. Mr. Dalrymple certainlyseemed to mean it when he was down here last winter, and he will be agood match for her. But here we are at Fitzroy Square. I wonder whatsort of humor her ladyship will be in?"

Lady Fitzroy received them very graciously. She had just beenindulging in a slight dispute with her husband, and the interruptionwas welcome to both of them; besides, she was always gracious to theChalloners. 

"You have just come in time, for we were boring each otherdreadfully, " she said, in her pretty languid way, holding out a handto each of them. "Percival, will you ring the bell, please? I cannotthink why Thorpe does not bring up the tea as usual!"

Lord Fitzroy obeyed his wife's behest, and then he turned with arelieved air to his old friend Phillis. She was the clever one; andthough some people called her quiet, that was because they did notdraw her out, or she had no sympathy with them. He had always foundher decidedly amusing and agreeable in the days of his bachelorhood. 

He had married the beauty of a season, but the beauty was not withouther little crotchets and tempers; and though he was both fond andproud of his wife, he found Phillis's talk a relief this afternoon. 

But Phillis was a little _distraite_ on this occasion: she wanted tohear what Nan was saying in a low voice across the room, and Thorpeand his subordinate were setting the tea-table, and Lord Fitzroy wouldplace himself just before her. 

"Now look here, Miss Challoner, " he was saying, "I want to tell youall about it;" but here Thorpe left the room, and Lady Fitzroyinterrupted them:

"Oh, Percival, what a pity! Do you hear?--we are going to lose ournicest neighbors? Dear little Glen Cottage is to be empty in a week orso!"

"Mr. Ralph Ibbetson will decide to take it, I think; and he and MissBlake are to be married on the 16th of next month, " returned Nan, softly. 

"Ibbetson at Glen Cottage! that red-headed fellow! My dear MissChalloner, what sacrilege!--what desecration! What do you mean byforsaking us in this fashion? Are you all going to be married? Has SirFrancis died and left you a fortune? In the name of all that ismysterious, what is the meaning of this?"

"If you will let a person speak, Percival, " returned his wife, withdignity, "you shall have an answer:" and then she looked up in hishandsome, good-natured face, and her manner softened insensibly. "Poordear Mrs. Challoner has had losses! Some one has played her false, andthey are obliged to leave Glen Cottage. But Hadleigh is a nice place, "she went on, turning to Nan: "it is very select. "

"Where did you say, Evelyn?" inquired her husband, eagerly. "Hadleigh, in Sussex? Oh, that is a snug little place; no Toms and Harries godown there on a nine hours' trip. I was there myself once, with theShannontons. Perhaps Lady Fitzroy and I may run down one day and havea look at you, " he continued, with a friendly look at Phillis. It wasonly one of his good-natured speeches, but his wife took umbrage atit. 

"The sea never agrees with me. I thought you knew that, Percival!"rather reproachfully; "but I dare say we shall often see you here, "she went on, fearing Nan would think her ungracious. "You and thePaines are so intimate that they are sure to have you for weekstogether; it is so pleasant revisiting an old neighborhood, is it not?I know I always feel that with regard to Nuneaton. "

"Nuneaton never suits my constitution. I thought you would haveremembered that, Evelyn, " returned her husband, gravely; and then theyboth laughed. Lord Fitzroy was not without a sense of humor, and oftenrestored amity by a joking word after this fashion, and then theconversation proceeded more smoothly. 

Nan and Phillis felt far more at their ease here than they had felt atthe Paines'. There were no awkward questions asked: Lady Fitzroy wasfar too well bred for that. If she wondered at all how the Challonerswere to live after they had lost their money, she kept such remarksfor her husband's private ear. 

"Those girls ought to marry well, " observed Lord Fitzroy, when hefound himself alone again with his wife. "Miss Challoner is as prettya creature as one need see, but Miss Phillis has the most in her. "

"How are they to meet people if they are going to bury themselves in alittle sea-side place?" she returned, regretfully. "Shall I put on myhabit now, Percy? do you think it will be cool enough for our ride?"

"Yes, run along, my pet, and don't keep me too long waiting. "Nevertheless, Lord Fitzroy did not object when his wife made room forhim a moment beside her on the couch, while she made it up to him forher cross speeches, as she told him. 

"There, little mother, it is all done!" exclaimed Phillis, in a toneof triumph, as later on in the afternoon they returned to the cottage;but in spite of her bravado, both the girls looked terribly jaded, andNan especially seemed out of spirits; but then they had been round theLongmead garden, and had gathered some flowers in the conservatory, and this alone would have been depressing work to Nan. 

From that time they lived in a perpetual whirl, a bustle of activitythat grew greater; and not less, from day to day. Mrs. Challoner hadquietly but decidedly refused the Paines' invitation. Nan was right;nothing would have induced her to leave her girls in their trouble:she made light of their discomfort, forgot her invalid airs, andpersisted in fatiguing herself to an alarming extent. 

"You must let me do things; I should be wretched to sit with my handsbefore me, and not help you, " she said with tears in her eyes, andwhen they appealed in desperation to Dorothy, she took her mistress'sside:

"Working hurts less than worrying. Don't you be fretting about themistress too much, or watching her too closely. It will do her noharm, take my word for it. " And Dorothy was right. 

But there was one piece of work that Nan set her mother to do beforethey left the cottage. 

"Mother, " she said to her one day when they were alone together. "Mrs. Mayne will be wondering why you do not answer her letter. I think youhad better write, and tell her a little about things. We must not putit off any longer, or she will be hurt with us. " And Mrs. Challonervery reluctantly set about her unpleasant task. 

But, after all, it was Nan who furnished the greater part of thecomposition. Mrs. Challoner was rather verbose and descriptive in herstyle. Nan cut down her sentences ruthlessly, and so pruned andsimplified the whole epistle that her mother failed to trace her ownhandiwork: and at the last she added a postscript in her own prettyhandwriting. 

Mrs. Challoner was rather dissatisfied with the whole thing. 

"You have said so little, Nan! Mrs. Mayne will be quite affronted atour reticence. "

"What is the use of harrowing people's feelings?" was Nan's response. 

It was quite true she had dwelt as little as possible on theirtroubles. 

The few opening sentences had related solely to their friends'affairs. 

"You will be sorry to hear, " Mrs. Challoner wrote after this, "that Ihave met with some severe losses. I dare say Mr. Mayne will rememberthat my poor husband invested our little income in the business of hiscousin, Mark Gardiner. We have just heard the unwelcome news thatGardiner & Fowler have failed for a large amount. Under thesecircumstances, we think it more prudent to leave Glen Cottage as soonas possible, and settle at Hadleigh, where we have a small housebelonging to us called the Friary. Fortunately for us, Mr. Trinder hasfound us a tenant, who will take the remainder of the lease off ourhands. Do you remember Mr. Ralph Ibbetson, the Paines' cousin, thatrather heavy-looking young man, with reddish hair, who was engaged tothat pretty Miss Blake?--well, he has taken Glen Cottage; and I hopeyou will find them nice neighbors. Tell Dick he must not be too sorryto miss his old friends, but of course you will understand this is asad break to us. Settling down in a new place is never very pleasant;and as my girls will have to help themselves, and we shall all have tolearn to do without things, it will be somewhat of a discipline to us;but as long as we are together, we all feel, such difficulties can beeasily borne. 

"Tell Mr. Mayne that, if I had foreseen how things were to turn out, Iwould have conquered my indisposition, and not have forfeited my lastevening at Longmead. "

And in the postscript Nan wrote hurriedly, --

"You must not be too sorry for us, dear Mrs. Mayne, for mother is asbrave as possible, and we are all determined to make the best ofthings. 

"Of course it is very sad leaving dear Glen Cottage, where we havespent such happy, happy days; but, though the Friary is small, weshall make it very comfortable. Tell Dick the garden is a perfectwilderness at present, and that there are no roses, --only a splendidpassion-flower that covers the whole back of the house. "

Nan never knew why she wrote this. Was it to remind him vaguely thatthe time of roses was over, and that from this day things would bedifferent with them?

Nan was quite satisfied when she had despatched this letter. It toldjust enough, and not too much. It sorely perplexed and troubled Dick;and yet neither he nor his father had the least idea how things reallywere with the Challoners. 

"Didn't I tell you so, Bessie?" exclaimed Mr. Mayne, almost in a voiceof triumph, as he struck his hand upon the letter. "Paine was rightwhen he spoke of a shaky investment. That comes of women pretending tounderstand business. A pretty mess they seem to have made of it!"

"Mother, " said poor Dick, coming up to her when he found himself alonewith her for a moment, "I don't understand this letter. I cannot readbetween the lines, somehow, and yet there seems something more thanmeets the eye. "

"I am sure it is bad enough, " returned Mrs. Mayne, who had beenquietly crying over Nan's postscript. "Think of them leaving GlenCottage, and of these poor dear girls having to make themselvesuseful!"

"It is just that that bothers me so, " replied Dick, with a frowningbrow. "The letter tells us so little; it is so constrained in tone; asthough they were keeping something from us. Of course they havesomething to live upon, but I am afraid it is very little. "

"Very likely they will only have one servant, --just Dorothy and no oneelse; and the girls will have to help in the house, " returned hismother, thoughtfully. "That will not do them any harm, Dick: it alwaysimproves girls to make them useful. I dare say the Friary is a verysmall place, and then I am sure, with a little help, Dorothy will dovery well. "

"But, mother, " pleaded Dick, who was somewhat comforted by thissensible view of the matter, "do write to Nan or Phillis and beg ofthem to give us fuller particulars. " And, though Mrs. Mayne promisedshe would do so, and kept her word, Dick was not satisfied, but satdown and scrawled a long letter to Mrs. Challoner, so incoherent inits expressions of sympathy and regret that it quite mystified her;but Nan thought it perfect, and took possession of it, and read itevery day, until it got quite thin and worn. One sentence especiallypleased her. "I don't intend ever to cross the threshold of thecottage again, " wrote Dick: "in fact, Oldfield will be hateful withoutyou all. Of course I shall run down to Hadleigh at Christmas and lookyou up, and see for myself what sort of a place the Friary is. TellNan I will get her lots of roses for her garden so she need nottrouble about that; and give them my love, and tell them how awfullysorry I am about it all. "

Poor Dick! the news of his friends' misfortunes took off the edge ofhis enjoyment for a long time. Thanks to Nan's unselfishness, he didnot in the least realize the true state of affairs; nevertheless, hishonest heart was heavy at the thought of the empty cottage, and he wasquite right in saying Oldfield had grown suddenly hateful to him, and, though he kept these thoughts to himself as much as possible, Mr. Mayne saw that his son was depressed and ill at ease, and sent himaway to the Swiss Tyrol, with a gay party of young people, hoping afew weeks' change would put the Challoners out of his head. MeanwhileNan and her sisters worked busily, and their friends crowded roundthem, helping or hindering, according to their nature. 

On the last afternoon there was a regular invasion of the cottage. Thedrawing-room carpet was up, and the room was full of packing-cases. Carrie Paine had taken possession of one and her sister Sophy and LilyTwentyman had a turned-up box between them. Miss Sartoris and GussieScobell had wicker chairs. Dorothy had just brought in tea, and hadplaced before Nan a heterogeneous assemblage of kitchen cups andsaucers, mugs, and odds and ends of crockery, when Lady Fitzroyentered in her habit, accompanied by her sister, the Honorable MaudBurgoyne, both of whom seemed to enjoy the picnic excessively. 

"Do let me have the mug, " implored Miss Burgoyne: she was a prettylittle brunette with a _nez retrousse_. "I have never drunk out of onesince my nursery days. How cool it is, after the sunny roads! I thinkcarpets ought to be abolished in the summer. When I have a house of myown, Evelyn, I mean to have Indian matting and nothing else in thewarm weather. "

"I am very fond of Indian matting, " returned her sister, sipping hertea contentedly. "Fitzroy hoped to have looked in this afternoon, Mrs. Challoner, to say good-bye, but there is an assault-at-arms at theAlbert Hall, and he is taking my young brother Algernon to see it. Heis quite inconsolable at the thought of losing such pleasantneighbors, and sent all sorts of pretty messages, " finished LadyFitzroy, graciously. 

"Here is Edgar, " exclaimed Carrie Paine; "he told us that he meant toput in an appearance; but I am afraid the poor boy will find himself_de trop_ among so many ladies. "

Edgar was the youngest Paine, --a tall Eton boy, who looked as thoughhe would soon be too big for jackets, and an especial friend ofNan's. 

"How good of you to come and say good-bye, Gar!" she said summoninghim to her side, as the boy looked round him blushing and halfterrified. "What have you got there under your jacket?"

"It is the puppy I promised you, " returned Edgar, eagerly; "don't youknow?--Nell's puppy? Father said I might have it. " And he deposited afat black retriever puppy at Nan's feet. The little beast made aclumsy rush at her and then rolled over on its back. Nan took it upin high delight, and showed it to her mother. 

"Isn't it good of Gar, mother? and when we all wanted a dog so! Wehave never had a pet since poor old Juno died; and this will be such asplendid fellow when he grows up. Look at his head and curly blackpaws; and what a dear solemn face he has got!"

"I am glad you like him, " replied Edgar, who was now perfectly at hisease. "We have christened him 'Laddie:' he is the handsomest puppy ofthe lot, and our man Jake says he is perfectly healthy. " And then, asNan cut him some cake, he proceeded to enlighten her on the treatmentof this valuable animal. 

The arrival of "Laddie" made quite a diversion, and, when thegood-byes were all said, Nan took the little animal in her arms andwent with Phillis for the last time to gather flowers in the Longmeadgarden, and when the twilight came on the three girls went slowlythrough the village, bidding farewell to their old haunts. 

It was all very sad, and nobody slept much that night in the cottage. Nan's tears were shed very quietly, but they fell thick and fast. 

"Oh, Dick, it is hard--hard!" thought the poor girl, burying her facein the pillow; "but I have not let you know the day, so you will notbe thinking of us. I would not pain you for worlds, Dick, not morethan I can help. " And then she dried her eyes and told herself thatshe must be brave for all their sakes to-morrow; but, for all her goodresolutions, sleep would not come to her any more than it did toPhillis, who lay open-eyed and miserable until morning. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

"I MUST HAVE GRACE. "

When the Rev. Archibald Drummond was nominated to the living ofHadleigh in Sussex, it was at once understood by his family that hehad achieved a decided success in life. 

Hadleigh until very recently had been a perpetual curacy, and theperpetual curate in charge had lived in the large, shabby house withthe green door on the Braidwood Road, as it was called. There had beensome talk of a new vicarage, but as yet the first brick had not beenlaid, the building-committee had fallen out on the question of thesite, and nothing had been definitely arranged: there was a good dealof talk, too, about the church restoration, but at the present momentnothing had been done. 

Mr. Drummond had not been disturbed in his mind by the delay of thebuilding-committee in the matter of the new vicarage, but on the topicof the church restoration he had been heard to say very bitterthings, --far too bitter, it was thought, to proceed from the lips ofsuch a new-comer. It is not always wise to be outspoken, and when Mr. Drummond expressed himself a little too frankly on the ugliness of thesacred edifice, which until lately had been a chapel-of-ease, he hadcaused a great deal of dissatisfaction in the mind of his hearers; butwhen the young vicar, still strongly imbued with the beauties ofOxford architecture, had looked round blankly on the great square pewsand galleries, and then at the wooden pulpit, and the Ten Commandmentsthat adorned the east end, he was not quite so sure in his mind thathis position was as enviable as that of other men. 

Church architecture was his hobby, and, if the truth must be told, hewas a little "High" in his views; without attaching himself to theUltra-Ritualistic party, he was still strongly impregnated with manyof their ideas; he preferred Gregorian to Anglican chants, and wouldhave had no objection to incense if his diocesan could have beenbrought to appreciate it too. 

An ornate service was decidedly to his taste. It was, therefore, asevere mortification when he found himself compelled to ministerSunday after Sunday in a building that was ugly enough for aconventicle, and to listen to the florid voices of a mixed choir, instead of the orderly array of men and boys in white surplices towhich he had been accustomed. If he had been combative by nature, --onewho loved to gird his armor about him and to plunge into every sort of_melee_, --he would have rejoiced after a fashion at the thought of thework cut out for him, of bringing order and beauty out of this chaos;but he was by nature too impatient. He would have condemned anddestroyed instead of trying to renovate. 

"Why not build a new church at once?" he said, with a certain youthfulintolerance that made people angry. "Never mind the vicarage; the oldhouse will last my time: but a place like this--a rising place--oughtto have a church worthy of it. It will be money thrown away to restorethis one, " finished the young vicar, looking round him with sorelytroubled eyes; and it was this outspoken frankness that had lost himpopularity at first. 

But, if the new vicar had secret cause for discontent in the Drummondfamily there was nothing but the sweetness of triumph. 

"Archie has never given me a moment's trouble from his birth, " hisproud mother was wont to declare; and it must be owned that the youngman had done very fairly for himself. 

There had been plenty of anxiety in the Drummond household whileArchibald was enjoying his first Oxford term. Things had come to aclimax: his father, who was a Leeds manufacturer, had failed mostutterly, and to a large amount. The firm of Drummond & Drummond, onceknown as a most respectable and reliable firm, had come suddenly, butnot unexpectedly to the ground; and Archibald Drummond the elder hadbeen compelled to accept a managership in the very firm that, bycompetition and underselling, had helped to ruin him. 

It was a heavy trial to a man of Mr. Drummond's proud temperament; buthe went through with it in a tough, dogged way that excited his wife'sadmiration. True, his bread was bitter to him for a long time, and thesweetness of life, as he told himself, was over for him; but he had alarge family to maintain, sons and daughters growing up around him, and the youngest was not yet six months old; under such circumstancesa man may be induced to put his pride in his pocket. 

"Your father has grown quite gray, and has begun to stoop. It makes myheart quite ache to see him sometimes, " Mrs. Drummond wrote to hereldest son; "but he never says a word to any of us. He just goesthrough with it day after day. "

At that time Archie was her great comfort. He had begun to make hisown way early in life, understanding from the first that his parentscould do very little for him. He had worked well at school, and hadsucceeded in obtaining one or two scholarships. When his universitylife commenced, and the household at Leeds became straitened in theircircumstances, he determined not to encumber them with his presence. 

He soon became known in his college as a reading-man and a steadyworker; he was fortunate, too, in obtaining pupils for the longvacation. By and by he became a fellow and tutor of his college, andbefore he was eight-and-twenty the living of Hadleigh was offered tohim. It was not at all a rich living, --not being worth more than threehundred a year, --and some of his Oxford friends would have dissuadedhim from accepting it; but Archibald Drummond was not of theiropinion. Oxford did not suit his constitution; he was never wellthere. Sussex air, and especially the sea-side, would give him justthe tone he required. He liked the big old-fashioned house that wouldbe allotted to him. He could take pupils and add to his income in thatway; at present he had his fellowship. It was only in the event of hismarriage that his income might not be found sufficient. At the presentmoment he had no matrimonial intentions: there was only one thing onwhich he was determined, and that was, that Grace must live with himand keep his house. 

Grace was the sister next to him in age. Mattie, --or Matilda, as hermother often called her, --was the eldest of the family, and was twoyears older than Archibald. Between him and Grace there were twobrothers, Fred and Clyde, and beyond Grace a string of girls ending inDottie, who was not yet ten. Archibald used to forget their ages andmix them up in the most helpless way; he was never quite sure ifIsabel were eighteen or twenty, or whether Clara or Susie came next. He once forgot Laura altogether, and was only reminded of herexistence by the shock of surprise at seeing the awkward-looking, ungainly girl standing before him, looking shyly up in his face. 

Archibald was never quite alive to the blessing of having sevensisters, none of them with any pretension to beauty, unless it wereGrace, though he was obliged to confess on his last visit to Leedsthat Isabel was certainly passable-looking. He tried to take a properamount of interest in them and be serenely unconscious of their wantof grace and polish; but the effort was too manifest, and neitherClara nor Susie nor Laura regarded their grave elder brother with anylively degree of affection. Mrs. Drummond was a somewhat stern andexacting mother, but she was never so difficult to please as when hereldest son was at home. 

"Home is never so comfortable when Archie is in it, " Susie wouldgrumble to her favorite confidante, Grace. "Every one is obliged to beon their best behavior; and yet mother finds fault from morning tonight. Dottie is crying now because she has been scolded for comingdown to tea in a dirty pinafore. "

"Oh, hush, Susie dear! you ought not to say such things, " returnedGrace, in her quiet voice. 

Poor Grace! these visits of Archie were her only pleasures. Thebrother and sister were devoted to each other. In Archie's eyes notone of the others was to be compared to her; and in this he wasperfectly right. 

Grace Drummond was a tall, sweet-looking girl of two-and-twenty, --notpretty, except in her brother's opinion, but possessing a soft, faircomeliness that made her pleasant to look upon. In voice and mannershe was extremely quiet, --almost grave; and only those who lived withher had any idea of the repressed strength and energy of hercharacter, and the almost masculine clearness of intellect that layunder the soft exterior. One side of her nature was hidden from everyone but her brother, and to him only revealed by intermittent flashes, and that was the passionate absorption of her affection in him. To herparents she was dutiful and submissive, but when she grew up the yokeof her mother's will was felt to be oppressive. Her father's naturewas more in sympathy with her own; but even with him she was reticent. She was good to all her brothers and sisters, and especially devotedto Dottie; but her affection for them was so strongly pervaded byanxiety and the overweight of responsibility that its painsoverbalanced its pleasures. She loved them, and toiled in theirservice from morning to night; but as yet she had not felt herselfrewarded by any decided success. But in Archie her pride was equal toher love; she was critical, and her standard was somewhat high, but hesatisfied her. What other people recognized as faults, she regardedas the merest blemishes. Without being absolutely faultless, which wasof course impossible in a creature of flesh and blood, he was still asnear perfection, she thought, as he could be. Perhaps her affectionfor him blinded her somewhat, and cast a sort of loving glamour overher eyes; for it must be owned that Archibald was by no meansextraordinary in either goodness or cleverness. From a boy she hadwatched his career with dazzled eyes, rejoicing in every stroke ofsuccess that came to him as though it were her own. Her own life wasdull and laborious, spent in the overcrowded house in Lowder Street, but she forgot it in following his. Now and then bright days came toher, --few in number, but absolutely golden, when this dearly-lovedbrother came on a brief visit, --when they had snatches of delicioustalk in the empty school-room at the top of the house, or he took herout with him for a long, quiet walk. 

Mrs. Drummond always made some dry sarcastic remark when they came in, for she was secretly jealous of Archie's affection for Grace. Hers wasrather a monopolizing nature, and she would willingly have had thefirst share in her son's affections. It somewhat displeased her to seehim so wrapt up in the one sister to the exclusion of all the others, as she told him. 

"I think you might have asked Matilda or Isabel to accompany you. Thepoor girls never see anything of you, Archie, " she would sayplaintively to her son. But to Grace she would speak somewhat sharply, bidding her fulfil some neglected duty, which another could as wellhave performed, and making her at once understand by her manner thatshe was to blame in leaving Mattie at home. 

"Mother, " Archibald said to her one day, when she had spoken withunusual severity, and the poor girl had retreated from the room, feeling as though she had been convicted of selfishness, "we mustsettle the matter about which I spoke to you last night. I have beenthinking about it ever since. Mattie will not do at all. I must haveGrace!"

Mrs. Drummond looked up from her mending, and her thin lips settledinto a hard line that they always took when her mind was made up on adisagreeable subject. She had a pinafore belonging to Dottie in herhand; there was a jagged rent in it, and she sighed impatiently as sheput it down; though she was not a woman who shirked any of hermaternal duties, she had often been heard to say that her work wasnever done, and that her mending-basket was never empty. 

"But if I cannot spare Grace, " she said, rather shortly, as shemeditated another lecture to the delinquent Dottie. 

"But, mother, you must spare her!" returned her son, eagerly, leaninghis elbow on the mantelpiece, and watching her rapid manipulationswith apparent interest. "Look here; I am quite in earnest. I have setmy heart on having Grace. She is just the one to manage a clergyman'shousehold. She would be my right hand in the parish. "

"She is our right hand too, Archie; but I suppose we are to cut itoff, that it may benefit you and your parish. "

Mrs. Drummond seldom spoke so sharply to her eldest son; but thisrequest of his was grievous to her. 

"I think Grace ought to be considered, too, in the matter, " hereturned, somwhat sullenly. "She works harder than any paid governess, and gets small thanks for her trouble. "

"She does her duty, " returned Mrs. Drummond, coldly, --she very seldompraised any of her children, --"but not more than Mattie does hers. Youare prejudiced strongly against your sister, Archie; you are not fairto her in any way. Mattie is a capital little housekeeper. She iseconomical, and full of clever contrivances. It is not as though Iasked you to try Isabel. She is well enough, too, in her way, but alittle flighty, and rather too pretty, perhaps--" but here a laughfrom Archie grated on her ear. 

"Too pretty!--what an absurd idea! The girl is passable-looking, and Iwill not deny that she has improved lately; but, mother, there is notone of the girls that can be called pretty except Grace. "

Mrs. Drummond winced at her son's outspoken words. The plainness ofher daughters was a sore subject. 

She had never understood why her girls were so ordinary-looking. Shehad been a handsome girl in her time, and was still a fine-lookingwoman. Her husband, too, had had a fair amount of good looks, and, though he stooped, was still admirable in her eyes. The boys, too, were thoroughly fine fellows. Fred was decidedly handsome, and so wasClyde; and as for her favorite Archie, Mrs. Drummond glanced up at himas he stood beside her. 

He certainly looked a model young clergyman. His features were good, but the lower part of his face was quite hidden by the fair mustacheand the soft silky beard. He had thoughtful gray eyes, which couldlook as severe as hers sometimes; and, though his shoulders weresomewhat too sloping, there could be no fault found with his figure. He was as nice-looking as possible, she thought, and no mother couldhave been better satisfied. But why, with the exception of Grace andIsabel, were her girls so deficient in outward graces? It could not bedenied that they were very ordinary girls. Laura was overgrown andfreckled, and had red hair; Susie was sickly-looking, and soshort-sighted that they feared she would have to take to spectacles;and Clara was stolid and heavy-looking, one of those thick-set girlsthat dress never seems to improve. Dottie had a funny little face; butone could not judge of her yet. And Mattie, --Mrs. Drummond sighedagain as she thought of her eldest daughter, --Mattie was thirty; andher mother felt she would never marry. It was not that she was soabsolutely plain, --people who liked her said Mattie had a niceface, --but she was so abrupt, so uncouth in her awkwardness, such astranger to the minor morals of life, that it would be a wonder indeedif she could find favor in any man's eyes. 

"I do think you are too hard on your sisters, " returned Mrs. Drummond, stung by her son's remark. "Isabel was very much admired at her firstparty last week. Mrs. Cochrane told me so, and so did Miss Blair. " Shecould have added that her maternal interest had been strongly stirredby the mention of a certain Mr. Ellis Burton, who she had understoodhad paid a great deal of attention that evening to Isabel, and who wasthe eldest son of a wealthy manufacturer in Leeds. But Mrs. Drummondhad some good old-fashioned notions, and one of these was never tospeak on such delicate subjects as the matrimonial prospects of herdaughters: indeed, she often thanked heaven she was not a match-makingmother, --which was as well, under the circumstances. 

"Well, well, we are not talking about Isabel, " returned her son, impatiently. "The question is about Grace, mother. I really do wishvery much that you and my father would stretch a point for me here. Iwant her more than I can say. "

"But, Archie, you must be reasonable. Just think a moment. Your fathercannot afford to send the girls to school, or to pay for a goodfinishing governess. We have given Grace every advantage; and just asshe is making herself really useful to me in the school-room, you wantto deprive me of her services. "

"You know I offered to pay for Clara's schooling, " returned her son, reproachfully. "She is more than sixteen, is she not! Surely Mattiecould teach the others?"

But Mrs. Drummond's clear, concise voice interrupted him:

"Archie, how can you talk such nonsense? You know poor Mattie wasnever good at book-learning. She would hardly do for Dottie. AskGrace, if you doubt my word. "

"Of course I do not doubt it, mother, " in rather an aggravated voice, for he felt he was having the worst of the argument. 

"Then why do you not believe me when I tell you the thing you ask isimpossible?" replied his mother more calmly. "I am sorry for you ifyou are disappointed, Archie; but you undervalue Mattie, --you doindeed. She will make you a nice little housekeeper, and, though sheis not clever, she is so amiable that nothing ever puts her out; andvisiting the poor and sick-nursing are more in her line than inGrace's. Mrs. Blair finds her invaluable. She wanted her for one ofher district visitors, and I said she had too much to do at home. "

Archie shrugged his shoulders. Mrs. Blair was the wife of the vicar ofAll Saints', where the Drummonds attended, and from a boy she had beenhis pet aversion. She was a bustling, managing woman, and of courseMattie was just to her taste. He did not see much use in continuingthe conversation; with all his affection for his mother, --and she wasbetter loved by her sons than by her daughters, --he knew her to be asimmovable as a rock when she had once made up her mind. He thought atfirst of appealing to his father on Grace's behalf, but abandoned thisnotion after a few minutes' reflection. His father was decided andfirm in all matters relating to business, but for many years past hehad abandoned the domestic reins to his wife's capable hands. Perhapshe had proved her worth and prudence; perhaps he thought themanagement of seven daughters too much for any man. Anyhow, heinterfered less and less as the years went on; and if at any time hediffered from his wife, she could always talk him over, as her sonwell knew. 

When the subject had been first mooted in the household, he had said aword or two to his father, and had found him very reluctant toentertain the idea of parting with Grace. She was his favoritedaughter, and he thought how he should miss her when he came homeweary and jaded at night. 

"I don't think it will do at all, " he had said, in an undecideddissatisfied tone. "Won't one of the other girls serve your turn?There's Mattie, or that little monkey Isabel, she is as pert andlively as possible. But Grace; why, she is every one's right hand. What would the mother or the young ones do without her?"

No; it was no use appealing to his father, Archie thought, and mightonly make mischief in the house. He and Grace must make up their mindto a few more years' separation. He turned away after his mother'slast speech, and finally left the room without saying another word. There was a cloud on his face, and Mrs. Drummond saw that he was muchdispleased; but, though she sighed again as she took up a pair ofClyde's socks and inspected them carefully, there was no change in herresolution that Mattie, and not Grace, should go to the vicarage forthe year's visit that was all Archie had asked. 

There are mothers and mothers in this world, --some who are capable ofsacrificing their children to Moloch, who will barter their own fleshand blood in return for some barren heritage or other. There are thosewho will exact from those dependent on them heavy tithes of dailypatience and uncomplaining drudgery; while others, who are "mothersindeed" give all, asking for nothing in return. 

Mrs. Drummond was a good woman. She had many virtues and few faults. She was lady-like, industrious and self-denying in her own personalcomforts, an exemplary wife, and a tolerant mistress; but she wasbetter understood by her sons than by her daughters. 

Her maternal instincts were very strong, and no mother had moredelighted in her nursery than she had in hers. As long as there was ababy in the house the tenderness of her love was apparent enough. Shewore herself out tending her infants, and no one ever heard her say aharsh word in her nursery. 

But as her children grew up, there was much clashing of wills in thehousehold. Her sons did not fear her in the least; but with herdaughters it was otherwise. They felt the mother's strong willrepressive; it threatened to dwarf their individuality and cramp thatfree growth that is so necessary to young things. 

Dottie, who by virtue of being the last baby had had more than herfair amount of petting, was only just beginning to learn her lesson ofunquestioning obedience; and, as she was somewhat spoiled, her lessonwas hard one. But Laura and Susie and Clara had not yet found out thattheir mother loved them and wished to be their friend; they were timidand reserved with her, and took all their troubles to Grace. EvenMattie, who was her first-born, and who was old enough to be hermother's companion, quailed and blushed like a child under the drycaustic speeches at which Clyde and Fred only laughed. 

"You don't understand the mother. Her bark is worse than her bite, "Clyde would say to his sister sometimes. "She is an awfully cleverwoman, and it riles her to see herself surrounded by such a set ofninnies. Now, don't sulk, Belle. You know Mattie's a duffer comparedto Grace; aren't you, Matt?"

At which truism poor Mattie would hang her head. 

"Yes, Clyde; I know I am dreadfully stupid sometimes, and that makesmother angry. "

Mrs. Drummond often complained bitterly of her daughters' want ofconfidence in her, but she never blamed herself for the barrier thatseemed between them. She was forever asserting maternal authority, when such questions might have been safely laid to rest between herand her grown-up daughters. Mrs. Challoner's oneness of sympathy withher girls, her lax discipline, her perfect equality, would haveshocked a woman of Mrs. Drummond's calibre. She would not havetolerated or understood it for a moment. 

"My girls must do as I wish, " was a very ordinary speech in her mouth. "I always do as my girls wish, " Mrs. Challoner would have said. And, indeed, the two mothers were utterly dissimilar; but it may be doubtedwhether the Challoner household were not far happier than the familyin Lowder Street. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

"YOU CAN DARE TO TELL ME THESE THINGS. "

Archibald Drummond had left his mother's presence with a cloud on hisbrow. He had plenty of filial affection for her, but it was not thefirst time that he had found her too much for him. She had oftenangered him before by her treatment of Grace, but he had told himselfthat she was his mother, that a man could have but one, and so he hadbrought himself to forgive her. But this time she had set herselfagainst the cherished plan of years. He had always looked forward tothe time when he could have Grace to live with him; they had made allsorts of schemes together, and all their talk had concentrated itselftowards this point; the disappointment would place a sort of blanknessbefore them; they would be working separately, far away from eachother, and the distance would not be bridged for years. 

He stood for a moment in the dark, narrow hall, thinking intently overall this, and then he went slowly upstairs. He knew where he shouldfind Grace. His mother had paid an unwonted visit to the school-roomduring their walk, and on their return had expressed herself with somedegree of sharpness on the disorder she had found there. Grace wouldbe busily engaged in putting everything to rights. It was Clara'sbusiness, but she had gone out, and had, as usual, forgotten all aboutit. Grace had taken the blame upon herself, of course: she was alwaysshielding her younger sisters. 

Everything was done when he entered the room, and Grace was sitting bythe window, with her hands folded in her lap, indulging in a fewminutes' rare idleness. She looked up eagerly as her brother made hisappearance. 

The school-room was a large, bare-looking room at the top of thehouse, with two narrow windows looking out over a lively prospect ofroofs and chimney-pots. Mrs. Drummond had done her utmost to give itan air of comfort, but it was, on the whole, a dull, uncomfortableapartment, in spite of the faded Turkey carpet, and the curtains thathad once been so handsome, but had now merged into unwholesome neutraltints. 

Laura, who was the wit of the family, had nicknamed it the Hospital, for it seemed to be a receptacle for all the maimed and rickety chairsof the household, footstools in a dilapidated condition, and oddpieces of lumber that had no other place. Archibald regarded it with atroubled gaze; somehow, its dinginess had never before so impressedhim; and then as he looked at his sister the frown deepened on hisface. 

"Well, Archie?"

"Oh, Grace, it is no use! I have talked myself hoarse, but the motheris dead against it: one might as well try to move a rock. We shallhave to make up our minds to bear our disappointment as well as wecan. "

"I knew it was hopeless from the first, " returned Grace, slowly; but, as she spoke, a sort of dimness and paleness crept over her face, belying her words. 

She was young, and in youth hope never dies. Beyond the gray dailyhorizon there is always a possible gleam, a new to-morrow; youthabounds in infinite surprises, in probabilities which are as large asthey are vague. Grace told herself that she never hoped much fromArchie's mission; yet when he came to her with his ill successplainly stamped upon his countenance, the dying out of her dream wasbitter to her. 

"I knew it was hopeless from the first, " had been her answer, and thenbreath for further words failed her, and she sat motionless, with herhands clasped tightly together, while Archie placed himself on thewindow-seat beside her and looked out ruefully at the oppositechimneys. 

Well, it was all over, this dearly-cherished scheme of theirs; shemust go on now with the dull routine of daily duties, she must stoopher neck afresh to the yoke she had long found so galling; thisschool-room must be her world, she must not hope any longer for widervistas, for more expansive horizons, for tasks that should be morecongenial to her, for all that was now made impossible. 

Mattie, not she, must go and keep Archie's house, and here for amoment she closed her eyes, the pain was so bitter; she thought of theold vicarage, of the garden where she and Archie were to have worked, of the shabby old study where he meant to write his sermons, while shewas to sit beside him with her book or needlework, of the eveningswhen he had promised to read to her, of the walks they were to havetaken together, of all the dear delightful plans they had made. 

And now her mother had said them nay; it was Mattie who was to be hishousekeeper, who would sit opposite to him and pour out his coffee, who would mend his socks and do all the thousand-and-one things that awoman delights in doing for the mankind dependent on her for comfort. 

Mattie would visit his poor people, and teach in the schools, entertain his friends, and listen to his voice every Sunday; heretears slowly gathered under the closed eyelids. Yes, Mattie would doall that, but she would not be his chosen friend and companion; therewould be no long charming talks for her in the study or the sunnygarden; he would be as lonely, poor fellow, in his way as she would bein hers, and for this her mother was to blame. 

"Well, Gracie, haven't you a word to say?" asked her brother, at last, surprised at her long silence. 

"No, Archie; it does not bear talking about, " she returned, sopassionately that he turned round to look at her. "I must not eventhink of it. I must try and shut it all out of my mind, or I shall beno good to any one. But it is hard--hard!" with a quiver of her lip. 

"I call it a shame for my father and mother to sacrifice you in thisway!" he burst out, moved to bitter indignation at the sight of hertrouble. "I shall tell my father what I think about it prettyplainly!"

But this speech recalled Grace to her senses. 

"Oh, no, dear! you must do no such thing: promise me you will not. Itwould be no good at all; and it would only make mother so angry. Youknow he always thinks as she does about things, so it would be nouse. I suppose"--with an impatient sigh--"that I ought to feel myselfcomplimented at knowing I cannot be spared. Some girls would be proudto feel themselves their mother's right hand; but to me it does notseem much of a privilege. "

"Don't talk in that way, Grace: it makes me miserable to hear you. Iam more sorry for you than I am for myself, and yet I am sorry formyself too. If it were not that my mother would be too deeplyoffended, I would refuse to have Mattie at all. We never have got onwell together. She is a good little thing in her way, but herawkwardness and left-handed ways will worry me incessantly. And thenwe have not an idea in common----" but here Grace generouslyinterposed:

"Poor old fellow! as though I did not know all that; but you must notvent it on poor Mattie. She is not to blame for our disappointment. She would gladly give it up to me if she could. I know she will do herutmost to please you, Archie, and she is so good and amiable that youmust overlook her little failings and make the best of her. "

"It will be rather difficult work, I am afraid, " returned her brother, grimly. "I shall always be drawing invidious comparisons between youboth, and thinking what you would do in her place. "

"All the same you must try and be good to her for my sake, for I amvery fond of Mattie, " she returned, gently; but he could not helpfeeling gratified at the assurance that he would miss her. And thenshe put her hand on his coat-sleeve, and stroked it, a favorite caresswith her. "It does not bear talking about: does it, Archie? It onlymakes it feel worse. I think it must be meant as a discipline for me, because I am so wicked, and that it would not do at all for me to betoo happy. " And here she pressed his arm, and looked up in his face, with an attempt at a smile. 

"No, you are right: talking only makes it worse, " he returned, hurriedly; and then he stooped--for he was a tall man--and kissed heron the forehead just between her eyes, and then walked to the door, whistling a light air. 

Grace did not think him at all abrupt in thus breaking off theconversation. She had caught his meaning in a moment, and knew thewhole business was so painful to him that he did not care to dwell onit. When the tea-bell rang, she prepared herself at once to accompanyhim downstairs. 

It was Archibald's last evening at home, and all the family weregathered round the long tea-table. Since Mr. Drummond's misfortunes, late dinners had been relinquished, and more homely habits prevailedin the household. Mrs. Drummond had, indeed, apologized to her sonmore than once for the simplicity of their mode of life. 

"You are accustomed to a late dinner, Archie. I wish I could havemanaged it for you; but your father objects to any alteration beingmade in our usual habits. "

"He is quite right; and I should have been much distressed if you hadthought such alteration necessary, " returned her son, very muchsurprised at this reference to his father. For Mrs. Drummond rarelyconsulted her husband on such matters. In this case, however, she haddone so, and Mr. Drummond had been unusually testy--indeed, affronted--at such a question being put to him. 

"I don't know what you mean, Isabella, " he had replied; "but I supposewhat is good enough for me is good enough for Archie. " And then Mrs. Drummond knew she had made a mistake, for her husband had feltbitterly the loss of his late dinner. So Archie tried to fall in withthe habits of his family, and to enjoy the large plum or seed-cakethat invariably garnished the tea-table; and, though he ate butsparingly of the supper, which always gave him indigestion, Grace washis only confidante in the matter. Mr. Drummond, indeed, looked at hisson rather sharply once or twice, as though he suspected him offastidiousness. "I cannot compliment you on your appetite, " he wouldsay, as he helped himself to cold meat; "but perhaps our home fare isnot so tempting as Oxford living?"

"I always say your meat is unusually good, " returned Archibald, amicably. "If there be any fault, it is in my appetite; but thatHadleigh air will soon set right. " But, though he answered his fatherafter this tolerant fashion, he always added, in a mental aside, thatnine-o'clock suppers were certainly barbarous institutions, andpeculiarly deleterious to the constitution of an Oxford fellow. 

Mrs. Drummond looked at them both somewhat keenly as they entered. Inspite of her resolution, she was secretly uncomfortable at the thoughtthat Archie was displeased with her: her daughter's vexation was aburden that could be more easily borne; but her maternal heart yearnedfor some token that her boy was not estranged from her. But no suchconsolation was to be vouchsafed to her. She had kept his usual placevacant beside her; Archie showed no intention of taking it. He placedhimself by his father, and began talking to him of a change ofministry that was impending, and which would overthrow theConservative party. Mrs. Drummond, who was one of those women who cannever be made to take any interest in politics, was reduced to thenecessity of talking to Mattie in an undertone, for the other boysnever put in an appearance at this meal; but as she talked she tookstock of Grace's pale, abstracted looks as she sat with her platebefore her, not pretending to eat, and taking no notice of Susie andLaura, who chatted busily across her. 

It was not a festive meal; on the contrary, there was an unusual airof restraint over the whole party. The younger members feltinstinctively that there was something amiss. Archie looked decidedlyglum; and there was an expression on the mother's face that they werenot slow to interpret. No one could hear what it was she was saying toMattie that made her look so red and nervous all at once; butpresently she addressed herself abruptly to her husband:

"It is all settled, father. I have arranged with Archie that Matildashould go down to Hadleigh next month. "

Archie stroked his beard, but did not look up or make any remark, though poor Mattie looked at him beseechingly across the table, asthough imploring a word. His mother would carry her point; but hewould not pretend for a moment that he was otherwise than displeased, or that Mattie would be welcome. 

His silence attracted Mr. Drummond's attention. 

"Oh, what, you have settled it, you say? I hope you are satisfied, Archie, and properly grateful to your mother for sparing Mattie. Sheis to go for a year. Well, it will be a grand change for her. I shouldnot be surprised if you were to pick up a husband, Miss Mattie;" forMr. Drummond was a man who, in spite of his cares, was not without hisjoke; but, as usual, it was instantly frowned down by his wife:

"I wonder at you, father, talking such nonsense before the children. Why are you giggling, Laura? It is very unseemly and ill-behaved. Ihope no daughter of mine has such unmaidenly notions. Mattie is goingto Hadleigh to be a comfort to her brother, and to keep his house as aclergyman's house ought to be kept. "

"And you are satisfied, Archie?" asked Mr. Drummond, not quite pleasedat his wife's reprimand, and struck anew by his son's silence. 

"I consider these questions somewhat unnecessary. You know my wishes, sir, on the subject, and my mother also, " was the somewhatuncompromising remark; "but it appears that they are not to be met inthis instance. I hope Mattie will be comfortable and not miss hersisters;" but he did not look at the poor girl, and the tears cameinto her eyes. 

"Oh, Archie, I am so sorry! I never meant-----" she stammered; but hermother interrupted her:

"There is no occasion for you to be sorry about anything; you had farbetter be silent, Mattie. But you have no tact. Father, if you havefinished your tea, I suppose you and Archie are going out. " And thenArchie rose from the table, and followed his father out of the room. 

It was Isabel's business to put Dottie to bed. The other girls had toprepare their lessons for the next day, and went up to theschool-room. Mattie made some excuse, and went with them, and Mrs. Drummond and Grace were left alone. 

Grace had some delicate work to finish, and she placed herself by thelamp. Her mother had returned to her mending-basket; but as the doorclosed upon Mattie, she cleared her throat, and looked at herdaughter. 

"Grace, I must say I am surprised at you!"

"Why, mother?" But Grace did not look up from the task she was runningwith such fine even stitches. 

"I am more than surprised!" continued Mrs. Drummond, severely. "I amdisappointed to see in what a bad spirit you have received mydecision. I did not think a daughter of mine would have been so blindto her sense of duty!"

"I have said nothing to make you think that. "

"No, you have said nothing, but looks can be eloquent sometimes. I amnot speaking of Archie, though I can see he is put out too, for he isa man, and men are not always reasonable; but that you should placeyourself in such silent opposition to my wishes, it is that thatshocks me. "

There was an ominous sparkle in Grace's gray eyes, and then shedeliberately put down her work on the table. She had hoped that hermother would have been contented with her victory, and not have spokento her on the subject. But if she were so attacked, she would at leastdefend herself. 

"You have no right to speak to me in this way, mother!"

"No right, Grace?" Mrs. Drummond could hardly believe her ears. Neveronce had a daughter of hers questioned her right in anything. 

"No; for I have said nothing to bring all this upon me! I have beenperfectly quiet, and have tried to bear the bitterness of mydisappointment as well as I could. No one is answerable for theirlooks, and I, at least, will not plead guilty on that score. "

"Grace, you are answering me very improperly. "

"I cannot say that I think so, mother. I would have been silent, ifyou had permitted such silence; but when you drive me to speech, Imust say what I feel to be the truth, --that I have not been welltreated in this matter. "

"Grace!" And Mrs. Drummond paused in awful silence. Never before had arecusant daughter braved her to her face. 

"I have not been well treated, " continued Grace, firmly, "in a thingthat concerns me more than any one else. I have not even beenconsulted. You have arranged it all, mother, without reference to meor my feelings. Perhaps I ought to be grateful for being spared sopainful a decision; but I think such a decision should have beenpermitted to me. "

"You can dare to tell me such things to my very face!"

"Why should I not tell them?" returned Grace, meeting her mother'sangry glance unflinchingly. "It seems to me that one should speak thetruth to one's mother. You have treated me like a child; and I have aright to feel sore and indignant. Why did you not put the whole thingbefore me, and tell me that you and my father did not see how youcould spare me? Do you really believe that I should have been sowanting to my sense of duty as to follow my own pleasure?"

"Grace, I insist upon your silence! I will not discuss the matter withyou. "

"If you insist upon silence, you must be obeyed, mother: but it is youwho have raised the question between us. But when you attack meunjustly, I must defend myself. "

"You are forgetting yourself strangely. Your words are mostdisrespectful and unbecoming in a daughter. You tell me to my facethat I am unjust--I, your mother--because I have been compelled tothwart your wishes. "

"No, no--not because of that!" returned Grace, in a voice ofpassionate pain; "why will you misunderstand me so?--but because youhave no faith in me. You treat me like a child. You dispute myprivilege to decide in a matter that concerns my own happiness. Youbid me work for you, and you give me no wage--not a word of praise;and because I remonstrate for once in my life, you insist on mysilence. "

"It seems that I am not to be obeyed. "

"Oh, yes; you will be obeyed, mother. After to-night I will not openmy lips to offend you again. If I have said more than I ought to havesaid as a daughter, I will ask your pardon now; but I cannot take backone of my words. They are true, --true!"

"I must say your apology is tardy, Grace. "

"Nevertheless, it is an apology; for, though you have hurt me, I mustnot forget you are my mother. I know my life will be harder afterthis, because of what I have said; and yet I would not take back oneof my words!"

"I am more displeased with you than I can say, " returned her mother, taking up her neglected work; and her mouth looked stern and hard. 

Never had her aspect been so forbidding, and yet never had herdaughter feared her less. 

"Then, if you are displeased with me, I will go away, " replied Grace, moving from her seat with gentle dignity. "I wish you had notcompelled me to speak, mother, and then I should not have offendedyou: but as it is there is no help for it. " And then she gathered upher work and walked slowly out of the room. 

Mrs. Drummond sat moodily in the empty room that had somehow neverseemed so empty before. Her attitude was as rigid and uncompromisingas usual; but there was a perplexed frown on her brow. For the firsttime in her life one of her girls had dared to assert her own will andto speak the truth to her; and she was utterly nonplussed. It was nottoo much to say that she had received a blow. Her justice and sense offairness had been questioned, --her very maternal authorityimpugned, --and that by one of her own children! Mattie, who was eightyears older, would not have ventured to cross her mother's will. Grace had so dared; and she was bitterly angry with her. And yet shehad never so admired her before. 

How honestly and bravely she had battled for her rights! her gray eyeshad shone with fire, her pale cheeks had glowed with the passion ofher words: for once in her life the girl had looked superblyhandsome. 

"You have no faith in me; you treat me like a child. " Well, she wasright; it was no child, it was a proud woman who was flinging thosehard words at her. For the first time Mrs. Drummond recognized thepossibility of a will as strong as her own. In spite of all herauthority, Grace had been a match for her mother: Mrs. Drummond knewthis, and it added fuel to her bitterness. 

"I know my life will be harder for what I have said. " Ah, Grace wasright there; it would be long before her mother would forgive her forall those words, true as they were; and yet in her heart she had neverso feared and admired her daughter. Grace went up to her own room, where Dottie was asleep in a little bed very near her sister's: it wasdark and somewhat cold, but the atmosphere was less frigid than theparlor downstairs. Grace's frame was trembling with the force of heremotion; her face was burning, and her hands cold. It was restful andsoothing to put down her aching head on the hard window-ledge andclose her eyes and think out the pain! It seemed hours before Isabelcame to summon her to supper, but she made an excuse that she was nothungry, and refused to go downstairs. 

"But you ate nothing at tea, and your head is aching!" persistedIsabel, who was a bright, good-natured girl, and, in spite of Archie'sstrictures, decidedly pretty. "Do let me bring you something. Motherwill not know. "

But Grace refused: she could not eat, and the sight of food woulddistress her. 

"Why not go to bed at once, then?" suggested Isabel, --which wascertainly sensible counsel. But Grace demurred to this; she knewArchie would be up presently to say good-night to her: so, when Isabelhad gone, she lighted the candle, shading it carefully from Dottie'seyes, and then she bathed her hot face, and smoothed her hair, andtook up her work again. 

Archie found her quite calm and busy, but he was not so easilydeceived. 

"Now, Gracie, you have got one of your headaches: it is thedisappointment and the bother, and my going away to-morrow. Poorlittle Gracie!"

"Oh, Archie, I feel as though I shall never miss you so much!"exclaimed the poor girl, throwing down her work and clinging to him. "When shall I see your dear face again?--not until Christmas?"

"And not then, I expect. I shall most likely run down some time inJanuary, and then I shall try hard to take you back with me, just fora visit. Mattie will be dull, and wanting to see some of you, and Iwill not have one of the others until you have been. "

"I don't believe mother will spare me even for that, " returned Grace, with a sudden conviction that her mother's memory was retentive, andthat she would be punished in that way for her sins of this evening;"but promise me, Archie, that you will come, if it be only for a fewdays. "

"Oh, I will promise you that. I cannot last longer without seeing you, Grace!" And he stroked her soft hair as she still clung to him. 

The next day Archibald bade his family good-bye: his manner had notchanged toward his mother, and Mrs. Drummond thought his kissdecidedly cold. 

"You will be good to Mattie, and try to make the poor girl happy; youwill do at least as much as this, " she said, detaining him as he wasturning from her to see Grace. 

"Oh, yes, I will be good to her, " he returned, indifferently, "but Icannot promise that she will not find her life dull. " And then he tookGrace in his arms, and whispered to her to be patient, and that allwould be well one day; and Mrs. Drummond, though she did not hear thewhisper, saw the embrace and the long lingering look between thebrother and sister, and pressed her thin lips together and went backto her parlor and mending-basket, feeling herself an unhappy mother, whose love was not requited by her children, and disposed to be harderthan ever towards Grace, who had inflicted this pain on her. 

CHAPTER XV. 

A VAN IN THE BRAIDWOOD ROAD. 

One bright July morning, Mattie Drummond walked rapidly up theBraidwood Road, and, unlatching the green door in the wall, letherself into the large square hall of the vicarage. This morning itlooked invitingly cool, with its summer matting and big wicker-workchairs; but Mattie was in too great haste to linger; she only stoppedto disencumber herself of the various parcels with which she wasladened, and then she knocked at the door of her brother's study, and, without waiting for the reluctant "Come in" that always answered herhasty rap, burst in upon him. 

It was now three months since Mattie had entered upon her new duties, and it must be confessed that Archie's housekeeper had rather a hardtime of it. As far as actual management went, Mattie fully justifiedher mother's eulogiums in her household arrangements: she was orderlyand methodical, --far more so than Grace would have been in her place;the meals were always punctual and well served, the domestic machineryworked well and smoothly. Archie never had to complain of a missingbutton or a frayed wrist-band. Nevertheless, Mattie's presence at thevicarage was felt by her brother as a sore burden. There was nothingin common between them, nothing that he cared to discuss with her, oron which he wished to know her opinion; he was naturally a frank, outspoken man, one that demanded sympathy from those belonging to him;but with Mattie he was reticent, and as far as possible restrained inspeech. 

One reason for this might be that Mattie, with all her virtues, --andshe was really a most estimable little person, --was sadly deficient intact. She never knew when she was treading on other people's petprejudices. She could not be made to understand that her presence wasnot always wanted, and that it was as well to keep silence sometimes. 

She would intrude her advice when it was not needed, in hergood-natured way; she had always interfered with everything andeverybody. "Meddlesome Mattie" they had called her at home. 

She was so wonderfully elastic, too, in her temperament, that nothinglong depressed her. She took all her brother's snubbings in excellentpart: if he scolded her at dinner-time, and made the ready tears cometo her eyes, --for it was not the least of Mattie's sins that she criedeasily and on every possible occasion, --she had forgotten it bytea-time, and would chatter to him as happily as ever. 

She was just one of those persevering people who seem bound to besnubbed; one cannot help it. It was as natural to scold Mattie as itwas to praise other people; and yet it was impossible not to like thelittle woman, though she had no fine feelings, as Archie said, and wasnot thin-skinned. Grace always spoke a good word for her; she was verykind to Mattie in her way, --though it must be owned that she showedher small respect as an elder sister. None of her brothers and sistersrespected Mattie in the least; they laughed at her, and took libertieswith her, presuming largely on her good nature. "It is only Mattie;nobody cares what she thinks, " as Clyde would often say. "Matt theMuddler, " as Frederick named her. 

"I wonder what Mattie would say if any one ever fell in love withher?" Grace once observed in fun to Archie. "Do you know, I think shewould be all her life, thanking her husband for the unexpected honorhe had done her, and trying to prove to him that he had not made sucha great mistake, after all. "

"Mattie's husband! He must be an odd sort of person, I should think. "And then Archie laughed, in not the politest manner. Certainly Mattiewas not appreciated by her family. She was not looking her best thismorning when she went into her brother's study. She wore theoffending plaid dress, --a particular large black-and-white check thathe thought especially ugly. Her hat-trimmings were frayed, and thestraw itself was burnt brown by the sun, and her hair was ill arrangedand rough, for she never wasted much time on her own person, and, tocrown the whole, she looked flushed and heated. 

Archie, who was sitting at his writing-table in severely-cutecclesiastical garments, looking as trim and well-appointed a youngclergyman as one might wish to see, might be forgiven for the tone ofill-suppressed irritation with which he said, --

"Oh, Mattie! what a figure you look! I am positively ashamed that anyone should see you. That hat is only fit to frighten the birds. "

"Oh, it will do very well for the mornings, " returned Mattie, perfectly undisturbed at these compliments. "Nobody looks at me: sowhat does it matter?" But this remark, which she made in allsimplicity, only irritated him more. 

"If you have no proper pride, you might at least consider my feelings. Do you think a man in my position likes his sister to go about like anold beggar-woman? You are enough to try any one's patience, Mattie;you are, indeed!"

"Oh, never mind me and my things, " returned Mattie coaxingly; "anddon't go on writing just yet, " for Archie had taken up his pen againwith a great show of being busy. "I want to tell you something that Iknow will interest you. There are some new people come to theFriary. "

"What on earth do you mean?--what Friary? I am sure I never heard ofsuch a place. "

"Dear me, Archie, how cross you are this morning!" observed Mattie, ina cheerful voice, as she fidgeted the papers on the table. "Why, theFriary is that shabby little cottage just above us, --not a stone'sthrow from this house. "

"Indeed? Well, I cannot say I am much interested in the movements ofmy neighbors. I am not a gossip like you, Mattie!"--another fling atpoor Mattie. "I wish you would leave those papers alone. You know Inever allow my things to be tidied, as you call it, and I am reallyvery busy just now. I am in the middle of accounts, and I have towrite to Grace and----"

"Well, I thought you would like to know. " And Mattie looked rathercrestfallen and disappointed. "You talked so much about those youngladies some weeks ago, and seemed quite sorry not to see them again;and now----" but here Archie's indifference vanished, and he looked upeagerly. 

"What young ladies? Not those in Milner's Library, who asked about thedressmaker?"

"The very same, " returned his sister, delighted at this change ofmanner. "Oh, I have so much to tell you that I must sit down, "planting herself comfortably on the arm of an easy-chair near him. Another time Archie would have rebuked her for her unlady-likeattitude, and told her, probably, that Grace never did such things;but now his interest was so excited that he let it pass for once. Heeven suffered her to take off her old hat and deposit it unreproved onthe top of his cherished papers. "I was over at Crump's this morning, to speak to Bobbie about weeding the garden, when I was surprised tosee a railway-van unloading furniture at the Friary. "

"What an absurd name!" _sotto voce_ from Archie: but he offered nofurther check to Mattie's gossip. 

"I asked Mrs. Crump, as a matter of course, the name of the newpeople; and she said it was Challoner. There was a mother and threedaughters, she believed. She had seen two of them, --pretty, nice-spoken young creatures, and quite ladies. They had been downbefore to see the cottage and to have it done up. It looks quite adifferent place already, --nicely painted, and the shrubs trimmed. Thedoor was open, and as I stood at Mrs. Crump's window, peeping betweenher geraniums, I saw such a respectable gray-haired woman, like anupper servant, carrying something into the house; and a moment afterone of those young ladies we saw in the Library--not the pretty one, but the other--came to the door and spoke to the men. "

"Are you sure you did not make a mistake, Mattie?" asked her brother, incredulously. "You are very short-sighted: perhaps you did not seecorrectly. How can those stylish-looking girls live in such a shabbyplace? I can hardly believe it possible. "

"Oh, it was the same, I am positive about that. She was in the samecambric dress you admired. I could see distinctly. I watched her for along time; and then the pretty one came out and joined her. She ispretty, Archie, she has such a lovely complexion. "

"But are they poor?--they don't look so. What on earth can it mean?"he asked, in a perplexed voice; but Mattie only shook her head, andwent on:

"We must find out all about them by and by. They are worth knowing, Iam sure of that. Poor?--well, they cannot be rich, certainly, to livein the Friary; but they are gentle-people, one can see that in amoment. "

"Of course! who doubted it?" was the somewhat impatient answer. 

"Well, but that is not all, " went on Mattie, too delighted with herbrother's interest to try to curtail her story. "Of course I could notstand long watching them, so I did my errand and came away; and then Imet Miss Middleton, and we walked down to the Library together tochange those books. Miss Milner was talking to some ladies when wefirst went in and, as Miss Masham was not in the shop, we had to waitour turn, so I had a good look at them. The elder one was such apretty, aristocratic-looking woman, --a little too languid, perhapsfor my taste; and the younger one was a little like Isabel, onlynicer-looking. I shouldn't have stared at them so much, --at least, Iam afraid I stared, " went on Mattie, forgetting for the moment howoften she had been taken to task for this very thing, --"but somethingMiss Milner said attracted my attention, 'I am not to send it to theFriary, then, ma'am?' 'Well, no, ' the lady returned, ratherhesitatingly. She had such a nice voice and manner, Archie. 'Myyoungest daughter and I are at Beach House at present; I am rather aninvalid, and the bustle would be too much for me. Dulce, we had betterhave these things sent to Beach House. ' And then the young ladystanding by her said, 'Oh, yes, mother; we shall want them thisevening. ' And then they went out. "

"There is a third sister, then?" observed Archie, not pretending todisguise his interest in Mattie's recital. 

"Yes, there is a third one: she is certainly a little like Isabel; shehas a dimple like hers, and is of the same height. I asked MissMilner, when they were out of hearing, if their name were Challoner, and if they were the new people who were coming to live at the emptycottage on the Braidwood Road. I thought she did not seem muchdisposed to give me information. Yes, their name was Challoner, andthey had taken the Friary; but they were quite strangers in the town, and no one knew anything about them. And then Miss Middleton chimedin; she said her father had noticed the young ladies some weeks ago, and had called her attention to them. They were very pretty girls, andhad quite taken his fancy; he had not forgotten them, and had spokenof them that very morning. She supposed Mrs. Challoner must be awidow, and not very well off: did Miss Milner know. Would you believeit, Archie? Miss Milner got quite red, and looked confused. You knowhow she enjoys a bit of gossip generally; but the questions seemed totrouble her. 'They were not at all well off, she knew that, but niceryoung ladies she had never seen, or wished to see; and she hoped everyone would be kind to them, and not forget they were real born ladies, in spite of----' And here the old thing got more confused than ever, and came to a full stop, and begged to know how she could serve us. "

"It is very strange, --very strange indeed, " returned her brother, in ameditative voice; but, as Mattie had nothing more to tell him, he didnot discuss the matter any further, only thanked her for her news, andcivilly dismissed her on the plea that his business was at astand-still. 

But he did not resume his accounts for sometime after he was leftalone. Instead of doing so, he walked to the window and looked out ina singularly absent manner. Mattie's news was somewhat exciting. Theidea of having such pleasant neighbors located within a stone's throwof the vicarage was in itself disturbing to the imagination of a youngman of eight-and-twenty, even though a clergyman. And then, it must beconfessed, Nan's charming face and figure had never been forgotten:he had looked out for the sisters many times since his chanceencounter with Phillis, and had been secretly disappointed at theirtotal disappearance. And now they proved not mere visitors, butpositively inhabitants of Hadleigh. He would meet them every day; and, as there was but one church in the place, they would of course benumbered among his flock. As their future clergyman he would have aright of entrance to the cottage. 

"How soon do you think we ought to call upon them, Mattie?" he asked, when he was seated opposite to his sister at the luncheon-table. Theaccounts had not progressed very favorably, and the letter to Gracewas not yet commenced. Mattie's news had been a sad interruption tohis morning's work. 

"Whom do you mean, Archie, " she returned, a little bewildered at thisabrupt remark; and then, as he frowned at her denseness, she bethoughtherself of the new people. It was not often Archie asked her adviceabout anything, but on this occasion the young vicar felt himselfincompetent to decide. 

"I suppose you mean the new folk at the Friary, " she continued, carelessly. "Oh, they are only moving in to-day, and they will be in amuddle for a week, I should think. I don't think we can intrude forten days or so. "

"Not if you think it will be intrusive, " he returned, ratheranxiously; "but they are strangers in the place, and all ladies--theredoes not seem to be a man belonging to them--would it not beneighborly, as we live so close, just to call, not in a formal way, you know, but just to volunteer help? There are little things youcould do for them, Mattie; and, as a clergyman, they could not regardmy visit as an intrusion, I should think. Do you not agree with me?"looking at his sister rather gravely. 

"Well, I don't know, " replied Mattie, bluntly: "I should not care forstrangers prying into my concerns, if I were in their place. And yet, as you say, we are such close neighbors, and one would like to be kindto the poor things, for they must be lonely, settling in a strange newplace. I'll tell you what, Archie, " as his face fell at thismatter-of-fact speech: "it is Thursday, and they will be sure to be atchurch on Sunday; we shall see them there, and that will be an excusefor us to call on Monday. We can say then that we are neighbors, andthat we would not wait until they were all in order. We can offer tosend them things from the vicarage, or volunteer help in many littleways. I think that would be best. "

"Yes, perhaps you are right, and we will wait until Monday, " returnedArchie, taking off his soft felt hat. "Now I must go on my rounds, andnot waste any more time chattering. " But, though he spoke with unusualgood nature, he did not invite Mattie to be his companion, and thepoor little woman betook herself to the solitary drawing-room and someplain sewing for the rest of the afternoon. 

The young clergyman stood for a moment irresolutely at the green door, and cast a longing glance in the direction of the Friary, where thevan was still unloading, and then he bethought himself that, thoughMattie had given orders about the weeding of the garden-paths, itwould be as well to speak to Crump about the wire fence that waswanted for the poultry-yard; and as soon as he had made up his mind onthis point he walked on briskly. 

The last piece of furniture had just been carried in; but, as Mr. Drummond was picking his way through the straw and debris thatlittered the side-path, two girlish figures came out of the doorwayfull upon him. 

He raised his hat involuntarily, but they drew back at once, and, ashe went out, confused at this sudden rencontre, the sound of a lightlaugh greeted his ear. 

"How annoying that we should always be meeting him!" observed Nan, innocently. "Don't laugh, Phillis: he will hear you. "

"My dear, it must be fate, " returned Phillis solemnly. "I shall thinkit my duty to warn Dick if this goes on. " But, in spite of hermischievous speech, she darted a quick, interested look after thehandsome young clergyman as he walked on. Both the girls stood in theporch for some minutes after they had made their retreat. They hadcome out to cool themselves and to get a breath of air, until a Julysun and Mr. Drummond's sudden appearance defeated their intention. They had no idea that they were watched from behind the screeninggeraniums in Mrs. Crump's window. Both of them were enveloped inDorothy's bib-aprons, which hid their pretty rounded figures. Phillis's cheeks were flushed, and her arms were bare to the dimpledelbows; and Nan's brown hair was slightly dishevelled. 

"We look just like cooks!" exclaimed Phillis, regarding her coarseapron with disfavor; but Nan stretched her arms with a littleindifference and weariness. 

"What does it matter how we look, --like cooks or housemaids? I amdreadfully tired; but we must go in and work, Phil. I wonder what hasbecome of Dulce?" And then the charming vision disappeared from theyoung clergyman's eyes, and he was free to fix his mind on the wirefence that was required for the poultry-yard. 

As soon as he had accomplished his errand he set his face towards thevicarage, for he made up his mind suddenly that he would call on theMiddletons, and perhaps on Mrs. Cheyne. The latter was a duty that heowed to his pastoral conscience; but there was no need for him to goto the Middletons'. Nevertheless, the father and daughter were hismost intimate friends, and on all occasions he was sure of MissMiddleton's sympathy. They lived at Brooklyn, --a low white house alittle below the vicarage. It was a charming house, he always thought, so well arranged and well managed; and the garden--that was thecolonel's special hobby--was as pretty as a garden could be. Thedrawing-room looked shady and comfortable, for the French windowsopened into a cool veranda, fitted up with flower-baskets and wickerchairs; and beyond lay the trim lawn, with beds of blazing verbenasand calceolarias. Miss Middleton's work-table was just within one ofthe windows; but the colonel, in his gray summer suit, reclined in alounging-chair in the veranda. He was reading the paper to hisdaughter, and was just in the middle of last night's debate;nevertheless, he threw it aside, well pleased at the interruption. 

"I knew how I should find you occupied, " observed Mr. Drummond, as heexchanged a smile with Miss Middleton. He was fully aware thatpolitics were not to her taste, and yet every afternoon she listenedto such reading, well content even with the sound of her father'svoice. 

Elizabeth Middleton was certainly a charming person. Phillis hadcalled her the "gray-haired girl, " and the title suited her. She wasnot a girl by any means, having reached her six-and-thirtieth year;but her hair was as silvery as an old woman's, gray and plentiful, andsoft as silk, and contrasted strangely with her still youthful face. 

Without being handsome, Elizabeth Middleton was beautiful. Herexpression was sweet and restful, and attracted all hearts. People whowere acquainted with her said she was the happiest creature theyknew, --that she simply diffused sunshine by her mere presence; such acontrast, they would add, to her neighbor Mrs. Cheyne, who bore allher troubles badly and was of a proud, fretful disposition. But thenMrs. Cheyne had lost her husband and her two children, and led such asad, lonely life; and no such troubles had fallen to Miss Middleton. 

Elizabeth Middleton could afford to be happy, they said, for she wasthe delight of her father's eyes. Her young half-brother, Hammond, whowas with his regiment in India, was not nearly so dear to the old man;and of course that was why she had never married, that her father'shouse might not be left desolate. 

This is how people talked; but not a single person in Hadleigh knewthat Elizabeth Middleton had had a great sorrow in her life. 

She had been engaged for some years most happily, and with herfather's consent, to one of his brother officers. Captain Sedgwick wasof good family, but poor; and they were waiting for his promotion, forat that time Colonel Middleton would have been unable to give hisdaughter any dowry. Elizabeth was young and happy, and she couldafford to wait. No girl ever gloried in her lover more than she did inhers. Capel Sedgwick was not only brave and singularly handsome, buthe bore a reputation through the whole regiment for having a higherstandard of duty than most men. 

Promotion came at last, and, just as Elizabeth was gayly makingpreparations for her marriage, fatal tidings were brought to her. Major Sedgwick had gone to visit an old servant in the hospital whohad been struck down with cholera; he had remained with him some time, and on his return to his bungalow the same fell disease had attackedhim, and before many hours were over he was dead. The shock was aterrible one; in the first moments of her bitter loss, Elizabeth criedout that her misery was too great, --that all happiness was over forher in this world, and that she only prayed that she might be buriedin the same grave with Capel. 

The light had not yet come to the poor soul that felt itself afflictedpast endurance and could find no reason for such pain. It could not besaid that Elizabeth bore her trouble better than other girls wouldhave borne theirs under like circumstances. She fretted and grew thin, and dashed herself wildly against the inevitable, only reproachingherself for her selfishness and want of submission when she looked ather father's care-worn face. 

But then came a time when light and peace revisited the wreckedheart, --when confused reasonings no longer beset the poor weak brainand filled it with dismay and doubt, --when the Divine will became herwill, and there was no longer submission, but a most joyful surrender. And no one, and least of all she herself, knew when the darkness wasvanquished by that clear uprising of pure radiance, or how thosebrooding wings of peace settled on her soul. From that time, everyhuman being that came within her radius was welcome as a new object oflove. To give and yet to give, and never to be satisfied, was a dailynecessity of life to Elizabeth. "Now there is some one more to love, "she would say to herself, when a new acquaintance was brought to her;and, as the old adage is true that tells us love begets love, therewas no more popular person in Hadleigh than Elizabeth Middleton. Shehad something to say in praise of every one; not that she was blind tothe faults of her neighbors, but she preferred to be silent and ignorethem. 

And she was especially kind to Mattie. In the early days of theirintimacy, the young vicar would often speak to her of his sister Graceand lament their enforced separation from each other. Miss Middletonlistened sympathetically, with the same sweet attention that she gaveto every man, woman, and child that laid claim to it; but once, whenhe had finished, she said, rather gravely, --

"Do you know, Mr. Drummond, that I think your mother was right?"

"Right in dooming Grace to such a life?" he said, pausing in uttersurprise at her remark. 

"Pardon me; it is not her mother who dooms her, " returned MissMiddleton, quickly, "but duty, --her own sense of right, --everythingthat is sacred. If Mrs. Drummond had not decided that she could not bespared, I am convinced from all you tell me, that Grace would stillhave remained at home: her conscience would have been too strong forher. "

"Well, perhaps you are right, " he admitted, reluctantly. "Grace is anoble creature, and capable of any amount of self-sacrifice. "

"I am sure of it, " returned Miss Middleton, with sparkling eyes. "HowI should like to know her! it would be a real pleasure and privilege;but I am very fond of your sister Mattie, too. "

"Fond of Mattie!" It was hardly brotherly, but he could not help thatincredulous tone in his voice. How could such a superior woman as MissMiddleton be even tolerant of Mattie?

"Oh, yes, " she replied, quite calmly; "I have a great respect for yoursister. She is so unselfish and amiable, and there is something sogenuine in her. Before everything one wants truth, " finishedElizabeth, taking up her work. 

Now, as the young clergyman entered the room, she stretched out herhand to him with her usual beaming smile. 

"This is good of you, to come so soon again, " she said, making roomfor him between her father and herself. "But why have you not broughtMattie?" and Archie felt as though he had received a rebuke. 

"She is finishing some work, " he returned, a little confused; "thatis, what you ladies call work. It is not always necessary for theclergywoman to pay visits, is it?"

"The clergywoman, as you call her, is doing too much. I was scoldingher this morning for not sparing herself more: I thought she was notlooking quite well, Mr. Drummond. "

"Oh, Mattie is well enough, " he replied, carelessly. He had not cometo talk about his sister: a far more interesting subject was in hismind. "Do you know, colonel, " he went on, with some animation, "thatyou and I have new neighbors? Do you remember the young ladies in theblue cambric dresses?" And at this question the colonel threw asidehis paper at once. 

"Elizabeth has been telling me. I remember the young ladies perfectly. I could not help noticing them. They walked so well, --heads up, and asneat and trim as though they were on parade; pretty creatures, both ofthem. Elizabeth pretends not to be interested, but she is quiteexcited. Look at her!"

"Nay, father, it is you who can talk of nothing else; but it will bevery nice to have such pleasant neighbors. How soon do you think wemay call on them?"

And then Archie explained, with some little embarrassment, that he andMattie thought of calling the following Monday and offering theirservices. 

"That is very thoughtful of Mattie. She is such a kind-hearted littlecreature, and is always ready to serve everybody. "

And then they entered into a discussion on the new-comers that lastedso long that the tea-things made their appearance; and shortlyafterwards Mr. Drummond announced that he must go and call on Mrs. Cheyne. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A VISIT TO THE WHITE HOUSE. 

Hitherto Mr. Drummond had acknowledged his afternoon to be a success. He had obtained a glimpse of the new-comers through Mrs. Crump'sscreen of geraniums, and had listened with much interest to ColonelMiddleton's innocent gossip, while Miss Middleton had poured out theirtea. Indeed, his attention had quite flattered his host. 

"Really, Drummond is a very intelligent fellow, " he observed to hisdaughter, when they were at last left alone, --"a very intelligentfellow, and so thoroughly gentlemanly. "

"Yes, he is very nice, " returned Elizabeth; "and he seems wonderfullyinterested in our new neighbors. " And here she smiled a littlearchly. 

There was no doubt that Mr. Drummond had fully enjoyed his visit. Nevertheless, as he left Brooklyn, and set his face towards the WhiteHouse, his manner changed, and his face became somewhat grave. 

He had told himself that he owed it to his pastoral conscience to callon Mrs. Cheyne; but, notwithstanding this monition, he disliked theduty, for he always felt on these occasions that he was hardly up tohis office, and that this solitary member of his flock was notdisposed to yield herself to his guidance. He was ready to pity her ifshe would allow herself to be pitied; but any expression of sympathyseemed repugnant to her. Any one so utterly lonely, so absolutelywithout interest in existence, he had never seen or thought to see;and yet he could not bring himself to like her, or to say more thanthe mere commonplace utterances of society. Though he was herclergyman, and bound by the sacredness of his office to be speciallytender to the bruised and maimed ones of his flock, he could not gether to acknowledge her maimed condition to him, or to do anything butlisten to him with cold attention, when he hinted vaguely that allhuman beings are in need of sympathy. Perhaps she thought him tooyoung, and feared to find his judgments immature and one-sided; butcertainly his visits to the White House were failures. Mrs. Cheyne wasstill young enough and handsome enough to need some sort ofchaperonage: and though she professed to mock at conventionality, sheacknowledged its claims in this respect by securing the permanentservices of Miss Mewlstone--a lady of uncertain age and uncertainacquirements. It must be confessed that every one wondered at Mrs. Cheyne and her choice, for no one could be less companionable thanMiss Mewlstone. 

She was a stout, sleepy-looking woman, with a soft voice, and inplacidity and a certain cosyness of exterior somewhat resembled alarge white cat. Some people declared she absolutely purred, andcertainly her small blue eyes were ready to close on all occasions. She always dressed in gray, --a very unbecoming color to a stoutperson, --and when not asleep or reading (for she was a great reader)she seemed always busy with a mass of soft fleecy wool. No one heardher ever voluntarily conversing with her patroness. They would drivetogether for hours, or pass whole evenings in the same room, scarcelyexchanging a word. "Just so, my dear, " she would say, in return to anyobservation made to her by Mrs. Cheyne. "Just so Mewlstone, " a youngwag once nicknamed her. 

People stared incredulously when Mrs. Cheyne assured them hercompanion was a very superior woman. They thought it was only hersatire, and did not believe her in the least. They would have staredstill more if they had really known the extent of Miss Mewlstone'sacquirements. 

"She seems so stupid, as though she cannot talk, " one of Mrs. Cheyne'sfriends said. 

"Oh, yes, she can talk, and very well too, " returned that lady, quietly, "but she knows that I do not care about it; her silence isher great virtue in my eyes. And then she has tact, and knows when tokeep out of the way, " finished Mrs. Cheyne, with the utmost frankness;and, indeed, it may be doubted whether any other person would haveretained her position so long at the White House. 

Mrs. Cheyne was no favorite with the young pastor, nevertheless shewas an exceedingly handsome woman. Before the bloom of her youth hadworn off she had been considered absolutely beautiful. As regarded theform of her features, there was no fault to be found, but herexpression was hardly pleasing. There was a hardness that people founda little repelling, --a bitter, dissatisfied droop of the lip, aweariness of gloom in the dark eyes, and a tendency to satire in herspeech, that alienated people's sympathy. 

"I am unhappy, but pity me if you dare!" seemed to be written legiblyupon her countenance; and those who knew her best held their peace inher presence, and then went away and spoke softly to each other of thelife that seemed wasted and the heart that was so hardened with itstrouble. "What would the world be if every one were to bear theirsorrows so badly?" they would say. "There is something heathenish insuch utter want of resignation. Oh, yes, it was very sad, her losingher husband and children, but it all happened four or five years ago;and you know"--And here people's voices dropped a little ominously, for there were vague hints afloat that things had not always gone onsmoothly at the White House, even when Mrs. Cheyne had her husband. She had been an only child, and had married the only survivor of alarge family. Both were handsome, self-willed young people; neitherhad been used to contradiction. In spite of their love for each other, there had been a strife of wills and misunderstandings from theearliest days of their marriage. Neither knew what giving up meant, and before many months were over the White House witnessed manypainful scenes. Herbert Cheyne was passionate, and at times almostviolent; but there was no malice in his nature. He stormed furiouslyand forgave easily. A little forbearance would have turned him into asweet-natured man; but his wife's haughtiness and resentment lastedlong; she never acknowledged herself in the wrong, never madeovertures of peace, but bore herself on every occasion as asorely-injured wife, a state of things singularly provoking to a manof Herbert Cheyne's irritable temperament. 

There was injudicious partisanship as regarded their children: whileMrs. Cheyne idolized her boy, her husband lavished most of hisattentions on the baby girl, --"papa's girl, " as she always calledherself in opposition to "mother's boy. "

Mrs. Cheyne really believed she loved her boy best, but whendiphtheria carried off her little Jane also, she was utterlyinconsolable. Her husband was far away when it happened: he had been agreat traveller before his marriage, and latterly his matrimonialrelations with his wife had been so unsatisfactory that virtualseparation had ensued. Two or three months before illness, and thendeath, had devastated the nursery at the White House, he had set outfor a long exploring expedition in Central Africa. 

"You make my life so unbearable that, but for the children, I wouldnever care to set foot in my home again, " he had said to her, in oneof his violent moods; and, though he repented of this speechafterwards, she could not be brought to believe that he had not meantit, and her heart had been hard against him even in their parting. 

But before many months were over she would have given all shepossessed--to her very life--to have recalled him to her side. She waschildless, and her health was broken; but no such recall was possible. Vague rumors reached her of some miserable disaster: people talked ofa missing Englishman. One of the little party had already succumbed tofever and hardship; by and by another followed; and the last news thatreached them was that Herbert Cheyne lay at the point of death in thekraal of a friendly tribe. Since then the silence had been of thegrave: not one of the party had survived to bring the news of his lastmoments: there had been illness and disaster from the first. 

When Mrs. Cheyne recovered from the nervous disorder that hadattacked her on the receipt of this news, she put on widow's mourning, and wore it for two years; then she sent for Miss Mewlstone, and setherself to go through with the burden of her life. If she found itheavy, she never complained: she was silent on her own as on otherpeople's troubles. Only at the sight of a child of two or three yearsof age she would turn pale, and draw down her veil, and if it ran upto her, as would sometimes happen, she would put it away from herangrily, pushing it away almost with violence, and no child was eversuffered to cross her threshold. 

The drawing-room at the White House was a spacious apartment, withfour long windows opening on the lawn. Mrs. Cheyne was sitting in herlow chair, reading, with Miss Mewlstone at the farther end of theroom, with her knitting-basket beside her; two or three grayhoundswere grouped near her. They all rushed forward with furious barks asMr. Drummond was announced, and then leaped joyously round him. Mrs. Cheyne put down her book, and greeted him with a frosty smile. 

She had laid aside her widow's weeds, but still dressed in black, thesombreness of her apparel harmonizing perfectly with her pale, creamycomplexion. Her dress was always rich in material, and most carefullyadjusted. In her younger days it had been an art with her, --almost apassion, --and it had grown into a matter of custom. 

"You are very good to come again so soon, Mr. Drummond, " she said, asshe gave him her hand. The words were civil, but a slight inflectionon the word "soon" made Mr. Drummond feel a little uncomfortable. Didshe think he called too often? He wished he had brought Mattie; onlylast time she had been so satirical, and had quizzed the poor littlething unmercifully; not that Mattie had found out that she was beingquizzed. 

"I hardly thought I should find you at home, it is so fine anafternoon; but I made the attempt, you see, " he continued, a littleawkwardly. 

"Your parochial conscience was uneasy, I suppose, because I wasmissing at church?" she returned, somewhat slyly. "You would make acapital overseer, Mr. Drummond, "--with a short laugh. "A headache is agood excuse, is it not? I had a headache, had I not, Miss Mewlstone?"

"Yes, my dear, just so, " returned Miss Mewlstone. She always calledher patroness "my dear. "

"Miss Mewlstone gave me the heads of the sermon, so it was not quitelabor lost, as regards one of your flock. I am afraid you think me ablack sheep because I stay away so often, --a very black sheep, eh, Mr. Drummond?"

"It is not for me to judge, " he said, still more awkwardly. "Headachesare very fair excuses; and if one be not blessed with goodhealth----"

"My health is perfect, " she returned, interrupting him ruthlessly. "Ihave no such convenient plea under which to shelter myself. MissMewlstone suffers far more from headaches than I do. Don't you, MissMewlstone?"

"Just so; yes, indeed, my dear, " proceeded softly from the other endof the room. 

"I am sorry to hear it, " commenced Mr. Drummond, in a sympathizingtone of voice. But his tormentor again interrupted him. 

"I am a sad backslider, am I not? I wonder if you have a sermon readyfor me? Do you lecture your parishioners, Mr. Drummond, rich as wellas poor? What a pity it is you are so young! Lectures are moresuitable with gray hair; a hoary head might have some chance againstmy satire. A woman's tongue is a difficult thing to keep in order, isit not? I dare say you find that with Miss Mattie?"

Mr. Drummond was literally on thorns. He had no repartee ready. Shewas secretly exasperating him as usual, making his youth a reproach, and rendering it impossible for him to be his natural frank self withher. In her presence he was always at a disadvantage. She seemed totake stock of his learning and to mock at the idea of his pastoralclaims. It was not the first time she had called herself a blacksheep, or had spoken of her scanty attendances at church. But as yethe had not dared to rebuke her; he had a feeling that she might flingback his rebuke with a jest, and his dignity forbade this. Some day heowed it to his conscience to speak a word to her, --to tell her of theevil effects of such an example; but the convenient season had not yetarrived. 

He was casting about in his own mind for some weighty sentence withwhich to answer her; but she again broke in upon his silence:

"It seems that I am to escape to-day. I hope you are not a laxdisciplinarian; that comes of being young. Youth is more tolerant, they say, of other people's errors: it has its own glass houses tomind. "

"You are too clever for me, Mrs. Cheyne, " returned the young man, witha deprecating smile that might have disarmed her. "No, I have not cometo lecture: my mission is perfectly peaceful, as befits this lovelyafternoon. I wonder what you ladies find to do all day?" he continued, abruptly changing the subject, and trying to find something that wouldnot attract her satire. 

Mrs. Cheyne seemed a little taken aback by this direct question; andthen she drew up her beautiful head a little haughtily, and laughed. 

"Ah, you are cunning, Mr. Drummond. You found me disposed to take theoffensive in the matter of church-going, and now you are on anothertrack. There is a lecture somewhere in the background. How doth thelittle busy bee, etc. Now, don't frown, "--as Mr. Drummond knitted hisbrows and really looked annoyed: "I will not refuse to becatechised. "

"I should not presume to catechise you, " he returned, hastily. "Iappeal to Miss Mewlstone if my question were not a very innocentone. "

"Just so; just so, " replied Miss Mewlstone; but she looked a littlealarmed at this appeal. "Oh, very innocent; oh, very so. "

"With two against me I must yield, " returned Mrs. Cheyne, with a curlof her lip. "What do we do with our time, Miss Mewlstone? Youroccupation speaks for itself: it is exquisitely feminine. Don't tellMiss Mattie, Mr. Drummond, but I never work. I would as soon armmyself with a dagger as a needle or a pair of scissors. When I am notin the air, I paint. I only lay aside my palette for a book. "

"You paint!" exclaimed Archie, with sudden interest. It was the firstpiece of information he had yet gleaned. 

"Yes, " she returned, indifferently: "one must do something to killtime, and music was never my forte. I sketch and draw and paint aftermy own sweet will. There are portfolios full of my sketches inthere, "--with a movement of her hand towards a curtained recess. "No, I know what you are going to say: you will ask to see them; but Inever show them to any one. "

"For what purpose, then, do you paint them?" were the words on hislips; but he forbore to utter them. But she read the question in hiseyes. 

"Did I not say one must kill time?" she returned, rather irritably:"the occupation is soothing: surely that is reason enough. "

"It is a good enough reason, I suppose, " he replied, reluctantly, forsurely he must say a word here; "but one need not talk about killingtime, with so much that one could do. "

Then there came a gleam of suppressed mischief in her eyes:

"Yes, I know: you may spare me that. I will listen to it all nextSunday, if you will, when you have it your own way, and one cannot sinagainst decorum and answer you. Yes, yes, there is so much to do, isthere not?--hungry people to be fed, and sick to visit, --all sorts ofdisagreeables that people call duties. Ah, I am a sad sinner! I onlydraw for my own amusement, and leave the poor old world to get onwithout me. What a burden I must be on your conscience, Mr. Drummond, --heavier than all the rest of your parish. What, are yougoing already? and Miss Mewlstone has never given you any tea. "

Then Archie explained, very shortly, that he had partaken of thatbeverage at Brooklyn, and his leave-taking was rather more formal thanusual. He was very much surprised, as he stood at the hall door, thatalways stood open in the summer, to hear the low sweep of a dress overthe tessellated pavement behind him, and to see a white pudgy handlaid on his coat-sleeve. 

"My dear Miss Mewlstone, how you startled me!"

"Just so; yes, I am afraid I did, Mr. Drummond; but I just wanted tosay, never mind all that nonsense; come again: she likes to see you;she does, indeed. It is only her way to talk so; she means no harm, poor dear, --oh, none at all!"

"Excuse me, " returned Archie, in a hurt voice, "but I think you aremistaken. Mrs. Cheyne does not care for my visits, and shows me shedoes not: if it were not my duty, I should not come so often. "

"No, no; just so, but all the same it rouses her and does her good. Itis a bad day with her, poor dear!--the very day the darlings weretaken ill, four years ago. Now, don't go away and fancy things, don't, there's a dear young man; come as often as you can, and try and do hergood. "

"Oh, if I only knew how that is to be done!" returned Archie, slowly;but he was mollified in spite of himself. There were tears in MissMewlstone's little blue eyes: perhaps she was a good creature afterall. 

"I will come again, but not just yet, " he said, nodding to hergood-humoredly; but as he walked down the road he told himself thatMrs. Cheyne had never before made herself so disagreeable, and that itwould be long before he set foot in the White House again. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

"A FRIEND IN NEED. "

Human nature is weak, and we are told there are mixed motives to befound even in the holiest actions. Mr. Drummond never could be broughtto acknowledge even to himself the reason why he took so much pains tocompose his sermon for that Sunday. Without possessing any specialclaim to eloquence, he had always been earnest and painstaking, bestowing much labor on the construction and finish of his sentences, which were in consequence more elaborate than original. At times, whenhe took less pains and was simpler in style, he seldom failed tosatisfy his hearers. His voice was pleasant and well modulated, andhis delivery remarkably quiet and free from any tricks of gestures. 

But on this occasion his subject baffled him; he wrote and rewrotewhole pages, and then grew discontented with his work. On the Sundayin question he woke with the conviction that something out of thecommon order of events distinguished the day from other days; but evenas this thought crossed his mind he felt ashamed of himself, and wasin consequence a little more dictatorial than usual at thebreakfast-table. 

The inhabitants of Hadleigh were well accustomed to the presence ofstrangers in their church. In the season there was a regular influxof visitors that filled the lodging-houses to overflowing. Hadleighhad always prided itself on its gentility, as a watering-place it wasselect and exclusive; only the upper middle classes, and a sprinklingof the aristocracy, were the habitual frequenters of the little town. It was too quiet; it offered too few attractions to draw the crowdsthat flocked to other places. Mr. Drummond's congregation was wellused by this time to see new faces in the strangers' pew;nevertheless, a little thrill of something like surprise andexcitement moved a few of the younger members as Nan and her sisterswalked down the aisle, with their mother following them. 

"The mother is almost as good-looking as her daughters, " thoughtColonel Middleton, as he regarded the group through his gold-mountedeye-glasses, and Miss Middleton looked up for an instant from herprayer-book. Even Mrs. Cheyne roused from the gloomy abstraction whichwas her usual approach to devotion, and looked long and curiously atthe three girlish faces before her. It was refreshing even to her tosee anything so fresh and bright-looking. 

Nan and her sisters were perfectly oblivious of the sensation theywere making. Nan's pretty face was a trifle clouded: the strangesurroundings, the sight of all those people unknown to them, insteadof the dear, familiar faces that had always been before her, gave thegirl a dreary feeling of oppression and dismay. Her voice quaveredaudibly as she sang, and one or two drops fell on her prayer-book asshe essayed to join in the petitions. 

"Why is there not a special clause in the Litany for those who areperplexed and in poverty? It is not only from murder and sudden deathone need pray to be delivered, " thought Nan, with much sinking ofheart. "Oh, how helpless they were, --so young, and only girls, with agreat unknown world before them, and Dick away, ignorant of theirworst troubles, and too youthful a knight to win his spurs and pledgehimself to their service!"

Nan's sweet downcast face drew many eyes in the direction of the greatsquare pew in which they sat. Phillis intercepted some of these looks, as her attention insensibly wandered during the service. It was wrong, terribly wrong of course, but her thoughts would not concentratethemselves on the lesson the young vicar was reading in his beststyle. She was not heavy-hearted like Nan; on the contrary, littlethrills of excitement, of impatience, of repressed amusement, pervadedher mind, as she looked at the strange faces round her "They would notbe long strange, " she thought: "some of them would be her neighbors. What would they say, all these people, when they knew----" And herePhillis held her breath a moment. People were wondering even now whothey were. They had dressed themselves that morning, rehearsing theirparts, as it were, with studied simplicity. The gown Nan wore was asinexpensive as a gown could be; her hat was a model of neatness andpropriety: nevertheless, Phillis groaned in spirit as she glanced ather. Where had she got that style? She looked like a young princesswho was playing at Arcadia. Would people ever dare to ask her to workfor them? Would they not beg her pardon, and cry shame on themselvesfor entertaining such a thought for a moment? Phillis almost enviedNan, who was shedding salt tears on her prayer-book. She thought shewas absorbed in her devotions, while her own thoughts would wander sosadly; and then a handsome face in the opposite pew attracted herattention. Surely that must be Mrs. Cheyne, who lived in the WhiteHouse near them, of whom Nan had talked, --the poor woman who had losthusband and children and who lived in solitary state. The sermon hadnow commenced, but Phillis turned a deaf ear to the sentences overwhich Mr. Drummond had expended so much labor: her attention wasriveted by the gloomy beautiful face before her, which alternatelyattracted and repelled her. 

As though disturbed by some magnetic influence, Mrs. Cheyne raised hereyes slowly and looked at Phillis. Something in the girl's keen-eyedglance seemed to move her strangely. The color crept into her paleface, and her lip quivered: a moment afterwards she drew down her veiland leaned back in her seat and Phillis, somewhat abashed, endeavoredfruitlessly to gather up the thread of the sermon. 

"There! it is over! We have made our _debut_, " she said, a littlerecklessly, as they walked back to Beach House, where Mrs. Challonerand Dulce were still staying. And as Nan looked at her, a littleshocked and mystified by this unusual flippancy, she continued in thesame excited way:

"Was it not strange Mr. Drummond choosing that text, 'Consider thelilies'? He looked at us; I am sure he did, mother. It was quite atirade against dress and vanity; but I am sure no one could find faultwith us. "

"It was a very good sermon, and I think he seems a very clever youngman, " returned Mrs. Challoner, with a sigh, for the service had been along weariness for her. She had not been unmindful of the attentionher girls had caused; but if people only knew--And here the poor ladyhad clasped her hands and put up petitions that were certainly not inthe Litany. 

Phillis seemed about to say something, but she checked herself, andthey were all a little silent until they reached the house. This firstSunday was an infliction to them all: it was a day of enforcedidleness. There was too much time for thought and room for regret. Inspite of all Phillis's efforts, --and she rattled on cheerily most ofthe afternoon, --Mrs. Challoner got one of her bad headaches, fromworry, and withdrew to her room, attended by Dulce, who volunteered tobathe her head and read her to sleep. 

The church-bells were just ringing for the evening service, and Nanrose, as usual, to put on her hat; but Phillis stopped her:

"Oh, Nan, do not let us go to church again this evening. I am terriblywicked to-day, I know, but somehow I cannot keep my thoughts in order. So what is the use of making the attempt? Let us take out ourprayer-books and sit on the beach: it is low tide, and a walk over thesands would do us good after our dreadful week. "

"If you are sure it would not be wrong, " hesitated Nan, whoseconscience was a little hard to convince in such matters. 

"No, no. And the run will do Laddie good. The poor little fellow hasbeen shut up in this room all day. We need not tell the mother. Shewould be shocked, you know. But we never have stayed away from churchbefore, have we? And, to tell you the truth, " continued Phillis, withan unsteady laugh that betrayed agitation to her sister's ear, "thoughI faced it very well this morning, I do not feel inclined to gothrough it again. People stared so. And I could not help thinking allthe time, 'If they only knew!'--that was the thought that kept buzzingin my head. If only Mr. Drummond and all those people knew!"

"What does it matter what people think?" returned Nan. But she said itlanguidly. In her heart she was secretly dismayed at this suddenfailure of courage. Phillis had been quite bold and merry all the day, almost reckless in her speeches. 

"I am glad we came. This will do us both good, " said Nan, gently, asthey left the parade behind them, and went slowly over the shelvingbeach, with Laddie rolling like a clumsy black ball about their feet. Just before them there was a pretty black-timbered cottage, coveredwith roses, standing quite low on the shore, and beyond this wasnothing but shingly beach, and a stretch of wet, yellow sand, on whichthe sun was shining. There was a smooth white boulder standing quitealone, on which the girls seated themselves. The tide was still goingout; and the low wash of waves sounded pleasantly in their ears asthey advanced and then receded. A shimmer of silvery light played uponthe water, and a rosy tinge began to tint the horizon. 

"How quiet and still it is!" said Phillis, in an awe-struck voice. "When we are tired we must come here to rest ourselves. How prettilythose baby waves seem to babble! it is just like the gurgle of babylaughter. And look at Laddie splashing in that pool: he is after thatpoor little crab. Come here, you rogue!" But Laddie, intent upon hissport, only cocked his ear restlessly and refused to obey. 

"Yes, it is lovely, " returned Nan. "There is quite a silvery path overthe water; by and by the sunset clouds will be beautiful. But what isthe matter, dear?" as Phillis sighed and leaned heavily against her;and then, as she turned, she saw the girl's eyes were wet. 

"Oh, Nan! shall we have strength for it? That is what I keep askingmyself to-day. No you must not look so frightened. I am brave enoughgenerally, and I do not mean to lose pluck; but now and then thethought will come to me, Shall we have strength to go through withit?"

"We must think of each other; that must keep us up, " returned Nan, whose ready sympathy fully understood her sister's mood. Only to Nanwould Phillis ever own her failure of courage or fears for the future. But now and then the brave young heart needed comfort, and alwaysfound it in Nan's sympathy. 

"It was looking at your dear beautiful face that made me feel sosuddenly bad this morning, " interrupted Phillis, with a sort of sob. "It was not the people so much; they only amused and excited me, and Ikept thinking, 'If they only knew!' But, Nan, when I looked atyou--oh, why are you so nice and pretty, if you have got to do thishorrid work?"

"I am not a bit nicer than you and Dulce, " laughed Nan, embracing her, for she never could be made to understand that by most people she wasconsidered their superior in good looks. The bare idea made her angry. "It is worse for you, Phillis, because you are so clever and have somany ideas. But there! we must not go on pitying each other, or else, indeed, we shall undermine our little stock of strength. "

"But don't you feel terribly unhappy sometimes?" persisted Phillis. Neither of them mentioned Dick, and yet he was in both their minds. 

"Perhaps I do, " returned Nan, simply; and then she added, withquaintness that was pathetic, "You see, we are so unused to thefeeling, and it is over-hard at first: by and by we shall be more usedto not having our own way in things. "

"I think I could give up that readily, if I could be sure you andDulce were not miserable, " sighed Phillis. 

"That is what I say, " returned Nan. "Don't you see how simple andbeautiful that is? Thinking of each other gives us strength to gothrough with it all. This evening trying to cheer you up has done megood. I do not feel the least afraid of people to-night. Looking atthat sea and sky makes one feel the littleness and unreality of allthese worries. What does it matter--what does anything matter--if weonly do our duty and love each other, and submit to the Divine will?"finished Nan, reverently, who seldom spoke of her deeper feelings, even to Phillis. 

"Nan, you are a saint, " returned Phillis, enthusiastically. Theworried look had left her eyes; they looked clear and bright as usual. "Oh, what a heathen I have been to-day! but, as Dulce is so fond ofsaying, 'I am going to be good. I will read the evening Psalms to you, in token of my resolution, if you like. But wait: is there not someone coming across the sand! How eerie it looks, such a tall blackfigure standing between the earth and sky!"

Phillis had good sight, or she would hardly have distinguished thefigure, which was now motionless, at such a distance. In anothermoment she even announced that its draperies showed it to be a woman, before she opened her book and commenced reading. 

There is something very striking in a lonely central figure in ascene, the outline cuts so sharply against the horizon. Nan's eyesseemed riveted on it as she listened to Phillis's voice; it seemed toher as immovable as a Sphinx, its rigidity lending a sort ofbarrenness and forlornness to the landscape, a black edition of humannature set under a violet and opal sky. 

She almost started when it moved, at last, with a steady bearing, asit seemed, towards them; then curiosity quickened into interest, andshe touched Phillis's arm, whispering breathlessly, --

"The Sphinx moves! Look--is not that Mrs. Cheyne, the lady who livesat the White House near us, who always looks so lonely and unhappy?"

"Hush!" returned Phillis, "she will hear you;" and then Mrs. Cheyneapproached with the same swift even walk. She looked at them for amoment, as she passed, with a sort of well-bred surprise in her air, as though she marvelled to see them there; her black dress touchedLaddie, and he caught at it with an impotent bark. 

The sisters must have made a pretty picture, as they sat almostclinging together on the stone: one of Nan's little white hands restedon Laddie's head, the other lay on Phillis's lap. Phillis glanced upfrom her book, keen-eyed and alert in a moment; she turned her head tolook at the stranger that had excited her interest, and then rose toher feet with a little cry of dismay. 

"Oh, Nan, I am afraid she has hurt herself! She gave such a slip justnow. I wonder what has happened? She is leaning against thebreakwater, too. Shall we go and ask her if she feels ill oranything?"

"You may go, " was Nan's answer. Nevertheless, she followed Phillis. 

Mrs. Cheyne looked up at them a little sharply as they came towardsher. Her face was gray and contracted with pain. 

"I have slipped on a wet stone, and my foot has somehow turned on me, "she said, quickly, as Phillis ran up to her. "It was very stupid. Icannot think how it happened; but I have certainly sprained my ankle. It gives me such pain. I cannot move. "

"Oh, dear, I am so sorry!" returned Phillis, good-naturedly; and, inthe most natural manner, she knelt down on the beach, and took theinjured foot in her hands. "Yes, I can feel it is swelling dreadfully:we must try and get your boot off before the attempt gets toopainful. " And she commenced unfastening it with deft fingers. 

"How am I to walk without my boot?" observed Mrs. Cheyne, a littledrily, as she looked down on the girl; but here Nan interposed in herbrisk sensible way:

"You must not walk; you must not think of such a thing. We will wetour handkerchiefs in the salt water, and bind up your ankle as well aswe can; and then one of us will walk over to the White House forassistance. Your servants could easily obtain a wheeled chair. "

"You knew I lived at the White House, then?" returned Mrs. Cheyne, arching her eyebrows in some surprise; but she offered no oppositionto Nan's plan. The removal of the boot had brought on a sensation offaintness, and she sat perfectly still and quiet while the girlsswathed the foot in wet bandages. 

"It is a little easier now, " she observed, gratefully. "How neatly youhave done it! you must be used to such work. I am really very muchobliged to you both for your kindly help; and now I am afraid I musttrouble you further if I am ever to reach home. "

"I will go at once, " returned Nan, cheerfully; "but I will leave mysister for fear you should feel faint again: besides, it is solonely. "

"Oh, I am used to loneliness!" was the reply, as a bitter expressioncrossed her face. 

Phillis, who was still holding the sprained foot in her lap, looked upin her eager way. 

"I think one gets used to everything; that is a merciful dispensation;but all the same I hope you will not send me away. I dearly like to beuseful; and at present my object is to prevent your foot coming intocontact with these stones. Are you really in less pain now?--you lookdreadfully pale. "

"Oh, that is nothing!" she returned, with a smile so sudden and sweetthat it quite startled Phillis, for it lit up her face like sunshine;but almost before she caught it, it was gone. "How good you are to me!and yet I am a perfect stranger!" and then she added, as though withan afterthought, "But I saw you in church this morning. "

Phillis nodded: the question certainly required no answer. 

"If I knew you better, I should ask why your eyes questioned me soclosely this morning. Do you know, Miss--Miss----" And here shehesitated and smiled, waiting for Phillis to fill up the blank. 

"My name is Challoner, --Phillis Challoner, " replied Phillis, coloringa little; and then she added, frankly, "I am afraid you thought merude, and that I stared at you, but my thoughts were all topsy-turvythis morning and refused to be kept in order. One feels curious, somehow, about the people among whom one has come to live. "

"Have you come to live here?" asked Mrs. Cheyne, eagerly, and a gleamof pleasure shot into her dark eyes, --"you, and your mother andsisters?"

"Yes; we have just come to the Friary, --a little cottage standing onthe Braidwood Road. "

Her manner became a little constrained and reserved as she said this:the charming frankness disappeared. 

"The Friary!" echoed Mrs. Cheyne; and then she paused for a moment, and her eyes rested searchingly on Phillis. "That shabby littlecottage!" was the thought that filled up the outline of her words;but, though she felt inward surprise and a momentary disappointment, there was no change in the graciousness of her manner. Never beforehad she so thawed to any one: but the girl's sweet ministry had wonher heart. "Then you will be near me, --just at my gates? We shall beclose neighbors. I hope you will come and see me, Miss Challoner. "

Poor Phillis! the blood suddenly rushed over her face at this. How wasshe to answer without appearing ungracious?--and yet at this momenthow could she explain?

"If you please, we are dressmakers. " Oh, no! such words as these wouldnot get themselves said. It was too abrupt, too sudden, altogether:she was not prepared for such a thing. Oh, why had she not gone to theWhite House instead of Nan? Her officiousness had brought this on her. She could not put the poor foot off her lap and get up and walk awayto cool her hot cheeks. 

"Thank you; you are very good, " she stammered, feeling herself anutter fool: she, --Phillis, --the clever one!

Mrs. Cheyne seemed rather taken aback by the girl's sudden reserve andembarrassment. 

"I suppose you think I should call first, and thank you for yourkindness, " she returned, quickly; "but I was afraid my foot would keepme too long a prisoner. And, as we are to be neighbors, I hardlythought it necessary to stand on ceremony; but if you would ratherwait----"

"Oh, no, " replied Phillis, in despair; "we will not trouble you to dothat! Nan and I will call and ask after your foot, and then we willexplain. There is a little difficulty: you might not care to befriends with us if you knew, " went on Phillis with burning cheeks;"but we will call and explain. Oh, yes, Nan and I will call!"

"Do; I shall expect you, " returned Mrs. Cheyne, half amused and halfmystified at the girl's obvious confusion. What did the child mean?They were gentle-people, --one could see that at a glance. They were inreduced circumstances: they had come down to Hadleigh to retrench. Well, what did that matter? People's wealth or poverty never affectedher; she would think none the less well of them for that; she wouldcall at the Friary and entertain them at the White House with as muchpleasure as though they lived in a palace. The little mystery piquedher, and yet excited her interest. It was long since she hadinterested herself so much in anything. To Miss Middleton she hadalways been cold and uncertain. Mr. Drummond she treated with amixture of satire and haughtiness that aroused his ire. Phillis'sfrankness and simplicity had won her for a moment to her earlier andbetter self: she conceived an instantaneous liking for the girl wholooked at her with such grave kindly glances. "I shall expect you, remember, " she repeated, as Nan at that moment appeared in sight. 

"Oh, yes, Nan and I will come, " returned Phillis, slowly, and almostsolemnly; but an instant afterwards a flicker of amusement playedround her mouth. It was painful, of course; but, still, how droll itwas!

"How long you have been, Nan!" she exclaimed, a little unreasonably, as Nan ran towards them, flushed and breathless from her haste. 

"It has not been long to me, " observed Mrs. Cheyne, pointedly. Shetalked more to Nan than to Phillis after this, until the servantsappeared with the wheeled chair; but nevertheless her last words werefor Phillis. "Remember your promise, " was all she said, as she heldout her hand to the girl; and Phillis tried to smile in answer, thoughit was rather a failure after all. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

DOROTHY BRINGS IN THE BEST CHINA. 

"What a fool I made of myself yesterday! but to-day Richard is himselfagain, " said Phillis, as she gathered up another muslin curtain in herarms ready to hand to Nan, who was mounted on some steps. It was onlyMonday afternoon, but the girls had done wonders: the work-room, asthey called it, was nearly finished. The great carved wardrobe andmahogany table had been polished by Dorothy's strong hands. Mrs. Challoner's easy-chair and little work-table at one window lookedquite inviting; the sewing-machine and Nan's rosewood davenport werein their places. A hanging cupboard of old china, and a few well-boundbooks, gave a little coloring and finish, and one or two fine oldprints that had hung in the dining-room at Glen Cottage had beendisposed with advantage on the newly-papered walls. An inlaid clockticked on the mantelpiece, and some handsome ruby-colored vases stoodon either side of it. Nan was quite right when she had glanced roundher a few minutes ago in a satisfied manner and said no one need beashamed of living in such a room. 

"Our pretty things make it look almost too nice for the purpose, " shecontinued, handling a precious relic, a Sevres cup and saucer, thathad been her especial pride in old days. "I think you were wrong, Phil, not to have the china in the other room. "

"No, indeed; I want people to see it and be struck with our taste, "was Phillis's frank answer. "Think what pleasure it will give the poorladies when their dresses are being tried on. Don't you remember thebasket of wax fruit at Miss Slinders's, when we were small children? Ithought it the loveliest work of art, and feasted my eyes all the timeMiss Slinders was fitting my pink frock. Now, our pictures and chinawill refresh people's eyes in the same way. "

Nan smiled and shook her head, as she dusted and arranged hertreasures. The china was very dear to her, --far more than the booksPhillis was arranging on the chiffonnier. The Dresden figures thatDick had given to her mother were among them. She did not care forstrangers to look at them and appraise their value. They were hometreasures, --sacred relics of their past. The last time she had dustedthem, a certain young man of her acquaintance had walked through theopen window whistling "Blue bonnets over the Border, " and had taken uphis station beside her, hindering her work with his chattering. Dulcewas in the upper regions, unpacking a box in her mother's room. Mrs. Challoner was coming home the next day, and Dorothy and she were hardat work getting things in order. 

When Phillis made her downright speech, Nan looked down from her loftyperch, and held out her arms for the curtain. 

"Richard is always himself, my dear, " she said, softly. "Do you knowwhen you are down, Phil, I feel as though we are all at a stand-still, and there's no getting on at all? and then at one of your dear drollspeeches the sunshine comes out again, and we are all as right aspossible. "

"Don't talk nonsense, " was Phillis's blunt answer; but she could nothelp being pleased at the compliment. She looked up archly at Nan, asthe mass of soft white drapery lay between them; and then they bothbroke into a laugh, just as two shadows seemed to glide past thewindow, and a moment afterwards the house-bell sounded. "Visitors!--oh, Nan!" And Phillis glanced down at the neat bib apronthat she wore over her cambric dress. 

"Don't be afraid; Dorothy will have too much sense to admit them, "returned Nan, quite indifferently, as she went up a step higher tohang up the curtain. 

Phillis was still holding it; but her manner was not quite so wellassured. She thought she heard Dulce's voice in confabulation with thestranger. A moment afterwards Dulce came briskly into the room. 

"Nan, Mr. Drummond and his sister have kindly called to see us. We arenot in order, of course. Oh, dear!" as Nan looked down on them withstartled eyes, not venturing to descend from her perch. "I ought notto have brought them in here, " looking half mischievously and halfguiltily at the young clergyman, who stood hat in hand on thethreshold. 

"It is I who ought not to have intruded, " he began, in a perfect agonyof embarrassment, blushing over his face like a girl as Nan lookeddown at him in much dignity, but Mattie, who was behind him, pushedforward in her usual bustling way. 

"Oh, Miss Challoner, it is too bad! I told Archie that we ought not tocome too soon----" but Phillis stopped her with an outstretched handof welcome. 

"What is too bad? I call it very kind and friendly of you both: onehardly expected to find such good neighbors. Nan, if that curtain isfinished I think you had better come down. Take care; those steps arerickety: perhaps Mr. Drummond will help you. "

"Let me do the other ones for you. I don't think those steps aresafe!" exclaimed Archie, with sudden inspiration. 

No one at home would have believed such a thing of him. Mattie's eyesgrew quite round and fixed with astonishment at the sight. He had noteven shaken hands with Nan, yet there he was, mounted in her place, slipping in the hooks with dexterous hands, while Nan quietly held upthe curtain. 

Months afterwards the scene came back on Archibald Drummond with acurious thrill half of pain and half of amusement. How had he done it?he wondered. What had made him all at once act in a way so unlikehimself?--for, with the best intention, he was always a little stiffand constrained with strangers. Yet there he was laughing as though hehad known them all his life, because Nan had rebuked him gravely forslipping two hooks into one ring. Months afterwards he recalled itall: Nan glancing up at him with quietly amused eyes, Phillis standingapart, looking quaint and picturesque in her bib-apron, Dulce with theafternoon sunshine lighting up her brown hair; the low old-fashionedroom, with the great carved wardrobe, and the cupboard of daintychina; the shady little lawn outside, with Laddie rolling among thedaisies. What made it suddenly start up in his memory like a pictureone has seen and never quite forgotten?

"Thank you, Mr. Drummond. You have done it so nicely, " said Nan, withthe utmost gravity, as he lingered, almost unwilling to descend toconventionality again. Dulce and Phillis were busily engaged loopingup the folds. "Now we will ask Dorothy to remove the steps and then wecan sit down comfortably. "

But here Archie interposed:

"Why need you call any one? Tell me where I shall put them. " Mattiebroke into a loud laugh. She could not help it. It was too droll ofArchie. She must write and tell Grace. 

Archie heard the laugh as he marched out of the room with his burden, and it provoked him excessively. He made some excuse about admiringLaddie, and went out on the lawn for a few minutes, accompanied byNan. When they came back, the curtains were finished and the two girlswere talking to Mattie. Mattie seemed quite at ease with them. 

"We have such a dear old garden at the vicarage, " she was saying, asher brother came into the room. "I am not much of a gardener myselfbut Archie works for hours at a time. He talks of getting a set oftennis down from town. We think it will help to bring people together. You must promise to come and play sometimes of an afternoon when youhave got the cottage in order. "

"Thank you, " returned Phillis; and then Nan and she exchanged looks. Asort of blankness came over the sisters' faces, --a sudden dying out ofthe brightness and fun. 

Mr. Drummond grew a little alarmed:

"I hope you will not disappoint my sister. She has few friends, and israther lonely, missing so many sisters; and you are such closeneighbors. "

"Yes, we are close neighbors, " returned Phillis. But her voice was alittle less clear than usual; and, to Archie's astonishment, --for theyall seemed talking comfortably together, --her face had grown suddenlypale. "But you must not think us unkind if we refuse yourhospitality, " she went on, looking straight at him, and not at Mattie. "Owing to painful circumstances, we have made up our minds that nosuch pleasure are in store for us. We must learn to do without things:must we not, Nan?"

"Yes, indeed, " returned Nan, very gravely. And then the tears cameinto Dulce's eyes. Was Phillis actually going to tell them? She wouldhave run away, only she was ashamed of such cowardice. 

"I hope you do not mean to do without friends, " stammered Archie. "That would be too painful to bear. " He thought they were excusingthemselves from partaking of their neighbors' hospitality because theywere too poor to return it, and wanted to set them at their ease. "Youmay have reasons for wishing to be quiet. Perhaps Mrs. Challoner'shealth, and--and--parties are not always desirable, " he went on, floundering, a little in his speech, and signing to Mattie to come tohis help, which she did at once, breathlessly:

"Parties! Oh, dear, no! They are such a trouble and expense. Buttennis and tea on the lawn is just nothing, --nothing at all. One cangive a little fruit and some home-made cake. No one need scruple atthat. Archie is not rich, --clergymen never are, you know, --but hemeans to entertain his friends as well as he can. I should like you tosee Miss Middleton. She is a charming person. And the colonel is asnice as possible. We will just ask them to meet you in a quiet way, and, if your mother is not too much of an invalid, I hope she willgive us the pleasure of her company, for when people are such closeneighbors it is stupid to stand on ceremony, " finished Mattie, bringing herself rapidly to a full stop. 

"You are very kind. But you do not understand, " returned Phillis. Andthen she stopped, and a gleam of fun came into her eyes. Her sharpears had caught the rattle of cups and saucers. Actually, that absurdDorothy was bringing in tea in the old way, making believe that theywere entertaining their friends in Glen Cottage fashion! She must getout the truth somehow before the pretty purple china made itsappearance. "Oh, " she went on, with a sort of gulp, as though she feltthe sudden touch of cold water, "you come here meaning kindly, andasking us to your house, and taking compassion upon us because we arestrangers and lonely, and you do not know that we are poor, and thatwe have lost our money, and----" But here Mr. Drummond was absolutelyrude enough to interrupt her:

"What does that matter, my dear Miss Challoner? Do you think that isof any consequence in mine or my sister's eyes? I suppose if I be yourclergyman----" And then he stopped, and stroked his beard in anembarrassed way; for though Phillis's face was pale, there waslaughter in her eyes. 

"Oh, if this be a parochial visit, " she began, demurely; "but youshould not have talked of tennis, Mr. Drummond. How do you know we arenot Roman Catholics, or Wesleyans, or even Baptists, or BibleChristians? We might have gone to your church out of curiosity onSunday, or to see the fashions. There is not a Quaker cut about us;but, still, we might be Unitarians, and people would not find it out, "continued Phillis, looking with much solemnity at the bewildered youngAnglican. 

The situation was too absurd; there was no knowing to what lengthPhillis's recklessness and sense of humor would have brought her, onlyNan's good sense came to the rescue:

"Phillis is only in fun, Mr. Drummond. Of course we are Church-people:and of course we hope to attend your services. I am sure my motherwill be pleased to see you, when you are kind enough to call. AtOldfield we were always good friends with our clergyman: he was such adear old man. "

"Do you mean to forbid my sister's visits, then?" asked Archie, looking anxiously at her sweet face; Nan looked so pretty, in spite ofher discomposure. 

"Oh, no! we do not mean to be so rude: do we, Phillis? We shall be soglad to see Miss Drummond; but--but, " faltered Nan, losing breath alittle, "we have been unfortunate, and must work for our living; andyour sister perhaps would not care to visit dressmakers. "

"What!" exclaimed Archie: he almost jumped out of his chair in hissurprise. 

Phillis had uttered a faint "Bravo, Nan!" but no one heard her. Dulce's cheeks were crimson, and she would not look at any one; butNan, who had got out the dreaded word, went on bravely, and was wellhugged by Phillis in private afterwards. 

"We are not clever enough for governesses, " continued Nan, with acharming smile, addressing Mattie, who sat and stared at her, "andthere was nothing we dreaded so much as to separate: so, as we hadcapable fingers and were fond of work, my sister Phillis planned thisfor us. Now you see, Miss Drummond, why we could not accept your kindhospitality. Whatever we have been, we cannot expect people to visitus now. If you would be good enough to recommend us, and help us inour efforts to make ourselves independent, that is all we can ask ofyou. "

"Well, I don't know, " returned Mattie, bluntly: "as far as I amconcerned, I am never ashamed of any honest calling. What do you say, Archie?"

"I say it is all very proper and laudable, " he returned, hesitating;"but surely--surely there must be some other way more suitable toladies in your position! Let me call again when your mother comes, andsee if there is nothing that I can do or recommend better than this. Yes, I am sure if I can only talk to your mother, we could find someother way than this. "

"Indeed, Mr. Drummond, you must do nothing of the kind, " repliedPhillis, in an alarmed voice: "the poor dear mother must not bedisturbed by any such talk! You mean it kindly, but we have made upour own minds, Nan and I: we mean to do without the world and live inone of our own; and we mean to carry out our plan in defiance ofeverything and everybody; and, though you are our clergyman and we arebound to listen to your sermons, we cannot take your advice in this. "

"But--but I would willingly act as a friend, " began the young man, confusedly, looking not at her, but at Nan. 

He was so bewildered, so utterly taken aback, he hardly knew what hesaid. 

"Here comes Dorothy with the tea, " interrupted Nan, pleasantly, asthough dismissing the subject: "she has not forgotten our old customs. Friends always came around us in the afternoon. Mr. Drummond, perhapsyou will make yourself useful and cut the cake. Dorothy, you need nothave unpacked the best silver teapot. " Nan was moving about in herfrank hospitable way. Laddie was whining for cake, and breaking intoshort barks of impatience. "This is one of our Glen Cottage cakes. Susan always prides herself on the recipe, " said Nan, calmly, as shepressed it on her guests. 

Mr. Drummond almost envied his sister as she praised the cake andasked for the recipe. He had always found fault with her manners; butnow nothing could be finer than her simplicity. Pure good nature andinnate womanliness were teaching Mattie something better than tact. Nan had dropped a painful subject, and she would not revive it in herbrother's presence. There would be plenty of time for her to call andtalk it over with them quietly. Help them!--of course she would helpthem. They should have her new silk dress that Uncle Conway had justsent her. It was a risk, for perhaps they might spoil it; but suchfine creatures should have a chance. At present she would only enjoythe nice tea, and talk to poor little frightened Dulce, who seemedunable to open her lips after her sister's disclosure. 

Archie could not emulate her ease: a man is always at a disadvantagein such a case. His interest had sustained no shock: it was evenstimulated by what he had just heard; but his sympathy seemed all atonce congealed, and he could find no vent for it. In spite of his bestefforts his manner grew more and more constrained every moment. 

Nan looked at him more than once with reproachful sweetness. Shethought they had lost caste in his eyes; but Phillis, who was shrewdand sharp-set in her wits, read him more truly. She knew--havingalready met a score of such--how addicted young Englishmen are to_mauvaise honte_, and how they will hide acute sensibilities underblunt and stolid exteriors; and there was a certain softness in Mr. Drummond's eye that belied his stiffness. Most likely he was verysorry for them, and did not know how to show it; and in this she wasright. 

Mr. Drummond was very sorry for them; but he was still more grievedfor himself. The Oxford fellow had not long been a parish priest, andhe could not at all understand the position in which he foundhimself, --taking tea with three elegant young dressmakers who talkedthe purest English and had decided views on tennis and horticulture. He had just been congratulating himself on securing such companionshipfor his sister and himself. Being rather classical-minded, he had beencalling them the gray-eyed Graces, and one of them at least "adaughter of the gods, --divinely tall and most divinely fair;" forwhere had he seen anything to compare with Nan's bloom and charmingfigure? Dressmakers!--oh, if only Grace were at hand, that he mighttalk to her, and gain her opinion how he was to act in such case!Grace had the stiff-necked Drummond pride as well as he, and wouldhesitate long behind the barriers of conventionality. No wonder, withall these thoughts passing through his mind, that Nan, with her brightsurface talk, found him a little vague. 

It was quite a relief to all the party when Mattie gave the signal fordeparture and the bell was rung for Dorothy to show them out. 

"Well, Nan, what do you think of our visitors?" asked Phillis, whenthe garden-door had clanged noisily after them, and she had treatedNan to the aforesaid hugs; "for you were so brave, darling, andactually took the wind out of my sails!" exclaimed the enthusiasticPhillis. "Miss Drummond is not so bad, after all, is she, in spite ofher dowdiness and fussy ways?"

"No; she means well; and so does her brother. He is very nice, onlyhis self-consciousness spoils him, " returned Nan, in a calm, discursive tone, as though they were discussing ordinary visitors. 

It was impossible for these young girls to see that their ordinarylanguage was not humble enough for their new circumstances. They wouldmake mistakes at every turn, like Dorothy, who got out the best chinaand brewed her tea in the melon-shaped silver teapot. 

Phillis opened her eyes rather widely at this. Nan was not often soobservant. It was true: self-consciousness was a torment to ArchibaldDrummond, a Frankenstein of his own creation, that had grownimperceptibly with his growth to the fell measure of his manhood, asinseparable as the shadow from the substance. Phillis had recognizedit at once; but then, as she said, no one was faultless; and then, hewas so handsome. "Very handsome" chimed in Dulce, whose opinions werefull-fledged in such matters. 

"Is he? Well, I never cared for a man with a long fair beard, "observed Nan, carelessly. Poor Archie! how his vanity would havesuffered if he had heard her! for, in a masculine way, he pridedhimself excessively on the soft silky appendage that Grace had sooften praised. A certain boyish countenance, with kindly honest eyesand a little sandy moustache, was more to Nan's taste than thehandsome young Anglican. 

"Oh, we all know Nan's opinion in such matters, " said Dulce, slyly;and then Nan blushed, and suddenly remembered that Dorothy was waitingfor her in the linen-closet, and hurried away, leaving her sisters todiscuss their visitors to their hearts' content. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

ARCHIE IS IN A BAD HUMOR. 

"Oh, Archie, I was never more astonished in my life!" exclaimedMattie, as she tried to adapt her uneven trot to her brother's longswinging footsteps; and then she glanced up in his face to read hismood: but Archie's features were inscrutable and presented anappalling blank. In his mind he was beginning his letter to Grace, andwondering what he should say to her about their new neighbors. "Writing is such a nuisance when one wants to talk to a person, " hethought, irritably. 

"Oh, Archie, won't you tell me what we are to do?" went on Mattie, excitedly. She would not take Archie's silence as a hint that hewanted to keep his thoughts to himself. "Those poor girls! oh, hownice and pretty they all are, especially the eldest! and is not theyoungest--Dulce, I think they called her--the very image of Isabel?"

"Isabel! not a bit. That is so like you, Mattie. You always seelikenesses when other people cannot trace the faintest resemblance, "for this remark was sure to draw out his opposition. Isabel was asilly flirting little thing in her brother's estimation, and, hethought, could not hold a candle to the youngest Miss Challoner. 

"Oh dear! now I have made you cross!" sighed poor Mattie, whoespecially wanted to keep him in good humor. "And yet every one butyou thinks Isabel so pretty. I am sure, from what Grace said in herlast letter, that Mr. Ellis Burton means to propose to her. "

"And I suppose you will all consider that a catch, " sneered Archie. "That is so like a parcel of women, thinking every man who comes tothe house and makes a few smooth-tongued speeches--is, in fact, civil--must be after a girl. Of course you have all helped to instillthis nonsense into the child's head. "

"Dear me, how you talk, Archie!" returned Mattie, feeling herselfsnubbed as usual. Why, Archie had been quite excited about it only theother day, and had said quite seriously that with seven girls in afamily, it would be a great blessing if Isabel could make such amatch; for it was very unlikely that Laura and Susie, or even Clara, would do much for themselves in that way, unless they decidedlyimproved in looks. 

"Well, it is nothing to me, " he returned in a chilling manner; "we allknow our own mind best. If an angular lantern-jawed fellow likeBurton, who, by the bye, does not speak the best English, is toIsabel's taste, let her have him by all means: he is well-to-do, and Idare say will keep a carriage for her by and by: that is what youwomen think a great advantage, " finished Archie, who certainly seemedbent on making himself disagreeable. 

Mattie heaved another great sigh, but she did not dare to contradicthim. Grace would have punished him on the spot by a dose of satirethat would have brought him to reason and good nature in a moment; butMattie ventured only on those laborious sighs which she jerked up fromthe bottom of her honest little heart. 

Archie heard the sigh, and felt ashamed of his bad temper. He did notknow himself why he felt so suddenly cross; some secret irritation wasat work within him, and he could scarcely refrain from bidding Mattiequite roughly to hold her tongue and not tease him with her chatter. If she expected him in his present state of mind, which was at oncecontradictory and aggressive, to talk to her about the Challoners, shemust just make up her mind to be disappointed, for he could not bringhimself to speak of them to her just now: he wanted to hold counselwith his own thoughts and with Grace. He would call at the Friaryagain and see Mrs. Challoner, and find out more of this strangematter; but as to talking it over with Mattie, he quite shrugged hisshoulders as he swung open the green door. 

"Are you going in?" faltered Mattie, as she noticed this movement. 

"Well, yes; I have letters to write, and it is too hot for a longerwalk, " he returned, decidedly; and then, as Mattie stood hesitatingand wistful in the middle of the road, he strode off, leaving the doorto close noisily after him, and not caring to inquire into her furthermovements, such being the occasional graceless manners of brotherswhen sisterly friendship is not to their liking. 

Mattie felt snubbed; but for the first time in her life, she did nottake her snubbing meekly. It was too much to expect of her, who wasonly a woman and not one of Archie's divinities, that she shouldfollow him into the house and hold her tongue just because he waspleased to refrain from speaking. Water must find its vent; andMattie's tongue could not be silenced in this way. If Archie would nottalk to her, Miss Middleton would: so at once she trotted off forBrooklyn, thereby incurring Archie's wrath if he could only have knownher purpose; for gossip was to him as the sin of witchcraft, unless hestooped to it himself, and then it was amiable sociability. 

Miss Middleton was listening to her father's reading as usual, but shewelcomed Mattie with open arms, literally as well as metaphorically, for she kissed Mattie on either cheek, and then scolded her tenderlyfor looking so flushed and tired; "for somebody who is always lookingafter other people, and never has time to spare for herself, isgrowing quite thin; is she not, father? and we must write to Grace ifthis goes on, " finished Miss Middleton, with one of her kind looks. 

All this was cordial to poor Mattie, who, though she was used tosnubbing, and took as kindly to it as a spaniel to water, yet feltherself growing rather like a thread-paper and shabby with every-dayworries and never an encouraging word to inspirit her. 

So she gave Elizabeth a misty little smile, --Mattie's smile waspretty, though her features were ordinary, --and then sat up straightand began to enjoy herself, --that is, to talk, --never noticing thatColonel Middleton looked at his paper in a crestfallen manner, notmuch liking the interruption and the cessation of his own voice. 

"Oh, dear!" began Mattie: she generally prefaced her remarks by an"Oh, dear!" ("That was one of her jerky ways, " as Archie said. ) "Icould not help coming straight to you, for Archie would not talk, andI felt I must tell somebody. Oh, dear, Miss Middleton! What do youthink? We have just called at the Friary--and----" but here ColonelMiddleton's countenance relaxed, and he dropped his paper. 

"Those young ladies, eh? Come, Elizabeth, this is interesting. Well, what sort of place is the Friary, seen from the inside, eh, MissDrummond?"

"Oh, it is very nice, " returned Mattie, enthusiastically. "We wereshown into such a pretty room, looking out on the garden. They have somany nice things, --pictures, and old china, and handsomely-boundbooks, and all arranged so tastefully. And before we went away, theold servant--she seems really quite a superior person--brought in anelegant little tea-tray: the cups and saucers were handsomer even thanyours, Miss Middleton, --dark-purple and gold. Just what I admireso----"

"Ah, reduced in circumstances! I told you so, Elizabeth, " ejaculatedthe colonel. 

"I never saw Archie enjoy himself so much or seem so thoroughly athome anywhere. Somehow, the girls put us so at our ease. Though theywere hanging up curtains when we went in, --and any one else would havebeen annoyed at our intruding so soon, --actually, before we were inthe room a moment, Archie was on the steps, helping the eldest MissChalloner fasten the hooks. "

Miss Middleton exchanged an amused look with her father. Mattie'snarrative was decidedly interesting. 

"Oh, don't tell him I repeated that, for he is always calling mechatterbox!" implored Mattie, who feared she had been indiscreet, andthat the colonel was not to be trusted, which was quite true as far asjokes were concerned. No one understood the art of teasing better thanhe, and the young vicar had already had a taste of his kindly satire. "Archie only meant to be good-natured and put every one at theirease. "

"Quite right. Mr. Drummond is always kind, " returned Elizabeth, benignly. She had forgotten Mattie's frequent scoldings, and the poorlittle thing's tired face, or she would never have hazarded such acompromise with truth. But somehow Elizabeth always forgot people'sweaknesses, especially when they were absent. It was so nice and easyto praise people; and if she always believed what she said, that wasbecause her faith was so strong, and charity that is love was hersecond nature. 

"Oh, yes, of course, " returned Mattie, innocently. She was far tooloyal a little soul to doubt Archie's kindness for a moment. Was henot the pride and ornament of the family, --the domestic pope whoissued his bulls without possibility of contradiction? Whatever Archiedid must be right. Was not that their domestic creed?--a littleslavish, perhaps, but still so exquisitely feminine. Mattie was ofopinion that--well, to use a mild term--irritability was a necessaryadjunct of manhood. All men were cross sometimes. It behooved theirwomankind, then, to throw oil on the troubled waters, --to speakpeaceably, and to refrain from sour looks, or even the shadow of afrown. Archie was never cross with Grace: therefore it must be she, Mattie, on whom the blame lay; she was such a silly little thing, Andso on. There is no need to follow the self-accusation of one of thekindest hearts that ever beat. 

"Did not your visit end as pleasantly as it began?" asked Elizabeth, who, though she was over-merciful in her judgments, was not without agood deal of sagacity and shrewdness. Something lay beyond the marginof Mattie's words, she could see that plainly; and then her father wasgetting impatient. 

"Well, you see, that spoiled everything, " returned Mattie, jumblingher narrative in the oddest manner. "Archie was so sorry, and so wasI; and he got quite--you know his way when he feels uncomfortable. Ithought Miss Challoner was joking at first, --that it was just a bit ofmake-believe fun, --until I saw how grave Miss Phillis, that is thesecond one, looked: and then the little one--at least, she is notlittle, but somehow one fancies she is--seemed as though she weregoing to cry. "

"But what did Miss Challoner say to distress you and Mr. Drummond so?"asked Elizabeth, trying patiently to elicit facts and not vaguestatements from Mattie. 

"Oh, she said--no, please don't think I am exaggerating, for it is alltrue--that they had lost their money, and were very poor, and, thatshe and her sisters were dressmakers. "

"Dressmakers!" shouted the colonel, and his ruddy face grew almostpurple with the shock: his very moustache seemed to bristle. "Dressmakers! my dear Miss Drummond, I don't believe a word of it!Those girls! It is a hoax!--a bit of nonsense from beginning to end!"

"Hush, father! you are putting Mattie out, " returned Elizabeth, mildly. It was one of her idiosyncrasies to call people as soon aspossible by their Christian names, though no one but her father andbrother ever called her Elizabeth. Perhaps her gray hair, and acertain soft dignity that belonged to her, forbade such freedom. "Dearfather, we must let Mattie speak. " But even Elizabeth let her work lieunheeded in her lap in the engrossing interest of the subject. 

"I do not mean they have been dressmakers all this time, but this istheir plan for the future. Miss Challoner said they were not cleverenough for governesses, and that they did not want to separate. Butthat is what they mean to do, --to make dresses for people who are nothalf so good as themselves. "

"Preposterous! absurd!" groaned the colonel. "Where is theirmother? What can the old lady be thinking about?" Mrs. Challonerwas not an old lady by any means; but then the choleric colonel hadnever seen her, or he would not have applied that term to thearistocratic-looking gentlewoman whom Mattie had admired in MissMilner's shop. 

"I had a good look round the room afterwards, " went on Mattie, letting this pass. "They had got a great carved wardrobe, --I thoughtthat funny in a sitting-room; but of course it was for thedresses, "--another groan from the colonel, --"and there was asewing-machine, and a rosewood davenport for accounts, and achiffonnier of course for the pieces. Oh, they mean business; and Ishould not be surprised if they understand their work well, " went onMattie, warming up to her subject and thinking of the breadths ofgreen silk that reposed so snugly between silver paper in herdrawers at the vicarage, --the first silk dress she had ever owned, for the Drummond finances did not allow of such luxuries, --the newcolor, too; such a soft, invisible, shadowy green, like an autumnleaf shrivelled by the sun's richness. "Oh, if they should spoil it!"thought Mattie, with a sigh, as the magnitude of her intendedsacrifice weighed heavily upon her mind. 

"It is sheer girlish nonsense, --I might say foolery; and the mothermust be a perfect idiot!" began the colonel, angrily. 

He was an excitable man; and his wrath at the intelligence was reallyvery great. He had taken a fancy to the new-comers, and was preparedto welcome them heartily in his genial way; but now his old-fashionedprejudices were grievously wounded. It was against his nice code ofhonor that women should do anything out of the usual beaten groove:innovations that would make them conspicuous were heinous sins in hiseyes. 

"Come, Mattie, you and I will have a chat about this by ourselves, "observed Elizabeth, cheerfully, as she noticed her father's vexation. He would soon cool down if left to himself: she knew that well. "Suppose we go down to Miss Milner, and hear what she has to say: youmay depend upon it that it was this that made her so reserved with usthe other day. "

"Oh, do you think so?" exclaimed Mattie; but she was charmed at theidea of fresh gossip. And then they set off together. 

Miss Milner seemed a little surprised to see them so soon, for Mattiehad already paid her a visit that day; but at Miss Middleton's firstwords a look of annoyance passed over her good-natured face. 

"Dear, dear! to think of that leaking out already, " she said, in avexed voice; "and I have not spoken to a soul, because the youngladies asked me to keep their secret a few days longer. 'You must giveus till next Monday, ' one of them said this very morning: 'by thattime we shall be in order, and then we can set to work. '"

"It was Miss Challoner who told me herself, " observed Mattie, in adeprecating manner. "My brother and I called this afternoon: you see, being the clergyman, and such close neighbors, he thought we might beof some use to the poor things. "

"Poor things indeed!" ejaculated Miss Milner. "I cannot tell you howbad I felt, " she went on, her little gray curls bobbing over her highcheek-bones with every word, "when that dear young lady put down herhead there"--pointing to a spot about as big as a half-crown on thewooden counter--"and cried like a baby. 'Oh, how silly I am!' shesaid, sobbing-like; 'and what would my sisters say to me? But you areso kind, Miss Milner; and it does seem all so strange and horrid. ' Imade up my mind, then and there, " finished the good woman, solemnly, "that I would help them to the best of my powers. I have got theirbits of advertisements to put about the shop; and there's my new blacksilk dress, that has laid by since Christmas, because I knew MissSlasher would spoil it; not but what they may ruin it finely for me;but I mean to shut my eyes and take the risk, " with a little smile ofsatisfaction over her own magnanimity. 

Elizabeth stretched out her hand across the counter. 

"Miss Milner, you are a good creature, " she said, softly. "I honor youfor this. If people always helped each other and thought so little ofa sacrifice, the world would be a happier place. " And then, withoutwaiting for a reply from the gratified shopwoman, she went out of thelibrary with a thoughtful brow. 

"Miss Milner has read me a lesson, " she said, by and by, when Mattiehad marvelled at her silence a little. "Conventionality makes cowardsof the best of us. I am not particularly worldly-minded, " she went on, with a faint smile, "but all the same I must plead guilty to feeling alittle shocked myself at your news; but when I have thought a littlemore about it, I dare say I shall see things by a truer light, and beas ready to admire these girls as I am now to wonder at them. " Andafter this she bade Mattie a kindly good-bye. 

Meanwhile, Phillis was bracing herself to undergo another ordeal. Mr. Drummond and his sister had only just left the cottage when a footmanfrom the White House brought a note for her. It was from Mrs. Cheyne, and was worded in a most friendly manner. 

She thanked the sisters gracefully for their timely help on theprevious evening, and, though making light of her accident, owned thatit would keep her a prisoner to her sofa for a few days; and then shebegged them to waive ceremony and come to her for an hour or two thatevening. 

"I will not ask you to dinner, because that will perhaps inconvenienceyou, as you must be tired or busy, " she wrote; "but if one or both ofyou would just put on your hats and walk up in the cool of the eveningto keep Miss Mewlstone and myself company, it would be a real boon tous both. " And then she signed herself "Magdalene Cheyne. "

Phillis wore a perplexed look on her face as she took the note to Nan, who was still in the linen-closet. 

"Very kind; very friendly, " commented Nan, when she had finishedreading it; "but I could not possibly go, Phil. As soon as I have donethis I have promised to sit with mother. She has been alone all day. You could easily send an excuse, for Mrs. Cheyne must know we arebusy. "

"I don't feel as though an excuse will help us here, " returnedPhillis, slowly. "When an unpleasant thing has to be done, it is aswell to get it over: thinking about it only hinders one's sleep. "

"But you will surely not go alone!" demanded Nan, in astonishment. "You are so tired, Phil: you have been working hard all day. Give itup, dear, and sit and rest in the garden a little. "

"Oh, no, " returned Phillis, disconsolately. "I value my night's resttoo much to imperil it so lightly: besides, I owe it to myself for apenance for being such a coward this afternoon. " And then, withoutwaiting for any further dissuasion, she carried off the letter andwrote a very civil but vague reply, promising to walk up in theevening and inquire after the invalid; and then she dismissed themessenger, and went up to her room with a heavy heart. 

Dulce came to help her, like a dutiful sister, and chattered onwithout intermission. 

"I suppose you will put on your best dress?" she asked, as she diveddown into the recesses of a big box. 

Phillis, who was sitting wearily on the edge of her bed, roused up atthis:

"My best blue silk and cashmere, that we wore last at Fitzroy Lodge?Dulce, how can you be so absurd! Anything will do, --the gray stuff, orthe old foulard. No, stop; I forgot: the gray dress is better made andnewer in cut. We must think of that. Oh, what a worry it is going outwhen one is tired to death!" she continued, with unusual irritation. 

Dulce respected her sister's mood, and held her peace, though she knewthe gray dress was the least becoming to Phillis, who was pale, andwanted a little color to give her brightness. 

"There, now, you look quite nice, " she said, in a patronizing voice, as Phillis put on her hat and took her gloves. Phillis nodded herthanks rather sadly, and then bethought herself and came back andkissed her. 

"Thank you, dear Dulce; I am not nearly so tired now; but it isgetting late, and I must run off. " And so she did until she had turnedthe corner, and then, in spite of herself, her steps became slower andmore lagging. 

CHAPTER XX. 

"YOU ARE ROMANTIC. "

Human nature is prone to argument; a person will often in the courseof a few moments bring himself or herself to the bar of conscience, and accuse, excuse, and sum up the case in the twinkling of an eye. 

On arriving at the lodge-gates Phillis began to take herself to task. Conscience, that "makes cowards of us all, " began its small innerremonstrance; then followed self-flagellation and much belaboring ofherself with many remorseful terms. She was a pitiful thing comparedto Nan; she was conventional; there were no limits to her pride. Wherewere that freedom and nobility of soul which she once fancied wouldsweep over worldly prejudices, and carry her into purer air? She wasstill choking in the fogs of mere earthly exhalations; no wonder Nanwas a little disappointed in her, though she was far too kind to sayso. Well, she was disappointed in herself. 

By this time she had reached the hall door; and now she began to holdup her head more boldly, and to look about her; when a verysolemn-looking butler confronted her, she said to herself, "It will beall the same a hundred years hence, and I am determined this time notto be beaten;" and then she asked for Mrs. Cheyne with something ofher old sprightliness, and nothing could exceed the graceful ease ofher entrance. 

All the Challoners walked well. There was a purity of health aboutthem that made them delight in movement and every bodily exercise, --anelasticity of gait that somehow attracted attention. 

No girls danced better than they. And when they had the chance, whichwas seldom, they could ride splendidly. Their skating was a joy tosee, and made one wish that the ice would last forever, that one couldwatch such light, skimming practice; and as for tennis, no other girlhad a chance of being chosen for a partner unless the Challonersgood-naturedly held aloof, which ten times out of twelve they weresure to do. 

Phillis, who, from her pale complexion, was supposed to possess theleast vitality, delighted in exercise for its own sake. "It is apleasure only to be alive and to know it, " was a favorite speech withher on summer mornings, when the shadows were blowing lightly hitherand thither, and the birds had so much to say that it took them untilevening to finish saying it. 

Mrs. Cheyne, who was lying on her couch, watched with admiring eyesthe girl's straightforward walk, so alert and business-like, so freefrom fuss and consciousness, and held out her hand with a morecordial welcome than she was accustomed to show her visitors. 

It was a long room; and as the summer dusk was falling, and there wasonly a shaded lamp beside Mrs. Cheyne, it was full of dim corners. Nevertheless, Phillis piloted herself without hesitation to theilluminated circle. 

"This is good of you, Miss Challoner, to take me at my word. But whereis your sister? I wanted to look at her again, for it is long since Ihave seen any one so pretty. Miss Mewlstone, this is the goodSamaritan who bound up my foot so cleverly. "

"Ah, just so, " returned Miss Mewlstone. And a soft, plump hand touchedPhillis's, and then she went on picking up stitches and taking nofurther notice. 

"Nan could not come, " observed Phillis. "She had to run down to BeachHouse to report progress to mother. We hope she is coming hometo-morrow. But, as you were so kind as to write, I thought I wouldjust call and inquire about your foot. And then it would be easier toexplain things than to write about it. "

"Oh! so your mother is coming home!" returned Mrs. Cheyne, with somuch interest in her voice that Miss Mewlstone left off counting tolook at her. ("Just so, just so, " Phillis heard her mutter. ) "You musthave worked hard to get ready for her so soon. When my foot will allowme to cross a room without hobbling, I will do myself the pleasure ofcalling on her. But that will be neither this week nor the next, I amafraid. But I shall see a good deal of you and your sister beforethen, " she concluded, with the graciousness of one who knows she isconferring an unusual honor. 

"I do not know, " faltered Phillis. And then she sat upright, andlooked her hostess full in the face. "That will be for you to decidewhen you hear what I have to say. But I fear"--with a very poorattempt at a smile--"that we shall see very little of each other inthe future. "

"Oh, there is a mystery, is there?" returned Mrs. Cheyne, with alittle scorn in her manner; and her mouth took one of the downwardcurves that Mr. Drummond so thoroughly disliked. She had taken an oddfancy to these girls, especially to Phillis, and had thought aboutthem a good deal during a sleepless, uneasy night. Their simplicity, their straightforward unconsciousness, had attracted her in spite ofher cynicism. But at the first suspicion of mystery she withdrew intoherself rather haughtily. "Do speak out, I beg, Miss Challoner; for ifthere be one thing that makes me impatient, it is to have anythingimplied. "

"I am quite of your opinion, " replied Phillis, with equal haughtiness, only it sat more strangely on her girlishness. "That is why I am hereto-night, --just to inquire after your foot and explain things. "

"Well?" still more impatiently, for this woman was a spoiled child, and hated to be thwarted, and was undisciplined and imperious enoughto ruin all her own chances of happiness. 

"I told you that we were very poor, " went on Phillis, in a sweet andsteady voice; "but that did not seem to impress you much, and Ithought how noble that was, "--catching her breath an instant; "but itwill make a difference and shock you dreadfully, as it did Mr. Drummond, when I tell you we are dressmakers, --Nan and Dulce and I: atleast that will be our future occupation. "

"Ah, just so!" ejaculated Miss Mewlstone; but she said it with herlips far apart, and a mistiness came into her sleepy blue eyes. Perhaps, though she was stout and middle-aged and breathed a littletoo heavily at times, she remembered--long ago when she was young andpoor and had to wage a bitter war with the world--when she ate the drybread and drank the bitter water of dependence and felt herself illnourished by such unpalatable sustenance. "Oh, just so, poor thing!"And a little round tear dripped on to the ball of scarlet fleecywool. 

But Mrs. Cheyne listened to the announcement in far different mood. There was an incredulous stare at Phillis, as though she suspected herof a joke; and then she laughed, a dry, harsh laugh, that was notquite pleasant to hear. 

"Oh, this is droll, passing droll!" she said, and leaned back on hercushions, and drew her Indian cashmere round her and frowned alittle. 

"I am glad you find it so, " returned Phillis, who was nonplussed atthis, and did not know what to say, and was a little angry inconsequence; and then she got up from her chair with a demonstrationof spirit. "I am glad you find it so; but to us it is sadearnestness!"

"What! are you going?" asked Mrs. Cheyne, with a keen glance throughher half-shut eyes at poor Phillis standing so tall and straightbefore her. "And you have not told me the reason for taking so strangea step!"

"The reason lies in our poverty and paucity of resources, " wasPhillis's curt reply. 

"It is not to make a sensation, then? no, I did not mean that, " asPhillis shot an indignant glance at her, --"not exactly; but there isno knowing what the emancipated girl will do. Of course I have noright to question, who was a stranger to you four-and-twenty hoursago, and had never heard the name of Challoner, except that it was agood and an old name; but when one sees young things like you about toforfeit caste and build up a barrier between yourselves and yourequals that the bravest will fear to pass, it seems as though one mustlift up one's voice in protest. "

"Thank you; but it will be of no use, " returned Phillis, coldly. 

"You are determined to make other people's dresses?" And here her lipcurled a little, perhaps involuntarily. 

"We must must make dresses or starve; for our fingers are clevererthan our brains, " replied Phillis, defiantly; for she knew nothingabout it, and her powers were so immature and unfledged that she hadnever tried her wings, and had no notion whether she could fly or not, and yet no girl had a clearer head. "We have chosen work that we knowwe can do well, and we mean not to be ashamed of our occupation. Inthe old days ladies used to spin and weave, and no one blamed them, though they were noble; and if my work will bring me money, and keepthe mother comfortable, I see nothing that will prevent my doing it. "

"Ah, you are romantic, Miss Challoner; you will soon be taughtmatter-of-fact!"

"I am willing to learn anything, but I must choose my teachers, "retorted Phillis, with a little heat, for the word "romantic, " and thesatirical droop of Mrs. Cheyne's lip made her decidedly cross. "But Imust not detain you any more with our uninteresting affairs, " droppinga little courtesy, half in pique and half in mockery, for her spiritswere rising under this rough treatment. 

"It is far from uninteresting; I have not heard anything so excitingfor a long time. Well, perhaps you had better go before I say anythingvery rude, for I am terribly outspoken, and I think you are all sillyself-willed young people. " Then, as Phillis bridled her neck like anuntamed colt, she caught hold of the girl's dress to detain her, andthe sharpness passed out of her eyes. "Now, don't go away and believethat I think any worse of you for telling me this. I am across-grained body, and contradiction makes me worse. I don't know howI shall act: I must have time to consider this extraordinary bit ofnews. But all the same, whatever I do, whether I know you or do notknow you, I shall always think you the very bravest girl I ever saw. "And then she let her go, and Phillis, with her head in the air and herthoughts all topsy-turvy, marched out of the room. 

But when she reached the end of the corridor there was a soft butdistinctly audible breathing behind her, and, as in Mr. Drummond'scase Miss Mewlstone's shadowy gray gown swept between her and thedoor. 

"Miss Mewlstone, how you startled me! but the carpets are so soft andthick!"

"Yes, indeed! just so, my dear; but Phillips must be asleep as he doesnot answer the bell, and so I thought I would let you out. You areyoung to walk alone: shall I throw a shawl over my cap, and walk downthe road with you?"

"Not for worlds, my dear Miss Mewlstone;" but Phillis was quitetouched at this unexpected kindness. Miss Mewlstone did not looksleepy now; her small blue eyes were wide open, and her round placidface wore a most kindly expression, and there was a tremulous movementof her hands, as though they were feeling after something. "It isonly such a little bit of road; and though the trees make it dark, Iam not the least afraid of going alone. "

"Ah! just so. When we are young, we are brave; it is the old who areafraid of the grasshopper. I like your spirit, my dear; and so doesshe, though she is a little taken aback and disappointed; but anythingthat interests and rouses her is welcome. Even this may do her good;for it will give her something to think about besides her owntroubles. "

"I have heard of her troubles----" began Phillis; but a moving doorarrested Miss Mewlstone's attention, and she interrupted herhurriedly:

"Ah! there is Phillips at last. Just so; you shall hear from me again. It is a gray satin, --one of her presents, --but I have never had itmade up; for what is the use, when we keep no company?" went on MissMewlstone incoherently. "Oh! is that you, Phillips? Please go withthis young lady to the lodge-gate. --You shall make it after your ownfashion, " she whispered in Phillis's ear; "and I am not as particularas other people. There is Magdalene now. Ah! just so. Good-night, mydear; and mind the scraper by the gate. "

Phillis was almost sorry when the obsequious Phillips left her; forthe road certainly looked terribly dark. There was no moon, and thestars chose to be invisible; and there was a hot thundery feeling inthe air that suggested a storm. And she moved aside with a slightsensation of uneasiness--not fear, of course not fear--as a tall, gloomy-looking figure bore swiftly down on her; for, even if a girl beever so brave, a very tall man walking fast on a dark night with aslouching hat like a conspirator's is rather a terrifying object; andhow could she know that it was only Archie Drummond in his oldgarden-hat, taking a constitutional?

But he brought himself up in front of her with a sudden jerk. 

"Miss Challoner!--alone at this time of night!"

"Why, it is not ten; and I could not wait for Dorothy to fetch me, "returned Phillis, bound to defend herself, and quite palpitating withrelief; not that she was afraid--not a bit of it!--but still, Mr. Drummond's presence was very welcome. 

"I suppose I shall do as well as Dorothy?" he returned veering roundwith the greatest ease, just as though he were Dick, and bound toescort a Challoner. "Challoners' Squire, "--that was Dick's name amongpeople. 

"Oh poor Dick!" thought Phillis, with a sudden rush of tenderness forher old playmate; and then she said, demurely but with a spice ofmalice, --

"Thank you, Mr. Drummond. The road is so gloomy that I shall be gladof your escort this evening, but we shall have to do without that sortof thing now, for our business may often bring us out after dark, andwe must learn not to be too particular. "

"Oh, this must not be!" he returned, decidedly; and, though it was toodark to see his face, she knew by his voice that he was dreadfullyshocked. "I must see your mother and talk to her about this; for itwould never do for you to run such risks. I could not allow it for amoment; and as your clergyman"--coming down from his high horse, andstammering a little, --"I have surely--surely a right----" But Phillissnapped him up in a moment, and pretty sharply too, for she had nonotion of a young man giving himself airs and torturing her. 

"Oh, no right at all!" she assured him: "clergymen could only rebukeevil-doers, to which class she and her sisters did not belong, thankheaven!" to which Mr. Drummond devoutly said an "amen. " "And would heplease tell her if dressmakers were always met two and two, like theanimals in the ark? and how would it sound when she or Nan had beenfitting on a dress, on a winter's evening, if they were to refuse toleave the house until Dorothy fetched them? and how----" But here Mr. Drummond checked her, and the darkness hid his smile. 

"Now you are beyond me, Miss Challoner. In a matter of detail, a man, even a parson, is often at fault. Is there no other way of managingthis odious business? Forgive me; the word slipped out by accident!Could you not do the fitting, or whatever you call it, by daylight, and stay at home quietly in the evening like other young ladies?"

"Of course not, " returned Phillis, promptly. She had not the leastidea why it could not be done; indeed, if she had been perfectlycool--which she was not, for Mrs. Cheyne had decidedly stroked her thewrong way and ruffled her past endurance--she would have appreciatedthe temperate counsel vouchsafed her, and acquiesced in it without amurmur; but now she seemed bent on contradiction. 

"Our opinions seem to clash to-night, " returned Mr. Drummond, good-humoredly, but feeling that the young lady beside him haddecidedly a will of her own. "She is very nice, but she is not asgentle as her sister, " he said to himself; which was hard on Phillis, who, though she was not meek, being a girl of spirit, was wholesomelysweet and sound to the heart's core. 

"One may be supposed to know one's business best, " she replied ratherdryly to this. And then, fearing that she might seem ungracious to astranger, who did not know her and her little ways, she went on in amore cordial tone: "I am afraid you think me a little cross to-night;but I have been having a stand-up fight, and am rather tired. Tryingto battle against other people's prejudices makes one irritable. Andthen, because I am down and out of heart about things, our clergymanthinks fit to lecture me on propriety. "

"Only for your good. You must forgive me if I have taken too much uponmyself, " returned Mr. Drummond, with much compunction. "You seem solonely, --no father or brother; at least--pardon me--I believe you haveno brother?"

"Oh, no; we have no brother, " sighed Phillis. Their acquaintance wasin too early a stage to warrant her in bringing in Dick's name. Besides, that sort of heterogeneous relationship is so easilymisconstrued. And then she added, "I see. You meant to be very kind, and I was very ungrateful. "

"I only wish I could find some way of helping you all, " was his replyto this. But it was said with such frank kindness that Phillis's briefhaughtiness vanished. They were standing at the gate of the Friary bythis time; but Mr. Drummond still lingered. It was Phillis whodismissed him. 

"Good-night, and many thanks, " she said, brightly. "It is too late toask you in, for you see, even dressmakers have their notions ofpropriety. " And as she uttered this malicious little speech, the youngman broke into a laugh that was heard by Dorothy in her littlekitchen. 

"Oh, that is too bad of you, Miss Challoner, " he said, as soon as herecovered himself; but, nevertheless, he liked the girl better for herlittle joke. 

Mr. Drummond's constitutional had lasted so long that Mattie grewquite frightened, and came down in her drab dressing-gown to wait forhim. It was not a becoming costume, but it was warm and comfortable;but then Mattie never considered what became her. If any one hadadmired her, or cared how she looked or what she wore, or had taken aninterest in her for her own sake, she would doubtless have developedan honest liking for pretty things. But what did it matter under thepresent circumstances? Mr. Drummond was lighting his chamber candlewhen Mattie rushed out on him, --a grotesque little figure, all capesand frills. 

"Oh, Archie, how you frightened me! Where have you been?"

Archie shrugged his shoulders at this. 

"I am not aware, Matilda, "--for in severe moods he would call her byher full name, a thing she especially disliked from him, --"I did notknow before that I was accountable to you for my actions. Neither am Iparticularly obliged to you for spying upon me in this way. " For thesight of Mattie at this time of night was peculiarly distasteful. Whywas he to be watched in his own house?

"Oh, dear, Archie! How can you say such things? Spy on you, indeed!when there is a storm coming up, and I was so anxious. "

"I am very much obliged to you, " returned Archie, ironically; "but, asyou see I am safe, don't you think you had better take off thatthing"--pointing to the obnoxious garment--"and go to bed?" And suchwas his tone that poor Mattie fled without a word, and cried a littlein her dark room, because Archie would not be kind to her and let herlove him, but was always finding fault with one trifle or other. To-night it was her poor old dressing-gown, which had been hermother's, and had been considered good enough for Mattie. And then hehad called her a spy. And here she gave a sob that caught Archie'sears as he passed her door. 

"Good-night, you little goose!" he called out, for the sound made himuncomfortable; and though the words were contemptuous, the voice wasnot, and Mattie at once dried her eyes and was comforted. 

But before Archie went to sleep that night he made up his mind that itwas his duty as a clergyman and a Christian to look over Phillis'swilfulness, and to befriend to the utmost of his power the strangers, widow and fatherless, that Providence had placed at his very gates. 

"They are so very lonely, poor things!" he said to himself; "not aman about them. By the bye, I noticed she did not wear anengagement-ring. " But which was the "she" he meant, was an enigmaknown only to himself. "Not a man about them!" he repeated, in asatisfied manner, for as yet the name of Dick had not sounded in hisear. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

BREAKING THE PEACE. 

Nan went to Beach House to fetch her mother home, escorted by Laddie, who was growing a most rollicking and friendly little animal, and agreat consolation to his mistress, whom he loved with all his doggishheart. 

They all three came back in an old fly belonging to their late host, and found Phillis waiting for them on the door-step, who made hermother the following little speech:

"Now, mammie, you are to kiss us, and tell us what good industriousgirls we have been; and then you are to shut your eyes and look atnothing, and then sit down in your old arm-chair, and try and make thebest of everything. "

"Welcome home, dearest mother, " said Nan, softly kissing her. "Home ishome, however poor it may be; and thank God for it, " finished thegirl, reverently. 

"Oh, my darlings!" exclaimed the poor mother; and then she cried alittle, and Dulce came up and put a rose-bud in her hand; and Dorothyexecuted an old-fashioned courtsey, and hoped that her mistress andthe dear young ladies would try and make themselves as happy aspossible. 

"Happy, you silly old Dorothy! of course we mean to be as busy asbees, and as frolicsome as kittens!" returned Phillis, who hadrecovered her old sprightliness, and was ready to-day for a dozen Mrs. Cheynes and all the clergy of the diocese. "Now, mammie, you are onlyto peep into this room: this is our work-room, and those are thecurtains Mr. Drummond was kind enough to hang. In old days, " continuedPhillis, with mock solemnity, "the parson would have pronounced abenediction; but the modern Anglican performs another function, andwith much gravity ascends the steps, and hooks up the curtains of thenew-comers. "

"Oh, Phillis, how can you be so absurd! I am sure it was verygood-natured of him. Come, mother, dear, we will not stand herelistening to her nonsense. " And Nan drew the mother to the parlor. 

It was a very small room, but still snug and comfortable, and full ofpretty things. Tea was laid on the little round table that wouldhardly hold five, as Nan once observed, thinking of Dick; and theevening's sunshine was stealing in, but not too obtrusively. Mrs. Challoner tried not to think it dull, and endeavored to say a word ofpraise at the arrangements Dulce pointed out to her; but the thoughtof Glen Cottage, and her pretty drawing-room, and the veranda with itsclimbing roses, and the shady lawn with the seat under theacacia-trees, almost overpowered her. That they should come to this!That they should be sitting in this mean little parlor, where therewas hardly room to move, looking out at the little strip of grass, andthe medlar-tree, and the empty greenhouse! Nan saw her mother's lipquiver, and adroitly turned the subject to their neighbors. She had somuch to say about Mr. Drummond and his sister that Mrs. Challoner grewquite interested; nevertheless, it was a surprise even to Nan whenDorothy presently opened the door, and Mr. Drummond coolly walked inwith a magnificent basket of roses in his hand. 

Nan gravely introduced him to her mother, and the young man accostedher; but there was a little surprise on his face. He had taken it intohis head that Mrs. Challoner would be a far older-looking and morehomely person; but the stately-looking woman before him might havebeen an older and faded edition of Nan. Somehow, her appearanceconfused him; and he commenced with an apology for his intrusion:

"I ought not to have been so unceremonious. I am afraid, as you havejust arrived, my visit will seem an intrusion; but my sister thoughtyou would like some of our roses, "--he had obliged poor Mattie to sayso, --"and, as we had cut some fine ones, we thought you ought to havethem while they are fresh. "

"Thank you; this is very kind and neighborly, " returned Mrs. Challoner; but, though her tone was perfectly civil, Nan thought hermanner a little cold, and hastened to interpose with a few glowingwords of admiration. 

"The roses were lovely; they were finer than those at Longmead, oreven at Fitzroy Lodge, though Lady Fitzroy prided herself on herroses. " Archie pricked up his ears at this latter name, which escapedquite involuntarily from Nan. "And was it not good of Miss Drummond tospare them so many, and of Mr. Drummond to carry them?" all of whichNan said with a sweet graciousness that healed the young man'sembarrassment in a moment. 

"Yes, indeed!" echoed Mrs. Challoner, obedient, as usual, to herdaughter's lead. "And you must thank your sister, Mr. Drummond, andtell her how fond my girls are of flowers. " But, though Mrs. Challonersaid this, the roses were not without thorns for her. Why had not MissDrummond brought them herself? She was pleased indeed that, underexisting circumstances, any one should be civil to her girls; but wasthere not a little patronage intended? She was not quite sure that sherejoiced in having such neighbors. Mr. Drummond was nice andgentlemanly, but he was far too young and handsome for an unmarriedclergyman; at least, that was her old-fashioned opinion; and when onehas three very good-looking daughters, and dreads the idea of losingone, one may be pardoned for distrusting even a basket of roses. 

If Mr. Drummond perceived her slight coldness, he seemed quitedetermined to overcome it. He took small notice of Nan, who busiedherself at once arranging the flowers under his eyes; even Phillis, who looked good and demure this evening, failed to obtain a word. Hetalked almost exclusively to Mrs. Challoner, plying her with artfulquestions about their old home, which he now learned was at Oldfield, and gaining scraps of information that enabled him to obtain a prettyclear insight into their present circumstances. 

Mrs. Challoner, who was a soft hearted woman, was not proof against somuch sympathy. She perceived that Mr. Drummond was sorry for them, andshe began to warm a little towards him. His manner was so respectful, his words so discreet; and then he behaved so nicely, taking no noticeof the girls, though Nan was looking so pretty, but just talking toher in a grave responsible way, as though he were a gray-haired man ofsixty. 

Phillis was not quite sure she approved of it: in the old days she hadnever been so excluded from conversation: she would have liked a wordnow and then. But Nan sat by quite contented: it pleased her to seeher mother roused and interested. 

When Mr. Drummond took his leave, she accompanied him to the door, andthanked him quite warmly. 

"You have done her so much good, for this first evening is such atrial to her, poor thing!" said Nan, lifting her lovely eyes to theyoung man's face. 

"I am so glad! I will come again, " he said, rather incoherently. Andas he went out of the green door he told himself that it was his clearduty to befriend this interesting family. He ought to have gone homeand written to Grace, for it was long past the time when she alwaysexpected to hear from him. But the last day or two he had rathershirked this duty. It would be difficult to explain to Grace. Shemight be rather shocked, for she was a little prim in such things, being her mother's daughter. He thought he would ask Mattie to tellher about the Challoners, and that he was busy and would write soon;and when he had made up his mind to this, he went down to thesea-shore and amused himself by sitting on a breakwater and staring atthe fishing-smacks, --which of course showed how very busy he was. 

"I think I shall like Mr. Drummond, " observed Mrs. Challoner, in atolerant tone, when Nan had accompanied the young vicar to the door. "He seems an earnest, good sort of young man. "

"Yes, mammie dear. And I am sure he has fallen in love with you, "returned Phillis, naughtily, "for he talked to no one else. And youare so young-looking and pretty that of course no one could besurprised if he did. " But though Mrs. Challoner said, "Oh, Phillis!"and looked dreadfully shocked in a proper matronly way, what was theuse of that, when the mischievous girl burst out laughing in herface?

But the interruption had done them all good, and the evening passedless heavily than they had dared to hope. And when Mrs. Challonercomplained of fatigue and retired early, escorted by Dorothy, who wasdying for a chat with her mistress, the three girls went out in thegarden, and walked, after their old fashion, arm in arm up and downthe lawn, with Nan in the middle; though Dulce pouted and pretendedthat the lawn was too narrow, and that Phillis was pushing her on thegravel path. 

Their mother's window was open, and they could have heard snatches ofDorothy's conversation if they had chosen to listen. Dulce stood stilla moment, and wafted a little kiss towards her mother's room. 

"Dear old mamsie! She has been very good this evening, has she not, Nan? She has only cried the least wee bit, when you kissed her. "

"Yes, indeed. And somebody else has been good too. What do you say, Phillis? Has not Dulce been the best child possible?"

"Oh, Nan, I should be ashamed to be otherwise, " returned Dulce, insuch an earnest manner that it made her sisters laugh, "Do you think Icould see you both so good and cheerful, making the best of things, and never complaining, even when the tears are in your eyes, --as yoursare often, Nan, when you think no one is looking, --and not try andcopy your example? I am dreadfully proud of you both, --that is what Iam, " continued the warm-hearted girl. "I never knew before what was inmy sisters. And now I feel as though I want the whole world to comeand admire my Phillis and Nan!"

"Little flatterer!" but Nan squeezed Dulce's arm affectionately. AndPhillis said, in a joking tone, --

"Ah, it was not half so bad. This evening there was mother looking sodear and pretty: and there were you girls; and, though the nest issmall, it feels warm and cosy. And if we could only forget GlenCottage, and leave off missing the old faces, which I never shall--"("Nor I, " echoed Nan, with a deep sigh, fetched from somewhere)--"androot ourselves afresh, we should contrive not to be unhappy. "

"I think it is our duty to cultivate cheerfulness, " added Nan, seriously; and after this they fell to a discussion on ways and means. As usual, Phillis was chief spokeswoman, but to Nan belonged theprivilege of the casting vote. 

The next few days were weary ones to Mrs. Challoner: there was stillmuch to be done before the Friary could be pronounced in order. Thegirls spent most of the daylight hours unpacking boxes, sorting andarranging their treasures, and, if the truth must be told, helpingDorothy to polish furniture and wash glass and china. 

Mrs. Challoner, who was not strong enough for these household labors, found herself condemned to hem new dusters and mend old table-linen, to the tune of her own sad thoughts. Mr. Drummond found her sorting alittle heap on the parlor table when he dropped in casually onemorning, --this time with some very fine cherries that his sisterthought Mrs. Challoner would enjoy. 

When Mr. Drummond began his little speech he could have sworn thatthere were tears on the poor lady's cheeks; but when he had finishedshe looked up at him with a smile, and thanked him warmly, and thenthey had quite a nice chat together. 

Mr. Drummond's visit was quite a godsend, she told him, for her girlswere busy and had no time to talk to her; and "one's thoughts are notalways pleasant companions, " she added, with a sigh. And Mr. Drummond, who had caught sight of the tears, was at once sympathetic, andexpressed himself in such feeling terms--for he was more at ease inthe girls' absence--that Mrs. Challoner opened out in the mostconfiding way, and told him a great deal that he had been anxious tolearn. 

But she soon found out, to her dismay, that he disapproved of hergirls' plans; for he told her so at once, and in the coolest manner. The opportunity for airing his views on the subject was far too goodto be lost. Mrs. Challoner was alone; she was in a low, dejected mood;the rulers of the household were gathered in an upper chamber. Whatwould Phillis have said, as she warbled a rather flat accompaniment toNan's "Bonnie Dundee, " which she was singing to keep up their spiritsover a piece of hard work, if she had known that Mr. Drummond was atthat moment in possession of her mother's ear?

"Oh, Mr. Drummond, this is very sad, if every one should think as youdo about my poor girls! and Phillis does so object to being calledromantic;" for he had hinted in a gentlemanly way that he thought thewhole scheme was crude and girlish and quixotic to a degree. 

"I hope you will not tell her, then, " returned Mr. Drummond in asoothing tone, for Mrs. Challoner was beginning to look agitated. "Iam afraid nothing I say will induce Miss Challoner to give up her petscheme; but I felt, as your clergyman, it was my duty to let you knowmy opinion. " And here Archie looked so very solemn that Mrs. Challoner, being a weak woman, and apt to overvalue the leastexpression of masculine opinion, grew more and more alarmed. 

"Oh, yes!" she faltered; "it is very good--very nice of you to tell methis. " Phillis would have laughed in his face and Mrs. Cheyne wouldhave found something to say about his youth; but in Mrs. Challoner'seyes, though she was an older woman, Archie's solemnity and Orientalbeard carried tremendous weight with them. He might be young, nevertheless she was bound to listen meekly to him, and to respect hiscounsel as one who had a certain authority over her. "Oh, you are verygood! and if only my girls had not made up their minds so quickly! butnow what can I do but feel very uncomfortable after you have told methis?"

"Oh, as to that, there is always time for everything; it is never toolate to mend, " returned Mr. Drummond, tritely. "I meant from the firstto tell you what I thought, if I should ever have an opportunity ofspeaking to you alone. You see, we Oxford men have our own notionsabout things: we do not always go with the tide. If your daughters--"here he hesitated and grew red, for he was a modest, honest youngfellow in the main--"pardon me, but I am only proposing anhypothesis--if they wanted to make a sensation and get themselvestalked about, no doubt they would achieve a success, for thenovelty----" But here he stopped, reduced to silence by the shockedexpression of Mrs. Challoner's face. 

"Mr. Drummond! my girls--make a sensation--be talked about?" shegasped; and all the spirit of her virtuous matronhood, and all theinstinctive feeling that years of culture and ingrained refinement ofnature had engendered, shone in her eyes. Her Nan and Phillis andDulce to draw this on themselves!

Now, at this unlucky moment, when the maternal fires were all alight, who should enter but Phillis, wanting "pins, and dozens ofthem, --quickly, please, " and still warbling flatly that refrain of"Bonnie Dundee!"

"Oh, Phillis! Oh, my darling child!" cried Mrs. Challoner, quitehysterically; "do you know what your clergyman says? and if he shouldsay such things, what will be the world's opinion? No, Mr. Drummond, Idid not mean to be angry. Of course you are telling us this for ourgood; but I do not know when I have been so shocked. "

"Why, what is this?" demanded Phillis, calmly; but she fixed her eyeson the unlucky clergyman, who began to wish that that last speech hadnot been uttered. 

"He says it is to make a sensation--to be talked about--that you aregoing to do this, " gasped Mrs. Challoner, who was far too much upsetto weigh words truly. 

"What!" Phillis only uttered that very unmeaning monosyllable:nevertheless, Archie jumped from his seat as though he had been shot. 

"Mrs. Challoner, really this is too bad! No, you must allow me toexplain, " as Phillis turned aside with a curling lip, as though shewould leave them. He actually went between her and the door, as thoughhe meant to prevent her egress forcibly. There is no knowing to whatlengths he would have gone in his sudden agitation. "Only wait amoment, until I explain myself. Your mother has misunderstood mealtogether. Never has such a thought entered my mind!"

"Oh, " observed Phillis. But now she stood still and began to collecther pins out of her mother's basket. "Perhaps, as this is ratherunpleasant, you will have the kindness to tell me what it was you saidto my mother?" And she spoke like a young princess who had justreceived an insult. 

"I desire nothing more, " returned Archie, determined to defend himselfat all costs. "I had been speaking to Mrs. Challoner about all thisunfortunate business. She was good enough to repose confidence in me, and, as your clergyman, I felt myself bound to tell her exactly myopinions on the subject. "

"I do not quite see the necessity; but no doubt you know best, " wasPhillis's somewhat sarcastic answer. 

"At least, I did it for the best, " returned the young man, humbly. "Ipointed out things to Mrs. Challoner, as I told you I should. I warnedher what the world would say, --that it would regard your plan as verysingular and perhaps quixotic. Surely there is nothing in this tooffend you?"

"You have not touched on the worst part of all, " returned Phillis, with a little disdain in her voice. "About making a sensation, Imean. "

"There it was that your mother so entirely misunderstood. What I saidwas this: If this dressmaking scheme were undertaken just to make asensation, it would of course, achieve success, for I thought thenovelty might take. And then I added that I was merely stating anhypothesis by way of argument, and then Mrs. Challoner looked shocked, and you came in. "

"Is that all?" asked Phillis, coming down from her stilts at once, forshe knew of old how her mother would confuse things sometimes; and, ifthis were the truth, she, Phillis, had been rather too hard on him. 

"Yes. Do you see now any necessity for quarrelling with me?" returnedMr. Drummond, breathing a little more freely as the frown lessened onPhillis's face. He wanted to be friends with these girls, not to turnthem against him. 

"Well, no, I believe not, " she answered, quite gravely. "And I am sureI beg your pardon if I was rude. " But this Archie would not allow fora moment. 

"But, Mr. Drummond, one word before peace is quite restored, " went onPhillis, with something of her old archness, "or else I will fetch mysisters, and you will have three of us against you. "

"Oh, do, Phillis, my dear, " interrupted her mother; "let them come andhear what Mr. Drummond thinks. "

"Mammy, how dare you!--how dare you be so contumacious, after all thetrouble we have taken to set your dear fidgety mind at rest? Just lookwhat you have done, Mr. Drummond, " turning upon him. "Now I am notgoing to forgive you, and we will not trust the mother out of oursight, unless you promise not to say this sort of thing to her when weare not here to answer them. "

"But, Miss Challoner, my pastoral conscience!" but his eyes twinkled alittle. 

"Oh, never mind that!" she retorted, mischievously. "I will give youleave to lecture us collectively, but not individually: that must notbe thought about for a moment. " She had not a notion what the queerexpression on Mr. Drummond's face meant, and he did not know himself;but he had the strongest desire to laugh at this. 

They parted after this the best of friends; and Phillis tasted thecherries, and pronounced them very good. 

"You have quite forgiven me?" Mr. Drummond said, as she accompaniedhim to the door before rejoining her sisters. "You know I havepromised not to do it again until the next time. "

"Oh, we shall see about that!" returned Phillis, good-humoredly. "Forewarned is forearmed; and there is a triple alliance againstyou. "

"Good heavens, what mockery it seems! I never saw such girls, --never!"thought Mr. Drummond, as he took long strides down the road. "ButMattie is right: they mean business, and nothing in the world wouldchange that girl's determination if she had set herself to carry athing out. I never knew a stronger will!" And in this he was tolerablyright. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

"TRIMMINGS, NOT SQUAILS. "

The longest week must have an end; and so at last the eventful Mondaymorning arrived, --"Black Monday, " as Dulce called it, and then sighedas she looked out on the sunshine and the waving trees, and thoughthow delicious a long walk or a game of tennis would be, instead ofstitch, stitch, stitching all day. But Dulce was an unselfish littlesoul, and kept all these thoughts to herself, and dressed herselfquickly; for she had overslept herself, and Phillis had long beendownstairs. 

Nan was locking up the tea-caddy as she entered the parlor, andPhillis was standing by the table, drawing on her gloves, and her lipswere twitching a little, --a way they had when Phillis was nervous. 

Nan went up and kissed her, and gave her an encouraging pat. 

"This is for luck, my dear; and mind you make the best of poor MissMilner's dumpy, roundabout little figure. There I have put thebody-lining, and the measuring-tape, and a paper of pins in thislittle black bag; and I have not forgotten the scissors, --oh, dear, no! I have not forgotten the scissors, " went on Nan, with suchsurprising cheerfulness that Phillis saw through it, and was down onher in a moment. 

"No, Nan; there! I declare I will not be such a goose. I am notnervous, --not one bit; it is pure fun, that's what it is. Dulce, whata naughty child you are to oversleep yourself this morning, and I hadnot the heart to wake you, you looked so like a baby: and we neverwake babies because they are sure to squall!"

"Oh, Phil, are you going to Miss Milner's? I would have walked withyou if I had had my breakfast; but I am so hungry. "

"I could not possibly wait, " returned Phillis; "punctuality is one ofthe first duties of--hem!--dressmakers; all orders executed promptly, and promises performed with undeviating regularity: those are mymaxims. Eat a good breakfast, and then see if mammy wants any help, for Nan must be ready for me at the work-table, for she is our headcutter-out. " And then Phillis nodded briskly, and walked away. 

By a singular chance, Mr. Drummond was watering his ferns in the frontcourt as Phillis passed, and in spite of her reluctance, for somehowhe was the last person she wanted to encounter that day, she wasobliged to wish him good-morning. 

"Good-morning! Yes, indeed, it is a glorious morning, " observedArchie, brightly. "And may I ask where you are going so early?"

"Only to the Library, " returned Phillis, laconically; but the colormounted to her forehead. "We begin business to-day. "

And then Archie took up his watering-pot and refrained from any morequestions. It was absurd, perhaps, but at the moment he had forgotten, and the remembrance was not pleasing. 

Phillis felt quite brave after this, and walked into the Library asthough the place belonged to her. When it came to details, Miss Milnerwas far more nervous than she. 

She would keep apologizing to Phillis for making her stand so long, and she wanted to hold the pins and to pick up the scissors thatPhillis had dropped; and when the young dressmaker consulted her aboutthe trimmings, she was far too humble to intrude her opinions. 

"Anything you think best, Miss Challoner, for you have such beautifultaste as never was seen; and I am sure the way you have fitted thatbody-lining is just wonderful, and would be a lesson to Miss Slasherfor life. No, don't put the pins in your mouth, there's a dear. "

For, in her intense zeal, Phillis had thought herself bound to followthe manner of Mrs. Sloper, the village factotum, and she always didso, though Nan afterwards assured her that it was not necessary, andthat in this particular they might be allowed to deviate fromexample. 

But she was quite proud of herself when she had finished, for thematerial seemed to mould under her fingers in the most marvellous way, and she knew the fit would be perfect. She wanted to rush off at onceand set to work with Nan; but Miss Milner would not let her off soeasily. There was orange wine and seed-cake of her own making in theback parlor, and she had just one question--a very little question--toask. And here Miss Milner coughed a little behind her hand to gaintime and recover her courage. 

"The little papers were about the shop, and Mrs. Trimmings saw one, and--and----" Here Phillis came promptly to her relief. 

"And Mrs. Trimmings wants to order a dress, does she?" And Phillisbravely kept down the sudden sinking of heart at the news. 

Mrs. Trimmings was the butcher's wife, --the sister of that very Mrs. Squails of whom Dulce once made mention, --well known to be thedressiest woman in Hadleigh, who was much given to imitate herbetters. The newest fashions, the best materials, were always to befound on Mrs. Trimmings's portly figure. 

"What could I do?" observed Miss Milner, apologetically: "the paperswere about the shop, and what does the woman do but take one up? 'Iwonder what sort of dressmakers these are?' she said, careless-like;'there is my new blue silk that Andrew brought himself from Londonand paid five-and-sixpence a yard for in St. Paul's Churchyard; and Idaren't let Miss Slasher have it, for she made such a mess of thatFrench merino. She had to let it out at every seam before I could getinto it, and it is so tight for me now that I shall be obliged to cutit up for Mary Anne. I wonder if I dare try these new people?"

"And what did you say, Miss Milner?"

"What could I do then, my dear young lady, but speak up and say thebest I could for you? for though Mrs. Trimmings is not high, --not oneof the gentry, I mean, --and has a rough tongue sometimes, still sheknows what good stuff and good cutting-out means, and a word from hermight do you a power of good among the townfolks, for her gowns arealways after the best patterns. "

"All right!" returned Phillis, cheerfully: "one must creep before oneruns, and, until the gentry employ us, we ought to think ourselvesfortunate to work for the townpeople. I am not a bit above making adress for Mrs. Trimmings, though I would rather make one for you, MissMilner, because you have been so kind to us. "

"There, now! didn't I say there never were such young ladies!"exclaimed Miss Milner, quite affected at this. "Well, if you are sureyou don't mind, Miss Challoner dear, will you please go to Mrs. Trimmings's this morning? for though I told her my dress was to befinished first, still Trimmings's isn't a stone's-throw from here; andyou may as well settle a thing when you are about it. "

"And I will take the silk, Miss Milner, if you will kindly let me havea nice piece of brown paper. "

"Indeed and you will do no such thing, Miss Challoner; and there isJoseph going down with the papers to Mr. Drummond's, and will leave itat the Friary as he passes. "

"Oh, thank you, " observed Phillis, gratefully. "Then I will pencil aword to my sister, to let her know why I am detained. " And shescrawled a line to Nan:

"Trimmings, not Squails: here beginneth the first chapter. Expect mewhen you see me, and do nothing until I come. "

There was no side-door at Trimmings's, and Mrs. Trimmings was at thedesk, jotting down legs of mutton, and entries of gravy-beef and suet, with a rapidity that would have tried the brain of any other womanthan a butcher's wife. 

When Phillis approached, she looked up at her suavely, expectingcustom. 

"Just half a moment, ma'am, " she said, civilly. "Yes, Joe, wing-riband half of suet to Mrs. Penfold, and a loin of lamb and sweet-breadfor No. 12, Albert Terrace. Now, ma'am, what can I do for you?"

"I have only come about your dress, Mrs. Trimmings, " returned Phillis, in a very small voice; and then she tried not to laugh, as Mrs. Trimmings regarded her with a broad stare of astonishment, which tookher in comprehensively, hat, dress, and neat dogskin gloves. 

"You might have taken up my pen and knocked me down with it, " was Mrs. Trimmings's graphic description of her feelings afterwards, as shecarved a remarkably fine loin of veal, with a knuckle of ham and somekidney-beans to go with it. "There was the colonel standing by thedesk, Andrew; and he turned right round and looked at us both. 'I'vecome about your dress, Mrs. Trimmings, ' she said, as pertlike aspossible. Law, I thought I should have dropped, I was that takenaback. "

Phillis's feelings were none of the pleasantest when Colonel Middletonturned round and looked at her. There was an expression almost ofsorrow in the old man's eyes, as he so regarded her, which made herfeel hot and uncomfortable. It was a relief when Mrs. Trimmings rousedfrom her stupefaction and bustled out of the desk. 

"This way, miss, " she said, with a jerk of her comely head. But hertone changed a little, and became at once sharp and familiar. "I hopeyou understand your business, for I never could abide waste; and theway Miss Slasher cut into that gray merino, --and it only just meets, so to say, --and the breadths are as scanty as possible; and it wouldgo to my heart to have a beautiful piece of silk spoiled, flve-and-sixpence a yard, and not a flaw in it. "

"If I thought I should spoil your dress I would not undertake it, "returned Phillis, gently. She felt she must keep herself perfectlyquiet with this sort of people. "My sister and I have just made upsome very pretty silk and cashmere costumes, and they fitted asperfectly as possible. "

"Oh, indeed!" observed Mrs. Trimmings, in a patronizing tone. She hadno idea that the costumes of which Phillis spoke had been worn by theyoung dressmakers at one of Lady Fitzroy's afternoon parties. She wasnot quite at her ease with Phillis; she thought her a littlehigh-and-mighty in her manner. "A uppish young person, " as she saidafterwards; "but her grand airs made no sort of difference to me, Ican assure you. "

There was no holding pins or picking up scissors in this case. On thecontrary, Mrs. Trimmings watched with a vigilant eye, and was ready topounce on Phillis at the least mistake or oversight, seeing whichPhillis grew cooler and more off-hand every moment. There was a greatdeal of haggling over the cut of the sleeve and arrangement of thedrapery. "If you will kindly leave it to me, " Phillis said once; butnothing was further from Mrs. Trimmings's intention. She had not asilk dress every day. And she had always been accustomed to settle allthese points herself, while Miss Slasher had stood by humbly turningover the pages of her fashion-books, and calling her, at everysentence, "Ma'am, " a word that Phillis's lips had not yet uttered. Phillis's patience was almost tired out, when she was at last allowedto depart with a large brown-paper parcel under her arm. Mrs. Trimmings would have wrapped it up in newspaper, but Phillis had socurtly refused to have anything but brown paper that her manner ratheroverawed the woman. 

Poor Phillis! Yes, it had really come to pass, and here she was, actually walking through Hadleigh in the busiest time of the day, witha large, ugly-looking parcel and a little black bag! She had thoughtof sending Dorothy for the dress, but she knew what a trial it wouldhave been to the old woman to see one of her young ladies reduced tothis, and she preferred ladening herself to hurting the poor oldcreature's feelings. So she walked out bravely in her best style. Butnevertheless her shapely neck would turn itself now and then from sideto side, as though in dread of some familiar face. And there werelittle pin-pricks all over her of irritation and mortified self-love. "A thing is all very well in theory, but it may be tough in practice, "she said to herself. And she felt an irresistible desire to return theoffending dress to that odious Trimmings and tell her she would havenothing to do with her, --"a disagreeable old cat, " I am afraid Philliscalled her, for one is not always charitable and civil-spoken in one'sthoughts. 

"We are going the same way. May I carry that formidable-looking parcelfor you?" asked a voice that was certainly becoming very familiar. 

Poor Phillis started and blushed; but she looked more annoyed thanpleased at the rencontre. 

"Mr. Drummond, are you omnipresent?--one is forever encountering you!"she said, quite pettishly; but, when Archie only laughed, and tried toobtain possession of the parcel, she resisted, and would have none ofhis assistance. 

"Oh, dear, no!" she said: "I could not think of such a thing! Fancythe vicar of Hadleigh condescending to carry home Mrs. Trimmings'sdress!"

"Mrs. Trimmings's dress?" repeated Mr. Drummond, in a rapid crescendo. "Oh, Miss Challoner! I declare this beats everything!"

Phillis threw him a glance. She meant it to be cool, but she could notkeep the sadness out of her eyes; they did so contradict the assumedlightness of her words:

"Miss Milner was far more considerate: she made Joseph carry hers tothe Friary when he left your papers. Was he not a benevolent Joseph?Mrs. Trimmings wanted to wrap up her silk in newspaper; but I said tomyself, 'One must draw the line somewhere;' and so I held out forbrown paper. Do you think you could have offered to carry a parcel innewspaper, Mr. Drummond? Oh, by the bye, how can you condescend towalk with a dressmaker? But this is a quiet road, and no one will seeyou. "

"Pardon me if I contradict you, but there is Colonel Middleton lookingover his garden palings this moment, " returned Mr. Drummond, who hadjust become painfully aware of the fact. 

"Don't you think you had better go and speak to him, then? for you seeI am in no need of help, " retorted Phillis, who was sore all over, andwanted to get rid of him, and yet would have been offended if he hadtaken her at her word. But Mr. Drummond, who felt his position anuncomfortable one, and was dreadfully afraid of the colonel's banter, was not mean enough to take advantage of her dismissal. He had joinedhimself to her company out of pure good nature, for it was a hot dayand the parcel was heavy, but she would have none of his assistance. 

So he only waved his hand to his friend, who took off his old felt hatvery solemnly in return, and watched them with a grieved expressionuntil they were out of sight. 

"Now I will bid you good-bye, " he said, when they had reached thevicarage. 

Phillis said nothing; but she held out her hand, and there was acertain brightness in her eyes that showed she was pleased. 

"He is a gentleman, every inch of him; and I won't quarrel with himany more, " she thought, as she walked up to the Friary. "Oh, how niceit would have been if we were still at Glen Cottage and he could seeus at our best, and we were able to entertain him in our old fashion!How Carrie and the other girls would have liked him! and how jealousDick would have been! for he never liked our bringing strange youngmen to the house, and always found fault with them if he could, " andhere Phillis sighed, and for the moment Mrs. Trimmings was forgotten. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

"BRAVO, ATALANTA!"

Phillis received quite an ovation as soon as she crossed thethreshold. Dulce, who was listening for her footsteps, rushed out intothe little hall, and dragged her in, as though she were too weary tohave any movement or volition of her own. And then Nan came up, in hercalm elder-sisterly way, and put her arm round her, and hoped she wasnot so very tired, and there was so much to say, and so much to do, and she wanted her advice, and so on. 

And on Nan's forehead lay a thoughtful pucker; and on the centre-tablewere sundry breadths of green silk, crisp-looking and faintly bronzed, like withered leaves with the sun on them. 

"Oh, dear! has Miss Drummond been here in my absence?" asked Phillis, with the overwhelmed feeling of a beginner, who has not yet learned toseparate and classify, or the rich value of odd moments. "Threedresses to be done at once!"

"One at a time. But never mind Miss Drummond's this moment. Mother issafe in the store-cupboard for the next half-hour, and we want to knowwhat you mean by your ridiculous message, 'Trimmings, not Squails. 'Dulce is dying of curiosity, and so am I. "

"Yes; but she looks so hot and tired that she must refresh herselffirst. " And Dulce placed on her sister's lap a plate of yellow plums, perfectly bedded in moss, which had come from the vicarage garden. Andas Phillis enjoyed the dainty repast and poured out her morning'sexperiences in the ears of her astonished auditors, lo, thehumiliation and the sting were forgotten, and only an intense sense ofthe humor of the situation remained. 

It was Dulce whose pink cheeks were burning now. 

"Oh, Phillis! how could you? It is too dreadful even to think about!That fat old thing, too! Why, she is twice as big as Mrs. Squails!"

"Beggars cannot be choosers, my dear, " replied Phillis, airily; forrest was pleasant, and the fruit was good, and it was so delicious tofeel all that was over and she was safe in her nest again; and thenthe pleasure of talking it all over! "Do you know--?" she began, in adisconnected manner, and then sat and stared at her sisters withluminous gray eyes, until they begged to know what the new idea was. 

"Oh, nothing, " she replied, and colored a little. And then she blurtedout, in an oddly-ashamed way, "it was talking to you two dears thatput it in my head. But I could not help thinking that moment that ifone is ever good enough to get to heaven, one of the greatestpleasures will be to talk about all our past miseries anddifficulties, and how the angels helped us! and, though you may laughat me, "--they were doing nothing of the kind, only admiring her withall their might, --"I have a kind of fancy that even my 'Trimmings, notSquails' episode may have a different look up there!"

"My dear, " returned Nan, gently, for she loved all speeches of thissort, being a devout little soul and truly pious, "nothing was furtherfrom my thoughts than to laugh at you, for the more we think in thisway the grander our work will appear to us. Mrs. Trimmings may be fatand vulgar, but when you were measuring her and answering her soprettily--and I know how nicely you would speak, Phil--I think youwere as brave as one of those old knights--I cannot remember theirnames--who set out on some lofty quest or other!"

"I suppose the child means Sir Galahad, " observed Phillis, with agroan at Nan's ignorance. "Oh, Nannie, I wish I could say, --

 "'My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure;'"

and then she softly chanted, --for quotation never came amiss to her, and her head was crammed with choice selections from the poets, --

 "'All armed I ride, whate'er betide, Until I find the Holy Grail. '"

"Yes, the Sangreal, or the Quest. It does not matter what, for it wasonly an allegory, " returned Nan, who had plenty of ideas, only sheconfused them sometimes, and was not as clever in her definitions asPhillis. "It only meant that those grand old knights had some holypurpose and aim in their lives, for which they trained and toiled andfought. Don't you see?--the meaning is quite clear. We can have ourQuest too. "

"Bless her dear heart, if she is not travelling thousands of years andmiles from Mrs. Trimmings!" exclaimed Phillis, who never could beserious long. "Well, Nannie, I understand you, though you are a triflevague. We will have our Quest and our unattainable standard; and Iwill be your maiden knight--yours and Dulce's. 

 "'How sweet are looks that ladies bend On whom their favors fall! For them I'll battle till the end, To save from shame and thrall. '"

And when she had repeated this she rose, laughing, and said they wereall a little demented; and what did they mean by wasting their timewhen there were three dresses to be cut out? and Dulce must have thework fixed for the sewing-machine. 

For the next hour there was little talk, only the snipping sound ofscissors and the rustling of silken breadths, and sometimes the swishand the tearing of sundry materials, and then the whirring and burningand tappings of Dulce's sewing machine, like a dozen or two ofwoodpeckers at work on an iron tree. And no one quoted any morepoetry, for prose was heaped up everywhere about them, and their headswere full of business. 

But in the afternoon, when things were in progress and lookedpromising, and Mrs. Challoner had had her nap, and was busy over somesleeves that they had given her to keep her quiet and satisfy hermaternal conscience that she was helping her girls, Phillis did hear alittle about Miss Drummond's visit. The sewing machine, which theyworked by turns, had stopped for a time, and they were all three roundthe table, sewing and fixing as busily as possible: and Phillis, remembering Sir Galahad, dared not say she was tired, only she lookedout on the lengthening shadows with delight, and thought about tea andan evening walk just to stretch her cramped muscles. And if one dayseemed so long, how would a week of days appear before the blessedSunday gave them a few hours of freedom?

It was at this moment that Nan, with fine tact, broke the silence thatwas good for work, but was apt to wax drowsy in time:

"Miss Milner's dress is getting on well. How fast you two girls work!and mammie is doing the sleeves beautifully. Another afternoon youmust let the work rest, mammie, and read to us, or Phillis will getrestive. By the bye, Dulce, we have not told her a word about MissDrummond's visit. "

"No, indeed: was it not good of her to come so soon?" exclaimed Dulce. "She told us she wanted to be our first customer, and seemed quitedisappointed when we said that we were bound in honor and meregratitude to send Miss Milner's dress home first. 'Not that I am in ahurry for my dress, for nobody cares what I wear, ' she said, quitecheerfully; 'but I wanted to be the first on your list. ' I wish wecould oblige her, for she is a nice, unaffected little thing, and I ambeginning to like her, though she is a little fussy. "

"But she was as meek as a lamb about her dress, " added Nan, who was afirst-rate needle-woman, and could work rapidly while she talked. "Just fancy, Phil! she wanted to have a jacket with tabs and loosesleeves, just for comfort and coolness. "

"Loose sleeves and a jacket!" almost gasped Phillis, for the princessskirts were then worn, and jackets were consigned to oblivion for thetime being. "I hope you told her, Nan, that we had never worked forMrs. Noah, neither had Mrs. Shem ever honored us by her custom. "

"Well, no, Phillis; I was not quite so impertinent, and cleverspeeches of that sort never occur to me until you say them. But I toldMiss Drummond that I could not consent to spoil her lovely dress inthat way; and then she laughed and gave in, and owned she knew nothingabout fashions, and that her sister Grace always ordered her clothesfor her, because she chose such ugly things. She sat and chatted sucha long time with us; she had only just gone when you came home. "

"And she told us such a lot about this wonderful Grace, " went onDulce: "she says Archie quite worships her. --Well, mammie, " as Mrs. Challoner poised her needle in mid-air and regarded her youngestdaughter with unfeigned astonishment, "I am only repeating MissDrummond's words; she said 'Archie. '"

"But, my dear, there was no need to be so literal, " returned Mrs. Challoner, reprovingly; for she was a gentlewoman of the old school, and nothing grieved her more than slipshod English or any idiom oridiotcy of modern parlance in the mouths of her bright youngdaughters: to speak of any young man except Dick without theceremonious prefix was a heinous misdemeanor in her eyes. Dulce wouldoccasionally trespass, and was always rebuked with much gravity. "Youcould have said 'her brother, ' could you not?"

"Oh, mammie, I am sure Providence intended you for an old maid, andyou have not fulfilled your destiny, " retorted Dulce, who was rarelyawed by her mother's solemnity. "All that fuss because I said'Archie!' Oh, I forgot, that name is sacred: the Rev. ArchibaldDrummond adores his sister Grace. "

"And she must be very nice, " returned Mrs. Challoner with an indulgentsmile at her pet Dulce. "I am sure, from what Miss Drummond told usthis morning, that she must be a most superior person. Why, Phillis, she teaches all her four younger sisters, and one of them is sixteen. Miss Drummond says she is never out of the school-room, except for anhour or two in the evening, when her father and brothers come home. There are two more brothers, I think she said. Dear what a largefamily! and Miss Drummond hinted that they were not well off. "

"I should like to know that Grace, " began Phillis; and then she shookher head reflectively. "No, depend upon it, we should be disappointedin her: family paragons are generally odious to other folk. Mostlikely she wears spectacles, and is a thin thread-papery sort ofperson. "

"On the contrary, she is a sweet-looking girl, with large melancholyeyes; for Miss Drummond showed us her photograph. So much for yourimagination, Phil?" and Dulce looked triumphant. "And she is onlytwenty-two, and, though not pretty, just the sort of face one couldlove. "

"Some people's swans turn out to be geese in the end, " remarkedPhillis, provokingly; but she registered at the same time a mentalresolve that she would cross-examine Mr. Drummond on the earliestopportunity about this wonderful sister of his. Oh, it was no marvelif he did look down on them when they had not got brains enough toearn their living except in this way! and Phillis stuck her needleinto Miss Milner's body-lining so viciously that it broke. 

The sharp click roused Nan's vigilance, and she looked up, and was atonce full of pity for Phillis's pale face. 

"You are tired, Phil, and so are we all, " she said, brightly; "and, asit is our first day of work, we will not overdo ourselves. Mammie, ifyou will make the tea, we will just tidy up, and look out the patternsfor you to match the trimmings and buttons to-morrow;" for this samebusiness of matching was rather hailed by Mrs. Challoner as a reliefand amusement. 

Phillis grumbled a little over this additional labor, though, at thesame time, no one worked harder than she; but she was careful toexplain that it was her right, as a freeborn Britoness, to grumble, and that it was as much a relief to her peculiar constitution as agood long yawn is to some people. 

"And it answers two purposes, " as she observed; "for it airs thelungs, and relieves the mind, and no one takes any more notice than ifI set the wind blowing. And thankful I am, and every mother's child ofus, that Dorothy is approaching this room with her dust-pan and brush. Dorothy, I have a nice little sum for you to do. How many snippets ofgreen and black silk go to a dust-pan? Count them, and subtract allthe tacking-thread, and Dulce's pins. "

"Phillis, you are just feverish from overfatigue and sitting so longin one place, for you are used to running about. " And Nan took her bythe shoulders, and marched her playfully to the small parlor, whereMrs. Challoner was waiting for them. 

"Come, girls!" she said, cheerfully. "Dorothy has baked your favoritelittle cakes, and there are new-laid eggs for those who are hungry;and I am sure you all earned your tea, darlings. And, oh, Phillis! howtired you look!" And Mrs. Challoner looked round on each face in turn, in the unwise but loving way of mothers. 

This was too much for Phillis; and she interlaced her fingers and putthem suddenly and sternly over her mother's eyes. 

"Now, mammie, promise. "

"Phillis, my dear, how can you be so absurd!" but Mrs. Challonerstrove in vain to release herself. Phillis's fingers had iron tenacityin them when she chose. 

"A thing like this must be nipped in the bud, " pronounced Phillis, apostrophizing her laughing sisters. "You must not look at us in thatfashion every evening, as though we were sheep in a pen, or rabbitsfor sale. You will be weighing us next; and my nerves will not standit. No, mother; here I strike. I will not be looked at in thatmanner. "

"But, Phillis--Oh, you nonsensical child!"

"Personal remarks are to be tabooed from this moment. You must notsay, 'How tired you look!' or 'How pale you are!' It is not manners atthe Friary, and it is demoralizing. I am ten times more tired thisminute than I was before you told me so. "

"Very well, Phillis; but you must let me pour out the tea. " And thenPhillis subsided. But she had started the fun, and Dulce soon took itup and set the ball rolling. And Dorothy, working hard with herdust-pan and brushes, heard the merriment, and her old face lightedup. 

"Bless their sweet faces!--pretending to be happy, just to cheer upthe mistress, and make believe it is only a game they are having!"muttered the old woman, as she paused to listen. "But, if I am notmistaken, Miss Phillis, poor dear, is just ready to drop with fatigue. Only to hear her, one would think she was as perky as possible. "

When the evening meal was over, Mrs. Challoner leaned back in herchair and made a little speech to her daughters:

"Thank you, my dears. You have done me so much good. Now, if you wantto please me, you will all three put on your hats and take a nice longwalk together. "

The girls looked at each other, and every pair of eyes said, asplainly as possible, "What a delicious idea! But only two can go, andI intend to be the filial victim. " But Mrs. Challoner was too quickfor them. "I said all three, " she remarked, very decidedly. "If oneoffers to stay with me, I shall just put myself to bed and lock thedoor; but if you will be good, and enjoy this lovely evening, I willtake my book in the garden and be quite happy until you come back tome. " And when they saw that she meant it, and would only be worried bya fuss, they went off as obediently as possible. 

They walked very sedately down the Braidwood Road, and past the WhiteHouse; but when they got into the town, Phillis hurried them on alittle: "I don't want people. It is air and exercise and freedom forwhich I am pining. " And she walked so fast that they had some troubleto keep up with her. 

But when they had left every trace of human habitation behind them, and were strolling down the rough, uneven beach, towards a narrowstrip of sand, that would soon be covered by the advancing tide, Phillis said, in an odd, breathless way, "Nan, just look round and seeif there be any one in sight, before, behind, or around us;" and Nan, though in some little surprise, did at once as she was bidden, in themost thorough manner. For she looked up at the sky first, as thoughshe were afraid of balloons or possible angels; and then at the sea, which she scanned narrowly, so that not even a fish could escape her;and after that she beat the boundaries of the land. 

"No, there is not a creature in sight except ourselves and Laddie, "she answered. 

"Very well, " answered Phillis promptly. "Then, if it be all safe, andthe Hadleigh wits are away wool gathering, and you will not tellmother, I mean to have a race with Dulce, as far as we can run alongthe shore; and if I do not win----" And here she pursed up her lipsand left her sentence unfinished, as though determined to beprovoking. 

"We shall see about that, " returned Dulce, accepting the challenge ina moment; for she was always ready to follow a good lead. 

"Oh, you foolish children?" observed Nan, in her staid fashion. Butshe did not offer the slightest remonstrance, knowing of old thatunless Phillis found some safety-valve she would probably waxdangerous. So she called Laddie to her, and held him whining andstruggling, for he wanted to stretch his little legs too; thinking arace was good for dogs as well as for girls. But Nan would not hear ofit for a moment: he might trip them up and cause another sprainedankle. 

"Now, Nan, you must be umpire, and say, One, two, three!" And Nanagain obeys, and then watches them with interest. Oh, how pretty itwas, if only any one could have seen it, except the crabs and thestar-fish, and they never take much notice: the foreground of thesummer sea coming up with little purple rushes and a fringe of foam;the yellow sand, jagged, uneven, with salt-water pools here and there;the two girls in their light dresses skimming over the ground withswift feet, skirting the pools, jumping lightly over stones, evenclimbing a breakwater, then running along another level piece ofsand, --Dulce a little behind, but Phillis as erect and sure-footed asAtalanta. 

Now Nan has lost them, and puts Laddie down and prepares to follow. Inspite of her staidness, she would have dearly loved a run too; onlyshe thinks of Dick, and forbears. 

Dulce, who is out of breath, fears she must give up the race, andbegins to pant and drop behind in earnest, and to wish salt water werefresh, and then to dread the next breakwater as a hopeless obstacle;but Phillis, who is still as fresh as possible, squares her elbows asshe has seen athletes do, and runs lightly up to it, unmindful andblissfully ignorant of human eyes behind a central hole. 

Some one who is of a classical turn has been thinking of the daughterof Iasus and Clymene, and cries out, "Bravo, Atalanta! but where isMilanion, that he has forgotten the golden apples?" And Phillis, stricken dumb by the question and the sudden apparition of a beardedface behind the breakwater, remains standing as though she were carvedin stone. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

MOTHERS ARE MOTHERS. 

"Mr. Drummond! Oh dear! is one never to be free from pastoralsupervision?" muttered Phillis, half sulkily, when she roused from herstupefaction and had breath to take the offensive. And what would hethink of her? But that was a question to be deferred until later, whennightmares and darkness and troublesome thoughts harass the unwarysoul. "Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, " she might have said toherself, quoting from "Locksley Hall. " But she did nothing of thekind, --only looked at the offending human being with such an outrageddignity in her bearing that Mr. Drummond nearly committed himself bybursting out laughing. 

He refrained with difficulty, and said rather dryly, --

"That was a good race; but I saw you would win from the first; and youjumped that stone splendidly. I suppose you know the story ofAtalanta?"

"Oh, yes, " responded Phillis, gloomily; but she could not help showingoff her knowledge all the same; and she had always been so fond ofheathen mythology, and had even read translations of Homer and Virgil. "She had a she-bear for a nurse, and was eventually turned into alion; and I always thought her very stupid for being such a baby andstopping to pick up the golden apple. "

"Nevertheless, the subject is a charming one for a picture, " returnedArchie, with admirable readiness, for he saw Phillis was greatly hurtby this untoward accident, and he liked the girl all the better forher spirit. He would not have discovered himself at all, only inanother moment she must have seen him; and if she would only havebelieved how fully he entered into the fun, and how graceful andharmless he thought it, there would have been no pang of woundedself-esteem left. But girls, especially if they be worthy of the name, are so sensitive and prickly on such matters. 

Dulce had basely deserted her sister, and, at the sight of theclerical felt hat, had fled to Nan's side for protection. 

"Oh, never mind, " Nan had said, consoling her: "it is only Mr. Drummond. And he will know how it was, and that we thought there wasnot a creature in sight. " Nevertheless, she felt a little sorry in herheart that such a thing had happened. It would spoil Phillis's mirth, for she was very proud; and it might shock their mother. 

"Oh, he will think us such tomboys for grown-up young ladies!" sighedDulce, who was only just grown up. 

"Never mind what he thinks, " returned Nan, walking fast, for she wasanxious to come to Phillis's relief. She joined them very quietly, andheld out her hand to Archie as though nothing had happened. 

"Is this a favorite walk of yours, Mr. Drummond? We thought we had itall to ourselves, and so the girls had a race. They will be dreadfullytroubled at having a spectator; but it might be worse, for you alreadyknow us well enough not to misconstrue a little bit of fun. "

"I am glad you judge me so truly, " returned Archie, with a gleam ofpleasure in his eyes. Phillis certainly looked uncommonly handsome, asshe stood there, flushed and angry. But how sweet and cool Nanlooked!--not a hair ruffled nor a fold of her dress out of order;whereas Dulce's brown locks were all loose about her shoulders, shakendown by the exercise. Nevertheless, at that moment Phillis looked themost striking. 

"I am afraid my sudden appearance has put your sister out dreadfully. I assure you I would have made myself into thin air if I could, " wenton Archie, penitently; "but all the same it was impossible not toapplaud the winner. I felt inclined to wave my hat in the air, andcry, 'Bravo, Atalanta!' half a dozen times. You made such prettyrunning, Miss Challoner; and I wish Grace could have seen it. "

The last word acted like magic on Phillis's cloudy brow. She hadpassed over two delicately-implied compliments with a little scorn. Did he think her, like other girls, to be mollified by sugar-plums andsweet speeches? He might keep all that for the typical young lady ofHadleigh. At Oldfield the young men knew her better. 

It must be owned that the youth of that place had been slightly in aweof Phillis. One or two had even hinted that they thought herstrong-minded. "She has stand-off ways, and rather laughs at a fellow, and makes one feel sometimes like a fool, " they said; which did notprove much, except that Phillis showed herself above nonsense, andhad a knowledge of shams, and would not be deceived, and, being thebetter horse of the two, showed it; and no man likes to be taken downin his class. 

As Phillis would not flirt, --not understanding the art, but Dulceproved herself to be a pretty apt pupil, --they left off trying to makeher, and talked sensibly to her instead, which she liked better. But, though more than one had admired her, no one had ventured to persuadehimself or her that he was in love; but for that there was plenty oftime, Phillis not being the sort of girl to remain long without alover. 

So when she heard Grace's name she pricked up her ears, and the proudlook left her face; and she said, a little archly, but in a way thatpleased Mr. Drummond, --

"All the same, I am glad your sister was not here, for she would thinkDulce and me such tomboys!" using Dulce's very expression. 

Archie shook his head very decidedly at this. 

"Ah! you do not know Grace, and how she loves a bit of fun; only shenever gets it, poor girl!" sighing in a marked manner, for he saw howinterested Phillis looked. "If you could only hear her laugh; butplease sit down a moment and rest yourselves, " continued the artfulyoung man, who had not dared to purpose such a thing before. 

Nan hesitated; but a glance at Phillis's hot face decided her. 

"Just for five minutes, " she said, "and then we must go back tomother;" for she had already determined that they must cut their walkshort for the purpose of getting rid of Mr. Drummond. 

And then they sat down on the beach, and Dulce retired behind thebreakwater to take off her hat and tuck up her hair; while Archie, taking no notice, leaned against the other side, and felt wellcontented with his position, --three such pretty girls, and all theworld well away!

"Is Grace your favorite sister?" asked Phillis, suddenly, as shemenaced Laddie with a small pebble. 

This was a lucky opening for Archie. He was never seen to moreadvantage than when he was talking about Grace. There was noconstraint or consciousness about him at such times, but he wouldspeak with a simple earnestness that made people say, "What a goodfellow he is!"

"Oh, she has always been that, you know, " he said, brightly, "eversince she was a little thing, and I used to carry her about in myarms, and string horse-chestnuts for her, when she was the funniest, merriest little creature, and so clever. I suppose when a man hasseven sisters he may be allowed to have a favorite among them? andthere is not one of them to compare with Grace. "

"Seven sisters!" repeated Nan, with a smile; and then she added "youare very lucky, Mr. Drummond. "

Archie shrugged his shoulders at this: he had never quite recognizedhis blessings in this respect. Isabel and Dottie might be tolerated, but he could easily have dispensed with Susie and Laura and Clara; hehad a knack of forgetting their existence when he was absent fromthem, and when he was at home he did not always care to be reminded oftheir presence. He was one of those men who are very exacting to theirwomen-kind, who resent it as a personal injury if they fail in goodlooks or are not pleasant to the eye. He did not go so far as to sayto himself that he could dispense with poor Mattie too, but hecertainly acted on most occasions as though he thought so. 

"Are you not fond of all your sisters?" asked Phillis, rathermaliciously, for she had remarked the shrug. 

"Oh, as to that, " replied the young man, coloring a little, "onecannot expect to be interested in a lot of school-girls. I am afraid Iknow very little about the four youngest, except that they are workingGrace to death. Just fancy, Miss Challoner!" he continued, addressingNan, and quite disregarding Phillis's sympathetic looks. "Grace hasactually no life of her own at all; she teaches those girls, sits withthem, walks with them, helps them mend their clothes, just like adaily or rather a nursery governess, except that she is not paid, andhas no holidays. I cannot think how my mother can find it in her heartto work her so hard!" finished Archie, excited to wrath at theremembrance of Grace's wrongs. 

"Well, do you know, " returned Nan, thoughtfully, as he seemed toexpect an answer to this, and Phillis for a wonder was silent, "Icannot think your sister an object of pity. Think what a good anduseful life she is leading! She must be a perfect treasure to hermother; and I dare say they all love her dearly. "

"The girls do, " was the somewhat grudging response: "they follow herabout like four shadows, and even Isabel can do nothing without heradvice. When I am at home I can scarcely get her for a moment tomyself; it is 'Grace, come here, ' and 'Grace, please do this for me, 'until I wonder she is not worn out. "

"Oh, how happy she must be!" responded Nan, softly, for to her no lotseemed sweeter than this. To be the centre and support of a largefamily circle, --the friend and trusted confidante of each! What awonderful creature this Grace must be! and how could he speak of herin that pitying tone? "No life of her own!" Well, what life could shewant better than this? To be the guide and teacher of her youngersisters, and to be loved by them so dearly! "Oh, I think she is to beenvied! her life must be so full of interest, " she said, addressingthe astonished Archie, who had certainly never taken this view of it. And when she had said this, she gave a slight signal to her sisters, which they understood at once; and then they paced slowly down thebeach, with their faces towards the town, talking as they went. 

They did not walk four abreast, as they used to do in the Oldfieldlanes; but Nan led the way with Mr. Drummond, and Phillis and Dulcedropped behind. 

Archie was a little silent; but presently he said, quite frankly, asthough he had known her for years, --but from the first moment he hadfelt strangely at home with these girls, --

"Do you know, you have thrown a fresh light on a vexed subject? I havebeen worrying myself dreadfully about Grace. I wanted her to live withme because there was more sympathy between us than there ever will bebetween my sister Mattie and myself. We have more in common, and thinkthe same on so many subjects; and I knew how happy I could have madeher. "

"Yes, I see, " returned Nan; and she looked up at him in such aninterested way that he found no difficulty in going on:

"We had planned for years to live together; but when I accepted theliving, and the question was mooted in the family council, my motherwould not hear of it for a moment. She said Grace could not possiblybe spared. "

"Well, I suppose not, after what you have told me. But it must havebeen a great disappointment to you both, " was Nan's judicious reply. 

"I have never ceased to regret my mother's decision, " he returned, warmly; "and as for Grace, I fear she has taken the disappointmentgrievously to heart. "

"Oh, I hope not!"

"Isabel writes to my sister Mattie that Grace is looking thin and paleand has lost her appetite, and she thinks the mother is getting uneasyabout her; and I cannot help worrying myself about it, and thinkinghow all this might have been averted. "

"I think you are wrong in that, " was the unexpected answer. "When onehas acted rightly to the very best of one's power, it is of no useworrying about consequences. "

"How do you mean?" asked Archie, very much surprised at the decidedtone in which Nan spoke. He had thought her too soft in manners topossess much energy and determination of character; but he wasmistaken. 

"It would be far worse if your sister had not recognized her duty andrefused to remain at home. One cannot find happiness if one moves outof one's allotted niche; but of course you know all this better thanI, being a clergyman. And, oh! how beautifully you spoke to us lastSunday!" finished Nan, remembering all at once that she was usurpinghis place and preaching a little sermon of her own. 

"Never mind that, " he replied, impatiently: "tell me what you mean. There is something behind your speech: you think I am wrong in pityingpoor Grace so much?"

"If you ask me so plainly, I must say yes, though perhaps I am notcompetent to judge; but, from what you tell me, I think you ought notto pity her at all. She is fulfilling her destiny. Is she not doingthe work given her to do? and what can any girl want more? You shouldtrust your mother, I think, Mr. Drummond; for she would not willinglyoverwork her. Mothers are mothers: you need not be afraid, " said Nan, looking up in her clear honest way. 

"Thank you; you have taken a weight off my mind, " returned Archie, more moved by this than he cared to own. That last speech had gonehome: he must trust his mother. In a moment scales seemed to fall fromthe young man's eyes as he walked along gravely, and silently by Nan. "Why, what manner of girls could these be?" he thought; "frolicsome askittens, and yet possessing the wisdom of mature womanhood?" And thosefew simple words of Nan abided long with him. 

What if he and Grace were making a mistake, and there was no hardshipin her case at all, but only clear duty, and a most high privilege, asNan hinted? What if his mother were right, and only they were wrong?

The idea was salutary, but hardly pleasant; for he had certainly aidedand abetted Grace in her discontent, and had doubtless increased herrepinings at her dull surroundings. Surely Grace's talents had beengiven her for a purpose; else why was she so much cleverer than theothers, --so gifted with womanly accomplishments? And that clear headof hers, --she had a genius for teaching, he had never denied that. Washis mother, a sensible large-sighted woman in her way, to be secretlycondemned as a tyrant, and wanting in maternal tenderness for Grace, because she had made use of this gifted daughter for the good of herother children, and had refused to part with her at Archie's request?

Archie began to feel uncomfortable, for conscience was waxing warmwithin him; and there had been a grieved hurt tone in his mother'sletters of late, as though she had felt herself neglected by him. 

"Mothers are mothers: you need not be afraid, " Nan had said, withsimple wholesome faith in the instincts of motherhood; and the wordshad come home to him with the strongest power. 

His poor harassed mother, --what a hard life hers had been! Archiebegan to feel his heart quite tender towards her; perhaps she was alittle severe and exacting with the girls, but they none of themunderstood her in the least, "for her bark was always worse than herbite, " thought Archie; and girls, at least the generality of them, aresometimes aggravating. 

He thought of the weary times she must have had with his father, --forMr. Drummond could make himself disagreeable to his wife when thingswent wrong with him, and the sullen fortitude with which he bore hisreversal of fortune gave small opening to her tenderness; the veryway in which he shirked all domestic responsibilities, leaving on hershoulders the whole weight of the domestic machinery and all thehome-management, had hardened and embittered her. 

A large family and small means, little support from her husband, --whointerfered less and less with domestic matters, --all this had no doubtfostered the arbitrary will that governed the Drummond household. Ifher husband had only kept her in check, --if he had supported herauthority, and not left her to stand alone, --she would have been, nota better woman, for Archie knew his mother was good, but she wouldhave been softer and more lovable, and her children would have seendeeper into her heart. 

Some such thoughts as these passed through Archie's mind as he walkedbeside Nan; but he worked them out more carefully when he was alonethat night. Just before they reached the Friary, he had startedanother subject; for, turning to Phillis and Dulce, whom he hadhitherto ignored, he asked them whether he might enroll one or all ofthem among his Sunday-school teachers. 

Phillis's eyes sparkled at this. 

"Oh, Nan, how delightful! it will remind us of Oldfield. "

"Yes, indeed:" chimed in Dulce, who had left her infant-class withregret; but, to their surprise, Nan demurred. 

"At Oldfield things were very different, " she said, decidedly: "weplayed all the week, and it was no hardship to teach the dear childrenon Sunday; but now we shall have to work so hard that we shall be gladof one day's rest. "

"But surely you might spare us one hour or two in the afternoon?"returned Archie, putting on what Grace called "his clerical face. "

"In the afternoons mother will be glad of our company, and sometimeswe shall indulge in a walk. No, Mr. Drummond, our week-days are toofull of work, and we shall need all the rest we can get on Sunday. "And, with a smile, Nan dismissed the subject. 

Phillis spoke regretfully of it when he had left them. 

"It would have been so nice, " she pleaded; but Nan was inexorable. 

"You can go if you like, Phil; but I think mother is entitled to thatone afternoon in the week, and I will not consent to any parish workon that account; and then I am sure we shall often be so tired. " AndNan's good sense, as usual, carried the day. 

After that they all grouped round the window in the little parlor, andrepeated to their mother every word of their conversation with Mr. Drummond. 

Mrs. Challoner grew alarmed and tearful in a moment. 

"Oh, my darlings, promise me to be more careful for the future!" shepleaded. "Of course it was only fun, Phillis and he will not thinkanything of it. Still, in a strange place, where no one knowsyou----"

"Dulce and I will never run a race again, I think I can promise youthat, " replied Phillis, very grimly, who felt that "Bravo, Atalanta!"would haunt her in her dreams. 

"And--and I would not walk about with Mr. Drummond, though he is ourclergyman and a very gentlemanly person. People might talk: and inyour position, my poor dears"--Mrs. Challoner hesitated, for she wasvery nice in her scruples, and not for worlds would she have hinted toher daughters that Mr. Drummond was young and unmarried, and a veryhandsome man in the bargain: "You see, I cannot always be with you, and, as you have to work for your living, and cannot be guarded likeother girls, you have all the more need to be circumspect. You don'tthink me over strict, do you, darlings?"

"No, dear mother, you are perfectly right, " returned Nan, kissing her. "I knew how you would feel, and so we came home directly to get rid ofhim: it would never do for the vicar of the parish to be seen walkingabout with dressmakers. "

"Don't, Nan!" exclaimed Phillis, with a shudder. Nevertheless, as sheturned away she remembered how she had enjoyed that walk down theBraidwood Road that very morning, when he offered to carry home Mrs. Trimmings's dress and she would not let him. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

MATTIE'S NEW DRESS. 

The remainder of the week passed harmlessly and without any specialevent to mark it, and, thanks to Nan's skilful management andPhillis's pride, there were no further _contretemps_ to shock Mrs. Challoner's sense of propriety. The work progressed with astonishingrapidity: in the mornings the young dressmakers were sufficientlybrisk and full of zeal, and in the afternoons, when their energiesflagged and their fingers grew weary, Dulce would sing over her task, or Mrs. Challoner would read to them for the hour together; but, notwithstanding the interest of the tale, there was always greatalacrity manifested when the tea-bell gave them the excuse for puttingaway their work. 

On one or two evenings they gardened, and Mrs. Challoner sat under themulberry-tree and watched them; on another occasion they took a longcountry walk, and lost themselves, and came back merry and tired, andladen with primrose-roots and ferns: they had met no one, except astray laborer, --had seen glow-worms, picked wild flowers, and declaredthemselves mightily refreshed. One evening Phillis, who was not to berepressed, contrived a new amusement. 

"Life is either a mill-pond or a whirlpool, " she said, rathersententiously: "we have been stagnant for three days, and I begin tofeel flat. Races are tabooed: besides, we cannot always leave motheralone. I propose we go out in the garden and have a game of battledoreand shuttlecock;" for this had been a winter pastime with them at thecottage. 

Nan, who was always rather sober-minded now, demurred to this. Shewould have preferred gardening a little, or sitting quietly with hermother under the mulberry-tree; but Phillis, who was in a wild mood, overruled all her objections, and by and by the battle began, and theshuttlecocks flew through the air. 

The week's work was finished, and the three dresses lay in theirwrappers, waiting for Dorothy to convey them to their several owners. Nan who was really an _artiste_ at heart, had called her motherproudly into the room to admire the result of their labors. Mrs. Challoner was far too accustomed to her daughter's skilfulness totestify any surprise, but she at once pronounced Miss Drummond's dressthe _chef-d'oeuvre_. Nan's taste was faultless; and the trimmings shehad selected harmonized so well with the soft tints of the silk. 

"They are all very nice; and Mrs. Trimmings will be charmed with herblue silk, " observed Mrs. Challoner, trying to throw a little interestinto her voice, and to suppress a sigh; and then she helped Nan toadjust the wrappers, and to pin the neatly-written bills inside each. 

"I am sure that is business-like, " said Nan, with a satisfied nod, forshe never could do anything by halves; and she was so interested inher work that she would have been heart-broken if she thought one ofthe dresses would be a misfit; and then it was that Phillis, who hadbeen watching her very closely, brightened up and proposed a game. 

It was a very pretty sight, the mother thought, as she followed hergirls' movements; the young figures swayed so gracefully as theyskimmed hither and thither over the lawn with light butterflymovements, the three eager faces upturned in the evening light, theirheads held well back. 

"Two hundred, two hundred and one, two hundred and two--don't let itdrop, Dulce!" panted Phillis, breathlessly. 

"Oh, my darlings, don't tire yourselves!" exclaimed Mrs. Challoner, asher eyes followed the white flutter of the shuttlecocks. 

This was the picture that Mr. Drummond surveyed. Dorothy, who was juststarting on her round, and was in no mood for her errand, had admittedhim somewhat churlishly. 

"Yes, the mistress and the young ladies were in; and would he stepinto the parlor, as her hands were full?"

"Oh, yes, I know the way, " Mr. Drummond had returned, quite undauntedby the old woman's sour looks. 

But the parlor was empty, save for Laddie, who had been shut up therenot to spoil sport, and who was whining most piteously to be let out. He saluted Archie with a joyous bark, and commenced licking his bootsand wagging his tail with mute petition to be released from thisdurance vile. 

Archie patted and fondled him, for he was good to all dumb creatures. 

"Poor little fellow! I wonder why they have shut you up here?" hesaid; and then he took him up in his arms, and stepped to the windowto reconnoitre. 

And then he stood and looked, perfectly fascinated by the novel sight. His sisters played battledore and shuttlecock in the school-roomsometimes, or out in the passages on a winter's afternoon. He had oncecaught Susie and Clara at it, and had laughed at them in no measuredterms for indulging in such a babyish game. "I should have thoughtDottie might have played at that, " he had said, rather contemptuously. "I suppose you indulge in skipping-ropes sometimes. " And the poorgirls had paused in their game, feeling ashamed of themselves. Archiewould think them such hoydens. 

He remembered his reprimand with a strange feeling of compunction, ashe stood by the window trying vainly to elude Laddie's caresses. Whata shame of him to have spoiled those poor children's game with hissneer, when they had so little fun in their lives! and yet, as herecalled Clara's clumsy gestures and Susie's short-sighted attempts, he was obliged to confess that battledore and shuttlecock wore adifferent aspect now. Could anything surpass Phillis's swift-handedmovements, brisk, graceful, alert, or Nan's attitude, as she sustainedthe duel? Dulce, who seemed dodging in between them in a mosteccentric way, had her hair loose as usual, curling in brown lengthsabout her shoulders. She held it with one hand, as she poised herbattledore with the other. This time Archie thought of Nausicaa andher maidens tossing the ball beside the river, after washing thewedding-garments. Was it in this way the young dressmakers disportedthemselves during the evenings?

It was Phillis who first discovered the intruder. The shuttlecocks hadbecome entangled, and fallen to the ground. As she stooped to pickthem up, her quick eyes detected a coat-sleeve at the window; and anindefinable instinct, for she could not see his face, made her callout, --

"Mother, Mr. Drummond is in the parlor. Do go to him, while Dulce putsup her hair. " And then she said, severely, "I always tell you not towear your hair like that, Dulce. Look at Nan and me; we are quiteunruffled; but yours is always coming down. If you have pretty hair, you need not call people's attention to it in this way. " At whichspeech Dulce tossed her head and ran away, too much offended toanswer. 

When Archie saw Mrs. Challoner crossing the lawn with the gait of aqueen, he knew he was discovered: so he opened the window, and steppedout in the coolest possible way. 

"I seem always spoiling sport, " he said, with a mischievous glance atPhillis, which she received with outward coolness and an inwardtwinge. "Bravo, Atalanta!" sounded in her ears again. "Your maidinvited me in; but I did not care to disturb you. "

"I am glad you did not open the window before, " returned Nan, speakingwith that directness and fine simplicity that always put things torights at once: "it would have startled us before we got to the fivehundred, and then Phillis would have been disappointed. Mother, shallwe bring out some more chairs instead of going into the parlor? It isso much pleasanter out here. " And as Mrs. Challoner assented, theywere soon comfortably established on the tiny lawn; and Archie, verymuch at his ease, and feeling himself unaccountably happy, proceededto deliver some trifling message from his sister, that was hisostensible reason for his intrusion. 

"Why does she not deliver her messages herself?" thought Phillis; butshe kept this remark to herself. Only, that evening she watched theyoung clergyman a little closely, as though he puzzled her. Philliswas the man of the family; and it was she who always stood upon guardif Nan or Dulce needed a sentinel. She was beginning to think Mr. Drummond came very often to see them, considering their shortacquaintance. If it were Miss Mattie, now, who ran in and out withlittle offerings of flowers and fruit in a nice neighborly fashion!But for this very dignified young man to burden himself with theseslight feminine messages, --a question about new-laid eggs, which evenNan had forgotten. 

Phillis was quite glad when her mother said, --

"You ought to have brought your sister, Mr. Drummond: she must be sodull all alone, "--forgetting all about the dressmaking, poor soul! butPhillis remembered it a moment afterwards, with a rush of bitterfeeling. 

Perhaps, after all, that was why he came in so often, because he wasso sorry for them, and wished to help them, as he said. A clergymanhas more privileges than other men: perhaps she was wrong to suspecthim. He might not wish his sister to visit them, except in a purelybusiness-like way; but with him it was different. Most likely he hadtea with Mrs. Trimmings sometimes, just to show he was not proud; hemight even sit and chat with Mrs. Squails, and not feel compromised inthe least. Oh, yes! how stupid she was to think he admired Nan, because she had intercepted a certain glance! That was her mania, thinking every one must be after Nan. Things were different now. 

Of course he would be their only link with civilized society, --theonly cultivated mind with which they could hold converse; and herePhillis ceased to curl her lip, and her gray eyes took a sombreshade, and she sighed so audibly that Archie broke off an interestingdiscussion on last Commemoration, and looked at her in unfeignedsurprise. 

"Oh, yes! we were there, " returned Nan, innocently, who loved to talkof those dear old times; "and we were at the _fête_ at Oriel, and atthe concert at Magdalen also. Ah! do you remember, Dulce?" And thenshe faltered a little, and flushed, --not because Mr. Drummond waslooking at her so intently but at certain thoughts that began tointrude themselves, which entwined themselves with the moonlightedcloisters. 

"I was to have been there too, only at the last moment I wasprevented, " replied Archie; but his tone was inexplicable to the girl, it was at once so regretful and awe-struck. Good heavens! if he hadmet them, and been introduced to them in proper form! They hadmentioned a Mr. Hamilton: well, Hamilton had been a pupil of his; hehad coached him during a term. "You know Hamilton?" he had said, staring at her; and then he wondered what Hamilton would say if hecame down to stay with him next vacation. 

These reflections made him rather absent; and even when he took hisleave, which was not until the falling dews and the glimmer of a latedusk drove Mrs. Challoner into the house, these thoughts still pursuedhim. Nothing else seemed to have taken so strong a hold on him asthis. 

"Good heavens!" he kept repeating to himself, "to think that themerest chance--just the incidental business of a friend--prevented mefrom occupying my old rooms during Commemoration! to think I mighthave met them in company with Hamilton and the other fellows!"

The sudden sense of disappointment, of something lost and irremediablein his life, of wasted opportunities, of denied pleasure, came overthe young man's mind. He could not have danced with Nan at theUniversity ball, it is true: clergymen, according to his creed, mustnot dance. But there was the _fête_ at Oriel, and the Magdalenconcert, and the Long Walk in the Christchurch meadows, and doubtlessother opportunities. 

He never asked himself if these girls would have interested him somuch if he had met them first in ordinary society: from the very firstmoment they had attracted him strangely. Had he only known them afortnight? Good heavens! it seemed months, years, a lifetime! Theserevolutions of mind are not to be measured by time. It had come tothis that the late fellow of Oriel, so aristocratic in his tastes, sotemperate in his likings, had entered certain devious paths, wherehidden pitfalls and thorny enclosures warn the unwary traveller ofunknown dangers, and in which he was walking, not blindfold, but bystrongest will and intent, led by impulse like a mere boy, and notdaring to raise his eyes to the future. "And what Grace would havesaid!" And for the first time in his life Archie felt that in thiscase he could not ask Grace's advice. He was loath to turn in at hisown gate; but Mattie was standing there watching for him. She ran outinto the road to meet him, and then he could see there were letters inher hand. 

"Oh, dear, Archie, I thought you were never coming home!" sheexclaimed. "And I have such news to tell you! There is a letter foryou from Grace, and mother has written to me; and there is a note fromIsabel inside, and she is engaged--really and truly engaged--to Mr. Ellis Burton; and the wedding is to be in six weeks, and you and I areto go down to it, and--oh, dear----" Here Mattie broke down, and beganto sob with excitement and pleasure and the longing for sympathy. 

"Well, well, there is nothing to cry about!" returned Archie, roughly;and then his manner changed and softened in spite of himself; forafter all, Isabel was his sister, and this was the first wedding inthe family, and he could not hear such a piece of news unmoved. "Letme hear all about it, " he said, by and by; and then he took poorhysterical little Mattie into the house, and gave her some wine, andwas very kind to her, and listened to his mother's letter and Isabel'sgushing effusion without a single sneer. "Poor little Belle; she doesseem very happy!" he said, quite affectionately, as he turned up thelamp still more, and began Grace's letter. 

Mattie sat and gazed at him in a sort of ecstasy; but she did notventure to ask him to read it to her. How nice he was to-night, andhow handsome he looked! there never was such a brother as Archie. Butsuddenly, as though he was conscious of being watched, he sat down bythe table, and shaded his face with his hand. 

No, Mattie, was right in her surmise: he would not have cared to showthat letter to any one. 

The first sheet was all about Isabel. "Dear little Isabel has justleft me, " wrote Grace. "The child looks so pretty in her newhappiness, you would hardly know her. She has just been showing me themagnificent hoop of diamonds Ellis has given her. She says we must allcall him Ellis now. 'Chacun a son gout:' Poor Ellis is not verybrilliant, certainly: I remember we used to call him clownish anduncultivated. But he has a good heart, and he is really very fond ofIsabel; and as she is satisfied, I suppose we need not doubt thewisdom of her choice. Mother is radiant, and makes so much of thelittle bride-elect that she declares her head is quite turned. Thehouse is quite topsy-turvy with the excitement of this first weddingin the family. Isabel is very young to be married, and I tell mothersix weeks is far too short for an engagement; but it seems Ellis willnot listen to reason, and he has talked mother over. Perhaps I amrather fastidious, but, if I were Isabel, I should hate to receive mytrousseau from my lover; and yet Ellis wants his mother to geteverything for his _fiancee_. I believe there is to be a sort ofcompromise, and Mrs. Burton is to select heaps of prettythings, --dresses and mantles and Paris bonnets. They are rolling inriches. Ellis has taken a large house in Sloane Square, and his fatherhas bought him a landau and a splendid pair of horses;everything--furniture, plate and ornaments--is to be as massive andexpensive as possible. If I were Isabel I should feel smothered by allthese grand things but the little lady takes it all quite coolly. 

"When I get a moment to myself I sit down and say, 'In six weeks Ishall see Archie!' Oh, my darling! this is almost too good news to betrue! Only six weeks, and then I shall really see you! Now do youknow, I am longing for a good clearing-up talk? for your letterslately have not satisfied me at all. Perhaps I am growing fanciful, but I cannot help feeling as though something has come between us. Thecurrent of sympathy seems turned aside, somehow. No, do not laugh, orput me off with a jest, for I am really in earnest; and but for fearof your scolding me I should own to being just a little unhappy. Forgive me, Archie, if I vex you; but there is something, I amthoroughly convinced of that. You have some new interest or worry thatyou are keeping from me. Is this quite in accordance with our oldcompact, dear? Who are these Challoners Mattie mentions in herletters? She told me a strange rigmarole about them the otherday, --that they were young ladies who had turned dressmakers. What aneccentric idea! They must be very odd young ladies, I should think, toemancipate themselves so completely from all conventionalities. I wishthey had not established themselves at Hadleigh and so near thevicarage. Mattie says you are so kind to them. Oh, Archie! dearbrother! do be careful! I do not half like the idea of these girls;they sound rash and designing, and you are so chivalrous in yournotions. Why not let Mattie be kind to them instead of you? In aparish like Hadleigh you need to be careful. Mother is calling me, soI will just close this with my fondest love. 

 "GRACE. "

Archie threw down the letter with a frown. For the first time he wasannoyed with Grace. 

Nan and her sisters rash and designing! "Odd young ladies"! She wassorry they had established themselves at Hadleigh! It was really toobad of Grace to condemn them in this fashion. But of course it must beMattie's fault: she had written a pack of nonsense, exaggeratingthings as much as possible. 

Poor Mattie would have had to bear the brunt of his wrath as usual, only, as he turned to her with the frown black on his forehead, hiseyes caught sight of her dress. Hitherto the room had been very dimlylighted; but now, as he looked at her in the soft lamplight, his angervanished in amazement. 

"Why, Mattie, what have you done to yourself? We are not expectingcompany this evening: it is nearly ten o'clock. "

Mattie blushed and laughed, and then she actually bridled withpleasure:

"Oh, no, Archie; of course not. I only put on my new dress just to seehow it would fit; and then I thought you might like to see it. It isthe one uncle gave me; and is it not beautifully made? I am sure Mrs. Cheyne's dresses never fit better. You and Grace may say what you likeabout the Challoners, but if they can make dresses like this, it wouldbe tempting Providence not to use such a talent, and just because theywere too fine ladies to work. "

"I do believe you are right, Mattie, " returned Archie, in a low voice. "Turn round and let me look at you, girl. Do you mean--that she--thatthey made that?"

Mattie nodded as she slowly pivoted on one foot, and then revolvedlike the figures one used to see on old-fashioned barrel-organs; then, as she stood still, she panted out the words, --

"Is it not just lovely, Archie?" for in all the thirty years of herunassuming life Mattie had never had such a dress, so no wonder herhead was a little turned. 

"Yes, indeed; I like it excessively, " was Archie's comment; and thenhe added, with the delicious frankness common to brothers, "It makesyou look quite a different person, Mattie: you are almost nice-lookingto-night. "

"Oh, thank you, dear!" cried poor Mattie, quite moved by thiscompliment; for if Archie thought her almost nice-looking he must bepleased with her. Indeed, she even ventured to raise herself on tiptoeand kiss him in gratitude, which was taking a great liberty; onlyArchie bore it for once. 

"She really looked very well, poor little woman!" thought Archie, whenMattie had at last exhausted her raptures and bidden him good-night. "She would not be half so bad-looking if some one would take her inhand and dress her properly. The women must be right, after all, andthere is a power in dress. Those girls do nothing by halves, " hecontinued, walking up and down the room. "I would not have believedthey had made it, if Mattie had not told me. 'Rash and designing, 'indeed! just because they are not like other girls, --because they aremore natural, more industrious, more courageous, more religious infact. " And then the young clergyman softly quoted to himself the wordsof the wise old king, words that Nan and her sisters had ever lovedand sought to practise:

"Whatsoever thy hands findeth to do, do it with thy might. "

CHAPTER XXVI. 

"OH, YOU ARE PROUD!"

On the following Monday morning, Nan said in rather a curious voice toPhillis, --

"If no customers call to-day, our work-room will be empty. I wonderwhat we shall do with ourselves?"

To which Phillis replied, without a moment's hesitation, --

"We will go down and bathe, and Dulce and I will have aswimming-match; and after that we will sit on the beach and quiz thepeople. Most likely there will be a troupe of colored minstrels on theParade, and that will be fun. "

"Oh, I hope no one will come!" observed Dulce, overjoyed at the ideaof a holiday; but, seeing Nan's face was full of rebuke at thisoutburst of frivolity, she said no more. 

It was decided at last that they should wait for an hour to see if anyorders arrived, and after that they would consider themselves atliberty to amuse themselves for the remainder of the day. But, alasfor Dulce's hopes! long before the appointed hour had expired, thegate-bell rang, and Miss Drummond made her appearance with a largepaper parcel, which she deposited on the table with a radiant face. 

The story was soon told. Her silk dress was such a success, and dearArchie was so charmed with it--here Mattie, with a blush, deposited aneatly-sealed little packet in Nan's hand--that he had actuallyproposed that she should have another gown made after the same patternfor every-day wear. And he had taken her himself directly afterbreakfast down to Mordant's, and had chosen her this dress. He hadnever done such a thing before, even for Grace: so no wonder Mattiewas in the seventh heaven of delight. 

"It is very pretty, " observed Nan, critically: "your brother has goodtaste. " Which speech was of course retailed to Archie. 

Mattie had only just left the cottage, when another customer appearedin the person of Miss Middleton. 

Nan, who had just begun her cutting-out, met her with a pleased glanceof recognition, and then, remembering her errand, bowed rathergravely. But Miss Middleton, after a moment's hesitation, held out herhand. 

She had not been able to make up her mind about these girls. Herfather's shocked sense of decorum, and her own old-fashionedgentlewoman's idea, had raised certain difficulties in her mind, whichshe had found it hard to overcome. "Recollect, Elizabeth, I will nothave those girls brought here, " the colonel had said to her that verymorning. "They may be all very well in their way, but I have changedmy opinion of them. There's poor Drummond: now mark my words, therewill be trouble by and by in that quarter. " For Colonel Middleton hadgroaned in spirit ever since the morning he had seen the young vicarwalking with Phillis down the Braidwood Road, when she was carryingMrs. Trimmings's dress. Elizabeth answered this gentle protest by oneof her gentle smiles. "Very well, dear father: I will ask no one toBrooklyn against your wish, you may be sure of that; but I supposethey may make my new dress? Mattie's has been such a success; theycertainly understand their business. "

"You have a right to select your own dressmaker, Elizabeth, " returnedthe colonel, with a frigid wave of his hand, for he had not got overhis disappointment about the girls. "I only warn you because you arevery quixotic in your notions; but we must take the world as we findit, and make the best of it; and there is your brother coming home byand by. We must be careful, for Hammond's sake. " And, as Elizabeth'sgood sense owned the justice of her father's remark, there was nothingmore said on the subject. 

But it was not without a feeling of embarrassment that Miss Middletonentered the cottage: her great heart was yearning over these girls, whom she was compelled to keep at a distance. True, her father wasright, Hammond was coming home, and a young officer ofseven-and-twenty was not to be trusted where three pretty girls wereconcerned: it would never do to invite them to Brooklyn or to make toomuch of them. Miss Middleton had ranged herself completely on herfather's side, but at the sight of Nan's sweet face and her gravelittle bow she forgot all her prudent resolutions, and her hand washeld out as though to an equal. 

"I have come to ask you if you will be good enough to make me adress, " she said, with a charming smile. "You have succeeded so wellwith Miss Drummond that I cannot help wishing to have one too. " Andwhen she had said this she looked quietly round her, and surveyed thepretty work-room, and Dulce sitting at the sewing-machine, and lastlyPhillis's bright, intelligent face, as she stood by the table turningover some fashion-books. 

At that moment Mrs. Challoner entered the room with her littlework-basket, and placed herself at the other window. Miss Middletonbegan talking to her at once, while Nan measured and pinned. 

"I don't think I ever spent a pleasanter half-hour, " she told herfather afterwards. "Mattie was right in what she said: they have madethe work-room perfectly lovely with pictures and old china: andnothing could be nicer than their manners, --so simple and unassuming, yet with a touch of independence too. "

"And the old lady?" inquired the colonel, maliciously, for he had seenMrs. Challoner in church, and knew better than to speak of her sodisrespectfully. 

"Old lady, father! why, she is not old at all. She is an exceedinglypleasing person, only a little stately in her manner; one would notventure to take a liberty with her. We had such a nice talk while theeldest daughter was fitting me. Is it not strange, father dear, thatthey know the Paines? and Mrs. Sartoris is an old acquaintance oftheirs. I think they were a little sorry when they heard we knew themtoo, for the second girl colored up so when I said Adelaide was yourgoddaughter. "

"Humph? we will have Adelaide down here, and hear all about them, "responded her father, briskly. 

"Well, I don't know; I am afraid that would be painful to them, undertheir changed circumstances. Just as we were talking about Adelaide, Miss Mewlstone came in; and then they were so busy that I did not liketo stay any longer. Ah, there is Mr. Drummond coming to interrupt us, as usual. "

And then the colonel retailed all this for Archie's benefit. He hadcome in to glean a crumb or two of intelligence, if he could, aboutthe Challoners' movements, and the colonel's garrulity furnished himwith a rich harvest. 

Phillis had taken Miss Mewlstone in hand at once in the intervals ofbusiness: she had inquired casually after Mrs. Cheyne's injuredankle. 

"It is going on well: she can stand now, " returned Miss Mewlstone. "The confinement has been very trying for her, poor thing, and shelooks sadly the worse for it. Don't take out those pins, my dear: whatis the good of taking so much pains with a fat old thing like me andpricking your pretty fingers? Well, she is always asking me if I haveseen any of you when I come home. "

"Mrs. Cheyne asks after us!" exclaimed Phillis, in a tone ofastonishment. 

"Ah, just so. She has not forgotten you. Magdalene never forgets anyone in whom she takes interest; not that she likes many people, poordear! but then so few understand her. They will not believe that it isall on the surface, and that there is a good heart underneath. "

"You call her Magdalene, " observed Phillis, rather curiously, lookingup into Miss Mewlstone's placid face. 

"Ah, just so; I forgot. You see, I knew her as a child, --oh, such awee toddling mite! younger than dear little Janie. I remember her justas though it were yesterday; the loveliest little creature, --prettiereven than Janie!"

"Was Janie the child who died?"

"Yes, the darling! She was just three years old; a perfect angel of achild! and Bertie was a year older. Poor Magdalene! it is no wondershe is as she is, --no husband and children! When she sent for me Icame at once, though I knew how it would be. "

"You knew how it would be?" repeated Phillis, in a questioning voice, for Miss Mewlstone had come to a full stop here. She looked a littleconfused at this repetition of her words. 

"Oh, just so--just so. Thank you, my dear. You have done thatbeautifully, I am sure. Never mind what an old woman says. When peopleare in trouble like that, they are often ill to live with. Magdalenehas her moods; so have we all, my dear, though you are too young toknow that; but no one understands her better than her old Bathsheba;that is my name, and a funny old name too, is it not?" continued MissMewlstone, blinking at Phillis with her little blue eyes. "The worstof having such a name is that no one will use it; even father andmother called me Barby, as Magdalene does sometimes still. "

Bathsheba Mewlstone! Phillis's lip curled with suppressed amusement. What a droll old thing she was! and yet she liked her, somehow. 

"If she takes it into her head to come and see you, you will try andput up with her sharp speeches?" continued Miss Mewlstone, a littleanxiously, as she tied on her bonnet. "Mr. Drummond does notunderstand her at all: and I will not deny that she is hard on thepoor young man, and makes fun of him a bit; but, bless you, it is onlyher way! She torments herself and other people, just because time willnot pass quickly enough and let her forget. If we had childrenourselves we should understand it better, and how in Ramah there mustbe lamentation, " finished Miss Mewlstone, with a vague and peculiarreference to the martyred innocents which was rather inexplicable toPhillis, as in this case there was certainly no Herod, but an ordinaryvisitation of Providence; but then she did not know that MissMewlstone was often a little vague. 

After this hint, Phillis was not greatly surprised when, one morning, a pair of gray ponies stopped before the Friary, and Mrs. Cheyne'stall figure came slowly up the flagged path. 

It must be owned that Phillis's first feelings were not whollypleasurable. Nan had gone out: an invalid lady staying at SeaviewCottage had sent for a dressmaker rather hurriedly, and Miss Milnerhad of course recommended them. Nan had gone at once, and, as Dulcelooked pale, she had taken her with her for a walk. They might not beback for another hour; and a _tete-a-tete_ with Mrs. Cheyne aftertheir last interview was rather formidable. 

Dorothy preceded her with a parcel, which she deposited rathergingerly on the table. As Mrs. Cheyne entered the room she looked atPhillis in a cool, off-hand manner. 

"I am come on business, " she said with a little nod. "How do you do, Miss Challoner? You are looking rather pale, I think. " And then herkeen glance travelled round the room. 

The girl flushed a little over this abruptness, but she did not loseher courage. 

"Is this the dress?" she asked, opening the parcel; but her fingerswould tremble a little, in spite of her will. And then, as the richfolds of the black brocade came into view, she asked, in abusiness-like tone, in what style Mrs. Cheyne would wish it made, andhow soon she required it. To all of which Mrs. Cheyne responded in thesame dry, curt manner; and then the usual process of fitting began. 

Never had her task seemed so tedious and distasteful to Phillis. EvenMrs. Trimmings was preferable to this: she hardly ventured to raiseher eyes, for fear of meeting Mrs. Cheyne's cold, satirical glance;and yet all the time she knew she was being watched. Mrs. Cheyne'svigilant silence meant something. 

If only her mother would come in! but she was shelling peas forDorothy. To think Nan should have failed her on such an occasion! evenDulce would have been a comfort, though she was so easily frightened. She started almost nervously when Mrs. Cheyne at last broke thesilence:

"Yes, you are decidedly paler, --a little thinner, I think, and thatafter only a fortnight's work. "

Phillis looked up a little indignantly at this; but she found Mrs. Cheyne was regarding her not unkindly. 

"I am well enough, " she returned, rather ungraciously; "but we are notused to so much confinement and the weather is hot. We shall growaccustomed to it in time. "

"You think restlessness is so easily subdued?" with a sneer. 

"No; but I believe it can be controlled, " replied poor Phillis, whosuffered more than any one guessed from this restraint on her sweetfreedom. 

Mrs. Cheyne was right: even in this short time she was certainly palerand thinner. 

"You mean to persevere, then, in your moral suicide?"

"We mean to persevere in our duty, " corrected Phillis, as she pinnedup a sleeve. 

"Rather a high moral tone for a dressmaker to take: don't you thinkso?" returned Mrs. Cheyne, in the voice Archie hated. The womancertainly had a double nature: there was a twist in her somewhere. 

This was too much for Phillis: she fired up in a moment. 

"Why should not dressmakers take a high moral tone? You make me feelglad I am one when you talk like that. This is our ambition, --Nan'sand mine, for Dulce is too young to think much about it, --to show byour example that there is no degradation in work. Oh, it is hard!First Mr. Drummond comes, and talks to us as though we were doingwrong; and, then you, to cry down our honest labor, and call itsuicide! Is it suicide to work with these hands, that God has madeclever, for my mother?" cried Phillis; and her great gray eyes filledup with sudden tears. 

Mrs. Cheyne did not look displeased at the girl's outburst. If she hadled up to this point, she could not have received it more calmly. 

"There, there! you need not excite yourself, child!" she said, moregently. "I only wanted to know what you would say. So Miss Mewlstonehas been to you, I hear?--and Miss Middleton, too? but that's herbenevolence. Of course Miss Mattie comes out of curiosity. How I dodetest a fussy woman, with a tongue that chatters faster than apurling brook! What do you say? No harm in her?" for Phillis hadmuttered something to this effect. "Oh, that is negative praise! Ilike people to have a little harm in them: it is so much moreamusing. "

"I cannot say I am of your opinion, " returned Phillis, coldly: she wasrather ashamed of her fit of enthusiasm, and cross in consequence. 

"My dear, I always thought Lucifer must have been rather aninteresting person. " Then, as Phillis looked scandalized, and drewherself up, she said, in a funny voice, "Now, don't tell your motherwhat I said, or she will think me an improper character; and I want tobe introduced to her. "

"You want to be introduced to my mother!" Phillis could hardly believeher ears. Certainly Mrs. Cheyne was a most inexplicable person. 

"Dressmakers don't often have mothers, do they?" returned Mrs. Cheyne, with a laugh; "at least, they are never on view. I suppose they are inthe back premises doing something?"

"Shelling peas, for example, " replied Phillis, roused to mischief bythis: "that is mother's work this morning. Dorothy is old andsingle-handed, and needs all the help we can give her. Oh, yes! I willtake you to her at once. "

"Indeed you must not, if it will inconvenience her!" returned Mrs. Cheyne, drawing back a little at this. She was full of curiosity tosee the mother of these singular girls, but she did not wish to haveher illusion too roughly dispelled; and the notion of Mrs. Challoner'shomely employment grated a little on the feelings of the fine lady whohad never done anything useful in her life. 

"Oh, nothing puts mother out!" returned Phillis, in an indifferenttone. The old spirit of fun was waking up in her, and she led the waypromptly to the parlor. 

"Mother, Mrs. Cheyne wishes to see you, " she announced, in a mostmatter-of-fact voice, as though that lady were a daily visitor. 

Mrs. Challoner looked up in a little surprise. One of Dorothy's roughaprons was tied over her nice black gown, and the yellow earthenwarebowl was on her lap. Phillis took up some of the green pods, and beganplaying with them. 

"Will you excuse my rising?--you see my employment, " observed Mrs. Challoner, with a smile that was almost as charming as Nan's; and sheheld out a white soft hand to her visitor. 

The perfect ease of her manner, the absence of all flurry, produced aninstant effect on Mrs. Cheyne. For a moment she stood as though at aloss to explain her intrusion; but the next minute one of her raresunshiny smiles crossed her face:

"I must seem impertinent; but your daughters have interested me somuch that I was anxious to see their mother. But I ought to apologizefor disturbing you so early. "

"Not at all; all hours are the same to me. We are always glad to seeour friends: are we not, Phillis? My dear, I wish you would carrythese away to Dorothy and ask her to finish them. "

"Oh, no! pray do nothing of the kind, " returned Mrs. Cheyne, eagerly. "You must not punish me in this way. Let me help you. Indeed, I amsure I can, if I only tried. " And, to Phillis's intense amusement, Mrs. Cheyne drew off her delicate French gloves, and in another momentboth ladies were seated close together, shelling peas into the samepan, and talking as though they had known each other for years. 

"Oh, it was too delicious!" exclaimed Phillis, when she had retailedthis interview for Nan's and Dulce's benefit. "I knew mother wouldbehave beautifully. If I had taken the Princess of Wales in to seeher, she would not have had a word of apology for her apron, though itwas a horrid coarse thing of Dorothy's. She would just have smiled ather, as she did at Mrs. Cheyne. Mother's behavior is always lovely. "

"Darling old mammie!" put in Dulce, rapturously, at this point. 

"I made some excuse and left them together, because I could see Mrs. Cheyne was dying to get rid of me; and I'm always amiable, and like toplease people. Oh, it was the funniest sight, I assure you!--Mrs. Cheyne with her long fingers blazing with diamond rings, and the peasrolling down her silk dress; and mother just going on with herbusiness in her quiet way. Oh, I had such a laugh when I was back inthe work-room!"

It cost Phillis some trouble to be properly demure when Mrs. Cheynecame into the work-room some time afterwards in search of her. Perhapsher mischievous eyes betrayed her, for Mrs. Cheyne shook her head ather in pretended rebuke:

"Ah, I see; you will persist in treating things like a comedy. Well, that is better than putting on tragedy airs and making yourselvesmiserable. Now I have seen your mother, I am not quite so puzzled. "

"Indeed!" and Phillis fixed her eyes innocently on Mrs. Cheyne'sface. 

"No; but I am not going to make you vain by telling you what I thinkof her: indiscriminate praise is not wholesome. Now, when are youcoming to see me?--that is the point in question. "

"Dorothy will bring home your dress on Saturday, " replied Phillis, alittle dryly. "If it requires alteration, perhaps you will let meknow, and of course I will come up to the White House at any time. "

"But I do not mean to wait for that. You are misunderstanding mepurposely, Miss Challoner. I want you to come and talk to me oneevening, --any evening. No one but Miss Mewlstone will be there. "

"Oh, no!" responded Phillis, suddenly turning very red:

"I do not think that would do at all, Mrs. Cheyne. I do not mean to berude or ungrateful for your kindness, but--but----" Here the girlstammered and broke down. 

"You wish, then, to confine our intercourse to a purely businessrelation?" asked Mrs. Cheyne, and her voice had a tone of the oldbitterness. 

"Would it not be better under the circumstances? Forgive me if I amtoo proud, but----"

"Oh, you are proud, terribly proud!" returned Mrs. Cheyne, taking upher words before she could complete her sentence. "You owe me a grudgefor what I said that night, and now you are making me pay the penalty. Well, I am not meek: there is not a human being living to whom I wouldsue for friendship. If I were starving for a kind word, I would soonerdie than ask for one. You see, I am proud too, Miss Challoner. "

"Oh, I did not mean to hurt you, " returned Phillis, distressed atthis, but determined not to yield an inch or bend to the suddencaprice of this extraordinary woman, who had made her suffer so once. 

"To be hurt, one must have feelings, " returned this singular person. "Do not be afraid, I shall not attempt to shake your resolution: ifyou come to me now it must be of your own free will. "

"And if I come, what then?" asked Phillis, standing very straight andstiff, for she would not be patronized. 

"If you come you will be welcome, " returned Mrs. Cheyne; and then, with a grave inclination of the head, she swept out of the room. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

A DARK HOUR. 

"I should go one evening, if I were you: it is easy to see that Mrs. Cheyne has taken a fancy to you, " said Nan, who was much interested bythis recital; but to this Phillis replied, with a very decided shakeof the head, --

"I shall do nothing of the kind; I was not made to be a fine lady's_protegee_. If she patronized me, I should grow savage and show myteeth; and, as I have no desire to break the peace, we had betterremain strangers. Dear Magdalene certainly has a temper!" finishedPhillis, with a wicked little sneer. 

Nan tried to combat this resolution, and used a great many arguments:she was anxious that Phillis should avail herself of this sudden fancyon the part of Mrs. Cheyne to lift herself and perhaps all of theminto society with their equals. Nan's good sense told her that thoughat present the novelty and excitement of their position prevented themfrom realizing the full extent of their isolation, in time it mustweigh on them very heavily, and especially on Phillis, who was brightand clever and liked society; but all her words were powerless againstPhillis's stubbornness: to the White House she could not and would notgo. 

But one evening she changed her mind very suddenly, when a note fromMiss Mewlstone reached her. A gardener's boy brought it: "it was veryparticular, and was to be delivered immediate to the young lady, " heobserved, holding the missive between a very grimy finger and thumb. 

"MY DEAR YOUNG LADY, --

"Pride is all very well, but charity is often best in the long run, and a little kindness to a suffering human being is never out of placein a young creature like you. 

"Poor Magdalene has been very sadly for days, and I have got it intomy stupid old head--that is always fancying things--that she has beenwatching for folks who have been too proud to come, though she woulddie sooner than tell me so; but that is her way, poor dear!

"It is ill to wake at nights with nothing but sad thoughts forcompany, and it is ill wearing out the long days with only a silly oldbody to cheer one up; and when there is nothing fresh to say, andnothing to expect, and not a footstep or a voice to break the silence, then it seems to me that a young voice--that is, a kind voice--wouldbe welcome. Take this hint, my dear, and keep my counsel, for I amonly a silly old woman, as she often says. 

 "Yours, Bathsheba Mewlstone. "

"Oh, I must go now!" observed Phillis, in an embarrassed voice, as shelaid this singular note before Nan. 

"Yes, dear; and you had better put on your hat at once, and Dulce andI will walk with you as far as the gate. It is sad for you to miss thescramble on the shore; but, when other people really want us, I feelas though it were a direct call, " finished Nan, solemnly. 

"I am afraid there is a storm coming up, " replied Phillis, who hadbeen oppressed all day by the heavy thundery atmosphere: she hadlooked so heated and weary that Nan had proposed a walk by the shore. Work was pouring upon them from all sides: the townspeople, envious ofMrs. Trimmings's stylish new dress, were besieging the Friary withorders, and the young dressmakers would have been literallyoverwhelmed with their labors, only that Nan, with admirableforesight, insisted on taking in no more work than they feltthemselves able to complete. 

"No, " she would say to some disappointed customer, "our hands are fulljust now, and we cannot undertake any more orders at present: we willnot promise more than we can perform. Come to me again in afortnight's time, and we will willingly make your dress, but now it isimpossible. " And in most cases the dress was brought punctually at thetime appointed. 

Phillis used to grumble a little at this. 

"You ought not to refuse orders, Nan, " she said, rather fretfully, once. "Any other dressmaker would sit up half the night rather thandisappoint a customer. "

"My dear, " Nan returned, in her elder-sisterly voice, which had alwaysa great effect on Phillis, "I wonder what use Dulce and you would beif you sat up sewing half the night, and drinking strong tea to keepyourselves awake? No, there shall be no burning the candles at bothends in this fashion; please God we will keep our health, and ourcustomers; and no one in their senses could call us idle. Why, we arequite the fashion! Mrs. Squails told me yesterday that every one inHadleigh was wild to have a gown made by the 'lady dressmakers. '"

"Oh, I daresay!" replied Phillis, crossly, for the poor thing was sohot and tired that she could have cried from pure weariness andvexation of spirit: "but we shall not be the fashion long when thenovelty wears off; people will call us independent, and get tired ofus; and no wonder, if they are to wait for their dresses in thisway. "

Nan's only answer was to look at Phillis's pale face in a pitying way;and then she took her hand, and led her to the corner, where hermother's Bible always lay, and then with ready fingers turned to thewell known-passage, "Man goeth forth unto his work and to his laborunto the evening. "

"Well, Nan, what then?"

"Evening is for rest, --for refreshment of mind and body: I will nothave it turned into a time of toil. I know you, Phillis; you wouldwork till your poor fingers got thin, and your spirits were allflattened out, and every nerve was jarring and set on edge; and youwould call that duty! No, darling, --never! Dulce shall keep her roses, and we will have battledore and shuttlecock every evening; but, if Ihave to keep the key of the work-room in my pocket, you and Dulceshall never enter it after tea. " And Nan's good sense, as usual, carried the day. 

Phillis would much rather have joined her sisters in their walk thanhave turned in at the gloomy lodge-gates. 

 "'All ye who enter here, leave hope behind, '"

she quoted, softly, as she waved her hand to Nan. 

The servant who admitted her looked a little dubious over his errand. 

"His mistress was in her room, " he believed, "and was far too unwellto see visitors. He would tell Miss Mewlstone, if the young lady likedto wait; but he was sure it was no use, "--all very civilly said. Andas Phillis persisted in her intention of seeing Mrs. Cheyne, ifpossible, he ushered her into the library, a gloomy-looking room, withclosed blinds, one of which he drew up, and then went in search ofMiss Mewlstone. 

Phillis did not find her surroundings particularly cheerful. The airwas darkened by the approaching storm. A sullen cloud hung over thesky. The library windows opened upon the shrubberies. Here the treeswere planted so thickly that their shade obscured much of the light. The room was so dark that she could only dimly discern the handsomebindings of the books in the carved oak book-cases. The whole of thefurniture seemed sombre and massive. The chair that the footman hadplaced for her was covered with violet velvet, and was in harmony withthe rest of the furniture. 

Dreary as the room looked, it was nothing to the shrubbery walk. Anarrow winding path seemed to vanish into utter darkness. In someplaces the trees met overhead, so closely had they grown. 

"If I were the mistress of the White House, " Phillis said to herself, "I would cut every one of those trees down. They must make this partof the house quite unhealthy. It really looks like a 'ghost walk' thatone reads about. " But scarcely had these thoughts passed through hermind when she uttered a faint cry of alarm. The dark room, theimpending storm, and her own overwrought feelings were making hernervous; but actually, through the gloom, she could see a figure inwhite approaching. 

In another moment she would have sought refuge in the hall, butcontempt at her own cowardice kept her rooted to the spot. 

"She was an utter goose to be so startled! It was--yes, of course itwas Mrs. Cheyne. She could see her more plainly now. She would stepthrough the window and meet her. "

Phillis's feelings of uneasiness had not quite vanished. The obscuritywas confusing, and invested everything with an unnatural effect. EvenMrs. Cheyne's figure, coming out from the dark background, seemedstrange and unfamiliar. Phillis had always before seen her in black;but now she wore a white gown, fashioned loosely, like a wrapper, andher hair, which at other times had been most carefully arranged, wasnow strained tightly and unbecomingly from her face, which lookedpallid and drawn. She started violently when she saw Phillis comingtowards her, and seemed inclined to draw back and retrace her steps. It evidently cost her a strong effort to recover herself. She seemedto conquer her reluctance with difficulty. 

"So you have come at last, Miss Challoner, " she said, fixing her eyes, which looked unnaturally bright, on Phillis. Her voice was cold, almost harsh, and her countenance expressed no pleasure. The hand sheheld out was so limp and cold that Phillis relinquished it hastily. 

"You said that I should be welcome, " she faltered, and trying not toappear alarmed. She was too young and healthy to understand themeaning of the word hysteria, or to guess at the existence of nervousmaladies that make some people's lives a long torment to them. Nevertheless, Mrs. Cheyne's singular aspect filled her with vaguefear. It did not enter into her mind to connect the coming storm withMrs. Cheyne's condition, until she hinted at it herself. 

"Oh, yes, you are welcome, " she responded, wearily. "I have looked foryou evening after evening, but you chose to come with the storm. It isa pity, perhaps; but then you did not know!"

"What would you have me know?" asked Phillis, timidly. 

Mrs. Cheyne shrugged her shoulders a little flightily. 

"Oh, you are young!" she returned; "you do not understand what nervesmean; you sleep sweetly of a night, and have no bad dreams: it doesnot matter to you happy people if the air is full of sunshine orsurcharged with electricity. For me, when the sun ceases to shine I amin despair. Fogs find me brooding. An impending storm suffocates me, and yet tears me to pieces with restlessness: it drives me hither andthither like a fallen leaf. I tire myself that I may sleep, and yet Istare open-eyed for hours together into the darkness. I wondersometimes I do not go mad. But there! let us walk--let us walk. " Andshe made a movement to retrace her steps; but Phillis, with a couragefor which she commended herself afterwards, pulled her back by herhanging sleeves. 

"Oh, not there! it is not good for any one who is sad to walk in thatdark place. No wonder your thoughts are sombre. Look! the heavyrain-drops are pattering among the leaves. I do not care to get wet:let us go back to the house. "

"Pshaw! what does it matter getting wet?" she returned, with a littlescorn; but nevertheless she suffered Phillis to take her arm and drawher gently towards the house. Only as they came near the librarywindow, she pointed to it indignantly. "Who has dared to enter thatroom, or open the window! Have I not forbidden over and over againthat that room should be used? Do you think, " she continued, in thesame excited way, "that I would enter that room to-night of allnights! Why, I should hear his angry voice pealing in every corner!It was a good room for echoes; and he could speak loudly if he chose. Come away! there is a door I always use that leads to my privateapartments. I am no recluse; but in these moods I do not care to showmyself to people. If you are not afraid, you may come with me, unlessyou prefer Miss Mewlstone's company. "

"I would rather go with you, " returned Phillis, gently. She could notin truth say she was not afraid; but all the same she must try andsoothe the poor creature who was evidently enduring such torments ofmind: so she followed in silence up the broad oak staircase. 

A green-baize door admitted them into a long and somewhat narrowcorridor, lighted up by a row of high narrow windows set prettily withflower-boxes. Here there were several doors. Mrs. Cheyne paused beforeone a moment. 

"Look here! you shall see the mysteries of the west wing. This is myworld; downstairs I am a different creature--taciturn, harsh, andprone to sarcasm. Ask Mr. Drummond what he thinks of me; but I nevercould endure a good young man--especially that delicious compound ofthe worldling and the saint--like the Reverend Archibald. See here, mydear: here I am never captious or say naughty things!"

She threw open the door, and softly beckoned to Phillis to enter. Itwas a large empty room, --evidently a nursery. Some canaries weretwittering faintly in a gilded cage. There were flowers in the twowindows, and in the vases on the table: evidently some loving handshad arranged them that very morning. A large rocking-horse occupiedthe centre of the floor: a doll lay with its face downwards on thecrimson carpet; a pile of wooden soldiers strutted on their zigzagplatform, --one or two had fallen off; a torn picture-book had beenflung beside them. 

"That was my Janie's picture-book, " said Mrs. Cheyne, mournfully: "shewas teaching her doll out of it just before she was taken ill. Nothingwas touched; by a sort of inspiration, --a foreboding, --I do not knowwhat, --I bade nurse leave the toys as they were. 'It is only aninterrupted game: let the darlings find their toys as they put them, 'I said to her that morning. Look at the soldiers, Bertie was alwaysfor soldiers, --bless him!"

Her manner had grown calmer; and she spoke with such touchingtenderness that tears came to Phillis's eyes. But Mrs. Cheyne neveronce looked at the girl; she lingered by the table a moment, adjustinga leaf here and a bud there in the bouquets, and then she opened aninner door leading to the night-nursery. Here the associations werestill more harrowing. The cots stood side by side under a muslincanopy, with an alabaster angel between them; the little night-dresseslay folded on the pillows; on each quilt were the scarletdressing-gown and the pair of tiny slippers; the clothes were piledneatly on two chairs, --a boy's velvet tunic on one, a girl's whitefrock, a little limp and discolored, hung over the rails of theother. 

"Everything just the same, " murmured the poor mother. "Look here, mydear, "--with a faint smile--"these are Bertie's slippers: there is thehole he kicked in them when he was in his tempers, for my boy had theCheyne temper. He was Herbert's image, --his very image. " She sighed, paused, and went on: "Every night I come and sit beside their beds, and then the darlings come to me. I can see their faces--oh, soplainly!--and hear their voices. 'Good-night, dear mamma!' they seemto say to me, only Bertie's voice is always the louder. "

Her manner was becoming a little excited again; only Phillis took herhand and pressed it gently, and the touch seemed to soothe her likemagic. 

"I am so glad you come here every night, " she said, in her sweet, serious voice, from which every trace of fear had gone. "I think thata beautiful idea, to come and say your prayers beside one of theselittle beds. "

"To say my prayers!--I pray beside my darlings' beds!" exclaimed Mrs. Cheyne, in a startled voice. "Oh no! I never do that. God would nothear such prayers as mine, --never--never!"

"Dear Mrs. Cheyne, why not?" She moved restlessly away at thequestion, and tried to disengage herself from Phillis's firm grasp. "The Divine Father hears all prayers, " whispered the girl. 

"All?--but not mine, --not mine, or I should not be sitting here alone. Do you know my husband left me in anger, --that his last words to mewere the bitterest he ever spoke? 'Good-by, Magdalene: you have mademy life so wretched that I do not care if I never live to set foot inthis house again!' And that to me, --his wedded wife, and the mother ofhis children, --who loved him so. Oh, Herbert! Herbert!" and, coveringher face, the unhappy woman suddenly burst into a passion of tears. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 

Phillis kept a sad silence: not for worlds would she have checked theflow of tears that must have been so healing to the tortured brain. Besides, what was there that she, so young and inexperienced, couldsay in the presence of a grief so terrible, so overpowering? The wholething was inexplicable to Phillis. Why were the outworks ofconventionality so suddenly thrown down? Why was she, a stranger, permitted to be a witness of such a revelation? As she sat therespeechless and sympathizing, a faint sound reached her ear, --therustle of a dress in the adjoining room, --footsteps that approachedwarily, and then paused; a moment afterwards the door closed softlybehind them. Phillis looked round quickly, but could see nothing; andthe same instant a peal of thunder rolled over their heads. 

Mrs. Cheyne started up with an hysterical scream, and caught hold ofPhillis. "Come, " she said, almost wildly, "we will not stay here. Thechildren will not come to-night, for who could hear their voices insuch a storm? My little angels!--but they shall not see me like this. Come, come!" And, taking the girl by the arm, she almost dragged herfrom the room, and led the way with rapid and disordered footsteps toa large luxurious chamber, furnished evidently as a dressing-room, andonly divided from the sleeping-room by a curtained archway. 

As Mrs. Cheyne threw herself down in an arm-chair and hid her face inher hands, the curtain was drawn back, and Miss Mewlstone came in withan anxious, almost frightened expression on her good-naturedcountenance. She hurried up to Mrs. Cheyne and took her in her arms asthough she were a child. 

"Now, Magdalene, now, my dear, " she said, coaxingly, "you will try tobe good and command yourself before this young lady. Look at her: sheis not a bit afraid of the storm:--are you, Miss Challoner? No, justso; you are far too sensible. "

"Oh, that is what you always tell me, " returned Mrs. Cheyne, wrenchingherself free with some violence. "Be sensible, --be good, --when I amnearly mad with the oppression and suffocation, here, and here, "pointing to her head and breast. "Commonplaces, commonplaces; as wellstop a deluge with a teacup. Oh, you are an old fool, Barby: you willnever learn wisdom. "

"My poor lamb! Barby never minds one word you say when you are likethis. "

"Oh, I will beg your pardon to-morrow, or when the thunder stops. Hark! there it is again, " cowering down in her chair. "Can't you prayfor it to cease, Barby? Oh, it is too horrible! Don't you recollectthe night he rode away, --right into the storm, into the very teeth ofthe storm? 'Good-bye, Magdalene; who knows when we may meet again?'and I never looked at him, never kissed him, never broke the silenceby one word; and the thunder came, and he was gone, " beating the airwith her hands. 

"Oh, hush, my dear, hush! Let me read to you a little, and the feverwill soon pass. You are frightening the poor young lady with your wildtalk, and no wonder!"

"Pshaw! who minds the girl? Let her go or stop; what do I care? Whatis the whole world to me, when I am tormented like this? Three years, four years--more than a thousand days--of this misery! Oh, Barby! doyou think I have been punished enough? do you think where he is, up inheaven with the children, that he forgives and pities me, who was sucha bad wife to him?"

As Miss Mewlstone paused a moment to wipe the tears that were flowingover her old cheeks, Phillis's voice came to her relief. 

"Oh, can you doubt it?" she said, in much agitation. "Dear Mrs. Cheyne, can you have an instant's doubt? Do you think the dead carryall these paltry earthly feelings into the bright place yonder?Forgive you--oh, there is no need of forgiveness there; he will onlybe loving you, --he and the children too. "

"God bless you!" whispered Miss Mewlstone. "Hush, that is enough! Go, my dear, go, and I will come to you presently. Magdalene, put yourpoor head down here: I have thought of something that will do yougood. " She waved Phillis away almost impatiently, and laid the poorsufferer's head on her bosom, shielding it from the flashes thatdarted through the room. Phillis could see her bending over her, andher voice was as tender as though she were soothing a sick infant. 

Phillis was trembling with agitation as she stole down the darkcorridor. Never in her happy young life had she witnessed or imaginedsuch a scene. The wild words, the half-maddened gestures, the look ofagony stamped on the pale, almost distorted features, would haunt herfor many a day. Oh, how the poor soul must have suffered before shelost self-control and balance like this!

It was not the death of her children that had so utterly unnerved her. It must have been that bitter parting with her husband, and theremembrance of angry words never to be atoned for in this life, thatwas cankering the root of her peace, and that brought about thesemoods of despair. 

Phillis thought of Coleridge's lines, --

 "And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness on the brain, "--

as she took refuge in the dim drawing-room. Here, at least, there weresigns of human life and occupation. A little tea-table had been set inone window, though the tea was cold. The greyhounds came and laidtheir slender noses on her gown, and one small Italian one coiledhimself up on her lap. Miss Mewlstone's work-basket stood open, and atortoise shell kitten had helped itself to a ball of wool and wasbusily unwinding it. The dogs were evidently frightened at the storm, for they all gathered round Phillis, shivering and whining, as thoughmissing their mistress; and she had much ado to comfort them, thoughshe loved animals and understood their dumb language better than mostpeople. 

It was not so very long, and yet it seemed hours before Miss Mewlstonecame down to her. 

"Are you here, my dear?" she asked, in a loud whisper, for the roomwas dark. "Ah, just so. We must have lights, and I must give you aglass of wine or a nice hot cup of coffee. " And, notwithstandingPhillis's protest that she never took wine and was not in need ofanything, Miss Mewlstone rang the bell, and desired the footman tobring in the lamp. "And tell Bishop to send up some nice hot coffeeand sandwiches as soon as possible. For young people never know whatthey want, and you are just worried and tired to death with all youhave gone through, --not being an old woman and seasoned to it likeme, " went on the good creature, and she patted Phillis's cheekencouragingly as she spoke. 

"But how is she? Oh, thank God, the storm has lulled at last!"exclaimed the girl, breathlessly. 

"Oh, yes; the storm is over. We have reason to dread storms in thishouse, " returned Miss Mewlstone, gravely. "She was quite exhausted, and let Charlotte and me help her to bed. Now she has had hercomposing-draught, and Charlotte will sit by her till I go up. Ialways watch by her all night after one of these attacks. "

"Is it a nervous attack?" asked Phillis, timidly, for she felt she wastreading on delicate ground. 

"I believe Dr. Parkes calls it hysteria, " replied Miss Mewlstone, hesitating a little. "Ah, we have sad times with her. You heard whatshe said, poor dear: she has been sorely tried. "

"Was not her husband good to her, then?"

"I am sure he meant to be kind, " returned Miss Mewlstone, sorrowfully, "for he loved her dearly; but he was passionate and masterful, and wasone that would have his way. As long as it was only courtship, heworshipped the ground she walked upon, as the saying is. But poorMagdalene was not a good wife. She was cold when she ought to havebeen caressing, stubborn when she might have yielded; and sarcasmnever yet healed a wound. Ah, here comes your coffee! Thank you, Evans. Now, my dear, you must just eat and drink, and put some colorinto those pale cheeks. Scenes like these are not good for youngcreatures like you. But when Magdalene is in these moods, she wouldnot care if the whole world listened to her. To-morrow she will beherself, and remember and be ashamed; and then you must not mind ifshe be harder and colder than ever. She will say bitter things all themore, because she is angered at her own want of self-control. "

"I can understand that: that is just as I should feel, " returnedPhillis, shuddering a little at the idea of encountering Mrs. Cheyne'skeen-edged sarcasms. "She will not like to see me any more; she willthink I had no right to witness such a scene. "

"It is certainly a pity that I wrote that note, " returned Mrs. Mewlstone, reflectively. "I hoped that you would turn her thoughts, and that we might avert the usual nervous paroxysm. When I opened thedoor and saw you sitting together so peacefully beside the children'sbeds, I expected a milder mood; but it was the thunder. PoorMagdalene! She has never been able to control herself in a storm sincethe evening Herbert left her, and we went in and found her lyinginsensible in the library, in the midst of one of the worst storms Ihave ever witnessed. "

"That was when he said those cruel words to her!" ejaculated Phillis. 

"Yes. Did she repeat them? How often I have begged her to forget them, and to believe that he repented of them before an hour was over! Ah, well! the sting of death lies in this: if she had had one word, onelittle word, she would be a different woman, in spite of thechildren's death. God's strokes are less cruel than men's strokes: thereed may be bruised by them, but is not broken. She had a long illnessafter the children were gone; it was too much, --too much for anywoman's heart to bear. You see, she wanted her husband to comfort her. Dr. Parkes feared for her brain, but we pulled her through. Ah, justso, my dear; we pulled her through!" finished Miss Mewlstone, with asigh. 

"Oh, how good you are to her! she is happy to have such a friend!"observed Phillis, enthusiastically. 

Miss Mewlstone shook her head, and a tear rolled down her face. 

"Oh, my dear, I am only an old fool, as she said just now. And, afterall, the company of a stupid old woman is not much to a proud bonniecreature like that. Sometimes for days together she hardly opens herlips to me; we sit together, eat together, drive together, and not aword for Barby. But sometimes, poor dear! she will cling to me andcry, and say her heart is breaking. And Solomon was right: but it wasnot only a brother that is good for adversity. When she wants me, I amhere, and there is nothing I will not do for her, and she knowsit;--and that is about the long and short of it, " finished MissMewlstone, dismissing the subject with another sigh. And then she badePhillis finish her coffee and put on her hat. "For your mother will beexpecting you, and wondering what has become of you; and Phillips orEvans must walk with you, for it is past nine o'clock, and such apretty young lady must not go unattended, " concluded the simplewoman. 

Phillis laughed and kissed her at this; but, though she said nothingof her intentions, she determined to dismiss the servant as soon aspossible, and run on alone to the Friary. She had not forgotten herencounter with Mr. Drummond on her last visit to the White House; butto-night the storm would keep him in-doors. 

Evans, the new footman, was desired to escort her; but in the middleof the avenue Phillis civilly dismissed him. 

"There is no need for two of us to get wet; and the rain is coming onvery heavily, " she said. 

The young man hesitated; but he was slow-witted and new to his duty, and the young lady had a peremptory way with her, so he touched hishat, and went back to the house. 

"Such nonsense, having a liveried servant at my heels, when I am onlya dressmaker!" thought Phillis, scurrying down the avenue like achased rabbit. 

Hitherto, the trees had sheltered her; but a glance at the open roadand the driving rain made her resolve to take refuge in the porch ofthe cottage that stood opposite the gate. It was the place where Nanand her mother had once lodged; and, though all the lights wereextinguished, and the people had retired to bed, she felt acomfortable sense of safety as she unlatched the little gate. Not evenMr. Drummond would discover her there. 

But Phillis's satisfaction was of short duration: the foolish girl wassoon to repent of her foolhardiness in dismissing her escort. Shelittle knew that her words to Evans had been overheard, and thatbehind the dripping shrubbery she had been watched and followed. Scarcely had she taken refuge under the green porch, and placed herwet umbrella to dry, before she heard the latch of the little gateunclosed, and a tall dark figure came up the gravel-walk. It was notIsaac Williams's portly form, --she could discern that in thedarkness, --and, for the moment, a thrill of deadly terror came uponthe incautious girl; but the next minute her natural courage returnedto her aid. The porch was just underneath the room where Isaac slept;a call of 'help' would reach him at once; there was no reason for thisalarm at all. Nevertheless, she shrunk back a little as the strangercame directly towards her, then paused as though in someembarrassment:

"Pardon me, but you have poor shelter here. I am Mrs. Williams'slodger. I could easily let you into the cottage. I am afraid the raincomes through the trellis-work. "

Phillis's heart gave a great thump of relief. In the first place, Mrs. Williams's lodger must be a respectable person, and no dangerousloafer or pickpocket; in the second place the refined cultured tonesof the stranger pleased her ear. Phillis had a craze on this point. "You may be deceived in a face, but in a voice, never!" she would say;and, as she told Nan afterwards, the moment that voice greeted her inthe darkness she felt no further fear. 

"I have a dry corner here, " she returned, quietly; "it is only athunder-shower, and I am close to home, --only down the road, and justround the corner, past the vicarage. "

"Past the vicarage!" in a tone of surprise: "why, there are no housesthere!"

"There is a very small one called the Friary, " returned Phillis, feeling herself color in the darkness, as she mentioned their humbleabode. There was no answer for a moment, and then her mysteriousneighbor continued:

"My good landlord seems to retire early; the whole place looksdeserted. They are very early risers, and perhaps that is the reason. If you will allow me to pass, I will open the door and light a lamp inmy little parlor. Even if you prefer to remain in the porch, it willlook more cheerful. " And, without waiting for her reply, he took a keyfrom his pocket, and let himself into the house. 

Their voices had disturbed the owners of the cottage, and Phillisoverheard the following colloquy:

"Dear sakes alive! what a frightful storm! Is there anything you want, Mr. Dancy?" in Mrs. Williams's shrill tones. 

"Not for myself, Mrs. Williams; but there is a young lady shelteringin the porch. I should be glad if you could come down and make her alittle comfortable. The floodgates of heaven seem open to-night. "

"Dear, dear!" in a still more perplexed voice; "a young lady at thistime of night, --why, it must be half-after nine. Very well, Mr. Dancy;beg her to come in and sit in your parlor a moment, and I will bedown. "

But Phillis absolutely refused to comply with the invitation. 

"I am not tired, and I am not a bit wet, and I like watching the rain. This is a nice little porch, and I have taken refuge here before. Weall know Mrs. Williams very well. "

"She is a good creature, if she were not always in a bustle, " returnedMr. Dancy. "There, the lamp is lighted: that looks more comfortable. "And as he spoke he came out into the little hall. 

Phillis stole a curious glance at him. 

He was a tall man, and was dressed somewhat strangely. A longforeign-looking cloak and a broad-brimmed felt hat, which he had notyet removed, gave him the look of an artist; but, except that he had abeard and moustache, and wore blue spectacles, she could not gain theslightest clue to his features. But his voice, --it pleased Phillis'ssensitive ear more every moment; it was pleasant, --rather foreign, too, --and had a sad ring in it. 

He leaned against the wall opposite to her, and looked outthoughtfully at the driving rain. 

"I think I saw you coming out from the White House, " he observedpresently. "Are you a friend of Mrs. Cheyne? I hope, " hesitating alittle, "that she is very well. "

"Do you know her?" asked Phillis, in surprise. 

"That is a very Irish way of answering my question; but you shall haveyour turn first. Yes; I used to know her many years ago, and HerbertCheyne, too. "

"Her poor husband! Oh! and did you like him?" rather breathlessly. 

"Pretty fairly, " was the indifferent reply. "People used to call him apleasant fellow, but I never thought much of him myself, --not but whathe was more sinned against than sinning, poor devil. Anyhow, he paiddearly enough for his faults. "

"Yes, indeed; and one must always speak leniently of the dead. "

"Ah, that is what they say, --that he is dead. I suppose his widow puton mourning, and made lamentation. She is well, you say, andcheerful?"

"Oh, no! neither the one nor the other. I am not her friend; I onlyknow her just little; but she strikes me as very sad. She has lost herchildren, and----"

"Ah!" Phillis thought she heard a strange sound, almost like a groan;but of course it was fancy; and just then good Mrs. Williams camebustling downstairs. 

"Dear heart! why, if it is not Miss Challoner! To think of you, mydear miss, being out so late, and alone! Oh, what ever will your masay?"

"My mother will scold me, of course, " returned Phillis, laughing; "butyou must not scold me too, Mrs. Williams, though I deserve all I get. Mrs. Mewlstone sent Evans with me, but I made him go back. Countrygirls are fearless and it is only just a step to the Friary. "

"The rain is stopping now, if you will permit me to escort you. Mrs. Williams will be the voucher for my respectability, " observed Mr. Dancy, very gravely and without a smile; and, as Phillis seemedinclined to put him off with an excuse, he continued, more seriously:"Pardon me, but it is far too late, and the road far too lonely, for ayoung lady to go unattended. If you prefer it, I will go to the WhiteHouse, and bring out the recreant Evans by force. "

"Oh, no; there is no need for that, " observed Phillis, hastily; andMrs. Williams interposed volubly:

"Goodness' sakes, Miss Challoner, you have no call to be afraid of Mr. Dancy! Why, Mr. Frank Blunt, that nice young gentleman who lodged withme ever so many years, recommended him to me as one of his best andoldest friends. Your ma knew Mr. Blunt, for he was here with her, anda nicer-spoken young gentleman she said she never saw. "

"That will do, Mrs. Williams, " returned Mr. Dancy, in rather aperemptory tone; and then, turning to Phillis, he said, more civilly, but still a little abruptly, as though he were displeased, --

"Well, Miss Challoner, do you feel inclined to trust yourself with mefor the few hundred yards, or shall I fetch Evans?" And Phillis, feeling herself rebuked, unfurled her umbrella at once, and bade Mrs. Williams good-night by way of answer. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

MRS. WILLIAMS'S LODGER. 

Phillis felt rather shy and uncomfortable as she picked her way warilyamong the rain-pools in the semi-darkness. Her companion was inclinedto be silent; most likely he considered her churlish in repelling hiscivil offers of help: so, to make amends, and set herself at her ease, she began to talk to him with an attempt at her old sprightliness. 

"Do you know this neighborhood well, Mr. Dancy? Have you been long atIvy Cottage?"

"Only a few days; but I know the place well enough, " he responded, quietly. "It depends upon circumstances how long I remain here. "

"Hadleigh is very quiet, " returned Phillis, quickly. "It does notoffer many attractions to strangers, unless they have very moderateviews of enjoyment. It is select, and the bathing is good, and thecountry tolerable; but when you have said that, you have said all inits favor. "

"I have always liked the place, " with a checked sigh. "Quiet, --that iswhat I want, and rest also. I have been rather a wanderer over theface of the earth, and one wants a little breathing-time occasionally, to recruit one's exhausted energies. I like Ivy Cottage, and I likeMrs. Williams: both suit me for the present. Are you a visitor toHadleigh, --a mere bird of passage like myself, Miss Challoner?"

"Oh, dear, no: we have come here to live. "

"And--and you are intimate with Mrs. Cheyne?" coming a little closerto her side in the darkness. 

"Nothing of the kind, " retorted Phillis: "we are mere acquaintances. Ido not feel to know her at all; she is not a person with whom onecould get intimate all at once; she is a little difficult. Besides inour position----" And here she pulled herself up suddenly. 

"Pardon me, " returned Mr. Dancy, in an interested voice, "perhaps Ihave no right to inquire, but your words are a little mysterious. Whyshould you not be intimate with Mrs. Cheyne?"

Phillis grew hot in the darkness. What right had he, a perfectstranger, to question her so closely? And yet, if he were interestedin his old friends, perhaps he meant to call at the White House, andthen he would hear all about them; and after all, perfect franknessalways answered best in the long run. Phillis hesitated so long overher rejoinder that Mr. Dancy said, rather apologetically, --

"I see, I have been incautious; but you must not attribute my questionto impertinent curiosity. I am anxious to learn all I can about a veryold friend, of whom I have long lost sight, and I hoped that you mighthave been able to satisfy me. "

"Miss Middleton would tell you far more than I. "

"What! Elizabeth Middleton? Oh, no: she is far too much of a saint forme. "

"You know her, too!" exclaimed Phillis, in surprise. "No, I do notthink you are curious, Mr. Dancy; it was only a little awkward for meto tell you about our acquaintance with Mrs. Cheyne. My sister and Irendered her a trifling service, and she took a fancy to us, andwished to be friends; but in our present position any close intimacywould be impossible, as we are only dressmakers. "

"Dressmakers!" It is impossible to describe the genuine astonishment, almost dismay, in Mr. Dancy's voice. "Dressmakers! Pardon me, MissChalloner, but when one has seen and spoken to a lady like yourself, it is almost incredible. "

This put Phillis on her mettle at once, and in a moment she laid byall her reserve:

"You have been a traveller, Mr. Dancy, and must have seen strangethings by this time: it surely cannot be such a matter of surprisethat when gentle-people are poor they must work for their bread. Whenone has ten clever fingers, it is better to use them than to starve. Iam not ashamed of my position; my sisters and I are very independent;but, as we do not like to cause other people embarrassment, we preferto lead hermit lives. "

Phillis's silvery tones were rather fierce, but it was well that shedid not see her companion's expression of suppressed amusement; therewas a little smothered laugh, too, that was turned into a cough. 

"Are your sisters young like yourself?" he asked, rather abruptly. 

"Oh, yes, we are all much of an age. "

"And you have parents?"

"Only one parent, " she corrected, --"a mother. Ah, here we are at theFriary! Many thanks for your escort, Mr. Dancy. "

"Many thanks for allowing me to escort you, " he returned, pointedly:"after what you have told me, I esteem it an honor, Miss Challoner. No, you have no need to be ashamed of your position; I wish moreEnglish ladies would follow such a noble example. Good-night. I trustwe shall meet again. " And, lifting his felt hat, he withdrew, just asNan appeared on the threshold, holding a lamp in her hand. 

"You naughty girl, what has kept you so late?" she asked, as Philliscame slowly and meditatively up the flagged path. 

"Hush, Nannie! Have they all gone to bed? Let me come into your roomand talk to you. Oh, I have had such an evening!" And thereupon shepoured into her sister's astonished ears the recital of heradventure, --the storm, the figure in the shubbery, the scene in thewest corridor, the porch at Ivy Cottage, and the arrival of Mrs. Williams's mysterious lodger. 

"Oh, Phillis, I shall never trust you out of my sight again! How canyou be so reckless, --so incautious? Mother would be dreadfully shockedif she knew it. "

"Mother must not know a single word: promise, Nan. You know hownervous she is. I will tell her, if you like, that I took refuge fromthe rain in Mrs. Williams's porch, and that her lodger walked homewith me; but I think it would be better to suppress the scene at theWhite House. "

Nan thought over this a moment, and then she agreed. 

"It would make mother feel uneasy and timid in Mrs. Cheyne'spresence, " she observed. "She never likes that sort of hystericalattacks. We could not make her understand. Poor thing! I hope she isasleep by this time. Shall you go to-morrow, Phil, and ask afterher?"

Phillis made a wry face at this, and owned she had had enoughadventures to last her for a long time. But she admitted, too, thatshe would be anxious to know how Mrs. Cheyne would be. 

"Yes, I suppose I must go and just ask after her, " she said, as sherose rather wearily and lighted her candle. "There is not the leastchance of my seeing her. Good-night, Nannie! Don't let all this keepyou awake; but I do not expect to sleep a wink myself. "

Which dismal prophecy was not fulfilled, as Phillis dropped into aheavy slumber the moment her head touched the pillow. 

But her dreams were hardly pleasant. She thought she was walking downthe "ghost's walk, " between the yews and cypresses, with Mr. Dancy, and that in the darkest part he threw off his cloak and felt hat, andshowed the grinning skull of a skeleton, while a bony arm tried toseize her. She woke moaning with fright, to find Dulce's long hairstreaming over her face, and the birds singing in the sweet breezydawn; after which she fell into a dreamless, refreshing sleep. 

Phillis had to submit to rather a severe reproof from her mother, inreturn for her frankness. Mrs. Challoner's prudery was up in arms themoment she heard of Mrs. Williams's lodger. 

"Mrs. Williams ought to have come with you herself; but a strange manat that time of night!--what would Mr. Drummond have said to you?"

"Whatever Mr. Drummond liked to say!" returned Phillis, pettishly, forthis was stroking her already ruffled feelings decidedly the wrongway. 

Phillis always turned captious whenever Mr. Drummond was mentioned;but she subsided into meekness again when her mother fell to cryingand bemoaning her hard fate and her darlings' unprotected position. 

"Oh, what would your dear father have said?" she cried, in such uttermisery of tone that Phillis began kissing her, and promising that shewould never, never be out so late again, and that on no account wouldshe walk up the Braidwood Road in the evening with a strange man whowore an outlandish cloak and a felt hat that only wanted a feather toremind her of Guy Fawkes, only Guy Fawkes did not wear bluespectacles. 

When Phillis had at last soothed her mother, --always a lengthyprocess, for Mrs. Challoner, like other sensitive and feeble natures, could only be quieted by much talk, --she fell to her work in vigoroussilence; but by a stroke of ill luck, Mr. Drummond chose to makeanother pastoral visitation; and, to her secret chagrin, her mother atonce repeated the whole story. 

"Mrs. Williams's lodger saw Miss Phillis home! Why, I did not knowMrs. Williams had a lodger!" returned Mr. Drummond, in a perplexedvoice. 

This made matters worse. 

"I suppose Mrs. Williams is not bound to let the vicarage knowdirectly she lets her rooms?" observed Phillis, rather impatiently;for she was vexed with her mother for repeating all this. 

"No, of course not; but I was at Ivy Cottage myself yesterday, andMrs. Williams knows I always call on her lodgers, and she nevermentioned the fellow's existence to me. "

"Fellow, indeed!" observed Phillis, _sotto voce_; for she had a vividremembrance of the stranger's commanding presence and pleasant voice. 

"When did he come?" inquired the young vicar, curiously, "He must keephimself pretty close by daylight; for I have passed and repassed IvyCottage at least half a dozen times a day, and have never caught aglimpse of any one;" to which Phillis replied reluctantly that he hadnot been there long, --that he wanted rest and quiet, and was mostlikely an invalid. 

"And his name is Dancy, you say?"

Phillis bowed. She was far too much taken up in her work to volunteerunnecessary words; and all this maternal fuss and fidget was odious toher. 

"Then I will go and call upon him this very afternoon, " returnedArchie, with cheerful alacrity. He had no idea that his curiosity onthe subject was disagreeable to the girl: so he and Mrs. Challonerdiscussed the matter fully, and at some length. "I don't like thedescription of your mysterious stranger, Miss Challoner, " he said, laughing, as he stood up to take his leave. "When novelists want topaint a villain, they generally bring in a long cloak and beard, andsometimes a disguising pair of blue spectacles. Well, I will catch himby daylight, and see what I can make of him. "

"You may disguise a face, but you cannot disguise a voice, " returnedPhillis, bluntly. "I do not want to see Mr. Dancy to know he is agentleman and a true man. " And this speech, that piqued Archie, thoughhe did not know why, made him all the more bent on calling on Mrs. Williams's lodger. 

But Mr. Drummond's curiosity was destined to be baffled. Mrs. Williamsturned very red when she heard the vicar's inquiries. 

"You never told me you had let your rooms, " he said, reproachfully;"and yet you know I always make a practice of calling on yourlodgers. "

"'Deed and it is very kind and thoughtful of you, too, " returned thegood woman, dropping an old-fashioned courtesy; "and me that prizes myclergyman's visits and thinks no end of them! But Mr. Dancy he says tome, 'Now, my good Mrs. Williams, I have come here for quiet, --forabsolute quiet; and I do not want to see or hear of any one. Tell notales about me, and leave me in peace; and then we shall get ontogether. ' And it was more than I ventured to give you the hint, hearing him speak so positive; for he is a bit masterful, and nomistake. "

"Well, never mind; a clergyman never intrudes, and I will thank you totake Mr. Dancy my card, " returned Archie, impatiently; but his look ofassurance soon faded when Mrs. Williams returned with her lodger'scompliments, and he was very much obliged to Mr. Drummond for hiscivility, but he did not wish to receive visitors. 

Phillis was a little contrary all the remainder of the day: she wasnot exactly cross, --all the Challoners were sweet-tempered, --butnothing quite suited her. Mrs. Challoner had proposed going thatevening into the town with her youngest daughter to execute somecommissions. 

Just before they started Phillis observed rather shortly that sheshould call at the White House to make inquiries after Mrs. Cheyne, and that she would came back to the Friary to fetch Nan for a countrywalk. "If I do not appear in half an hour, you must come in search ofme, " finished Phillis, with a naughty curl of her lip, to which Nanwith admirable tact returned no answer, but all the same she fullyintended to carry out the injunction; for Nan had imbibed her mother'ssimple old-fashioned notions, and a lurking dislike of Mrs. Williams'slodger had already entered her mind. 

As Phillis did not enjoy her errand, she put on the best face shecould, and hurried down the Braidwood Road as though her feet werewinged like a female Mercury; and Mr. Dancy, who happened to belooking over the wire blind in the little parlor, much admired thegirl's free swift gait as she sped down the avenue. Evans, the youngfootman, admitted her, and conducted her at once to the drawing-room;and great was Phillis's surprise and discomposure when she saw Mrs. Cheyne sitting alone reading by one of the windows, with hergreyhounds grouped around her. 

She started slightly at the announcement of Phillis's name, and, asshe came forward to greet her, a dark flush crossed her face for amoment; then her features settled into their usual impassive calm, only there was marked coldness in her voice. 

"Good-evening. Miss Challoner: you have chosen a fine evening for yourvisit. Let me beg of you never again to venture to the White House insuch a storm. "

Phillis stammered out something about hoping that she was better, butshe interrupted her almost abruptly:

"Much better, thank you. I am afraid you found me decidedly strangeyesterday. I had what people call a nervous attack: electricity in theair, a brooding storm, brings it on. It is a pity one should be sochildish as to dread thunder; but we are oddly constituted, some ofus. " She shrugged her shoulders, as though to dismiss the subject, andstroked the head of the greyhound that lay at her feet. 

Poor Phillis found her position decidedly embarrassing. To be sure, Miss Mewlstone had warned her of the reception that she might expect;but all the same she found it very unpleasant. She must not abridgeher visit so much as to excite suspicion; and yet it seemed impossibleto carry on a comfortable conversation with Mrs. Cheyne in thisfreezing mood, and, as Phillis could think of nothing to say, sheasked after Miss Mewlstone. 

"Oh, she is very well, " Mrs. Cheyne answered, indifferently. "Nothingever ails Barby: she is one of those easy-going people who take lifeas they find it, without fuss and grumbling. "

"I think she is very nice and sympathetic, " hazarded Phillis. 

"Oh, yes Miss Mewlstone has a feeling heart, " returned Mrs. Cheyne;but she said it in a sarcastic voice. "We have all our specialendowments. Miss Mewlstone is made by nature to be a moral feather bedto break other people's awkward tumbles. She hinders broken bones, andinterposes a soft surface of sympathy between unlucky folks. There isnot much in common between us, but all the same old Barby is a sort ofnecessity to me. We are a droll household at the White House, MissChalloner, are we not, --Barby and the greyhounds and I?--oh, quite ahappy family!" And she gave a short laugh, very much the reverse ofmerriment. 

Phillis began to feel that it was time to go. 

"Well, how does the dressmaking progress?" asked her hostess, suddenly. "Miss Middleton tells me the Challoner fit is quite the ragein Hadleigh. "

"We have more orders than we can execute, " returned Phillis, curtly. 

"Humph! that sounds promising. I hope your mother is careful of you, and forbids any expenditure of midnight oil, or you will be reduced toa thread-paper. As I have told you you are not the same girl that youwere when you came to the relief of my injured ankle. "

"I feel tolerably substantial, thank you, " returned Phillis, ungraciously, for, in common with other girls, she hated to be pitiedfor her looks, and she had a notion that Mrs. Cheyne only said this toplague her. "Nan is our head and task mistress. We lead regular lives, have stated hours for work, take plenty of exercise and on the whole, are doing as well as possible. "

"There speaks the Challoner spirit. "

"Oh, yes; that never fails us. But now Nan will be waiting for me, andI only called just to inquire after you. "

"And you did not expect to see me. Well, come again when I am in abetter humor for conversation. If you stay longer now I might not besparing of my sarcasms. By the by, what has become of our young vicar?Tell him he has not converted me yet, and I quite miss his pastoralvisits. Do you know, " looking so keenly at Phillis that she blushedwith annoyance, "a little bird tells me that our pastor has undertakenthe supervision of the Friary. Which is it, my dear, that he is tryingto convert?"

The tone and manner were intolerable to Phillis. 

"I don't understand you, Mrs. Cheyne, " she returned, with superbyouthful haughtiness. "Mr. Drummond is a kind neighbor, and so is MissMattie. You may keep these insinuations for him, if you will. " Thenshe would have escaped without another glance at her tormentor, butMrs. Cheyne detained her:

"There, never mind. I will take back my naughty speech. It was rudeand impertinent of me, I know that. But I like you all the better foryour spirit; and, my dear, take care of yourself and your prettysisters, for he is not worthy of one of you. "

"Oh, Mrs. Cheyne! for shame!" And Phillis's gray eyes sparkled withlively indignation. 

"He is a very ordinary good young man; and you and your sisters arereal metal, and worth your weight in gold. There! go away, child; andcome and see me again, for it does me good to torment you!" And thesingular woman drew the girl into her arms suddenly and kissed herforehead, and then pushed her away. "To-morrow, or the next day, butnot to-night, " she said, hurriedly. "I should make you cross fiftytimes if you stay longer to-night. " And Phillis was too thankful to bereleased to linger any longer; but her cheeks were burning as shewalked down the avenue. 

"Why do people always put these things into girls' heads?" she said toherself. "A young man cannot come into the house, cannot say pleasantwords, or do kind neighborly actions, but one must at once attributemotives of this kind. I have not been free from blame myself in thismatter, for I have feared more than once that Nan's sweet faceattracted him, --poor Mr. Drummond! I hope not, for he would not have achance against Dick. I wonder if I ought to say a word?--if it wouldbe premature or unnecessary? But I should hate him to beunhappy, "--here Phillis sighed, and then threw up her head proudly: "Imight say just a word, mentioning Dick, --for he does not know of hisexistence. I wonder if he would take the hint. I could do it verycleverly, I know. I hate to see people burning their fingers fornothing: I always want to go to their rescue. He is tiresome, but heis very nice. And, heigh-ho! what a crooked world we live in!--nothinggoes quite straight in it. " And Phillis sighed again. 

"Miss Challoner!" The voice sounded so near her that Phillis gave agreat start. She had nearly reached the gate, and there was Mr. Dancywalking beside her, just as though he had emerged from the ground; andyet Phillis had not heard a sound. "Have I startled you?" hecontinued, gravely. "You were in such a brown study that I had to callyou by your name to rouse you. There is nothing wrong at the WhiteHouse, I hope?"

"Oh, no! Mrs. Cheyne is better: her nervous attack has quite passedoff. "

"Magdalene suffering from a nervous attack?" and then Mr. Dancystopped, and bit his lip. "Excuse me, I knew her before she wasmarried, when she was Magdalene Davenport--before she and poor HerbertCheyne unfortunately came together. I doubt whether things have nothappened for the best; there!--I mean, " as Phillis looked at him insome perplexity, "that there is little fear of her being aninconsolable widow. "

"How can you say such a thing!" returned Phillis, indignantly. "Thatis the way with you men, you judge so harshly of women. Mrs. Cheyne issingular in her ways. She wears no mourning, and yet a more unhappycreature never existed on this earth. Not inconsolable!--and yet noone dares to speak a word of comfort to her, so great is her misery. "

"Excuse me one moment: I have been ill, and am still subject to fitsof giddiness. A mere vertigo; nothing more. " But he said the wordsgasping for breath, and looked so deadly pale that Phillis felt quitefrightened as she stood beside him. 

They had been walking a few steps down the Braidwood Road, and Phillishad looked out anxiously for Nan, who had not yet appeared in sight. But now Mr. Dancy had come to an abrupt pause, and was leaning forsupport against the low wall that shut in the grounds of the WhiteHouse. Phillis looked at him a little curiously, in spite of hersympathy. He still wore his loose cloak, though the evening was warm;but he had loosened it, and taken off his felt hat for air. 

In figure he was a tall, powerful-looking man, only thin and almostemaciated, as though from recent illness. His features were handsome, but singularly bronzed and weather-beaten, as though from constantexposure to sun and wind; and even the blue spectacles could not hidea pair of keen blue eyes. By daylight Phillis could see that his brownbeard and moustache were tinged with gray, and the hair on the templeswas almost white; and yet he seemed still in the prime of life. It wasa far handsomer face than Archie Drummond's; but the deep lines andgray hair spoke of trouble more than age, and one thing especiallyimpressed Phillis, --the face was as refined as the voice. 

If Mr. Dancy were aware of her close scrutiny, he took no notice ofit. He leaned his arm against the wall and rested his head against it;and the thin brown hand was plainly visible, with a deep-red scar justabove the wrist. 

As Phillis had regarded it with sudden horror, wondering what hadinflicted it, he suddenly aroused himself with an apology:

"There! it has passed: it never lasts long. Shall we walk on? I am soashamed of detaining you in this way; but when a man has had asunstroke----"

"Oh, that is sad!" returned Phillis, in a sympathizing voice. "Is thatwhy you keep in-doors so much in the daylight? at least"--correctingherself in haste, for she had spoken without thought--"one never seesyou about, " which was a foolish speech, and showed she took notice ofhis movements; but she could not betray Mr. Drummond. 

"Some one else only comes out in the evening, " he rejoined, ratherpointedly. "Who told you I kept in-doors in the daylight? Oh, I know!"the frown passing from his face, for he had spoken quickly and inannoyed fashion. "This sounds like a parson's prating: I know thelanguage of old. By the bye, did you set the clergy on my track?"turning the blue spectacles full on the embarrassed Phillis. 

"I?--no indeed!" and then she went on frankly: "Mr. Drummond was atour house, and he told us that he always called on Mrs. Williams'slodgers. "

"True, Miss Challoner; but how did his reverence know Mrs. Williamshad a lodger?"

This was awkward, but Phillis steered her way through the difficultywith her usual dexterity. 

"I mentioned to my mother that you were kind enough to see me home, and she repeated the fact to Mr. Drummond. "

"Thank you, Miss Challanor; now I understand. I wonder if your motherwould be very shocked if a stranger intruded upon her? but you and Imust have some more conversation together, and I do not see how it isto be managed in accordance with what you ladies call _lesconvenances_. "

"My mother----" began Phillis, demurely; and then she paused, andlooked up at him in astonishment, "What, Mr. Dancy! you purpose tocall on my mother, and yet you refused Mr. Drummond's visit?" for thenews of Archie's defeat had already reached the Friary through MissMattie. 

Mr. Dancy seemed rather nonplussed at this, and then he laughed:

"Ah, you are shrewd, Miss Challoner; there is no deceiving you! I haveseen Mr. Drummond pass and repass often enough; and--pardon me, if hebe a friend--I thought from the cut of his coat that he was prig, andI have a horror of clerical prigs. "

"He is not priggish in the least, " was Phillis's annoyed rejoinder. 

"No? Well, appearances are sometimes deceptive: perhaps I was toohasty in my dread of being bored. But here comes your sister, Ithink, --at least, I have seen you together: so I am leaving you ingood hands. " And, before Phillis could reply, he had lifted his hatand turned away, just as Nan, whose vigilant eyes were upon him, washurrying to join her sister. 

"Oh, Phillis, was that Mr. Dancy?" she asked, in a reproachful voice, as she hurried up to her. 

"Yes, Nannie, it was Mr. Dancy, " returned Phillis, composedly; "and Iwish I could have introduced him to you, for I believe he is coming tocall on mother. " And, when she had related this astounding piece ofintelligence, she looked in Nan's face and laughed, and, in high goodhumor, proceeded to relate their conversation. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

"NOW WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER. "

One fine morning in September, Mr. Drummond was standing at the backof Milner's Library, turning over the last new assortment of booksfrom Mudie, when two gentlemen entered the shop. 

Strangers were always interesting to Archie, and he criticised themunder a twofold aspect--pastoral and social. In this way curiositybecomes a virtue, and a man with a mission is not without hisinterests in life. Hadleigh was Mr. Drummond's sheep-walk, where heshepherded his lambs, and looked after his black sheep and tried towash them white, or, in default of that, at least to make out thattheir fleece was not so sable after all: so he now considered it hisduty to leave off turning over the pages of a seductive-looking novel, and to inspect the strangers. 

They were both dressed in tweed travelling costumes, and lookedsunburnt, as though they had just returned from a walking-tour. Theelder was a short wiry man, with a shrewd face and quizzical eyes; andhe asked in sharp clipping voice that was not free from accent, forthe last number of the local paper, containing lists of inhabitants, visitors, etc. 

Meanwhile, the younger man walked about the shop, whistling softly tohimself, as though he had a fund of cheerfulness on hand which mustfind vent somewhere. When he came opposite Archie, he took a briefsurvey of him in a careless, good-humored fashion, and then turned onhis heel, bestowing a very cursory glance on Miss Masham, who stoodshaking her black ringlets after the fashion of shopwomen, and waitingto know the gentleman's pleasure. 

No one would have called this young man very good-looking, unless sucha one had a secret predilection for decidedly reddish hair and a sandymoustache; but there was an air of _bonhommie_, of frank kindness, ofboyish fun and pleasantry, that attracted even strangers, and Archielooked after him with considerable interest. 

"Oxford cut, father and son: father looks rather a queer customer, "thought Archie to himself. 

"Dick, come here!--why, where is that fellow?" suddenly exclaimed theelder man, beginning to put on his eye-glasses very nervously. 

"Coming, father. All right: what is it?" returned the imperturbableDick. He was still whistling "Twickenham Ferry" under his breath, ashe came to the counter and leaned with both elbows upon it. 

"Good gracious, boy, what does this mean?" went on the other, in anirritable perturbed voice; and he read a short advertisement, writtenin a neat lady-like hand: "Dressmaking undertaken. Terms moderate, andall orders promptly executed. Apply to--the Misses Challoner, theFriary, Braidwood Road. Ladies waited upon at their own residences'. What the"--he was about to add a stronger term, but, in deference toMiss Milner, substituted--"dickens does this mean, Dick?"

The young man's reply was to snatch the paper out of his father'shand, and study it intently, with his elbows still on the counter, andthe last bar of "Twickenham Ferry" died away uncompleted on his lips;and if any one could have seen his face, they would have remarked acurious redness spreading to his forehead. 

"Nan's handwriting, by Jove!" he muttered, but still inaudibly; andthen he stared at the paper, and his face grew redder. 

"Well, Dick, can't you answer? What does this piece of tomfoolerymean--'dressmaking undertaken--ladies waited upon at their ownresidences'? Can there be two families of Challoner and two Friaries?and why don't you speak and say something?"

"Because I know as little as yourself, father, " returned the youngman, without lifting his head; and he surreptitiously conveyed thepaper to his pocket. "Perhaps this lady, " indicating Miss Milner, "could inform us?"

"I beg your pardon, " observed a gentlemanly voice near them; and, looking up, Dick found himself confronted by the young clergyman. "Ioverheard your inquiries, and, as I am acquainted with the ladies inquestion, I may be able to satisfy you. "

"I should be extremely obliged to you if you would do so, sir, "returned the elder man, with alacrity; but Dick turned away ratherungraciously, and his cheerful face grew sullen. 

"Confound him! what does he mean by his interference? Knows them, indeed! such a handsome beggar, too, --a prig, one can see that fromthe cut of his clothes and beard!" And again he planted his elbows onthe counter, and began pulling his rough little stubbly moustache. 

"If you are referring to a mother and three daughters who live in theFriary and eke out a scanty income by taking in dressmaking, I amhappy to say I know them well, " went on Archie. "My sister and I visitat the cottage, and they attend my church; and, as Miss Milner cantell you, they work hard enough all the six days of the week. "

"Indeed, Mr. Drummond, there are few that work harder!" broke in MissMilner, volubly. "Such pretty creatures, too, to earn their ownliving; and yet they have a bright word and a smile for everybody!Ever since Miss Phillis, " (here Dick groaned) "made that blue dressfor Mrs. Trimmings--she is the butcher's wife, and a dressy woman, though not flashy, like Mrs. Squails--they have been quite the rage inHadleigh. All the townspeople, and the resident gentry, and even thevisitors, want their gowns made by the Miss Challoners. Their fit isperfect; and they have such taste. And----" But here the luckless Dickcould bear no more. 

"If you will excuse me, sir, " he said, addressing his bewilderedfather, "I have left something particular at the hotel: I must justrun and fetch it. "

Dick did not specify whether it was his handkerchief, or hiscigar-case, or his purse, of which he stood so urgently in need; butbefore Mr. Mayne could remonstrate, he had gone out of the shop. Hewent as far as the door of the hotel, and there he seized on a passingwaiter and questioned him in a breathless manner. Having obtained hisinformation, he set off at a walk that was almost a run through thetown, and down the Braidwood Road. The few foot-passengers that he metshrank out of the way of this young man; for he walked, lookingneither to the right nor to left, as though he saw nothing before him. And his eyes were gloomy, and, he did not whistle; and the only wordshe said to himself were, "Oh, Nan, never to have told me of this!"over and over again. 

The gate of the Friary stood open; for a small boy had been washingthe flags, and had left his pail, and had gone off to play marbles inthe road with a younger brother. Dick, --who understood the bearings ofthe case at once, shook his fist at the truant behind his back, andthen turned in at the gate. 

He peeped in at the hall door first; but Dorothy was peeling potatoesin the kitchen, and would see him as he passed, so he skirted thelittle path under the yews. And if Dulce had been at hersewing-machine as usual, she would have seen him at once; but thismorning the machine was silent. 

A few steps farther he came to a full stop, and his eyes began toglisten, and he pricked up his ears after the manner of lovers; forthrough an open window just behind him, he could hear Nan's voice, sweet and musical, reading aloud to her sisters. 

"Oh, the darling!" he murmured, and composed himself for a fewmoments' ecstasy, for no doubt she was reading Tennyson, orBarrett-Browning, or one of the poetry-books he had given her; but hewas a little disappointed when he found it was prose. 

"'With regard to washing-dresses, '" read Nan, in her clear tones, "'cottons, as a general thing, have another material made up withthem; the under-skirt may be of foulard or satin----?'"

"Oh, I dare say! What nonsensical extravagance!" observed Phillis. 

"'Or the bodice of surah, satin, cashmere, or llama, and the skirt ofcotton. . . . The skirts are nearly always made with single box-pleats, with a flat surface in the centre, and a flat band of trimming isoften stitched on at about five inches from the edge of the flounce. 'I should say that would be sweetly pretty, dear: we might try it forMrs. Penlip's dress. And just listen to a little more. "

"I shall do nothing of the kind, " blurted out Dick. "Oh, Nan, Nan! howcould you be such a traitor?--washing-dresses indeed, and me left inignorance!" And there was Dick, his face glowing and indignant, standing in the window, with Laddie barking furiously at him, and hisoutstretched hand nearly touching Nan. 

Phillis and Dulce screamed with surprise, being young and easilyexcited; but Nan only said, "Oh, Dick!" very faintly; and her sweetface grew red and pale by turns, and her fingers fluttered a little inhis grasp, but only for joy and the sheer delight of seeing him. 

As for Dick, his eyes shone, but his manner was masterful. 

"Look here!" he said, drawing Nan's advertisement from his pocket; "wehad come down here to surprise you girls, and to have a little fun andtennis; and I meant to have treated you to the public ground at thehotel, as I knew you had only a scrubby little bit of lawn; and thisis what has met my eyes this morning! You have deceived mother and me;you have let us enjoy our holiday, which I didn't a bit, for I had asort of nasty presentiment and a heap of uncomfortable thoughts; andall the while you were slaving away at this hideous dressmaking, --Iwish I could burn the whole rag, tag, and bobtail, --and never let usknow you wanted anything. And you call that being friends!"

"Yes, and the best of friends, too, " responded Phillis, cheerfully, for Nan was too much crushed by all this eloquence to answer. "Comealong, Dulce! don't listen any more to this nonsense, when you knowmother is wanting us. Dick is all very well when he is in a goodhumor, but time and dressmaking wait for no man. " And the younghypocrite dragged the unwilling Dulce away. "Can't you leave themalone to come to an understanding?" whispered Phillis in her ear, whenthey got outside the door. "I can see it in his eyes; and Nan is onthe verge of crying, she is so upset with the surprise. And, yougoose, where are you going now?"

"To mother. Did you not say she wanted us?"

"Oh, you silly child!" returned Phillis, calmly: "does not motheralways want us? One must say what comes uppermost in one's mind inemergencies of this sort. But for me, you would have stood there foran hour staring at them. Mother is out, as it happens: if you like wewill go and meet her. Oh, no, I forgot: Dick is a young man, and itwould not be proper. Let us go into the kitchen and help Dorothy. " Andaway they went. 

"Phillis is a trump!" thought Dick, as he shut the door. "I love thatgirl. " And then he marched up to Nan, and took her hands boldly. 

"Now, Nan you owe me amends for this; at least you will say you aresorry. "

"No, Dick, " hanging her head, for she could not face his look, he wasso masterful and determined with her, and so unlike the easy Dick ofold. "I am not a bit sorry: I would not have spoiled your holiday forworlds. "

"My holiday!--a precious holiday it was without you! A lot of stupidclimbing, with grinning idiots for company. Well, never mind that, "his wrathful tone changing in a moment. "So you kept me in the darkjust for my own good?"

"Yes, of course, Dick. What an unnecessary question!"

"And you wanted me, Nan?"

"Yes, " very faintly, and there was a little tear-drop on one of Nan'slashes. 

She had been so miserable, --how miserable he would never know; but heneed not have asked her that. 

"Oh, very well: then I won't bother you with any more questions. Nowwe understand each other, and can just go to business. "

Nan looked up in his face in alarm. She anticipated another lecture, but nothing of the sort came. Dick cleared his throat, got a littlered, and went on. 

"I say settle our business, because we have been as good as engagedall these years. You know you belong to me, Nan?"

"Yes, Dick, " she returned, obediently; for she was too much taken bysurprise to know what she ought to say, and the two words escaped fromher almost unconsciously. 

"There never was a time we were not fond of each other, --ever sinceyou were so high, " pointing to what would represent the height of anextremely dwarfish infant of seven or eight months. 

"Oh, not so long ago as that, " returned Nan, laughing a little. 

"Quite as long, " repeated Dick, solemnly. "I declare, I have been sofond of you all my life, Nan, that I have been the happiest fellow inthe world. Now, look here; just say after me, 'Dick, I promise on myword and honor to marry you. '"

Nan repeated the words, and then she paused in affright. 

"But your father!" she gasped, --"and the dressmaking! Oh, Dick! whathave you made me say? You have startled me into forgetting everything. Oh, dear! oh, dear! what shall I do?" continued Nan, in the mostinnocent way. "We shall be engaged all our lives, for he will neverallow you to marry me. Dick, dear Dick, please let me off! I nevermeant to give in like this. "

"Never mind what you meant to do, " returned Dick, with the utmostgravity: "the thing is, you have done it. On your word and honor, Nan, remember. Now we are engaged. "

"Oh, but Dick, please don't take such advantage of me, just because Isaid--or, at least, you said--I was fond of you. What will mother say?She will be so dreadfully shocked; and it is so cruel to your father. I will be engaged to you in a way. I will promise--I will vow, if youwill--never to marry any one else. "

"I should think not, " interrupted Dick, fiercely. "I would murder thefellow, whoever he was!" and in spite of himself his thought revertedto the fair beard and handsome face of the young clergyman. 

Nan saw from his obstinate face that her eloquence was all wasted; butshe made one more attempt, blushing like a rose:

"I will even promise to marry you, if your father gives his consent. You know, Dick, I would never go against him. "

"Nor I. You ought to know me better, Nan, than to think I should actshabbily and leave the dear old fellow in the dark. "

"Then you will set me free, " marvelling a little over her lover's goodsense and filial submission. 

"As free as an engagement permits. Why, what do you mean, Nan? Have Inot just told you we are engaged for good and all? Do you suppose I donot mean to tell my father so on the first opportunity? There hecomes! bless the man, I knew he would follow me! Now you shall see howI can stick up for the girl I love. " But Dick thought it better torelease the hand he had been holding all this time. 

There are certain moments in life when one is in too exalted a mood tofeel the usual sensations that circumstances might warrant. At anothertime Nan would have been shocked at the condition of her work-room, being a tidy little soul, and thrifty as to pins and other odds andends; and the thought of Mr. Mayne coming upon them unexpectedly wouldhave frightened her out of her senses. 

The room was certainly not in its usual order. There had been muchbusiness transacted there that morning. The table was strewn withbreadths of gay _broche_ silk; an unfinished gauzy-looking dress hungover a chair; the door of the wardrobe was open, and a row ofdark-looking shapes--like Bluebeard's decapitated wives--were dimlyrevealed to view. A sort of lay figure, draped in calico, was in onecorner. As Nan observed to Phillis afterwards, "There was not a tidycorner in the whole room. "

Nevertheless, the presence of Dick so glorified the place that Nanlooked around at the chaos quite calmly, as she heard Mr. Mayne'ssharp voice first inquiring for her mother and then for herself. Dorothy, with her usual tact, would have shown him into the littleparlor; but Nan, who wished for no disguise, stepped forward and threwopen the door. 

"I am here, Dorothy. Come in, Mr. Mayne. Dick is here too, and I am sosorry mother is out. "

"I might have known that scapegrace would have given me the slip!"muttered Mr. Mayne, as he shook hands ungraciously with Nan, and thenfollowed her into the work-room. 

Dick, who was examining the wardrobe, turned round and saluted hisfather with a condescending nod:

"You were too long with the parson: I could not wait, you see. Did youmake all these dresses, Nan? You are awfully clever, you girls! Theylook first-rate, --this greeny-browny-yellowish one, for example, "pulling out a much furbelowed garment destined for Mrs. Squails. 

"Oh, Dick, do please leave them alone!" and Nan authoritatively wavedhim away, and closed the wardrobe. 

"I was only admiring your handiwork, " returned Dick, imperturbably. "Does she not look a charming little dressmaker, father?" regardingNan with undisguised pleasure, as she stood in her pretty bib-apronbefore them. 

But Mr. Mayne only drew his heavy eyebrows together, and said, --

"Pshaw, Dick! don't chatter such folly. I want to have some talk withMiss Nancy myself. "

"All right: I have had my innings, " returned naughty Dick; but he shota look at Nan that made her blush to her finger ends, and that was notlost on Mr. Mayne. 

"Well, now, Miss Nancy, what does all this mean?" he asked, harshly. "Here we have run down just in a friendly way, --Dick and I, --leavingthe mother rather knocked up after her travels at Longmead, to lookyou up and see how you are getting on. And now we find you have beendeceiving us all along, and keeping us in the dark, and that you aremaking yourselves the talk of the place, sewing a parcel of gowns forall the townspeople. "

Mr. Mayne did not add that his son had so bothered him for the lastthree weeks to run down to Hadleigh that he had acceded at last to hisrequest, in the hope of enjoying a little peace. 

"Draw it mild!" muttered Dick, who did not much admire this openingtirade; but Nan answered, with much dignity, --

"If people talk about us it is because of the novelty. They have neverheard of gentle-people doing this sort of work before----"

"I should think not!" wrathfully from Mr. Mayne. 

"Things were so bad with us that we should have all had to separate ifPhillis had not planned this scheme; and then mother would have brokenher heart; but now we are getting on famously. Our work givessatisfaction, we have plenty of orders; we do not forfeit people'sgood opinions, for we have nothing but respect shown us, and----"

But here Mr. Mayne interrupted her flow of quiet eloquence somewhatrudely. 

"Pack of nonsense!" he exclaimed, angrily. "I wonder at yourmother, --I do indeed. I thought she had more sense. You have no rightto outrage your friends in this way! it is treating us badly. Whatwill your mother say, Dick? She will be dreadfully shocked. I am sorryfor you, my boy, --I am indeed: but, under the circumstances----"

But what he was about to add was checked by a very singular proceedingon the part of his son; for Dick suddenly took Nan's hand, and drewher forward. 

"Don't be sorry for me, father: I am the happiest fellow alive. Nanand I have come to an understanding at last, after all these years. Allow me to present to you the future Mrs. Richard Mayne. "

CHAPTER XXXI. 

DICK THINKS OF THE CITY. 

When Dick had uttered this audacious speech, Mr. Mayne started back, and his expression of mingled wrath and dismay was so ludicrous thatunder any other circumstances his son would have found it difficult tokeep his countenance. 

"What! what!" he almost shouted, losing all sense of politeness, andeven of Nan's presence; "you young fool, what do you mean by trumpingup this nonsense and presuming to talk to me in this way?"

Dick thought it prudent to drop Nan's hand, --and, indeed, the girlshrank away from them both in alarm at this outburst: nevertheless, his countenance and bearing maintained the same admirable_sang-froid_, as he confronted his angry parent:

"Now, father, what is the use of calling me names? When a fellow is ofage, and knows his own mind, he does not care a pin for being called afool. 'Hard words break no bones, ' as our copy-leaves used to tellus, --no, I have not got that quite right; but that is about mymeaning. Look here, father, " he continued, in a coaxing, boyish voice;"I have cared for Nan ever since she was a little creature so high, "again reverting to the infantile measurement. "I have always meant tomarry her, --that is, if she would have me, " correcting himself, as Nandrew herself up a little proudly. "Money or no money, there is notanother girl in England that I would have for a wife. I would wait forher if I had to wait half my life, just the same as she would wait forme; and so, as I said before, when a fellow has made up his mind, there is nothing more to say. " And here Dick pursed up his lips for awhistle, but thought better of it, and fell to twisting and untwistingthe ends of his sandy moustache. 

Nan's downcast eyes revealed nothing. But if Dick could only have seenthe happy look in them! What eloquence could ever have been so dear toher as that clear rough-and-ready statement of her lover's feelingsfor her? "There is not another girl in England that I would have for awife. " Could anything surpass the beauty of that sentence? Oh, howmanly, how true he was, this Dick of hers!

"Oh, indeed! I am to say nothing, am I?" returned Mr. Mayne, withexquisite irony. "My son is to dictate to me; and I am to be silent!Oh, you young fool!" he muttered under his breath; but then for themoment words seemed to fail him. 

In spite of the wrath that was boiling within him, and to which he didnot dare give vent in Nan's presence, in spite of the grief anddisappointment that his son's defiance had caused him, Dick's bearingfilled him with admiration and amazement. 

This boy of his was worth something, he thought. He had a clear headof his own, and could speak to some purpose. Was a likely young fellowlike this to be thrown away on that Challoner girl? Poor Nan! Prettyand blooming as she looked, Mr. Mayne felt almost as though he hatedher. Why had she come between his boy and him? Had he a dozen sons, that he could spare one of them? Was not Dick his only one, --the sonof his right hand, his sole hope and ambition? Mr. Mayne could havewept as these thoughts passed through his mind. 

It was at this moment that Nan thought it right to speak. Dick had hadhis say, but it was not for her to be silent. 

"Mr. Mayne, please listen to me a moment, " she said, pleadingly. "No;I must speak to your father, " as Dick, much alarmed, tried to silenceher. "He must not think hard things of us, and misunderstand us. "

"No, dear; indeed you had better be silent!" implored Dick, anxiously;but Nan for once turned a deaf ear to him. 

"I must speak, " she persisted. "Mr. Mayne, it is quite true what Dicksays: we have been together all our lives, and have grown to care foreach other. I cannot remember the time, "--the tears coming into herbright eyes--"when Dick was not more to me than a brother; it is allof such long standing, it is far, far too late to stop it now. "

"We shall see about that, Miss Nancy, " muttered Mr. Mayne, between histeeth; but the girl did not seem to hear him. 

"Dick took me by surprise just now. I ought to have been more on myguard, and not have given him that promise. "

"What promise?" demanded Mr. Mayne, harshly; and Nan hung her head, and returned, shyly, --

"That I would marry him some time; but indeed--indeed he made me sayit, and I was so taken by surprise. No, Dick; you must let me finish, "for Dick was looking at her with piteous entreaty in his eyes. "I knowwe were wrong to say so much without your leave; but indeed I will doyour son no harm. I cannot marry any one else, because I am engaged tohim; but as far as he is concerned he is free. I will never marry himwithout your permission; he shall not come here if you do not wish;but do not be so angry with us;" and here her lip quivered. "If youdid not mean this to happen, you should have kept us apart all theseyears. "

"Oh, hush, dear!" whispered Dick in her ear; but Mr Mayne almostthrust him aside, and laid a rough grasp on the girl's wrist. "Nevermind him: answer me one question. Are you serious in what you say, that you will never marry him without my permission?"

"Of course I will not, " answered Nan, quite shocked. "Dick would notask me to do such a thing; he is far too honorable, and--and--no onewould think of such a thing. "

"Very well; that is all I wanted to know;" and he released her, notover-gently: "the rest I can settle with Master Dick himself. Good-morning, Miss Nancy: under the circumstances I do not think Iwill wait to see your mother. I am not quite in the mood for ladies;perhaps, later on, I may have something to say to her. "

"Don't you mean to shake hands with me, Mr. Mayne?" asked poor Nan, much distressed at the evil temper of Dick's father; but there was nosign of softening. 

"Yes; I will shake hands with you, and gladly, if you will promise tobe sensible and send this boy of mine about his business. Come now, Nan; own for my comfort that it is only a bit of boy-and-girlnonsense, that means nothing. I am not over-particular, and do notobject to a bit of flirting with young folk. "

"You had better go with your father, Dick, " returned Nan, with muchdignity, and quite ignoring this speech. 

Dick seized the little hand that had been so rudely rejected, andkissed it under his father's eyes. 

"I will see you again somehow, " he whispered, and Nan was quitecontent with this promise. Dick would keep his word, she knew: hewould not leave Hadleigh without seeing her. 

A very unpleasant hour ensued for poor Dick. Mr. Mayne in one of hisworst tempers; he had conducted himself to Nan in an ungentlemanlymanner, and he knew it; as Dick said to himself, --

"It is very hard on a fellow when one's father acts like a cad. "

Mr. Mayne had shown himself a cad. No gentleman by birth or breedingwould have conducted himself in that offensive way. Bad temper hadbroken down the trammels of conventionality: never before in his lifehad Dick felt so utterly ashamed of his father. Mr. Mayne wasconscious of his son's criticism, and it made things worse. 

It spoke well for Dick's prudence and self-command that he let thestorm of his father's anger break over his head, and said no word. Mr. Mayne ranted and raved; I am afraid he even swore once or twice, --atleast his language was undesirably strong, --and Dick walked beside himand held his peace. "Poor old boy, he is terribly cut up about this!"he thought once. 

Mr. Drummond saw them coming along, and wondered at the energy of theolder man. Was it the visit to the Friary that had put him out? andthen he fell anew into cogitation. Who were these people who were socurious about the Challoners? At least that sulky young fellow hadtaken no apparent interest, for he had made an excuse to leave them;but the other one had persisted in very close investigation. Perhapshe was some relation, --an uncle, or a distant cousin; evidently he hadsome right or claim to be displeased. Archie determined to solve themystery as soon as possible. 

"Well, sir, have you nothing to say for yourself?" demanded Mr. Mayne, when he had fairly exhausted himself. He had disinherited Dick half adozen times; he had deprived him of his liberal allowance; he hadspoken of a projected voyage to New Zealand: and Dick had only walkedon steadily, and thought of the cold trembling little hand he hadkissed. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?" he vociferated. 

Dick woke up at this. 

"Oh, yes, I have plenty to say, " he returned cheerfully; "but twocannot talk at once, you know. It was right for you to have the firstinnings, and all that; and I say, father, "--his filial feelings comingto the surface, --"I am awfully sorry, and so is Nan, to see you sovexed. "

"Speak for yourself, " was the wrathful answer. "Don't mention thatgirl's name in my hearing for the present. "

"Whose name?--Nan's?" returned Dick, innocently. "I don't see how weare to keep it out of the conversation, when the row is all about her. Look here, father: I say again I am awfully sorry you are vexed; butas N--she says, it is too late to mend matters now. I have made mychoice, for better for worse, and I am sorry it does not please you. "

"Please me!" retorted Mr. Mayne; and then he added, venomously: "Thegirl said you would not marry without my permission; but I will nevergive it. Come, Dick, it is no use thwarting me in this: you are ouronly child and we have other plans for you. Pshaw! you are only a boy!You have not seen the world yet. There are dozens of girls farprettier than this Nan. Give this nonsense up, and there is nothing Iwill not do for you; you shall travel, have your liberty, do as youlike for the next two or three years, and I will not worry you aboutmarrying. Why, you are only one-and-twenty; and you have two moreyears of University life! What an idea, --a fine young fellow like youtalking of tying yourself down to matrimony!"

"There is no use in my going back to Oxford, father, " returned Dick, steadily; "thank you kindly all the same, but, it would be sheer wasteof money. I have made up my mind to go into the City; it is thefashionable thing nowadays. And one does not need Greek and Latin forthat, though, of course, it is an advantage to a fellow, and gives hima standing; but, as I have to get my own living, I cannot afford thetwo years. Your old chums Stanfield & Stanfield would give me a berthat once. "

"Is the boy mad? What on earth do you mean by all this tomfoolery?"demanded Mr. Mayne, unable to believe his ears. His small gray eyesopened widely and irately on his son; but Dick took no notice. Hewalked on, with his shoulders looking rather square and determined;the corners of his mouth were working rebelliously: evidently he didnot dare to look at his father for fear of breaking intoincontrollable laughter. Really the dear old boy was getting tooabsurd; he--Dick--could not stand it much longer. "What in the name ofall that is foolish do you mean, sir?" thundered Mr. Mayne. 

Dick executed a low whistle, and then he said, in an aggrievedvoice, --

"Well, father, I don't call you very consistent. I suppose I know whatbeing disinherited means? In plain language, you have told me abouthalf a dozen times that if I stick to Nan I am not to expect ashilling of your money. Now, in my own mind, of course I call thatprecious hard on a fellow, considering I have not been such a badsort of son after all. But I am not going to quarrel with you aboutthat: a man has a right to do as he likes with his own money. "

"Yes; but, Dick, you are going to be sensible, you know, and drop thegirl?" in a wheedling sort of tone. 

"Excuse me, father; I am going to do nothing of the kind, " returnedDick, with sudden firmness. "I am going to stick to her, as you did tomy mother; and for just as long, if it must be so. I am not a bitafraid that you will not give your permission, if we only wait longenough to prove that we are in earnest. The only thing I am anxiousabout is how I am to get my living; and that is why I will not consentto waste any more time at the University. The bar is too uphill work;money is made quickest in the City: so, if you will be good enough togive me an introduction to Stanfield & Stanfield, --I know they are arattling good sort of people, --that is all I will trouble you about atpresent. " And Dick drew in a long breath of relief after this weightyspeech. 

"Do you mean this, Dick?" asked Mr. Mayne, rather feebly. 

They had reached the hotel now, and, as they entered the private roomwhere their luncheon was awaiting them, he sat down as though he hadgrown suddenly old and tired, and rested his head on his hand, perhapsto hide the moisture that had gathered under his shaggy eyebrows. 

"Yes, father, I do, " returned Dick; but he spoke very gently, and hishand touched his father's shoulder caressingly. "Let me give you somewine: all this business has taken it out of you. "

"Yes, I have had a blow, Dick, --my only boy has given me a blow, "returned Mr. Mayne, pathetically; but as he took the wine his handtrembled. 

"I am awfully sorry, " answered Dick, penitently: "if there wereanything else you had asked me but this--but I cannot give up Nan. "And, as he pronounced the name, Dick's eyes shone with pride andtenderness. He was a soft-hearted, affectionate young fellow, and thisquarrel with his father was costing him a great deal of pain. Ineverything else he would have been submissive to his parents; but nowhe had a purpose and responsibility in his life: he had to be faithfulto the girl whom he had won; he must think for her now as well as forhimself. How sweet was this sense of dual existence, this unity ofheart and aim!

Mr. Mayne fairly groaned as he read the expression on his son's face. Dick's youthful countenance was stamped with honest resolution. "I amgoing to stick to her, as you did to my mother. "--that was what he hadsaid. If this were true, it was all over with Dick's chances with thepretty little heiress; he would never look at her or her thirtythousand pounds; "but all the same he, Richard Mayne, would neverconsent to his son marrying a dressmaker. If she had only notdisgraced herself, if she had not brought this humiliation on them, hemight have been brought to listen to their pleading in good time andat his own pleasure; but now, never!--never!" he muttered, and set histeeth hard. 

"Dick, " he said, suddenly, for there had been utter silence for aspace. 

"Yes, father. "

"You have upset me very much, and made me very unhappy; but I wish youto say nothing to your mother, and we will talk about this again. Promise me one thing, --that you will go back to Oxford at least untilChristmas. "

"What is the good of that, sir?" asked his son, dubiously. 

"What is the good of anything? for you have taken every bit ofpleasure out of my life; but at least you can do as much as this forme. "

"Oh, yes, father, if you wish it, " returned Dick, more cheerfully;"but all the same I have fixed upon a City life. "

"We will talk of that again, " replied his father; "and, Dick, we gohome to-morrow, and, unless you promise me not to come down toHadleigh between this and Christmas, I shall be obliged to speak toMrs. Challoner. "

"Oh, there is no need for that, " returned Dick, sulkily. 

"You give me your word?"

"Oh, yes, " pushing aside his chair with a kick. "It would be no usecoming down to Hadleigh, for Nan would not speak to me. I know her toowell for that. She has got such a conscience, you know. I shall writeto her, but I do not know if she will answer my letters; but it doesnot matter: we shall both be true as steel. If you don't want me anymore, I think I will have a cigar on the beach, for this room isconfoundedly hot. " And, without waiting for permission, Dick strodeoff, still sulky and fully aware that his father meant to follow him, for fear of his footsteps straying again down the Braidwood Road. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

"DICK IS TO BE OUR REAL BROTHER. "

Never was a father more devoted to his son's company than Mr. Maynewas that day. Dick's cigar was hardly alight before his father hadjoined him. When Dick grew weary of throwing stones aimlessly atimaginary objects, and voted the beach slow, Mr. Mayne proposed a walkwith alacrity. They dined together, --not talking much, it is true, forDick was still sulky, and his father tired and inclined to headache, but keeping up a show of conversation for the waiter's benefit. Butwhen that functionary had retired, and the wine was on the table, Dick made no further effort to be agreeable, but placed himself in thewindow-seat and stared moodily at the sea, while his father watchedhim and drank his wine in silence. 

Mr. Mayne was fighting against drowsiness valiantly. 

Dick knew this, and was waiting for an opportunity to make hisescape. 

"Had we not better ring for lights and coffee?" asked his father, ashe felt the first ominous sensations stealing over him. 

"Not just yet. I feel rather disposed for a nap myself; and it is ashame to shut out the moonlight, " returned that wicked Dick, callingup a fib to his aid, and closing his eyes as he spoke. 

The bait took. In another five minutes Mr. Mayne was nodding inearnest, and Dick on tiptoe had just softly closed the door behindhim, and was taking his straw hat from its peg. 

Nan was walking up and down the little dark lawn, feeling restless andout of sorts after the agitation of the morning, when she heard a lowwhistle at the other side of the wall, and her heart felt suddenly aslight as a feather. 

Dick saw her white gown as she came down the flagged path to the gateto let him in. The moonlight seemed to light it up with a sort ofglory. 

"You are a darling not to keep me waiting, for we have not a moment tolose, " he whispered, as she came up close to him. "He is asleep now, but he will wake up as soon as he misses me. Have you expected mebefore, Nan? But indeed I have not been left to myself a moment. "

"Oh, I knew all about it, my poor Dick, " she answered, looking at himso softly. "Phillis is reading to mother in the parlor, and Dulce isin the work-room. I have nowhere to ask you unless you come in andtalk to them. But mother is too upset to see you, I am afraid. "

"Let us wait here, " returned Dick, boldly. "No one can hear what wesay, and I must speak to you alone. No; I had better not see yourmother to-night, and the girls would be in the way. Shall you betired, dear, if you stand out here a moment talking to me? for I darenot wait long. "

"Oh, no, I shall not be tired, " answered Nan gently. Tired, when shehad her own Dick near her!--when she could speak to him, --look athim!

"All right; but it is my duty to look after you, now you belong tome, " returned Dick, proudly. "Whatever happens, --however long we maybe separated, --you must remember that--that you belong to me, --thatyou will have to account to me if you do not take care of yourself. "

Nan smiled happily at this, and then she said, --

"I have told mother all about it, and she is dreadfully distressedabout your father's anger. She cried so, and took his part, and saidshe did not wonder that he would not listen to us; he would feel itsuch a disgrace, his son wanting to marry a dressmaker. She made meunhappy, too, when she put it all before me in that way, " and hereNan's face paled perceptibly in the moonlight, "for she made me seehow hard it is on him, and on your mother, too! Oh, Dick don't youthink you ought to listen to them, and not have anything more to dowith me?"

"Nan, I am shocked at you!"

"But, Dick!"

"I tell you I am utterly shocked! You to say such a thing to my face, when we have been as good as engaged to each other all our lives! Whocares for the trumpery dressmaking? Not I!"

"But your father!" persisted Nan, but very faintly, for Dick's eyeswere blazing with anger. 

"Not another word! Nan, how dare you--after what you have promisedthis morning! Have I not been worried and badgered enough, withoutyour turning on me in this way? If you won't marry me, you won't; butI shall be a bachelor all my life for your sake!" and Dick, who was sosore, poor fellow, that he was ready to quarrel with her out of thevery fulness of his love, actually made a movement as though to leaveher, only Nan caught him by the arm in quite a frightened way. 

"Dick! dear Dick!"

"Well?" rather sullenly. 

"Oh, don't leave me like this! It would break my heart! I did not meanto make you angry. I was only pleading with you for your own good. Ofcourse I will keep my promise. Have I not been true to you all mylife? Oh, Dick! how can you turn from me like this?" And Nan actuallybegan to sob in earnest, only Dick's sweet temper returned in a momentat the sight of her distress, and he fell to comforting her with allhis might; and after this things went on more smoothly. 

He told her about his conversation with his father, and how he hadplanned a city life for himself; but here Nan timidly interposed:

"Would that not be a pity, when you had always meant to study for thebar?"

"Not a bit of it, " was the confident answer. "That was my father'swish, not mine. I don't mind telling you in confidence that I am notat all a shining light. I am afraid I am rather a duffer, and shallnot make my mark in the world. I have always thought desk-work must berather a bore; but, after all, with a good introduction and atolerable berth, one is pretty sure of getting on in the City. What Iwant is to make a little nest cosey for somebody, and as quick aspossible, --eh, Nan?"

"I do not mind waiting, " faltered Nan. But she felt at this momentthat no lover could have been so absolutely perfect as her Dick. 

"Oh, that is what girls always say, " returned Dick, rather loftily. "They are never in a hurry. They would wait seven--ten years, --half alifetime. But with us men it is different. I am not a bit afraid ofyou. I know you will stick to me like a brick, and all that; andfather will come round when he sees we are in earnest. But all thesame I want to have you to myself as soon as possible. A fellow likesthe feeling of working for his wife. I hate to think of these prettyfingers stitching away for other people. I want them to work for me:do you understand, Nan?'" And Nan, of course, understood. 

Dick, poor fellow, had not much time for his love-making, he and Nanhad too much business to settle. Nan had to explain to him that hermother was of opinion that under the present circumstances, nothingought to be done to excite Mr. Mayne's wrath. Dick might write to hermother sometimes, just to let them know how he was getting on; butbetween the young people themselves there must be no correspondence. 

"Mother says it will not be honorable, and that we are not properlyengaged. " And, though Dick combated this rather stoutly, he gave in atlast, and agreed that, until the new year, he would not claim hisrights, or infringe the sacred privacy of the Friary. 

"And now I must go, " said Dick, with a great sigh; "and it is good-byefor months. Now, I do not mean to ask your leave, --for you are such agirl for scruples, and all that, and you might take it into your headto refuse me: so there!"

Dick's words were mysterious; but he very soon made his meaningplain. 

Nan said, "Oh, Dick!" but made no further protest. After all, whateverMr. Mayne and her mother said, they were engaged. 

As Dick closed the little gate behind him, he was aware of a tallfigure looming in the darkness. 

"Confound that parson! What does he mean by loafing about here?" hethought, feeling something like a pugnacious bull-dog at the prospectof a possible rival. "I forgot to ask Nan about him; but I dare say heis after one of the other girls. " But these reflections were nipped inthe bud, as the short, sturdy form of Mr. Mayne was dimly visible inthe road. 

Dick chuckled softly: he could not help it. 

"All right, dear old boy, " he said to himself; and then he stepped upbriskly, and took his father's arm. 

"Do you call this honorable, sir?" began Mr. Mayne, in a mostirascible voice. 

"I call it very neat, " returned Dick, cheerfully. "My dear pater, everything is fair in love and war; and if you will nap atunseasonable times--but that comes of early rising, as I have oftentold you. "

"Hold your tongue, sir!" was the violent rejoinder. "It is a meantrick you have served me, and you know it. We will go back to-night;nothing will induce me to sleep in this place. You are not to betrusted. You told me a downright lie. You were humbugging me, sir, with your naps. "

"I will plead guilty to a fib, if you like, " was Dick's carelessanswer. "What a fuss you are making, father! Did you never tell one inyour life? Now, what is the use of putting yourself out?--it is notgood at your age, sir. What would my mother say? It might bring onapoplexy, after that port-wine. "

"Confound your impertinence!" rejoined Mr. Mayne, angrily; but Dickpatted his coat-sleeve pleasantly:

"There, that will do. I think you have relieved your feelingssufficiently. Now we will go to business. I have seen Nan, and toldher all about it; and she has had it out with her mother. Mrs. Challoner will not hear of our writing to each other; and I am not toshow my face at the Friary without your permission. There is nofibbing or want of honor there: Nan is not the girl to encourage afellow to take liberties. "

"Oh, indeed!" sneered Mr. Mayne; but he listened attentively for allthat. And his gloomy eyebrows relaxed in the darkness. The girl wasnot behaving so badly, after all. 

"So we said good-bye, " continued Dick, keeping the latter part of theinterview to himself; "and in October I shall go back for the term, asI promised. We can settle about the other things after Christmas. "

"Oh, yes, we can talk about that by and by, " replied his father, hastily; and then he waxed cheerful all at once, and called his son'sattention to some new houses they were building. "After all, Hadleighis not such a bad little place, " he observed; "and they gave us a verygood dinner at the hotel. It is not every one who can cook fish likethat. " And then Dick knew that the storm had blown over for thepresent, and that his father intended to make himself pleasant andignore all troublesome topics. 

Dick was a little tired when he went to bed; but, on the whole, he wasnot unhappy. It was quite true that the idea of a City life wasrepugnant to him, but the thought of Nan sweetened even that. Nothingelse remained to him if his father chose to be disagreeable andwithdraw his allowance, or threaten to cut him off with a shilling, asother fellows' fathers did in novels. 

"It is uncommonly unpleasant, having to wage war with one's ownfather, " thought Dick, as he laid his sandy head on the pillow. "He issuch an old trump, too, that it goes against the grain. But when itcomes to his wanting to choose a wife for me, it is too much of a goodthing: it is tyranny fit for the Middle Ages. Let him threaten if helikes. He will find I shall take his threats in earnest. AfterChristmas I will have it out with him again; and if he will not listento reason, I will go up to Mr. James Stanfield myself, and then hewill see that I mean what I say. Heigho! I am not such a lucky fellowas Hamilton always thinks me. " And at this juncture of his sadcogitations Dick forgot all about it, and fell asleep. 

Yes, Dick slept the sleep of the just. It was Mr. Drummond who waswakeful and uneasy that night. A vague sense of something wrongtormented him waking and sleeping. 

Who was that sandy-headed young fellow who had been twice to theFriary that day. What business had he to be shutting the gate afterhim in that free-and-easy way at ten o'clock at night? He must find itout somehow; he must make an excuse for calling there, and put thequestion as indifferently as he could; but even when he made up hismind to pursue this course, Archie felt just as restless as ever. 

He made his way to the cottage as early as possible. Phillis, who wasalone in the work-room, colored a little as she saw him coming in atthe gate. He came so often, he was so kind, so attentive to them all, and yet she had a dim doubt in her mind that troubled her at times. Was it for Nan's sake that he came? Could she speak and undeceive himbefore things went too far with him? Yes, when the opportunityoffered, she thought she could speak, even though the speaking wouldbe painful to her. 

Mr. Drummond looked round the room with a disappointed air as heentered, and then he came up to Phillis. 

"You are alone?" he said, with a regretful accent in his voice; atleast Phillis fancied she detected it. "How is that? Are your sistersout, or busy?"

"Oh, we are always busy, " returned Phillis, lightly; but, curiouslyenough, she felt a little sore at his tone. "Nan has gone down toAlbert Terrace to take a fresh order, and Dulce is in the townsomewhere with mother. Don't you mean to sit down, Mr. Drummond? or isyour business with mother? She will not be back just yet, but I couldgive her any message. " Phillis said this as she stitched away withenergy; but one quick glance had shown her that Mr. Drummond waslooking irresolute and ill at ease as he stood beside her. 

"Thank you, but I must not stay and hinder you. Yes, my business waswith your mother; but it is of no consequence, and I can call again. "Nevertheless, he sat down and deposited his felt hat awkwardly enoughon the table. He liked Phillis, but he was a little afraid of her; shewas shrewd, and seemed to have the knack of reading one's thoughts. Hewas wondering how he should bring his question on the _tapis_; butPhillis, by some marvellous intuition that really surprised her, hadalready come to the conclusion that this visit meant something. He hadseen Dick; perhaps he wanted to find out all about him. Certainly hewas not quite himself to-day. Yes, that must be what he wanted. Phillis's kind heart and mother-wit were always ready for anemergency. 

"How full Hadleigh is getting!" she remarked, pleasantly, as sheadjusted the trimming of a sleeve. "Do you know some old neighbors ofours from Oldfield turned up unexpectedly yesterday? They are goingaway to-day, though, " she added, with a little regret in her voice. 

Archie brightened up visibly at this. 

"Oh, indeed!" he observed, with alacrity. "Not a very long visit. Perhaps they came down purposely to see you?"

"Yes, of course, " returned Phillis, confusedly. "They had intendedstaying some days at the hotel, but Mr. Mayne suddenly changed hismind, much to our and Dick's disappointment; but it could not behelped. "

"Dick, " echoed Archie, a little surprised at this familiarity and thenhe added, somewhat awkwardly, "I think I saw the young man and hisfather at the Library yesterday; and last night as I was coming fromthe station I encountered him again at your gate. "

"Yes, that was Dick, " answered Phillis, stooping a little over herwork. "He is not handsome, poor fellow! but he is as nice as possible. They live at Longmead; that is next door to our dear old Glen Cottage, and the gardens adjoin. We call him Dick because we have known him allour lives, and he has been a sort of brother to us. "

"Oh, yes, I see, " drawled Archie, slowly. "That sort of thing is verynice when you have not a man belonging to you. It is a little awkwardsometimes, for people do not always see this sort of relationship. Heseemed a nice sort of fellow, I should say, " he continued, in hispatronizing way, stroking his beard complacently. After all, thesandy-headed youth was no possible rival. 

"Oh, Dick is ever so nice, " answered Phillis, enthusiastically; "notgood enough for--" and then she stopped and broke her thread. "I amglad we are so fond of him, " she continued, rather hurriedly, "becauseDick is to be our real brother some day. He and Nan have cared foreach other all their lives, and, though Mr. Mayne is dreadfully angryabout it, they consider themselves as good as engaged, and mean tolive down his opposition. They came to an understanding yesterday, "finished Phillis, who was determined to bring it all out. 

"Oh, indeed!" returned Archie: "that must be a great relief, I amsure. There is your little dog whining at the door; may I let him in?"And, without waiting for an answer, Archie had darted out in pursuitof Laddie, but not before Phillis's swift upward glance had shown hera face that had grown perceptibly paler in the last few minutes. 

"Oh, poor fellow! I was right!" thought Phillis, and the tears rushedto her eyes. "It was best to speak. I see that now; and he will getover it if he thinks no one knows it. How I wish I could help him! butit will never do to show the least sympathy: I have no right. " Andhere Phillis sighed, and her gray eyes grew dark with pain for amoment. Archie was rather a long time absent; and then he came backwith Laddie in his arms, and stood by the window. 

"Your news has interested me very much, " he said, and his voice wasquite steady. "I suppose, as this--this engagement is not public, Ihad better not wish your sister joy, unless you do it for me. "

"Oh, no; there is no need of that, " returned Phillis, in a low voice. "Mother might not like my mentioning it; but I thought you mightwonder about Dick, and----" here Phillis got confused. 

"Thank you, " replied Archie, quietly; but now he looked at her. "Youare very kind. Yes, it was best for me to know. " And then, as Phillisrose and gave him her hand, for he had taken up his hat as he spoke, she read at once that her caution had been in vain, --that he had fullunderstanding why the news had been told to him, and to him only, andthat he was grateful to her for so telling him. 

Poor Phillis! she had accomplished her task; and yet as the doorclosed behind the young clergyman, two or three tears fell on herwork. He was not angry with her; on the contrary, he had thanked her, and the grasp of his hand had been as cordial as ever. But, in spiteof the steadiness of his voice and look, the arrow had pierced betweenthe joints of his armor. He might not be fatally wounded, --that wasnot in the girl's power to know; but that he was in some wayhurt, --made miserable with a man's misery, --of this she was acutelysensible; and the strangest longing to comfort him--to tell him howmuch she admired his fortitude--came over her, with a strong stingingpain that surprised her. 

Archie had the longest walk that day that he had ever had in his life. He came in quite fagged and foot-sore to his dinner, and far too tiredto eat. Mattie told him he looked ill and worn out; but, though hegenerally resented any such personal remarks, he merely told her verygently that he was tired, and that he would like a cup of coffee inhis study, and not to be disturbed. And when she took in the coffeepresently, she found him buried in the depths of his easy-chair, andevidently half asleep, and stole out of the room on tiptoe. 

But his eyes opened very speedily as soon as the door closed upon her. It was not sleep he wanted, but some moral strength to bear a painthat threatened to be unendurable. How had that girl read his secret?Surely he had not betrayed himself! Nan had not discovered it, for hercalmness and sweet unconsciousness had never varied in his presence. Never for an instant had her changing color testified to the faintestuneasiness. He understood the reason of her reserve now. Her thoughtshad been with this Dick; and here Archie groaned and hid his face. 

Not mortally hurt, perhaps; but still the pain and the sense of losswere very bitter to this young man, who had felt for weeks past thathis life was permeated by the sweetness and graciousness of Nan'spresence. How lovely she had seemed to him, --the ideal girl of hisdreams! It was love at first sight. He knew that now. His man's hearthad been set on the hope of winning her, and now she was lost to him. 

Never for one moment had she belonged to him, or could belong to him. "He and Nan have cared for each other all their lives, "--that was whather sister had told him; and what remained but for him to stamp outthis craze and fever before it mastered him and robbed him of hispeace?

"I am not the only man who has had to suffer, " thought Archie, ashours after he stumbled up to bed in the darkness. "At least, it makesit easier to know that no one shares my pain. These things are betterbattled out alone. I could not bear even Grace's sympathy in this. "And yet as Archie said this to himself, he recalled without anybitterness the half-tender, half pitying look in Phillis's eyes. "Shewas sorry for me. She saw it all; and it was kind of her to tell me, "thought the young man. 

He had no idea that Phillis was at that moment whispering littlewistful prayers in the darkness that he might soon be comforted. 

Who knows how many such prayers are flung out into the deep of God'smercy, --comfort for such a one whom we would fain comfort ourselves;feeble utterances and cries of pity; the stretching out of helplesshands, which nevertheless may bring down blessings? But so it shall bewhile men and women struggle and fall, and weep the tears common tohumanity, "until all eyes are dried in the clear light of eternity, and the sorest heart shall then own the wisdom of the cross that hadbeen laid upon them. "

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

"THIS IS LIFE AND DEATH TO ME. "

Phillis found it difficult during the next few days to reconciledivided sympathies; a nice adjustment of conflicting feelings seemedalmost impossible. Nan was so simply, so transparently happy, that nosister worthy of the name could refuse to rejoice with her: a creatureso brimming over with gladness, with contented love, was certain toreflect heart-sunshine. On the other hand, there was Mr. Drummond! Tobe glad and sorry in a breath was as provoking to a feeling woman asthe traveller's blowing hot and cold was to the satyr in the fable. 

In trying to preserve an even balance Phillis became decidedly cross. She was one who liked a clear temperature, --neither torrid nor frigid. Too much susceptibility gave her an east-windy feeling; to be alwaysat the fever-point of sympathy with one's fellow-creatures would nothave suited her at all. 

Nan, who possessed more sweetness of temper than keenness ofpsychological insight, could not understand what had come to Phillis. She was absent, a trifle sad, and yet full of retort. At times sheseemed to brim over with a wordy wisdom that made no sort ofimpression. 

One evening, as they were retiring to bed, Nan beckoned her into herlittle room, and shut the door. Then she placed a seat invitingly bythe open window, which was pleasantly framed by jasmine; and then shetook hold of Phillis's shoulders in a persuasive manner. 

"Now, dear, " she said, coaxingly, "you shall just tell me all aboutit. "

Phillis looked up, a little startled. Then, as she met Nan's gentle, penetrative glance, she presented a sudden blank of non-comprehension, most telling on such occasions, and yawned slightly. 

"What do you mean, Nannie?" in a somewhat bored tone. 

"Come, dear, tell me, " continued Nan, with cheerful pertinacity. "Youare never dull or touchy without some good reason. What has been thematter the last few days? Are you vexed or disappointed aboutanything? Are you sure--quite sure you are pleased about Dick?"--theidea occurring to her suddenly that Phillis might not approve of theirimprudent engagement. 

"Oh, Nannie, how absurd you are!" returned Phillis, pettishly. "Have Inot told you a dozen times since Wednesday how delighted I am that youhave come to an understanding? Have I not sounded his praises until Iwas hoarse? Why, if I had been in love with Dick myself I could nothave talked about him more. "

"Yes, I know you have been very good, dear; but still I felt there wassomething. "

"Oh, dear, no!" returned Phillis decidedly, and her voice was a littlehard. "The fact is, you are in the seventh heaven yourself, and youexpect us to be there too. Not that I wonder at you, Nannie, becauseDick--dear old fellow--is ever so nice. "

She threw in this last clause not without intention, and of course thetempting bait took at once. 

"I never knew any one half so good, " replied Nan, in a calmlysatisfied tone. "You have hinted once or twice, Phil, that you thoughthim rather too young, --that our being the same age was a pity; but--doyou know?--in Dick's case it does not matter in the least. No mandouble his age could have made his meaning more plain, or have spokenbetter to the purpose. He is so strong and self-reliant and manly: andwith all his fun, he is so unselfish. "

"He will make you a very good husband, Nan; I am sure of that. "

"I think he will, " returned Nan, with a far-away look in her eyes. She was recalling Dick's speech about the nest that he wanted to makecosey for some one. "Phil, dear, " she went on, after this blissfulpause, "I wish you had a Dick too. "

"Good Gracious, Nannie!"

"I mean--you know what I mean, --some one to whom you are first, andwho has a right to care for you; it gives such a meaning to one'slife. Of course it will come in time; no one can look at you and notprophesy a happy future: it is only I who am impatient and want it tocome soon. "

Phillis wrinkled her brows thoughtfully over this speech: she seemedinclined to digest and assimilate it. 

"I dare say you are right, " she replied, after a pause. "Yes it wouldbe nice, no doubt. "

"When the real _he_ comes, you will find how nice it is, " rejoinedNan, with sympathetic readiness. "Do you know, Phil, the idea has onceor twice occurred to me that Mr. Drummond comes rather often!" Buthere Phillis shook off her hand and started from her chair. 

"There is a moth singing its wings. Poor wee beastie! let me save it, if it be not too late. " And she chased the insect most patiently untilthe blue-gray wings fluttered into her hand. 

"There, I have saved him from utter destruction!" she criedtriumphantly, leaning out into the darkness. "He has scorched himself, that is all;" then as she walked back to her sister, her head waserect, and there was a beautiful earnest look upon her face. 

"Nannie, I don't want to find fault with you, but don't you rememberhow we used to pride ourselves, in the dear old days, in not beinglike other girls, --the Paines, for example, or even Adelaide Sartoris, who used to gossip so much about young men. "

Nan opened her eyes widely at this, but made no answer. 

"We must not be different now, because our life is narrower and moremonotonous. I know, talking so much over our work, we have terribletemptations to gossip; but I can't bear to think that we should everlower our standard, ever degenerate into the feeble girlishness weabhor. We never used to talk about young men, Nan, except Dick; andthat did not matter. Of course we liked them in their places, and hadplenty of fun, and tormented them a little; but you never made such aspeech as that at Glen Cottage. "

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! What have I done?" exclaimed Nan, much distressedat this rebuke. "I do think you are right, Phil; and it was naughty ofme to put such a thing into your head. "

"You have put no idea into my head, " replied Phillis, with crispobstinacy. "There! I am only moralizing for my own good, as well asyours. Small beginnings make great endings. If we once began togossip, we might end by flirting; and, Nan, if you knew how I hatethat sort of thing!" And Phillis looked grand and scornful. 

"Yes, dear; and I know you are right, " returned Nan, humbly. She wasnot quite sure what she had done to provoke this outburst of highmoral feeling: but she felt that Phillis was dreadfully in earnest. They kissed each other rather solemnly after that, and Phillis wassuffered to depart in silence. 

That night there was no wistful little prayer that Mr. Drummond mightbe comforted: Phillis had too many petitions to offer up on her ownaccount. She was accusing herself of pride, and Pharisaism, andhypocrisy, in no measured terms. "Not like other girls! I amworse, --worse, " she said to herself. And then, among other things, sheasked for the gift of content, --for a quiet, satisfied spirit, notcraving or embittered, --strength to bear her own and her friends'troubles, and far-looking faith to discern "God's perfectness roundour uncompleteness, --round our restlessness His rest. "

The following evening, as Phillis was sorting out patterns in thework-room, a note was brought to her from the White House. It was inMrs. Cheyne's handwriting, and, like herself, strangely abrupt. 

"Your visits are like angels' visits, --extremely rare, " it began. "Iam afraid I have frightened you away, as I have frightened the parson. I thought you had more wit than he to discern between mannerism anddownright ill-humor. This evening the temperature is equable, --not thesign of a brooding cloud: so put on your hat, like a good girl, andcome over. Miss Mewlstone and I will be prepared to welcome you. "

"You had better go, " observed Nan, who had read the note over hersister's shoulder: "you have worked so dreadfully hard all day, and itwill be a little change. "

"No one cares for east winds as a change, " replied Phillis, dryly;nevertheless, she made up her mind that she would go. She wasbeginning to dread being summoned to the White House: she felt thatMrs. Cheyne alternately fascinated and repelled her. She was growingfond of Miss Mewlstone; but then, on these occasions, she had solittle intercourse with her. The charitable instinct that was alwaysready to be kindled in Phillis's nature prompted her to pay thesevisits; and yet she always went reluctantly. 

She had two encounters on the road, both of which she had foreseenwith nice presentiment. 

The first was with Mr. Drummond. 

He was walking along slowly, with his eyes on the ground. A sort offlush came to his face when he saw Phillis; and then he stopped, andshook hands, and asked after them all comprehensively, yet withconstraint in his voice. Phillis told him rather hurriedly that shewas going to the White House: Mrs. Cheyne had sent for her. 

Archie smiled:

"I am glad she does not send for me. I have not been there for a longtime. Sarcasm is not an attractive form of welcome. It slams the doorin a man's face. I hope you will not get some hard hits, MissChalloner. " And then he went on his way. 

As she approached Mrs. Williams's cottage, Mr. Dancy was, as usual, leaning against the little gate. He stepped out in the road, andaccosted her. 

"I have not called on your mother, " he began, rather abruptly. "Afterall, I thought it best not to trouble her just now. Can you spare me afew minutes? or are you going in there?" looking towards the WhiteHouse. 

"I am rather in a hurry, " returned Phillis, surprised at his manner, it seemed so agitated. "I am already late, and Mrs. Cheyne will beexpecting me. "

"Very well: another time, " he replied, stepping back without furtherceremony; but until Phillis's figure disappeared in the trees hewatched her, leaning still upon the little gate. 

Mrs. Cheyne received her with a frosty smile; but, on the whole, hermanner was more gracious than usual, and by and by it thawedcompletely. 

She was a little captious at first, it was true, and she snubbed poorMiss Mewlstone decidedly once or twice, --but then Miss Mewlstone wasused to being snubbed, --but with Phillis she was sparing of sarcasms. After a time she began to look kindly at the girl; then she bade hertalk, rather peremptorily, because she liked her voice and found itpleasant to listen to her; and by and by Phillis grew more at herease, and her girlish talk rippled on as smoothly as possible. 

Mrs. Cheyne's face softened and grew strangely handsome as shelistened: she was drawing Phillis out, --leading her to speak of theold life, and of all their youthful sources of happiness. Then shefell into a retrospect of her own young days, when she was a spoiledmadcap girl and had all sorts of daring adventures. 

Phillis was quite fascinated; she was even disappointed when MissMewlstone pointed out the lateness of the hour. 

"I have enjoyed myself so much, " she said, as she put on her hat. 

"I meant you to enjoy yourself, " returned Mrs. Cheyne, quietly, as shedrew the girl's face down to hers. "I have given you such a badimpression that you look on me as a sort of moral bugbear. I can bevery different, when I like, and I have liked to be agreeableto-night. " And then this strange woman took up a rich cashmere shawlfrom the couch where she was lying, and folded it around Phillis'sshoulders. "The evenings are chilly. Jeffreys can bring this back withher;" for Mrs. Cheyne had already decided that this time her maidshould accompany Phillis to the cottage. 

Phillis laughed in an amused fashion as she saw the reflection ofherself in one of the mirrors: her figure looked quite queenlyenveloped in the regal drapery. "She has forgotten all about thedressmaking, " she thought to herself, as she tripped downstairs. 

It was a lovely moonlight evening; the avenue was white and glisteningin the soft light; the trees cast weird shadows on the grass. Philliswas somewhat surprised to see in the distance Mr. Dancy's tall figurepacing to and fro before the lodge-gate. He was evidently waiting forher; for as she approached he threw away his cigar and joined her atonce. Jeffreys, who thought he was some old acquaintance, droppedbehind very discreetly, after the manner of waiting-women. 

"How long you have stayed this evening! I have been walking up anddown for more than an hour, watching for you, " he began, with curiousabruptness. 

This and no more did Jeffreys hear before she lingered out of earshot. The lady's maid thought she perceived an interesting situation, andbeing of a susceptible and sympathetic temperament, with a blightedattachment of her own, there was no fear of her intruding. Phillislooked around once, but Jeffreys was absorbed in her contemplations ofthe clouds. 

"I thought you were never coming, " he continued; and then he stoppedall at once, and caught hold of the fringe of the shawl. "This is notyours: I am sure I have seen Magdalene in it. Pshaw! what am I saying?the force of old habit. I knew her once as Magdalene. "

"It is dreadfully heavy, and, after all, the evening is so warm, "returned Phillis, taking no notice of this incoherent speech. 

"Let me carry it, " he rejoined, with singular eagerness; "it isabsurd, a wrap like that on such a night. " And, while Phillishesitated, he drew the shawl from her shoulders and hung it over hisarm, and all the way his disengaged right hand rested on the folds, touching it softly from time to time, as though the mere feeling ofthe texture pleased him. 

"How was she to-night?" he asked, coming a little closer to Phillis, and dropping his voice as he spoke. 

"Who?--Mrs. Cheyne? Oh, she was charming! just a little cold andcaptious at first, but that is her way. But this evening she was benton fascinating me, and she quite succeeded; she looked ill, though, but very, very beautiful. "

"She never goes out. I cannot catch a glimpse of her, " he returned, hurriedly. "Miss Challoner, I am going to startle--shock you, perhaps;but I have thought about it all until my head is dizzy, and there isno other way. Please give me your attention a moment, " for Phillis, with a vague sense of uneasiness, had looked around for Jeffreys. "Imust see you alone: I must speak to you where we shall not beinterrupted. To call on your mother will be no good; you and only youcan help me. And you are so strong and merciful--I can read that inyour eyes--that I am sure of your sympathy, if you will only give me ahearing. "

"Mr. Dancy! oh, what can you mean?" exclaimed Phillis. She wasdreadfully frightened at his earnestness, but her voice was dignified, and she drew herself away with a movement full of pride and _hauteur_. "You are a stranger to me; you have no right----"

"The good Samaritan was a stranger too. Have you forgotten that?" hereturned, in a voice of grave rebuke. "Oh, you are a girl; you arethinking of your mother! I have shocked your sense of propriety, mychild; for you seem a child to me, who have lived and suffered somuch. Would you hesitate an instant if some poor famishing wretch wereto ask you for food or water? Well, I am that poor wretch. What I haveto tell you is a matter of life and death to me. Only a woman--onlyyou--can help me; and you shrink because we have not had a properintroduction. My dear young lady, you have nothing to fear from me. Iam unfortunate, but a gentleman, --a married man, if that will satisfyyour scruples----"

"But my mother, " faltered Phillis, not knowing what to say to thisunfortunate stranger, who terrified and yet attracted her by turns. 

Never had she heard a human voice so persuasive, and yet so agonizedin its intensity. A conviction of the truth of his words seized uponher as she listened, --that he was unhappy, that he needed her sympathyfor some purpose of his own, and yet that she herself had nothing todo with his purpose. But what would Nan say if she consented--if sheacceded to such an extraordinary proposition--to appoint a meetingwith a stranger?

"It is life and death to me; remember that!" continued Mr. Dancy, inthat low, suppressed voice of agitation. "If you refuse on the scoreof mere girlish propriety, you will regret it. I am sure of that. Trust to your own brave heart, and let it answer for you. Will yourefuse this trifling act of mercy, --just to let me speak to you alone, and tell you my story? When you have heard that, you will take thingsinto your own hands. "

Phillis hesitated, and grew pale with anxiety; but the instincts ofher nature were stronger than her prudence. From the first she hadbelieved in this man, and felt interested in him and his mysterioussurroundings. "One may be deceived in a face, but never in a voice, "she had said, in her pretty dictatorial way; and now this voice waswinning her over to his side. 

"It is not right; but what can I do? You say I can help you. "--Andthen she paused. "To-morrow morning I have to take some work to RockBuilding. I shall not be long. But I could go on the beach for half anhour. Nan would spare me. I might hear your story then. "

She spoke rapidly, and rather ungraciously, as though she weredispensing largess to a troublesome mendicant; but Mr. Dancy's answerwas humble in its intense gratitude. 

"God bless you! I knew your kind heart was to be trusted There! I willnot come any farther. Good-night; good-night, a thousand thanks!" And, before Phillis could reply, this strange being had left her side, andwas laying the cashmere shawl in Jeffreys's arms slowly and tenderly, as though it were a child. 

Phillis was glad that Dulce opened the door to her that night, for shewas afraid of Nan's questioning glance. Nan was tired, and had retiredearly; and, as Dulce was sleepy too, Phillis was now left in peace. She passed the night restlessly, walking up at all sorts of untimelyhours, her conscience pricking her into wakefulness. To herwell-ordered nature there was something terrifying in the thought thatshe should be forced to take such a step. 

"Oh, what would mother and Nan say?" was her one cry. 

"I know I am dreadfully impulsive and imprudent, but Nan would think Iam not to be trusted;" but she had passed her word, and nothing nowwould have induced her to swerve from it. 

She ate her breakfast silently, and with a sense of oppression andguilt quite new to her. She grew inwardly hot whenever Nan looked ather, which she did continually and with the utmost affection. Beforethe meal was over, however, Miss Middleton and Mattie made theirappearance, and in the slight bustle of entrance Phillis managed toeffect her escape. 

The hour that followed bore the unreality of a nightmare. Outwardly, Phillis was the grave, business-like dressmaker. The lady who had sentfor her, and who was a stranger to Hadleigh, was much struck with herquiet self-possessed manners and lady-like demeanor. 

"Her voice was quite refined, " she said afterwards to her daughter. "And she had such a nice face and beautiful figure. I am sure she is areduced gentlewoman, for her accent was perfect. I am quite obliged toMiss Milner for recommending us such a person, for she evidentlyunderstands her business. One thing I noticed, Ada, --the way in whichshe quietly laid down the parcel, and said it should be fetchedpresently. Any ordinary dressmaker in a small town like this wouldhave carried it home herself. "

Poor Phillis! she had laid down the parcel and drawn on herwell-fitting gloves with a curious sinking at her heart: from thewindow of the house in Rock Building she could distinctly see Mr. Dancy walking up and down the narrow plat of grass before the houses, behind the tamarisk hedge, his foreign-looking cloak and slouch hatmaking him conspicuous. 

"There is that queer-looking man again, mamma, " exclaimed one of theyoung ladies, who was seated in the window. "I am sure he is somedistinguished foreigner, he has such an air with him. "

Phillis listened to no more, but hurried down the stairs and thenprepared to cross the green with some degree of trepidation. She washalf afraid that Mr. Dancy would join her at once, in the full view ofcurious eyes; but he knew better. He sauntered on slowly until she hadreached the Parade and was going towards a part of the beach wherethere was only a knot of children wading knee-deep in the water, sailing a toy-boat. She stood and watched them dreamily, until thevoice she expected sounded in her ear:

"True as steel! Ah, I was never deceived in a face yet. Where shall wesit, Miss Challoner? Yes, this is a quiet corner, and the childrenwill not disturb us. Look at that urchin, with his bare brown legs andcurly head: is he not a study? Ah, if he had lived--my----" And thenhe sighed, and threw himself on the beach. 

"Well, " observed Phillis, interrogatively. She was inclined to beshort with him this morning. She had kept her word, and put herselfinto this annoying position; but there must be no hesitation, nobeating about the bush, no loss of precious time. The story she hadnow to hear must be told, and with out delay. 

Mr. Dancy raised his eyes as he heard the tone, and then he took offhis spectacles as though he felt them an incumbrance. Phillis had avery good view of a pair of handsome eyes, with a lurking gleam ofhumor in them, which speedily died away into sadness. 

"You are in a hurry; but I was thinking how I could best begin withoutstartling you. But I may as well get it out without any prelude. MissChalloner, to Mrs. Williams I am only Mr. Dancy; but my real name isHerbert Dancy Cheyne. "

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

MISS MEWLSTONE HAS AN INTERRUPTION. 

"HERBERT DANCY CHEYNE!"

As he pronounced the name slowly and with marked emphasis, a low cryof uncontrollable astonishment broke from Phillis: it was sounexpected. She began to shiver a little from the sudden shock. 

"There! I have startled you, --and no wonder; and yet how could I helpit? Yes, " he repeated, calmly, "I am that unfortunate Herbert Cheynewhom his own wife believes to be dead. "

"Whom every one believes to be dead, " corrected Phillis, in a pantingbreath. 

"Is it any wonder?" he returned, vehemently; and his eyes darkened, and his whole features worked, as though with the recollection of someunbearable pain. "Have I not been snatched from the very jaws ofdeath? Has not mine been a living death, a hideous grave, for thesefour years?" And then, hurriedly and almost disconnectedly, as thoughthe mere recalling the past was torture to him, he poured into thegirl's shrinking ears fragments of a story so stern in its reality, soterrible in its details, that, regardless of the children that playedon the margin of the water, Phillis hid her face in her hands and weptfor sheer pity. 

Wounded, bereft of all his friends, and left apparently dying in thehands of a hostile tribe, Herbert Cheyne had owed his life to themercy of a woman, a poor, degraded ill-used creature, half-witted andugly, but who had not lost all the instincts of her womanhood, and whofed and nursed the white stranger as tenderly as though he were herown son. 

While the old negress lived, Herbert Cheyne had been left in peace tolanguish back to life, through days and nights of intolerablesuffering, until he had regained a portion of his old strength; then afever carried off his protectress, and he became virtually a slave. 

Out of pity for the tender-hearted girl who listened to him, Mr. Cheyne hurried over this part of his sorrowful past. He spoke brieflyof indignities, abuse, and at last of positive ill treatment. Againand again his life had been in danger from brute violence; again andagain he had striven to escape, and had been recaptured with blows. 

Phillis pointed mutely to his scarred wrists, and the tears floweddown her cheeks. 

"Yes, yes; these are the marks of my slavery, " he replied, bitterly. "They were a set of hideous brutes; and the fetish they worshipped wascruelty. I carry about me other marks that must go with me to mygrave; but there is no need to dwell on these horrors. He sent Hisangel to deliver me, " he continued, reverently; "and again mybenefactor was a woman. "

And then he went on to tell Phillis that one of the wives of the chiefin whose service he was took pity on him, and aided him to escape onthe very night before some great festival, when it had been determinedto kill him. This time he had succeeded; and, after a series ofhair-breadth adventures, he had fallen in with some Dutch traders whohad come far into the interior in search of ivory tusks. He was soburnt by the sun and disfigured by paint that he had great difficultyin proving his identity as an Englishman. But at last they hadsuffered him to join them, and after some more months of wandering hehad worked his way to the coast. 

There misfortune bad again overtaken him, in the form of a long andtedious illness. Fatigue, disaster, anguish of mind, and a slightsunstroke had taken dire effect upon him; but this time he had falleninto the hands of good Samaritans. The widowed sister of the consul, avery Dorcas of good works, had received the miserable stranger intoher house; and she and her son, like Elijah's widow of Zarephath, hadshared with him their scanty all. 

"They were very poor, but they pinched themselves for the sake of thestricken wretch that was thrown on their mercy. It was a woman againwho succored me the third time, " continued Mr. Cheyne: "you may judgehow sacred women are in my eyes now! Dear motherly Mrs. Van Hollick!when she at last suffered me to depart, she kissed and blessed me asthough I were her own son. Never to my dying day shall I forget hergoodness. My one thought, after seeing Magdalene, will be how I am torepay her goodness, --how I can make prosperity flow in on the littlehousehold, that the cruse and cake may never fail!"

"But, " interrupted Phillis at this point, "did you not write, or yourfriends write for you, to England?"

Mr. Cheyne smiled bitterly:

"It seems as though some strange fatality were over me. Yes, I wrote. I wrote to Magdalene, to my lawyer, and to another friend who hadknown me all my life, but the ship that carried these letters wasburnt at sea. I only heard that when I at last worked my way toPortsmouth as a common sailor and in that guise presented myself at mylawyer's chambers. Poor man! I thought he would have fainted when hesaw me. He owned afterwards he was a believer in ghosts at thatmoment. "

"How long ago was that?" asked Phillis, gently. 

"Two months; not longer. It was then I heard of my children's death, of my wife's long illness and her strange state. I was ill myself, andnot fit to battle through any more scenes. Mr. Standish took me homeuntil I had rested and recovered myself a little; and then I put onthis disguise--not that much of that is necessary, for few peoplewould recognize me, I believe--and came down here and took possessionof Mrs. Williams's lodgings. "

Phillis looked at him with mute questioning in her eyes. She did notventure to put it into words, but he understood her:

"Why have I waited so long, do you ask? and why am I living herewithin sight of my own house, a spy on my own threshold and wife? Mydear Miss Challoner, there is a bitter reason for that!

"Four years ago I parted from my wife in anger. There were words saidthat day that few women could forgive. Has she forgiven them? That iswhat I am trying to find out. Will the husband who has been dead toher all these years be welcome to her living?" His voice dropped intolow vehemence, and a pallor came over his face as he spoke. 

Phillis laid her hand on his own. She looked strangely eager:

"This is why you want my help. Ah! I see now! Oh, it is all right--allthat you can wish! It is she who is tormenting herself, who has norest day or night! When the thunder came that evening--youremember--we sat beside the children's empty beds, and she told mesome of her thoughts. When the lighting flashed, her nerves gave way, and she cried out, in her pain, 'Did he forgive?' That was her onethought. Her husband, --who was up in heaven with the children, --did hethink mercifully of her, and know how she loved him? It was your namethat was on her lips when that good woman, Miss Mewlstone, hushed herin her arms like a child. Oh, be comforted!" faltered Phillis, "forshe loves you, and mourns for you as though she were the most desolatecreature living!" But here she paused, for something that sounded likea sob came to her ear, and looking round, she saw the bowed figure ofher companion shaking with uncontrollable emotion, --those hardtearless sobs that are only wrung from a man's strong agony. 

"Oh, hush!" cried the girl, tenderly. "Be comforted: there is no roomfor doubt. There! I will leave you; you will be better by and by. " Andthen instinctively she turned away her face from a grief too sacredfor a stranger to touch, and walked down to the water, where thechildren had ceased playing, and listened to the baby waves thatlapped about her feet. 

And by and by he joined her; and on his pale face there was a rapt, serious look, as of one who has despaired and has just listened to anangel's tidings. 

"Did I not say that you, and only you, could help me? This is what Ihave wanted to know: had Magdalene forgiven me? Now I need wait nolonger. My wife and home are mine, and I must take possession of mytreasures. "

He stopped, as though overcome by the prospect of such happiness; butPhillis timidly interposed:

"But, Mr. Cheyne, think a moment. How is it to be managed? If you arein too great a hurry, will not the shock be too much for her? She isnervous, --excitable. It would hardly be safe. "

"That is what troubles me, " he returned, anxiously. "It is too muchfor any woman to bear; and Magdalene--she was always excitable. Tellme, you have such good sense; and, though you are so young, one canalways rely on a woman; you understand her so well--I see you do--andshe is fond of you, --how shall we act that my poor darling, who hasundergone so much, may not be harmed by me any more?"

"Wait one moment, " returned Phillis, earnestly. "I must consider. " Andshe set herself to revolve all manner of possibilities, and thenrejected them one by one. "There seems no other way, " she observed, at last, fixing her serious glance on Mr. Cheyne. "I must seek for anopportunity to speak to Miss Mewlstone. It must be broken carefully toyour poor wife; I am sure of that. Miss Mewlstone will help us. Shewill tell us what to do, and how to do it. Oh, she is so kind, sothoughtful and tender, just as though Mrs. Cheyne were a poor waywardchild, who must be guided and helped and shielded. I like her so much:we must go to her for counsel. "

"You must indeed, and at once!" he returned, rather peremptorily; andPhillis had a notion now what manner of man he had been beforemisfortunes had tamed and subdued him. His eyes flashed witheagerness; he grew young, alert, full of life in a moment. "Forgive meif I am too impetuous; but I have waited so long, and now my patienceseems exhausted all at once during the last hour. I have been atfever-point ever since you have proved to me that my wife--myMagdalene--has been true to me. Fool that I was! why have I doubted solong? Miss Challoner, you will not desert me?--you will be my goodangel a little longer? You will go to Miss Mewlstone now, --this verymoment, --and ask her to prepare my wife?"

"It is time for me to be going home: mother and Nan will think I amlost, " returned Phillis, in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone. "Come Mr. Cheyne, we can talk as we go along. " For he was so wan and agitatedthat she felt uneasy for his sake. She took his arm gently, and guidedhim as though he were a child; and he obeyed her like one. 

"Promise me that you will speak to her at once, " he said, as he walkedbeside her rather feebly; and his gait became all at once like that ofan old man. But Phillis fenced this remark very discreetly. 

"This afternoon or this evening, when I get the chance, " she said, very decidedly: "if I am to help you, it must be as I think best, andat my own time. Do not think me unkind, for I am doing this for yourown good: it would not help you if your wife were to be brought to thebrink of a nervous illness. Leave it to me. Miss Mewlstone will serveus best, and she will know. " And then she took her hand from his arm, and bade him drop behind a little, that she might not be seen in thetown walking with him. "Good-bye! keep up your courage. I will helpyou all I can, " she said, with a kindly smile, as he reluctantlyobeyed her behest. She was his good angel, but he must not walk anylonger in her shadow: angels do their good deeds invisibly, as Phillishoped to do hers. He thought of this as he watched her disappearing inthe distance. 

Phillis walked rapidly towards the cottage. Archie, who was lettinghimself in at his own door, saw the girl pass, carrying her head high, and stepping lightly as though she were treading on air. "Here comesAtalanta, " he said to himself; but, though a smile came over his tiredface, he made no effort to arrest her. The less he saw of any of themthe better, he thought, just now. 

Nan looked up reproachfully as the truant entered the work-room, andMrs. Challoner wore her gravest expression; evidently she had prepareda lecture for the occasion. Phillis looked at them both with sparklingeyes. 

"Listen to me, Nan and mother. Oh, I am glad Dulce is not here, she isso young and giddy; and she might talk--No, not a word from either ofyou, until I have had my turn. " And then she began her story. 

Nan listened with rapt speechless attention, but Mrs. Challoner gavevent to little pitying moans and exclamations of dismay. 

"Oh, my child!" she kept saying, "to think of your being mixed up insuch an adventure! How could you be so imprudent and daring? Mrs. Williams's lodger--a strange man! in that outlandish cloak, too! andyou walked home with him that dark night! Oh, Phillis, I shall neverbe at peace about you again!" and so on. 

Phillis bore all this patiently, for she knew she had been incautious:and when her mother's excitement had calmed down a little, sheunfolded to them her plan. 

"I must see Miss Mewlstone quite alone; and that unfinished Frenchmerino will be such a good excuse, Nan. I will take the body with methis afternoon, and beg her to let me try it on; the rest must comeafterwards, but this will be the best way of getting her to myself. "And, as Nan approved of this scheme, and Mrs. Challoner did notdissent, Phillis had very soon made up her parcel, and was walkingrapidly towards the White House. 

As she turned in at the gates she could see a shadow on the blind inMrs. Williams's little parlor, and waved her hand towards it. He waswatching her, she knew: she longed to go back and give him a word ofencouragement and exhortation to patience; but some one, Mr. Drummondperhaps, might see her, and she dare not venture. 

She sent her message by Jeffreys, and Miss Mewlstone soon cametrotting into the room; but she wore a slightly-disturbed expressionon her good-natured face. 

She had been reading the third volume of a very interesting novel, andhad most unwillingly laid down her book at the young dressmaker'sunseasonable request. Like many other stout people, Miss Mewlstone wasmore addicted to passivity than activity after her luncheon; and, being a creature of habit, this departure from her usual rulesflurried her. 

"Dear, dear! to think of your wanting to try on that French merinoagain!" she observed; "and the other dress fitted so beautifully, andno trouble at all. And there has Miss Middleton being calling justnow, and saying they are expecting her brother Hammond home from Indiain November; and it is getting towards the end of September now. Iwas finishing my book, but I could not help listening to her, --she hassuch a sweet voice. Ah, just so--just so. But aren't you going to openyour parcel, my dear?"

"Never mind the dress, " returned Phillis, quickly. "Dear MissMewlstone, I was sorry to disturb you; but it could not be helped. Don't look at the parcel: that is only an excuse. My business is farmore important. I want you to put on your bonnet, and come with mejust a little way across the road. There is some one's identity thatyou must prove. "

Phillis was commencing her task in a somewhat lame fashion; but MissMewlstone was still too much engrossed with her novel to notice hervisitor's singular agitation. 

"Ah, just so--just so, " she responded; "that is exactly what the lastfew chapters have been about. The real heir has turned up, and istrying to prove his own identity; only he is so changed that no onebelieves him. It is capitally worked out. A very clever author, mydear----"

But Phillis interrupted her a little eagerly:

"Is that your tale, dear Miss Mewlstone? How often people say truth isstranger than fiction! Do you know, I have heard a story in real lifefar more wonderful than that? Some one was telling me about it justnow. There was a man whom every one, even his own wife, believed to bedead; but after four years of incredible dangers and hardships--oh, such hardships!--he arrived safely in England, and took up his abodejust within sight of his old house, where he could see his wife andfind out all about her without being seen himself. He put on some sortof disguise, I think, so that people could not find him out. "

"That must be a make-up story, I think, " returned Miss Mewlstone, alittle provokingly; but her head was still full of her book. Poorwoman! she wanted to get back to it. She looked at Phillis and theparcel a little plaintively. "Ah, just so, --a very pretty story, butimprobable, --very improbable, my dear. "

"Nevertheless, it is true!" returned Phillis, so vehemently that MissMewlstone's little blue eyes opened more widely. "Never mind yourbook. I tell you I have business so important that nothing is ofconsequence beside it. Where is Mrs. Cheyne? She must not know we aregoing out. "

"Going out!" repeated Miss Mewlstone, helplessly. "My dear, I never goout after luncheon, as Magdalene knows. "

"But you are going out with me, " replied Phillis, promptly. "Dear MissMewlstone, I know I am perplexing and worrying you; but what can I do?Think over what I have just said, --about--about that improbable story, as you called it; and then, you will not be so dreadfully startled. You must come with me now to Mrs. Williams's cottage: I want you tosee her lodger. "

"Her lodger!" Miss Mewlstone was fully roused now; and, indeed, Phillis's pale face and suppressed eager tones were not without theirdue effect. Had the girl taken leave of her senses? Why, the ladies atthe White House led the lives of recluses. Why should she be asked tocall upon any stranger, but especially a gentleman, --Mrs. Williams'slodger? "My dear, " she faltered, "you are very strange thisafternoon. --Magdalene and I seldom call on any one, and certainly noton gentlemen. "

"You must come with me, " replied Phillis, half crying with excitement. She found her task so difficult. Miss Mewlstone was as yielding as afeather bed in appearance, and yet it was impossible to move her. "Hecalls himself Mr. Dancy; but now he says that is not all his name: letme whisper it in your ear, if it will not startle you too much. Thinkof Mrs. Cheyne, and try and command yourself. Mrs. Williams's lodgersays that he is Herbert Cheyne, --poor Mrs. Cheyne's husband!"

XXXV. 

"BARBY, DON'T YOU RECOLLECT ME?"

"I do not believe it!--stuff and nonsense! You are crazy, child, tocome to me with this trumped-up story! The man is an impostor. I willhave the police to him. For heaven's sake don't let Magdalene hearthis nonsense!"

Phillis recoiled a few steps, speechless with amazement. MissMewlstone's face was crimson; her small eyes were sparkling with angryexcitement: all her softness and gentle inanity had vanished. 

"Give me a bonnet, --shawl, --anything, and I will put this matterstraight in a moment. Where is Jeffreys? Ring the bell, please, MissChalloner! I must speak to her. "

Phillis obeyed without a word. 

"Ah, just so. Jeffreys, " resuming her old purring manner as the maidappeared, "this young lady has a friend in trouble, and wants me to godown to the cottage with her. Keep it from your mistress if you can, for she hates hearing of anything sad; say we are busy, --I shall be into tea, --anything. I know you will be discreet, Jeffreys. "

"Yes, ma'am, " returned Jeffreys, adjusting the shawl over MissMewlstone's shoulders; "but this is your garden-shawl, surely?"

"Oh, it does not matter; it will do very well. Now Miss Challoner, Iam ready. " And so noiseless and rapid were her movements that Phillishad much to do to keep up with her. 

"Won't you listen to me?" she pleaded. "Dear Miss Mewlstone, it is nomade-up story; it is all true;" but to her astonishment, MissMewlstone faced round upon her in a most indignant manner:

"Be silent, child! I cannot, and will not, hear any more. How shouldyou know anything about it? Have you ever seen Herbert Cheyne? You arethe tool of some impostor. But I will guard Magdalene; she shall notbe driven mad. No, no, poor dear! she shall not, as long as she hasold Bathsheba to watch over her. " And Phillis, in despair, very wiselyheld her peace. After all she was a stranger: had she any proof butMr. Dancy's word?

Just towards the last, Miss Mewlstone's pace slackened; and her handshook so, as she tried to unlatch the little gate, that Phillis wasobliged to come to her assistance. The cottage door stood open asusual, but there was no tall figure lurking in the background, --noshadow on the blind. 

"We had better go in there, " whispered Phillis, pointing to the closeddoor of the parlor; and Miss Mewlstone, without knocking, at onceturned the handle and went in, while Phillis followed trembling. 

"Well, sir, " said Miss Mewlstone, sternly, "I have come to know whatyou mean by imposing your story on this child. "

Mr. Dancy, who was standing with his back to them, leaning for supportagainst the little mantle-shelf, did not answer for a moment; and thenhe turned slowly round, and looked at her. 

"Oh, Barby!" he said; "don't you recollect me?" And then he held outhis thin hands to her imploringly, and added "Dear old Barby! but youare not a bit changed. "

"Herbert--why, good heavens! Ah, just so--just so, " gasped the poorlady, rather feebly, as she sat down, feeling her limbs were desertingher, and every scrap of color left her face. Indeed, she looked soflabby and lifeless that Phillis was alarmed and flew to herassistance; only Mr. Cheyne waved her aside rather impatiently. 

"Let her be; she is all right. She knows me, you see: so I cannot beso much altered. Barby, " he went on, in a coaxing voice, as he kneltbeside her and chafed her hands, "you thought I was an impostor, andwere coming to threaten me: were you not? But now you see MissChalloner was in the right. Have you not got a word for me? Won't youtalk to me about Magdalene? We have got to prepare her, you know. "

Then, as he spoke his wife's name, and she remembered her sacredcharge, the faithful creature suddenly fell on his neck in piteousweeping. 

"Oh, the bonnie face, " she wept, "that has grown so old, with thesorrow and the gray hair! My dear, this will just kill her with joy, after all her years of bitter widowhood. " And then she cried again, and stroked his face as though he were a child, and then wrung herhands for pity at the changes she saw. "It is the same face, and yetnot the same, " she said, by and by. "I knew the look of your eyes, mybonnie man, for all they were so piercing with sadness. But what havethey done to you, Herbert?--for it might be your own ghost, --so thin;and yet you are brown, too; and your hair!" And she touched the graylocks over the temples with tender fluttering fingers. 

"Magdalene never liked gray hairs, " he responded, with a sigh. "She isas beautiful as ever, I hear; but I have not caught a glimpse of her. Tell me, Barby, --for I have grown timorous with sorrow, --will she hatethe sight of such a miserable scarecrow?"

"My dear! hate the sight of her own husband, who is given back to herfrom the dead? Ay, I have much to hear. Why did you never write to us, Herbert? But there! you have all that to explain to her by and by. "

"Yes; and you must tell me about the children, --my little Janie, " hereturned, in a choked voice. 

"Ah, the dear angels! But, Herbert, you must be careful. Nobody speaksof them to Magdalene, unless she does herself. You are impetuous, mydear; and Magdalene--well, she has not been herself since you lefther. It is pining, grief, and the dead weight of loss that has ailedher being childless and widowed at once. There, there! just so. Wemust be tender of her, poor dear! and things will soon come right. "

"You need not fear me, Barby. I have learned my lesson at last. If Ionly get my wife back, you shall see--you shall see how I will make upto her for all I have ever made her suffer! My poor girl! my poorgirl!" And then he shaded his face, and was silent. 

Phillis had stolen out in the garden, and sat down on a little benchoutside, where passers-by could not discern her from the road, andwhere only the sound of their voices reached her faintly. Now andthen, chance words fell on her ear, --"Magdalene" over and over again;and "Janie" and "Bertie, "--always in the voice she had so admired. Byand by she heard her own name, and rose at once, and found themlooking for her. 

"Here is my good angel, Barby, " observed Mr. Cheyne, as she came upsmiling. "Not one girl in a thousand would have acted as bravely andsimply as she has done. We are friends for life, Miss Challoner, arewe not?" And he stretched out his hand to her, and Phillis laid herown in it. 

"I was a bit harsh with you, dearie, was I not?" returned MissMewlstone, apologetically: "but there! you were such a child that Ithought you had been deceived. But I ought to have known better, craving your pardon, my dear. Now we will just go back to Magdalene;and you must help my stupid old head, for I am fairly crazy at thethought of telling her. Go back into the parlor and lie down, Herbert, for you are terribly exhausted. You must have patience, my man, a weebit longer, for we must be cautious, --cautious, you see. "

"Yes, I must have patience, " he responded, rather bitterly. But hewent back into the room and watched them until they disappeared intothe gates of his own rightful paradise. 

Miss Mewlstone was leaning on Phillis's arm. Her gait was still ratherfeeble, but the girl was talking energetically to her. 

"What a spirit she has! just like Magdalene at her age, " he thought, "only Magdalene never possessed her even temper. My poor girl! Fromwhat Barby says, she has grown hard and bitter with trouble. But itshall be my aim in life to comfort her for all she has been through!"And then, as he thought of his dead children, and of the emptynursery, he groaned, and threw himself face downward upon the couch. But a few minutes afterwards he had started up again, unable to rest, and began to pace the room; and then, as though the narrow spaceconfined him, he continued his restless walk into the garden, and theninto the shrubberies of the White House. 

"My dear, I am not as young as I was. I feel as if all this were toomuch for me, " sighed Miss Mewlstone, as she pressed her companion'sarm. "One needs so much vitality to bear such scenes. I am terrifiedfor Magdalene, she has so little self-control! and to have him givenback to her from the dead! I thank God! but I am afraid, for allthat. " And a few more quiet tears stole over her cheeks. 

"Thinking of it only makes it worse, " returned Phillis, feverishly. She, too, dreaded the ordeal before them; but she was young, and noteasily daunted. All the way through the shrubbery she talked onbreathlessly, trying to rally her own courage. It was she who enteredthe drawing-room first, for poor Miss Mewlstone had to efface thesigns of her agitation. 

Mrs. Cheyne looked up, surprised to see her alone. 

"Jeffreys told me you and Miss Mewlstone had gone out together on alittle business. What have you done with poor old Barby?" And, asPhillis answered as composedly and demurely as she could, Mrs. Cheynearched her eyebrows in her old satirical way:

"She is in her room, is she? Never mind answering, if you prefer yourown counsel. Your little mysteries are no business of mine. I shouldhave thought the world would have come to an end, though, before Barbyhad thrown down the third volume of a novel for anything short of afire. But you and she know best. " And, as Phillis flushed and lookedconfused under her scrutiny, she gave a short laugh and turned away. 

It was a relief when Miss Mewlstone came trotting into the room withher cap-strings awry. 

"Dear, dear! have we kept you waiting for your tea, Magdalene?" sheexclaimed, in a flurried tone, as she bustled up to the table. "MissChalloner had a little business, and she thought I might help her. Yes; just so! I have brought her in, for she is tired, poor thing! andI knew she would be welcome. "

"It seems to me that you are both tired. You are as hot as though youhad walked for miles, Barby. Oh, you have your secrets too. But it isnot for me to meddle with mysteries. " And then she laughed again, andthrew herself back on her couch, with a full understanding of thediscomfort of the two people before her. 

Phillis saw directly she was in a hard, cynical mood. 

"You shall know our business by and by, " she said, very quietly. "DearMiss Mewlstone, I am so thirsty, I must ask you for another cup oftea. " But, as Miss Mewlstone took the cup from her, the poor lady'shand shook so with suppressed agitation that the saucer slipped fromher grasp, and the next moment the costly china lay in fragments ather feet. 

"Dear! dear!--how dreadfully careless of me!" fumed Miss Mewlstone. 

But Mrs. Cheyne made no observation. She only rang the bell, andordered another cup. But, when the servant had withdrawn, she said, coldly, --

"Your hand is not as steady as usual this evening, Barby;" and somehowthe sharp incisive tone cut so keenly that, to Phillis's alarm, MissMewlstone became very pale, and then suddenly burst into tears. 

"This is too much!" observed Mrs. Cheyne, rising in seriousdispleasure. She had almost a masculine abhorrence to tears of lateyears; the very sight of them excited her strangely. 

"Miss Challoner may keep her mysteries to herself if she likes, but Iinsist on knowing what has upset you like this. "

"Oh dear! oh, dear!" sobbed the simple woman, wringing her handshelplessly. "This is just too much for me! Poor soul, how am I to tellher?" And then she looked at Phillis in affright at her own words, which revealed so much and so little. 

Mrs. Cheyne turned exceedingly pale, and a shadow passed over herface. 

"'Poor soul!' does she mean me? Is it of me you are speaking, Barby?Is there something for me to know, that you dread to tell me? Poorsoul, indeed!" And then her features contracted and grew pinched. "Butyou need not be afraid. Is it not the Psalmist who says, 'All thywaves and thy billows have gone over me'? Drowned people have nothingto fear: there is no fresh trouble for them. " And her eyes took anawful stony look that terrified Phillis. 

"Oh, it is no fresh trouble!" stammered the girl. "People are nottormented like that: they have not to suffer more than they canbear. "

But Mrs. Cheyne turned upon her fiercely:

"You are wrong, altogether wrong. I could not bear it, and it drove memad, --at least as nearly mad as a sane woman could be. I felt myreason shaken; my brain was all aflame, and I cried out to heaven formercy; and a blank answered me. Barby, if there be fresh trouble, tellme instantly, and at once. What do I care? What is left to me, but abody that will not die, and a brain that will not cease to think? If Icould only stop the thoughts! if I could only go down into silence andnothingness! but then I should not find Herbert and the children. Where are they? I forget!" She stopped, pressed her hands to her browwith a strange bewildered expression; but Miss Mewlstone crept up toher, and touched her timidly. 

"My bonnie Magdalene!" she exclaimed; "don't let the ill thoughtscome; drive them away, my poor dear. Look at me. Did old Barby everdeceive you? There is no fresh trouble, my pretty. In his own goodtime the All-Merciful has had mercy!"

Mrs. Cheyne's hand dropped down to her sides, but her brilliant eyesshowed no comprehension of her words. 

"Why did you frighten me like that?" she repeated, rocking herself toand fro; and her voice had a high, strained tone in it. "There is notrouble, but your face is pale, and there are tears in your eyes; andlook how your hand shakes! Miss Challoner--Phillis, what does shemean? Barby, you are a foolish old woman; your wits are gone. "

"If they are gone, it is with joy!" she sobbed. "Yes, my precious one!for sheer joy!" but then she broke down utterly. It was Phillis whocame to the rescue. 

"Dear Mrs. Cheyne, I think I could tell you best, " she began, in hersweet sensible voice, which somehow stilled Mrs. Cheyne's frightfulagitation. "There has been some news, --a letter that has been lost, which ought to have arrived months ago. We have heard about it thisafternoon. " She stopped, for there seemed to be a faint sound offootsteps in the hall below. Could he have followed them? What wouldbe the result of such imprudence? But, as she faltered and hesitated, Mrs. Cheyne gripped her arm with an iron force:

"A letter from Herbert! Did he write to me? oh, my darling! did hewrite to me before he died? Only one word--one word of forgiveness, and I will say heaven indeed is merciful! Give it to me, Barby! Why doyou keep me waiting? Oh, this is blessed, blessed news!" But MissMewlstone only clasped her gently in her arms. 

"One moment, my dearie! There is more than that. It is not a messagefrom heaven. There is still one living on earth that loves you! Tryand follow my meaning, " for the perplexed stare had returned again. "Say to yourself, 'Perhaps, after all, Herbert is not dead. Nobody sawhim die. He may be alive; he may have written to me----" She stopped, for Mrs. Cheyne had suddenly flung up her arms over her head with ahoarse cry, that rang through the house:

"Herbert! Herbert! Herbert!"

"I am here, --Magdalene! Magdalene!" A tall figure that had creptunperceived through the open hall door, and had lurked unseen in theshadow of the portiere, suddenly dashed into the room, and took hiswife's rigid form into his arms. "Magdalene!--love--wife! It isHerbert! Look up, my darling!--I am here! I am holding you!" But therewas no response. Magdalene's face was like the face of the dead. 

They took her from him almost by force, for he refused to give her up. Over and over again they prayed him to leave her to their care, but heseemed like a deaf man that did not hear. 

"She is dead! I have killed her; but there is no reason why I shouldgive her up, " he had said, with terrible calm in his voice. 

"She is not dead!" returned Miss Mewlstone, almost angrily. "She hasbeen like this before; but Jeffreys and I know what to do. Ay, youwere always wilful, Herbert; but when it comes to killing your ownwife----" And after this he consented to lay her down on her couch. 

He watched them with wistful eyes as they tried the usual remedies;but it was long before even the flicker of an eyelid spoke to them oflife. At the first sign of returning animation Herbert crept justbehind his wife's pillow, where he could see the first unclosing ofthe drooping lids. When Magdalene opened her eyes at last, they fellfull on her husband's face. 

Phillis, who was beside her, marvelled at the strange beauty of thatrapt look, as she lay and gazed at him. 

"Herbert's face!" they heard her whisper, in an awe-struck voice. "Then I have died at last, and am in heaven. Oh, how merciful! but Ihave not deserved it, --a sinner such as I. "

"Magdalene, my darling, you are in our own home! It is I who was lost, and have come back to you. Look at me. It is only the children thatare in heaven. You and I are spared to each other on earth. " But for along time her scattered faculties failed to grasp the truth. 

Phillis went home at last, and left them. There was nothing she coulddo, and she was utterly spent; but Miss Mewlstone kept watch besideher charge until late into the night. 

Little by little the truth dawned slowly on the numbed brain; slowlyand by degrees the meaning of her husband's tears and kisses sank intothe clouded mind. Now and again she wandered, but Herbert's voicealways recalled her. 

"Then I am not dead?" she asked him, again and again. "They do not cryin heaven, and Barby was crying just now. Barby, am I dreaming! Who isthis beside me? is it Herbert's ghost? only his hands are warm, andmine are so terribly cold. Why you are crying too, love; but I am totired to understand. " And then she crept wearily closer and closerinto his arms, like a tired-out child who has reached home. 

And when Herbert stooped over her gently, he saw that the long lasheslay on her cheek. Magdalene had fallen asleep. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

MOTES IN THE SUNSHINE. 

That sleep was, humanly speaking, Magdalene's salvation. 

At the greatest crisis of her life, when reason hung in thebalance, --when the sudden influx of joy might have paralyzed theoverwrought heart and brain, --at that moment physical exhaustion savedher by that merciful, overpowering sleep. 

When she woke, it was to the resurrection of her life and love. Monthsafterwards she spoke of that waking to Phillis, when she lay in herbed weak as a new born babe, and the early morning light streamed fullon the face of her slumbering husband. 

They were alone; for Miss Mewlstone had just crept softly from theroom. Her movement had roused Magdalene. Herbert, who was utterly wornout by his long watching, had just dropped asleep, with his headresting against the wood-work. He was still sitting in the arm-chairbeside her, and only the thin profile was visible. 

The previous night had been passed by Magdalene in a semi-consciousstate: delirious imaginations had blended with realities. There wereflashes and intervals of comparative consciousness, when the truthrushed into her mind; but she had been too weak to retain it long. That she was dreaming or dead was her fixed idea: that this was herhusband's greeting to her in paradise seemed to be her one thought. "Strange that the children do not kiss me too, " they heard her sayonce. 

But now, as she opened her eyes, there was no blue misty haze throughwhich she ever feebly sought to pierce. She was lying in her own room, where she had passed so many despairing days and nights. The windowwas open; the sweet crisp morning air fanned her temples; the birdswere singing in the garden below; and there beside her was the face solike, yet so unlike, the face from which she had parted four yearsago. 

For a little while she lay and watched it in a sort of trance; andthen in the stillness full realization came to her, and she knew thatshe was not mad or dreaming. This was no imagination: it was reality. 

With incredible effort, for she felt strangely weak, she raisedherself on her elbow to study that dear face more closely, for thechange in it baffled her. Could this be her Herbert? How bronzed andthin he had grown! Those lines that furrowed his forehead, thosehollows in the temples and under the eyes, were new to her. And, oh, the pity of those gray hairs in the place of the brown wavy locks sheremembered! But it was when she laid her lips against the scarredwrist that Herbert woke, and met the full look of recognition in hiswife's eyes, for which he had waited so long. 

Now he could fall upon his knees beside her, and crave thatforgiveness for words and acts that had seared his conscience allthese years like red-hot iron. But at the first word she stopped him, and drew his head to her breast:

"Oh, Herbert, hush! What! ask forgiveness of me, when I have sinnedagainst you doubly, --trebly, --when I was no true wife, as you know?Oh, do not let us ask it of each other, but of God, whom we have sodeeply offended! He has punished us; but He has been merciful too. Hehas taken our children because we did not deserve them. Oh, Herbert!what will you do without them?--for you loved Janie so!" And then fora little while the childless parents could only hold each other'shands and weep, for to Herbert Cheyne the grief was new, and at thesight of her husband's sorrow Magdalene's old wounds seemed to openand bleed afresh; only now--now she did not weep alone. 

When Miss Mewlstone entered the room, shortly afterwards, she foundMagdalene lying spent and weary, holding her husband's hand. 

Joy had indeed returned to the White House, but for a long time it wasjoy that was strangely tempered with sorrow. Upstairs no sound greetedHerbert from the empty nurseries; there were no little feet patteringto meet the returned wanderer, no little voices to cry a joyous"Father!" And for years the desolate mother had borne this sorrowalone. 

As the days passed on, Magdalene regained her strength slowly, butneither wife nor husband could hide from each other the fact thattheir health was broken by all they had gone through. Herbert'sconstitution was sadly impaired for the remainder of his life: he knewwell that he must carry with him the consequences of those years ofsuffering. Often he had to endure intense neuralgic agony in his limbsand head; an unhealed wound for a long time troubled him sorely. Magdalene strove hard to regain strength, that she might devoteherself to nurse him, but, though her constitution was superb, she hadmuch to bear from her disordered nerves. At times the old irritabilitywas hard to vanquish; there were still dark moods of restlessness whenher companionship was trying; but it was now that Herbert proved thenobleness and reality of his repentance. 

For he was ever gentle with her, however much she might try him. Sometalk he had had with her doctor had convinced him that she was not toblame for these morbid moods; that the nerves had become disorganizedby those years of solitary misery. "We must bear all our troublestogether, " as he often told her; and so he bore this, as he did thetrial of his children's loss, with grave fortitude, and a patiencethat surprised all who knew him. 

And he was not without his reward, for, the dark fit over, Magdalene'ssmile would greet him like sunshine after a storm, and she would thankhim with tears and caresses for his forbearance. 

"I can't think what makes me still so horrid, when I am so happy, " shesaid once to him, when the first year of their reunion had passed. "Ido my best to fight against these moods, but they seem stronger thanmyself and overcome me. Do not be so good to me next time, Herbert;scold me and be angry with me, as you used in the old days. "

"I cannot, " he answered, smiling. "I never loved you in the old daysas I do now. I would not change my wife, in spite of all the troubleshe gives me, for any other woman upon earth. You believe this, love, do you not?" looking at her beautiful face anxiously, for it hadclouded a little at his last words. 

"Yes, but I do not like to trouble you: it is that that frets me. Iwanted to be a comfort to you, and never to give you a moment'suneasiness; but I cannot help myself, somehow. I love you, I don'tbelieve you know yet how I love you, Herbert; but it seems as if Imust grieve you sometimes. "

"Never mind; I will hear your trouble and my own too, " he answered, cheerily; and in this way he always comforted her. But to Magdaleneher own self ever remained a mystery; the forces of her own naturewere too strong for her, and yet she was not a weak woman. She hadexpected that in her case love and happiness would have worked amiracle, as though miracles were ever effected by mere humanagencies, --that she would rise like a Phoenix from the ashes of herpast, reborn, rejuvenated, with an inexhaustible fund of moralstrength. 

Now she had Herbert, all would go smoothly; she would no longer mournfor her little ones. Since her husband was there to comfort her, withhis constant presence to sustain her, all must be well; never againwould she be nervous, irritable, or sarcastic. Poor Magdalene! she wascreating heaven for herself upon earth; she was borrowing angels'plumes before the time; she had forgotten the conditions of humanity, "the body of the flesh, " which weighed down greater souls than hers. 

There are Gethsemanes of the spirit to the weary ones of earth, hoursof conflict that must be lived through and endured. Nature thatgroaneth and travaileth cannot find its abiding place of rest here. Tothe end of time it seems to be written in enduring characters that nohuman lot shall be free from suffering: sooner or later, more orless, --that is all! Magdalene had still to learn this lessonpainfully: that she was slow in learning it, proved the strength andobduracy of her will. True, she was rarely sarcastic, --never in herhusband's presence, for a word or a look from him checked her, and shegrew humble and meek at once. It was her unruly nerves that baffledher; she was shocked to find that irritable words still rose to herlips; that the spirit of restlessness was not quelled forever; thatthunder still affrighted her; and that now and then her mind seemedclouded with fancied gloom. 

She once spoke of this to Miss Middleton, with tears in her eyes. 

"It is so strange, " she said. "Herbert is different, but I am still sounchanged. "

"The conditions of your health are unchanged, you mean, " answeredElizabeth, with that quiet sympathy that always rested people. "Thisis the mistake that folk make: they do not distinguish between anunhealthy mind and a diseased soul: the one is due to physicaldisorganization, the other to moral causes. In your case, dear Mrs. Cheyne, one may safely lay the blame on the first cause. "

"Oh, do you think so?" she asked, earnestly. "I dare not cheat myconscience in that way: it is my bad temper, my undisciplined nature, that ought to bear the blame. "

"No; believe me, " answered Elizabeth, for they had grown great friendsof late, "I have watched you narrowly, and I know how you try toconquer this irritability; there is no black spot of anger in yourheart, whatever words come to your lips. You are like a fretful childsometimes, I grant you that, who is ailing and unconscious of itsailment. When you would be calm, you are strangely disturbed; youspeak sharply, hoping to relieve something that oppresses you. "

"Oh, yes!" sighed Magdalene; "and yet Herbert never speaks crossly tome. "

"He never will, for he knows what you suffer. Well, dear friend, whatof this? This is a cross that you must carry perhaps all your life. You are not the only one who has to bear the torment of disorderednerves: it must be borne with resignation, as we bear other troubles. Once you felt you could not love God; you ceased to pray to Him; nowyou love Him a little. Go on loving; thank him for your husband'spatience, and pray that you may have patience with yourself. One isweary of always living with one's self, I know that well, " finishedElizabeth, with a charming smile. 

Mr. Drummond would have verified Miss Middleton's opinion thatMagdalene was not so unchanged as she believed herself to be. 

At his first interview with her after Herbert Cheyne's return, hecould almost have sworn that she was a different woman. 

Phillis, who spent all her spare time at the White House, --for theyboth made much of Herbert's "good angel, " as he still called herjestingly, --was sitting alone with Mrs. Cheyne when Archie wasannounced. 

His old enemy greeted him with a frank smile. 

"This is kind of you, Mr. Drummond, " she said, quite warmly. "How Iwish my husband were not out, that I could introduce him to you! Ihave told him how good you have tried to be to me, but that I wasungrateful and repulsed you. "

Archie was shaking hands with Phillis, who seemed a little disturbedat his entrance. He turned around and regarded the beautiful womanwith astonishment. Was this really Mrs. Cheyne? Where was the hard, proud droop of the lip, the glance of mingled coldness and _hauteur_, the polished sarcasm of voice and manner? Her face looked clear andopen as a child's; her eyes were brilliant with happiness. 

Magdalene was in one of her brightest moods when she was most trulyherself. 

"I have met him just now. He stopped and introduced himself. We hadquite a long talk outside of Mrs. Williams's cottage. I called uponhim there, you know, but he had good reasons for refusing my visits. Mrs. Cheyne, you must allow me to congratulate you most earnestly. Youwill own now that Providence has been good to you. "

"I will own that and everything, " returned Magdalene, joyously. "Iwill own, if you like, that I treated you shamefully, and took apleasure in tormenting you; and you were so patient, --oh, so patient, Mr. Drummond! I could have called you back sometimes and apologized, but I would not. In my bitter moments I felt it was such a relief tomock at people. "

"Never mind all that. Let bygones be bygones. I wish I could haveserved you better. " And then, as he changed the subject, and spokefeelingly about the miracle of her husband's restoration, Mrs. Cheynelooked at him rather wistfully. 

"Oh, how good you are!" she said, softly. "Do you know, the worldseems full of good people to me now; and yet once it appeared too bada place for any one to live in. We create our own atmosphere, --atleast so Herbert tells me. But you are looking thin, Mr. Drummond, --thin and pale. You must be working too hard. "

"Oh, as to that, hard work never hurts any one, " he replied, carelessly; but there was something forced in his tone. 

Phillis, who had been sitting apart quite silently, raised her eyesinvoluntarily from her work. Was it her fancy, or had some undefinablechange passed over him? They had seen him so little of late. Since allthis had happened at the White House he had called once or twice; andonce Nan had been there, and he had spoken to her much as usual. Noone would have detected any difference in his manner, except that hewas a little grave and preoccupied. Nan had not noticed anything; butthen she was singularly blind in such matters. Had she not vaguelyhinted that his visits were on Phillis's account?--that mere hintconveying exquisite pain to Phillis. 

Now, as she stole a glance at him, the conviction was strong withinher that the arrow had gone deep. He certainly looked a little thinand care-worn, and something of a young man's vigor and hopefulnessseemed temporarily impaired. But, as it happened, that girlishscrutiny was not unperceived by Archie. In a moment he was on thealert. His eyes challenged hers boldly, and it was Phillis who flushedand looked conscious. 

It was as though he said to her, "Ah! you think you know all about it. But you need not trouble yourself to be sorry for me; you do not knowwhat a man's strength can do. And I am determined to bear this bymyself, and to myself; for in silence there is power. "

It certainly seemed as though a new strength had come to Archie. Hehad been a man who was prone to speak much of his feelings. Irritableand sensitive, he had demanded much sympathy from his womankind. Hiswas a nature that craved support in his work; but now, not even toGrace, could he speak of this trouble that had befallen him. 

Was it a trouble, after all, this vague shadow that lay about hispath? No one but he himself knew the sweetness and graciousness of thedream that had come to him. It had only been a dream, after all; andnow he was awake. The vision he had conjured up to himself had fadedinto unreality. She was not his second self: never by look or word hadhe wooed her; she was only the woman he could have loved. This was howhe put it; and now he would bury this faint hope that wasstill-born, --that had never had breathed into it the breath of life. And if for a little while his future should be cloudy and bereft ofits sunshine, was he the only one to whom "some days must be dark anddreary"?

Phillis's unspoken sympathy drooped under this stern repression; andyet in her heart she reverenced him all the more for this moralstrength, --for there is nothing a true woman abhors more than weaknessin a man. After this silent rebuff, Archie took himself well in hand, and began to speak of other things: he told Mrs. Cheyne, being certainnow of her interest, of his sister's intended marriage, and how he andMattie were going down to the wedding. 

"He is a very good fellow, this intended brother-in-law of mine, --asort of rough diamond; but hardly good enough for Isabel, " he said. "Oh, yes, he is very rich. My poor little sister will have her headturned by all her magnificence; for his parents are so generous: theyquite load her with gifts. " And he smiled to himself at the notion ofthe little sister, just fresh from her narrow school-room life, rejoicing over her trousseau and her handsome house, and driving awayfrom the church in her own carriage. No wonder his father and motherwere pleased. As for the bridegroom-elect, Archie spoke of him withhalf-contemptuous amusement: "Oh, he was a good fellow, --no one wishedto deny that;" but there was a want of culture and polish that gratedupon the susceptibilities of the Oxford fellow. 

Phillis listened with undivided interest--especially when he mentionedGrace. 

"Mattie and I are in hopes that we shall bring her back with us; but, at all events, my mother has promised to spare her at Christmas. " Thistime he addressed himself to Phillis. 

"Oh, that will be nice for you!" she returned a little eagerly. "Youhave told us so much about her that I quite long to know her. "

"I should say you would suit each other perfectly, " he replied, as herose to take his leave. "Sometimes you remind me of her, MissChalloner; and yet you are not really alike. Good-bye, if I do not seeyou again before we go to Leeds. " And Phillis gave him her hand, and acordial smile. 

But when he had gone out of the room, his hostess accompanyinghim--for she had a word for his private ear, --Phillis sat down, andthought over those last words with a strange feeling of pleasure:"Sometimes you remind me of her, Miss Challoner. " Was it possible thathe could trace any resemblance between her and this dearly-belovedsister, this Grace, whom he seemed to regard as absolute perfection?

"Oh, I hope she will come! I am sure we shall be such friends, " shesaid to herself: and from this time Phillis looked anxiously for GraceDrummond's arrival. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

"A MAN HAS A RIGHT TO HIS OWN THOUGHTS. "

There were great rejoicings in the house in Lowder Street on theoccasion of Isabel Drummond's marriage. 

There is always something pathetic in the first wedding in afamily, --the first severing of the family circle, --the first break, the first ingathering of new interest. But when there are small means, and seven portionless daughters, very few of whom can be said to begifted with good looks, a wealthy son-in-law must indeed be regardedas a direct blessing from Providence. 

That Mr. Drummond did so regard it, was evident from the jovial goodhumor that had replaced his usual moody and irritable manner; whilehis wife's beaming face, softened by maternal tenderness for thechild who would no longer share the daily life with them, was asurprising spectacle to those acquainted with Mrs. Drummond's ordinaryreserve and somewhat severe bearing. But it is not too much to saythat on this occasion Mrs. Drummond was a happy woman. 

The tide of fortune, long so adverse to their interests, seemedturning in their favor at last. Archie had done great things forhimself, and the mother's eyes rested on him proudly as he performedthe marriage ceremony for his young sister, the gravity of hispriestly office setting him apart, as it were, for her reverence aswell as love. That Isabel had done great things for herself also couldnot be denied. But there were other causes for content in the mother'sheart. 

Both the boys were doing well. Clyde had been articled to a lawyer, anold friend of Mr. Drummond's, and had won golden opinions from hischief, who pronounced him an intelligent, likely lad, and as sharp asa needle. Fred had lately obtained a clerkship in an old-establishedhouse in Leeds, and was also doing well, and his salary was a greatboon to the straitened household. Grace, too, was doing her dutyvigorously, and no longer vexed her mother's soul by her droopinglooks of uncomplaining discontent, --that silent protest of many, thatis so irritating to the home-rule. True, it might be only thequiescence of despair, but at least she veiled it decently under ashow of Spartan cheerfulness. The fox of bitterness might gnaw, butshe drew the mantle of her pride closer round her. She might sufferand pine, like a caged lark in her narrow cage, but at least no one, not even Archie, and least of all her mother, should guess the extentof her sufferings. So there was peace in Lowder Street. A truce hadsilently proclaimed itself between the two strong wills of thehousehold; and, touched by a submission that somehow appealed to hergenerosity, Mrs. Drummond was secretly revolving schemes for herdaughter's future happiness. 

"Mothers are mothers, " as Nan had once sweetly said, and Mrs. Drummondwas no exception to the rule. She could be hard to her own flesh andblood; she could exact obedience that was difficult to yield, andsacrifices that cost tears in plenty; but she was a just woman, and, when the right time came, she knew how to reward such obedience. 

But there was still another drop that filled the maternal cup ofcontent almost to overflowing, and of this she spoke to Grace, as theywere together in the mother's room, folding up the bridal finery. Thelittle bride had just driven off, all tears and smiles. Archie and theboys had started off for a long walk. Mattie was with her sisters inthe small ugly enclosure they called a garden; and Grace and hermother had gone up to shake out the satin dress and lay it betweentissue-paper. 

"I hope she will be happy, poor little dear!" observed Grace, touchingtenderly the Brussels-lace veil; for Isabel had been her first pupiland charge. "I do think and believe Ellis is really very fond ofher. "

"Without doubt he is. His manners were all your father and I couldwish. What a magnificent present, and how thoughtful, his bringingthose diamond ear-drops just the last moment! Isabel has such prettylittle ears. He is as proud of her as he can be. And really she lookedquite lovely. Take care how you fold that veil, Grace. It is a perfectbeauty. "

"Yes, mother, " returned Grace, meekly. 

She was ready to drop with fatigue, for she had been up since six, andhad dressed all her sisters one after another in their prettybridesmaids' dresses, Mattie's skill as a lady's-maid being distrustedeven by Dottie. But Mrs. Drummond was not satisfied, and took the laceout of her hand. 

"And, Grace, did you ever see any one so improved as Mattie? Her visitto Hadleigh is doing wonders for her. Last evening I could hardly helplooking at her. She holds herself so much better, and her dresses areso pretty and well made. I never knew before that her figure was sonice. "

"Yes, indeed; she is wonderfully improved, " returned Grace. 

But she said the words mechanically. Her mother's speech had touched asore place in her memory. She knew who had transformed Mattie'sdowdiness into comeliness and neatness. She might be an ordinarylittle woman in the world's opinion, but in the eyes of her family shewas quite another Mattie. Those tasteful dresses had been made bythose Challoners of whom Mattie spoke so much and Archie so little. 

Mrs. Drummond, who had not noticed her daughter's sudden abstraction, went on in the same satisfied tone:

"She is not pretty, of course, --no one could ever call Mattie that atthe best of times, --but now she has left off making a fright ofherself, and hunching her shoulders with every word, she is quitepassable-looking. I am glad you talked her out of being a bridesmaid. She would have looked absurd among the girls. But that green surahjust suited her. It was good of Archie to buy her such a pretty dress;and yours that came from Hadleigh was even prettier, and wonderfullywell made, considering they had only a pattern gown. "

"Yes; it fitted admirably;" but Grace spoke without enthusiasm. 

Archie, who knew her tastes, had chosen a soft, creamy stuff which heinformed Mattie must be trimmed with no end of lace. Phillis hadreceived and executed the order with such skill and discernment that amost ravishing costume had been produced. But Grace, who had her ownideas on the subject of those "Challoner girls, " had received the giftsomewhat coldly, and had even seemed displeased when her fatherpinched her ear and told her that Archie's gown had transformed herinto a princess fit for a fairy-tale. "And there is always a princein that, my dear, --eh, Gracie?" continued the lucky father, who couldafford to laugh when one of the seven daughters had got a husband. ButGrace would have nothing to do with the jest. She even got up a littlefrown, like her mother's on similar occasions. 

"Archie is so generous, dear old fellow!" continued Mrs. Drummond, breaking out afresh after a minute's interval, as she skilfullymanipulated the veil. "That is what I always say. There never was sucha son or brother. Do you think he is overworking, Grace, or thatMattie really looks after him well? But he strikes me as a littlethin, --and--yes--perhaps a little grave. "

Grace's lips closed with an expression of pain. But her mother waslooking at her and she must answer. 

"Well, if you ask me, mother, " she returned, a little huskily, "I donot think Archie looks very well, or in his usual spirits; but I amsure Mattie takes good care of him, " she continued, with carefulveracity. 

"Humph! I am sorry to find you endorsing my opinion, " replied Mrs. Drummond, thoughtfully. "I hoped you would say it was my fancy. He hasnot said anything to you that makes you uneasy?" with a touch of herold sharpness, remembering that Grace, and not she, was Archie'sconfidante; but Grace replied so quickly and decidedly, "Oh, no, mother; we have not exchanged a word together since he and Mattiearrived, " that her maternal jealousy was allayed. 

But the next night, when she was alone with him for a few minutes, shewas struck afresh by the gravity of his look as he sat by the window, pretending to read, but for the last half-hour he had not turned hispage. 

"A penny for your thoughts, my son!" she said, so archly and abruptlythat Archie started, and his brow grew crimson at finding himselfwatched. 

"Oh, they were nothing particular, " he stammered; and then he saidsomething about the fineness of the evening, and the possibility ofhis father coming in in time for a long walk. 

But Mrs. Drummond was not to be put off so easily. She left her seat, where she had been sewing as usual, and came and stood beside him amoment. He would have jumped up and given her his own chair, but shepressed his shoulder gently, as though to forbid the movement. 

"I like to stand, Archie. Yes, it is a lovely evening; but I think youought to ask Grace, and not your father, to accompany you. Grace wasalways your companion, you know, and you must not drop old habits toosuddenly. " Then Archie saw that his avoidance of Grace had beenmarked. 

"Very well, I will ask her, " he returned; but he showed none of hisold alacrity and spirit in claiming his favorite. 

Mrs. Drummond noticed this; and the shade of anxiety on her face grewdeeper. 

"Archie, you are not quite your old self with Grace; and I am sure shefeels it. What has come between you, my dear?"

"Why, nothing, mother;" and here he attempted a laugh. "Grace and Inever quarrel, as you know. "

"I was not speaking of quarrelling, " she returned, in a graver voice;"but you do not seek her out as you used. Before, when you arrived, you always disappointed me by shutting yourself up in the school-room, where no one could get at you; and now Grace tells me she has not hada word with you these four days. "

"Has Grace complained of me, then?"

"You know Grace never complains of you. It was not said in anyfault-finding way. We agreed you were not quite yourself, or in yourusual spirits; and I asked her the reason. Tell me, my son, is thereanything troubling you?" Archie sat silent. Mrs. Drummond was sorarely demonstrative to her children that even this well-beloved sonhad never heard before such chords of tenderness in his mother'svoice; and, looking up, he saw that her keen gray eyes were softenedand moist with tears. "You are not quite yourself, Archie, --not quitehappy?" she went on. 

Then he took counsel with himself; and after a moment he answeredher:

"No, mother; you are right. I am not--not quite myself nor quitehappy; but I mean to be both presently. " And then he looked up in herface pleadingly, with an expression of entreaty that went to herheart, and continued: "But my own mother will not pain me byunnecessary questions that I could not answer. " And then she knew thathis will was that she should be silent. 

"Very well, " she returned, with a sigh. "But you will tell me onething, will you not, my dear! Is it--is it quite hopeless?" hermother's instinct, like that of the Eastern Caliph, immediatelysuggesting a woman in the case. 

"Quite--quite hopeless!--as dead as this!" bringing down his hand on alarge defunct moth. "Talking will not bring to life, or help a man, tocarry a real burden. "

Then, as she kissed him, she knew that his pain had been very great, but that he meant to bear it with all the strength he could bring. 

Grace went up to prepare for her walk that evening with no verypleasurable anticipations. Her mother had given her Archie's messagein due form, as she sat somewhat sadly by the school-room window, mending a frock Dottie had just torn. 

"Archie wants you to go out with him, Grace, " Mrs. Drummond said, asshe came in, in her usual active bustling way. "The grass never grewunder her feet, " as she was often pleased to observe. "Loitering andlagging make young bones grow prematurely old, " she would say, coininga new proverb for the benefit of lazy Susie. "Never measure yourfootsteps when you are about other people's business, " she would sayto Laura, who hated to be hunted up from her employment for anyerrand. "He thinks of going over to Blackthorn Farm, as it is so fine;and the walk will do you good, " continued Mrs. Drummond, with a keenlook at her daughter's pale face. "Give me Dottie's frock: that littlemonkey is always getting into mischief. " But Grace yielded her taskreluctantly. 

"Are you sure he wishes me to go, mother?"

"Quite sure, " was the brief answer; but she added no more. 

Silence was ever golden to this busy, hard-working mother. She wasgenerally sparing of words. Grace, who saw that her mother was bent onher going, made no further demur; but, as she put on herwalking-things, she told herself that Archie was only making a virtueof necessity. He was so little eager for her society that he had notsought her himself, but had sent her a message. Ever since his return, no light-springing footsteps had been heard on the uncarpeted stairsleading to the school-room. He had forsaken their old haunt, wherethey had once talked so happily, sitting hand in hand on the oldwindow-seat. 

Grace felt herself grievously wounded. For months a barrier had beenbetween her and Archie. He had written seldom; and his letters, whenthey came, told her nothing. In manner he was kindness itself. Thatthere was no change in his affection was evident; but the key to hisconfidence was mislaid. He had withdrawn himself into some innercitadel, where he seemed all at once inaccessible, and her sisterlysoul was vexed within her. 

He met her at the door with his usual smile of welcome. 

"That is right, Grace; you have not kept me long waiting, " he said, pleasantly, as she came towards him; and then, as they walked downLowder Street, he commenced talking at once. He had so much to tellher, he said; and here Grace's pulses began to throb expectantly; butthe eager light died out of her face when he went on to detail a longconversation he had had with his mother the previous night. Was thatall? she thought. Was the longed-for confidence still to be withheld?

Archie did not seem to notice her silence: he rattled on volubly. 

"I think we were hard on the mother, Gracie, you and I, " he said. "After all, I believe she was right in not giving us our own way inthe spring. "

"I am glad you think so, " replied Grace, coldly. Archie winced at hertone, but recovered himself, and went on gayly:

"It does one good sometimes to have one's wishes crossed; and, afterall, it was only fair that poor Mattie, being the eldest, should haveher turn. She does her best, poor little soul! and, though I find herterribly trying sometimes, I can hold out pretty patiently untilChristmas; and then mother herself suggested that you should take herplace at the vicarage. "

"I! oh, no, Archie!" And here the color flushed over Gracie's face, and her eyes filled with tears. The news was so unexpected, --sooverwhelming. Another time the sweetness of it would have filled herwith rapture. But now! "Oh, no, no!" she cried, in so vehement a tonethat her brother turned in surprise, and something of her meaning camehome to him. 

"Wait a moment, " he said, deprecatingly. "I have not finished yet whatI want to say. Mother said Mattie was greatly improved by her visit, and that she was infinitely obliged to me for yielding to her wish. She told me plainly that it was impossible to have spared youbefore, --that you were her right hand with the girls, and that evennow your loss would be great. "

"I do not mean to leave mother, " returned Grace, in a choked voice. 

"Not if I want you and ask you to come?" he replied, with reproachfultenderness, "Why, Grace, what has become of our old compact?"

"You do not need me now, " she faltered, hardly able to speak withoutweeping. 

"We will talk of that by and by, " was the somewhat impatient answer. "Just at this minute I want to tell you all the mother said on thesubject. Facts before feelings, please, " with a touch of sarcasm; buthe pointed it with a smile. "You see, Grace, Isabel's marriage makes adifference. There is one girl off my father's hands. And then the boysare doing so well. Mother thinks that in another three months Claramay leave the school-room; she will be seventeen then, and, as Ellishas promised her a course of music-lessons, to develop her one talent, you may consider her off your hands. "

"Clara will never do me credit, " returned his sister, mournfully: "sheworks steadily and takes pains, but she was never as clever asIsabel. "

"No; she is no shining light, as mother owns; but she will playbeautifully, if she be properly trained. Well, as to the other girls, it appears that my father has decided to accept my offer of sendingSusie to a first-class boarding-school; and, as he has determined todo the same for Laura, there is only Dottie for Mattie to manage ormismanage. So you see, Gracie, your school-room drudgery is over. Mother herself, by her own will, has opened the prison-doors. "

He spoke in a light jesting tone, but Grace answered, almostpassionately, --

"I tell you no, Archie! I no longer wish it so; it is too late: thingsare now quite different. "

"What do you mean?" he returned, with a long steady look that seemedto draw out her words in spite of her resolve not to speak them. 

"I mean that things are changed--that you no longer need me, or wishme to live with you. "

"I need you more, " he returned, calmly; "perhaps I have never neededyou so much. As for living with me, is it your desire to condemn me toan existence of perfect loneliness?--for after Christmas Mattie leavesme. You are mysterious, Grace; you are not your old self. "

"Oh, it is you that are not yourself!" she retorted, in a tone ofgrief. "Why have you avoided me? why do you withhold your confidence?why do your letters tell me nothing? and then you come and are stillsilent. "

"What is it that you would have me tell you?" he asked; but this timehe did not look her in the face. 

"I would know this thing that has come between us and robbed me ofyour confidence. You are ill at ease; you are unhappy, Archie! Youhave never kept a trouble from me before: it was always I who sharedyour hopes and fears. "

"You may still share them. I am not changed, as you imagine Grace. Allthat I can tell you I will, even if you demand it in that'money-or-your-life' style, as you are doing now, " trying to turn itoff with a jest. 

"Oh, Archie!"

"Well, what of Archie, now?"

"That you should laugh away my words! you have never done thatbefore. "

"Very well, I will be serious; nay, more, I will be solemn. Grace, Iforbid you ever to mention this thing again, on pain of my bitterdispleasure!"

Then, as she looked at him, too much startled to answer, he went on:

"A man has a right to his own thoughts, if he choose to keep them tohimself and his Maker. There are some things with which even you maynot meddle, Grace. What if my life holds a grief which I would buryfrom all eyes but my own? would you tear up the clods with unhallowedfingers? To no living person but my Saviour"--and here Archie lookedup with reverent eyes--"will I speak of this thing. " Then she clung tohis arm, and tears flowed over her cheeks. 

"Oh, Archie! forgive me! forgive me! I never meant to hurt you likethis; I will not say another word!"

"You have not hurt me, " he returned, striving after his old manner, "except in refusing to live with me. I am lonely enough, God knows!and a sister who understands me, and with whom I could have sympathy, would be a great boon. "

"Then I will come, " she replied; drying her eyes. "If you want me, Iwill come, Archie. "

"I do want you; and I have never told you anything but the truth. Butyou must come and be happy, my dear. I want you, yourself, and not agrave, reticent creature who has gone about the house the last fewdays, looking at me askance, as though I had committed some deadlysin. "

Then the dimple showed itself in Grace's cheek. 

"Have I really been so naughty, Archie?"

"Yes, you have been a very shadowy sort of Grace; but I give you fullabsolution, only don't go and do it any more. " And, as she looked athim with her eyes full of sorrowful yearning, he went on, hastily:"Oh, I am all right, and least said is soonest mended. I am like thedog in Æsop's fable, who mistook the shadow for the substance. A poorsort of dog, that fellow. Well, is your poor little mind at rest, Grace?" And the tone in which she said "Yes" seemed to satisfy him, for he turned their talk into another channel. 

When Mrs. Drummond saw her daughter's face that evening, she knew thecloud had passed between the brother and sister. 

Grace followed her to her room that night, --a thing she had not donefor months. 

"Mother, I must thank you for being so good to us, " she began, impulsively, as soon as she had crossed the threshold. 

"How have I been good to you, Grace?" observed her mother, calmly, asshe unfastened her brooch. "Of course, I have always tried to be goodto my children, although they do not seem to think so. "

"Ah, but this is very special goodness: and I am more grateful than Ican say. Are you sure you will be able to spare me, mother?"

"After Christmas?--oh, yes: things will be possible then. If Iremember rightly, I had to endure some very bitter words from you onthis very subject. I hope you will do justice to my judgment at thattime. "

"Yes, mother, " with downcast eyes. "I am afraid Archie and I were verywilful. "

"You were wilful, Grace, "--for Mrs. Drummond never suffered any one tofind fault with her son in her hearing, --"you who ought to have knownbetter. And yet I do believe that, but for my determination to enforcethe right thing, you would have left your post, and all your duties, because Archie wanted you. "

"I was wrong. I see that plainly. "

"Yes, you were wrong: for a long time you bore yourself towards me asno daughter ought to bear herself to her mother. You angered mesorely, Grace, because I saw you were hardening yourself against me, only because I insisted that no child of mine should neglect herduty. "

"Mother, surely I am humbling myself now?"

"True; but how long have I waited for this confession? Night afternight I have said to myself, 'Surely Grace will come and tell me thatshe feels herself in the wrong!' But no such words came. At last Iceased to hope for them; and now at this eleventh hour you can hardlyexpect me to show much joy at hearing them spoken. "

Then Grace's head drooped, and she was silent. She knew she deservedall these hard words, bitter as they were to bear; but Mrs. Drummondhad said her say. 

"Well, well, better late than never; and we will say no more about it. Next time you will understand me better, Grace. "

Then, as her mother kissed her, Grace knew that her sin was condoned. Nevertheless, as she left the room a few minutes later, her heart wasnot quite so light in her bosom; she felt that her mother had beenjust, but hardly generous. 

"I thought mothers forgave more easily, " she said to herself, insomewhat aggrieved fashion. She had no idea that her mother wasequally disappointed. 

Mrs. Drummond was a hard, but not an unloving woman; and she wouldhave liked more demonstration from her daughters. If Grace, forexample, instead of all these words, had thrown herself into her armsand owned herself in the wrong, with a child-like pleading forforgiveness, Mrs. Drummond would have felt herself satisfied, andwould have pressed her to her bosom with a loving word or two thatGrace would have remembered when her mother was in her grave. But suchoutward forms of tenderness were not possible to Mrs. Drummond'sdaughters: for in such matters we must reap as we sow; and Mrs. Drummond's manner hardly merited softness. For there are mothers andmothers; and the world must produce its Drummonds and its Challonersuntil the end of time. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

ABOUT NOTHING PARTICULAR. 

It was as well that Grace had had this talk with her brother; for, during the two days that remained of his brief visit, they were notalone together until the last half-hour before his departure. Theyoung vicar had to return for his Sunday duties; but Mattie remainedbehind for another week. Archie, indeed, had once sought her in hisold fashion, --running up to the school-room for a chat; but Susie hadbeen there all the time. In former days, Archie would have sent heraway with blunt peremptoriness; but now he seemed well content to haveher there. He had no secrets to discuss, as he sat in his old place inthe window-seat; yet Grace was too happy to see him there to findfault with his discourse. 

But on the morning of his departure she had come down early to pourout his coffee. He had bidden his mother good-bye in her room; but heknew that, in spite of the earliness of the hour, Grace would be inher place to minister to his wants. 

"Well, Grace, " he said, entering with his travelling-plaid over hisarm, "so it is to be good-bye until Christmas. "

"Yes, " she returned, looking at him with a sort of wistfulness; "butthe time will pass quickly now. It is so nice to think that we shallbegin our new year together. " And, as her brother checked aninvoluntary sigh, she went on eagerly: "If you knew how happy I amabout it! It will be something to wake every morning and know you arenot a hundred miles off, --that when I come down to breakfast I shallfind you there, --that I shall be able to talk to you as much as Ilike; and as for work, why, it will be play to me to work for you, Archie!"

"Of course I know that, " rather mischievously. 

"I would work for you like a servant: would I not, dear? I mean to beever so good to you. Your friends shall be my friends; your likes anddislikes shall be mine too. "

"Why, Gracie, " he said, humoring her, "this is more than a wife woulddo for me!"

"Ah! but it is not too much to ask from a sister, " she returned, earnestly. "When you bring home your wife, Archie, I mean to be goodto her too. I shall have to leave you then, and come back here; but ifyou are happy I shall not be miserable. " But he interrupted her alittle impatiently. 

"What put such nonsense into your head? I shall never marry. We shallbe a pattern of old-bachelor brother and maiden sister. " And then hepushed away his plate, and went to the window. "Is it not Mrs. Carlylewho quotes that quaint old story about some one who always thanked God'for the blessings that passed over his or her head'? Is not that acurious idea, when one comes to think it out? Fancy thanking heavenreally and seriously for all our disappointed hopes and plans, --for'the blessings that go over our heads'! It would be a new clause inour petitions, --eh, Gracie?"

"Why, yes, " she replied, as she came and stood near him. "I am afraidI could never say that from my heart. "

"It is not easy, " he returned, quietly; "but I do not know that weought to give up trying, for all that. " And then his manner changed, and he put his arm round her in his old fashion. "Recollect, I wantyou very much, Grace: your coming will make me far happier. Mattieonly touches the outside of things; I want some one near me who can godeeper than that, --who will help me with real work, and put up with mybad humors; for I am a man who is very liable to discouragement. " Andwhen he had said this, he bade her good-bye. 

It was a comfort to Archie to find himself hard at work again. Thesefew days of idleness had been irksome to him. Now he could throwhimself without stint or limit into his pastoral labors, walking milesof country road until he was weary, and planning new outlets for thefeverish activity that seemed to stimulate him to fresh efforts. 

People began to talk of the young vicar. His sermons were changedsomehow. There was more in them, --"less of the husk, and more of thekernel, " as Miss Middleton once remarked rather pithily. 

They were wonderfully brief discourses; but, whereas they had oncebeen elegant and somewhat scholarly productions, they were now earnestand even pungent. If the sentences were less carefully compiled, morerough-hewn, and deficient in polish, there was matter in them thatroused people and made them think. 

"I never could remember Mr. Drummond's sermons before, " Dulce onceobserved, "but now I can recollect whole sentences quite nicely. "

Phillis, to whom she spoke, assented by a nod. If she had chosen, shecould have admitted the fact that she could remember not sentences, but the entire sermon itself. In secret she marvelled also at thechange. 

"He is more earnest, " she would say to herself. "He preaches now, notfrom the outside, but from the inside of things, --from his ownexperience, not from other people's. That makes the difference. "

And to Nan, who was her other conscience, she said one day, when theywere discussing this subject, --

"I have been thinking a great deal about sermons lately. I wish Icould publish the result of my cogitation. I feel inclined to write apamphlet and entitle it 'Hints to the Clergy. ' I think it would takevastly. "

It was Sunday afternoon, and they were sitting together on theirfavorite boulder. Phillis had christened it her "thinking-stone. "

"I never think to more purpose than when I am sitting here, " she wouldsay. 

Nan, who was looking out to sea rather dreamily, intent on her usualvision, Dick, roused herself at this, and began to smile in a loftyway. 

"You think yourself very clever, Phillis, and so do I; but sermons arehardly in your province, my dear. "

Phillis shook her head gravely. She dissented from this view of thecase. 

"Common sense is in every one's province, " she persisted. "I am apractical woman, and some of my hints would be valuable. Sermons arefailures, Nan. They go over people's heads like a flight of badly-shotarrows. Does not Goulburn say that? Now and then one touches the mark. When they are all let fly hither and thither and anyhow, the preachershuts up his book, and his hearers cease to yawn. "

"Oh, Phillis, how absurd you are! Suppose Mr. Drummond were to hearyou?"

"I should have no objection. But, Nan, seriously, do you not noticehow formal and cut-and-dried most sermons are? They come roundregularly, like Sunday. People have to bear being preached at, and sothe unfortunate parson must hammer it out of his head somehow. Hepicks out his text, writes out his composition, drags in his learningby the ear, and delivers it in his best fashion; and people listen toit politely, and the best behaved do not yawn. "

"Phillis, you are positively irreverent! I am shocked at you!"

"On the contrary, I am very reverent. Well, in my 'Hints to theClergy' I would say, first, 'Never preach what you do not feelyourself, or the current of electricity or sympathy, or whatever it isthat communicates between preacher and people, will be checked orimpeded. Do not preach out of the book: we can read that forourselves. Preach out of your own head and your own experience, justas much as you can. ' Bless you, " continued Phillis, in a wise, half-sad tone, "half the pulpits would be empty: we should getsometimes no sermons at all!"

This was too much for Nan's simplicity. 

"But people would be so disappointed, " she observed, plaintively. "Allthe middle-aged people like sermons. "

"It would not hurt them to be disappointed sometimes. They wouldappreciate the real thing all the more when it came. It is as well togo without food altogether as to be fed on husks. After all, peopleforget that they come to church to say their prayers all together, andsing glorias. "

"That is very nicely said, dear, " was Nan's admiring comment on this. 

But Phillis waved aside the praise. She was quite in earnest. 

"But if I were speaking to one of these real and not make-believepreachers, I would say to him, 'Never be discouraged. Say what youhave got to say: if you really feel it and mean it, some one will feelit too. You can't see into people's hearts: and a good thing, too, myfriend. But "the arrow at the venture" may tell; some one may be "hitbetween the joints of the armor. "' There, come along; you shall havemore of my hints another time. I have said my say for the present. "And Phillis rose from the boulder, with her eyes bright and kindled bysome moving thought, and went down to the edge of the water, andwatched a sea-gull dipping towards the shore in the midst of the windylights; while Nan, marvelling at her sister's unusual earnestness, followed more slowly. 

The Challoners were holding up their heads in the place now. There wasno denying that. By the people at the vicarage and the White Housethey were owned and regarded as equals. Mrs. Cheyne made no secret ofher affection for Phillis; and she was full of kindness also to Nanand Dulce. It was their own fault if they declined her frequentinvitations. But there was one person who refused to hold out the handof amity to the eccentric new-comers. 

Colonel Middleton still shook his white head, and delivered hisprotest into his daughter's ear. Elizabeth, declared, laughingly, "that the Challoner girls were to her father what a red rag is to abull. " He never met one of them without coming home and relieving hismind, as he called it. "My father is dying to know them, " she wouldsay to Mr. Drummond. "He has fallen in love with them all, --mother anddaughters too; but he is denying himself an introduction for a certainreason. " But, though Archie looked curious and questioned her veryclosely, she chose to be provoking and say no more. It was ColonelMiddleton who at last enlightened the young man. 

They were walking from the town together. The colonel was carrying hisstick musket-wise over his shoulder, and had the vicar by the arm, when Phillis and Dulce came out of the gateway of the White House. Asthe girls passed Archie, they smiled at him and nodded, and Phillis, in a pretty way she had, waved her hand; and then they went on rapidlytowards the Friary. As they did so, Colonel Middleton groaned, andtouched his companion's arm impressively. 

"There, now, Drummond, did you ever see girls with a bettercarriage?--heads up--light springy step? Why, it is a pleasure even toan old fellow like myself to watch them. Fancy that taller one onhorseback in the Row! Why, she would cut out half the girls. And thinkthat one dare not notice them!" And he struck his stick into theground almost angrily. 

Archie smiled: he could not help it. The colonel was so whimsical inhis wrath. 

"They had plenty of notice from the folk at the White House, " hereturned, quietly. 

"Ah, Cheyne was always a bit of a Radical, and madam is no better. They can do as they like, without being afraid of consequences. Butthat is not my case. " And, as Archie looked at him rather mystified, he went on: "Bless me, you do not suppose I am afraid of knowing themfor my own sake? Elizabeth tells me that she is intimate with them. But that is not my business, so long as she does not have them atBrooklyn. 'We must draw the line there, Elizabeth, ' I said. 'If youchoose to visit your dressmakers, it is not for me to prevent you; youare old enough to select your own friends, so you may be as eccentricas you like. But your brother is coming home. Young men are young men;and I do not choose to expose Hammond to such temptation. '"

"Oh, Hammond! That is your son, I suppose?" asked Archie, who was muchamused at the colonel's earnestness. 

"Yes; my boy Hammond! the finest fellow in the regiment, though I sayit, who should not. Do you think that I, his father, would expose himto such danger as to throw him into the society of a set offascinating young women who have chosen to emancipate themselves fromall conventionality, and who call themselves--stuff andrubbish!--dressmakers?"

"Not call themselves, so: they are excellent dressmakers!" wasArchie's somewhat malicious reply. 

"All the more reason that my son should not know them!" thundered theold man. "What, sir! an officer in one of her Majesty's regiments--theson and grandson of officers, --is such a one to be mixed up with afamily that has lost caste, --to flirt with or make love to girls whoare not above making gowns for my butcher's wife? Before Hammond doessuch a thing as that----" And here the colonel paused from excess ofemotion. 

"You are perfectly right to defend your son from such danger, "returned the young clergyman with covert sarcasm. "In your case Ishould probably feel the same. But, in my position, being intimatewith those ladies of whom you speak, and having had good opportunityto form my opinions of them, I cannot help saying, in their defence, that even your son, excellent officer as he is, --and, I am sure, amost worthy young man, --would scarcely be dishonored by an alliancewith the finest young gentlewomen I ever met!" And, as he said this, with all due gravity, Archie released his arm, and, with a farewellnod, went off, leaving the colonel, open-mouthed and gasping withastonishment, at his own gate. 

Elizabeth met him on the threshold. 

"Oh, father, why did you not bring Mr. Drummond in!" she said, reproachfully; "it is so long since he has paid us a visit. "

"Poor Drummond!" replied the colonel, with a mournful shake of hishead: "it is just as I thought. He has almost owned it, in fact. He isseriously smitten with one of those Challoner girls, and before longthere will be a wedding in the place. "

"Now, father, this is just one of your whimsies, " replied Elizabeth, placidly. "Mr. Drummond is going to have his favorite sister, Grace, to live with him and keep his house. He told me so himself; and thatdoes not look as though he expected to bring home a wife. So you mayjust put this idea out of your head. " But, though Elizabeth was wellaware of the truth of her words, that no new mistress was to come tothe vicarage, still her fine sympathy and unerring woman's divinationhad read the meaning of the young vicar's clouded brow, and she knewthat he, too, had to try and be grateful for "the blessings that wentover his head. "

Archie's grand and somewhat heroic speech failed in its effect, as faras the colonel was concerned. Elizabeth was right in saying her fatherwas longing to know the Challoners. The old man's fancy had beenmightily taken by the girls; but for Hammond, for his boy's sake, hewas capable of any amount of self-denial. Once he was sorely temptedto give in. When turning the corner of the Braidwood Road, not farfrom his own house, he came suddenly upon his daughter, who wasstanding on the side-path, talking to Dulce. 

Dulce, who always seemed a sort of reflection and shadow of hersisters, and who withdrew somewhat in the background, obscured alittle by Nan's beauty and Phillis's sprightliness, was neverthelessin her way a most bewitching little maiden. 

"There comes my father!" observed Elizabeth, tranquilly, neverdoubting that he would join them; and Dulce looked up a little shy andfluttered from under her broad-brimmed hat; for she had taken a fancyto the colonel, with his white moustache and kindly inquisitiveeyes. He was a sort of hero in her fancy; and Dulce lovedheroes, --especially when they wore a medal. 

Colonel Middleton saw the little girl dimpling and blushing withpleasure, and his old heart thumped a little with excitement and theconflict of feeling: the innocent child-look appealed to his fatherlysympathies. There was a moment's wavering; then he lifted his whitehat, with a muttered "Good-morning, " and the next minute he waswalking on with squared shoulders and tremendous energy. 

Poor little Dulce's lip quivered with disappointment: she thought ithard, when other people were so kind to them. Elizabeth said nothing;but she bade the child good-bye with greater tenderness than usual, and sent all sort of messages to her mother and Nan. 

The colonel, meanwhile, had retreated into the house, and was openinghis papers with more than his usual fuss. 

"It is for Hammond, " he murmured to himself. "When one has boys, onemust do one's duty by them; but it was confoundedly hard, by Jove!"And all the remainder of the day a pair of appealing eyes seemed toreproach him with unkindness. But Elizabeth never said a word; it wasnot her place to find fault with her father. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

"HOW DO YOU DO, AUNT CATHERINE?"

One drizzling November morning, Mattie was standing at the hall door, looking out a little blankly through the open gateway at the prospectbefore her, --at the rotting leaves that lay heaped up in the road, andat the gray, humid sky, --when a very big man suddenly blocked up theentrance, and startled her dreadfully. 

Mattie afterwards described the occurrence very graphically to herbrother:

"He was the biggest man I ever saw in my life, Archie. He looked asstrong as a navvy; and his shoulders reminded me of one of those menone sees in brewers' drays. And his face was so red, and his hair, too, --that dreadfully red color, you know, that no one admires; andhis hands, and even his voice, were big. "

"What a fascinating description!" laughed Archie. "Upon my word, Mattie, you are rather tremendous in your language. Well, and what didthe navvy say to you?"

"Oh, he was not a navvy, really! Of course he was a gentleman. Hecould not help his big voice, and what he said was nice; but, I assureyou, Archie, he nearly took my breath away;" and so on, and so on, tothe end of her story. 

But it was enough to surprise any one whose nerves were not of thestrongest, when one lives in a lonely country road, and the master ofthe house is out, to see a gigantic specimen of manhood, not verycarefully dressed, and with hair like a red glory, come suddenlystriding through one's open gate, without "by your leave, " or waitingfor any possible permission. 

Mattie dropped her umbrella, --for she was dressed in her waterproof, and her oldest hat, ready for her district-work; and the strangerpicked it up, and handed it to her promptly, and then he removed hishat politely. 

"How do you do, cousin?" he said; and a broad, genial smile revealed aset of white teeth. 

Mattie retreated a step in genuine affright. 

"For you know, Archie, " she explained afterwards, in her simple way, "we have no cousins worth mentioning, except Sophy Trinder, who is notour cousin at all, but mother's; and so you see it sounded so veryodd. "

"Very odd indeed, " muttered Archie. 

"If you please, Mr. Drummond--that is my brother--is out, and I amgoing out too, " faltered Mattie, who was not a specially heroic littleperson, and who decidedly had not got her wits about her just then. 

"I do not want Mr. Drummond, whoever he may be. I never heard of himin my life. I only want my aunt and cousins. Which of them are you, eh? Why, you must be Nan, I suppose?" And the big man looked down ather with a sort of supercilious good nature. The name gave Mattieinstant enlightenment. 

"Nan!--Oh, you must mean the Challoners!" she exclaimed, with a littlegasp of surprise. 

"Yes, of course; I am a Challoner myself. Well, which of them are you, eh? You are a long time telling me your name. " And the new-comerpeered down at her still more curiously, as though he were surprisedto find anything so small and ordinary-looking. 

Mattie never looked to advantage in her waterproof. More than once herbrother had threatened to burn the old rag of a thing. 

"My name is Mattie Drummond, " replied the bewildered Mattie, tryingto speak with dignity, --she never would call herself Matilda, shehated it so, --"and I live with my brother, who is the clergyman of theparish. This is the vicarage: if you want the Friary, it is a littlelower down the road. "

"Where?" he asked, striding to the gate; and then he came back again, taking the few steps at a single bound, --so at least it appeared toMattie. "Why--why--there is no house at all--only a miserable cottage, and----"

"That is the Friary, " repeated Mattie, decidedly; "but it is notmiserable at all: it is very nice and pretty. The Challoners are verypoor, you know; but their house looks beautiful for all that. "

"Oh, yes; I know all about it. I have been down to that place, Oldfield, where they lived; and what I heard has brought me here likean express train. I say, Miss Mattie Drummond, if you will excuseceremony in a fellow who has never seen his father's country before, and who has roughed it in the colonies, may I come in a moment and askyou a few questions about my cousins?"

"Oh, by all means, " returned Mattie, who was very good-natured and wasnow more at her ease. "You will be very welcome, Mr. Challoner. "

"Sir Henry Challoner, at your service, " responded that singularindividual with a twinkle of his eye, as Mattie became confused all atonce. "You see, " he continued, confidentially, as she led the wayrather awkwardly to her brother's study, hoping fervently that Archiewould come in, "I have been making up my mind to come to England foryears, but somehow I have never been able to get away; but after myfather's death--he was out in Australia with me--I was so lonely andcut up that I thought I would take a run over to the mother-countryand hunt up my relations. He was not much of a father perhaps; but, asone cannot have a choice in such matters, I was obliged to put up withhim;" which was perhaps the kindest speech Sir Francis's son couldmake under the circumstances. 

Mattie listened intelligently, but she was so slightly acquainted withthe Challoners' past history that she did not know they possessed anyrelations. But she had no need to ask any questions: the new-comerseemed determined to give a full account of himself. 

"So do you see, Miss Drummond, having made my fortune by a stroke ofgood luck, and not knowing quite how to spend it--the father andmother both gone, --and having no wife or chick of my own, and beinguncommon lonely under the circumstances, I thought I would just runover and have a look at my belongings. I have a sort of fancy for AuntCatherine; she used to write me such pretty letters when I was alittle chap in Calcutta, and tell me about Nan, and Phillis, and--whatwas the baby's name?--Dulce. I believe she and the poor old governornever hit it off: the old man had been a sad sinner in his day. But Inever forgot those letters: and when he was gone, poor old boy! I saidto myself, Now I will go and see Aunt Catherine. "

"And you went down to Oldfield, Sir Henry?"

"Eh, what? meaning me, I suppose? but out there they called me SirHarry, or Harry mostly, for what was the use of a title there? Oh, yes, I went down and found out all about them from a chatty littlewoman, rather like yourself, and she sent me on here. "

"Oh, dear, I am so glad!" exclaimed Mattie, who was now thoroughlyherself: "they will be so pleased to see you, and you will think themall so charming. I am sure I never saw any one the least like them, except Grace, and she is not half so pretty as Nan; and as forPhillis, I admire her even more, she lights up so when she talks. "

"Aunt Catherine used to be beautiful, " observed Sir Harry, gravely;for then and afterwards he insisted on that form of address. He wasnot English enough or sufficiently stiff for Henry, he would say. 

"Oh, dear, yes! she is quite lovely now, --at least Archie and I thinkso; and Dulce is the dearest little thing. I am ever so fond of them;if they were my own sisters I could not love them more, " continuedMattie, with a little gush; but, indeed the girls' gentle high-bredways had won her heart from the first. 

Sir Harry's eyes positively sparkled with delight; he had pleasanteyes which redeemed his other features, for it must be confessed hewas decidedly plain. 

"I must shake hands with you, Miss Drummond, " he said, stretching outa huge hand, with a diamond ring on it that greatly impressed Mattie. "We shall be good friends, I see that. " And though poor Mattie wincedwith pain under that cordial grasp, she hid it manfully. 

"Did they tell you at Oldfield how poor they are?" she said, when thisceremony had been performed, and Sir Harry's face looked more like asunset than ever with that benevolent glow on it. 

"Oh, yes, " he returned, indifferently; "but all that is over now. "

"You know they have to work for their living; the girls aredressmakers, " bringing out the news rather cautiously, for fear heshould be shocked; a baronet must be sensitive on such points. But SirHarry only laughed. 

"Well, they are plucky girls, " he said, admiringly; "I like them forthat. " And then he asked, a little anxiously, if his aunt sewed gownstoo, --that was how he put it, --and seemed mightily relieved to hearthat she did very little but read to the girls. 

"I would not like to hear she was slaving herself at her age, " heremarked, seriously. "Work will not hurt the girls: it keeps them outof mischief. But now I have come, we must put a stop to all this. " Andthen he got up and threw back his shoulders, as though he wereadjusting them to some burden; and Mattie, as she looked up at him, thought again of the brewer's dray. 

"I was afraid when he got off his chair he would touch the ceiling, "she said, afterwards. "He quite stooped of his own accord goingthrough the study doorway. "

When Sir Henry had shaken himself into order, and pulled an end of hisrough red moustache, he said, quite suddenly, --

"As you are a friend of the family, Miss Drummond, I think it would beas well if you would go with me to the Friary and introduce me in dueform; for, though you would not believe it in a man of my size, I ampainfully shy, and the notion of all these girls, unless I take themsingly, is rather overwhelming. " And, though this request took Mattiea little by surprise, she saw no reason for refusing to do him thiskindness. So she assented willingly, for in her heart Mattie was fondof a scene. It gave her such a hold on Archie's attention afterwards;and, to do him justice, when the Challoners were on the _tapis_, hemade a splendid listener. 

Sir Henry walked very fast, as though he were in a tremendous hurry;but he was nervous, poor fellow, and, though he did not like to own asmuch to a woman, he would almost have liked to run away, in spite ofhis coming all those thousands of miles to see his relations. He hadpressed Mattie into the service to cover his confusion, but the littlewoman herself hardly saw how she was needed, for, instead of waitingfor her introduction, or sending in his name or card by Dorothy, hejust put them both aside and stepped into the first room that stoodhandy, guided by the sound of voices. 

"How do you do, Aunt Catherine?" he said, walking straight up to theterrified lady, who had never seen anything so big in her life. "I amHarry, --Harry Challoner, you know, --to whom you used to write when Iwas a little slip of a boy. "

A strange queen in a hive of bees could not have produced moreconfusion. Dulce stopped her sewing-machine so suddenly that herthread broke; Phillis, who was reading aloud, let her book fall withquite a crash; and Nan said, "Oh, dear!" and grew quite pale withsurprise and disappointment: for a moment she thought it was Dick. Asfor Mrs. Challoner, who had a right to her nerves from years ofinjudicious spoiling and indulgence, and would not have been withouther feelings for worlds, she just clasped her hands and murmured "Goodheavens!" in the orthodox lady-like way. 

"Why, yes, Aunt Catherine, I am Harry; and I hope you have notforgotten the existence of the poor little beggar to whom you were sokind in the old Calcutta days. " And his big voice softenedinvoluntarily in the presence of this dignified aunt. 

"Oh, no, my dear!--no!" touched by his manner, and remembering theboyish scrawls that used to come to her, signed "Your affectionatenephew, Harry. " "And are you indeed my nephew?--are you Harry?" Andthen she held out her slim hand, which he took awkwardly enough. "Girls, you must welcome your cousin. This is Nan, Harry, the one theyalways say is like me; and this is Phillis, our clever one; and thisis my pet Dulce. " And with each one did their cousin solemnly shakehands, but without a smile; indeed, his aspect became almostludicrous, until he caught sight of his homely little acquaintance, Mattie, who stood an amused spectator of this family tableau, and hisred, embarrassed face brightened a little. 

"Aunt Catherine was such an awfully grand creature, you know, " as heobserved to her afterwards, in a confidential aside: "her mannersmake a fellow feel nowhere. And as for my cousins, a prettier lotof girls I never saw anywhere; and of course, they are as jolly andup to larks as other girls; but just at first, you know, I had abull-in-a-china-shop sort of feeling among them all. "

Mrs. Challoner, in spite of her fine manners, was far too nervousherself to notice her nephew's discomfort. She had to mention a namethat was obnoxious to her, for of course she must ask after hisfather. She got him into a chair by her at length, where he staredinto his hat to avoid the bright eyes that seemed to quiz him sounmercifully. 

"And how is Sir Francis?" she asked, uttering the name with languidinterest. 

"My father! Oh, did you not know, Aunt Catherine?--he died out inSydney a year ago. Poor old fellow! he had a terrible illness. Therewas no pulling him through it. "

Mrs. Challoner roused up at this:

"Your father dead! Then, Harry, you have come to the title?"

But her nephew burst into a boisterous laugh at this:

"Yes, --a title and an old ruin. A precious heritage, is it not? Notthat I care what people call me. The most important part is thatanother fellow--Dalton they call him--and I made a grand hit out inSydney. When I saw the money flowing in, I just sent for the poor oldgovernor to join me; and we did not have a bad time of it, until thegout took him off. And then I got sick of it all, and thought I wouldhave a look at England and hunt up my relations. "

Sir Harry had blurted out this long speech as he still attentivelyregarded the lining of his hat; but, happening to look up, he caughtPhillis's eyes, which were contemplating him. The mischievous look offun in them was not to be resisted. Sir Harry first got redder, ifpossible; then his own eyes began to twinkle, and finally they bothlaughed. And after that the ice was broken, and they got on famously. 

The girls chattered to him like magpies. They made Mattie take off herhat and hideous old waterproof and stay to luncheon. Nan smoothed herhair, which was sadly ruffled, and Phillis settled her brooch andcollar. 

There was only cold mutton in the larder; but what did that matter?Dulce ran out in the garden and picked dahlias for the table; and Nantook her mother's keys and drew from the recesses of a dimsweet-smelling press some dainty napkins and a fine old cloth thatmight have suited a princess. There was a bottle of rare Madeira thatremained from their stock of wine; and Dorothy had made a batch offresh dinner-rolls. Dorothy was always full of resources in anemergency. 

"Don't fash yourself, Miss Nan, " she said, when her young mistresscame into the kitchen. "The cold mutton can't be helped; but we havegot angels in the larder, and I will just pop them into the oven. "

Sir Harry roared with laughter when Dorothy's speech was repeated tohim. The little puddings were declared by Mattie to be delicious; butSir Harry could scarcely eat his for laughing. 

"Who ever heard of baked angels, Aunt Catherine!" he exclaimed, afteranother explosion. 

"My dear, it is only a name, " she returned, mildly. "Will you haveanother, Harry? And, Nan, you must pass your cousin the Madeira. "

They were all seated round the table in the small parlor. It was feltto be a triumph when Sir Harry contrived to seat himself withoutgrazing himself seriously against the chiffonnier or knocking over apiece of the blue-and-gold china. 

"What a cosey little cabin of a place!" he said with criticalapproval; "but it is rather small to hold you all, --eh, AuntCatherine?"

"Yes: it is small after Glen Cottage, " she sighed. "We had such apretty drawing-room there. "

"And such a lovely garden!" added Dulce. 

"Oh, this crib in not fit for you? We will alter all that, " hereturned, complacently. "I am the head of the family now, and I musttake my uncle's place. I am awfully rich, Aunt Catherine; so you haveonly got to tell me what you and the girls want, you know. " And thenhe rubbed his hands as though he were pleased about something. 

But no one took any notice of this speech, hardly knowing how to treatit. 

When luncheon--which was, indeed, the family dinner--was over, thegirls carried him off to the work-room, and showed him specimens oftheir skill. 

"Very nice; very well done, " he observed, approvingly. 

"I am glad you showed such pluck; for why any woman should think it_infra dig. _ to make a gown for another woman quite beats me. Why, bless you, in the colonies we fellows turned our hands to anything!Well, Aunt Catherine, they are plucky ones, these girls of yours. Butwe must put a stop to this sort of thing, you and I. I don't think myuncle would have liked it. And as I am in his place----" And here hethrust aside some amber satin with his great hands, with a movementfull of suggestive possibilities. 

He took them all out to walk after that. Mrs. Challoner, indeed, begged to be excused, --the poor lady was already sadly fatigued, andlonged for her nap, --but he would not dispense with Mattie's company. 

"We were acquaintances first, " he said to her; "and I look upon you asa sort of cousin too, Miss Mattie. " And poor little Mattie, who hadnever met with so much friendliness before, quite blushed and bridledwith pleasure. 

Mr. Drummond, who was coming out of his own gate, stood as thoughtransfixed as the procession came towards him. The four girls werewalking all abreast, Mattie in the middle; and beside them stalked ahuge man, in rough, rather outlandish attire, looking like a son ofthe Anakin, or a red-headed Goliath. 

Archie stood still in the middle of the road, and Mattie rushed up tohim:

"We are going for a walk. Oh, Archie, I wish you would come too! Itwould be such fun!"

"Yes; do come!" cried unconscious Nan, seconding her out of pure goodnature. "Mr. Drummond, this is our cousin, Sir Henry Challoner, whohas just come from Australia; and we have never seen him before. " Andthen the young clergyman shook hands with him very stiffly, and spokea few conventional words. 

"They have not a man belonging to them, " he had said to himself, triumphantly, and then that odious Dick had turned up and now thisextraordinary-looking being who called himself Sir Henry Challoner. 

Archie took down the "Peerage" when he got home, for he could not beinduced to join the merry party in their walk. He found the name thereall right, --"Henry Fortescue Challoner, son of Sir Francis Challoner, son of Sir Henry Challoner, " and so on. It was an old baronetcy, --oneof the oldest in England, --but the estates had dwindled down to ahalf-ruined residence and a few fields. "Challoner Place, " as it wascalled, was nothing but a heap of mouldering walls; but Mattie hadwhispered to him gleefully that he was "awfully rich, and the head ofthe family, and unmarried; and he did not mean to let his cousins makegowns anymore for other people, though they might do it forthemselves. "

Mattie never forgot that walk. Never in her life had she enjoyed suchfun. Archie, with his grave face and prim ways, would have spoiled thehilarity. 

First Sir Henry took his cousins to the hotel, where they heard himorder his apartments and dinner: he evidently considered he had notdined; and there was a good deal of discussion about some game that heordered, and a certain brand of champagne that was to his liking. 

"If they make me comfortable, I may stop on a goodish bit, " heinformed them, "until we have settled where my aunt would like tolive. I shall run up to London every few days, and can do all yourcommissions. By the bye, I got some trinkets for you girls on my waydown; we will haul them over when I come up for the cup of coffee AuntCatherine promised me this evening. "

"Now, Harry, we don't want presents, " remarked Phillis, taking him totask as easily as though she had known him all her life long. 

In spite of his bigness, his great burly figure and plain face, therewas something very pleasant about him. He was rough and unpolished, his dress was careless and of colonial cut; and yet one could not failto see he was a gentleman. His boyishness and fun would have delightedDick, who was of the same calibre; only Dick was far cleverer, and hadmore in his little finger than this great lumbering Harry in his wholebody. 

He was slow and clumsy, but his heart and intentions were excellent;he was full of tenderness for women, and showed a touching sort ofchivalry in his intercourse with them. In some way, his manners werefar finer than those of a New Bond Street gentleman; for he could notsneer at a woman, he believed in the goodness of the sex, in spite ofmuch knowledge to the contrary, he could not tell a lie, and he onlycheated himself. This was saying a good deal for the son of that veryblack sheep Sir Francis; but, as Sir Harry once simply observed, "hismother was a good woman:" if this were the case, her husband's vicesmust have shortened her life, for she died young. 

Phillis was glad when they turned their backs on the town: she foundher cousin's long purse a difficulty: it seemed an impossibility toget him past the shops. 

First, he was sure Aunt Catherine was fond of champagne, --all ladiesliked sweet sparkling things; but he would see about that at the hotelpresently. Then his attention was attracted by some grouse hanging upat the poulterer's: Aunt Catherine must have some grouse, as heremembered the cold mutton. Phillis made no objection to the grouse, for she knew her mother's fondness for game; but she waxed indignantwhen partridges and a hare were added, and still more when Sir Harryransacked the fruiterers for a supply of the rarest fruit the towncould afford. After this, he turned his attention to cakes andbonbons; but here Dulce took his part, for she loved bonbons. Philliscaught Nan by the arm, and compelled her to leave them; but Mattiedeserted her friends, and remained to watch the fun. 

Dulce grew frightened at last, and tried to coax her cousin away. 

"Oh, no more--no more?" she pleaded. "Phillis and Nan will be so angrywith us. "

"I don't see anything more worth getting, " returned her cousin, contemptuously. "What a place this is, to be sure! Never mind, Dulce;I am going up to London to-morrow, and I will bring you down as manybonbons as you like from the French place in Regent Street. I willbring Miss Mattie some too, " he continued, as the girls hurried himalong. "And, Dulce, just write out a list of what you girls want; andI will get them, as sure as my name is Harry. "

CHAPTER XL. 

ALCIDES. 

There was quite a battle-royal on the sea-shore after that: Dulce andPhillis pelted Laddie with bonbons; while their mother enjoyed her napin the snug parlor. And Dorothy, pleased, bewildered, and halffrightened at what the mistress might say, stowed away game and fruitand confectionery in the tiny larder, and then turned her attention tosuch a tea as her young ladies had not seen since the Glen Cottagedays. 

Laddie raced and barked, and nearly made himself ill with the sweetthings; and Nan laughed, and then grew serious as she remembered anafternoon in the Longmead Meadows, when Dick, in wild spirits, hadpelted her and Phillis with roses until their laps were full of thedelicious, fragrant leaves. "'Sweets to the sweet, '--so look out foryourself, Nan!" he had said, in his half-rough, boyish way. But thatwas in the days when both were very young and Dick had not learned tomake love. 

Mattie joined in the game a little awkwardly, --it was so long sincethe poor little woman had played at anything. Her younger sistersnever chose Mattie in their games. "She makes such mistakes, and putsus out; and that spoils the fun, " they said; and so Grace was theirfavorite playfellow. 

For it is perfectly true that some grown-up people have forgotten howto play, while others are such children at heart that they can abandonthemselves most joyously and gracefully to any game, however romping;but Mattie, who was sobered by frequent snubbing, was not one ofthese. She loved fun still, in her way, but not as Phillis and Dulce, who thought it the cream of life and would not be content with thesort of skimmed-milk existence of other young ladies. 

Sir Harry watched them admiringly, and his enthusiasm grew everymoment. 

"I say, you are the right sort, and no mistake. I never met jolliergirls in my life. A fellow would not know which to choose: would he, Miss Mattie?"

Mattie took this seriously. 

"Nan is chosen:--are you not, Nan?" she said, in her downrightfashion. And then, as Sir Harry stared at this, and Nan blushed andlooked even prettier, Phillis first scolded Mattie soundly for herbluntness, and then took upon herself to describe Dick's perfections:

"The dearest fellow in the world, Harry, when you come to know him;but not handsome, and dreadfully young looking, some people think. But, as Nan will not look at any one else, we must make the best ofhim. "

"And when are they to be married?" asked her cousin, curiously. He wasnot quite pleased with this discovery. 

"When?--Oh, Harry, there is an 'if' in the case, " returned Phillis, solemnly. "The dearest fellow in the world has an ogre of a father, --aman so benighted, so narrow in his prejudices, that he thinks itdecidedly _infra dig. _ for his intended daughter in-law to sew otherpeople's gowns. I do love that expression. Harry: it is so forcible. So he forbids the banns. "

"No, really!--Is she serious, Nan?" But Nan grew shy all at once, andwould not answer. 

"I am serious, Sir Henry Challoner, " replied Phillis, pompously. "Thepath of true love is impeded. Poor Dick is pining in his rooms atOxford; and Nan--well, I am afraid her looks belie her; only you knowappearances are sometimes deceitful. " And indeed Nan's pink cheeks andair of placid contentment scarcely bore out her sister's words. 

The newly found cousin sat in silent perplexity staring at them both. Love-affairs were not much in his way; and until now he had never beenthrown much with his equals in the other sex. His rough colonial life, full of excitement and money-getting, had engrossed his youth. He wasnow a man of thirty; but in disposition, in simplicity, and in acertain guilelessness of speech, he seemed hardly more than anovergrown boy. 

"Well, now, is it not like a book?" he said, at last, breaking thesilence quite abruptly. "It must be an awful bother for you, Nan; butwe must put a stop to all that. I am the head of the family; and Ishall have a word to say to that Mr. --what is his name?"

"Mr. Mayne, " returned Nan, softly. 

It was at this moment that the name of Hercules came into Phillis'shead for her cousin. What feats of strength did he mean to undertakeon their behalf? Would he strangle the hydra-headed monster of publicopinion that pronounced "women who sewed other women's gowns" werenot to be received into society? Would he help Nan gather the goldenapples of satisfied love and ambition? What was it that he meant to doby dint of sheer force and good nature?

Harry Challoner did not long leave them in ignorance of hisintentions. In the coolest possible way he at once assumed theheadship of the family, --adopting them at once, and giving them thebenefit of his opinions on every point that could possibly be mooted. 

"I had not a soul belonging to me until now, " he said, looking aroundon his cousins' bright faces with a glow of honest satisfaction on hisown. "It made a fellow feel precious lonely out there, I can tellyou. "

"You ought to have married, Harry, " suggested Dulce. 

"I never thought any one would care for such a great hulking fellow, "he returned, simply; "and then the girls over there were not to mytaste. Besides, I never thought of it; I was too busy. I am going totake a holiday now, and look about me a little; and when you and AuntCatherine are settled, I may have a try myself at some one, " hefinished, with a big laugh. 

This notion amused the girls immensely, then and afterwards. Theybegan to talk of the future Lady Challoner. Nan proposed one of thePaines. Phillis thought if Grace Drummond were only as sweet-lookingas her photograph he could hardly help falling in love with her. AndDulce was of opinion that Adelaide Sartoris, handsome and queenly asshe was, would not consider a baronet beneath her. They confided allthese thoughts to Sir Harry, who thanked them quite gravely for theirinterest and promised to consider the matter. He even wrote down thenames in his pocket-book one after another. 

"Adelaide Sartoris, did you say? Ah, we had an Adelaide at Sydney, alittle, dark thing, with hair blown all over her temples, and such apair of mischievous eyes: that girl was always laughing at me, somehow. And yet she seemed sorry to bid me good-bye. "

"Perhaps she was in love with you?" observed Dulce. But Phillisfrowned at this. She thought they had gone too far in their jokesalready with a cousin who was such a complete stranger. But hereturned, quite gravely, --

"Well, now, you know, such a thing never came into my head. I talkedto her because a fellow likes to be amused by a lively girl like MissAddie. But as to thinking seriously of her--well, I could not standthat, you know to be laughed at all one's life; eh, Miss Mattie?" AndMattie, at this appeal, looked up with round, innocent eyes, and said, "Certainly not, " in such an impressive tone that the other girls burstout laughing. 

They all went home after that. Sir Harry escorted his cousins andMattie to the Friary, and then returned to his hotel to dinner. Butthe girls, who were in a merry mood, would not part with Mattie. Theysent her home to put on her green silk dress, with strict orders thatshe was to return as soon as possible. 

"We are all going to make ourselves pretty, " announced Phillis. "Acousin does not turn up every day; and when he promises to be a goodfellow, like Harry, we cannot do him too much honor. "

"Ah, I should like to come, " returned Mattie. "I have had such a niceday; and, if Archie will not mind----" And then she bustled into thevicarage, and into her brother's study. 

Archie roused himself a little wearily from his abstraction to listento his sister's story; but at the end of it he said good-naturedly, for he had taught himself to be tolerant of Mattie's littlegaucheries, --

"And the long and short of it is that you want to be gadding again. Well, run and get ready, or you will keep their tea waiting; and doput on your collar straight, Mattie. " But this slight thrust was loston Mattie as she delightedly withdrew. Archie sighed as he tried tocompose himself to his reading. He had not been asked to join Mattie. For the last few weeks he had become a stranger to the cottage. Didthey notice his absence? he wondered. Did they miss the visits thathad once been so frequent? By and by he would resume his old habits ofintimacy, and go among them as he had done; but just now the effortwas too painful. He dreaded the unspoken sympathy in Phillis's eyes. He dreaded anything like an understanding between them. Nan's perfectunconsciousness was helpful to him; but there was something inPhillis's manner that stirred up an old pain. For the present he wassafer and happier alone in his study, though Mattie did not think so, and told her friends that Archie looked terribly dull. 

Mrs. Challoner proposed sending for him; but Phillis, greatly to hermother's surprise, negatived the proposition:

"Oh, no, mother; pray do not! Mattie, you must excuse me. I do notmean to be rude, but we should all have to be so dreadfullywell-behaved if Mr. Drummond came, and I just feel myself in a'nonsense mood, ' as Dulce used to say when she was a baby. " And thenthey all forgot Archie, and fell to discussing the new cousin. 

"He is dreadfully ugly, mammie, is he not?" observed Dulce, who had ahorror of red hair. But Mrs. Challoner demurred:

"Well, no, pet; I cannot agree with you. He is very plain, but so isDick; but it struck me they were both rather alike. " An indignant "Howcan you, mother!" from Nan. "Well, my dear, " she continued, placidly, "I do not mean really alike, for they have not a feature in common;but they have both got the same honest, open look, only Dick's face ismore intelligent. " But this hardly appeased Nan, who was heard to sayunder her breath "that she thought Dick had the nicest face in theworld. "

"And Sir Harry has a nice face too: has he not, Mrs. Challoner?"exclaimed Mattie, who never could be silent in a discussion. "It takestime to get used to such very red hair; and, of course, he isdreadfully big, --almost too big, I should say. But when he talks hehas such a good-natured way with him; now, hasn't he?" appealing toNan, who looked just a little glum, --that is, glum for Nan, for shecould not do the sulks properly; she could only look dignified. 

Mrs. Challoner grew a little alarmed at her daughter's demure face:"Nan, darling, you know I am as fond of Dick as possible; but I cannothelp being pleased with my new nephew, can I? And I must say I thinkHarry is very nice, in spite of his roughness. " But here Phillis, whohad been unaccountably silent, suddenly struck in:

"Mother, it was a mistake mentioning Dick: the name is sacred. Nan, ifit will please you we will declare that he is beautiful as a youngApollo. "

"Don't be a goose, Phil!" from her sister. But Nan was smiling. 

"As for Harry, he is a perfect hero. I expect great things from thegreat man. To my imagination he is a perfect Hercules, --Heracles, sonof Zeus and Alcmene. I wonder if Harry could tell us the name ofHercules's mother?"

"Of course not, and no one else either, " retorted Dulce. 

But Phillis did not heed this. 

"To me he shall be the young Alcides. He has promised to fight theNemæan lion, in the shape of Richard Mayne the elder. By and by weshall have him striking off the heads of the Lernean Hydra. You lookmystified, Nan. And I perceive Mattie has a perplexed countenance. Iam afraid you are deficient in heathen mythology; but I will spareyour ignorance. You will see, though, I am right----"

"But, Phillis----" broke in Dulce, eagerly. But Phillis waved her handmajestically at the interruption:

"Mother, to be serious, I consider Harry in the light of aprovidential interposition. You are always mourning that there is nota man belonging to us. Well, now we have got one, large as life, andlarger, and a very good fellow, as you say; and we are no longer'forlorn females. '"

"And indeed, Phillis, I am most thankful for that, my dear; for ifHarry be only as good as a brother to you----"

"He means to be more, " returned Phillis, with a sage nod of her head. "He talks in the coolest way, as though he had adopted the wholefamily and meant to put a spoke into the domestic wheel. 'I must put astop to this, ' or, 'That must be altered, ' has been a frequent remarkof his. Mother, if he is dreadfully rich, as he says, does he mean tomake us rich too?"

"My dear, we have no claim on him. "

"He thinks we have the strongest possible claim: does he not, Nan? Youshould have heard him talk this afternoon! According to him, we werenever to sew gowns again; Nan and Dick were to be immediately united;the Friary was to be pulled down, and a glorified Glen Cottage to beerected in its stead. But mother, "--here Phillis's lip grewplaintive, --"you won't desert your own girls, and be talked over evenby an Alcides? We do not mean to have our little deeds all put on theshelf in that off-hand fashion. I shall sew gowns as long as I like, in spite of a hundred Sir Harrys. "

And then they perceived that under Phillis's fun there was a vein ofserious humor, and that, in spite of her admiration of her hero, shewas a little afraid that her notions of independence would bewounded. 

They became divided on the question. Mrs. Challoner, who had never hada son of her own, and did not much like the idea of a son-in-law, wasdisposed to regard her nephew warmly, and to accord to him at once hisprivilege of being head of the family. 

"In this case, a cousin is as good as a brother, " she averred; and Nanrather leaned to her opinion. 

"You see, " she said, in her practical way, addressing no one inparticular, but looking at Phillis, "it has been terribly against us, having no one belonging to us of the same name; and it will reallygive us a standing with some sort of people. "

"Fie, Nan! what a worldly speech! You are thinking of that tiresomeMayne _pere_ again. "

"I have to think of him, " returned Nan, not at all put out by this. "Dick's father must be a person of great importance to me. He hasoften hinted in my hearing that we have no relations, and that theChalloner name will die out. I expect he will be rather taken aback atHarry's appearance. "

"Yes; and Dick will be jealous: he always is of other fellows, as hecalls them. You must score that up against Dick, please. Well, I won'tdeny that Harry may make himself useful there: all I protest againstis the idea that he will bundle us out of this dear old Friary, andmake us grand, in spite of ourselves. "

"Dear old Friary!--Oh, oh!" gasped Dulce; and even Nan looked mildlysurprised. 

"He will not make me give up my work until I choose, " continuedPhillis, who was in an obstinate mood. "It is not make-believeplay-work, I can tell him that;" but Mrs. Challoner grew tearful atthis. 

"Phillis, my dear, pray hush! Indeed--indeed I cannot have you talkingas though you meant and wished to be a dressmaker all your life. "

And when Phillis asked, "Why not?" just for the sake of argument, --forin her heart she was growing heartily sick of her employment, --hermother threw up her hands in despair:

"Oh, my dear Miss Drummond, do not believe her: Phillis is a goodgirl; but she is always like that, --hard to be convinced. She does notreally mean it. She has worked harder than any of them; but she hasonly done it for her mother's sake. "

"Of course she does not mean it, " echoed Nan, affectionately, and muchstruck by a sudden yearning look on Phillis's face, --an expression ofsmothered pain; but Phillis drew away from her sister's gentle grasp. 

"I do mean it!" she said, almost passionately. "I am dreadfully tiredof the work sometimes, and hate it. Oh, how I hate it! But I think Ihave been happy, too. I liked the excitement of the fighting, and thenovelty of the thing; it was such fun, --first shocking people, andthen winning them over in spite of themselves. One felt 'plucky, ' asHarry said. And then one's friends were so real. " And her eyes fellunconsciously on Mattie. 

"Oh, yes, " returned Mattie, with her usual gush: "Archie and I took toyou from the first. I must say I was surprised, knowing how fastidiousArchie was, and his notions about young ladies in general. But, dear, he never would hear a word against you: he was even angry with ColonelMiddleton the other day because--but there! I ought not to have toldyou that. "

"Oh, we know all about it, " returned Phillis, carelessly; but Dulce'sbright face looked a little overcast. "Son Hammond is in the case; andwe can all judge of a father's feelings by a certain example thatshall be nameless. Good gracious, mammie! there comes the Alcideshimself, and Dorothy has not cleared the tea-things! I vote we meethim in the garden, to avert breakages. " And Phillis's proposition wascarried out. 

But when they were all seated in the little parlor again, and the lampwas brought, sundry packages made their appearence, and weredelightedly unpacked by the girls, Phillis assisting with greatinterest, in spite of her heroic speeches. 

"One can accept gifts from a cousin, " she said, afterwards. 

Sir Harry had shown good taste in his purchases. The ornaments andknick-knacks were all pretty and well chosen. The good-natured fellowhad ransacked the shops in Paris for such things as he thought wouldplease his unknown cousins. The bracelets, and fans, and gloves, andlaces, made Dulce almost dance with glee. The lace was for AuntCatherine, he said; and there were gloves for everybody, --dozens anddozens of them. But the fans and bracelets were for the girls; andto-morrow he would get the bonbons for Dulce. And then, as the girlslaughingly apportioned the spoil, he whispered something to Nan, atwhich she nodded and smiled. 

Mattie, who was carefully admiring the lace in her short-sighted way, felt something touch her elbow, and found Nan pushing a fan and aparcel of gloves towards her, --beautiful gloves, such as Isabel had inher trousseau. 

"Yes; take them; we have so many; and, indeed, we have no use for morethan a fan apiece. Oh, you extravagant Harry!"

Sir Harry laughed as he balanced the fan clumsily on his huge finger:

"Take it; you are very welcome, Miss Mattie. You know we are quite oldacquaintances; and, indeed, I look on you as a sort of cousin. "

"Oh, dear!--thank you; you are very good, Sir Harry, " cried poorMattie, blushing with pleasure. 

Never had she spent such a day in her life, --a day wherein she had notbeen once snubbed, except in that remark of Archie's about her collar, and that did not matter. 

"Poor little woman, she looks very happy!" observed Mrs. Challoner, benevolently, as Mattie gathered up her spoils and went out of theroom, accompanied by Dulce. "She is such a good little soul, and soamiable, that it is a pity Mr. Drummond is always finding fault withher. It spoils him, somehow; and I am sure she bears it very well. "She spoke to Nan, for her nephew seemed engrossed with tying upLaddie's front paw with his handkerchief. 

"I am afraid, from what she says, that they all snub her at home, "returned Nan. "It seems Grace is the favorite; but you know, mother, Mattie is just a little tiresome and awkward at times. "

"Yes; but she is very much improved. And I must say her temper is ofthe sweetest; for she never bears her brother any malice. " But at thatmoment Mattie re-entered the room: and Sir Harry, releasing Laddie, proceeded, as in duty bound, to escort her to the vicarage. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

SIR HARRY BIDES HIS TIME. 

Phillis might have spared herself that little outburst to which shehad given vent on the day of her cousin's arrival. For, in spite ofthe lordly way in which he had claimed his prerogative as the onlymale Challoner, Sir Harry took no further steps to interfere with herliberty: indeed, as the days and even the weeks passed away, andnothing particular happened in them, she was even a littledisappointed. 

For it is one thing to foster heroic intentions, but quite anotherwhen one has no choice in the matter. The heroism seemed lost, somehow, when no one took the trouble to combat her resolution. Phillis began to tire of her work, --nay, more, to feel positivedisgust at it. The merry evenings gave her a distaste for her morninglabors, and the daylight seemed sometimes as though it would neverfade into dark, so as to give her an excuse for folding up her work. 

These fits of impatience were intermittent, and she spoke of them tono one: in other respects the new cousin brought a great deal ofbrightness and pleasure into their daily life. 

They all grew very fond of him. Mrs. Challoner, indeed, was soon heardto say that she almost loved him like a son, --a speech that reachedDick's ears by and by and made him excessively angry. "I should liketo kick that fellow, " he growled, as he read the words. But then Dicknever liked interlopers. He had conceived a hatred of Mr. Drummond onthe spot. Sir Harry took up his quarters at the same hotel where Dickand his father had spent that one dreary evening. He gave lavishorders and excited a great deal of attention and talk by his carelessmunificence. Without being positively extravagant he had a free-handedway of spending his money: as he often said, "he liked to see thingscomfortable about him. " And, as his notions of comfort were somewhatexpensive, his host soon conceived a great respect for him, --all themore that he gave himself no airs, never talked about his wealthexcept to his cousins, and treated his title as though it were not ofthe slightest consequence to himself or any one else; indeed, he wasdecidedly modest in all matters pertaining to himself. 

But, being a generous soul, he loved to give. Every few days he wentup to London, and he never returned without bringing gifts to theFriary. Dulce, who was from the first his chief favorite, revelled inFrench bonbons; hampers of wine, of choice game, or fruit from CoventGarden, filled the tiny larder to overflowing. Silks and ribbons, andodds and ends of female finery, were sent down from Marshall &Snelgrove's, or Swan & Edgar's. In vain Mrs. Challoner implored himnot to spoil the girls, who had never had so many pretty things intheir lives, and hardly knew what to do with them. Sir Harry would notdeny himself this pleasure; and he came up evening after evening, overflowing with health and spirits, to join the family circle in thesmall parlor and enliven them with his stories of colonial life. 

People began to talk about him. He was too big and too prominent afigure to pass unnoticed in Hadleigh. The Challoners and their oddways, and their cousin the baronet who was a millionaire andunmarried, were canvassed in many a drawing-room. "We always knew theywere not just 'nobodies, '" as one young lady observed; and anotherremarked, a little scornfully, "that she supposed Sir Henry Challonerwould put a stop to all that ridiculous dressmaking now. " But whenthey found that Nan and Phillis went about as usual, taking ordersand fitting on dresses, their astonishment knew no bounds. 

Sir Harry watched them with a secret chuckle. "He must put a stop toall that presently, " he said; but just at first it amused him to seeit all. "It was so pretty and plucky of them, " he thought. 

He would saunter into the work-room in the morning, and watch them foran hour together as he sat and talked to them. After the first theynever minded him, and his presence made no difference to them. Nanmeasured and cut out, and consulted Phillis in her difficulties, asusual. Dulce sang over her sewing-machine, and Phillis went from oneto the other with a grave, intent face. Sometimes she would speakpetulantly to him, and bid him not whistle or tease Laddie: but thatwas when one of her fits of impatience was on her. She was generallygracious to him, and made him welcome. 

When he was tired of sitting quiet, he would take refuge with AuntCatherine in her little parlor, or go into the vicarage for a chatwith Mattie and her brother: he was becoming very intimate there. Sometimes, but not often, he would call at the White House; but, though the Cheynes liked him, and Magdalene was amused at hissimplicity, there was not much in common between them. 

He had taken a liking to Colonel Middleton and his daughter, and wouldhave found his way to Brooklyn over and over again, only the colonelgave him no encouragement. They had met accidentally in the grounds ofthe White House, and Mr. Cheyne had introduced them to each other; butthe colonel bore himself very stiffly on that occasion and ever afterwhen they met on the Parade and in the reading-room. In his heart hewas secretly attracted by Sir Harry's blunt ways and honest face; buthe was a cousin of those Challoners, and intimacy was not to bedesired: so their intercourse was limited to a brief word or two. 

"Your father does not want to know me, " he said once, in his outspokenway, to Miss Middleton, when they met at the very gate of Brooklyn, and she had asked him, with some little hesitation, if he were comingin. "It is a pity, " he added, regretfully, "for I have taken a fancyto him: he seems a downright good sort, and we agree in politics. "

Elizabeth blushed; for once her courtesy and love of truth were sadlyat variance. 

"He does like you very much, Sir Harry, " she said; and then shehesitated. 

"Only my cousins sew gowns, " he returned, with a twinkle of amusementin his eyes, "so he must not encourage me, --eh, Miss Middleton?--as weare all in the same boat. Well, we must allow for prejudice. By and bywe will alter all that. " And then he gave her a good-natured nod, andsauntered away to tell his old friend Mattie all about it; for he hada kindly feeling towards the little woman, and made her hisconfidante on these occasions. 

Phillis still called him Alcides, to his endless mystification: butshe privately wondered when his labors were to begin. After that firstafternoon he did not speak much of his future intentions: indeed, hewas a little reserved with the girls, considering their intimacy; butto his aunt he was less reticent. 

"Do you know, Aunt Catherine, " he said one day to her, "that that oldhouse of yours--Glen Cottage, is it not?--will soon be in the market?Ibbetson wants to get off the remainder of the lease. "

Mrs. Challoner leaned back in her chair and put down her knitting:

"Are you sure, Harry? Then Adelaide was right: she told me in her lastletter that Mrs. Ibbetson's health was so bad that they thought ofwintering at Hyeres, and that there was some talk of giving up thehouse. "

"Oh, yes, it is true, " he returned, carelessly; "Ibbetson told me sohimself. It is a pretty little place enough, and they have done a gooddeal to it, even in a few months: they want to get off the lease, andrid themselves of the furniture, which seems to be all new. It appearsthey have had some money left to them unexpectedly; and now Mrs. Ibbetson's health is so bad, he wants to try travelling, and thinks ita great pity to be hampered with a house at present. I should say thepoor little woman is in a bad way, myself. "

"Dear me, how sad! And they have been married so short a time, --notmore than six months. She comes of a weakly stock, I fear. I alwayssaid she looked consumptive, poor thing! Dear little Glen Cottage! andto think it will change hands so soon again!"

"You seem fond of it, Aunt Catherine, " for her tone was full ofregret. 

"My dear, " she answered, seriously, "I always loved that cottage so!The drawing-room and the garden were just to my taste; and then thegirls were so happy there. "

"Would you not like a grander house to live in?" he asked, in the sameindifferent tone. "I do not think it is half good enough for you andthe girls. "

Mrs. Challoner opened her eyes rather widely at this: but his voicegave her no clue to his real meaning, and she thought it was just hisjoking way with her. 

"It would seem a palace after this!" she returned, with a sigh. "Somehow, I never cared for great big houses, they are so much expenseto keep up; and when one has not a man in the house----"

"Why, you have me, Aunt Catherine!" speaking up rather briskly. 

"Yes, my dear; and you are a great comfort to us all. It is so nice tohave some one to consult; and, though I would not say so to Nan forthe world, Dick is so young that I never could consult him. "

"By the bye, that reminds me I must have a look at that young fellow, "returned her nephew. "Let me see, the Oxford term is over, and he willbe home again. Suppose I run over to Oldfield--it is no distance fromtown--and leave my card on Mr. Mayne senior?"

"You, Harry!" And Mrs. Challoner looked quite taken aback at theproposition. 

"Well, " he remarked, candidly, "I think it is about time something wasdone: Nan looks awfully serious sometimes. What is the good of beingthe head of one's family, if one is not to settle an affair like that?I don't feel inclined to put up with any more nonsense in thatquarter, I can tell you that, Aunt Catherine. "

"But, Harry, "--growing visibly alarmed, --"you do not know Mr. Mayne:he can make himself so excessively disagreeable. "

"So can most men when they like. "

"Yes; but not exactly in that way. I believe he is really very fond ofDick; but he wants to order his life in his own way, and no young manwill stand that. "

"No, by Jove! that is rather too strong for a fellow. I should sayMaster Dick could not put up with that. "

"It seems my poor Nan is not good enough for his son, just because shehad no money and has been obliged to make herself useful. Does it notseem hard, Harry?--my beautiful Nan! And the Maynes are just nobodies:why, Mr. Mayne's father was only a shopkeeper in a very small way, andhis wife's family was no better!"

"Well, you must not expect me to understand all that, " replied hernephew, in a puzzled tone. "In the colonies, we did not think muchabout that sort of thing: it would not have done there to inquire toonarrowly into a man's antecedents. I knew capital fellows whosefathers had been butchers, and bakers, and candlestick-makers; and, bless me! what does it matter if the fellow is all right himself?" hefinished; for the last Challoner was a decided Radical. 

But Mrs. Challoner, who was mildly obstinate in such matters, wouldnot yield her point:

"You would think differently if you had been educated at Eton. InEngland, it is necessary to discriminate among one's acquaintances. Ifind no fault with Dick: he is as nice and gentlemanly as possible;but his father has not got his good-breeding; possibly he had not hisadvantages. But it is they--the Maynes--who would be honored by analliance with one of my daughters. " And Mrs. Challoner raised her headand drew herself up with such queenly dignity that Sir Harry dared notargue the point. 

"Oh, yes; I see, " he returned, hastily. "Well, I shall let him knowwhat you think. You need not be afraid I shall lower your dignity, Aunt Catherine. I meant to be rather high and mighty myself, --that is, if I could manage it. " And he broke into one of his huge laughs. 

Mrs. Challoner was very fond of her nephew; but she was not a cleverwoman, and she did not always understand his hints. When they werealone together, he was perpetually making this sort of remarks to herin a half-serious, half-joking way, eliciting her opinions, consultingher tastes, with a view to his future plans. 

With the girls he was provokingly reticent. Phillis and Dulce used tocatechise him sometimes; but his replies were always evasive. 

"Do you know, Harry, " Phillis said to him once, very gravely, "I thinkyou are leading a dreadfully idle life? You do nothing absolutely allday but walk to and fro between the hotel and the Friary. "

"Come, now, " retorted her cousin, in an injured tone, "I call thatconfoundedly hard on a fellow who has come all these thousands ofmiles just to cultivate his relations and enjoy a little relaxation. Have I not worked hard enough all my life to earn a holiday now?"

"Oh, yes, " she returned, provokingly, "we all know how hard you haveworked; but all the same it does not do to play at idleness too long. You are very much improved, Harry. Your tailor has done wonders foryou; and I should not be ashamed to walk down Bond Street with you anyafternoon, though the people do stare, because you are so big. Butdon't you think it is time to settle down? You might take roomssomewhere. Lord Fitzroy knows of some capital ones in SackvilleStreet; Algie Burgoyne had them. "

"Well, no, thank you, Phillis: I don't think I shall go in forrooms. "

"Well, then, a house: you know you are so excessively rich, Harry, "drawling out her words in imitation of his rather slow pronunciation. 

"Oh, of course I shall take a house; but there is plenty of time forthat. "

And when she pressed him somewhat eagerly to tell her in whatneighborhood he meant to live, he only shrugged his shoulders, andremarked, carelessly, that he would have a look round at all sorts ofplaces by and by. 

"But do you mean to take a house and live all alone?" asked Dulce. "Won't you find it rather dull?"

"What's a fellow to do?" replied her cousin, enigmatically. "I supposeAunt Catherine will not undertake the care of me?--I am too big, asyou call it, for a houseful of women!"

"Well, yes; perhaps you are, " she replied, contemplating himthoughtfully. "We should not know quite what to do with you. "

"I wish I could get rid of a few of my superfluous inches, " heremarked, dolorously; "for people seem to find me sadly in the waysometimes. "

But Dulce said, kindly, --

"Oh, no, Harry; we never find you in the way: do we, mammie? We shouldbe dreadfully dull without you now. I can hear you whistling a quarterof a mile off, and it sounds so cheerful. If there were only a housebig enough for you next door, that would do nicely. "

"Oh. I dare say I shall not be far off: shall I, Aunt Catherine?" for, to his aunt's utter bewilderment, he had established a sort ofconfidence between them, and expected her to understand all his vaguehints. "You will not speak about this to the girls; this is justbetween you and me, " he would say to her, when sometimes she had not anotion what he meant. 

"I don't understand you, Harry, " she said, once. "Why did you stop mejust now when I was going to tell Phillis about the Ibbetsons leavingGlen Cottage? She would have been so interested. "

"You must keep that to yourself a little while, Aunt Catherine: itwill be such a surprise to the girls, you know. Did I tell you aboutthe new conservatory Ibbetson has built? It leads out of thedrawing-room, and improves the room wonderfully, they say. "

"My dear Harry! what an expense! That is just what Mr. Mayne wasalways wanting us to do; and Nan was so fond of flowers. It was justwhat the room needed to make it perfect. " And Mrs. Challoner foldedher hands, with a sigh at the remembrance of the house she had lovedso dearly. 

"They say Gilsbank is for sale, " remarked her nephew, rather suddenly, after this. 

"What! Gilsbank, where old Admiral Hawkins lived? Nan saw theannouncement of his death the other day, and she said then the placewould soon be put up for sale. Poor old man! He was a martyr togout. "

"I had a look at it the other day, " he replied, coolly. "Why, it isnot a hundred yards from your old cottage. There is a tidy bit ofland, and the house is not so bad, only it wants doing up; but thefurniture--that is for sale too--is very old-fashioned and shabby. "

"Are you thinking of it for yourself?" asked his aunt, in surprise. "Why, Gilsbank is a large place; it would never do for a single man. You would find the rooms Phillis proposed far handier. "

"Why, Aunt Catherine!" in a tone of strong remonstrance. "You don'tmean to condemn me to a life of single blessedness because of mysize?"

"Oh, Harry, of course not! My dear boy, what an idea!"

"And some one may be found in time who could put up even with redhair. "

"Oh, yes; that need not be an obstacle. " But she looked at him withvague alarm. Of whom could he be thinking?

He caught her expression, and threw back his head with one of hismerry laughs:

"Oh, no, Aunt Catherine; you need not be afraid. I am not going tomake love to one of my cousins; I know your views on the subject, andthat would not suit my book at all. I am quite on your side there. "

"Surely you will tell me, my dear, if you are serious?"

"Oh, yes, when I have anything to tell; but I think I will have a goodlook round first. " And then, of his own accord, he changed thesubject. He was a little sparing of his hints after that, even to hisaunt. 

It was shortly after this that he came into the Friary one evening andelectrified his cousins by two pieces of news. He had just called atthe vicarage, he said; but he had not gone in, for Miss Mattie had rundownstairs in a great bustle to tell him her sister Grace had justarrived. Her brother had been down to Leeds and brought her up withhim. Phillis put down her work; her face had become suddenly ratherpale. 

"Grace has come, " she half whispered to herself. And then she addedaloud, "Poor Mattie will be glad, and sorry too! She will like to haveher sister with her for the New Year; but in a few weeks she will haveto pack up her own things and go home. And she was only saying theother day that she has never been so happy in her life as she has beenhere. "

"Why can't she stay, then?" asked Sir Harry, rather abruptly. "I don'thold with people making themselves miserable for nothing: that doesnot belong to my creed. "

"Oh, poor Mattie has not a choice in the matter, " returned Nan, whohad grown very fond of her little neighbor. "Though she is thirty, shemust still do as other people bid her. They cannot both be spared fromhome, --at least, I believe not, --and so her mother has recalled her. "

"Oh, but that is nonsense!" replied Sir Harry, rather crossly for him. "Girls are spared well enough when they are married. And I thought theDrummonds were not well off. Did not Phillis tell me so?"

"They are very badly off; but then, you see, Mr. Drummond does notwant two sisters to take care of his house; and, though he tries to begood to Mattie, he is not so fond of her as he is of his sister Grace;and they have always planned to live together, and so poor Mattie hasto go. "

"Yes, and I must say I am sorry for the poor little woman, " observedMrs. Challoner. "There is a large family of girls and boys, --I thinkMr. Drummond told us he had seven sisters, --and Mattie seems left outin the cold among them all: they laugh at her oddities, and quiz hermost unmercifully; even Mr. Drummond does, and Nan scolds him for it;but he has not been so bad lately. It is rather hard that none ofthem seem to want her. "

"You forget Grace is very good to her, mother, " broke in Phillis, somewhat eagerly. "Mattie always says so. "

"By the by, I must have a look at this paragon. Is not her name amongthose in my pocket-book?" returned her cousin, wickedly. "I saw MissSartoris at Oldfield that day, and she was too grand for my taste. Why, a fellow would never dare to speak to her. I have scored that oneoff the list, Phillis. "

"My dears, what have you been saying to Harry?"

"Oh, nothing, mammie, " returned Dulce, hastily, fearing her motherwould be shocked. "Phillis was only in her nonsense-mood; but Harry issuch a goose, and will take things seriously. I wish you would let mehave your pocket-book a moment, and I would tear out the page. " ButSir Harry returned it safely to his pocket. 

"What was your other piece of news?" asked Nan, in her quiet voice, when all this chatter had subsided. 

"Oh, I had almost forgotten it myself! only Miss Middleton charged meto tell you that 'son Hammond' has arrived by the P. And O. Steamerthe 'Cerberus, ' and that she and her father were just starting forSouthampton to meet him. "

CHAPTER XLII. 

"COME, NOW, I CALL THAT HARD. "

Phillis was unusually silent during the remainder of the evening; but, as she bade Nan good-night at the door of her little room, shelingered a moment, shading the flame of her candle with her hand. 

"Do you think Mattie will bring her sister round to see us, to-morrow?" she asked, in a very low tone. 

"Oh, yes, --I am sure I hope so, " returned Nan, sleepily, not noticingthe restrained eagerness of Phillis's manner. "We can hardly callfirst, under our present circumstances. Mr. Drummond knows that. " AndPhillis withdrew, as though she were satisfied with the answer. 

Nothing more was said on the subject; and they settled themselves totheir work as usual on the following morning, Dulce chattering andsinging snatches of songs, --for she was a most merry little soul, --Nancheerful and ready for conversation with any one; but Phillis withdrewherself to the farthest window and stitched away in grave silence. And, seeing such was her mood, her sisters wisely forbore to disturbher. 

At twelve o'clock the gate-bell sounded, and Dulce, who hailed anyinterruption as a joyful reprieve, announced delightedly that Mattieand a tall young lady were coming up the flagged walk; and in aninstant Phillis's work lay untouched on her lap. 

"Are you all here? Oh, dear, I am so glad, " exclaimed Mattie, bustlinginto the room with a radiant face. "I have brought Grace to see you;she arrived last night. " And in a moment the young stranger wassurrounded and welcomed most cordially. 

Phillis looked at her curiously for a moment: indeed, during the wholevisit her eyes rested upon Grace's face from time to time, as thoughshe were studying her. She had heard so much of this girl that she hadalmost feared to be disappointed in her; but every moment her interestincreased. 

Grace Drummond was not a pretty girl, --with the exception of Isabeland the boys, the Drummond family had not the slightest pretension tobeauty, --but she was fair and tranquil-looking, and her expression wasgentle and full of character. She had very soft clear eyes, with atrace of sadness in them; but her lips were thin--like hermother's--and closed firmly, and the chin was a little massively cutfor a woman. 

In looking at the lower part of this girl's face, a keen observerwould read the tenacity of a strong will; but the eyes had theappealing softness that one sees in some dumb creatures. 

They won Phillis at once. After the first moment, her reserved mannerthawed and became gracious; and before half an hour had passed she andGrace were talking as though they had known each other all theirlives. 

Nan watched them smilingly as she chatted with Mattie: she knew hersister was fastidious in her likings, and that she did not take topeople easily. Phillis was pleasant to all her friends andacquaintances: but she was rarely intimate with them, as Nan and Dulcewere wont to be. She held her head a little high, as though she felther own superiority. 

"Phillis is very amusing and clever; but one does not know her as wellas Nan and Dulce, " even Carrie Paine had been heard to say; andcertainly Phillis had never talked to Carrie as she did to thisstranger. 

Grace was just as must charmed on her side. On her return, shedelighted and yet pained her brother by her warm praises of hisfavorites. 

"Oh, Archie!" she exclaimed, as they sat at luncheon in the oldwainscoted dining-room at the vicarage, "you are quite right in sayingthe Challoners are not like any other girls. They are all three sonice and pretty; but the second one--Miss Phillis--is most to mytaste. "

Archie checked an involuntary exclamation, but Mattie covered it. 

"Dear me, Grace!" she observed, innocently; "I rather wonder at yoursaying that. Nan is by far the prettiest: is she not, Archie? Hercomplexion and coloring are perfect. "

"Oh, yes! If you are talking of mere looks, I cannot dispute that, "returned Grace, a little impatiently; "but, in my opinion, there isfar more in her sister's face: she has the beauty of expression, whichis far higher than that of form or coloring. I should say she has farmore character than either of them. "

"They are none of them wanting in that, " replied Archie, breaking uphis bread absently. 

"No; that's just what I say: they are perfectly unlike other girls. They are so fresh, and simple, and unconscious, that it is quite apleasure to be with them: but if I were to choose a friend from amongthem I should certainly select Miss Phillis. " And to this her brothermade no reply. 

"They are all so pleased about Tuesday, " interrupted Mattie, at thispoint, --"Nan was so interested and amused about my grand tea-party, asshe called it. They have all promised to come, only Mrs. Challoner'scold will not allow her to go out this severe weather. And then we metSir Harry, and I introduced him to Grace, and he will be delighted tocome too. I wish you would let me ask Miss Middleton and her brother, Archie; and then we should be such a nice little party. "

"How can you be so absurd, Mattie?" returned Archie, with a touch ofhis old irritability. "A nice confusion you would make, if you wereleft to arrange things! You know the colonel's one object in life isto prevent his son from having any intercourse with the Challoners;and you would ask him to meet them the first evening after his arrivalin the place. "

"Is the father so narrow in his prejudices as that?" asked Grace, whohad quite forgotten her own shocked feelings when she first heard thatArchie was visiting a family of dressmakers on equal terms. 

"Oh, dear! I forgot, " sighed Mattie, taking her brother's blamemeekly, as usual. "How very stupid of me! But would you not like theCheynes or the Leslies invited, Archie? Grace ought to be introducedto some of the best people. "

"You may leave Grace to me, " returned her brother, somewhat haughtily:"I will take care of her introductions. As for your tea-party, Mattie, I shall be much obliged if you will keep it within its firstlimits, --just the Challoners and Sir Harry. If any one be asked, itought to be Noel Frere: he has rather a dull time of it, living alonein lodgings, "--the Rev. Noel Frere being a college chum of Archie's, who had come down to Hadleigh to recruit himself by a month or two ofidleness. "Perhaps we had better have him, as there will be so manyladies. "

"Oh, yes, --of course! He is so nice and clever, " observed Grace, notnoticing the shade on Mattie's face. "How pleased you must be to havehim staying here so long, Archie!--you two were always suchfriends. "

"He comes nearly every evening, " returned Mattie, disconsolately. "Hemay suit you, Grace, because you are clever yourself; but I amdreadfully afraid of him, he is so dry and sarcastic. Must he reallybe asked for Tuesday, Archie?"

"Yes, indeed: you ought to have thought of him first. I am sorry foryour bad taste, Mattie, if you do not like Frere: he is a splendidfellow, though terribly delicate, I fear. Now, Gracie, if we havefinished luncheon, I should like you to put on your wraps, and I willshow you some of my favorite haunts; and perhaps we shall meetFrere. "

Grace hesitated for a moment. She thought Archie would have includedMattie in his invitation; but he did nothing of the kind, and she knewhim too well to suggest such a thing. 

"Good-bye, Mattie dear. I hope you will have some tea ready for uswhen we come back, " she said, kissing her sister affectionately; butthey neither of them noticed the pained wistfulness of Mattie's lookas the door closed upon them. 

They were going out without her; and on Grace's first day, too. Archiewas going to show her the church, and the schools, and the modelcottages where his favorite old women lived, --all those places thatMattie had visited and learned to love during the eight months she hadlived with her brother. In a few weeks she must say good-bye to themall, and go back to the dull old house at Leeds, to be scolded by hermother for her awkward ways, and to be laughed at and teased by herbrothers and sisters. Archie was bad enough sometimes, but then he wasArchie, and had a right to his bad humors; but with the boys and girlsit was less endurable. It was, "Oh, you stupid old Matt! Of course itwas all your fault;" or, "Mattie, you goose!" from Fred; or, "Yousilly child, Mattie" from her father, who found her a less amusingcompanion than Grace; and even Dottie would say, "Oh, it is onlyMattie: I never care if she scolds me. "

The home atmosphere was a little depressing, Mattie thought, with asigh, dearly as she loved her young torments. She knew she would findit somewhat trying after these eight months of comparative freedom. True, Archie had snubbed her and kept her in order; but one tyrant ispreferable to many. At home the thirty-years-old Mattie was only oneof the many daughters, --the old maid of the family, --the unattractivelittle wall-flower who was condemned to wither unnoticed on its stalk. Here, in her brother's vicarage, she had been a person of consequence, whom only the master of the house presumed to snub. 

The maids liked their good-natured mistress, who never found faultwith them, and who was so bustling and clever a little housekeeper. The poor people and the school-children liked Mattie too. "Our MissDrummond" they called her for a long time, rather to Grace'sdiscomfiture. "Ah, she is a rare one, when a body is low!" as oldGoody Saunders once said. 

And Archie's friends respected the little woman, in spite of hercrudities and decidedly odd ways. Miss Middleton and the Challonerswere quite fond of her. So no wonder Mattie grew low at the thought ofleaving her friends. 

Grace had come to take her place. Nevertheless, she had welcomed heron the previous evening with the utmost cheerfulness andunselfishness. She had shown her the house; she had introduced her tothe Challoners; she had overwhelmed her with a thousand littleattentions; and Grace had not been ungrateful. 

"I am afraid this is hard for you, Mattie, " Grace had said to her, asthe sisters were unpacking late the previous night. "I ought not be sohappy to come, when I know I am turning you out. " And Mattie hadwinked away a tear, and answered, quite cheerily, --

"Oh, no, Grace; you must not feel that. I have had a nice time, andenjoyed myself so much with dear Archie, and now it is your turn; and, you know, he has always wanted you from the first. "

"Poor dear fellow!" murmured Grace; "but he looks thin, Mattie. Perhaps I ought to be here, as he wants me; but I shall never keep hishouse as beautifully as you have done. Mother would be astonished ifshe saw it. " And this piece of well-deserved praise went far toconsole Mattie that night. 

But she began to feel just a little sore at breakfast-time. Once ortwice, Archie decidedly ignored her, and turned to Grace; he evenbrought her his gloves to mend, though Mattie had been his faithfulmender all these months. 

"Come into the study, and we will have a talk, Grace, " he had said, and as Grace had involuntarily waited for her sister to accompanythem, he had-added, hastily: "Oh, Mattie is always busy at this timewith butchers and bakers! Come along, Grace:" and, though Mattie hadno such business on her hands, she dared not join them. 

It was only when a parish meeting called the young vicar away thatMattie bethought herself of the Challoners. 

Poor Mattie! Low spirits were not much in her line. She had neverthought enough of herself to indulge in the luxury of woundedsusceptibility, --the atmosphere that surrounded her had been too roughand bracing for that; but nevertheless this afternoon she longed toindulge in a good cry. Happily, however, before the first tear hadbegun to redden her eyelids--indeed, she hardly got her mouth into theproper pucker--a vigorous pull at the bell warned her of an impendingvisitor, and immediately afterwards Sir Harry marched into the room, looking ruddier than ever with the cold air and exercise, his warmcoloring kindling a glow in the room. 

His heavy footsteps shook the old flooring of the vicarage; but as hegreeted Mattie he looked round him, as though somewhat surprised tofind her alone. 

"How do you do, Miss Mattie? Why, what have you done with yoursister?" he asked, in rather a disappointed tone. "I came to have achat with you both. "

Another little sting for Mattie: he had only come to see Grace. 

"She has gone out with Archie, " she returned, in a subdued voice. "Heis showing her the church and the schools. "

"I was up at the Friary just now, " he said, carelessly, "and they wereall talking about your sister, praising her up to the skies. What anodd capacity women have for falling in love with each other at firstsight! Phillis especially seemed very far gone. So I told them I wouldjust come and have a good look at this paragon: one cannot judge of aperson in a hat and veil. "

"I am sure you will like Grace, " replied Mattie, reviving a little atthe idea of her sister's perfections. "She is not pretty, exactly, though Archie and I think her so; but she is so nice and clever. Oh, you should hear those two talk! it is perfectly wonderful to listen tothem!"

"It strikes me you are a little left out in the cold, aren't you, MissMattie?" asked Sir Harry, with one of his shrewd good-humored looks. "Why did you not go out with them?"

"Oh, Archie never wants me when he has Grace, " answered Mattie, with asudden pang at the truthfulness of this speech. "They have always beenso much to each other, those two. "

"He would want you fast enough if Miss Grace--is that not hername?--were to marry and leave him to shift for himself, " was thesomewhat matter-of-fact answer. 

But Mattie shook her head at this with a faint smile:

"Grace will never marry. She would not leave Archie. "

"Oh, but that is nonsense, do you know?--sheer nonsense! Many girlstalk like that, but they change their mind in the end. Why, the parsonmay marry himself. You don't suppose a good looking fellow like thatintends to be an old bachelor? And then what will Miss Grace do?"

"I don't know. I am afraid she will miss him dreadfully. "

"Oh, but she will get over it all right. It does not do to make a fussover that sort of thing. Sentimentality between brothers and sistersis all very well in its way, but it won't hold against a wife's orhusband's claims. I never had any myself, so I don't know; but I findit precious lonely without them. That is why I have adopted mycousins. A man must care for some one. "

"Yes, indeed, " echoed Mattie, with a sigh. 

"I am afraid your people do not use you very well, Miss Mattie, " hewent on, with cheerful sympathy that was quite a cordial in its way. "You look a bit down this afternoon; a fellow would call it in theblues, and he would be thinking of a cigar and brandy-and-soda. What apity women don't smoke! it is no end soothing to the spirits!"

"We have got afternoon tea, " returned Mattie, beginning to smile atthis. 

"Well, why don't you ring and order some?" he replied, quiteseriously. "Do, please, Miss Mattie, if it will put a little heartinto you. Why, I should like a cup myself uncommonly. There never wassuch a fellow for afternoon tea. " And then Mattie did ring the bell, and, Sir Harry having stirred the fire into a cheerful blaze, and thelittle brass kettle beginning to sing cheerily on its trivet, thingssoon looked more comfortable. 

"Now you are all right, " he remarked, presently. "You look quite adifferent sort of body now. When I first came in you reminded me ofCinderella in a brown dress, sitting all alone, by a very black fire. I do believe you were on the verge of crying. Now, weren't you, MissMattie?" And Mattie, with much shame, owned to the impeachment. 

"And what was it all about, eh?" he asked, with such a coaxingperemptoriness that Mattie confessed that she was rather dull at thethought that nobody wanted her, and that she must go home; and, onbeing further pressed and questioned, out it all came, --Mattie'sshortcomings, her stupid ways, and the provocation she offered to homecriticism. Sir Harry listened and laughed, and every now and thenthrew in a jesting remark; but so encouraging was his manner and soevident his interest that Mattie found herself talking as she hadnever done to any one but Miss Middleton. Before she had finished, SirHarry knew all about the household in Lowder Street, and had formed atolerable estimate of every member of the family, --the depressedfather; the care-worn and some what stern mother; the boys, clever andhandsome and flippant; the girls in all stages of awkwardness; and thequiet, talented Grace, who was every one's right hand, and who hadcome to the vicarage to dispossess Mattie. 

"Come, now, I call that hard; I do, upon my word!" he repeated morethan once at the end of Mattie's little narrative. "Women have a lotput upon them. I dare say if I had had sisters I should have bulliedthem sometimes. Men are awful tyrants, aren't they, Miss Mattie?"

Mattie took this literally. 

"I do not think you would be a tyrant, Sir Harry, " she returned, simply, and then wondered why he suddenly colored up to the roots ofhis hair. 

"Oh, there is no knowing, " he replied, in an embarrassed tone. "I havenever had any one to bully. I think I shall try my hand on Dulce, onlyshe is such a little spit-fire. Well, I must be going, " he went on, straightening himself. "By the bye, I shall not see you again untilTuesday; I have to run over to Oldfield about a lot of business I havein hand. Do you know Oldfield?"

"Oh, no; but Nan and Phillis have described it so often that I seem asthough I have been there. "

"It is a niceish place, and I am half inclined to settle there myself;there is a house going that would just suit me. "

Mattie's face lengthened: she did not like the idea of losing SirHarry, he had been so good-natured and kind to her. 

"One would never see you if you live at Oldfield, " she said, a littlesorrowfully; and again Sir Harry looked embarrassed. 

"Oh, but you will be at Leeds, so it won't make much difference. But Ido not want to be parted from Aunt Catherine and the girls: there is agreat deal to arrange. Perhaps, before you go, I shall be able to tellyou that things are settled. Anyhow, good-bye till Tuesday. " And thenhe nodded to her in a friendly way, and Mattie returned to herfireplace refreshed and comforted. 

Archie and Grace came in presently, bringing another current of coldair with them. They both looked bright and happy, as though they hadenjoyed their walk. Grace's pale cheeks had the loveliest tinge inthem. 

"Have we left you too long alone, Mattie dear?" she asked, as she tookthe cup of tea offered her. "How cosy this dear old room looks! andwhat a beautiful fire!"

"Sir Harry has been emptying the coal-scuttle!" laughed Mattie. "Whata pity you missed him, Grace! he has been so amusing. "

Grace smiled incredulously:

"Why, that great big Sir Harry Challoner whom you introduced thismorning! my dear Mattie, I am sure he could never be amusing. I wasnot greatly prepossessed with him. "

"Mattie's geese are all swans. I don't think much of him myself, "broke in Archie, in a satirical voice. "I like quality better thanquantity. He is so big, I am sure his brains must suffer bycomparison. Now, there is Frere. "

"Oh, yes, we met Mr. Frere!" interrupted Grace, eagerly; "and Archieand he had such a talk: it was delightful only to listen to it. Iliked his ideas on ecclesiastical architecture, Archie. " And thenfollowed an animated discussion between the sister and brother, abouta book of Ruskin's that they had both been reading. Mattie tried tofollow them; but she had not read Ruskin, and they soon left her milesbehind; indeed, after the first few minutes they seemed to haveforgotten her existence; but somehow Mattie did not feel so forlorn asusual. 

"Come, now, I call that hard, " a sympathizing voice seemed to say inher ear. Sir Harry's genial presence, his blunt, kindly speeches, haddone Mattie good: he had called her Cinderella, and made the fireblaze for her, and had coaxed her in quite a brotherly manner to tellhim her little troubles and Mattie felt very grateful to him. 

So she stared into the fire wistful and happy, while the others talkedover her head, and quite started when she heard her own name. 

"We are forgetting Mattie; all this must be so dull for her, " Gracewas saying, as she touched her shoulder caressingly. "Come upstairswith me, dear: we can have a chat while we get ready for dinner. Youmust not let your friends make themselves so much at home, youextravagant child, for your fire is far too large for comfort;" butMattie turned away from it reluctantly as she followed her sister outof the room. 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

"I WILL WRITE NO SUCH LETTER. "

The new year had not opened very auspiciously at Longmead, neither hadthe Christmas festivities been great. 

Dick on his first return home had put on a great appearance ofcheerfulness, and had carried himself much as usual; but Mr. Mayne hadbeen glum, decidedly glum, and Mrs. Mayne had found it difficult toadjust the balance of her sympathy between Dick's voluble quicksilveron the one hand, and her husband's dead weight of ill humor on theother. 

The truth was, Mr. Mayne's sharp eyes had discerned from the firstmoment of his son's entrance into the house that there was no changein his purpose. 

To an outsider, Dick's behavior to his father was as nice as possible. He still kept up his old jokes, rallying him on his matutinalactivity, and saying a word about the "early worm, " "so bad for theworm, poor beggar, " observed Dick. And he sauntered after him into thepoultry-yard, and had a great deal to say about some Spanish fowlsthat had been lately imported into Longmead and that were greatsources of pride to Mr. Mayne. 

Dick paid a great deal of dutiful attention to his father's hobbies:he put on his thickest boots every day after luncheon, that his fathermight enjoy the long walks in which he delighted. Dick used to sallyforth whistling to his dogs when they went down Sandy Lane; he wascareful to pause where the four roads met, that Mr. Mayne might enjoyhis favorite view. In all these things Dick's behavior was perfect. Nevertheless, on their return from one of these walks they each had asecret grievance to pour into Mrs. Mayne's ear. 

Dick's turn would come first. 

"Mother, " he would say, as he lounged into the room where she satknitting by the firelight and thinking of her boy--for just now shewas heart and soul on Dick's side--and full of yearning for the sweetgirl whom he wanted for his wife, "I don't know how long this sort ofthing is going on, but I don't think I can put up with it muchlonger. "

"Have you not had a nice walk with your father?" she asked, anxiously. 

"Oh, yes; the walk was well enough. We had some trouble with Vigo, though, for he startled a pheasant in Lord Fitzroy's preserve, andthen he bolted after a hare. I had quite a difficulty in getting himto heel. "

"These walks do your father so much good, Dick. "

"That is what you always say; but I do not think I can stand many moreof them. He will talk of everything but the one subject, and that heavoids like poison. I shall have to bring him to book directly, andthen there will be no end of a row. It is not the row I mind, "continued Dick, rather ruefully; "but I hate putting him out andseeing him cut up rough. If he would only be sensible and give me myway in this, there is nothing I would not do to please him. You musttalk to him; you must indeed, mother. " And then Mrs. Mayne, with asinking heart, promised that she would do what she could. 

And after that it would be her husband's turn. 

"I tell you what Bessie; I am not satisfied about that boy, " heremarked, once, as he came in to warm his hands before going upstairsto dress for dinner. "I don't know from whom he gets hisobstinacy, --not from either of us, I am sure of that, --but hischeerfulness does not deceive me. He means mischief; I can see thatplainly. "

"Oh, Richard! And Dick has been so nice to you ever since he camehome. Why, he has not once asked to have any of his friends down tostay. And before this he was never content unless we filled the house. He takes walks with you, and is as domesticated and quiet as possible, so different from other young fellows, who are always racketingabout. "

"That is just what bothers me, " returned her husband, crossly. "Youhave no discernment, Bessie, or you would know what I mean. I shouldnot care a straw if Dick were to cram the house with young fellows:that sort of larking is just natural at his age. Why, he quitepooh-poohed the idea of a dinner-party the other night, though Iplanned it for his pleasure. His mind is set on other things, and thatis why I say he is up to mischief. "

Mrs. Mayne sighed as she smoothed down her satin dress with her plumpwhite hands; but she could not gainsay the truth of this speech: hisfather was right, --Dick's mind was set on other things. 

"I wish you would let him talk to you, " she began, timidly, remembering her promise. "Do, my dear; for I am sure Dick is very muchin earnest. "

"So am I very much in earnest, " he returned, wrathfully; and his smalleyes grew bright and irritable. "No, it is no use your looking at mein that way, Bessie. I am determined not to allow that boy to ruinhis prospects for life. He will thank me one day for being firm; andso will you, though you do turn against your own husband. "

This was too much for Mrs. Mayne's affectionate nature to bear. 

"Oh, Richard, how can you talk so? and I have been a good wife to youall these years!" And here the poor woman began to sob. "You mightmake allowance for a mother's feelings; he is my boy as well as yours, and I would cut off my right hand to make him happy; and I do--I dothink you are very hard upon him about Nan. "

Mr. Mayne stared at her in speechless amazement. Bessie, hislong-suffering Bessie, --the wife of his bosom, over whom he had aright to tyrannize, --even she had turned against him, and had takenhis son's part. "Et tu, Brute!" he could have said, in his bitterness;but his wrath was too great. 

"I tell you what, " he said, rising from the seat that was no longerrestful to him, and pointing his finger at her, "you and your boytogether will be the death of me. "

"Oh, Richard, how can you be so wicked?"

"Oh, I am wicked, am I? That is a nice wifely speech. "

"Yes, you are, when you say such things to me!" she returned, pluckingup spirit that amazed herself afterwards. "If you do not know when youhave a good wife and son, I am sorry for you. I say again, I think youare making a grievous mistake, Richard. Dick's heart is set on thegirl; and I don't wonder at it, a dear pretty creature like that. Andif you cross him, and set him wrong, you will have to answer to bothof us for the consequences. " And then she, too, rose, trembling inevery limb, and with her comely face very much flushed. Even a wormwill turn, and Bessie Mayne had for once ventured to speak the truthto her husband. 

She had the victory that night, for he was too much dumbfounded by herrebellion to indulge in his usual recriminations: he had neverimagined before that Bessie owned a will of her own; but he felt now, with a pang of wounded self-love, that the younger Richard had proveda formidable rival. 

His wife's heart relented when she saw his moody looks; but he wouldnot be reconciled to her, in spite of her coaxing speeches. 

"Come Richard, --come, my dear! you must not be so cross with me, " shesaid to him later on that night. "We have been marriedthree-and-twenty years, and have never had a serious quarrel; and Idon't like your black looks at me. "

"Then you should not anger me by taking that boy's part, " was his onlyanswer; and he could not be induced to say anything more conciliatory. And the poor woman went to bed weeping. 

Things were in this uncomfortable state, when, one morning, Dickthrust his head into the study where his father was jotting down somehousehold accounts; for he managed all such minor details himself, much to his wife's relief. 

"Are you particularly busy, father?--I want to have a talk with you. "

Mr. Mayne looked up quickly, and his bushy eyebrows drew together. 

"Well, yes, I am, Dick, --most particularly busy just now;" for therewas a look on his son's face that made him feel disinclined forconversation. 

"Oh, very well, then; I can leave it until after luncheon, " was thecheerful response; then Mr. Mayne knew that Dick was determined totake the bull by the horns. 

They went out after luncheon, taking the dogs with them, and turningtheir steps in the direction of Sandy Lane. For the first mile, Dicksaid very little; he had his eye on Vigo, who seemed to be inclined tobolt. But when they had reached the second mile-stone, he cleared histhroat; and then Mr. Mayne knew that his trouble was beginning. 

"Well, father, " commenced Dick, "I think it is about time we had alittle serious talk together about my future plans. Of course I wantto know if I am to go down next term. "

"I don't see that we need discuss that. You will read for your degree, of course. "

Mr. Mayne spoke fast and nervously; but Dick was quite cool, --atleast, outwardly so. 

"There is no 'of course' in the matter. I can only read for my degreeon one condition. "

"And what is that, may I ask?" with rising choler in his voice. 

"That you will have Nan down to Longmead, and that you and my mothersanction our engagement. "

"Never, sir! never!" in a vehement tone. 

"Please don't excite yourself, father. I think it is I who ought to beexcited; but, you see, I am quite cool, --perfectly so. I am far toomuch in earnest to be otherwise. When a man's future prospects are atstake, and his own father seems determined to thwart him, it is timeto summon up all one's energies. I hope you are not serious in whatyou say, --that you do absolutely refuse to sanction my engagement withNan?"

"There is no engagement. If there were, I do absolutely refuse; nay, more, I am determined actively to oppose it. "

"I am sorry to find you have not changed your mind; for it makes allthe difference to me, I assure you. Very well: then I must go in for aCity life. "

"Do you threaten me, sir?"

"No, father, I would not be so undutiful; but it is a pity yourthrowing all that money away on my education if I am not to completeit. If I had taken a good degree, I might have turned out something;but never mind, --it can't be helped now. Then you will be kind enoughto write a letter of introduction to Stansfield & Stansfield?"

"No, sir; I will write no such letter!" thundered Mr. Mayne; and Dickput his hands in his pocket and whistled. He felt himself losingpatience; but, as he said afterwards, his father was in such an awfulrage that it was necessary for one of them to keep cool. So, as soonas he recovered, he said, quite pleasantly, --

"Well, if you will not, you will not. We may take a horse to thewater, but we can't make him drink. And the time has not come yet fora son to order his own father, though we are pretty well advancednow. "

"I think we are, Dick. "

"I confess I am rather disappointed at not getting that letter. Mr. Stansfield would have attached some importance to it; but I dare say Ishall get on with the old boy without it. I may as well tell you thatI shall accept anything he likes to offer me, --even if it be only aclerkship at eighty pounds a year. After all, I am not worse off thanyou were at my age. You began at the bottom of the ladder: so I neednot grumble. "

"Do you mean to say, " demanded his father, in a tone of grief, "thatyou really intend to throw me over, and not only me, but all youradvantages, your prospects in life, for the sake of this girl?"

"I think it is you who are throwing me over, " returned his son, candidly. "Put yourself in my place. When you were a young man, father, would you have given up my mother, if my grandfather hadwished you to do so?"

"The cases are different, --altogether different, " was the angryresponse. "I never would have married a dressmaker. "

"There are dressmakers and dressmakers: but at least my _fiancee_ is agentlewoman, " returned his son, hotly. 

Dick meant nothing by this speech more than his words implied: he wasfar too good-natured for an _arriere-pensee_. But his father chose toconsider himself insulted. 

"You insolent young fellow!" he exclaimed, fuming. "Do you mean yourmother was not as good as Miss Nancy, any day? I never did believe inthose Challoners, --never, in spite of the mother's airs. I tell youwhat, Dick, you are treating me shamefully; after all the money I havewasted on you, to turn round on me in this way and talk about theCity. I wash my hands of you, sir. I will have nothing to do withintroductions: you may go your way, but you will never see a penny ofmy money. " And he walked on with a very black look indeed. 

"All right, " returned Dick. But he was not quite so cool now. "Thankyou for all you have done for me, and for letting me know your futureintentions. I am thinking it is a good thing Nan has learned herbusiness, for, as we shall be tolerably poor, it will be handy for herto make her own gowns. "

"Very well, Dick. "

"I shall go up to Mr. Stansfield to-morrow; and the day after Isuppose I had better write to the Dean. You may not believe me, father, "--and here Dick's lip quivered for the first time, --"but I amawfully sorry to cross you in this way; but my heart is so set on Nanthat I could not possibly bring myself to live without her. " But tothis Mr. Mayne made no reply, and they walked the remainder of the wayin silence. 

Mrs. Mayne's heart grew sick with apprehension when she saw theirfaces at dinner. 

Dick looked decidedly cross. To do him justice, the poor fellow wasthoroughly miserable; but his aspect was cheerful compared to that ofher husband. 

Mr. Mayne would not speak; neither would he eat. And even the footman, who took away the untasted viands, looked at his master with fear andtrembling, his countenance was so gloomy. 

Dick did not seem to notice his father's failure of appetite; but Mrs. Mayne was one of those women who are given to fancy that if a manrefuse his dinner there is something serious the matter with him. Andas the meal proceeded she cast piteous looks at her son, but Dicktotally ignored them. 

As soon as the servants had handed round the fruit, and had left theroom, Mr. Mayne rose from the table, leaving his claret untasted, andshut himself into the library, first banging the door behind him, asound that made his wife's heart palpitate. 

"Oh, Dick, what was happened to your father?" she asked, turning toher boy for comfort. But Dick was unusually sulky, and refused toanswer. 

"You had better ask him, mother, if you are anxious to know, " hereplied, in a voice he very seldom used to her. "As for me, I am sosick of the whole thing, and feel myself so badly used, that I wouldrather not open my lips on the subject. "

Then Mrs. Mayne sighed, for she knew Dick had one of his obstinatefits on him, and that there would be no further word spoken by himthat night. 

Poor woman! She knew it was her duty to go into the library and speaka word of comfort to her husband. It might be that Dick had beencontumacious, and had angered his father, and it might be her task topour in the balm of sympathy. Even if he had been hard on her boy, shemust not forget that he was her husband. 

But as she opened the door she forgot her doubts in a moment. Mr. Mayne's face was so pale, despite its blackness, that she was moved toinstant pity. 

"Oh, Richard, what is it?" she said, hurrying to him, "My dear, youmust not take it to heart in this way. " And she took his foreheadbetween her hands and kissed it with the old tenderness she had oncefelt for him, when they, too, had lived and worked for each other, andthere was no Master Dick to plague them and rule over his mother'sheart. 

"Bessie, that boy will be the death of me, " he groaned. But, notwithstanding the despondency of these words, the comfort of hiswife's presence was visibly felt, and by and by he suffered her tocoax the truth from him. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

MR. MAYNE ORDERS A BASIN OF GRUEL. 

On the following morning Mr. Mayne did open his lips to address a wordto his son:

"I shall be obliged to you, Dick, if you will postpone your intendedvisit to town, for this day at least;" for Dick had an "ABC" besidehim, and was picking out a fast train while he ate his breakfast. 

"All right, " replied Dick: "I can wait another four-and-twenty hours. "But though he yielded the point graciously enough, he did not look athis father, or say anything more on the subject; and as soon as hisappetite was satisfied, he took up the "Times, " and lounged into hisden. Shortly afterwards they heard him whistling to his dogs, and knewthat he would not appear until luncheon. 

Mrs. Mayne wished that her husband would follow his example; but hehad put on his slippers, and showed no inclination to leave thefireside. He read his paper and dozed a good deal, and snapped upBessie if she spoke to him: so, on the whole, Mrs. Mayne had rather adull morning. When the luncheon-bell rang, he chose to put on invalidairs, and ordered a basin of gruel to be brought to him in thelibrary. Mrs. Mayne who knew he was not ill, and that hisindisposition was purely mental and imaginary, was yet wise enough tofall in with his whim. 

"Your master would like his gruel nicely flavored, James, " she said tothe footman. "Please ask Mrs. Simpkins to prepare it in the way helikes. " And then she placed his favorite little table beside him, andstirred the fire into a more cheerful blaze. 

"Your father does not feel himself well enough to come in to luncheon, Dick, " she said to her son, probably for the benefit of the servant, who was waiting to remove the covers; and Dick, for the same reason, testified a proper amount of sympathy. 

"He takes too long walks for a man of his age, " he said, applyinghimself vigorously to the dismemberment of a chicken. "Mother, I willtrouble you for some of that game-pie. " And then he told her anotheranecdote about Vigo. 

After luncheon Dick again disappeared, and Mrs. Mayne, who dreaded anafternoon's _tete-a-tete_ with her husband in his present mood, wentup to her own room, for some feminine business, or to take a nap. Mr. Mayne, a little mollified by the gruel, which had been flavoredexactly to his liking with a _soupcon_ of rum, was just composinghimself for another doze, when he was roused by the loud pealing ofthe hall bell, and the next moment the door was flung open by James, and Sir Henry Challoner was announced. 

It was a dark wintry afternoon, and the library was somewhat sombre:the fire had died down, owing to Mr. Mayne's drowsiness. In the dimlight Sir Harry's big burly figure looked almost gigantic. Mr. Mayne, with his little lean shoulders and sharp face, looked beside him muchas a small gray-hound would beside a mastiff. 

"How do you do?" began Sir Harry, in his loud voice. "I must apologizefor my intrusion; but I think my name is well known to you, and needsno introduction. I have often heard of Mr. Mayne, I can assure you. "

"You do me too much honor, " returned that gentleman, stiffly; and heglanced at the card in his hand. There it was, "Sir Henry Challoner. ""But what the----" And here his favorite expletive rose to his lips. 

"We can scarcely see each other's faces, " observed Sir Harry, cheerfully. "Will you allow me to take the liberty, though I have notknown you for seven years--and hardly for seven minutes!" And then heseized the poker, and broke up an obstinate piece of coal. 

"Actually, in my own house, and before my own eyes, " as Mr. Mayne toldhis wife afterwards. 

"There, now! I have made a glorious blaze. These are first-rate coals. Now we can have our talk comfortably together. You do not know mepersonally; but I dare say you have heard of my father, --Sir FrancisChalloner? Poor old fellow! I am afraid too many people heard of himin his time. "

"Yes, sir: but, as it is hardly becoming of me to say to his son, Ihave never heard much good of him. If I remember rightly, he did poorChalloner a bad turn once. "

"Hush, my good friend!" And Sir Harry's ruddy face looked a littledisturbed. "I thought no one but myself and Aunt Catherine knew thatstory. It is rather hard on a man to have this sort of things broughtup. And the poor old governor is dead now: so, if you will permit meto observe, bygones had better be bygones on that subject. "

"Oh, by all means, Sir Harry; but you introduced the matteryourself. "

"Excuse me, Mr. Mayne, " rather haughtily, "I introduced myself. I amthe son of Sir Francis. Well, if you know so much, you will understandthe sort of interest I take in my cousins and how I consider it myduty to make up to them for what they have lost. "

"Very proper, I am sure. "

"As to that, duty is a pleasure. They are such awfully jolly girls, and so uncommonly plucky, that I am as proud of them as though theywere my own sisters. Nan is so confoundedly pretty, too. I don'twonder at your son's taste. He must be a lucky fellow who gets Nan. "

"Sir!" vociferated Mr. Mayne; and Sir Harry immediately changed histactics:

"That is a tidy place opposite you, --Gilsbank, I mean. I have beenover there settling about the purchase. I am afraid Crauford is rathera screw: he wanted to drive too close a bargain. But I said, 'No; youshall have your money down, right and tight, but not a farthing over. 'And I insisted on my right to change the name if I like. I have half amind to call it 'Challoner Place. '"

Mr. Mayne was wide awake now; his astonishment knew no bounds. 

"You are going to buy Gilsbank!"

"I have bought it, " was the cool response; "and I am now in treaty forGlen Cottage. My aunt has a fancy for her old home; and, though it isnot much of a place, it is big enough for her and the girls; andIbbetson has done a good deal to improve it. You look surprised, Mr. Mayne; but I suppose a man must live somewhere!"

"Of course it is none of my business; but I thought Sir Francis was aspoor as a church mouse. Mrs. Challoner was my informant; and shealways led me to suppose so. "

"She was perfectly right. The poor old man never could keep money inhis pocket: it always seemed to slip through his fingers. But that isnot my case. I have been a lucky fellow all my life. I roughed it abit in the colonies at first; but it did me no harm. And then we madea splendid hit out in Sydney, --coined money, in fact. I would not liketo tell you what I made in one year: it seems blowing one's trumpet, somehow. But I soon got sick of making it; and here I am, with a tidyfortune, --plenty for myself, and enough to set up my aunt and thegirls comfortably without feeling the loss. And now, Mr. Mayne whenthey are back at Glen Cottage, I want to know what you will do aboutyour son. "

To do Mr Mayne justice, he was far too perplexed to answer off-hand;in fact, he was almost rendered dumb by excessive astonishment. Toborrow his own forcible expression, used to his wife afterwards, "hehardly knew where he was, things were so topsy-turvy. "

In the old days, before Dick had produced that wonderful moustachethat was so long in growing, Mr. Mayne had been very partial to hisneighbors at Glen Cottage. It is always pleasant to a man to patronizeand befriend a pretty woman; and Mrs. Challoner was an exceedinglypretty woman. It was quite an occupation to a busy man like the masterof Longmead to superintend their garden and give his advice on allsubjects that belong to a man's province. 

But for the last year, since Dick had so greatly developed in mentalculture, his father had been growing very weary even of the name ofChalloner; it had become a habit with him to decry them on everypossible occasion. "What is in a name?" he would say, when some personwould lament the dead-and-gone glories of Challoner Place. "There isnot a soul belonging to them, except that disreputable Sir Francis;and he is as good as a beggar. "

But since Glen Cottage had given way to the Friary, and thedressmaking scheme had been carried out, his opposition had becomeperfectly frantic: he could have sworn at Dick for his senselessness, his want of pride, his lamentable deficiency in ambition. "Never, aslong as my name is Richard Mayne, will I give in to that boy, " he hadvowed inwardly. 

And now there had suddenly started up, like a piece of gildedclap-trap, this amazing man of inches, calling himself their cousin, Sir Henry Challoner; a man who was absolutely tired of makingmoney, --who called Gilsbank, a far finer house than Longmead, a tidylittle place, and who could throw in Glen Cottage, that bijouresidence, as a sort of dower-house for widowed Challoners; a man whowould soon be talked about in Hadleigh, not because he was rich, --mostof the Hadleigh families were rich, --but because he was restoring anancient name to something of its old respectability. 

Mr. Mayne was essentially a shrewd, far-sighted man. Like otherself-made men, he attached great importance to good blood. In a momenthe realized that Nan Challoner of the Friary was a very differentperson from Nan Challoner of Glen Cottage, the cousin of Sir HenryChalloner. Under the latter circumstances she would be received onequal terms at Fitzroy Lodge and at the other houses of thearistocracy. In marrying her, Dick would be at once on an intimatefooting with those very people who only just tolerated his father. 

"Well, " observed Sir Harry, after a lengthy pause, "what do you sayabout the matter, eh? Though I have accumulated a pretty sum of money, I do not pretend to be a millionaire; and of course, as I may settledown some day and have a family of my own, I must not treat my cousinsas though they were my sisters. I think of allowing my aunt asufficient income during her lifetime to keep up Glen Cottage, and Ido not mind paying the girls three thousand pounds down on theirwedding-day just for pin-money; but more than that cannot be expectedof me. "

"Of course not, " returned Mr. Mayne; and then he hesitated. Threethousand pounds was not much of a fortune. Why, the girl he wanted forDick had fifteen thousand, at least; but then Dick would not look ather; and even three thousand was better than nothing. "I had hopedbetter things for my son, " he went on, stiffly. "I always meant Dickto marry money. "

"Oh, true, money is very good in its way; but then, you see, youngfellows are not always to be coerced. I believe there is a very strongattachment between your son and my cousin Nan. "

"It has cost me a great deal of vexation, " replied Mr. Mayne verytestily, --all the more that his resolution was wavering. "I do notwish to hurt your feelings, Sir Henry, but this confounded dressmakingof theirs----" But here Sir Harry stopped him by a most extraordinaryfacial contraction, which most certainly resembled a wink. 

"Hush!" he exclaimed, in a very loud whisper. "It does not matter tome, of course; but if I were you, I would not mention this little factto any one else. Girls are girls, and they will have their fling. Agood steady husband, that is what they want, the best of them, tosober them when the right time comes. I mean to put a stop to thisnonsense; but after all, a little bit of larking like that with a lotof high-spirited generous creatures, what does it matter in the longrun? You just settle things with me off-hand, and I will come to termswith the young ladies. I am the head of the family, as they know. " AndSir Harry threw out his big chest with a sudden movement of importanceand pride. "I am the head of the family: they will be pleased toremember that, " he repeated pompously. 

It was just at this moment, when victory lay within his grasp, thatDick sauntered lazily into the room. 

Dick was in an execrable humor: he was tired and worried, and hisboots were muddy. And what was the use of being still contumacious, unless his obstinacy were to be a spectacle to men and gods, --unlesshe were to flaunt his ill humor in the face of his tyrant, and makehis father's soul wretched within him? Such is youthful reasoning, that hates to veil its feelings unobserved. 

Dick had not perceived Sir Harry's card, so he stared at the intrudera little coolly. Sir Harry returned his look with a glance of mingledsurprise and amusement. 

"Is this the young gentleman in question?" he asked, in a tone thatroused Dick's ire. To tell the truth, he was a little disappointed byNan's choice. It was not so much Dick's want of good looks, but in SirHarry eyes he appeared somewhat insignificant; and then a scowl is notalways becoming to a face. Dick's bright genial expression waswanting; he looked a little too like his father at this moment for SirHarry's taste. 

"Do you mean me?" observed Dick, in a magnificent tone. "Is it I whoam the young gentleman in question?--Father, will you have thegoodness to introduce me to this gentleman with whom you have beentalking me over?" And Dick twirled his moustache angrily. 

Mr. Mayne looked at his son's moody face, and his feelings underwent asudden revulsion; but before he could speak Sir Harry stepped innimbly before him:

"Well now, I like spirit--no one cares to be talked about behindone's back. Supposing we shake hands, you and I, as we are to be sonearly related. I am Nan's guardian, her next of kin, --Sir HarryChalloner, at your service; and Nan sends her love and you are a luckyfellow, that is what you are!" exclaimed Sir Harry, genially, as hestruck Dick a sounding blow on his shoulder. But Dick did not wince;and, though the diamond ring cut into his hand as they exchanged thatgrasp, no expression of pain crossed his face, which became all atonce quite radiant. 

Sir Harry hailed the metamorphosis with delight. Here was the realDick emerging like a young sun-god from the clouds. 

"Come, that is first-rate; I like the look of you better now, " hesaid, with an appreciative nod. 

"Father, what does this mean?" faltered Dick. 

"It means, " growled Mr. Mayne, for he could not get quite amiable allat once, though his heart was lightening in his bosom, "it means thatI am an old fool, Dick, and that you are a young one. "

"No, father, --not really, --does it?" And Dick beamed still more. 

"And it means that you are not to plague me any more about the City. But there! though you have behaved so badly to me, Dick, I forgiveyou. Sir Harry and I have been talking over things, and if you willwork hard for your degree your mother shall ask the girl down here, and we will see about it, and that is all I can say at present. And sowe may as well shake hands upon it too. "

But Dick did more than that; he threw his arm over his father'sshoulder with a movement that was almost caressing. 

"Thank you, pater; you are a brick and no mistake!" was all theundemonstrative Briton's tongue could say. But Mr. Mayne, as he lookedin his boy's face and felt that pressure on his shoulder, thought themsufficiently eloquent. 

"There! get along with you, and have it out with your mother, " hegrowled. But, in spite of his surly tone, Mr. Mayne felt an amount ofrelief that astonished himself: to see Dick's face happy again, tohave no cloud between them, to know that no domestic discord wouldharass his soul and render gruel necessary to his well-being, wasrestoring him to his old self again. Sir Harry longed to throw backhis head and indulge in a good laugh as he witnessed this little sceneof reconciliation. 

Mrs. Mayne, who was sitting somewhat sadly by her own fireside, thinking over that day's discomfort, was quite taken aback by hearingDick coming upstairs in his old way--three steps at a time--and thenbursting into the room after a hasty knock at the door. 

"Mother, " he cried, breathlessly, "Sir Harry Challoner is in thelibrary--and pater wants you to come down and give them some tea--andSir Henry is going to stop to dinner--and the woodcock is to becooked--and you are to get the best room ready. But first of all--likethe dear, darling mother you are--you are to sit down and write aletter to Nan. "

But the letter was not written then; for how could Bessie keep herhusband and his guest waiting for their tea after such an urgentmessage? And had she not first of all to listen to Dick's incoherentstory, which she heard better from Sir Harry afterwards, who tookgreat pains to explain it to the poor bewildered woman?

Mr. Mayne thought he had never seen Bessie look so handsome since thedays he courted her, as she sat smiling at the head of the table inher velvet gown. And Sir Harry, too, was quite charmed with the soft, comely creature. 

Later on, while the two elder gentlemen were chatting confidentiallyover their cigars and whisky-and-water, she did manage to write a fewlines to Nan. But it was not much of a letter; for how was she toconstruct a decent sentence with that torment Dick hanging over theback of her chair and interrupting her every moment? But Nan was notill pleased by the missive when she received it. 

 * * * * *

"My own dear girl, " it said, --"my dearest girl, --for no daughter couldever be so dear to me as you will be, Nan, for my boy's sake, andbecause he loves you so. " ("You are right there, mother!" struck inDick, in a tone of ecstasy. ) "Everything has come right, through SirHenry's intercession and my Richard's goodness. " ("Humph!" coughedDick. "Well, it is not for the like of me to contradict you. ")

"You are to come to us--at once--at once, "--underlined, --"for Dickwill be going back to Oxford, so there is no time to lose; and youhave not got any good of your engagement yet. " ("Only just at thatlast moment, " muttered her son at this. )

"My precious boy looks so happy that I could cry with joy to see him. "("Oh, shut up, mother! Nan knows all that. ") "And his dear fatherlooks as pleased as possible, and he sends his love. " ("He did indeed, Dick, " as an incredulous sound broke from his lips), "and he saysbygones are bygones. And you are on no account to feel yourselfawkward as regards him, for of course Dick's _fiancee_" ("Are you surethat is spelt right, Dick?") "will bring her own welcome. Is not thata sweet speech for my Richard to say? So you will come, my dear, willyou not? And I remain, just what I always was, my Nan's lovingfriend, "Bessie Mayne. "

 * * * * *

And then the letter was carefully consigned to Dick's pocket, and indue course of time was delivered into Nan's fair hands. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

AN UNINVITED GUEST. 

During the next few days Grace and Phillis made great strides towardsintimacy; and, as though some magnetic influence attracted each toeach, they were to be found constantly together. Neither of them was agirl to indulge in gushing sentimentality; but Grace, whose refinedintellectual nature had hitherto met with no response except from herbrother, perceived at once Phillis's innate superiority and cleargenerous temperament. For the first time she felt feminine friendshipa possibility, and hailed it as a new-found joy. Nan testified herpleasure on more than one occasion: jealousy never found aresting-place in a corner of her heart. 

"I am so glad, Phillis, " she observed, once, "that you and GraceDrummond like each other so much. You have never found any girl equalto you yet; and I was always too stupid to give you what you wanted. "

"Oh, Nannie, as though I would change you for a dozen GraceDrummonds!" returned Phillis, stanch as ever to her domestic creed, that there never was and never could be such another as Nan. 

"Oh, of course we shall always be the same to each other, you and I, "returned Nan, seriously, "we are such old comrades, Phil; but then Ihave Dick, and it is only fair you should have some one too;" but shedid not understand why Phillis suddenly sighed and turned away. 

An amusing little incident happened to Phillis after this, which shegreatly enjoyed. Colonel Middleton's avoidance of them had long been asore point with her, as it was with Dulce. 

"I feel almost like that wicked Haman, " she said, once, in aserio-comic voice, "and as if he were my Mordecai. I shall never thinkwe have achieved perfect success until I have forced him to shakehands with me. " But Nan, who cared very little about such things, onlylaughed. 

On Sunday morning Colonel Middleton marched up the aisle rather morepompously than usual, and there followed him a tall, very solemn-facedyoung man, with serious eyes that reminded them of Elizabeth. 

"Son Hammond, " whispered Phillis, who was not always as devout as sheought to be; and Dulce tried hard to compose her dimples. 

Possibly the young officer was not as solemn as his looks, for hecertainly paid more attention to the opposite pew than he did to hisprayer-book; and as he walked home with his sister, Colonel Middletonbeing just then out of earshot, he questioned her rather closely onthe subject:

"Who were those girls, Elizabeth? I mean the three who were justopposite us with their mother. Are they visitors or residents?" ThenElizabeth told him very briefly their name and occupation. 

"Good gracious!" he returned, in a thunderstruck tone; and then all atonce he burst out laughing, as though at a good joke:

"I call that a piece of splendid pluck. Do you know, I could see in amoment there was something out of the common about them? They are allvery pretty, --at least good-looking, --and I liked their quiet style ofdress. You must introduce me to-morrow. "

"My dear Hammond, I can do nothing of the kind, " returned Elizabeth, glancing round in an alarmed way. "Father has refused to have them atBrooklyn; and it will annoy him terribly if you were to take anynotice of them. " But to this Hammond turned a deaf ear, and, though heforbore to question her any further on that occasion, he had fullymade up his mind that the introduction should take place as soon aspossible. 

As it fell out, accident favored him the very next day; for, as he wascalling with his sister, at the White House, who should be announcedthe next minute but the Misses Challoner, --Phillis and Dulce, who hadbeen bidden to afternoon tea!

Mrs. Cheyne kissed and welcomed them both. Then Captain Middleton wasintroduced; and they were soon chatting merrily together, toElizabeth's secret amusement. 

Captain Middleton made himself very agreeable to the two girls, asDulce observed afterwards. She had never before been so deceived in aman's appearance, --for he was not solemn at all; and, though theserious brown eyes certainly inspected them rather critically fromtime to time, he proved himself a bright amusing companion, and fullybore out his father's and sister's encomiums. 

The Middletons were easily induced to prolong their visit. Elizabethfelt herself a traitor to her father; but she could not refuseHammond's imploring glance. And so they stayed, and all took theirleave together. 

Mr. Cheyne walked down to the gate with them. He had an errand in thetown; and he and Elizabeth walked behind the young people, talkingthem over in a low voice. 

Now, it so happened that Colonel Middleton was trudging down theBraidwood Road; and as he neared the White House he looked up, andthere was his son walking contentedly with a Challoner girl on eachside of him, and the three were laughing merrily. 

It was Dulce who saw him first. 

"There comes your father!" she said; and she began to blush as shehad done on the day when he had left her at the gate of Brooklyn, talking to Elizabeth. 

Hammond proved himself quite worthy of the occasion. 

"Well met, father, " he called out, cheerily, "We seem all going oneway. I suppose no one needs any introduction? Of course you know myfather, Miss Challoner?"

Then the colonel threw down his arms. He had fought very bravely onhis son's behalf; but, after all his labors, his bristling defencesand skilful retreats, Hammond had of his own free will deliveredhimself into the hands of the Philistines. What was the use ofguarding an empty citadel?--his treasure was already in the enemy'sgrasp. 

All this was written on the colonel's lugubrious face as he bowedstiffly and walked in sorrowful silence beside them, shaking his whitehead at intervals; but no one but Dulce took any notice of his sombremood. 

Dulce was very timid by nature. She was the least outspoken of thethree, and always kept in the background, like a modest little flowerthat loved the shade; but she was very soft-hearted, and had greatregard for people's feelings. And the old man's downcast looks painedher; for how was she to know that he was secretly pleased at thismeeting?

"I hope--I wish--you did not mind knowing us so much. But it has notbeen our fault this afternoon, " sighed Dulce, stammering and blushingover her words. "You will believe that, will you not, ColonelMiddleton?"

If a cannon shot had been fired into the old warrior's ear, he couldhardly have started more than he did at these childish words. Helooked round. There was the little girl, looking up at him with theinnocent eyes he remembered so well, and her mouth puckered a littleas though she wanted to cry. 

This was more than any man could bear, even if he had a harder heartthan Colonel Middleton. 

"My dear, " he said, taking the little hand, "I have always wanted toknow you; Elizabeth will tell you that. I lost my heart to yoursisters the first day I saw them. I am sure we shall be good friendsin time, if you will forgive an old man's pride. " And then he pattedher hand as though she had been an infant. 

When Mr. Drummond sat down to dinner that evening, he astonishedMattie very much by saying, --

"You can ask the Middletons, after all, for your tea-party, if youlike, Mattie. What wonderful sight do you think I saw just now? Why, the colonel himself coming out from the Friary, and all the threegirls were round him, chattering as though they had known him alltheir life; and I am pretty sure that in spite of the dark, I saw 'sonHammond' behind him. " And Mattie, glad of the permission, gave theinvitation the next day. 

Mattie grew a little alarmed as the evening approached. It was herfirst party and she knew Archie would be critical; but Grace provedherself a useful ally. 

In spite of her efforts to keep in the background and leave Mattie inher position as mistress of her brother's house, she felt herselfbecoming insensibly its presiding spirit. 

Archie was tolerably good-natured to Mattie; but the habits of alifetime were too strong for him, and he still snubbed and repressedher at intervals. Mattie felt herself of no importance now that Gracehad come: her duties were usurped before her eyes. Archie made a freshdemand on her forbearance every day. 

"Why cannot you keep to the housekeeping, and let Grace do the schoolsand visitings?" he said, once. "It must come to her by and by, whenyou are gone; and I want her to begin as soon as possible. It will notdo to let her think she has come too soon, " implying that good tasteshould lead Mattie to resign of her own account. 

Poor Mattie! she had many a good cry in secret before that Tuesday. She could hardly help feeling pained to see how all-in-all those twowere to each other, and the glad eagerness Grace threw into her work, knowing the reward of commendation she would reap. "It must be sostrange never to be snubbed or scolded, --to do everything right, "Mattie thought. 

Grace felt very sorry for her, and petted her a good deal. The darklittle face had always a pained wistfulness on it now that touchedher. She spoke kindly of Mattie to her brother on all possibleoccasions. 

"I think Mattie is so generous in giving up to me as she does, " sheobserved, as Archie joined her in the drawing-room in expectation oftheir guests. Mattie had not yet made her appearance. She had beenlighting the wax candles and trimming a refractory lamp that refusedto burn, and had just run past her brother with blackened fingers andhot, tired face. 

"Oh, yes, she is good enough, " he returned, indifferently, as hestraightened a crooked candle; "but I wish she would not always belate. She has not begun to dress, and it is the time we appointed forthe Challoners to come. Of all things I hate unpunctuality and fuss, and Mattie is always so fussy. "

Grace's conscience pricked her. "I am afraid I left her too much todo, " she said, penitently. "Phillis asked me to go for a walk withthem; but I ought not to have left her. I will go and help her now. "

But Archie objected:

"No, no; let her be. You must not leave me alone to receive them. Hownice you look in that cream-colored dress, Grace! I thought it wouldsuit you. " But, though his eyes rested on her as he spoke, he seemedrather absent. And when the door-bell rang a moment afterwards, asudden flush came to his face. 

It was very odd to feel that he was receiving Nan as his guest. Hehad dreaded the ordeal greatly, but after the first moment it was notso bad. Grace, who had her suspicions and watched them closely, hadthem verified without doubt during the moment that followed theChalloners' entrance; but no other eyes but hers would have readanything amiss in the young vicar's gravely composed face. 

Nan, who was looking beautiful, met him with her usualunconsciousness: though neither of them knew it, it was this veryunconsciousness that was fast healing the wound. One cannot mourn longafter a lost dream, and there had never been any reality in it. Notone of Nan's thoughts had ever belonged to him for a moment: hisexistence, his individuality had never grazed the outer edge of hersusceptibilities. Dick had encased her from childhood in armor ofproof against all manhood. Archie felt this even as he touched herhand, and his lips gave her welcome. 

"I am so sorry your mother could not come, " he said, politely. Andthen he turned to Phillis, who was regarding him with an odd, dubiouslook. 

Archie felt the look, and his spirit rose in instant opposition. 

"Do you know the Middletons are to be here, after all?" he said, moving a little into the background, for this girl had keen vision, and, as of old, her sympathy moved him strangely. 

"Oh, then we shall be quite a party, " she returned, brightly. "Itseems ages since we have been at one, and I feel disposed to enjoymyself. The very sight of wax candles is exhilarating. I am halfafraid to touch coffee, for fear it will get into my head. And howsweet Grace looks in that dress!"

"Your _chef-d'oeuvre_!" he replied, rather wickedly. 

"Oh, yes, I recognize my handiwork, " returned Phillis, nonchalantly. "I am quite as proud of it as an artist would be of a picture. Herecomes Mattie; poor little thing! she seems tired, but she looks nice, too. "

Archie moved away after this, for the Middletons were announced; buthe thought as he left her that he had never seen her look so handsome. Nan's beauty had so blinded him that he had hardly been aware what acharming face Phillis really had: when she was pleased or excited shelighted up quite radiantly. 

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Mattie, fussily coming up at that moment. "Idon't know what has become of your cousin; but Captain Middleton saysall the trains have been snowed up. "

"If the train he is in has been snowed up, of course we must notexpect to see him this evening, " was Phillis's laughing reply. "Nevermind; I dare say we shall all survive it; though Harry is such a goodfellow, and I am immensely fond of him. "

"Oh, but the tea and coffee will be spoiled. I must go and pour it outnow. Look, Grace is making signs to me. "

"Shall I come and help you?" was the ready response. "What a prettylittle tea-table, Mattie, and how charmingly snug it looks in thebay-window! The gentlemen will wait on us, of course. I like this waybetter than servants handing round lukewarm cups from the kitchen: itis not so grand, but it is cosier. Was it your arrangement, Mattie?"

"Oh, yes, " returned Mattie, in a disconsolate tone, as she took herplace. "But, Phillis, are you really not anxious about your cousin? Itis so dreadful to think of him snowed up all night, with nothing toeat and drink!"

Phillis laughed outright at this. 

"My imagination will not conjure up such horrors. I believe Harry isat this moment sitting in the hotel discussing a good dinner before ablazing fire. " And, as Mattie looked injured at this, she continued, still more merrily: "My dear, are you such an ignoramus as to believethat any amount of wax candles and charming women will induce anEnglishman to forego his dinner? He will come by and by; and if hegets cold coffee, he will have his deserts. " And then Mattie's anxiousface grew more cheerful. 

The tea-table became the nucleus of the whole room before long. EvenMr. Frere, a tall scholarly-looking man, with spectacles and a verybald head, though he was still young, seemed drawn magnetically intothe circle that closed round Phillis. The girl was so natural andsprightly, there was such buoyancy and brightness in her manner; andyet no man could ever have taken a liberty with her, or mistaken thesource of that pure rippling fun. The light jesting tone, theunembarrassed manner, were as free from consciousness as though therewere gray-headed dons round her. And yet, alas for Phillis! there wasnot a word uttered in a certain voice that did not reach her earsomehow; not a movement that was lost upon her, even when she chattedand laughed with those who stood round her. 

Colonel Middleton was stanch to his little favorite, and sat on thecouch between her and Grace, while Nan and Miss Middleton talkedapart. Nan watched the tea-table smilingly. She did so love to seePhillis happy; it never occurred to her to feel herself a littleneglected, or to wonder why the grave young master of the house soseldom addressed her: thoughts of this sort never entered Nan's head. 

But she grew a little silent by and by, and began to answer Elizabethsomewhat absently. She did not know what it meant, but a certainstrong longing took possession of her, --a sort of craving to seeDick's face and hear his voice. It was foolish, of course; and thenshe roused herself with difficulty. 

"How late Harry is! I wonder if the train be really snowed up! Oh, that must be he!" as the door-bell sounded. "Mattie will be glad; shewas so afraid the coffee would be cold. " For Mattie had poured thisgrievance into every one's ears. 

Of course it was Sir Harry. Yes, as the door opened, there were thebroad, genial face and the massive shoulders that could only belongto one person. And who was this young man following him, --a somewhatinsignificant young man compared to this son of Anak, --a young manwith sandy hair, with a trivial moustache, with a free, carelessexpression of good-nature that seemed somehow stamped on hisfeatures?

Nan did not speak or move in her corner; but she locked her handstogether tightly, and a most wonderful blush came to her face; for theyoung man's eyes had moved quickly round the room, with an eagerexpression in them, and had just rested upon her. 

Nan sat immovable while Sir Harry, gave the necessary introduction inhis loud, jovial voice:

"I am sorry to be late, --I am, 'pon my honor, Miss Mattie! but itcould not be helped: could it, Mayne? Mr. Drummond, I have taken theliberty to bring a friend with me; he is my guest at present, --Mr. Richard Mayne. He has come down to Hadleigh to see some oldacquaintances of his. "

"Dick! Oh, Dick!" the words would come out now. Miss Middleton hadjudiciously vacated the corner of the couch, and Dick had boldlyplaced himself there instead, after first touching Nan's tremblinghand. "What does it mean? Why have you startled me so?" she whispered, for they were in a snug corner, and no one was near them. 

"I suppose a man has a right to come and look after his ownbelongings?" returned Dick, in the coolest possible manner. But hiseyes were more eloquent than his words, as usual. "How lovely you arelooking, Nan! I do believe you grow prettier every day. And are youglad to see me?--half or a quarter as glad as I am to see you?"

"I was thinking of you, " she returned, softly. "I was wondering whatyou were doing, and picturing you at Longmead; and then the dooropened, and there you were, half hidden by Harry; and I thought I wasdreaming. "

"Well, that was transmission of thought, don't you see?--animalmagnetism, and all that sort of thing. You thought of me because I wasthinking of you; but you did not know that only the door divided us. Oh, Nan! isn't it awfully jolly to be together again?"

"Yes; but I don't understand it yet, " she replied. "Have you comewithout your father's permission, Dick? Are you sure he will not bevery angry?"

"Oh, no; the pater is all right. Sir Harry--what a brick that fellowis!--has talked him over, and he has given his consent to ourengagement. Look here, Nan! what you have got to do is to pack up yourthings, and I am to take you down to-morrow. This is a note frommother, and you will see what she says. " And Nan's gloved hand closedeagerly upon the precious missive. 

The letter could not be read just then. Nan sent Dick away after that, though he would willingly have remained in his corner during theremainder of the evening. He went off grumbling, to be civil to hishostess, and Nan remained behind trying to calm herself. It was "allright, " Dick had told her. She was to go down with him the next day todear Longmead. Were their troubles really over? Well, she would hearall about it to-morrow. She must wait patiently until then. 

Nan did not long remain alone. Archie, who had watched this littlescene from the bay-window, suddenly took his opportunity and crossedthe room. 

Nan looked up at him with a happy smile. 

"You have had a surprise this evening, have you not, Miss Challoner?Sir Harry has just been telling me all about it. You will permit menow to offer my congratulations?"

"Most certainly, Mr. Drummond. "

"I am so glad, for both your sakes, that things should be socomfortably settled, " he went on, placing himself beside her, --amovement that mightily displeased Dick, who had conceived a dislike tothe handsome parson from the first. "A parent's opposition is always aserious drawback in such cases; but Sir Harry tells me that Mr. Maynehas given his full consent. "

"I believe so, " returned Nan, blushing a little; "but I really hardlyknow any particulars. It is such a surprise to me altogether; but hismother has written to me, and I am expected down there. "

"You have my warmest wishes for your happiness, " continued Archie, gravely; and then Nan thanked him. 

But here Dick interrupted them. He was still new to his _role_, andhardly had the assurance that belongs to the engaged man, who feelshimself safely steering towards the desired haven of matrimony. Itappeared to him that on this evening he ought not to lose sight of Nanfor a moment. To see Mr. Drummond taking his place was too much forhim, and he put down his untasted coffee. 

"I am afraid it is rather cold, " observed Mattie, anxiously; but shespoke to deaf ears. 

Dick was already half-way to the corner. Nan received him a littleshyly; but Mr. Drummond at once took the hint. 

"Oh, Dick, people will notice! you must take care, " remonstrated Nan. 

She was preparing one of those gentle little lectures to which shesometimes treated him, and to which he was wont to listen with theutmost submission; but, to her intense surprise, he turned restive. 

"That was all very well when things were not settled between us, "observed Dick, decidedly. "Now we are engaged, of course I shallassert my rights publicly. What does it matter if people notice? Theywill only think what a lucky fellow I am, and how they would like tobe in my place. Do you think I was going to remain at the other end ofthe room while that parson was talking to you?" And then Nan all atonce discovered that, in spite of Dick's boyish looks and easytemper, she had found her master, --that, like other men, he wascapable of jealousy and insisted on an entire and undividedallegiance. 

Nan was weak enough to like him all the better for this little touchof tyranny; and, after all, though she felt it a little hard on Mr. Drummond, who was so harmless and good-natured, the sense of thismonopoly was very sweet to her. 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

A NEW INVASION OF THE GOTHS. 

It was the most successful evening--every one said so; but, somehow, Mattie had not enjoyed it. She supposed she was tired; that lamp hadworried her; but, though every one had been very pleasant, and hadsaid nice things to her, --even that formidable Mr. Frere, --Mattie feltsomething had been lacking. She had been very pleased to see SirHarry, and he had come up to her at once and spoken to her in hisusual genial manner; but after the first few minutes, during which hehad drunk his coffee standing beside her, she did not remember that hehad again addressed her. After that, he had made his way to Grace, anddid not stir for a long time. 

Mattie had Colonel Middleton on her hands then; but her eyes wouldstray to that part of the room. How pretty Grace looked in that softcreamy dress, with the dainty lace ruffles that Archie had sent her!Her face generally wanted color and animation, but to-night she wasquite rosy by comparison. She seemed to find Sir Harry amusing, forshe looked up at him very brightly. And then Archie joined them: hewould not be _de trop_ there, he knew. And the three talked as thoughthey never meant to leave off. 

When Sir Harry came to take his leave, he said, a little abruptly, --

"I like that sister of yours, Miss Mattie. She is sensible for a girl;and yet she knows how to laugh. Clever girls are generally a littlepriggish, do you know? But one need not be afraid of Miss Grace. " AndMattie knew that from Sir Harry this was high praise. 

"Every one likes Grace, " she faltered. 

"I am not surprised at that, " was the ready response; and then heshook hands and thanked her for the pleasant evening. He did not evenlook at her as he spoke, Mattie remembered afterwards: he was watchingNan, who was smiling on Dick's arm. 

The young vicar stood bare-headed on the snowy door-step, as hisguests merrily trooped out together. Dick and Nan came first: Nan hada scarlet hood over her bright hair, and Dick was grumbling over thelightness of her cloak, and was wrapping his gray overcoat round her. 

"Nonsense, Nan! I insist upon it! and you know nothing gives me cold!"Dick was saying, in his authoritative way; and then of course Nanyielded. 

"'Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, '" sang Phillis, mockingly, who wasfollowing them under Captain Middleton's escort. "Don't you thinkengaged people are sometimes very masterful?" She spoke, of course, toher companion; but he had turned to warn his father and Dulce of anawkward step, and Archie intercepted the sentence:

"Most men are masterful, Miss Challoner. You will find that out someday for yourself. " He meant nothing by this little speech, and he wasrather taken aback by the sudden hot blush that came to the girl'sface, and the almost angry light in her eyes, as she turned away fromhim and ran down the slippery steps, to Captain Middleton's alarm. 

"'On yonder lea, on yonder lea, '" they heard her humming gayly; andHammond caught the refrain, and finished it in a fine manly bass, while Archie stood still under the wintry sky. Why had she looked likethat at him? What was there in his lightly-uttered speech to offendher?

Grace was standing alone when he re-entered the drawing-room. Most ofthe wax candles were extinguished, but the soft glow of the firelightirradiated the farthest corner of the room. 

"What a glorious fire!" he said, warming his chilly hands at it, andthen throwing himself into the easy-chair that Grace silently placedfor him. "And where is Mattie? Really, she did very well to-night. "

"You must tell her to-morrow, she will be so pleased; she seems tired, and her head aches, so I advised her to go to bed. " And, though Archiedid not say openly that he approved of this sensible advice, heimplied it by the way he drew a low chair forward for Grace, --so closebeside him that she could rest her arm upon the cushioned elbow ofhis. 

They remained comfortably silent for along time: it was Grace whospoke first. 

"Archie, " she said, rather nervously, but her eyes had a settledpurpose in them, "shall you be angry if I disobey you, dear, and speakagain on a certain subject?"

"What subject?" he asked, rather surprised by her manner. He had not anotion to what she was referring; he did not know how during that longsilence their thoughts had been couching the same point, and that allthis time she was seeking courage to speak to him. 

"I know your secret, Archie; I discovered it to-night. "

"My secret!" he returned, in utter amazement. "I have no secret, Gracie. " And then, as he caught her meaning, a cloud came to his brow. "But this is nonsense!" he continued harshly, --"pure nonsense; put itout of your head. "

"I saw it to-night, " she went on, in a very low voice, undisturbed byhis evident displeasure. "She is good and sweet, and quite lovely, Archie, and that young man is not half worthy of her; but she has nothought but for him. "

"Do you think I do not know that?" he returned, in an exasperatedtone. "Grace, I will not have you talk in this way. I am cured, --quitecured: it was nothing but a passing folly. "

"A folly that made you very unhappy, my poor Archie; but--hush! youmust not interrupt me--I am not going to talk about her. "

"Oh, that is well, " he returned, in a relieved tone. 

"I was sorry--just a little sorry--at first, because I knew how muchit had cost you; but this evening I could have found it in my heart tobe angry with you, --yes, even with you. 'Oh, the blindness of thesemen!' I thought: 'why will they trample on their own happiness?'"

"Are you speaking of me?" he asked, in a bewildered tone. 

"Of whom should I be speaking?" she answered; and her voice had apeculiar meaning in it. "You are my dear brother, --my dearest brother;but you are no more sensible than other men. "

"I suppose not, " he returned, staring at her; "I suppose not. "

"Many men have done what you are doing, " she went on, quietly. "Manyhave wanted what belonged to another, and have turned their backs uponthe blessing that might have been theirs. It is the game ofcross-purposes. Do you remember that picture, Archie, --the lovelyprint you longed to buy--the two girls and the two men? There was thepretty demure maiden in front, and at the back a girl with a farsweeter face to my mind, watching the gloomy-looking fellow who isregarding his divinity from afar. There was a face here to-night thatbrought that second girl strongly to my mind; and I caught anexpression on it once----" Here Archie violently started. 

"Hush! hush! what are you implying? Grace, you are romancing; you donot mean this?"

"As there is a heaven above us, I do mean it, Archie. "

"Then, for God's sake, not another word!" And then he rose from hisseat, and stood on the rug. 

"You are not really angry with me?" she urged, frightened at hisvehemence. 

"No; I am not angry. I never am angry with you, Grace, as you know;but all the same there are some things that never should be said. "And, when he had thus gravely rebuked her speech, he kissed herforehead, and muttering some excuse about the lateness of the hour, left the room. 

Grace crept away to her chamber a little discomfited by this rebuff, gently as it had been given; but if she had only guessed the commotionthose few hinted words had raised in her brother's mind!

He had understood her; in one moment he had understood her. As thoughby a lightning-flash of intelligence, the truth had dawned upon him;and if an electric shock had passed through his frame and set all hisnerves tingling he could not have been more deeply shaken. 

Was that what she thought, too, when she had turned away from him withthat quiet look of scorn on her face! Did she know of any possibleblessing that might have been his, only that he had turned his backupon it, crying out childishly for a shadowy happiness? Did she mutterto herself also, "Oh, the blindness of these men!"?

There is an old saying, greatly credited by the generality of people, that hearts are often caught at the rebound, --that in their painfultossings from uneven heights and depths, and that sad swinging overuncertain abysses, some are suddenly attracted and held fast; andthere is sufficient proof to warrant the truth of this adage. 

The measurements of pain are unequal: different natures hold differentcapacities. A trouble that seems very real at the time, and full ofstings, may be found later on to be largely alloyed by woundedself-love and frustrated vanity. Sound it with the plumb-line ofexperience, of time, of wakening hopefulness, and it may sink fathoms, and by and by end in nothingness, or perhaps more truly in just asense of salt bitterness between the teeth, as when one plunges in awaning tide. 

Not that Archie realized all this as he paced his room that night: no;he was very strangely moved and excited. Something, he knew not what, had again stirred the monotony of his life. He had been sick and sadfor a long time; for men are like children, and fret sometimes afterthe unattainable, if their hearts be set upon it. And yet, though heforbore to question himself too closely that night, how much of hispain had been due to wounded vanity and crossed wilfulness!

It was long before he could sleep, for the sudden broadening of theprospective of his future kept him wide awake and restless. It was asthough he had been straining his eyes to look down a long, gray vista, where he saw things dimly, and that suddenly there was a low light onthe horizon, --not brilliant, not even clear; but it spoke ofapproaching daybreak. By and by the path would be more plainlyvisible. 

There was great excitement at the Friary on the next day. They hadfound it hard to get rid of Dick the previous night; but Sir Harry, who read his aunt's tired face rightly, had carried him off almost bysheer force, after a lengthy leave-taking with Nan in the passage. 

It was only Mrs. Challoner who was tired. Poor woman! she was fairlyworn out by the violence of her conflicting feeling, --by sympathy withNan in her happiness, with pleasure in Dick's demonstrative joy, andsorrow at the thought of losing her child. The girl herself was fartoo much excited for sleep. 

She and Phillis did all the packing for the next day, and it was notuntil Dulce sleepily warned them of the lateness of the hour that theyconsented to separate; and then Nan sat by the parlor fire a long timealone, enjoying the luxury of undisturbed meditation. 

But the next morning, just as they had gone into the work-room, --notto settle to any business, --that was impossible under the presentexciting circumstances, --but just to fold up and despatch a gown thathad been finished for Mrs. Squails, while Dulce put thefinishing-touches to Mrs. Cheyne's tweed dress, Nan announced in aglad voice that their cousin and Dick were at the gate; "and I am sothankful we packed last night, " she continued, "for Dick will not letme have a free moment until we start. "

"You should keep him in better order, " observed Phillis, tersely: "ifyou give him his own way so much, you will not have a will of your ownwhen you are married: will she, mother?" Mrs. Challoner smiled alittle feebly in answer to this: she could not remember the time whenshe had had a will of her own. 

Nan went out shyly to meet them; but she could not understand herreception at all. Dick's grasp of her hand was sufficiently eloquent, but he said nothing; and Nan thought he was trying not to laugh, forthere was a gleam of fun in his eyes, though he endeavored to looksolemn. Sir Harry's face, too, wore an expression of portentousgravity. 

"Are you all in the work-room, Nan?" he asked, in a tone as thoughthey were assembled at a funeral. 

"Yes; mother and all, " answered Nan, brightly. "What is the matterwith you both? You look dreadfully solemn. "

"Because we have a little business before us, " returned Sir Harry, wrinkling his brows and frowning at Dick. "Come, Mayne, if you areready. "

"Wait a minute, Nan. I will speak to you afterwards, " observed thatyoung gentleman, divesting himself of his gray overcoat; and Nan, verymuch puzzled, preceded them into the room. 

"How do you do, Aunt Catherine? Good-morning, girls, " nodded SirHarry; and then he looked at Dick. And what were they both doing? Werethey mad? They must have taken leave of their senses; for Dick hadraised his foot gently, --very gently, --and Mrs. Squails's red merinogown lay in the passage. At the same moment, Sir Harry's huge hand hadclosed over the tweed, and, by a dexterous thrust, had flung it as faras the kitchen. And now Dick was bundling out the sewing-machine. 

"Dick! oh, Dick!" in an alarmed voice from Dulce. And Phillis flew tothe great carved wardrobe, that Sir Harry was ransacking; while Nanvainly strove to rescue the fashion-books that Dick was now flinginginto the fender. 

"Oh, you great Goth! You stupid, ridiculous Harry!" observed Phillis, scornfully, while the rolls of silk and satin and yards of trimmingwere tossed lightly into a heap of _debris_. 

Laddie was growling and choking over the buttons. Dorothy afterwardscarried away a whole shovelful of pins and hooks and eyes. 

Nan sat down by her mother and folded her hands on her lap. When menwere masterful, it was time for maidens to sit still. Dulce reallylooked frightened; but Phillis presently broke into a laugh. 

"This is a parable of nature, " she said. "Mammie, does your head ache?Would you like to go into the next room?"

"There, we have about done!" observed Sir Harry. "The place is prettywell clear: isn't it, Mayne?" And, as Dick nodded a cheerful assent, he shut the door of the wardrobe, locked it, and, with much solemnity, put the key in his pocket. "Now for my parable, " he said. "AuntCatherine, you will excuse a bit of a spree, but one must take thehigh hand with these girls. I have bundled out the whole lot oftrumpery; but, as head of this family, I am not going to stand anymore of this nonsense. "

"Oh, indeed!" put in Phillis. "I hope Mrs. Squails will take hercreased gown! Dulce, the sewing-machine is right on the top of it, --amost improving process, certainly. "

"Now, Phillis, you will just shut up with your nonsense! As head ofthe family, I am not going to stand any more of this sort of thing. "

"What sort of thing?" asked Mrs. Challoner, timidly. "My dears, Ithought it was only fun; but I do believe your cousin is in earnest. "

"I am quite in earnest, Aunt Catherine, " returned Sir Harry, sittingdown beside her, and taking her hand. "I hope our bit of larking hasnot been too much for you; but that fellow vowed it would be a goodjoke. " Here Dick's eyes twinkled. "If Mrs. Squails's gown is spoiled, I will buy her another; but on your peril, girls, if you put a stitchin any but your own from this day forward!"

"Please your honor, kindly, " whined Phillis, dropping a courtesy, "andwhat will your honor have us do?"

"Do!" and then he broke into a laugh. "Oh, I will tell you thatpresently. All I know is, Nan is engaged to my friend Mayne here; andI have promised his father, on my word as a gentleman and head of thisfamily, that this dressmaking humbug shall be given up. "

"You had no right to give such a promise, " returned Phillis, offendedat this; but Nan's hand stole into Dick's. She understood now. 

"But, Harry, my dear, " asked Mrs. Challoner, "what would you have themdo?"

"Oh, play tennis, --dance, --flirt, if they like! How do young ladiesgenerally occupy their time? Don't let us talk about such pettydetails as this. I want to tell you about my new house. You all knowGilsbank? Well, it is 'Challoner Place' now. "

"You have bought it, Harry?"

"Yes; I have bought it, " he returned, coolly. "And what is more, Ihope to settle down there in another month's time. How soon do youthink you will be ready to move, Aunt Catherine?"

"My dear!" in a voice of mild astonishment. But Dulce clapped herhands: she thought she guessed his meaning. "Are we to live with you, Harry? Do you really mean to take us with you?"

"Of course I shall take you with me; but not to Challoner Place. Thatwould be rather close quarters; and--and--I may make differentarrangements, " rather sheepishly. "Aunt Catherine, Glen Cottage willbe all ready for you and the girls. I have settled about thefurniture; and Mrs. Mayne will have fires lighted whenever you like tocome down. Why, aunt, --dear Aunt Catherine, " as he felt her thin handtremble in his, and the tears started to her eyes, "did you not tellme how much you loved your old home? And do you think, when you haveno son to take care of you, that I should ever let you be far fromme?"

"Confound you!" growled Dick. "Is not a son-in-law as good as a sonany day. "

But no one heard this but Nan. 

Mrs. Challoner was weeping for joy, and Dulce was keeping her company;but Phillis walked up to her cousin with a shamefaced look:

"I am sorry I called you a Goth, Harry. I ought to have rememberedAlcides. You are as good as gold. You are a dear generous fellow. AndI love you for it; and so do Nan and Dulce. And I was not a bit cross, really; but you did look such a great goose, turning out thatwardrobe. " But, though she laughed at the remembrance, the tears werein Phillis's eyes. 

Dick was nobody after this: not that he minded that. How could theyhelp crowding round this "big hero" of theirs who had performed suchwonders?

Gilsbank turned into Challoner Place; Glen Cottage, with itsconservatory and brand-new furniture, theirs again, --their own, --theirvery own (for Sir Harry intended to buy that too as soon as possible);Nan engaged to her dearest Dick, and all the neighborhood prepared towelcome them back!

"If you please, Miss Phillis, Mrs. Squails desires her compliments, and she is waiting for her dress. "

We forbare to repeat Sir Harry's answer. Nevertheless, with Dick'shelp, the unfortunate gown was extricated, and privately ironed byDorothy. 

"That is a good morning's work of yours, " observed Phillis, quietlylooking down at the heap at her feet. "Dorothy, it seems Sir Harry ismaster here. If any more orders come for us, you may as well say, 'TheMisses Challoner have given up business. '"

CHAPTER XLVII. 

"IT WAS SO GOOD OF YOU TO ASK ME HERE. "

Mrs. Challoner heaved a gentle little sigh when in the afternoon thefly carried off Nan and Dick to the station: it brought to her mindanother day that would come far too soon. Phillis spoke out thisthought boldly as she ran back to the cottage. 

"I wanted to throw an old shoe for luck, mammie, " she said, laughing, "only I knew Nan would be so dreadfully shocked. How happy theylooked! And Dick was making such a fuss over her, bringing out hisplaid to wrap her in. Certainly he is much improved, and looks fiveyears older. "

Perhaps Dick shared Mrs. Challoner's thought too, for an expression ofdeep gravity crossed his face as he sat down by Nan, --a look that wastender, and yet wistful, as he took her hand. 

"Oh, Nan! it does seem so nice to have you all to myself for alittle, --just you and I, alone, and all the rest of the world outsidesomewhere! Do you know it is possible to be almost too happy!" AndDick sighed from the very fulness of content. 

Nan gave a merry little laugh at this. 

"Oh, no: to me it seems only natural to be happy. When things were attheir worst I knew that they would come right some day; and I couldnot be quite miserable, even then. It was hard, of course; but whenone is young, one ought not to mind a little waiting. And we have notwaited long, have we, dear?" But to this Dick demurred. 

"It was the longest term I ever passed, " he returned, seriously. "Whena fellow is in that sort of unsettled state, one cannot measure timein the ordinary way. Well, the ordeal is over, thank heaven!" And thenhe paused, and continued, a little thoughtfully: "What I have to donow is to work hard and do my best to deserve you. I shall never beworthy of you, Nan; I know that. "

"I think you quite worthy of me, " she answered, softly, and now therewere tears in her eyes. 

"Oh, no; no fellow could be that, " he replied, decidedly. "I am wellenough in my way, and compared with other men I am not so bad, "continued Dick, who had a sufficiently good opinion of his own merits, in spite of the humility of his speech; "but as to coming up to you, Nan, by a long way, why, the thing is impossible! But I tell you this, it helps a fellow to keep right and steady when he believes in thegoodness of the girl belonging to him. "

"You must not make me vain, " she half whispered, and her lips trembleda little at his praise. But he disregarded this remonstrance, and wenton:

"You have kept me right all my life. How could I ever do a mean or ashabby action to make you ashamed of me? When I was tempted once ortwice, --for idle young fellows will be tempted, --I used to say tomyself, No, Nan would not approve if she knew it. And I held tight tothis thought, and I am glad now that I can look in your dear face andtell you this. It makes me feel so happy. " And indeed Dick's face wasradiant. 

They were almost sorry when the journey was over; they had so much tosay to each other. The wintry landscape was growing gray andindistinct as they reached their destination, and, though Nan peeredanxiously into the darkness for a glimpse of each well-rememberedspot, she could only just discern the dim outline of Glen Cottagebefore the carriage turned in at the gates of Longmead. 

Mr. Mayne had determined to pay his intended daughter-in-law allbecoming honors, and as soon as the carriage wheels were heard he hadthe hall door thrown back to show the bright, welcoming light, and hehimself descended the flight of steps to the terrace. "Just as thoughI were a royal personage, " laughed Nan. But she was a little natteredby the compliment. 

Most girls would have felt the awkwardness of the situation, but notNan. The moment Dick assisted her out of the carriage she walked up tohis father, and put up her face to be kissed in the most natural way. "It was so good of you to ask me here; and I am so glad to come, " shesaid, simply. 

"There, there! run in out of the cold, " was all his answer; and hepatted her hand a little awkwardly. But, though his voice had itsusual gruffness, his manner was otherwise kind. "How are you, Dick? Ihope Roper did not keep you waiting at the station, for you are aquarter of an hour behind your time. " And then he took his son's armand walked up the steps again. 

Nan, meanwhile, had run through the hall and into the warm, softly-lighted drawing-room, and there she soon found herself in Mrs. Mayne's motherly arms. When the gentlemen came in they interruptedquite a little scene, for Mrs. Mayne was actually crying over thegirl, and Nan was kissing her. 

"Don't you think you had better stop that sort of thing, Bessie, "observed her husband, drily, "and get Nan a cup of tea? You would likesome tea, my dear, would you not?" in a more gracious voice. 

Of course Nan said she would like some, just to show her appreciationof his thoughtfulness; and then Dick said he should like some too, andhis father quizzed him a little as he rang the bell. And as Mrs. Mayneobediently dried her eyes at her husband's behest, they were soon veryhappy and comfortable. When Nan's cup was empty, Dick darted to takeit, that it might be replenished; but his father was before him. 

All that evening Mr. Mayne waited on Nan, quite ignoring his son'sclaims. He had a special brand of champagne served that Nan had oncesaid she liked; and he reminded her of this, and pressed her topartake of it. 

"This is to your health, my dear, " he said, lifting his glass of portto his lips when the servants had withdrawn; "and to yours too, Dick. "And then Nan blushed very becomingly, and Dick thanked him a littlegravely. 

"I do think the old boy has fallen in love with you himself, for hehas not let me come near you all the evening, " whispered Dick later onthat night, pretending to grumble, but in reality looking very happy. 

"He has been so good to me, " returned the girl; and she repeated thisfor Mrs. Mayne's benefit, when at last the two women found themselvesfree to indulge in a little talk. Nan had coaxed her friend to sitbeside her fire for a few minutes, and then she had knelt down besideher, wrapping her arms round her in the most affectionate way. 

"Dear, dear Mrs. Mayne, how nice all this is! and how good Mr. Maynehas been to me all this evening!"

"My Richard never does things by halves, " returned Mrs. Mayne, proudly. "People cannot always understand him, because his manner is alittle rough sometimes; but I know, and none better, his real goodnessof heart. Why, he is so pleased with himself and you and Dick thisevening that he hardly knows how to contain himself; but he is alittle awkward in showing it. "

"Oh, no; I did not think him awkward at all. "

"I must say you behaved beautifully, Nan, never seeming as though youremembered that there had been anything amiss, but just takingeverything as he meant it. Of course I knew how you would act: I wasnot afraid that I should be disappointed. "

"Of course I could not do otherwise. "

"And Dick, too, behaved so well, keeping in the background just togive his father full freedom. I must say I was pleased with him, too, for most young men are so thoughtless; but then his behavior to hisfather has been perfect throughout. "

"I knew it would be, " whispered Nan. 

"I am sure it made my heart ache to see him. Sometimes he would comein whistling and pretending to be his old self, so light-hearted andcheerful; and all the time he was fretting himself to death, as I toldRichard. Richard was terribly trying sometimes, --you know hisway, --but the boy bore it so well. It was not till the last, when theyhad that walk, and Dick was goaded into positive anger, that he everlost his temper in the least. I will say this, Nan, that though myDick may not be much to look at, he has the sweetest temper and thekindest heart. " And so the simple woman ran on, and Nan listened, wellpleased. 

When Mr. Mayne came up to his dressing-room that evening, his wifestole in after him, and laid her hands on his shoulder as he stoodthoughtfully contemplating the fire. 

"Well, Richard, won't you own she is lovely now?"

"Humph! yes; I suppose people would call her pretty, " he returned, inhis grudging way. "But I tell you what, Bessie, " suddenly kindlinginto animation, "she is better than handsome; she is out and out good, and she will make a man of Dick. "

"God bless him, and her too!" whispered the mother, as she withdrewsoftly, but not before she caught the sound of an "Amen" uttereddistinctly in her husband's voice. 

Nan made Dick take her to all their old haunts the next morning; butfirst of all they went to Glen Cottage. Nan ran through all the roomswith almost a child's glee: nothing could exceed her delight when Dickshowed her the drawing-room, with the new conservatory opening out ofit. 

"It always was a pretty room, " she said, glancing round her; "but theconservatory and the new furniture have quite transformed it. Howcharmed mother and the girls will be! The whole house looks betterthan when we were in it. "

"Nonsense!" returned Dick, stoutly. "There never was a house tocompare with it. I always loved it; and so did you, Nan. What a summerwe shall have here, when I am reading up for honors in the longvacation! I mean to work pretty hard; for when a fellow has such anobject as that----" And then he looked at Nan meaningly; but she wasnot to be beguiled into that subject. 

They were so happy, and so young, that they could afford to wait alittle; and she did not wish Dick to speak yet of that day that waslooming in the distance. 

She could only be sure of one summer at Glen Cottage; but what a timethey would have! She stood for a long while looking out on the lawnand calling up possible visions of summer afternoons. Thetennis-ground was marked out already in her imagination; the tea-tablein its old place under the trees; there was her mother knitting in herfavorite wicker-chair; there were Dulce and Phillis, surrounded bytheir friends

"Come away, Nan. Are you moon-struck, or dreaming?" questioned Dick, drawing her arm through his. "Do you remember what we have to dobefore luncheon? And Vigo looks so impatient for his run. " But evenDick paused for a moment in the veranda to show Nan the rose she hadpicked for him just there, and which still lay in his pocket-book. 

All her old friends crowded round Nan to welcome her back; and greatwere the rejoicings when they heard that Glen Cottage was to be in theChalloners' possession again. Carrie Paine and Adelaide Sartoriscalled first. Carrie embraced Nan with tearful effusion: she was anhonest, warm-hearted creature. But Adelaide looked at her a littlecuriously. 

"Oh, my dear, the scandal that has been talked about you all!" shesaid, in a mysterious tone. "Carrie and I would not believe it: wouldwe, Car? We told people to hold their tongues, and not talk suchnonsense. "

"Never mind that now, Addie, " returned Nan, cheerfully. She felt shemust be careful of what she said, for Dick's sake. "We have had ourworries, and have worked as better people have before us; but now itis all over. "

"But is it true that your cousin, Sir Henry Challoner, has boughtGilsbank?" broke in Carrie. "Tell us about him, dear. Addie thoughtshe saw him once. Is he a tall man, with red hair?"

"Very red hair, " responded Nan, laughing. 

"Then I did see him, " replied Miss Sartoris, decidedly. "He is quite agiant, Nan; but he looks very good-natured. "

Miss Sartoris was just engaged to a dapper little colonel in theHussars, so she could afford to be quizzical on the subject of SirHarry's inches; but Carrie, who was at present unattached, was alittle curious about the future master of Gilsbank. 

After this, Nan called at Fitzroy Lodge, and Dick went with her. LadyFitzroy, who was looking very pretty and delicate, welcomed Nan withthe greatest kindness. When Lord Fitzroy came in with the rest of thegentlemen from hunting, he questioned Nan very closely about their newneighbor, Sir Henry Challoner, and made a great many kind inquiriesafter his favorite, Miss Phillis. 

"So we are to have you all back, eh, " he queried, pleasantly. "Well, Icall that good news. I am bound that Evelyn is as pleased to hear itas I am. "

"I am very much pleased, " returned Lady Fitzroy graciously. "And youmust tell your mother so, with my love. Percival, will you ring forsome more hot water, please? I shall not be long: but I am going totake Miss Challoner upstairs to see our boy. "

Nan knew that a great privilege was being conferred on her as shefollowed Lady Fitzroy into the grand nursery, where the tiny heir layin his bassinette. 

"Is he not just like Fitzroy?" exclaimed the proud young mother, asthey stood looking down on the red crumpled features of the new-comer. "Nurse says she has never seen such a striking likeness. "

"He is a darling!" exclaimed Nan, who was, like other girls, a devoutbaby-worshipper; and then they discoursed very eloquently on hisinfantile beauties. 

It was after this that Lady Fitzroy congratulated Nan on herengagement, and kissed her in quite a sisterly way. 

"Fitzroy and I do not think him half good enough for you, " she said, very prettily. "But no one who knows Mr. Mayne can fail to like him, he is so thoroughly genuine and nice. Will the engagement be a longone, Miss Challoner?"

"Not so very long, " Nan returned, blushing. "Dick has to read forhonors; but, when he has taken his degree, his father has promised tomake things straight for us, while Dick reads for the bar. "

"He is to be a barrister, then?" asked Lady Fitzroy, in surprise. "Youmust not think me inquisitive, but I thought Mr. Mayne was so verywell off. "

"So he is, " replied Nan, smiling, --"quite rich, I believe; but Dickwould not like an idle life, and during his father's lifetime he canonly expect a moderate income. "

"You will live in London, then?"

"Oh, yes; I suppose so;" was Nan's answer. "But we have not talkedmuch about that yet. Dick must work hard for another year, and afterthat I believe things are to be settled. " And then Lady Fitzroy kissedher again, and they went downstairs. 

Nan wrote home that she was _fêted_ like a queen, and that Dickgrumbled sadly at having her so little to himself; but then Dick wasmuch given to that sort of good-natured grumbling. 

The visit was necessarily a very brief one, as term-time wasapproaching, and Dick had to go up to Oxford. On the last morning hetook Nan for a walk down to Sandy Lane. Vigo and the other dogs werewith them, and at the point where the four roads met, Dick stopped andleaned his arms over a gate. 

"It will seem a long time to Easter, Nan, " he said, ratherlugubriously. 

"Oh, no, " she replied brightly to this; "you will have myletters, --such long ones, Dick, --and you know Mr. Mayne has promisedto bring Phillis and me down for a couple of days. We are to stay atthe Randolph, and of course we shall have afternoon tea in yourrooms. "

"Yes; I will ask Hamilton and some of the other fellows to meet you. Iwant all my friends to see you, Nan. " And as Dick thought of the gloryof this introduction, and of the envy of Hamilton and the otherfellows, his brow cleared and his old spirits returned. 

"I shall think of nothing but my work and those letters, Nan, " werehis last words. "I am determined that next summer shall see you mywife. " His voice dropped over the last word almost shyly; but Nan sawa great brightness come into his eyes. 

"You must not work too hard, " was all her answer to this, as she movedgently away from him. But her heart beat a little faster at his words. No; she would only have another summer at Glen Cottage. She knew that, and then the new life would lie before them, which she and Dick wereto live together. 

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

MRS. SPARSIT'S POODLE. 

While Nan was being _fêted_ and petted at Longmead, Mattie's visit wasdragging heavily to its close. Since the evening of the tea-partythings had been more unsatisfactory than ever. 

Archie and Grace were a good deal out. Grace was perpetually at theFriary, and Archie had resumed his old habit of dropping in there fora morning or evening chat. Sir Harry came almost daily, and oftenspent his disengaged hours with them; but Mattie never saw him for amoment alone. Grace was always in the room, and his conversation waschiefly addressed to her. When Mattie dropped sadly out of the talk, or sat silent in her corner, he did not in his old kind fashion try toinclude her in the conversation: indeed, he rarely noticed her, exceptin his brief leave-taking. It hurt Mattie inexpressibly to be thusignored by her old friend, for from the first his cordiality had had asunshiny influence over her, --he had been so good to her, sothoughtful for her comfort, before Grace came; but now he seemed toforget sometimes that such a person as Mattie even existed. Was itbecause Grace's fair, serious face had bewitched him, or was thereanything on his mind? for more than once Mattie thought he seemedabsent and ill at ease. 

Mattie could not understand it at all. She was not a very acute littleperson, neither was she over-sensitive by nature, but this suddencoldness on Sir Harry's part was wounding and perplexing in theextreme. Had she done anything to offend him? Mattie wondered, or washe simply bored by her as most people were?

Once Archie had snubbed her very severely in his presence; somethinghad put him out, and he had spoken to Mattie as though no one werepresent but their two selves. It was Grace who called him so gently toorder, and made him feel ashamed of himself. Sir Harry did not evenseem to notice it: he had a paper in his hand, and he went on readingit. But as Mattie left the room she heard him speaking to Grace inhis usual way about some political question or other. 

Mattie cried bitterly in her room that day. Somehow, she had nevertaken Archie's snubbing so much to heart before. How could he speak toher like that, she thought? What would Sir Harry think of her, and ofhim too? Archie's conscience pricked him when he saw the traces oftears on Mattie's face that afternoon, and he was very kind to her allthe remainder of the day; but he did not apologize for his words: noone ever did apologize to Mattie. But to his surprise, and Grace'stoo, Mattie's sad face did not clear. 

It was her last afternoon but one at the vicarage, and Mattie wassitting alone. All the morning she and Grace had been packingtogether, for Grace, in her sensible way, had begged her sister not toleave things for the last day. It would tire her for her journey, shesaid; and the Challoners were coming to spend Mattie's last eveningwith her at the vicarage; and there were the Middletons probablycoming for an afternoon visit, and so Mattie had better keep herselffree for her friends. Mattie had assented to this, and she had beenvery grateful to Grace for all the help she had given her. Her boxeswere ready for cording, and her little parting gifts for the servantslaid ready labelled in her drawers, and nothing remained for her busyhands to do. 

It was a cold, cheerless afternoon; a cutting north wind and a graycloudy sky made the fireside all the more tempting by comparison; butMattie knew there was one duty unfulfilled that she ought to perform. She had promised to call and say good-bye to an old acquaintance ofhers who lived at Rock Building. 

Mrs. Chamberlain was not a favorite with most people: she was aninvalid of somewhat uncertain temper, and most of her friends felt hersociety an infliction on their patience. Mattie, who was verygood-natured, had often done kindly little offices for her, sittingwith her for an hour or two at a time, and teaching her some newstitch, to beguile her tedious and often painful days. 

Mrs. Chamberlain would feel herself aggrieved if Mattie disappointedher. And she never had stayed at home for the weather; only she waslazy, --tired, perhaps, from her packing, --and reluctant to move. 

Sir Harry was in the study, she knew: she had heard his voice sometime ago. He often turned in there of his own accord or perhaps Archiehad waylaid him and brought him in, for they were excellent friendsnow; Grace was there, of course, but Mattie had hesitated to jointhem: none of them wanted her, she said bitterly to herself. 

A dim hope that Grace might come in search of her, or that even SirHenry might saunter in by and by and ask for a cup of tea in his oldway, had kept Mattie in her place; but now it was getting a littlelate, and perhaps after all Grace would ring, and have the tea inthere, as she had done once before: and it was no use waiting. And so, when Mattie reached this point, she hurried upstairs and put on herhat and thick jacket, and then, after a moment's hesitation, openedthe study door. 

It was just the scene she pictured. Sir Harry was in the big chair infront of the blazing fire, and Grace in her low wicker seat, facinghim, with a Chinese screen in her hand. Archie was standing on therug, with his elbow against the narrow wooden mantelpiece, and allthree were talking merrily. Sir Harry stopped in the middle of alaugh, as Mattie entered, and shook hands with her a little gravely. 

"How comfortable you all look!" faltered Mattie. The words came inspite of her efforts not to say them. 

"Then come and join us, " returned Archie, with unusual affability. "Grace was just wondering what you were doing. "

"I was in the drawing-room alone. No, I cannot sit down, Archie, thankyou. I am just going to bid old Mrs. Chamberlain good-bye: she isexpecting me, and I must not disappoint her. "

"Oh, but it is not fit for you, " remonstrated Grace. "Sir Harry saysthe wind is piercing. Do put off your visit until to-morrow, Mattie, and we will go together. "

"Fie, Miss Grace! never put off until to-morrow what can be doneto-day, " observed Sir Harry, in his joking voice. "What is it thecopy-books say?--is it procrastination or money that is the root ofall evil?"

"Sir Harry is quite right, and I must go, " stammered Mattie, madequite desperate by this joke; he knew how the wind was sweeping overthe gray sea, and yet he had not said a word about her remaining. PoorMattie! a miserable choking feeling came into her throat, as sheclosed the door on another laugh and struggled along in the teeth ofthe wind. Another time she would not have minded it, for she was hardyby nature; but now the cold seemed to freeze her very heart; shelooked quite blue and pinched when she entered Mrs. Chamberlain'sdrawing-room. It seemed to Mattie as though hours had passed beforeshe brought her visit to a close, and yet she had been sitting thereonly three quarters of an hour before she took her leave. The old ladywas very gracious this afternoon; she pressed Mattie again and againto wait a little until Sallie brought up the tea and a nice hot cakeshe was baking. But Mattie steadily refused even these temptingdelicacies: she was not cold any longer, she said; but it was growinglate, or the afternoon was darker than usual. And then she wished herold friend good-bye, --oh, good-bye for such a long time, Mattiethought, --and sallied forth bravely into the wind gain. 

It had lulled a little, but the scene before her was very desolate;just the gray expanse of sea, with the white line of surge breakinginto the shore; and here and there a wave tossing up its foamy headin the distance. The air seemed full of that continuous low rollingand splashing of breakers on the beach: a sea-gull was flying inland;the Parade looked white and wind-bleached, --not a creature in sightbut a coast-guard on duty, moving backwards and forwards in a ratherforlorn manner, except----Here Mattie turned her head quickly: yes, alittle beyond there was a man in a rough pilot's coat, looking outseaward, --a nautical man, Mattie thought, by the way he stood, asthough summer gales were blowing about his ears. 

Mattie passed quite close to him, for the wind drifted her a little asshe did so. He turned coolly round and confronted her. 

"Sir Harry! Oh, I did not know you in the least, " faltered Mattie, standing still in her surprise. 

"I dare say not, " he replied, quietly: "you have never seen me in thiscostume before, and I had my back turned towards you. I saw youcoming, though, walking as unsteadily as a duck in a storm. What atime you have been, Miss Mattie! You ladies are so fond of a gossip. "

"Were you waiting for me?" she asked, rather breathlessly, and thencolored painfully at her question. How absurd! Of course he was notwaiting for her; his hotel was just opposite, and he was probablytaking a constitutional before his dinner. "Mrs. Chamberlain pressedme to take tea with her, " she went on, by way of saying something, "but I told her I would rather go home. "

"Miss Grace was just ringing for tea when I left, " he returned. "Nowonder you look cold or like a starved robin, Miss Mattie. Why are youwalking so fast? there is no hurry, is there? I think you owe me someamends for keeping me standing for an hour in this bitter wind. There!why don't you take my arm and hold on, or you will be blown away?"

Mattie always did as she was bidden, and Sir Harry's tone was a littleperemptory. He had been waiting for her, then; he had not quiteforgotten her. Mattie began to feel a little less chilled and numb. Ifhe would only say a kind word to her, she thought, she could go awaymore happily. 

"I am thinking about that rejected cup of tea, " he said, suddenly, when they had walked for a moment in silence: "it will be all clearedaway at the vicarage, and you do look so cold, Miss Mattie. "

"Oh, no, not very, " she corrected. 

"But I say that you do, " he persisted, in quite a determined manner:"you are cold, and tired, and miserable, --there!"

"I--I am not particularly miserable, " but there were tears in Mattie'svoice, as she uttered this little fib. "I don't quite like going awayand saying good-bye to people. "

"Won't your people be kind to you?" Then changing his tone, "I tellyou what, Miss Mattie, no one is in a hurry for you at home, and Idon't see why we should not enjoy ourselves. You remember my oldfriend Mrs. Sparsit, who lives up at Rose Cottage, --you know I savedher poodle from drowning one rough day, when some boys got hold of it:well, Mrs. Sparsit and I are first-rate friends, and I will ask her togive us some tea. "

"Oh, no, " faltered Mattie, quite shocked at this; for what would Gracesay? "I only know Mrs. Sparsit a very little. "

"What does that matter?" returned Sir Harry, obstinately: "I am alwaysdropping in myself for a chat. Now, it is no use your making anyobjection, Miss Mattie, for I have got a lot to say to you, and Idon't mean to part with you yet. They will only think you are still atRock Building, and I suppose you are old enough to act without MissGrace's advice sometimes. "

Mattie hung her head without replying to this. What a feeble, helplesssort of creature he must think her! his voice seemed to express agood-humored sort of contempt. Well, he was right; she was old enoughto do as she pleased, and she would like very much to go with him toMrs. Sparsit's. It was rather a reckless proceeding, perhaps; butMattie was too down and miserable to argue it out, so she walkedbeside Sir Harry in a perfectly unresisting manner. Perhaps this wasthe last time she would enjoy his company for a long time: she mustmake the most of it. 

"We need not walk quite so fast, " he said, checking her, for she washurrying again. "Look here, Miss Mattie, I want to ask you a queersort of question, if only this confounded wind will let me make myselfheard. Please don't laugh; I don't want to be laughed at, for I amquite in earnest. But have you any special objection to red hair?--Imean, do you particularly dislike it?"

Mattie opened her eyes rather widely at this. "No, I rather like it, "she returned, without a moment's hesitation, and quite in the dark asto his possible meaning. 

"Oh, that is all right, " he returned, cheerfully. "You won't believeit, Miss Mattie, but, though I am such a great big fellow, I am asbashful as anything; and I have always had a fancy that no one wouldhave me because of my red hair. "

"What an idea!" observed Mattie, with a little laugh, for she thoughtthis so droll, and had not the dimmest idea of his real purpose inasking her such a question. 

"Don't laugh, please, " he remonstrated, "for I am quite serious; Inever was more serious in my life; for this sort of thing is soawkward for a fellow. Then, Miss Mattie, you won't say 'No' to me?"

Mattie stared; but Sir Harry's face, red and embarrassed as it was, gave her no clue to his meaning. 

"I don't think you understand me, " he said, a little impatiently; "andyet I am sure I am putting it very plainly. You don't object to me, do you, Miss Mattie? I am sure I will do my best to make you happy. Gilsbank is a pretty place, and we shall have Aunt Catherine and thegirls near us. We shall all be as merry as larks, if you will onlypromise to marry me, for I have liked you from the first; I haveindeed, Miss Mattie. "

Sir Harry was a gentleman, in spite of his rough ways. He understoodin a moment, when Mattie's answer to this was a very feeble clutch athis arm, as though her strength were deserting her. What with thesudden surprise of these words, and the force of the wind, the poorlittle woman felt herself reeling. 

"Stand here for a moment, and I will shelter you from the wind. No, don't speak; just hold on, and keep quiet: there is no hurry. No oneshall scold you, if I can help it. I am afraid"--speaking as gently asto a child--"that I have been a little rough and sudden with you. Doyou feel faint? I never saw you look so pale. What a thoughtless bruteI have been!"

"No, --oh, no, " panted Mattie; "only I am so giddy, and--so happy. " Thelast words were half whispered, but he caught them. "Are you sure youreally mean this, Sir Harry?"

"As sure as that the wind blows, " he returned, cheerfully. "Well, that's settled. You and I are to be in the same boat for good andall, --eh, Miss Mattie? Now let us walk on; and I won't say anotherword until we reach Mrs. Sparsit's. "

Perhaps he had taken this resolution because he saw that Mattie foundspeech impossible. Her very footsteps tottered as she struggledagainst the opposing wind. Only the arm on which she leaned seemed togive her strength; and yet Mattie no longer shivered in the cuttingblast. She was no longer cold, and numb, and desolate. Somethingwonderful and incredible and altogether unreal had befallenher, --something that had turned her dizzy with happiness, and whichshe could not in the least believe. All she knew was that he had toldher that no one should scold her now. 

"Here we are!" exclaimed Sir Harry, stopping at a trim little cottage, with a side-view of the sea; "and, by Jove, there is the poodlehimself at the window. How do you do, Mrs. Sparsit?" as a pleasant, wrinkled dame appeared on the threshold. "You know Miss Drummond, Ibelieve? though not as well as you know me. How is Popples? Oh, thereyou are, old fellow, --ready to give me your paw, as usual! Look athim, Miss Mattie! Now, Mrs. Sparsit, " in a coaxing voice, "this ladyis dreadfully tired; and I know your kettle is boiling----" but hereMrs. Sparsit interrupted him:

"Oh, yes, indeed, Sir Harry; and you shall have some tea directly. Dear me, Miss Drummond, you do look poorly, to be sure! Let me stirthe fire a little, and draw out the couch. Bettie has gone out to seeher sick mother, Sir Harry; but if you don't mind my leaving you aminute, while I just brew the tea----" And without waiting for hisanswer, the worthy creature bustled off to her tiny kitchen, leavingPopples to entertain her guests. 

Sir Harry closed the door, and then he helped Mattie to divest herselfof her warm jacket, and placed her in a snug corner of theold-fashioned couch. 

"You will be all right directly, " he said, as he sat down beside her. "The wind was too strong; and I was a little sudden: wasn't I, Mattie?" And now the color began to come into Mattie's face. 

Sir Harry found plenty to tell her as Mrs. Sparsit brewed the tea andprepared the hot buttered cakes. 

Mattie shed tears of pure happiness when she heard from his own lipshow good and unselfish and amiable he thought her, and how he hadliked her from the first in a sort of way, --"not quite the right way, you know, " explained Sir Harry, candidly; "but every one was so hardon you, and you bore it so well, and were such a good little woman, that I quite longed to stand your friend; and we were friends, --werewe not, Mattie? And then somehow it came to me what a nice little wifeyou would make; and so----" but here Mattie timidly interrupted him:

"But Grace, --I thought you liked Grace best!"

Sir Harry laughed outright at this; but he had the grace to lookashamed of himself:

"So I did like her very much; but I was only trying you, Mattie. I wasnot sure how much you liked me; but you seemed such a miserable littleCinderella among them all that I could hardly keep it up. If they snubyou now, they will have to answer to me. " And at this moment Mrs. Sparsit entered with the tea-tray. 

Dinner was nearly over at the vicarage when Mattie's step was heard inthe hall. Archie, who was the soul of punctuality, frowned a littlewhen the sound reached his ear. 

"This is too bad of Mattie, " he said, rather fretfully. "She has noright to put us to such inconvenience. I suppose we must have the fishup again?"

"Miss Drummond desires that you will go on with your dinner, sir, "observed the maid, entering at that moment. "She has had a late tea, and will not require anything more. "

"Very strange!" fumed Archie; but he was a little pacified by themessage. But Grace slightly elevated her eyebrows with an expressionof surprise. Such independence was new in Mattie. 

The brother and sister had adjourned to the drawing-room, and Archiewas about to ring for his coffee, before Mattie made her appearance. 

Grace uttered a little exclamation when she saw her sister:

"My dear Mattie, we have no visitors coming in this evening! Why haveyou put on your best gown? You extravagant child!" for Mattie hadcome into the room rustling in her green silk dress, and her littledark face glowing from the wind. "She looked almost pretty, " as Gracesaid afterwards; but at her sister's quizzical observation Mattieblushed and seemed confused. 

"It is no use saving it, " she began. "Sir Harry is coming in by andby. And, oh, Archie! he told me to say it, but I don't know how to doit. " And then, to Archie's intense surprise, --for she had never donesuch a thing in her life, --she suddenly threw her arms round his neck. "Oh, Archie! he says you are never to scold me again, --any of you, "she sobbed, "because I belong to him now. And he--Sir Harry, Imean--is so good to me; and I am so happy. And won't you wish me joy, both of you? And what--what will mother say?" finished Mattie, asthough this were the climax of everything. 

"Good heavens, Mattie!" gasped Archie; but he did not shake her off:on the contrary, he kissed her very kindly. "Do you mean you are goingto marry Sir Harry Challoner?"

"He means to marry me, " returned Mattie, smiling, in spite of hertears; and then Grace came forward, and took her in her arms. 

"I am so glad, dear Mattie, " she whispered, soothingly. "Of course wenone of us expected it; and we are all very much surprised. Oh, dear!how happy mother will be!"

"I tell you what, " exclaimed Archie, in great excitement, "I will takeyou down myself to Lowder Street, and see what she says. They will allbe out of their senses with joy; and, upon my word, Mattie, I neverwas so pleased about anything in my life. He is a right-down goodfellow, I am sure of that; and you are not such a bad little thingyourself, Mattie. There!"

CHAPTER XLIX. 

MATTIE IN A NEW CHARACTER. 

The family at Lowder Street were all gathered together when thetravellers made their appearance. There was a general shout of delightwhen Archie's face peered in at them from the dusky hall over Mattie'sshoulder. Mrs. Drummond's thin face flushed with the unexpectedpleasure. 

"Oh, Archie! my dear boy, I never thought you would surprise us inthis way!" she said, throwing down her work with tremulous hands. Shekissed Mattie affectionately; but that dark glow of tenderness in hereyes was for Archie. In spite of her ordinary undemonstrativeness, sheseldom spoke to him without that involuntary softening of her voice. However much she loved her other children, her maternal passion wasreserved for her first-born son. 

"How naughty of you to steal a march on us in this manner!" she said, playfully. "We have only prepared a meat-tea for Mattie, because Iknew she would not mind; but if you had telegraphed I would have haddinner ready for you, Archie. "

"Stuff! nonsense! why need he have telegraphed? I suppose what is goodenough for Mattie and the rest of us is good enough for Archie!"

Mr. Drummond spoke testily as he put down the paper. These hints aboutthe late dinners always nettled him. His renunciation of them yearsago had been a heavy piece of self-denial, for he was a man ratherfond of creature comforts; he had done it for his children's sake; butit was more than flesh and blood could bear that this renounced luxuryshould be served for his son's benefit. Was he not as good as Archie, though he had not been to a University and become fellow of hiscollege?

"Father is quite right, " returned Archie, cheerfully. "I would nottelegraph, because I wanted to surprise you; and I knew you were sucha good manager, mother, that you would have plenty of aired sheetsready for my bed. Of course what is good enough for Mattie is rightfor me. As we are both as hungry as hunters, we shall do justice toanything you have prepared. "

"There is only some cold meat and some ham and eggs, " observed Mrs. Drummond, a little plaintively. She did not dare anger her husbandfurther by proposing even a chop, for she knew how touchy he was aboutArchie's fastidiousness; but if she could have had her own way shewould have killed the fatted calf for this dearest son. Nothing wastoo good for him in her eyes; and yet for the sake of tranquillity shedared not even hazard the question of a chop. 

"Cold meat, --that is just what I should like, " replied Archie, withexcellent _sang-froid_. He detested that stock-dish of the LowderStreet larder, ham and eggs. The eggs were dubious, heconsidered, --not actually new-laid, but a little suggestive of lime. "But there! you must not give me all your attention, mother, " hecontinued. "I have brought Mattie home, you see, and you have nevertold her even how she looks. "

"She looks very well, " replied Mrs. Drummond. In spite of her anxietyabout Archie, she had been looking at her daughter more than once withpuzzled eyes. There was something different about her, she thought. Itwas hardly like Mattie to come in so quietly among them all and takeher place beside her father. Mattie seldom did anything without afuss: it was her ordinary way to stand among them chattering as fastas her tongue would go, until some one reminded her that it was timefor her to take off her hat and jacket or she would be late for tea. But to-night Mattie had hardly opened her lips, except to answer herfather's questions about the journey. She had kissed her sisters veryquietly, and had asked after Isabel, and had then proposed of her ownaccord to go upstairs. 

"Clara, go up with your sister. No, not Laura; you will all getchattering, and then we shall be kept waiting. Isabel is upstairs, Archie: she has come in to sit with us this evening, as Ellis has togo to a business dinner. He will call for her on his way. "

"I am very glad she is here, " returned Archie, "for I have to go backby the early train to-morrow. Ah, there she is. Well, how are you, Belle?" greeting her affectionately as she came up to him rathershyly. Archie could hardly help smiling at the contrast betweenIsabel's brilliant evening toilet and his other sister's brown stuffdress. It was a little trying to his gravity to see her putting onsuch pretty little airs of matronly dignity. Mrs. Ellis Burton was animportant person now; that was sufficiently obvious; the plump littlefigure was most lavishly adorned. But the round childish face wascertainly very pretty; and, as every other sentence brought in"Ellis, " and as Ellis's opinion appeared always right in her eyes, Archie deduced that his sister was satisfied with her choice. 

"Oh, dear, Mattie! how droll it is to see you home again!" exclaimedSusie, who was noted for making awkward speeches. "And how funny youlook beside Isabel!"

"We are very glad to have her back, " returned Mrs. Drummond, in herrepressive tones. She was just refilling her teapot from the urn, butshe found opportunity to shake her head at Susie. "People do notgenerally look smart in their travelling-dress; but I think she looksvery nice. Had you not a commoner gown, my dear? That looks almost toogood for the purpose;" for Mrs. Drummond's sense of economy was alittle shocked by perceiving that Mattie's gown was a new one. 

"It is very well made, " observed Isabel, critically. "I am so glad, Mattie, that you have given up that hideous plaid: it never suitedyou. "

"If I had been you, I would have travelled in it, " persisted Mrs. Drummond, who never could remember that Mattie was over thirty andmight possibly have opinions of her own. 

Archie listened to all this with great amusement. 

"Don't you think it is about time I started a pleasanter subject, Mattie?" he asked, laughing. "Have you finished your tea, my dear? forI do not want to spoil your appetite; but time is getting on, and----"here he glanced at the clock. 

Every one stared at this, for Archie had never spoken in exactly thatway to Mattie before; and, as he did so, Mattie's cheeks were burning. But what was their surprise when Archie suddenly rose from his seatand laid his hand kindly on Mattie's shoulder!

"She is too shy to tell you herself; I have come all these miles to doit for her. Isabel, you need not look so consequential. Ellis is agood fellow, I dare say, but our little Mattie has done better forherself than even you. Mother, you have achieved a success in one ofyour seven daughters: let me introduce to you the future LadyChalloner!" And then, still keeping his hand upon her shoulder, helooked blandly round on them all. 

"Well, I am sure!" from Isabel, half pouting; but no one else spokeexcept Mr. Drummond:

"What does this mean, Archie? Can't you speak for yourself, my girl?Is this a joke? Does he mean something amusing?" asked the father; buthis lip quivered a little: if it should be true, --if it were no joke!

"It is just as Archie says!" replied Mattie, timidly, not daring toraise her eyes. "Sir Harry asked me to marry him, and I said yes, because--because he was always so good to me. " And here Mattie laugheda little hysterically. "And I did not think you would object, father. "

"Me object!" replied Mr. Drummond, oblivious of grammar just then. "Why, my little Mattie, what news is this? Come here and kiss me, mygirl. I am proud of you; I am delighted to think a daughter of mine isgoing to make such a splendid match. Why don't you speak to her, mydear?" addressing his wife, with some excitement. "Bless mysoul, --Lady Challoner, my plain little Mattie Lady Challoner! Is itpossible? Why, you were telling us, Archie, what a Croesus this SirHenry was, and how he had just bought quite a fine place forhimself. "

"Mattie, come here. " Her children could hardly recognize theirmother's voice, it was so broken, and the tears were running down hercheeks, though not one of them remembered seeing her cry before. Mattie never felt her triumph greater, never understood themagnificence of her own success, until she saw those tears, and feltthe presence of her mother's arms round her. Never since the childMattie had had to make way for the new-born brother, and had toddledaway with the never-forgotten words, "Mammy's arms are full; no roomfor Mattie now, " had she laid her head upon that mother's shoulder toindulge in the good cry that was needed to relieve her. Isabel lookedalmost affronted as she twirled her diamond rings round her plumpfingers. When she and Ellis had been engaged, her mother had not madeall this fuss. And Mattie was such an old thing; and it was soridiculous; and her father seemed on the verge of crying too. "Butthen, " as Susie said afterwards, "Belle did not like her consequenceto be set aside; and she and Ellis were just nobodies at all. "

No one enjoyed the scene so much as Archie: that was how his motherought to be with her girls. Nevertheless, he interrupted themruthlessly:

"Don't make your eyes too red, Mattie: remember who will be in by andby. " And as she started up at this and began to smooth her rumpledhair, he explained to them generally that they had not travelledalone; Sir Harry had accompanied them to Leeds, and was at presentdining, he believed at the Star Hotel, where he had bespoken a room. "He thought it best to make himself known personally to you; and, asMattie raised no objection, he announced his intention of calling thisevening----" but before Archie could finish his sentence, or theawe-struck domestic announce him properly, Sir Harry himself was amongthem all, shaking hands with everybody, down to Dottie. 

And, really, for a shy man he did his part very well: he seemed totake his welcome for granted, and beamed on them all most genially. 

"I suppose the parson has already introduced me, " he said, when Mr. Drummond senior held out his hand, "What a lot of you there are!" hecontinued, as he reached Dottie, who, dreadfully frightened at hissize, tried to hide behind Susie. Dottie compared him in her own mindto one of their favorite giants. "He was so dreadfully like Fee-fo-fumin 'Jack the Giant-Killer, '" she pouted, when Mattie afterwards tookher to task, "when he kissed me I thought he was going to eat me up. "

Mattie's dark little face lit up with shy happiness when she saw himsit down beside her mother and talk to her in his frank pleasant way. In her eyes he was nothing less than an angel of light. True, the roomhad never looked so small and shabby as it looked to-night, but whatdid that matter to Mattie?--the poor little Cinderella in the browngown had found her prince. By and by the pumpkin-coach would fetch herto a grand house, she would have jewels and fine clothes, --everythingthat the heart of woman could desire; but it may be doubted if suchthoughts ever crossed Mattie's mind. That he had chosen her, this wasthe miracle; that she was never to be scolded, and laughed at, andteased; that he had stooped to her, this noble, great-hearted man, toraise her from her humbleness; that he could care for her, in spite ofher plainness and her many faults. No wonder if such happiness almostbeautified Mattie, as she sat a little apart, surrounded by her youngsisters. 

Mrs. Drummond's stern face glowed with pleasure when Sir Harry in afew simple words spoke to her of his pride in winning her daughter. Could it be her homely, old-fashioned little Mattie of whom he wasspeaking, whose unselfishness and goodness he praised so highly! "Ihave never known a more beautiful nature: she does not seem to me tohave an unkind thought of any one. All my cousins love her. If youwill trust her to me, I think I can promise, as far as a man can, thather life shall be a happy one. " No wonder if the mother's eyes filledwith joyous tears at such words as these. 

"Mattie, dear, " said Sir Harry to her the next day, when they foundthemselves alone, --a rather difficult thing to achieve in the crowdedhousehold, but Mrs. Drummond had just left the room, --"I have beentalking to your mother. She is a sensible woman, and she thinks in sixweeks everything can be ready. What do you say?"

"If mother thinks so, I suppose she is right, " returned Mattie, verymuch confused by this sudden appeal to her opinion. Sir Harry hadalready importuned for a speedy marriage, and she had in muchtrepidation referred him to her mother, feeling herself unequal to thetask of answering him. 

"Yes, your mother is a sensible woman, " continued Sir Harry, taking nonotice of her confusion. "She knows that a great house full ofservants is more than a man can manage alone; and so, as I told herthat Gilsbank was ready, and its master waiting, she was quite of myopinion that there should be no delay. You see, Mattie, " in a tone ofgreat gentleness, "though I am very fond of you, I cannot help feelingstifled in a small house full of people. There is no getting you tomyself, or being comfortable; and a man of my size feels out of placeamong a lot of girls. So if you are willing, as of course you are, "very coaxingly, "and I am willing, we may as well get the thing over. It takes a good deal out of a fellow to go through this sort of thingproperly, and I don't fancy I hit it off well: so we will say this daysix weeks. And to-morrow you will be a good little woman, and let mego back to my comfortable quarters at Hadleigh, for one breathes onlysmoke here; and how you have always borne it all these years is amystery to me. "

So Mattie let him go cheerfully. She had never been selfish in herlife, and of course she spoke no word to dissuade him; but, though shehad but few letters from him, and those of the briefest possiblekind, --for Sir Harry was not fond of penmanship, --those six weeks werefar from being unhappy. How could they be, when they were all so goodto her, Mattie thought?--when her opinion was deferred to even by hermother, and when her brothers and sisters treated her with suchrespect and affection?

Mattie had no sense of the ludicrous, or she would have laughed at thechange in Clyde's tone, or at the way Fred boxed Dottie's ears forspeaking rudely to Mattie: in their eyes the future Lady Challoner wasa person of the utmost importance. The boys vied with each other inwaiting on her; the girls were always ready with their littleservices. Mattie felt herself almost overwhelmed sometimes. 

"Oh, mother, ask them not to do it!" she said, one day, with tears inher eyes. "I am only Mattie; I am not different; I never shall bedifferent. I shall want to wait on you all my life, --on you and all ofthem!"

"It is for them to wait on you more!" returned her mother, gravely. "Iam afraid they have not always been good to you, and they want to makeup for it. "

But not all the attentions she received could move Mattie from her ownhumble estimate of herself; and yet in some ways, if she could haveseen herself, she would have owned there was a difference. Mattie nolonger fussed and fidgeted: always sweet-natured, she grew placid inher new happiness. 

"I consider myself a fortunate fellow, for I have the dearest littlewife in the world, " Sir Harry said to her a few days after they weremarried, when Mattie had, as usual, said something disparaging ofherself. "Never mind what you think, so long as I am satisfied; and itis very rude of you to be always finding fault with my choice, --ay, Lady Challoner!"

CHAPTER L. 

PHILLIS'S FAVORITE MONTH. 

Archie had been persuaded to remain until the following evening, andto take the night mail up to London. "You know you always sleep sosoundly in a railway-carriage, " his mother had said, with her eyesfull of pleading. 

"Perhaps so; but all the same it is dreary work to be shunted on to aplatform in the middle of the night, and to have to find your wayacross London to catch a Sussex train. " But, in spite of his grumblinghe had remained. For once it was difficult to tear himself away fromthat happy family party. 

But all through that night he scarcely closed his eyes, but satstaring at the swinging-lamp and his drowsy fellow-passengers, or outinto the blank wall of darkness, too wide awake and full of thought tolose himself in his usual placid slumbers. The fortunes of theDrummond family seemed rising a little, he thought, with pleasure. Howalert and full of energy his father had seemed when he had parted fromhim at the station! he had lost that subdued despondent look that hadgrown on him of late. Even his shoulders were a little less bowed, asthough the burden did not press quite so heavily. 

"All this makes a great difference to me, Archie, " he had said, asthey had walked to and fro on the platform. "Two such wealthysons-in-law ought to satisfy any father's ambition. I can hardlybelieve yet that my little Mattie--whom her sisters always called 'theold maid'--should have secured such a prize. If it had been Grace, now, one need not have wondered so much. "

"You may leave Grace out of your reckoning, " returned Archie, smilingassent to this, "and consider you have three out of your sevendaughters provided for, for Grace will always be my care. Whateverhappens in the future, I think I can promise as much as that. "

"Ay, ay! I remember when she was a little thing she always calledherself Archie's wife. Well, well, the mother must bring on Clara now:it would be a shame to separate you two. Look, there is your train, myboy! Jump in, and God bless you! You will come down to the wedding ofcourse, and bring Grace. "

"Archie's wife. " It was these two words that were keeping him so wideawake in the rushing darkness. A dusky flush mounted to the youngman's forehead as he pondered over them. 

He knew himself better now. Only a few weeks, scarcely more than afortnight, had passed since Grace had given him that hint; but eachday since then had done the work of years. Caught at the reboundindeed, and that so securely and strongly that the man's heart couldnever waver from its fixed purpose again. 

Now it was that he wondered at his blindness; that he began toquestion with a perfect anguish of doubt whether he should be toolate; whether his vacillation and that useless dream of his wouldhinder the fulfilment of what was now his dearest hope. 

Would he ever bring her to believe that he had never really lovedbefore, --not, at least, as he could love now? Would he ever dare totell her so, when she had known and understood that first stray fancyof his for Nan's sweet face?

Now, as day after day he visited the cottage and talked apart with hermother, his eyes would follow Phillis wistfully. Once the girl hadlooked up from her work and caught that long, watchful glance; andthen she had grown suddenly very pale, and a pained expression crossedher face, as though she had been troubled. 

Since that night when the young vicar had stood bare-headed on thesnowy steps, and had told Phillis laughingly that one day she wouldfind out for herself that all men were masterful, and she had run downthe steps flashing back that disdainful look at him, he had felt therewas a change in her manner to him. 

They had been such good friends of late; it had become a habit withhim to turn to Phillis when he wanted sympathy. A silent, scarcelyperceptible understanding had seemed to draw them together; but in onemoment, at a word, a mere light jest of his that meant nothing, thegirl had become all at once reserved, frozen up, impenetrable even tofriendship. 

In vain he strove to win her back to her old merry talk. Her frankrecklessness of speech seemed over for the present. In his presenceshe was almost always silent, --not with any awkwardness ofembarrassment, but with a certain maidenly reserve of bearing, asthough she had marked out a particular line of conduct for herself. 

When Grace was in the room, things were better: Phillis could not beotherwise than affectionate to her chosen friend. And when they werealone together, all Phillis's bright playfulness seemed to return; butnothing would induce her to cross the threshold of the vicarage. 

The evening after his return from Leeds, Archie, as usual, dropped inat the Friary; but this time he brought Grace with him. They were allgathered in the work-room, which had now become their favorite resort. On some pretext or other, the lamp had not been brought in; but theywere all sitting round the fire, chatting in an idle desultory way. 

Phillis was half hidden behind her mother's chair: perhaps this wasthe reason why her voice had its old merry chord. She had welcomedArchie rather gravely, --hardly turning her face to him as she spoke;but as soon as she was in her corner again, she took up the thread oftheir talk in her usual frank way. But it was Grace that sheaddressed. 

"Poor dear Harry! We have all been laughing a little at the notion ofAlcides being in love. Somehow, it seems so droll that Mattie shouldturn out his Deianeira; but, after all, I think he has shown very goodsense in his choice. Mattie will wear well. "

"You seem to agree with the 'Vicar of Wakefield, ' Miss Challoner, "observed Archie, rather amused at this temperate praise. "Did not thatexcellent man choose his wife for the same reason that she choose herwedding-dress, with a view to durability?"

"Oh, there is a vast amount of wisdom in all that, " returned Phillis, with mock solemnity; for she did not mind what nonsense she talked inthe darkness. "If life had nothing but fair-weather days, it might beexcusable for a man to choose his wife for mere beauty; but when onethinks of fogs and east-winds, and smoky chimneys, and all such minorevils, they may need something a little more sustaining than a pinkcomplexion. At least, " catching herself up, and hurrying on as thoughthe real meaning of her words only just occurred to her, "thoughMattie may not be beautiful outwardly, she is just the right sort ofperson for a regular east-windy day. Not even a smoky chimney and afog together will put her out of temper. "

"I will recollect your advice when the time comes, " replied Archierather audaciously at this, as he laughed and stroked his beard. 

It pleased him to see the old fun brimming over again, fresh andsparkling; but, as he answered her in the same vein of pleasantry, shecolored up in her dark corner and shrank back into herself, and allthe rest of the evening he could hardly win a smile from her. 

"My dear, I think Mr. Drummond comes very often, " Mrs. Challoner saidto her eldest daughter that night. "He is very gentlemanly, and a mostexcellent young man: but I begin to be afraid what these visitsmean. " But Nan only laughed at this. 

"Poor mother!" she said, stroking her face. "Don't you wish you had usall safe at Glen Cottage again? There are so few young men atOldfield. "

"I cannot bear young men, " was the somewhat irritable answer. "What isthe use of having children, when just when they grow up to be acomfort to you, every one tries to deprive you of them? Dick hasrobbed me of you, "--and here Mrs. Challoner grew tearful, --"and Dulceis always with the Middletons; and I am not at all sure that CaptainMiddleton is not beginning to admire her. "

"Neither am I, " observed Nan, a little gravely; for, though theyseldom talked of such things among themselves, "son Hammond's"attentions were decidedly conspicuous, and Dulce was looking as shyand pretty as possible. 

No; she could not give her mother any comfort there, for thesolemn-faced young officer was clearly bent on mischief. Indeed, bothfather and son were making much of the little girl. But as regardedMr. Drummond there could be no question of his intentions. The growingearnestness, the long wistful looks, were not lost on Nan who knew allsuch signs by experience. It was easy to understand the young vicar:it was Phillis who baffled her. 

They had never had any secrets between them. From their verychildhood, Nan had shared Phillis's every thought. But once or twicewhen she had tried to approach the subject in the gentlest manner, Phillis had started away like a restive colt, and had answered heralmost with sharpness:

"Nonsense, Nannie! What is it to me if Mr. Drummond comes a dozentimes a day?" arching her long neck in the proudest way, but herthroat contracting a little over the uttered falsehood; for she knew, none better, what these visits were to her. "Do you think I shouldtake the trouble to investigate his motives? Don't you know, Nan, " inher sweet whimsical voice, "that the masculine mind loves to conjugatethe verb 'to amuse'? Mr. Drummond is evidently bored by his owncompany; but there! the vagaries of men are innumerable. One might aswell question the ebbing tide as inquire of these young divinities thereason of all their eccentric actions. He comes because we amuse him, and we like to see him because he amuses us: and when he bores us, wecan tell him so, which is better than Canute and the waves, afterall. " And of course, after this, Nan was compelled to drop thesubject. 

But she watched Phillis anxiously; for she saw that the girl wasrestless and ill at ease. The thoughtful gray eyes had a shadow inthem. The bright spirits were quenched, and only kindled by a greateffort; and, as the time for their leaving the Friary grew closer dayby day, until the last week approached, she flagged more, and theshadow grew deeper. 

"If he would only speak and end all this suspense!" thought Nan, whoknew nothing of the real state of things, and imagined that Mr. Drummond had cared for Phillis from the first. 

They had already commenced their packing. Sir Harry was back in hishotel, solacing himself with his cousin's company, and writing briefletters to his homely little bride-elect, when one fine afternoon hemet them and Grace just starting for the shore. 

This was their programme on most afternoons, and of course they hadnot gone far before Captain Middleton and his father and sister joinedthem; and a little later on, just as they were entering the town, theyovertook Mr. Drummond. 

Phillis nodded to him in a friendly manner, and then walked on withGrace, taking no further notice; but when they were on the shore, admiring the fine sunset effect, Grace quietly dropped her arm andslipped away to join the others. Phillis stood motionless: her eyeswere riveted on the grand expanse of sky and ocean. "It is so likelife, " she said at last, not seeing who stood beside her, while allthe others were walking on in groups of twos and threes, Dulce closeto the colonel, as usual. "Do you see those little boats, Grace? oneis sailing so smoothly in the sunlight, and the other scarcelystirring in the shadow, --brightness to some, you see, and shade toothers; and beyond, that clear line of light, like the promise ofeternity. "

"Don't you think it lies within most people's power to make their ownlives happier?" returned Archie so quietly to this that she scarcelystarted. "The sunshine and shade are more evenly balanced than weknow. To be sure, there are some lives like that day that is neitherclear nor dark, --gray, monotonous lives, with few breaks and pleasuresin them. But perhaps even that question may be happily solved when onelooks out a little farther to the light beyond. "

"Yes, if one does not grow tired of waiting for the answer, " she said, a little dreamily. "There is so much that cannot be clear here. " Andthen she roused with a little difficulty from her abstraction, andlooked around her. The others had all gone on: they were standingalone on the shingly beach, just above a little strip of yellowsand, --only they two. Was it for this reason that her eyes grew wideand troubled, and she moved away rather hurriedly? But he still keptclose to her, talking quietly as he did so. 

"Do you remember this place?" he said: "it reminds me of a picture Ionce saw. I think it was 'Atalanta's Race, ' only there was no Paris. It was just such as scene as this: there was the dark breakwater, andthe long line of surf breaking on the shore, and the sun was shiningon the water; and there was a girl running with her head erect, andshe scarcely seemed to touch the ground, and she stopped just here, "resting his hand on the black, shiny timber. 

"Do not, " she answered, in a low voice, "do not recall that day: itstings me even now to remember it. " And as the words "Bravo Atalanta!"recurred to her memory, the hot blush of shame mounted to her face. 

"I have no need to recall it, " he returned, still more quietly, forher discomposure was great, "for I have never forgotten it. Yes, thisis the place, not where I first saw you, but where I first began toknow you. Phillis, that knowledge is becoming everything to me now!"

"Do not, " she said, again, but she could hardly bring out the words. But how wonderful it was to hear her name pronounced like that! "Theothers have gone on: we must join them. "

"May I not tell you what I think about you first?" he asked, verygently. 

"Not now, --not yet, " she almost whispered; and now he saw that she wasvery pale, and her eyes were full of tears. "I could not bear it yet. "And then, as she moved farther away from him, he could see how greatwas her agitation. 

It was a proof of his love and earnestness that he suffered the girlto leave him in this way, that he did not again rejoin her until theywere close to the others. In spite of his impatience and his manyfaults, he was generous enough to understand her without another word. She had not repelled him; she had not silenced him entirely; she hadnot listened to him and then answered him with scorn. On the contrary, her manner had been soft and subdued, more winning than he had everknown it; and yet she had refused to hearken to his suit. "Notnow, --not yet, " she had said, and he could see that her lip quivered, and her beautiful eyes were full of tears. It was too soon, that waswhat she meant; too soon for him to speak and for her to listen. Sheowed it to her own dignity that his affection should be put to greaterproof than that. She must not be so lightly won; she must not stoopdown from her maidenly pride and nobleness at his first words becauseshe had grown to care for him. "It must not be so, however much thedenial may cost me, " Phillis had said to herself. But as she joinedthe others, and came to Nan's side, she could scarcely steady hervoice or raise her eyes, for fear their shy consciousness would betrayher. "At last, " and "at last!"--that was the refrain that was ringingso joyously in her heart. Well, and one day he should tell her what hewould. 

She thought she had silenced him entirely, but she forgot that menwere masterful and had cunning ways of their own to compass theirends. Archie had recovered his courage; he had still a word to say, and he meant to say it; and just before the close of the walk, as theywere in the darkest part of the Braidwood Road, just where the treesmeet overhead, before one reaches the vicarage, Phillis found himagain at her side. 

"When may I hope that you will listen?" he said. "I am not a patientman: you must remember that, and not make it too hard for me. I shouldwish to know how soon I may come. "

"Spring is very beautiful in the country, " she answered, almost tooconfused by this unexpected address to know what she was saying. "Ithink May is my favorite month, when the hawthorns are out. "

"Thank you, I will come in May. " And then Phillis woke up to theperception of what she had said. "Oh, no, I did not meant that, " shebegan, incoherently; but this time it was Archie who moved away, witha smile on his face and a certain vivid brightness in his eyes, andher stammered words were lost in the darkness. 

The whole week was much occupied by paying farewell visits. On thelast afternoon Phillis went down to the White House to say good-bye. It was one of Magdalene's bad days; but the unquiet hour had passed, and left her, as usual, weak and subdued. Her husband was sittingbeside her: as Phillis entered he rose with a smile on his lips. "Thatis right, Miss Challoner!" he said, heartily. "Magdalene always looksbetter the moment she hears your voice. Barby is unfortunately out, but I can leave her happily with you. "

"Is he not good?" exclaimed his wife, as soon as he had left them. "Hehas been sitting with me all the afternoon, my poor Herbert, trying tocurb his restlessness, because he knows how much worse I am withouthim. Am I not a trying wife to him? and yet he says he could not dowithout me. There, it has passed: let us talk of something else. Andso you are going to leave us?" drawing the fresh face down to hers, that she might kiss it again. 

"Yes, to-morrow!" trying to stifle a sigh. 

"There are some of us that will not know what to do without you. If Iam not very much mistaken, there is one person who----" but here thegirl laid her hand hurriedly on her lips. "What! I am not to say that?Well, I will try to be good. But all the same this is not good-bye. Tell your mother from me that she will not have her girls for long. Captain Middleton has lost his heart, and is bent on making thatpretty little sister of yours lose hers to; and as for you, Phillis----" but here Phillis stooped, and silenced her this time by akiss. 

"Ah, well!" continued Magdalene, after a moment's silence, as shelooked tenderly into the fair face before her; "so you have finishedyour little bit of play-work, and are going back into youryoung-ladyhood again?"

"It was not play-work!" returned Phillis, indignantly: "you say thatto provoke me. Do you know, " she went on, earnestly, "that if weshould have had to work all our lives as dressmakers, Nan and I wouldhave done it, and never given in. We were making quite a fine businessof it. We had more orders then we could execute; and you call thatplay? Confess, now, that you repent of that phrase!"

"Oh, I was only teasing you, " returned Magdalene, smiling. "I know howbrave you were, and how terribly in earnest. Yes, Phillis, you areright; nothing would have daunted you; you would have worked withoutcomplaint all your life long, but for that red-haired Alcides ofyours. "

"Dear Harry! how much we owe to him!" exclaimed Phillis. 

"No, dear, you will owe your happiness to yourself, --the happiness, "as the girl looked at her in surprise, "that is coming to you andDulce. It was because you were not like other girls--because you werebrave, self-reliant gentlewomen, afraid of nothing but dishonor; notfearful of small indignities, or of other people's opinions, but justtaking up the work that lay to your hands, and going through withit--that you have won his heart: and, seeing this, how could he helploving you as he does?" But to this Phillis made no answer. 

The next day was rather trying to them all. Phillis's cheerfulness wasa little forced, and for some time after they had left theFriary--with Grace and Archie waving their farewells from theroad--she was very silent. 

But no sooner had they crossed the threshold of Glen Cottage thantheir girlhood asserted itself. The sight of the bright snug rooms, with their new furniture, the conservatory, with its floral treasures, and Sir Harry's cheery welcome, as he stood in the porch with Mrs. Mayne, was too much even for Phillis's equanimity. In a few minutestheir laughing faces were peering out of every window and into everycupboard. 

"Oh, the dear, beautiful home! Isn't it lovely of Harry to bring usback!" cried Phillis, oblivious of everything at that moment but hermother's satisfied face. 

In a few days they had settled down into their old life. It was tooearly for tennis while snowdrops and crocuses were peeping out of thegarden borders. But in the afternoon friends dropped in in the oldway, and gathered round the Challoner tea-table; and very soon--forEaster fell early that year--Dick showed himself among them, and then, indeed, Nan's cup of happiness was full. 

But as April passed on Phillis began to grow a little silent again;and it became a habit with her to coax Laddie to take long walks withher, when Nan and Dulce were otherwise engaged. The exercise seemed toquiet her restlessness; and the spring sights and sounds, the buddinghedgerows, and the twittering of the birds as they built their nests, and the fresh leafy green, unsoiled by summer heat and dust, seemed torefresh her flagging spirits. 

It was the 1st of May, when one afternoon she called to Laddie, whowas lying drowsily in the sunny porch. Nan, who was busily engaged intraining the creeper round the pillars of the veranda, looked up in alittle surprise:

"Are you going out again, Phil? And neither Dulce nor I can come withyou. Mrs. Mayne has some friends coming to five-o'clock tea, and shewants us to go over for an hour. It is so dull for you, dear, alwaysto walk alone. "

"Oh no; I shall not be dull, Nannie, " returned Phillis, with anunsteady smile, for her spirits were a little fluctuating thatafternoon. "I am restless, and want a good walk: so I shall just go toSandy Lane, and be back in time to make tea for mother. " And then shewaved her hand, and whistled to Laddie as she unlatched the littlegate. It was a long walk. But, as usual, the quiet and the sweet airrefreshed her, and by the time she reached Sandy Lane her eyes werebrilliant with exercise, and a pretty pink tinge of color was in hercheeks. It is May-day, --the 1st of May. I wonder how soon he willcome, she thought, as she leaned on the little gate where poor Dickhad leaned that day. 

There were footsteps approaching, but they made no sound over thesandy ruts. A tall man, with a fair beard and a clerical felt hat, waswalking quickly up the road that leads from Oldfield; and as he walkedhis eyes were scanning the path before him, as though he were lookingfor some one. At the sight of the girl leaning against the gate hisface brightened, and he slackened his steps a little, that he mightnot startle her. She was looking out across the country with afar-off, dreamy expression, and did not turn her head as heapproached. It was Laddie who saw him first, and jumped up with ajoyous bark to welcome him; and then she looked round, and for amoment her eyes grew wide and misty, for she thought it was acontinuation of her dream. 

"Laddie saw me first, " he said, stepping up quietly to her side, --forhe still feared to startle her, --and his voice was very gentle. "Phillis, you must not look so surprised! Surely you expected me? Itis the 1st of May!"

"Oh, I knew that, " she said; and then she turned away from him. But hehad not dropped her hand, but was holding it very quietly and firmly. "But I could not tell the day; and----"

"Did you think I should wait an hour beyond the time you fixed?" heanswered, very calmly. "May is your favorite month; and what could bemore beautiful than May-day for the purpose I have in hand! Phillis, you will not go back from your promise now? You said you would listento me in May. "

There was no answer to this; but, as Archie looked in her face, heread no repulse there. And so, in that quiet lane, with Laddie lyingat their feet, he told all he had to tell. 

"Are you sure you can trust me now, Phillis?" he asked, ratherwistfully, when he had finished. "You know what I am, dear--a man withmany faults. "

"Yes; now and forever, " she answered, without a moment's hesitation. "I am not afraid--I never should have been afraid to trust you, I havefaults of my own: so why should I wish you to be perfect? I care foryou as you are; you will believe that?" for there was almost a sadhumility in his face as he pleaded with her that went to her heart. 

"Oh, yes; I believe what you tell me. You are truth itself, mydarling, --the bravest and truest woman I have ever met. You do notknow how happy you have made me, or how different my life will be whenI have you by my side. Phillis, do you know how glad Grace will beabout this?"

"Will she?" returned Phillis, shyly. They were walking homeward now, hand in hand toward the sunset, --so, at least, it seemed to the girl. No one was in sight, only the quiet country round them bathed in theevening light, and they two alone. "Archie!" she exclaimed, suddenly, and her beautiful eyes grew wistful all at once, "you will not letthis make any difference to Grace? She loves you so; and you are allshe has at present. You must never let me stand between you two. I amnot so selfish as that. "

"You could not be selfish if you tried, dearest. How I wish Gracecould have heard you! No; you are right. We must not let her sufferfrom our happiness. But, Phillis, you know who must come first now. "And then, as she smiled in full understanding, he put her hand uponhis arm, and held it there. His promised wife, --Archie's wife! Ah, theDrummond star was rising now in earnest! His life lay before him, likethe road they were now entering, white and untrodden and bathed in thesunlight. What if some clouds should come, and some shadows fall, ifthey might tread it together to the end? And so, growing silent withhappiness, they walked home through the sunset, till the spring duskand the village lights saw them standing together on the threshold ofGlen Cottage, and the dear faces and loving voices of home closedaround them and bade them welcome. 

THE END

HOW TO BECOME RICH. A TREATISE ON PHRENOLOGY

A Choice of Professions and Matrimony--A Self-InstructorBy Prof. William Windsor, Ph. D. Fully illustrated. 

[Illustration]

Every young man and woman of reasonable intelligence is, or ought tobe, possessed of a laudable ambition to be self-sustaining. To win acompetency, to secure the necessities, to have even the luxuries oflife, is perfectly praiseworthy, provided they are obtained in alegitimate manner. Every rational man seeks the occupation, trade orprofession which insures the profitable employment of his best talents, and the science which discloses to the youth at the beginning of hiseducation what those talents are and how they may be developed toperfection in early manhood, confers upon him the greatest favor withinthe gift of knowledge, from a financial standpoint. That a knowledge ofPhrenology does this, and more, this book proves beyond all question. 

Paper, 184 pages. Price, 25 cents. 

FACIOLOGYOR, THE SCIENCE OF CHARACTER · A SELF-INSTRUCTOR

By L. B. Stevens, LL. B. 95 Illustrations

[Illustration]

"Faciology" opens up an old, familiar and picturesque field ofobservation in a new and scientific light; it gives one a mortgage onman, a quasi-ownership in every creature and individual that comeswithin our range of contemplation; this science stimulates ourobservation and augments our reason; it teaches us to interrogate thecauses and meaning of human actions, intensifies our interest inhumanity, and fills the heart with a higher and more ardent devotion tophilanthropy. 

Paper, 208 pages. Price, 25 cents. 

For sale by all book and newsdealers, or will send to any address inthe United States, Canada or Mexico, postage prepaid on receipt ofprice, in currency, money order or stamps. 

M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 407-429 Dearborn Street--CHICAGO

[Illustration]

Illustrated Holiday and Presentation Editions

QUO VADISBy Henryk Stenkiewicz. 

530 pages and illustrated with 32 photographs and scenes in half-tones;taken from F. C. Whitney's great dramatic production. A new andcomplete translation, printed from large clear type on a superiorquality of paper, and bound in ornamental cloth with title stamped onfront and back from unique dies. A sumptious edition of thismasterpiece. Price. . . . $1. 00

IN HIS STEPSBy Charles M. Sheldon. 

[Illustration]

275 pages, illustrated with 8 beautiful half-tone engravings. Printedfrom new clear type on superior paper, bound in ornamental cloth, stamped from unique dies, title on side and back in gold. Over threemillion copies of this book have been sold, and it has been the aim ofthe publishers to make this edition the most attractive illustratededition at a popular price. Price. . . . $1. 00

SAPPHOBy Alphonse Daudet. 

[Illustration]

224 pages, illustrated with 8 half-tone reproductions of the strikingclimaxes of the play. New type, superior paper and bound in ornamentalcloth, embellished with unique stamping on side and back in gold. Price. . . . $1. 00

UNCLE TOM'S CABINBy Harriet Beecher Stowe

[Illustration]

With two portraits of the author and 25 full-page illustrations byGeorge Cruikshank, the famous illustrator of Dickens. 467 pages of text, printed from large type on toned paper, bound in ornamental cloth andstamped from unique dies on front and back in gold. Gold top. Price. . . . $1. 25

M. A. DONOHUE & CO. , CHICAGO. 

PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS AND READINGSCompiled by Charles Walter Brown

[Illustration]

This is the choicest, newest and most complete collection of Patrioticrecitations published, and includes all of the best known selections, together with the best utterances of many eminent statesmen. Selectionsfor Decoration Day, Fourth of July, Washington's and Lincoln'sBirthdays, Arbor Day, Labor Day, and all other Patriotic occasions. 

There are few more enjoyable forms of amusement than entertainments andexhibitions, and there is scarcely anything more difficult to procurethan new and meritorious material appropriate for such occasions. Thisbook is designed to fill the want. 

Handsomely bound in Paper Covers 25 CentsCloth 50 Cents

COMPLETE GUIDE TO DANCING

Ball Room Etiquette and Quadrille Call Book

[Illustration]

Containing all the new and modern square dances and tabulated forms forthe guidance of the leader or others in calling them. Full and completedirections for performing every known square dance, such as PlainQuadrilles, Polka Quadrilles, Prairie Queen, Varieties Quadrille, Francaise, Dixie Figure, Girl I Left Behind Me, Old Dan Tucker, MoneyMusk, Waltz Lanciers, Military Lanciers, Columbian Lanciers, OaklandMinuet, Waltz Quadrilles, etc. , etc. 

The "German" introduces over One Hundred of the newest and most popularFigures, fully described, and conveniently grouped for ready reference. 

Every information in regard to the service of Ball-Room Etiquette, duties of Leaders and general instruction is fully and clearly given. 

Handsomely bound in Paper Covers 25 CentsCloth 50 Cents

For sale by all Book and News Dealers, or will be sent to any address inthe United States, Canada or Mexico, postage paid, on receipt of price, in currency, money order or stamps. 

M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 407-429 DEARBORN STCHICAGO

THE SELF-EDUCATOR SERIESEdited by John Adams, M. A. , B. Sc. 

12Mo. Cloth. Uniform in Size and Binding. List Price. 75 Cents Each

[Illustration]

The object of this series is to meet the needs of students who areeither unable or unwilling to attend classes in subjects which they wishto study. No effort has been spared to make the books self-contained. Itis taken for granted that no help is available other than that to befound in the pages of the various volumes, and it is hoped that thishelp will be sufficient to enable the most isolated student to givehimself a thorough grounding in the subjects he takes up. The booksbegin at the beginning of their subjects, and carry the student farenough to enable him to continue his studies intelligently andsuccessfully on his own account. Two common mistakes have been carefullyavoided: (1) Expecting too much from the student. (2) Attempting toexhaust a whole subject in one book. Each volume contains all the"Essentials" of the subject, and concludes with a set of hints on howbest to prosecute the study as a private student. 

Self-Educator In AlgebraBy W. P. Higgs. 12mo, cloth $0. 75

Self-Educator in FrenchBy John Adams. 12mo, cloth 75

Self-Educator in LatinBy W. A. Edward. 12mo, cloth 75

Self Educator in GermanBy John Adams. 12mo, cloth 75

Self-Educator in ChemistryBy James Knight. 12mo, cloth 75

Self-Educator in English CompositionBy G. H. Thornton. 12mo, cloth 75

Single copies of the above books sent postpaid upon receipt of 75c. Anytwo for $1. 40; any three for $1. 95; any four for $2. 40: any five for$2. 75; or the set of six volumes for $3. 00. 

M. A. Donohue & Co. , 407-429 Dearborn Street, CHICAGO

OUR SUNDAY SCHOOL LIBRARY FOR VERY YOUNG CHILDREN

12 Volumes--Cloth--Illustrated

We take pleasure in announcing the publication of new and enlargededitions of the following books, comprising our Sunday School Libraryfor very young children. Thousands of Sunday Schools and Kindergartensthroughout America have ordered the entire set. In some instancesseveral sets have been ordered for one school where the enrollment isvery large. Approved by teachers and ministers of all denominations. 

[Illustration]

 1. PAPA'S PET 2. SUNBEAMS AND SHADOWS 3. MISS ROSY 4. BEACH FARM CHILDREN 5. GOOD NIGHT STORIES 6. HELPING MAMMA 7. PLEASANT TIMES 8. BOBBY'S TEETH 9. PLAY DAY10. LITTLE TEACHERS11. PRETTY STORIES12. AUNT ELIZABETH

Each volume contains about 50 pages printed on an extra quality of heavybook paper, profusely illustrated and bound in an excellent quality ofsilk cloth, assorted colors, and stamped with unique dies in two colorsink. 

Price, 25c each, any 2 for 45c, 5 for $1. 00 or the 12 for $2. 00By mail or express, prepaid, to any address. 

M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY407-429 Dearborn Street, Chicago

NATURAL HISTORY STORIES. 

[Illustration]

We have included in this series a carefully selected number of booksthat will fascinate and interest, as well as instruct, old and youngalike. The books are printed from large, clear type; are profuselyillustrated and are bound in a substantial and attractive manner inCloth, artistically stamped in Inks from Unique Dies. 

Price of each book is $1. 00, postpaid. 

History of Animals, Their Varieties and Oddities. 

Comprising graphic descriptions of nearly all known species of beastsand reptiles the world over, illustrating their varied habits, mode oflife and distinguishing peculiarities by means of delightful anecdotesand spirited engravings, by the. Rev. W. Bingley, A. M. Containing 586pages of large, clear type, and over 500 illustrations; bound in Cloth;stamped in silks from unique dies. 

Price, $1. 00. 

History of Birds. 

Containing their varieties and habits, and comprising sketches of everyknown species of birds in all climes; illustrating their use, value andculture, by the Rev. W. Bingley, A. M. Containing 500 pages of cleartype text and nearly 500 illustrations, made especially for this work;bound in Cloth and stamped in Inks from unique dies. Large 12mo, 6-1/2 x9 inches. 

Price, $1. 00. 

History of the Sea. 

Comprising a complete description of all the varieties of the finnyinhabitants of the sea, showing their mode of life, and illustratingtheir habits and usefulness, by Rev. W. Bingley, A. M. Containing over500 pages of large, clear type, and nearly 500 illustrations; bound inCloth; stamped in Inks from unique dies. 

Price, $1. 00. 

For sale by all Book and News Dealers, or will be sent to any address inthe United States, Canada or Mexico, postage paid, on receipt of price, in currency, money order or stamps. 

M. A. Donahue & Co. 407-420 Dearborn St. Chicago

LIVES OF FAMOUS MENEdited by Charles Walter Brown, A. M. 

In this series of historical and biographical works the publishers haveincluded only such books as will interest and instruct the youth of bothsexes. A copy should be in every public school and private library. Special discount made when entire set is ordered. They are printed fromlarge, clear type on an excellent quality of paper and substantially andattractively bound in cloth, stamped in inks and gold from originaldesigns. Each book is fully illustrated. Price, $1. 00 per copy, postpaid. 

LIFE OF GEORGE WASHINGTON. By George Washington Parke Curtis, the adopted son of our firstpresident. Cloth, 664 pages, large, 12mo. 

LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. By Hon. Joseph H. Barrett, ex-member of Congress, Cloth, 842 pages, large, 12mo. 

LIFE OF U. S. GRANT. By Hon. B. P. Poore and Rev. O. H. Tiffany, D. D. Cloth, 594 pages, large, 12mo. 

LIFE OF WILLIAM McKINLEY. By Murat Halstead, Chauncey M. Depew and John Sherman, Cloth, 450 pages, large, 12mo. 

LIFE OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT. By Thomas W. Handford. Cloth, 255 pages, large, 16mo. 

LIFE OF HENRY M. STANLEY, By A. M. Godbey, A. M. Cloth, 560 pages, large, 12mo. 

LIFE OF JOHN PAUL JONES. By Charles Walter Brown, A. M. Cloth, nearly 300 pages, 12mo. 

LIFE OF ETHAN ALLEN, By Charles Walter Brown, A. M. Cloth, nearly 300 pages, 12mo. 

LIFE OF W. T. SHERMAN. By Hon. W. Fletcher Johnson and Gen. O. O. Howard. Cloth, 607 pages, large, 12mo. 

LIFE OF P. T. BARNUM. By Hon. Joel Benton. Cloth, 621 pages, large, 12mo. 

LIFE OF T. DEWITT TALMAGE. By Charles Francis Adams. Cloth, nearly 500 pages. 

LIFE OF D. L. MOODY. By Charles Francis Adams. Cloth, 318 pages, large, 12mo. 

For sale by all book and newsdealers or sent postpaid to any address inthe United States, Canada or Mexico, upon receipt of price in currency, stamps, postal or express money order. 

M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 407-429 Dearborn St. CHICAGO. 

"HARKAWAY" SERIES OF BOOKS FOR BOYSBy Bracebridge Hemyng

[Illustration]

"Jack Harkaway's School Days" is one of the most fascinating andinstructive books for boys published, and should be read by every boybefore his 15th year. After reading this book the other 14 should beread in the order in which they are given since each is a continuationof the one preceding. 

They are uniformly bound in linen cloth, stamped with original designs, in inks, on backs and sides. 

Price Per Volume, 75 Cents

"No more readable books for the young have ever been printed than thesefifteen volumes. "--Book and Newsdealer. 

 1 Jack Harkaway's School Days 2 Jack Harkaway After School Days 3 Jack Harkaway Afloat and Ashore 4 Jack Harkaway at Oxford, Part 1 5 Jack Harkaway at Oxford, Part 2 6 Jack Harkaway Among the Brigands, Part 1 7 Jack Harkaway Among the Brigands, Part 2 8 Jack Harkaway's Adventures Around the World 9 Jack Harkaway in America and Cuba10 Jack Harkaway's Adventures in China11 Jack Harkaway's Adventures in Greece, Part 112 Jack Harkaway's Adventures in Greece, Part 213 Jack Harkaway's Adventures in Australia14 Jack Harkaway and His Boy Tinker, Part 115 Jack Harkaway and His Boy Tinker, Part 2

For sale by all book and newsdealers or will be sent postpaid uponreceipt of price, in currency, money order or stamps, to any address inthe United States, Canada or Mexico. 

M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 407-429 Dearborn St. CHICAGO

THE GREATEST LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN YET PUBLISHED

By Hon. Jos. H. Barrett, and Charles Walter. Brown, A. M. 

[Illustration]

In this great work which embraces the complete life of the greatest manof modern times, nothing has been omitted or slighted. His earlyHistory, Political Career, Speeches, both in and out of Congress, thegreat Lincoln-Douglas Debates, every state paper, speech, message andtwo inaugural addresses are given in full, together with manycharacteristic STORIES AND YARNS by and concerning Lincoln, which haveearned for him the sobriquet "The Story Telling President. "

In addition there is included a COMPLETE ACCOUNT OF HIS ASSASSINATION, death and burial, together with the trial and execution of hisassassins. 

This immense volume of 850 pages contains nearly 360, 000 words, beingsix times larger than the average school history. Size of book 6-1/2x9, 3 inches thick, weighing nearly 3 pounds. 

Price, $1. 00

Sent postpaid to any address in the United States, Canada or Mexico uponreceipt of price, in currency, express or postal money order or stamps. 

M. A. Donohue & Co. 407-429 Dearborn StreetCHICAGO

THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO BLACKSMITHING, HORSESHOEING, CARRIAGE AND WAGONBUILDING AND PAINTING

[Illustration]

For all general mechanical work, this is the most valuable book for thefarmer, blacksmith, carpenter, carriage and wagon building, painting andvarnishing trades published. The department on Blacksmithing is based onthe various text books by Prof. A. Lungwitz, Director of the ShoeingSchool of the Royal Veterinary College at Dresden, while the chapters onCarriage and Wagon Building, Painting, Varnishing are by Charles F. Adams, one of the most successful builders in Wisconsin. The languageemployed is so simple that any young man of average ability can, in ashort time become proficient in all of these useful and profitableoccupations. Each chapter is fully illustrated, there being more than 50drawings throughout the book. 

Full Cloth Binding, Price, $1. 00

THE COMPLETE HOUSE BUILDERWith Practical Hints on Construction

[Illustration]

The subject of house building is of interest to all, even thoughfinancially they are at present unable to realize their cherished hopes. A few months or a year may so change the aspect of one's affairs as torender it possible to build. It is therefore well for all to anticipatethe realization of a home and become familiar with the requisites of agood house, barn, warehouse or other necessary building. This valuablework contains not only Plans and Specifications for Dwellings, butClubs, Churches, Public Buildings, Barns, and all necessary outbuildingsfor Farms, Country Seats, Suburban Homes, etc. ; accurate estimates ofmaterials with cost, and all Tables and Rules necessary in Plastering, Plumbing, Painting, Roofing, Masonry, Cornice, Windows, Doors and PorchMaterials, with 50 plans and Specifications on buildings from $476given. 376 pages, 12mo. 

Paper, 25 Cents; Cloth, 50 Cents. 

For sale by all Book and News Dealers, or will be sent to any address inthe U. S. , Canada or Mexico, postage paid, on receipt of price, incurrency, money order or stamps. 

M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 407-429 DEARBORN ST. CHICAGO

COMPLETE HYPNOTISMOr, How to Hypnotize

[Illustration]

A manual of self-instruction based on the new and improved system ofmental and bodily healing. Pronounced by all who have read it to be themost fascinating and instructive book of its kind published. InductiveHypnotism, Mesmerism, Suggestive Therapeutics and Magnetic Healing, including Telepathy, Mind Reading and Spiritualism fully treated. Nearly100 lessons especially prepared for self-instruction. This is positivelythe best book on Hypnotism published. Fully illustrated. 

Paper covers, 25 cents; Cloth, 50 cents. 

THE COMPLETE PALMIST

[Illustration]

Prepared for self-instruction by Ina Oxenford, the world-renowned authorand acknowledged authority on Palmistry. This is the simplestpresentation of the science of Modern Palmistry published. There is notrait, no characteristic, no inherited tendency that is not marked onthe palm of the hand and can be traced with unerring accuracy byfollowing the instructions given in this book. Even a casual readingwill enable one to know his own character better and give convincingproof of the constancy of friends, or the professing ones. The Bibleattests the truth of Palmistry. 

Paper covers, 25 cents; Cloth, 50 cents. 

THE MYSTIC FORTUNE TELLER, Dream Book and Policy Players' Guide

[Illustration]

This book contains an alphabetical list of dreams with theirsignifications and lucky numbers, and the getting of fortunes by theMystic Circle, Cards Dice, Coffee and Tea Grounds, etc. Also a list ofcurious superstitions and omens, birthdays, lucky day, theirsignificance and their numbers. It is unquestionably the best and mostreliable book of its kind published and is worth many times the priceasked for it. 

Paper covers, 25 cents; Cloth, 50 cents. 

For sale by all book and newsdealers or sent postpaid to any address inthe United States, Canada or Mexico upon receipt of price in currency, postal or express money order. 

M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 407-429 Dearborn StreetCHICAGO

COMIC READINGS AND RECITATIONSCompiled by CHARLES WALTER. BROWN, A. M. 

[Illustration]

Few of the selections contained in this book have ever before appearedin print. Copyright matter has been procured at great expense from thegreatest wits of the age. Such delightful entertainers as Ezra Kendall, Lew Dockstadter, Josh Billings, James Whitcomb Kiley, Marshall P. Wilder, Mark Twain, Bret Harte, Opie Read, Bill Nye, Petroleum V. Nashby, Artemus Ward, together with the best from "Puck, " "Judge, ""Life, " "Detroit Free Press, " "Arizona Kicker, " renders this book thebest of its kind published. 

Paper covers, printed in two colors on enameled paper, 25 cents. Cloth, gold titles, original designs, stamped in inks, 50 cents. 

THE AMERICAN STAR SPEAKER AND MODEL ELOCUTIONISTBy CHARLES WALTER. BROWN, A. M. 

[Illustration]

Many Speakers are advertised to be the best, but a comparison is allthat is necessary to convince anyone that our claim that The AmericanStar Speaker & Model Elocutionist is beyond all question the best froman Elocutionary point of view. Of the 500 or more selections there isnot one that is not available for reading on any desired occasion. Thetreatise on Acting, Delsarte, Elocution, Oratory and Physical Culture isby the professor of these departments in the Missouri State University, while its mechanical make-up is that of a work of art, for the text andhalf-tone illustrations are the best made. No home, school, church, club, literary society, lodge or library is complete without this book. It gives more for the money than any similar work published. Spaceforbids further details. Satisfaction is guaranteed. Elegantly andsubstantially printed and bound in the best silk cloth, the nationalemblems being stamped from artistic designs in the patriotic colors. Price, $1. 00

For sale by all book and newsdealers or sent postpaid to any address inthe United States, Canada or Mexico upon receipt of price in currency, postal or express money order. 

M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 407-429 Dearborn St. , CHICAGO

DOROTHY VERNONor, THE BEAUTY of HADDON HALL

The author has produced a powerful love story, replete with stirringand pathetic incidents. This book will be read and re-read withincreasing interest, and will long be remembered as one of the purest, sweetest and most romantic of modern love stories. It is creating agreat sensation. 

12mo, Paper Price, $0. 3512mo, Cloth " 1. 00

SWEET DANGERBy Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 

The public has long awaited a prose work from the pen of this giftedwriter that should deal with the sentiments and emotions as forcibly asshe has done in verse. "Sweet Danger, " represents that effort in thefullest sense. It is creating a sensation even among readers of theFrench school of fiction. 

12mo, Paper Price, $0. 5012mo, Cloth " 1. 25

MADAME DUBARRY, The King's Mistressby George Moorehead. 

Mrs. Leslie Carter, the famous American actress, having selectedMadame Dubarry as the central figure in her new play, the life storyof the famous mistress of Louis XV of France becomes a topic ofuniversal interest to American readers. 

12mo, Paper Price, $0. 5012mo, Cloth " 1. 25

TOLD BY TWOBy Marie St. Felix

Author of "Little Game With Destiny, " "Two Bad Brown Eyes, ""Patricia, " Etc. 

This book is full of thrilling romance, with innumerable happenings to agiddy young married woman of New York and a bachelor from Boston. Plentyof rich, spicy dialogue--it is replete with up-to-date expletives. Lovers of realistic fiction will revel in this literary feast. 

12mo, Paper Price, $0. 5012mo, Cloth " 1. 25

ANY THREE IN PAPER COVERS FOR $1. 00, OR THE 4 FOR $1. 30

Sent postpaid to any address in the United States, Canada or Mexicoupon receipt of price, in currency, express or postal money order orstamps. 

M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 407-429 Dearborn St. , CHICAGO

FAMOUS BOOKS FOR BOYS

These are new and superior editions of these famous authors' books forboys. They are printed from new plates on an excellent quality of paperwhile many are profusely illustrated. Each book is sewed, thus making aflexible back, so that it opens easily, making its reading a pleasureand a comfort. The covers are printed in two colors from appropriatedesigns on a heavy coated enameled paper in assorted colors. 

FROM THE MODERN AUTHORS' LIBRARY

By Q. A. Henty

260 Boy Knight, A271 Cornet of Horse280 Facing Death285 Final Reckoning295 In Freedom's Cause298 In Times of Peril297 In the Reign of Terror299 Jack Archer317 One of the 28th318 Orange and Green319 Out on the Pampas337 True to the Old Flag349 Under Drake's Flag348 With Lee in Virginia

By J. Fenimore Cooper

170 Last of the Mohicans, The178 Pathfinder, The179 Pioneers, The180 Prairie, The187 Spy, The354 Deerslayer

By Victor Hugo

 36 By Order of the King272 Cosette283 Fantine106 Hans of Iceland 37 History of a Crime300 Jean Valjean308 Marins 38 Ninety-Three 39 Notre Dame de Paris331 St. Denis 40 Toilers of the Sea

By Emile Gaboriau

284 File No. 113--287 Gilded Clique108 Lecoq, the Detective199 Lerouge Case, The312 Mystery of Orcival

By Jules Verne

245 Michael Strogoff219 Mysterious Island180 Tour of the World in 80 Days121 Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea

By H. Rider Haggard

158 Allan Quatermain223 Allan's Wife160 Cleopatra100 Jess167 King Solomon's Mines112 Miawa's Revenge244 Mr. Meeson's Will186 She

Price, Postpaid 25c Each or Any Five for $1. 00

For sale by all book and newsdealers or sent postpaid to any address inthe United States, Canada or Mexico upon receipt of price in currency, stamps, postal or express money order. 

M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 407-429 Dearborn St. , CHICAGO

FORTUNE TELLING, MAGIC, TABLEAUX, PANTOMIMES, PLAYS, SPEAKERS, ETC. 

Twentieth Century Wonder BookBy Wm. C. Hunter

[Illustration]

A store-house of wonderful things for the entertainment, instruction, information and amusement of the home circle. A book for everybody;embracing riddles, conundrums and autograph album mottoes, lessons inparlor magic, interesting parlor games, clairvoyant, the language offlowers, chemical experiments, tableau, pantomimes and trueinterpretation of dreams, prognostications by cards explaining all cardsand how to define them, charms, charades, how to delineate character, signs, omens, fortune telling, etc. , etc. The most wonderful book evercompiled. 

Bound in Cloth. . . . 50c. Bound in Paper. . . . 25c. 

DEARBORN SPEAKER

182 Pages12mo, Cloth

Embracing original and select readings, recitations, declamations anddialogues, with introductory observations of eminent elocutionists anddramatists on the study and practice of elocution. Printed from newplates, substantially bound, with title stamped in gold. 

Price. . . . 75c. 

TOMMY'S FIRST SPEAKER

160 Pages, 12mo, Cloth

[Illustration]

Containing selections for boys and girls that are simple, serious, quaint and pleasant and so short that they can be easily memorized. Over 300 selections, bound in art vellum cloth, titles stamped on thefront. 

Price. . . . 50c. 

TOMMY'S SECOND SPEAKER

160 Pages, 12mo, Cloth

Comprising selections for boys and girls of a more advanced age thanthose for whom Tommy's First Speaker was written Over 200 selections, bound in art vellum cloth, title stamped on front cover in ink fromornamental design. 

Price. . . . 50c. 

M. A. DONOHUE & CO. , CHICAGO.