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LONDON JOHN AND KOBKirr ]\[AXWELL MILTON li.)D8E, ST. BKIUK HTUKET, LUDUATK ClUCL'S, BHOE LANE, FLEKT STUEET, E.G. \.Ul iijMn r-^ervcd.] PR H-'^ ^^ I <6"^ o " CHEAP UNIFORM EDITIOK OF MISS DKADDON'P NOTELB. Pric^ 25. ficiure hoards : 2s. 6d. cloth gilt ; 8s. 6d. huuj parchment or half niorocco ; postage 4d. MISS BRADDON'S NOVELS INCLUDING "Lady Addlet's Secret," "Vixen," " Ishmael," etc. "No one can be dull who has a novel by Miss Draddon in hand. The ni09t tin-some jouriioy is bct;iiiled. anci the most wearisome illness is brifjlitened, by any one of her books." "Miss lirudduu is the Queeu of tbe circulating libraries."— The World. N.B. — There are now 45 Ncvcl? always in print. For full list ROC back of cover, oi apply for a Catalogue, to be BOQt (post free). London : J. and R. MAXWELL, Milton House, 11 and 15 Shoe Lane, Fleet Street; AND 85 St. Bride Street, Ludgate Circus, E.G. And at nil Railway Bookstalls, Booksellers' and Libraries. JOTELB. ELS CONTENTS. i," ETC. in liATid, earisonie raries." — t. For e, to be eet; irnrtea. niAP. PAOE I. ' Oil, MaHKKU FIIOM BlKTlI, AND NURTURED FOR THE Skiffs' 5 II. ' Whence and what art Thou, execrable Shape?' 17 III. 'All that have Eyes to Weei', Spare one Tear WITH Me ' 25 IV. * So woe-begone a Thino was She ' . . . 40 V. * By Degrees the Human Blossom Blows ' . Gl VI. * Out of Sight, beyond Light, at what Goal mat we Meet 1 ' 80 VII. The New Cinderella 101 viii. A Young Proud Woman that has Will to Sail with 139 IX. 'But AS the Days Change Men Change too' . 148 X. 'Mordanto fills the Trump of Fame' . . 1!<1 » iv CONTENTS. CHAP. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. *BUT ALL IIEUTlES THE StRONO InVADER BROKE 'All her Spirits in a Flame ' . 'And there in a Net his Heart was Holden' * She took Mb to her Elfin Grot ' . * Shall not the Grief of the Old Time Follow ? * Shall We not Laugh, Shall We not Weep ? 'Thanks to the Human Heart by which we LIVE ' 'The Oracles ARE Dumh' .... ' It means that I am a Brute ' . ' I 00 to Gather this the Sacred Knowledge' ' The Past is Past, and I am Come to Thee ' ' Here Lodge as in a Sanctuary ' PAGE 215 224 235 248 263 271 279 298 314 329 335 361 224 235 248 263 271 ONE THING NEEDFUL 279 298 314 329 I 335 361 CHAPTER I 'OH, MARKED FROM BIRTH, AND NURiURED FOR THE SKIES ' The gray old walls of Lash mar Castle rise in a massive pile above a broad reach of the Middle- shire Avon, vs^hich here makes a bold and sweeping curve, and dallies with its rushy banks, as if some spirit of these Lashmar woods were the Cleopatra to that watery Antony. The stream has such a languorous flow just at this point ; the river here spreads itself into such a placid expanse, that one would hardly credit the curre?it with force enough to turn a water-mill or drift a barge. It has an Arcadian air, a river made for Chloe and Phillis, and Strephon and his flock, and not for the vulgar uses of daily life. Yet that very river waxes utilitarian enough, and carries all foul things which a seething populace cares to cast into its waters ; it puts on the dark livery of smoke and dirt, only a few miles to the east of those Lashmar woods yonder, where the great manu facturing town of Brumm obscures the heavens with the smoke of numberless chimneys, and taints the atmosphere with the mixed odours of the people. But here there is no hint of that great industrial centre. No one basking on the green slope above thia ONE THING NEEDFUL glassy stream, between a foreground of bulrushes and a background of immemorial oaks, would sus- pect the existence of such a place as Brumm within ten miles. Yet, although its smoke made no stain upon the blue sky above yonder gray towers, Brumm had an influence on the inhabitants of Lashmar Castle, and that by no means a pleasant influence ; as witnessed by her ladyship's temper upon this particular morning, as she sat at breakfast in the oak parlour, with her step-son. Lord Lashmar, and tlie Eton boy, her son. Her ladyship was the Dowager Baroness Lash- mar, and a woman of mark. She was one of the daughters of the illustrious Marchioness of Pitland, famous alike for wealth, talent, and force of cha- racter. Old Lady Pitland had given laws and fashions to society for nearly forty years before she was translated to that better world in which, perhaps, there are neither coal mines nor leaders of fashion: and she had transmitted much of her managing power, and something of her talent and charm to her daughters, the eldest of whom, as Duchess of Malplaquet, was said to be quite the cleverest matron in England, having managed to marry all her daughters to rich men, and to have dressed and fed them in their spinsterhood, and maintained appearances in town and country on something under five thousand a year. Lady Lashmar's powers as an economist had not been so severely taxed ; for the Lashmars were rich in stocks and shares, as well as in that luxury of the well-born, broad acres ; and they could smile serenely at the decay of rents. Lady Lashmar had always had as much money as she wanted, and some of her tastes were costly; but there was not an ounce of butter or a tea-cup of milk iilrushes uld SU8- within in upon Brumni Lashmar illuence ; pon tliis t in the Lashmar, !S8 Lash- le of the ' Pitland, i of cha- aws and rs before in which, )r leaders sh of her alent and whom, as quite the naged to I to have lood, and untry on tmist had nars were at luxury )uld smile bmar had nted, and here was of milk ' OH, MABKED FROM BIRTH * 7 wasted at Lashmar Castle ; there was not a dirty corner, or an unauthorised follower in the great, ramblinfj, old house in Grosvenor Square, which had belonged to the Laslimars from the time of the Pitts and the Foxes, when that aristocratic and exclusive square first came into being. Lady Lashmar had the eye of a hawk, and a mind constructed on the principle of the elephant's trunk which can uproot an oak, or pick up a pin. Lady Lashmar's mind could grapple with public ques- tions ; and it could stoop to the details of the store- closet and the larder. Yet, it must not be supposed that Lady Lashmar's bodily presence was ever beheld in kitchen or store-room. Her mind did all the work. She had a housekeeper who trem- bled at her frown, and who obeyed her slavishly : and through this faithful servant she was able to rule every corner of her house, to measure every meal eaten by her household, to be assured that the footmen did not consume more than their due allowance of table stand for e land and fess myself antagonist f advanced [e believes lay hands [e is strong 'est le vol. ground was He is the anufacturer. He would 1 privileged I ground, or y, do away md establish 1 in which aal classes vould have and pending ihese views, L ways, and r the hand ;ht cheek.' ' You say he is a good speaker.' ' I have never heard him ; but I am told Shat he is magnificent, and his speeches read fike oratory. I am looking forward to the fun -morrow night. We may be in a minority ; )ut there are plenty of Conservatives in Brumm, n spite of her ladyship's doubts, and we shall Jnake a good tight. From what I have heard |f Boldwood he is not altogether a ruffian — indeed there are some people who declare that lie is a gentleman by birth, and took a degree It Oxford. Yet I should hardly think this [ikely, from the appearance of the man. He was T)ointed out to me once in the street as I was Iriving through Brumm — a giant with imkempt lair, disreputable clothes, and a slouching walk. hardly saw his face, but I got a good idea |f liis build and general style. He is a brass- Vorker, earns high' wages, and is said to be |,lmost a genius in his handicraft. He is not native of Brumm ; and I don't think anyone \\ the place knows much about his antecedents. te is an infidel, and seems proud of his 1 fidelity. He came to the town seven years ^0, with a wife and a baby. The wife died |oon after his arrival, and he has not married in. That, Colonel, is the full extent of my liformation about Jonathan Boldwood.' ' I am looking forward to my encounter with Ihe gentleman !' said the Colonel cheerily ! * He Ihall see that I can stand fire. B'^t I look to you jo reply to him. I am no orator.' 'A gentleman is always more than a match |or a cad,' said Victorian, who had been making lavoc with the peaches while his elders were dking. ' Not when the cad is on his own ground, 20 ONE THING NEEDFUL and lias an audionce of iive or six liundredl cads to back him np,' answered Spillington, ^ ' How many does your Town Hall hold, by the way, Laslnnar ? ' ' rif'teen hundred ; and of those you may be sure more than half will be disciples of IJoldwood ; but that need not alarm you, as not half ot those arc voters.' The meeting was at eight o'clock, so the I house party at the Castle took a late luncheon | and started for Brumm soon after tea. Su])pei after the meeting, was to serve as a substitute for the eiglit o'clock dinner. This had been duly explained to Colonel Spillington, who liked his meals, and thoroughly approved of the Lashmar chef. He laid in a heavy stock at | luncheon, calculating that there was a terrihle;rl gulf to be bridged over before he sliould again! tind himself face to face with substantial food. He detested tea, and cakes and muffins, and- all those dainties with which Victorian gorged | himself at five o'clock, when the little party assembled in Lady Lashmar's morning room, full; of the approaching fray. ' Do have .sonic of these chocolate cakes, Colonel,' said Victorian, with his mouth full, 'they're so; good.' ' Thanks, no, my boy. I haven't tasted sweet;, for the last twenty years, and I am afraid of tea,; It always turns to acidity. If,' with a deprecatinri glance at her ladyship, * if I might have a brandy| and soda,' 'By all means,' assented the dowager graciously though she inwardly scorned a man who wanted | to be periodically sustained by brandy and, soda. X luniflrcd Spillington. )ld, by the i •WIIKNCE AN'I) WHAT AllT THOU?' 21 Lasliniar ran^' the bell, ' A little Dutch courage, •v.h, Colonel?' he said, laughing. > ' You're beginning to funk Boldvvood, T know,' said Victorian, * and I don't wonder. He looks ^like one of those fellows in Homer — Cychjps, don't you know? I've heard that he lived fur ever so ;'iuaiiy years with the gipsies, and that his wife was •ji gipsy girl. He's a rough sort. Colonel ; and I liouldn't wonder if he wanted to come to listi- ulls with you on the platform.' ' If he comes to fisticuirs, I'm ready for him,* nswered Spillington gaily, ' it's the talking that rvill bother me.' They started soon after six, intending to be early t the Town Hall, where the candidate had to neet his agent, and some of the Conservative lotabilities of Brumm. It was a delicious summer evening, calm, peace- ul, the atmosphere steeped in sunlight, the earth reathing warmth and perfume : a delightful even- ng on which to loll against the cushions of Lady ashmar's barouche, to be gently lulled upon Gee prings, as the seventeen-handers trotted with rhyth- lical beat along the level turnpike road — a lovely kes Colonel,' B^^*^ for the first half of the journey, a road between * they're soM^ir green pastures and golden corn, by wood and opse, and hillocky common land, wiiere the dwarf urze shone yellow amidst the purpling heather, road by peaceful village and Elizabethan home- lead, by straw-yards populous with lazy kine, by iggery and poultry yard, and duck pond, and attle trough. Colonel Spillington, who was of le streets streety, thought that the country was pretty place enough in the westering sun, but at it had an ugly smell, and must needs be the .bomination of desolation in the winter, except )r a hunting man. And Colonel Spillington had ou may bo Boldwood ; lot half ot ck, so the ,e luncheon, sa. Sui)pei a substitute had been who likod cd of the y stock at a terrible! hould again! tantial food, muftins, and )rian gorged little party: ig room, full wasted sweet? afraid of tea, a deprecatinfl ave a brandy ;cr graciously who wanted brandy anc 22 ONE THING NEKI>FUL iKjtliiug iu common with that great creature, tlif'^ British Sportsman. He had shot tigers and bears, and had stuck pigs in Hindostan ; but he did iiot;^ appreciate tlie ruptures of waiting about at corners fur a reluctant fox in a nortli-east wind, or a cliillv drizzle. 'A charming country,' he said patron isi ugly ' but T wonder you can live so many months iu the;; year at Lashniar Castle ! ' ' I am fond of the country, and Lashraar detests London,' answered her ladyship. ' I dare say wheii| Victorian grows up I shall spend more of my tiinr in Grosvenor Square.' * I am not going to live in London,' saii; her son disdainfully. 'When I leave the Uiii versity I mean to see life. I shall travel all ove: Europe. I mean to be a man of the world.' 'You had better stay in London if you wan: to see life,' said the Colonel. 'The man who ha- 1 not learnt his Society-alphabet in London is alway- half a savage. It is all very well to talk abou; the superiority of foreign manners, but the man wlu ^ has been educated on the Continent is generall; a tiger!' ' Then I will be a tiger,' retorted Victoriai stoutly. They were nearing Brumra, and there was ai | unmistakable change in the atmosphere. Tht fine gold had become dim. That pure radianct of the westering sun was thickened and blurred, ye; I beautiful exceedingly athwart the smoke-clouds | The tall shafts began to show against the bliu horizon, a veritable grove of chimneys ; and soon he: | ladyship's splendid barouche, with its big ba; horses, white-wigged coachman, and powdered foot | man, its emblazoned panels, and brazen harness was thrilling the souls of operatives and factory T WHRNCK AND WHAT AUT THOU ? * 23 ,ed Victoriai [girls as it flaslied along the dingy crowded streets, [past the beer-sho])S and the pork butchers, and thd general dealers, and the bakers, amidst odours of [tallow and herrings, and onions and shoe-leather and beer. The street boys called out ' Hooray,' as tlie carriage went by. One keen-eyed brat caught the distorted profile of Lashniar's back, and cried out, * My eye ! look at the hunchback.' Lashmar's quick ear heard, and his thin lips contracted ever so slightly, with the faintest expres- sion of mental pain. He had heard just such a speech many a time before. It did not come upon him as a revelation. He knew that he was a creature apart, marked out and branded by Nature. Wealth and rank and culture could never undo what Nature, in one blundering moment, had done. The hand that had turned out so many thousands of plough- boys and operatives, beggars and rascals, perfect from head to heel, had faltered in the making of the last Lord of Lashmar : and he must pay the penalty of fate. He bore the disgrace as patiently as he bore that other and heavier burden of neu- ralgic pain, which had wrung his weak frame at intervals ever since he could remember. He had fought against long odds ; had exercised that poor weak body of his to the utmost — rowing, riding, walking. He, the hunchback, was a skilled gym- nast ; but he had never exhibited his skill in any public gymnasium. His own keen sense of the ridiculous hindered any such foolish vanity. The meeting had been convened by the local Conservative Association, but it was not a ticket meeting. The hall was to be open to all comers, and the hall was crammed to overflowing before the speeches began. The great oblong room reeked with unwashed, or badly washed, humanity, a multitude clad in long-worn corduroy and fustian, simmering 24 ONE THING NEEDFUL * '•I 4 in the glare of the gas. To Lady Lashmnr, seated on the platform, that sea of faces in that coarso flare of yellow light, suggested an over-populated pandemonium. They looked like devils, some of those operatives, to her uni.ccustomed eye. Malig- nant devils — swarthy, grinning, lurid. The chairman opened the business in a mildly conventional manner ; recapitulated the usual com- monplaces. The country was on the eve of a great crisis, a crisis involving national interests and individual interests alike, trade, security, prosperity, peace at home, honour abroad. The time had come when the Conservative party were caHed upon to emerge from that shade in which their modesty delighted ; the time, in short — after a great deal more to the same purpose — had come for a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull altogether. This was the chairman's popular style, which he had generally found answer before a mixed audience. But on this present occasion, before the Conservatives could begin their applause, a hoarse voice at the back of the hall called out, * Yes, and pull the boat over ; that's about what you Conservatives generally does when you do pull together,' and there was a laugh which spoiled the effect of Mr. ]\Iason Bank's pero- ration. And now it was time for the candidate to introduce himself, which he did in a somewhat rambling speech upon old, old lines. The men of Brumm had heard such speeches ever since they had possessed ears to hear political discussion. Colonel Spillington was a poor orator, and he had nothing new to say. But he was hearty, and he had a pleasant manner ; he had the courage of his opinions too, and threw some pretty big stones at the opposite party, in the teeth of hisses and groans from the majority, for it appeared as if the Kadicals were the most numerous. They were certainly the I up bv gas; ■all •T m< iiuldw '0 wuud,' thou Bokhv A] would ; doligh 'i The c I grew ( •SPABE ONE TEAR WITH ME ' 25 nv, seated lat coarse populated some of It might be that noise prevailed over Mali a mildly siial com- of a great rests and prosperity, had come . upon to modesty jreat deal or a long ether, which he audience, iservatives it the back joat over ; rally does as a laugh i)k's pero- ndidate to somewhat e men of iince they liscussion. ad he had 7, and he ige of his •nes at the id groans 5 Kadicals lainly the loudest, numbers. Before the Colonel could sit down, a man stood up in the middle of the hall, an Anak, a giant among dwarfs, for the men of Brumm were stunted by unhealthy toil. A dark, threatening face was turned towards the ])latform, full in the glare of the gas ; a large face with a broad forehead, high cheek bones and massive jaw, flashing eyes under shaggy brows, a shock of coarse black hair. Lashmar looked at that face transfixed. He had seen it before — seen it years and years ago — in a dream, before he was born, yes, in some mystical anteiior life, as it seemed to him. He knew its every line. Yes, those lineaments were •graven deep upon the tablets of memory. CHAPTER III I' ALL THAT HAVE EYES TO WEEI', SPARE ONE TEAR WITH me' 'T RISE to move an amendment,' said Jonathan [ijoldwood, i'^. ^ deep strong voice. ' On the p]ati.)rm, get upon the platform, Bold- jwood,' roared tlie crowd. ' Let's hear thee, man, Ithou hast always summat good to say. Bravo, iBoldwood! Three cheers for Boldwood I ' And there was a sb.out that seemed as if it would rend the roof of the building, a thrill of [delight as at th(3 appearance of some favourite actor. jThe crowd made ytaj for the orator, and the applause I grow deafening, as he scram hied on to the platform, 26 ONE THING NEEDFUL shook his rough mane, folded his arms, and looked round the assembly, those eyes of his shining like coals of fire. ' You want to hear me speak, friends,' he said, in his deep thrilling voice. ' You shall ! You have h;id plenty of fustian from these gentlemen. You shall have a little bit of sound cloth from me — stuff that will stand wear and tear, not devil's dust that will come to bits directly you pull at it.' And then he began to attack the Colonel's speech. He took the old, old story, point by point, from the lievolu- tionist's side ; he laughed to scorn the old institu- tions, the old opinions, bishops and peers, church and state, royal sinecures, royal allowances, princely nobodies, useless functionaries. He spoke with the force and vigour < Danton, with the finesse of Mirabeau ; he spoke as a rebel against his queen and against his God. His finest points were barbed with blasphemy ; but he had the audience with him from the moment he opened his mouth. He swayed them as the wind sways the reeds by the river. ' Your God, the High Church God, the Tory God, made man in His own image, you tell us. If so He had two images, or you have strangely altered and degraded, mutilated and defaced the image He made. There is man as God made him, free, upright, independent, with .^11 the world before him where to choose, told to live by the sweat of his brow, and to till the land, but never told that he should have no land to till, that his brow and every inch of his body should sweat in the grinding toil of the factory, that your God's beautiful earth should be shut and fenced off from him by an everlasting park-paling, that his world to choose from should be an endless turnpike road, where he should tramp for ever through the dust and heat of summer, through the ;■! t * SPARK ONE TEAR WITH AfE ' 27 md looked | lining like j| he said, in >u have luid You shall —stuff that t that will .nd then lie Ee took the 16 lievolu- 3ld institu- ers, church es, princely e with the finesse ut his queen /ere barbed e with him He swayed the river. J, the Tory tell us. If gely altered 5 image He him, free, orld befoii' the sweat , never told I, that his lould sweat that your and fenced paling, that an endles^ ap for ever through tho I mud and mire of winter, in the glare of the dog- days, or with his face to the biting north-easter, .'lud witli no halting place but the casual ward, no bourne but the pauper's grave. That is the type of (Jod's noblest work, and the commonest type : such men are as millions against your liiousands, you who toil not, you who spend the wages of other men's toil. * God made the toiler, made Adam to work for his bread — his own bread, mark you — sowing and reaping on his own land, for himself and his family, enjoying the first fruits of the land, rejoicing in the fulness of the harvest, the fatness of his tlock, having his share in all the beauty and the ,ii,l()ry of this earth. That was patriarchal man as God made him, and as lie might have been this day, for God's earth is wide enough for all who live upon it, if it were not for ha-has and ])ark-fences. God's earth is not big enough to keep an aristocracy, not big enough to give parks and deer forests to all the dukes and earls who have sprung from the amours of dead and rotten kings. That is what this earth won't do, and that is what the people of England mean to set their faces against — the profligate splendour of the few who fatten upon the bloody sweat of the many : ay, my friends, a sweat as bloody as that agony in tlie garden of which your priests tell us ; for it means the gradual waste of life worn out untimely in unnatural toil, life-blood ebbing away drop by drop in the factory and in the mine, lives wasted in premature old age, children born and bred in dirt, in ignorance and in squalor, in order that a few foolish faces should be topped by coronets and a sprinkling of line gentlemen should lead the fashions in good manners and bad morals. Can any man among ll 28 ONE THING NEEDFUL you be sin^ple enough to swullow such a lie as that God's li^iage is reflected in this type of man ? No, my friends : these are the sons of Belial, who come among ycu this night " liown with insolence and wine," not to ask you for your suffrages, but to order how you sliall vote.* He flung back tlie coarse iron-gray liair from his low broad brow, and stood like a tower, while the hall rang with applause, varied by timorous hisses from the Conservative minority. "Where had Lashmar seen him before ? What was that anterior existence in which this man's face had flashed upon him as it flashed now ? b'** only for a transient span, appearing and vanishing almost in the same moment, flashing past him as it were in a whirlwind, swept away npon the wings of the hurricane. It was either in that dim, unknown world of a previous life, or it was long, long ago in his earliest boyhood. Yes, he recalled it all now ; the whole scene stood out before him. It was at the University boat-race. He was a little fellow, with his father and motlior, on a lawn at Mortlake, a green lawn sliadowed by leafless lime-trees. He was clinging to his mother's gown — the poor sickly mother already marked for deatli, though he knew it not — clinging to her, breathless with excitement, catching the fever of the crowd, scarce knowing what thrilled him so. Tiie crowd and the river seemed to rock under the cold bright- ness of the March day, as the two boats shot under the bridge, Oxford three lengths behind. 'That l)ig man, number six, pulls like the devil,* cried Lord Lashmar. ' If he can only last, I lielievo he'll make them win. I never saw such an oar.' He mentioned the man's name, but his son had 'Sl'AKE OKK TEAK WITH ME' 29 a lie as of man ? ;elial, who insolence ffrages, but liair from )\ver, while y timorous re ? What man's faco now ? b'-* I vanishin;^ last him as I the wings a world of his ago lU ^hole scene lie was a , on a lawn by leafless er's gown — I for death, r, breathless the crowd, The erowil cold bright- I shot under :e the devil,' ,st, 1 l)elieve an oar.' his son had forgotten that, though he distinctly remembered liis father's speech. He had his own little boat on the Avon at this time, and had just learnt to row, so was keenly interested in feats of oarsmanship. The Oxford boat came past the lawn, gaining upon its antagonist, and then Hubert Lashmar saw the face of the oarsman — a dark, ugly face, strong jaw, broad forehead, beetle brows, but a face made liadiant, glorified, god-like almost, by triumph. Ox- f ford was winning. The stroke put on a tremendous I spurt, to which number six answered with might and I main. The boat was almost lifted out of the water. iThc other oars nerved themselves for a superhunuin ieflort; a great cry of exultation broke from the crowd : ' Oxford wins ! ' Men thrilled with the delight of having witnessed a miracle, and that Oxford crew was cheered as never men were cheered along the banks of the Thames. This was the man. Number six in the Oxford boat nineteen years ago, and the brass-worker y(jnder, were one and the same. The face was too jieculiar a face to be easily forgotten or mistaken for another. Lashmar rose and came to the front of the ]ilatform, braving that multitude of eyes, that broad glare of light. J'ut here there were no street boys to jeer at his deformity. He stood up before men ; and Nature's nnkindness was a claim upon the resjject of even the lowest among the crowd. He was of the middle height, fairly proportioned iVom the waist down\vards, but the misshapen hack and the neck sunk between the shoulders too obviously indicated a malformation of the spine, The pale, classical features, the slender white hands, the indescribable air of high birth and refinement interested even these roughs of Brumm. They had heard that this young Lord Lashmar was a student 30 ONE THING NEEDFUL and a poet, something like that Lord liyron of whom most of them had read and heard, whose poetry was familiar to many among them in these days of free libraries and advanced thought. They liked the look of the Lord of Lashmar Castle ; though they had pledged themselves to those new ideas which were to bring all such lordlings to their proper level, cancel all old grants of land, reduce all ancient privileges, and make the soil of England common property, and all things equal between man and man. He began to speak, and was heard in silenco. He had a grave and steadfast manner, a low, earnest voice, which was distinctly heard at the end of that crowded hall — a voice of a very different calibre from that of Jonathan Boldwood, but a voice of consider- able compass notwithstanding, and of finest quality. ' My friends,' he began, ' the gentleman who has just addressed 3'ou calls himself your friend, but we all know what the demagogue's friendship means. It means climbing into somebody else's seat upon other men's shoulders. You have heard of Marat, the man whom Charlotte Corday stabbed in his bath, hoping by that one bloody act to stem the torrent of blood which that man was shedding. Now, I am not going to say that ]Mr. Boldwood is like Marat, or that he would rejoice in that deluge of blood which to Marat was the very wine of life. Mr. Boldwood is an Englishman, and Marat was a Frenchman, and your English demagogue, I am happy to say, is always a very mild translation of the Erench original. Yet I will venture to say that if Marat were standing on tliis platform to- night, he would talk to you very much as Mr. Boldwood has talked. He would taunt you with your daily labour as if it were a disgrace to work for your living; as if every ono of us — queen and 'Sl'AKE ONE TEAR WITH MK !:• > 31 iMiuccs, cabinet rainisters, general officers, great :|ea captains, lawyers, landowners, painters, poets, |iiiisicians — do not toil, and bring forth that which %ve have to produce in the sweat of our brows. iCrianted that there are the sons of Belial, that tl)ere are among the honourable and honoured aris- tocracy of England a few black sheep, are there 10 dusky fleeces, do you think, to be found in the ictory ? Are there no black sheep in the mine ? No fdlers and malingerers battening upon the toil of )thers ? The warp and the woof of society are woven ipon the same lines, my friends, from one end of pe fabric to the other ; and those who prate to you )f equality prate to you of something that never las existed and never can exist. Were Cain and Lbel equal before God ? No ; the Almighty blessed )ne and cursed the other. Were Jaccjb and Esau |ilike in their fate, or were the fortunes of Joseph jind his brethren equal? Is Nature equal in her jifts? I stand before you, my friends, this night living instance of Nature's inequality. Shall I )laspheme against my God because it has pleased lini to make me different from my fellow-men ? 1^0, 1 accept my burden, as other men must needs Iccept theirs. Be sure there is something in every llioe that pinches the wearer. What I have to do, pd what we all have to do, is to make the best of le world we live in for ourselves and for each other; iproving away evil gently and by degrees, not by ipid wrenches and volcanic upheavals, but in the badual ripening of the days and years, clinging to [11 that was good in England's past, and discarding [11 that was bad ; lopping off the withered branches, [ut zealously guarding the tree ; and that I take it be true Conservatism, and a truly Liberal Con- 3rvatism.' There was considerable applause from the Con- 32 ONE THING NEHnFlJL ^i scrvative minority after Lord Laslimai's sjx-vzicli, ]>oldwood sat lacing the audience, his arms Iblded upon the back of a chaii-, glaring at them I'roia under those bushy brows of his, with eyes thai seemed always to shine with the same angry light: anger at fate, life, fortune — a world in which foi him all things were adverse and cruel. Suddenly there arose a murmur of voices, excited voices in the crowd just below the platform — murmurs in which he caught his own name : and then the word " fire ! " Some men by the corner of the plal^ form were talking about him, looking up at him. He bent down and questioned one of them— ' What's the matter, mate ? ' ' Goldwin's ! You live at Goldwin's, don't you ? ' ' Yes ! ' ' (loldwin's is alire ! ' The demagogue bounded from his chair, dropped off the platform, and pushed his way through tin. crowd, muttering as he went : ' My God! And that child — locked in her room on tlie fourth story ' He clutched a man by the shoulder : ' What about this fire ? ' he gasped. ' Is it true ? Who brought the news ? When ? ' ' Not five minutes ago ; there's a lot h:is run off to see. There was a lot of 'em hero — a lot ot Goldwin's people.' Boldwood waited to hear no further, but pushod his way on to the door. The news had wrought confusion in the hall already, and the crowd was surging outwards. There was a greater excite- ment, a fiercer fever of emotion to be had out ol doors than the finest speaker could offer within, A great fire was one of the spectacles whic'u Brumm most enjoyed. ^ 'SPARE ONK TFAU WITH MR' 33 ai's spr-vicli. arms lolded ; tiiem from h ey(!s that anj^iy li,f;ht: n wliich for 1. Suddenly 2d voices in murmurs iii id then the of the phil' up lit him. of them— win's, don't lair, dropped tlirough the in her room Is it r : cd. ?' lot has run re — a h^t ol , l)ut pushed lad wrought crowd was ater excite- had out ot Iter within, icles whicl) CroUlwin's was a gigantic building on the stern outskirts of the town, on that side most mote from Lashm.ar Castle — a huge model lodging ousc, built some years befoi'e by a fritiud of hu- anity who only required nine per cent, for his pital. It was a huge caravanseri, and swarmed ke an anthill ; for it was better than the dens ,nd hovels of the slums in the heart of the town, asmuch as it was wind-and-weather-prool", which ley were not. Tlie rents exacted for the rooms ere high, and it was only the more prosperous of |he working classes who could afford to live at oldwin's. ^^ IJohlwood had a couple of rooms there : two ttle square boxes on the fourth stcuy, one with fireplace, the other without. He Inul made the om with the lireplace his little daughter's bed- hamber, while lie himself slept, and for the most art lived, in the cold. There was a common itchen at Goldwin's where the inmates could get nything cooked ; and there was a common laundry here the women compared their rags and told lacli other their troubles ; and there was a club- )oni where the men smoked, and talked politics, .|iid played dominoes — a hot-bed of advanced •(•ialisni. To the dwellers in the slums Goldwin's seemed lordly mansion, and to live at Goldwin's was a i istinction. It was a hu''e nuadrangular l)uibliiig, IX stories high, with a courtyard in the centre — monster pile of ugly yellow brick, pierced with t'indows all of one ])attern, opening on to covered lalconies Avitli iron railings — everything straight nd square, and Hat and uniform. A huge cube f brickwork it hjoked from the distance, as seen cross the level of the flattest, dreariest outskirt of I'umm ; uglier than I'actory, or jail, or workhouse. 84 ONE TIIINO NEEHFUL ^1 To those wealthier citizens whose prospect tltnt huge bulk defaced, it seemed a monstrous blot u[m: the horizon. The beneficent Goklwiii had bought a couple ni acres of waste ground for a song, a quarter of a century Ijefore ; and when a great cry had gnnf up to heaven from the penny newspapers, aboii; the way in which the poor of Brumra wen lodged, Mr. Goldwin had stood up at a publit meeting and pledged himself to build a mode! dwelling which should be as the workman's para" dise. While the building was in progress, Mr floldwin was one of the most popular men ii Brumra. It was only when his house was finished and his scale of rents made known, that his popu- larity began to decline. Ihit, although the renb weje high, Goldwin's was always full from roof I basement. The meeting ended amidst confusion, and tli;-' last speeches were unheard. The news of tli;^ lire had reached the platform, and Lord Lashrna knew that the Eadical leader had rushed awa; to see to the safety of his child. Even her ladv ship's .sympathies were aroused by the traged; of the scene. ■ ' To think that such a creature should have s much human feeling!' she exclaimed. 'I hoj- his people will not be burnt.' yhe had not grasped the fact that the derna' goguo's ' people ' were comprised by one only child 'I think, mother, if you'll allow me, I'll stv, and see the end of this business after I've put yo ; into your carriage,' said Lashmar. *I can ge a fly at the Creorge to take me home.' ' I'll stay with you,' said Colonel Spillingtnn. : 'And I,' cried Victorian. v 'No, Victor, I will not have you struggling u ,,rk 'SI'AIIK ONK TEAIl WITH MR* 35 ospcct tliat IS blot ui»oi; a couple o: uarter of a y had ^nrif apers, aboii; rum in wev at a publit ild a mode. 1 kman's parai igress, Mr I ular men k was finished i lat his popiif gh the rent' from roof ti 3ion, and tli: | news of til: I jonl Lashma rushed awaj- ven her ladv | the traged; lould have ^ I ed. 'I hop I at the demal ne only child me, I'll sta;| r I've put yo: | 'I can gf e.' : I Spillinglnal strugglin-^ i| l^rinmi? i'rowd I ' cixchiimed his motlier ; 'and Ml, J.aslimiir, you would not certainly be so ttolish as to trust yourself amongst those roughs.' 'They would be safe enough with me,' said fio Colonel. ' But the yoimg one can go home ^ith your ladyship ; Lashmar and I will see it k.' Lady Lashmar remonstrated ; she offered to wait the hotel until her stepson was ready to go [ome with hei ; but to this Lashmar would not snsent. He took his mother to her carriage, and iw Victorian seat himself beside her, very ^luctantly. The boy was longing for an dvonturo ; he felt that it was in him to do the ,rk of twenty hireling firemen. The engine j|ame tearing down the street while the carriage tood there, frightening the big bays out of their nts. The firemen looked like demons, the street loys yelped and whooped as the vision of jashing metal and dark resolute faces rushed by, Lud to have to turn one's back upon that fever excitement and go home to supper with one's lother! It was hard for impetuous young Eton, trong in the overweening confidence of youth, pie barouche drove away through the summer [ight, drove away from the smoke and grime — )wards fields and dewy hills and fiowery hedgerows. Lashmar and the Colonel got into hansom cab — they have had hansoms in Jrunira for the last twenty years — and told the [river to go to Goldwin's as fast as he could hit. Driver and horse were both excited, and ittled off at a tremendous pace. There were half-a-dozen streets, and an arid /aste of mnrket gardens and ground newly blotted out for building, to he traversed before [hey reached the scene of the fire ; unmade roads, 86 ONE TTTING NTIEDFUL stretching to the ri^^'ht and the left, phost-like in tlie moonlight — here a factory, and there a shabby, genteel terrace of new houses, and anon a row of allotment gardens; but straight in front of them they saw Goldwin's, like the liery pillar in the desert — a monstrous pile, vomiting smoke ami flame. ' The fire must have gained ground terriblv before the engines arrived,' said Lashinar, leaniii'.- forward over the doors of the cab, with his eyc^ intent upon that flaming bulk yonder. 'Engines never are in time to do any sub- stantial yood,' answered Spillington. ' How lucky the fire did not happen in the mid«lle of the night. People would be up and about, and able | to help themselves.' * But the children,' cried Lashmar, almost with a moan of anguish. 'The little children, left alone ill that tower of Babel. The careless youiii,' mothers roaming the streets ; the fathers listenin; | to Boldwood. Perhaps you don't know the kim, of mothers that are made out of factory girls God help the little children ! I'll warrant thert were dn;',tMis of them left to take care of them- selves in that big liouse to-night ! ' ' That's a horrible idea,' muttered the Colonel and he felt that there was only too much grounc for Lashmar's fear. They were in front of the house by this time , — a dense crowd between them and the buildinji,| ' Wait ! ' said Lashmar to the cabman as hef alighted, and he and Spillington pushed their waj| through the mob. It was a moment of breathless excitemenl| The engines were on the other side of tlitl building ; the fire-escapes were in full action ; bull they could not be everywhere. . Lashmar had cona lickec • SPARR ONE TEAR WITH MK ' 87 inst-liko in ' a shabby, anon a row in front of liery pilliir :; smoke ami ind terriblv nar, leaniii.' til his eye's o any sub- How luc'lsv (Itlle of th' lit, and ablt almost will en, left aloiif eless y ouiii; lers liatenin; ow the kinc actory girls varrant thert | ire of them- the Colonel much grounc by this time the buildiiiONE A THING WAS Liih' While tlie mob surrounded the dead man, talking over him, Lamenting him, waiting for 'nedical help, for a stretcher to carry that motionless bulk of humanity away, Lashmar had slipped oft' his coat, flung it to the remonstrant Colonel Spillingtou, and had begun to climb the iron balconies, just as I>oldwood had climbed, but at a greater disadvantage, for the smoke and flame had intensitied with every moment ; window after window had shivered, and vomited lire. The lookers-on, those who were not too al.'sovbed by their thoughts of the dead to watch the livi? , gave a cry of horror — horror at the madness of H'''. an attempt. IJut in a few minutes tin ' spectators under- stood that this climber was of a different : "iibre from BoldwooJ. This slight, slim form Wc/ .le figure of a trained athlete. Those long lithe arras held on to the balconies, and wreathed themselves about the iron columns with the suppleness and the tenacity of a serpent. Could this be the man with the crooked back, who had been sta^ "ig in the front of the crowd just now, r^rf*^., Avatchl'ul? Some of them recognised him by that married spine, ku,'>.vv him to be Lord Lr hmar a chronic &ivalid, Inew t Sats 01 isium cercise ^reek was |an an lat w le suf je raili iountei )int. ^oldwoi seden ien ui [ould d Ight a 3tween migl K'wd— ■'V' 'Bri .'%^ th( ''.dVi/Unf *S0 WOE-BF"ONE A THING WAS SHE' 41 valid, a weakling. Others who knew better ew that he had trained himself to the highest ats of athleticism, that he had built a gym- sium at Lashmar Castle, and that he had ercised his body with all the devotion of a reek wrestler, or a lioman gladiator. To these was no surprise to see tlie hunchback's long an arms lift him from balcony to balcony, to see at well-shaped head thrown back to escape e suffocating rush of omoke and fiery dust, to e railing of uer railing gained, as that stunted figure ounted higher, diminishing almost to a vanishing int. Yes, he will do it! That which Jonathan oldwood — deteriorated by intemperate habits and sedentary life, hindered by his own bulk — had en unable to accomplish, this deformed lordlin^ ould do. Would do ? He had done it. That sinuous ^ht arm was wreathed round the iron column tween the fourth story and the balcony above. mighty cheer swelled from the throats of the owd — a cheer that Avas half a sob. ' Bring round the fire-escapes ! ' shouted one there was a rush to the other side ot the ^»>ji>Ung. Lives were being saved there as fast />S ofxa firemen could save them — young children, '^:'.ss old people, sick, and maimed. liut here s a life more precious than them all — the life the deliverer, the hero, the Hercules who had tered Juuiself, a voluntary combatant, in a hand- •liand fight with death. Would he perish in his generous endeavour? at was the awful doubt which thrilled every art in that watching crowd. Even Kachel eping for her children, stilled her wailings for e moment, to look up with strained eyes and e-stricken face towards that upper balcony thin which the deliverer had disappeared. 42 ONE THING NEEDFUL What fate awaited hiin in the darkness and the fire? Was the room he had entered sound and whole, or was it but the mouth of a fiery pit ? Was that generous heart stilled in death, even while they watched and waited ? No ; just as the fire-escape appeared round the corner of the building, swaying to and fro as the firemen and the crowd steered it along, just as succour drew near, that slim figure in the whitt shirt sleeves flashed out again amidst the smoke, Lord Lashmar was standing in that fourth floor balcony with a child in his arms. He had bu: to wait the adjustment of the escape, to guard himself and his living burden from tlie flames, and all the rest was easy, Five, ten minutes of supreme anxiety, and all was over. L; William Spenser, had declared that Lashr.iar might crctp on in this half-life of his to old a ]je ! It was a hard thing to be told this, suddenly, in that cool, calm voice of her stepson's. She knew that he was the soul of truth, incapable of misrepresentation or exaggera- tion upon any subject whatever. 'And you look to the child of such a man as Boldwood to be your friend and companion in after years — the mongrel of a gipsy and a dema- gogue !.' exclaimed Lady Lashmar, unable to control her temper. 'You make no allowance for hereditary instincts.' 'I believe more in association and education than iu hereditary instinct. The child has a lino broad forehead, bright well-opened eyes, sensitive nostrils, thin lips, delicate chin — not at all a bad subject to work upon.' ' I really think she is the ugliest child I ever beheld,' said Lady Lashmar, rapping the table with an elephant's tusk paper-knife. ' How you, who pretend to worship ideal beauty, can be interested in such a little monster is more than I can understand.' * She is small and brown, but I don't think her ugly. Her eyes shone like stars last night. It is my idea that she will grow up a very interesting woman.' ' You have such odd ideas ! ' ' Don't be angry, mother,' pleaded Lashmar, *S0 WOE-BEGONE A THING WAS SHE' 55 e was 1, and le did She Iiibert could or less w to be Jpenser, n this thiriL; n voice he soul I "I I % I with wondrous gentleness. * Granted that I am somewhat eccentric — Nature has made me in a mould of her own, you see — but, after all, I have very few whims. And I promise you that this last caprice of mine shall give you no trouble. The child shall live in this house ; but you need hardly be aware of her existence. All she will want will be a couple of rooms on the top story, where we have a score of rooms that only serve as a rat-warren.' 'Mice, not rats,' prote.fed her ladyship. 'Well, we'll call thrua ttdce. It sounds pleas- anter ; only they are the biggest breed I ever saw, and the noisiest. However, my protegee will helj) to scare away the mice. I shall engage a maid for her, and arrange a couple of rooms for her and her maid, those two pretty rooms in the south- west tovrer for instance. She will live on that top floor, have her meals there, ])lague no oiu ; and when I want her compau n my study I can liave her brought down to in- f would any other plaything. You may meet ei im th.; stairs or in the corridor occasionally, ^ut thai is about the utmost you need see oi her.' ' Tliis is your house, Lashmar. If you choose to have it infested by the spawn of Socialism it is not for me to gainsay you. ' ' I hope the day may come when you will hn reconciled to my adopted daugliter ; when she may perhaps be a comfort to you as well as to me.' ' Never, Lashmar ! I can tolerate her existence in the house out of deferencfj to you. I should lia\ < to submit if you took it into yoiir head to keep a rattlesnake ; but I have none of your Utopian ideas ; and I have not the least doubt tliat you will have cause to repent your generous I'olly Ij^ifore you and your vrok'(/de are three years older.' 56 ONE THING NEEDFUL * We will compare notes three years hence, and I hope I shall convince you that you were mistaken,' said Lashmur, with perfect good temper. * And now, mother, have you any yong woman on your list who would make a good maid for Stella ? ' ' There is Barker's niece ; her father is iu the gardens, don't you know. Barker's niece has been wanting to come here for the last six months.' 'I should like to see Barker's niece this after- noon.' Lady Lashmar sighed, and gave orders in ac- cordance with her stepson's wish. She had not seen the obnoxious orphan since the previous night. The child had been in Barker's care, and had been pro- vided for in the remoteness of the upper servants' apartments. She had been taken to Lord Lashmar, and had spent half-an-hour in his study, before breakfast. The intruder did not take kindly to her new life. Again and again, with piteous tears, and childish unreasoning iteration, she entreated to be taken to her fatiier ' Where is daddy ? Take me to daddy ! ' that was the burden of her cries. And Lashmar, albeit philosophical and strong-minded in '~ jst things, could not find it in his heart to tell this orphan child the hard and bitter truth. He could not bring himself to crusli her with the word ' never.' Childhood so soon learns the meaning of that fatal word. So witli weak tenderness he took the little girl upon his lap, and drew her to his l)reast, and told her that she should see her father again, some day. ' To-day ? Now ? ' she questioned. 'No, dear; not imw — not to-day. He has gone on a long joupney,' ' To London ? ' f^hc asked. 'so WOE-BEGONE A THING WAS SUE* 57 e, and I istaken,' nd now, your list I ii tho ece has last six lis after- s in ac- not seen ht. Tho jeen pro- servants* Lasbmar, y, before new life. . childish taken to I daddy ! ' Lashmar, in '■ jst tell this Fie could ho word Baninj:f of he look ?r to his icr father ' A longer journey than that.' 'Where?' ' To a beautiful country. You shall go there some day, and you shall be with him again.' ' Let me go now. ' ' No, dear ; not yet.' 'JUit I icill go,' cried the child, scrambling ofi' Lashmar's lap, and running towards the door. Lashmar followed and stopped her; she cried, and stormed, and struggled with him. * I want to go to my daddy ; I will go to my daddy.' He was a quarter of an hour soothing her, and arguing with her. V>y the end of that time he liad begun to exercise a certain influence over her ; she was content to sit on his knee, gazing at him *with those great dark eyes — star-like eyes, as he had called them. She listened, and seemed comforted. ' Tell me your name, little one,* he asked. ' Stella.' ' Stella ! That is a very pretty name.' 'It means a star!' said the child. 'Daddy told me.' ' Will you be my star ? Will you live with mo ill this house, and play in those gardens out there, and go in my boat on the river ? ' The little one craned her neck and looked out of the broad Tudor window at the flower garden and the green slopes of the park, and the bright blue water in the valley yonder. It was a lovely landscape— passing lovely after the arid purlieus of Rrumm, to which those young eyes had grown accustomed. 'No,' said the little one firmly, after she had contemplated that delicious picture for some iiioiuonts. ' I don't want to live with you, I want to live with my daddy.' 58 ONE THING NEEDFUL And then with a divinity of patience, with that exquisite gentleness which is a peculiar attribute of those who love little children, Laslmiar explained how the journey on which daddy had gone must needs last for a long time, how summer and winter must pass before he could come back, or Stella go to him; but how they should meet in the days to come. ' And you will leave off crying, and be very good, for his sake, won't you, Stella ? ' pleaded Lashmar. 'Fathers are unhappy when they hear that their children have been naughty. You will be good, and you will try to love me, won't you, Stella, for daddy's sake?' The child made a supreme effort over her childish heart, choked her sobs and dried her tears, and trotted by Laslimar's side to the gardens, anir across the dewy park to the river. He took her in his boat, and rowed about with her for half-an- hour or so, and took her back to the castle with a faint bloom in her sallow cheeks, i.nd a fine appetite for breakfast, as Barker informed him afterwards. He saw Barker's niece after luncheon, and found her a buxom, chubby-cheeked young woman with a fine honest countenance ; so he engaged her at once to be Stella's special attendant. The little girl was to be known only as Stella. That obnoxious name Boldwood were well I'orgotten. And then with Barker for his aid and counsellor. Lord Lashmar ordered the arrangement of those two rooms in the south-west tower, remote froin the end of the castle where Lady Lashmar's sumptuous apartments were situated, and on a higher floor ; so that the chances of the young voice or tlie young presence obtruding themselves on her ladyship were minimised. be,^ *S0 WOE-BEGONE A THING WAS SHE' 59 One of the two rooms was to be furnished as a sitting-room ; the other and inner chamber was to contain two beds, for nurse and child. There was a plethora of substantial old-fashioned furniture upon this upper floor; so the re-furnishing of the rooms was only a matter of adjustment. The view from these tower-chambers was exquisite. A wide ex- panse of wooded park and winding river bounded by low hills, and in the distance the rustic village of Avondale, with red-tiled roofs, and low thatched cottages, and quaint variety of gables, and Norman church tower, smiling amidst rich pastures, glassing its simple beauties in the blue bright river. For a rural English Midland landscape nothing could be prettier. * She ought to thrive and flourish in such a bower as this,' thought Lashmar, and then he gave Uaiker's niece — in future to be known as Betsy — some broad general instructions as to the bringing up of childhood upon enlightened principles — cold water, fresh ai.', regular meals, and good and aiii])le food being the chief points. And to the elder Barker he enurnsted the task of procuring the child an outfit. i^Ue might be driven over to Brumm that afternoon he suggested, and could make all her purchases before the shops were shut, if her ladyship would kindly dispense with her services for a lew hours. ' I think I can manage to arrange that Celestine, said Barker. Cele?fcine was the Parisian and superior who re-arranged Mrs. Monsoon's gowns, repaired her ladyshi])'s priceless laces. * Do, like a good soul ; and be sure you thank the coachman's wife for lending the little one clothes for to-day. You will please buy everything of the best, but of the simplest. When she is a year or with maid and 60 ONE THING NEEDFUL two older I may choose her frocks myself, perhaps. For the present I should like her to he dressed always in some cream-coloured stuff —some kind of soft woollen material, and then she need have very few undergarments, and no weight of clothing to impede her movements.' ' Lord a 'mercy, what a mollycoddle ! ' thought Barker, and then slie ventured a remonstrance on economical grounds. ' Cream colour so soon gets d'rty, my Lord,' she said ; ' don't you think now that a neat lilac print, a small pattern, and rather dark, would be better ? ' ' Good heavens, no ! Do you suppose I want her to look like a workhouse child ? I want her to brighten the gardens by her presence, like a beautiful human butterfly.' ' She is such a plain child, my Lord. She will never pay for dress.' ' I will have her in cream colour,' said Lashmar, decisively ; ' and you can buy her half-a-dozcu sashes, the broadest you can get — some scarlet and some pale blue. I will write you a cheque lor twenty or thirty pounds before you go. Buy every- thing at Ponsford's, where her ladyship deals.' ' The dearest shop in Brumm, my Lord.' 'The dearest shops are apt to be the cheapest in the long run.' ' Ten pounds ought to be ample, even at Tons- ford's,' said Barker. ' I shall only have to buy materials, for Betsy is very clever with her needle, and she will make all the little frocks and things.' r^etsy grinned, and reddened at this praise. ' What a capital Betsy ! ' exclaimed Lashmar. * I shall make the cheque twenty, and be sure you buy soft and line stuils ; I want my little girl to look pretty.' '1!Y DEGREES THE HUMAN BLOSSOM BLOWS' Gl ' That she will novcr do, my Lonl,' iinswered J^arkcr with conviction ; ' ])at mo and JJutsy will do our best to make her look nice.' CHAPTER V *BY DEGREES THE HUMAN BLOSSOM BLOWS' The inquest upon Jonatiian Boldwood was held next day, and Lord Lashmar was present. There were plenty of witnesses ready to describe his fall, luid more than one voice been necessary. The iire- nien were exempted from all blame ; they had been working nobly on the other side of the building — not one inhabitant had perished in that great populous hive. The one fatal accident had been the death of the father in his endeavour to rescue his child. No one came forward out of Boldvvood's past life to tell what the man had been, or to tes- tify to their interest in him. When the coroner asked what had been done with the child, Lord Lashmar stepped forward and said that he had adopted her, and would hold himself responsible for her future welfare. ' I don't think there is anyone who will dispute that privilege with you, my Lord,' said the coroner. ' I hope the child will grow up to be grateful to you for your noble conduct in saving her life.' There was a murmur of applause in the room as Lord Lashmar withdrew ; but before he left the tavern where the inquest had been held, he told the authorities that he would pay for a decent 62 ONE THING NEKDFUL funeral, and a grave in the cemetery outside Brumrn. It was his particular desire that Boldwood should not be buried by the parish. He attended the funeral in person two days after- wards, by no means an af^reeable duty, since all the rabble of Brumm turned out to do honour to their favourite agitator. But Lashmar told himself that the day would come when Stella would ques- tion him about her father's burial, would ask to be taken to her father's grave : and he wanted to be able to tell her that he had stood beside that grave while the clods of earth were cast upon the colliu, while the words of promise and of hope v/ere spoken. So Lashmar stood beside the parson as he shuffled over those sublime words, and his was the first hand that dropped flowers — summer's whitest roses — upon the demagogue's coffin. The crowd pressed forward to stare down into the grave, and many a grimy hand scattered hedge- row wildlings and humble cottage flowers on the lid of the huge oak collin. There were women among the crowd who wept, women who had never heard the orator, but who felt as if they had lost a friend. Had he not pleaded the cause of the poor against the rich ? Had he not given voice to that deep undertone of discontent which had been growing stronger day by day with the advance of education. The last of the summer roses had bloomed and faded long before Stella ceased from piteous entreaties to be taken to her daddy. She was gentle and obedient to her benefactor ; was gradually growing attached to him. She took pleasure in his society, loved the river and the gardens, the meadows and flowery baid tlio idea that he was to end his days at Lasli- niar. She even knitted warm comforters for him, which he used to wear, and speak of with reverence as ' her ladyship's little attentions.' It was to Gabriel Verner that Lady Lashmar now turned for sympathy. She joined him on the terrace that afternoon while he was taking his constitutional walk, after his temperate, luncheon, trotting up and down with a volume of German metaphysics under his arm, a book to which he applied himself for a few minutes ever and anon, reading a little bit, and then pacing up and down. ' My dear Mr. Verner, how well you are looking ! ' cried her Ladyship, ' ever so much better than when I left the castle.' ' I think it must be because I have been more in the open air,' replied the old man, unconsciously answering just as Lashmar had answered ; ' his lordship and I have been spending our days on the river during the late glorious weather ; we have taken our books and our luncheon ' 'And his lordship's latest plaything — that horrid child,' interrupted Lady Lashmar. 74 ONE THING NEEDFUL 'I can assure your ladyship that the little girl is a most amenable child, and a very in- teresting companion, I never saw so young an intellect of such scope and development ; it induces me to think with Aristotle that as in the young of some of the lower mammals the ' 'Of course the child must be sharp, cunning, old-fashioned. She is the child of sedition and freethought. The child of a man whose intel- lectual powers were employed only in doing mischief. I am not surprised that you should think the child clever. A few years hence she will be a great deal too clever for any of us — a source of unspeakable mischief — unless you, dear Mr. Verner, can exercise your great influence over Lashmar ; for you have great influence over him, my dear sir ; he positively adores you, and thinks your book will revolutionise European thought. The phrase wao large, but when Lady Lash- mar had her own purpose to gain she always did things largely. ' You are too kind,' murmured the Aristotelian meekly. ' Yes, dear Mr. Verner,' she hurried on, * you must really bring your superior brain to bear upon ])oor Lashmar. He is clever, but a mere dreamer. You must show him the danger involved in this folly of his — the incubus he is preparing for himself in the future. What in heaven's )iame is he to do with this child by-and-by if she should turn out badly ? And of course she will turn out badly. I have a profound belief in hereditary instinct.' 'And I, dear Lady Lashmar, have an equally profound beUef in education. Not for worlds would I thwart Lashmar in this fancy of his. Eemember, BV DEQREKS THE HUMAN BLOSSOM BLOWS* 75 I he saved that baby's life at the hazard of his own. She is his — a God-given boon. He has seemed ever so much happier since she has been here. She interests, she amuses him, she takes him out of himself; and think what a blessing that self- forgetful ness must needs be in such a case as his where nature, injusta noverca, has been so unk'ad.' Gabriel Verner stopped in some confusion. What if that phrase, injusta noverca, should seem personal. Happily Lady Lashmar had been educated at a period when young ladies were not taught Latin. • Do not fear the result,' continued Verner * I will be responsible for the child's training ; and I pledge myself that education shall conquer evil instincts, if there is anything evil in that young character.' Lady Lashmar pushed the argument no further. There was evidently no help to be obtained here. ' I must go and put on my bonnet,' she said rather shortly ; ' I have a round of tiresome calls to make. I will leave you to your beloved Plato.' The Aristotelian shuddered at that hated name. To think that after all these years ot intercourse, after having had the nature of his studies and lucubrations so often expounded to her, Lady Lashmar did not yet know to which school he belonged ! For six years of young, fresh life, Stella Bold- wood was almost entirely liappy. She lived in a world where all things were new — to the dweller in the tents of the people — an actual world of beauty and luxury which knew not change ; a world of thought whose horizon widened with every day of her existence. Edu- cation to Stella was as sunlight to the flowers, or spring time to the birds. Her eager mind opened to receive the treasures of knowledge; her vivid 76 ONE l.'ITNO NKEDFUL iniaKinatinn shed its own brightness upon every subject ; and sli(>, was taught as sehh)ni children aro taught in this sii])er-enliglitened ago of ours. She was taught as sweetly and as pleasantly as children are told the legends of fairyland on a mother's knee. Lashmar devised his own system of education. She was to learn nothing in which she was not inte- rested, to repeat no dry formula?, parrotwise. She was to be troubled with nono of those abstruse technicalities which the modern grammarian has devised for the torture of cliildhood. The story of the earth on which lived was not to be made odious to her by dry scraps of science, long rows of figures, altitudes of mountains, lengths of rivers. She was to learn the beauty and the glory ot the imiverse unawares, out of picture books and tales of travel and adventure. Instead of knocking her poor little head against a row of unfriendly figures in order to learn the exact height of such and such peaks of the Andes, or the Himalayas, she was in fancy to roam those mountains, to tremble on the edge of stern precipices, to gather strange flowers that bloom in their remoteness, to make acquaint- ance with strange creatures that dwell in those inac- cessible regions. She would sit for hours at Lasiimar's feet listening to the experiences of some hardy explorer, and then with her babyish pencil she would draw fancy-pictures of the wild, lonely hills, the gigantic lakes, and awful woods, the world which to. her vivid imagination was as fami- liar as the meadows and orchards of Middleshire. Lashmar taught his pupil history in a series of narrations, beginning with the Bible-stories of that far-away patriarchal world in which good men dwelt under the personal protection of their God, holding constant converse with heaven ; and working gradually downwards through the dark ' liY DEQUEES THE HUMAN BLOSSOM BLOWK' 77 mystery of Euypt to the fair dawn of Greece. JIc liucrered loiii,' and lovin<:^ly over that fairy land of Olympus. He was steeped to the lips in Greek lei^end, Hesiod and Homer, and all the Homeric liymns. And Stella loved to hear these fair myths of a world that is dead, asked aj^ain and af^'aiii for stories of Dionysus and Demeter, of Helen and Paris, uf Hectorand Achilles, of Ajax and Af^ameninon ; stories terrible and stories beautiful, stories at which her hair seemed to rise with horror, stories whii;h Ijrou^dit back the happy smile to the young lips. In the boat beneath the willows on :/'ltriest summer afternoons, or beside the winter fire, betwixt after- noon tea and the eight o'clock dinner, Stella's education was always going on ; an educati* ii of legend and history, poetry and fact ; an education of oral instruction which exacted no labour from the growing brain, an education which was always sowing the seed and never reaping the harvest. TJiat was to come later. Gal^.el Verner took the child in hand for an hour every morning. He taught her to read and write and cipher. That was tiie only drudgery of her education. All the rest was learnt at Lashmar's knee. Their life crept onward with a monotony which to anyone, except a student, would havci beeu in- tolerable. Lady Lasimiar came and went. She was in Grosvenor Square for the season. She .spent all one summer at Horaburg for her gout, tak- ing Victorian with her. She took him for another vacation to the Engadine. She spent a month with him in Paris. But, except for an occasional week in the picture-seeing season, Lord Lashmar rarely went to London. He found contentment, occupatiou, variety iu that matchless library which 78 ONE THING NEEDFUL 1^ v/as the pride of Laslimar Castle ; and lie found recreation and amusement in the society of his adopted daughter. And thus, in the lap of luxury, beloved and cherished, Jonathan Boldwood's danghter arrived at her eleventh birthday. She had remembered her birthday, young as she was, and had been able to tell her benefactor the exact date, Ixicauso it was a day with a name. This dark child with the star-like eyes had begun life upon Midsummer- day. Lashmar questioned her sometimes about her earliest experiences — very gently, lest he should evoke sad memories, revive her passionate grief for her father, perhaps. He asked her if her father had ever told her anything about her mother, or of his own life. Yes, He had told her that he was once a gentleman, that he was born in a great house near the sea, far away on the Scottish border. He had told her that her mother was l)eautiful and ought to have been rich. This — told vaguely as a child would relate shreds and patches of half-remembered speech — was all tliat Lashmar could obtain by his questioning. After all, the past history of Jonathan Boldwo(jd could matter very little. There was evidently nu one to claim the child ; and that, in Lashmar's mind, was the main point. Only one relic of the dead man had been saved from the fire. A small tin cash-box, with the initials J. B., had been found among the ashes and rubbish below that portion of the ruined pile in which Boldwood's rooms had been situated. It was identified as his by a fellow-lodger; and was ultimately handed over to Lashmar, together with the key which had been found hanging on his steel 'BY DEORREia THE HUMAN BLOSSOM HLOWS ' 79 watch-chain. Watch, chain, and key, were ^ivea up to Lashmar after the inquest. The contents of the casket were disappointing. Tt contained papers which the smoke had blackened so as to be utterly undecipherable. The original form was there, but reduced almost to tinder. The matter had vanished. The only uninjured object was a miniature in a double gold case, which had better resisted the action of the fire than the ill-made metal box. The miniature was an (tld-fashioned painting upon ivory; the por- trait of a man in the prime of life. A grave dark face, with large dark eyes, and a high bald fore- head. Lashmar judged by the peculiar form of beard and coat-collar that the original had been a foreigner ; the type was un-English. He .showed Stella the picture and asked her if she had ever seen it before. • Xo, never. What was it, who was it ? ' Lashmar sealed up the sheets of tindery paper in a large envelope, and subscribed it carefully, ' llurned papers found in Boldwood's cash-box,' with the })lace and date. He cleaned up the cash- box, and put the mininture and the papers back into it, locked it, and tied the key to the handle then wrote a label, ' This box is Stella Boldwood's |)r()])erty, the only tiling saved from her father's lodgings.' He put the box in a locked book-case where he ke})t some of his most valuable books. A priceless Decameron, an old copy of I'abelais, and some of the least respectable among the classics from the printing press of meditevul Venice. 80 CUAPTER VI 'OUT OF Sir.HT, BEYOND LKJIIT, AT WHAT GOAL MAY WE MEET ? ' It was Midsummer ])ay, and Stella was eleven years old, an ever-nieuiorable anniversary iu thaL yuung life ; so sweet iu its summer dawn, so fatal before sundown. Lady' Laslunar was in London, Victorian was at Oxford. He had hardly spent three months at the castle during those six years in which Stella liad dwe. there, and he had exchanged scarcely a dozen words with her. He had exaggerated his mother's y)rejudices against the orphan, and avoided her as if siie had been a toad. Lashmar aad his vroUgee had their lit.'le world all to tl^nmelves, save for their devoted slave, Gabriel Verner, wl'.o still hovered on the brink of publication, the manuscript of his great book still virgin, unsoiled by the finger-marks of the compositor, and, who still forecast with terror the day in whicli the world should ring witli his name, and cabinet ministers insist upon making his acquaintance. Stella's birthday had been always made in Bome wifco a festival by Jier adopted father. He wanted the child to lack none of tho.jC childish pleasures which fathers and mothers give their children. She was in after years io recall no deprivation, no loss of privilege or pleasure. And this year he felt more than usually anxious to do 'AT WHAT GOAL MAV WK MEET' 81 lionoiir k) her birtlidicy. The time was drawing near \/hL'n thi.s ^ap])y Arcadian existence, this easy-^'oing education at her benefactor's leet must needs be changed for a more conventional form of life. The time was coming w.ieu Stella must be handed over to feminine care, in order that she might learn the ways and the accomplishments of women. It would have pleased Lashmar to ha\ 3 carried out his work to the end, to have seen his proUrjcc grow up to ripening womanhood under his care, to have taught her all things that she was ever to learn, to have created in her a spiritual twin-sister, a second self, the sweet com- panion and consolation of his loveless days. But regard for her interests, the fear tliat Ikj might create that modern monster, the philosopher in ]ietticoats, made him hesitate ; while Gabriel Verner's suggestion, that in days to come scandal miglit cloud the relations of protector and pro- tected, was not without weight with him. lie made u]) his mind to seek out some tranquil and iia[»i)y household, some perfect woman nobly ))lanned, in whose fostering care Stella might develoi) into enligiitened and graceful womanhood. And then — and then — in the days to come she might still be liis coujpaniou and friend, again live under his roof and brighten his days, the first to bid him good-morning, the last to say good-night. She would mai-ry, ])erhaps ; yes, that would be best for both of them. She might anchor herself in nuirriage to some mild young cleric, who could be Lashmar's chaplain; so that husband and wife might live together under his roof. He saw him- self in that far future smiling upon Stella's child- ren, finding a new star in some baby girl wlio would sit at his feet and listen to him in wide- eyed wonder, just as Stella had done. Surely his G 82 ONE THING NEEDFUL age would not be loveless or lonely ; this waif snatched out of the fire would be to him a well- spring of love. His life had not been all brightness since Stella had dwelt within his walls. Those sensitive nerves of his — sensitive to cold, to heat, to fatiguu to pleasure even — had been racked many and many a day. The old agony of pain, the old weari- ness of prostration had been his again and again ; but in every new interval of suffering he liad found a growing f;weetness in Stella's sympathy. The child had a sense of pity and love far beyond her years, a power to comprehend suffering rarely found even in a woman. She would sit by her benefactor's couch for hours — silent^ watchful. She knew every expression of the sufferer's tortured brow, and could mark those intervals of respite in which he liked to talk, and in which it was oood for him to have his thoughts diverted into new channels. Her little feet moved lightly over the carpet, her little hands were as gentle as rose leaves falling upon grass. Before she was eight years old she acquired a deftness wliich made her ministrations pleasanter than those of the most experienced woman-servant in the castle. She could puur out a dose of medicine, or mix a tumbler of lemonade with unerring precision. She was Lashraar's chief nurse in all his illnesses, which, being for tho most part of a nervovs cha- racter, involved no degrading office for nurse or attendant. Gabriel Venier was Stella's subordiuato in the sick room, and was quite as gentle as a woman. Lord La^hmar generally breakfasted in his st'j'ly vdieu her ladyship was away, and at such period* Verner and Stella always breakfasted with him. The ineakfast hour was nine, and Lashmar ! 'AT WHAT GOAL MAY WF, MEE'. 83 often spent an hour in the garden before break- fast, sometimes alone, but more often with Stella for his companion. She was with him this morning, proud in the repetition of her first Greek verb. She had l^een learning Latin for more than a year, and could recite bits of the Bucolics with perfect intonation and pre- rision, but Greek had been begun within the last few weeks, and Stella was intensely interested in the beginning of a language which she had been taught to consider the grandest tongiu; that the peoples of this earuh had ever sjDoken. Had not Homer recited his wondrous tale of Troy in those sonorous syllables ? Stella knew the story of Troy as well as other children know the story of Red liicling-Hood. Stella repeated her verb in its innumerable tenses with very few mistakes, and won a kindly word of f.pproval from Lashmar. 'Most little girls at your age would be learn- ing French instead of Greek,' he said; 'but, as there is nothing in the French language equal to Homer or Wato, T would rather you shoiild learn Greek iirst and Frcnich afterwards.' They went into breakfast together. ]\Ir. Verner was in the study waiting for them, with liis note-book and pencil in his hand, going over a passage in his book. He wrote his manuscript in small scraps, which he revised and re-wrote again and again, carrying the little book about with him wherever he went, poring and pondering over every paragraph, every ]ihrase ; and ly this laborious method he had contrived to attain an English style whi(^h re ;d like a literal translation from Hegel or Schopen- luiuer. Tlie table was bright witli flowers, old English 84 ONK THING NEEDFUL silver, and old Eii,L,di.sh cliiiia. A lar<,'e disli of strawberries showed crimson against a backgntiiud of tea-roses in a ^loat Japanese bowi. Tlie siibstantials were all upon a side-table. Lash- mar was wont to breakfast lightly, on new said eggs and strawberries and cream, in this summer weather, and Stella cared only for crisp, light rolls and fruit and cream. It was Mr. Verner whose fine appetite did justice to the good things on the side-table. Stella gave a cry of surprise and rapture as she took her sciit. Ujton her folded napkin lay a glittering golden watcli, witli a slender chain coiled round it like a serpent. The back of the watch was enamelled, and on the enamel ;'ppeared the initial S., surmounted by a star in tiny brilliants. ' Oh, what a beautiful watch ! ' slie cried ; * whose is it ? ' * Yours, Stella. You are so precise in giving me my medicine when I am \1) that I am sure you know the value of time ; so I thouglit you would like to have a time-keeper of your own.' Stella ran to him, and threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. ' How good you are to me ! you are always giving me pretty tilings. But a watch ! I never thought I should have a watch, like a grown-up I' ire more thoughtful and than many gij .--np persons, Stella, to own a watch. ' J will be very, very careful the child earnestly. Slic had oficu lumdled Lashmar's watch : had worn it for a week at a lime when lie was ill, so she was not afraid to ojjcn this one. She person 'You more exact You deserve of it, sai he * AT WHAT GOAL MAY WE MEET ' 85 said to.mI the inscription inside : * To Stella, from her adopted father, Lashniar, Midsummer Day, 1872. ' Tliat is the best of all,' she said ; ' T shall always love the watch for my adopted father's sake.' They were to start n}>f)n an excursion soon after breakfast — an excursion plannecl in honour of the day. Fifteen miles from Lashmar Castle there were the remains of a modioival abbey — ■ extensive ruins, in a very fine state of preserva- tion, and situated in a beautiful country. Lancf- dfile Abbey was one of the places that everybody went to see, and it afforded an admirable excuse for a picnic. Lashmar knew every stone among the ruins, every wild flower and lichen that grew in the interstices of the stones and clothed the old walls with beaut}'. But he was never weary of Langdah; Abbey, and he told himself that there coidd be no jileasanter way of spending the day than in a drive to Langdale. He had lately bought a ]>air of horses, of which he was particularly ])i'nud, fine up-standing bays, an exact match in colour, f^ize, form, action and pace — a pair of horses which would have attracted every eye in Hyde I'ark, but which were hardly noticed in the neighltourhood of Lashmar Castle where it was an understood thing ihat Lord Lashmar always drove the finest cattle. He was so rich and had so ft!\v ways of spending his money that it r.eenied only riglit lie should pay high prices for his horses. He was an admirable whiji, firm, teaiperate, with light hands and an unerring eye. He loved horses, and horsps loved h'tn. These bays wer(i fine, honest animals, and reported to bo as quiet as sheep. Lord Lashmar had diiven litem three or four times, and had found them irre- 8G ONE THING NEEDFUL proacliable. He would never have risked Stella's safety by placiug her beliind dant^erous animals, nor would he have Imperilled the gray hairs of his faithful old tutor. The picnic baskets were packed into the phaeton in the stable yard, and at eleven o'clock the carriage came round to the porch. Stella was ready in the hall, beaming with happiness, the great dark eyes shining out of the shadow made by her broad-brimmed hat. II(!r short- waisted white frock, broad blue sash, and long wash-leather gloves made her look like one of Picyiiolds's children. Indeed, with her dark eyes and thick hair, cut straight across her brow, slio had always a look of Keynolds's portraits. The aristocratic old Eector of Lashmar used to pat her on the head condescendingly, and call her 'My Eeynolds girl.' He was a good man, after his fashion, which was narrow. He could not see any merit in bringing up one • orphan in the lap of luxury. He would have had the cost of Stella's maintenance given to some orphanage where it might have been distributed in the shape of thick bread-and-butter and hob- nailed boots, among many children. Lashmar's benevolence seemed to him as the costly box of ointment set^mod to .ludiis — a lavish, unreasoning expenditure. He was always ready to (u'ho Lady Lashmar's reprobation of her stejtson's folly. Yes, no doubt he was preparing trouble for himself in tlie future. The girl nnist eventually becnnui iiu incubus. Stella took her seat beside Lord Lashmar in the phaeton, Gabriel Vomer mounted behind, and the groom leapt lightly into his phuio when tiie horses wcii in full motion, deeming that his dignity would have been compromised by mounting 'AT WHAT COAL MAY WE MEET* 87 the ;lock ;i uioraciit sooner. The bays went with a certain s])rinf;iness, whicli tohl Laslimar they wei-e very fresh. ' Were these horses exercised yesterday ? ' lie asked of tlie ^rooni. ' No, luy Lord, not yesterday. Smiles knew your lordship wanted them for a journey.' ' Were they out the day before ? ' ' No, my Lord. Smiles thought the weather was too bad.' The bays were fjoing splendidly, with no hint of running away ; but they were very eager, and wanted to go at the top of tlieir pace. Lash mar kept them well in hand, and they bowled merrily along the high road outside tlie castle. They had Ut'teen miles before them. 'What nice horses,' said Stella, enjoying the pace. ' Do you like them better than I'yramus and Thisbe ? • ' Pyramus and Thisbe are darlings, but these go faster, don't they ? ' ' Yes, they are going faster to-day.' They had driven three or four miles in the morning sunshine, between hedge-rows full of eglantine and honeysuckle, jiast a picturesque Middleshire village, Avith its tumble-down, half- timbered cottages in black and white, its untidy Htniw-yards and mouldering barns. The horses were well in hand as Lashmar drove pa»st the little cluster of humble dwellings, and the inn, with its blurred old sign and dripping horse-trough. Tiio village seemed for the most part the abode of sleep or death ; for all the men were in the fields, and all the children were at school. Lut here and there a woman looked out at her door, and axlmired Lord Lashmar's horses, the light jhaeton, the groom's smart livery, and the pretty child in her white frock and straw hat. 88 ONE TIIINO NEEDFUL About a hundrod yards from tlio villapje tli road made a sharp curve, himself face to face witli daugor. A traction eiij/inc in full cry, ';iiortin<:f, pantin<,^ and Lord Lashmar saw that which miV%^ A ^ <^ y. ^ % 1.0 I.I 1.25 liil^ 12.3 Mi 124 1: lis 12.0 1.8 14 11.6 V] (^ /a >^ •^ "^ ■■> >^ V Photographic Sciences Corporation 73 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 & \ s % 92 ONE THING NEEDFUL for one. Then she put it to lier ear, and found til at it was mute. 'A quarter to twelve,' she said, 'why did it stop at a quarter to twelve ? ' Again Betsy dissolved into tears. 'Shoosh, dear,' she murmured, patting Stella's shoulder, 'go to sleep, my pet, till the doctor comes to see you. Let Betsy put the pretty watch under your pillow.' ' I don't want to sleep any more ; I want to get up and be dressed ; you know it's my birtliday, and I am to be all day with Lord Lashmar. How late the sunshine looks — like afternoon. Have I over- slept myself ? ' * You have been very, very ill, dear,' answered Betsy, in a soothing, preachy-preacliy tone, which is peculiarly exasperating to an intellectual child, ' you are much too weak to get up. You sliall have your Brand's essence presently and a nice little bit of toast.' ' But it's my birthday,' urged Stella, * and I am to dine with his lordship.' ' My poor pet, your birthday was ten days ago, a week before the funeral,' answered Betsy. The word was spoken unawares. That awe- inspiring, much-discussed event of the funeral — a stately and imposing ceremonial, including all the dismal grandeur of the old school and all the lloral decorations of the new — had been in everybody's mouth at Lashmar Castle for the last six days. h. was the standard by which time was reckoned. * What funeral ? ' cried Stella, starting up in her bed with a scared look. She was so weak that cold drops broke out upon her brow in tho agitation of this question. Poor Betsy was at her wits' end. ' Go to sleep, pet,' she pleaded ; ' the doctor 'at what goal may we meet' 93 wouldn't like you to talk so much. Lie down and go to sleep, lovey.' But even these endearments failed to soothe the perturbed spirit. ' What funeral ? ' repeated Stella ; ' is anybody dead ? ' Betsy only patted her shoulder dumbly, with streaming eyes. ' Who is dead ? Not Mr. Verner ? Oh ! he was so good to me. He is not dead, is he ? ' ' No, dear, no ; Mr. Verner is quite well. He wasn't hurt at .all, poor dear gentleman,' answered Betsy. ' He wasn't hurt 1 Who was hurt, then ? Was anybody hurt ? ' cried Stella, her eyes assuming the wild look they had had in delirium. ' You were hurt, my poor precious. You fell on your dear little head.' Stella gave a scream, and Hung her arms round Betsy's neck. Memory returned in a Hash. ' The horses !' she cried; ' yes, I remember. Oh ! those dreadful horses. Lord Lashmar drove so well ; but I thought we were going to be killed. He was not hurt, was he ? Ask him to come to me ; I want to see Lord Lashmar ; directly, directly.' Those large dark eyes of hers were growing wilder and wilder. They looked unnaturally large in the small, pale face, sorely shrunken from its childish plumpness during the wasting agony of that ten days' fever. She tried to get out of bed, pushing aside Betsy's restraining arras. * Ask Lord Lashmar to come to me. Let me go to Lord Lashmar.' ' Lord Lashmar is out, love,' said the frightened Betsy ; ' Lord Lashmar has gone to Brumm for the day., on particular business.' It was true. Betsy felt she had satisfied her 94 ONE THING NEEDFUL charge and saved her soul from the burden of a lie. It was literal truth which she had spoken, and ye^. for Stella it was not the truth: for Stella it was a miserable, mocking lie. She was not satisfied, but lay back upon her pillows too exhausted to struggle. She lay moaning. ' I Avant to see Lord Lashmar. When will he be back ? Oh ! when, when, when ? ' She sobbed herself into a feverish, restless slunilier ; and she was delirious again that night. The doctor was much concerned when he came to see her in the evening, and was told how she had recovered her senses for a little while, only to lose them again. * Did you tell her anything ? ' he asked. ' Not a word,' answered Betsy. ' She wanto(l to see Lord Lashmar dreadfully, but I told her he was out for the day, and she seemed to believe me ; but she made herself very unhappy about him. She was so fond of him, poor dear, and well she might be.' * Ah, well indeed ! ' said the doctor, shaking his head. ' I'm afraid she has seen the best days of her life, poor little thing.' Mr. Stokes was a kind, simple soul, v/ho had lived all his life in the village of Avondale, just a mile from the much smaller village of Lashmar, a pretty little cluster of houses on the bank of the river, nestling round an old Saxon church that seemed much too large for its surroundings. Mr. Stokes knew everybody in the neighbourhood, and had known the younger generation from their cradles. He was a skilful surgeon, and was toler- ably shrewd in his diagnosis, though he seldom went fartlier afield than Brumm, and had not seen much of tlie great city since lie was a student 'AT WHAT GOAL MAY WE MEET* 96 at Bartleray'a. He know all about Stella, and Lady Lashmar's feelings with regard to her. ' I ara afraid she is in for a relapse,' he said after he had takon her temperature. ' A hundred and five three-fourths. That looks bad. You must do all you can to keep her quiet. Give her Brand's essence and a * spoonful of brandy with a little yoke of egg alternate half-hours. You'll have to sit up with her again to-night.' ' I dou't mind that, said Betsy. ' I don't mind anything except hearing her ask for Lord Lashraar.' The doctor was right. Stella re-entered the land of phantoms. This time her worst dream was of a vast and sunless swamp — such a swamp as that she had read about, far across the Atlantic — the Great Dismal Swamp, where never tree or llower flourished ; a place of desolation ; impassable, exhaling poisonous odours, brooded over by dark clouds, a semi-darkness worse than night. And she was wading in that swamp for ever and for ever, weary to agony — the dull agony of aching bones and i)urdened brain. Far, far av/j!y a vanishing point in remotest distance, there was a speck of light — the same speck she h?i.d seen on the far earth when she was a star — and that light was Lashmar. She was perpetually trying i> reach that distant point, weighed down for ever by the sense of utter impossibi'lty, yet obliged to try. The agonising dream seemed to endure for ages ; long nights of repetition, in which Betsy hovered over her charge with cup or teaspoon, forcing her doses of nourishment between the parched hot lips, with a persistence that seemed sheer brutality; but that very tangible presence of the buxom Betsy had no etlect upon the visionary world in which Stella dwelt. The dim and distant light was 96 ONE THING NEEDFUL always there, glimmering faintly across the wide, gray waste, in the perpetual twilight. Perhaps it was the faint gleam of the night- light in the remotest corner of the room, which suggested that distant ray shining across the dull gray level of dreamland. It was in the night that the goblin crew rode rampant over that distracted brain. The days passed for the most part in a kind of stupor : the patient lying helpless, apathetic, recognising no one, caring lor nothing, in a state of semi-consciousness which was neither sleeping nor waking. Prom such a condition as this she was aroused by the howling of a summer storm in the great oaks, and the sharp rattle of the rain against the casement. The sky was cold and gray. Stella knew not if it were morning or afternoon. Memory was a blank again. She had forgotten all that had liai)pened since her birthday, had forgotten the accident which had made that day fatal. This time Betsy was not at hand to be ques- tioned. It was between four and five o'clock, and lletsy had gone down to tea, had gone to expatiate upon the storm to her fellow-servants, who were all wont at such times to wish that they lived in London, where thunder and lightning would seem comparatively harmless amidst the cheerfulness and sense of protection afforded by crowded streets and policemen. Tiie thunder and lightning were over, or Betsy would not have left her charge. Stella looked about the room wonderingly, slowly coming back from dreamland, slowly real- ising the facts of the external world. Yes, it was her own room ; there were all those ornaments and knick-knacks which children speak of compre- hensively as ' pretty things.' The silver casket on her dressing-table, the scent bottles, the china monsters, 'AT WHAT GOAL MAY WE MEET' 97 the bright coloured pilgrim bottles from that legendary Eastern world, of which she had heard and learnt so much — the cradle of mankind — the well-filled book- shelves, the dolls and doll's-house. But these last had been degraded from their high estate to an obscure corner, things to be ashamed of, that one could ever have been so babyish as to care much about them. Yes, it was her own room, that lightsome, airy chamber, high up among the tree-tops and the swallows. It was her nest, in which she had been as free and happy as the birds of the air, more tenderly cherished than ever nestling by parent bird. The door leading into the sitting-room was half open, and there were people talking, she had heard their voices amidst the rattle of the rain and the bluster of the storm. 'Shall you send her away?' asked a manly voice, rich and full, a voice that was not altogether unfamiliar. It was like her benefactor's, but stronger, fuller. ' No, I shall keep her here. I consider that a sacred duty, for poor Hubert's sake. But I shall try to repair his sad mistake in the manner of rearing her. I shall bring her up as a child of the lower classes ought to be brought up. I shall train her to be useful, a bread-winner among a class of bread-winners.' Too well did Stella know this second voice. These were the sonorous tones of that terrible per- sonage whom she had met from time to time in the corridors or in the gardens, and who had always scowled at her, and passed her by in haughty silence. She knew the face and figure to which the voice belonged, the tall and stately form, the strongly marked brows and aquiline nose. ' Eather rough upon her, poor little wretch, after having been so pampered.' n 98 ONE THING NEEDFUL ' That is poor Hubert's fault, not mine,' replied her ladyship coldly. 'Well, it was one of those silly things which your very clever men are apt to do,' said the other voice. ' I took an intense dislike to the brat from the hour poor Lash brought her home, like some strayed mongrel, and not half so interesting. If I were you I should clear her out of the castle as soon as she is well enough to budge ; pack her off to one of those innumerable institutions for ref ring up beggar brats in the fear of their spiritual pastors and masters upon sound Conservative principles. You'll get rid of a nuisance ; and there'll be a better chance of her making a good housemaid than if she is allowed to stay here where she'll always remember Lashmar's idiotic indulgence.' ' I have told you that I mean to bring her up under my own eye,' replied her ladyship, in a terrible voice. Slie was a woman who could not brook con- tradiction, would not endure to have her will gainsaid or her wisdom questioned ; least of all could she endure such questioning from her own son. She was a woman who loved to govern, and to whom the idea of domineering even over such a helpless waif as Boldwood's daughter was very pleasant. 'I shall bring her up under my own eye,' she repeated; 'I shall see that she is taught properly, and that above all she learns to forget her foolish childhood, and to understand her position as a friendless orphan, who must learn to earn her daily bread.' ' A friendless orphan ! * repeated Stella, in a faint whisper. Of whom were they talking ? she asked herself. Could it be of her? She re- membered how once when old Mr. Verner Tvas cr] *AT WHAT GOAL MAY WE MEET* 99 expatiating upon Lashmar's goodness he had told her that were it not for that generous benefactor she would have been a friendless orphan. And now her ladyship was talking about a friendless orphan who had been brought up foolishly. 'She will have to begin a new life as soon as she gets well.' 'As soon as she gets well,' repeated Stella. Yes, it was of her tliey were talking. They had got her into their power somehow, those two enemies. They were going to alter her happy life. They would take away her Greek grammar perhaps, stop th& new study of which she was so proud, and which had seemed to bring her nearer to liashmar. He had talked to her of the time when they would be able to read Homer together. Oh ! where was Lashmar ? Why did he not come and stop their cruel talking ? She clasped her hands in an agony of despair. She called out in a faint scream, too weak to cry aloud, as it were struggling in a nightmare dream — ' Lord Lashmar, Lord Lashmar ! ' A face — a bright young face, handsome as Apollo's — looked in at the door, only for a flash. It gave way in the next instant to the stern countenance of the dowager. ' Are you awake, child ? * she asked. * Please ask Lord Lashmar to come to me,' cried the girl piteously, 'What do you want with Lord Lashmar? Lie down, child ; you are too weak to sit up yet awhile. 1*11 send Betsy to you.' ' No, no, I don't want her. I want Lord Lashmar. I shall go mad if I don't see him ! ' The dowager seated herself in Betsy's vacant 100 ONE THING NEEDFUL chair by tho bed, an awful figure, stern and terrible as Fate itself. She was clad from top to toe in black, densest black, not that rich and glittering:; raiment in which Stella had often seen her of old — a costly combination of satin and brocade sparkling and Hashing with tremulous fringes of jet. This was a gown of some dull fabric which reflected not a ray of light. To her very chin Lady Lashmar was swathed in black crape, and black crape is to a child's eye of all fabrics the most hideous. * You cannot soe your benefactor. Lord Lash- mar,' said the stern voice. ' You will never see him again. Cannot you understand what this black gown of mine means ? ' * He is dead ! ' shrieked the child, and then remembering that ominous word dropped un- awares by Betsy, 'It was his funeral.' * Yes, ray unhappy child, your benefactor was killed in the accident from which you narrowly es- caped with your life. The loss for you is a bitter one in the present, although it may be a blessing to you in the future. My stepson's foolish indulgence might have been your ruin, here and hereafter,' Stella heard not a word of this little sermon. She had cast herself on her pillow, and was sobbing out her heart in the passionate, hopeless grief of childhood. Dead ! She had never thought that he could die. Dead ! How often he had talked to her of what would happen when he was an old man; how she was to be the companion of his declining years, the compensation for all his losses. Dead ! Never more to look upon her with those thoughtful eyes ; never more to speak to her in that low, tender voice ; never more to touch THK NEW CINDERKLLA 101 her with that haud whose gentle touch upon her head had always seemed a benediction. ' My angel, my friend, my father ! ' she cried. ' Oh, CJod ! be good to me, and lot me die too.' That was her prayer at morning and nightfall, fur many a day to come. CHAPTEK VII THE NEW CINDERELLA July, witli its roses and lilies, blossoming limes, and long sultry days, and lingering sunsets late into the dewy night, was over. It was August, and though summer was still lovely in the land, the summer evenings were shortening, the roses were waning a little, as to the limit- less profusion of bloom ; while here and there tliose flowers which are the harbingers of autumn began to show in the castle gardens : gaudy dahlias, old-world hollyliocks, llaming sunflowers, staring at the blue sky with their great round brown faces in ragged yellow nightcaps, against a background of gray stone wall. Stella's new life had begun. It was verily a new life; so entirely different from the old one that it seemed to the cliild as if she had died and been born again, in the same place, but with another personality. And yet though she still n. ; her abode in Lashmar Castle it could hardly be said that it was the same place as that which had been her 102 ONE THING NEEDFUL home in the lifetime of Hubert, Lord Lasliraar. She livod in other rooms ; she looked out of other windows, at an utterly dissimilar prospect. She had not entered the library, or those adjoiniiig rooms in which she had once been so happy since her benefactor's death. Tlie j^ardens about which fihe liad once roamed as freely as the butterflies were now a closed world for her. She bad no moio right to be there than the coach- nifm's children, or the housekeeper's little niece : and not one of those well-behaved little persons would have presumed to enter her ladyship's garden. Scella lived in the servants' quarters now, and looked out of windows which all opened upon the stable-yard, a great stony desert, whose only picturesque feature was the pump, with its stone basin, round which a coachman, with the love of the beautiful, had planted some nasturtiums. Those nasturtiums were almost the only flowers tliat Stella saw in that month of August. She was learning to know her place — lier place as allotted and ap- pointed by Lady Lashmar, and that place was the place of an under-housemaid. There were eleven housemaids at Lashmar Castle. That had been the orthodox number as long as the oldest inhabitant of Lashmar village could remember. It was supposed that by no less a staff could the castle be scrubbed and swept and dusted as it should be. There were three upper-housemaids, each of whom had supreme command upon her particular floor. She was, as it were, captain of that deck. Then came the five second housemaids ; two for the ground-floor, with its spacious state apartments and numerous sitting-rooms ; two for the first iioor, and which included her ladyship's E':ite and THE NKW CINDERELLA io:i the new lord's suite, and all the important visitors' rooms; and one for the upper story, which was given over to rarely used bachelors' rooms and rat- warrens. Lastly, there were three drudges who fetched and carried water and coals, made the fires and cleaned tlie grates, slaves who were treated as the Israelit^ss in Kj^'Vpt before the advent of Moses. IJetsy had been reduced to the mnks of the eleven. She was one of the secmd housemaids, and her province was the first floor, where she was utuler the special supervision of her a.iiit liarker, who had a room of her own in an ol)3cure corner behind her ladyship's suite, one of those curious little rooms such as in Hampton Court I'alace are described as the King's Closet, or the Queen's Oratory. Under Betsy's eye Stella was to be trained to all the duties of an upper-housemaid. She was not to go through the baser drudgeries, the water-drawing and coal-carrying', the hlack- lead brush and scouring paper. She was to be spared that rude apprenticeship, out of deference to the dead lord's fancy. Nay, should she prove especially teachable, and handy with her needle, she might eventually escape housework altogether and be admitted to the holy of holies, personal attendance upon her ladyship. ' You are getting short of breath and unwieldy, Barker,' said Lady Lashmar ; ' by the time that ciiild is seventeen or eighteen I shall want some- body to run about for me.' Barker shook her head, and pursed up her lips. ' [ don't think Miss Stella will ever suit you in that way, my lady,' she began. ' How often have I told you that she is not to be called Miss Stella?' ' I don't think Stella will ever do for a servant, 104 ONE THING NEEDFUL my lady. His poor lordship spoilt her too much. She knows such a lot, and she frets day and night about her Greek and Latin, over history and geography, and poetry, and such like. She starts up in the middle of the night sometimes sobbing as if her heart would break, and saying that she is forgetting everything his lordship taught her. And then she'll go over a lot of gibberish which she says is Greek or Latin, though I'm sure it don't sound like anything half so sensible. I don't believe she'll ever make a good servant, my lady ; lier life has been begun the wrong way.' ' She is young enough to begin life again,' replied her ladyship sternly. ' The greatest blunder of the present day is the over-education of the masses : a blunder which is producing a race of young women who all want to be doctors and lawyers instead of wives and mothers ; and a race of young men who would sooner starve in a paradise of pen and ink than be prosperous butchers and bakers, I look to you, Barker, to get all foolish nonsense out of that girl's head. If I hear any more of her fretting I shall send her to the workhouse.' After this Barker could say no more. She knew the iron temper of that mistress whom she had served in all faithfulness and submission for the last fifteen years. Stella suffered her new life meekly enough, but almost every hour of it was suffering. Beared as she had been, amongst delicatest, most gracious surroundings, by a man whose original refinement had been spiritualised by illness and seclusion, every detail of this outer world of the servants' hall and still-room jarred upon her sensitive nerves. The loud voices, the everlasting clatter, the quarrelling and jeering — ^jeering which was meant for wit — all these revolted the keen young spirit. Had she been a THE NEW CINDERELLA 105 woman she might have put on the armour of philo- sophy. She might have retired within herself, lived herown life of quietness and contemplation amidst the bluster of these vulgar lives ; but slio was a child, and had not learned stoicism ; she was a child, and dependent upon externals for her joy or sorrow, and all things in her external life had been made bitterness to her, at that time when her heart wounds were still fresh. Under the happiest circumstances she would have been broken-hearted by the loss of her friend and father ; bub as it was, all the conditions of her life intensified her sense of loss. She had been banished from those pretty rooms in which she had Lived for five joyous years. All her cherished treasures, her benefactor's gifts of toys and trinkets and ornaments had been taken away from her ; and, worst loss of all, her books had been taken also. Thosp books which had been as gates opening into other worlds, the books which Lashmar had taught her to love and to understand. The banishment from that Eden of her child- hood had been effected by the dowager in the briefest, most off-hand manner. So soon as Stella was well enough to leave her room, Lady Lashmar sent her to the still-room. She was to live there with the upper-housemaids, and phe was to sleep in the second housemaids' dornucjry. Having pro- nounced this sentence, her ladyship locked the outer door and put the key of the tower rooms into her pocket. ' I shall arrange by-and-by what use we can make of those two rooms,' she said ; * no doubt they will be wanted when his lordship fills the house for the shooting.' Hubert Lashmar had been no sportsman : and there had not been a battue in the Lashmar preserves 106 ONE THING NEEDFUL since bis father's time. Victorian had gone out with a couple of spaniels and a keeper when he happened to be at home in October : but for the most part the pheasants had had no enemies except the poachers. The servants were beginning to perk themselves already at the idea of big shooting parties and liberal vails. So Stella was banished from her tower among the tree-tops, her casements overlouking dale and river, wood and hill-side. She was much too un- happy to think about her possessions, her ' pretty things' as she had called them, so she made no moan at this off-hand confiscation of her property. It was afterwards, when she found herself sitting in a corner of the still-room, leaning her head against the wall, hearing the chatter of the maids as it were afar off, it was then that she thought of her books, and asked Betsy to fetch them for her. Good-natured Betsy was almiost as down-hearted as her charge at the sad change that had come over both their lives ; for Betsy, as Miss Stella's per- sonal attendant, had been somebody in the house- hold, and had done very much as she liked. As a second housemaid she was nobody, and sub- ject to be ordered about by her superior officer. She ran off to the tower, found it locked, and then went to her aunt Barker, as the only safe means of communication with her ladyship. 'Might Miss Stella have her books out of the tower room ? ' asked Barker an hour later, when slie was taking out her ladyship's dinner gown, while Celestine dressed her ladyship's hair. ' Certainly not,' replied the dowager decisively. * licsading for a young person in her position is only anotlier name for idleness. If she read her Bible and her hymn book that will be qnito as much reading as she will have leisure for. ^Middlciiam THE NEW CINDERELLA 107 tells me that she has hardly au idea of plain needle- work.' Middleham was the chief of the housemaids, the oldest servant at Lashmar, older even in service than the housekeeper or the chef, both of whom had grown old-fasliioned in the same employment. Middleham was seven-and-forty, and had lived at the castle since she was twelve. She was an awful personage, with a bony figure and gray hair. She could read a little, by spelling out the difficult words ; but she had forgotten how to write, and she v/as proud of it. *I left school w^hen I was ten,' she said, 'nowadays the girls go to school up to fourteen, and come away stuck-up minxes that look down upon their parents, and are no more use in their homes than fine ladies. Pirst Standard indeed ! The only standr rd in my day was a broom and a scrubbing-brush. When a girl had learnt to be handy with those she was a help to her parents.' Middleham was a superior needle-woman. Those great bony hands of hers could do fine stitching that looked as if done by fairy fingers. She had sole charge of the rich stores of house linen, finest that the looms of Belfast could produce ; table linen into every piece of which the armorial bear- ings of the Lashmars were woven. Under the cold gray eye of Middleham, Stella made her lirst essays in plain needlework. * I declare the child hardly knows how to hold her needle,* said the head housemaid. ' Lord Lashmar did not like to see me work,' faltered Stella tearfully. Middleham groaned aloud. * You'll have to work now, and if you don't learn to work well, you'll have to be sent to the work- house,' said Middleham, and then looked round 108 ONE THING NEEDFUL triumphantly as one who had made a pun. The other housemaids all laughed dutifully. They feared and hated Middleham, who was a fierce foe to fol- lowers, and all ' walking out.' It was popularly supposed that she liad never walked out with anyone herself, that her innate grimness had kept followers at a distance. That, like Shakespeare's Hoyal Virgin, she had ever walked in maiden medi- tation, fancy free : and it may be observed, that at the time that lovely line was penned, good Queen Bess must have been about as grim a personage as Middleham. Oh, how dull the life was! how dreary and monotonous, despite its clatter! The great dinner in the servants' hall, the steaming joints, the mon- ster pudding, the all-pervading smell of beer ; the male underlings all clustered at the end of the table, having their own conversation, and their own whispered jokelets, digging each other in the ribs, exploding, with full mouths, into foolish, spluttering laughter. Then the long afternoon ; sitting at work hemming a kitchen cloth, perhaps, by the window that looked into the stony yard, where all the summer air was scented with stables. How the child pictured tlie park and the river, tlie loved and lovely river on which she and Lashmar had been wont to spend long summer days, with books and sketching block — dreamy days, idle days, sweet, sweet days ! She could see the shining wherry with its luxurious crimson cushions, its sheepskin mat, its boxes and artful contrivances for picnic luncheon or afternoon tea. She wondered whether the new Lord Lashmar was enjoying himself in that boat on this exquisite afternoon. She looked up at the summer sky, the only thing of beauty which she could see from her dungeon, a sky of deepest sapphire, with fleecy cloudlets dancing gaily in the blue. THE NEW CINDERELLA 109 ' I do declare you have not done six stitches in as many minutes,' said Middleham. 'I have been watching you.' The pale, pinched face reddened, and the needle went a little quicker over the harsh fabric' Middle- ham resumed her study of a bad place in one of the best table cloths. These two had the spacious still- room all to themselves this afterDOon. It was clean- ing day on all the floors of the castle, a universal scrubbing and polishing, which kept the ten house- maids at work till tea-time. It was only Middleham who could afford to sit still after having given her orders. She would walk round the ground-floor rooms by-and-by, just before tea, and spy out grains of dust overlooked in obscure corners, or pieces of furniture that had not been properly polished. At five o'clock a bell sounded, and the first and second housemaids came swarming in to tea. The upper servants had their meals in the housekeeper's room ; the drudges, under-housemaids, scullery and kitchen and veg^^ table maids, herded in a uen of their own, a cool, stony room, off one of the kit- cliens. Barker wa,^ free of housekeeper's room and still-room ; and she had the extra privilege of having her tea carried up to her own little nest, whenever she was so minded. How Stella hated that noisy tea-hour, the foolish jokes and laughter, tlie cruel chaff for which she sometimes afforded the object, the great metal pots which gave the tea a tinny flavoiir, the mountains of thick bread-and-butter, the fishy smell of peri- winkles or shrimps, the litter of cresses and other green-meat, without which tea was unpalatable to the nousemaids. It was the hour at which they all unbent, with elbows on the table, and tea poured into saucers — the hour at which they talked and 110 ONE THING NEEDFUL laughed the loudest. They had all forgotten their dead lord, and were full of anticipations about the high jinks that would be held at the Castle now Victorian was master. ' I don't suppose there'll be much of a change yet awhile,' said Barker, who happened to be taking her tea in the still-room. 'His lordship is going away in a fortnight. He has been appointed First Secretary of Legation at Ve-enna.' ' You might have told us that before,' retorted Middlehara, who was jealous of Barker's superior opportunities. ' I only heard it this morning when I was waiting on her ladyship. His lordship came into her room with an open letter in his liand, and showed it to her. "I must be off in a fortnight," says he. I could see that she was very vexed. " That was all very well when you were a younger son," she says, " but I don't see the necessity for it now." " Do you suppose I want to see the world any the less because I am called Lord Lashmar?" says he. "What a queer old mother you are ! " ' ' What a queer old mother ! ' echoed a chorus of housemaids, with Homeric laughter. * Fancy calling her ladyship a queer old mother. He's a rare one for cheek, is Master Victorian. He's your right sort for a lord ; he'll stamp 'em down wherever he goes.' '"Vienner'as been the dream of my life," he says, and then goes whistling out of the room, as light-hearted as you like, leaving her lady- ship blacker than thunder.' Stella sat amidst their babble, with no relish for steaming tea in a thick crockery cup, and with a loathing of shrimps and periwinkles. Af^ernoon tea with Lord Lashmar had been a THE NEW CINDERELLA 111 poem. The quaint old silver teapot — silver beaten so thin and enriched with such delicate repoussd work — the semi-transparent cups, tlie dainty cream- jug and toy sugar-tongs, the wafer biscuits and bread-and-butter, the cool sweet atmosphere of an exquisitely ordered room — the flowers, the picture?, the books, the all-surrounding beauty : and she had exchanged these things, and the dear love that made them sweetest, for the company of these vulgar women who despised and laughed at her. Betsy was kind, and the others did not mean to be unkind. They did not beat or pinch or starve her ; but they were powerless to com- prehend the workings of that young soul. They saw the red swollen eyelids, and called her a cry-baby ; they pointed the finger of derision at her because she was unskilled and clumsy in duties that were so easy to them ; because slie could not hem a duster expeditiously, or polish a mahogany table. And again and again came the reproach against the dead. ' What a pity Lord Lashmar had brought her up to be such a little fool!' They had not spared her feelings in their talk of the dead lord. They had freely discussed the details of the accident — how his lordship had been thrown head foremost on the hard high-road, and had broken his no'-k. It was instantaneous death, they said. And low Stella had fallen more luckily upon the grassy border of the road, and had been brought home un- conscious with concussion of the brain, and then before she awoke from her stupor, fever had set in — symptomatic fever, the doctor called it — and she had been verv bad indeed. But old Mr. Verner and the groom had escaped easily ; the groom with a few bruises and 112 ONE THING NEEDFUL a good shaking, and Mr. Verner, who fell on the top of him, without a scratch. Stella asked what had become of Mr. Verner, longing for him, as for the only friend left her ; but she was told that he had left directly after the funeral, to go home to his own people, as it was supposed. There was not even so much comfort as this left to her. Night was worst of all. She slept in a little bed in the spacious dormitory given up to the five second housemaids. It was a large, bare room, forming part of a special servants' wing which had been added to the castle fifty years l)eFore, and which the builder had made as un- beautiful as in him lay ; and builders have large capabilities in that line. It was a long, white- washed room, like the common room of a debtor's prison. The windows looked into a stony well, on the other side of which was the laundry. There was not a tree nor a leaf within sight ; even ivy had. refused to grow in that vault-like atmosphere. And to keep up the prison-like idea tlie windows were all guarded with iron bars, lest peradventure the followers of the housemaids should break in and elope with their ladies, like the knights in border ballads. Stella was sent to bed nightly at eight o'clock, sent to bed in the sweet summer gloaming, while the birds were singing so happily in the woods, and the flowers were only just beginning to close. Middleham was inexorable as to this hour of departure. ' At eight o'clock you go, or I'll know the reason why,' and at eight o'clock Stella crept wearily up the shadowy staircase, and took off her tear-stained black frock, and said her prayers — long, tearful prayers — and laid herself down upon the hard little bed. THE NEW CINDERELLA 113 Not to sleep. She was too unheppy to sleep easily, and she knew that at lialf-past ten the five would come, like a band of noisy fiends let loose from Pandemonium, and would talk of their Sunday clothes and their young men, and chaff each other, and perhaps quarrel with each other for a good hour, before slumber fell ujion the fold. She would lie with closed eyes, tiying not to hear, yet with those delicate ears of hers listening involuntarily. They were good-natured, honest girls for the most part ; modest withal, according to their lights; no more frivolous or empty-headed than a band of school-girls in a fashionable seminary ; but their talk, with its monotonous repetitions, its silly jokes, was torture to the sensitive child. The hourly suffering of her days, sleepless nights, and loss of appetite soon had their effects, Stella began to look very ill — worse than she had looked even when she first got up from her bed of fever. Betsy was anxious about her ; took her aside and questioned her. Wliy did she look so miserable ? Stella burst into tears, and unburdened her soul. She was altogether unhappy. She hated the still-room, she hated Middlehara ; but most of all she hated the room where she slept, and the chatter of the maids. ' I hardly ever sleep,' she added piteously ; ' I lie awake all night waiting to see the daylight between the iron bars.' 'That's very bad,' said Betsy, 'we must see what can be done.' She went off to her aunt, and the two women put their heads together. There was very little use in appealing to her ladyship. Barker knew the state of her feelings towards her stepson's protegee. I 114 ONK THING NEEDFUL There was a little room on the floor rjver the servants' dormitories, a floor in the roof, which was mostly given over to linen closets and box-rooms, a room that had been occupied once by a valet. It was very small, and had a sloping ceiling; but the dormer window commanded a sidelong peep of the park — just about as much as that fine view of the sea put forward by a hardened lodging- house keeper — and Betsy, who knew her charge better than anyone else, fancied that this little room would be as a haven of rest to Stella. James, the footman, who was a handy youth, might put up a shelf or two for her, and by- and-by perhaps Bets} would be able to get a few of those books — lesson books, poetry books, story books — for which the child's sickened heart longed so sorely; the only possible consolation where all human comfort was lost. There were a neat little iron bedstead and the necessary furniture, all of the plainest, barest, most uninteresting order, as duly made and provided for a subject race; but when Betsy took the child up to the little room under the tiles, and told her that she could have it for her very own, Stella burst into hysterical tears of delight. ' Oh, how good of you ! ' she cried ; ' how sweet of you, Betsy! Somebody loves me still then.' ' Of course I love you, yoa foolish little thing ; whoever said I didn't ? only I daren't disobey her ladyship ; but some day, perhaps, I shall be able to get hold of a few of those books of yours that you've been fretting about.' 'Will you, dearest Betsy? What, my Latin grammar, and the Greek one too ; and my Virgil, and the Greek Fairy Tales, and the Lady of the Lake? That was his last Christmas present — such a lovely book. They are all my very own, Betsy. THE NEW GINDEUELLA 115 He gave them to me. Her ladyship is a thief if she takes them away.* ' No, no, Stella, you must not talk like that. A little adopted thing like you, a poor little wait' and stray, can have no real right to anything in a great house like this. Only if poor Lord Lashmar gavo them to you it is natural that you should fancy they are your own, and I'll see what I can do,' concluded Betsy vaguely. She brought Stella half-a-dozen books that night in her apron. The key of the tower rooms had been given up to Middleham, in order that tliose rooms might be duly swept and dusted ; and Betsy had got the key from that austere personage by sheer artifice, and had made her raid upon the books — Virgil, and two grammars, the Greek Fairy Tales, and Chapman's Iliad, and a volume of Wordsworth. Tlie Lsuly of the Lake was a richly illustrated quarto with splendid binding. Betsy could not venture to remove so handsome and ostensible a book, lest my lady should come on a visit of inspection, and that keen eye of hers should note the disappearance of the volume. The otliers were all shabby little books which had seen hard usage. Stella cried over these recovered treasures, in her tiny room with her dormer casement looking towards the tree-topy and the stars. Her mind was refreshed and soothed by the peaceful solitude of her poor little room. Here there was no coarse laughter, there were no cruel taunts. She could hear the owls hooting in the park, the dogs baying in the stable-yard. That was all. She seemed to be far away from everybody ; and as she was altogether fearless she loved her solitude. And now this child of eleven years old set herself with heroic patience to carry on unaided no ONE TIIINO NEKOFUL and {iloTiG the education which had been so cruelly interrupted by that stern foe to progress, Death. With her books and pen and ink, and two or three poor little ends of candle garnered for her day by day, by the faithful Betsy, Stella sat lato into the night working at Greek and Latin ; happy even when her studies were dryest, at the thought that she was carrying on the work her benefactor liad begun. 'When I see him in heaven I shall be able to tell him what I have done,' she said to herself. Her theology was of the simple, confiding kind which has grown old-fashioned even for little children. That fair future world was very real to her ardent fancy. She could picture the woodland walks of a paradise where it was always summer, and where she would meet Hubert Lashmar with a strange light upon his face, like the golden glory round the Infant-Saviour's head in the famous Lashmar liallaelle — that marvellous picture which she had so often gazed upon by her benefactor's side. Those nightly studies, the reposeful solitude of her remote little garret had a calming influence upon her spirits. She was less unhappy now in the day-time, having her books to look forward to at night, knowing that she was not lapsing into ignorance, not becoming like those young women with whom she was obliged to live. She had her day-dreams now as she sat in the still-room window, inhaling odours of stables, and hemming an ever- lasting procession of tea-cloths. She had her dream of the day when she would be grown-up, and well educated, vid. would be able to write books, like old Gabriel Verner, and when she might earn enough money to have a tiny cottage of her own upon the banks of the Avon, and to have honest Betsy to live with her. THE NEW CINDERELLA 117 That was her chief da^-dream. She had fancies of stories that she might write — stories of beautiful fatal creatures like Helen, or devoted wives like Andromache, or wicked, treacherous women like Clytemuestra. That busy brain of hers had already begun to weave the multi-coloured web of fiction, albeit her pen had not yet essayed to give those dreamings a tangible shape. Laslunar had told her of an author — a woman — who had reaped thousands and a lasting renown by a simple story of village life, by reason of licr ])owcr to dive deep down into the mystery of human nature, to fathom the strange depths of the heart of man, just as Homer did in those dim days when l»()etry began. She, Stella, sighed not lor thousands, only for that lowly little cottage by the river, and a garden and summer-house, and plenty of books, and candles to light the long evenings, and kind Betsy for her companion, they two alone together and happy. Lord Lashmar, the new Lord, Victorian, had left for Vienna without ever having looked on the little serf who had once been his brother's darling, lie was very sorry to have lost 'poor dear Lash,' as he called him : but he felt not the slightest interest in Lash's latest fad. Lash had always been full of fads, poor dear boy. Of course, her ladyship would do all that was best and wisest for the chikl. 'You'll make a sort of semi-genteel waiting- maid of her, I suppose,' he said lightly ; ' have her taught to clean your laces and make your caps — whenever the day comes that you take to caps.' ' Perhaps that will not be till I am a grand- mother, Victor,' she answered, smiling fondly at her beloved ; ' when you have a wife and children I shall feel myself verily a dowager, and then I suppose I must take to caps. J5y-the-by, dear, 118 ONE THING NEEDFUL T saw Clarice last week. They have come back to the Hall.' 'Indeed! Puffed up by her new dignity as a presented young person, I suppose,' answered Lashmar. ' No, she was just as sweet as ever, quite simple and childlike. I am told she was one of the prettiest debutantes of the year. The news- papers all said as much.' ' The newspapers are always ready to puff a girl whose father counts his fortune by hundreds of thousands,' sneered Lashmar. ' I don't think the Brumm people have quite made up their mind whether Job Danebrook is worth one million or half a dozen ; but they are all agreed that his father wheeled a barrow. Now I think both you and I retain an old-fashioned prejudice in favour of good blood.' ' Tliere is some very good blood in Clarice Dane- brook's veins, Victor. You forget that her mother was a Montmorency.' ' One thin trickle of blue blood cannot purify the plebeian vat, mother. I know very well what you are hinting at. Clarice is sweet, Clarice is pretty, Clarice has been well brought up, and had a genteel mother. She is, moreover, an only daughter, and will inherit two or three millions. She is one of those exceptionally good matches which you may count upon your fingers. The Lashmars are rich, Init they might be richer; would rise to a much higher note in the social scale if they possessed those superfluous millions. Fabulous wealth is the thing people worship nowadays. It is not enough to be rich — a man to be honoured and talked about must be inordinately rich. Yes, I perfectly recog- nise the truth of all that. But all the same I am not going to be manoeuvred into a marriage with THK NEW CINDERELLA 119 Clarice Danebrook. You can trot her out by-and- by, if you like : and if I fall in love with her I'll ask her to marry me. If I don't I won't, were she worth the wealth of Aladdin.' ' Do you suppose I would ever wish you to marry anyone you could not love ? ' said his mother, maskiufT her batteries. * I know you would only choose the best and worthiest. You are too proud to make one of those wretched matches by which some of your order have degraded their rank of late years. I should never fear anything of that kind from you.' * Well, no, I am not quite an idiot,' answered Lashmar. * As for Clarice, she is a sweet little thing, and I am really fond of her,' continued her ladyship placidly; ' but I don't think she is quite good enough for you. She has wealth, but she has not rank ; and there is, as you say, always that unlucky tradition of the wheelbarrow.' ' Dear old mother, we always think aUke,' said Victorian, bending down to kiss the dowager's broad brow. His eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter. He knew her so well — knew that she had made up lier mind that he was to marry Clarice Danebrook and no other, knew that to this end she had made much of i;he damsel, and been civil to her very conimoii- pla(3e mother, and her sternly plebeian father. For no other tlian an interested motive would the great Lady Pitland's daughter have cultivated the society of a young person of vulgar lineage ; yea, albeit a thin streak of the Montmorency fclood had qualified the coarseness of the Danebrooks. Victorian laughed at his mother's manoeuvres, laughed most of all at the idea that she should think herself able to throw dust in liis eye^ ; and he held 120 ONE THING NEEDFUL himself in reserve for the future. He meant to do just what he liked with his life. He would have held himself free to marry a beggar-maid, like King Cophetua, had he so pleased. But he was not at all the kind of young man to feel drawn towards beggar-maids. He was worldly to the core, had been brought up to consider everything from the worldling's standpoint. He meant, when his time should come, to marry well, brilliantly if possible, to make such a match as should double his present importance in tlie world. No, he did not think that Clarice was good enough. Mere millions would not suffice. People would want to be told who liis wife was ; and for that question to be answered fitly she should be the daughter of a duke. It was October when the new Lord Lashmar came back to the Castle, with a chosen company of bachelor friendb, old comrades of Eton and Oxford. His lordship came only for a flying visit, to see his mother, to shoot the pheasants, and to look about him a little. Lordship at one- and-twenty could not be supposed to care for a long residence beside that broad reach of the Avon amidst the decay of autumn woods. When the pheasants were thinned, Lashmar would be off' again, to Paris or Vienna, as the case might be. He affected to hate London and London society. It lacked the glitter and ease of Continental life. He was not going to that dreary barrack in Grosvenor Square until he was obliged; which would not be before February, when Parliament would re-open and he would go to take his seat in the House of Lords. The dowager was at Lashmar to receive her son and his friends. She had not left the Castle since her step-son's death. Her presence had pervaded the mansioii like a dark and brooding THE NEW CINDERELLA 121 do cloud ; or at least it seemed so to Stella, who sliivcicd even at the distant sound of that voice. Not once had they two met face to face since the day when those cruel lips told the child of her bereavement ; but it was Cixough misery for Stella to know that the stern ruler of the house was within its walls, to hear her deep-toned voice from afar. Lady Lashmar was not alone when her son arrived. She did not want his house to seem empty and dismal after the brightness of his continental surroundings. She had summoned other two dowagers, one frisky, and one strong- minded, to bear her company. The strong-minded dowager, Lady Clan Allister, had two strong- minded daughters, and these also were bidden. Their presence made an excuse for having Clarice Danebrook continually at the Castle. The wea- ther was lovelv. It was not too cold for lawn tennis. A very feeble cousin of Miss Danebrook, who was reading for his L/ivinity examination, made a fourth. The dowagers had their books and newspapers, their work-bags, and that ever- lasting occupation of letter-writing which holds all society in bondage. The frivolous dowager was the famous Oriana, Lady Hillborough, who had been young and a fashionable beauty when William the Fourth was king. She still wore her hair exactly as she hatl worn it at that period ; but it was not the same hair — she had worn out a good many of those golden tresses, and had spent a small for- tune at Truefitt's since the sailor king had been laid in the royal charnel house. She dressed as youthfully now as she had dressed then, and skipped about a room as gaily, re-an'anging the furniture in that bright airy way of hers, famed for her exquisite taste in the composition of 122 ONE THING NEEDFUL those pictures -which fashionable drawing-rooms now ofi'e.' to the enlightened eye. 'My Q-iar, you should have a group of large palms at th^ other end of your room,' she ex- claimed, surveying Lady Lashmar's morning room through her binoculars. ' You have nothing to break the stra ght line of your end wall. Yes, of course, I know, those pictures of yours are priceless, and the palms will hide them ; but you will get the idea of distance, vagueness, don't you know. The effect will be much finer.' And then Lady Hillborough wheeled round and surveyed Clarice coolly, deliberately, through her glasses, which made her own eyes look as the eyes of a giant to those who happened to see them through those magnifying pebbles. Clarice was standing by the window, wondering whether she was to be presented to the new-comer, or to be ignored, which she would have infinitely preferred. * What a sweet child ! ' said Lady Hillborough in a loud whisper, when she had stared for about three minutes. ' Introduce her to me.' Lady Lashmar obeyed, and Oriana took Clarice by the hand, made another deliberate inspection at nearer range, and then kissed the girl enthusiasti- cally on both cheeks. ' I delight in pretty people,' she exclaimed. * Of course you know you are pretty, child. Some people try to keep girls of your age from finding out their own prettiness; but it's all wasted trouble. If a girl were brought up on a desert island she would know all about her good looks ; she would see herself reflected in some pool, like What's-his-name, in the Greek story — Jonquil.' ' I think you must mean Narcissus, Lady Hill- borough,' said one of the strong-minded Miss MacAUisters. THE NEW CINDERELLA 123 * Wliat does it matter, my dear, a narcissus and a jonquU are much the same thing,' answered Oriana, who was not learned, and rarely read any- thing except the newspapers. Lashmar and his friends arrived in time for dinner. He had spent a couple of nights in London, had arranged to meet his guests at the station, and to bring them down with him. There were two newly-fledged cavalry subalterns ; a younger son who was going in for a political caref.r, and fancied him- self an embryo Canning ; another younger son who was preparing himself for the family living ; and a young man who was nobody in particular, but who was much better read, and more amusing than any of the other four. They were all young, and they were a noisy crew. Clarice was afraid of them, and they were afraid of the two strong-minded Miss MacAIlisters, who were intense politicians, and great upon the Eastern Question, with the complexities whereof they assailed the masculine mind at every oppor- tunity. So there was a tacit avoidance of the leminine society provided by her ladyship. ' I thought you would have liked to find some nice girls here, Lashmar,' she said to her son re- ])roachfully, after ho and his friends had been out .shooting all day, and in the smoking room all the (ivening, while the Miss MacAIlisters, who scorned accomplishments as futile, had sat in dill'erent corners of the drawing-room, one reading Herbert Spenser, while the other devoured Darwin, and osten- latiously ignoring Clarice Danebrook's little bits of Chopin and dainty old ballads. ' So I should, mother,' answered Victorian cheerily, ' only I haven't seen any, except Clarice. She's nice enough, but quite impossible to get on with. She's so painfully shy.' 124 ONE THING NEEDFUL * Her shyness would be got over in a very short time if you'd only talk to her.' ' Oh, I can't talk to a girl when it's uphiU work. The women in Vienna are so brilliant, so easy to get on with. As for your MacAllister girls I would as soon converse with a bluebook. One of them asked me yesterday morning what we were going to do with Cyprus, in the event of Eastern complica- tions ? Such a girl as that ought never to be allowed to set foot inside a country house. In fact, Oriana is the only agreeable person you have got about you. I have half a mind to propose to Oriana, only I'm afraid there'd be a sparsity of coin.' The dowager sighed with a vexed .air, but said no more. She had hoped that Lashmar, fresh from tlie meretricious charms of fashionable Viennese beauty, would have been struck by Clarice Danebrook's lily- like loveliness in all its purity of early girlhood. She was only eighteen, divinely fair, with features of most delicate mould, and eyes of heavenly azuro. It was hardly possible to imagine a more beautiful girl in that particular style of beauty. There was not a flaw. She was of superior height, exquisitely graceful, with small hands and feet. Whatever coarseness there might have been in the Danebrook mould had been chastened by the judicious union with the Montmorencys. Nobody would ever have suspected Clarice of plebeian origin ; and yet her father had coarse, hairy hands, and feet of ser- viceable breadth, sandy whiskers, and a potato nose. He was an admirable man of business, a liberal master, a staunch friend to the operatives whose labour had created his millions ; but he had never tried or pretended to be a fine gentleman, though he had been born after his father had made a fortune, and had been educated at Kugby and Oxford, THE NEW CINDERELLA 121 Clarice was very sweet, and Lashmar gradually awakened to an idea of her sweetness. He began to leave his friends in the billiard-room, or the smoking-room, of an evening, and to sit by the piano listening to those quaint (jld ballads, and those melodious bits plucked hoi'e and i\ui\v. out of. the heart of a sonata or a symphony. Cl.arice was one of those musicians by instinct rather than by traiuiug who wander from llower to flower with a sweet capriciousness, stealing the honey out of every blossom : now a joyous little bit of jVIozart, a mndo or a minuet; now an Andante, or an Adagio from one of Beethoven's grandest sonatas ; now one of Chopin's wild wailing movements, half a dirge and half a war-cry. ' What a jolly lot you know,' exclaimed Lashmar. ' I wish you'd sing " Barbara Allen " presently. I was outside in the corridor last night when you were singing it.' ' Mill has a passage here which seems exactly to hit our present complications,' said Janie Mac- AUisLer, looking up from her ponderous tome, ' 1 do wish you'd let me read it to you. Lord Lashmar.' 'Not for worlds. "We should inevitably quarrel if you did. I detest Mill. ' I)Ut surely at such a crisis as this ' ' I don't care a straw about the crisis ; we are always at a crisis. I don't even know what it means. I get dosed with European politics abroad till I am sim]dy imbecile upon all political ques- tions. I want " Barbara Allen." ' Clarice looked up and smiled at him, with her sweet childish smile. The Miss MacAllisters had been far from civil to her, and she did not love them. They resented her inordinate wealth, and disapproved of her beauty. A rich girl had no right to be pretty. Lady Lashmar's favouritism was 12G ONE THING NEEDFUL also ail offence. Clai'ic(3 was petted and flattered while they were only tolerated — they who had cultivated their minds, and were able to enter the arena of argument upon equal terms with tlie sterner sex. The misfortune was that at Lashmar Castle nobody wanted to argue with them, except the foolish cousin, whose feeble brain they sometimes deigned to flood with their electric light. He who had never been able to grasp any one subject won- dered at the wide range of these well-read damsels, who despised Paley with the contempt of long familiarity, and had Butler's Analogy at their fingers' ends, while the Greek Testament was child's play to them, and they were ready at a moment's warning to argue upon any disputed passage. Clarice sang her old ballads, and Lashmar listened in a dreamy silence. Yes, his mother was right. She was a very sweet girl — somewhat over-childish, perhaps, for her eighteen years, but passing lovely. Ermine robes and a coronet would not be too good for that delicate beauty. He wondered whether he was beginning to fall in love with her. He fancied that she would be an easy conquest — for him. That shy and shrinking manner of hers argued a foregone conclusion. She had an awe-stricken way of looking up at him, as if his presence thrilled her. But he held himself in check, and did not mean to commit himself yet awhile. They were both young enough to wait. One morning he let the shooters start without him, and strolled across the park and through the fields to the Hall, which was about a mile-and-a-half from the Castle. He wanted to see Clarice in the bosom of her family, to see whether her surround- ings were too terrible, the father too suggestive of the original barrow. He had seen very little of THE NEW CINDERELLA 127 for ?mine that was th(3 Danebrooks in his boyhood. This passion for Clarice was a new craze of her ladyship's. The Hall was everything which the Castle was not. It had been built five-and-twenty years before, in the ^nidst of a level expanse of meadow land, which, during that quarter of a century, had been in process of education into a park. But as there had been very few old trees to begin with the park was still barren : a waste of level tuif with new plantations dotted about at intervals. A fine carriage drive went from the lodge gates to the Hall door, assuredly the most uninteresting drive in the county. The Hall was an immense red brick house, in the modern Gothic style, red brick with stone facings. It was a very fine house, well proportioned, in fairly good taste ; but nothing that the architect could do had been enough to subjugate that terrible air of newness which is the bane of such houses. There was a huge battlemented tower, which stared over the surrounding country and could be seen from afar for many miles ; and there were battlemented stables and battlemented terraces ; and there were acres of well-kept shrubberies, and a fish-pond, and fountains, and spacious conservatories — in a word, there was everything that money could buy. But money cannot buy antiquity, unless it takes the past at second hand. Clarice was very sorry that her father had not bought a dear old crumbly liouse, in' the heart of an overgrown old park, instead of building for himself this modern mansion, with all its comfortable appliances, its brand-new luxuries and conveniences, speaking-tubes and lifts, and hot water pipes and scientific ventilators. Clarice would rather have had one ghost than all those speaking- tubes ; she would have preferred lichen-covered stone walls to hot-water pipes and ventilators. 128 ONE THING NEEDFUL Clarice fancied the house smelt of newly-made wealth. It had been furnished at one fell swoop by a great London firm, and although the picturesque had been duly considered, it was the modern pictu- resque, and lacked the mellow tones of real old furniture. Mrs. Danebrook had just come in from her conservatories, where she snipped off the dead leaves and damaged a few of the plants every morning under the delusion that she was helping the head gardener. She was very stout, and could never steer herself through a conservatory without knocking over a pot or two. She was a large, placid woman, with small, regular features, which must have once been like those of Clarice, but which were now almost submerged in fat. She was very fair, with the lily-like fairness of her daughter, and she hau flaxen hair, which her daughter had c-arried out in a richer and warmer tint of golden brown. Tiie daughter seemed to Lashmar to be a refinement upon the mother ; but he told himself that as the mother was the daughter might be five-and-twenty years hence. He met his hostess in the hall, and she took him to her morning room, where Clarice was lolling in an easy chair by the window, reading a novel, which was about the highest form of literature wherewith the young lady ever nourished her ripening mind. •She rose in confusion at .sight of Lashmar, as it had been a demi-god entering suddenly; and the trans- parent skin was Hooded with a lovely blush. • My mother sent me to ask you over to tennis, this afternoon,' said Lashmar, inventing a message on the spur of the moment. ' Oh, but I was going in any case,' faltered Clarice ; 'dear Lady Lashmar asked me last night.' ' She was afraid you would forget all about it to-day.' Wl wli l)iit upo ev(; kin c'oi] THE NEW CINDERELLA 129 him ' There is no chance of her for^ettinj,',' said the niotlier. ' She is so fond of Lady l.ashmar. I feel (luite jealous sometimes. I hardly see anything of Clarice. But it is so nice for her to be at the Castle.' Mrs. Danebrook, nee Montmorency, had an exaggerated reverence for rank. In the days when slie had been a half-pay colonel's daughter, struggling to keep up appearances upon the narrowest means, she had always taken comfort from the thought that she was descended from princes. She had held her head high before lodging- house keepers and small tradesmen; had worn mended gloves and bonnets of doubtful freshness with a proud complacency which overcame the scorn of middle-class prosperity. And when Providence smiled upon her fresh young charms in the person of the broad-shouldered, sandy-whiskered proprietor of the largest foundry in I3rumm, who met the young lady at the Stillmiugton Hunt Ball and fell in love with her on the spot, Viola Montmorency received the advances of the millionaire with the placid dignity of a princess. Another girl in her position, conscious of shabby surroundings and an impecunious father, might have disgusted her admirer by unwise encouragement. Viola stimulated his affection by a sweet reticence; and it was the colonel who brought matters to a head, and anchored the dolighted youth. Job Danebrook had never had occasion to repent his precipitancy. His wife had one of those exquisitely easy tempers which are perhaps only a reiined form of selfishness, but which allow the wheels of daily life to run as upon velvet, Mr. Danebrook indulged his wife's evtiiy whim ; but her whims were of the mildest kind, and he had in compensation the privilege of ('oing exactly what he liked under all circumstances. Danebrook Hall was therefore a kind of earthly K 130 ONK TIlINa NKMKl'UL paradise, in whicli th^ fair yonii<^ dau<^liter moved like the spirit of youth and f;ladne3s, while the motlior represented the calm contentment of maturity. While Lashmar was dawdlinj:^ in the moniinfr room, turnint,' over a ])ile of now novels and discussing their contents witli Clarice, Mr. Danehrook came in I'rom his model farm, fresh and l)reezy as the Octoher morning itself, and hringing with him that compound odour of pigsty and stabh; which hovers about the person of aTiiatcur aL,friculturiHts, and in whicih they apparently delight. It was Lord Lashmar's first visit to the TTall, and he was to Job Danehrook as a prey, to he dragged off at once and paradcnl through hot-houses and stables, homo I'arni and pad- docks, where the brood marcs and their foals were one of the features of the estate. Lasli- mar was fond of horses, and did not mind the stables or the brood mares. lie would have sub- mitted even to the piggeries with a good grace if Clarice had been of the party; but Clarice never accomp'xnicd her father on those agricultural ex- peditions, She detested ])igs and poultry, cattle sheds find farm yards. Those pretty little Louis Quato}/e shoes of hers had not been made for tripping over cobbles, or across a ploughed field. There was nothing of the topical srpiire's daughter about her. Slie never hunted, and she only cared i'or the one well-trained horse which she was able to ride. She had never handled gun or lishing- rod, and her only idea of a dog was a lliissian poodle. So Clarice stayed in tlie morning room and went on with her novel while Lashmar was insi)ecting horses and cows, pigs and poultry, until, ajuidst the splendours of a very line acserablage of cochin-chinas, he was agreeably startled by the THE NEW CINDERKLLA 131 irongh pad- foals sound of a gigantic gong, whicli might have been ]i(!ard half a mile off. ' Liinch,' cried Danehrook; 'come along, Lord Tly harmonising with the ivory fairness of the wearer's skin. They played two sets, and then went wandering off towards the Italian garden, which was at the other end of the castle, out of Lady Lashmav's ken. THE NEW CINDERELLA 133 It was upon this garden that the late Lord Ju^hmar's rooms opened. Clarice loitered to look In at one of the windows of the library. ' Oh, what a noble room ! ' she cried, peering in at the spacious apartment, with its wall of books facing her, crowned at intervals with white marble busts which gleamed in the shadowy interior. The room seemed in half darkness as seen from the bright dear light of the garden. 'Dd you know I have never seen the famous Lashmar library,' she said, looking back at Lashmar. ' I should so like to see it.' *Then you shall,* he answered cheerily. ' Strange that her ladyship shovad never have taken you in to look at the old Books of Hours and such like valuable rubbish. But the room has very sad associations for her, on account of my poor brother. He almost spent his life in that room.' 'Yes, I know. How very good aud sweet he was — such a lovely, mournful face. I. only saw him two or three times, but I thought him so nice. He spoke so kindly, he had such a beautiful manuer. What became of that pretty little dark-eyed girl, he adopted ? I saw her with him one day ; such an interesting ""ittle thing.' * Oh, she is still here, I believe, somewhere in the housekeeper's quarters,' Lashmar answered carelessly. • How strange that I have never happened to see her ! ' They went in at a glass door, V7hich opemd into the late Lord Laslmiar's sitting-room. Nothing in this or any of his rooms had been altered since his death. Her ladyship meant to have a general turn-out of everything, and a complete re-arrange- ment of these rooms later on, when the sharp 134 ONE THING NEEDFUL sad feeling of recent death should have worn away. She was not altogether without feeling upon the subject; although she had always wished for Hubert's early death, as the best possible arrangement Providence could make for everybody, dear Hubert himself included. Long life could not be a blessing in his case. He would have only felt his afflicted condition more keenly as the years rolled on. Clarice looked at the room wit! : ^ uful, awe-tjtricken air. It was so simply ana prt^ttily furnished ; such cliarmiug engravings and :)hoto- gin])lis of French and Germa'i pictures on the walls; such novel and artistic china and bronzes and quaint little ornaments of all kinds, scattered upon the tables ; such delightful reading-lamps and reading-easels ; such low, luxurious chairs ; above all, such a snug, homelike air. It was difficult to realise that he by whom those things had all been chosen, whose hand had cut the leaves of yonder magazines with that elephant's tusk, thrown carelessly across the books, as if he had flung it theie — difficult to realise that ho h'!;!. been lying in his grave for months, and w .'J never look upon that place again. The walls were lined half-way 'ip with dwa.i' book-cases, and in those wei > : he books of Hubert's own collecting. Clarice thought that some i these were passing dry; but that they were on tu, uole much better than those valuable volumes which Lashmar afterwards showed her in the great library. He showed her the gems of tlie collection, in, a somewhat perfunctory manner, not carinr^ ■\ucih about them himself, except as heirlooms, wt.t b i'ed liis pride of race and place. He was weU i*,jtJ for a young man ; a keen critic of modern books ; ci THE NEW GINDEKELLA 135 had dipped into most things ; but he had not the collector's reverence for old books and old bindings. Clarice looked at them with the wide, wondering eyes of perfect ignorance. That shabby little volume in Italian worth a thousand pounds, just because there were only two of them extant — this and one other. It seemed ridiculous. She had been surprised the other day when her father gave a thousand pounds for an Alderney cow ; but the Alderney 'vas at least beautiful, a sleek, pettable creature, wiuJi great pathetic eyes, while this little Italian book was distinctly ugly. Her eyes wandered from the book to the room which was lovely. Those marble busts, placed ai intervals along the richly-carved cornice of the book-cases; the splendour of cut V(^lvet curtains shrouding the windows and making f) semi-darkness in the room ; the two sculptured fire-places, lofty iiud imposing — all these things impressed Clai-lce, Tlie Hall had been built and furnished with a reck- less expenditure, and yet there was no room in it that gavo this idea of dignity and grandeur. ' One must begin by being noble before one could have such surroundings,' thought Clarice, who worshipped rank. Suddenly, in the midst of her contemplation of the room, she gave a little start, and touched Lashmar lightly on tlie wrist. ' What is that ? ' she whispered. , ' That ' was a small fragile figure, a little girl in a black frock, sitting at the further end of the room, perched high up on a library ladder, reading a big volume, which it was as much as her small hands and thin little arms could do to hold in its place, hugged against her stooping chest. ' By Jove ! ' exclaimed Lashmar, ' it is the very child you were talking of, poor Hubert's proUgde, and he went to the other end of the room, followed 136 ONE THING NEEDFUL by Clarice, and looked up with a half-amused air at the queer little figure on the step-ladder. ' What are you doing up there, Stella ? ' he asked, not ill-naturedly. The uncanny dark eyes looked down at him, so large, so black, in comparison with the small pale face; and then the thin black legs uncoiled themselves from the steps, and the child came down and faced her new master, still hugging the quarto in her lean arms. She stood and faced his lordship and the lovely young lady, looking with those great solemn eyes of hers from one to the other. No longer a Keynolds's child, to be patronised and admired by the dilettante Eector. Not by any means a picturesque child in her present apparel. Her ladyship had taken pains to prevent any such foolishness under the new regime. That thick straight fringe of hair, which had given quaintness to the childish face, had been care, fully brushed away from the broad bare forehead by command of her ladyship, who allowed no such meretricious grace as a " fringe " in any of her dependents. The black stuff frock was made with a Quaker plainness, tight and prim and spare, and a holland apron carried out the idea of dependence and servitude. A very plain child assuredly in her present stage of being. * What book is that ? ' asked Lashmar, pointing to the quarto. ' La Morte d' Arthur,' she answered. ' What, can you read Old English ? ' ' Yes.' * My brother taught you, I suppose ? ' 'Yes.' * And pray, who gave you leave to come here to read?' ' Nobody.' THE NEW CINDERELLA 137 ' Frank, at any rate. I suppose you know you are doing wrong when you come here? * ' No,' she answered doggedly. ' I don't hurt the books ; I am not in anybody's way.' ' Do you suppose her ladyship would approve of your loafing here reading old books, instead of learn- ing to be useful ? * ' I don't care what her ladyship thinks. I don't care whether I please her or displease her. She has been very unkind to me.' * Oh, but you must not say that,' said Lashmar, waxing stern. ' You have every reason to be grate- ful to her ladyship ; but for her, you would be in he workhouse, perhaps.' ' If she was kind I should be grateful,' the girl answered resolutely, unabashed, looking at him boldly with those wondrous eyes. ' She took away all my books — the books Lord Lashmar gave me ! ' The dark eyes filled with tears, which were hurriedly dashed av/ay, as if the child were ashamed of them. ' Poor little thing ! ' murmured Clarice ; and with a pretty pitiful air she patted the pale wet cheek with her soit white hand. But Cinderella shrank from the touch as if she had been stung. * Don't ! ' she cried angrily. This last insolence provoked Lashmar's wrath. ' You are a very rude little girl,' he exclaimed, * and you must never come into this room again. You have no right here or in any part of the house except the servants* quarters. You will have to be a servant by-and-by, and you must learn to live contentedly among servants. How did you get into this room ? The doors are locked.' 'I came as you came — through the glass door.' * You have been here often, I suppose ? * 138 ONE THING NEEDFUL ' Yes, very often.' ' You must never come again. Do you under- stand ? ' I understand that you are a cruel man/ she answered defiantly, scowling at him, her heart beating tempestuously with fury. ' I am glad you are only my dear Lord Lashmar's half-brother. If you had been reaUy his brother I should have been very sorry to hate you — but you are not his brother, and I don't care how much 1 hate you.' 81 10 had been yearning for love and pity, thinking that perhaps when the new master came back he would be kind to her for his dead brother's sake. She had been yearning for pity ; and yet she had recoiled from Miss Danebrook's gentle touch as if from an addt , 'You are a very horrid lit le person, as un- pleasant as you are ugly,' said Lashmar, going to the door and unlocking it, and throwing it wide open ; ' and now march, if you please. Put down that book, and make yourself scarce.' She had been hugging the quarto all this time. She laid it slowly down on a table, and as slowly walked out of the room, scowling to the very last. 'I am afraid she is not a nice child,' said Clarice, shaking her head, * She is a little demon, a veritable imp of dark- ness. I think my brother must have liked her on account of her outlandishness.' ' Just as some people like a dachshund,' said Clarice. CHAPTER VIII un- said said A YOUNG PEOUD WOMAN THAT HAS WILL TO SAIL WITH Stklla went no more to the library. She had stolen round one day by the garden when the family was at luncheon and the coast clear, and finding the glass door open had gone in and read there for hours, safe in the solitude of locked doors. No one had missed her, for she had of late been allowed to carry her needle-work to her own little room and to work there in peaceful loneliness between dinner and tea time. Day after day she had crept stealthily round from the hall door to that glass door in the late Lord Lashmar's study, left open for a few hours daily to air the rooms; and she had read to her heart's content, roaming at will among strange tales of fairy land and adventure, from Spenser to Sir Thomas Malory and Sir John MandeviUe ; and never had she been surprised until that afternoon when the new Lord Lashmar caught her in the act. She felt herself a detected criminal; and she hated herself for the self-indulgence which had brought this shame upon her. * I ought to have remembered that they are all his books now,' she thought. She had always thought of them before as belonging to her dead friend : she had not fairly realised the transitory character of all such possessions. They had been 140 ONE THING NEEDFUL Hubert's books, in her mind, and he had always encouraged her to read — he would not have grudged her the bliss of poring over those strange old stories. She saw no more of Lord Lashmar, though he stayed at the castle till after Christmas, and entertained a good many visitors. The coming and going of guests occupied the servants much more severely than the old dull routine of the late lord's time, and gave Stella more leisure and seclusion. Soon after Christmas, there came a great improvement in her life, for Lady Lashmar and her son went up to Grosvenor Square for the season, taking with them the greater number of the servants. Three housemaids, and a superannuated housekeeper, who usually lived in one of the lodges, were left in sole charge of the castle : and one of those housemaids was Stella's faithful friend, Betsy. Under this new regime the child was free to roam about the house as she pleased : but she never re-entered the library. She would have read her own books again and again to satiety rather than she would have degraded herself by entering that forbidden room after Lashmar's insulting veto. She had not forgotten one of his hard words. It was not often that she looked in the glass ; but she never did so look without remembering that he had told her she was as unpleasant as she was ugly. Yes, no doubt she was ugly. The glass confirmed that hard speech ; and perhaps the charge of unpleasantness was equally well founded. One happy change came over her life in this wintry season of the year, when she was free to roam about the park or down by the river, or across the bare, bleak fields to the village, if she pleased. Her long imprisonment in ugly, uninteresting rooms had made that newly recovered liberty very precious to her. A WOMAN THAT HAS WILL TO SAIL WITH 141 She was perfectly fearless, cared not how far she went alone, and Jk'tsy was too busy to look after her, and was always satisfied if she appeared punctually at meal time. She revisited all tlie spots which she had known with Lord Lashmar. She went to the boat-house and looked at his empty boats, under linen coverings, ghastly, as if he were lying in one of them dead. She wandered along the river bank, stopping to note this or that ""andmark, and to remember how utterly happy she had been in those vanished days. Would she ever be happy again, she wondered ? Never, surely, unless her i'ather were to come back from that far country whither he had gone that night the house was burnt, the name of which she did not know. She had often questioned Lord Lashmar, and he had evaded her questions, not unkindly, but still fii:mly. ' You will know by-and-by, dear child,' he had said, and she had f(»lt that there was some mystery which concerned he;- absent father, and that she must be patient. If he would but come back now — nov; when she felt so lonely, so sorely in need of lova and sweet companionship ; some one to talk to her and to teach her as Lashmar had done. Comfort, of some kind, was nearer than she thought. Coming through the little village street one day she saw a familiar figure standing at the gate of a cottage garden, gazing dreamily at the old church tower nestling in a hollow just beyond that sharp curve and sudden drop in the narrov/ road where the village inn stood out conspicuously, as if on the look-out for accidents to horses and wheels. A bent old figure, with bare head and long gray hair and dim, pale eyes, aged by poring over 142 ONE TillNO NEEDFUL dry-as-diist books. Yes, it was tlie mild companion of her happy childhood standing' there, a leaf out of that lovely past which contrasted so strongly with her present desolation. The girl ran to him and touchL'd him on the sleeve. ' Mr. Verner, dear Mr. Verner, I am so glad ! ' she gasped breathlessly. Slowly, and as if with an effort, the dim old eyes withdrew themselve> from the cliurch tower, and guzed wonderingly ii.on the pale young face looking eagerly upward. 'Why, Stella! Are you still at the Castle? They told me you had been sent to school. Why did not you come to see me before ? ' * I was not allowed t j go out till her ladyship went away, and I did not know you were here. They said you had gone to London.' 'They were right, my child,' answered the old man, with a profound sigh ; ' I did go to London. I was in London nearly four months. A terrible place, child, a fearful place, when one has lost the habit of cities, as I have. The din of the crowded streets deafened me, the strange faces made me feel distraught. It is a dreary wilderness, Stella, for a man without friends; and I had no friends in London — no, not one. I thought I had many old college companions, old pupils — men who had pre- tended to love me when they were boys ; but time had changed them into strangers. All doors were closed against me, very politely, Stella, but they were shut all the same, and I was alone and old and stupid, in that noisy wilderness of streets and squares, and fine shops, and lighted theatres. A dreary desert for the friendless and poor, Stella.' ' But your book,' faltered Stella, remembering the old man's shrinking from the burden of cele- A WOMAN THAT MAS WILI, TO S\IL WITH 143 brity, ^that will win you new friends instead of the old ones who may have forgotten you.' ' No, Stella, there are no friends to learning now- a-days. Francis Bacon might wander in tliat stony labyrinth, die of hunger there for want of a helping hand. There are no Bacons wanted now-a-days; learning is out of date. It was to get my book published that I went to London, Stella. I carried my manuscript from publisher to publisher, till 1 came to those that laughed in my face when I men- tioned Aristotle, and aslcod me if I thought he was a likely kind of author to sell in penny numbers, or his complete works at a shilling ? I was not to be beaten easily, Stella. I went to the great men first ; they were kind and courteous, but told me the market was flooded with books upon the great classics ; that no work of that kind hu,d sold since Grote and Jowett; that my magnum opus was so nmch labour wasted, except for the pleasure I had felt in the i)rngress of such an honourable work. That is the kind of thing the great publishers said to me. The small ones openly laughed at me — politely for rudely, as the nature of the creatures prompted. There was no room in the world of letters for my great work on Aristotle. I might publish the book at my own cost if I liked, but it would involve an outlay of two or three hundred pounds. And I had thought that the work would bring me we'^'th and renown ; I had shrunk from the glare and tlib dazzle of my future fame. Dreams, Stella, all dreams ! The publishers awakened me : and now I know that I am only a foolish old man, born into this world too late to be of any use to himself or other people.' ' But you have your book still,' said Stella, in her grave, old-fashioned way — she had grown from a child to a precocious woman in her solitary studious life of the last eight months, had changed curiously Ml ONE THING NEEDFUL in so short a time — * and if it is a groat book, as Lord Laslimar said it was, you must be very proud of it.' ' I love it,' faltered the old man, with an involun- tary glance at the window of the room tliat held his treasure, — ' I love it as if it were a child. I am steadily going over all the old ground again, page by page, annotating, improving. Perhaps, years hence, when I am in the dust, a publisher may be found to print that book — the world may discover that I liave left it an imperishable legacy. But let us talk of it no more. Come in doors, and rest yourself, Stella; it is too cold to be r iding here so long.' lie led the way into a cottage pu.ioar, littered witli the chaotic lumber of a student's days and nights — a table crowded with pamphlets and papers, books piled in every available corner, heaped upon the floor ; dust, untidincG::: everywhere. The owner of the cottage had given up the struggle for neatness, and had allowed her eccentric lodger to have things in his own way. He was not a troublesome lodger, needed but little attendance, never grumbled at the cooking, paid his way punctually ; but his long night watches were a source of fear to his landlady, lest in long poring over those dry-as-dust old volumes he should fall asleep and suffer the house to be set on fire. ' Have you been living h^.re long V asked Stella looking at the chaos, and longing to put things straight with dexterous womanly fingers. 'Only since last November. Lord Lashmar has been good enough to give me a small pension, which I accept without compunction, as I know that my dear pupil always intended to provide for my old age. But how could he think that I should outlive him — the old surviving the young? Yes, my lias A WOMAN THAT HAS WILL TO SAIL WITH 145 Lord Lashmar Ims been kind enougli to provide for me, and I like to live here, near the old home and the old river wo were all so fond of. And you, child, how has it fared with you since that fatal day?' Stella was slow to answer. She struggled with herself in silence for a little while, the dark brows knitted in a frown ; the crimson of passion kindling in the wan cheeks ; and then she burst into tears. The old man drew her towirds him, gathered her upon his kueos, slieltered iier wet cheek upon his breast with almost maternal tenderness. ' My poor child ! my poor child ! ' he murmured, ' death was \ev^ cruel to you and me that summer day.' ' Oh ! if we had only died too ! Why did not God take us all together ? ' sobbed Stella : and then in broken sentences she told Gabriel Verner what her life had been like since he left the Castle— a life spent among servants, in the bondage, of menial servitude. 'She took away my books too,' Stella went on tearfully; 'the books ho gave me; my Greek and Latin books ; my book about the stars ; and Scott and T'^nnyson.' ' Inexorable tyrant, to stifle that budding intellect.' ' But Betsy contrived to get some of them for me. It was almost like stealing them, though tliey were my own — as much my own as this hand and arm. And I have gone on learning my lessons, and writing exercises, thcugli there has Ixien no one to tell me the faults.' * That need be so no longer, Stella. Come to me every day, if they will let you, and I will go on with your education. Yes,' cried the scholar, with sudden enthusiasm, • it shall be the lelight of my L 146 ONE THING NEEDFUL life lO train this bright young mind. You' — with the rapture of conferring an ineffable boon, ' you oliall help me to annotate my book.' ' I will ! ' said Stella, ' and I will keep your room tidy, if you will let me. I know how to arrnnge books and papers, and keep them all in nice order, without disturbing anything. I used to tidy his papers when I ^Yas very, very little, when I could hardly reach up to the table.' 'Yes, dear, you weVe always a handy little thiuLf. I will go on with your education. Come to me as often as you can ; come whenever they will let you. I am not much of a gadabout. You will almost always find me^at home.' Stella thanked him with all her heart, cheered and comforted by this new light. To take up the thread of her education wliere Lashmar had dropped it would leem almost a link with the past, with the hfe that had been so sweet. It would bring her nearer to the dead. She thought of him always as v^^atching over her from the spirit world, regretting her degradation. And it would please him to know that she was carrying on her education with his dear old tutor. Siie told Betsy everything ; and Pjctsy managed that by hook or by crook she should have time to go on with her education. All she had to do was to satis.y Middlcham ; and of late her sewing had been good enough even for that exacting personage ; and she had also eliown herself very deft and clever in putting the iinishiiig touches to best bedrooms and moridng rooms, arranging draperies, iilling the flower vases, ])utting knick- knacks and ■ndesciibable elegancies in just the right l^luc'js, instead of §hoviug things about stupidly alter ui A WOMAN THAT HAS WILL TO SAIL WITH 147 the purblind manner of the ordinary housemaid. Stella had spent many a morninfij at this work when the Castle was full of company, and had won Middleham's blunt approval. ' I thought you were a fool, child, when I first took you in hand,' said the queen-mother of the houseniaids ; ' but I must say that I have found you a teachable, handy little thing, and very willing to take pains with your sewing ; wlich is more than I can say for those overgrown young women frocj the village,' Tlie all-powerful Middleliam being thus con- ciliated by patient service, life had been made easier for Stella, even at the worat, than it had been ; but it was easiest of all for her now when Middleham and her staff were in Grosvenor Square, and the state rooms and best bedrooms were all wrapped in shadow and silence. Under Betsy's friendly rule Stella was able to spend the greater part of her days with Gabriel Verner, and to learn as much as he felt inclined to teach her. oSor was this little ; for it was a delight to the old man to resume the habits of years gone by with so docile, so re^v^ptive a pupil. So day by day and every day, as the leaves unfolded and the flowers came peeping forth in tlie hedgerows and meadows — first, the season of daflbdils and then the season of king-mips, and then the glad time of blue-bells, and onwari even to the first of the dog-roses — Stella lived 1 er own life, and learnt diligently in the great volume of classic lore, till even those modern Middleshire copses, that river- side of to-day, seemed peopled M'ith ideal forms : so interwoven became tlie fables of the past with the realities of the present. And every day the girl's care helped to make the old student's life more pleasant, providing for and I'orestalUng his wants, • J 148 ONE THING NEEDFUL supervising his modest wardrobe, "beautifying his cottage home, surrounding him with an atmosphere of womanly love and watchfulness. Lady Lashmar was in London, in Paris, in Vienna, with her adored son, following him as a satellite follows a planet — not with him, but always near hiin. lie had spoken in the House of Lords, and his speech had attracted attention ; had been talked about as a wonderful ppcc^u lor sg voung an orator : and it had been sail by some of his party that Lord Lfishrnar was a young man who would make his mark. * Old Lady Pitland's grandson ought to have some- thing in him,' said the eld-fashioned section of the party : and all Lady Lashmar's particular friends prophesied that old Lady Pitland's nephew was to be one of the lights of the future, and as political skies at this period were cloudy, lights were wanted. CITAPTEPt IX ' BUT AS THE DAYS CHANGE JIEN CHANGE TOO ' The yeara had come and gone, and strange things had happened in the world of history and politics : wars and treaties, invasions and expeditions, changes in legislature, in science, in art. New whims, new fancies, new theories had rippled the river of time : but here at Lashmar Castle there had been no stirring events by which to distinguish the passing years. Life here had been monotonously placid and tranquil, yet not altogether happy. Lady Lashmar had drunk of the cup of disappointment in those slow years. Life had seemed to open with the 'BUT AS THE DAYS CHANGE MEN CHANGE TOO ' 149 buoyant rapture of a wedding march, when Fate made her son master of Lashmar Castle. She who was accustomed to rule had thought it the most natural thing in the world that she should rule her only son ; not with open domination, but with deli- cate diplomacy, with tenderest maternal manage- ment. Bitter had been her disappointment when slie discovered thac Lashmar was not so to be ruled. He was not an undutiful son. He treated his mother with affectionate co/sidoration; but he was bent upon living his own 1. vvV and that was essentially a manly, independent lite — a life of travel and sport. Yachting, mountaineering, salmon fishing in Canada, bear hunting in the Eockies, deer-stalking in the Highlands, had taken him far from his mother, and the possibility of maternal guidance. Witliin the last two years he liad taken ar«lently to politics: but even political life was a life of severaiu o from her ladyship, who was no ^on^er rn the vigour of health and si length, no r able to hold her own in the turmoil of Londoi ociety — a great deal faster and more furious, rr. ^'e cnj icious, fickle, and volatile tlian the society of Lady I'itlaud's time. A great change had come over Lady Pitland's daughter within the seven years that had pissed since Hubert, Lord Lashmar, had been laid ii! the family vault yonder, under the old church at the end of the park. The hand of aflliction had weighed heavily on that proud spirit. Lady Lashmar's health had given way ; a slow and gradual deprcs • ., indicative, as her physician blandly hinted, of stjuie- obscure inward malady, had crept over that active mind, working slow and subtle changes, until little by little, with a gradual transformation hardly perceived by those who were constantly about her, tLe Lady Lashmar of the present had become au 150 ONE THING NEEDFUL entirely different woman from the Lady Lashmar of the past. The severe lines of that handsome face had softened with the premature whitening of those soft masses of hair, which now recalled the Marie- Antoinette of Delaroche's famous picture. Yet despite this softer aspect the woman was at heart the same: proud as Milton's Satan, but with the melancholy pride of a disappointed life. There had been times when she regretted her dead stepson ; regretted the old days in which her influence had been paramount, and her boy, as a younger son with his owu way to make in the world had been dependent upon the maternal purse for all his pleasures and indulgences. Slie had longed then for the day when he should stand in his brother's place. That day had come ; and it had been the beginning of severance. Her boy was no longer to be gratified by gifts from the maternal hoard ; he had no longer need of the maternal influence and counsel in the dilflcult career of a younger son. He was his own master, rich, titled, with very little incentive to the creation of a career. For five years Lady Lashmar watched her sou's idle waiiilerings with disappointment and anxiety. She began to fear that he was no better than other young men to whom fortune has given too nmch, and with whom ambition is a dead letter. She was beginning to des])air of him, when there came a political crisis, and Lord Lashmar came suddenly to the front. The Conservatives had braced themselves together for a final eflort against a Liberal Govern- ment of five years' standing — a Government which its enemies declarei . to have aflbrded the most disas- trous example of misrule ever known in the history of parliamentary legislature, and which its friends descanted upon blandly as a reign of peace and ' BUT AS THE DAYS CHANGE MEN CHANGE TOO ' 151 her her prosperity, and, as it were, a perpetual symposium of recumbent lambs and lions. Much in this crisis turnod upon the acceptance cr rejection of an im- portant measure in the House of Lords : and it was then that Lashmar girded up his loins, and stood up in his place among the graybearded tribunes, and spoke as men seldom speak in that austere assembly, spoke with the fire and freshness, the vigour and the strong feeling of inexperienced youth. The speech took his fellow-peers by surprise — all the more since the young peer had never had that training in the Lower House without which it is popularly supposed that no man can ever be a good debater. Lashmar awoke next morning to find himself a politician with a reputation. The bill went back to the Commons : and Mr. Nestorius, smarting under the sense of defeat, threw himself upon the country, just at that critical hour when his popularity was on the wane. Nothing can be more fatal than to dissolve Parliament on an ebb tide. The Conservatives came in with triumph ; to their own exceeding surprise. All this had liappened two years ago, and now Lord Lashmar was a power in tlie Upper House, and occupied a position of some importance in the political and social world. He was one of those young men of mark about whose matrimonial views people speculate freely. Society wondored when and whom he would marry. Who was there good enough for him in these days of lamentable decadence ? Tliis question generally resolved itself into a discussion as to which of the heiresses of the year would have most money ; since it appeared obvious that Lord Lashmar would require money. Seven years had gone by since Clarice Danebrook had played tennis on the lawn under Lady Lashmar'a windows ; and notiiing had come of her ladyshi[)'3 hopes in that direction. Clarice and Lord Lashmq,? 152 ONE THING NEEDFUL 11 had seen a good deal of each other in the London season which followed those quiet autumn days at the Castle. They had waltzed many a waltz, had met in many a crush upon the staircases of Belgravia and May Fair. They had even ridden side by side in the How, Job Danebrook jogging quietly beside them on his weight-carrier, thinking of his latest improvements in machinery, or the possibility of a strike amongst his operatives. People had said that young Lord Lash mar was anchored already. The worldly wise had lauded Lady Lashmar's good management. Just what one would expect from a daughter of old Lady Pitland. But nothing came of these rides and these waltzes after all. Lashmar went back to the Continent without having compromised himself by one too- tender word. There had been magnetic looks and gentle hand pressures, on the impulse of the moment, when they two stood side by side amidst the crowd, nestling together, as it were, under the pressure of that silken throng, in an atmosphere overcharged with the scent of gardenias and tuber-roses. There had been looks that had thrilled the simple Middle- shire maiden ; but nothing had come of those tender glances from dark gray eyes, under heavy brown brows. Lord Lashmar had gone away, deeming that it was too soon for him to avow himself. He was not quite sure. He wanted time. And Clarice was assuredly too young to know her own mind. Pre- cipitancy in these matters is always dangerous, often fatal ; but there is seldom harm in delay. He went, and he left Clarice lamenting, like Ariadne at Naxos : and, like Ariadne, she found a consoler. She had been very fond of Lord Lashmar in her mild, almost infantine, way: and she hui set 'BUT AS THE DAYS CHANGE MEN CHANGE TOO' 153 her heart upon being a peeress. Perhaps she wor- shipped him chiefly because he was a nobleman of ancient race and high standing. She liad seen him from the tirsfc invested with that aureole which her mother had taught her to revere — the golden halo of hereditary rank. And now he was gone, and she felt heart-broken, disappointed, crushed. Her mother also was disappointed, and did not conceal her feelings. She told Clarice that Lord Lashraar had behaved shamefully, and that he was unworthy of a moment's thought. Notwithstanding which Clarice thought of him during almost every moment of the day and many a wakeful hour of the night ; until the appearance of a new admirer of still higher rank afforded a spurious kind of consolation. The new admirer was Lord Carminow, a marquis, and one of the most dissipated young men in London or Paris ; a young man who, a year before he mtt Clarice, had the reputation of being in- dustriously engaged in drinking himself to deatli ; but who was said to have pulled up, on the brink of the precipice, as it were, and to be in a fair way to reform. His hand was still very shaky, and he was still obliged to put cayenne pepper in his brandy : but he drank less brandy, and his hand was !ess tremulous than it had been last year. .Lord Carminow met Clarice and her family at Sckwalbach, whither Mr. and Mrs. Danebrook had taken their daughter with the idea that iron would rf;vive her broken spirits. Lord Carminow was there, also ill quest of iron. The marquis and the maiden drank the waters together, and sat side by side to hear the band play in the gardens of the little casino. He was not an intellectual young man, and brain and nerves were alike shattered by long- established habits of intemperance. At an age when 154 ONE TIIINO NEEDFUL b other men are in the morning offlife, he was old and broken. It was a melancholy spectacle, piteous in the eyes of ]\lrs. Danebrook, who never for a moment forgot that tlie poor shaking hand belonged to a marquis. Slie was infinitely sorry for liim sorrowful, yet not without hope ; for slio told herself and all her intimate friends that if he could only marry a girl who loved liini, ho would no doubt become a new man. He was already on the right road. All he needed was to have his footsteps sustained by a faithful arm, his days cheered by sweet companionship After three weeks* acquaintance he proposed to Clarice Danebrook, and was accepted, with a kind of haughty oarelessness on the part of the young lady, as if sh^^ took this coronet as her due, and despised the giver; with rapture on the part of the mother ; but by the father with considerable and even outspoken reluctance. ' I suppose the world will say that my little girl is making a tine match !' said honest Job Danebrook, ' but unless you mend your habits, Lord Carminow, she will be one of the most miserable wives in London.' Carminow swore that his habits were already mended ; and that with Clarice for his wife there could be no fear of relapse. The wedding took place late in the autumn, much to Lady Lashmar's indig- nation. She had done all in her power to deter Clarice ; had told her in plainest language what manner of life Lord Carminow had been leading since he left Oxford and even at Oxford ; but Clarice had made up her mind to bo a marchioness, and she was marble. ' He is very good-natured, and he is a gentleman,' she said ; ' I can afford to take my chance. I shall do all 1 cau to reform him.' 'Youf cried her ladyship, surveying her from 'BUT AS THE DAYS CHANGE MEN CHANGE TOO ' 155 old head to foot with a scathing look. ' Poor baby ! you little know what you are undertaking,' Clarice took her chance, and enrolled herself for ever among the marchionesses of England. She endured three and a half years of a most intolerable existence, before Lord Carminow finished that busi- ness of drinking himself to death, which he had begun so blithely at Christ Church, in the dawn of manhood, when many of his fellow-commoners took toast-aud- water for their dinner beverage. He was gone, and Job Danebrook was gone, and Clarice, Marchioness of Carminow, was established at Daru^,- brook Hall, inordinately rich, and as lovely as in her earliest girlhood. Mrs. Danebrooi: lived with her daughtei, and had been left very well off by the iron-master ; but Clarice was mistress in all things, and a mistress on a very grand scale, modelling her- self upon the great Lady Pitland, about whose little ways she had heard so much from Lady Lashmar. There had been no issue of that unhappy union, and a distant cousin of Lord Carminow had suc- ceeded to the marquisate — an elderly man with a large family, who swooped down upon the estate like a llight of vultures, devouring everything. There was only a pittance of seven thousand a year for the widowed Marchioness, an insignificant addition to her own enormous income. Tlie new raarchionees and her daughters thought she ought not to have taken that pittance. And now in these days of her widowhood Clarice was again almost as a daughter to Lady Lashmar, who liad much need of solace and society in her present depressed state of health ; need also of much attendance, wanting to be waited upon with exemplary patience, altogether a hard and dithcult mistress. She had three slaves, who were always in attendance upon her — Barker, the patient and homely 156 ONE THING NEEDFUL maid of thirty years' service ; Celcstine, the expert Abigail, with deft liii'^ers and faultless taste in the confection of a cap or the arrangement of a drapery, were it only the sweeiiincj folds of an Indian shawl worn over an invalid's slioulders. Lady Lashmar had taken to dress as elderly women dress when they have renounced the pomps and vanities of the world. She rarely wore anything but black brocade or velvet, and she wore a cap, and generally had her s'loulders draped with some rich shawl. She looked distinguished still ; but she always looked old, and she very often looked ill. Her third attendant occupied a nondescript position, was hardly a servant, though she was treated quite as cavalierly as the lowest servant, and was not quite a companion. She was a tall and slender girl, with a pale olive complexion, a small head crowned with ebon hair, and the most wonder- ful dark eyes that were ever seen out of Andalusia. She was always dressed with a severe simplicity, in a black cashmere gown, high to the throat, with a small linen collar, and a long plain skirt. This was as much a uniform with her as it was with the housemaids, whose afternoon gowns were just of the same colour and fashion ; yet no one would have taken, her for anything but a lady. There was a distinctive grace and dignity in every line of the tall, straight figure. The head had the imperial carriage of a Cleopatra. This was Stella Boldwood, now nineteen years of age, and promoted within the last two years to the post of her ladyship's reader and amanuensis. Not of her own accord, but very reluctantly, had Lady Lashmar accepted her stepson's protdgce in this intimate familiarity. The girl had been forced upon her by circumstances and the othcious- ness of her other dependents. The time had come dul 'BUT AS THE DAYS CHANGE MEN CHANGE TOO' 157 when she, who had been a great reader, had begun to feel the fatigue of reading too much for her broken nerves — the time had come when a chronic languor made it an effort to her to liold a book or follow the lines of a page. She was only fit to recline in her easy chair and listen while some subdued voice read aloud to her, and the accents of that voice must be those of refinement. Celestine was, of course, impossible for English reading, and the twang of her original faubourg made even her French detestiible to her ladyship's sensitive ear. Barker was worse. The doctor suggested Stella, whom he had seen very often when sitting in the cottage parlour, where he dropped in once or twice a week to chat with old Gabriel Verner. He had attended the old man every winter during sharp attacks of bronchitis, and he had seen how Stella excelled as a nurse. * I know something of the young lady,' said Mr. Stokes. ' Please don't call her a young lady, my good Stokes,' remonstrated her ladyship, 'she has been brought up among servants, as a servant. You must remember how I disapproved of my poor step-son's felly about that girl.' ' You m\y bring up a fox in a litter of terriers, but he'll be Keynard all the same at the end of the chapter,' said Mr. Stokes. ' Tliat girl is a lady. Sh'^ has good blood in her veins, I'll go bail. And sh^ got her early training from the late Lord Lashmar, who was one of the most intellectual men I ever had the honour to know. You can't undo that, Lady Lashmar. You may order the girl to handle a broom and twirl a mop, and she may think it her duty to obey you, but she is a lady all the same.' ' I think all girls are ladies now-a-days,' retorted the invalid impatiently. ' A great wave of refine- loS ONE THING NEKDFUL iiK'iit has swept over our people. Even country j;irl.s are no longer ])Uxom and sturdy and aftive. Tlu'.y are all pallid, and lanj^uid, and lady-like, stuli'ed with science primers and fine notions, and they want to do as little work as possible. I su])poRe we must call this paragon of yours a lady-help. I w{int some one to read to me, hut unfortunately I dislike that girl of yours. ' rrejudice, J.ady Lashmar, idle prejudice,' replied Mr. Stokes, who 4ilways said what he liked to her ladyship. ' Let her make a beginning, and if you find her disagreeable you can send her about her business.' 'Of course,' answered Lady Lashmar. 'Perhaps she may be rather more endurable than a 8trang> v. I abhor stranger's.' So Stella was told one morning that her mission would be to act as Lady Lashmar's reader and amanuensis until further notice ; and from that hour she was a slave. Her life had been easy enough of late years, easy even to pleasantness. The rule of the uncompro- mising jNIiddleham had been made very light for her, when that autocratic personage found that she was willing, industrious and conscientious, and that whatever she did was well done. She had been able, by early rising, to get her work done before the one o'clock dinner; and then she had been allowed to do what she liked with her afternoons, always provided she reappeared at the five o'clock tea, which of late she had taken with Mrs. Barker in the little room upstairs, a price- less privilege, since it spared her the gossip and uncongenial joviality of the still-room. Little by little the girl had drifted, as it wore, into a life of her own, apart from those servants whose existence the dowager wished her to share. She had been \mong them for a little while, but she had never 'but as tiik days change men chance too ' 150 been one of them. As she grew into girlhood the difference between her and them becauie more sharply dehned. They felt that she could never he one of them, and her presence became an embarrassment. They were very glad that she preferred solitude to their friendly company, and a quiet cup of tea in IJarker's room to their own noisy meal. She had always such old-fashioned ways, they said. Strange that a ciiild should be sucii a blue-stocking. Ikit of course tliat was nil tlie late Lord Lashmar's doing. He had brouglit lier up as no child ever was brought up before. She had been dry-nursed upon books. As the years wore on Stella was almost happy. The afternoon hours of every day were spent with Gabriel Veruer. He was old and feeble, and some* times very prosy ; but he was a mine of information, he loved learning for learning's sake, and he loved Stella. He carried on her education from the point at which Lord Lash mar had left off. He cultivated her love of the classics, reading Homer and Virgil and Horace with her again and again, dwelling on the jjassages he loved, ingraining their beauties into the very mind of his pupil. He taught her Trench and German, and together they read the classics in both languages. They had nothing to distract them from their books, no visitors, no ])leasures. In summer time they sat in a quiet spot on the edge of the river, a little nook below the tow- ing path, out of everyone's way, under a willow which Laslunar had loved. In winter they sat opposite each other by the trimly kept hearth, like two old cronies. It is V. onderful how much reading may be got through in seven years by a young enthusiast and a veteran student, when the world has no claims upon either, and olfers no temptations to youth or age. Stella had read more than many 160 ONE THING NEEDFUL fairly cultivated men of forty, when she was suddenly called upon to do suit and service to Lady Lashmar. rrora this time her regular studies with Gabrifl Verner were at an end, and those gentle cares of hers which had made his old age so easy had now to be performed under difficulties. She could only steal away from the castle now and then for a brief visit to her old friend, just time enough to see to his comforts and to talk to his landlady, who was kindly but stupid, and whom Stella had been gradually training into proper carefulness of her lodger. • You do spoil the old gentleman so, miss,' remonstrated the good souh ' Old people requiie a little spoiling, Mrs. Chiipp. liut nobody could spoil Mr. Verner. He is so p;ood and so unselfish.' ' Well, miss, nobody can deny that he is a nice easy gentleman to get on with, and if I wasn't afraid of his setting the house on ihx I should say he was the best lodger I ever had ; nmch better than tl'.ey young curates as most people set such store by ; and a per- manence too, which the best of curates never was,' 'You must be more uiLentive to him than ever, Mrs. Chipp, now that I am so seldom here,' urged Stella; and Mrs. Chij p promised that the student sliould lack no fost*;ring care. It w'^ With a rebellious heart that Stella entered Lady Las.miar's morning room on the first day of her new service. Mr. Stokes had endeavoured to awaken her sympathy for the stern dowager. He had hinted to her that the disease from which Lady Lashmar suf- fered must sooner or later be iatal, tliat all the rest of her life must be spent under the shadow of aflliction. ' Slie is very much to be pitied, poor soul,' said the kindly Stokes ; ' ail the more so, perhaps, because she is not the kind of woman to invite pity.' * BUT AS THE DAYS CHANGE MEN CHANGE TOO ' 161 now just talk and into Mrs. He Yet even after this appeal Stella felt nothing hut aversion as she stood, tall and straight as a lily stalk, at the foot of her ladyship's sofa. She was tliinkin^f of that summer afternoon seven years ago when Lady Lashmar had sat beside her bed, swathed in inky crape, ster-i, pitiless, and had told her of her beihjfactor's death — how all life and this bright world had changed to darkness at the sound of tliat cruel voice. Yes, it was the samo face — cold, faultless, iinbeautiful, looking at her with disdainful eyes. She had not been face to face with L;idy Lnshmar fl'nce that dreadful day. She had lived under her ly)i)f and eaten her bread, and had felt tlie sting of her tyranny ; but the mistr'ss of tlie Castle had been no more vii;il)le to her than tlie ?\Iik!ulo to the m(}aue8t of his subjects. And now .she looked at her oppressor tlioughtfully in the June sunlight, noting the changes time had wrought. i''es, it wns the same countenance, in nowise softened by allliction ; but the hair was white, and there were traces of suffering and of premature age. ' I require a person to read to me for some hours daily, sometimes even late at night ; and I am told that you have contrived to educate yourself with Mr. Verner's help, and Uiat you know how to read aluud. Is tliis so V ' I li:i\(' read aloud to Mr, Verner,' the girl answered (juictly. ' Often i ' * Habitually.' Tiiere was no waste of words on either side, * Then you can begin at once. There are my books' (poiiiting to a revolving bookstand within reach of the sofn, a stand which held about forty volumes). ' Invalids are very capricious, and require change of nuuital food. You can begin with Charles -M 1G2 ONE THING NEEDFUL Lamb, Elia's Essays — that one upon old china, for instance. I am in a lazy mood to-day, and would rather net be called upon to think.' She was lyint,' on a luxurious sofa, propped up with pillows. She spent a considerable portion of every day in this recumbent position, but she was not confined to her sofa or to her room ; and when there was company at the Ciistle, or when her son was at home, she generally dined downstairs, and held her own with the old air of supremacy which had been to her as a royal robe. She was not easily to be beaten even by bodily pain, or tlie vague languors of olxscure disease. She meant to make a good light to the end. Stellii seated herself in a low chair a little way from the soia, and began to read. Slie read Lamb for an hour, and then she was told to lay aside Land) and to take up a volume of travels in Bukliara, a new book which her ladyship had just received ; and when the travels wearied she was told to resume the last poem by drowning, at the page which her ladyship had marked. She was allowcil to I'ead on like a machine. She read for three hours witliout respite, and then she w^'l3 told that she might go. ' You ri'ud very well ! ' said her ladyship, with cold approval; 'I daresay I shall want you again late in the evening. Stay, you can arrange my pillows before you go.' Stella bent over the white IMaric- Antoinette head, and with light and careful touch adjusted the heaped-up pillows, and then, without a word of thanks f)'()m tlui invalid, she h'ft the room. As she went out by one door llarker entered by suiotlicr. * Yes, I think she will do!' said Lady Lashmar. * She has a sympathetic voice, and reads well. This mi ' BUT AS THE DAYS CHANGE MEN CHANGE TOO ' IQ'^ is one of my bad days, Barker; I shall not leave my room.' At nine in the evening Stella was summoned again. The lamplit room with its profusion of roses seemed a revelation of long-forgotten beauty and elegance, after the puritanical plainness of the servant's quarters. The golden-brown brocade curtains and clouds of Indian muslin draping the fine old windows, the rich carmine of old Sevres vases and candelabra, the Chippendale whatnots crowded with richly bound books, the low cliaiis and dainty little tables offering every possible form of convenience for books, or flowers, or cup and saucer; the old Indian screen and tall youiig palms in Satsuma bowls. Such sur- roundings were new to Stella, after tlie prim commonness of the housekeeper's parlour, with its horsehair sofa and pembroke table ; and yet she felt more at home here than in j\Irs. jMiddleham's room. Lady Lashmar looked wan and faded in the lamplight, and tlie sickly white of her complexion was accentuated by the ricli dark tints in her l)rown plush tea gown. A diamond and sapphire brooch fastened her fichu of old Englisli lace, and the semi-transparent hands glittered with costliest rings. There was here no intention of letting down the pride of womatdiood or station, even under the grip uf a fatal malady. ' You '^.an go on with Inalaustian ! ' she said. Not a word more. No praise or thanlcs for the afternoon's work ; no invitation to take a cup of tea from the old silver salver, placed handily on the delicious little tea-table beside her ladyship's sofa. Jonathan r.oldwood's daughter was to be treated only as a serf beneutli that roof. She had been reared there according to the laws of slavery ; and there is no reason that a slave should be treated any l)eltor because he happens to have cultivated his inLcllect, 1G4: ONE THINC NKEDl'LTL She read till eleven, without any sign of fatigue. She had so trained herself during those long after- noons A.'hen she had sat on a stool at the old student's feet, reading the authors he loved ; saving the poor old faded eyes. She had read on unconscious of the passage of time, just as she read now, absorbed by her own delight in Browning's verse, with its under- tones of deepest thought. At eleven Lady Lashmar dismissed her, with briefest good-night. Her duties as reader went on for months, without variation. She spent at least half of every day in Lady Lashmar's rooms, and was often summoned late at night to sit beside her ladyship's bed, and to read till three or four o'clock in the morning. She performed her task with a cold placidity which was agreeable to the highbred dowager, who detested fuss, and would have been disgusted by servility or ofliciousness. Later on Lady Lashmar allowed her slave to write all her letters to indifferent persons, and sometimes even a letter of friendship ; but the amanuensis was never employed in writing to her ladyship's son. Those letters were always in the mother's penmanship. Stella had filled this office for nearly two years, and had been of the utmost service to Lady Lashmar. Yet the stern dowager had but in the smallest measure relented of her original aversion from her stepson's i^rotrgee. She used her as a companion and slave, but she never forgot that this thouglitful-looking girl with the large dark eyes was Jonathan Boldwood's dauf^hter, and that the venom of Eadioalism ran in those blue veins which showed in such delicate tracery upon the slim white hands and on the ivory pallor of the forehead. The old prejudice still existed in full force, and tlie dowager in nowise relaxed her BUT AS TITE DAYS CHANGE MEN CHANGE TOO ' 1G5 ;ons, the lier the hauteur because Stella Bohhvood had become useful to her. In her inmost heart she was angry with the girl for the very gilts which made her an invaluable companion. Slie resented that force of character which had enabled the child-dependent to rise superior to her surroundings, and to make herself a lady in manners and superior to most ladies in education. She was angry at that native grace, which gave elegance even to tlie black merino gown wliich was the livery of servitude. Nothing could vulgarise Stella, or reduce her to the level of her liidyship's other dependents. Barker had one day ventured to suggest that as the girl was now virtually her ladysliip's companion she should have some prettier gowns — a black silk, for instance, or at any rate, one of those fine French alpacas which Colestine always wore, a material whicli combined all the lustre and softness of silk with the merit of never wearing out. But Lady Lashmar replied angrily that the girl was to wear such gowns as the liousemaids wore and no other, ' She is quite vain enough as it is,' said her lady- ship. ' I believe she spends hours in dressing that hair of hers, and training her eyebrows.' This was a cruel attack upon Stella's pencilled brows, whose bold clear line gave such character to the low broad forehead. Barker was indignant at this ungenerous treat- ment of a girl who sat up till two or three o'clock in the morning three times a week on an average to beguile the tedium of her ladyship's wakeful nights. But Stella made no complaint against the inevitable black merino gown. She was glad when for the con- venience of Lady Lashmar she was transferred to a pretty little bedchamber on the principal floor, close to Barker's den, where she now took all her meals, and whicli she was allowed to use as her own IGG ONE THING NEEDFUL sitting-room. She was thus removed entirely from all association with the other servants : and Barker was one of those kindly souls who with but the slightest modicum of education have all the instincts of good breeding. Stella had never revolted against the society of Barker, while Barker's niece Betsy was olways dear to her as the friend of her childhood. And now it was the end of September, and Tjord Laslimar and a little knot of distinguished visitors were expected at the Castle, some intent on the slaughter of the pheasants, others only desiring rest and respite after the fatigues of a London season. Among these latter was Mr. Nestorius, the great party-leader, who having retired from political life finally, alter the defeat of his IMinistry, now, like Dante's swimmer, looked back, breathless after striving with the waves, upon the raging sea of politics from the calm shore of doniesticity. Nestorius had been a 2^'>'otfQe of Lady Bitland when his brilliant career was in its dawn ; and the friendship with that wonderful old lady and her family had never been interrupted, albeit their political opinions were as the poles asunder. And now that the politician's distinguished career was a closed book, and that he had withdrawn into the haven of private life, without the faintest intention of ever refitting his damaged craft again to encounter the buffets of ocean, it pleased Lady Lashmar tliat the great man should enjoy some portion of his well-earned leisure under her roof She talked of him beforehand more than of any other of her guests, and arranged that the very best of the best rooms should be him. ' There are cases in which rank counts for nothing,' she said. * ]\Ir. Nestorius must always 'j-iven to ]!UT AS THE DAYS CHANGE MEN CHANGE TOO ' 1G7 ho first everywhere. 11^ is not only p,Te;it as a his hiureh 1 statesman ; he has won the interpreter of classic poetry ; and our respect is all the more due to him since he has retired from oflice for ever — always a melancholy fact to consider when a career has been so great, altlioiigh so mistaken.' ' Is there no possibility of ^Mr. Nestorius return- ing to public life, whenever the Liberals come into power again ? ' asked Stella simply. Lady Lashmar gave her a look which ought to have frozen her. ' The Liberals have seen the last of their mis- rule,' she said. ' The country has been taught a lesson which it is not likely to forget.' ' Yet history shows that people always do forget,' argued Stella. ' Opinion follows opinion, as wave follows wave ; the world would stagnate if it were otherwise.' ' Pray do not argue. I do not care for ]\rr. Ver- ner's ideas at secondhand,' said Lady Lashmar haughtily. She encouraged the girl to talk sometimes, snubbed her mercilessly at other times, and was never really kind. Yet it so happened that tliis kind of life, slavery as it was, suited Stella's tem- ])crament. Cluod books and gracious surroundings were at present her only idea of bliss in this world : and as Lady Laslimar's companion she had these in abundance — the best of books, old and new, elegant rooms to live in, and the right to wander at will in gardens or park during her brief intervals of leisure. Vov the rest she was penniless, had no remuneration fur her labour, not even the wages of an uuder- housemaid ; and now that Mr, Nestorius and other great peojde were bidden to the Castle, Stella knew that her servitude would be in no way 1G8 ONE THING NEKDFUL altered, that she would see liitlo or nothinpf of those great ones. She sat at the little writing table in the window of her ladyship's morning room, waiting for further orders, while Lady Lashmar and the heautifnl widow, Lady Carminow, sat on each side of the hearth, brightened by the glow of a small wood fire, and discussed the expected visitors. ' Eemember, you are on no account to desert me while these people are in the house,' said Lady Lashmar, with an imperative air, almost as a mother talking to a daughter. ' I shall expect you to take nearly all the trouble of receiving the^n off my hands ; you must be almost as the mistress of the house.' 'It will be very nice,' answered Clarice, with her slow, dreamy smile. 'I adore Mr. Nestorius, though I know he did his utmost to ruin this country when he was in power ; but he is such an orator, the finest I am told, since Lord Chatham ; and he is such a thoroughly poetical man, and such a scholar! His translation of ^^Ischylus is quite too lovely. I am sure it must be ever so much nicer than the original.' Stella's lips moved, and a little impulsive move- ment disturbed the repose of her attitude. She had discussed this translation of Mr. Nestorius's with Gabriel Verner. They had gone over it line by line and it had seemed to them that the Agamemnon of Mr. Nestorius was a treason against the Greek play- wright, so fully had the statesman given the reins to his own vivid imagination ; but it was not for her to give utterance to her doubts in that room, or to air her knowledge of Greek before Lady Cavminow. * I am getting some new frocks on purpose for your people,' said Clarice, who was fonder of milli- nery than of literature. The only books she really enjoyed were French ' IJUT AS THE DAYS CIIANGK MEN CHANGE TOO ' 109 novels, and the newest school of English poetry. Iler intellectual fibre had a certain limpness which required to bo shocked and startled into attention. She went to sleep over Tennyson or Browning, and (Jeorge I'lliot made her head ache. ' Who is making your frocks ? * asked Lady Lashmar, faintly interested. 'Mrs. Marshall.' ' She is very good, but a desperate robber. Her prices are iniquitous.' * But she drapes a gown so deliciously. There is an indescribable something which is worth any money she likes to charge. I never grumble at her bills. I have even gone so far as to shako hands with her when I have wanted a gown in a desperate hurry.' ' How long is it since you have seen Victorian ? * asked Lady Lashmar absently, as if her tlioughts had wandered ever so far from Mrs. IMarsliall's bills. ' Oh ! ages and ages ; not since the spring. Yes, once in the sunnner, at a crush at the Foreign Oflice. We had live minutes t.igether on the stairs ; live minutes that brought back the thought of old times, before I married poor Lord Carminow. I felt as if I were a girl again.' ' You are not nmch more than a girl. He was very attentive, I suppose ? ' * Oh ! he said sonui rather sweet things ; but sweet things are only the small change of society uow-a-days. They mean no more than the crystal- lised violets one nibbles at dessert. Lord Lashmar is a great man, quite absorbed in politics.' ' I hope he will never become a walking blue- book like some of them I ' said Lady Lashmar vaguely. ' I am proud that ho should make his mark in the world ; but I should like to see his domestic happiness secure before I die.' 170 ONi: THING NEEDFUL 'Dearest Lady Laslnnar, pray do not talk of dyiiiL,'. You liavoalong life still before you, I hope.' ' I should bo glad to hope so too, if I could, Clarice; but I can't. I am obliged to adopt the lloratiau philosophy — abjure extended ho])es, and enjoy my lifo as much as I can in the present. I want to see my son married, and married as I should wish ! ' 'That is just the one thing you must not hope for,' answerc I Clarice, with a touch of bitterness, as if that placid temper of hers were faintly stirred by the memory of an old wrong. ' Men never marry to please their fathers and mothers ; and the sons who have had ideal fathers and mothers are almost sure to marry badly. It is only the men who have seen a cat-and-dog life exem])lified in their parents who are careful in choosing their own wives.' ' It would break my heart if A^'ictorian were to marry bi^neath him.' ' Oh ! I don't suppose he will do that! said Clarice, with supreme hauteur. ' lie will marry in his own rank, 1 have no doubt. ]Ie has none of tliose horrid low instincts which lead young men to make friends of their stablemen and to admire chorus-girls. ]5ut he may marry a wonuin who has been more talked about than you would like ; although as so many women of fashion are talked about now-a-days that would hardly be supposed to matter.' ' It would matter very much to me, Clarice,' answered the dowager sternly. ' 1. wonder you can talk so lightly ! ' * I only talk as other people talk. Things do not count now as they used when my mother was young and Prince Albert was alive. Is it not that one good man's death seems to have strange 'RUT AS THE DAYS CHANGE MEN CIIANHE TOO ' 171 loosoncd uU llio bonds tliat licld society together ? At leiist, motlier siiys it is so. She jjuts uur moral decadtince all down to the untimely death of the Piince Consort.' Stella -was often a quiet hearer durin^; such conversations. Her presence counted for nothin.t,'. Lady Lashmar and (Jlarice tallced as Ireely before her as if she had been a footman. She was not of their rank or of their world, and so was in a iruinner non-existent. Lady Carniinow would honour her with a ])assing notl as she entered the room — the most inlinitesinud thing in nods — and another as she left ; but in tlie interval between entering and leaving the room the lovely Avidow api^ared utterly unconscious of her existence. Lady Carminow, be it observed, was more thoroughly a peeress than if she had been borii in the puri)le. The conscious- ness of her exalted ratdc never left her. It was for this she had suffered the slow agonies of union /ith a man she loathed ; for this she had shrunk shuddering from the ravings of ddirliun trc aois, endured tlie unspeakable horrors of habitual in- temperance ; and she was bent upon making the utmost of the privilege she had won so dearly. The once gentle and pliant Clarice had become the haughtiest of women, lait as she had still the ])lacid ^lontmorency temi)er — the constitutional amiability of the lymphatic lily-complexioned order of womankind — people managed to endure her prido of rank, and even the o])])ressive sense of her wealth. Letween Lady Carminow and Stella there was a silent antagonism. Neither had foigotten that day in the library when Stella had shrunk from Clarice's ])itying touch as if it had been the sting of an adder. There had been no renewal of compassionate feeling on Lady Carminow's side. She was Jealous of those gifts which made Stella such a valuable compauiou 172 ONE TIIINQ KEKDl'llL for Lady Lashiuar. She lesoiitcd the girl's suporiov cultivation, and spoke of litr snceringly as a blue- stocking'. 'She can read (Jrecik and Latin. Ihm very absurd ! It is only a sniatterinf;, of coursi;.' ' Old Mr. \'erner tells nie that she knows more than many a 1>.A.,' said Lady Jjashniar. ' My poor fixjlish stepson erununed her with learnin<^ from the lime she was able to read. She has been nourished upon books.' ' AVhat a i)ity she cannot j^et a d(^^ree. I wonder you don't send her to (.lirton or Nuneham. She would bo more in her place there than in this house.' 'She is very useful to me. I could not possibly spare her.' * Oh, but companions can be got by the hundred. You have oidy to choose from a column of advertise- ments. There is a fresh column every morning in the Times. I have ol'leii looked, tliiiddng I should like to get some one fur mother; some one who would amuse her all day, and take her quite olf n)y liauds, don't you know.' 'Needy young women in want of homes may he had in shoals, I have no doubt,' answered Lady Lashmar ; 'but it is not easy to get a really good reader. Stella has a sympathetic voice, and reads well. I couhl not do without her.' 'She is not shnpatica with me,' said Clarice, languidly. ' I am very sensitive about my surround- ings. I should not like your Stella in my room after midnight. Those great black eyes and tliat pale face M'ould frighten me. I should have an idea that I was going to be nmrdered.' Lady Lashmar smiled, as at the nonsense talk of a beautiful child. She was very fond of Clarice, whose loveliness gladdened her eye, and whose 'BUT AS TMK DAYS ClIANGK MKN CIIANOK lOO ' IT-'J very quite intollcettiiil inferiority \va^ a i>orpctual complimont to lier uudcrstiiiHliiij^-. She Wiis l»()j)iii^' ^'roat things from tlu? coniiii^f (Jctober, which would liriu^' Victo- rian and Clarice together day after day in the easy- f;oiu'^ intercourse of a country liou.se. IFcr own breakinj^f health wouhl be an excuse for h'avin^,' her son and the lovely widow very much to their own devices. J^ady Carminow would take the place of the mistress of the house, and Lashniar would have to consult her about everything. Could he resist so much beauty and sweetness? lie had been ])roof against those charins once : or he had shilly- shalli('(l and had lost his chance. If he had n(tt been ]>ri)()f, if it had been a casi; of shilly-shally only, and Jie iiad been haid hit all tlio time, how gladly would he seize the golden ojiportunity which his mother had ])re})ared for him! It is true that he might have made o]»portunities for himscdf during the years in whicli Lady Carnnnow had been a widow. I)Ut there are men who will make; no edbrt in these matters, who require to have fortune Hung into their laps. And then Lashraar had been al)sorbeil by politics e\er since that famous sjteech which had heljied to secure the majority that overthrew the late Cabinet. Lord Lashmar arrived, fresh from a yachting excursion in the Hebrides, bronzed and bearded, liroad shouldered, nruscular, the manliest of young men, with a fresh open-air look about him, yet intellectual withal. It was a fine face, as even > Stella was fain to confess to herself as she withdrew from the morning room after his lordship's arrival, leaving mother and son together. Yes, it was a line face, but far from a pleasant face, Stella thought. There was the haughty expression of his grandmother's old Northumbrian .17-i ONE THING NEEDFUL i race — ihe Fit/ lIolloR — who claimed to be descciKled iu a (livcct line i'roiii those Xorsemen who swooped like a ili>'<'f''0'''' li'"^^ improved ! ' he said. ' She is not half so ugly as she was seven years ago.' ' I'ray don't call her my protrr/rc. You know she is a legacy from poor llubcrt, an incubus whicli his Quixotism has imposed upon me.* i cable 'jiUT AS TJIH DAYS CHANCE MKN CIIANdH TOO' 175 'JUit I take ii sliG is useful to yon, or you would have sent her about her business liefore now. She; fetc^iGS and carries for those two lazy old maids of yours — Barker and Cel ■ -tine — I suppose ? ' ' She reads very well ; that is the onlv way in wliicli she is useful to me. And now, Victorian, let us talk of yourself and of the future. I IiO]>e you are going to stay here all the winter — till tlie Hous' reopens ! ' ' '\Vould you like mo to stay ? ' ' Of course I would, dearest. "What have T to live for but j'our society ? Life is a blank wlien you are away from me.' ' That is hard, mother dear, wlien I have boon so much away ! You make me feel that I have been an uudutil'ul son.' ' Xo, no ! you are not to be the slave of a too exacting love. Motliers arc even more tiresome than wives. It was right that you sliould sec the world : but now that you have travelled, and have seen so much, the time has come for settling down quietly, for assuming your right position as an English nolile- man. All our greatesc statesmen have been men who spent their lives at home. Our people are jealous of Continental inlluences,and dislike Continental habits.' 'My dear motlier, J am not sucli a caterer for popularity as to fashion my manners or my life to please tlie mob ; but I shall be glad to spend more of my days with you now — now tliat I am growing middle-aged.' He had hesitated before those concluding words ; saddened by the thought that the limit of tlioso (lays which his mother and he were to spend together was already marked by Fate, and seemed to liim now to lie within a definite distance, 'i iiere was no longer that vagueness of prospect which makes the horizon of life seem infinite, lie could 176 ONE THING NEEDFUL not flatter himself, in the face of obvious decay, that his mother Avoukl live to tlie green old age of Lady ritlaiid, who li;id ruled the woi'ld of fashion at seventy, and had been a power in her own little world till she was ninety. ' That is a good hearing' ! ' said Lady Lashmar, with a sinilc! which altered tlie wliolo character of her face — tlie mother's adoi'ing smile. 'And you will iimrrv, I hope, very soon. No anchor like a good v/ife.' • 1 am not in a hurry to be anchored,' answered Lashmar, laughing ; 'but I have a reccpti ■«'.'>, mind, and am reatiy to fall in love at short notice now that politics are off my mind, ^Vhat have you here in the way of beauty, mother mine ? ' ' The lUshop of S(nithb(n'ough is to be here in a week or so, with his two daughters, pretty, fresh young gills, and both musical. I sliouhl not obj<»ct to eith(n' as a daughter-in-law. Then there is old Lord Lanbury's daughter, the Diana of Northamp- tonshire, a fraidv open-hearted girl, and a superb horsewoman. She comes with Mrs. ^Luleiber, an old friend of mine.' ' I am glad you haven't got Banbury himself. He is a dreadful old driveller. Lady Sophia is a good soitofgii'l, but she has made iierself a great deal too public, and is written about in the sporting papers as if she were a jockey. 1 think one of them called her " Our Soph." " Our Soph's per- formances with the I'ytchley have been creating the usual sensation," or something of that kind. T don't think you would like our Soph for a daughter- in-law.' * Old Lord Lanbury was a fiiend of your grandfather ! ' 'Was he? Then he must have been one of the few friends my grand I'athei was allowed to choose for 'DUT AS TIIK DAYS CIIANOK MEN ClIAI^cn-: TOO ' 177 liimself. Lady Pitland would never have tolerated liini on her list. Well, mother ; who else is coining ?' ' There is Mr. Nestorius. The rest are all your own invitations,' 'Oh! my invitations are rather acZ caj^tandum, p;iven on tlie spur of the moment. Tliere is i\Ir. I'onsonby, the famous Q.C. and Conservative Member — Ponsonby who saved Mrs. Brownrigg, don't you know, in the starving case tliat made such a sensa- tion seven or eiglit years ago. Ponsonby began life as a Pad, 'out is now a High Church Tory — swears by Laud, adores Pusey, and weeps when the disiistablishment of tlie Irish Church is mentioned ; attributes all our Irish troubles to that destructive measure. I wonder liow he and Xestorius will get on under the same roof ? ' ' They have been under the same roof before,' said her ladyship. ' Yes ; but tliat was a bigger roof, and they wero not upon company nuinners.' ' Mr. Xestorius is always charming. Wliom else havo yc-iu asked ? ' ' Captain Vavasour, the society novelist, and his wife; such a delightful little woman, airy, fascinating, eccentric, audacious — ^just like one of her husband's novels. I think she must sit to him for all his heroines ! ' ' Perhaps she writes his books ? ' ']Not she! Aurelia is one of those delicious creatures who never do anything for themselves ; not so much as to lill in a card of invitation, or run up to the nursery to look at a sick baby. Vavasour writes all her letters and iills in all her . ards, and shr sends her maid to ask id'ter her Itabies. She would n(jt be half so graceful and charming if she were not ihe quintessence of sellishness. I once hoard a wo;:iau txsk her what her gown cos^. K 178 ONE THING NEEDFUL "Haven't the least idea!" she answered sweetly. "I never ask what things are going to cost '.est I. should he afraid to order thcni." ' ' Then your Vavasours are in deht, I conclude ? ' * Enormously.' 'T feel sure that T shall loatlio tliis person.' ' I douht it. 15ut please don't show yctur aversion in any case. Don't free/c the ]ioor little thing with the pride of the Fitz JJolh)s. That wouhl be to l)rcak a butterfly upon a wheel.' ' I ilont supimse she would care. A woman of that kind is always case-hardened. Did f tell you that Lady Carminow will be here for a week or two ? She wanted to run in and ;ut as she used when she was a girl, but 1 1. ive insisted upon her sending over her trunks. olie will help to annise Mr. Nestorius.' * No doubt. jNlr. Nestorius is im])ressionablo, and a widower. Lady Car'riinow would make him ii capital wife.' ' ^ly dear Lashmar, he is old enough to be her father,' ' Greatness is of no age. Nt^storius at lifiy is more attractive than the common herd of young men ; and for a woman of Lady Carminow 's ambitious temper he would be especially attractive. She has secured her coronet. She has made her- self a marchioness, and no one can unmake her. The next step would be to secure an ex-pri:ne minisi^. ^':>r her husbsnd and slave.' 'Tiiat is all nonsense. Clarice is I'uli of romance,' • ' Her marriage \\ itli a notorious sot would imply as Duich,' 'It was a noble feeling which prornpted that unhapp}' union. She wanted to reclaim him.' 'She wanted to be Lady Carminow. Don't 'IJUT AS TllK DAYS ClIANOK xMEN CHANGE TOO' 17'J look SO unhappy, mother. I like your favourite well enough. I once almost thought myself in love with Jier, but that was when I was young and foolish.' ' You need not be afraid of her fascinations now,' said Lady Lashmar, piqued at his manifest indilferenco. ' Clarice is much too well oil" as a widow to wish to change her condition,' ' Trecisely. She is one of those sensible women who can estimate the value of everything. She knew the value of a marquis's coronet : so much for the strawberry-leaves, so much lor the pearls. She knows the exact value of her position as Lord Carminow's childless widow. It is not very nuich, bar tlie title. Take ray word for it, mother, she would marry again — to liettcr herself.' Lady Lashmar did not argue the jioint. She was bent upon masking her batteries, if possible. ]\[cn are such kittle cattle ; and if Lashmar once took it into his head that she was bent on match- making he would set his face against (Jlarice and idl her charms. She would trust to tlie chapter of accidents, and to Lady Carminow's beauty, which was in its zenith. That beauty came almost as a surprise on Lashmar by-and-by, when CMarice sauntered into the library at afternoon tea-time. lie was unprepared for so nnicli lovelitu'ss, albeit ho luid talked with her last June for live minutes on the stairs at the Foreign Olfice. That girlish loveliness, svelte, llowing, alabaster fair, had expanded into a royal beauty. Lady Carminow was much less slim than she had been in her girlhood, but her stoutness — if it must be called by so vulgar a word — was a Juno-like stoutness, and her loveliness was enhanced by expansion. The alabaster tint was Btill moro dnzzling, it luid that transparent 180 ONE TIllNCf NEKDFUL brilliancy which Horaco sings of. Her goldon- auljurii hair was piled in a coronet above the low classic brow. The turn of the neck was statuesque in its perfection, the carriage of the small head was lull of unaffected dignity. The pluiiily made gown of lustreless brown silk set off the gracious figure with a noble simplicity. The lovely wrist ami hand looked all the lovelier under a severely cut sleeve with a narrow cuff of old oMechlin lace. 'How strange that we siiould meet for the iirst tinye in this rooir.,' said Clarice, when she and I.ashmar had shakmi hands, and she had ensconced herself in the most comt'ortahle of all the comfortalilc chairs which were grouped al)out the hearth and tea- table. ' Do you renunnber that afternoon when yi mi showed me the wonderful liooks, and when we found thti.t poor little savage sitting on a ladder ? ' 'indeed, I have not forgotten. 1 was reminded of the fact this morning by the sight of my brother's j)rofrr(a: j\Iy mother tells me she has become, a hidabki voung iierson, and verv useful to her as a leader.' Clarice shrugged her shoulders, and gave a faint shi\er. *T idiiiuld not like such a person about nir' she said; 'but dear Lady Laslunav seems quite taken M all her of liile.' I)(>ar Lady i-ashmar disavowed any such friendly a feeling for the girl. 'Shu in useiul lo me,' she explained ; '1 re(iuire some one lu lead to nu',, and she reads well. That is all.' * I am always afraid of siilf -educated people,' said Clarice, 'they are so arrogant, and so ambitious; almost always liadicals.thiid^iug, poor crealuies, that liiook learning is the only thing that counts, and for- getting their hopeless ignorance of everything lor. know.' 'BUT AS THE DAYS CIIANOE MEN CHANGE TOO ' 181 ' And th.at naturally moans everything M-orth knowing,' said Laslimar, smiling at her across liis teacup. ' Well, you will aclcnowledge that in society manners and savoir-faire are of nnich more import- ance than Latin and (f reek,' said Clarice, with con- viction. ' I. see you are cue of those people who think that the classics are the exclusive property of lialf a dozen elderly gentlemen in the universities, who seldom wash, and who could hardly muster a hair brush among them,' replied his lordship laughingly. Lashmar sipped his tea, and enjoyed the restful- ness of this lazy afternoon hour, when dressing for dinner seems too far off to be thought of as a bur- den. He had been the first to arrive ; his guests ^\■ere expected l)y a later train ; so he and his mother and Lady Carminow had this delicious interval all to tiiemselvcs. It was a new thing for him to take tea in that grandiose old library, witli its bossed ceiling, rich in gold and vernulion, seeming to repeat the colour of tlie Grolier bindings. Hitherto the room in which Hubert, Lord Laslimar, iiad lived his pensive un- odending life had been a sealed chamber, dedicated lo the memory of the dead, as it were a tomb in the luansiou of tlii! living. lUit within a week of her son's return J^ady Lashmar had made up her mind Lo re-opeu the library as a general sitting-room — a pleasant ])lace for afternoon tea — a haven in the evening for elderly people who love cpiiet, or for those unmusical souls who care not for the modern sonata or the modern ballad. It was Clarice who had talked Lady Lashmar into this innovation. ' The library is quite the hamlsomest room in the Castle, and you leave it, figuratively speaking, to Ixits and owls,' she said. ' What is the good of fine rooms 182 ONE TIIINO NEEDFUL if one doos not use tlioni ? The Laslnnar lihraiy is tlie one great feature of tliis house, and you Uon't even let people see it.' Lady Lashmar yielded ; and it was Lady CoTnii- now who witli her own fair hands, and the aid of liali: a dozen housemaids, rearranged the room after the luxurious modern idea. She introduced deli- cious little Alma Tadema-cum-(Jueen Anne choirs and tables, things half Pompeian, half old English. She made delightful corners with old Indian screens, seven-leaved, golden, beautiful ; and she set groups of palms in richest red pottery vases. She knew exactly where all the prettiest things were to be had, and what to order. The (lenie of the Lamp was hardly more expeditious in the art of furnishing. Lashmar was delighted. ' What a sensible idea to use this big old room for living in,' said Lashmar, lolling back in a nest of tawny plush, and looking round at the black and gold screens and vermilion tables and palms and peacock's feathers. ' It was Lady Carminow's idea. You have her to thank for the change.' 'Then I do thank her, most cordially.' *0h, but it is I who ought to be thankful,' cried Clarice. ' I delight in arranging a room. I am almost as oHiciou.-. as Lady Hillborough, who cannot be half an hour iu anyone's drawing room without re-arranging all the chairs. Now, Oriana has a genius for chairs ; but if 1 have any talent it is for corners. How do you like that corner with the seven-leaved screen and the palms ? ' 'It is simply perfection; a haven in which to dream away wintry days, too blissful to regret the summer ; a nook lor a flirtation, for a proposal even. Young ladies on their promotion ought to be very grateful to you, Lady Carminow.' 'J!UT AS '♦'III'; DAYS C1IAN(;K MKX (;iIANi;H TOO ' l83 cried I am 11 not be without genius ' I ilia very fond of nice j^irls,' murmured Clarice, with an air of matronly superiority worthy of a grandmother. Afternoon tea last^^d a long time upon this ])articiihir occasion. It was dusk when the two ladies closed their work-baskets and went off to Jieir own apartments, Lady Lpshmar to secure an hour's rest before she ])ut on velvet and diamonds to recfiive her son's guests, who were all to arrive in time for dinner ; Clarice to waste an hour plea- santly over Olinet or Daudet, or the milder Greville. A few minutes before seven there came a great clanging of doors, and the corridors echoed with strange voices, whereby Lady Lashmar, resting her wearied nerves as best she might, knew that the peo]jle had all come. She could not help listening for Mr, Xestorius's voice amidst that IJabel of mistresses and maids ; and she lu^ard a few words uttered calmly by that mellifluous organ. l)e])th and smoothness W(!re the chief chara(.'teristi(;s of tlu! e\-minist(tr's voice. Soft, grave, iind yet strong weie those tones which had ruled in the senate, which had toiiclied tin; hearts of woiiu^n. I'erhaps it was this voice which had been the most powerful influence in Mr. Nestorius's career. He had that tine fli)W of language and those ever-musical tones which enable a man to talk nonsense unchallenged, nay, latlier to make nonseiise appear logic, or wit, as the orator chose. How reposeful, how soothing .sounded that voice amidst the chatter of the women and the haw- hawing of the men. Captain Vavasour was making as miicii fuss as the noisiest of women, but then, as he had to look after his wife's luggage and his wife's poodle, as well as his own portmanteau, there was some -^xcuse for him. ' 1 wonder how 1 shall get on with these people,* 1S4 ONE THING NEEDKUL thought tlie dowager ; ' they are horribly noisy, and tlieir voices liave a vulgar twang, 'riiank heaven there is Clarico to take tlieni oil' my hands.* At ten minutes to eight she was in the drawing- room, and the strangers were being duly presented to her, as she sat supported on one side by Airs. INFulciber, a spreading woman in a gray satin gown, and by Lady S(jphia Freemantle on the other. Lady Sophia was a tall, well-made young woman, with the square shoulders which were considered intolerable thirty years ago, hut which are permitted and even approved nowadays. She was not hand- some ; she would have scorned to be so. She had a healthy, brunette complexion wliich had been buH'eted bv all the winds of heaven, and shone on by the sun, until it had acquired a peiiuanent bro)i/e aud a harder consistency than belongs to Oio cheek of beauty. She had legular features, a small, sharp nose, and a determined mouth and chin ; a mouth that had grown resolute in ciic(ninter.s with ol)stinate horses, refusing the same ditch thirty times on end, to be beaten by Lady Sophia at the thirty-lirst. She had a loud voice that litid grown strong in con- versations carried on in th.e open air, and often at longish distances — with labouring men at the further side of a field, and sometimes M'ith tramps and wayfarers just within hail ; discussions as to which way the hunted fox had gone ; or as to whether an animal lately seen was or was not the hunted fox. There is always a chance of being deluded by that social inqjostor — the fox out for a quiet airing, and only distinguishable from the real hero by his smug respectable aspect and clean brush. On horseback Lady Sophia looked better than one woman in twenty, not only for her willowy waist or the fit of her haljit, but for the admirable pose of that slim, tall ligure, aud the perfect adjust- 'liUT AS TIIK DAYS CHANGE MEN CIIAXfiE TOO' 185 luont of tliU riJiii' to overy inoveint'iit of tlio liorse. Ill an cvcniiiL,' ^'own Hojihia lookcil l.cr wor.st, and sliii rc^fudc.'d tilt; wlioli; ([lU'sLioii of (^veniui;' ^'owiis ^vilh supvcmc indirHn'eiice. Her dark rud siitin was at least throe seasons old, as J.ady Carmiiiow's k(!eii eye i)i!rceived in an instant, and tlu; colour ^v■;ls niueh too nc:ar the ciirnation ol' tlio wearer's clicek to 1)0 becoming'. Lady Carnunow was at the other end of the (Irawinj^f-rooni, halt' hailed in a ^^i^antie chaii', and .sl(j\vly fanning- hersidl' with a j^aeat ostrich leather fan, while she listened to ]\Ir. Xestorius. She was looking divinely lovely, ller lar;;*', fair bust and shoulders looked daxzlini; in theii- I'arian whiteness a<,Minst the he(l,i,'e-sparrow velvet of her i^own. JledL^e-sparrow had been the fashionable colour of last season. Women had lived and moved and had their bein^' (ady in hedi;o-s])arrow t;o\vns. The colour was that of a hedge-sparrow's egg, be it understood, not of the sparrow himself, a t^urquoise blue with just the faintest greenish tint, a coloiu- which became blondes to perfection ; and as most women are blondes nowadays, or make themselves so, the hue had enjoyed a tremendous vogue. If there was a particularly attractive woman in a room it gener;dly happene(l that ]\Ir. Nestorins and she were together, lie was said to be a magnetic man, and it was an attribute of his magnetism always to draw the nicest women about liiui. Pallid faces and thi'illing tones have an J imost, irresistilde charm for women. Your healthy- L'oking man, with a llorid complexion or a harsh voiee, Uas hardly any chance. It was within two minutes of the hour, and Lady Lashmar wag beginning to look angry, wdien !Mrs. Vavasour came gbding in, clad in a dragLriuL- garment of limp lace and muslin, which might or IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) // // A y^S' i^ y. ^ 1.0 If"- IM I.I 1^ 1^ t tiS, 2.0 1.8 11.25 ill 1.4 ill 1.6 V] <^ /2 7 o / /!^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4503 o V 18G ONE THING NEEDFUL mi "lit not be a gown. Tlicro was that marked disproportion between the lady and her clothes which is so often seen nowadays as to be no longer surprising. Tiie lady was so exuV)erant, and the gown so exiguous, that had it not been for an inmiense garland of Marechal Niel roses, which made a kind of Uower-bed across the amide bust. Lady Lashmar would have been inclined to order the new-comer out of the room. As it was she acknowledged her son's introduction somewhat stillly, gave Mrs, Vavasour the tips of her fingers, and only recognised the lady's husband with a haughty inclination of her head : for it was her ladyshii)'s opinion that when a married woman made a spectacle of herself, the husband was more to blame than the wile. In those circles in which Mrs. Vavasour moved it had been often said that she was utterly charming: but that a stranger retiuired half an hour to get accustomed to her. fShe was certainly pretty ; but that her beauty was either made or marred by art was indisputable. The cloud of golden llulliness which surrounded her head, seeming almost too ethereal for actual hair, the definite line of dark eyebrows, and the lashes clogged with ebon dye, the porcelain whiteness and the rose-leaf bloom were all from the same source ; and a child of four years old could scarcely have l)een innocent enough to mistake the picture for reality, liut the general effect was considered good, and, as Mrs. Vavasour's reputation had never been clouded by the breath of scandal, the lady was caressed and courted, and her little ways were considered charming. Her manner was quite as artificial as her com- plexion. She drawled out her delight at making Lady Lashmar's acquaintance in the latest slang, and 'BUT AS THE DAYS CHANGE MEN' CHANGE TOO' 187 with the lat€'.st abbreviations; Lady Sophia contem- plating her cahnly with her hawk's eyes all the time, as if she had been some new specimen in that animal world of rats, weasels, stoats, Icrrets, polecats, and other unclean vermin which Lord Banbury's daughter knew so intimately. Mr. Nestorius was, of course, entitled to the arm of his hostess, and Lady Carminow to that of her host ; Mr. Ponsonby, the barrister, took !Mrs. Vava- sour, and good-natured j\rrs. Mulciber put up with the Hector, who had been asked, as it were, to open the shooting season with a good old Anglican grace short and unintelligible. Captain Vavasour took in Lady Sophia. They had travelhjd by the same train, and were as friendly as if they had been brought up in the nursery together, Sophia's experience of the hunting-field having given her all the ways of jolly good fellowship ; but this familiarity with the fashionable novelist did not prevent her almost ignoring his wife. ' I am afraid Mrs. ^''avasou^ and I can't have nmch in common,' she said, ducking to get a glimpse of that radiant lady athwart a grove of silver trophies, in the way of racing cups and candelabra. ' She doesn't look as if she hunted,' inwardly adding, ' not an outdoor make-up.' 'And you do nothing else, 1 have henrd,' replied the Captain. ' Well, it is the highest kind of fame to do one thing to perfection.' ' I write a little in my humble way, but it is always about hunting,' said Lady Sophia. 'Then you are "Spur-box," of the "Sunday Swash-buckler," ' cried Vavasour ; ' I have often been told as much.' ' Yes, I am " Spur-box," * admitted the lady, look- ing modestly downward, overcome by the thought of her own fame. 'I rather enjoy writing for the 188 ONE THING NEEDFUL paper. Tlie editor payfs me very well ; and there is only one thing I don't altogether like. He insists that I should always pretend to be tipsy when I am writing, or to have been liorribly tipsy over night.' * Oh ! but that is dc rigucur. It is part of the policy of the paper. All the contributors are supposed to exist in a state of chronic drunkenness. I need not tell you that they are some of the soberest men in London, as temperate as you, Lady Sophia ! ' * It is rather good fun, pretending to be hope- lessly obfuscated.' * What is supposed to be your particular vanity ? ' 'Soda and cura(,'oa. I consume gallons. lam always talking of my little failings. Sometimes I go in for green chartreuse, with fatal results, Eut the editor wants me to dro]) lirpieurs, which, he says, liave a snobbish tone that olfends his liadical subscribers. He wants me to take to dog's-nose. What is dog's-nose ? ' 'A compound of beer and gin, particularly affected by cabmen. Wliat is supposed to be your social status, as Spur-box ? ' ' Oh ! it is awfully vague. I am as misty as a mythological personage. 1 write from all the great hunting centres. Sometimes I am at the George at Grantham, where I seem to live in the bar ; for the editor will put in remarks of his own about drinks, don't you know, and I hardly know my own writing when I see it in ])rint.' ' I comprehend. He embellishes. That is liardly fair ! ' ' I have told him so, but he says that there must be a single mind directing the whole ' * Just so ! as, according to poor old Anchises when his son interviewed him in the under- world, 'HUT AS Till': L)AYs ciiANcr: Mi':.N ciiANciK too' l.S'J tl.:re was at one time a single soul permeating the human race — ' ' Anchises must be dead ! ' said So])liia, who only caught the classic and familiar name. 'Ho won the Derby when I was a little tot. I remember seeing the race from my father's drag. It was tlie year Facile Princeps was favourite, and came in a bad third. Anchises was a mealy chestnut.' The conversation went on at tliis rate all throufjli dinner. Captain Vavasour hunted, and was fond of racing ; was hand in glove with men wlio ke])t racers, and had a good deal to say about the turf. Ho knew old Lord Banbury's history by heart; knew what to say, and what to avoid saying. Lady ►Sophia did not usually like writing men. She thought them conceited and uninteresting ; but the novelist charmed her. lie was in tlie middle of a capital story about Jack Eussell and tlie Exmoor staghounds when Lady Carminow rose swan-like at the beck of her hostess, 'What a buvc ! ' exclaimed Sophia. '1 shall have to go with the lady-pack ' And with the lady-pack the fair Sophia deparied, wondering whether she would tind anyone sociable enough to join her with a cigarette. Ghe carried her cigarette case in her pocket, 'even when she was dressed for the evening; and, in those )leasant houses where ladies were tolerated in tuc oilliard- loom, she always smokec. This was her lirst visit to Lashmar, and j\[rs. JNEulciber had warned her that it was a severe house. Lady Carminow settled herself in a comtortalile arm-chair near Lady Lashmar's ))articular ccn-ner, beside the wide old hearth. These two talked apart and left tiie other three ladies to tlieir own devices. So])hi;i found tiie last Batunlnj licciciv with a npyjting article, and retired V)el).iud that paper. 190 ONE TiriN(; NEEDFIL Mrs. Vavasour slied her artificial radiance upon friendly Mrs. Mulciber, whom she entertained with lier opinions upon the plays and operas of last season, a style of conversation which could not have warmly interested a lady who had not seen one of them. But Mrs. Mulciber was one of those admirable women who always appear to be interested, even when they are inwardly sinking with weariness. She was a deliijhtful listener, had very little to say herself, but said that little in a neat and pleasant manner. She had made her way in the world without advantages of birth or fortune, and with very moderate abilities. Born and bred in the middle classes, the daughter of a village vicar, she had contrived to live all her life in the very best circles, stayi'ig now at one country house, now at anuther ; nou chaperoning an orphan heiress; now keepinfj things straight for an aristocratic household in which the mistress was a dipso-maniac ; anon looking after a widower's young cliildren, or helping in the dirty work of a county election. She was everybody's confidante and everybody's amanuensis. ►She wrote a magnificent hand, and she was good at accounts. She always read the newspapers, and knew everything that was going on in the world ; but her travelling library consisted of only two books — a peernge and a Bible. These she knew by heart, and here her knowledge of literature ended. She had no imagination, and never read novels. Her mind required hard facts. Her notion of leisure was to sit at a window working high art designs of an angular ecclesiastical character upon brown holland, and she was admirable in this wise as the dragon of prudery in a country house full of lovers. For the rest she knew all the latest remedies and palliatives for neuralgia, low spirits, and in- 'MOnnANTO FILLS TIIK THUMP OF FAMF, ' 101 soninia, and was ploasaiitly oflicious in such cases. Her lieadquarters for the last three years had been IJanbury Afanor, where she acted as a deputy motlier for Lady Sophia, whose real mother had run away with a colonel of draf^oons at the mature age of nine and tliirty, mucli to the satisfaction of old Lord lianhury, wlio liad tyrannised over her for ninctcon weary years, and was Itoginning to sicken of a worm which had never turned. CIIArTEIl X 'MOUDANTO FILLS THE TltUMl' OF FAME' It was nearly a week after the arrival of the visitors, and Stella had enjoyed more liberty during that interval than she liad known since she became lier ladyship's reader. She had only been called upon to write a few letters in tlie morning, and to read to Lady Lashmar after ten o'clock in the evening. These nightly readings generally lasted till the small hours : but Stella did not mind that. She was not a person who required much sleep ; and she was about in the dewy park long before the castle breakfast time, and sometimes spent an hour V ith Mr. Verner before breakfast. It was on one of these early visits that she was surprised by the entrance of a stranger, who came unannounced into the cottnge parlour while she ^va3 reading ^Eschylus to her tutor. The visitor was no less a person than Mr. Nestorius, who had unearthed Gabriel Verner the day after his arrival at the castle ; and in whom the old man had welcomed an honoured pupil in the long' 192 ONB T1IIN(; NF.FJJFUL ftrro days of his University career, hcforc ho threw lip a fellowshi]) at jMaodalen to marry the girl or liis choice. Yes, it was Mr. Nestorius who stood in the doorway .smiling to hear the rugged music of the Prometheus i'rom tliose girlish lips. 'So you are still at the old work, Verner!' he said, 'and with a very promising pupil. Will you present me ? ' ' j\Iy dear, this is Mr. Xeotorius. You have heard me talk about Mr. Nestorius.' Stella bowed, blushing deeply. It was the first time that anyone of importance had ever been pre- sented to her. She closed her book, rose hastily, and took up tlie neat little black straw hat which was lier ilivariable licad gear. 'I hope I have not scared you away,' said Ncstorius. ' No, sir ; it is time for me to go back to the castle.' 'Nonsense, child,' said Verner, 'you told me her ladyship would not want you till eleven o'clock. Sit down, and let me tell Mr. Nestorius what a capital Grecian you are.' ' It used to be Edgar in tlie old days,' remon- strated the statesman, putting down his hat and seating himself at the table, covered with books and manuscripts, loose sheets of that vast work which was still in progress. ' But in those days you were an undergraduate and I was a don,' answered Gabriel Verner, shaking his gray head, which was alw:.j.s just a little tremulous, ' and now you are a great statesman and I am a nobody.' ' The interpreter of the Stagirite must always be renowned,' said Nestorius, laying his hand upon a pile of manuscript on the old man's desk. Ho had unearthed his old tutor the day after 'MOKDANTO FILLS THE THUMP OF FAME* 193 his arrival at. Lashmar Castle, and liad spent a fjnod iiiiuiy odd lialt' hours at the cottajfo, talking ovi-r V(!rner's liopes and disajjpointnients, listening with luu'oic ])atiencc to complaints against ])nl)lishers and the reatUng public, mild bewailings of fate, comforting, sustaining, as only he could. If he had been called a magnetic man, it may be that magnetism was l)Ut another name for an intensely sympathetic nature;. Stella looked at him with wondering, earnest eyes, as he sat beside the old tutor's desk. He was a man for whom life was on the wane. He had passed the lloud-tide of lif«^ and fame, and strength and beauty. After some biilliant successes he liad lived to hear himself called a failure; and he had retired from the political arena, ostensibly for ever. There was to be no return. He had done all that in him lay ; and if he had not succeeded in all things, if some of his grandest ideas had been considered the vain dreams of an inspired lunatic, he had at least made himself an im]K'rishal)le name. His fame and personality would stand out for ever in the history of English politics. And now he had retired, to enjoy well earned leisure, with all those delights of the scholarly mind which can only be tasted by hhn who is free of all public duties, who can afford to shut his door on the outer world, who has neither constituents nor patrons to whom he dare not deny himself. Although he had passed tlie prime of manhood he was not yet even an elderly man. He was nearer fifty than sixty ; his hair was still dark, albeit streaked with gray, a sable silvered. His features were large and boldly cut, yet with a refinement of line that made the face eminently classic. The eyes were gray ; not large, and deeply sunk nnder over- shadowing bro\vs ; but they were said to be the 194 ONE THING NEEDFUL most; ex]>ressive eyes in Englnml, terrible in wrath, almost divine in love. Tlie inoulh was lai';,^', but the lips were tliiu aud flexible, hi^di breil lips Tiie clean shaved chin was niassivc!. The hollow cheek indicated thought, and hinted at the night watches of the statesman and the student. Even to Stella, to whom his history was almost a Wank, Mr. Nestorius appeared an interesting man. ' So this is Stella, the young lady of whom I heard from poor Lashmar years ago, when she was a little child.' * You knew Lord Lashmar, sir, my Lord Lashmar,' exclaimed Stella breathlessly. ' Yes ; he and I were great friends, though my original friendship was with her ladyship's side of the house. Poor Lashmar interested me ; he was a remarkable young man.' ' He was the best and noblest man ever lived,* said Stella. ' Within your knowledge, yes. I can understand and admire your grateful affection for him,' answered Nestorius gently. • It was at Harrogate I met him for the last time. You remember, Verner. He was there with you one autumn.' 'We only stayed a few days ; the place did not suit him, and he was anxious to go ba^k to the castle,' said Verner, ' Yes, I remember ; and one of his reasons for that anxiety was the existence of an adopted daughter, a child of seven, about whom he talked to me,' 'He was too good to me,' faltered Stella. ' He has his reward, since you remember him with tears,' said Nestorius. * Yes, he told me his scheme of education, and how receptive he had already found your voung mind, what great things Lord 'MORDANTO FILLS THE TRUMP OV FAME* 195 lie IiojxmI from its later devclo])m(iiit ; and all thoso 1ioik;s wciH! cut short l»y liis mitiinely death. J>ut I 11111 ^dad to siM^ tliat ^Ir. Yin'ner has carried on his inqtil's work.' ']\[i'. Vernorha.s made my lil'u liapjiy,' said Stella. ' 1 shuuld have been quite miserable without him.' ' Xot very llatteriiiL; to her ladyship,' remarked ^Ir. Nestorius, lookini;- at her thouj^htl'ully, that keen eye of his iiotiiijf the black stull' ^own and linen collar, the utter of absence of j^drlish ornament ; notin<^ too, the unnatural t^a-avity of the small, pale face, with those wondrous star-like eyes ; notinf^' the exquisite sli.ipe of the head, and that coronal of blue-black hair. ' I am grateful for Lady Lashmar's ' She was ,t,'oing to say kindness, but her self-respect revolted at a word that would have been a lie, and she ended her sentence with * toleration.' 'And you really read (Ireek?' asked the statesman. ' I read it and love it.' 'No modern languages, I presume.' 'French and German, and a little Italian.* 'You are a very wonderful young person.' ' I have had nothing to live for except books. I should have been idle and worthless if I had not learnt a good deal from such a kind and patient master.' She had her small, slender hand caressingly upon Verner's shabby coat-collar, and he looked up at her with inefiable love in his dim old eyes. ' She has been sight to the blnid,' he said. * She has been my consolation, and I have been hers, under, perhaps, not altogether generous treatment. And now her ladyship finds that tiiv ; ,irl whom she counted as a burden is the most useful of all her dependents.' I'JG ONE TllINO NEKHFUL 'Yes, I liavc lipanl tliat you am Lady Lashmav's reader. Lady (Jarniinow tdld iiie iiljuut you. And now if you arc; ;^oiiipeared altogether, leaving his books and baggage and a sheaf of tradesmen's bills on his table. He was heard of three years afterwards travelling in Spain, a student of Tiomany and the companion of gipsies, following in the footsteps of Borrow, without the Bible. I never heard of him after- wards.* ' His last incarnation was as a working engineer iu Brnnim,' said Lashmar. 'It was always sup- posed th 're that he hud married a gipsy ; but J had iiuiigined the common type of English race- course IJomany, not the more romantic Gitana. That idea of a Spanish alliance would account for Stella's dark eyes and blue-black hair.' ' She is a most interesting girl,' murmured Nestorius, with a dreamy air. Lady Carminow ielt offended. She had no ulterior views al)Out Mr. Xestorius, but she would have liked him to languisii under the spell of her fatal beauty ; at least, so long as they two were staying under one roof. ^Vllerever she was it behoved her to be first. She had a particular dislike to learned women, and hated to hear a woman admired on account of mental graces ; perhaps from an underlying consciousness that her own mind was the poorest thing about her. ' I must know more of this very interesting girl ! ' exclaimed ^Irs. Mulciber, in her round com- fortable voice. ' Why cannot we have her to tea of an afternoon ? ' Mrs. Mulciber wished to stand well with Mr. Xestorius ; firstly, because he was a great man in the abstract, and it would be pleasant to bo able 202 ONE TIIINCr NEEDFUL to describe him as her particular friend ; and secondly, because she did not believe that his retire- ment from public life would be eternal. Tlie day might come when the student would again be prime minister, and then it would bo well to have gratiiied the great man's little whims, and to be remembered as a pleasant, serviceable person. ' Why not indeed ! ' exclaimed Mrs, Vavasour. * It would be capital fun. She would be copy for Vav. He could put her into one of his books.' Vav — pet name of his wife's — looked daggers. He hated to have his books talked about ; most of all to have them talked about by Mrs. Vavasour, who never read tliem, and who had the credit of writing them. That suggestion that everything in life was to be ' copy ' for him ; that he had no ideas of his own, but must go about the world character-stalking, was positively maddening. 'I never put actual people in my books,' he said. ' Quite true,' muttered Nestorius, aside to Lady Carrainow, ' his characters are anything but actual people.' ' It would not be at all right to have the girl here as a kind of laughing-stock,' .,. A Clarice, with a magnanimous air, as if she were defending the absent. ' Not by any means as a laughing-stock, only as something fresh and bright and original,' argued Mrs. Mulciber. ' But she is only a kind of servant,' urged Clarice. ' It would be cruel to unsettle her mind.' ' I think her mind is too well furnished to 'MORDANTO FILLS THE TRUMP OF FA^^IE ' 203 be imsettled by a cup of afternoon tea,' said Nestorius ; ' a kind of servant Avho knows lialf a dozen languages is not likely to remain loni^ a servant, liely ujion it tliat girl will strike out some career for herself before she is much older. She has been in bondage hitherto, but she has made good use of her bondage.' j\Irs. !Mulciber pounced upon Stella in the corridor on the following afternoon, introduced herself with affectionate familiarity, and wanted to take the girl to the library. ' We all want you to come to tea,' she said. ' Mr. Nestorius has been telling ns how clever and how nice you are.' To her siu'prise Stella flatly refused. 'I used almost to live in that room when T was a child,' she said. ' It is there I most vividly remember Lord Lashmar — my Lord Lashmar. His ghost haunts the room I could not bear to hear talk and laughter, and to see strange faces there.' ' You are a very foolish girl,' said .1\Irs. ]\Tulciber, with her kindly common - sense tone. ' Your life must be hideously dull, a positive slavery, the hard work without the privileges of an upper servant ; and here is an op])orl unity for improving your position, and getting your superiority recognised by the very best people.' 'I don't care for the best people,' the girl answered bluntly. ' Tiiey are nothing to me. 1 would rather be with iSIr. Verner than with the finest of Lady Lashmar's friends.' * You forget that Mr. Nestorius is among those very people. To know such a man is a liberal education.' ' Mr. Nestorius is very clever, and very 204 ONE THING NEEDFUL kind — but I would ratlier see liini at Mr. Vomer's cottage than among the fine people downstairs.' * You are incorrigible,' oxclaimod ]\Irs. Mulciber. ' Your only chance of ever getting on in the world is knowing smart people.' ' Then I shall never get on, for I hate smart people.' As she spoke there was a vision in her mind of a long-vanished day. She recalled tliat afternoon in the library — the girlish graceful figure clad in tawny silk and scarlet sasli ; the bright beaming face turned to her, the pitying hand from which she had shrunk as from something unclean ; and her own image in a black frock, skimpily made, common. She had keenly felt the sting of her own unbeauteousness as contrasted with tliat radiant vision. She would have felt it even if Lord Lashmar had not denounced her as ugly and ill-mannered. She had been both — she was both even yet perhaps, although she had been able to get on so well with Mr. Nestorius. These mighty souls are indulgent to ugliness and bad manners. Did not Plato and uU the best men in Athens put up with Socrates ? So did she argue with herself, and nothing would induce her to accept Mrs. Mulciber's invitation. ' She is Vt'hat our neighbours call farouche' said that worlliy woman, when she announced her failure. ' She is very much at liome with Homer and A^irgil, but she is afraid of us.' Xothing more was said about Stella. Captain Vavasour had kindly consented to read a short story which he had just written for Harper, a story of the upper currents, and to listen and to criticise absorbed everybody's attentioD. Tea, muilins, short- 'MOUDANTO FILLS THE THUMP OK FAME* 205 Itread, sentiment, lUuIdliism, pleasantly occupied the afternoon hour. In the evening, the Vavasours started games : dumb crambo, charades, clumps, the usual kind of thing. ^Ir. Xestorius excelled at (hinib cram1)o. It was an attribute of his all-roundism. The vicl- scitirf man must stoop from Oreek to games, from the iate of nations to hunt-the-slipper. Lashmar detested this kind of fooling, so he wont off to the library and plunged into the thrilling pages of Hansard. He was interested in a factory bill that was to come on next session, the everlasting question of right and wrong between employers aiul employed, and he wanted to make himself master of the sul)ject. It behoved him, as one having much property in Brumm, to be a friend of the operative, albeit setting his face steadily against all innovations that smacked of socialism. He had begun to read after ten o'clock, and ho read on till after twelve, by which time the house- party had finished their games and retired for the night, Mr. Nestorius yawning tremendously directly he escaped from that appreciative circle of which he had been the life. Deep in the report of a case of trade-union !:yranny, which had gone aluiost as far as nmrder and quite as far as arson, Lashmar was unconscious of the opening u: ri door near him, and only looked up from his b^'k when ho felt a sudden brigliLcinug of the light in front of him. It was his mother's sl^ve, stantliiig there in her black gown, with a candle in her hand, ' 1 came to look for a book for her ladyship. I did not know you were here, my lord,' she faltered, startled at finding any one iu u rtom she had expected to find empty. 206 ONE THING NEEDFUL ' Tan I help you ? What Look is it ? ' • Sir Thomas IMallory. The Mort cV Arthur.' ' Why, that is the very book / l)egaii Lashmar, and tlieu stopped abru)»tly, with a smile, lookiuif at the pale grave face in front of him, wliich gave no answering smile. It was the very hook she had been reading seven years ago, perched on the ladder yonder at the other end of the room. Involuntarily he glanced towards the spot, shrouded in deepest shadow. ' There is another copy,' she said ; ' I know where to find it.' She went to a shelf a little way off, and selected a small octavo. ' I have been reading the " Idyls of the King " to her ladyship, and she wishes to hear the story of Launcelot and Elaine in the old romance,' she explained. * It used to be a favourite story of yours when you were a child, I think,' said Lashmar. He had been looking at her deliberately while she found her book and moved quietly towards the door, looking at her with the thought of what Mr. Nestorius had said about her in his mind. One thing was certain. The ugly child — if ugly she had ever been — had grown into a very interesting woman. He did not know whether to call her beautiful. The small features were deli- cately moulded, but tliey had not the statuesque beauty of Lady Carminow's outline. The little nose inclined to the retrousse, the lips were too thin for loveliness — lips of Minerva rather than of Venus — lips of Sibyl or mystic rather than of lovable woman. The complexion was a pale olive, that tint wliich suggests bronze rather than marble. The hair was blue-black, lustrous, heavy. The eyes were the most glorious orbs that Lashmar ever the 'MORDANTO KILLS TIIR TRUMP OF FAME' 207 vcmenibercd to hiivc looked upon ; eyes full of thought and full of pride ; eyes of a queeu, and of a queen who would rule her kingdom. lie looked at her gown, the ])lack merino gown, with its plain straight skirt and demi- train; just such a gown as every housemaid at Lashmar wore of an afternoon. His mother had not been over-indulgent to her dead step-son's y raid gee. He opened the door for her. ' Do you know that it is past twelve o'clock ? ' he said. 'I suppose your duties are over for to-night ? ' • No ! I shall be reading for some hours,' perhaps. Her ladyship is such a bad sleeper.' ' llather hard upon you ! ' ' Not at all. I am fond of reading, and I am always interest 3d in the books her ladyship chooses.' She was leaving him with only a slight bend of the graceful head. • Good-night ! ' he said. ' Good-night, my lord.' She was gone, and he stood riveted where she had left him. • So that is the tawny- visaged brat, with the goblin eyes, that my poor brother brought into the Castle in his arms that midsummer night nearly iifteen years ago,' he said to himself. 'Poor old Lash ! how proud he would have been of his l)iiutliug if he had lived to see her as she is to- night. A girl who warms an ex-prime minister to enthusiasm ; a girl who, for distinguished looks and pride of mien, could hold her own in any coterie in London, Paris, or Vienna. And she has grown up to this under my mother's stringent rule.' 208 ONE THINO NEEDFUL And then goiufj back to llansartl, and findini^ it impossible to revive his interest in trade-unionism and Mary Anne, he said to liiniself: ' She looks as il' she had a temper — just the same kind of temper that made her ilout Clarice, seven years ago, in tliis very room. Siie looks as if she had nerves. AVhy doesn't ray mother let her go out into the world ? It is like chaining an eogle to keep her herfe.' He heard voices — a grave baritone — a subdued contralto — on the terrace, under his window, at eight o'clock next morning, and looking out saw Mr. Nestorius and Stella walking up and down, in apparently earnest conversation. * She is as much at her ease with him as if she had been reared among Cabinet jMinisters,' he said to himself. ' I hope he won't turn her head.' Nestorius was talking to Stella of her father, a theme that thrilled her. No one until this hour had ever spoken that name since Hubert Lashmar's death, and Lord Lashmar had always been reticent upon this one subject, shrinking from all ques- tioning. ' And 5'ou really knew him,' she exclaimed with delight, 'You were at the University with him ? ' ' Yes, I knew him well, and admired his gifts, which were great. He was an original genius, and in a world where all things are growing old and stale that ouglit to count for much. Is it many years since — since you lost him ? * Mr. Nestorius had a dim recollection of some tragical story connected with Lashmar's adoption of an orphan child, and he touched the subject apprehensively. * He is not dead,' the girl answered eagerly, paling at the question. ' At least, I have never 'MORDANTO FILLS THE TRUMP OF FAME' 200 linj; it onism ^t the ilarice, oka as let her a eogle iibdiicd ow, at at saw own, ill s if she he said » father, lis hour shinar's reticent 11 ques- cclaimed ty with lis gifts, genius, old and it many of soin<; option of subject heard of liis death ; and I always think of him and pray for him, and dream of him as living. I see his face in my dreams often, though I was such a cliild when he went away.' ' He went away ! ' repeated Mr. Nestorius wonderingly. 'Yes, very, very far away. I think he must have gone to Australia ; but Lord Lashmar would never tell me much. Perhaps he thought I should think my father cruel for leaving me ; but I knew him too well to think that. He must have been in trouble of some kind — great trouble — or he would not have gone without me. And then came the fire, and Lord Lashmar saved my life, and adopted me as his own little girl.' ' Did your father leave long before the fire ? ' ' I can't remember. All that part of my life seems like a dream. I woke one morning and saw green trees and gardens and a river. It was like waking up in fairyland. That was the beginning of my life at Lashmar. I know my father was very unhappy. The world had used him hardly, he said, and I think my mother's death must have broken his heart. He told me once that she died of a broken heart. "You are to remember that when you are a woman," he said. " liemember that your Remember this too : I used to say the to myself before I ve eagerly, never mother's heart was broken. Fathers have flinty hearts," words over and over again knew what they meant.' ' There was some history behind that ! ' mused Nestorius, deeply interested. 'And so you think your father went to Australia?' ' Only because Lord Lashmar said he had gone very, very far away. He would hardly have said that of America, which seems so near nowadays.' 'No! he would hardly have said as much of 210 (^NR TIlINCc NFEDFUIi America. But surely if your father were living lie would have connnunicatecl with you — he would liave sent some one in search of you — would have made some inquiries about you, in all tlu'sc years.' ' Oh ! i)lease don't try to make me helieve that he is dead,' the girl pleaded, with an agonised look. * In all these years my only comfuit lias been to think of him as living ; winning his way to fortune in a new country ; waiting until he had made liis fortune to come home to me. That has been my only day-dream. It is the only hope I have in this life. Don't spoil it for me.' Her hands were clasped, her eyes streaming with tears. Never since Hubert's death had she spoken of her father. She forgot that ^Mr. Nestorius was a great man and almost a stranger to her. She bared her girlish heart to hira. ' Not for worlds would I dispel a sweet delusion, dear child, oven if it is but a delusion!' he answered gently. * But you must not talk of life l)eing empty of hope for you. At your age the future is full of glorious possibilities. Ah, if I were only as young as you and as gifted ! Come now, be frank with me. You must have ambition. "Vou do not mean always to be her ladyship's reader ; to fossilize in that position.' 'No, no, indeed,' exclaimed Stella, and then, freely as she would have talked to Gabriel Verner, she told Mr. Nestorius her dream of the future ; a cottage beside the Avon, with faithful Betsy for her housekeeper, friend, companion; an abundance of books, and her pen us the source of her income. All shP! wanted was a complacent publisher who would buy her books. 'You have an idea that you could write if you tried,' said Nestorius, knowing that tlu^ dreams of youth are for the most part only dreams. fowl intd 'MOltDANTO FILLS Tlir THUMI' 01" TAMF.' 211 ' I have been wiiLiiiL; ever .sinoe I was thirtei'ii years (»lil/ slie answiTed gravely. ' You boL,'au with the first yoar of your teens. That was early. Wliat have you written?' 'Verses first, stories in riiynie, like Scott's — I don't mean like his, for mine are not to bo niinied beside "Marniion" or tiie " jNlinstrel" — only on tliat ]dan. [ blush to remember all the nonsense 1 have written.' ' Did you ever show your verses to Mr. Yerner?' 'Never, lie is all that is good and dear, and a great scholar, but he is very matter-of-fact, lie would have read my numuscript jjatieutly from the lirst line to the last, and would have said : " j\ly dear, this is not so good as Homer," or something to that effect, I shall never show my poor verses to any one, but they consoled me while I was writing them. But I have written two or three stories, which I do not think can bo much worse than the worst of the novels Mudie sends her ladyship.' ' Let me see one of your stories, immediately,' said Nestorius eagerly. ' What a wonderful girl you are ; and you have written for years, alone in your room, day after day.' ' Night after night,' said Stella ; ' I had no time to write in the day. The night has been always my own.' * And you began to write, and you have gone on writing without encouragement, or help, or counsel of any kind ? You are a wonderful girl, llo and "get me one of your books immediately.' ' Will you really be so good as to look at a few pages and to tell me frankly if it is quite intolerable rubbish ? ' ' I will tell you the truth in all honour ; and if your story is as good as I think it must be, it ONE THING NEEDFUL shall be published, even if I have to turn publislier and produce it myself. And tliat will be the first step towards independence and your cottage by the Avon,' added Nestorius, smiling down at her. Her cheeks glowed and her eyes brightened at the idea. Except from old Gabriel Verner, she had received no such kindness since her benefactor's untimely death. She looked up at the statesman with eyes that overflowed with grateful tears, tears of joy fulness this time. ' How good you are,' she faltered ; * if you are as good to other people as you have been to nie, no wonder ' She stopped, blushing at her own boldness, suddenly remembering the gulf between them. ' No wonder what ? ' ' Xo wonder that you are the most popular man in England, in or out of office. At least,' falteringly, 'that is what Lady Lashmar said of you the other day.' ' Lady Lashmar is very kind. But I am not so interested in other people as I am in you, Stella. I may call you Stella, may I not ? You were intro- duced to me by that name.' ' I have no other name here. My father's name is forbidden, as if it were an evil thing, because he was a JJadicai.' 'Stella is enough. It expresses you admirably. And now go and get me your story. The one you like best. I will read it before luncheon, and if you can meet me in the afternoon at dear old Verner's, I will tell you honestly what I think of it. Perhaps I shall have to say that you have produced no situation quite so good as Priam's supplication to Achilles for the body of Ifector.' Stella smiled, and went meekly to obey her patron. She returned in five minutes, breathless, bringing a 'MOKDANTO FILLS THE TRUMP OF FAJIE' 213 she tor.' ■ patron, iiigiug a manuscript, which was thick enough to be formid- able. But it was written very clearly in a neat and somewhat masculine hand, a penmanship modelled upon that of the late Lord Lashmar, who had been as a god to Stella. Slie had cherished every scrap of his writing she had trained her- self to write like him. Mr. Nestorius was not appalled by the bulk of the manuscript, lie was an enthusiast in all things great and small, and took up every cause with a like earnestness. ' Your story is longer than I expected,' he said ; ' I shall not have finished it by this afternoon ; but 1 shall be able to tell you something about it.' He v/ent off to his dressing-room after break- fast, pretending to have letters to write, drew an arm-chair to the fire, and read Stella's manuscript. He had not read twenty pages before he started up from his chair and began to walk up and down the room rapidly, as he alwoys did when deeply moved. He felt like a discoverer, almost as Columbus must have felt when he found America. ' The girl is a genius,' he told himself de- lightedly. * There is a power in this, there is a freshness that means genius. She inherits Bold- \\ood's originality. His audacity too. This is a story that people will read.' it was a story by a writer suckled at the purest: founts — a writer whose fancy had never been wasted on the visions of minor seers. The girl who had read Homer and Virgil, and Dante and fJoethe, and jMilton and Shakespeare from her childhood, had started with advantages rarely possessed by the writing young woman. Her style had never been vitiated by evil examples, her mental eye had never been dazzled by tinsel. Her English was true and clear imd vigorous. Every sentence went 214 O.XE THING XKl'Dl'LL home to the mark, lik(3 a well-aimed arrow to the goal. Her thoughts, when not purely original, were culled unconsciously from the noblest sources. Her plot, her characters were all her own ; but she had learnt character-painting from Homer and Shakespeare, plot-weaving from those Greek dramatists who have given us all the elements of dramatic fiction ; and youth, with its poetry and enthusiasm, its ardent love and uncompromising hate, glowed in every page. The story could only have been written by a young woman ; and only one young woman in a thousand could have written such a story. 'The girl has a fortune in her pen,' said Mr. Nestorius, ' in an age when strong fiction is one of the necessit? s of life — like strong drink. Poor child!. she can afford to shake tlio dust of Lashmar Castle from her feet as soon as she likes.' Yet when he met Stella at Mr. Verner's cottage two or three hours later, the great man was laudably moderate. ' Your book will do, Stella,' he said. 'I shall send it to my own publisher directly I have finished reading it. There is tragedy condng, I see : the inexorable fates are dogging your heroine's steps. Why could you not give us a ha])py ending, like that of " Alcestig " ; ' ' I wrote the stoiy as it came to me,' she said : ' T felt that when loJanthe was so happy some evil must be coming : think how happy my lite seemed when tliose horses ran away.' ' Ah ! poor child, your life has been too full of tragedy. The comedy is all to come — fame, and fortune, and true love ' — with a faint sigh. 'That vivid pen of yours may win you all good things.' * It has consoled me wlien 1 should have been 'BUT ALL IlKK TIES THE STUON(i INVADER lUiOKE* lil3 miserablo if I liad been oMiged to tliink about myself,' answered Stella. * And do you really, really tliink the story is M'orth printing, sir ? ' she asked, with child-like diflidence. ' I am sure of it. Your heroine is not one of those invertebrate puppets that languish and swoon through a fashionable novel. She is a creature of flesh and blood, as much alive as you are yourself. She is sure to find friends — and eneniies, which is still better ; for foes talk louder than friends, and talk means fame.' CHArTER XI 'BUT ALL HER TIES THE STRONG INVADER BROKE* Lord Lashmar, having a keen and curious mind, had watched that interview between the states- man and her ladyship's reader, and had marvelled much what they had been talking about. There had been dramatic action, too, tliat had puzzled him. Stella's clasped hands, and face uplifted lappealingly to Nestorius. Wliat could it all mean { lie thought about it during the morning's battue, and shot other people's birds with a reck- lessness that drew down reproof from his guests. ' It isn't English hospitality to take a man's bird from under his nose,' said Captain Vavasour whereupon Lashmar owned that he had been wool- gathering. 'You'd better wake up, old man,' suggested the banister, ' or you njay be tiring at one of us next. 216 ONE THING NEEDFUL I've been told that I am rather like an old cock pheamnt. Everybody is like something zoological, don't you know. Vavasour is like a sheep, and you have a look of an eagle, or a falcon — fierce, rest- less, unsatisfied.' Mr. N'jstorius came in late to afternoon tea, to find the saooters established round the fire, Lady Sophia among them, in a corderoy shooting-gown with picturesque buttons, while the other women lan- guished in tea-gowns and took credit to them- selves that they were not as that publican. Every woman is proud of her own particular line, whatever it is. The feminine woman is proud of her pretty limpness and little affectations ; the masculine woman is proud of her mannishness ; the ignoramus rejoices that she is not a blue-stocking ; while the bookish damsel scorns her unlettered sister. Hence universal self-satisfaction. Women envy one another their gowns and their jewels, their carriages, drawing-rooms, and lovers ; but every woman thinks her own per- sonality the best. Blouzabella would hardly change faces with Mrs. Langtry. *l*ray where have you been hiding yourself all day, Mr. Nestorius ? ' asked Clarice, with an offended air ; ' except for a brief appearance at luncheon, we have seen nothing of you.* 'Life is not all pleasure, Lady Carminow,' he answered, with an air of meaning much more than he said, that little affectation of suppressed feeling which is the most acceptable flattery to a sensible woman. ' I had letters to write, and papers to read all the morning, and I spent the after- noon with my old friend Verner.' * Why is not Mr. Verner asked to the Castle ? ' exclaimed Lady Carminow, turning suddenly to Lord I ashmar. ' He is evidently the most attractive person in the neighbourhood. This is not the first r.UT ALL llEU TIES THE STRONG INVADER BROKE' 217 occasion on which he has deprived us of the society of Air. JSTestorius.' ' An old book- worm does not generally exercise that kind of magnetism unaided,' answered Lashmar, with a faint sneer ; ' but I think to-day there was a feminine element, Mr. Nestorius has taken it into his head to be interested in ray brother's protegee, and I believe she spends all her leisure with old Verner.' ' She was with him this afternoon,' said Nestorius. 'Yes, I am deeply interested in her. I have not been so much interested in any woman since ' 'Not since your dissolution,' interrupted Lady Carminow innocently. There was an awkward pause, for at the time of that unexpected and fatal dissolution, it had been said that Mr. Nestorius was influenced by a feminine counsellor ; and that if, as his admirers alleged, Nestorius was a prophet, there was also a prophetess — a sibyl behind the curtain, giving forth mystic breathings, words of wisdom, but always just a little too far in advance of the time. The statesman seemed sublimely unconscious of that sudden silence. ' Yes ; the girl is altogether remarkable — a creature of exceptional bringing up and of ex- ceptional talent. Your brother's influence upon so young a child is a remarkable fact in psychology. I must have a long talk with you about t*liis girl and her destiny, Lashmar.' ' I am quite ready to discuss that thrilling question. Lut I believe she is fairly provided for ia this house, and as she is useful to my mother, I do not see any necessity for disturbing the status quo.' This came oddly from a man who only last 21S ONE THINC; NEKDI'LL night had compared StelUi's condition to that uT a chained eaglet. * Tiiat is rather a selfish view of the question,' said Nestorins. ' T should be sorry to deprive Ladj' Lashniar of an admirable reader ; but there are plenty of mediocre young women in tlie world who can read aloud ; and I think Miss Boldwood is a genius, and ought not to waste the best years of her life in dependence and drudgery.' ' Has she been complaining to you ? ' asked Lash- mar sharply. 'Xot by one word, not by so much as a sug- gestion ; but she has done me the honour to confide in me, as a friend of the man who has educated her. She tells me that her father is not dead — or that she has never had tidings of his death.' ' Her father is as dead as Queen Anne. lie lost his life in trying to save hers, poor beggar. She was not five years old at the time, and her passionate grief for the father made such an impression upon my brother that he had not the heart to tell her the truth. He paltered with her, told her that her father had gone away to a distant country ; they would meet again — yes, in years to come she would see liim again. He meant in the land of shadows ; she accepted the promise as gospel truth, and Lash never had the cinirage to undeceive her — tliere was so much of the woman about him, poor fellow! He warned all the servants against letting out the true story of the lire, threatened me with his lasting displeasure if T ever blurted out tlie truth, implored my mother to be silent : and as neither her ladyship nor I could endure the sight of his 2)roti'gfc, tliere was Jiot much fear that either of us would be talking to her about her father. I don't think 1 saw the child half a dozen times during poor Lashmar's life. For oue reason gr£ to nif ']]UT ALL IIKU TIES TIIK STKONt; INVADER IJUOKi;' LM'J that of iiestion,' ire Lady icro aru irld who 3od is a years of ed Lasb- is a su<,f- > confide educated dead — h.' He lost ;ar. She and her such an not the vith her, a distant years to neant in ■or.iise as )nra|:;e to i woman ! servants the lue, if T ever lother to r 1 conlil not ni^icU lier about ,lf a dozen )iie reason I was sehlom here, and for another his ways were not my ways. Those three innocents — my brother, ohl Verner, and the child — used to lead a kind of Arca- dian existence, like shepherds in aYirgilian eclogue.' 'To undeceive her now would Ik; cruel,' said Xestorius gravely. ' Her idea of her lather's exist- ence is a consoling hallucination. As she grows older and knows more of the world doul)t will arise, and then sad certainty that they two can never meet more on earth, i'oor Bold wood, I can see liim now, rushing along Holy well in his rag of a gown. A tall, Herculean figure, a face like a Titan's, ugliness and ])Ower curiously combined. He had line eyes, I remember, but not her eyes. They are Southern.' ' The legacy of the Gitana, no doubt. By-the-by I found something among my brother's hoards that may interest you — Boldwood's relics — only a miniature and some charred pa])ers utterly un- readable.' ' AVho know^s wliether wo might not get them read : experts contrive to decipher even a charred manuscript nowadays. I should like to examine Boldwood's relics.' ' You can do so whenever you like. Such a philanthropic curiosity ought to be satisfied,' answered Lasbinar smilingly. He made believe to laugh at the statesman's kindly enthusiasm ; but he was not the less angry. Had not he and his mother set their faces from the very outset against this waif of Brumm gutters, this spawn of liudicalism ; and, lo, she was perked up before them as the offspring of a Balliol under- gra(hiate, a man of good family and gentle breeding; a fallen angel, but certainly angelic ; one of tliat starry host whicdi liurke registers and society agrees to consid(U' worthy. Such an one may fall veiy low, may labour among journeymen, nuiy cast in Ir's lot 220 ONE TIIINO NEEDFUL with rebels and socialists, but there is always soine- thiog of the original blue blood, a narrow streak of the divine ichor which distinguishes the gently born. One can forgive so much in a man whose ancestors were worthy. Lashraar was deeply wroth with the statesman. It seemed to him as if Mr. Nestorius had only come to the Castle to reverse the existing order of things, to bring the sediment to the surface. ' He is the same everywhere and in everything,' he said to himself. ' He sweeps away all the old land marks. He cannot spend a week in a country house, without hatching a revolution.' Not a word did Nestorius say of Stella's author- whip. He had promised her that her literary attempts should remain a secret between those two alone — the publisher was to know nothing of his author's personality. The reading world was to get neither real name nor 7i07ii de plume. The book was to be issued anonymously. It would tell its own story. Mr. Nestorius deserted the drawing-room that evening, withdrew quietly while Lady Carminow was playing Schumann, and lulling every one to a delicious repose, after an admirable dinner, a dreamy languor broken by low murmurs of con- versation. It was not that the statesman was indifferent to Schumann, exquisitely played. Music was one of the facets of his many-sided mind. Eut to-night he had another and keener interest. He went straight to the library, where he found Lashmar, still toiling at Hansard. ' Are you reading up the factory question ? ' he asked lightly ; ' that's a pity. Your full man never tells in debate. Just get an inkling of your subject, my dear fellow, and flash out a few stray facts, at random, like the rays of a bull's-eye- 'BUT ALL IIEII TIES THE STRONG INVADER BROKE' 221 lantern. You know what you want, and w])at your factory people ought to Wivnt. Don't ruin your case with statistics and liard facts. Touch and lEjo, man, touch and go.' ' I will be as touch and go as I can ; but I should like to know the extent of the evil I want to legislate against.' 'My dear Lashmar, you can never legislate against the liberty of the operative — his divine right to sell his labour in the best market.' ' And to plot murder, and to conspire with his fellow-workers to bring about the ruin of his employer.' 'That's all nonsense. I. mean the conspiracy. Murder is an occasional accident. There is no such thing as conspiracy. Thews and sinews are worth what they will fetch ; and if men can make more of their labour by co-operation, they are right to co-operate. The fact remains that the employe!" generally gets rich and the workman invariably remains poor.' 'Employers are occasionally ruined.' ' By their own vices or extravagances, not by trade losses. They spend a hundred thousand pounds upon pictures and another hundred thousand in feasting their superiors, and then they go bank- rupt. But is the operative to work for less than his labour is worth in the best market in order that his employer may build himself a palace and entertain the landed gentry? No, Lashmar, union is strength, and trade-unionism is the only defence of the penniless against the millionaire. But I didn't come here to argue, I want you to show nie those papers.' ' What papers ? ' asked Lashmar, pretending not to understand. • Boldwood's relics,' 900 OXK TIIINl^ NKEPrUL ' IIow koon yoii arc. Upon my word you have all the eagerness of a boy.' Lasliuiar rose and went to a Chippendale cabinet, one of the gems of the library. It was the place in which his brother had kept all his private letters, and Lashmar had explored it six months after he came into his iidieritance, curiously, sadly. That blighted and barren lite had left fewest memorials. No woman liad ever loved the hunchback lord, despite that sweetly pensive face of his, and a relinenient that was almost womanly. It might have been that he had in him the power to win love and to keep it, but he had never tested that power ; he had kept himself aloof from all feminine com])anionship until he took lioldwood's orphan child for Jus plaything. The tin case was opened and the packet of papers laid on the table. * These can be deciphered, I believe,' said Nestorius: 'they are only scorched and blackened by smoke, not charred. 1 am going up to London on business to-morrow ; will you allow me to tak(^ these with me and place them in tlie hands of an expert for transcription ? ' ' If you really think it worth wliile. They may be papers of no importance — letters from duns, perhaps.' ' lioldwood would hardly have kept them in that tin case unless they were of sonu^ consequence. They may tli'ow a light upon his life abroad — upon his marriage.' ' And on Stella's birth. I understand ! It is your interest in her which makes you eager to thid out all you can about her father.' ' Naturally. My interest is in the living, not in the dead.' He opened the case and looked at the miniature. 'BUT ALL IIKi; THIS THK STKONf; IXVADER P.HOI^r.' 22P» 'Stella's eyes!' ho said, 'and tho outline of Stella's cheek and chin. This must have been lit-r orandfatlier.' ' Vou jump at conclusions quickly!' 'The fact seems obvious, lioldwood married in Spain. This is tiie lace of a Spaniard. A Spanish snip made this coat. Oh, 1 know the country of J)on (^)uixotc, from Gibialtar to Biscay,' * 1'hat is hardly the portrait of a .qipsy.' ' Of course not, nor has your brother's protfgi'e any of the characteristics of f,'ii)sydom. There is nothing of the nomad .about her. I'ride, not craft looks out of tliose splendid eyes. She comes of an old race, rooted in the land. Never came such an off-shoot as that from a wandering tribe of low-caste Indians. But these smoke-blackened letters may tell us something.* * If they can be deciphered. ' If they can be deciphered ? Why, it was but the other day when the calcined registers of the J'arisian Eeoord Office were transcribed by Parisian experts. There can be no difficulty about deci- phering these.' CHAPTEll XII 'all iikr sriKiTs IX A flame' Lady Lash m ah was tlie last to hear of the interest •which her dependent had awakened in the mind of her most distinguislied visitor, but she did ultimately hear it from Lady Carminow who informed her in one breath that Mr. Nestorius had been making an absurd fuss about Stella, and in the next that it was no wonder he had all but shipwrecked the country. ' He is always in extremes,' said Latly Lashmar with a vexed air. * It is like asking a firebrand into one's house. He is all poetry and nonsense. That pale face and mouse-like demeanour of Stella have caught his fancy. Of course, she is sly — these quiet girls always are sly. And she has lost no time in making up to the greatest man who has ever come her way.' ' Would you think she would have so much knowledge of the world, brought up in seclusion as she has been ? ' ' Cunning takes the place of knowledge. Old Verner has told her that Nestorius is a power, and she immediately makes up to Nestorius. She has a delightful voice, and I like her to read to me, but 1 really tlunk I must get rid of her. I'm afraid she is an agitating person, and with my wretched health, I cannoC afford to be agitated.' 'ALL IIRR SPIIIITS IN A I- LAME' 225 ' Lord Liishmar is positively fingry at the ridiculous fuss Mr, Nestorins is niakinj* about the i;iil,' pursued Lady Carrainow vindictively, ' I could see it ill lijs maimer at tea yesterday. It is so like a radical to come into a house and go into raptures about a servant. I wonder if he will discover any more geniuses among the housemaids. I'm sure the girl who attends to my bath has a very intelligent countenance.' While Lady Curmiriow was fuming at the in- solence which could see any cliarms except her own, the mild Mrs. Mulciber was trying to make friends with Jonathan Boldwood's daughter, and was beginning to establish familiar relations with her. Mrs. Mulciber was one of those quietly- observant people, who talk very little, and who never acquire the reputation of being clever. Society agreed that Mrs. Mulciber was a very sensible person ; but praise never went beyond that. She was a nice person to have in the house at all times, and in sickness she was an angel ; but nobody credited her with talent. And yet ^Irs. Mulciber had certain arts which were all her own, and which she had carried to perfection. She always knew everything that was going on around and about her: knew people's thoughts, iiopes, wishes, loves and dislikes, almost better than they did themselves; knew exactly which way they were drifting even before they had begun to drift. Many a matrimonial estrange- ment might have stopped short of the divorce court, many an imprudent marriage might have l)cen prevented, if people would have listened to Mrs. Mulciber. But these are cases in which people rarely will listen ; and thus it is that things have been going wrong generally ever since the murder of Acjamemnon. Q 226 ONE THING NEEDFUL For the tender passion in all its phases, from the silvery crescent of an awakening pen- chant to the broad golden disk of full-grown love, ]\Ir3. Mulciber had the eye of a Jiawk. She saw at a glance that Mr. Nestorius's interest in the pale orphan with the beautiful eyes was something warmer and more enthralling than mere philanthropy. He was a childless widower, not five-and-fifty, rich, his own master. He had withdrawn himself from party-strife, and had leisure to find lifa empty without love. He was an enthusiast, a man who had ever seen his own particular objects and schemes fused in a rosy light; he was a man with whom to admire meant to adore; and he had that romantic and chivalrous temperament wliich would make an imprudent marriage more attractive than a prudent one. When just such a man, at just such an age, allows himself to become interested in a girl of twenty, the result is almost a certainty. Mrs. Mulciber told herself that it would rest with Stella Boldwood whether she should become Mrs. Nestorius ; and who could doubt that ^ady Laslimar's dependent would welcome such a glorious escape from slavery, to say nothing of the fact ihat jNIr. Nestorius was a man whom women were iu the habit of adoring? Moved by these considerations, ^Irs. Mulciber made it her business to take Stella under her wing. There was not the least use in Stella being proud and reticent, bent upon keeping her own place and having no dealings with Lady Lash- mar's guests, save that most distinguished of them whom chance had made her friend. Mrs Mul- ciber's friendliness was irresistible. She lay in wait fo? Stella at odd times and seasons — in the ' ALL HER SPIRITS IN A FLAME ' 227 1 age, irl of Mrs. with Mrs. Tady ch a r Of whom being garden before breakfast, being ever an early riser ; in the corridor before tea ; in Stella's own little den of an evening, announcing herself with a modest tap at the door. 'Those silly people in the drawing-room are playing games. 1 have stolen away to get a little chat v"'th you,' she would say with her friendly fam'liar air, and so on, until she had estab- lish 'd an almcot sentimental friendship, winding her arm round the girl's slender waist in a motherly fashion. ' What a willowy figure yoi; have, child,' she said one day ; ' I am sure you must be an elegant dancer.' *I have never danced in my life.' 'Never! How hard that seems. And Lady Carminow, whose gvauilfather wheeled a barrow, has danced in all the great houses in London, and has sat on the dais with the royalties at the Marlboro' House dances.' ' Lady Carminow w\as born to good fortune ; but I have never been unhappy for want of dances.' ' No doubt your dancing days are to come — all your good days are to come.' ' Not a! . my good days. The best are past. I never again can be as happy as I was in the library and on the river with the last Lord Lashmar. ^ly life was all happiness then. The world was utterly beautiful ! ' 'Ah, that was only a childish nappiness. "VVo are all happy in our childhood, or fancy we lave been so, looking back at it. Yes, you have a charming figure, Stella ; but this black gown of yours, how dingy it is ! Why do you never wear prettier gowns ? ' 'I wear what I am given,' answered Stelhi impatiently. * Surely you must know that, ]\lrs. 228 ONE THING NEEDFUL Mulciber. I get my gowns when the other servants get theirs.' ' But you are not a servant ; it is absurd to talk of yourself as a servant.' * Perhaps it is, because in reality I am a slave. I have no wages. I have nothing in the world that belongs to me, and never have had since the last Iiord Lashmar's death, e>'C':ipt few books v/hich he gave me, and which Ii< ' hip tried to take away from me. I got them hack without hei knowledge. It was almost as if I '^tole them, though they were my own.' ' Poor child ! How you must hate this place, grand and beautiful as it is.' * No I don't. I love it, because it is beautiful and because I was once so happy here. It is haunted by Lord Lashmar's spirit. I shall never love any other house as well.' * Oh, yes you will. You will have a house of your own some day, and you will love that much better. The sense of possession and independfcnco is so sweet. I am quite a poor woman, FteLi; I spend the greater part of my life i. « ''^'^i people's houses; but I have a little nest of ii r vision of independence which might, perhaps, be :>i.cedily realised by the kindly aid of Mr. Nestorius. The cottage by the Avon, th';; lays and evenings of •all her spirits in a flame' 229 'V, vision 13 lilv perfect leisure, and, sweetest of all, liberty, which she had never known since her benefactor's death. * True, Mrs. Mulciber, one's own house must be very nice,' she said. ' You will know that when you are married and have a home of your own. Ah, who can tell how delightful a home ! Such wonderful things happen nov-a-days.' Stellp drew herself up proudly, with a defiant air almost ; tall and straight and slim, she stood before Mrs, Mulciber like some yo'ing Ama^ion, untamed and untamable. ' Married ! ' she exclaimed ; * I shall never marry. Why, tliat would be to exchange one kind of bondage for another. I want to be indei endent, and free. That is my day-dream.' 'Ah, you will have another day-dream before long. I know what girls are, my love. I have spent a great part of my life in studying girls. I know their little ways.' ' You don't know my ways,' answered Stella. ' i am not like other girls. Reuiember what my life has been in this house. A happy, over-indulged child lor seven sweet sunlit years, and then the world grew dark all at once, atid I was a servant, a drudge, unloved, despised. I heard him, the proud master of this house, talk of me with his proud mother. Oh, God, that one piece of flesh and blood should think itself a creature apart from another piece of flesh and blood — that poor clay should look down upon clay. There are tones in his voice, and in her ladyship's, that make me feel a rebel and a savage to this day. Yes, dven now, after I have read Plato, and learnt to understand the pettiness of our common life. No, I can never forget how kindly I have been treated in this house, and how cruelly.' 230 ONE THING NEEDFUL * You will only think of it all as a dream by-and-by, when you are happy/ cooed Mrs. Mulciber. The girl had evidently no idea of her possible promotion. The bruised spirit still rankled under past and present humiliations. There was no forecaste of future glorification. Mr. Nestoriua was absent three days, during which interval everybody missed him, the women sorely. He had been the master-mind in all things — even in dumb crambo. The sonorous and sympathetic voice, the earnest gray eyes and pale, intellectual face, the gentle friendliness with every one from high to low, endeared him to all. Yes, he was a man whose absence made an immeasurable gap. Gabriel Verner piteously bewailed that absence. * His coming has given me new life,' he said ; ' what shall I do when he has gone altogether ? ' ' I hope you will take advantage of his in- vitation and spend an occasional week in London,' answered Stella. 'You w'ould see something of the world, and of your old friends.' ' I am too old for the world, my dear, and my old friends are too old for me. Their memo- ries are worn to a blank where I am concerned. There are few men like Mr. N^storius, who, at the very apogee of greatness, can remember a humble friend of their youth.' Even Stella missed the statesman's visits to Vcrner's cottage. The old student's conversation^ full of thought and of fact as it always was, had yet a vapid tone, as compared with that flow of vivid talk, sparkling, undulating, like water leap- ing over rocks ; full of life, motion, variety ; glinting, dancing buoyantly from theme to theme; 'ALL HER SPIKITS IN A FLAME' O" 31 profound, yet playful ; brilliant, yet intense, Since the world began, perhaps, or since Socrates drew all that was best and brightest amonf; the youth of Athens to follow his footsteps and hang upon his eloquence, there had never been such a speaker as Nestorius; and for Stella, with a mind richly stored, and an imagination in all the freshness of youth, this talk was almost as a thing divine ; yea, as that seven-stringed lyre, which led woods, and stayed running streams, and made savage tigers follow in sweet contentment. She welcomed him with a happy smile, when they met unexpectedly iu the park, on the gray October afternoon that witnessed his return. ' I was going to Verner's cottage,' he said, looking down at her with a smile, which she interpreted as paternal and protecting, but in which shrewd Mrs. Mulciber would have seen some touch of deeper feeling. * I thought I should find you there.' 'I have only just left him. He will be so glad to see you again,' answered Stella simply. ' But I don't think I will go on there just now. I am rather tired after my journey, and I want to tell you some news.* ' News for me ! You have heard something about my father,' she cried eagerly. 'No, child, no. It is of yourself. I gave your story to one of the keenest publishers in town — told him to malce his reader give an opinion upon it instantly. He was to sit up all night to read it if need be, for I wanted the manuscript sent to the printer forthwith. The reader did sit up for the best part of the night, but of his own accord, Stella. He declares the story is the finest thing he has read by way of fiction for the last five years ; full of power — fresh young power — untrained, 232 ONE THING NEEDFUL of course ; but the style is incomparable. " Where did the writer get his style ? " he asked. "It is so simple, yet so strong ; scholarly, and yet original ; almost as rich and vigorous as Milton's prose." * I am so glad,' gasped Stella, dizzy with delight ; ' and so very glad he thought the writer was a man.' 'Yes, that is always a good sign. Your book is being set up as fast as the compositors can work. You will have proofs — they will be directed under cover to me — by to-morrow night's post' ' How delightful ! ' cried Stella, with almost childlike pleasure, and then, in a saddened tone she exclaimed, 'And to thin1 that poor Mr. Verner could not get a publisher jr his great bouk on Aristotle.' * Ah, my child, great books have to wait. If Bacon were alive to-day I doubt if any publisher in London would produce his Novum Organum, except on commission.' Mr. Nestorius did not add that Stella's novel was to be produced at his expense, and that the clever West-end publisher had only risked — an opinion. The statesman was delighted at her girlish rapture. When a man of five-and-fifty stoops to admire a clever girl of nineteen, his admiration has a gentle protecting air, which is very sweet to the recipient; and from such a man as Nestorius kindness was like the notice of a god. Stella felt as if she were living in a new atmo- sphere, balmy, reposeful. She felt herself lifted out of the region of slavery and humiliation. ' What has come to you, Stella ? ' inquired her ladyship, in her coldly level tones, as the girl took her accustomed seat Ijeside the sofa, at 'ALL HER SPIRITS IN A FLAMC' 233 the hour of afternoon tea, when every one else was in the library. It was one of Lady Lashmar's doubtful days, and she thought it not unadvisable to leave Lady Carminow at the head of affairs below. She had been vexed to find that her favourite was making so little progress in Lash- mar's affections. Ho owned that she was beautiful, and thereupon quoted Maud: •Faultily faultless, icily regular, sploudidly null.' This afternoon Lady Laslimar was startled by the expression of Stella's face. There was nothing icy there. A lovely carnation glowed on the pale olive cheeks, the splendid eyes were allame with suppressed gladness. * Yes, my slavery is endurable now, for it is nearly over,' the girl was saying to herself, as she took up a book and opeued it where her ribbon marked the last reading. ' You seem in a state of feverish excitement,' said her ladyship. 'What have you been doing with yourself since you wrote my letters ? ' ' I have been in the village — with Mr. Verner.' * That ought not to be a very exciting business. You are flushed and breathless as if been running,' with a displeased air, as complaining of a human machine that itself out of gear. ' I walked across the park very fast. I might be late.' ' You are not actually late, but I was very nearly waiting,' answered her ladyship. ' Yes, it is five,' as the Sevres time-piece chimed the hour, ' and I told you to be here at five. Don't come to mo in this breathless state another time. And now go on with Middlemarch while I take tea.' Stella read with sublime patience for the next you had it were had got I feared 234 ONE THING NEEDl'UL two hours, read till the dusk deepened ; read on by lamplight, not knovviing what she was reading, thinking of her own book all the while, and of what the publisher's reader had said of iu. Was it true, that opinion of his ? Was it worth any- thing? Had he only said as much to please Mr. Nestorius ? Was the book really good ; the style really pure ? It was a very different kind of book to this great book which she was reading, with its sober, majestic phrases, its quiet humour, all things subdued to a minor key, all human passions kept in restraint. Her book was more daring — daring as Shelley, whom she adored. He." book was narrower, but more intense. Was it really good? Would people accept that bold in- cursion into the region of the supernatural ; those mystic scenes which she had woven in the quiet of the night. — visions which had seemed almost real to her in the midnight silence, weird speakers, whose voices she seemed verily to have heard? Her heart thrilled at the thought that if the book were successful, thousands would read it, and be drawn near to her mind, never knowing who or what she was, yet one with her by sympathy. Were but this little book successful, her bond- dage would be at an end for ever. She wanted so little for freedom. Slio could live upon so little, she who had never had any money, or known what it was to have her wishes gratified since she was a child. One feeble ray of success would be light enough for her obscure path. Only to get out of this great, grand, beautiful house, in which she felt herself ever so much lower than a servant, a dependent, an encumbrance. Only to get away from the possibility of encountering those proud eyes and scornful lips, which always stirred her spirit to rebellion. She had schooled herself 'AND IN A NET HIS HEART WAS HOLDEN ' 235 to endure her ladyship's cold tyranny : but never could she so school herself as to look without angry feeling upon the man who had ordered her out of the library as if she had been a dog. Yes, he had driven her like a dog from that familiar room, in which she had lived so happily through all tlie sunny years of her childhood. CHAPTER XIII 'AND THERE IN A NET HIS HEART WAS HOLDEN* The return of Mr. Nestorius enlivened the tea- meeting in the spacious library, where deepening shadows softened the dazzle of gold and colour into a harmonious blending of many tints, just as half-a-dozen faces photographed rapidly one upon the other produce a combination-face of greater beauty than the handsomest of t]ie six. Mr. Xestorius was not a man who overwiielmed either the House or the salon with f.oods of talk. He was not one to say with Gaoibetta, je les ai subme7'g4s ; but he talked well, and voice and conversation together had a rare and potent charm for feminine hearers. Lady Carminow handed him his tea-cup with a caressing smile. ' We have been perfectly wretched without you,' she said. 'It is worth all the pangs of absence to hear such a confession,' he answered, giving smile for smile, as he seated himself on a creepie stool at her elbow. 236 ONE THING NEEDFUL * And that is how you gratify your vanity at the cost of our sufferinj^ ? ' she answeretl hiugh- ingly, perfectly aware that Lash mar was admiring her from his stand in front of the lire-pLice, where he made one in a trinity of shooters. No one could deny that she was lovely. Tlie ivory and blush-rose tints of her complexion were set off by a tea gown of sea-green plush, with artfully introduced touches of coral-pink gleaming h?re and there ami.' t the green ; and even the little foot, in its coral stocking and sea-green slipper was a point in the picture, poised lightly on tlie dark red velvet hassock. The flowing folds of plush just defined the perfect curves of the somewhat ample form. A sensuous beauty, per- haps ; but are not goddesses sensuous ? — save, indeed. Lady Sophia's prototype, the huntress Diana, who was never known to make herself agreeable to anybody, and who avenged herself for her much-vaunted celibacy by killing other people's children. Yes, Lashmar's admiring eyes recognised that perfection of earthly loveliness, the charm of delicate colouring, the flowing lines and gracious curves, the alabaster wrist, and long, Titian-esque hand fluttering lightly over the low, round table, with the vermilion tea-tray and ivory- and-gold cups and saucers. Could any woman be lovelier or fitter to reign over such a house as Lashmar Castle, or to bring life and light into that dingy old barrack in GroSvenor Square, which required at least fifteen hundred pounds expended upon decoration and sanitary improvement before it would be habitable ? She was rich, too — rich, and very rich — and this was an important consideration to a nobleman who had five farms unlet out of thirteen, and ' AND IN A NKT JUS IIKAUT WAS IIOLDEN * 237 whose eight tenants were all in a complaining vein. Tlio Lashmar rent-roll had been diminishing ever since Hubert's deatii ; and although Lord Lashmar had other resources, and might be con- sidered a rich man, there is always an idea of poverty in any di.iiinution of income; while, if Mr. Xestorius and his broo<.l were ever to get the upper hand again, the war against the landed proprietor would doubtless be renewed with redoubled vigour. Assuredly Lady Carrniiiow's wealth was not an attraction which any man in the present day could afford to ignore or to despise. Lashmar was not in love with her ; but he began to think that he had been very much in love with her in the days that were gone, and that he was beginning to drift that way again. Perhaps he thought so all the more this afternoon, when he saw Nestorius seated at her elbow — Nestorius, who, albeit fifty-five years of ago, had more than the charm of youth, whose voice had ever been as music in woman's ear. ' The most dangerous man in England,' thought Lashmar ; ' all the more because he looks so thoroughly respectable.* Lashmar told himself that Lady Carminow had made up her mind to take a second husband, and that if she did not marry him slie ". ould in- evitably marry Nestorius. ' I cannot allow her to go over to the opposi- tion,' he thought, and he went across to the low round table, found another creepie stool, and seated himself opposite Mr. Nestorius who seemed to be making himself mightily agreeable. Mrs. A^avasour, also in a tea-gown — something Japanese and fantastical, with a cloud of gauzy icriL lace about her throat and chin, had her little knot of admirers, among whom were Mr. Ponsonby, 238 ONE THING NEKDFUL the barrister, and tho pompous old Rector, wlio liad culled Stella his Iteynolds' child, and had forgottea her existence afterwards. This gentleman often dropped in to tea at the Castle, and dined there whenever he was asked, lie loved smart people, and he liked to hear himself talk. Mr. Vavasour was discussing the lines of an intended novel with Lady Sophia, who, on the strength of her connec- tion with the Sunday Swash-buckler considered herself quite a literary person. 'And your plot — tell me your plot,' she asked eagerly. ' Plot, my dear soul, nothing fldmocU as a novel with a plot nowadays. vvo leave plot to the men who v/rite melodramas for the Adelphi — the old, old, old incidents shaken up in the old bag, and tumbling out haphazard in acts or chapters. Nothing of that kind for me, Lady Sophia. ;My novel is a novel of character — my chief incidents, well — a little look in the twilight — eyes meeting eyes across the deck of a steamer off Alexandria, or in a church at Venice — an angry word in the second volume — a fan dropped and picked up in the third. Those are the three central points — the three piers of my bridge — for the rest touch-and-go, Lady Sophia, all touch-and-go. AVit, satire, sentiment, introi;pection, self-communing, sparkle and play of words, lighter than thistle- down.' ' Your books are delicious,' murmured Lady Sophia, who did not care a .^traw for any novel without murder, arson, and bigamy. 'But I have sometimes thought that if you would — ^_just for once in a way — make your heroine poison her father, or your hero drown his wife, it would be nice. Even in "Daniel Deronda" now, which is such a very superior book, there is drowning.' 'AND IN A NICT HIS IIEAUT WAS IIOLHEN ' 239 i as a plot to Blpbi— he old cts or , Lady er — my ' The one blot upon a great work, my dear Lady Sophia,' said the fashionable novelist, coiling up. ' I read that chapter twice over. Grandcourt and Gwendoline are too lovely. I always like the wicked people best.' * There should be no wicked people in a book — no positive blacks and whites, only delicate tertiarios. You don't meet wicked people in society : " Most women have no characters at all." It is those no-character people who are so diiiicult to depict; and it is ii painting themihoX, the novelist shows himself a master of his art. Dickens's people and Thackeray's people are the broadest caricatures : Pecksniff — I'ecky Sharpe — the brothers Cheeryble — Colonel Xewcome — daubs, my dear lady, daubs as coarse and glaring as the pictures of the fat woman and the living skeleton outside a booth, when tried by the standard of modern excellence.' Stimulated by the idea of rivalry, Lord Lashmar threw a shade of tenderness into his talk with Lady Carminow across the tea-cups, which was very pleasant to the lady. She was quite as much in love with him as it was in her nature to be in love with any man. She had never forgotten her girlish llirtation with him, or the sweet things that he had said — sweet, meaningless little speeches, which charmed her without altogether compromis- ing him. She had never forgiven hira for his desertion ; but anger was latent, not active. She was ready to forgive him directly, to forgive and, to adore him to her utmost capacity for adoration, would he but return to his allegiance, throw himself at her feet, and own her as the mistress of his soul. ' Surely I am good enough even for him,' she said to herself. 240 ONK TIITNTr NEEDFUL This afternoon there was a shade of tenderness in Lashmar's voice and manner, which seeir.ed to her like the first note of subjection. I{e had struggled against her power, and now he wa3 beginniu"^ to yield. Those 'beautiful azure eyes of hers looked smilingly into his, full of promivso. She was his to take when he pleased — a rose in fullest bloom and beauty that he might wear on his breast only for the gathering. And how could he doubt that if lie did not pluck the rose some 'viser man would ? He drew his creepie-stool a little nearer to the fair tea - maker, bringing clay - bespattered corduroy in contact with the lights and shadows of sea-greeu plush, silken shining folds tha;. reflected the glow of tlie burning logs yonder. ' "What have you been doing all day ? ' he asked. ' Nothing. Do you know that Lashmar is the abode of dulness for your lady visitors, while you men are all shootiug pheasants. I felt tempted to drive over to Brumm and take my afternoon tea at a coffee palace, and hear the operatives talk politics, just to get a sensation of some kind, so weary was I of this Castle of Indolence, lint as I couldn't do that 1 walked over to the Hall and had a chat with mother, who insisted upon my going to look at some unhappy beascs that are being educated up to the next catUe-show with oil-cake and all sorts of abominations ; and then my poor mothei began to cry, and said that the shorthorns reminded her of my father, not because of any likeness, but because prize rattle were one of his fads, don't you know — and she has taken to all his fads, out of reverence for his memory. She pretends to be keen upon getting prizes, though I know 'AND IN A NET HIS HEART WAS HOLDEN ' 241 erness ,ed to irer to lattered hadows imar is 3, while I felt ake my ear the ation of astle of walked mothrr, some up to all sorts bej^au ided her ess, but s, don't lis fads, pretends 1 know it 21 she pities the animals, and doesn't care a straw for the fuss and glorification of the thing. I hurried across the fields to be in time for tea — and oh, by-the-by, My. iS"estorius, I saw you walking in the park with Lady Lashniar's reading girl.' Kestorius Hushed ever so slightly, with a vexed air. ' Yes, I met Miss Boldwood iii the park.' ' Is that your idea of meeting ? To my eye you seemed to be walking witli her — but then I am ridiculously short-sighted.' ' I had met her — I turned back — and, at the moment you saw us, I was walking with her. AVill that do. Lady Carminow?' 'It will do very well indeed, so long as Miss Boldwood is not spoiled by such distinguished notice.' ' Were you telling my brother's yroMg^e the result of your experimeut,a upon those papers ? ' asked Lashmar. 'No; but I will show you the result this evening, if you like,' answered Nestorius coolly. 'Is it a startling result ? Does my mother's dependent turn out to be a princess in disguise ? ' ' We have not got so far as that ; but there is quite enough in the transcrintion of those papers to interest you, and to assure you that Boldwood's wife was something better 'han a gipsy.' ' I am prepared to be interested,' said Lashmar, with a contemptuous air, as if he thought the whole thing a farce, and Nestorius's enthusiasm a si'.^n of approaching senility. ' Why not produce the ])apers at once — they might interest Lady Car- minow, who complains that I provide no amusement for my lady guests.' "The records of tiic dead — of a broken heart, perhaps — are hardly to be disuissed at u teu- table. n 242 ONE THING NEEDFUL I'll bring them to the library to-night, when the evening's frivolities are over, and you and I can look through them quietly, before we go to bed.' 'As you please,' answered Lashmar: 'you are the master of the situation.' 'Do you know Spanish?' ' Hardly a word of it.' 'Then I aw ^.aouer of the situation, for the transcriptions a .-e all in Spanish, and I shall have to translate them to you.' It was half-past eleven when Nestorius and Lashmar went to the library — the former carrying a little portfolio with the papers he had brought from London. The evening had been livelier than usual, and Lashmar had hardly left Lady Car- minow's side — to the delight of his mother, who watched the two from her arm-chair by the fire- place, where she sat in a kind of semi-royal state, with Mrs. Mulciber for her lady-in-waiting. Yes, it was coming at last, the realisation of that long-cherished dream of hers. She would see Job Danebrook's estate united to the Lashmar acres, to say nothing of that mucli larger fortune in the shape of funded property which the iron-master had laid up for himself before he retired from business. She would see her beloved son attached to his ancestral home by the ties of domesticity, his stake in the country trebled, his social and political importance extended by increased wealth. And Clarice, the creature whom she had moulded to her own liking, would be her daughter ; yes, daughter in love, as well as in law. She would hold her son's wife as a daughter — she, whom no girl-child had ever called mother ! Mr. Nestorius seated himself near a rcadimr- lamp, and opened his portfolio. 'AND IN A NET HIS IIEAIIT WAS IIOLDEN * 243 .1 the I can ed.' u are tor the LI have us and tarrying brought ier than dy Car- ter, who 'Sae fire- ral state, . of that see Job acres, le in the n-raastcr ed from attached aiesticity, )cial and d wealth, moulded ter; yes. le wouKi whom no readini;- ' First, let me restore the original papers,' he said, handing Lashmar a packet. ' They are there, unreadable to the ordinary eye. You will keep them in trust for Stella. Here are the copies. Four are love-letters, pure and simple, written by the future Mrs. Boldwood to her husband. The fifth and last is from Mrs. Boldwood's father, and is dated two years after the date of the other four, and was written, as I understand it, just before Stella : birth. It is a letter that may have helped to brug about the mother's untimely death.' 'Will you be good enough to read them to me ? * asked Lashmar, hating himself for never having learned Spanish. Such an easy language too — a mongrel tongue, half Frcnrh and half Latin — a language he could have acqui.tMl in a fort night. He had scampered through ' ' Peninsula, allowing his courier to do all the tUiiung for him ; and he had come to seven-and-twen; years oi age without having read Cervantes it the > ' Jnal. And now he had to sit like " school-boy and let that uni- versal genius, Nestorius, expound these letters to him. ' N — yum, n — yum, n — yum ! ' began thi states- man, murmuring gibberish, as he ran his - ye over the page. ' Perhaps it is hardly worth your while to hear the love-letters. Such things are alwnvs alike.' 'I will have every word,' answered Las .aar: 'if you don't read them I shall think you don't know Spanish.* 'That is a challenge,' said Nestorius, 'so here goes. He cleared his throat, and began : ' " Alas ! dear one, I know not where or when I can hope to meet yoa again. Not in the 244 ONE THING NEEDFUL church, or on the way to church. It is too dangerous. Nita never leaves me — and I had hard work to prevent her telling my father of our last meeting. I will be in the garden between seven and nine o'clock every evening. If there might be a chance tliat way, it would be so sweet to see you again, just for a few minutes by the little door, while Nita has gone into the house on some errand. You know how watchful she is and how she always brings her sewing out into the garden to sit with me. There is so little for her to do in the house of an evening. My father is almost always out of doors, at his club or with his friends. ' " How can you talk of your shabby coat, dearest ? Do you think I value people for their coats ? And if you are ever so poor now, you, who are so clever, are sure to be rich some day. Or if you are always poor it will make no dif- ference to me. Nita says my father has a large fortune ; but I have never seen any sign of riches in our house. We have no fine furniture, or plate, or jewels — only the things that my great grandfather had before the Peninsular W r. We have all we want, but no more. If you could only see my father and talk to him, and get his consent to our marriage, I should be the happiest girl in Madrid. * *' Yours everlastingly, "'Inez.'" The next letter was more impassioned, and glanced at pa^ meetings — at vows interchanged. 'The next, again, was a still wilder out-pouring of a girl's all-con tiding love. No more talk of the father's consent. All was surrendered to the lover : * Whatever may be your fate, I will share non no this •and in a net his iieaut was holden' 245 I > it! I will go with you to the end of the world! A second suitor had appeared — of noble family, wealthy, middle-aged, favoured by the lather. The girl shrank from him with loathing, flung herself into the arms of her out-at-elbows EDglishraan : 'Take me away from them, dearest,' she pleaded, * or my father will make me marry that man. He raged with anger when I told him that there was some one else I cared for. He swore he would lock me up till my wedding-day. Take me away, Juan, make me safely your wife before he can lock me up. No, dearest, I am not afraid of poverty with you.' The last of the four letters was the briefest, arranging a rendezvous which was to end in an elopement. Then, after an interval of two years, came the father's letter — brief, icy, incisive : 'You chose your own path in defiance of me. You may keep to it. Whether it lead you to the gutter or the grave is of no matter to me. You disobeyed and you deceived me for the sake of an English adventurer. You have your recompense in your adventurer's love. You say that he is Still devoted, and that by the labour of his hands he earns your daily bread. You are better off than you have any right to expect to be ; you, the disobedient, deceitful daughter. You tell me that a child will soon be born to you, and that you would win my forgiveness for yourself and bespeak my love for that unborn child. I answer you, that I have plucked j'ou out of my heart, that you are for me neither loved nor hated, but non-existent. As for your unborn child, there is no beggar's brat about to bo spawned in the alleys of this city whose birth will be more indifferent to me. 'X.O.' 246 ONE THING NEEDFUL These initials were the only signature. The only address was Madrid. Dilllcult to trace the writer by such indications. 'Are the language and orthography those of an educated person ? ' asked Lashmar. • Undoubtedly.' 'And the date would agree with that of Stella's birth. Then we may dismiss the idea of a Gipsy origin.' * I think so. This " X. O." may have belonged to the professional or the commercial classes. There is nothing in the girl's letters to imply that her people were noble ; and, indeed, her father's eagerness to marry her to a suitor of good birth indicates that such a marriage would have been promotion.' ' And' this vindictive father is perhaps the original of the miniature.' 'Most likely,' answered Nestcrius, closing his portfolio. ' The costume is that of five-and-twenty to thirty years ago. A Spanish girl's elopement with an Englishman must have occasioned some talk at the time, even in so large a place as Madrid, and by careful inquiry one might find out all about the business, I take it' 'Very likely; but the game is not worth the candle. This vindictive old wretch has positively renounced his granddaughter — nothing would be gained by unearthing him.' 'Who knows ? Nineteen years may have made a considerable difference in his feelings. If he is still alive — a lonely, miserable old man — be might be very glad to acknowledge the grand- daughter of whom he wrote in such brutal terms.' ' My dear Nestor ius, it is so like yuu to see the thing in that rosy light. You have but to -.^ 'AND IN A NET HIS HEART WAS IIOLDEN ' 247 take up an idea- -to be interested in a question — aud that fiery spirit of yours breathes around it and wraps it in a luminous atmosphere in which all outline is lost. How much more likely that the old brute is dead and rotten ; or, if alive, so much the more a brute by the passage of those nineteen years. Anyhow I shall not turn sleuth- hound and hunt him. What are you going to do with those copies ? ' ' Keep them.' ' They can have no interest for you.' • They can have none for you, as they are in a language you don't understand.' ' I am on the point of taking up Spanish. It has always been a reproach to me that I am not able to read Don Quixote in tho original.' ' I'll give you a translation of these letters, and keep the Spanish for my pains.' ' Upon my soul one would think you were smit*^^en by that girl of my brother's.' ' 1 am not smitten by her, but I am deeply interested la her fate. Good-night.' ' Good-night,' answered Lashmar moodQy. ' There is sometliing particularly exasperating about that man,' he said to himself, as he lighted his candle. ' I should like to know whether he is or is not in love with Lady CarminoAV,' 248 ONE THING NEEDFITL CHAPTER XIV 'SHE TOOK ME TO HER ELFIX GROT* After that evening Lashmar yielded himself to the allurements of Circe, in the poison of Lady Carminow, with less reserve than he had shown hitherto, and in proportion as his attentions grew more marked Clarice became more enchanting. She had been piqued by his coldness ; there was a smothered anger in her mind, linked with the memory of past ill-treatment. He could only atone to her by utter subjugation — by lying at her feet, as it were, her slave; and now it seemed to her that he was subjugated, and she began to forgive him. Tlie consciousness of triumph became her. That splendid nullity of hers began to assume life and colour. * Lady Carminow grows in beauty every day,' said Nestorius, who was a connoisseur in loveliness, and could admire a hundred women without giving his heart to one. He had married early in life, married above him, gaining wealth and social status by his marriage. He had been an excellent hus- band to a somewhat silly wife. He had nursed her when she was sick, and buried her as became them \<^t\\ ; and now he was free to choose another wife where he pleased. It seemed to the people who envied or hated him as if he could •she took me to llEU ELFIN (JKOT ' 240 have had the choice of all England, so devoted were Englishwomen to him whom so many Englishmen loved. ' Yes, she is superbly hancsome,' answered Lashmar ; ' but I don't think she is your style. You prefer something more original. Fenella, for instance, or Mignon— -or that pale girl with the large eyes — my mother's amanuensis.' ' Your mother's amanuensis is not half so handsome as Lady Carminow.' 'But you admire her more. She is more interesting.' 'To mc, yes.' • ' To me she is positively repellent. There is something impish about her. I should have detested Fenella — a dumb creature with mon- keyish tricks, leaping over banisters, and always turning up unexpectedly in odd places ; and Mignon is worse, for she is more disreputable. This girl reminds me of both.' 'She is like neither. Those two were all passion : this one is all intellect. They had coarse, undisciplined natures : she has a grand, calm soul, steadfast and strong, and self-respecting.' * That is to say she would not leap over banisters or dance upon eggs. She has fiery blood in her veins, for all her calmness of soul, the blood of the fiercest demagogue who ever stirred the lambs of Brumm to rapine and revolt. The blood of her runaway Spanisli mother, too, all quicksilver. Beware of her, Nestorius.' ' I will beware for her, not of her ; guard her from evil, if I can, but never fear evil from her.' * Hear him, ye gods,' exclaimed Lashmar ; * it is all in the man's temperament. He sees all things in the rainbow light of his own imagination. He is like Titania when the spell was upon her.' 250 ONE TIIIX(; XEKDFUL Assuredly Nestorius was not in love witli Lady Carminow. Lasliuiar had to fear no rivalry in that quarter : and by this time Lasluitar had decided that destiny meant him to be Lady Curminow's hu3l)aud. He had escaped the doom once, had plucked him- self out of the web : but tliis time he felt that he was caught. Even were he to make a good fight for freedom, get away a second time, lie would have to come back in the end. He must dree his weird. ' I would rather be her second husband than her third,' he thought, ' and as it is written that I am to marry her, 1 had better propose at once.' He said this to himself, yet did not imme- diately propose. There was a lurking repugnance somewhere in his mind, a reluctance which he could not explain to himself. He was angry with him- self for not being more in love. 'I was born of a cold nature,' he thouf,ht. He could account for his tepid emotions, by no other theory than that nature had made him colder than other men. He fancied that he had even an aversion from women, and tliat he would have ended his days a bachelor were it not that self- interest and his mother's incessant prompting urged him to marriage. He had everything to gain from a union with Lady Carminow, and it was sheer wantonness in him to hang back : and yet he put off from day to day the utterance of those fatal words which would seal him as a slave for ever. ' What is any married man but a slave — a helot — a hireling?' he asked himself. 'First the slave of his wife, and then the slavo of his children ; and pushed into his grave, perhaps, by tlie follies of his grandchildren. The father of a family never can know which of his children is to be his bane — which of in be swe 'SHE TOOK ME TO IIKII ELFIN' GROT ' 251 ven an have it self- urged n from sheer yet he those ave for egg will produce the worst viper. lie is responsible for the faults and follies of the whole brood, to the third and fourth j,'eneration, if he live long enough. Even after lie is in his grave theorists will point to him as the root of evil — will excuse liis descendants* delinquencies on the ground of heredity or atavism. And yet my mother moans at the idea of my not marrying, not having sons to suc- ceed me, as if it were the direst calamity — certain loss instead of certain gain.' This was a pessimistic view of the matter; but of late Lord Lashmar had inclined to pessimism as the only true gospel. lie was discontented with life and with himself. He told himself that it was all on account of those five empty farms, and that the canker was only in his pocket. 'How happy Hubert was,' he thought, as he paced up and down the library one morning, after he had let the shooters go out by themselves, on the plea of letters which must be written by his own hand. The shooters had been gone a couple of hours and he had not dipped his pen in the ink. In another hour the luncheon gong would be sounding, and he would have to go and say sweet things to Lady Carn;inow, who appeared at luncheon with all the freshness of Venus Anadyomene, and expected a good deal of attention. He had promised to drive to Ih-iimm with Clarice and Mrs. Mulciber that afternoon, to go over the great Danebrook ironworks, of which Lady Carmiuow was sole proprietor. Her name was on all the carts and waggons, ' Clarice, Mar- chioness of Carrainow.' Lashmar had never been over these mighty works, and he hated seeing works of any description — hated the thud of the engines, the smell of the furnaces, the grime and dust upon everything, and was not very fond even of the 9r,9 ONE THING NEEDI'UL operatives, tliougli a humanitarian age insisted that they should be to liini as brothers. He felt also that this exploration of the works was in some measure a sign of his bonda* ;. He would be looked upon as Lady Carrainow's future husband. It was like putting his name to his own death-warrant. ]Jut into the dust and the grime and the heat and the glare he must go, having given his promise all too lightly last night in the reposeful atmosphere of the drawing-room, where to-morrow's energy seemed an inexhaustible fund. And now to-morrow liad come, and he fol*" that an afternoon at the works would be inel^-ible boredom. ' Yes, my brother Hubert was the happiest fellow I ever knew,' he said to himself: 'happy in spite of great affliction, for he always lived his own life — did not go this way or that like a sheep before a drover, as we wretched creatures all do, we bondslaves of custom, fashion, self-interest. How well I remember him, in this room day after day, calm, restful, reading, meditating, writing a little. I must get his literary remains published, by-the-by ; they would make an interesting volume. What a dull, empty life it seemed to me then ; and now, by heaven, I almost envy him. He lived not alone, but with the giants of the past. His companions were Titans. And I — I have not looked at Homer since I left the University ; I have not opened a volume of Shakespeare for more than a year. I am steeped in blue-books, and party pamphlets, and newspapers, the chaff of the day and hour, strewed on the wind and forgotten a year hence.' He recalled his brother's figure sitting at the desk yonder, the crooked shoulders hidden in the deep arm-chair, one delicate hand supporting the pale 'SHE TOOK ME TO HER ELFIN GROT' 253 bent brow, the other on an open page of Greek or lloman poet, Elizabetlian dramatist or modern philo- sopher. Tlio radical's brat had been near hira always in those last years, sitting at a table a little way olf, writing a copy or an exercise, or at her benefactor's feet poring over a fairy tale. They two had looked so happy together, and yet it had always seemed to Victorian a most unnatural association. And now the presence of that girl in the house worried him. Their chance meetings had been of the rarest ; and yet he was always expecting to meet }\er on the stairs or in the corridors. He was always surprised when he went into his mother's room without finding her there. He had made up his mind that she was sly, an intriguer, a dangerous element in the house. How quickly she had contrived to get that fool- ishly impressionable Nestorhis into her web; and Mrs. Mulciber, a woman of the world who ought to have known better, was always sounding her praises. She had hoodwinked his brother when she was a mere child : and now the serpent had grown up, and her guile was of a still deeper cast. Brumm and the outskirts of Brumm looked a little more detestable than usual to Lord Lashmar that October afternoon, although Lady Carminow was sitting opposite him, clad in ruddy brown velvet and sable tails, with a little sable bonnet that harmonised deliciously with her rich gold- brown I'air. If the beauty of a woman or the luxury of a baruuclui on Cee springs ci'uld have suiliced him, he miglit have been liappy; but on this particular afternoon he beheld even Lady Carminow's perfection with a jaundiced eye. 'Your velvet and fur will not be improved by 254 ONE THING NEEDFUL iron and coal dust,' he said, with a disparaging glance at her rich apparel. ' Oh, I have had this gown for ages. I should be rathc'i" glad to spoil it,' Lashmar's eyes, in sheer absent-mindedness, noted the figures on the pavement : two half-clad factory girls fluttering by in cotton, hugging their shabby little shawls across their narro'y chests, as tliey faced the east wind; and it struck him that the radical's howl against the inequality of fortune was one of those themes which would never lack listeners. Granted that every scheme which would equalise wealth is like absurd and impossible ; yet there the contrast is, always before men's eyes, always calling out to them for re- dress — somehow, somewhere. ' Those two girls looked rather enviously at your sables,' he said, noting the long wistful stare which followed the fine lady in the fine carriage. 'You may be suie they have as grand gowns for Sundays — dog-skin, or cat-skin, and chiap velveteen. They always follow the fashions,' answered Clarice lightly. ' One can't help feeling sorry for them,' mur- mured Mrs. Mulciber, ' Yes, with that gentle, passive sorrow, which hurts nobody and does nobody any good,' answered Lashr ar, with quiet scorn. *If one of us were like tliUt little Norfolk dressmaker now, who being one day suddenly moved to pity for a poor wretch iu jail, took up her cross, and for ever after devoted her life to the help and solace of jail-prisoners; bore with them, comforted them, prayed for them; died in her patient slavery That is what real pity means ; and how very little there is of it.' Lady Carminow did not pursue the argument. 'SHE TOOK ME TO HER ELFIN GROT' 255 She was looking straight before her towards a great black gateway, gloomy as the entrance to Tartarus. They were in one of the dingiest streets iu Brumm — Danebrook Lane, so called after the great Danebrook Iron-works, where Mr. Dane- brook had established in this Midland centre works which rivalled in their magnitude those of Darlington, and competed with the Krupps and the Cockerills of Germany and Belgium, Lady Carminow could hear the chink of the steam- hammers ; and she always heard that sound in this place with a faint thrill of pride. She had broad acres which gave her a position among the landed gentry, and of those she was proud ; but these works were her kingdom. Here was the source of her wealth, and here she reigned supreme. The vastness of those Plutonian hallS; the mul- titude of blackened faces, the qlang of the engines, the roar of the furnaces, where the keels of mighty iron-clads and the connecting rods and cranks of large locomotives weic^ welded and fashioned, impressed her woman's fancy with an idea of power. The factory was like an arsenal: and she seemed to herself strong as a Goddess of War, when she made her slow progress from hall to hall, preceded by deferential foremen and officials. It pleased her to think that Lashmar would see her amidst these surroundings. She had given no notice of her coming, and it seemed to her as she alighted from her carriage in the great black quadrangle that the manager, who ran to receive her, was less eff'usive than usual. He was not less deferential ; he bowed before her and spoke with bated breath, as to a queen ; but he had a troubled look, which Laslimar's quick eye perceived. 256 ONE THING NEEDFUL 'I'm afraid we've come at an awkward time,* he said; 'you've some gigantic job in hand, perhaps, in the throes of completion.' 'No, it is not that, my lord,' answered the manager gravely ; ' that kind of thing never puts us out of gear. But it is hardly a good time for her ladyship to visit the works. Our men are on the eve of a strike.' Lady Carminow laughed softly, pleasantly, as at an irresistible joke. * That is a very old story,' she said. ' I have heard that all my life. My father used to say as much almost every time he came from the works. The men were always hatching mischief. The strike was always coming ; but the strike never came.' 'Mr. Danebrook had an extraordinary influence over the men, an exceptional power of manag- ing them. He contrived to ward off the strike — partly by that personal influence, partly by concessions ; your ladyship has refused to ' 'To accede to demands which I consider pre- posterous — which my father would never have granted.' 'Your father would have gone with the times, Lady Carminow. He was too wise a man to try to stem a rising tide.' 'If some of us don't stand firm against that tide it will be over all our heads before long,' said Lady Carminow, looking like Bellona. Lashmar would hardly have given her credit for so much spirit — or obstinacy — he did not know which to call it. ' The men have held on, though they are worse off as to current wages than other iron-workers in Brumm. They have held on for the sake of 'SHE TOOK ME TO HER EU'JN (iJtoX' 257 those admirable funds Avliich ^Ir. Danebrook establislied for sickness and old age. Tlio pros- pect of bonuses and annuities has kept our men faithful to us at a disadvantage ; but there is a very unpleasant feeling arising in the factory, an idea that the richest works in all Brumm pav the worst wages. In most other firms like o\.a work is done by the ton, by a ganger who under- takes the job, and employs men under him. This plan saves the firm a good deal of responsibility, and the men like it better, because they can earn more money, while an intelligent ganger may make a small fortune.* ' I will have no middle men in my business,' said Lady Carminow. The manager bov/ed submissively. ' Your ladyship knows best,' ho said ; ' but I assure you there is a danger in getting old-fashioned. A system which answered admirably ten years ago is beginning to work awkwardly now. There was a time when we hadn't a single union man on the premises; but labour was scarce last winter when we had some of our biggest jobs in hand, and we were obliged to let in some of the union men. And now we must either give theiu what they want, or prepare for a strike.' 'If they strike we can get other men, I suppose ? ' 'Not a man — in England.' * But we can get them from Belgium.' The manager shruf'ged his shoulders dubiously. ' Belgian ironworks are in a very prosperous condition just now. I doubt if there are men to be had.' ' And if these men leave us they forfeit all claim upon mv father's funds ? ' ' Naturally.' 258 ONE THING NEEDFUL 'Then they will not go,' said Lady Carminow. ' Assuredly not tlie old hands, who have touched bonuses already, and have been working for an- nuities in the future. No man will forfeit the reward for which he has been working.' 'Anger is short-sighted, Lady Carminow. Radicalism has been gaining ground in this place ever since I can remember. Twenty years ago our hands were better off than any other workmen in Brumm. But wages have been going up, and our wages have remained the same. We point to our bonus system, our workmen's buildings, sound and cheap and well cared for, our annuities to the aged ; but the modern workman is hardly grateful for these advantiiges ; he doesn't much care what kind of hovel he pigs in, but he wants high wages, a drinking bout every pay-night, rump-steaks and onions for supper. He doesn't care about tlie future, You had better go with the tide, Lady Carminow, and let me raise the wages before the strike comes.' ' I would much rather shut up the works,' replied Clarice. ' I'lease do not let us discuss the question any longer. I have brought my friends to see the works, not to hear the usual doleful propliecies about strikes which never come. The JJauebrook men know they are better off than any other men in Brumm.' She led the way, walking rapidly past the manager's office into the heart ot the citadel. Le had hardly time to snatch up his hat, give i hurried direction to one of his clerks, and get Ir- front of tlie little procession. A foreman appeared almost by magic, and amidst the din of huge engines, and in the heat and glare of giant furnaces. Lord I.ashmar surveyed the source of Job Danebrook's fortune. He saw the half-finished 'SHE TOOK ME TO HER ELFIN GROT* 259 the L3 blocks of iron conveyed from shop to shop by the 'traveller,' a curious kind of steam monster working upon an overhead railway, thirty feet from the ground. He saw the huge unshapely mass of white hot faggots drawn from the roaring furnace by the steam crane, plucked as it were from the mouth of hell ; just such a demoniac- seeming spectacle as he had beheld years before where he went as a boy to gun. He saw the mighty that iron protoplasm into it into use and meaning ; mdeur of the scene he noted the sullon faces of the men ; heard more than one muttered sarcasm from smoke- blackened lips, as the great lady swept by in her splendour of velvet and fur. He kept as close as he could to her side all the time, defend her should there be any hint of He felt that the men were disaffected when, after seeing a monotonous strange forms, and breathing noxious at Woolwich Arsenal, see the drawing of a steam-hammer fashion form, weld and shape but amidst all the uncouth sullen faces ready to violence. ; and he glad of red-hot iron, he was allowed moke-charged was \'ery repetition fumes of to escape atmosphere after those passed. After the works had been done, Clarice insisted that her friends should see the workmen's houses, for which privilege ^Irs. Mulciber was particularly eager. coal and into the outer air. The of IJrumm seemed fresh and clear fiery vaults through which they had ' I confess mysc machinery is in df a very stupid person wherever iuestion,' she said, * but the dwellings of the poor are my delight. I am a member of the Dado Society, and I think 1 have made many a humble home ha})))y by Ihu intro- duction of an artistic wall -papering and a sage- 260 ONE THING NEEDFUL green delf jar here and there on a bracket. It always makes me sad to think of the many who have to live without dadoes.' ' I'm afraid our Brunim people would laugh at the Dado Society,' answered Clarice. ' They have no idea of beauty. You will see the most revolting objscts in their rooms — artificial flowers under glass shades, bead mats, crochet anti-macassars, things that make one's blood run cold.' ' Poor things ! ' sighed Mrs. Mulciber. ' The day will come when the influence of the Dado Society will permeate this outer darkness, I hope.' The workmen's houses formed two spacious quadrangles, opening one into the other through an archway, like a college. They had been built by Mr. Danebrook, and were of a sensible height, only three stories, with balconies to all the rooms, and a colonnade under which the children could run about in wet weather. There was also a spacious building, called the recreation house, in which the children played in the day-time, and where the adults amused themselves of an ev(;ning. There were baths and washhouses, and all modern accommodations and improvements. The architec- ture was utilitarian and substantial. There was no attempt at the Gothic or the Jacobian in any portion of the building. It was frankly ugly from gaiTct to basement ; but the rooms were all light and airy, the passages and staircases were wide and well ventilated. They went into two or three different sitting- rooms, Lashmar feeling himself an intruder, ]\Irs, Mulciber in her glory, descanting upon the sweet- ness and light which the Dado Society coiild bring into these benighted dwellings. Clarice, calm and queenly, entering and leaving without apology; here and tlieic telling a mother that her 'SUK TOOK ME TO IFKK ELFIN GIIOT ' 2G1 at from 11 light wide sitting- !r, Mrs. swcct- coiilil Clarice, withovit ,liat lier cliildien were not a credit to her in those dirty ])Uiafores, or a housewife that her lloor looked as if it had not been scrubbed for a month. ' You liave nice rooms, if you would only learn to keep them nice,' she said to one woman. ' Wages are too low and wittles too dear for us to have much heart for finnicking over the rooms,' replied the matron, with a sulky air, bending down to stir the fire with her back to the visitors, and then lifting tlie lid of a saucepan which sent forth a hot-blast of onions and grease. Mrs. Mulciber tried to insinuate a suggestion of a liracket, or of the wonderful dado-istic effect that might be produced with a little distemper. ' Your husband could do it himself, my dear soul, don't you know,' murmured the lady. 'Just a pail of whitewash and a little red ' ' JNIy husband would chuck the whitewash over my 'ad if I was to arst him any such rubbish,' answered the matron fiercely. * We don't want no dadoses here ; we wants higher wages and less humbug. Bonuses, indeed, and 'newities; we've got too long to wait for the bonuses, and we shall all be dead and rotten before the 'newities fails doo.' Clarice felt that the atmosphere was uncon- genial; that her father's system, which had answered admirably while he was there to administer things, was not working smoothly just now. * The place is stilling,' she exclaimed ; ' you all keep your rooms much too hot. I suppose that is because you get coals for nothiug.' 'We'd need j^et somethink for nothink, when our husbands and sons are wearing their ilesli off their bones to keep other folks in velvet and fur,' grumbled the matron, as her visitors departed. lady Garminow went back to her carriage, deeply 2G2 ONE THING NEEDFUL disgusted with the want of loyalty in her j)eo[)le. She had gone over the same ground with a party of friends a year ago, and had been received as a queen, the children bringing her a bouquet, the women curtseying and smiling, dazzled by her beauty and splendid raiment, the men deferential, eager to wait upon her footsteps and answer her questions. The change was appalling, and miglit presage some hitherto unimagined evil. * The working classes are becoming detestable,' she said, as she leant back in her carriage, exhausted and depressed. ' They are not always as pleasant as they might be,' replied Lashmar. ' There is no place in the world where T feel so much out of my element as in Brumm. Half an hour in this hole always makes rie fancy the old order is ending and that we shall all have to turn up our sleeves and work at the furnaces before long.' * Those people positively adored my father,' said Clarice discontentedly. ' Ah, but he was one of them, you see, or made himself one of them,' replied Lashmar. * I dare say he wore a shabby coat in the factory, and went about among the men, handling cranks, and not afraid of greasing his hands. You have the air of coming from a totally different world, of looking down at them from an immense altitude. That's what they don't like.' ' I shall never go near them again,' said Clarice, * They may be very sure of that.' She was deeply offended, touched in her womanly pride of beauty and grace. Never before had men looked upon her save with admiring eyes. Those sullen faces haunted her as she drove home through the twilight : and Lashmar, who might have been comforting and tender, held his peace, ' SHALL NOT CIUIEI' OF THE OLD TIME FOLLOW ? ' 2Go and sat silently gazing at the misty autumn lields. Siie had wished to show him her power as a queen in that black kingdom yonder, and she felt hurt and humiliated by the uncomfortable turn the whole thing had taken. CHAPTEU XV ' SHALL NOT THE GRIEF OF THE OLD TIME FOLLOW ? ' It was between six and seven when Lashmar found himself at home again. Afternoon tea was over, and the shooters had departed to bath rooms and dressing-rooms, and there was the sound of a piano and a very thin soprano voice from the drawing-room, whereby Lashmar opined that Mrs. Vavasour was indulging in a ballad, alone or in company. He went to the library, intending to enjoy a quiet half-hour with the newspapers before he dressed. The room was only lighted by the burning logs in one of the two fire-places, and a single lamp on a reading-table. The curtains had not been drawn, and as Lashmar crossed the room towards the lamp-light he caw two dark figures pacing slowly past the windows. He opened a casement and looked out. A man and woman were standing a little way off in earnest conversation. The woman, black-robed, bare-headed, tall and straight and slim, was Stella. The man was Nestorius. 2G4 ONE TIIINO NKKDFUL lie was bendin;^ to sin>ak to lior, until it soenied to Laslimar that his lips nuist almost touch her liair. Ills hand was on her slioulder, as if he had been pleading; or arL;uin;» with intensest meaning. Suddenly SleUa released lierself from tliat detaining grasp, knelt for an instant at his feet, and clasped and kissed his hand with quick, passionate gr-stures, then rose as quickly as she had knelt, id rushed auay to the other end of the terrace. Only southern blood would have shown its feeling in such impassioned movements. Strange as the act was, it seemed in no wise false or theatrical. All was natural and spontaneous. To Lashmar, who had seen the girl silent, statuesque in her immobility, this new aspect of her character was startling in the extreme. ' Has she gone suddenly out of her wits ? ' he asked himself, angrily. 'Has Nestorius infected her with lunacy, or is she playing a deep game ? Yes, that is it, no doubt. She means to hook our enthusiast. He is more impressionable than Ulysses, and she is as crafty as Calypso. Those silent women with lowered eyelids are always sly.' He went out into the gloaming. Autumnal mists were rising all over the park. Niglit was coming up from the valley and the river like a palpable presence, a miglity winged monster spreading Viidc pinions over the earth, curtaining and covering homestead and meadow, man and beast, diffusing a false air of peace and silence and solemnity over all things. There was no peace in Lashmar's breast, which was white hot with anger. Why he should be angry he never stopped to ask himself. ' The hussy,' he muttered ; ' the artful, in- corrigible hussy ! This is the kind of woman man '.SHALL NOT (;Kir.i' of the old timk follow?' 2G5 its rhicli d be ^s'llo leads wise men to ruin, who subverts class distiuotious, who creeps into foolisli women's houses and steals a husband's heart from his lawl'ul wife' ile Sii.w her standini^ alone at the pnri of the terrace, above tliat tenuis lawn where he and Clarice had played so often in days gone by. Nestorius had gone back to the house. S'ue was leaning wearily against an anti(iue vase, gazing into the ni^ht. He could not command his temper; that white hot feeling in his breast must needs have some relief. Silence, calmness, were alike impossible. There is an unreasoning anger which must be satisfied, even at the loss of self-respect, which is surely the heaviest price that any man can pay for self-indulgence. He walked quickly to the spot where Stella was standing, he placed hiinself by her sid*^, but was not able to see her face, which was turned from him. 'Well,' ho began, in his harshest voice, 'you have taUen the measure of our statesman, Miss ])oldwood. He is a man peculiarly susceptible to flattery, especially a woman's llattery, and your little bit of melodrama just now must have delighted him.' She turned quickly and faced him, white as death as it seemed to him, in that dim light. Her lace gleamed upon him like the face of a ghost. I'lie large dark eyes, wet with tears, alone had a look of life. * Were you listening and watching us from some corner, Lord Lashmar ? ' she asked con- temptuously. She had assured herself long ago that this ))ian hated and despised her, and that it was a 2GG ONi: THIXC; NEEDFUL I! I duty slio owed to herself to despise liim. Tt was in her nature to feel and to do all thin,i:,»s with an exceptional intensity. As slio had loved her benefactor with all the force of her youni; heart, 80 she hated her benefactor's brother. She was ready to be insolent to him at tlie slightest pro- vocation. ' I was neither listening nor watching ; but I went to that window yonder to see wlio was promenading the terrace, and was just in time to see you fling yourself at our statesman's feet and kiss his hand. It was very prettily done, and I have little doubt it will have the desired ellect.* ' Indeed. Pray what effect do you suppose I wish it to have ? ' ' My dear ^liss Boldwood, when a young lady throws herself at a gentleman's feet, the obvious conclusion is that she wants to bring him to hers. It is taking a short cut to a denouement that hangs lire. And in the case of a young lady whose attractions are much greater than her for- tune, and a wealthy widower, impressionable but wavering, one can conceive no better coup de main than that with which you have just sur- prised our friend Nestorius.' ' You think that I Avant to catch Mr. Nestorius as a husband ? * ' What else can I think, having seen what I saw just now ? ' * You are very quick in jumping at conclusions,' Lord Lashmar.' 'When the conclusion is so obvious the jump is inevitable, and it is a very small jump — only a gutter. Do you suppose that I have not understood your game for the last three weeks ? That I have not marked your manoeuvres, your lonely rambles across the park, and accidental meetings with Mr. .SHALL NOT (iUlEF OF THE OLD TIMH lOLLOW ? ' 207 Nestorius on the "vvay ; your piteous revelations to him, your tears for the lather whom you lost too lou^ ago to have the faintest real feeling about him, always remembering how much you Avere a gainer by his loss ? ' 'A gainer!' she cried, 'to eat the bread of dependence in your mother's house. Do you think that is gain ? ' ' It is at least better than being a factory girl, which you would have been in all probability had your father lived.' ' Had he lived ! Do you know for certain that he is dead ? ' 'I know as everybody else knows — that he perished in the attempt- to save your life,' answered Lashmar, forgetting everything but his head-long anger ; * and I know that my brother, who vvas worth a dozen demagogues, risked his life to save a child whose face he had never seen. You have good need to be grateful to him.' ' Dead ! ' she faltered ; ' your brother told me that he had gone away to a distant country. I thought, as I grew older, that he had left England because life here was too hard for him; that he had left me behind, intending to send for me if things went well with him in his new country. And then I thought that Pate had still been against him, and that he was waiting for the tide to turn, waiting to be rich enough to send for his only child ; and now you tell me he was killed the night of the lire — killed in trying to save me ! Oh, it was cruel, infamous, to deceive me so,' she cried passionately. 'It was your benefactor, the man who was more than a father to you, who told the lie.' ' Yes, but when he was gone — when I was older, better able to face sorrow, when I had to 2GS ONE TifING NEEDFUii bear a hard, bitter lifo, when no one woukl have been pained by my lears — why wa3 I not told the truth then ? Neither you nor Lady liashmar have been so anxious to spare my feelinrjs that }ou need have kept this grief from me. You liave let mc go on year after vcur, feeding on a false hope, dreaming a mocking dream.' ' It was an oversight on my mother's part and on mine,' said Lashmar , ' we ought to have told you the truth. My brother Hubert had a foolish sensitiveness on the subject, a morbid dread of your tears ; but with us it was otherwise. We did wrong in not telling you. However, you have been in some wise a gainer, as your pathetic case has made a profound impression upon Mr. Nes- torius ; and that last touch of pathos — your belief in your father's existence many years after his deaMi— hap quite subdued him.' ' ^.Ir. Nestorius has been vexy good to me, and I am deeply grateful to him; but if you think that I have schemed to win his regard ' 'I do think that you have so schemed, and that you have gone very near wiuning your game — not quite, perhaps — but your last move was admirable, and I anticipate the pleasure of con- gratulating you upon your promotion before Nestorius leaves the Castle.' ' Is that all you have to say to me, Lord Lashmar ? ' 'Yes, tliat is all, until I ofier you my con- gratulations.' * I thank you for your kindness and considera- tion. It is almost equal to that with which you sent me out of tlio library seven years ago.' ' Oh, you were a child then, and I am sorry to say you were a very unmannerly child. I Jiope you do not harbour resentment after all 'SHALTi KOT GItlEF OF THE OLD TIME FOLLOW?' 269 these years, Lec;;:r>e I was a little rough with you that afternoon.' ' I do not harbour resentment. I do not care enough about you to resent your conduct to me in anything — no, not even your cruelty in trying to strangle every ambitious thought of my mind, every hope, and every dream, when your brother's death made ray life desolate. I despise you too much to be resentiul.' 'You despise nid. That is rather strong.' 'I know of no ""^ ords strong enough to express whac I feel, when I remember how you have treated me — when I compare you and youv brother.' ' Ah, there is a difference, is there not ? But Hubert was cast in a diflerent mould. He ought to have been a woman. I am a man.' ' I would not boast of that, if I were \ou, just after you have been unmanly enough to insult a friendless girl.' 'rriendless! What! when you have Kestorius as your friend, your adorer, your future husband, if you play out your game as well as you have begun it ? Do not talk about frieudlessness. Calypso is never without friends.' She turned from him and walked ({uiclcly towards the house ; he followed as quickly, and oj.ened the library window for her to pass througli. The action was polite, yet it reminded him of that other action, seven years ago, when he had flung -open the door lor her and told her to ' march.' She had not forgotten. She turned on the thresliold, and looked at him with Ihvshing eyes. 'Why dini't you tell me to "march"?' she said, * as you did that other day. Tliis time there ■'s no need of your order. I am going to march.' And so, witli a sliort, angry laugh, she left him. 270 ONE THING NEEDFUL ' What a she-devil,' lie muttered. ' It is her Spanish blood, I suppose, and Boldwood's blood. A nice mixture! Yes, upon my soul, a very pleasant brew ! ' He went back to the terrace, and tramped up and down till after the warning gong had sounded. Then he rushed to his dressing-room, and scrambled through his toilet ; and to dress huniedly was a thing he hated. ' What on earth did the creature lucau when sh'* said she was going to march,' he asked himself, as he bungled with his cambric tie. CHAPTER XVI ' SHALL WE XOT LAUcHI, SHALL WE NOT WEEP ? * Xevle had Lord Lashinar felt less inclined to play the host than upon this particular evening. He was so thoroughly out of temper that it was an effort to him to be even decently civil. Voices jarred upon his nerves, truisms and platitudes almost maddened him, and Mrs. Mulciber's gentle prosings about the iJado Society, and the awaken- ing of the love of the beautiful in the mind Oi the artisan, made him feel murderous. One relief, and one only, was aftbrded him. 'Did you know that ]\Ir. Nestorius was going away, Lashmar?' asked his mother in the five minutes before dinner. ' Xo. You don't mean to say that he is gone? ' ' Yes, he left an hour ago, in time for the 8.15 from lirumm. ]fe spi\t me a hurried little note — business of State — something to do with the coming elections.' ' Oh, he had had a telegram, no doubt. No, I had no idea he was going to leave us,' ' [ am dreadfully sorry,' sighed Lady Carmi- now. 'He has been a little distrait lately, but at his best he is quite the most delightful man in Euro])e.' 'That is a huge order,' said Lashmar. Tray, liave you met all the deli'ditful Europeans T 1 have met all the typical men,' leplied 272 OXE THIM; NEi:-:^ii l Clarice reprovingly; 'the men who arc held up as examples — Parisians, Vienneso, Belgians, Italians, Spaniards ; one meets the best people of every nation, don't yoii know, in diplomatic society. I think I know all the men who have reputations, and not one of them has the fascination of Xestnrius. It is a kind of glamour.' ' What a happy word ! ' exclaimed Mrs. jNIuI- ciber. ' Yes, it is glamour.' Everybody agreed tliat the word fitted ]\[r. Nestorius like a glove. It was by glamour that he had secured majorities, wriggled himself out of difficulties, and led the British nation by the nose ; and then they all went into dinner and enjoyed themselves just as much as if the gla- mourist had been there. Lady Carminow was on Lashmar's right hand, as usual ; but she found him a very disagreeable companion. ' How tired you look !' she said. • I'm afraid the ironworks worried you.' ' Not at all ; the ironworks are delightful. I envy you the sense of power you must feel when you survey that army of blackened faces; you must feel like Zenobia before she was conquered.' ' Zenobia never was beaten,' interjected Lady '^'^nhia, across the table. She never couid hear a classical name without referring it to the llachuj Calendar. ' She was one of the finest two-year- olds that Lord Zethiud evor owned. He sold lier to Count Legrpiigo fur a ])ot of money, on tlic strength of her Newmarket successes, and slie won the Grand Prix the year after.' Lady Lashmar retired soon after the ladies left the dini!)g-room, ami it was about ten o'clock when Lord Lash mar, on his way to the drawing- room, WI13 fltnrtled by a tremendous ringing of SHALL WE NOT LAUGH, SHALL WE NOT WEEP ? ' 273 Mul- yoii ueretl.' Liicly icar a lU'UKJ i-yeav- il licr 111 the IC VOll ladios o'clock awing- ii)g ol' his mother's bell, a summons so violent that he took fright and hurried at once to her ladyship's room, expecting to find her attacked by some direful illness. She was not ill ; but she was in a towering rage, and turned upon her offspring as a tigress on her cub. ' Where is Stella ? ' she asked. * I have not the faintest idea. Is she not to be found, that you inquire so vehemently ? ' ' She is not to be found anywhere in this was to have read to me at half-past the first time she has ever disobeyed house. She nine. It is my orders.* ' She is getting too grand to cbey orders, haps she has gone off with Mr. Nestorius.' * What do you mean ? ' ' Surely you have seen what has been on under your eyes. The sionable — the lady artful. Per- gentleman She going is impres- been trying brought has to secure a wealthy husband. She has him to book, perhaps, and is off and over the border. They can be married before a Eegistrar in Brumm, or in London, to-morrow morning.' * Nestorius could not be such a madman ! ' ' Who knows ? lie would not be the iirst to count the world well lost for love. If she lias gone you may be sure he is concerned in her departure. She would not have the pluck to go out into the world akne — without the slightest knowledge of life outside these walls — without friends or money. But is it so certain that she has bolted ? She may be only outstaying her time with old Verner, listening to some bookish twaddle.' 'We can very soon ascertain that,' said her ladyship, striking the spring bell which summoned her personal attendants, T 274 ONE TIIINO NEEDFUL Before it could bo answered, Barker came in with the latest intelligence. Stella had been seen to leave the Castle witli a little carpet bag ; one of the housemaids had met her on the back staircase and had asked her where she was going. ' Going away,' she had answered. Tor a holiday?' 'Forever.' The housemaid had concluded that Miss .l!oldw(jod had been disniissed by her ladyship, and had not con- sidered it necessary to mention the fact till she heard Barker making inquiries. ' My servants are a regiment of fools,' said Lady Lashmar. ' Pray, at what hour did the housemaid meet this girl?' 'A little before nine o'clock.' ' That will do for the present. Barker,' — where- upon the patient Barker vanished. ' Nestorius left at seven, and was driven straij^dit to the station. He can have had notliin<' to do with this girl's running away,' said her lady- ship. * He may have inspired it, may have planned to meet her in London.' ' No, Lashmar, Nestorius is above all things ii gentleman; ho would not wrong that girl even in thought. Ho would not compromise her by a scandalous elopement, or lnl<(i a base advantage ol his residence in my house. Vou must think of some one else.' * There ia no one else. Tt is horrible to think of that girl : alone, friendless, utterly ignorant of the world, penniless, not knowing which way to turn for a meal.' Tie had been savngoly angry with Stella tliat nfternoon, hod drenicil no words too hard or too bit'cv, had scorned her as a schemer and an ad- veuluresa yf tlio lowest type; and now that she Aftei of able no (| wo li 'SHALL WK NOT LA.UG1I, SHALL WE NOT WEEP?' 275 ic in w\tl\ i liad asked ' she ' The id had it cou- ill she ,' said id the -where- driven nothing ler lady- (lanned thin<^B II, even in er by i^ ntage of Lhiuk of U) think_ lorant of I way to ;eUa that vd or too n\ an ad- tliat siio was gone from him, for ever perhaps, utterly heyond his reach, he thouglit of lier in her lielp- lossness with strangest, tenderost pity ; thouglit of her as a motlier who had been led away by anger might think of a rebellious child ; pictured her, in her ignorance of life, falling a prey to the scoun- drelism that lurks in great cities, to the traps and snare8 set for innocent feet. * We must have been infernally cruel to her,' he exclaimed, ' that she should be driven to do this thing.' ' 1 don't know what you mean by cruelty. For the last two years, since she Jias been my reader and secretary, she has led the life of a lady. She lias not soiled her delicate fingers. She has had lier own sitting-room, her meals served to her alone, as if she had been a gentlewoman. She has been allowed to carry on her education at her own pleasure.' ' Granted ; but havn you treated her kindly ? After all, even Boldwood's dau.,diter is a thing of flesh and blood, with instincts and feelings, able to be glad and sorry. She would encroach no doubt, if treated too kindly; but do you think we have been too unkind ? ' 'I do not know what we may have been. I know that for my own part 1 have always been civil to her ? ' ' Civil ; ves that is the word. But I believe there .ue some natures that cannot exist upon hare civility. There are souls which revolt against luxuries enjoyed upon sufferance. You did not do much to brighten her life, did you? Slu; hud 1() fall, back upon books as the only possible (hdight; and for a young creature to have no oblier joys than she can get from books seems rather a dreary business. You did not dress lier 276 ONE THING NEEDFUL over-smartly either, or gratify her youthful yearn- ing for prettiness and bright colours. Her soul must have sickened at that perpetual black gown.' 'Are you mad, Lashmar, that you preach to me like this ? ' ' No, I am only remorseful, very remorseful. Great God ! if we should have driven her into danger ! Why, she knows no more of tlie outside world than a baby. But perhaps she has only gone to the nearest shelter ; to old Verner's cot- tage. I will go and hunt for her there.' ' You go ? ' *Yes, I would rather go myself. I shall be in a fever till she is found. I have been a wretch, a cold-hearted, vindictive brute. I have been sys- tematically uncivil to her ; I who know how fond my poor brother was of her ; I who, for liis sake, ought to have been kind. She had a bad influ- ence upon me, suinehow ; she stirred something evil in my nature. I hope I .shall find her with Verner.' 'I daresay you will, and you will exalt her idea of her own impoitance by going after her in person. You had much better send a stable boy.' 'No. I want a smoke in the open air. I'll go myself.' He went, being a young man who alway:; took his own way. It was an intinite relief to him to get away from those cold questioning eyes of his mother's, and to get out into the cool night air, the fresh, free October air blowing up from the river and swirling the newly-fallen leaves about him as he tramped across the park. Never had he been so disturbed in mind as he was about the flight of this girl. She was nothing to him, absolutely nothing, he told himself. It was only his guilty conscience which was punishing • SHALL WE NOT LAUGH, SHALL WE NOT WEEP ? ' 277 eyes 13 from leaves Never him. He had allowed his prejudice, his dislike, to go too far. He had seen her sufferincj under his mother's icy tyranny, and had made no remonstrance — he who was young and prosperous and happy had done nothing for friendless and oppressed youth, — he who called himself a man had never pleaded for womanhood deprived of all womanly joys. And to-day he had gone further, had attacked a defenceless girl with most insult- ing speech. He had been brutal, offensive, un- gentlemanlike. What was it to him if she had angled for a rich husband, schemed for home and position, for all those things which had been withheld from her ? Was it his place to be angry ? If he should find her with his brother's old tutor, he was prepared to humiliate himseif, to apologise for his unwarrantable anger, to promise her fairer treatment and a happier home in the future, to pledge himself that her life as a woman should be brighter than her girlhood had been. The lamp was burning in the old bookworm's parlour, but he was alone with Aristotle and the rest of the learned dead, lie had heard nothing of Stella's flight — was in the deepest distress at hearing of it. No, she had never told him any of her troubles, but he knew she was not happy, had never been happy in her home at the Castle since her benefactor's death. 'Her ladyship has a very fine character,' he said apologetically ; ' but she has never under- stood Stella. The girl is altogether exceptional ; she has genius, Lord Lashmar, original genius. The only person who has ever understood and appreciated her — except my humble self — is Mr. Nestorius.' ' Mr. Nestorius is in love with her,' said HI H'i 278 ONE THING NEEDFUL Lashinar sharply. ' That is what undorstandiuose, and such like.' ' Yes, I haVe written a story ; but till I can live by my pen I want to get work in a factory.' ' Ah, my girl, you don't look much like factory work. Why, you ]ook so slight one could blow you away. You look too much the lady. You'd better have stayed at Lashmar Castle than turn factory girl.' ' I could not stay there.' ' They turned you ad lift, perhaps. ' ' No, but tlic place become too hateful. Pon't question me, please ; I have done nothing wrong, ' THANKS TO THE HEART BY WHICH WE LIVE ' 287 Well, there's than others, can get you unless it was wrong to come away from a house in which I was miserable.* •Come now, lass, did they ill-treat you, beat you, starve you ? ' ' No, they only made me wretched. I suffered patiently enough for many years; suffered the want of all kindness and sympathy ; but the time came when I made up my mind not to suffer any longer; that bread-and- water in a garret would be better than dainty food in a grand house where noLudy loved me. I am quite a stranger, and I shall be quite alone in this big town ; but I shall be able to live my own life, to win inde- pendence; I shall cease to eat the bread of charity.' ' I see, you have a proud spirit, some factory work that's lighter though it's all hard. I'll see if I work to-raorrow, if you like. It oughtn't to be very difficult, for there isn't a Rad in Brumm that wouldn't befriend Boldwood's daughter.' 'I shall be very grateful to you,' said Stella; and then turning to his wife she said, * If you would be so kind as to tell me where I can get a respectable lodging. It must be cheap, for I shall have no money except what I can earn." 'A lodging! Do you mean to say you have no home in Brumm ? ' • No ; I only left Lashmar Castle this evening. I walked all the way here. I have no money, and unless people will trust me with a lodging I must walk about in the fields all night.' 'Or go to the casual ward at the Union. Jonathan Boldwood's daughter shall do neither,' .said the grocer. 'Look here, mother, there's Bill's room. You give this young woman a shake-down in Bill's room. It's too late for her 288 ONK THING NEEDFUL to be looking for a lodging. Time enough to think of that to-morrow morning.' 'You are very good,' faltered Stella. She had been standing until this moment, her feet aching after her long walk, her arms strained by the weight of the little carpet bag. There was a stool in the shop, and now she ventured to seat herself, feeling that she was really among friends. Chapman, her new protector, shut and bolted the shop door. It was a very small shop, crowded with small wares ; odorous of cheese, bacon, herrings, and even of onions, a rope of •which hung in a corner, in friendly neighbourhood with a pile of quartern loaves. Pickle jars, cheap jam, and every variety of tinned provisions with brilliant pictorial labels filled the shelves. There was an air of rude plenty, which hinted at a brisk trade, small profits and quick returns. By this time even the old-maidish daughter had assumed a friendly air. 'Come into the parlour and rest yourself,' she said. 'We've had our bit of supper, but perhaps you'd like a crust of bread and cheese.' * Of course she would,' said Chapman ; * can't you see how white and tired she looks, poor child — reg'lar done up. Bring out the loaf, Polly, and a bit o' pickle, and a mug o' beer.' 'Not any beer, thank you, just a little bit of bread-and-butter, if you please.' The little parlour was neatly kept. There was a stand of geraniums in front of the window, with a bird-cage hanging over it. The room had a curious look to Stella after the stately splen- douis amidst which she had lived, but it was more home-like than the still-room at Lashmar, and she liked the Chapmans better than the upper * THANKS TO THE HEART BY WHICH WE LIVE ' 289 and under housemaids with whom she had spent one weary period of her life. Polly's heart softened to her as she sat there in the gas-light, looking so pale, and faint, and helpless, so utterly different from tlie robust young women and the obese matrons wlio patronised Mr. Chapman's shop. She looked like some wan, white flower that had grown in tho depths of a wood, remote from the sun. Polly was a devourer of periodical literature, and she began to imagine a romantic history for Boldwood's daughter, who had come in among them in such a sudden mysterious way. The name and history of Jonathan Boldwood were not un- known to Miss Chapman. She had gone with her father to hear the demagogue at open-air meetings, when she was a young girl. She had been moved by the enthusiasm of tlie crowd, and had felt that this strong, rugged-looking man, with the deep sonorous voice, was in some wise a hero, and had admired him, hardly knowing wliy. And now she looked with interest at this girl with the large dark eyes and small pale face, which in its delicate fashioning had a deeper charm than mere sensuous beauty. She seated herself on the little horse-hair sofa beside Stella, and drew closer to her, while Mrs. Chapman was bustling about between the table and the cupboard where the provisions were kept. ' It must have been very nice living at Lashmar Castle,' she said, devouring Stella with her keen, inquisitive eyes. ' T saw the place on the outside, and the gardens and statues and fountains and things, one bank holiday, when a lot of us drove that way in a break, and tea'd at the inn in the village. What a lovely old house ! I don't think I should have wanted to run away from such a home as that.' 290 ONE THING NEEDFUL 'I don't think you would havo been happy in a liouse where nobody cared for you.' ' Ah, but didn't somebody care for you — wasn't there some one who cared too much, perhaps — some ono above you in station — a lord, perhaps — some one you could have loved with all your heart only you durstn't?' ' I don't know what you mea!i, ' answered Stella, drawing herself up haughtily, and >-e ginning to think that Miss Chapman was even worse than the housemaids, 'The only persoa I ever loved in that house was the last Lord Lashmar, who died when I was a child.' 'Ah, he was good to you, wasn't he ? I've heard the story many a time — just like a novel, only it goes to one's heart more. But the present Lord Lashmar? Hasn't he been kind to you? What a fine man he is ! I've seen him drive his four-in-hand through Brumm. Such a handsome fellow, just what a lord ought to be. Wasn't he kind, like hig brother?' 'He was the very opposite of his brother in every way. Please don't talk about him.' * Don't tease her, Polly,' said the mother, cutting a slice of bread-and-butter : ' don't you see how tired she is, poor child? and she don't want to be worried. Now, my dear, try and eat a bit of supper, while I go up and get your room ready. It's clean anyhow. That I'll answer for.' The little bedroom on the half flight, which had been the son's room — son now away on a big engineering job in the Mediterranean — was as clean as soap and water and unstinted labour could make it. Stella lay down to rest in the narrow bed, so utterly weary that she felt like a child in its mother's lap, helpless, careless almost of all things excer' I'.iat sweet sense of rest, udlt • THANKS TO THE HEART BY WHICH WE LIVE * 291 anxious as to what the morrow might bring forth, leaving all to ProvidoncG, which had been so kind to her to-night. The room was very small : it seemed to Stella '"ko a box, the sides of whicii wero close enough lor her to touch with her out- spread hands : uiit it was a friendly shelter, and she was too tired to wonder at being iu a strange place. She slept delicioasly till seven, when she was awakened by much movement in the house. She got up and dressed herself and went downstairs, where she found the Chapman family breakfasting in a snug little kitchen, with whitewashed walls and a dresser rich in cheap crockery. Stella was welcomed to the breakfast-table, and introduced to the family cat, which was a personage of dis- tinction in the household, and which took kindly to the stranger. 'They know their friends/ said the good-natured Chapman. ' I've seen that cat swell out his tail as thick as a German sausage at the sight of a stranger; and spit and snarl he do, as bad as a rattlesnake. Don't you, Tom?' Tom rubbed himself against his patron's legs in acknowledgment of this idiosyncrasy. lie was black and big and sleek, and had white stockings of miraculous purity, considering that he spont most of his life under the grate. "Do you know, Miss Boldwood,' began the grocer, in a hearty tone, ' me and my missus and Polly here have just had our little mag about you ; and we've come to the conclusion that there ain't no use in your worriting about factory work. It ain't in your line, and you wouldn't do no good at it. What is there now as you could do ? There's pens — and there's pins — and there's lucifers. Fancy t>em pretty little lingers toiling 292 ONE THING NEEDFUL at lucifers ! You wouldn't be half as clever at it as the Brumm girls who've done it from their cradles. You'd find you wasn't in it, as the saying is, and you'd feel humiliated and down- hearted.' 'I must bear that,' said Stella firmly. 'I have to earn my bread somehow.' * Somehow, yes, that's where it is. You ain't bound to earn your bread in a factory. If you feel it's in you to write pretty stories, and make your name as a writer, why not begin at it '-. Stella sighed and shook her head. * I've read over and over again of the difficulty of beginning such a life,' she said. Mt is almost impossible to earn a living at the first. There must be years wasted — a long apprenticeship to labour, disappointment, and dependence. Now, I have no one to help me. I must earn my bread while I am trying to write something that may bring me money later.' ' Ah, but you can't do that while you're earning your bread in a factory, my lass,' said Chapman ; * don't dream of such a thing. It ain't to be done. A factory will take it out of you. There'll be nothing left in you for inventing pretty stories. Now if you could get a bit of copying to do, it 'ud be different.' There is a common idea that moncv may always be made by copying or translating. People have the vaguest notion of what there is to be translated or copied. No one asks himself or herself why this perennial flow of French novels or legal documents — whence they come and wliithcr they go ? — but the idea prevails that the woman who can put I'rench into English, or copy a manuscript in a fair round hand, lu^ay always find genteel employment. • THANKS TO THE HEAET BY WHICH WE LIVE ' 293 ' Yes, I could do copying or translating,' answered Stella. 'I kno>v two or three languages — French, German, Itahau, Latin, and Greek.' ' Lord a' mercy on ut3 1 ' * One language helps another when one is fond of languages,' said Stella modestly. ' Lord Lash- mar taught me the beginning ; and when he was gone, I taught myself. My books were my only friends.' ' Why, you ought to be able to make a fortune.* ' And you have written stories ? ' asked Polly deeply interested — * regular novels ? ' ' Not so long as ordinary novels. Stories about as long as one volume of a novel. They are very foolish, I dare say ; but it was a kind of hap- piness to me to write them. They took me out of my own life.' ' Yes, I can understand that,' said Polly : * they lifted you up into a different world where all things were beautiful. I have felt that often when I have been reading — sitting here in this little kitchen — I have fancied myself in some lovely drawing-room where the curtains were all velvet and lace, s x where the ladies threw out a cloud of perfume as they glided about — and where there was the sound of a fountain from the conservatory, and palms. I do so love palms ! I never saw one, but the very look of the word is lovely. And then when I look up and see this old kitchen of ours, and the Dutch clock, and the warming-pan there, all so common and homely, I feel as if I had wakened out of a delicious dream.' ' Yes, and that's how you neglect the house work, or let any one stand in the shop till they're tired o' waiting to be served,' said the practical Mrs. Chapman. 'I do think as how novel-reading is the bane of a young woman s life.' 294 ONE THING NEEDFUL * There's times for everythinl:, and novel reading ain't no harm at the proper time,' said the more liberal husband. * Of an evening, when the day's work is pretty well over, I'd rather see my daughter with her nose in a novel, than hear her wag her tongue about her neighbours, and talk of things which she didn't ought even to know about, much less talk of. A novel's safer reading for a resrect- able young female than a newspaper any da-",.' ' Have you your stories with you ? ' asked Polly. Stella blushed at the question. 'Yes, I brought all my papers with me in that little carpet bag.' ' Would you mind letting me read one ? I'm not much of a judge, but I've read a good many novels that I've got from the Tree Library,' pleaded Polly. * If you would like to read one — ' ' I should of all things : and, father, don't you think Jem Barsby might help Miss Boldwood in some way. He's a clever young man, and they think a lot of him at the office.' Jem Barsby was a hanger-on or admirer of Polly's, who was not actually engaged to her, had not been promoted to the proud position of keeping company, but who was allowed to walk out witli her occasionally, as a worthy young man, who knew his place and might be trusted, which con- fidence, seeing that I'olly was seven years his senior, was not undeserved. Jem was a printer's reader and factotum at the office of the Index>cMdent, and ranked as a literary man among the Ohapmans and their circle. Now it seemed to Polly that Jem's influence ought to smooth the paths of literature for any beginner. he THANKS TO THE HEART BY WHICH WE LIVE ' 295 you *Do let me have a read of one of your stories,* entreated Polly. ' I tell you what it is, Miss Bold wood, you'd better stay with us for a weel: or two, while you look about you,' said honest Chapman. 'Jonathan Boldwood's daughter shall never want for a home while I've a roof over my head. We're homely people, mother and me ; but Polly there has culti- vated her mind a bit, and she'll be company for you. Stay with us as long as you like, my dear.' Mrs. Chapman added a kindly word of her own to confirm the invitation, and Polly put her arm round Stella's neck and kissed her. ' I don't often take to anyone, but I have took to you,' she said ; * and I think it's because you've got a mind. I worship mind.' Stella's eyes filled with sudden tears. * You are all so good to me,' she faltered, * and I value your kindness all the more because it is given for my father's sake — my dear father, whose face I can hardly remember. Till yesterday I used to hope and dream about seeing him again — that he would come back to me from the other side of the world — and yesterday I was told how he died in the attempt to save me.' She burst into a passionate fit of sobbing, and it was some minutes before she could tranquillise herself, even with the aid of Polly's comforting hugs. * Yes, I will stay with you, if I may, kindest friends,' she said ; ' I shall be happier — more at peace here than I can be anywhere else.' More at peace, yes! it was peace she sighed for. At the Castle she had not be-'n at peace. There had been a passionate revolt for ever going on in her soul, a revolt against that servitude which she bore so meekly, a sense of wounded 29G ONE THING NEEDFUL pride which a princess of the blood royal might liave felt. And she had never suffered that agony of inward shame so acutely as when Victorian was at the Castle. His very presence under that roof moved her to rebellion. So the friendly compact between the dema- gogue's daughter and that honest and somewhat mild Eadical, Mr. Chapman, was sealed. Stella was to occupy the little room on the half-flight as long as she liked, and was to have as many little stone bottles of ink out of the shop, and as many of those steel nibs, which Mr. CL ^pmau bought at sevenpence a gross and retailed at four a penny, as ever she chose to consume ; she was to be free from the burden of sordid daily cares, and might scribble away to her heart's content, filling the little room with spirits as vast and wonderful as the Afrite that came out of the fisherman's bottle. Polly spent the whole day devouring a manu- script story, and wholly absorbed in the fiction, and even offering the writer the tribute of an occasional tear. Jem Barsby dropped in at tea-time — not the elegant five o'clock tea of polite life, but a solid seven o'clock meal which marked one close of the day's labour, and served at once for tea and supper. At this autumnal season sausages were supposed to be in their prime, and bloaters still meritorious. Very savoury was the board which Mrs. Cliapman spread in her cosy little kitclien where the family i leals were usually eaten ; with one ceremonious exception made in favour of Sunday tea, which was always served in the parlour. Jem listened intently to the account of Miss Boldwood's literary proclivities, and to Polly's glowing description of the story she had just been reading. * THANKS TO THE HEAET BY WHICH WE LIVE '297 'We ought to be able to find something for you to do at our place,' said Jem grandly, with the air of a sub-editor at the very least. * Do you think you could manage a London letter ? ' *Lor,' Jem, why, she's never been in London in her life.' * Ah,' sighed Mr, Barsby, ' that's against it, ain't it ? — or else if she had a nice smart way of putting any little bit of news or scandal she could pick up, I might get our folks to start a "Lounger at the Clubs," don't you see?' The Chapmans saw the possibility of this, had Stella been altogether a different person. * Or if she'd been thoroughly up to trap about the theatres, now ! Half a column of green-room gossip three times a w "^k would go down like butter-scotch with our subscribers.' * But, my dear Jem,' remonstrated Polly, vexed at her admirer's obtuseness, 'Miss Boldwood is a novelist — a born novelist. She has written the loveliest story I have read for ever so long.' *Ah! but that's a big line. I don't see a chance for her with that game. Why, our pro- prietors give their thousands and fifteen hundreds down for a foolUton, and they want big names. If slie were only to make a success now, they'd have her to-morrow. Perhaps if she was to knock off a little story for the Christmas Number I might get our chief to look at it : and if he were to like it, and could find room for it : there'd be a fi'pun' note in Miss Boldwood's pocket, and it would be getting in the thin end of the wedge into the bargain.* ' I'll try,' said Stella ; ' it is very kind of you to interest yourself for me.' CHAPTEE XVIII * THE ORACLES ARE DUMB* Lord Lashmar's telegram to Mr. Nestorius, sent as soon as the village post-ofl&ce opened on the morning after Stella's flight, brought no reply until late in the afternoon, when there came an answer from a ducal seat in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, to the effect that Mr. Nestorius would be at Lashmar Castle next morning. ' He is not afraid to face us,' said Lashmar, relieved by this reply; for in spite of her lady- ship's conviction to the contrary, he had been tortured all last night and all that day by a rankling suspicion that Nestorius had induced Stella to elope with him, and that his intentions were not altogether honourable. A^ady Carmiiiow^did not attempt to hide her disgust at the fuss that was being made about Stella's flight. * I had no idea that Lady Lashmar's reading girl was the most important person in the house,' she said at luncheon, when Lashmar, who was utterly unskilled in concealing his feelings, fretted and fumed at the non-arrival of any reply to his telegram, and the non-result of his own inquiries in Brumm, where he had spent the morning tramping about with a detective. ' She is very important to my mother,' answered Lashmar moodily ; ' no one else can read as well ; ' THE ORACLES ARE DUMB ' 299 and to be read to is the only relief for my mother's nerves/ ' You should write to Mrs. Dallas for a good reader. I daresay in her elocution classes she has a dozen girls who can read better than Miss Boldwood.' ' I doubt it : with her reading was a gift — voice, enunciation, all were perfect. To hear her read Milton was like church music. I happened to go into her ladyship's room one morning in the middle of "Lycidas," and I stopped on the threshold, spell-bound, till the poem was finished.' 'What a pity you did not secure her by a more binding engagement,' sneered Clarice ; * you should have made her Lady Lashmar, and then she would have been always on the spot to read to you and your mother.' Lady Carminow's womanly instinct understood Lashmar's feelings better than he did himself, ^he had not been without suspicions upon the subject before to-day. There had been something in his manner of speaking about Stella that indi- cated hidden fires. i\\vX to-day she knew for certain that he had fallen in love with the creature, was under the very same unholy inllu- ence that had bewitched Nestorius, the charm of a pale, strange loveliness, and eyes of dark, un- fathomable depLl-. Lashmar reddened angrily, but refrained from speech. ' Why didn't you consult a clairvoyant ? ' drawled Mrs. Vavasour. ' ^ou would only have to take a bit of one of the youi?g woman's frocks to a good clairvoyant and he oi she would be a1)lo to tell you where this young person is and all about her.' 300 ONE THING NEEDFUL ' Unhappily I have not iiny good clairvoyant in my visiting book,' answered Lashmar curtly. ' Oh, but there must be one in Brumm ; there are always clairvoyants everywhere. Instead of going about that great straggling place with a stupid detective you should have found a clair- voyant, and had her — the best are always women — put into a mesmeric trance.' 'There may be something in your idea, Mrs. Vavasour,' Lashmar replied more amiably. ' I'll go over to Brumm this afternoon, and hunt for some mod(3rn Witch of Endor. If I am imposed upon, it will be only so nmch time wasted. Nothing could have been more hopeless than my explora- tion with the detective.* ' I cannot help being amused at your simplicity in supposing that this young person has gone no further than the nearest town,' exclaimed Clarice, with open scorn. * Is it not much more likely that she is in London or Paris ? ' * If you v.'ill take the trouble to comprehend that she had absolutely no money when she left the Castle ' began Lashmar angrily. 'But I cannot comprehend that. She may have had no money from you, or from her lady- ship; but is it so certain that she could not get money from some one else ? I am sure, judging by Mr. Nestorius's air when those two were walking in the park together at dusk the other evening, if she had said " Lend me fifty pounds," he would have rushed to his cheque-book that instant.' * I do not think — little as I know of her — that she would ask Mr. Nestorius for fifty pounds, or for five pounds.' Yet the suggestion startled him, remembering that little scene on the terrace, which implied some very warm feeling, such as grateful affection, for tak( ord( *TIIE ORACLES ARE DUMB' 301 for instance, on Stella's part. Perhaps she had taken a gift of money from Mr. Nestorius in order to flee away from a hateful bondage. 'Whatever evil thing she has done, oi- what- ever harm may happen to her, it all must lie at our door/ he thought, meaning himself and his mother. Lady Lashmar had not appeared that day. She was much troubled by Stella's flight, and sorely missed her quiet ministrations; but she was troubled far more by the way in which Victorian had taken the event. Why should he be so grieved, so angry ? He, who had affected to despise and dislike his dead brother's 'proUg4e,. ' That suggestion about the mesmerist came from a very foolish person, and was, doubtless, utterly foolish in itself; but Lashmar had fretted himself into a mood in which he felt that ho must be doing something, no matter what, by way of hunting after the missing girl. Yes, he would go and And out a clairvoyant, if there wero indeed such a person to be found in Brunim. Natural means having failed, he would try the supernatural. He ordered his phaeton, and then went off in quest of that scrap of raiment or per- sonal belonging which Mrs. Vavasour had told him would be necessary to bring the seer en rnpport with the subject of her search. Thinking over the past, that long-ago period of his half-brother's death and his own sudden elevation from the playing fields of Eton to the ownership of Lashmar and all its belongings, he remembered the orphan girl's dangerous illness and Betty's devotion to her. He had seen Betty about the house from time to time, and her a[)pearance had always recalled that tower room and a conversation between him and his mother one stormy afternoon, while the child lay in the 302 ONE THING NEEDFUL inner chamber, ill of brain fever. Recalling that conversation now, he remembered his own hard- ness, his utter want of sympathy with that young life — his powerlessness to comprehend the great- ness of her loss. He had urged his mother to send her to some orphanage or charity school, he remembered ; and it had seemed to him that it would be sufficient for her to be well fed and decently clad in some school uniform, and taught the humblest drudgery, by which she might earn her bread when she came to womanhood. Yes, he had been hard, unsympathetic, cruel, with the inherent cruelty of selfish boyhood. How different from that tender nature of his brother's, which he had once despised and which ho now began to admire. He went to the corridor outside her ladyship's rooms, and knocked at the door of that small apartment which was sacred to Barker. ' I want to see your niece. Barker ; the young woman who used to look after Stella.' Betty was sent for, and appeared with swollen eyelids and all the traces of a night of tears. * What have you been crying about ? ' asked his lordship sternly. * I could not help it, my lord ; it was such a blow. If she should have drowned herself ' * Drowned herself ! ' cried Lashnar, in an awful voice. ' How dare you say such a thing ? ' Drowned herself! His heart seemed to stop beating at the thought of such a calamity. A girl driven from that house by a long series of unkindnesses on his mother's part, sheer brutality on his own side ; by cruel speeches and shameful taunts ; driven to suicide as the nearest, easiest refuge. The river was so near; and slie had so loved the river, had spent so many a summer day upon that tranquil stream ! How well he remem- b( li a 'THE ORACLES ARE DUMB' 303 bered seeing her sitting in the sunshine, a childish little figure, squatting on a Persian rug at the bottom of the punt, while Hubert reclined near her, surrounded with books, lounging through the summer day in studious indolence. Victorian had passed them many a time among the rushes, wandering with his rod, fly-fishing, scorning his brother's repose, wondering at the spooniness of a man who could spend his days in the company of a child and a dog or two. Drowned herself! He recalled the deadly pallor of her face, the angry light in her eyes as she told him that she was going to ' march.' What if that pale intent look heralded a desperate resolve ? And then memory went further back, and recalled the scene of seven years ago, when he had turned her out of the library because she had been rudo to Clarice. What a wretch he had been to her from the very beginning ! Ho could respect her now for having repulsed Clarice's velvety caress and soft purring pity. Those childish eyes had seen into the artificiality of the young beauty's character, had not been hoodwinked by sweet false smiles. Drowned herself ! No, he would not think that dark thought. And yet vivid imagination pictured her lying among the rushes, her streaming hair caught and tangled amidst the wild sweet flowers that thrive beside the river, those starry eyes, glazed in death, gazing upward to their kindred stars ! Oh, God ! if she had done this thing, driven to that wild act by his foul tongue, would he not stand for ever accursed as her murderer — as a fool who had a precious jewel left in his care, and who trampled upon it and flung it away ? *J will have the river dragsjed to-night,' he 304 ONE THING NKEDFUL after dark. There shall I'll bo SO no thought, ' socrutly, the men myself, scandal.' Then, after a hurried turn or two in corridor, he went back to the spot where lie left Betty, who had been quietly crying wiping her poor inllamed eyes all the time. ' I want you to give me something out witli talk, no th(! liad and that belonged to Miss Boldwood,' he said : * something she lias worn, or was fond of.' Betty stared at him in blank wonder. What motive could he have in asking such a thing, he who had never shown the slightest kindness to her poor dear ? But Betty came of a race in whom obedience to superiors was an instinct, and she did her "ost to comply with his lordship's strange demand. ' Perhaps you would like to see her old rooms ? ' she faltered. ' There's lots of things belonging to her there.' ' Yes, let me see the rooms. He ran up to the tower, followed breathlessly by Betty. The rooms had been left undisturbed. Lashmar Castle had never been so full of visitors as to necessitate the occupation of this tower. The sitting-room and bedroom were exactly as they had been in Stella's childhood. Stella's pretty little white-curtained bed in one corner, and there was pallet in another. There, too, and bedroom were all those toys which Hubert had lavished on liis adopted daughter: the peacock's feathers, and Indian fans, and Chinese slippers, and ivory chessmen, and the silver casket with its modest collection of trinkets. 'There's been nothing touched since his lordship died,' said Betty. . isif'S.^ stood ghostlike Betty's simple in sitting-room and ornaments 'thk ouaclks aue dumb' 305 jSt old kts. his ' You mean that Stella never had any of these tilings in her possession after my brother's death ? ' interrogated Lashmar. ' No, my lord. Her ladyship sent her to sleep in the housemaids' dormitory at the other end of the Castle ; and this room has been kept locked up ever since. Her ladyship thought the rooms might be wanted some day for visitors, and then there were alterations to be made ; but till her ladyship gave fresh orders everything was to be left as it was.' ' liut these things belong to Miss Boldwood/ said Lashmar : * they are her personal property.' ' They were certainly given to her,' replied Betty meekly ; ' but with a child of her age of course that doesn't count.' ' But it does count,' muttered Lashmar ; • nobody has the right to break faith with a child. If my brother gave her these things they were hers.' ' It was her ladyship's wish that nothing should be removed from this room,' said Betty, ' and there the things are just as they were left after his lordship's death. I did take upon myself to bring away a few books : she fretted after her books so sadly, poor child, and her books were the only pleasure she had. Such a child to read and such a child to learn I never saw. Night after night she used to sit up, with her poor little ends of candle — the half-burned candles are the under- 6utler's perquisites, you know, my lord, and he used to give me a few odd bits — poring over her grammars and her dictionaries, till I thought she'd wear her poor eyes out. And at the same time she did all the sewing that was required of her, an^ never disobeyed the head-housemaid in anything. It was a nard life for such a young creature to lead.' ' Yes, it was too hard a life. Her ladyship X 306 ONE THING NEEDFUL should have sent her to school. This was no place for her,' said Lashmar shortly. He did not want to impugn his mother's conduct, least of all in the hearing of a servant. And yet he felt there had been cruelty. He recalled that stormy afternoon — the last — the only time he had ever been in this room — and that he himself in hardness had out-Heroded Herod. He had been even more cruel than his mother — had suggested some charitable institution, poor food and coarse raiment, daily toil and the livery of dependence. He had thought anything good enough for that life with which he had no sympathy. It had never entered into his thoughts that this existence, which he would have dealt with offhand, was gifted with exceptional intellect, richly endowed by nature, and of a force to stand against unmerited misfortune. He r3called that tall, willowy form, the perfect carriage of the head, the gi-ace and dignity of every moveraent. Eepression and ill-usage had been powerless to degrade nature's gifts. The girl had grown up a lady in spite of her surrounding's. Tyranny had failed to humiliate her. * No, she has not destroyed herself,' he thought. He would not let himself think so poorly of her. Such a rich young life would not be lightly flung away at the first keen sense of wrong. A girl who had endured years of bondage and risen superior to all repressing inHuences was not likely to drown herself in a fit of temper. ' Miss Boldwood took a bag away with her,' he said, after a long silence, during which he had bj^en looking idly at those objects which had been the treasures of a happy childhood : the trinkets and playthings and curiosities from far- off lauds. ' Do you know what was in it ? ' 'THE ORACLES AKE DUMB* 307 her; he had h had the im far- it?' 'Only a few of her books, my lord, just those she was fondest of — I miss them off the shelf iu her room — and a change of clothes, perhaps — nothing more. It was only a small carpet bag.' 'I should not think her wardrobe was very extensive,' said Lashmar. * She always wore the same gown.' * She had just the same as the rest of us, my lord. Three gowns a year — two every-day and one better most.' One bettermost gown 1 Oh, the pretty vanities of girlhood ! To be reduced to this ! Oh ! shade of Queen Elizabeth, with a hundred gowns iu her wardrobe what time grim death snatched bar from need of earthly raiment, save one poor garment of woollen! One bettermost black stuff gown in a year, and two for common wear, ' the same as the rest of us,' wliich meant upper and under housemaids : perhaps the very scullery and vegetable maids had as much in the republic of servitude. No wonder she had fled from such barbarity. No wonder either that she had angled for a rich husband. ' I want you to give me a piece of one of her every-day gowns,' said Lashmar,, approaching the subject somewhat awkwardly ; 'jusi a scrap of the stuir, cut off anywhere — a culj", for instance.' ' Yes,' my lord, answered Betty, as if he had asked for a glass of water. ' You can go and fetch it while I stay here.* Betty curtseyed and went off to obey. He was glad to be alone in this tower sitting- room ; to be free to walk to and fro and look about him: out of the window yondar, over the elm tree tops towards the blue broad reach of river ; or at the bookshelves and dainty contrivances within; the workbaskets, and desk, and picture 308 ONE THING NEEDFUL books, and the life-size pliotograph of his dead brother yonder — only the fine intellectual head, looking out of a dark background. ' No wonder she loved him : no wonder she hates me,' he said to himself. Betty came back with a black merino cuff cut neatly off the sleeve, and pinned in a sheet of note-paper. 'This came off one of her every-day gowns, I suppose, one that she has worn a good deal.' ' Yes, sir, I; took it off the oldest of her gowns. The stuff is almost threadbare.' ' That will do.' He put it in his pocket, wondering what the discreet Betty was flunking behind that serious countenance of hers. Tlie phaeton was at the door when he went down to the hall. He only stopped to inquire if tliere were any telegrams ; and finding no tidings from the suspected Nestorius he drove off at once on liis way back to Brumm. On arriving at that commercial centre, Lord Lashmar went strai^^ht to the police-station. Had there been any news of tliG missing girl since the morning ? Xo, there had been nothing heard of any young peison answering to the description. The want of a photograph of the party was mentioned as a stumblingblock. The police-officer seemed to consider it strange and even scandalous that in a Christian land any young woman could have grown up without having been photographed. Lashmar asked if there were any person pro- fessing to be a clairvoyant resident in Brumm. The sergeant tliought not. Clairvoyance was out of date. Mediums and thouglit readers and gentle- men who wrote upon slates were all the rage now-a-days. There was no call for clairvoyants. There wasn't a living to be made in that line. 'THE ORACLES AKE DUMB' 309 Much disgusted at these replies, Lord Lashma^* drove off to the hospital, where he saw the head physician. That gentleman was not an enthusiastic believer in mesmerism or any ism of i, distinctly unprofessional character. He had heard of no professed mesmerist or clairvoyant in that part of the world of late years, ' and a good job too,' he added bluntly. Lashmar drove off, still more disgusted : he had expected broader views from the faculty. He had the threadbare black cuff in his breast pocket, just above his heart ; but where was the gifted creature wlio could give him tidings of her who had worn it ? "Why could not he, who was so intensely troubled by this girl's disappearance, project his mind into space and seek her out wlierever she might be ? What poor creatures we are, hemmed in for ever by the narrow precincts of actual existence ! There was nothing for him to do but to go back to the Castle, as soon as his horses* mouths had been washed out. He left the phaeton in the hotel yard and sauntered listlessly along the street, looking at shop windows and window-bills in sheer vacancy of mind ; and it was in this condition tliat he almost ran into his old acquaintance, Mr. Stokes, of Avondale, the family practitioner, who attended Lady Lashmar in all her slighter disorders, and had even been allowed to see her ladyship's only son safely through the regulation diseases of childhood. Stokes was an enthusiastic angler, and he and Victorian had often gone fly-fishing together in the Etonian's summer holidays. ' You are the very person I want to see,' said Stokes. ' I heard of yoi: at the hospital just now, inquiring for a mesmerist. I'd been up there to see one of my parishioners in the surgical 310 ONE THING NEEDFUL ward : compound fracture — very pretty case ; and old Pettifer told me you had been inquiring for a mesmerist. What a very odd game ! ' ' lb isn't a game at all.' answered Lashmar with an irritated air, not at all relishing Stokes's light- mindedness. ' I have a particular reason for wanting to find a mesmerist, and I thought Dr. Pettifer a prejudiced old fool.' ' He is,' answered Stokes pleasantly. ' You were quite right there. I don't know anything ibout mesmerism now-a-days. We seem to ha^re gone beyond it, someh'- /. But if a medium can be of any use to you, I think I can introduce you to one of the best in England. I was going to the Lion on the chance of finding you when you very nearly capsized me.' 'How kind of you, Stokes. A medium ? You mean spirit-rapping, and that kind of thing ? ' ' I believe it is something in that way. I have never seen the young lady perform, but I am told she is really wonderful.' * Is she a public performer — a person who exhibits her supernatural powers for money ? ' * Nothing of the kind. She is a young woman who lives with a very eccentric old lady on the outskirts of this- town ; an old lady who used to live near Avondale, and whom I have known from my boyhood. She was my father's patient, and she is my patient, and she's as mad as a March hare, but perfectly harmless. Her latest craze, taken up nearly twenty years ago, is Spiritualism. She discovered remarkable gifts in a little girl who used to run errands for her dressmaker — a motherless and fatherless waif, of whose actual parentage nobody can give any account. Old Mrs. Minchin was so struck with this child, then about nine years old, that she adopted her, and 'THE ORACLES ARE DUMB' 311 the two have been playing the queerest pranks in the spiritualistic line ever since. The old lady is as tough as crocodile's hide, and is likely to live well on into her second century ; but I'm afraid the girl is doomed. She is highly hysterical, and slightly epileptic ; and I believe she has worn out her young life in calling up spirits for old Mrs. Minchin. If you would like to see her ' ' I should above all things,' interrupted Lashmar. * I think I can manage it. Have you time to drive as far as Thorleigh ? ' Thorleigh was one of the genteel suburbs of Brumm, on the edge of the country. Time indeed ? Lashmar felt as if he had time to go to the moon. He took the doctor back to the hctel, and they both got into the phaeton and drove off to Thorleigh to see what could be done with old Mrs. Minchin, who was not always disposed to be civil or communicative. Her moods were under- stood to depend on the spirits. "When tJiey were placable she ran over with amiability. Lashmar had always ridiculed spiritualistic per- formances aud preteusions of all kinds. For mesmerism or clairvoyance he had a faint, halC- heartpd belief ; but for the floaters in the air, and the rappers on the underside of tables, aud the nourishes of spirit hands — generally turning out on investi- gation to be mortal feet — he had no respect what- ever. And yet so weak is humanity, that, impelled as it were by that threadbare cull" in his breast pocket, he burned with impatience to behold and to interrogate Mrs. Minchin's supernaturally endowed proUgiie. Beyond the modern suburb of Thorleigh, with its smart villas suggestive of retired tradesmen, there was a straggling old village of shabbiest 312 ONE THING NEEDFUL cottaores, and beyond the village there was a bleak stretch of common, and on one side of the common, remote from the high road, and approachable only by a muddy lane, stood the house of Mrs. Minchin. It was an old and gloomy-looking house, in a large neglected garden, and seemed altogether a fitting tabernacle for wandering spirits to go in and out of. Lashmar and Stokes were shown into the most dismal drawing-room the former had ever seen — a large low room with a faded wall paper and furniture of the ponderous school, just old enough to be hideous, and not old enough to be interesting. Tliere was no fire, and the room smelt of mildew. Here they waited a quarter of an hour in the hope of at least seeing Mrs. Minchin, if not the medium; but the elderly parlour-maid, who had taken Mr. Stokes's message, reappeared after that lapse of time and informed him that Mrs. Minchin was engaged in a stance, and could not see any one that evening. 'It was almost as much as my place was worth to knock at her door with your message,' she told the doctor, ' but I was anxious to oblige you. She will see Lord Laslimar to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock, if he would like to call.' Lashmar begged the servant to tell Mrs. Minchin that he would wait upon her at four o'clock precisely ; but that if she could find it in her heart to receive him sooner a telegrani to that effect would add to his sense of obligation. ' ' And you can tell your mistress that his lordship is a staunch believer,* added Stokes. 'Nothing would induce her to see him if she didn't think that,' answered the servant. ' We all have to be believers here.' in 'THE ORACLES AliE DUMB' 313 was ' What, the cook and all ? ' asked Lashmar, tickled in spite of himself at the idea of a household of spiritualists. ' Oh, yes, my lord, cook's a believer. But cooking don't count for much in this house, and no cook would stay here that wanted to keep her hand in. I don't think missus ever knows what she is eating.' There was no more to be don*?. Lord Lashmar left his card — which would have been a thing of beauty and a joy for ever to any householder in those smart villas yonder, but which was as nought to a lady who had intimate relations with far more distinguished members of the peerage : to wit, Lord Bacon, Lord Byron, and Lord Brougham, with the last of whom she had held long conversations as to his conduct in the famous Caroline trial, while the poet had apologised to her for the unholier passages of his ' Don Juan,' and the philosopher had communicated newly developed theories which went far beyond any- thing in his published works. Lashmar drove Mr. Stokes back to Avondale through the autumn dusk, amidst odours of damji fallen leaves, newly upturned earth, and weed burning. 'How is your poor brother's iirotdgee, the little maid I attended through a bad attack of brain fever?' asked Stokes by-and-by, for the sake of conversation. * I was surprised to see what a fine-grown young woman she had become, when I met her in the park the other day.' Lashmar felt glad that his countenance was hidden by the shades of night as he answered : * Well, the fact is we are in some trouble about her. She has chosen to leave us abruptly, without explanation or apology; and — and — we 314 ONE THING NEEDFUL aro infernally anxious about her,' added Lashmar, forgetting himself. 'Oh, but I don't see why you should be anxiouo. If she has acted ungratefully that is her look out. I suppose she haa gone to some situation that she likes better. Girls are so frivolous. But I am disappointed in her; for I always thought her a head and shoulders above the common type of girl.' CHAPTER XTX ' IT MEANS THAT I AM A BRUTE ' Mr. Nestorius's telegram was in the hall when Lord Lashmar returned to the Castle, and Nestorius himself arrived at half-past nine o'clock next morning, startling the select few who remained after the shooters had gone off to their sport. Neither Lady Carminow nor Mrs. Vavasour appeared at this early meal, and Lady Sophia always ac- companied the shooters when there was no hunting ; so the select few on this occasion consisted of Lord Lashmar, Mrs. Mulciber, and Captain Vavasour, who had stayed at home to work at a new novel in which all his dramatis personce were gradually coming to life at an average of eleven descriptive pages for every cliaracter. On these burst Nestorius, haggard and pallid after a sleepless night in the Scotch mail. ' Have you found her ? ' he asked agitatedly. * No, nor any tidings of her,' answered Lashmar, 'IT MEANS THAT I AM A BRUTE* 315 rising. pallid * If you will come to the library I will tell you what I have been doing.' Mrs. Mulciber looked deeply disappointed. She liked to have her finger in every family pie, and she thought she knew a good deal more about Mr. Nestorius's feelings for the missing girl than any- body else in the Castle. She was eager to comfort and give advice, to make the statesman lier own in his hour of trouble, just as she had so impounded many other important personages; but here was Lashmar carrying oif her prey. She started up from her chair, and moved quickly to the door, as if to cut off Nestorius's retreat. ' If I can be of any use,' she cooed softly : ' Stella and I were great friends. I don't think there is any one else in this house in whom she confided as freely.' Nestorius fixed her with his keen grey eyes. ' Do you know where she has gone, or why she went ? ' he asked decisively. Mrs. Mulciber hesitated, preparing a diplomatic answer. ' You don't,' said Nestorius, answering for her ; ' then you can't help us,' and he followed Lord Lashmar out of the room. ' I could at least have advised them,' murmured Mrs. Mulciber, going back to her breakfast. 'It has been ray fate to see so much of the side- scenes of life.' 'You must have had the most interesting experiences,' said Vavasour, finishing off a grouse. * Let us make ourselves comfortable while those two fools fuss and twaddle about that dark-eyed girl, with whom I believe they are both in love. And I take it she has run away in order to bring on*^ or other of 'em to the point. I want you to tell me all the little details of Lady Banbury's elopement. It is just one of those stories that a touch-and-go 316 ONE THING NEEDFUL novelist can work upon : and the details are every- thing. Imagination can give the broad lines of a story, but it is hard fact to whicli one must f;o for details — the one touch of nature, don't you know ? — like that story of the lady at Brighton, who, after she had just left her husband's house to bolt with her lover, leaving the door open behind her, faltered, and turned in a fit of remorse, and would have gone back — only the wind blew the door, and it shut in her face. Dramatic, wasn't it? Yet a novelist would hardly have invented the blowing to of the door.' 'Why, in heaven's name, did she leave this house ? * exclaimed Nestorius, alone with Lashmar in the library. ' What made her do such a thir^g ? She seemed to me tolerably contented with her fate — resigned to live on as she was living, till her literary talent found an opening and gave her independence ; and yet, within a few hours of my leaving her, she rushes away as if she were driven by the Euries. What can it mean?' ' It means that I am a brute,' answered Lashmar, standing before Nestorius with downcast brow and a dogged air ; ' yes, a brute. I have always been a brute to that girl, from the hour when my poor brother first brou<,'ht her into this house to the hour she left it, driven out of it by my foul tongue. You do well to talk of the Furies. That girl has been my Nemesis. She has brought the sin of pride of birth, the overweening confidence in caste, home to me. She has made me feel what a poor w- rm I am, and that in gentlemanly feeling I rank lower than the lowest iron-worker in Brumm. I set my face against her from the first ; I was resolved to see nothing but evil in her ; I was hard, cold, cruel, pitiless, saw her youth blighted by hard usage and IT MEANS THAT I AM A BliUTE ' 317 never entered one plea in her behalf. And then when I came back to the Castle the other day and saw her grown to graceful womanhood, saw her strange and spiritual beauty, I was angry with myself for admiring her, I was angry with her for being so superior to her station, for giving the lie to all my prejudices. The more I found myself yielding to the spell of her mystical beauty the more I set myself against her, wrestling with the inclination to see more of her, tearing myself from the room when she was reading to my mother, shunning her at all times and in all places aa if she had breathed infection. And yet I could not pluck her from my heart; and her image haunted me ; and I started up out of my sleep fancying that her voice was in my ears, those deep, low tones- which gave new melodies to Keats and Milton. I hated myself for falsifying every principle of my life, which was to see perfection only in the well born ; and every grace that attracted me to her was an offence against my pride, and made me more resentful of her existence. It was in this mood that I watched you and her the night before last from yonder window. I saw her throw herself at your feet and kiss your hand, and I was mad with rage at the spectacle. I accused her of trying to entrap you with an offer — playing for high stakes ! ' ' You accused her of trying to entrap me ! ' cried Nestorius. ' Did you do that, Lashmar ? How wise and far-seeing you young men are! What if I tell you that I had just asked her to be my wife, asked her with as earnest entreaty as ever man made to the woman of his choice ? I had so asked her, and she had refused me. It was friendship, grati- tude, which she offered me on her knee — all unworthy as I am. Love she could not give me.' * She refused to marry you — she, my mother's slave ! ' 318 ONE TlllMG MEKDFUL ' Yes ; it is stran^'e, is it not ? She has not seen enouLfli of the world to have learnt how to sell herself to the highest bidder. iihe has curious primitive notions that a woman can only give herself in inarria\h ^aaicg so sharp. She loves him — caught hy that young grace of his, the darkly handsome face, with its strong lines and eagle glante, the prile Of youth and strength, and imdisciplined power ; the radiance of a young spirit that has never known Fate's reverses. Yes, she loves him. It was his imago that kept her young heart sealed against me. Ho stands at the door and keeps me out. Middle age has no charms. Slie would reverence gray hairs — perhaps deem it an act of duty and devotion to give up her life to an old tnan : but I, the hard, active man of the v "'d, can have no claim upon her affection, no ^ ciinv her imagination. I stand without the pale.' He found Gabriel Vernoi sv.h ;in open letter before hin, brought by that mo; .;r ;'s post. It was from Stella. There was no address, but the postmark was liru.. ■ ' You may see this letter, for it ('ontains a message for you,' said Verner, after he and Nestorius had exchanged a few friendly words, the old man much surprised at the statesman's return. 'Jt is for your eye, but no other. Be Bure you do not mentmn ir to Lord Lashmar.' 'Certainly not, if she ins otlierwise.' ' You will see.' Nestoriir read the letter, in the fine clear hpnd he kaew so well from the girl's manuscripts. She had -n lys striven to make her stories look as attractive as n^at penmanship could make them. The idea that they would ever take the still IT MEANS THAT 1 AM A BRUTE 323 more attractive form of print had seemocl so remote a hope. And in this vpise sho had cultivated "writing as a fine art. *Do not be unhappy about me, dear friend and master,' she wrote. * I have done that which is best for my own happiness. My Kfe at Lashmar has been a very hard one ever sine ^, my benefactor's death, and something occurred yesterday to make it unbearable. I could not stay in that house another hour. 'Providence hab been very good to me, and I have found new friends and a new home with kind honest people, a home in which I can work at literature until I am able to win my independence. Directly that is won I shall come back to you, and carry out the dream of iny life, which is to have a cottage and a pretty garden by the river you and I love so well — the river by which I spent so many happy days in my childhood, and which always recalls the memory of the dear friend I lost. ' Please tell Mr. Nestorius that I thank him witli all my heart for his goodness to me, and that I am huppy to leave the fate of my first book in his hands. If he who has such experience in literature v;ill correct the proofs of my story, it will be one more favour for which I shall be deeply grateful. If the book should be a failure I shall be more sorry upon that kind friend's account than upon my own. ' God bless you, dear friend, and be sr-re that absence will not lessen my affection for the teacher to whom I owe so much more than my loving care can ever repay. But I look forward to the hope of having you by-and-by for my abiding guest in Dreamland Cottage. ' Don't you tliink that would be ratlicr n good n24 ONE THING NEEDFUL name for my house, if ever I am happy enough to own one ? ' Your ever grateful pupil, ' Stella. ' P.S. — On no account let any one at the Castle — except Mr. Nestorius — know that you have heard from me.' ' Thank God she has not fallen among thieves/ said Nestorius, when he had read this letter. And yet in the next moment his heart sank within him as he asked himself whether any girl so utterly inexperienced as Stella could be trusted to dis- criminate between fair and foul ? Whether these new friends of homely class, found with such strange facility, might not be wolves in sheep's clothing? Her youth and beauty and ignorance of the world's ways were so many sources of peril. What if the kind homely soul who had so readily extended a sheltering wing, were some matron of the order cheerily indicated by the honourable Tom Shuflleton, when he offers a haven for poor Mary. Nestorius's blood ran cold at the thought of the pitfalls that gape for unwary feet in such a city as Brumm. And yet again he told himself that there is a semi-divine instinct, which warns purity against contact with the impure — an instinct finer than worldly knowledge, a shred of that cast-off robe of glory which the spirit once wore in the world from whence it came. Stella's keen intellect and vivid imagination would serve her instead of the knowledge of unholy things. The demon of impurity would betray his loathsome presence in a glance or a tone, and she would flee from the Destroyer as from a fiery furnace. God so guards the spirits of the pure ; and Una riding her lion is but the type of a lofty soul passing scatheless through the habitations of evil. 'ir MEANS THAT I AM A BRUTE* 325 Notwithstanding which comforting belief IMr. Nestorius made up his mind that he would hunt every street in Brumm until he had found Stella and her new friends. The mind of such a man is like a grand organ with a double set of keys. There is the keyboard of the enthusiast and believer, the keyboard of the sceptic and matter- of-fact man of business. It was by his power of playing on both these two keyboards with equal skill that Mr. Nestorius had been able to iniiueuce society of every grade and men of every temper. He went back to the Castle and got rid of the grime and dust of a long railway journey, and issued forth from his dressing-room refreshed and rejuvenated, but he did not stay to luncheon. He left a little note for Lord Lashmar to the effect that he had an appointment in Brumm, and that he would meet him at half-past three in the coffee- room of the Lion and Lamb, when they would go together to the cave of the sibyl. Having thus stolen a march upon Lashmar, and left himself free to pursue his inquiries unheiped and unhindered, Mr. Nestorius hired a fly in the village and drove to Brumm, where he first took a hasty luncheon, and then did three or four hours' private detective work on his own account, exploring street after street, inquiring closely in all manner of shabby respectable neighbourhoods where such a girl as Stella might naturally seek for an inex- pensive lodging; visiting the Free Library and interrogating the librarians ; strolling in that dreary pleasure-ground known as the People's Park ; but by a strange fatality avoiding just that oue long narrow street on the way to the cemetery, antl that one particular chandler's shop in which the Chapmans had their dwelling-place. He was weary, disheartened, and altogether dis- 326 ONE THING NEEDFUL gusted with himself at half-past four o'clock when, punctual to the very minute, he entered the hotel coffee-room and found Lashmar drooping despond- ently over a local newspaper. The police had been able to tell him nothing. It was as if the earth had opened and swallowed the girl for whom they were searching. ' She must have gone to London,' said Lashmar : ' that is the only place in which any one could so completely vanish from human ken.' Nestorius knew she had not gone to London, but he held his p ice. They wer alone in the coffee-room, where there was no fire, and where the newly lighted gas was singing a dismal chorus. ' I have been reading her story,' said Lashmar. ' It is delightful — so new, so powerful — altogether fresh, and simple, and fervent and true. To think that Boldwood's daughter should be a genius, and that kind of genius ! Not a vehement partisan of Eadical politicians, a shrieking claimant for woman's rights ; but a poet, a dreamer, a weaver of fancy's most enthralling web. How she will scorn us and the cage in which we kept her! How she will laugh at her tyrants when she has burst upon the world in all the charm of her originality, and hai won thou- sands for her friends ! Such a book must make a hit.' ' That was what the publisher's reader told me,' answered Nestorius quietly. ' Publishers' readers are sometimes wrong: three or four of the tiibe rejected Miss Bronto's "Jane Eyre," audit is said that " Vanity Fair " went a-begging : but this gentle- man was very positive. " Take my word for it this book will go," he said. " It has all the fire and fresh- ness of youth, and all the grace of a highly cultivated style. The writer must have fed her fancy with the very finest order of intellectual food. There is no ' IT MEANS THAT I AM A Bill TE ' 327 taint of garbage from the first page to the last." Knowing how Stella had been trained by your brother and poor old Verner, I thought this criticism argued some power of judgment on the part of the publishers reader.' *Ye.s, she has been fed on the best food. I have laughed at seeing her poring over Homer or Virgil. My mother told me that girl knew Milton better than anyone she ever met except John Bright, and that she had Shelley and Keats interwoven in her memory. She has an extra- ordinary power of memory, my mother says, and a fine ear for melodious combinations of words. Perhaps she has something to thank her Ladyship for in her two years* drudgery as a reader. My mother never cared for inferior writers, and the mill in which Stella worked ground onl}- the finest corn.' Tate weaves in a loom whose mechanism we know not,' answered Nestorius gravely. * The education of submission may have been the best education for genius ; but it was not a joyous experience.* ' No, she has been badly treated. Do you tliink I shall deny that after my free confession this morning ? ' asked Lashmar bitterly. 'I think you are full of generous instincts — marred by perverted pride,' answered Nestorious, with his unflinching air. ' I think you have treated this girl abominably; I think you have made her suffer damnably ; and that by way of revenge she will make you the noblest wife an English gentleman need ever hope to win for himself.' ' You think she will ever be brought to forgive mo ? ' faltered Lashmar excitedly. 'I think you are both passionately in love 328 ONE THING NEEDFUL with each other, aud that it needs but one look and one word from you to heal every wound you ever inflicted upon that pure and generous heart.' * Oh ! it is you who are generous, it is only you who are noble,' cried Lashmar. 'I have lived twenty years longer than you, and I have learnt one of the lessons that time teaches,' answered Nestorius gravely. * I have learnt the wisdom of renunciation. Not another word, Lashmar. I am too old for sentiment. Let us go and interview this witch of yours, and see if she can enlighten us.' CHAPTER XX 'I GO TO GATHER THIS THE SACRED KNOWLEDGE* Lashmar had his phaeton at the door, and tho} drove off to Thorleigh common and the muddy accommodation lane vhich led to Mrs. Mirchin's dreary abode : a house built in the reign of George the Fourth, square, unpicturesque, flat and uninteresting, such a house as the small country squire of that una3Sthetic eporh deemed all siifidcient for comfort and delight. It was one of those houses of -vAhieh even the house-agent could say nothing better than that it was roomy. They were shown into the dismal drawing- room. Again no lire. It was natural that the spirits should be indifferent to atmosphere, but Mrs. Minchin must surely have suffered as a mortal, if ever she sat in that damp and chilly apartment. They waited about ten minutes, which seemed fifty to Lashmar's impatience, and then the door opened — Lashmar starting at the sound as if it had been the veil of the temple rent in twain, so highly strung were his nerves — and two rather commonplace-looking ladies entered the room. The first was a little old woman in a skimpy black silk gown, a sort of gown which such old ladies wear from year's end to year's end till, it drops to pieces ; a little old woman with a narrow pinched little face, and watery eyes 330 ONE THING NEEDFUL with red rims to them, and a sharp nose. The second was a girl of middle height, very fair, with insipid iiaxen hair, dull and dead looking as tow, and the most expressionless countenance Lashmar had ever seen. It had no more meaning than p log. If this was the mortal with whom spirits loved to hold commune, they had indeed strange predilections. Lord Lashmar introduced himself, and then Mr. Nestorius. At that distinguished name the little old lady brightened, and became slightly flustered: but the name evolved no ray of intelligence in the wooden visage of the girl. * I hope your lordship's distinguished friend does not come here to scoff,' said Mrs, Minchin, looking at the distinguished friend, and not at Lashmar. Mr. Nestorius explained that there was nothing further from his thoughts than scofling. He was a man open to all impressions, an earnest inquirer into all creeds. If the spirits revealed themselves they would liud him sympa- thetic. ' You look it,' said the old lady, gazing up at him admiringly. ' I can see faith and enthusiasm in your face. Begin, Griselda, begin,' she added, with an excitable air. ' Your young friend's name is Griselda ? ' asked Nestorius. ' Her real name is Sarah Anne Curtis,' replied Mrs. Minchin, * Griselda is the name the spirits gave her when she first came to live './ith me. I think it must have been chosen because of her patience in waiting for hours in silence and contemplation. It is the name by which she is known in the spirit world.' ' I GO TO GATIIEll THE SACRED KNOWLEDGE ' 331 was 18 Nestorius and Lasbmar were both gazing tcirnestly at the young lady so baptised. It taxed tlieir faith considerably to be told there could be sympathy and communion between this stolid- looking creature and the world of disembodied i-ouls. Xover did any human countenance seem more of the earth earthy. * Have you been long in communication with the spirit world ? ' asked Lashmar. A slight but curious twitching disturbed the wooden composure of Griselda's face as she replied, like a faint reminiscence of St. Vitus, Griselda told them how the spirits of the dead had been her frequent visitants from the time she came to live with Mrs. Minchin ; how they had held converse with her, and had revealed secrets whicli she dared not impart to mortal ear. She trembled visibly as she spoke of those revelations, and the twitchings about her pale, expressionless eyes became more marked. 'In all these spirit communications have you ever received any message of practical value ? ' asked Nestorius ; but t) -^-i question seemed out- side Griselda's power of apprehension. She only stared blankly at the inquirer. * Those communications are not to be measured by the common standard,' said Mrs. Minchin tartly. 'If you mean to ask whether the spirits have ever named the winner of the Derby, or prophesied a rise in railway shares, no — decidedly no ; and I should cease to believe in them if they lowered themselves by any such paltering with grosser things.' ' Then I fear the spirits will not be able to help me,' said Lashmar. ' I am troubled by the dis- appearance of some one v ho is very dear to me. Do you think the spirits vill tell me how to find her ? ' 332 ONE THING NEEDFUL ' Tiy the slate, Griselda,' said Mrs. Minchin, and the medium silently proceeded to obey. First she drew forward an old - fashioned Pembroke table, covered with a green cloth of particularly Philistine pattern. She took off the cloth and put up the flaps of the table, leaving all clear beneath. Ther ''om another part of the room she brought two or y school slates, a small basin of water and a sp. ^., and carefully washed both slates before the eyes of Lashmar and Nestorius, who watched as intently as if this slate-wai^hing had been the most delicate of surgical operations. When the slates had been dried, Griselda allowed the neophytes to examine them while she produced a crayon box containing some odd bits of slate pencil, about the third of an inch long. * Will the spirits write upon the slate with one of these pencils ? ' asked Nestorius. ' Yes, a spirit will write. You can choose a piece of pencil.* ' Thanks ; may I mark it ? ' ' Certainly.' Nestori'iy took out his pen-knife and notched an N upon the butt-end of the pencil. The girl placed four chairs round the table. Then she put one slate on the top of the other, with the marked pencil lying in the hollow space between the two frames. Then Mrs. Minchin, Nestorius, Lashmar and Griselda sat round the table, holding each others' hands, the medium giving Lashmar her left hand while with her right she held the slate under the table, her right thumb showing above the table. Griselda then told Lashmar to ask a question. * Have you the power to answer my question ? ' he asked. There was no reply. It seemed as if the spirits were offended at the sceptical tone of the inquiry. I GO TO GATHER THE SACRED KNOWLEDGE' 333 They waited for some time in silence, and then the medium sugr^ested that Lashmar and Nestorius sliouM change places ; wlicrenpon Nestorius placed himself next the medium, and held her hand in his. Two minutes afterwards they heard a violent scratching ci the slate. When they looked at it there appeared the following words : — 'Between great minds in all worlds there is communion. — Nelly.' The left hand of the medium had been held in that of Nestorius all the time ; the thumb of her right hand was visible on the table. It was — or seemed to be — impossible that the hand so engaged could have written on the slate. The message was flattering to Nestorius, but somewhat futile. The signature had a frivolous air, which repelled Lashmar. * Who is Nelly ? ' he asked discontentedly. ' She is one of my guides,' answered Griselda gravely. ' The spirits are here, and will answer. Ajsk what you will. You can write your question on a slate if you like, and no one here need know what you ask.* She gave Lashmar another pencil out of her crayon box, and, unseen by the rest, he wrote his question on one of the slates. ' Is it necessary that the slates should be under- neath the table ? ' asked Nestorius. ' Could they not be held above it ? ' ' Yes,' answered Griselda ; ' above the table if you like.' At her direction they all stood up in a circle and held the double slate above the table. For some minutes there was silence ; then there came the scratching sound as before, and Lashmar felt the vibration of tht, slate as the pencil travelled along it. Then came three sharp taps with the pencil, signifying that the message was finished. 334 ONE THlNa NKEDFUli Lashmar turned the slate with feverish eagerness. The spirit message was written in a corner, the writing the reverse way of the medium's position. If she had written those characters, she had written them upside-down ; but it seemed to Lashmar and Nestorius impossible that she could have written them. Standing as they all stood, holding the slate above the table, it seemed beyond the power of the cleverest prestigiator who ever lived to produce that writing, or direct that pencil. * Look for her among the dead ! ' That was the message. Lashmar turned white and sick as he read. Conjuring, trickery, parlour- ir/.tgic, sham of whatever order the thing might be, his heart sank within him at a reply which reemed the fulfilment of his darkest fears. He held the slate towards Nestorius, pointing to the words with tremulous finger, and tlie statesman's pale cheek blanched a little as he deciphered them. * Have you any other question to ask ? ' inquired Griselda, with an exhausted air, while Mrs. Minchiu looked on rapturously, proud of the effect the spirits had produced. ' No, I will ask no more,* said Lashmar. 'It is holding communion with the devil.' And then he faltered a hasty expression of grati- tude to Mrs. Minchin, looked with undisguised horror at the wooden-faced medium, bowed hastily to both and hurried out of the room. 'Don't be frightened or disheartened,' said Nestorius, when they were in the hall, waiting for his lordship's phaeton to drive up to the porcli, * there may be nothing in it — a mere clever trick, perhaps, which we are not able to discover.* 'Trick or no trick, it is diabolical,* muttered Lashmar. ' How came that devilish pencil to put my worst fear into words — a fear I have hardly 'THE PAST IS PAST, AND I AM COME TOTHEE ' 3o5 acknowledged to myself ? Such things must come from direct traffic with Satan. I begin to think our ancestors \'ere not such foo]s as we take them to have been when they burnt witclies. And as for Urbain Grandier, I dare say he thoroughly deserved the stake.' tily CHAPTE?. XXT 'THE PAST IS PAST, AISD I AM COME TO THEE ' * Look for her among the dead ! ' Those words hu.unted Lashniar like the cry of the Banshee. They kept repeating themselves in his ear all through that seemingly eternal evening as he sat at dinner, and heard the frivolous babble of his guests aroui:l him, as meaningless as the prattle of a stronniJet over its pebbly bed, and later in the drawing-room, where Lady Carminow played nocturne and mazurka, -polonaise and waltz, with untiring persistence, expatiating meanwhile on the merits of a nev7 Hungarian composer to a knot of admirers clustered round the piano. * So wild, so pathetic,' said one. ' Yes, there is a kind of subtle, undeveloped melody,' added Captain Vavasour. ' Yes, it IS undeveloped music,' agreed Mrs. Mulciber. 'That is just the word. A melody hinted at ratlier than expressed.' ' It seems to my uneducated ear as if the man had always been trying to hit upon a tune and dZQ ONE THING NEEDFUL had never succeeded,' remarked Lady Sophia bluntly. ' I am afraid, Lady Sophia, that neither yoa nor I are edi'^'ated up to the subtle gradations of modern -.iiusic/ said xTostorius, leaving the piano. 'The touch is too delicate for us — the shades too fine. We want the bolder colouring of the old masters, Mozart, for instance. There is never any mistake as to what he means.' Lashmar turned his back upon that group by the grand piano, and moved restlessly about among the furniture, now taking up a book from the table, only to throw it down again unopened ; now standing with his hands in his pocl..ets, staring idly at a vase of Parma violets, or a bowl of late roses. At last the babble grew intolerable to him, and he went off to his mother's room. He had not seen her since tlie morning. He had been with her for a few minutes before break- fast, and had found her very low and nervous, too ill to appear among lier guests. ' If I feel equid to the exertion I shall go down to dinner,' she had said ; but the dinner hour had come and witli it a message from her ladyship excusing herself. Lashmar found his member sitting by the fire in her morning room, with her book-table and reading- lamp beside her, but with no appearance of having been reading. She was seated in a despondent attitude, gazing dreamily into the fire. She started at her son's entrance. ' Well, have you heard of her ? ' she said at once. ' Not a word. She has disappeared utterly. Botli Nestorius and I have hunted for her all througli Brumm. The police can do nothing to help us.' 'Then I suppose we must resign ourselves to the 'THE PAST IS PAST, AND I AM COMB TO THEE ' 337 Botli trough to the idea that she has gone for ever,' said her ladyship. ' She has been very ungrateful.' * Oh, mother, what cause had she for gratitude — except to my brother ? What kindness have you or T ever shown her ? ' * \Ve have given her such a home as she could, have had nowhere else. We have given her the opportunity to educate herself to the highest point. But for our kindness she would have had to earn her bread by the sweat of her brow. She must have been a domestic servant or a factory girl.' ' She would never have remained a servant or a factory givl. She is a genius, mother.' And ■ ..iu Lord Lashmar told his mother about the proofs that lio had n-ad, and of Nco jrius's and the publish' s praif^f. * What uuen 'i ' asked her ladv!-;hip. ' That book is the fruit of refineu surroundings, of years of elegant leisure. Do you suppose tls it in service her genius — if you please to term it genius — could ever have been developed? Do you think tliere are no gifts strangled and blighted by adverse circumstances — no great intellects among servants and factory girls ? 1 tell you she, ' id the strongest reasons for gratitude — and }' knowing herself useful, almost invaluable to nie — to me a sick woman, she leaves me without compunction, without a word of regret,' ' Then you do miss her, mother ; you are fond of her,' exclaimed Lashmar, with Hushed cheeks and brightening eyes. The dowager looked up from the fire for the first time, and scrutinised her son keenly. ' Fond is too strong a word,' she said : * I like my servants ; I become attached to them even when they are useful and faithful ; but 1 am never fond of them.' 338 ONE THING NBEDFUL ' But she is not a servant ; she is gently born, has been highly educated, is gifted far above other v^romen. Oh, mother, be human if you can. You know this girl has crept into your heart, however hardly you may have striven to keep her out. You know that you miss her sorely, that she has grown dear to you.' 'Necessary to me, perhaps, Victorian, but not dear.' 'Yes, she has become dear to you,' pleaded Lashmar, kneeling by his mother's chair, throwing his arm round her as he had done many a time in his boyish days when he wanted some indulgence at her hands, but as he had done rarely of late years. ' Yes, mother, say dear to you — for my sake.' ' For your sake, Victorian ! What can you mean ? ' * For my sake, mother ; yes, for my sake. This friendless waif, this orphan daughter of a demagogue and destructive, this spawn of the radical gutter is just the one woman I will have for my wife. It may be that I shall not win her — I who have done everything to make myself hateful in her eyes ; but if I miss her, I will have none other. I will go down to my grave a woman hater. Yes, the hater and reviler of such women as Lady Carminow, beneath whose alabaster bosom never glowed one generous emotion : as Mrs. Vavasour, who paints her face a quarter of an inch thick : as Lady Sophia, the type of our modern Amazon, who unsexes herself by manly sports and men's society, and never, from the time she wore pinafores, has thought as a woman : as smooth-tongued Mrs. Mulciber, time-serving, self-seeking, the trafficker in soc'ety's small vices and large foibles, garnering up her riches out of other people's worthlessness. One woman, and one only, have I seen straight, truthful, original, independent; scorning fortune when it was a.t;. ' THE PAST IS PAST, AND I AM COME TO THEE 330 her feet, daring to live her own life in the teeth of adverse circumstances. Such an one will I honour and reverence. She and no other shall be my queen.' Lady Lashmar looked at her son's impassioned face with absolute horror. ' Is this madness ? ' -he murmured, 'Why, I thought you hated the girl.' ' So did I, mother. God knows I tried my hardest to hate her, schooled myself to believe that I detested her, would not suffer my 3ye to linger upon her face, or my memory to recall her gracious presence. And yet in spite of it all she drew me. It has seemed like witchcraft ; but now I begin to understand that it was simple force of character, the influence of a pure, untarnished soul upon one that had been blemished and clouded by contact with the world. I believe that Providence meant her for me — that my brother trained her for me — that all things have tended unawares to one happy ending — she is to be mine ! ' ' If you do this thing, Victorian — if you, my son, with your opportunities, marry so far beneath yon, I suppose you know that you will break my heart ? ' 'I know that I shall do nothing of the kind, mother sweetest. There will be a feeling of disappointment no doubt. You would have preferred to see the Lashmar coffers replenished with the wealth which Danebrook made in the iron trade. You had rather I had married the ironmaster's daughter, albeit that on her father's side she comes from a much lower grade than Boldwood'a orphan child. But this regret once past, you will rejoice in your new daughter, since she has been as a daughter to you already, though you did not know it.' 340 ONE THING NEEDFUL There was a pause, a silence which seemed long, Victorian still on his knees by his mother's chair. He had been prepared for a violent outbreak, for ungovernable anger; prepared to hear himself denounced and cast oflp as an unworthy son. But to his surprise the dowager sat for some moments with her hands shading her eyes, and her lips silent. He almost thought that she was weeping. 'I have missed her sorely,' she said at last, 'yes, sorely. She comforted me with that low, sweet voice of hers ; her reading has been a kind of music which soothed my tortured nerves. She has been very sweet, infinitely patient, as sympathetic as I would ever allow her to be. But you are right in your accusation, Victorian. I was never kind to her. I was always afraid of beinp; too kind, of letting lier see how necessary she was to me. AVe are made of hard stuff, you and I, Victorian. We come of a hard race, a race with whom pride of birth has been ever a kind of religion. It is difficult to stoop, when sucli pride as that is bred in our bone, the heritage of a thousand generations. And for my son to marry a girl of no parentage — a domestic in his mother's house!' ' Her father was an Oxford graduate ! ' 'My dear Victorian, consider the herds of Oxford graduates, down to the sons of Oxford hair-dressers. People will ask who your wife is. How can you answer them?' ' I will leave the answer to time and the lady who bears my name. Her beauty and her genius should be an all-suf&cient answer. But she is not mine yet : I am talking like Alnaschar, God knows where and when she and I may meet. I am haunted by a hideous foreboding, tortured by the maddening iteration of six miserable words.' ' THE PAST IS PAST, AND I AM COME TO THEE ' 341 ♦What words?' '"Look for her among the dead."' And then he told his mother the story of the slate-writing, and how he had tried to look upon 1 he whole thing as a folly, but had been distracted by the import of words which seemed to interpret liis worst fears, ' Was it my brain that impelled the pencil ? ' he said. ' Had my thoughts any electrical power which transmitted meaning through a self -acting slate pencil? It seems like madness.' Lady Lashraar was one of those hard, clear- headed people who would have looked a sheeted ghost straight in the face on tlie stroke of mid- night, and would have said, * You are only an optical delusion, and I am not going to be scared by you.' She smiled in gentle scorn at her son's simplicity. * My poor Victorian,' she murmured, * to think that you who were once so sensible should fill your mind with such follies ! On the eve of a general election, too, when you want all your wits about you.' Lashmar walked up and down the room in silence, for a few minutes, and then came back to his mother's chair and stood looking down at her. She had resumed her contemplative attitude, and sat gazing at the fire, m deepest melancholy. 'You are not very angry with me, I hope, mother,' he said softly. She had been a devoted mother to him, con- centrating all her hopes and dreams upon his image, risking all upon that one cast of the die. He felt he owed her more than the common duty which all men owe their mothers. 'No, Victorian, I am not angry with yoa. I am only angry with Fate, which fashions all things so differently from our dreams. To think 342 ONE THING NEEDFUL that this girl whom we both despised should have changed the very current of both our lives. What can I say to you ? If you choose to marry her I cannot hinder you. I am deeply disappointed and deeply chagrined, that is all. I feel that my life has been a failure.' 'You will not feel that, mother, in the days to come, \vhen my wife is to you as a daughter. When, with God's blessing, you shall see her children rise up and caU you blessed. Good-night, I will not stay with you another moment. We have talked too much for your strength already. Shall I send Barker ? ' ' Barker,' repeated her ladyship with a sigh ; ' yes, I suppose she had better come to help mo to bed. She is a good soul, but when I am ill she always makes me worse.' ' Look for her among the dead ! ' All through the long sleepless nights those words haunted Lashmar with a mechanical, senseless repetition. He had not allowed Nestorius to know how much that slate-writing had troubled him, or the kindly statesman would have put him out of his pain by some assurance of Stella's safety. No, he lay tossing to and fro, ignorant of her fate, imagining every form of horror that a morbid mind can picture to itself in the dead hours of the night, when shadowy evils are rife in the overcharged brain. He thought of the rivers-dank weeds entangled in the blue-black hair. He thought of the express engine thundering along the dark rails — a slight girlish form flung down upon the iron way — a flash, and the young life annihilated, the very semblance of beauty gone. And by every agony of fear, by every hour of separation he loved her so much the more. • THE PAST IS PAST, AND I AM COME TO THEE ' 343 ' Look for her among the dead 1 ' Was it the announcement of some hideous doom; or wan it a riddle given him to read; or was it a chance combination of scratches upon a slate, meaning nothing but trckery and imposture? Was it for a clever piece of conjuring that he was racking his brain and torturing his heart ? He determined on going to Brumm directly after breakfast next morning. He would endeavour to see Griselda alone, free from the influence of old Mrs. Minchin, to whom he was inclined to impute evil propensities smacking of brimstone. He would question that strange girl closely, would throw himself upon her generosity, appcEil to her womanly feelings and get her to relieve his mind, if it were indeed but a trick of the prestigiator's skill which had caused him such gnawing anxiety. He went to his mother's room immediately after leaving his own, but was not able to see, her. Barker informed him that her ladyship had had one of her bad nights, and was trying to get a morning sleep. Her ladyship's bad nights were a speciality, and meant insomnia of the worst kind. Lady Carminow appeared at the breakfast- table, which was altogether an unusual thing. ' I am going home directl}' after breakfast, Lord Lashmar,' she said. 'I am. dreadfully sorry to leave this dear old house t\nd so many nice people ; but my mother is not quite so well, and I feel I ought to go to her.' ' Not quite so well ' seemed rather a vague phrase to Lashmar, who did not even know that the lady had been ailing. ' I am very sorry,' he murmured absently. Mrs. Mulciber was in despair. Nestorius, sipping his tea, and taking furtive dips into the 344 ONE THING NEEDFUL newspaper beside his plate, declared that Lady Carminow's departure would bo as the extinction of the sun, or something' to that effect. Lady Sophia did not even pretend to bo interested. She was in hat and habit ready for the fray, gobbling her breakfast ravenously in order to be off' to a distant meet. 'I hojie you have not forgotten my flask, Eowker,' she observed to the under-butler who was carving a ham near her. ' No, my lady.' 'Nor my sandwich case.* * They have both been senfr out to the stables, my lady.' ' Ta, ta, everybody,' said the fair Sophia, snatching up her hunting crop and hurrying out of the room. ' If you don't want to find every trace of the hounds vanished by the time you get to Chipping Danbury, you had better come with me, Mr. Ponsonby,' she said to the Queen's Counsel, who was luxuriaiing in a savoury mess of kidneys and mushrooms seething before hiia in a silver dish over a spirit lamp.' ' Haven't the faintest idea where Chipping Danbury is, and ain't going to spoil my breakfast. Lady Sophia, for any pack in England. I shall find the hounds, wherever they are. You may be sure of that.' Lady Sophia banged the door and was gone. 'I'm not going to jog along nine miles of turnpike road with that pretty prattler,' remarked the barrister to Lashmar in an undertone. He finished his breakfast in a leisurely way and dawdled in the hall while his hat was being brushed. 'J 'here is a special Providence by which such men always iall in with the hounds. Lady Carniinow left the Castle at eleven o'clock 'THE PAST IS PAST, AND I AM COME TO THEE ' .'545 with a splash of carriages, servants, and imperials, as if slio had been starting' for Italy. Lasliriuir, relieved at her departure, became intensely civil, and danced attendance upon her to the last moment. ' I am sure you are glad I am going,' she said. ' Indeed I am not. I fear my poor mother wih miss yon. She has so few people whom she really cares for. Now you are going it would be better if all the others were to go. She is not equal to entertaining people, and you have been an admirable deputy.' 'Thanks for the compliment. Perhaps the others will follow my lead. Yes, I am sure it bores her ladyship to have people in tlie house ; but for your sake she would make any sacrifice — yes, any sacrifice,' repeated Clarice, looking at him earnestly. 'Yes, she is very good to me,' answered Lashmar gravely. 'I am sorry that her desires and mine should ever run counter. But life is made up of such contradictions.' * Do you shoot to-day ? ' asked Lady Carminow, while he arranged the sable rug over her knees. * No, the pheasants will have a holiday so far as my gun is concerned, I am just off to Brumm.' ' Again ? one would suppose you had a share in some great business there.' ' I wish I had — the Dapfbrook ironworks, for instance.' ' Oh, you need not wish for that. It would only bring you trouble. I had a most worrying letter from the manager this morning, harping upon the ill-feeling of the men and urging me to alter the whole of that splendid organisation which my father took such trouble to bring to perfection.' * Nothing in life is stationary, Lady Carminow, 346 ONE TIIINr, NEEDFUL and we live just now in a period of nbrupt transi- tions. A system which was accounted liberal in Mr. Dancbrook's time would be now considered the regime of a despot. If your manager is a sensible man, it might be wi^e to take his advice.' * That I shall never do. I will never truckle to democracy. The Danebrook Works must stand or Ml as Job Danebrook planned them.* Lady Carminow little suspected how near they were to the latter alternative. When people say they will stand or fall by a principle, thty are for the most part assured that to fall is an impossibility. The barouclie drove off with its fair occupant. A cart was being loa led with imperials and bonnet boxes in the staui( -^ard, and there was a wagonette for her ladyship's servants, her two maids, and the tall footman who went on her messages, and carried her work-basket and music books. Ladhniar drove to Thorleigh common and called upon Mrs. Minchin. The spirits were not propitious, or rather Mrs. Minchin had a nervous headache and was unable to see any visitor. Lashmar asked the maid if it would be possible for him to see Miss Griselda alone, and he emphasised the inquiry with a sovereign. But the servant told him that Miss Griselda was never allowed to see any one except in the presence of Mrs. Minchin ; that she never left Mrs. Minchin's roof except to walk in the garden ; had never been outside those walls within the servant's memory; never was allowed to go to church — the servant dwelt on this point as if even in that gifted and advanced circle she felt some hankering after old superstitions ; in fact, lived from year's end to year's end in Mrs. Minchin's society and under Mrs. Minchin's 'THE I'AST IS FAST, AND I AM COMK TO THEE ' 34"; was her it on aud and ken, and had to get up at any hour of the night to communicate between that old lady and the spirit world. 'It isn't a cheerful life for a young person,' said the maid. 'I don't think Miss Griselda is long for this world. They say mediums always die young.' Lashmar left his card, with a pencilled request to Mrs. Minchin for another interview with the medium; and then ho drove away, cursing that dismal house as ho had cursed it the day before ; deeming the whole spirit-system diabolical, aud yet wanting to know more about it. Were those words that had so tortured him the result of accident ? Could chance so closely tit in with his own thoughts, so briefly aud directly give expression to his fears ? He left his phaeton at the ' Lion and Lamb,' and went wandering about tlie great busy town. lie was too disgusted with the police to go to them again yet awhile. He went about on his own account. Presently it struck him that he would like to see the building from which bis brother had rescued the child, and which had been re-erected after the fire. He had never seen that dreary outskirt of ]3rumm in which Goldwin's was situated. It lay in the opposite direction to the road by which he entered the city, and in a region which had no attraction for any explorer : one of those shabby, sordid, newly-built quarters, which have no interest save to the tax-gatherer, the city missionary, or the philanthropist. That new town of Brumm seemed as a new world to Lashmar as he threaded its everlasting streets and terraces of squalid houses, where all the window sashes, door steps, and garden railings 348 ONE THING NEEDFUL were of exactly the same pattern, and where the only difference he saw in any of the houses was in their measure of shabbiness and dirt, all starting from the same point of positive dirt and shabbiness. What a dreary weld it looked in the gray October day. What odours of indiscriminate foulness it exhaled — what a disrjal monotony of ugliness it exhibited— and yet here babies were born and reared to men and women, and here men and women lived and sickened and got well again, and struggled on to age, and died and were fetched in the workhouse coffin ! The ore inevit- able end of us all was perchance the only event that disturbed the dull level of such existences. He had no difficulty in linding Goldwin's. Goldwin's had doubled in size since thr. time of its rebuilding, and wliv^reas at the date of tlie lire it had stood gaunt and grim and new-looking amidst a desert of unlet building land, it was now hemmed round by streets of smaller houses, and reared its formidable height above the sur- rounding bricks and mortar, like an old three-decker amid a fleet of fishing smacks. The building was not fifteen years old, yet looked grimy and shabby enough to have been standing there for a century, if any pile so ugly could have been conceived by our ancestors, albeit they had a fine instinct for the ugly in architecture. There stood Goldwin's, with its long lines of windows all of the same pattern, and its iron balconies one above the other, giving it the appearanco of a gigantic iron cage, as it were the prison-house of unconvicted poverty. Lashinar stood on the opposite side of the narrow atreet gazing up at that, barrack and picturing his brother's distorted figure, those long lithe arms of his drawing him upward from story to story, the slender fingers THB PAST IS PAST, AND I AM COME TO THEE ' 349 +1 le clinging to yonder railings. The lord of broad lands risking life and limb to save one little child, whose face he had never seen. * It was a noble thing to do,' thought Lashmar. 'I ought to have valued her for the sake of that great deed. Decent feeling, the respect due to my dead brother, should have made me kinder to her.' He had no hope of finding Stella amidst that aggregate of struggling humanity. The police had been here at the beginning of their quest, and had assured themselves that no such person as the fugitive from Lashmar Castle had applied for a lodging at C-oldwin's. He expected to get no information here, and yet he hung aboit the place in his despondency, not knowing where to go or what to do next, feeling impelled to do something, were it only to wander from street to street, in the vague hope of meeting the fugitive face to face at some unexpected corner. Presently he saw a respectable elderly woman with a market basket on her arm, going in under the archway which opened into a stony quadrangle. He followed and accosted her. ' ^lay I ask, madam, if you have been long a resident here ? ' The matron turned and confronted Lashmar in some confusion, startled by the stately address, the tall upright figure and darkly handsome face, and that indescribable, inexpressible air which is ordinarily the result of good birth and a West-end tailor. Not often, no, not even when an election was on, did such a young Alcibiades enter beneath yonder arch. ' Yes, sir, I have lived here over twenty years, almost ever since the houses were built.' ' Then you remember the fire here.' ' Yes, indeed, sir ; and I have good cause t(.» 350 ONE THING NEEDFUL remember it, for my poor little bits of furniture were all burnt, things as I'd had from poor mother, and as belonged to her father before her, which he was a farmer in a small way in Herefordshire, for we never belonged to these parts, none of us didn't, you see, sir,' explained the lady, as if it were a merit not to be a native ; ' and not one single stick insured, though I'd been thinking and talking of taking out a policy not a week before ' Lashmar tried to stem this stream of auto- biography. ' Very sad,' he murmured. ' Did you happen to know a man called Eoldwood ? ' 'Boldwood, that lost his life in the fire? Lor' bless you, sir, everybody knew Mr. Boldwood. He was a great man, my husband used to say, a man that, ought to have been a cabinet minister ; a man that had poor people's interests at heart, and would have fought our battles, if he'd ever come into power. And quite the gentleman too, though rather rough looking and careless about his clothes ; and such a loving father to his little girl. She was adopted after his death by the last Lord Lashmar, and has been brought up like a lady.' ' Had Boldwood any friends in Brumm — any people in comfortable circumstances, for instance, who were interested in him and his little girl ? ' ' Xot as I ever heard of, sir. He was a reserved kind of gentleman — never mixed with the other lodgers in the club room. He always kept close in his own room, never spoke much to anybody ; and I don't think he could have had any visitors without my knowing it, for our rooms were in the same corridor as his, and I had my children running about, in and out on the balcony, and I was always on the move, so I must have seen any one going backwards and forwards to his rooms.' * THE PAST IS PAST, AND I AM COME TO THEE ' 351 ' Can you show me the position of his rooms ? ' * Yes, sir. The block was rebuilt just the same after the fire. But me and my husband moved down to the ground floor. We'd had enojgh of living up in the clouds.' ' You saved your own children — easily ? ' asked Lashmar. * No, sir. It weren't easy. ' ^y husband carried 'em down stairs, through the smoke and flame, and I was too 'mazed like to think of other people's children till we'd got out into the street, and looked up at the great burning house, and felt our lives were safe. And then I says, " Where's Boldwood's little girl?" and my husband says, "She's all right, you may depend. Boldwood's nob the Vind of man to lose his head in a fire." We never gave a thought about the meeting in the Town Hall, and the chance of Boldwood's being away. I hope you don't think, sir, that I'd leave a motherless child to be burnt to death if I had the power to save her ? ' Lashmar assured the matron that he had ro such thought ; and then they went back into th?. street, and she pointed out two windows on th? fourth story. ' The little girl used to sit out on the balcony all day in summer time,' said the woman. ' Boldwood had put up an extra rail, to make it safer for her, and had divided off his bit of balcony from the rest with wire netting, so that she sat there all alone like a bird in a cage. He didn't want her to mix with the other children, and she didn't seem to want to play with them. She was very shy, and when they spoke to her she answered in a foreign language. She had her little toys, and she seemed to amuse herself contentedly hour after hour: but I always felt sorry for her in those long lonely days, when her father was away.' 852 Om: THING NEEDFUL Certainly a sad and solitary infancy, followed by a desolate girlhood. ' She used to watch the funerals goin^ by to the cemetery,' said the dame, who had no desire to cut short the conversation, albeit the rudiments of her husband's high tea were lying in her basket, and the day was wearing towards afternoon. ' There weren't near so many houses about here in those days. It was almost open country, and she could see everything that went along the road to the cemetery, and used to sit and watch and watch, and wonder and wonder. I could see it in her face, sometimes, when I stopped to look at her. But she never asked me no questions. {She little thought how soon her daddy that she was so fond of would be lying in that cemetery.' ' Is it near here ? ' asked Lashmar. ' Not half a mile.' * I'll go and look at Boldwood's grave. Good- morning, madam. If you will accept a trifle by way of ' He did not further explain himself, but dropped some loose silver into the matron's willing hand and left her curtseying on the pavement. Was there ever such a gentleman — so noble-looking, so free in his manners, and so open-handed ? Lashmar found his way to the cemetery, which had been placed remote from the town in the first instance and was still well in the outskirts. It was a noble cemetery, as to spaciousness, though a little monotonous as to art. Bit trees and shrubs had thriven, the place was nei tly kept, and on Sunday evenings this garden of dc^ '> was a favourite resort for the sober and serious an_;:.^ llii working people of Brumm, the people who liked to go to chaj)el, and take tlioir quiet walk after chapel. Boldwood's grave ? The man at the lodge was 'THE PAST IS PAST, AND I AM COME TO THEE ' S53 not a political enthusiast ; had never heard of Mr. Boldwood ; could give no information as to his last resting-place. So Lashmar \\andered up and down till he found tlie liandsome headstone which his brother had erected to mark the demagogue's grave. 'In memory of Jonathan Boldwood, a man of advanced opinions and strong sympatliies with the poor and the oppressed, who perished in the endeavour to save his infant daughter's life, and who was much beloved and regretted by the working classes of this city.' ' By their works ye shall know tliem.* to This -was the epitaph which Hubert, Lord Lashmar, had caused to be engraved on tlie llepublican's headstone, Victorian stood looking at the words in a dreamy forgetful ness, listless, tired, physically and mentally. Would he ever find her whom he sought — would ho ever ? In the impatience of his temper, in the inten.. 1/ of all his feelings, it seemed to him as if he had been looking for lier for ages, had exhausted every mode of search, and must needs despair. He had driven her from him and she had gone. ' You told me to march,' she had said to him, recalling his speech of the past. 'You need not tell me that this time. I am going to march.' And she had marched, into infinite space, whither he knew not ; and he stood here in tliisi jilace of graves, stood desolate and lonely among the dead, and despaired of ever seeing her face again. Look for her among tlie dead ! ' what the oracle had said. And lie 2 a That was was h(>ro 354 ONE THING NEKUFUL among the dead, had been impelled here, as it were, by some blind instinct, not knowing why he came. He started with a thrill of horror, and looked about him for a new-made grave, forgetting how brief the time since she had left the Castle. Scarcely time enough for death and burial. Yes, there was a new grave near Bold wood's headstone: a narrow mound of raw yellow clay, roughly fashioned by the grave-digger's spado. He stood looking at it with fixed eyes, like a man struck by epilep.sy, for a moment or so, till an ap- proaching footstep startled him from that trance of fear. He turned and saw a tall slim figure drawing near, that black-robed girlish form which he had seen so often in the corridors at Lashmar, and had shunned, apprehending an indefinable danger, the peril of his peace of mind, which was ever disturbed by that presence. He had looked for her among the dead, and had found her living, lovely as when she had last looked upon him in her pride and anger. She bowed gravely, startled for a moment, but composed herself instantly with wondrous self- command, and would have passed him, but he stopped her. ' Stella,' he said, holding out his hand. ' Lord Lashmar ? ' interrogatively, and without accepting the offered hand. ' Stella, will you not forgive me ? I have been seeking for you ever since that night. I have desired nothing on this earth so much as your forgiveness. Will you not forgive me ? Will ycni not shake hands with me ? By your father's grave.' That ])lea was irresistible. She gave him her hand without a word. It was the first time ' THE PAST IS PAST, AND 1 AM COME TO THKE ' 355 and had their hands had ever so met. His grasp ti^^liteiied upon the little hand, and he drew her nearer to him, she shrinking all the while, looking at him witli friglitened eyes, half angry, half wondering. They were alone in the place of graves — alone amidst the populace of the dead : no one within sight or ear-shot. ' Stella, I liave but one plea for pardon, but one excuse for my brutality the other night, for my coldness, my neglect, my absolute unkindnesa in all the years that have gone over us since my brother's death. My excuse for my conduct that night is, that I was mad with jealousy; my excuse for years of unkindness is, that I have been the slave of caste. I have tried not to love yon, and I love you more passionately than ever I thought to love any living woman, were she peeress or princess. All my pride of birth, all my greed of gain, are Hung to the winds. I love you, Stella, and live only to love you. Say, bweet, am I forgiven?' She had turned giddy with tiie suddenness of this surprise, fainting under the shock of an unspeakable happiness. Her eyelids drooped, and there were Hashes of light across her eyeballs, and a rushing sound in her head. Her cheek lay ghastly white against her lover's shoulder, as he caught her to his breast and just saved her from falling. ' My beloved, say I am forgiven. Say that I may hope.' Her pale lips tried to answer, but were too tremulous for speech. There was a pause, and then the heavy eyelids were slowly lifted, as with a painful effort, a soul coming back to life and consciousness, and the large dark eyes looked up at him. ' I have hated myself so bitterly for loving you,' 850 ONE THING NEEDFUL she faltered ; ' I have scorned myself for loving the man who despised me.' 'Ah, then we are both content,' he said, kissing her. 'We have both struggled, and we have both been beaten by Fate, which is stronger than either of us. My beloved, I am ineffably happy : there is not in this world a man more deeply blest. And now come back to the Castle and read to my mother, who has been pining for you : and be to her as a daughter. She too has tried to shut her heart against you, but I suspect that she too loves you. She knows everytliing, dearest, knows that you are to be ray wife, if I can win you.' 'Will she not be angry with you for such a choice ? ' asked Stella. 'No, she bore it like a lamb. Don't you know that her strong point is common sense, and sensible people always submit quietly to the inevitable. Come, dearest, we can get a fly somewhere outside the cemetery, and drive to the hotel where I left my phaeton. We shall be at the Castle in time for after- noon tea. I believe her ladyship will be delighted. She began to find out your value directly you were gone. Stella explained to him that she could not possibly leave Brumm thus abruptly. She had found kind friends and a home there, and her friends must not be left with discourtesy. Her feminine instinct told her that to be driven back to the Castle in Lord Lashmar's phaeton would be to create a scandal. If she was to return there at all she could not return too quietly. ' If her ladyship really wishes me to go back perhaps she will be kind enough to write me a line, and to send a conveyance for me to- morrow,' she said. 'THE PAST IS PAST, AND I AM COME TO TIIEE ' 357 ' She shall do so. Yes, perhaps it would be best. But it shall be to-day, not to-morrow.' They went out of the cemetery together, and through the streets of Brumra, talking to each other as if tliey had been lovers of a year's standing. The love pent up in either breast, the passion long held in check drew them together in a moment. They met as rivers meet, and mingled as rivers mingle. The shock of the meeting was tremendous, but the union was instantaneous and complete. The Chapmans' shop was not very far from Goldwin's, nor a long way from the cemetery. Stella explained that since she had dwelt in Brumm she had gone daily, and sometimes twice a day, to her father's grave. 'It was the only thing 1 could do to be near him,' she said. 'Ah, it was mycruelty which told you of his death.' ' It was better for me to know the truth,' she answered gently. * All my dreams about him were childish dreams. I ought to have known that if he were living he would have come for me or sent for me. He would not have lived away i'rom me all those years and made no sign. And I honour him more and more — love him more I cannot — for the sacrifice of his life. What am I worth that two such noble lives should have been risked for me?' 'You are worth all the world to me, Stella,* answered her lover fondly ; ' and Nestorius tells me that you are going to be the most charming story- teller — if I were an American I should say romancist — of the age, and to delight all the world.' * Mr. Nestorius is too kind.' ' And he asked you to be his wife — he, the man whom women have adored — and you refused him. Why did you reject such a man, Stella ? ' nss ONE THING NEEDFUL She Wfi3 silent, the pale cheeks kindliuf^f with a sudden bhish, the eyelids drooping. ' Why, Stella ? why ? ' he nr«,'cd. ' Because I could care for no one in the world but you,' she answced falteringly. * You who seemed so far off and so cruel.' * But who loved you passionately all the time, Stella ; loved you and fought against iiis inclination ; tried to he wiser than Fate. If you knew how laboriously I endeavoured to fall in love witli Lady Carminow you would understand how potent was that other influence wiiich drew my thou<,dits away from her.' They were at Mrs. Chapman's corner by this time — a corner shop in a street of small, shabby little houses, out of which opened right and lett other streets of just the same pattern. ' Tliere is no private door,' said Stella ; ' would you mind going through the shop ? ' ' I should adore it. I have never seen a shop of the kind,' laughed Lashmar. He had to bend his head a little under the treasures hanging from the ceiling, bacon, candles onions, lemons in nets. * "NVliat a dear little shop ! ' he exclaimed, ' and so well found. It is like the steward's cabin on my Norwegian yacht.' Stella led him into the parlour, that sacred chamber so rarely tenanted in the day-time. The Chapman family were taking four o'clock tea in the kitchen. Stella went into them and told them how Lord Lashmar had come to thank them for their kindness to her, and how her ladyship wished her to go back to the Castle. ' I think I shall have to leave you this evening, or to-morrow at least,' she said shyly , ' but I shall ' THE PAST IS PAST, AND I AM COME TO THEE ' 859 never forget your kindnn^is or cease to think of you as my friends. And I shall come to see you sometimes if you will let me.' ' Of course wo will, my lass, and always glad to see your pretty face,' said the gonial Chapman, looking up from ii, brfnl.-fast cup of steaming tea. 'Lord Laslimar here!' exclaimed Tully with an awe-stricken look. 'Didn't I tell you so? Oh, you naughty girl, to try lo deceive me.' ' May I come in, Mrs. Chapman ? ' asked Lashmar, showing himself in the doorway hetweeji parlour and kitchen. ' Oh ! your Inidship, such a poor place,' faltered Mrs. Chapman, and the wliule family stood up, including the printer's reader, who had been shelling shrimps for his beloved. Lashmar shook hands with Chapman just as affably as if he had been electioneering, as that worthy citizien remarked afterwards, and thanked the whole family in hrartiest fashion for their goodness to Miss Boldwood. 'She will have another name before long, I hope,' he added, glancing fondly at the blushing face, 'and when she is Lady Lashmar she can take care that her housekeeper deals at Mr. Chapman's for bacon and bloaters and things,' with a vague reminiscence of the mingled odours he had perceived as he passed through the shop. ' Oh ! my lord, you do us too much honour,' said the grocer. 'But I hope your lordship will always remember tliat it was Jonatlian Boldwood's daughter we set store by, not the future Lady Lashmar,' ' And Jonathan Boldwood's daughter will not become ungrateful because she changes her name,' answered Lashmar. 'And, now, dearest, I will leave you with your friends for a couple of .SGO ONP: TlUNtl NKKDKUL liuurs loD^ei'. The caniage will bo liero for you by six o'clock, I hope. Good-day Mrs. Chapman.' ]Io shook hands all round, even with tlio jjrintor's reader, who was a rabid Itadical in the abstract, but admired a nobleman in the flesh. Polly felt that hand-shake was an event in her life, something to remember and talk about in years to come. Tlieie was no doubt about it there was a something, an indescribable air about blue blood ; which may be taken to mean that Polly had never before seen a man who had been trained in the Eton playing-fields, and had rowed in the Oxford eight ; nor yet a man clothed by Poole or Small- page. ' Didn't I say so, now, Miss Poldwood ? ' repeated Polly, when his lordship had gone. ' Didn't I see through you the other night, for all you kept your secret so well ? ' 'I had no secret to keep, Polly. Please don't laugh at me, I can't bear it,' said Stella feebly. It was with dilliculty she kept back lier tears, Mrs. Chapman patted her on the back, as if she had been suffering from a crumb in her wind-pipe : Polly wreathed an ali'ectionate arm round her waist as she sat by the family tea-table. "Ave a few s'riraps, Miss Boldwood,' said the printer's reader, who was somewhat faulty in his pronunciation, though he knew the English language when he saw it in type, and had brought many a patrician to book on the burning question of the objective case. ' Well, I congratulate you with all my 'art, my dear ]\Iiss Boldwood/ said Mrs. Chapman. ' How luuulsome lie is too,' sighed Polly : ' the very image of Cuy Livingston.' CHAPTER XXII 'JIEKK LODGE AS IN A .SANCTUARY* Stella obeyed her lover, and gathered together her manuscripts aud those few cherished books which were nearly all the ])ossession3 she had brought away from Lashraar Castle. She packed the little bag which had made lier arms ache so terribly in the long tramp from Lashmar to lirumm, and awaited the letter and the carriage that were to be sent at his lordship'^ bidding. Would her ladyship condescend to write to her, she wondered, were it only so much as one line to desire her return — that proud, self-contained mistress who had ever treated her as a slave, a being of inferior race, with whom she could have no sympathy ; who had accepted all her ministrations, her patient watchings, the tender touches of light hands bathing the aching brow ; who liad let this girl sit beside her bed night after night, and had never by word or token given love or gratitude in return ? Would she stoop so low as to request the runaway slave to go back to lier servitude ? Would she endure the thought that this poor helot was to be her son's wife ? Stella told herself tliat Lady Lashmar would not brook such an alliance, that she wouJd not suffer her presence under these altered circumstances, and that no letter aud no carriage would come from the Castle in quest of her, however urgently Lashmar mi