The Pillars of the House; Or, Under Wode, Under Rode, Vol. 2 (of 2)

  CHAPTER XLIX.

  THE RIVAL OWLS.

  'Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower The moping owl doth to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her haunted tower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.' _Gray._

  'Poor caterpillars, with our web broken, trying to gather it closeround us,' said Geraldine, with a sort of playful melancholy, when oldSquire Underwood's little table was produced, that so vast and sad atract of table-cloth might not divide the four who met at meals.

  For Sister Constance and Mr. Fulmort had won back for Angela permissionto make a visit at St Faith's, certainly during Lent, and probably fora longer time, that she might be regularly instructed in nursing. Thewild spirit craved for discipline as by a sort of instinct, and thisthe orphaned family had never been able to supply, and her affectionshad really been wounded enough to render nothing so welcome as shelterand protection against herself. Fulbert's English visit soon came toan end. Australia was his element, he was weary of the old country;declared there was no room to move, and having been refused by LizzieBruce, only wanted to get back as soon as he could. He looked Bernardall over, and pronounced that there were too many of his sort out therealready, and he had rather help him to the University.

  Bernard might in fact have been sent thither by subscription from thefamily, but he surprised them all by showing Cherry his letter toaccept an under-clerkship in the house of Kedge and Underwood. It wasthe consequence of a consultation with Mr. Travis on means of living,though the lad had kept his own counsel till all was settled, and, headded, 'I know I've been an idle dog, but I do mean to work now;' thehitherto obstinately childish face showed manhood and self-reliance.Felix had done quite right to knock all his supports away, and thathe knew it was shown by his acting at once instead of grumbling. Thefate of many a comrade had taught him to rejoice that his post wasnot the prize of a competitive examination, and if his features andbearing perilously reminded Spooner of his brother Edgar, the absenceof Edgar's tastes and talents exempted him from some of the sametemptations; nor did Miss Underwood show any symptoms of spoilinghim, only settling him in respectable lodgings, and making her houseno more than a friendly cousinly resort. His public school-life hadlikewise given him a less dangerous set of acquaintance than Edgar'shad been, and there were wholesome opportunities of gratifying hislove of athletics. Lady Caergwent, too, on coming to town for theSession, did not forget the solitary Vale Lestonite, but requited hisbotanical exertions with friendly invitations for gay evenings and forquiet Sundays, both of which did much to keep up what was good, bothoutwardly and inwardly, in the youth.

  'Kedge and Underwood' in all its branches was intensely elated atits approaching union with the great Mr. Travis of Peter Brown andCo., who was to take the style and arms of Underwood, well pleased toappropriate the rood, and bear the name of those whom he had alwaysregarded with a true family love. The wedding was to be soon afterEaster, and the pair were then to go out and make arrangements for thefuture welfare of the American property. Ferdinand had in jest askedGerald if he would go back, and the child had drawn back into hisaunt's arms, and answered, 'Not without Cherie.'

  Wilmet had soon come downstairs again, but with the first visible signsof departing youth, the first dimming of the freshness of complexion,the first marring of the perfect oval contour of face, and with aheart heavy as much for the living sister as for the dead brother, andwith the sad grieving which only mothers know for the babe whom shehad never seen. John was anxious to take her from home. The last oldMiss Oglandby had died suddenly during her recovery, and as all threehad left him half their portions, he was now a man of considerablemeans, rather disproportioned to his cottage at Vale Leston. Therehowever he meant to remain, for the sake of attending to the estate,but he hastened the preliminary business in order to proceed to that inBuckinghamshire, so soon as Wilmet should be capable of the journey.And he found the less to do, that never man had set his house in ordermore thoroughly than Felix. Every paper and letter was sorted, andso marked that there was not an instant's doubt whether it concernedthe estate or the business; every account was clearly brought down toChristmas, and nothing left that could complicate or perplex: in manycases, especially with regard to the farms and Blackstone Gulley, therewere notes of conversations, promises, or intentions. The executors hadlittle but formal work to do.

  Wilmet was only once able to come to the Priory before she left home,and she could hardly bear it, breaking down with showers of tears, asif the grief were fresh; while Geraldine went about, calm, dry-eyed,occupied, attending to Gerald, receiving callers, writing letters,and consulting with her brothers, or even helping Lance with work forthe Pursuivant, but all as if the taste and flavour had gone out ofher life, and nothing could interest her, except Gerald and one otheremployment.

  She had copied her miniature of Felix for Stella, and the wistfuladmiration of some of the others had made her volunteer to give one toeach of the family, and she spent many hours over the square open brow,clear, fearless, stedfast, well-opened grey eyes and firm sweet mouth.Wilmet, discovering what she was about, thought it so bad for her as tocall for a scolding to Clement and Robina for having permitted her toundertake what must injure her eyes and feed her sorrow.

  'No, don't stop me, Mettie,' said Cherry, 'I _can_ do them now, perhapsI could not later.'

  'You need not do them. Photographs would do quite as well, and saveyou.'

  'I don't want to be saved. It is my great pleasure.'

  'A morbid pleasure, I fear, my dear. At any rate I will not be thecause of your hurting yourself. I _will_ have a photograph.'

  'Don't take it now at least,' implored Cherry as the white resolutefingers closed on the original. 'Please! I cannot quite bear to let himgo. Besides,' with a smile of entreaty, 'I don't think you perceive.It is not morbid. It does me good. It is like getting Clement to talkin the evening. I go over those dear lines and curves, and every touchbrings back some look or word, so that it is living with him, andlearning him over again, and I get to giving thanks for him best thatway.'

  'Well! I couldn't,' said Wilmet, not even able to look at the picture,and cautioning Robina to interfere at the first symptom of damage toeyes or spirits.

  No one could be more tenderly cherished and watched over thanGeraldine. Clement's devotion was more genuine and less dutiful, moreloving and less compassionate than Robina had expected, for it hadthat essential though involuntary quality of dependence. Never beforehad his life given him the personal experience of affliction, and ithad softened him into gentleness. He had almost erected Cherry intothe place of Felix as well as her own, and leant on her for advice andsympathy. Whatever approaches to relaxation or amusement he allowedhimself were to lure her to be pleased, and if she tried to be lured,it was only because she thought he needed the relief.

  Robina meantime was highly effective. She took Gerald's lessons, madeherself acceptable in cottages, worked hard at the schools, and got onwell with Clan Hepburn, who were unusually conformable, and thoroughlyconsiderate. Moreover, if Robin could not be the idol of the lads,she took in hand the farmers' daughters. She allured them with aGerman class, got up some Mission working parties--and great victoryof all--persuaded a selection not only to teach in the Sunday Schoolbut to meet beforehand to have instruction for this purpose from theRector, without imputing to them the full extent of their ignorance.Clement might well own that Lent that there were some things Robina didbetter than anyone else.

  He had a very youthful Curate at last, lodged at the farm, and he wasalso assisted by Mr. Audley, who was still living with his brother,frequently going up to his oculist, but devoting himself chiefly to thecare of his future district at East Ewmouth. He had accepted the offerof the incumbency willingly, for between his private income and theendowment he would be able to keep up such a staff of Curates as wouldcompensate for his defect of eyesight, and the Mission work of thelittle post needed an experienced head more than good eyes. br />
  After a few weeks it became known that on his refusal of the Bishopricof Albertstown, the offer had been transferred to the Vicar of St.Matthew's, Whittingtonia, probably at his suggestion, for he was veryanxious for its acceptance, and Clement listened to him with a dividedmind, for St Matthew's was still the young Rector's first love, andhe loved it a good deal more than either settlers or black fellows atthe antipodes. As he mournfully observed to Cherry, they would go andget some married man who would not live at the clergy-house, and wouldspoil the whole spirit of the place. It scarcely consoled him to bereminded that Mr. Fulmort having founded and endowed the living, hadthe patronage, and that being elected by the Synod in Australia, wouldnot have to leave the appointment to the Crown.

  'Ah! the Vicar!' he proclaimed as he unlocked the post-bag, anddistributed the letters at the breakfast-table in the austere sunshineof March.

  Next came a sort of gasping grunt.

  'Well?' said Cherry.

  No answer, but to lay down the letter and begin cutting bread, butin an absent way, going on as if instead of four he had the originalnumber to cut for.

  The sisters saw that no more questions were to be asked in thepublicity of the breakfast-table, limited as it was. Self-containedman! Any one of his brothers would have had it out in that gasp.Robina, aware that the world consisted of herself and Gerald, wouldhave removed it quickly, but that Gerald prolonged the consumption ofhis egg so unreasonably that his uncle had time to eat, drink, and lookover the letter again, open the others, and even grow impatient enoughto say, 'We can't wait for you all the morning, Gerald.' Then he saidGrace, gave an arm to Cherry, with 'Can you spare me a few minutes?'and took her into the library.

  'Does he go?'

  'He says he hardly can, unless I will take St Matthew's.'

  'You!'

  'I can't understand it; but he says none of our old set are available.Don't be frightened, Cherry, I am not going to do anything to overthrowsuch comfort as is left you.'

  'You can't mean that!'

  'I do. This is not the kind of call that should disturb the claims ofwhat is closest to me on earth. Nor have you been forgotten, as youwill see,' as he gave her the letter.

  The first thing she remarked was how differently the six years' priestwas rated from the deacon who had been hunted down to the countryparish. Mr. Fulmort reviewed the difficulty of finding a successor,for his most trustworthy _eleves_ were all either engaged elsewhere,or else ineligible on account of health, voice, or families. FredSomers was admirable as senior curate, but could not take the leadwhere both familiarity with the place was needed and experience ofparsonic authority. Thus Clement Underwood, loving Whittingtonia andbeloved there, full of ardour and devotion, gifted with a fine voice,facility of preaching, and musical talent, as well as a growing dignityof presence and address, together with a strong and resolute temper,powers of judgment trained under his brother, and a constitutionmatured in pure country air to a considerable capacity and aptitudefor work, seemed to combine most of the requisites for a City parish.'More especially,' wrote the Vicar, 'if your sister could be induced tocome with you. Her quickness, ready judgment, and especially her senseof the absurd, are just what would be valuable. Mind, I don't think ofher as a worker, only as an Egeria to the clergy-house, and I can evenprovide her with a grove, where my dear old friend Miss Charlecote, asyou may remember, did the like for us.'

  He explained that Miss Charlecote now entirely resided at Hiltonburywith his sister and her husband, and had made over her beautiful oldhouse to his disposal, not to be sold or broken up, but used as aresidence for some of the clergy or Church helpers. Was it possiblethat Miss Underwood would come and live there with her brother, whileFred Somers would act as prior to the clergy-house? Mr. Fulmort howeverwas most guarded in not pressing his plan, and aware of the possibilityof strong objections, marking his desire that Clement should not feelhimself bound by what must only be considered as a feeler, since hiswork at Vale Leston was thoroughly valuable. Mr. Fulmort added that theendowment of St. Matthew's, with four curates and sixteen choir boysalways in the clergy-house, was L600,[1] whereas the Rectory of ValeLeston, needing only one assistant at the utmost, was now reckoned asabove L800.

  'What do you wish, Clement?'

  'Don't talk of what I wish.'

  'Then what do you think right?'

  'What is best for you and Gerald?' he answered, with the hardness oftone that was only pain; 'you are my trust.'

  'Never so as to fetter a priest from higher duties,' said Cherry.'Suppose this was Albertstown.'

  Somehow her odd tone of consternation was a pleasure to Clement; hesmiled and said, 'Never mind, that's not the question; though I supposethis is a more perplexing one, as it leaves a choice, or the semblanceof one,' and he sighed.

  'You know Dr. May said Gerald ought to have constant attention from aLondon surgeon. Would the house be healthy for him? Do you know it?'

  'O yes! We choir boys used often to be entertained there. We could playat cricket in the garden, and thought it paradise. It is an islandof the old London before the fire, in a quiet street all warehouses;nothing newer than Queen Anne's time; delightful to us, but I don'tknow how it would seem to you after this place.'

  'This place! I liked it when _he_ was here, but now it is only a vastdesolation. Everything is that indeed; but you see, I never had rootshere, like him. What should you do with it?'

  'I don't see why Bill Harewood should not take the living. He isolder than I was when first I came here; he makes good way with thepeople--better than I do with many--and he ought to have a parish thatwould leave him a margin of leisure--besides Robina.'

  Cherry clapped her hands. 'Well done, Bobbie! She has actually earnedher promotion. Even you, reluctantly as it came out, allow that she iscut out for a clergyman's wife.'

  He smiled. 'Well, I allow that she is worth the most to the parish ofall of you, and that it would be a cruel pity to take her away.'

  'And Bill will be twice the man, and half the March hare, with her,instead of without her.'

  'Yes. Granting married clergy, they are the very people for it.'

  'That's right! Dear Bob! Good old Will! It is enough to decide us atonce after all their patience! They would have the Rectory, but howabout this house?'

  'Probably John would rent it. What?'

  'Only naughtiness! A little jealousy of Kester running rampant overpoor Gerald's house as if he were master and more.'

  'Gerald will find out who is master only too soon.'

  'Ah! he sometimes asks who this and that belongs to, poor boy, and whythey call him the young Squire. It may be well for him not to hear toomuch of that, or to begin to lord it.'

  'Besides, you would bring him down in summer, and if he spends hisholidays here, he would see as much of the place as boys ever do ofhome.'

  'Ah!' cried Cherry eagerly. 'We can have poor Bear to live with us. Howdelightful!'

  'A great consideration,' said Clement 'You really think you can standthe City?'

  'As well as any place! Oh, Clem! as long as you don't want to leave usbehind I am glad.'

  'I was so much afraid of your sending me away alone that I begin tofear you are making home too dear.'

  'Nay,' with a sobbing laugh, 'if your Vicar told you to bring me, youneed not mind. I do believe those dingy streets are more to you thanall that cloister and river.'

  'I can't help it, Cherry. I came here solely because my brotherwanted me, and am heartily thankful for it; but, as you say, I havenot rooted. We could not have his love from old association, andcomparatively only cared for it through him. No doubt there is muchthat I love and prize, and any cure of souls must be most important;but now that East Ewmouth is to be separated and Blackstone Gulley isin a manner tamed, I can't get rid of the sense that it is too highlypaid and too easy a life for a strong man of thirty, good for nothingbut sheer work. Nor would _he_ think it desertion. He told me on thatlast day, when the Rectory was transferred, that the purpose
wasfulfilled, and I need not be hindered.'

  'Too little work! Yet you are often on the point of being overdone.'

  'I have been, but that was from East Ewmouth and other things that areover now. A curate there must be, because one can't be in two placesat once, but except at special times of pressure, the work is hardlyenough for two. It is just the thing for a man who has a brain and apen like Will's. I never saw anything more telling than his pamphlet ongodless education.'

  'So we leave it to them.'

  'Not so fast. I must be sure this consent is not the restlessnessof grief, Cherry. Besides, we must ascertain that John approves onGerald's account, and in the meantime, we had better say nothing toRobina.'

  The proposal was too advantageous to his family for John not to lookat it on all sides, indeed he would scarcely hear of it till he hadmet Clement and Mr. Fulmort in Whittingtonia, and looked over thehouse; but the inspection made him listen more favourably, and so didan interview with Gerald's doctor, and a correspondence with Cherry.Taking into account the child's incapacity for out-door sports, andCherry's artistic and literary tastes, he saw advantages in thescheme. The Priory was too large for the reduced numbers, and all itsinterests and enjoyments had hinged on its loving master; but Cherry'sLondon associations were disconnected from him, and the inducementsto cultivate her art would save it from being dropped for want of thestimulus he had given; nor was the benefit of the family home forBernard to be by any means forgotten. To be sure, Wilmet believed thatCherry could never be well or happy there, but then her rooms shouldbe kept intact for her return when Clement might betake himself to hiscongeners in the clergy-house, and Wilmet was secular woman enough tothink L800 a year wasted on him and his subscriptions, when it might bemaking Will and Robina happy.

  So one spring afternoon, as Robina was trudging homewards, basket inhand, from a distant hamlet, pausing on the topmost point of the bridgeto look at the swelling of the river, and the swirling eddies thatrushed out of sight, she heard herself hailed, and on the Ewmouth roadbeheld a broad clerical undress hat, surmounting a black figure, with abag over his shoulder. To run down the bridge and meet in the middle ofa miry pool was the work of a very few seconds.

  'Willie! How delightful! You're come for Easter?'

  'I thought you were looking out for me.'

  'Do you think I always am? for I didn't expect you. You said you weregoing home first.'

  'So I thought till yesterday evening, but I thought--here, give methat.'

  'You haven't a hand, unless you prefer it to me,' said Robina. 'No, youcan't sling it up with your bag. You aren't to be trusted. There's abasin in it.'

  'A regular goody basket. Eh, Bobbie, ain't you a born parson's wife?You've never asked what brought me.'

  'You've not heard of a school.'

  'No. What do you think of a living?'

  'Oh, Willie! And is it enough?'

  'That's as people may think.'

  'How much is it?'

  'Nearly L800.'

  'Bill! You don't mean it. There must be some drawback. Who offers it?'

  'Oh! just a friend.'

  'A Christchurch friend? A pupil?'

  'The reverse. He's a Cambridge man, and has rather been my master.'

  'Your master? Not the Dean of Minsterham. Didn't I hear something abouta chapter living?'

  'Nothing that concerns us.'

  'Do tell me, Will. You've got me on the tenterhooks. I'm sure there'ssomething against it. It's not St Matthew's.'

  'St. Matthew's! They would about as soon give it to the Walrus and theCarpenter.'

  'I'm glad it is not that. What sort of a place is it? In the country?'

  'Beautiful country, splendid church, freshly done up, tip-top schoolsand all the rest of it, that a lazy dog like me might never havehatched, but he may just manage to keep stirring.'

  'Nonsense! you know better than that. What population?'

  'Six hundred, or thereabouts.'

  'Just the same as this. It is too good to be true. There must be somegreat drawback to come. Let me hear it.'

  'Well, if you will have it,' said William, with appalling gravity,'it is much the same drawback as exists in the Russian Church, wherepreferment goes by the petticoat. The fellow offers it to me on anunderstanding you mayn't approve.'

  'What?'

  'That I should marry his sister.'

  'Oh!' with equal gravity, 'did he really make that stipulation?'

  'Not in so many words, but there's such a thing as an honourableunderstanding.'

  'And pray, what does the sister say?'

  'That remains to be proved. What does she say? Come, darling Bird, hadyou really no notion?'

  'I knew Mr. Fulmort wanted Clement to take St Matthew's, but I did notthink he would.'

  'He said he left me to tell you, but I did not think he could have keptit so entirely back.'

  'But what is to become of Cherry?'

  Will told her the designs as far as they had been unfolded to him, andher eyes glistened with tears.

  'Dear Willie,' she said, 'it is not that I am not thankful and glad,but it comes so suddenly after all these long years, and it is so liketurning them out.'

  'Not if we set up in the Vicarage--Rectory--I beg its pardon. Besides,they'll be down here pretty often, and I shall never feel like anythingbut Clement's curate. It is the most wholesome thing for me, that hismode of coming up to breathe will be running down here to take note ofmy shortcomings.'

  'As if you meant to short come.'

  'I don't mean, but I shall--if ever man needed whipper-in. So you seeI've taken care to provide myself. Seriously, I don't think I shouldever have worked up this place as Clement has done, but having workedunder him, and with you all about me, I trust not to let it down. It istoo good for me, that's a fact; but then it is not too good for you.'

  Robina was forced to hear, though she viewed her Will as far superiorto Clement, as indeed he was in intellect and largeness of mind, thoughnot in energy and power of work.

  Earnestness and devotion were, as she well knew, deep and true in him,though native indolence and carelessness were at continual strife withthem, and he was a man fitter for a small parish than a large one,since study was his happiness, and he could make the results beneficialto a wide circle, while Clement had no natural turn for books, or foranything but downright practical ministerial labour.

  The change could not be made quickly, William could not resign histutorship till the long vacation and Clement was to retain theincumbency till the new church at East Ewmouth was consecrated and thedistrict separate, while an answer from Albertstown to Mr. Fulmort'sacceptance of the diocese must precede his resignation of St Matthew's.So if restlessness had prompted Cherry's assent, she had time to findit out. The outlook however seemed to lessen her sense of dreariness,since it made her go through each sweet spring pleasure as if storingup precious memories of him who had prized them all, and as if thisrestored the power of feeling all things new. She talked freely andaffectionately of Robina's prospects, encouraging the girl who felt herhappiness rising out of the family sorrow, and grew quite shame-facedabout taking the measurements of the Rectory, which she was to have thepleasure of furnishing out of her own savings. Little had been heard ofLance since he had seen Fulbert off on his second voyage. Postal cardsand hurried notes kept up intercourse with Cherry and the Harewoods,but chiefly on the Pursuivant's behoof, and when he had met John inLondon, about the executorship, he was reported looking thin but well,and intensely busy.

  In effect, he had set himself to master and estimate his business,sadly enough, but there had been hope in his brother's farewell letter,and to patient Lance a very small spark sufficed for a long time.

  He found himself fully capable of maintaining the level of thePursuivant. Not only did both Harewoods supply him with able writings,but payment and circulation were such as to attract and secure othercontributors, and he, though he might not write fully up to the markof his more scholarly and better-r
ead brother, had all the requisitesof an excellent editor, in trained facility, sagacity, common sense,humour and power of arrangement. The paper showed no tokens ofdeclension, and the business flourished, Lance still spending part ofthe day in the shop, and enjoying the intercourse with his friendlycustomers all the more for the strong feeling they had shown for hisbrother. His place as gentleman had long been established, and he couldalways have had more society than he had time for. He was invited tofill his brother's place in almost all his capacities as citizen ofBexley, but to what could bind him permanently, he showed some doubtabout immediately pledging himself. Moreover, Mrs. Froggatt was anxiousto give up Marshlands to him 'whenever he should settle.'

  By Lady-day he was able to make an estimate of his situation andprospects, and having done this, he wrote to Dr. May, laying thestatement before him, and begging to be told whether there were anyinsuperable objection to his presuming to declare his attachment toMiss Gertrude May. The letter was just in the formal style for whichFelix used to laugh at himself, but as the Doctor said, when showingit to Ethel, it was thoroughly manly and straightforward, without theleast palaver about his position.

  'No, I think he feels that his brother has ennobled it, so that hewould be ashamed to apologize for it.'

  'What will the child say? She has been drooping ever since poor Felix'sdeath.'

  'Long before! She flags the moment you are out of sight. I hate to seeher without her little spirts of naughtiness, and my heart aches tothink I ever wished to see her softened.'

  'Poor Daisy-bud! It says much for her that her heart should have goneout to such a man as that. Heigh-ho! those were good old times, whenone disposed of one's daughters without so much as saying, "by yourleave, miss."'

  'Should you ever have done it?'

  'Well,' said the Doctor, not choosing to answer the question, 'you maytell him to come for Easter. I suppose that is his only time. He wouldhave been wiser to wait a bit longer--may be till this foreign trip isover--that is if the child goes, and I don't believe she will.'

  The Mays themselves had had a winter of sorrow. That living death--forit had long hardly been life--of poor little Margaret Rivers had cometo an end in February. It was scarcely to be mourned. The poor girlhad, since her conscience had awakened, grieved so bitterly overevery outbreak of her own unhappy temper, and had suffered so sadlyfrom depression of spirits, that the peace of her final decay had beenan untold blessing. Even her mother, when she thought of the drearylot of a sickly, suffering, almost deformed heiress, could not butresign herself to feel that 'it was well with the child.' Her father,however, who had been spared much realisation of the distress of bodyand mind, was restlessly unhappy at the loss, and fancied he shouldcure his wife's sore heart by taking her to Switzerland and the Tyrol;and Flora, in the desire to make the journey a pleasure to somebody,and noticing Gertrude's pale cheeks, proposed to take her. That wholelast year, ever since her Christmas at Vale Leston, Gertrude's wholetreatment of her poor little niece had been reversed; and she hadchanged from the somewhat hard deportment to which young aunts areprone, to a kindness which, being a late and unexpected boon, had beenvalued by poor capricious Margaret beyond all the steady tenderness ofher grandfather and elder aunt. It had endeared Gertrude greatly toFlora, and the benefit to the girl's spirits influenced her quite asmuch as the advantage it would be to George to have some one to conductto the sights, which for his own part he did not care for.

  Daisy herself gave no consent. 'To be lionised by George! Rather worsethan an excursion of Cook's,' she said; 'and fancy the evenings!'

  'It would be a kindness to George and Flora,' said Ethel.

  'You horrid creature! That's to set my conscience worrying.'

  'At least, there would be the coming home again.'

  'That's the way you look on travelling!' said Gertrude, laughing alittle, but returning to her weary attitude, and Ethel abstained frompersuasion. She had not sufficient experience of change of scene tobelieve greatly in its advantages, and though she was in favour of theproject, it was rather with a view to the fresh start it would makefor her sister at home than with the belief that either pictures ormountains could be enjoyed under George Rivers's lumbering escort. Sheexpected that poor Lancelot Underwood's attempt would precipitate thedecision, when, in answer to her brief note of invitation, he repliedthat he would arrive on Easter Eve.

  'That's all right,' quoth the Doctor. 'He knows better than to comea-courting on Good Friday.'

  The day was not, however, exempt from a visitor; Dr. and Mrs. Cheviotwere away for the holidays, and the Mays were the more surprised tosee Mr. Rupert Cheviot, with his dapper little umbrella, issue fromthe professor's door to join them on their way to church. Except thatthey would have preferred not to talk at all on such a day, therewas no fault to find with him; he was subdued and proper behaved,and had a good deal to say about Ammergau. He had not been so muchat Stoneborough within the last few months, and Ethel suspectedthat he had been warned by Tom to give his sister time to recoverfrom her winter's grief. To her, he was amusing, he was a candid,lively, pleasant person, and rated her more highly than she was usedto from her sister's lovers, and seldom came in her way withoutholding a lively tournament in the language of jest, but with a gooddeal of earnest in it, and she saw enough stuff in him to make hisself-complacency not so obnoxious to her as it was to her juniors.She was not sorry that Gertrude's aversion to him was so strong, butshe thought it rather instinctive than reasonable. He was a man whoseopinions and disposition would right themselves in process of time,but the having Daisy bound to him during the process was quite anotherthing.

  So when Gertrude proposed walking to Abbotstoke Church in the afternoonshe readily agreed, perceiving that it was far more because Cocksmoorwas too obvious a resort than for the sake either of Flora, flowers fordecoration, or even of Dickie, who could not be refused to his unclefor this sorrowful holiday.

  And when George Rivers returned to the charge, and again promisedto show the Alps through the Mont Cenis tunnel, Gertrudeaccepted--accepted definitively! Yes, she would go, and she talked fastand eagerly of the pleasures she anticipated.

  But when walking home with Ethel, she did not utter one voluntary word.

  'What time did you say young Underwood was coming?' asked the Doctor atbreakfast next morning.

  'He did not say the time,' said Ethel.

  'Which?' asked Gertrude.

  'Lancelot,' said Ethel, who had put off the announcement in hopes ofdoing it naturally till she had grown absolutely nervous about it.

  'Not for advice?' in a startled voice.

  'Can no one come here but for advice?'

  'He was ill last year.'

  'Aye,' muttered the Doctor, 'and got advice that he has taken prettyeffectually.'

  Whereupon Ethel, feeling horribly and ridiculously conscious, jumped upand talked of Cocksmoor decorations. Gertrude had insisted on makingthem up at Cocksmoor instead of at home. It would be a little furtherout of reach of 'the enemy,' and in the parsonage the sisters andRichard worked unmolested all the morning, but in the afternoon, whilethey were putting up their wreaths, there drove up to the lych-gateMrs. Thomas May in her donkey chair, bringing her choice manufactureof crosses and devices, escorted by her sister Ella Ward and RupertCheviot. It was too cold and damp for her to venture into church, butRichard hastened out to beguile her into his parlour, and refresh herwith tea, while Mr. Cheviot helped to carry in her contributions, thevery crown and glory of the whole, looking about with the criticalsuggestive patronage of a man who had seen the world, and makingrecommendations which Ella eagerly seconded, and Ethel did notdisapprove, but Gertrude combatted vehemently: 'It had never been so!Richard would not like it!' and out she hurried to appeal to him andcall him to the rescue.

  Rupert Cheviot moved to the door, perhaps in hopes of mitigating her,but as she reached the lych-gate, a young man in deep black came up onthe other side, and their hands met with something in the manner thatmade Mr. Cheviot tur
n to Ella Ward and ask, 'Who is that fellow?'

  'That? Oh! one of the Underwoods. The one in the business.'

  'What business?'

  'Oh! he's a printer, a bookseller rather. Those Underwoods pretend tobe county people, but they are nothing _really_ but tradesmen.'

  'Mr. Cheviot is not so behindhand with the world as to think that areproach,' said Ethel, as she caught the words, while coming forward,and over her spectacles she gave Ella one of the repressive glanceswhich the young lady felt in her backbone. She was not at all a badsort of girl, but the ingrain likeness to her brother Henry grew withher growth, and she had just come to the age when to get any sort ofnotice from any young gentleman was the prime object of her desires.Rupert Cheviot, of course, at Ethel's words went forward, and on beingintroduced to Mr. Lancelot Underwood, shook hands with him with ratherunnecessary _empressement_.

  Gertrude at once appealed to Lance's taste, 'Was it not _the thing_ tohave the festoons hanging loose and natural, not in stiff lines?'

  'It is our way at St. Oswald's,' said Lance, 'but at Vale LestonClement holds to following the architectural lines.'

  'Ah! Vale Leston. Is not that a remarkable specimen of the later EarlyPointed? I must run over some day and see it.'

  'It is a very fine tower. Aren't there plenty of owls' nests in it?'said Gertrude, with a perfectly grave voice, but which brought an oddthrill of mingled amusement, pleasure, and pain, as the convictioncrossed him that this was the rival owl of the academy, and herecognised the likeness to the photograph. Perhaps Gertrude was onlytoo strongly reminded of Cherry's sketch of himself, for between grief,hard work, and anxiety, he was very thin-cheeked and large eyed, andshe was by no means clear that he had not come to consult her fatherprofessionally, and that the odd answer she had received in the morninghad not been an evasion.

  Richard came in with a casting vote in favour of the architecturalstyle, at which Gertrude shrugged her shoulders but submitted. Ere longa messenger appeared with the candlesticks adorned by Mrs. May, and amessage that she could not stay later; and Richard, going to see afterher, brought back her urgent desire that Gertrude would return at thesame time. Tom said she had not been strong, and must not be out aftersunset.

  'O, I dare say,' said Gertrude.

  'There's no more than I can easily finish alone,' said Richard.

  'Indeed! Look at the font!'

  'The wreaths are all ready. She really ought not to stay,' he addedto Ethel; 'you know there is always a sudden chill when you come downthe hill late, and as Ave says, the child is not in health to takeliberties.'

  Ethel went up to Gertrude and whispered, 'We must give in, Daisy, weshall have a fuss if we don't.'

  She had almost said she did not care, but it was in church, and sheabstained, only adding, 'You'll come too.'

  Ethel assented, though it was the ruin of the quiet Easter Eventidewalk her father must have meant them to have when he sent Lance tomeet them there. All that could be done was to keep together. Ingeneral Rupert Cheviot was content to get up a discussion with theelder sister, but he must have scented a rival, for whether Gertrudewalked fast or slow, she still found him by her side, preventing allthe inquiries she was burning to make about Geraldine, and the reportedchanges, things that could not brook discussion before a stranger. Shedid manage, while Rupert was tucking in a loosened fold of Averil'scloak, to say, 'I suppose Geraldine has no picture for the exhibitionthis year. She has not finished her Academies.'

  'No. They are nearly done, but she has not touched them for a longtime now. There is a very pretty little group of some of the villagechildren that she did last summer, but I don't think she will send itup.'

  'What became of the Maid of Lorn?'

  'Of course, Lady Caergwent bought it.'

  There Rupert Cheviot swooped down. 'Are you any relation of MissUnderwood who painted that capital likeness of Lady Caergwent? ThenI congratulate you. But is it not a great pity she does not paint inoils? There is so much more satisfaction in them.'

  And no more was possible than walking five abreast, close in the rearof the donkey chair; a desultory, almost mechanical skirmish going onbetween Ethel and Rupert Cheviot, interspersed with occasional pertremarks from Ella and tart ones from Gertrude.

  When presently Rupert began to talk of some lectures which were to begiven in May, she made quick answer, 'I shan't be here. I am goingabroad with the Riverses.'

  This of course started the experienced vacation tourist, an Alpineclubbist, into all kinds of counsels and inquiries, evidently with aview to meeting the party on their route; but though Gertrude took careto assure him that she should be at home long before his free time, thetidings of her intended journey were, as Ethel could hear, in his veryfootsteps, reducing Lance to the brink of despair.

  He had not recovered it when they came home, and was besides in theembarrassed state of a man who had made his purpose only too well knownto the spectators; but that quality which had been audacity in hisboyish days, enabled him to revive and return free and grateful answersto Dr. May's inquiries into the family plans and welfare.

  But when the evening meals in the two houses were over there wasnothing to prevent Tom May and his friend from strolling up the gardento the elder house, whence sounds of music were audible.

  It was from the 'Messiah,' for Dr. May had asked for 'He was despisedand rejected of men,' unwitting that a Sunday evening a year and aquarter ago it had rung on Gertrude's ears in a voice that, in such apassage as this, Lance's reproduced with startling, thrilling exactness.

  Gertrude sat in a dark corner, with streaming eyes and heaving sobs.It was almost more than she could bear, till her tears were dried byvexation at hearing a connoisseur kind of compliment, while Dr. Mayobserved, 'I did not know what an instrument it was you thought youwere losing when you asked me about it, Lance.'

  'I have seldom heard it surpassed, except by first professionals!' saidMr. Cheviot. 'May I ask what teaching you had?'

  'I was a choir boy at Minsterham,' said Lance, in his straightforwardway.

  'Oh! I did not know cathedrals gave such advantages. Ah! I see you have"My Queen" here, Gertrude. May we not have it?'

  It would have been an utter impossibility even if it had not been asthe Doctor said, speaking up for her. 'We do not have that style ofthing this week.'

  'Quite right, sir; one forgets.'

  What! was he going to patronise Dr. May? And then he began to talk ofthe choruses at Ammergau.

  'I do believe,' exclaimed Gertrude, as she parted with her sister atnight, 'that he has primed himself with it on purpose.'

  'I think he was really impressed there, and that it has done him good.'

  'I believe you have a turn for him! I should not mind if he would onlynot come here bothering poor Lance. How worn he looks! Mind, Ethel,you tell me if Papa says anything about him. I could not bear for poorGeraldine to have any more troubles.'

  'Very well,' said Ethel, 'but I do not think there is anything amisswith his health.'

  'He has with his spirits though, and spirits tell on health; hisespecially. Now, Ethel, I know Rupert Cheviot always was a hero ofyours.'

  'A most unjustifiable interpretation of my not hating the poor man asmuch as you do,' said Ethel, much amused.

  'I will say for him you are the one person he never patronizes.But I want you to look at the contrast, Ethel, between the twoowls--simplicity and self-complacency; and when _one_ really has such asplendid talent.'

  'Yes, a double first class man,' said Ethel, in wilful mischief,exceedingly tickled at Lance's unconscious auxiliary, though sorry forhim.

  'Who cares for a first class?' exclaimed contemptuous Daisy. 'It onlymakes people intolerable.'

  Nevertheless Lance did not spend by any means the happy Easter Sundayhe had figured to himself, and many times felt that he would have donebetter to have deferred the crisis of his hopes and anxieties tillthe great feast day was at an end. For the May family were beset byRupert Cheviot from morning til
l night, and Lance was tormented atmoments when he most desired to free himself from the whole subject, byinstinctive perception of his rivalry, and sense of the small chancethat he, the half-educated tradesman, could have beside the brilliant,successful scholar, in a gentleman's position, and rising fast.

  That Gertrude was cross was plain enough, and much more so to the Owlof the Academy than to the Owl of the Church tower; but Lance wassufficiently aware of the wayward nature of the damsel to ascribeher contradictoriness to the rampant coyness of inclination, and hercivility to himself to kindness to her father's guest, Felix's brotherand a manifest inferior, like the chemist at Ewmouth. Then her foreigntour was so often mentioned that it seemed to him that her fathermust have intended it as a diversion after all the agitations she hadundergone, and that his coming had only been encouraged in order to putan end to the whole affair, and dispose of him and his presumption assoon as possible. So that all the kindness he received from the Doctorand Ethel only went for compassion, and he tossed about all night--trueowl as he was for sleeplessness--meditating on the coming death-blowto his hopes, and whether it would be better to resign them in aconference with her father, or to put his fate to the touch in person,since he had gone so far that he could not hang back and do nothing.

  The wan heavy-eyed countenance that came down in the morning movedthe Doctor to the observation to his elder daughter, 'Daisy has got afellow there more finely strung than most men. I hope she will comportherself accordingly. Tantrums won't do with that sort of organization.'

  Ethel most decidedly put herself out of the way that morning, resolvednot to make the holiday serve as a plea from absenting herself from theMonday care she bestowed on sundry charities, and declining the aidGertrude offered, as a refuge from possible inroads from the Cheviot.

  'You had better not waste your opportunities,' said Ethel; 'I dare sayMr. Underwood would show you the way through that thing of Mozart'sthat you have been despairing over.'

  'O no, Ethel,' with a glance at the pale face, but it suddenly grewvividly bright as Lance said, 'If you are so kind as to be thinking ofmy headache, I do assure you it is nothing at all--just what this wouldbe the best cure for.'

  'Are you sure?' asked Gertrude solicitously.

  'Quite,' he said, smiling. 'I should make no difference at all at home.It is the sort that is defeated by taking no notice of them; and music,and with you----'

  'Would drive such ears as yours distracted, I should think,' saidGertrude, nevertheless consenting. 'You see I have tried to followyour advice, but what I have never heard, and have no one to interpret,becomes a mere wilderness to me.'

  Lance knew that in his native language of melody he should, birdlike,win courage, but hardly was his finger on the keys before Daisy leaptup in a kind of fury. 'There's that eternal Owl coming down the garden!Come this way,' and she rushed away, beckoning him to follow her intothe schoolroom. 'There, the windows look out the other way! It is toointolerable to be taken in the rear! I'll not stand it any longer! TheMoss troopers in the morning indeed!'

  Both were full of that odd sort of exhilaration always inspired byhide and seek with a visitor, and Lance looked about and recognisedthe room. 'I have been here before,' he said, 'when you showed me youraquarium.'

  'Ah! the Daisiana. You were the hero of that watery adventure, thoughwe little thought that small boy Charlie was to come forth in suchcolours! What an age ago it seems! I should like to see the Kitten'stail again.'

  'Should you? I am sure Cherry would manage it! It would be----'

  'Only too full of recollections,' said Gertrude, with a little shudder.'It was the first time I ever saw----'

  Instead of answering, Lance took a miniature from his breast and putit into her hand. She drew in her breath with a gasp. 'How beautiful!'she said, and gazed on through one of the tear mists that can almostconvert a portrait into a presence. It was a long time before she said,'This is better than the first.'

  'Each that Cherry has finished has brought out some fresh expression.You like it?'

  'O, so much!'

  'Will you keep it?'

  'She was only to do one for each of you.'

  'Don't you remember what _he_ called you?'

  Gertrude held the picture to her lips for a moment, wiped a tear fromthe glass and said, 'That dear Cherry hasn't been doing it for me.'

  'N-no, not exactly.'

  'Then it is yours! Oh! that is not right. Only let me have aphotograph.'

  'I had rather you kept this.'

  'I could not! I must not! I ought not,' putting it from her like atemptation.

  'Nay, it is yours by every right. By that which makes it unspeakablyprecious to me to give you my very best and dearest, and by a betterright of your own, of affection,' he said, eagerly.

  She gave a little cry.

  'Don't start,' he said. 'Perhaps I ought not to have said so, but whenone watches with feelings such as mine, one sees----.'

  She leant back, hiding her face, and crying quietly but unreservedly.

  'If he had been like most men,' said Lance, 'if he had not made hiswhole life a sacrifice and had ever let himself out, I fully believe hewould have given you the right. I felt and knew he had never been sonear caring for any one.'

  She looked up with glowing face, and moist eyes, and tried to saysomething, but could only utter 'No! It would be too--too much to dareto think so.'

  And as she thought of that interview, she wept more than before, thoughthey were scarcely sad tears. Lance longed for the right to soothe her,but only durst lay his hand on the back of her chair. 'If anythingcould make you more dear to me,' he said, bending over her, 'it wouldbe this! Nobody else so revered that great heart. I thought I knew himbest, but every day at Bexley brings up so many tokens of what he wasthat I seem to have only known him by half.'

  'Tell me.'

  And Lance told many an instance of the doings of Felix's right handunknown to his left, and she listened with all her soul. It was morethan half an hour before she said, 'Then are you all alone?'

  'With Mrs. Froggatt for the present, but I have decided on nothingpermanently. My dear brother told me I need not hold on, nor do I thinkI can without a ray of hope.'

  'What would you do?' she said, a thrill or two having half butindefinitely revealed to her his drift.

  'I don't know yet! Nor care! Most likely, try what music in Germany orItaly would do for me.'

  'O, don't go!' cried Gertrude, 'don't!'

  'Do you tell me not?'

  'I don't know, but oh! my heart has ached, ached, ached, all this time,and somehow it aches rather less when you are here!'

  'Dearest!' he exclaimed.

  'Stay,' she said, pushing back her hair, and looking scared. 'I don'tthink it fair. You know I never could, if--if-----.'

  'Of course not; I understand that,' said Lance; 'but is not that what Ilove you ten thousand times more for?'

  'But I shall always care most for him!'

  'Yes, yes, I know you must; but now I know that some day you may care alittle for me, I can wait patiently, any time you please.'

  'And not hate it all, nor go away?'

  'Never, while you bid me stay.'

  He broke off as steps came along the passage, and a maid's knock, and'Mr. Rupert Cheviot is in the drawing-room, ma'am.'

  'Miss May is _out_,' said Gertrude emphatically.

  The maid had sentiment enough to abstain from saying he had asked forboth sisters, but the next moment she returned to say he had asked forMiss Gertrude.

  'Tell him I am particularly engaged,' she said, leaping up indignantly.'Aye!' she exclaimed, 'I will be delivered from that prig of Tom's. Heshall never pester me more.'

  'There is an effectual way of preventing that,' said Lance, with alurking smile.

  'Well, I suppose it must come to that sooner or later, and I do trustyou not to tease and bother.'

  'I will strive to make your feeling the rule, not of mine, but of mydemonstration of it,' said Lance, tingli
ng all over with suppressedecstasy; 'that is, as far as I can help.'

  'I can't understand your liking it! An old, dry, used-up heart!'

  'But on whom? I am but too content with----'

  A rapid booted tread was at the door; it was hastily opened. 'Gertrude,what's the meaning?' said the professor. 'Oh! I beg your pardon, Mr.Underwood.' This with withering politeness, and the door was shutagain.

  'He is going to Papa,' Gertrude laughed, with her natural mischievoustriumph; then, laying her hand on Lance's arm, she exclaimed, 'Now,whatever you do, promise me not to be bullied into giving up the shop;'then, lowering her tone to its former tenderness, 'What he could do isgood enough for any one.'

  'So I feel,' said Lance, 'though I could drop it, if you wished.My personal share in the retail trade I mean, of course, not theeditorship, for that is my sheet-anchor.'

  'The Pursuivant! I thought I never could touch it again.'

  'His poor Pur,' repeated Lance. 'I must show you this note, though Iam ashamed. And he bade me give you this;' as from the depths of abusiness-like pocket-book he extracted an envelope, and from it thenote and dried piece of myrtle. She greeted it with a little cry, andfresh tears. 'Ah! he said you would remember,' said Lance.

  'Remember! I should think I did! Didn't he tell you?'

  'I know nothing but what he wrote here. He left this for me to have,after it was all over.'

  'I see! I see! O, I am glad you did not give it me at first. Dear, dearthing! Now I know! That day when he came here he made me gather it forhim, and told me he had one great wish, and I was to remember it when Isaw this.'

  'And that great wish?' It was an odd sort of wet-eyed smile of Lance's,but then she had rested her head against him. 'Did you know it?'

  'I don't know. It was the day I was half wild with misery and a strangesort of gladness together, only one could not break out with his calmeye on one--the day he came here, and Papa told him what was the matterwith him. Then he sat with me, and he said things to me that made mefeel as I had never done before. He didn't mean it, I know, for it wasall telling me how it was with him, and how, if he were well, he nevercould have thought in that way of any one. It just made me feel thathis saying it to me showed----'

  'Showed what might have been,' said Lance. 'Yes, it was more thandirect words would have been from any one else.'

  'And he kept on mixing in things about you, and what you had been tohim, but I wouldn't see what he was driving at; for, Lance, I musttell you now it did make me feel to love--love him really--and not beashamed; if he thought me worth telling _all that_--and it was so niceto be able, however it was to end, that I did not want to do anythingelse, and I couldn't bear the sound of your name then, though when Iremember that look, and that wish, and see the spray of myrtle, Lance,I must have had you if you had been--as bad as Rupert Cheviot himself.'

  But she actually did lift up her face with a look that allowed himto bend down and kiss it, as he said, 'See, he only told me to giveit you, _when_--not on those terms. Though you are doubly precious,because I shall ever feel you to be his gift.'

  She had certainly accepted infinitely more than he could have dared toanticipate from her outset, and now she was perhaps glad of the respiteafforded by reading the letter that he had put into her hand, and whichlasted till again came steps.

  'Papa this time,' she whispered, as he opened the door, calling,'Ethel, here's Tom in a--Hollo, I thought you were in the drawing-room.'

  'Don't go,' they cried with one voice, and Gertrude, saying, 'May I? Imust!' put Felix's letter into his hand.

  He pushed up his spectacles to read it, but he could not do sodry-eyed, and Lance turned aside blushing and embarrassed.

  'Dear fellow!' he exclaimed. 'Well--that's a pretty good testimonial tobring in your hand, Lance.'

  'You must not believe half of that, sir,' said Lance huskily.

  'Eh, Daisy, mus'n't I? And pray what am I to say to Tom about yourshocking behaviour in denying yourself to Mary's brother-in-law? Musiclessons have been dangerous things ever since the gamut of Hortensio.'

  'May I? He knows!' was Lance's eager question to Gertrude, as he tookher hand and looked up mutely, but with lustrous eyes, to the Doctor.

  'So you have made it right, children. There, then, Lancelot Underwood,you have got my youngest darling, and I can tell you I never made oneof them over with greater confidence and comfort. If we have spoilt ourmost motherless one, you know what that is, and there's good stuff inher too. Indeed, I never thought so well of the chit before.'

  'I'm sure I didn't,' said the chit herself dreamily, causing them bothto smile, and Lance to mutter something inarticulately foolish andhappy, but the clang of the dinner-bell startled them, and they sprangaway to their rooms during the five minutes' law; while Ethel, comingin from the street, met her father in the hall, smiling unutterablethings. 'No!' she exclaimed. 'You don't mean it! I didn't think shecould so soon!'

  'I fancy Lance may thank Tom and his great Rupert for that.'

  'He did worry her intolerably! Oh! papa, I trust it is no mistake.'

  'I think not, Ethel. Once accepted, the warm living outcome ofaffection cannot fail to be infinitely better than the dream she hasbeen brooding over so long, and as saint-worship it will hurt neitherof them. Ah well! I should have liked the other to be one of us, butit was not to be. He was the making of our Daisy, and this one is hisequal in all but what age only can give.'

  'Ah! I always wished to see Daisy in love,' said Ethel, rather as ifthe wish had recoiled upon her.

  'What's to be done now? There's the Grange carriage,' exclaimed theDoctor.

  Yes, Flora, George, and Dickie, all had driven in to lunch at theearly dinner, and to face those cheeks whose glow no cold water couldmoderate, those eyes that shone strangely under downcast lids.

  In fact, Mr. Rivers had been so much pleased by Gertrude's consent tothe Swiss expedition that he had given his wife no peace till she hadcome to arrange it. Gertrude was taken aback. 'Oh dear!' she exclaimed,'I had forgotten all about it.'

  'Forgotten!' Poor Mr. Rivers looked at her with all the amazement andreproach his lustreless black eyes could express.

  'I remember now, George,' she faltered, colouring unreasonably; 'it wasvery kind.'

  'But you promised, Daisy,'

  'We will talk it over, George,' said her father, coming to her rescue,as in her increasing softness she looked down convicted. 'You see, _I_have not been consulted.'

  George took this in earnest, and lumbered into an apology, while Dickierather unrestrainedly laughed, and said, 'Grandpapa, when does AuntDaisy consult you?'

  'When she has made up her mind,' said the Doctor, with a glance at her.

  But Daisy would at that moment have been thankful enough to consulthim. True, the sentiment she had felt before had scarcely been love,so repressed and undeveloped had it been; and the flood of bliss, thewonderful sense of affection that had mastered her, was somethingentirely unlike the slow, measured way in which, even at the firstmoment of her half-consent, she had fancied yielding to Lance. In thisone half-hour he had acquired a place with her so entirely independentof his being Felix's brother, nay, so substantially dearer than Felixhimself, that she was half ashamed of her present self, half shocked athaving called her former feelings by the name of love, and wholly andfoolishly in despair at the notion of a six weeks' tour away from Lance.

  Thus Ethel found her, when, on the break up of the dinner, she stole afew moments of consultation with the two young lovers before followingher father and the Riverses to the drawing-room.

  'Oh! Ethel, what shall I do?' Daisy was saying with tears in her eyes.'Isn't it a judgment on me for ever saying I would go! I only did itbecause that Rupert baited me so, and I was so miserable I was ready togo anywhere out of his way.'

  'But is it not a pity you should not go?' said Lance.

  'What, you?'

  'You know I cannot be much away from Bexley, so it would not make muchdifference that way,' he sa
id, blushing; 'and I am afraid you will haveto lead a very humdrum life; so had you not better see a little of theworld?'

  'I shall hate it all. Oh! Ethel, get me off! Things like this are actsof oblivion, you know.'

  'I certainly would if it were for your pleasure,' said Ethel,thoughtfully; 'but you see this is the first thing that has seemed todo poor George Rivers any good.'

  'And,' said Lance, affectionately, 'surely, dearest, it can do ourhappiness no harm to try to lend a little of it to others.'

  'Ethel!' she cried out, 'I do believe he is going to make me good.There! I give in; I'll go, and not be more a victim than I can help.'

  'Lance,' said Ethel, 'by-the-by, I've never congratulated you. Justtell me--suppose you were asked to go too, could you?'

  He considered a moment, shutting his eyes as the brightened face lookedup to him. 'I don't like to say no,' he answered; 'it is an immensetemptation, but there is nobody to take my place on the spur of themoment, and at this time of year too. Indeed, if I went now, besidesupsetting everything, it might hinder me from getting a holiday later,when we might want it more,' he added, crimsoning.

  'I see,' said Ethel. 'Do you know, Daisy, I've a great mind to goinstead of you.'

  'O you old darling duck of an Ethel! I should as soon have thought ofasking the gate-post. But if you would! Oh! wouldn't I take good careof Papa.'

  'Yes, I think you would, Daisy, and it is my last chance, you see. Ibelieve I shall do as well for George to lionize.'

  'And be a dozen times better for Flora--and write such letters!'

  'So here goes.'

  'Now, Lancelot, if you don't delight in that Ethel of mine beyondevery other creature--I suppose, for human nature's sake, I must letCherry come first, but if I thought you would snub her like Charles,or patronise her like George, or even be hail fellow well met with herlike Hector, I'd never let you into the family! Now--' as signs ofclearing the dinner became evident--'I'll get my hat: there's no placeto sit in in the house.'

  Ethel's proposition was received with rapture.

  George and Flora had just been informed by the Doctor how the casestood. They had been far too much absorbed in their own sorrows to markthe course of Daisy's feelings, but Flora had seen enough at luncheonto be prepared for the disclosure. Nobody could like his position,and she did not pretend to do so; but she saw it was of no use toexpostulate, and abstained from letting her husband perceive, as shedid, how entirely that of a tradesman it was.

  'I am sorry it was not Rupert Cheviot,' was all she said, 'and verysorry not to take Daisy with us; but it is no use to coerce her, evenif one could. She would be no good now.'

  So Ethel was the more warmly accepted. Even the Doctor was happierthat Flora should have her sister with her, and liked the notion of a_tete-a-tete_ with his Daisy ere she was transplanted; and as to Flora,her gratitude on her own and her husband's account knew no bounds.

  'Dear, dear old Ethel!' she said; 'such a life-long sister as you,bearing with one, and forgiving one through all, is as sweet andprecious a relationship as almost any the world has to give!'

  [Footnote 1: To this it had been raised from the original 250_l._partly by the Ecclesiastical Commissioners, and partly by Mr. Fulmort'sbrother and Miss Charlecote. (_author_)]